#Renathal fanfiction

[late-to-the-fandom]

Chapter 5: [De]vices and Vows

In which an unpleasant discovery by Renathal prompts a fight with the Maw Walker and an unexpected confession. Read on Ao3 here.

It was a testament to just how badly Renathal wanted the Maw Walker to stay with him that he was willing to back-burner Denathrius' fateful phone call completely and make a second trip to her squalid building on the outskirts of the lightless, lawless Maw. Worn and weary, running on fumes, but now brimming with a restless anxiety that craved the relief of concrete action, he drove there straight from the hospital, parking in the same inauspicious alley from which he had collected the Maw Walker on the evening of their first date. He kept his eyes steadfastly forward (except to shoot the fire escape a sidelong glare), tightening his wrinkled suit jacket around himself like armor as he hurried for the entrance - exhausted defiance notwithstanding, he was eager to put solid walls between himself and whatever dangers lurked in the dark.

The inside of the Maw Walker's building, however, was only infinitesimally lighter. A single, naked bulb hanging from the atrium ceiling illuminated the 'Out of Order' sign taped to the unlit elevator and the first few steps of the ramshackle stairs. Renathal, accustomed to the ill-lit passages of Revendreth, managed the trek to the sixth floor without incident. But as he skirted bulging bin bags, clutters of take-away debris, and several hazardously broken floorboards, he thought he better understood why the Maw Walker favoured the outside route.

Face screwed up against the smell of rubbish and neglect, he fumbled for her key the moment his feet hit the sixth-floor landing, traversed a short stretch of carpetless hall to the appropriate room number, and let himself hastily into the Maw Walker's flat. The flimsy plywood door shut quickly behind him was a barely effective barrier against outside odour, but it was not the lingering smell that made Renathal’s upper lip curl unpleasantly as he stared around at the room.

The room. There was just the one. And it would have fit comfortably in his own flat’s open living space with square footage to spare. In one back corner hunched a no-frills futon; in the other, a plastic foldaway table, which, judging by its contents, served as both nightstand and desk. Between them was left just enough space for a single person to squeeze through sideways (one of a rapidly growing number of reasons Renathal surmised why he had never been extended an invitation). Revolving on the spot just inside the door revealed a narrow clothes cupboard and purple overnight bag to the left, a small, discoloured sink set into the wall to the right, and … that was all.

Renathal, eyes bleary from lack of sleep and fluorescent hospital lighting, made another, more careful inspection of the room, checking the various sections of peeling paint did not conceal another door. But there was nothing. No secret en-suite, no kitchen annex, not even a private water closet.

And the Maw Walker preferred to spend her nights in this comfortless cube than his own spacious flat?

He shook his head briskly, casting off the offensive thought. He had neither the time nor mental acuity for suppositions at the moment. Turning in another slow semi-circle - now with an eye for the things the Maw Walker would need - Renathal snatched up the purple overnight bag, unzipped it, and set it open on the futon's threadbare coverlet, then plucked a toiletries kit from the edge of the dingy porcelain sink, rolled it up, and tucked it securely inside. Shuffling sideways between futon and foldaway table, he perused the latter for further necessities. Passing over two polythene cups - one containing an assortment of coloured pens, the other a small amount of cold, congealed coffee - he focused instead on the out-of-date tablet and the bulging purple three-ring binder, whose many unsecured pages spilled from the tops and sides.

Ingrained tidiness - and, perhaps, a whisper of curiosity - nudged Renathal's hand. He flipped the binder's cover open and shuffled the papers into a more orderly pile, rifling through their contents as he did so: loose leaf notes, printed syllabi, and what looked like hand-drawn maps of multiple campus locations. His gaze lingered for a moment on a crude depiction of the Revendreth department, its margins so crammed with notes in the Maw Walker's indecipherable native alphabet as to be functionally useless for finding one's way through the underground labyrinth of halls.

An odd pastime, amateur cartography, thought Renathal, tucking the now neat stack back into the purple binder and the binder into the similarly-coloured overnight bag; there were plenty of gratis maps available in the administration office. He made a mental note to pick up a few from Oribos for her as soon as he could find the time.

Speaking of time.

A glance at his glowing watch-face made Renathal wince. The morning was already half gone and he had not accomplished half of what needed doing, not the least of which was returning to his own flat to shower, sleep, and tend to Vrednic (not necessarily in that order). Stifling an enormous yawn, he turned back to the table for the tablet, and his fingers, trembling slightly with exhaustion, brushed the device’s sleeping screen. It woke, the bright glow assaulting Renathal's already bleary vision. And when he blinked the spots from his eyes, he found himself staring at a crowd of missed call and text notifications.

His own name - Ren, with a purple heart emoji beside it that made his skip a beat - took up most of the screen, with alerts labelled Theotar and Work appearing sporadically in-between. But there was one other contact who had apparently been as eager as Renathal to reach the Maw Walker; who, by the timestamps on the notifications, had not stopped most of the night - a picture-less profile assigned the simple, cryptic, and unpleasantly familiar moniker: T.A.

Someone's initials? Her distant, rarely-spoken-of friend, perhaps, whom the Maw Walker had stayed with over the fall break? Or was it a title, like Renathal's own? Did the Maw Walker keep close ties with teaching assistants in her other courses? Could that be how she passed them? And was that the reason she refused to spend a full night at his flat? Did his lover have other, similar arrangements scheduled after him?

Renathal sat. Fortunately, the futon was just behind him. The backs of his legs knocked hard against the metal edge, a pain he only distantly felt. On some level, he knew he was being ridiculous, that there were a hundred innocent explanations for the initials and their multitude of calls and messages glowing innocently up at him from the screen. But he was tired, hungry, emotionally drained, Denathrius’ phone call and its ominous implications looming over him as darkly as the Maw outside. He was too out of sorts to stop the familiar, furious prickling spreading like a wildfire through his chest.

Jealousy. It was Renathal’s greatest prevailing vice, and one he had never managed to overcome. That gut-wrenching, blood-boiling, detestable sensation, like the ground had been pulled out from under him and he had no safe place left to stand. He wallowed in it for a few miserable minutes, fingers tapping an aggressive rhythm across the edge of the device still resting in his lap. And it was not until the screen went dark again and Renathal swiped it angrily back to life that he noticed the picture hiding behind the myriad notifications, now gathered into one tidy stack.

He blinked - a very Maw Walker-esque expression of his surprise. Holding the tablet up to the window, he let the screen catch its thin, choked rays of light, but the picture did not change, and, unfamiliar as it was, there could be no doubt of its subject. It was Renathal himself: standing in profile before the range in his own kitchen, white apron round his waist, spatula in hand, face bent intently towards the pan.

The Renathal sitting non-plussed in the Maw Walker’s derelict flat squinted at the tablet, trying to determine what his picture-self was cooking, but the cluster of notifications hid the counter from view. It might have been one of any number of dinners he had prepared while the Maw Walker watched. She must have snapped the picture from her phone when he wasn’t looking, then sent it from her phone to her tablet, then made it the tablet’s lock screen background. Which clear evidence of forethought and affection unwound the knot of tension tightly-coiled in Renathal's gut. A weight seemed to fall physically from his shoulders. He rolled them experimentally, and, for the first time that day, felt his lips stretch in an almost effortless smile.

Renathal stood, clicked off the tablet and nestled it securely into the overnight bag; then, with new purpose and vigour, squeezed past the futon and foldaway table for the clothes cupboard and began rummaging through its narrow insides. The smile was still pleasant and warm on his face as he thumbed through the sparse wire hangers. The Maw Walker cared for him - he had seen the irrefutable proof. Everything else - Denathrius' ultimatum, whatever role he might have played in the Maw Walker's accident and what she was hiding that could cause him to do so - it would all be worked out later, after both of them were rested, rational, and safely returned to his flat.

Except perhaps, realised Renathal, shuffling through the hangers a third time as if some new, more cast-accessible items might appear, the issue of what the Maw Walker was going to wear for the next six to eight weeks.

Apart from the dress he recognised from their Ember Club date, the Maw Walker’s wardrobe consisted entirely of a few camisoles and blouses and one extra pair of jeans. A single set of black-and-gray tracksuit bottoms branded with the university’s logo were folded at the bottom of the cupboard, but even these Renathal doubted would fit easily over her cast’s bulky plaster. He stroked the hair on his chin for moment, considering. Then his eyes fell on a camisole the exact shade of purple as the heart emoji the Maw Walker had added next to his name. And he made up his mind.

Shutting the cupboard door, Renathal returned to the futon, hastily zipped up the overnight bag, and abandoned the shabby room to itself without a backward glance.

The following morning was spent perambulating department stores choosing new clothes for the Maw Walker; a much more enjoyable task. Perhaps too enjoyable, Renathal considered when he arrived back at his flat with more bags and boxes than could be carried from the garage in one trip. But he couldn’t help it. The memory of himself in place of pride as her tablet’s background appeared before his eyes every time he saw an item he thought his lover might conceivably need.

And those were many. From socks, which he had not found in her clothes cupboard, and easily slipped on shoes, which the Maw Walker did not own, to a new coat and hooded sweatshirt to replace the ones that had been ruined; as well as undergarments, which Renathal had forgotten to look for in his haste to leave her flat. In addition, he chose two sets of loose-fitting silk pyjamas and one perfectly innocent nightgown, several casual, mid-length dresses sans constricting sleeves, and a few other ensembles he deemed likely to fit over both her casts. He did his best to set his personal taste aside and select with an eye for the Maw Walker’s preferences (plain, comfortable, and - wherever possible - shades of purple), but it was still with some trepidation that he unpacked the shopping bags and inspected his purchases before hanging them in the wardrobe next to his own clothes.

When he had finished, Renathal stood back, admiring the effect. The new arrivals added something to his monochrome sartorial collection he had never noticed was missing: a colour and a vibrancy, very much a match to the contributions the Maw Walker had made in his day-to-day life.

With a glance at his watch and a start at the time, he closed the stuffed wardrobe with a snap and reached for the overnight bag. This took only seconds to unpack. Toiletries, three-ring binder, and tablet were set on the little bedside table he had cleared for the Maw Walker's use. The latter he plugged in to an extra charger while valiantly resisting the urge to revisit her notifications and check if T.A. - whoever they were - had called or texted again.

All mysteries would be cleared up soon - quite soon, Renathal reminded himself with a prickle of excitement. In just a few short minutes, he would be locking up and heading for the hospital, on the way to collect his lover for her first, and long-overdue, night at his flat.

-

"Shall I confess something?"

"Yes, please."

"I have wanted to do this for some time."

"Really?” The Maw Walker craned her neck gingerly to the right, attempting to catch Renathal's eye with her good one. “Help me wash my hair while keeping my casts out of water? That's a very specific fantasy."

Renathal’s reply was to reach around and daub shampoo lather bubbles to the end of the Maw Walker’s nose, upsetting the careful decorum she had maintained throughout the undignified bathing ritual as well as her precarious balance on the edge of his claw-footed tub. But she was laughing as she slipped and he was laughing as he caught her, and it was several mirth-filled minutes and inelegant contortions before both were back in position.

"The fantasy,” he explained around the dregs of amusement as he resumed scrubbing the top of the Maw Walker's head, “was to have you in my bath. I admit, this was not precisely what I pictured."

"Oh, I see." She cocked her head to the side again and Renathal could see the hint of a smile play around her swollen, bruised lips. "How did you picture it?"

He made a thoughtful sort of noise and scrubbed in silence for several seconds, as if only now considering the details of a fantasy he'd had ready and waiting for weeks.

"Well, there would certainly have been wine,” he said at last - the Maw Walker hmmed her approval. "And candles perhaps. Bath salts. Bubbles."

She wiped a bit of lingering lather from the side of her nose.

"We do have those."

Renathal chuckled but otherwise ignored this interjection as he finished, “And we would both of us have actually been in the bath. And with all our limbs safely intact."

“Ah, I see,” the Maw Walker said again, though this time the smile in it was shaky. Renathal could feel the tension settle stiff in her shoulders as he worked shampoo through the ends of her dark, wet hair. “That does sound lovely. I'm… sorry to disappoint.”

Renathal craned his neck to place a kiss against his lover’s bare right shoulder.

“You are not remotely disappointing,” he murmured, enjoying her little shiver. “We will just have to do it again sometime, will we not? Under different circumstances. Now, lean back.”

The effort required to ease them both into positions where Renathal could rinse her hair precluded further conversation beyond quick instructions and the Maw Walker’s strained groans as she stretched muscles that clearly ached. Renathal kicked himself for not remembering her medication before they started. His lover had been eager to wash off the remains of blood and filth, and he eager to help her, unaware of how complicated and time-consuming the process would be.

Truthfully, none of the practicalities of her convalescence were quite as romantic as Renathal had imagined. From the surprisingly difficult to procure wheelchair and the rearranging of the furniture in his flat to accommodate it, to the sheer physical labor required in hoisting the Maw Walker back into it once the protracted affair that was drying and re-dressing her after her bath was finally complete. Her shock and self-conscious protests at the discovery of her new wardrobe, at least, were expected, and Renathal had rattled off his well-prepared arguments for its necessity as he tugged the sleeves and legs of the silk pyjama set carefully over her casts.

The upshot of which was he had no spare moment to think of, let alone discuss, any of the mysteries still lurking at the back of his mind until he had settled the Maw Walker’s chair at the kitchen's alcove table (Vrednic, suspicious of this new wheeled addition to the flat, stationed protectively at her feet) and began preparing dinner.

“Did you happen to grab … my tablet?” the Maw Walker choked around a series of coughs, having just swallowed a veritable mountain of prescription capsules.

“Of course,” replied Renathal, and his own throat convulsed at the abrupt resurgence of his former nest of viperous nerves.

He gave himself one preparatory minute - pulling a pot from a cupboard and setting it in the sink under the running tap to fill - before fetching the device from his bedroom. He set it down on the table in front of her, then returned to the sink to shut off the tap, reciting his memorised lines in a tone of unimpeachable nonchalance all the while.

"You had quite a few missed messages. Mostly from myself, of course. And work, and Theotar, who sends his best. Oh, and a good many from another concerned T.A."

"What?"

Shooting a furtive half-glance over his shoulder as he transferred the pot to the range, Renathal watched the Maw Walker slide the device towards her with her good hand, click it on and inspect the glowing screen. She swiped through the notifications without blinking - which he found telling; though what it told him but that the messages were not a surprise, he could not say.

“Oh, her. That’s not a T.A., it’s a... classmate," she explained, though there was a brief hesitation before the word Renathal was sure he had not imagined. “We’re on a... a sort of a group project together,” the Maw Walker continued, not looking up. “She'll be livid she hasn’t heard from me. I’ll have to ring her back tomorrow and explain.”

She clicked the device off and pushed it away across the table with a little groan that contained notes of both frustration and physical pain, then wriggled in her chair, adjusting her plastered leg with her good hand in an attempt at a more comfortable position, while Renathal, watching from the corner of his eye, pulled pasta and salad ingredients from the fridge and digested this new information.

“You are welcome to do so now,” he offered, still perfectly casual, but the Maw Walker shook her head.

“No, it can wait. I’m not sure I’m up to dealing with her, to be honest. She can be a bit… accusatory. And it’s not like there’s anything I can do to help her right now. Ugh!” She exclaimed abruptly - the sound making Vrednic lift his head - and ran her good hand through her damp hair. "I forgot about exams! I've missed all of them, haven't I? After all that bloody stupid work I put in, too."

“Ah, as to that…” Renathal leaned against the granite counter, dinner momentarily abandoned as he remembered the other, even more troubling problem than the Maw Walker’s dubious classmate. “I took the liberty of sending an email to the professors on your course list. It was nothing -” he inserted quickly, correctly interpreting the Maw Walker’s budding protest and holding up a hand to forestall it. “It was an email - hardly taxing. And most were happy to offer extensions or makeup exams under the circumstances. So, you certainly have not failed them all.”

He made rather a production of adjusting the fold of his shirt sleeves (rolled to the elbow the better to wash his lover’s hair), then fetching his white apron off its hook and tying it around his waist, giving himself a few extra seconds to decide how best to phrase what must come next. But the Maw Walker spoke first.

“You said most were willing. Who wasn’t?”

Something in her tone convinced Renathal she already knew, and when he admitted, “Denathrius,” she gave no telltale blink, or any other hint of surprise. He turned away, fumbling cutting board and proper knives from their drawers as he went on, “His excuse was that it would not be equitable to allow you more time to prepare. I did try to reason with him, but I am afraid he is immovable on this point. He wants you-” Renathal paused, face twisting at the taste of the words, then tried again. “He proposed to take you on as a private intern next semester. If you agree, he will waive the exam grade. If not, you will have to retake the class.”

He snatched up a cucumber and began to dice, rather rougher than strictly necessary. For a few seconds, there was only the angry, wet slice of blade through veg and the rhythmic thud as it hit the wood cutting board. Then -

“You're joking.”

The Maw Walker’s voice was flat as the grim, stretched impression of a smile Renathal shot her.

“I assure you, I am not.”

There was another half cup of diced cucumber's worth of silence before she spoke again.

“Well. That is... unexpected.”

Looking up from his work, Renathal watched confusion and some sort of shrewd calculation do battle across the Maw Walker’s pale, puffy face. It was odd, seeing so much open expression on it - a result of days on pain-killers, he supposed - but more notable still that none were the indignance, disapproval, or even outright anger he had expected. On the contrary, when at last she exhaled and looked directly at him, she was wearing an almost lively smile.

“I guess I'll have to think about that. It might be a good idea.”

The knife missed the cucumber entirely, slicing through the side of Renathal’s finger instead.  He dropped it with a clatter, his hiss of pain echoed from behind by the Maw Walker, amid a rattle of wheels as she pushed from her chair and Vrednic's high-pitched yelp as one of them trod his stump of a tail.

“Sit,” Renathal snapped automatically - both human and canine froze at the command.

"Are you alright?" the Maw Walker asked in audible pain and alarm, all of which Renathal could barely process - no, he bloody wasn't alright, but it had little to do with his freely bleeding finger.

“It might be a good idea?” he repeated, snatching up the nearest dishcloth and pinching it around the offending digit.

“What?”

“Denathrius’ internship - you would seriously consider it?”

The Maw Walker's wide, pale eyes, pupils constricted from medication, flicked from Renathal’s face to his finger, clearly struggling to grasp the thread of his ire.

“I - yes? I mean... why not? I have a decent grasp on the basics now. An internship might move things along more quickly than sitting through another semester's class. Not to mention,” she added hastily before Renathal could question this odd assertion, “it has the added benefit of keeping you out of trouble with your boss, doesn't it?”

Words failed Renathal. And anyway, his jaw was clenched too tight for speech. Of all the things currently plaguing him, this particular ingrained fear had not featured, but now it returned with a vengeance, crawling painfully across his skin like he'd been dipped in dry ice. Possible competition for her attention with the mysterious T.A. was one thing, but to lose her to Denathrius? That he could not bear. And when at last he managed to unlock his jaw and say the Maw Walker's name, his voice was raw enough to make her struggle from her chair in another vain attempt to reach him, Renathal too preoccupied to stop her this time.

“You cannot take this internship."

“Why not?” she asked, brow furrowed in confusion - or possibly the effort it took to stay standing; Renathal, already ranting, could not decide.

“Apart from the fact that it would certainly increase the time you would be required to spend in Denathrius' presence - something you have always vehemently claimed to dislike? Then because you are in no way qualified for such a thing! You have only just scraped through this class, and that on my assistance - which I would be hard pressed to give you when you are under the Professor's thumb and forbidden to speak of what you are working on. It would be up to you to fool him into thinking you knew the subject well enough to be there, and, as much I love you, you are simply not that good."

Renathal caught it too late. And, by her blink, the Maw Walker had caught it, too. Vrednic, either sensing the tension or sick of the dramatic scene, slunk to the sitting room, claws clicking disapprovingly across the faux-wood floor. A beat of silence passed, as throbbing and uncomfortable as Renathal's finger, before the Maw Walker shook her head slightly to clear it, then spoke as if nothing monumental had just occurred.

“I know I’m not qualified," she said with slow, careful emphasis, gripping the edge of the table hard with her good hand, "and you know that, and Denathrius has to know it, too. So, don't you think his offer is suspicious? Don’t you want to find out what he’s playing at?”

"Of course," retorted Renathal stiffly, unsure if he was more relieved or offended to have his inadvertent admission so summarily ignored. "I should like to find out a great many things. Why Denathrius is interested in you at all, for one, and why you are interested in him for another. But not at the expense of your welfare."

"My... welfare?"

The Maw Walker's face was screwed up in perplexity again and, like a light had been switched on somewhere in his brain, Renathal was abruptly aware of how unnaturally pale it was, and that she was panting, and that her one good leg was shaking as it fought to remain upright. All his remaining outrage leaked from his chest as though it had been punctured. He was at her side in a shamefilled heartbeat, bloody dishrag dropped carelessly to the floor, catching her under the arms just before her collapse and easing her back into her chair.

"Dearest, I - I am sorry." He mumbled the words to her cast as he arranged it delicately on the footrest. "I - this was not the right time. I only meant..." Renathal stroked an absent pattern across the plaster, remembering Denathrius' last phone call and the conclusions he'd had no choice but to draw. "Only, I no longer know what Denathrius is capable of," he admitted in a rush. "I don't ... I do not think I know him as well as I once thought."

“Renathal.” The Maw Walker said his name in that unique way she had - the tender care of the consonants, and her hand on top of his, stroking his knuckles, melting some of the tension bunched up along his spine. “I’m so sorry. About all of this. Everything. You've done so much for me, and I know - I mean... I don't know - I can only imagine how this all must seem to you. I wish...” Renathal looked up as she paused, watching her bite her swollen lip over whatever she meant to say next. “It doesn’t matter," she decided, shaking her head. "None of it matters, really. Not Denathrius, not his class, not... anything else. Certainly none of it is worth hurting you. I won’t take the internship," she concluded firmly. "I will... figure out another way.”

“Really?”

Wholly taken aback, the word was out of his mouth before Renathal realised he had spoken aloud. And the raw vulnerability in it would have mortified him had the Maw Walker not smiled - a tired, but genuine smile - and gently squeezed his hand.

“Yes. Really. I -” She paused again, drawing a deep, shuddering breath before confessing, "I love you, too."

All the many ways Renathal had envisioned a joint declaration of love were nothing like this: him stuck in a knee-cracking crouch beside the Maw Walker's wheelchair, cupping her bruised face carefully in his still-bleeding hand, while she leaned down at an equally uncomfortable angle for a clumsy, desperate kiss they could take no further tonight. Dinner was no more romantic - the Maw Walker managed only a few mouthfuls before her medication took earnest effect. And no fantasy of Renathal's had ever seen him heaving his semi-conscious lover into his bed, propping her casts on a series of strategic pillows before tucking himself in awkwardly at her side.

Then her good hand crossed the fort of pillows to find his bandaged one in the dark and bring it to her lips.

"Thank you, Ren. For everything," she murmured drowsily against his fingers. "I love you so much."

And this at least - the exquisite warmth vibrating up his arm to his chest; the sensation both of being loved and being appreciated for his - was every bit as glorious as Renathal had always dreamed.

No one expected this update less than me. There's only the one chapter left (and two more smutty one shots) but I have no timeline for them and make no promises they'll ever actually see the light of day.

#A Shadow UNIverse #Renathal x Maw Walker #prince renathal #fanfiction #wow fanfiction #world of warcraft #shadowlands #alternate universe #university au #romance #slow burn #the maw walker #renathal fanfiction

[ph-arrt]

Renthal’s and Maw Walker’s portraits I drew for my dear friend @late-to-the-fandom ❤️

The Nightborne Maw Walker fits so beautifully. I do enjoy the “Light and Shadow” series so much! Highly recommend it.

#prince renathal #world of warcraft #artists on tumblr #my art #venthyr #nightborne #fanfiction #fanfic #archive of our own #digital art #procreate #graphic art #pointilism #dot work

[ao3feed-todoroki]

Hellsworn

hellsworn by Grand Phoenix

There's a new soul in Sinfall.

(Or, the Accuser introduces herself to the man whose flame shines brighter than that of the former prince of Quel'Thalas: Todoroki Touya, Enji's firstborn son and greatest failure.)

[Shadowlands era, post-Nathria; post-War Arc What-If]

Words: 5578, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga), World of Warcraft

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Characters: Dabi | Todoroki Touya, The Accuser | Harriet of the Crimson Shade, Draven (Warcraft), Renathal (Warcraft)

Relationships: Dabi | Todoroki Touya & The Accuser | Harriet of the Crimson Shade

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dabi | Todoroki Touya Being An Asshole, Mentioned Todoroki Enji | Endeavor, Todoroki Enji | Endeavor's Bad Parenting, Afterlife, Denial, Character Death, minor Kael'thas cameo, would've put him as a character tag, but he's too busy going 'dude WTF is wrong with you' at Dabi in silence to count as one, Mental Health Issues, Traumatized Dabi | Todoroki Touya, Ambiguous/Open Ending

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45321514

#AO3 Feed #FanFiction #AO3 Touya #♠ #Touya Todoroki #Dabi #Accuser #Draven #Renathal #🔥 #🏮 #R:T #A:Grand #Crossover #Mental Illness

[starryeyes2000]

Weekly Digest: 1/22/2023

Fic Posts/Updates for the previous week and a few extras. Hope all have a great week!

The Road Back: Chapter 31 (On A Knife's Edge) * Pike x OFC (Aalin) 🌟 Read on AO3 or FFN

Blast from the Past: Mudd, Harry Mudd 🌟 Read on AO3 or FFN

This is so inspiring me to finish the next Chapter of Aeres * Eomer x OFC (Seren) 🌟 Read on AO3 or FFN. (thanks @moonskip21)

i carry your heart masterlist | OCMasterlist | Author Masterlist

Other Recommendations:

Blog: Check out @karimac! Their blog is like a warm, cozy blanket on a cold day. Excellent MCU fics and 'old school mom' virtual hugs.

Fics: Taking the Tremaculum * @late-to-the-fandom (World of Warcraft) * Teen 🌟 Read on AO3 🌟 Prince Renathal struggles to come to terms with his time in the Maw and his relationship with his Maw Walker during the Venthyr's covenant assault on the Tremaculum.

A Kiss from a Rose * @darknightfrombeyond (Discovery of Witches) * Teen 🌟 Read on AO3 🌟Simone dreamed of him. As a child. Her vampire prince, her secret, and in those dreams she could almost see him. Could almost hear his voice . . . the whisper of something half-remembered. Calling her to find him. Not until college does Simone begin to write, to draft what would become her bestselling 'Infinite Regress' series of books. To purge those visions, to sooth the ache from her soul, unaware that her books too closely reflect the life of one very real Baldwin Montclair.

Series: Peaky Blinders Fanfiction - Piccola Rossa * @foxesandmagic * Mature 🌟 Read on AO3 🌟After the War, no one was quite the same. Even those that had stayed at home felt the strain of the fighting, the strain of warfare on civilians. People deal with change, and horrors, in different ways. For Luce, she left it all behind; for Stan, he tried to help his brothers in different ways without getting sucked into their world; and for Hal, he found himself looking for some kind of action. But what will Birmingham hold for the three of them, and how will they fit into the plans of Tommy Shelby, if at all?

Taglst: @arrthurpendragon @ocappreciation @ocappreciationtag @bardic-tales @themaradaniels @chickensarentcheap @darsynia

#Christopher Pike #Christopher Pike x OC #Star Trek #Star Trek: Discovery #Star Trek: Strange New Worlds #star trek fanfiction #fanfic #ocfanfic #ocfanfiction #Star Trek Discovery #Star Trek Strange New Worlds #strange new worlds #star trek: snw #star trek snw #snw #weekly digest #mcu #discovery of witches #peaky blinders #world of warcraft

[daedricprincessorigin]

(magical recording starts)

Kael'thas: oh yeah? Well why don't you go hang from the ceiling and take a nap? Bat-looking ass

Lorinath: you know what? Fine! I will! he walks off camera

Kael'thas looks at the camera: is he actually going to?

Magaine, from behind the camera: yeah he is, look

(the camera turns and we see Lorinath upside down, adjusting his legs so he has a better grip on the bars)

Kael'thas, laughing his ass off: he actually did it! Oh Light that's hilarious!

Prince Renethal, from off-camera: what is going on now?

(the camera pans to him, looking up, then at the demon hunter hanging from the ceiling, his wings dramatically wrapped around him now)

Renethal: Maw Walker, what are you doing?

Lorinath: taking a nap!

(camera pans to Kael'thas, now on the floor holding his sides from laughing so hard)

Renethal: Magaine, what are you doing? What is that spell?

Magaine: I'm so going to show this to Lor'themar.

Renethal: (sighs) how did he even get up there?

Magaine: I don't know. Hey Lorinath, how did you get up there?!

Lorinath: ........ I'm not sure, actually. Presumably a lot of climbing, jumping, and some flapping.

(Kael'thas's laughter gets even louder)

#world of warcraft #world of warcraft memes #world of warcraft oc #kael'thas sunstrider #prince renathal #Lorinath #Magaine #for some context: Lorinath is Kael'thas's younger brother #is this entirely in character for Kael'thas? being an older brother trumps being an arrogant prince #world of warcraft fanfiction

[fluffleforce-mysdrym]

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: World of Warcraft Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Renathal (Warcraft)/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Renathal (Warcraft), Tenaval, Devahia, Vorpalia, Maw Walker Additional Tags: Drama, Angst, Adventure, Romance, Eventual Smut, Eventual Fluff Summary:

Renathal finds himself struggling with the weight of his sire's betrayal, the need to unify Revendreth, and the growing feelings for the mortal who has shown up to aid his cause.

#world of warcraft #prince renathal #prince renathal x oc #featuring the fearstalker in memories past #because i can #wow fanfiction

[arkham-cat]

#it speaks #fanfic #my writing #ao3 #fanfiction #world of warcraft #warcraft #undeadshipweek #undead #the scourge #koltira deathweaver #thassarian #Nathanos Blightcaller #mathias shaw #prince renathal #theotar #the mad Duke #sylvanas windrunner #shadowlands

[late-to-the-fandom]

Time: DWC Mini-Mode July 29

I haven’t written a drabble in so long but I was finally inspired by a writer’s block exercise and by the @daily-writing-challenge weekend word! So here is a quick scene with Renathal and Elisewin taking place between chapters 5 and 6 of Wend in the Shadows.

900ish words and no trigger warnings unless you’re triggered by shameless and terrible flirting.

“If you’re finished, I will take the tray?”

“It can wait. Stay a while longer.”

“Very well, your Highness.”

Elisewin’s face revealed nothing, but Renathal thought something warm in her reply, and the speed with which she obeyed, indicated she was pleased. She sank into the high backed chair opposite his and glanced around the informal parlor. It was crammed with as many tapestries, portraits, and personal paraphernalia as any other room in Darkwall Tower, but it was not a room she had yet been instructed to clean, and her pale eyes wandered the tastefully crowded sideboards, mantle, and walls inspecting the various objet d’art.

Renathal allowed her to indulge her curiosity while he sipped the last cold dregs of his tea and struggled to find a reason to justify why he had asked her to stay. He could hardly admit he just enjoyed her company.

“Let us discuss your progress,” he decided after a minute’s comfortable silence. “You have been in Revendreth several months. How do you find the realm now you have spent more time among us?”

“I -well, I -”

Elisewin’s fingers plucked at the hem of her scarlet tunic as she struggled with her answer. Her face was blank, but Renathal had the impression a battle was taking place behind her white-blue eyes. Honesty versus tact?

“I think it would be a bleak place to spend one’s eternity,” she admitted at last.

Not exactly the rousing enthusiasm Renathal was hoping to hear. He grimaced and brought the empty teacup to his lips.

“But,” she continued hastily, “I don’t suppose it’s meant to be enjoyable, is it? I mean, we’re all here to be punished, aren’t we?”

It was Renathal’s turn to deliberate his response. His instinct to defend his home grappled with the reality of what he knew Revendreth must look like from the perspective of a mortal soul.

“Revendreth’s primary purpose is not punishment, but atonement,” he explained carefully. “And I suppose atonement is rarely enjoyable for the sort of souls that most desperately require it. Unfortunate, but necessary, and ostensibly temporary. Though it may take eons, it is always intended that a soul will achieve atonement and be reborn back into the cycle of their mortal coil. Or choose to join the ranks of the Venthyr, a noble and eternal purpose,” he added with no little pride. “And once Venthyr, there is much in Revendreth to be enjoyed.”

“Really? What do you enjoy about it?”

Renathal opened his mouth automatically to answer, but no words emerged for several awkward seconds. And why? He knew he enjoyed a great many things, but his brain could not seem to locate them. At the moment, he could conceive of nothing more pleasurable in all the realm than sitting here comfortably in his own chair with his mortal, indulging in conversation free of double meaning or guile; unburdening himself - something he had not done for an exceptional length of time. Probably what bid him to answer honestly:

“Once, there was much I enjoyed. The society, the frivolities. The challenge provided by fresh souls, and the keeping of the Harvesters and nobility in line. I have foiled many an elaborate plot, and,” his lips quirked sharply, “orchestrated my share, as well. And in between I have devoted myself to the mastery of many an interesting and useful skill. But lately…” Renathal sighed and traced the rim of his empty teacup with a long claw like nail. “Lately, I find the things I once enjoyed have rather lost their flavour. I suppose I am old at last.”

“You don’t look it.”

Elisewin only seemed to realise what she said after the words had left her. She blinked, and Renathal found the purple heat in her cheekbones quite as delightful as the sentiment itself. He made no attempt to conceal his wide smirk.

“Oh, do I not?” he teased her, stretching his legs languidly and watching her cheeks burn that pretty, heated violet. “Well… I am gratified you find my appearance satisfactory. I suppose there is some benefit to being eternal after all.”

Renathal permitted himself a low chuckle Elisewin did not join. She shook back her dark hair and sat up straighter, rallying her supreme self confidence once more.

“Can you not ever leave the realm?” she asked over the last echo of his laughter. “Visit the rest of the Shadowlands? Or - I don’t know - go somewhere else? It’s not like you are here to be punished after all.”

All Renathal’s remaining mirth died, exactly as he himself could not.

“I’m afraid not,” he admitted quietly. “The Master would never allow it. And he is in the right, of course,” he added quickly lest she hear the resentment in his tone. “This is my… eternal place.”

Renathal stretched his arms wide, indicating the room, the tower, and the realm itself all in one laconic gesture, his teacup swinging dangerously in his careless grip. Were it not empty, he would have flung anima-infused tea across the dark upholstery. As it was, Elisewin jumped up on instinct, reached across the little table between them and plucked the porcelain gently from Renathal’s hand.

“Well, I think you ought to consider a holiday,” she said stubbornly, setting the teacup on the tea tray and lifting it into her arms. “We all need a break from time to time. Even a Prince. Your Highness.”

She added his title as a formal afterthought before giving a practiced bow that barely rattled the contents of the tray - a marked improvement - and padding swiftly from the parlor.

Renathal watched her go, lost in pleasant, unprofessional musings. And it was some time before his thoughts could be captured and safely returned to Elisewin’s parting comment. Could he leave Revendreth? It was a tempting idea atop the whole world of tempting ideas she offered, but, for the first time in millennia, there was nowhere else Renathal would rather be.

#daily writing challenge #renathal x maw walker #a wend in the shadows #renathal fanfiction #wow fanfiction #shadowlands #venthyr #revendreth #Prince Renathal

[late-to-the-fandom]

Chapter 2: An Ember Club to Remember

In which Renathal takes the Maw Walker on a potentially ill-advised date. Rated M for smut (but, you know, the classy kind). Full tags and triggers available on Ao3 here.

Renathal stared at his reflection in the gilt framed mirror of his wardrobe and mentally recited all the reasons why taking the Maw Walker on a date was not a bad idea.

For one, he had already asked her. Four sessions of "private instruction" (really a nominal survey of whatever had been covered in the most recent lecture followed by an hour of increasingly flirtatious banter) had worn down any pretense of keeping their relationship strictly academic, and Renathal had ventured the invitation at the end of their last meeting. To his great pleasure (but not quite surprise) the Maw Walker had readily agreed, so whether or not it had been bad form to ask, it would surely be worse to cancel at this late hour. He was due to pick her up at their agreed location in - he glanced at the clock on his bedside table - twenty minutes.

He returned to his reflection, forced a casual confidence onto its features, then retrieved his formal coat and swung it briskly over his shoulders. He did not often have occasion to wear this particularly dramatic garment, but he kept it well-maintained regardless - it had been a gift from Denathrius. And the thought of his mentor strengthened Renathal’s conclusion that spending an evening with the Maw Walker outside his office was not utterly ill-advised.

Because secondly, hadn't Denathrius instructed him to keep an eye on her? To find out what he could about her odd appearance in the department? Not that this was what the professor had in mind, conceded Renathal, sliding into his shoes. And certainly any suspicions she might be an Oribos-sponsored spy had faded as he grew increasingly to crave her company.  But he could not deny there were some discrepancies in the Maw Walker's story (such as why the Crimson Shade assured him she had the necessary pre-reqs for this course, when she herself confessed she had little interest and even less experience in the subject) that while probably not nefarious, still made for a plausible-enough excuse should the professor or anyone else question why Renathal continued to meet with her.

Thus validated, he swung shut the wardrobe door and considered his bedroom critically. His darkly striped trousers felt suddenly a size too constricting at the outside possibility the Maw Walker’s pale eyes might wander the same furnishings later. Not that he was expecting her to return here with him, but ... remembering the glances she often threw his way when she thought he was focused on the computer screen ... well, he didn't think the prospect was entirely inconceivable.

But was it ethical?

Renathal considered this as he pulled the bedroom door closed and swept down the short hall to his flat's open concept living space, but it gave him only the briefest pause. After all, Denathrius did it all the time. Or at least, Renathal assumed that's what he did with his interns; those specially chosen graduate students who had the privilege of "assisting" him in his private research and with whom he spent rather a lot of intimate time alone in the department’s sub-basement (nicknamed, the Sanguine Depths). He doubted Oribos encouraged such a thing, but if the department head was doing it, it couldn’t be strictly forbidden. Nevertheless, he made a point of ignoring his copy of the staff's conduct guide as he straightened his bookshelves, did a quick sweep of all surfaces for anything untidy, and gave Vrednic a quick pet goodbye.

Because the last - and most important - reason he was going on this date whether or not it was an objectively good idea was because he really, really wanted to. Renathal had worked tirelessly, selflessly, fruitlessly for Revendreth for years, and intelligent, attractive, interesting people who were just as interested in him had proven scarce throughout them. Another unfortunate side effect to life as Denathrius' second-in-everything. Anyone who had ever shown his TA the slightest interest typically became captivated by the professor shortly after. And, as Renathal reached his parking space, brushed the door's lock panel and felt it click open under his hand, the thought that had threatened him most the last two weeks wormed its way to the forefront of his mind.

Why was the Maw Walker interested in him?

He dropped heavily onto the leather seat and jabbed the engine start button, irritated at the question's very existence. He was the next thing to Denathrius' intellectual equal, ran Revendreth with aplomb, and - Renathal angled the rearview mirror to inspect his reflection again - was just as pleasant to look at, as far as he could be allowed to judge. There was absolutely no reason someone should not find him as appealing as Denathrius. If anything, it was more extraordinary that no one had done so before.

Renathal’s eyes fell to the dashboard interface, and he started at the time. He was late. He shifted into reverse, condemning the question to the deepest recesses of his mind, then sped from the garage (rather faster than usual) determined to feel nothing but entirely self-assured.

This resolve's first test came as Renathal pulled into the dingy alley beside the tall building the Maw Walker had identified as her on-campus accommodation. He eyed the heavily graffitied brick and iron and the overflowing dumpster with distaste. The dilapidated building and its twin on the other side seemed to huddle together for comfort, bowed under the weight of years of neglect. And beyond them, shadows oozing between their narrow gap like some hungry, stygian creature, lurked the Maw. Renathal repressed a shudder as he slid dubiously from the car, and watched - half-impressed, half-exasperated - as the Maw Walker jumped from the last landing of the rickety fire escape.

"Surely that is not this building's recommended exit?" he asked by way of greeting.

The Maw Walker turned, brushing her coat free of rust flakes and other unidentifiable debris. It was the same long coat she habitually wore, though it looked somehow naked without the purple hooded sweatshirt underneath. Speaking of which... Renathal's eyes widened.

"The lift's broken," she panted. "And there's a sofa on the fourth floor landing I didn't feel like climbing over."

This explanation was entirely lost on Renathal, who was captivated by the sight of the Maw Walker’s long, bare legs. An excessive amount of leg for where they were going, truth be told, but even if there had been a tactful way to say this, he had no desire to see her change. She stepped toward him, the movement of her short, violet dress revealing a dark pattern on her thighs... tattoos?

"Wow." The Maw Walker's voice echoed some of Renathal's own breathless admiration. He forced his gaze upward and found her staring at him just as openly. "You look .... dashing," she decided after a pause.

Her eyes flashed with that heavy, dark something that so intrigued him. Then she blinked.

"Is this your car?"

Renathal smirked, momentarily distracted.

"Of course," he declared, placing a proud hand on the hood.

"This is your car?" she repeated.

His smirk shrank by several sharp teeth.

"Is there a problem?"

"No. I just..." The Maw Walker paused, scratching a sudden itch at her nose, and coincidentally hiding her mouth from view. "I've never actually been inside one of these before. Do the doors lift up?"

He brushed the passenger side door lock panel and pulled it open with mock chagrin.

"Not this model."

"What a shame."

Renathal ignored this, instead offering the Maw Walker his hand and his most winsome smile. As he had hoped, she laughed - the sound pairing perfectly with his own growing excitement - and accepted his hand, letting go only when she was fully situated inside. Renathal shut the door and returned to the driver's side, noting absently how the Maw's encroaching darkness seemed much less ominous than it had when he first arrived.

-

"So, is this allowed?" asked the Maw Walker, once they were safely on the road. "Teachers taking students on dates, I mean."

Interesting, thought Renathal, how she waited until they had already left to ask.

"Well, I am not technically a teacher,” he explained, and for once the admission was painless. "I am merely a humble teaching assistant.”

"Ah. Humble. Yes," was the indelicate reply.

For several minutes, the purr of the engine was the only sound, all Renathal's masterful focus concentrated on not glancing at the long, bare legs beside him. Then leather creaked as the Maw Walker shifted in her seat, leaning towards him to ask:

"So, where exactly are you taking me?"

The Ember Club was the newest, hottest entertainment in the Shadowlands. Housed in a renovated turn-of-the-century mansion in the recently gentrified part of the old Ember Ward, the building stood out like a decadent beacon from its envious, abandoned neighbours. It was strictly members-only, memberships extended only by invitation, and only VIP memberships such as Renathal’s granted the privilege of bringing a guest. A privilege he had never exercised, and Renathal felt every inch the visiting dignitary as he escorted the Maw Walker through the gate, across the expensively antiquated courtyard, to the many-gabled, excessively-turreted recreation-gothic mansion.

"Sorry, when you said club, I thought you meant, like, a night club," murmured the Maw Walker into Renathal's ear.

Behind them, the tearful rants of Rovinette (the Ember Club hostess) could still be heard echoing across the imported stone. Securing entrance in spite of his guest's unacceptable attire had required Renathal to invoke Denathrius (a prominent Ember Club patron, whom the staff had no wish to offend).

"I did say it would be a formal affair," Renathal reminded her without reproach; his current high spirits (and the pleasant nearness of the Maw Walker's lips) insulated him nicely from the scandalized looks around them as they navigated the high steps to the door.

The Maw Walker eyed the long, trailing skirts of the whispering socialites ahead of them as they crossed the threshold. Then blinked at the veritable sea of designer finery perambulating within, her own short dress sticking out like a rogue wave.

"I'm afraid I don't own anything this formal."

Renathal glanced down quickly. The imitation candelabras providing the club's only light (its brief foray into real tallow candles having come to a fiery and unanimous end) were dim enough to be considered atmospheric but not so dark he could not see the Maw Walker's face. It appeared as blank and impassive as ever, but Renathal thought she stuck unnecessarily close to his side. He hid his smile quickly behind a champagne flute stolen from a passing waiter's tray. He handed her a second, and fixed his expression into something merely thoughtful.

"I always did think the club's dress code could stand to be a bit less stuffy," he said, tapping his glass lightly to hers. "And I happen to think you look exceptionally lovely tonight."

The Maw Walker's cheekbones were a distinctly darker pink as she blinked, then tipped back her glass.

-

Renathal had anticipated a certain amount of awkwardness. All the questions he might usually ask on a first date such as her major (undeclared), her family situation (a dead sister she did not like to discuss), and her reason for starting university later than standard (caring for said sister until the obligation came to its untimely end) had been covered in their evening study sessions. He had therefore prepared a few subjects of interest in case talk should lull. He used none of them. To his delight and surprise, conversation flowed as easily with the Maw Walker here as it did in his office.

Of course, the Ember Club had to be given credit for some of this. It provided an unending wealth of interesting stories. Renathal led her through a lazy tour of the mansion, regaling her with the exploits and entertainments the club had offered in its short, illustrious history: the various archaic demonstrations it occasionally hosted, the disparate culinary experiences crafted by its picky and eccentric chef. On reaching the grand ballroom and waiting for the small band of musicians to strike up their first song, Renathal reminisced on the time the club contrived to fill the same room with a menagerie of exotic fauna. All of which promptly escaped and ran amok through the old mansion, its courtyard, and the ward at large.

By the end, the Maw Walker was gripping his arm for balance as her laughter threatened to collapse her. Renathal glowed at the sound.

"If they try that again, will you bring me back?" she asked, eyes sparkling wetly with mirth.

"Absolutely," he assured her, his own smile irrepressible at the thought of this joint future plan. "I apologise tonight's entertainment is nothing more exceptional than dancing."

He gestured eloquently to the vast ballroom floor where couples were beginning to gather at the sound of the tuning instruments. The high humour ebbed from the Maw Walker's features. She cocked her head at him.

"Do you dance?"

Renathal raised an eyebrow.

"Of course."

"Oh, of course," she mocked lightly.

"Do you not?"

"Not that sort of dancing."

The Maw Walker jerked her chin at the couples facing each other, then lifted her glass to her lips. It was her second, and its contents were nearly gone. Renathal was still on his first, but felt as garrulous and full of good feeling as if he had downed something much stronger than his hardly-touched champagne.

"Do you mean to say you have never received formal instruction, or you have never had occasion to dance with a partner at all?"

"Both?" She laughed again, though this was a shakier, more self-conscious sound. "Maybe at a wedding once when I was young, but- hey!"

She tried to snatch back the glass Renathal had plucked from her hand, but he had already set it next to his own on the nearest convenient surface.

"Come," he commanded brightly, a hand on her elbow urging her forward.

"I was still drinking that!"

"I promise to procure you another," he said with dramatic formality as he led her to the highly polished floor. "After we have finished your lesson for the day."

She started to laugh again. Then Renathal took her hand and positioned it on his shoulder, placing his own just under her shoulder blade, acquainting himself with the warm, bare skin her backless dress exposed. And the Maw Walker fell quiet. He could feel her delicious shiver underneath his fingers. The band began to play a minor, lilting waltz, and Renathal took up her other hand and - gently, firmly - guided her to movement.

It was slow-going at first, but he hardly noticed the couples whirling expertly around them. He kept up a steady stream of low instructions and encouragements, all directed into the Maw Walker's dark hair as she compulsively watched her feet.

Until the first song ended and Renathal removed his hand from hers briefly to lift her chin, forcing her to find his face.

"Look at me," he ordered softly. "I will not let you fall."

And, for once, the Maw Walker had nowhere to hide. Her fuchsia blush, the sharp catch of her breath, the tug of her teeth against her lip were all laid bare before him. She tried to shake hair across her face, but Renathal brushed it back before reclaiming her hand.

"You are ... very good at this," she murmured as they resumed.

"Thank you," he said, every muscle in his face working to keep his features free from smugness. "I believe you show some talent as well."

"A promising student?"

Her pale eyes glittered with mischief, but Renathal could feel her pounding heartbeat.

"Most promising," he agreed, lips curling wickedly around the words. "But I believe you would benefit from further instruction."

Her laugh was light and breathless, her face still flushed but relaxed; and the Maw Walker settled comfortably against Renathal, surrendering herself to his reign.

And if that was all there was to the evening, Renathal reflected an hour later as they finally stumbled from the ballroom, it was still better then he had ever dared hope. They had danced every dance, the Maw Walker flush against him by the end, and continuing to cling to his arm as they wended through the mansion, retrieved their coats, and crossed the courtyard quickly under the just-beginning rain. But, settling into his car, some of Renathal's earlier trepidation caught up with him. They were leaving behind the sheltered strictures - and myriad chaperones - of his well-planned Ember Club date and venturing into the uncertain night, and he had no idea what came next.

The evening had been perfect. Almost suspiciously so. Some subconscious part of him had fully expected the date to fail, the Maw Walker to realise he was no substitute for Denathrius after all and make some polite excuse for why she needed to get back. But she said nothing, only leaned casually toward him. Her hand tapped a mindless rhythm on the console, perilously close to his arm. Renathal wondered if she too was missing the easy, natural fit their bodies had learned over the last hour.

Wasn't he supposed to be taking more risks this year? Creating his own long-sought change?

"I must apologise," he said, hoping the sound of the rain would hide any audible nerves. "I never did get you that second drink I promised."

"No, you didn't," she replied playfully.

Renathal's gaze strayed to the passenger seat. The Maw Walker's cheeks were still flushed, or at least, they appeared so under the flickering light of the streetlamps. Her eyes met his. She smiled, and he did not think he was imagining its encouraging undercurrent.

"Shall we remedy that?"

There was the briefest hesitation, though Renathal felt every millisecond until -

"Yes, please."

- the tightness in his ribs relaxed. He exhaled, head buzzing with a dizzy echo of his earlier self-confidence, and set his face on the road again, lips twitching in an ill-concealed smirk. What he would do when they actually got to his flat was its own set of unknowns, but surely there was nothing left that could spoil this evening? Unless...

A horrible, unconsidered thought struck Renathal.

"I do hope you are not scared of dogs?"

-

"This is Vrednic."

A quarter hour later, Renathal made the requisite introductions, relieved - in spite of the Maw Walker's many reassurances on the car ride - that neither party seemed unhappy with the other's unfamiliar presence. His enormous beast wound hazardous circles around the Maw Walker's legs, panting approvingly, and she in turn was more openly enthusiastic than Renathal had yet seen her about anything.

"Oh, what a good boy, yes you are," she crowed, petting whatever bit of grey-black fur met her hand as Vrednic coiled round and round her, and Renathal felt as full of heady pride as if she were complimenting himself. She let her talking-to-dogs voice drop as she asked, "What sort of dog is he?"

"I have no idea," Renathal admitted, taking her coat solicitously and hanging it beside his on the rack by his flat's front door. "An amalgamation of different breeds. An absolute gargoyle of a dog," he added affectionately, scratching the spot under Vrednic's chin that made his stump of a tail beat the overdyed rug.

Leaving his housemate to temporarily entertain his guest, Renathal crossed to the kitchen side of the open living space in search of something appropriate to offer her to drink. The number of people he’d brought back to this flat could be counted on one nerve-wracked hand. What could not be so quickly counted was how long it had been since the last one, and consequently he kept little in the way of entertaining beverages. There was half a bottle of white wine in the refrigerator (but that really paired better with a meal), and some champagne stowed away at the top of a cupboard (a gift from Denathrius, Renathal was saving for some future special occasion). He snapped the cupboard door shut, berating himself for being so unprepared. But perhaps alcohol was a bad idea anyway. If this evening continued its promising trajectory, he did not want the Maw Walker drunk.

Tea, then. That was safely unassuming. And hadn't Theotar mentioned something about the Maw Walker enjoying it?

Renathal filled the kettle at the sink and set it on the range, then turned to check how his two friends were faring. Vrednic had rolled all his considerable weight over and was allowing the Maw Walker the privilege of rubbing his hairy underside. This she did with another laugh - a hitherto unheard version, one that wrinkled her nose - and a litany of dulcet praise. Renathal leaned his arms on the counter, watching quietly. And only when she looked up and caught his eye did he become aware of the inelegant grin plastered across his face. 

He turned hastily away, as if checking the kettle. Not a pretense he could realistically keep up for long, but the Maw Walker let the moment pass graciously unremarked upon, saying merely, "You know, I did not see you as a dog person."

"Oh?" called Renathal over his shoulder. On inspiration, he began pulling teapot and cups off a shelf to hide the smile he could not scrub away. "What sort of person did you see me as?"

"I don't know," came the thoughtful reply.

The sound of footsteps muffled by carpet made Renathal glance behind him. The Maw Walker had risen and was conducting a slow inspection of the bookshelves built into one windowless wall. She tilted her head to read the spines of the books and the titles of the modest collection of hardcopy media he maintained. Vrednic followed at her heels, nuzzling her unoccupied hands with indignant determination. She scratched his head absently.

"I don't know what I was expecting," she repeated. "Every time I think I've got you worked out, you surprise me."

Renathal had no idea whether this was good or bad and, currently, did not care. The minute attention she spared each of his belongings felt like a fingernail down his spine, the frisson forcing him to subtly adjust his trousers, clear his throat roughly, and ask "What sort of tea do you prefer?", by way of distraction.

The Maw Walker looked up. Something uninterpretable flitted across her face. She quickly flattened it and waffled, "Oh ... um... just whatever you have," then, glancing around more purposefully, asked, "Where's your washroom?".

She held up her hands, palms out, presumably indicating the shining evidence of canine affection. Renathal pointed her down the hall and to the right before returning to the kitchen and fishing one of the better treats out for Vrednic.

"You did brilliantly," he said, stroking the dog's rough fur. "It would not have gone better had we rehearsed it. You have my thanks."

His housemate accepted the praise and the reward with a wag of acknowledgement and took both away to the flat's spare bedroom to savour.

Renathal washed his own hands, then poured nearly boiling water into the smaller of his teapots and set to choosing the proper tea for the occasion (nothing too caffeinated but nothing that would look like he was trying to put his guest to sleep). He was just debating whether to arrange the settings in the small dining alcove or on the table between the two handsome living room chairs when the Maw Walker reappeared at his elbow.

"This is a really nice place," she said, her vague gesture presumably indicating the entire flat. "I had no idea being a TA paid so well.”

"All Denathrius' doing," explained Renathal proudly. He began laying the tea things out on the counter as the Maw Walker had already slid onto the stool behind it. "He has been excessively good to me."

"Mm."

She made a noncommittal noise and lifted the still-steaming cup Renathal set in front of her to her lips. Renathal might have assumed her grimace was due to the heat had he not noticed a similar response from her the last two weeks whenever the topic of the professor came up.

"He's quite good to all his staff," continued Renathal doggedly. "Most department heads would not take such pains to ensure their TA was so well accommodated."

"I guess he hasn't seen your office then."

The smile she flicked on and off marked her words ostensibly as jest, but they still stung Renathal, and his attempt to return the expression was strained.

"The department's budget has been stretched thin in recent years. Everyone is required to make sacrifices."

"I guess you haven't seen his office then," she said, looking away, suddenly interested in the framed prints on the nearest dark paneled wall.

Renathal stared. He wasn't sure what was most upsetting, the pointed commentary or the fact that she had been in Denathrius' office for some reason. Irascible curiousity reared its head, like a monster rising from some murky abyss. But he could think of no way to pose the question without sounding more accusatory than he had any right to be. He busied his hands with the tea preparations, instead.

"The research Denathrius is embroiled in is important and innovative, and therefore extremely valuable," he said stiffly. He stirred in sugars, the silver spoon clinking offensively against his cup's innocent porcelain sides. "The revenue it will accrue is the key to saving the department from the drought. Whatever the professor needs to complete this work cannot be considered excessive."

"You seem to know a lot about this mysterious research," said the Maw Walker mildly, watching Renathal drop the spoon onto the rest with a tinny clatter. "Do you help with it at all?"

It was Renathal's turn to deliberately avoid the Maw Walker's eye. He brought the cup to his lips without stirring, buying himself time. The truth was Denathrius kept his project extremely close to his broad chest. Only he and Inerva knew the full details, though rumours certainly circulated. They originated mostly from ex-interns - accepted and discarded in rapid succession - and Renathal knew better than to pay them any real heed. But to himself - Denathrius' TA and the "firstborn" of his department - the professor entrusted nothing. A slight that ached at Renathal like a physical wound.

He drank as long as he reasonably could before lowering his cup a fraction and admitting, "No. My purview is the students and staff."

"Odd," she said blithely, "that he trusts you to run Revendreth, but not to help with this incredibly important project that will presumably win the department fame and fortune. I wonder why."

This was too much.

"Denathrius may run his department any way he chooses without input from students," Renathal snapped. "Particularly students who have yet to master even the basics of his subject."

The Maw Walker blinked at him, and Renathal had to bite his tongue to quell his own rising fury. At her, for poking at this most painful of subjects. At himself, for his display of temper. And at Denathrius, who was somehow contriving to ruin their date without even being present. He inhaled shakily through his nose and swallowed more tea.

"That is to say," he said at last, in lieu of apology, "when you know Denathrius and the department itself better, you will see that every decision he makes, however unconventional, is for its greater good."

"Oh, I don't plan to have anything to do with him or his department any longer than I have to."

It would have hurt Renathal less if she had reached across the counter and slapped him.

"Then what are you doing here?" he managed in a strangled voice, slamming his cup into its saucer and spilling tea over the edge. "Why bother with private lessons if you find the subject such a waste of your time? Why agree to see me if my work and my department is so distasteful? I am hardly that different from Denathrius, after a-"

"You are nothing like Denathrius," the Maw Walker interrupted, and the thrum of real anger he had never heard from her stunned Renathal into silence.

"You," she said, pointing a finger at Renathal as she spoke, "are patient and attentive and considerate. And you take education seriously, it's not just about ... accruing an illustrious reputation for yourself." She spat each virtue at him as if they were condemnable crimes. "And no, alright, if you want it honestly, I haven't been coming for extra help because I care anything about the subject, I came because of you. Because you're intelligent and attractive and I like hearing you talk. And I came with you tonight because I wanted to see if I liked hearing you talk just as much outside of your office. And because I - I thought I ... might enjoy myself." Her shoulders slumped as her fit of impassioned pique died abruptly, and she blinked, shocked by her own speech.

Renathal rarely indulged in enough alcohol to be considered properly drunk, but he still recognised the sensation. The elation of her open compliments and her admission of definite interest warred with the indignity of having them thrown at him in such an accusatory fashion. He wracked his swimming brain but could not think up the proper response. In the end, he could only ask, the words slightly slurred, "And ... did you?"

"Yes. I did," she said simply.

There seemed nothing else for either of them to say. For two unnaturally long minutes, there was only the sound of Vrednic's distant, rumbling snores. The Maw Walker dropped her gaze to her teacup and stared, as if trying to remember what to do with it. Renathal reached across the counter and pressed the cup into her limp hands, adding awkwardly, "You should drink it before it gets cold."

She brought the cup halfway to her mouth, paused, then set it back down without drinking, and when she next looked up at Renathal, she had reassumed her trademark impassivity. All his remaining hopes plummeted. He lifted his own still-dripping cup and drank, swallowing his dismay.

"Two things," said the Maw Walker, and held up two fingers to illustrate her concept. "One - when I say yes to a drink, I never mean tea."

Renathal paused his inner battle with bitter disappointment and furrowed his brow.

"Theotar mentioned you were fond of tea."

"No, I'm fond of Theotar. I tolerate his brew for friendship's sake."

She said this with a hint of her usual, serene smile, that grew as she stepped around the counter into what was undeniably Renathal's personal space. 

"What is the second thing?" he asked, voice low and throaty, eyes riveted to hers; unwilling to trust he was reading this situation right, until the Maw Walker removed the cup from his hands and pushed it onto the counter.

"When I say I'll come back to someone's flat for a drink," she said, so close he could feel the breath behind each tantalising word. "I don't mean tea then either."

Her eyes flicked to his lips. And she was still smiling that infuriatingly self-assured smile when Renathal caught hold of her chin and kissed her for the first time.

It was very like their first dance; a slow, careful exploration that the Maw Walker let him lead. Renathal lingered long in the outset, memorizing the pattern of her lips before gently teasing them open. He cupped her face with careful fingers, coaxing her closer, urging her deeper. She followed his mouth's languid pace obediently, but her hands betrayed her eagerness. They skimmed willfully up his chest, plucking at his collar, and had undone the first buttons before his preoccupied brain understood what she was about. She traced the outline of his collarbones, her fingernails conjuring heat across his skin like delicate brands.

On instinct, Renathal clutched her to him, ignoring his better sense; that small, calculating part of his brain that shouted warnings through libidinous haze. It would not do to seem too desperate, too wanton, to let his hands wandering her naked back betray how badly he needed this to last. Nevertheless, his nails drew dangerous patterns down the Maw Walker's exposed spine, and her sharp arch and breathy cry at such comparatively modest affection drowned out any more arguments from Renathal's tenuous self-control.

And then his hands were everywhere, selfishly grabbing and stroking and squeezing any soft curve they could find. The Maw Walker melted at each touch, arms thrown around him as she fought to line her body up exactly with his. She moaned against his mouth in need and frustration at the stifling clothing in her way, her unbridled desire setting Renathal's blood on fire. Before he could think twice - once, even - his hands were sliding purposefully up the pretty patterns decorating her thighs. Another generous gasp fueled his boldness, and he flipped the hem of the blessedly short dress carelessly away to find ...nothing, not even the flimsiest cloth. Just exposed, almost dripping wetness.

Now it was Renathal groaning into their clumsy, broken kiss, a long, guttural sound of triumph and shock. Had she been this bare the entire evening, waiting for him to notice, or had she made some secret adjustment to her wardrobe while in the washroom? He wanted to ask, but the words were lost in a sudden surge of white-hot arousal as the Maw Walker's hands, abandoning his shoulders for his belt, brushed the straining front of his trousers.

His body demanded Renathal find something to pin her against immediately ... but where? The counter was full of ridiculous tea, the walls all covered in what suddenly seemed an unnecessary number of frames and shelves. He struggled to think against sheer mindless lust as the Maw Walker's fingers conquered his belt buckle and slipped under his waistband, tortuously close to where he needed them. He had no sofa (another belatedly obvious design flaw) and the two armchairs, while large, were rather too stiff and decorous for his intended purpose. The bed seemed presumptuous, but surely that was where this was going, except...

His most thoughtless oversight of the entire evening hit Renathal like a punch to his coiled and heated gut. He ripped his mouth away to confess raggedly, "I don't ... have any protection."

The Maw Walker blinked several times, interpreting his words through fervent fog; the most suspense-laden pause of Renathal's entire existence until -

"Don't worry," she finally said between gulping breaths. "I'm well protected." At his own slow blink, she added, "Birth control?"

Renathal felt a twinge of embarrassment for being so slow on the uptake, but it was quickly buried under another wave of demanding desire as the Maw Walker's insatiable hands teased the line of pale hair they had discovered on his abdomen.

"Perfect," he murmured, leaning in to capture her lips again.

This time she spoke between open, messy kisses, "You don't ... do this a lot, do you?"

Ignoring the blush creeping up his cheeks, Renathal focused on hoisting her into his arms, hands fastened securely underneath her dress. Embarrassment dissolved as the Maw Walker gasped and locked her legs around him, and he staggered forward, saying ruefully, "I suppose it has been a while."

"Why is that?" she murmured against his ear before tracing the shell with her tongue, and Renathal's brain wasn't working well enough to think up lies or concoct more flattering half-truths.

"Lack of opportunity," he admitted roughly. He didn't really want to discuss this - he didn't really want to talk at all just now - but the struggle to keep the Maw Walker in his arms and open the bedroom door at the same time left him no way to distract her from replying, "Oh yes, I've heard sex is hard to come by at university."

"It is when you live in the shadow of Denathrius," he growled, the words muffled against her hair, but she must have understood because she joked no more and he had purchase on the doorknob at last.

Renathal stumbled through the door and to the bed, depositing the Maw Walker roughly and hastily following her down. Between both sets of furious hands, they managed to tug off dress and shirt and undershirt and throw them aside. But reluctance to keep their lips from each other for more than a second made the removal of his trousers more of a challenge. Renathal was forced to roll off her to divest himself of his final layers, but the Maw Walker's moan as she drank in the sight of him made the brief separation worthwhile.

She sat up, deliciously bare chest heaving as her eyes wandered his body in undisguised hunger. She brought her gaze to his with a heated smile, and declared, "You are in nobody's shadow."

After which, coherent words were hard to come by for a while. Renathal's tongue was busy seeking out the taste of her praise, and his brain refused to process anything but the exquisite sensations. Skin, so much skin, soft and everywhere, wrapped around him. Music that occasionally had his name in it, which much be the Maw Walker's moans. And then a heat that made focus on anything else impossible, his whole body's singular purpose to be consumed by it, to be deeper, deeper, deeper, to give her more, to give her all...

When Renathal's mind resurfaced, every thought was tinted in bright, peaceful sunshine - despite the black night still lingering outside his window. To be so thoroughly relaxed was almost as orgasmic as his actual climax, and he closed his eyes against reality, basking in long overdue satisfaction.

"This is a lot of bed for someone who doesn't do this often," remarked the Maw Walker casually from beside him. 

Renathal answered without opening his eyes.

"Most of the furnishings came with the flat. Denathrius' doing."

It took a few moments for his bliss-soaked brain to understand why she fell silent. The memory of their earlier argument returned, but Renathal was far too full of good feeling to make any room for further ire. He rolled over and found the Maw Walker sitting up, eyeing the edge of the bed with alarming purpose. He snaked quick arms around her waist, preventing her escape, and a combination of pulling and persuading and a few unfair tricks on the part of Renathal's long fingers and she was safely plastered against him once more.

He tilted her chin, forcing her to find his face.

"Why do you dislike him?” he asked, the question weightless and calm.

The Maw Walker sighed. The gentle air fluttered against Renathal's mussed goatee as her lips sought his.

“I like you better," she whispered. "Can't I just... like you?"

It should not have been such an extraordinary sentiment. After all, there was no reason someone should not find him just as desirable as Denathrius. But it still knocked the breath from Renathal's lungs and reignited his blood's fiery, primal boil. His answer was an equally extraordinary set of demonstrative kisses and an enthusiastic reprisal of an earlier position the Maw Walker had expressed fondness for.

He only realised later. He could hardly have expected himself to notice at the time. Not when the woman under him was so willing and pliant, the fit of her body to his so irresistibly inviting. And certainly not when he was buried once more in rich, sumptuous heat, focused solely on her urgent requests for more, and harder, and there, just there. It was only when the Maw Walker had finally left for the night - and the promise of a similar meeting tomorrow had finished effervescing in his veins - that Renathal realised how adeptly she had evaded his question.

#a shadow UNIverse #renathal x maw walker #renathal fanfiction #wow fanfiction #world of Warcraft #shadowlands #university au #the ember court #Vrednic #my writing #fanfiction #prince renathal #the maw walker

[late-to-the-fandom]

Renathal has been Prof. Denathrius’ teaching assistant for so long it feels like eternity, but the arrival of a foreign exchange student brings changes to the University of the Shadowlands, for better or worse. Work in Progress

This WIP is a fluffy Uni!AU retelling of Light and Shadows, updated as I feel spiritually led. Click here to read the series on Ao3

Chapter 1: An Answer Key for All Occasions

In which Renathal meets Denathrius' newest student, unaffectionately known as the Maw Walker. Rated T | 6,697 words

Chapter 2: An Ember Club to Remember

In which Renathal takes the Maw Walker on a potentially ill-advised date. Rated M | 6,658 words

Chapter 3: The Teaching Assistant of Dominion

Renathal is forced to decide just how far he's willing to take his undefined relationship with the Maw Walker. Rated M | 7,295 words

Chapter 4: Mortal Reminder

When the Maw Walker misses class for the first time all semester, Renathal is determined to find out why. Rated T | 4,923 words

Last Minute (Dinner) Preparations

Renathal takes pains to craft an impressive second date. The Maw Walker ruins them in the best possible way (hint: it’s smut).

Rated E for explicit smut | 2,382 words

Artwork by the amazing @ph-arrt

#Renathal fanfiction #prince renathal #renathal x maw walker #a shadow UNIverse #university AU #fanfiction #wow fanfiction #world of warcraft #venthyr #revendreth #shadowlands #Sire Denathrius #the ember court #smut #non-graphic smut #fluff

[late-to-the-fandom]

The Prince saves the Maw Walker in this one. Rated T for non-graphic death and violence, angst, and oblique sexual references (no smut). Read here on Ao3 for triggers and tags.

Takes place shortly after "Vices and Vows", before Denathrius' imprisonment.

Renathal cast a restless glance around his spartan Sinfall room, and - for the first time in his entire existence - wished vainly for a clock.

He had had one in Darkwall Tower: an ornately carved instrument positioned at the bottom of his winding staircase where its deep, ominous chime was at its most acoustically advantageous. And, really, such aesthetic was its predominant purpose, time in Revendreth being largely a social construct. But currently, Renathal was desperate to know exactly how many minutes past whatever hour it was so he could decide whether enough time had passed to be justifiably irritated.

The Maw Walker was late.

The candles Renathal lit earlier in the evening were almost melted down, the bottle of anima wine he had opened to breathe stood guiltily half-finished. He had polished his armor, twice, and rearranged everything on the oversized table-cum-desk. There was nothing left to do but pace the same stretch of stone floor, and seethe with thwarted desire.

The fallen Prince of Revendreth had magnanimously accepted his sex life came second to the salvation of the Shadowlands, and he was accustomed to excusing his lover’s last-minute absences with a patience a Paragon would envy. But, just this once, he bitterly wished the Maw Walker had declined whatever quest she had been offered.

Because this night was important. Renathal thought she had understood.

In less than twelve hours, they would launch their assault on Castle Nathria, a prospect of such dubious success it made even the unflappable Maw Walker apprehensive. At least, that was how Renathal had interpreted her odd reaction at the briefing earlier that day. Their hand-picked party of mortals had assembled to discuss the plan of attack, and the Prince had felt honour-bound to warn the unsuspecting beings of what awaited them within the castle: Denathrius' disciples, Lady Inerva, General Kaal and the Stone Legion, all undoubtably stood in their way. But no known Nathrian danger was more perilous than the Sire himself, and at the mention of what he could do to those with unconfessed sins, the Maw Walker's lavender face had turned a pale and sickly pink.

Unusual for her, but then, it would be an unusual fight. Death might make a bad habit of evading the Maw Walker, but Denathrius wielded destructions no mortal had ever faced. And even supposing the Maw Walker was impervious to them all, the Dark Prince did not possess her same inexplicable protection. Renathal was resigned to the very real possibility this night might be his last, and, if it was, his only request was that she be here to share it with him.

One of the candles gave a final, sputtering gasp and died, and with it Renathal's remaining hope the Maw Walker would deign to arrive. Obviously, she had prioritised some tangential assignment, despite the fact they might never have another night together. In a fit of wretched pique, he swiped the melted red stub from the table. It hit the floor with a gentle, unassuming thud, and shame crawled across Renathal's face.

He knew the Maw Walker better than that.

After the briefing, she had noted his uneasy tension and was at his side in a heartbeat, her hand on his arm and the look in her eye a wordless offer of assistance. He had whispered his request in her ear, his exact phrase eliciting a violet blush.  And while she may not precisely have promised - something the Maw Walker was loathe to do - her assurance to attend him after some appointment with the Accuser carried all the same solemnity.

No, whatever circumstance was keeping her from him must be out of her control. Renathal’s agitated mind produced an unhelpful picture of the Maw Walker engulfed by enemies, in the Banewood or the Endmire or wherever the Accuser had sent her. So vivid was the vision, he half-turned to the door, some primal instinct urging him directionlessly forward, before better sense reminded him of his own long-standing assignment: staying in Sinfall, as far out of Denathrius' sight as relatively possible.

Renathal slumped against the table, drumming his fingers in petulant frustration; then, just as rapidly straightened, a willful belligerence assuming command.

Why should he not go find the Maw Walker himself? He faced the Master in hours either way. A bit of exercise before the assault would probably do him good considering how long it had been since he had seen any decent action. And the chance to play the Maw Walker's hero ... A vision of himself cutting an effortless path through her encircling enemies offered itself up for Renathal's approval. He imagined her impassive, lavender mask crumbling at the sight of his illustrious rescue, perhaps even her arms thrown about him, eager to express the depths of her gratitude...

Without a clock, Renathal could not be sure just how quickly he replaced his armor, but he was donning his coat and corking the wine before any other candles had time to die, and had just reached the door when a tentative knock echoed from its other side.

He paused, his hand on the knob.

It was not the Maw Walker; she never knocked. Which meant it was some messenger of fate here to disrupt his reckless plan. Steeling his resolve against whatever force sought to dissuade it, he flung open the door so violently the Venthyr on the other side cringed. He threw up his hands to shield his face, as if expecting the Dark Prince to hit him, and in spite of his obscured features, Renathal recognised the smaller Venthyr: the Accuser's recent apprentice ... what was his name? 

"Gresit..." he ventured. The Venthyr slowly lowered his hands. Taking this as confirmation, Renathal pressed on hurriedly. "Do accept my apology, but I am afraid whatever this is will have to wait. I am needed urgently elsewhere."

Gresit's mouth opened and closed several times, but all that emerged were a few frightened squeaks. Seizing the lack of coherent protest as his opportunity to escape, Renathal skirted the stuttering Venthyr and strode purposefully down the dark hall. He made it four brisk, echoing steps before stopping abruptly short. It had belatedly occurred to him who assigned the Maw Walker her last known task.

"Unless," said Renathal, revolving slowly to face Gresit, and - in another unusual first for him - hoping desperately he was wrong. "This would not have anything to do with the Maw Walker, would it?"

Relief, presumably that he would not have to chase the Dark Prince down, warred with the fear firmly entrenched in Gresit's face. He nodded vigorously, and ominous foreboding rippled across Renathal's skin.

"What has happened?"

"She did WHAT?"

Renathal's eyes were wide and brimming with furious fire as they fought to accept the surreal tableau that met him in the Halls of Atonement: a shell-shocked Gresit, wringing his hands and staring at the ashen Accuser, whose quivering chin and small eyes looked terrifyingly close to tears, as she in turn gazed at the Maw Walker who was kneeling at the sanctuary’s altar, hands folded and head thrown back on her neck in unnatural, reverent rigour.

Only the Curator, absently patting the Accuser's arm, was her usual, half-dazed self.

"Renathal," she said mildly. "You’re yelling."

"This feels like an appropriate occasion!" continued Renathal at the exact same volume.

His eyes darted from one Harvester to the other, deciding who was most to blame. Really, it was the Maw Walker herself, but she was hardly worth shouting at when she so obviously could not hear him. What was she thinking attempting such a ritual without consulting him first? And tonight of all nights, when she should have been holed up in his room, making the most of their final hours together tangled in sheets and each other's limbs?

The pent-up frustration Renathal had fought down all evening finally burst through his dam of control. It demanded a victim, someone he could punish for ruining his carefully laid plans.

"You!" Renathal rounded first on the Accuser. "You, who have been the Harvester of Pride for centuries - you, who are the incessant chorus for taking only the most calculated and sensible of actions - how could you have allowed my - our - Revendreth's champion to do something so - " His hands clawed frantically at thin air as if he might rip from it some new and heinous word. "So bloody stupid?!”

The Accuser made a sound he had never heard from her, somewhere between a gasp and a sob. Instantly, the Curator's arm was around her, stroking her soulbind's hair.

"Now really, Renathal, that’s hardly fair," chided the Curator. "Harriett couldn't know this would happen. The Maw Walker said she simply had to atone for something before she could face Denathrius, and this is the standard ritual for atonement." She surveyed the Maw Walker's posture of unwilling penitence in polite half-interest. "I suppose since her soul is trapped within a mortal body, the ritual must be taking place inside of her instead."

The flame in Renathal's eyes as he stalked toward the two Harvesters was a mirror to the sanctuary’s menacing, crimson light.

"That supposition would have been infinitely more useful before you allowed a mortal to undergo a ritual meant for damned souls!"

"Well," the Curator shrugged. "She insisted."

Renathal's snarl made both females jump, and Gresit, in the pew behind them, hit the stone floor in a senseless faint.

"We did warn her there might be complications," the Curator hastened to add. "But Renathal, it's the Maw Walker! She doesn't exactly go by normal rules, does she? These things always seem to work out for her somehow."

As the Harvester of Dominion, Renathal's responsibilities often included the painful education of his fellow Venthyr, and he drew some small, savage pleasure from envisioning the lessons he dearly wished to impart on his criminally negligent "sisters". But the sight of Gresit's limp body reminded him of more pressing concerns. He made do with letting his heavy coat whip across their legs as he turned sharply, gliding to the altar and bending over the motionless Maw Walker. 

Suffering was etched into each line of her lavender face, so intense it hurt Renathal to look at, though he had seen the same pain on countless souls before. He called her name; softly at first, then louder, then with all the power of dominion he could muster.

The Maw Walker did not so much as twitch. Every piece of her was preternaturally still, and worry usurped Renathal's anger. 

"What can be done for her now?" he asked, gently lifting one of the Maw Walker's eyelids; the blue-white surface beneath was cloudy with vermillion mist. 

"Renathal, you know how this ritual works," the Curator scolded. "It only ends when the soul feels remorse for their sins. It's different for everyone, but the Maw Walker's quite sedulous. I'm sure it won't take her more than a few years."

Next to her, the Accuser had already flinched and squeezed her eyes shut before Renathal slowly turned his terrible gaze on the pair of them.

"A few YEARS?" Strands of his long, white hair fluttered in the gale of his furious bellow. "We move on Denathrius in HOURS!" He straightened and flung his arms out wide as if invoking invisible horrors. "How do you think her fellow mortals - all here at her behest - will react when I announce their champion will not be showing up to the raid because she is trapped in her own mind grappling with some unknown sin for the foreseeable future?" 

The sanctuary’s architecture was specifically designed for such impassioned sermons. It carried Renathal's rage to each high rafter and shrouded corner, where it lingered for long, incensed seconds before a whisper cut through the echoes.

"We ... might be able to help her."

The voice was so small and hesitant Renathal almost did not recognize it. By the time he had fixed his glare on the Accuser, she had taken a shaky, steadying breath and pressed on more confidently.

"Harvesters have the power to assist the penitent, to enter rituals alongside them.It is done on occasions when a soul becomes too lost, to guide them back to the purpose of the exercise, but ... to my knowledge, that is also a spell never performed on a mortal, and clearly complications are bound to arise."

Her small eyes flicked to the Curator, instinctually searching her soulbind for an answer; and the Curator, once the greatest archivist in reality, worried at one of her claw-like nails as she wracked her fractured memory.

"I suppose if her flesh is keeping this spell from manifesting properly, then ... anyone who attempted to enter it would be drawn inside her mind. And I can't see how they would get out again until the Maw Walker completes the ritual."

The two females exchanged a laden look, hidden meanings passing between them at which those outside their bond could only guess. At last, the Accuser nodded, and reluctantly stepped out from her Soulbind's comforting arm.

“I permitted the Maw Walker to attempt this, therefore it is my task to assist her," the Accuser said grimly, approaching the altar as if it were a gallows. "I cannot guarantee to free her in time for the assault on the castle, nor can I speak to the state her mind will be in when I am through. But I will do whatever it takes to get her out."

“No." The finality in Renathal's voice rang through the sanctuary like a deep bell. “I will do it.”

"What?" cried the Curator with a much more lively interest.

“You?" The Accuser stopped mid-stride, eyes narrowed in a semblance of their usual uncanny shrewdness. "The atonement of souls is not in the purview of the Harvester of Dominion. Have you ever performed this ritual before?”

Arching an eyebrow with expert precision, Renathal assumed his most regal and imperious stance.

"As the Prince of Revendreth, all duties of the realm are within my purview," he said coolly. "I had mastered the theory of this magic eons before your soul ever existed." And without waiting to address any further arguments, he settled himself on his knees in front of the Maw Walker as comfortably as the unforgiving stone allowed.

Renathal began carefully rolling back his sleeves, more to provide himself a few minutes of frantic recollection than because they would be in his way. Truthfully, he had next to no idea what he was doing. He had, of course, been theoretically instructed in Revendreth's proprietary rituals, but if he had ever performed this particular one himself it was too long ago to remember. At the moment, however,he considered this a wholly inconsequential detail. The atonement of souls might not technically be his purview, but the Maw Walker's well-being was. 

A tentative hand on his shoulder distracted Renathal from his thoughts.

"Are you sure this is wise?" asked the Accuser quietly, kneeling next to him. "This is my area of expertise, and you-"

"You," interrupted Renathal tersely, "could not even dissuade the Maw Walker from undertaking a ritual not meant for her kind. I have absolutely no confidence in your ability to convince her to acknowledge some clearly complex sin."

The hand on his shoulder recoiled as if burned. Renathal finished securing his sleeves around the gold bands on his arms before the Accuser collected herself enough to speak again.

"Souls who struggle with this ritual usually have a preconceived notion of who they have wronged. It will be up to you to identify the sins she cannot see. The ritual only ends when she experiences remorse for these."

"I am aware of how this ritual works," Renathal snapped, barely listening, but the Accuser plowed on urgently.

“She will seek comfortable memories to hide in. Souls always do. But you should have the power to control the magic, to summon up the memories that contain failure and sin."

"As I said, I am aware."

"And Renathal - "

"WHAT?"

The Accuser sat back hard on her heels. 

"I ... apologise," she said, her mouth twisting awkwardly around the unpleasant admission.

"Whatever for?" asked Renathal with merciless sarcasm. "You have managed to postpone our assault and, consequently, extend your leisure time with your own lover, and punish me for her sorry condition in one effortless blow. It is a plan even the oldest of Harvesters would envy. You should be suitably proud."

He spat the words like broken glass, and the Accuser bristled at the open attack. 

"I begged the Maw Walker not to do this, but you know too well what she is like. She was adamant she could not face the Master with this sin still hanging over her. She feared to fail us. To fail you." Earnestness rattled the Accuser's vocal cords unnaturally. "I know the trial of watching the soul you ... love ... struggle against their own mind. I would not inflict it on even the vilest of souls. I did not intend to inflict it on you."

Renathal's eyes found his fellow Harvester's, and, for the first time in their existence together, understanding settled hesitantly between them.

"I am sorry, Prince Renathal," she said, pronouncing his title with solemnity. "I take full responsibility for this error in judgment. And will put it right if you permit me."

"No,” Renathal said again, but the flame in his eyes had dwindled to a gentler, amber smolder. “You cannot do this. The Maw Walker dislikes intrusions on her past at the best of times. I am the only one from whom she might possibly endure it, and the only one to whom she is likely to listen. You understand.”

It was a statement, not a question. And the Accuser, who trusted the care of the Curator to no one else, whose voice alone had the power to call her soulbind's mind back from madness, nodded. She clambered awkwardly to her feet and shuffled backwards to the Curator, who dislodged the Accuser's claw-like nails from the folds of her dress and squeezed her hand.

Renathal was aware of their eyes - curious and concerned - following him as he returned his attention to the Maw Walker, pressing his fingers gently to her temples. In spite of the potential risk, anticipation blossomed in Renathal's chest, igniting in his veins and infusing the anima now pooling obediently in his hands. The Maw Walker's past was an itch he had longed to scratch. The chance to do so was a more than suitable replacement for his evening's dashed plans.

Vermillion mist crept across his vision, the ritual wrapping lambent tendrils around them both. While Renathal's knees remained cramped and pressed to the stone, he felt his mind being tugged inexorably forward. He closed his eyes, surrendering himself to the enveloping magic ...

...and when he opened them again the world was an endless ocean of swirling red.

Though Renathal could not recall using this magic before, he knew in theory what should occur: the Maw Walker's memories paraded sedately past him while he watched, like an Ardenweald play. Instead, his disembodied consciousness was caught in a vermillion maelstrom; a thousand unfamiliar, insistent sensations bombarding him from every side. Flashes of colours, snatches of sounds, smells and impressions not his own. The flood of perception made Renathal dizzy as he floundered in their turbulent tide.

Someone was crying, loud and incessant; a sound that tugged at his very soul. No. Not his soul. The Maw Walker's. That was her soul's response to the sound. Figures solidified in the anima before him, like images in a red mirror: a Nightborne female, her breathing laboured, lay limply across a bed, offering a swathed bundle - the source of the crying - to another, smaller Nightborne girl. She accepted it awkwardly. Renathal could feel the slight weight as if he held it himself. It was a baby; a thing he knew only from pictures or the memories of Revendreth’s souls. But his attention was on the Nightborne girl who held it; her lavender skin ... her wide, blue-white eyes. 

Then the moment was gone, the scene swept away in a wave of anima and replaced by another: the Nightborne girl with the eyes he recognised sparkling with mirth as she hoisted a smaller fair-haired child confidently onto her shoulders. The figures dissolved, the image reformed, and the two laughing girls ran flat out across a twilit street; again, and they slid wildly down a winding banister; again, and they lay on their backs, the older Nightborne's hands stretched above them, conjuring a gentle snow.

The younger girl's squeals of delight echoed in Renathal's - no, the Maw Walker's - mind. The sound had imprinted itself upon her; the other girl's happiness a memory that mattered. 

Then it, too, was gone, swept away in the roiling ocean of picture and noise, and Renathal allowed himself to be swept along with it, watching in fascination what were clearly the formative moments of the Maw Walker's childhood. 

Only, she and the other Nightborne were no longer children, and the scenes that flew past were of swimming, and dancing, and drinking something pétillant straight from a bottle. Twice, they rode past Renathal's vision on glowing, four-legged creatures, and once they leapt from a staggering rooftop, the Maw Walker magically slowing their fall. Wild, uninhibited laughter bubbled unbidden in Renathal's chest. The Maw Walker's laughter; the Maw Walker's happiness. He savored the delicious sensation for several, warm seconds, until the pelagic anima shifted yet again.

He knew this memory was different, more salient, from its pungent, briny odor. The smell evoked in the Maw Walker a calm and restful stillness, and Renathal, a guest in her mind, was similarly affected. He felt utterly at peace as he watched the two Nightborne lay side by side on the bottom of a narrow boat. The rhythmic lap of waves might have lulled Renathal to sleep, if their voices did not echo above it with oddly crystal clarity.

"Everything changes now, doesn't it?" 

The words were laced with gentle dejection.

"Of course not."

Renathal recognised the Maw Walker's supreme assurance.

"But you're not just my sister anymore," whined the other Nightborne, twisting fair hair around a finger. "You're the "matron of the house" now. You have duties. Responsibilities. You won't be able to truly enjoy anything or just ... be you ever again. It's such an unfair fate it makes me want to weep."

Sure enough, tears appeared fully formed on her eyelashes as though summoned there by magic. They made the Maw Walker sit up urgently.

"Please don't cry! I'm ascending, not dying. We'll still do everything we've always done."

"I know you. You won't have time. You'll work yourself constantly."

"I will make time," the Maw Walker said, craning her neck to press a cursory kiss to her sister's hair. "Your happiness is the most important responsibility I have. And you will always come first. I promise."

I promise...

The words were accompanied by a caustic, burning pain, as if they were being branded into the skin of Renathal's chest. No, he reminded himself; this was the Maw Walker's pain. The memory of those words caused her actual, physical suffering, and with a jolt to his consciousness, Renathal remembered the reason he was here.

The raid. The ritual. The Maw Walker trapped somewhere in her mind. How much time had he wasted indulging his incorrigible curiousity? The anima swirled again and another scene emerged, but Renathal refused to be distracted any longer. He asserted his power over the magic, wrestling the ritual under his control. The new figures faded, absorbed by the vermillion sea now waiting for a Harvester's command.

Renathal paused, trying to remember the Accuser's instructions from what seemed like years ago. What he needed were the memories of the Maw Walker's sins, the failures that plagued her conscience; if she was trapped, that would be where. He imposed his will on the ritual and summoned the relevant moments from its crimson depths. 

The world was suddenly agnate shades of purple and blue. Renathal blinked rapidly, clearing the last of the red from his vision, but he already knew what he would find when his eyes adjusted to the silky twilight: the vast horizon of graceful, towering buildings that was Suramar City.

Renathal had seen an illusory version of the Maw Walker's home once before. In fact, as he surveyed his immediate surroundings, he wondered if this was the same courtyard she had shown him. There was the tastefully burbling fountain, the wide and winding staircase, the towering magenta topiaries that lined the lavishly glowing streets. The only difference was this courtyard teemed with people - Nightborne - every one of them dressed in a finery to make the Countess weep. They strolled the pristine marble in stately groups of twos and threes - some eating, most drinking, all speaking in carefully cultured tones; a murmuring sea of violet decadence.

Whirling around to inspect the rest of the courtyard, a splash of divergent colour caught Renathal's eye; the black of his own coat whipping about his legs. He looked down, surprised to find himself visible, and instinctively adjusted the coat to its proper, dramatic drape. He paused, then ran a curious hand along the thick material. It was solid, but no longer soft. He fiddled with one of his golden buttons, but it felt neither cool nor smooth. Apparently, the projection of his consciousness in the Maw Walker’s mind lacked tactile sensation.

"Interesting," Renathal said aloud, but none of the passing Nightborne reacted.

Of course, they could not hear him. They were figments of the Maw Walker’s memory, and he returned to searching the courtyard for their host.

Then a low, male voice behind him said in a whisper that echoed strangely, "You were late.”

To which another voice replied, “Can I be late to my own Ascendence? It can hardly start without me," and Renathal turned to locate the source of that all-too-familiar dry humour.

His open stare would certainly be considered uncouth by the Nightborne could they have seen it; similarly, the way he tripped on his boots in his haste to reach the two beings standing on the outskirts of the crowd. But shock outdrew embarrassment as he gaped at the elegant female, and the small, supercilious smile she gave her scowling male companion. He knew that smile. Intimately. He could have drawn its subtle curve from memory. But it was still long seconds before Renathal was absolutely sure this was the Maw Walker.

It was not merely the strands of sparkling jewels strung along the length of her ears, or the silver adorning her cheeks and chin, or the heavy diadem across her forehead. It was her eyes, glittering with an unfiltered joy that matched her skin's almost phosphorescent glow. A brilliant, buoyant life animated this Maw Walker that Renathal had never seen but now might never tear his gaze from.

The Nightborne beside her, however, found her ebullience much less captivating.

“I knew it. I knew you would not take this seriously.”

“I'm here, aren’t I? That is proof I am taking it seriously.”

"This is not a game!"

His outburst startled a group of Nightborne perambulating nearby. They nodded deeply at the Maw Walker, who inclined her head in return. Her male companion stretched a thin smile across his face and waited for them to pass before continuing sotte voce.

“You are the head of this house now. And we lead the other noble families. That makes you one of the most influential people in all the city!"

"Understood," said the Maw Walker, her tightly pursed lips the exact twin of the other Nightborne's.

"And is it also understood," he said. "That everyone is watching you? Looking to your direction as a social and political leader? You cannot underestimate the importance of this position. Your mother-"

"No one cares more about honouring mother's legacy than I." A warning vibrated dangerously in the Maw Walker's even tone. "I would not have given my oath at the ceremony if I did not intend to keep it. I will not disappoint Suramar. Or mother's memory. Now, if you will excuse me, I have guests to attend."

She turned on her heel and strode off, adjusting her diadem as she went, and Renathal followed on her heels like a devoted dredger. He noticed the precise measure to her steps, commanding attention without causing alarm; and the careless expectation in the flick of her bejeweled fingers that instantly summoned a servant with a glass; and the way she sipped from it while managing to maintain her perfect, poised smile...

No title had been mentioned, but Renathal did not need one. It was clear the Maw Walker held a position of power similar to his own.

Seeing her like this sparked a familiar, ravenous need in Renathal's core, to be replaced all too quickly by visceral disappointment when red mist began to blur her at the edges. The memory was dissolving, and he wondered frantically how to make it stay. He wanted more, wanted to memorise this vision of the Maw Walker at the height of her power. But a new scene was already taking shape around him: the Maw Walker, dressed less grandly but still possessed of her diadem, standing frozen in a circular, high-ceilinged room. And the stark difference in her face from - what was for him- mere seconds before, successfully distracted Renathal from his growing desire.

She was staring out a paneless window, clearly disturbed by what she saw, and, before he had even turned his head, Renathal knew what it must be. He could hear it. The eldritch shrieks, the terrified screams; the same as the illusion she had once shown him. And now he smelt the foul odour, like sulfur, polluting the crisp, twilit air. Sure enough, following the Maw Walker's gaze, he watched as the eerily green-tinged streets swarmed with demons of various incarnations: the Burning Legion had arrived in Suramar.

It was the only thing Renathal knew capable of wringing true fear from the Maw Walker. Although, when she flinched, it was not in response to the horror outside.

"You can't!" Wet, noisy tears bookended the words, and the Maw Walker winced again. "You can't do this! You know what she did to Theryn. If you denounce her, it will be you next!"

The Maw Walker continued her terrible vigil, the fel-marred landscape apparently preferable to her sister's misery.

"That is the fate that awaits us all if we do not make a stand."

"But why must it be you?" her sister cried, her voice an unctuous whine. "Why can't the First Arcanist do this by herself?  What can you do that she can't?"

"Our house has the most influence," the Maw Walker said quietly. "If we stand with her, so will the others. If we are missing, it is doubtful any will be willing to move against Elisande." She sighed - a heavy, burdened sound - and passed a hand over her eyes, hiding the distant nightmare. "For a rebellion to succeed, it needs a leader people can see, one they know and trust. That is the purpose of the noble houses in the first place. If we lose hope, so will they. If we lose the strength to carry on, we lose them. We ... I ... must set the example for others to follow."

"You can't ask them to follow you to death! Or exile, which amounts to the same!"

"I ask nothing. Thalyssra and I intend to show the people what Elisande is doing. And what we must do now if we want to save what's left of our home." She turned at last, facing her sister's tears head on, her mask as flat and cool as a polished blade. "And I will not ask you either. I know you are frightened, and ... you don't have to do this. But I do. It's part of my responsibility. It is ... what our mother would have done."

She reached out to pull her sister to her, but the fair-haired Nightborne crumpled dramatically to the floor. She wrapped her arms around the Maw Walker's legs, burying her face in the hem of her skirt. Though, Renathal noted she angled her mouth so the material would not muffle her noise.

"You promised!" she managed to choke between sobs. "You said  - my happiness came first - that I came first - you - you can't leave me here alone - you can't! Please please please..."

The words petered into a pitiful wail. Renathal found the sound more annoying than tragic, though it tugged at his soul in a way he could not explain. He supposed that must be the effect her sister's hysterics had on the Maw Walker, whose careful mask cracked into jagged pieces as she, too, sank to her knees.

"Shhh, don't cry, please, don't cry! It's alright, everything will be alright." She gathered her sister in her arms, like a baby, cradling her tear-drenched face. "I'm here, I'm not leaving you. I'm not going anywhere. I ... I promised."

With those words, the searing pain returned. And though Renathal knew it was not his, it still made him shift in his armor uncomfortably, missing what the Maw Walker said next that summoned a servant from some hidden door. They bowed low, ignoring the intimate moment with professional practice, and awaited the Maw Walker's command.

"Please," she said, in a shaky facsimile of her steady confidence. "Please, send word to the First Arcanist that I - that I can't -"

She broke off, running a distracted hand through her hair.

"My Lady?" prompted the patient Nightborne.

"Tell her I cannot meet her today. Tell her I was needed elsewhere. And ... please tell her ... I am sorry."

The Maw Walker's face contorted desperately, keeping what might have been tears at bay, and Renathal thought it contained a more palpable suffering than her sister's continued sobs.

Was this the great sin that plagued her? For which atonement she had abandoned their evening plans? Renathal wrinkled his nose in distaste at the fast-dissolving scene. As far as he could see, the real sin was her sister's, for manipulating the Maw Walker out of her duty. And obviously the Maw Walker felt remorse, so why was the ritual dragging on? And where was the Maw Walker - his Maw Walker - in all this? He had yet to meet anything in her mind that was not memory. There had to be a projection of her own consciousness somewhere.

But when the next scene solidified it brought only more beings that paid Renathal no heed. The Maw Walker stood, arms wrapped around herself, slightly apart from a group of other Nightborne, none of whom Renathal recognised. They huddled in the shadow of a stately Suramarian mansion, and her eyes darted compulsively to each side as if she feared to be found here.

"If you are truly sorry, then help us now," said a thin, reedy voice. "It is not too late to redeem yourself to our people. We have secured assistance from Dalaran, and several heroes from Azeroth, but we need someone who can move inside the city unnoticed if our plans are to succeed."

The figure who spoke was the most emaciated Nightborne Renathal had yet seen. Perhaps female, but really too skeletal to determine; its hair wispy and colourless; face, flat and wasted away. On some eerie impulse, it began scratching violently at its forearm. One of the other Nightborne wrinkled her nose and averted her eyes. Renathal, watching curiously, wondered if this was the phenomenon the Maw Walker referred to as "withering".

"I want to help, Thalyssra, but ... I can only do so much." The Maw Walker's voice, low and strained, recaptured Renathal's attention. "I cannot do anything that might be traced back to me. I cannot put my sister in danger."

Another Nightborne female, with pale hair and vivid blue skin, scoffed. She crossed her arms and lowered her long, heavy eyebrows in disapproval. 

"The fate of all in Suramar hangs in the balance, and you weigh them against your spoiled little sister."

"Some of us love our family, Ly'Leth," snapped the Maw Walker. "But that is a burden you have not yet carried."

The two females spent a tense moment glaring at each other before the withered one, Thalyssra, intervened.

"It is possible we can solve two problems at once." She gestured feebly at a fourth Nightborne, and Renathal noticed this one was gagged and encased in shimmering chains. "Anarys' absence will be remarked upon. She must make an appearance. And illusions always were your special gift..."

She addressed this last to the Maw Walker, whose nervous eyes lit up abruptly.

"Oh! You mean ... yes. I think I can manage something close..."

Her face reassumed the blank expression Renathal knew hid deep concentration, but as she passed a glowing hand across it, it was replaced by a different sort of mask. The Maw Walker had vanished, clothes and all. In her place stood a mirror image of the same white-haired Nightborne now squirming violently against her bonds and babbling around her gag.

"What do you think?" asked the deep voice of the Nightborne who had been the Maw Walker.

"Hmph." The one she called Ly'leth gave a begrudging sort of nod. "I doubt the guards will be fooled, but ... probably good enough to convince the main populace."

"Then we can count on you to aid the Nightfallen?" asked Thalyssra.

She eyed the Maw Walker in what Renathal thought must at one time have been a gaze as piercing as the Accuser's. The Maw Walker's enchanted face clenched its broad jaw. It swallowed, then nodded curtly.

"Yes. I will help," the deep voice agreed.

"Better late than never, I suppose," muttered Ly'Leth.

The Maw Walker, letting her illusory visage fade, ignored this gibe. She was watching Thalyssra's overgrown nails gouge deep lines in her skin, and her face struggled to contain an expression Renathal did not recognise. 

"First Arcanist," she said, her voice exceedingly tender, as if even a harsh noise might break her withered friend. "I am ... so sorry. For everything that has happened to you. It is - this is all my fault."

"No." Thalyssra shook her limp hair. "It is Elisande's."

Her words were lost in the wave of remorse that swept over Renathal's head. He shuddered; as if he, like the scene around him, were collapsing. It was the Maw Walker's emotion, he knew, but this was one with which he resonated. He had spent days as long as eons engulfed by similar regret in the Maw, watching his friends dragged away into Torghast, knowing their cruel fates were his doing.

The ache of that dread memory welled up within Renathal as the Maw Walker's dissolved. He fought it forcibly down, focusing on the shrouded, circular room solidifying in front of him. But neither darkness would relent; the room stayed hazy, and inexplicable horror overrode his self-control. He could see only vague outlines, but could hear and feel a harsh, laboured breathing. Then an anguished cry rent the darkness, and Renathal was consumed by pain.

Despair, the beast he had been evading since the Maw, unleashed its full, savage wrath on his soul. Its wretched teeth, its dolorous claws, ripped into his very being; an agony the Prince of Revendreth had never endured, a torture he had never dreamed.

He was on his knees. He had not felt them hit the ground. Splintered bits of marble and glass littered the floor underneath him, and beside him hunched a familiar silhouette, clutching a figure with fair hair, streaked red. The outborn colours gleamed harsh against the dark. In his pain-blind haze it took Renathal too long to recognise blood, and whose it was.

Another broken cry filled the wreckage of the room. Renathal felt it dragged through his raw and ruined throat, but he distantly identified the voice as the Maw Walker's. Part of him wanted to help her. Part of him wanted existence to end. This was grief; this was loss - emotions Renathal had never truly experienced. Now he had, he was desperate to escape them. Even his Maw-bound cage was preferable to this torment.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he frantically forced the ritual forward, to another moment, any other moment, as long as it was away from here. The magic obeyed. The memory dissolved. He was on his knees somewhere new; a larger, lighter room, full of armored beings of various races. A clearly different memory, and yet, the suffering had not abated. It clung to Renathal as he clambered to his feet, like a thirsting mite, sapping his strength and will.

His eyes instinctively sought the Maw Walker, and found her lurking toward the back of the other beings, all of whom were watching a human with a staff recite what might have been a battle-plan. The words were muffled - Renathal made out maybe one in three - as the Maw Walker's flat, lifeless eyes wandered blandly over the human. She blinked and looked away - the man's speech became a toneless drone - and Renathal winced and clutched his chest at another vengeful pang of soul-sucking grief.

It belonged to the Maw Walker, not him, but the misery of it weighed heavy in his every limb. How did she stand it? he marveled. Surely, no being could exist like this for long. Surcease must be in a memory nearby; and in desperation, Renathal urged the ritual on, to some moment free of the unbearable pain.

The anima swirled and reformed, and the despair Renathal unwillingly shared suddenly swelled into violent, burning elation. Grief transformed into fire; literal fire. The Maw Walker was engulfed in flames.

She threw her arms wide, and an explosion of fire surged forward, consuming everything - including the air - in its path. The light seared Renathal's - no, the Maw Walker's - eyes. And the lack of air mingled with exultant triumph erased all coherent thought for uncountable time. When Renathal at last disentangled his consciousness from the Maw Walker's frenzied impressions, he found her looming over another Nightborne splayed across the shining floor; whose elaborate, glowing headdress tumbled off and rolled away. 

Other, oddly blurred, figures tiptoed cautiously toward the two Nightborne. The figures spoke, but by their muffled voices Renathal knew the Maw Walker did not hear. She stooped, and whispered where only the fallen Nightborne - and Renathal - could understand her words: "Tell my sister I will be there soon."

The Nightborne on the floor slowly tilted her head to find the Maw Walker.

"No ... you will not," Her voice was weak, but melodious, like a broken bell. She dragged limp fingers under the hem of the Maw Walker's robes, and Renathal felt the cool touch as if the skin they brushed was his. "Your timeline ... does not end."

The Maw Walker kicked out viciously, and the other Nightborne's hand fell limply to the floor. She stepped back, the heavy pounding of her heart the only thing Renathal could hear as several of the faceless figures ushered her away. The euphoria of victory was fading - Renathal could feel its ebb - and in its shadow was the familiar, hateful agony waiting patiently where it had been left. His chest convulsed as the Maw Walker stifled a hysterical cry. It was too much to bear, this endless suffering. It made even the Dark Prince want to run and hide.

She will hide in comfortable memories. Souls always do.

Words from what seemed a different age echoed up from the depths of Renathal's mind. The Accuser had told him from the start where the Maw Walker was likely to be, and in his anger toward her he had neglected to retain the information.

Gritting his teeth against the Maw Walker's distracting ache, Renathal, once more, harnessed the ritual's magic. This time, instead of searching for sin and suffering, he summoned her strongest memory of comfort and safety, and the ocean of anima swirled and transformed into a distinctly familiar light.

Dim, red, flickering candlelight. A light Renathal recognised. It threw the shadow of the over-sized table and high-backed chair across the stone wall and floor. He was in his own room in Sinfall, just as he had left it, however long ago.

"It was supposed to be messy, that's what the Plague Deviser prefers," said the Maw Walker.

Not quite as he had left it.

Renathal watched as the Maw Walker dabbed at her purple gown with a conjured cloth. It was stained with ... cream. He remembered this. The fateful Ember Court food fight. Renathal himself had not been spared. Which meant -

"All the same, a bit of warning beforehand would be appreciated," came a voice from the adjoining bedroom. "I was wearing my formal coat."

Renathal frowned, and tilted his head. Was that really what his voice sounded like?

The Maw Walker dropped onto the red velvet chaise. She giggled, very quietly, not intending for him to hear. Renathal felt his own lips curl, the weight on his chest easing considerably. Grief still lingered, but it was a dull, distant ache; buried beneath other, altogether more pleasant and ... interesting sensations. He watched the Maw Walker's gaze flick to the half-open bedroom door, leaning forward in her seat as if trying to catch a glimpse of -

"I thought the Accuser might come find you. When it was obvious the ritual wasn't working."

Renathal spun, his coat whipping across the face of the Maw Walker seated on the floor. She merely blinked at the assault. Perhaps she could not feel it. Or, thought a disoriented Renathal, observing the lines of lavender misery etched across her face, perhaps, she did not care. 

"Well," he said, after a brief, fortifying breath. "You may recall we had an engagement this evening, and you were quite appallingly late."

He bared his fangs, intending a winsome smile. But either he did not quite manage it, or the Maw Walker was too weary to appreciate charm.

"I'm sorry," she said. The words rolled hopelessly off her lips as if they had lost all meaning. "I really thought I could do this in time. I thought ... I ..."

"You thought you could accomplish in a few hours what it takes other souls centuries to learn?" asked Renathal, easing himself decorously to the ground in front of her.

The Maw Walker shrugged. She flicked her eyes to his.

"I'm usually a very quick student."

She made an odd noise, the mad specter of a laugh, that had little in common with the sound now coming from the Maw Walker on the chaise.

"Really, your Highness, you'd think after eons you would know how to clean your own armor." The half-hearted scolding was ruined by her small, irrepressible smile as she heaved herself up with excessive drama and strolled to the bedroom door. The Renathal from the memory stood there, his face all humble apology as he explained, "Well, usually there are dredgers for this sort of task."

"Shall I confess something wicked?" said Renathal conspiratorially, speaking over his counterpart in an attempt to cheer his more dismal Maw Walker. "I am quite capable of attending to my own armor. To be frank, I could have done a better job of it myself - it was obvious you knew little of plate, but ... " His smug expression was identical to the one he wore in the memory, as the Maw Walker ran her cloth over the sticky stains decorating his back. "I was rather hoping you do would that."

"I know," said the Maw Walker tonelessly. At his raised eyebrow, she amended, "I mean, I knew later. After we were -" She let a vague hand gesture describe their current, intimate relationship. "I didn't know now. Then. Here. I mean - ugh." She let her head drop into her hands. 

Nearby, the memory Renathal had discovered a crumb he could draw from the Maw Walker's hair. Remembering the thrill of that minute touch, Renathal reached out and ran his fingers through the same waterfall of dark hair in front of him. It had no feel. Of course. Neither did his own projection of consciousness. For a moment, he had forgotten where they were.

"Why did you not confide in me?" Renathal asked, more seriously. "Had you shared your concerns about facing Denathrius, I could have told you this ritual would not work properly on your kind."

"Why," replied the Maw Walker's muffled voice from behind her hands and hair, "did I not tell you how I failed my city? My people? How I abandoned my friends for family, and yet still managed to fail them as well?" She parted her fingers just enough to reveal sardonic eyes. "Have a guess."

Renathal's lips twitched, exposing his fangs.

"I would think myself uniquely placed to understand such a position."

"How? Our positions are not the same at all." The Maw Walker lifted her head, dislodging Renathal's hand. "You've made mistakes, yes, but not wrong choices. You haven't neglected your duty to your realm, or abandoned your friends, or failed your people."

"Only because I had you." 

She stared. A few paces away, the memory Maw Walker turned to hide a violet blush as Renathal licked a lingering spot of cream off his finger. From the floor, Renathal remembered feeling surprised at his own playful daring. It was the Maw Walker's influence. She brought out the braver, better parts of him.

"Were it not for you, I would still be imprisoned in the Maw, my friends tortured for my carelessness," he went on. "And had you not stayed and guided my hand, this rebellion would have been destroyed long ago. Every wrong choice I might well have made, you have been here to correct. Your mistakes are no greater than mine. And if there was a sin in them, it has long since been paid. You felt remorse in time to correct your errors in judgment, and you have spent your existence since saving every world you can. What more atonement could even Revendreth ask of you?"

The question hovered in the air like a hungry dredbat. It should have been rhetorical, only ... they were still here. The ritual had not ended. What was it waiting for? Renathal wondered. What sin was still held against her?

A gasp from the memory Maw Walker startled both beings on the ground. 

"You did not!"

"I assure you, I did," said the memory Renathal, with punishable pride. "My aim is quite accurate, even when the projectile is teacake." 

"Oh, I can't believe I missed that. How did the Accuser retaliate?"

In the memory, both Renathal and the Maw Walker dropped carelessly onto the chaise, caught in the thrill of the story and their bodies' close proximity. Entirely unaware of the other Maw Walker watching wistfully from the ground.

"I used to think," she mused, almost to herself. "If I could just save enough people, that would make up for everything. That one day I would have done enough right, I could stop feeling guilty for what I've done wrong, but ... I can't. I can't make up for it. It doesn't matter how many people, how many worlds I save. I didn't save -" The Maw Walker's throat convulsed. She closed her eyes against a spasm of pain Renathal vividly remembered but, thankfully, no longer experienced. She finished roughly, "I didn't save the one person I promised."

There was silence, except for the conversation on the chaise: Renathal regaling the Maw Walker with the history of his tumultuous relationship with the Accuser.

"She was always of the opinion I take too many liberties with my position. That I indulge too much in frivolities, refuse to take my responsibilities seriously."

The Renathal on the chaise clicked his tongue in mock-chagrin, as the Renathal on the ground suddenly remembered the other advice the Accuser had given him: Souls who struggle with this ritual usually have a preconceived notion of who they have wronged. He sat up straighter, fingers absently stroking the textureless hair on his chin. He eyed the Maw Walker, then wet his lips, wording his question with careful tact.

"Do you think ... your sister would condemn you to Revendreth?"

"What?"

The Maw Walker's face was entirely blank. Another might wonder if she was listening, but Renathal knew her better.

"Would your sister demand your eternal suffering as penance for failing to protect her once?"

The Maw Walker's mouth opened, then closed. Her flat expression did not flicker, but Renathal knew she was thinking furiously. He kept his own face scrubbed carefully clean of excitement. For every second she could find no argument, his confidence in his new theory grew. Still, it would take all his skill in rhetoric to convince the Maw Walker her preconceived notion was wrong.

"I think not," said Renathal delicately when the Maw Walker remained silent. "Your sister feared for your unhappy fate, both when you ascended to your position and when you intended to rebel. I doubt very much whether she would be pleased to see you punish yourself for the rest of your existence on her account." He paused, letting the Maw Walker absorb his premise and inference, before assailing her with his conclusion. "It seems clear to me that you alone continue to hold your misdeeds against you.  Forcing guilt and suffering on yourself for sins of which you have already atoned. You feel remorse - I have witnessed firsthand -  for your actions against everyone except yourself. I believe once you feel genuine remorse for these, the ritual will end."

The Maw Walker on the floor blinked.

The Maw Walker on the chaise laughed.

"You said that to her? I can't imagine she took that well."

But the Maw Walker wasn't listening to her memory counterpart. She was shaking her head slowly at Renathal as if he were a young, misguided soul she hated to disillusion.

"Renathal that's ... that's madness. I cannot feel remorse for my suffering. I don't deserve remorse, I deserve the suffering. Even if no one else does hold my sins against me, I must hold them, I must ... punish myself until they're paid for. Until I have atoned! I must -"

But whatever else the Maw Walker was sure she must do died on her tongue as she caught sight of Renathal's face. 

"You think to lecture me on the intricacies of sin and atonement? On what constitutes the deserved and undeserved suffering of souls?" His voice was a lethal hush. "Maw Walker. You forget your place."

The incandescent red fire brimming in Renathal's eyes was most unlike the amber smolder of desire the Renathal on the chaise possessed as he growled, "Oh, I assure you, I am quite redoubtable when the situation requires it." To which the Maw Walker, her own eyes dark, replied, "I might enjoy seeing that one day."

But there was no flirtatious raillery from the Maw Walker on the floor. She was staring at the Dark Prince in front of her like she had never seen him before. The colour drained from her face as Renathal rose, summoning swirling, red magic about him, and with an imperious wave of his hand banished the happy memory back to the vermillion sea. He would permit her no more safety or comfort, no more distractions from the ritual's demands.

"Rise," he ordered the Maw Walker, pronouncing her name like he owned it. And the mortal before him was helpless to do anything but obey.

Even on her feet, mired in red nothingness, she had to crane her neck to keep her eyes on Renathal's formidable face. Her lips parted, not in desire, but in primal trepidation and awe. A small part of Renathal worried what consequences this power play would have on their relationship, should his plan succeed. But it did not matter. The Maw Walker needed saving. And this enemy could not be defeated by her lover or her friend.

"As the Harvester of Dominion and the Prince of Revendreth," pronounced Renathal, his voice saturated in unbroachable sovereignty. " I accuse you of the sin of inaction and the sin of unrepentance. Not for your deeds of old, long paid for by your voluntary acts of service, but for the cruel suffering you continue to inflict baselessly upon yourself. Repent," he commanded, and the anima around them echoed the word like a liturgy. "Feel remorse for this crime against your own person, and your sins are forgiven. Your atonement, complete."

Time passed. It was as impossible to count as it had been back in Renathal's rooms. The Maw Walker's face was painted in pale fear and wonder, and Renathal found he gleaned less from the emotions than her usual, familiar blankness.

Then, she lurched forward and flung her arms around his neck, clinging to him like an anchor without which she would drown. Renathal felt her solid form against him, but there was no sensation to it. No softness in her robes, no warmth in her hands, no weight of her body on his, until ...

...until there was. The sudden, unexpected force of her knocked Renathal backwards, off his feet, onto the ground. His head hit unforgiving stone. And when the dim red stars had cleared from his vision, he was staring up into the high rafters of the Halls of Atonement. Not exactly, he reflected amid the flurry of concerned voices and helpful hands, what he'd envisioned in his earlier fantasy of a gratefully rescued Maw Walker. But, as he wrapped his arms around the body collapsed atop him - familiarly, beautifully soft and warm once more - and the Maw Walker tucked herself as close as she could against him in spite his armor and whispered, "Thank you," against his throat, he thought this moment might be better than any he'd planned.

There was certainly no denying to himself the pleasant change the night had wrought in his mood. Through the next hour's chaos of curious questions, brisk instructions, and last-minute preparations, Renathal was considerably more confident about the impending assault than he had been pacing alone in his rooms. All his tense nerves had dissolved like a memory in the ritual magic, and as he stood on the empty Bridge of Paramountcy, his gaze on Nathria, he felt no dread. The experience, while harrowing, had reminded Renathal why this fight was necessary; why Revendreth must be wrested from the Master and returned to its noble purpose.

Sparkling, purple light blinked into existence at the end of the bridge, and Renathal regarded it appraisingly. Was he imagining it, or were the Maw Walker's steps faster, freer, lighter, as if she had shed some long-carried burden? His lips curled in custodial satisfaction. The other realms of the Shadowlands, the mortals of Azeroth, they could think whatever they liked about Revendreth, but this - the salvation of suffering souls - was what it meant to be Venthyr.

"The courtyard is secure," the Maw Walker informed him, and was there a shade more cautious respect in her usual supreme assurance? "Everyone is ready and awaiting your command, your Highness."

Renathal arched an eyebrow, but did not answer. He stepped back from the parapet, stopping when he was sure he was hidden from sight of the courtyard, and beckoned the Maw Walker to him. She edged dutifully nearer, pausing just outside his easy reach.

"We'll be late after all if we don't hurry."

"Can I be late to my own raid?" he asked wryly. "It can hardly start without me."

The Maw Walker blinked. Little spots of violet appeared on her high cheekbones, accompanied by a small, self-conscious smile. She tried to hide both behind a hand, but Renathal's arm shot out and snatched it, drawing her to him and stifling her gasp with a kiss little concerned by anything so arbitrary as time. All the Maw Walker's remaining reserve vanished as she followed the intimate instruction of his lips, obeyed the demands of his tongue and teeth; and when Renathal had deemed the moment complete, it was she who chased his mouth for more. 

"Come,"  he ordered brightly, wrapping them both in wending shadows. "We face the unending, undefeatable, undefiable darkness ... together."

Read Part 22: Dances with Venthyr | Visit the Masterpost

#prince renathal #renathal x maw walker #renathal fanfiction #revendreth #WoW fanfiction #world of warcraft #shadowlands #fanfiction #my writing #the maw walker #the accuser #the curator #accuser x curator #suramar city #religious language #death #venthyr covenant #light & shadows #mortal reminders #What are you hiding?

[late-to-the-fandom]

Rumours report Prince Renathal and his former Maw Walker can currently be found in the Dragon Isles. How did they get there and what are they up to? Work in Progress! These are all my Post-Shadowlands stories of Renathal and the (former) Maw Walker starting with the introduction of her name (in A Maw Walker by Any Other Name), the original plotline story explaining how they left the Shadowlands for Azeroth (A Wend in the Shadows) and their various adventures in the Dragon Isles (And there was only one dragon!) Runs a spectrum of ratings from G to E. Read the series on Ao3 here.

A Maw Walker By Any Other Name (Prologue)

What is the Dark Prince to call his lover now her career in Maw walking has come to an end? In which I finally get around to revealing the Maw Walker's name, so I don't have to call her that throughout the sequel. Takes place before A Wend in the Shadows proper. Rated T for implied sexual scenarios | 1,288 words

A Wend in the Shadows

Something’s afoot in Revendreth, and the Dark Prince Renathal is determined to discover what. Is it the rumoured rebellion, the Master of the realm himself, or his mysterious mortal guest?  Click here to read the series on Ao3.

Chapter One: The Master Awaits "In spite of everything Renathal's primary senses were telling him, an ominous warning still lurked underneath. There was something indefinably wrong about how he had woken up today."

Chapter Two: The Lay of the Land "Centuries - epochs, even - of endless, unvaried routine, and suddenly the Dark Prince of Revendreth found himself up to his ragged ears in mysteries."

Chapter Three: The Endmire "But it was not what loomed above them that made Renathal’s cold skin crawl. It was what lurked below them. The unnatural chill that crept through his veins even before his booted feet touched the ground."

Chapter Four: Anima Awakening "An ache had awoken within Renathal that had nothing to do with the Endmire, an urge he had fought to keep quelled for many centuries with creditable success; and which, with three scattered encounters and hardly an effort on her part, Elisewin, the Master’s singularly sinful mortal, had brought roaring back to life."

Chapter Five: The Proper Punishment "It felt more, the Dark Prince reflected as he led the mortal into Darkwall Tower, like hosting a foreign dignitary than punishing a penitent soul."

Chapter Six: Home Improvement "Renathal was flirting with disaster. Quite literally. And as long as flirting was where he kept it, he and Elisewin would both be safe."

Chapter Seven: Formal Refreshments "Discipline bid him go no further. Renathal swept it ruthlessly aside. There was no reason not to take what he wanted now. Elisewin would soon be gone. The least they both deserved was to enjoy themselves before the end."

Chapter Eight: Safe in the Shadows "Renathal would have stormed up to the castle then and there and demanded answers of Denathrius, refused to leave until he had them, were it not for the… extenuating circumstances…"

Chapter Nine: Into the Light "Elisewin was singular, but she did not - could not - understand. That Renathal had waited steadfastly for eternity and finally had everything he wanted."

Chapter 10: Mix, Mingle, and Meddle "Renathal was determined not to let anyone or anything - even the Sire - ruin the happiness he had only begun to savour."

Chapter 11: An Invitation to Treachery "In a different, not-so-distant time in his history, Renathal might have enjoyed, perhaps even instigated, such a rebellion; the challenge of outright revolt against the creator of the realm did hold a certain contumacious appeal."

Chapter 12: Rebels on the Road “ 'Relies on a lot of risky assumptions, this plan.' 'Why, my dear,” said Renathal with lavish humour. “Since when is the Dark Prince of Revendreth’s consort afraid of a little risk?' "

Small Bites - Drabbles from Wend in the Shadows

Time - DWC July 29 Drabble - Shameless flirting between Renathal and Elisewin. Takes place between chapters 5 and 6. Chandelier, Crimson, Chaos - Writing Prompt. Takes place between chapters 5 and 6. Acquired Taste - EXPLICIT SMUT. Takes place in the middle of chapter 8. Nightmare - Arguments, angst, and POV shift practice. Another Interruption - EXPLICIT SMUT. Takes place between chapters 9 and 10. Aftermath - Writing warmup taking place after chapter 7.

And there was only one dragon! - Renathal & the (former) Maw Walker's Tales from the Dragon Isles

Orgrimmar - In which the Prince of Revendreth arrives in Azeroth. Ruby Lifeshrine - In which Elisewin makes a case for completing quests in geographic rather than campaign order. The Obsidian Throne - In which Renathal and Elisewin determine their loyalties. The Ohn'Ahran Plains - In which a certain centaur couple has a wedding, illuminating new possibilities for Renathal and his former Maw Walker. The Waking Shores - In which Elisewin has the more difficult time acclimating to certain customs in the Dragon Isles. Algeth'ar Academy - In which Renathal and Elisewin interact with a certain familiar sounding NPC. The Temporal Conflux - In which Renathal and Elisewin discover a mutual temptation. Iskaara - In which Renathal indulges. Vakthros - In which Elisewin is too slow, and Renathal finally has a good reason to destroy Raszageth. Valdraaken - In which Renathal and Elisewin enjoy a well-deserved break. Orgimmar, Again - In which our heroes return to Azeroth and await their next adventure.

#prince renathal #renathal fanfiction #renathal x maw walker #light & shadows #a wend in the shadows #and there was only one dragon #shadowlands #dragon isles #wow fanfiction #world of warcraft #dragonflight #revendreth #orgrimmar #the maw walker #nightborne #romance #smut #non-graphic smut #fluff #sire denathrius

[late-to-the-fandom]

Renathal is a prince who needs a great deal of rescuing. The Maw Walker is a Nightborne with a soft spot for rebellions. It’s a match made in the Shadowlands. Complete!

Click here to read the entire series on Ao3. Asks, headcanons, and other sundry for this series are tagged at #Renathal x Maw Walker. Coverart above is by the amazing @ph-arrt

Taking the Tremaculum

Prince Renathal struggles to come to terms with his time in the Maw and his relationship with his Maw Walker during the Venthyr's covenant assault on the Tremaculum. Rated T for light sexual references | 4,751 words

The Harvester of Dominion

The stress of running a rebellion is affecting Renathal's sex life. The Maw Walker is as helpful as ever. Or, how Renathal got his groove back. Rated E for explicit smut | 4,709 words

An Ember Court to Remember

"Bedding the realm's champion did hold the potential to complicate his rebellion, but Renathal had decided he could overlook this. Partly because he trusted the Maw Walker completely, and partly because he really wanted to." In which the Prince and the Maw Walker hook up for the first time after an unusual Ember Court. Rated M for smut | 8,249 words

Interrupted

It’s just a Renathal/Maw Walker smut drabble. Rated E for explicit smut | 1,089 words

Keys for All Occasions: The Maw

The Maw Walker saves the Prince in this one. In which Renathal and the Maw Walker meet for the first time. Rated G | 8,306 words

Lost Souls

When the Maw Walker burns out on Torghast runs, it's Renathal's turn to provide assistance. Rated M for smut | 3,306 words

Keys for All Occasions: Rebellion

"I fear it is a lost cause we are fighting here." "You're in luck. Lost causes are my specialty." In which Renathal and the Maw Walker take the Master. Rated G | 6,943 words

Last Minute Preparations

The Maw Walker and the Prince have some important preparations to attend to before the Ember Court. (Hint: it’s smut) Rated E for explicit smut | 2,359 words

A Spilled Tea

In which Renathal solves a mystery involving the Maw Walker and the Mad Duke. Rated G | 3,131 words

Eternity (Part 1) (Part 2)

When the Maw Walker doesn't die in the line of duty, Renathal is determined to finally figure out why. Obligatory “one of them is injured!” fic, with bonus points for only one bed. Rated E for explicit smut (Part 2 only) | 10,589 words (total)

Heroes of Hallow's End

Hallow's End Ember Court is fancy dress. There's some confusion about who's who. Rated G | 1,258 words

Keys for All Occasions: Cicatrix

Renathal is neither a prisoner in the Maw, nor entirely himself again, but a secret, third thing only the Maw Walker notices (traumatised). Rated T for angst and mild sexual tension | 9,135 words

Interrupted, Again

Renathal is neither a prisoner in the Maw, nor entirely himself again, but a secret, third thing only the Maw Walker notices (traumatised). Rated E for explicit smut | 2,382 words

Masters of Revendreth (Part 1: Things Seen) (Part 2: Things Unseen)

Twice, Renathal realised Revendreth was his. The two occurrences could not have been more different. Rated T for sexual references (part 1) and angst (part 2) | 4,731 (total)

Vices and Vows

An unpleasant rumour prompts a painful admission from Renathal and a promise from the Maw Walker. Rated M for smut | 5,348 words

Perfect: A Maw Walker Perspective

A little Renathal/Maw Walker smut drabble from the Maw Walker's perspective. Rated E for explicit smut | 1,230 words

Once Upon a Winter's Veil

The fluffiest of Winter Veil gift exchanges. Rated T for oblique sexual references | 1,862 words

Mortal Reminders (Part 1: An Illusion!) (Part 2: What are you hiding?)

In which Renathal's quest to learn more about the Maw Walker is almost as difficult and time consuming as the quest after which this story is named. Rated T for angst and sexual references | 15,728 words (total)

Dances with Venthyr

The Maw Walker books the Lost Chalice Band for the Ember Court, and under no circumstances is Renathal to dance with her. The lost dance scene referenced in "An Ember Court to Remember". Rated T for oblique sexual references | 1,546 words

The Threads of Fate

The time has come for the Maw Walker to choose the end of her experience in the Shadowlands (with help from the Prince of Revendreth). Rated M for smut | 6,720 words

The Reservoir: Drabbles from the Light & Shadows Universe

Instinct - Renathal & the Maw Walker engage in heated competition. Illusion - The Maw Walker wages war on Venthyr formal wear. Forest - Renathal & Thetoar reinstitute their long-standing prank war. Children - The Maw Walker brings snowfall to Revendreth. Damage - Renathal and the Maw Walker argue over Vorpalia. Unnatural - Renathal escalates the prank war. Endless- Renathal shows the Maw Walker her new accommodations. Love is in the Air - The Maw Walker teaches Renathal a lesson.

All drabbles rated G (except Love is in the Air rated M for discussed smut).

#Renathal fanfiction #Prince Renathal #Light and Shadows #Renathal x Maw Walker #wow fanfiction #world of warcraft #shadowlands #Revendreth #Venthyr #The Ember Court #Smut #Graphic Smut #Non-graphic smut #romance #fluff #drabbles #series #nightborne #suramar #the accuser #the accuser x the curator

[late-to-the-fandom]

The Maw Walker chooses the end of her experience in the Shadowlands (with help from the Prince of Revendreth). Rated M for non-graphic sexual situations, and bit of angst (but, as always, a happy end all round). Read here on Ao3 for triggers and tags.

Takes place several months after "Masters of Revendreth: Things Unseen," and after the escape of Denathrius.

"Well, we have a new Arbiter," said the Maw Walker, perching on the edge of one of the tufted-velvet chairs.

Renathal, watching from the corner of his eye, knew her reluctance to make herself comfortable had nothing to do with the furniture itself. The high-backed chair and its twin beside it, as well as the one he himself occupied and the writing desk between them, were of unquestionable quality; specially commissioned, practically identical to the pieces that stood in this room for eons before Denathrius rent it asunder.

But the Maw Walker rarely relaxed in Renathal's presence anymore, and he did not have to see her to know she was waiting tensely for his answer. He hummed a vague acknowledgement, refusing to meet her gaze. Instead, he stared beyond her, inspecting his reclaimed study; every detail, from the plasterwork to the wainscotting, recreated exactly as it always had been. As though Darkwall Tower was never a ruin of splinters and stone ... as if the last year of Renathal's existence were no more than a fading dream.

The only noticeable deviance from the strictures of eternity were the high, clear panes of glass interrupting the dark paneling of one wall. Windows. An influence of the Maw Walker's Renathal included out of whimsy, and now desperately wished he had not. As lovely a view as they teased - Sinfall’s spire silhouetted in indigo by the Ember Ward’s creeping Light - their true purpose had proved to be an excruciating reminder of the Maw Walker’s absence while stationed in Zereth Mortis. What they would do to him once she left the Shadowlands entirely…

Well, of that, Renathal tried not to think, but he made a mental note to have the windows bricked over as soon as possible.

"It's Pelagos," the Maw Walker added when it was clear Renathal would not ask. "You remember him? He's attended the Ember Court with his Soulbind, Kleia, many times. You remember, they -"

"Yes. I remember them well," Renathal interrupted; he had no patience for fond reminiscences. “You have come too late. Draven has already related the story. It is, of course, truly remarkable. The Arbiter replaced, the drought ended. A swift answer to the Shadowlands' every prayer." Bitterness twisted the words into a grotesque caricature of their sentiment. "I assume this means the majority of the mortal forces will be returning to their appropriate side of the veil posthaste."

To anyone else, it would have sounded like casual conjecture. But Renathal knew his lover - former lover, he corrected himself ruthlessly - heard his hidden question. The plush velvet crunched as the Maw Walker shifted in her seat. Had she settled into it at last, or leaned forward, towards him? Renathal would not allow himself even a cursory glance.

"Some of them certainly plan to," she said, tone wholly inscrutable. "But many will remain, myself included. There is still the Jailer to deal with, after all. And who knows how long it will take to breach the Sepulcher. Or whether we’ll succeed once we do. There is plenty of opportunity for failure yet."

Renathal brushed her proviso aside with a careless flick of his fingers, as if the Jailer and his forces held no more danger than a corpsefly.

"Draven informs me the allies in Zereth Mortis plan to move on the Sepulcher in days. And, given your customary rate of success, I would wager the Jailer is defeated before the anima begins to flow in earnest. The Shadowlands put to rights before this cycle is out."

He let his hand drop to the desktop despondently.

“Well, it wouldn’t do to be too excited about it,” said the Maw Walker drily. “Really, Renathal, it’s unbecoming.”

For the first time since she entered the room, Renathal looked straight at the Maw Walker. This attempt at arch humour seemed to strain her face, which grew noticeably thinner with each of her increasingly sporadic visits to Revendreth. Was she eating enough? Sleeping properly? He highly doubted it, and worry for her well-being constricted his chest.

Perhaps he should invite her - or order her - to stay. Her room in Darkwall Tower, so painstakingly prepared, had been sadly gathering dust since their argument in Nathria months ago. But ... across from it lurked his own chambers, and Renathal knew if she was there, within his reach, his resolve to keep himself from her would shatter like mirror glass. And it was essential he learn to live without her if he was to survive eternity's dispiriting second half.

"Regardless," said Renathal, tearing his gaze from her face to stare out the dark window. “I think it safe to say your time in the Shadowlands is drawing rapidly to a close. And with it, our acquaintance," he finished with sour irony; they never did have a conversation about what exactly their relationship should be called.

"That was always a distinct possibility," she agreed blandly. "If we both managed to survive, and all our efforts somehow succeeded … everything would go back to the way it was. We knew that from the beginning."

Renathal grimaced at his shrouded reflection.

"Yes, I suppose we did," he said defensively. "However, it was impossible at the outset to imagine how these unprecedented circumstances would conclude. It was perfectly reasonable to assume we would all be destroyed, our actions of no permanent consequence. Or, barring destruction, even the wisest would have been faultless in thinking the rescue and recovery of every realm in the Shadowlands would be a much lengthier endeavor. There was every reason to believe we would have years, centuries perhaps. That there would be time, so much more time for -"

His tirade was derailed by an upswell of grief so visceral Renathal choked. It lodged in his throat, cutting him off from the air he reminded himself he did not need. Any more than he needed the mortal before him, or her relentless purple light. He had existed for epochs before he knew either, Renathal berated himself; he was certainly capable of doing so again. And yet ... these brief months of separation had been a torment reminiscent of his sojourn in the Maw. The thought of eternity in this wretched, lightless haze was suddenly more than the Dark Prince could bear.

“I thought, I would have more time,” he said, his voice an open wound. “I thought ... I would be prepared for the inevitable when it came.”

"So did I."

Distracted by his own distress, it took Renathal a moment to hear its echo in the Maw Walker’s words. He swivelled to face her as she rose from her seat and swiftly skirted the side of the desk. For one wild moment, he thought she would come to him, but she walked to the window instead.

"I honestly don't know how I really expected this to end,” she said, her back to him. “But I certainly never expected to ... I mean, that I  - or that you - that either of us would…”

She broke off, unable or unwilling to complete the thought. There was no need. Renathal understood. And his already brittle self-control cracked alarmingly. He wanted to fall to his knees and beg her not to leave him, or rise in a dreadful display of dominion and power and demand she stay.

But before he could surrender to either impulse, the Maw Walker admitted, “These last months in Zereth Mortis I’ve felt so terribly … homesick,” and cold dismay froze any half-formed fantasies Renathal might have entertained.

“At least, that’s what I think it is,” she continued, heedless of his heartbreak. “I’ve never felt anything like it before. You know, I haven’t been back to Suramar even once since I left. I never wanted to, I never really missed it. Not what remains of it, anyway. But now …”

The Maw Walker’s face reflected in the window was twisted in grief, a suffering Renathal had seen on her hardly a handful of times. And it wrung from his misery the same instinct it always had: to be the best version of himself; to save her from sorrow, whatever the cost.

“If it is worry for those you leave behind which troubles you ... you may put it from your mind."

Renathal's grip on the arms of his chair punctured holes in the fresh upholstery, but his tone was as gentle and earnest as Venthyr vocal cords could affect.

“What you have done for Revendreth, for the Shadowlands … for me… it is more than enough already, and far, far more than I could ever have asked. You are the reason for our survival and success, and you deserve the ending you desire. If that is to go home, then Suramar is a most fortunate realm. You have my blessing, should you require it, and my eternal gratitude nonetheless.”

A tenuous, melancholy peace settled over Renathal as he made this pronouncement, and realised he meant it. Whatever pain the Maw Walker's absence caused him, he would find a way to endure; if it was what she wanted ... if it was what made her happy.

Although, the look she gave him as she spun round was anything but; rather a conflux of misery and exasperation.

“I’m not homesick for Suramar, Ren, I’m homesick for you!”

The Maw Walker blinked as if her own words surprised her.

“I mean … for Revendreth," she amended awkwardly. "For everyone - everything, the whole realm. It’s been, what, barely a year since I came here? And I miss this place more than the home I knew for millennia!”

She made a rough sound in her throat, a forced laugh or a strangled sob. Then she started to pace, feet dragging her the length of the windowed wall and back while she babbled:

“Ever since I left Suramar, since I started working for the Horde, I’ve wondered …  why? Why did all of this happen? Why did my sister have to - have to die, and why was I not allowed to follow? Was I being punished for something by some unseen power, or ... was the whole cosmos just impossibly cruel and random and unfair?" 

She gesticulated furiously at Renathal as she spoke, though she did not wait for him to attempt an answer. Which was fortunate; her frenetic scene was so extraordinary, he could manage nothing but a slack-jawed stare.

"But what if ... what if it was all part of some … cosmic plan? What if everything fell out the way it did because I was supposed to come here? And what if I was cursed - or whatever happened to me - because ... I was meant to be able to stay?”

Hope sprang to life in Renathal, as bright and hot and dangerous as the Ember Ward's distant Light. If she was merely musing ... if she did not mean what he thought...

"But then again..." The Maw Walker shook her head, carding fingers through her hair as she tread her mindless path. "I have seen what happens when people convince themselves what they want is somehow destiny or fate. They'll destroy anyone and anything in their way and believe it's justified because it’s the proper timeline, or the only way. Staying in the Shadowlands may seem relatively harmless, but ... what if there are consequences I just can’t see? It's not part of the natural order of things, it has never happened before-“

"No, it has not,” interjected Renathal eagerly. “Just as nothing that has happened in the last year has ever happened before. All the Shadowlands have changed, and you are the catalyst of it. And yet…” He pushed off from his chair cautiously, afraid his trembling legs might fail him. “Each change has been for the better. The functions of every realm have been improved in so many necessary ways. You have helped establish a new natural order, that will only be perfected should you stay."

The Maw Walker paused in her pacing and smiled at him; or rather, her mouth stretched across her face in a tired line.

"Renathal, your opinion is biased. You must admit that. We can only see what we want to be true, you and I." She sighed and leaned back against the dark glass, abruptly deflated. "But Pelagos … he has always been a friend, and he knows me … knows us. I asked him ... as the Arbiter ... what consequences he could foresee of a mortal remaining in the Shadowlands permanently.”

“And … what did he say?”

The words left Renathal with difficulty. He was afraid to speak; afraid to breathe. His existence hinged on her answer.

“He said the Eternals would have to be informed. They would have to discuss it. And … they would all have to agree."

Renathal waited tensely for more, but the Maw Walker lapsed into silence. She stared sightlessly over her shoulder at the deep, velvet twilight and the Dark Prince's deathly-still reflection.

"Then...” Renathal wet his lips. His mouth had gone oddly dry. “If the other Eternals have no objections… if they were to agree … you would choose to stay?”

The Maw Walker met his gaze, and her blue-white eyes glistened wetly.

"You don't know what these months without you have been like.”

"I assure you, I do.”

Before he had given them conscious permission, Renathal’s feet were moving, stumbling drunkenly across the Ta’Zavesh rug toward her. The Maw Walker’s hands were equally shaky as they greeted him, retracing their familiar path up his chest, fisting in his shirt as if afraid he might vanish.

"I don't want to spend eternity without you," said the Maw Walker, and the admission broke her voice.

"Nor do I," Renathal replied hoarsely. "And we need not try. Stay."

It was equal parts plea and demand. He took her hands and brought them reverently to his lips, drawing strength from their warmth; murmuring the word against them like a benediction.

“Stay,” and he clutched at her arms, dragging her closer; reaching for her face as carefully as his claw-like nails could manage, leaning in to imprint the command on her lips.

“Stay here,” Renathal repeated. “Stay with me. Revendreth needs you. I need you. I love you."

The confession was more anguished than amorous, but it matched the Maw Walker’s as she breathed the words he had waited so long to hear.

"And I love you, Renathal, but that is not -"

The Dark Prince’s mouth devoured whatever her next words would have been; entirely uninterested in what the Maw Walker thought her love was not. It was everything. He had known it instinctively, but hearing her say it out loud did something powerful to Renathal. His kiss was a violent frenzy of teeth and tongue, harvesting love from her like anima, the taste as vital and infinitely more precious. 

"Renathal ... please ... Renathal!"

Her words came in stolen gasps. Was she asking him to stop or begging for more? Renathal's brain was too preoccupied to interpret nuances of speech, but the way she arched desperately into him indicated the latter. He dutifully obliged.

The Maw Walker wrenched her head away, breaking his ravenous kiss to breathlessly caution, "Renathal! This isn't a promise. I cannot make a promise. If the Eternals contest it, I - I cannot stay."

Her eyes flicked to his, and he watched desire battle fear and sorrow and resignation. She was already convinced their love was doomed. Renathal, in surprising contrast, was suffused with a sudden immutable certainty that, for once, the Maw Walker was wrong.

"They will have to tear you from me," he growled, and silenced her again with a kiss that would hear no argument; not from the Maw Walker or the Eternals or anyone else in reality.

She loved him - and he pressed her to the cool glass, claws tearing at any metal or cloth that kept his body from joining hers. She loved him - and he refused to release her mouth as their hands worked frantically, the air in her lungs more necessary for his survival than anima. She loved him - and he reclaimed her; an artless, graceless, clumsy act, every movement full of an open desperation Renathal had not known since their first time together. She loved him - and the only thing that mattered was being as close to her as physically possible, becoming so completely part of her no force could rip him away.

This was no mere pleasure. This was love. And the feeling it birthed in Renathal afterwards, as he lay blissfully atop the Maw Walker now sprawled across the rug and their scattered clothes, was joy; pure, perfect, unadulterated. And entirely untouched by worry.

In fact, the only concern left in him at all was unextraordinary and easily solved.

"You know, this would be much more comfortable in my bed,” he murmured in her long ear.

The Maw Walker shifted under him. Renathal adjusted his weight warily - she was a flight risk at the best of times. For the moment, however, she did not appear inclined to any action beyond freeing her arms to push back the curtain of pale hair tickling her face.

“No,” she said, and shook her head as well, the declination apparently needing assistance. “I can’t, Ren, I can't. I cannot let myself get ... comfortable. It will just make it harder... I shouldn’t even have done this, but-”

Another kiss forestalled her growing hysterics. When he let her lips go, the Maw Walker moaned softly, then fell silent. And Renathal smiled; the first time in months he had attempted the expression.

"Of course you can," he purred. "There is absolutely nothing to worry over any longer. The Eternals will agree, and you will spend the rest of existence in the Shadowlands. In Revendreth. With me."

He savoured the words like a rich, redolent wine, even as the Maw Walker's nails clenched reflexively in his hair.

"You can’t know that for certain.”

"But I do.”

"How?"

“Because you are meant to be here, I am sure of it," said Renathal, still filled to bursting with an unbroachable surety more characteristic of the mortal beneath him. “You are part of a divine tapestry - the work of the Purpose - each event in your life a thread intentionally chosen, all woven together to bring you here. Surely, you cannot still believe our meeting to be the mere whim of coincidence?”

"I ..." The Maw Walker sighed, shaking her head again. "I'm not sure what I believe anymore. All I know is ... I have always lost everything I love."

The fragile throb of grief in her voice tugged at Renathal's instinct to remove it, but he could think of no comfort except to take her lips once more, hoping to infuse her with some of his own firm faith.

"You cannot lose me,” he murmured against her mouth when he allowed her air. “And that is my very safe promise." 

Renathal sealed his vow with a kiss to her forehead. The Maw Walker squirmed underneath him as his goatee tickled her nose. The undignified motion melted some of her taut anxiety, and she gasped appropriately as he gripped her chin between thumb and forefinger to hold her gaze.

“It’s you and me against the end of reality, dearest."

The words dripped with mordant humour, intended to coax a smile. Instead, the Maw Walker furrowed her brow.

“Shouldn’t it be, 'you and I'? Linking verbs and subjective pronouns and all that."

Renathal rolled his eyes.

“Possibly. But I was going for eutony over strict grammatical accuracy.”

And there it was, at last. A ghost of its usual glory, perhaps, but a smile erratically tugged at the corners of the Maw Walker's kiss-swollen lips.

"Did I tell you I love you?" she asked more conversationally.

"Yes." Renathal's amber eyes burned at the memory. "Yes, you did mention, but ... do feel free to repeat the sentiment as often as you like."

She giggled shakily, and he kissed her again, then let his lips wander languidly down her body; revisiting all his favourite, long-missed haunts and leaving her mouth free to do just that.

Renathal believed everything he told the Maw Walker about the Purpose, but that did not stop his anima practically vibrating as he hovered hugely over the Arbiter's chamber. Although, he thought, staring down his own projection to the stiff purple silhouette on the platform far below, whatever state his nerves might be in they were nothing compared to the Maw Walker's. Despite his attempts to proselytize her to the Purpose's plan, and in spite of the assurances of aid secured from his contacts in the other realms, the way the Maw Walker had slowly, reluctantly dressed him in preparation for this meeting, it was clear she had convinced herself she was seeing Renathal for the final time.

Now, she focused solely on the Arbiter. The Dark Prince assumed a more formal stance and fixed his gaze on the floating golden figure as well, half-listening as Pelagos explained to the other Eternals the reason they were gathered.

Everything would be fine, he reminded himself. Pelagos was her friend. Or had been when he was merely Kyrian. But even if his newfound power forestalled decisions made solely on friendship, the Maw Walker still had the support of the other friends she had made in every realm. Renathal was far from the only being intent on seeing her stay. Lady Moonberry, the Polemarch, her comrades in Maldraxxus; all had promised to urge their respective leaders to grant the Maw Walker's request.

Renathal's nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply; steadying his nerves, fortifying his faith.

"The Maw Walker? Stay in the Shadowlands?" said the Archon, and Renathal suppressed a wince at her incredulity. "None of the mortals are to stay once the Jailer has been defeated. That has already been decided. Their inevitable interference in our eternal responsibilities cannot be sanctioned. The Maw Walker must finish out her mortality like every other soul, and return to the Shadowlands in the proper time."

"The Maw Walker," announced Renathal into the cavernous space, "is something of an anomaly. By some power even the Eternal Ones have not yet fathomed, her soul is unable to be sundered from her mortal body, rendering death an impossibility."

Silence echoed loudly; Kyrestia and the other Eternals apparently waiting for one or other to find fault with this incredible fact. When no refutation came, the Archon summoned a second argument.

"And why would the Maw Walker choose to spend her ostensible eternity in Revendreth of all realms?"

"Ours is the covenant to which the Maw Walker has bound herself," Renathal explained with unimpeachable patience. 

"A dangerous partnership," Kyrestia countered darkly, "considering Revendreth's inglorious history. If the realm were to fall to corruption once more, it would have a most inequitable advantage."

The Archon stared over Renathal's head as she pronounced this; a reminder, perhaps, of the being who ought to have stood there, or how little space the Prince occupied in comparison. He straightened to his greatest possible height, but let the accusation pass uncontested. A fight with the Firstborne would do the Maw Walker's petition no favours.

"On the other hand," rumbled the Primus sedately, "the Maw Walker's presence in the Court of the Venthyr might be precisely what is needed to prevent any further instances of corruption. Not being Venthyr herself she is outside their politics. She may act as a neutral safeguard."

Renathal made a mental note to send an extravagant tribute to Drakka.

"Neutral?" scoffed the Archon, wings beating an incensed rhythm. "There would be nothing neutral about the Maw Walker's presence. Her attachment to Denathrius' firstborn has been remarked on in every realm, and my Polemarch has confirmed such rumours have a foundation of truth."

This time, Renathal's wince could not be wholly hidden. Asking Adrestes' to speak in Kyrestia's ear may have been going too far. 

"While he might consider their arrangement a benefit to Revendreth, there is much my Polemarch still does not understand - nor do you!" The Archon raised an imperious finger and pointed in Renathal's direction. "If you are to take our brother's place as Master of Revendreth, you must be willing and able to put aside the distractions of pleasure and seek first your eternal duty. This request merely confirms you are unprepared for the demands of this role."

A potent and precisely measured display of fury and power, that was the Dark Prince's instinct. And, had he faced anyone else, he would have enjoyed indulging in a bit of well-placed wrath. But this was the Archon of Bastion, unlikely to be cowed by threats or impressed by pride. So Renathal restrained himself and, with a brief glance below, carved his face into a likeness of the Maw Walker's signature impassivity.

"I make no pretense of measuring up, as it were, to my former Master's power or glory. Which is why Revendreth now answers to a court and not merely the Prince of the realm. I speak for the Court of Harvesters, but I, alone, do not command it. It is our combined efforts that guide our realm in reclaiming its noble purpose."

"And is it the Court of Harvesters' request the Maw Walker remain, or yours?"

"Both."

Renathal locked eyes with Kyrestia, as much as he was able across the vast space. She remained silent and still, but for her ever-beating wings, and Renathal cleared his throat and recited his carefully rehearsed speech.

"I believe the Maw Walker to be essential to Revendreth's recovery and continued safe operation. I believe the Purpose itself has guided her to the infinite realms; that it was her fate to be our saviour and her eternal destiny to remain an integral part of our reality. Nothing that has been accomplished since the veil was shattered would have been possible without her effort. To tear her from the Shadowlands now would be a detriment to us all. However..." His arms swept gracefully open; an illustration of his full disclosure. "I do not deny my own personal stake in her permanent presence. Though, I consider it an inestimable asset in the execution of my duties rather than a mere pleasurable distraction."

For several heavy beats of Kyrestia's wings, and several arhythmic palpitations of his unnecessary heart, Renathal waited. What was next? More rebuttal from the Archon? A merciful agreement from the Primus? He glanced subtly around the chamber waiting to see who would speak, but it was the deep, slow voice of the Winter Queen which broke the silence first.

"But ... this is not the petition of Revendreth. Nor its Prince. This audience was requested by the Maw Walker." Her steady gaze condescended to the purple figure on the distant floor. "Mortal, what have you to say? Is it your belief you are fated by the Purpose to remain in the Shadowlands?"

The other Eternal beings followed the Winter Queen's lead, and even Renathal could not resist squinting at the Maw Walker's silhouette. He rarely thought of her as small - she was taller than most mortals he had met - yet, in comparison to those who would decide her fate, her size was alarmingly insignificant.

"I don't know," the Maw Walker said, and Renathal's heart stopped beating. He thought it might never work properly again as she paused for an agonizing second. "Honestly, I am not sure what I believe in anymore: if all our outcomes really are fated ... our destinies controlled by some unknown, cosmic power. What I do know is that ... I want to stay. That is the destiny I have worked to create. That is the fate I have chosen for myself."

She sounded so poised, so perfectly at ease, whatever tumult she was concealing, and Renathal allowed hope to reanimate his heart.

"You understand the weight of this decision," said the Winter Queen portentously. "My sister is correct. Once the Jailer is defeated, the portals to your world will be closed. The veil must be reinstated. It is unlikely you will be able to return. Knowing this, would you still choose Revendreth and its Prince over your own world and your mortal life?"

"Yes. I would. I do."

Her words reverberated like one of Bastion's vespers, the euphonious echoes washing over Renathal as palpably as a tidal wave of anima. That this singular being would choose him for her eternity... he had never felt so royal, so powerful, so proud. For the first time since appearing in the Arbiter's chambers, the Prince of Revendreth felt fully as illustrious as the Eternal in whose space he stood.

The Winter Queen nodded gravely, then lifted her head to address her siblings.

"We have all trusted the Maw Walker to safeguard our separate realms. A duty she has not taken lightly and at which she has most certainly succeeded. I would trust her to choose the thread of her own fate, if the Arbiter has no objections."

The chamber's collective attention turned once more to the Arbiter's divine glow. But the smile he bestowed on them was the same Renathal remembered from Pelagos' Ember Court days, if a shade less awkward.

"A soul still possessed of a mortal body is not within my purview as Arbiter," he announced. "I can see no reason not to allow it, assuming the other Eternals agree."

The Winter Queen bowed her head solemnly. The Primus cleared his throat.

"As the Prince has so aptly said, without the Maw Walker, none of us would be here. I, myself, owe her a particular debt of gratitude. She may not have chosen Maldraxxus as her covenant, but I believe she will be essential in guarding the Shadowlands against potential future attack. I would be pleased to allow her to remain permanently among us as our Champion."

Renathal frowned. He was not sure he liked the implications of this caveat. But the rest of the room had turned to the Archon, waiting for Bastion to give its verdict.

"If the Maw Walker is indeed the champion of the Shadowlands," said Kyrestia, "then each of the realms ought to have a claim on her loyalty. She should not belong solely to Revendreth. We should all be allowed to call upon her when needed. With this stipulation will I accept this petition."

Renathal wet his lips, formulating a tactful argument, but the Maw Walker's supreme assurance interrupted his frantic thoughts.

"I am, as I have always been, at the disposal of all the Shadowlands, and more than happy to make myself useful where needed. But Revendreth is my covenant and ... my home."

Renathal could not see her face, but he knew the Maw Walker's voice well enough to hear her smile.

"My loyalty and duty to my realm must necessarily come first. I am sure that is a position of which Bastion can approve."

And Renathal could not stop his own lips curling past his fangs as Kyrestia considered, then nodded once.

"Very well," said Pelagos, his voice brimming with golden cheer. "The Maw Walker will remain in the Shadowlands then, even after the Jailer's defeat!"

"A preemptive assumption," intoned the Primus grimly.

"But a safe one," countered Renathal, elation leaking into every word. "Let us have faith! After all, when has our Maw Walker ever failed us?"

At this, the Maw Walker turned, facing Renathal for the first time since entering the chamber. Even from a distance, he could see wet adoration sparkling at him in her blue-white eyes.

"First, however, I believe the Shadowlands champion deserves a well-earned break." Renathal's lips lingered over her name, pronouncing it with proprietary pride, before winking in full view of the watching Eternals and declaring, "I await you at home."

It was to be nothing short of the most momentous and extravagant court Revendreth had ever seen. Such were clearly Duke Theotar and Temel's intentions, anyway.

Sinfall was chosen to give the Ember Court one last hurrah before its ultimate retirement. Red candles and decorations of various themes covered every conceivable surface. What looked like all the tables in the realm had been requisitioned to hold the endless trays of refreshment. And squeezed into the spaces between them was, apparently, the whole of Revendreth, with a steady stream of delegates from other realms filling in any remaining cracks. The courtyard was a sea of faces alight with anticipation; the excited chatter of uncountable voices, a steady, vibrant roar.

It would be a veritable throng that greeted the Maw Walker when she returned from Oribos. Renathal's shoulders tensed at the thought.

"This is turning into rather an elaborate affair," he remarked to Thetoar, tactfully couching his critique.

"Why, thank you, my Prince! So thoughtful of you to notice," was Thetoar's enthusiastic reply. "Though, I fear it is a fraction of the magnificence Temel and I envisioned.  We had hoped to unveil a statue of yourself and our Maw Walker as Sinfall's new anima font, but there was very little time and the Stonewright rudely refused us any assistance."

The Duke shook his head, taking a meliorating sip of tea, and Renathal added the Stonewright to his growing mental list of those to whom he must send thanks.

"A pity," he said mildly. "Although it may be for the best. Really, I had intended this to be a slightly more intimate court. Our guest of honour is the Maw Walker, after all, and her preferences do tend toward the humble and ... subdued."

"Oh, but my dear Prince!" cried Theotar in dramatic astonishment. "It would be quite unthinkably rude to deny even the lowliest being the privilege of witnessing such an important occasion! The Dark Prince and the mortal Maw Walker, whose love conquered insurmountable odds - not to mention several wicked villains - reunited at long last and for all of time! Why, the story will be told through the ages! It may be the most significant event in Revendreth's history!"

His declamation was loud enough to turn several nearby heads, and a smattering of cheers and applause prompted Theotar to execute an elegant bow. Renathal smiled. He was doing that a lot of late. His cheekbones were beginning to ache.

"An excellent point, and one with which I cannot argue," he admitted, accepting Gubbins' proffered teacup and allowing the fortifying liquid to ease his nervous tension.

"Now," said Theotar, with a more business-like air. "You must be sure to alert me before you begin your proposition. I will signal Boot to ring for silence so all our esteemed guests may attend."

The cup stopped halfway to Renathal's mouth.

"Proposition?" he asked non-plussed.

"When you ask the Maw Walker to be your Soulbind, of course!" 

Venthyr could neither blush nor blanch, but Renathal fancied his face grew colder as the anima in it abruptly drained. 

"I ... do not think this is quite the appropriate occasion.

"What occasion could possibly be more appropriate?" the Duke exclaimed with an incredulous laugh. "A most sublime party, all her friends and well-wishers present; the Maw Walker cannot help but be positively overwhelmed by such a gesture!"

Theotar clasped his hands to his bare breast, his pinched face flushed with wistful rapture. But, as much as it pained Renathal to disappoint his friend, the thought of putting the Maw Walker on the spot with such a question made him too nauseous to finish his tea.

"My dear friend," he said furtively, "that is precisely my concern." He set the cup gingerly on Tubbins' waiting tray. "That is one instance in which I would prefer the Maw Walker not be overwhelmed. It is, you must admit, an important decision, and one she has been reticent to agree to in the past."

The Maw Walker's steadfast refusal to soulbind with anyone had been an open scandal in Revendreth when she first arrived. Theotar himself had asked her; his offer politely but summarily declined. The memory took the wind from the Duke's exuberant sails. Even his hair seemed to droop sadly.

"I suppose it would be rude to forgo our mortal's sensibilities, however archaic." He sighed, then shook off the unpleasant thoughts like spilled tea and continued more jovially, "But! Should you change your mind, you must alert me before you ask her. I shall give Boot a signal to ring for silence so the guests may-"

The Prince let the Mad Duke ramble. At least, he reasoned, Thetoar would not be burdened long by disappointment when his scheme did not come to pass. Renathal, on the other hand, found the prospect harder to forget.

They had never discussed soulbinding. To be fair, there had never been a good time. And to pose such an unexpected question in front of practically all the Shadowlands did not sound like a gesture the Maw Walker would appreciate. A mere kiss to her cheek in front of the Ember Court was still enough to fluster her unduly. Renathal grimaced as a Venthyr he did not know jostled Tubbins' tray on his way to catch up with a group of equally unfamiliar giggling Nightfae. Perhaps he ought to have insisted the Maw Walker's homecoming be an invitation-only affair.

But for all Renathal's concerns she would not enjoy being greeted by a crowd - and in spite of the party planning committee's enthusiastic preparations - the Maw Walker's eventual arrival was heralded by all the fanfare she preferred. Which was to say, none.

Had she taken the lift or slipped up the stairs? Renathal had no idea. He had to blink at the figure on the ramparts several times to be sure she was really there and not something his imagination had conjured. Her hood was raised until her eyes were just visible, and she lacked her signature shield of purple light, but it was undoubtedly the Maw Walker's lavender face glowing inscrutably down at the horde of oblivious revelers.

Once, he would have worried her blank expression hid disapproval or distaste. Now, he watched her gaze wander the familiar courtyard - the refreshments terrace, the center stage, Theotar's shaded tea corner - and knew with certainty what the Maw Walker was remembering. The same memories paraded past Renathal, too, as he started for the rampart's stairs: exchanging Winter Veil gifts in this crumbling corner, coughing up slime on that particular stone during an Ember Court prank; they had fought the Stone Legion side by side on this very staircase, and the Maw Walker had taken his hand and guided him through her own memories on the same rampart path he now trod.

It was almost amusing for Renathal to recollect the horror this place once inspired in him. So many beautiful, blissful events had transpired here since Denathrius dragged him across its uneven stones. He had intended to end his firstborn; instead, he had given him new life. And, as he rounded the corner to find the Maw Walker waiting, Renathal felt just magnanimous enough to forgive both Sinfall and his Sire.

Forgoing any grand scenes or public announcements - he knew her too well - Renathal settled sedately beside the Maw Walker and murmured, "Welcome home." 

The Maw Walker lowered her hood to look up at him. Pushing back her long, loose hair, she met Renathal's glowing eyes with an equally heated smile. His affected heartbeat quickened as he watched her drink him in, waiting to hear her dry, witty reply.

But the Maw Walker had no words.

Instead, she lurched forward and flung herself into Renathal's arms with a force that sent him staggering and crumbling bits of stone raining onto the heads below. He recovered rapidly - from her violence and his shock - and caught her securely against him. On elated inspiration, he used the remaining momentum to spin them clumsily around. It was not as graceful as he would have liked, but it made the Maw Walker laugh. The sound was raw, unpolished joy, and she could not stop, even when she leaned in to kiss the Dark Prince soundly.

Somewhere far away, Renathal thought a crowd might be clapping and cheering. But the rest of Sinfall existed on a different plane of reality than the lovers locked together on its ramparts. For once, no thoughts of grand gestures or speeches or romantic public scenes distracted Renathal's mind; nor questions of Soulbinding or what waited in their future, or anything outside this moment at all. Every decision of eternal importance and each inconsequential pleasure he craved, there would be time for all of them later.

After all, they had eternity.

Read the epilogue: A Maw Walker by Any Other Name | Visit the Masterpost

#renathal x maw walker #prince renathal #renathal fanfiction #wow fanfiction #world of warcraft #shadowlands #revendreth #venthyr #the ember court #the maw walker #nightborne #mage maw walker #angst #non-graphic smut #happy ending #fanfiction #my writing

[late-to-the-fandom]

The fluffiest of Winter Veil gift exchanges. Rated T for very veiled sexual references. Read here on Ao3 for triggers and tags

"Am I expected to attribute this to mere coincidence?"

The words were dry enough to crackle in the cold, wintery air, but the slight smile that crept past Renathal’s fangs betrayed his true feeling.

"What else would you attribute it to?" asked the Maw Walker, her face all inscrutable innocence. She fiddled with one of the elegant knots on the silk-wrapped package she held, the words “Prince Renathal” inscribed on its small tag in a cramped and curly script. “Everyone in Sinfall is part of the gift exchange, so someone had to draw your name. It just ... happened to be me."

"And the fact that you were the one who enchanted the little bits of paper with everyone's names, and distributed them?"

The Maw Walker shrugged, and swept her long braid firmly over her shoulder.

"A statistical improbability," she said, the unrepentant smile that lit her face rivalling the candle-filled tree behind her for brightness. "I tend to attract them."

She offered Renathal the parcel, then nearly dropped it as “Picky” Stefan jostled her elbow in his haste to reach the tree. He wasn't the only one. Other eager denizens of Sinfall now flocked to the courtyard's festive centerpiece - and the offerings waiting beneath - prompting the Maw Walker to tuck her arm through Renathal's and drag him to a more sheltered corner, safely out of the fray.

For a moment, Renathal was entirely distracted by the sight of his friends and followers enjoying the unique holiday festivities. Apart from the tree and the gift exchange, there was caroling and what looked like an impromptu snowball fight courtesy of the Maw Walker's conjured snow. The Prince couldn't help feeling a proprietary pride at the merriment of his people, even though the Winter Veil themed Ember Court had been all Duke Theotar's idea. 

"Well?" The Maw Walker interrupted his fond reverie. "Would you like your gift or not?" she asked, proffering the parcel once more, and Renathal’s eyes flicked from her face to her hands in ill-concealed longing.

The Dark Prince of Revendreth adored gifts.

There was little he looked forward to more than occasions on which he could anticipate receiving a present. He craved them with a passion unbefitting a leader of his station, not to mention a Venthyr his age. What the gift was hardly mattered; the object itself was always secondary. It was the exquisite pleasure of being considered - knowing he was thought of in his absence - that elevated Renathal's soul to lofty, unassailable heights. That his secret lover should orchestrate events to ensure she could give him something particular was a thrill as substantial as an anima feast, the echoes of which he could subsist on for weeks.

"You need not have gone to any trouble," he demurred, accepting the silk-wrapped package as casually as his electric excitement would allow. He tugged at the elaborate knots, the cloth collapsing neatly in his hands; then falling to the stone at his feet, forgotten, as he stared at the garment within.

"Where did you get this?" he asked in astonishment, tracing the familiar green and silver pattern worked into the comfortably bulky material.

“Get it?” the Maw Walker scoffed. “You think the Night Market just happened to have a jumper with your armor's exact colours and motif? I made it, of course.”

"You made this?" Renathal repeated, amber eyes widening in surprise. That the Maw Walker could knit was its own interesting detail, but it paled before the more confusing question of, “How ever did you find the time?”

The glow animating the Maw Walker’s smile dimmed by several shades.

“Well … I suppose I can't really claim much credit after all,” she said slowly, with the air of having made some significant realisation. “I'll have to take you to thank the needles later.”

Renathal's eyebrows rose.

“The needles?” he asked, nonplussed.

“The knitting needles I enchanted," she explained. "They did all the real knitting, I guess. I mean, I left them the pattern and obviously I gave them the knowledge to read it, but … credit for the actual labour really should go to them.”

His eyes could go no wider, his eyebrows no higher, leaving Renathal to run his fingers distractedly through his hair as he struggled to wrap his mind around this onslaught of strange information.

"You ... enchanted a pair of knitting needles and left them to an extended task? Unattended?" There was a light but unmistakable bite to his sarcasm. "Surely that goes against your personal code of ethics concerning enchanted objects?”

The Maw Walker had the decency to look at least moderately abashed. She turned under the pretense of watching the snowball fight taking place on the distant terrace.

“Well, they weren't exactly unattended," she said, playing absently with the end of her braid. "I had Vorpalia watch them for me while I was gone ... you know, make sure they stayed on task, didn't get up to any mischief.” She shrugged the light dusting of snow from her shoulders and tugged her heavy gloves tighter. “I think she’s grown rather fond of them to be honest. She gets a bit lonely, you know. I might leave the enchantment up for a while. Just ..." She let her eyes wander to Renathal's. "Don't tell -"

She blinked, her little self-deprecating smile slipping at the sight of his face. Renathal had no idea what it looked like to her, but he doubted it expressed even a fraction of what he felt.

The Maw Walker’s disapproval of permanently enchanted objects had been a bone of contention between them since their very first meeting. Only months ago, even the mention of his sword was enough to make her tense and churlish. Now, she was willingly working with Vorpalia to plan him elaborate surprises, and breaking her own - admittedly ridiculous - rules to provide his sword companions?

The upswell of tender emotion in him was such Renathal thought he might burst trying to contain it. The urge to sweep her into his arms was physically painful to deny, and he found himself suddenly wishing they had done this in private. On wild, besotted inspiration, he let the jumper hang over his arm, taking the Maw Walker’s gloved hand in both of his and bringing it to his lips. He pressed words he could not say against the silk of her glove, lingering long past the point of propriety. He could only hope the courtyard around them was too preoccupied to notice.

There was a hardly an inch of her body Renathal's lips had not touched, yet something infused in the innocent gesture made the staid Maw Walker blush. 

"Perhaps,” suggested Renathal quietly, when he at last released her hand. “We might escape the rest of the Winter Veil festivities early?"

The Maw Walker bent down, ostensibly to retrieve the abandoned wrapping, but Renathal knew she was hiding her face until the heat in her cheeks had subsided.

"I suppose we could sneak away," she said casually, making a show of folding the silk into exactly even squares. "I doubt anyone would miss us what with everything going on. I just need to find the person who had my name, so they don't come looking for me later."

"Ah!" Renathal exclaimed. "Of course! I had nearly forgotten." And he drew his own exquisitely wrapped and tied parcel from a capacious inner pocket of his coat.

The Maw Walker blinked at the present once, then furrowed her brow at its supremely smug owner.

'You did not have my name, you had Draven’s!” she said, her indignance only half affected. “You can't switch names, that’s cheating!”

"Can it truly be considered cheating if the game itself is rigged?” asked Renathal, giving the archest look he could produce while fighting down amusement. “How did you know what name I was originally given?"

The outrage froze on the Maw Walker's face, and Renathal allowed himself a victorious smirk. 

“Perhaps, in the spirit of Winter Veil, we might agree to ... let it go?"

The Prince offered his present like an acknowledgement of a truce, and the Maw Walker, shaking her head, accepted.

If there was one thing Renathal enjoyed even more than receiving a gift, it was giving one. From the item itself, always carefully selected, to its presentation, never anything short of exquisite - he poured himself into every offering no matter how inconsequential. And the time - not to speak of the gold - he had spent on the Maw Walker's gift had been excessive, even for him. But as she delicately undid the precise purple ribbon and unfolded the sharply creased paper, Renathal felt a prickle of apprehension. Her gift had included such sweet, personal touches. Perhaps that was the sort of thing she preferred ... what if she considered his gift too gauche...?

But her face as she withdrew the shimmering material promptly dismissed all his worry.

“Is this ... a dress?" the Maw Walker asked, but the gown could speak for itself.

It cascaded to the floor as the she unfolded it, the icy blue of the bodice and sleeves deepening to cerulean where it brushed the stone. The Maw Walker ran her gloved hands cautiously across the sparkling fabric, as if fearing even so light a touch might cause it to dissipate, like one of its train's beaded snowflakes.

"It's so light ... and it folds so small. I've never seen material like this. What is it made of?”

It was a long time since Renathal had seen the Maw Walker gush over anything, and he drank in her excitement like the finest anima wine. 

“I am not entirely sure,” he admitted. “I cannot claim any hand in its creation. I asked for a gown light weight enough for easy travel without sacrificing aesthetic, and Te’Xera was able to provide." He wrinkled his nose at the gown's one fatal flaw. "I know it is not in your preferred colours, but -"

"It's gorgeous," crowed the Maw Walker, and Renathal's amber eyes glowed.

He watched in a pride that could have condemned a soul to the crypts as she pressed the dress against herself, holding its glittering train out to the side. It caught the light, and the eyes of several nearby Venthyr socialites, who wandered over to stare and admire and offer appreciation. The Maw Walker accepted the praise with a distracted smile, but her eyes remained on Renathal.

“Can I try it on?" she asked.

So much for slipping away. But the uncharacteristic enthusiasm brimming in the Maw Walker's face soothed any slight disappointment. And Renathal was confident her appreciation would show itself fully at a later time. Besides, he too had longed to see what her lavender skin looked like encased in the shimmery blue. Not to mention, the high slit in the leg had haunted his thoughts since he'd first laid eyes on the gown. Except -

“I fear it might not be best suited for your preferred Winter Veil weather,” he admitted. "The sleeves are long, but I do not think they were meant to provide any real warmth."

"Oh, don't worry about that," said the Maw Walker, tossing her braid back over her shoulder. "The cold never bothered me, anyway."

For my daughter - who never forgave me for not letting the Maw Walker be Elsa for Hallow's End.

Read Part 20: Mortal Reminders: An illusion! | Visit the Masterpost

#renathal x maw walker #prince renathal #renathal fanfiction #renathal x oc #revendreth #venthyr #shadowlands #wow fanfiction #world of warcraft #fanfiction #no smut #christmas story #winter veil #light & shadows #once upon a winter's veil

[late-to-the-fandom]

In which Renathal's quest to learn more about the Maw Walker is almost as difficult and time consuming as the quest after which this story is named. Rated T for brief, inexplicit mentions of death, violence, and non-graphic sexual tension.

Takes place shortly after "A Spilled Tea", before Denathrius' imprisonment.

"Are you quite comfortable?" asked Renathal, with the sort of razor-edged politeness that would have cut another Venthyr’s sense of self-importance to ribbons.

The mortal across the table from him, however, merely shivered, taking care the motion did not disarrange his long, well-coiffed blond hair. 

“Hardly. It’s freezing,” he berated the Dark Prince. “And you’d think with the number of candles in here you might actually be able to see something.”

Renathal’s eyes fluttered briefly closed. His well of inner patience was deep, but not infinite, and it had been centuries since anything had tested its limits like his on-going quest to discover more about the Maw Walker.

To add insult to inconvenience, it should have been a straightforward task. Any other time in Renathal's existence, he could have consulted the Curator, or the Master's private library. The Master himself would probably have known much about the Maw Walker's people offhand. But both the Curator's memory and her archives were ruined, and Denathrius and his library were no longer at the Prince's disposal. Still, with the surfeit of mortals currently residing in the Shadowlands, Renathal had expected little difficulty in locating another of the Maw Walker's kind to interrogate.

Recent events had illuminated the intriguing possibility that the Maw Walker might not be averse to negotiating new, more intimate, terms to their friendship. It was a tantalising prospect, though one fraught with difficulties, and while none were insurmountable, Renathal thought it prudent to collect more information on her before deciding how best to proceed. Besides, his curiousity had been salivating for some time for further details of the rebellion she had mentioned in passing but refused to fully explain.

He had sent Draven to Oribos with the task of retrieving a less recalcitrant Nightborne, but the mortal the General returned with bore only the barest resemblance to the Maw Walker. A shorter, paler elf with long, blond hair and small, green eyes, he introduced himself as a Sin'Dorei. But Blood Elf was the translation, and the term most familiar to Renathal. There were more than a few of those souls in Revendreth.

"What sort of information are you looking for?" asked the elf, adjusting himself in his chair with a long-suffering implicative of a cushion filled with nails.

"I would like the history of the Maw Walker and her people," said Renathal, ignoring the elf's show of discomfort. "And please, spare no detail."

The Sin'Dorei raised a long, blond eyebrow.

"I do have another job, you know."

But he gave Renathal an hour.

In that time, the Prince of Revendreth learned a great deal about the history of the elves of Azeroth; their descent from one race called the Highborne, and how its splintered factions became the variety of elves their world now contained.  Despite his protest of busyness, the Sin'Dorei recounted many tangential tales of his own people, but his font of garrulous knowledge dried up considerably when Renathal pressed for more about the Shal'Dorei, or Nightborne. Except, this elf called them something different.

"Why do you refer to them as, Nightfallen?"

The Sin'Dorei's eye roll was the very picture of elegant disdain that, on anyone else, Renathal could not have helped but admire.

"Well, I shouldn't really, anymore," said the elf. "I suppose they're all the same now. But the ones who rebelled called themselves 'The Nightfallen' and, you know, old habits." He shrugged, and made it look like a move in a dance. "I suppose they called themselves that because they'd fallen from their once grand place in the world. Suramar City used to boast itself as the 'jewel of the Night Elf kingdom'."  He wiggled his fingers skeptically. "Not hard since the majority of them live in trees but it's nothing compared to Silvermoon."

The elf paused to allow himself a well-tailored smirk, and Renathal blinked at him drily. He very much doubted either mortal city held a candle to the eternal beauty of Revendreth.

"And now, it's as much a ruin as this place," continued the elf blithely, eyes wandering the room in distaste. "Or so I hear, I've never been personally. But Lor'Themar, our Lord Regent, has been excessively generous in his assistance to the First Arcanist. He sent quite a few from Silvermoon to help them secure their city."

"The First Arcanist ... that would be the Nightborne ruler?" prompted Renathal, steering the discussion back to relevant waters.

"She is for the present. I don't know what their permanent plan is. They're historically led by some sort of coalition of noble houses. And the Grand Magistrix, but you know.” The elf shifted fractiously in his seat. “Are we nearly through? This chair was clearly not designed for beings with proper nerve endings.”

Venthyr did not require air to exist. Renathal's deep, rattling inhale was entirely affectation; a subtle warning to the mortal before him that he was rapidly losing patience.

"It is safe to assume," he said crisply, disregarding the elf's complaint. "That the ephemeral histories of one minor race on one small world are predominately unknown to those of us who have spent our existences blissfully unburdened by such quaint mortal affairs."

It took a moment for the elf to grasp this scathing pronouncement. When he had, he rolled his eyes once more, though this time it was accompanied by a blotchy, unflattering flush.

"The Grand Magistrix Elisande was the Nightborne's de facto ruler for something close on 10,000 years. Before she made a deal with the Burning Legion and let demons infest their city."

Renathal straightened in his chair. At last, they were getting somewhere.

"Anyone who disagreed with her was cast out and lost access to the Nightwell, their source of power. The First Arcanist was one of those, I assume the champion was as well.  They put a stop to Elisande eventually, but they're still purging the Legion from the land." He shook his head. "Really, they ought to have dealt with her much sooner. When we discovered what Sunstrider was-"

The elf's editorial comments drifted to the background of Renathal's thoughts. He leaned on the arm of his chair, stroking the hair on his chin absently, as he compared this new information to the cryptic hints the Maw Walker had dropped. He supposed this Grand Magistrix was who she had meant by “her people's Denathrius", and he assumed her rebellion of subjective success was what the Sin'Dorei called "The Nightfallen". But nothing the elf said so far accounted for why the Maw Walker would not speak of it. Unless...

"The rest of the Nightfallen. Were they destroyed?" asked Renathal, interrupting the Sin'Dorei's diatribe.

"What? No, of course not. Not all of them," he said exasperatedly. "I mean, I'm sure many were killed by the Legion, but there's plenty left. Haven't I already said Lor'Themar sent them aid? Really, if you're not even paying attention -"

But the Dark Prince of Revendreth had finally had enough, and his title, unlike his breathing, was not an affectation.

He leaned slowly forward, claws clicking menacingly against the table, and his expression would have cowed even the most hardened of Venthyr. As for the mortal opposite, he looked as though he might faint; his pale face registered a wholly inelegant terror. And the only reason he was not reduced to a gibbering puddle of penitence was Renathal’s determination to extract every bit of information he could.

"And the Maw Walker’s family? What became of them?” Renathal said into the chill silence.

"Dead, I think. She let slip something about a dead sister once, but I don’t know any details." The Sin'Dorei’s voice quavered with the dregs of fear. "Besides the fact that she's virtually indestructible, nobody knows very much about her."

Renathal's burning amber eyes narrowed dangerously.

"You told General Draven you were her friend.”

"I said I knew her, and I do!" cried the Sin'Dorei, cowering in his chair. "I followed her around in Zuldazar, and we fought together a few times but you have to understand - the Champion doesn't have friends! Not really. Even her own First Arcanist doesn't talk to her. Or about her. I don't know anybody who does. And she does not like to be asked questions."

This time, there was no artifice in the Sin'Dorei's shiver. He looked a great deal less glamorous with his pinched face discoloured by fear, and Renathal allowed his own features to soften enough so the mortal would not ruin the chair's upholstery.

“Very well,” he said, and for the first time since their introduction, granted the elf a small, smug smile.

In fact, though it would not do to show it, Renathal felt almost excessively cheerful. The idea that this mortal - and his careful good looks - enjoyed a much lower standing with the Maw Walker than Renathal himself set him in such high spirits he could not even be disappointed the elf had nothing else useful to offer. He produced a sincere thank-you and a more than civil farewell before allowing the elf to gather what remained of his dignity and scuttle from the room. With the door safely shut behind the Sin'Dorei, Renathal gave his smirk free reign of his face.

She doesn't have friends, the elf had said, but had the Maw Walker not called Renathal just that at last week's Ember Court rehearsal? A different kind of friends, he remembered her thrilling words perfectly, and he leaned back in his chair and basked in the warmth of his immoderate pride. He had not learned all he wanted, but this proof the Maw Walker preferred him to her mortal acquaintances made the time spent more than worthwhile.

And - he steepled his fingers in front of him - it was not as though he had learned nothing. True, he had as many questions now as when the interview began - such as why the Maw Walker was here at all instead of aiding her own city’s restoration efforts - but he also had a greater grasp on Nightborne history, which could make it easier to coax the details he still lacked from the Maw Walker herself. 

Renathal’s jovial self-satisfaction lingered through the rest of that day and into the next, insulating him from the disaster that was the first official Ember Court.

Reflecting on it as he scanned the now-empty courtyard for his co-host, Renathal was hard pressed to decide which part had been worst: the Maw Walker's spectacular failure at the Ritual of Atonement that elicited actual boos from the socialites in the crowd; some debacle with the dredgers Renathal had not personally witnessed but which resulted in the shattering of Theotar's favourite tea set; or the manifestations of sin erupting from the court's meagre anima font and assailing the precious few nobles who had consented to attend. The Prince had closed the court with his humblest apologies for the various mishaps, and assured their guest of honour - Cryptkeeper Kassir - that next week's would be a much more traditional affair.

Certainly an inauspicious inauguration, and yet … a smile teased Renathal's fangs as he spotted the Maw Walker's purple gown at the top of the rampart stairs. Apart from her belligerent argument with the Accuser over the appropriate atonements for sin, none of the incidents had really been her fault. And besides, he thought cheerfully as he crossed the courtyard, it was nice watching someone else fail for a change.

The Maw Walker was perched on the highest step, back ramrod straight and eyes tightly shut. If it were not for the slight breeze lifting loose tendrils of her high-piled hair, she might have been a statue carved from purple-hued stone. Renathal walked, rather than glided, up the steep staircase, letting the precise thud of his plate armour boots herald his approach. But the Maw Walker's eyes remained closed even when he stepped across her, carefully placing the items he carried on the nearest iron baluster.

"It could have been worse," he said by way of greeting as he set to work preparing his after-court gift.

A vague hum was Renathal's only indication the Maw Walker heard him until the pop of the cork from the bottle made her eyes snap open.

"It was only your first official foray," he continued, pouring a generous measure of anima wine into the two long-stemmed glasses. " I assure you, they do get easier. And Kassir is fortunately forgiving. He has already promised to return next week. So, we will have another opportunity."

He bent to offer a glass to the still-seated Maw Walker who regarded it steadily for a moment before, at last, accepting.

"To your first true court experience," said Renathal wryly, clinking his glass against hers.

He straightened and lifted his glass to his lips, then lowered it when he noticed the Maw Walker staring blankly at her own. Admittedly, it was the wrong sort of glass for this wine, but the best Renathal's dredger contacts had been able to purloin. He wondered if the Maw Walker - a self-proclaimed connoisseur - was particular about such things. But before he could inquire, she gave what was, for her, a dramatic sigh.

"I've been hosting courts much like this for thousands of years, your Highness," she said. "I'm afraid I’ve always been a bit disappointing."

Thus unburdened, she drained the glass in one, then held it out to Renathal again. He eyed it hesitantly, unsure if he ought to refill it or take it away. 

"These sorts of affairs were a regular pastime at home," the Maw Walker added.

Renathal hastened to pour her more wine.

"Suramar, you mean," he said tonelessly, scrubbing his voice of any trace excitement.

"Mm," the Maw Walker hummed her agreement, sipping her second glass more sedately. "Political parties and courts ... impressing guests ... forging alliances over drinks. It's strange ... " She cast somewhat unfocused eyes on the courtyard below before continuing thoughtfully, "Running all the way to a different plane of reality just to find the same things you had at home."

Renathal took a short sip of his own wine, but tasted only the triumph of being granted the perfect opening.

"It is true," he said, after swallowing. "There are many similarities between our respective realms."

"What do you mean?"

The Maw Walker's voice had shed some of its dreamy quality, but Renathal, eager to flaunt his new knowledge, chose to overlook this.

"Well, the parallels between the Master and your Grand Magistrix speak for themselves," he said, taking his time with each word as if only now considering them. "Rulers who have betrayed their realms to an enemy in exchange for power. In Denathrius' case, the Jailer, and in Elisande's, the Burning Legion. And, of course, the Nightfallen rebellion has much in common with our work here in Sinfall."

He chanced a glance at the step below him. The Maw Walker was openly staring. Shock radiated off her like a wave of her arcane magic, and Renathal used his half-full glass to cover the smirk he could not quite contain. 

"How do you know all this?" she asked in wary wonder.

Renathal, who had absolutely no intention of ever admitting the lengths to which he had gone to gain this information, merely arched an eyebrow and gave a shrug the Sin'Dorei would have envied.

"This is not Bastion, where souls are divested of their memories. Those who arrive in Revendreth bring many stories, their own and others. And I have always been a passionate collector of such tales."

The Maw Walker's eyes narrowed, and Renathal cast about for a decent distraction before she could pick apart his non-answer.

"Of course, stories lack pictures, but from what I understand, Suramar City was once nearly as handsome as Revendreth."

He was taken aback at how well this rudimentary tactic worked.

"Nearly as handsome?” the Maw Walker repeated, the growing shrewdness in her face abruptly vanishing. "Suramar City at the height of its power was the jewel of all Azeroth. Truly, there is nowhere that compares.”

Renathal sniffed, and took another sip of wine. "Quite," was his only reply, but its dubiousness did not go unnoticed.

"I am not sure you could be considered a qualified judge, your Highness, having never left the Shadowlands," said the Maw Walker loftily. "I have been to many, many worlds now and have yet to see anywhere more beautiful than Suramar City before its fall. It was..." Her mouth hung open, waiting for the right word to appear. But language ultimately failed her, and she shook her head. "Beyond description."

Biting back the argument unlikely to vouchsafe him more answers, Renathal dipped his head and agreed, "I am sure it was considered very beautiful among mortal cities."

It was the closest he could come to concession, but apparently it would not do.

The Maw Walker's glass rattled as she abandoned it on the stone step and finally stood, squaring against the Dark Prince with uncharacteristic vim. He gave no ground; indeed, the spark in her blue-white eyes - not to speak of her body's sudden close proximity - made anima pump through him pleasantly and his heart affect a faster pace.

She stared at him for several, unblinking seconds, and Renathal could not decide if she was more likely to hit him or kiss him. But the Maw Walker - always full of surprises - chose, instead, a wide and wine-dark smile.

"Would you like to see?" she said in a voice that promised mischief, and before Renathal could fathom her meaning, let alone decide on an answer, the Maw Walker had reached up and touched her fingers to his temple.

The last time she did this - when rescuing him from the Maw - her spell had granted Renathal a unique mental clarity. This time, it dropped a heavy purple veil over all his senses. The wuthering wind and caustic Light of the Ember Ward disappeared, replaced by the soft murmur of running water and a silky, violet twilight. He opened his mouth to ask the Maw Walker what she had done, but a glance at his new surroundings temporarily robbed him of speech.

The entire world was drenched in agnate shades of purple and blue. Renathal's vision swum as his eyes tried to focus; the lack of visible horizon on which to anchor himself made him sway. A city engulfed the skyline on every side, swelling in endless crescendos; it felt as though he was drowning in a sea of enormous, graceful buildings. Except, to call them buildings was uncharitable, almost indecent - they looked birthed, rather than made, crafted through some more elegant magic than Revendreth's steel and muck-made mortar. He craned his neck to follow their silhouettes where they surrendered to a glittering indigo sky.

"Welcome to Suramar, Prince Renathal."

The Maw Walker's voice broke through Renathal's trance.

“How is ... what did ...” he stuttered incoherently, his brain stumbling through the deluge of sensations, but the Maw Walker - as was often the case - understood his concern without words.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t kidnapped you," she said in mild amusement. "This is just an illusion. We’re still standing on the ramparts. So be careful where you step."

Her warning recalled Renathal’s sluggish mind back to his body. He became aware of his slack jaw, his loose grip on his half-forgotten glass.

“So… what do you think?” the Maw Walker asked with ill-concealed smugness.

Renathal brought his wine to his lips and swallowed thoughtlessly, buying himself more time to craft the admission she was certainly owed.

"You ... did not exaggerate,” he said finally.

The Maw Walker's laugh lacked condescension. It was a free, light-hearted sound, happier than any Renathal had yet heard, and her face was bright with a joy that made her look, somehow, younger.

“And you’ve hardly seen anything, your Highness. Come!"

She grabbed his free hand and attempted to drag him forward, but Renathal dug in his heels. Thrown off his axis and scrambling for some semblance of control, he regarded the Maw Walker sternly, an expression only part jest.

"I have asked you to call me Renathal."

The little violet spots on the Maw Walker's cheeks were the same shade as the surrounding twilight. She wet her lips briefly, then conceded, "Very well. Come then, Renathal."

She tugged at his hand, more gently this time, and Renathal allowed her to lead him into the illusion of Suramar City.

Conscious of the ramparts hidden beneath them, the Maw Walker picked a careful path through a courtyard of such splendor even the Master would have been envious. To Renathal's surprise and delight, she turned out to be an effusive guide, all her usual reticence gone as she named and explained Suramar's intricate architectural details. His eyes drifted in and out of focus, struggling to absorb each new wonder, but the longer they wandered, the less Renathal noticed the sights at all - the towering magenta topiaries, the dusk lilies floating in softly glowing pools - and the more his attention fixated on the Maw Walker herself.

Perhaps it was the anima wine or some effect of her own arcane magic, but the visible change it wrought in her usually impassive face was striking. He had noted on many occasions the Maw Walker's various physical attractions, but the carefree smile she wore now - as natural on her face as her nose or eyes - had transformed her into something as exquisitely lovely as the city she clearly adored.

At first, Renathal kept up a suitable dialogue, nodding and querying where appropriate, but this eventually trailed into pensive silence as he drank in the Maw Walker's voice. What must it be like to be talked about with such undisguisable affection, to be thought of in such adulation it leaked into every word someone spoke? His mind conjured mesmerizing fantasies of the Maw Walker saying his name like this, and the thrilling shiver it drew from him caught her eye.

"Where the arcwine is - Oh." She broke off mid-sentence and stopped so abruptly Renathal nearly knocked her down. "I'm ... so sorry, your - Renathal. I - I suppose I've made my point. I'm sure you must be bored. I'll take us back."

Embarrassment marred her earnest beauty, and Renathal could not permit it. He tightened his grip on her hand before she could end her spell and slip away.

“No, not at all! Far from it," he insisted. “This has been a rare delight. I have loved every minute we have shared here, I was ... merely wondering ..."

The Sin'Dorei's warning about the Maw Walker's stance on questions gave Renathal pause. But ... he was a different sort of friend; she had said so herself. Surely such rules did not apply?

As if in encouragement, the Maw Walker's thumb absently stroked the back of his hand, and the intimate gesture infused Renathal with a warm and sanguine confidence.

"Why did you leave Suramar?"

A cloud passed over the Maw Walker's shining face. She blinked it quickly away.

"I am better suited other places," she said, which answered nothing, and Renathal pressed recklessly on.

"Better suited somewhere other than your home? Other than ... here?"

He indicated the magnificence around them with his glass, spilling wine across the illusory marble. It made the Maw Walker laugh, albeit less fully than before, and pluck the cup from Renathal's careless hand.

"Is this your way of saying you no longer need me in Revendreth?"

"Absolutely not."

The low growl in Renathal's words surprised even him, and made the Maw Walker's breath catch sharply. He was suddenly very aware of how little space remained between them. To lean in and taste the wine still lingering on her lips would require no effort at all. But...

His eyes flicked from side to side, vainly attempting to penetrate the rich purple glow of the illusion to the courtyard lurking underneath. It had been empty except for the guards when he had first found the Maw Walker, but he had no idea how long ago that had been ... or who might have ventured out of Sinfall's depths in that time ... or even where exactly in the courtyard they now were.

Renathal inhaled deeply through his nose, a breath necessary only for cooling his heated anima. Reluctantly, he eased himself back a fraction, adding a measure of cautious space between himself and temptation.

"I am certainly not giving you permission to abandon the oath you swore to Revendreth," he said. "But it is evident how much this place means to you. It seems strange for you to have left it."

The Maw Walker's breathing was also measured, and Renathal wondered if their thoughts ran the same tantalising track. But when she spoke, her voice was subdued.

"This is Suramar as I remember it before the Burning Legion," she said. "Nearly everything I loved about it - that made it home - is gone. It is ... not like this anymore." 

This time the Maw Walker succeeded in freeing her hand, and she touched Renathal's forehead again.

The noise assailed his senses first, a cacophony of terrified screams and uncanny, eldritch shrieks. Glancing around the same courtyard through which the Maw Walker had escorted him, Renathal watched as demons of various incarnations prowled the once pristine streets. The glowing trees and topiaries were alight with fel green flame, tainting the purples and blues in a jarring, inconsanant glow.

From a strictly aesthetic perspective, the scene was inarguably horrible, but Renathal was less discomfited than he had been upon his first vision of Suramar. Terror was much more his wheelhouse. He watched in professional curiousity as the fel creatures wrought their havoc, and cocked his head in interest at one beast in particular whose horns and hooves and wings were oddly familiar...

Renathal took a half step forward, intending to inspect the illusion, but the Maw Walker's hand suddenly clutched his shoulder, winning his undivided attention. His amber eyes widened as they found her face, more startled by her sickly pallor than any of the surrounding horrors. She leaned closer to him - head bowed, eyes closed - and if Renathal had not known her better he would have said she sought his protection. Which made it all the more fortunate none of the visions could do them harm; the Maw Walker's obvious and uncharacteristic distress had frozen him in place. 

Some enormous demon of rock and green flame lumbered around the corner. Its steps made the ground beneath them shake, and the Maw Walker actually shiver. Her hand holding Renathal's wine glass trembled so violently he was sure it would shatter. But it was only when her head hit his chest plate that his trance finally cracked in alarm.

"End this," he said to her. "Now." 

It was a command, and though Renathal lacked his medallion, it rang with unbroachable power. Eyes closed, the Maw Walker's fingers crawled up his face; locating his forehead, and pressing hard, and -

- and they were standing on the silent ramparts overlooking the Bridge of Banishment.

Renathal shook his head to clear the dregs of the vision, blinking in the abrupt change of light. The clamor and chaos had left a ringing in his ears, so he felt the Maw Walker's short sigh of relief against his chest more than heard it. Squinting through the Ember Ward's harsh light, he inspected her discreetly. Not that she noticed; her eyes were still squeezed shut, fingers fisting in his shirt. It would wrinkle the material, which was a ridiculous thing to be thinking about, but Renathal's mind was still fumbling to find sure footing in a world where the Maw Walker was afraid.

"I suppose that would be the Burning Legion," he said slowly.

He hoped his voice might break the spell of whatever horrors held her captive. But the Maw Walker only nodded once, another quiet tremor wracking her frame.

Renathal glanced around the ramparts and what he could see of the courtyard below. Apart from a few scattered dredgers, and the Stoneborn guards he knew waited at the gate underneath, there were no witnesses to observe them. With all the gentle, respectful caution he would apply to a skittish sinrunner, Renathal slipped his arms around the Maw Walker's bare shoulders. She didn't move - another surprise - although one considerably more pleasant.

The initial shock of her fear now fading, he found he very much liked being the Maw Walker's source of comfort. Seeing her capable of anything so mundane as fear was as nice a change as watching her fail at the Ember Court. It made the illustrious champion of the Horde seem more real, not to mention what it did for Renathal's ego. In fact, the only thing marring the buoyant experience was his inconveniently irrepressible curiousity. 

Even as his fingers stroked soft circles in the Maw Walker's silky gown, his mind was racing, seething to know why such commonplace enemies should upset her. He sifted through the sights the Maw Walker had shown him, searching for something she might have let slip ...  Let slip ... the Sin'Dorei had used those same words, and Renathal was struck with an idea.

"Was your sister among those Nightborne killed by the Legion?" he asked, realising his mistake too late.

The Maw Walker stiffened in his arms. She released her hold on Renathal and lifted her head, face fixed in an expressionless mask.

"Did one of Revendreth's souls tell you that as well, your Highness?"

The words were tinged with an unmistakable frost. Renathal scrambled to construct a plausible explanation, a suitable excuse. But he could think of nothing, and the Maw Walker was still staring, and he fell back on his old failsafes: dark humour and charm.

"In a manner of speaking," he said, painting on a wry smile. "I do not believe I specified whether the soul was living or dead. Or ... whether they were condemned to Revendreth or here on some different errand."

The Maw Walker blinked slowly, then turned, still carrying Renathal's wine glass, and walked briskly down the ramparts in the direction of the stairs. Leaving Renathal's heart to plummet miserably as he kicked himself for his misstep. Her uncommon volubility in the illusion had disarmed him, lulled him into a false sense of candor. And now ...

Now, he thought glumly, he had damaged the remarkable friendship they had managed to create, and almost certainly destroyed his budding hopes for more. He would be demoted to the same status as the Sin'Dorei: an acquaintance whose tiresome company the Maw Walker was occasionally forced to endure. And that thought was so unbearable, Renathal forsook his own scrupulous self-regard. 

He followed the Maw Walker's path down the ramparts, in something shamefully close to a run, determined to offer an apology she could not reasonably refuse. He had no idea if he was truly sorry, or even what he had to be sorry for, but that was beside the point. The Maw Walker was the refreshing oasis that sustained Renathal in these tumultuous times, and he would shelve his sense of fairness - and his insatiable curiousity - if the alternative was losing her altogether.

His brisk footsteps slowed as he rounded the corner. The Maw Walker was still at the top of the stairs.

She had retrieved her abandoned wine glass and was filling it again, Renathal's own waiting beside it on the iron baluster. When the glass was full - much more than was strictly proper - she emptied the last of the bottle into his. Renathal took this as a sign the Maw Walker would permit his presence, though he walked the rest of the ramparts with a greater degree of caution.

"I'm sorry," she said as he reached her, though she addressed the courtyard below. "I know things are different here. Death ... doesn't seem like such a loss. It's not the end of anything for you, but ... you must understand, it was for me." Wine trickled down the Maw Walker's chin as she gulped down the last of her glass. She brushed it away, fingers hiding her face as she finished, "My sister's death was the end of my life, and I prefer to let it rest in peace."

There was a definite tremor in the Maw Walker's voice, but her hand as she set down her glass and picked up Renathal's was steady.

"I know you have an ... excessive fondness for stories," she said, turning to face Renathal though not meeting his eye. "But mine is disappointing. And I prefer it to be forgotten. I hope you can understand this, and I hope ... we can still be friends."

The Maw Walker held the wine out to Renathal like an offering of peace. Its request was inherent, and he hesitated only a second before acquiescing.

If privacy was the price for her friendship, he would find a way to pay it. He nodded his agreement, accepting the glass with both hands.

"I apologize," he said, and was surprised to find a genuine earnestness tripping his tongue. "I cannot pretend to truly understand, but ... you do not have to explain if it pains you. And ... I am sorry for your sake that circumstances have led you here. Revendreth must seem a very poor replacement for your home and your family."

The Maw Walker blinked, and her sangfroid gently thawed.

"I wouldn't say that," she replied. "Renathal."  She added his name in a voice as soft as Suramarian twilight. And while it could not quite be called adoration, it still made Renathal's anima effervesce.

With a final eloquent shudder, the Maw Walker shed the conversation like an ill-fitting coat and leaned back against the balustrade.

"Alright," she said, adopting a business-like air. "Explain to me how atonement works. All these different sins and their punishments, I just - do not understand. How do you decide what sort of punishments make up for the different kinds of crimes?"

Renathal's long-suffering sigh would have made the Sin'Dorei's pale face green with envy, as would the friendly, familiar way he leaned on the balustrade beside the Maw Walker.

"We do not punish in Revendreth," he explained. "We educate."

The next hour found them propped side by side, debating the intricacies of atonement. And while they remained at least a sword's length apart, Renathal genuinely felt no disappointment. It was not exactly how he had hoped the evening would end, but, for the moment, he was smugly content in the knowledge he remained a different sort of friend.

The Maw Walker was not going anywhere. Renathal could wait.

Read Part 21: Mortal Reminders: What are you hiding? | Visit the Masterpost

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