"Come in," she said...
Apr. 30th, 2011 09:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
yukiehay look guise i wrote moar
TITLE: Came in From the Wilderness
FANDOM: WoW
PEOPLE: Ishandarr and Leilandra, Ishan's ex-boss, and other assorted badass adventurers.
PAIRING: Ishan+Andra. D'aww.
RATING: R; violence and creepy mindmunch, even if only in dreams. I'm not even kidding. XD;
SUMMARY: There are a few reliable cures for nightmares; Andra has a pretty fair repertoire, which Ishan very much appreciates.
WARNINGS: There are disturbing somewhat violent mental-badtouch nightmares (I DON'T EVEN - IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE CUTE BUT THEN) and there is brainmunchy.
NOTES: The cute. I esplod. XD I have no idea how this pairing happened but it's freakin' cute so I NO CURR. XD This fic kind of goes cute/WTF/cute like an oreo whose centre is made of pure demented, :D; Also, I want to kick Ner'zhul. Wheee~
Beware plummeting typos. Continuity may not be as depicted on box. Do not fold, spindle or apply Frostmourne to face. Andra belongs to Kyl, so any errors in depiction happened because my neurons were doing the chooga somewhere else. XD
LOOK THE COLOURFUL FONTS ARE BACK
***
"You're absolutely sure you don't mind doing this? I can manage another hour."
Leilandra grinned. "I'm sure I'm sure. Ishandarr, you're pretty obviously exhausted. I'm sorry to burst your bubble but the stoic thing only works if you don't also look like you're going to fall over any second. it's honestly okay."
"It's that bad?" Ishan looked sheepish. "Well - I guess three days is kind of pushing the limit of my endurance."
"Three days!?"
Now he looked embarrassed. "Yeah, I - I can explain it but I'll be able to explain it better after I've slept a little, my vocabulary's about to go spiralling down the drain and I'll end up just quoting inappropriate poetry for no reason."
"That might be pretty funny...but you can do that later, too. I'll take this watch shift, you sleep."
'Thank you, Leilandra," Ishan said, and smiled a bit shyly. "I really appreciate this."
"Any time, Ishandarr?" Andra was kind of grateful for the dim light as she was sure she'd just started blushing like crazy. He had a cute smile. She watched Ishan make one of his blanket nests on the bedroll (which was also cute), curl up, and bury his face in the pillows. Apparently some Death Knights were prone to sleeping like Aer's kitty.
Why had he been awake for three days? That was kind of - well, she knew Death Knights didn't need to sleep as often as someone who was alive, but judging from how Teraeis scheduled things it was best if they slept one or two hours every day, or something like that. Ishan being awake for three days straight boded bad things.
She'd seen him drift off a couple of times, only to startle awake looking completely frazzled and even paler than usual. Nightmares, maybe? That would make sense, and it would make more sense if they were bad ones. It didn't take a complete genius to work out the likely subject matter, either.
For the fifth time in as many days Andra entertained some happy thoughts about introducing the Lich King to lots of random fire. Between the pervy-brain-whispers-style harassing of Ter, and Ishan's inexplicable fear of napping...
…Lots of fire. Yes.
Andra got comfortable and curled up a bit, taking a rather dry and boring book on thaumatological theory out of her pack. She would absolutely NOT be so absorbed by this thing that 'watch' would become an alien concept; the writing was just too BAD for that to happen. The author really had an unnatural love for 'forthwith' and 'heretofore' and every third sentence began with 'hence', and it was distracting. Not the kind of book that would take her focus off matters at hand.
Ishan made a funny little noise in his sleep and curled up smaller, then kind of cheek-nuzzled the pillow.
He really was cute, dammit. He didn't seem to have much of an idea about this (see also: Ter), and that was also cute. He let himself be a little vain about stuff like his hair and his armour, and sometimes he had these dorky smug moments (never unwarranted) that inevitably made Ter roll his eyes and bestow a good-natured elbow-nudge. He was wickedly smart, and his sense of humour was awesome. He seemed to know exactly when being a slight goofball was required to keep things from getting too bleak (Aer was good at that too). But above all he was just really kind. There must have been some extremely naughty crap at work in his brain to turn him from a compassionate wise-ass into the fear-loving crusader-terrorizing ghoul-raising murderous jackass he claimed he'd been as Ebonbrooke the Acherus Knight.
It didn't seem so farfetched as to be unbelievable - the Lich King's psychic talents were absurd - but looking at him now...if she hadn't known what he was, she wouldn't have ever taken him for what he'd been.
She heroically resisted the urge to go and pat his hair even if she didn't think he'd really mind too much.
Across the way she heard Aerionn and Teraeis conversing softly as Aer relieved Ter of the watch. It was too quiet at night, here. Only the sound of the wind, and the odd passerby. None of the night birds of Eversong, or the nighthawks as it were. Silvermoon city was never totally still even in the middle of the night. It wasn't this DARK, either; their lanterns seemed pathetic and tiny against this vast moonless darkness. It was at least a clear enough night that the stars were visible, but there were too many of them for Andra to pick out the familiar ones she knew: the Empress Phoenix, the Soaring Crow, the Pensive Magestrix. They were all just swallowed up by a million billion little points of light, and while it was beautiful it was also unsettling.
Everything about this place was unfamiliar, and they were just as alien to it as it was to them. They stuck out like a bad dye job at a Midsummer festival, and Andra often felt downright stared at. Sometimes it was the wildlife, sometimes it was some random stupid ghoul they'd make short work of, but when there was nothing around them at all, and the staring feeling happened anyhow?
...Bluh, she thought, I really need to drop this train of thought if I don't want to scare myself stupid and be the worst watch ever.
Ishan made another funny little noise, and Andra watched him closely. It seemed to be just a sleeping noise though.
He was kneading the pillow a bit.
What was he dreaming about? She knew he could dream, and so could Ter, and even if they hadn't told her outright they showed all the signs of dreamers' sleep: the sometimes-uneven breathing, the little murmurs and sighs, the slight flutter of eyelashes and the movement of eyes behind closed eyelids.
This didn't seem to be too bad a dream, but if it got bad, she'd wake him.
Way, way off, a wolf howled, and Andra jumped a bit but then smiled. A wolf was a wolf, it was normal for them to live up around here. Nothing unnatural and creepy outside the innate creepiness of a wolf howl, and that was a beautiful kind of a creepy. Not a trying-to-eat your-soul creepy.
...Now she really wanted to pat Ishan's hair again. Thinking about trying-to-eat-your-soul reminded her again of what he and Ter had gotten free of and what they were as far as she knew being constantly threatened with.
Seriously. Did Arthas have no life (or unlife as the case might be)? Didn't he have better things to do than inappropriate ghost-brain-kneading and siccing weird stalkery wraiths on people and smacking paladins and shamans around in the astral? It seemed as if he did a lot of sitting and waiting and a lot of annoying BULLYING but not a lot of smashy/conquery on his own. He left that to his people, and...what, did he just sit around on the glacier all day?
As she snickered quietly at the idea of the Lich King being essentially a huge slackoff loser, she suddenly remembered Ishan's expression when Ter'd spoken openly of the relationships Arthas had with the ranking knights. He'd blushed (well, as much as he could), bitten his lip a little, and murmured about 'never without my permission', then been unable to look anybody in the eye for half the day. Okay, so the jerk didn't just sit around.
Andra mentally reassigned Arthas to the category of 'vaguely maybe somewhat considerate loser/pervert', and tried to stop being so angry at him that she'd started to growl a little. Come on, don't wake Ishan up.
Arthas was such a colossal raving ass. With permission or not, the damn undead asshat had been Captain Doucheface of Handsy, and continued to that psychically as far as she knew. Now, thanks to that, Ishan and Ter seemed to think they'd been profoundly...SMUDGED somehow by that contact. That on top of the blue brands they both bore, there were weird invisible handprints on them that wouldn't go away, and those made them unworthy of being with anyone else ever again.
...If he wanted to be with her, she really didn't care what'd happened in the past. Handsy jerks in one's past did not make one unworthy of affection.
As far as she was concerned, what marks they had were all signs of the creepers they were NOT. Andra knew what those blue brands/tattoos/what-are-they-seriously on Ishan and Ter meant; they were marks of rank. That implied a certain depth of intimacy with the boss. For Andra, though, they weren't a sign of any lingering connection to the Lich King (contrary to what certain stupid loud human kings were too loud and stupid and also LOUD about), but rather a sign of how strong their commitment to being free and living their own lives was. They'd been generals in the army of a walking nightmare in freaky armour, and now they weren't. He didn't have any say anymore about what they did or who they spoke to or how they chose to live. They'd been in that deep and now they were free. And they fought hard to keep being free, and they were winning.
They were battle-scarred, sure. But not curse-marked or smudged or contaminated or something! If they were anything, those blue designs were a sign of courage and a sign of what kind of men Teraeis and Ishandarr were. To give up the kind of power they'd doubtless been offered, to throw yourself on the mercy of people who likely hated you and wanted to see you dead, to offer your service in spite of mistrust and bad blood - that took SPINE.
Some of Ishan's marks were actually visible now; he'd taken some of his armour off so he could sleep without getting a crick in his neck or getting his hair stuck in the pauldrons, and his moving around in his sleep had hiked up one of the sleeves of his ebonweave shirt (the weird fabric was stronger and lighter than maille; all the death knights wore it under their armour and now the free knights had passed on the means of making it to their new allies) a bit. The design that wrapped around his wrist was just a little luminous, picking out the nearby blanket wrinkles in detail.
Andra'd seen the light of those marks intensify when Ishan was angry or agitated. Once, when some ass was griefing his friend Kristios, Ishan got angry enough that the marks became slightly visible through his plain cotton shirt. They didn't get brighter so much as the glow got more intense. It was like the light of embers, only icy blue.
It'd been scary as hell, but also really really hot somehow. Ishan didn't bellow and flail around when he was angry. No - he seethed or he growled, which when coupled with his voice was really -
- Had he just now really growled? Was that a real noise and not her just getting the flight-of-fancy effect?
He did it again. It was almost sort of a growl. More of a low murmury sound.
Did that bode bad things? Andra started to lean in to look at him more closely, to make sure he was okay - and then realized that little sound was the only one she'd heard in the past while.
What - the - hell -
The comforting hiss of their little magical stove's flame was almost inaudible. Aer and Ter may as well have been miles away in Dalaran. Andra could hear her own heart beating and it sounded far too loud in her ears. The silence really was deafening, and the air was too heavy and felt DENSE, it was all wrong, completely wrong -
Hell, hell, hell! When had the ward fallen? Andra looked around madly for more reagents to recast the barrier and shove this looming bastard presence OUT, and then realized to her total giggle-inducing horror that the ward was still intact.
If that was the case, how was it - HE, oh, she knew damn well whose presence this was - getting in?
The answer came when Ishan suddenly stiffened, clutched at the blanket, and made an almost-inaudible noise of misery.
...Ishandarr was being used as an astral vector. The presence wasn't getting in from the outside.
She remembered Ishan's description of his fractured nightmares after his memory was broken, and understood in an instant how the hell this was happening and what the hell was going on here. Ishan may've had good psychic defenses on his waking mind, but thanks to the Lich King's pissy fit, in dreams he had nothing.
Andra's breath left her in a hiss. "Oh no you did not," she growled at the too-heavy air. "You did not just do that, you stupid, stupid son of a - "
She needed to get to Ishan right the hell NOW but damn it to hell she was stuck in that horrible place between frozen terror and searing fury and her brain wasn't doing a good enough job at making her arms and legs move.
Ishan seemed to be pinned down somehow himself. He was thrashing around now, though in a really abbreviated way - like something was binding him or he was being held. His back arched and he dug his fingers into the blanket and it looked for a second as if he was going to suddenly jerk awake and scream which he had every right to do...but that moment where the barrier between 'asleep' and 'awake' just popped like a soap bubble never came.
Andra realized then that he'd started weeping at some point - that he had been for a while. That he'd been fighting this in the dreaming silently, and only now was he close enough to waking that he could do even this - this creepily-restrained struggling -
He seemed to be trying to say something, but all that got out of him was a choked whimper, and at that moment Andra's temper just ate her fear. She flung herself across the tent and, without thinking, grabbed Ishan's right hand with her left and put her right hand over his heart. "Ishandarr--"
---
The Lich King did not like the fact that Ishan had started to fight back. He really did not like that fact that it wasn't a futile effort. The situation had started out fully in his favour: he'd made contact with Ishan on an astral and mental level SOMEHOW, barged right into his DREAMS, and reforged (however temporarily) connection between their minds again. It would only last as long as Ishan slept, which was, Ishan guessed, why he hadn't kept on playing it subtle as he did at first.
Trying to have as much fun as possible in as short a time as possible often led to faceplanting in some way, shape or form. In this case, it came as Ishan suddenly being made very aware that he was dreaming by the fact that, from what he recollected, his experiences weren't ever THAT horrible, and shortly thereafter realizing that his dreams weren't natural.
Immediately after that he attempted to stab the Lich King in the head, thus leading to the out-and-out brawl they were involved in now!
"Why do you think I even care? It doesn't even matter," Ishan said, taking a wicked swipe at his former 'employer', "whether you and that damn ghost say that you're 'one', Arthas. Whether you are or not - "
He ducked Frostmourne and then darted out of the way of what would have been a hell of a vicious kick.
" - You're still at the core the same impulsive sadistic brat of a prince who failed to wipe out all my people like he wanted to!"
He didn't manage to avoid the backhand. He went staggering along the corridor, wincing as he felt his jaw pop back into alignment. Regeneration was useful, but often disturbing.
"If you were wise, Ebonbrooke," said the Lich King, "you'd keep silent."
"Wait a moment," said Ishan, lifting one finger. "Was it you who wanted that, or was that Ner'zhul? You were pretty well under his thumb then - "
He broke off with a yelp and flung up an anti-magic barrier just as SOMETHING nasty and sorcerous was attempted on him. It struck the barrier and obliterated it, sending Ishan flying. He collided with the wall and saw stars, but apart from that he was unharmed. Whatever that spell was, it'd been cast from the sword, and thus something Ishan probably never wanted to touch him.
"Though I'm not particularly offended by your words, the fact that you persist in being such a disrespectful, insolent fool is trying my patience."
Ishan shook off the dizziness and started to struggle to his feet. "Get killed," he snapped.
It was at that point that something got between Ishan and the lamplight: somehow, the Lich King was standing directly over him now. What had happened to the length of the hallway!? Before Ishan could react to defend himself, Arthas's hand closed on the back of his neck. He hauled Ishan to his feet, eyed him a moment.
"I did warn you."
He then shoved Ishan violently forward and through the solid wall, which shattered into thousands of impossible pieces. Ishan fell headlong from the reclaimed dream into another entirely, landing hard on smooth stone. It knocked the breath out of him and - and - wait, no - no, that was ridiculous. He didn't need to breathe! He was -
Someone - Arthas, now lacking his helm - grabbed Ishan's wrists as he tried to get to his feet, forcing him back down. The longer sleeves of Ishan's Spell-breaker regalia (when the hell had his clothing changed from his usual armour back to this?) made a convenient handle for the undead monarch, who was by now well into a cheerful fit of utter spite.
Ignoring Ishan's outraged cursing and flailing, he said, "I'm not particularly pleased with you right now, Ebonbrooke."
Ishan snarled at him. "I don't CARE, you delusional murderous ass! Do you honestly think"- he attempted to pull his hands free - "that I'd even CONSIDER voluntarily returning to you when you're doing this to me!?"
"You never used to dislike it when I did this to you."
Ishan blushed furiously and struggled harder. "Damn it, shut UP, that's not remotely - it's not even - oh, to fuck with this, let me GO already, you've had your damn fun. You win. I lose. Now get LOST before I -"
"Before you do what?" The Lich King yanked Ishan's hands up and over his head, then drove Frostmourne through the fabric of his sleeves, pinning his arms there. "You did just say you've lost, didn't you? That implies that you submit; you won't be doing anything further to me. Or doing much of anything at all..."
This statement was delivered with a very unpleasant grin to go along with it. Ishan started to panic a bit in spite of himself, trying to pull his arms down. There was a horrible familiarity about this, even though his memory still refused to relinquish the exact details of his death. Just - being pinned down like this and that bastard leering at him…
Why the hell weren't his sleeves tearing? He knew how sharp that sword was; what little memory he had of his death gave testament to that, as Arthas had driven the damn thing almost hilt-deep through him with no effort at all. The sleeves of his robe should have been parting like gauze against the edge of the damned sword, but - what the hell!
Damn it, he was dreaming and he knew it and he ought to be able to make himself wake the hell back up, but if he couldn't FOCUS he'd never manage that. Ishan tried his utmost to calm down, to remember where he'd been in the waking world. North, and - someone else was with him -
The sound of heavy fabric on stone dragged his attention from his own mind to his former master, who now knelt next to him. Head inclined, outright smirking now, he said, "Amusing as it is to watch you struggle that way, it's getting ridiculous. You're not that unintelligent, Ebonbrooke. I'm sure you've realized by now how pointless it is to keep fighting."
Ishan met the Lich King's gaze full on and started to reply, but the hand settling on his breastplate and the burning cold that spread outward from said hand made the invective stutter out on his tongue. He flinched away--or did his best to. The cold seeped right through the fabric of his robes. He felt as if the blood might well freeze in his veins if Arthas kept this up.
Arthas had other ideas. He lifted his hand, then dealt the ice-sheathed metal a sharp whack with one gauntlet. The mithril alloy cracked like an eggshell, and Ishan wasn't sure whether he should be relieved or terrified at this point.
When the Lich King reached for his throat he decided on terror, lashing out with both feet and trying to shove Arthas back.
it didn't do him any good. His heels hammered uselessly against Arthas's breastplate and pauldrons, the blows not doing a damn thing to deter the Lich King's advance.
Rather than throttling Ishan, though, Arthas took hold of the collar of Ishan's robe and jerked his hand down, rending the fabric and baring the scar over Ishan's heart.
Panic started to set in as Ishan realized just exactly what was going to happen.
"I was always fond of your hands," his tormentor purred. "My first impulse was to put Frostmourne right through them and keep you down that way, but…that would be going too far. It really would be a sin to do that to hands like yours. You're very skilled with them, after all. I'd say the same of Nocturne - who I'll be dealing with soon enough. However, I can't say much of anything about your heart, besides..."
"Stop," Ishan said, mortified by how pathetic he sounded.
"...It's weak, Ebonbrooke. Too easily swayed from me."
"Please - " Ishan realized he was begging now and didn't care. "Don't, please don't - "
"It will only bring you pain and ruin in the end. You see--"
He settled his hand over the scar and a lancet of pain shot through Ishan's chest.
"Wouldn't it be better if I just rid you of the useless thing?"
Ishan choked and fought for breath, and Arthas increased the pressure just slightly in response. The pain intensified--the all-too-familiar, searing, frigid agony just the same as it had been when Frostmourne pierced his heart seven years ago. That was the singular certain memory Ishan had of his death, and by the gods he wished he could forget it again, know that oblivion again. Grasping for empty air with trapped hands, trying in vain to cry out, Ishandarr could feel himself dying all over again.
This hurt more than he ever thought anything possibly could hurt without killing him.
Could he die?
No. He was dead already - and - and - and he was dying anyway -
- And now he'd just be trapped here between dreaming and waking for as long as this vicious bastard wanted, eternally stuck on the border of death, dying but unable to really die. This was a nightmare he'd not be able to wake from as long as the pain kept his focus on it alone. It - could actually last forever, and he'd go mad from it, after a while. That much was certain. Nobody's mind could handle that. Perhaps Ishan wasn't as formidable as Ter, but he was certainly no weakling - and already this was wearing on him, wearing him down.
Time in dreams was meaningless. Only a minute might have passed in the waking (a place that seemed more alien and distant with every passing second) but here he could suffer for centuries if he couldn't free himself.
And he couldn't free himself, couldn't even make a sound beyond pathetic, breathless whimpering. No one would hear him; no one was going to come to his aid.
The only means he had to get free, Ishan knew, was absolute surrender. The only way to end this agony was to submit. He would have to swear himself to the Lich King again, and though right now the idea was anathema to him...if this pain went on for long enough, he might just start begging for his own subjugation.
Which was the whole point.
Arthas, who was all but purring now, brushed the pad of his thumb over the stark pale line of the scar; Ishan knew at that instant that this wasn't just spite-laced torture meant to drive him to surrender.
This was reinforcement of a claim.
Pain was beginning to blossom in the scar on Ishan's throat, through the scar over his right eye. Cold like this should have made him numb by now, but that mercy was denied him quite intentionally. Ishan redoubled his efforts to get free, but every tiny movement was agony now. The Lich King's aura was an unbearable weight on him--body and spirit. Soon, Ishan could barely move, held fast by his tormentor's very presence. Next to this all-too-real pain, next to the sense of frigid velvet settling heavily over his mind, waking life seemed like nothing but a passing fancy. The only reality was the pain.
The Lich King's consciousness enfolded his; when he spoke, the cold blue of his voice wrung the last of the warmth from Ishan.
One way or the other, you'll return to my side, Ebonbrooke.
Ishan's head lolled to one side as his strength ebbed away in the wake of those words. That voice was too heavy on his mind. The intimacy of being spoken to thus made him shudder. He felt as if he were choking, tasting blood at the back of his tongue. All he could do now was clutch weakly at nothing with shaking hands.
"I won't," he said, voice a mere rasping whisper, almost inaudible. "I'm not yours."
Regardless of what you think, you will always belong to me. It's not within your power to change that, Ebonbrooke. Since the day you fell, you've been mine, and so you will be for eternity.
Despair closed on Ishan's heart like a fist, just as cold and unyielding as Arthas's own hand.
Make your choice, Ebonbrooke. Return to me, or go mad.
Completely exhausted, without the strength to even think of moving, Ishan started to weep out of sheer misery and fear.
Everything was pain and everything was cold. Just...
...Hopeless.
Ishandarr
The world - shuddered then, distorted around him like a reflection with a pebble dropped through it. Ishan's blurring vision snapped back into sharp focus, as if a veil had lifted.
Ishandarr
Someone was calling him.
"Who are you?" he croaked.
Ishan
Wake up, Ishan
"I - "
WAKE UP ALREADY
Arthas startled violently. He didn't give any sign of having heard the strange voice but he could feel the new presence, feel the dream starting to unravel and collapse all around them. Once again, his fun was ruined. As his temper slipped his aura got utterly out of control, and Ishan was quite sure that it could have crushed him if he was fully dreaming -
"You," Arthas growled. "Who the hell--"
Ishan never heard the end of the question. He heard his name spoken again, and then inexplicable warmth settled over his heart, supplanting the cold and obliterating it - and snapping the link between Arthas and Ishan completely.
He jolted awake with a gasp, and cupped a shaky hand over the one splayed out on his chest. "Whah - I - Andra - ?"
Leilandra stared at him a moment, pale and wide-eyed, and then her face broke into a brilliant smile. "You're okay. ...You are okay, right, Ishan?"
"I am now." Ishan swallowed hard. Urgh, he'd been crying in the waking world too - "Gods, I - I thought I was going to - you honestly saved me from worlds of pain just now, Leilandra; I owe you more than I can say..."
"It's nothing," Andra said. "Really. All I did was hold your hand and yell at you - well, yell quietly."
"It worked," Ishan said with a watery smile. Gradually the fear was ebbing out of him, the reality of Andra's warm hand pushing back the echo of cold and pain. He realized then that he was clinging pretty desperately to said hand. "Um - should I let go or - "
"You don't have to if you don't want to?" she said. She was blushing a bit. It was really cute. Amend: she was really cute, just in general, and though he'd noticed before and known he enjoyed her company greatly, he hadn't known it was a mutual thing. He hadn't figured she'd ever be fond of a person like him (a bipedal weapon, a sadistic bastard who revelled in mindscrewing his enemies to hell and back, a failure of a knight who'd very probably died like an idiot), but apparently she was.
In spite of everything, she liked him.
Ishan started to blush himself. "...I don't think I want to yet," he admitted, but he did loosen his hold as he flopped back onto the pillows. "Ugh, that was awful. That - that was why I was afraid to sleep, every time I started to nod off those dreams would start clawing up my mind with as much vigour and candour as - as Kel'Thuzad's cat annihilating a sofa…"
"That was one evocative simile," Andra said, wincing.
"Sorry about that. I'll be less vivid and weird next time?" Ishan said sheepishly. Then, seeing the reagent pouch sitting beside Andra's pack, he said, "It's not your ward that was faulty, by the way, it's intact and it's well-made, he was doing something else, going through some other channel to get at me."
"Probably the astral, or else he's taking advantage of the remnants of your link and the fact that you've got exactly zero defenses on your dreaming mind."
"What?" Ishan yelped, and then remembered. "Oh, hell. That time - Ner'zhul must have just out-and-out erased them when he obliterated my memory and then just left them that way in case I got 'rebellious' again..."
"Gross," Andra said sourly. "Beyond gross. I'm the queen of understatement here. There are no words for that." She looked at Ishan for a long time, then said, "We're making tea."
"Tea?" Ishan was a bit plaintive. Oh, please, let me have heard right.
"Yes," said Andra primly (whereupon Ishan started to purr at a significant volume). She reached out with her foot and carefully tugged the little stove over, then took the kettle from her pack. Conjuring water was a simple matter, and Aer had supplied everyone with enough tea for months. Soon the scent of Dreamfoil and Peacebloom rose from Andra's cheerily-patterned teapot. Ishan closed his eyes and sighed.
"You seem better already," Andra said, amused.
"I honestly do feel better," Ishan said. "Just being with you and paying attention to where I am is helping."
Andra pressed a mug of tea into his hands. "Even so you ought to drink this. It works on regular nightmares, so it might take the edge off magical ones sent by astrally stalking jerkfaces."
"I'm willing to try anything," Ishan said, and then blew across the surface of the tea to cool it a bit. "Not sleeping doesn't work. I mean - the longest I ever last is three days, maybe four if I'm lucky, but eventually I end up exhausted and slipping into - micro-napping. That is - I'll conk out for all of five seconds and then wake back up, and five seconds is enough time for me to get good and hassled." He adapted his best Jailer-of-the-Damned tone. "Like, 'you can't remain awake forever, Ebonbrooke'--" That made his throat itch, and he had to clear it about four times before it stopped. "Behh. Sorry. And of course, I am thinking, yes, I know, you bastard, and shut up, and also get out of my skull. But he doesn't do either of those things, because he is an ass. Surprise, shock, bamboozlement, et cetera. …I'm abusing sarcasm."
Andra was sporfling. "You almost made me snarf tea, you evil beanpole."
"Mwa ha," said Ishan, and grinned.
"Doofus. Is he really that super-dramatic?"
"He likes his posing," Ishan said, and rolled his eyes. "He really likes his posing, and his speeching at people."
"So not only is he an evil grabby turbo-ass, he's annoying on purpose just because he can be. That's just adding insult to injury."
"You're telling me." Ishan sipped his tea and then closed his eyes in bliss, purring into the teacup and making Andra giggle. Warm beverages were wonderful anyhow, but Aerionn's tea blends were transcendent. The gingerlike Dreamfoil and the pear-and-melon flavour of Peacebloom complemented one another perfectly, and with his senses enhanced as they were, good tea was a whole new universe of joy.
Just then an inexplicable, nasty flicker of pain ran along the scar on his chest, and he flinched and almost spilled tea down his front. "Ah - dammit - "
Andra put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay? Did you burn yourself?"
"No," said Ishan. "It - I - " How would he even explain this? 'My scar hurts because I was pinned down and then had said scar felt up by my horrible ex-master in a nightmare' - right, sure. While he'd had odd little ephemeral pains there since they got back to Northrend, they were easy to ignore and he chalked it up to bad memory. Now, though -
Weird and difficult-to-explain as this was, it could have been worse. He could have awakened in the flustered-and-squirmy-as-well-as-terrified state he usually did after nightmares that went down that road. That would really eliminate his chances of being able to relate normally to Andra at all. What the hell kind of mad bastard would want that - would physically react like that?
Ishan found himself wondering if the Lich King's attack on him would have been counterproductive in the end. If Ishan was already something of a mad bastard, then didn't Arthas stand the chance of driving Ishan so far around the bend that he went sane again?
"You can tell me anything," Andra said then. "I won't laugh or freak out at you. If he's making you dream weird stuff that's not your fault, Ishan."
"It's not that import--" Ishan started, and then gasped as the twinge returned with a vengeance. "Ow, damn. Would it please stop doing that."
Andra took his hand. "I can try to make it, but you need to tell me what's wrong first."
Ishan bit his lip and fidgeted a little, and then said, "It - it's my scar, here..." He tugged the collar of his shirt down and to the side, revealing the mark over his heart. It stood out white even against his pale skin. "It's hurting for no reason. It's been doing that on and off for the past little while, but it's never been bad." Another twinge, and he instinctively moved to cover the scar with one hand.
Andra beat him to it, and something about her touch seemed to take the more jagged edges off the pain.
And he was clinging to her hand again.
"Er. you - you're - probably going to need that hand back, aren't you - I'm sorry, I keep on doing this, it has to be irritating..."
He let go of Andra's hand, at which point she seemed to realize where it was. She blushed, squeaked, and said, "No no no, it - no, it's - no, it doesn't bug me at all. Besides, I'm the one who suddenly decided she had to - like spiritually knead your chakra or something - " She started to pull back, but hesitated.
Ishan tentatively reached for her hand again. Was it all right if he...? "...It helped, though?"
"It did?" Andra looked from Ishan's hand to her own, then up at Ishan again. "Really?"
"Yes. I mean, it does. You don't have to keep doing that if you don't want to, of course."
After a moment of thought, Andra took Ishan's hand with her free one, and put it back over hers. "In that case - I think I want to keep doing that."
Ishan was sure he was discovering new ridiculous shades of pink now. "...I don't know how to repay you for this. For doing this for me even though we haven't known one another too long, for trusting me in spite of who I used to work for, and" - he summoned his courage - "and whose bed I was often in. It means more to me than I could ever express in words; I'm really not much of a poet..."
"I don't know about that one. But you don't have to make it verbal? Chocolate chip cookies of appreciation are always welcome."
Ishan beamed. 'In that case, I'll make some as soon as I can. I don't have the ingredients now, but I'm sure Highlord Tirion would be willing to lend me some flour if I asked..."
"I didn't know you cooked," Andra said. "How much of your cuisine have I scarfed not knowing who the chef was? I should've asked and thanked you. I'm such a fluffbrain sometimes..."
"The fact that you liked it was thanks enough, really."
"...it was probably obvious when i did, right? My sister says I make happy foodie faces."
"They're cute," Ishan said, and then grinned even more as Andra spluttered.
"Are you trying to make me do that because seriously. If you are, I will steal your blanket in the night, and you will be the obviously-sleeping-in-a-silly-curled-up-way beanpole, and then what will you do?"
Ishan dissolved into giggles at her expression. Andra poked him.
"This is no laughing matter, I'll have you know; I'll call Rauth in so he can immortalize your goofy curlicue of sleep in art."
"Curlicue - " Ishan tried to stop laughing and failed. "There's a curlicue?"
"You become round somehow. I don't know how that works because you're as tall as Kael'thas but only take up half a bedroll when you're sleeping. Why do you do that?"
"I don't know - it's comfortable?"
"But you curl up so TEENY."
"It's warmer that way too."
Andra fretted visibly. "Wait - have you been cold? Why didn't you tell me? Are you cold now? I have an extra blanket, or I can turn the heater up..."
"I'm not cold now?" Ishan said, and squeezed her hand very lightly.
"…Well, I could stay here, if you want to stay not-cold-now."
"You could." Ishan smiled. "It's my turn to be up, anyway - "
Andra rolled her eyes with a grin. "Yeah, no. It's not."
"...Wait, what? Yes it is - "
"Is not infinity. Try to go back to sleep." Andra nudged him lightly. "Shift times are measured by the amount of time you sleep, buster."
"Are those the rules of the world?"
"They are in my little world." Andra nudged him again. "Which you're in by merit of your proximity to me and my innately fabulous nature. Ishandarr, finish your tea and go back to sleep. I'm too adrenaline-giddy to rest for a while anyhow, and you still look like you'd be asleep on your feet if you stood up. You need to rest, and I am the boss of the world. So go back to sleep."
"Yes, ma'am." Ishan snerked softly. After a few moments, he let go of Andra's hand, and got comfortable again, wrapping himself in the blanket and curling up. Andra smiled at him and turned the little heater up a tiny bit.
"If you get too cold, tell me."
"I'm all right now," Ishan said, and it was true. The pain in his scar was ebbing away, gone with the fear and misery that he'd ben drowning in scant minutes ago. Andra's trust in him, her consideration for him, and the affection she'd shown just now had proven to be a hell of a lot more powerful than Arthas's more creative nightmares. She was a force to be reckoned with.
And he was developing a crush on her.
It seemed to be mutual.
Ishan watched Leilandra get comfortable again, pick up her book, and murmur something about 'heretofore your face'. He rearranged the pillows and curled up smaller, letting himself really enjoy the softness of the blanket, the warmth from the stove, the lingering scent of the tea. Keeping where he was firmly in mind, and the fact that he was absolutely not alone, he closed his eyes.
When the faint familiar cold started to creep up on his senses and a twinge of pain ran along the scar again, he reached for Leilandra's hand.
His fingers brushed her wrist and she reached back, snagging his thumb with her little finger and tugging on it and then curling her whole hand around his thumb. Again, the pain faded as if it had never existed.
A force to be reckoned with.
Ishan squeezed her hand gently again; she squeezed back.
Feeling more at ease and safe than he ever had since Light's Hope, warm and comforted, Ishandarr fell asleep.
***
It is an oreo whose icing is MADE OF DEMENTED, WHAT CAN I SAY
they are cute omg.
Also, Andra's font colour, for anyone who cares, is orchid. XD
TITLE: Came in From the Wilderness
FANDOM: WoW
PEOPLE: Ishandarr and Leilandra, Ishan's ex-boss, and other assorted badass adventurers.
PAIRING: Ishan+Andra. D'aww.
RATING: R; violence and creepy mindmunch, even if only in dreams. I'm not even kidding. XD;
SUMMARY: There are a few reliable cures for nightmares; Andra has a pretty fair repertoire, which Ishan very much appreciates.
WARNINGS: There are disturbing somewhat violent mental-badtouch nightmares (I DON'T EVEN - IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE CUTE BUT THEN) and there is brainmunchy.
NOTES: The cute. I esplod. XD I have no idea how this pairing happened but it's freakin' cute so I NO CURR. XD This fic kind of goes cute/WTF/cute like an oreo whose centre is made of pure demented, :D; Also, I want to kick Ner'zhul. Wheee~
Beware plummeting typos. Continuity may not be as depicted on box. Do not fold, spindle or apply Frostmourne to face. Andra belongs to Kyl, so any errors in depiction happened because my neurons were doing the chooga somewhere else. XD
LOOK THE COLOURFUL FONTS ARE BACK
***
"You're absolutely sure you don't mind doing this? I can manage another hour."
Leilandra grinned. "I'm sure I'm sure. Ishandarr, you're pretty obviously exhausted. I'm sorry to burst your bubble but the stoic thing only works if you don't also look like you're going to fall over any second. it's honestly okay."
"It's that bad?" Ishan looked sheepish. "Well - I guess three days is kind of pushing the limit of my endurance."
"Three days!?"
Now he looked embarrassed. "Yeah, I - I can explain it but I'll be able to explain it better after I've slept a little, my vocabulary's about to go spiralling down the drain and I'll end up just quoting inappropriate poetry for no reason."
"That might be pretty funny...but you can do that later, too. I'll take this watch shift, you sleep."
'Thank you, Leilandra," Ishan said, and smiled a bit shyly. "I really appreciate this."
"Any time, Ishandarr?" Andra was kind of grateful for the dim light as she was sure she'd just started blushing like crazy. He had a cute smile. She watched Ishan make one of his blanket nests on the bedroll (which was also cute), curl up, and bury his face in the pillows. Apparently some Death Knights were prone to sleeping like Aer's kitty.
Why had he been awake for three days? That was kind of - well, she knew Death Knights didn't need to sleep as often as someone who was alive, but judging from how Teraeis scheduled things it was best if they slept one or two hours every day, or something like that. Ishan being awake for three days straight boded bad things.
She'd seen him drift off a couple of times, only to startle awake looking completely frazzled and even paler than usual. Nightmares, maybe? That would make sense, and it would make more sense if they were bad ones. It didn't take a complete genius to work out the likely subject matter, either.
For the fifth time in as many days Andra entertained some happy thoughts about introducing the Lich King to lots of random fire. Between the pervy-brain-whispers-style harassing of Ter, and Ishan's inexplicable fear of napping...
…Lots of fire. Yes.
Andra got comfortable and curled up a bit, taking a rather dry and boring book on thaumatological theory out of her pack. She would absolutely NOT be so absorbed by this thing that 'watch' would become an alien concept; the writing was just too BAD for that to happen. The author really had an unnatural love for 'forthwith' and 'heretofore' and every third sentence began with 'hence', and it was distracting. Not the kind of book that would take her focus off matters at hand.
Ishan made a funny little noise in his sleep and curled up smaller, then kind of cheek-nuzzled the pillow.
He really was cute, dammit. He didn't seem to have much of an idea about this (see also: Ter), and that was also cute. He let himself be a little vain about stuff like his hair and his armour, and sometimes he had these dorky smug moments (never unwarranted) that inevitably made Ter roll his eyes and bestow a good-natured elbow-nudge. He was wickedly smart, and his sense of humour was awesome. He seemed to know exactly when being a slight goofball was required to keep things from getting too bleak (Aer was good at that too). But above all he was just really kind. There must have been some extremely naughty crap at work in his brain to turn him from a compassionate wise-ass into the fear-loving crusader-terrorizing ghoul-raising murderous jackass he claimed he'd been as Ebonbrooke the Acherus Knight.
It didn't seem so farfetched as to be unbelievable - the Lich King's psychic talents were absurd - but looking at him now...if she hadn't known what he was, she wouldn't have ever taken him for what he'd been.
She heroically resisted the urge to go and pat his hair even if she didn't think he'd really mind too much.
Across the way she heard Aerionn and Teraeis conversing softly as Aer relieved Ter of the watch. It was too quiet at night, here. Only the sound of the wind, and the odd passerby. None of the night birds of Eversong, or the nighthawks as it were. Silvermoon city was never totally still even in the middle of the night. It wasn't this DARK, either; their lanterns seemed pathetic and tiny against this vast moonless darkness. It was at least a clear enough night that the stars were visible, but there were too many of them for Andra to pick out the familiar ones she knew: the Empress Phoenix, the Soaring Crow, the Pensive Magestrix. They were all just swallowed up by a million billion little points of light, and while it was beautiful it was also unsettling.
Everything about this place was unfamiliar, and they were just as alien to it as it was to them. They stuck out like a bad dye job at a Midsummer festival, and Andra often felt downright stared at. Sometimes it was the wildlife, sometimes it was some random stupid ghoul they'd make short work of, but when there was nothing around them at all, and the staring feeling happened anyhow?
...Bluh, she thought, I really need to drop this train of thought if I don't want to scare myself stupid and be the worst watch ever.
Ishan made another funny little noise, and Andra watched him closely. It seemed to be just a sleeping noise though.
He was kneading the pillow a bit.
What was he dreaming about? She knew he could dream, and so could Ter, and even if they hadn't told her outright they showed all the signs of dreamers' sleep: the sometimes-uneven breathing, the little murmurs and sighs, the slight flutter of eyelashes and the movement of eyes behind closed eyelids.
This didn't seem to be too bad a dream, but if it got bad, she'd wake him.
Way, way off, a wolf howled, and Andra jumped a bit but then smiled. A wolf was a wolf, it was normal for them to live up around here. Nothing unnatural and creepy outside the innate creepiness of a wolf howl, and that was a beautiful kind of a creepy. Not a trying-to-eat your-soul creepy.
...Now she really wanted to pat Ishan's hair again. Thinking about trying-to-eat-your-soul reminded her again of what he and Ter had gotten free of and what they were as far as she knew being constantly threatened with.
Seriously. Did Arthas have no life (or unlife as the case might be)? Didn't he have better things to do than inappropriate ghost-brain-kneading and siccing weird stalkery wraiths on people and smacking paladins and shamans around in the astral? It seemed as if he did a lot of sitting and waiting and a lot of annoying BULLYING but not a lot of smashy/conquery on his own. He left that to his people, and...what, did he just sit around on the glacier all day?
As she snickered quietly at the idea of the Lich King being essentially a huge slackoff loser, she suddenly remembered Ishan's expression when Ter'd spoken openly of the relationships Arthas had with the ranking knights. He'd blushed (well, as much as he could), bitten his lip a little, and murmured about 'never without my permission', then been unable to look anybody in the eye for half the day. Okay, so the jerk didn't just sit around.
Andra mentally reassigned Arthas to the category of 'vaguely maybe somewhat considerate loser/pervert', and tried to stop being so angry at him that she'd started to growl a little. Come on, don't wake Ishan up.
Arthas was such a colossal raving ass. With permission or not, the damn undead asshat had been Captain Doucheface of Handsy, and continued to that psychically as far as she knew. Now, thanks to that, Ishan and Ter seemed to think they'd been profoundly...SMUDGED somehow by that contact. That on top of the blue brands they both bore, there were weird invisible handprints on them that wouldn't go away, and those made them unworthy of being with anyone else ever again.
...If he wanted to be with her, she really didn't care what'd happened in the past. Handsy jerks in one's past did not make one unworthy of affection.
As far as she was concerned, what marks they had were all signs of the creepers they were NOT. Andra knew what those blue brands/tattoos/what-are-they-seriously on Ishan and Ter meant; they were marks of rank. That implied a certain depth of intimacy with the boss. For Andra, though, they weren't a sign of any lingering connection to the Lich King (contrary to what certain stupid loud human kings were too loud and stupid and also LOUD about), but rather a sign of how strong their commitment to being free and living their own lives was. They'd been generals in the army of a walking nightmare in freaky armour, and now they weren't. He didn't have any say anymore about what they did or who they spoke to or how they chose to live. They'd been in that deep and now they were free. And they fought hard to keep being free, and they were winning.
They were battle-scarred, sure. But not curse-marked or smudged or contaminated or something! If they were anything, those blue designs were a sign of courage and a sign of what kind of men Teraeis and Ishandarr were. To give up the kind of power they'd doubtless been offered, to throw yourself on the mercy of people who likely hated you and wanted to see you dead, to offer your service in spite of mistrust and bad blood - that took SPINE.
Some of Ishan's marks were actually visible now; he'd taken some of his armour off so he could sleep without getting a crick in his neck or getting his hair stuck in the pauldrons, and his moving around in his sleep had hiked up one of the sleeves of his ebonweave shirt (the weird fabric was stronger and lighter than maille; all the death knights wore it under their armour and now the free knights had passed on the means of making it to their new allies) a bit. The design that wrapped around his wrist was just a little luminous, picking out the nearby blanket wrinkles in detail.
Andra'd seen the light of those marks intensify when Ishan was angry or agitated. Once, when some ass was griefing his friend Kristios, Ishan got angry enough that the marks became slightly visible through his plain cotton shirt. They didn't get brighter so much as the glow got more intense. It was like the light of embers, only icy blue.
It'd been scary as hell, but also really really hot somehow. Ishan didn't bellow and flail around when he was angry. No - he seethed or he growled, which when coupled with his voice was really -
- Had he just now really growled? Was that a real noise and not her just getting the flight-of-fancy effect?
He did it again. It was almost sort of a growl. More of a low murmury sound.
Did that bode bad things? Andra started to lean in to look at him more closely, to make sure he was okay - and then realized that little sound was the only one she'd heard in the past while.
What - the - hell -
The comforting hiss of their little magical stove's flame was almost inaudible. Aer and Ter may as well have been miles away in Dalaran. Andra could hear her own heart beating and it sounded far too loud in her ears. The silence really was deafening, and the air was too heavy and felt DENSE, it was all wrong, completely wrong -
Hell, hell, hell! When had the ward fallen? Andra looked around madly for more reagents to recast the barrier and shove this looming bastard presence OUT, and then realized to her total giggle-inducing horror that the ward was still intact.
If that was the case, how was it - HE, oh, she knew damn well whose presence this was - getting in?
The answer came when Ishan suddenly stiffened, clutched at the blanket, and made an almost-inaudible noise of misery.
...Ishandarr was being used as an astral vector. The presence wasn't getting in from the outside.
She remembered Ishan's description of his fractured nightmares after his memory was broken, and understood in an instant how the hell this was happening and what the hell was going on here. Ishan may've had good psychic defenses on his waking mind, but thanks to the Lich King's pissy fit, in dreams he had nothing.
Andra's breath left her in a hiss. "Oh no you did not," she growled at the too-heavy air. "You did not just do that, you stupid, stupid son of a - "
She needed to get to Ishan right the hell NOW but damn it to hell she was stuck in that horrible place between frozen terror and searing fury and her brain wasn't doing a good enough job at making her arms and legs move.
Ishan seemed to be pinned down somehow himself. He was thrashing around now, though in a really abbreviated way - like something was binding him or he was being held. His back arched and he dug his fingers into the blanket and it looked for a second as if he was going to suddenly jerk awake and scream which he had every right to do...but that moment where the barrier between 'asleep' and 'awake' just popped like a soap bubble never came.
Andra realized then that he'd started weeping at some point - that he had been for a while. That he'd been fighting this in the dreaming silently, and only now was he close enough to waking that he could do even this - this creepily-restrained struggling -
He seemed to be trying to say something, but all that got out of him was a choked whimper, and at that moment Andra's temper just ate her fear. She flung herself across the tent and, without thinking, grabbed Ishan's right hand with her left and put her right hand over his heart. "Ishandarr--"
---
The Lich King did not like the fact that Ishan had started to fight back. He really did not like that fact that it wasn't a futile effort. The situation had started out fully in his favour: he'd made contact with Ishan on an astral and mental level SOMEHOW, barged right into his DREAMS, and reforged (however temporarily) connection between their minds again. It would only last as long as Ishan slept, which was, Ishan guessed, why he hadn't kept on playing it subtle as he did at first.
Trying to have as much fun as possible in as short a time as possible often led to faceplanting in some way, shape or form. In this case, it came as Ishan suddenly being made very aware that he was dreaming by the fact that, from what he recollected, his experiences weren't ever THAT horrible, and shortly thereafter realizing that his dreams weren't natural.
Immediately after that he attempted to stab the Lich King in the head, thus leading to the out-and-out brawl they were involved in now!
"Why do you think I even care? It doesn't even matter," Ishan said, taking a wicked swipe at his former 'employer', "whether you and that damn ghost say that you're 'one', Arthas. Whether you are or not - "
He ducked Frostmourne and then darted out of the way of what would have been a hell of a vicious kick.
" - You're still at the core the same impulsive sadistic brat of a prince who failed to wipe out all my people like he wanted to!"
He didn't manage to avoid the backhand. He went staggering along the corridor, wincing as he felt his jaw pop back into alignment. Regeneration was useful, but often disturbing.
"If you were wise, Ebonbrooke," said the Lich King, "you'd keep silent."
"Wait a moment," said Ishan, lifting one finger. "Was it you who wanted that, or was that Ner'zhul? You were pretty well under his thumb then - "
He broke off with a yelp and flung up an anti-magic barrier just as SOMETHING nasty and sorcerous was attempted on him. It struck the barrier and obliterated it, sending Ishan flying. He collided with the wall and saw stars, but apart from that he was unharmed. Whatever that spell was, it'd been cast from the sword, and thus something Ishan probably never wanted to touch him.
"Though I'm not particularly offended by your words, the fact that you persist in being such a disrespectful, insolent fool is trying my patience."
Ishan shook off the dizziness and started to struggle to his feet. "Get killed," he snapped.
It was at that point that something got between Ishan and the lamplight: somehow, the Lich King was standing directly over him now. What had happened to the length of the hallway!? Before Ishan could react to defend himself, Arthas's hand closed on the back of his neck. He hauled Ishan to his feet, eyed him a moment.
"I did warn you."
He then shoved Ishan violently forward and through the solid wall, which shattered into thousands of impossible pieces. Ishan fell headlong from the reclaimed dream into another entirely, landing hard on smooth stone. It knocked the breath out of him and - and - wait, no - no, that was ridiculous. He didn't need to breathe! He was -
Someone - Arthas, now lacking his helm - grabbed Ishan's wrists as he tried to get to his feet, forcing him back down. The longer sleeves of Ishan's Spell-breaker regalia (when the hell had his clothing changed from his usual armour back to this?) made a convenient handle for the undead monarch, who was by now well into a cheerful fit of utter spite.
Ignoring Ishan's outraged cursing and flailing, he said, "I'm not particularly pleased with you right now, Ebonbrooke."
Ishan snarled at him. "I don't CARE, you delusional murderous ass! Do you honestly think"- he attempted to pull his hands free - "that I'd even CONSIDER voluntarily returning to you when you're doing this to me!?"
"You never used to dislike it when I did this to you."
Ishan blushed furiously and struggled harder. "Damn it, shut UP, that's not remotely - it's not even - oh, to fuck with this, let me GO already, you've had your damn fun. You win. I lose. Now get LOST before I -"
"Before you do what?" The Lich King yanked Ishan's hands up and over his head, then drove Frostmourne through the fabric of his sleeves, pinning his arms there. "You did just say you've lost, didn't you? That implies that you submit; you won't be doing anything further to me. Or doing much of anything at all..."
This statement was delivered with a very unpleasant grin to go along with it. Ishan started to panic a bit in spite of himself, trying to pull his arms down. There was a horrible familiarity about this, even though his memory still refused to relinquish the exact details of his death. Just - being pinned down like this and that bastard leering at him…
Why the hell weren't his sleeves tearing? He knew how sharp that sword was; what little memory he had of his death gave testament to that, as Arthas had driven the damn thing almost hilt-deep through him with no effort at all. The sleeves of his robe should have been parting like gauze against the edge of the damned sword, but - what the hell!
Damn it, he was dreaming and he knew it and he ought to be able to make himself wake the hell back up, but if he couldn't FOCUS he'd never manage that. Ishan tried his utmost to calm down, to remember where he'd been in the waking world. North, and - someone else was with him -
The sound of heavy fabric on stone dragged his attention from his own mind to his former master, who now knelt next to him. Head inclined, outright smirking now, he said, "Amusing as it is to watch you struggle that way, it's getting ridiculous. You're not that unintelligent, Ebonbrooke. I'm sure you've realized by now how pointless it is to keep fighting."
Ishan met the Lich King's gaze full on and started to reply, but the hand settling on his breastplate and the burning cold that spread outward from said hand made the invective stutter out on his tongue. He flinched away--or did his best to. The cold seeped right through the fabric of his robes. He felt as if the blood might well freeze in his veins if Arthas kept this up.
Arthas had other ideas. He lifted his hand, then dealt the ice-sheathed metal a sharp whack with one gauntlet. The mithril alloy cracked like an eggshell, and Ishan wasn't sure whether he should be relieved or terrified at this point.
When the Lich King reached for his throat he decided on terror, lashing out with both feet and trying to shove Arthas back.
it didn't do him any good. His heels hammered uselessly against Arthas's breastplate and pauldrons, the blows not doing a damn thing to deter the Lich King's advance.
Rather than throttling Ishan, though, Arthas took hold of the collar of Ishan's robe and jerked his hand down, rending the fabric and baring the scar over Ishan's heart.
Panic started to set in as Ishan realized just exactly what was going to happen.
"I was always fond of your hands," his tormentor purred. "My first impulse was to put Frostmourne right through them and keep you down that way, but…that would be going too far. It really would be a sin to do that to hands like yours. You're very skilled with them, after all. I'd say the same of Nocturne - who I'll be dealing with soon enough. However, I can't say much of anything about your heart, besides..."
"Stop," Ishan said, mortified by how pathetic he sounded.
"...It's weak, Ebonbrooke. Too easily swayed from me."
"Please - " Ishan realized he was begging now and didn't care. "Don't, please don't - "
"It will only bring you pain and ruin in the end. You see--"
He settled his hand over the scar and a lancet of pain shot through Ishan's chest.
"Wouldn't it be better if I just rid you of the useless thing?"
Ishan choked and fought for breath, and Arthas increased the pressure just slightly in response. The pain intensified--the all-too-familiar, searing, frigid agony just the same as it had been when Frostmourne pierced his heart seven years ago. That was the singular certain memory Ishan had of his death, and by the gods he wished he could forget it again, know that oblivion again. Grasping for empty air with trapped hands, trying in vain to cry out, Ishandarr could feel himself dying all over again.
This hurt more than he ever thought anything possibly could hurt without killing him.
Could he die?
No. He was dead already - and - and - and he was dying anyway -
- And now he'd just be trapped here between dreaming and waking for as long as this vicious bastard wanted, eternally stuck on the border of death, dying but unable to really die. This was a nightmare he'd not be able to wake from as long as the pain kept his focus on it alone. It - could actually last forever, and he'd go mad from it, after a while. That much was certain. Nobody's mind could handle that. Perhaps Ishan wasn't as formidable as Ter, but he was certainly no weakling - and already this was wearing on him, wearing him down.
Time in dreams was meaningless. Only a minute might have passed in the waking (a place that seemed more alien and distant with every passing second) but here he could suffer for centuries if he couldn't free himself.
And he couldn't free himself, couldn't even make a sound beyond pathetic, breathless whimpering. No one would hear him; no one was going to come to his aid.
The only means he had to get free, Ishan knew, was absolute surrender. The only way to end this agony was to submit. He would have to swear himself to the Lich King again, and though right now the idea was anathema to him...if this pain went on for long enough, he might just start begging for his own subjugation.
Which was the whole point.
Arthas, who was all but purring now, brushed the pad of his thumb over the stark pale line of the scar; Ishan knew at that instant that this wasn't just spite-laced torture meant to drive him to surrender.
This was reinforcement of a claim.
Pain was beginning to blossom in the scar on Ishan's throat, through the scar over his right eye. Cold like this should have made him numb by now, but that mercy was denied him quite intentionally. Ishan redoubled his efforts to get free, but every tiny movement was agony now. The Lich King's aura was an unbearable weight on him--body and spirit. Soon, Ishan could barely move, held fast by his tormentor's very presence. Next to this all-too-real pain, next to the sense of frigid velvet settling heavily over his mind, waking life seemed like nothing but a passing fancy. The only reality was the pain.
The Lich King's consciousness enfolded his; when he spoke, the cold blue of his voice wrung the last of the warmth from Ishan.
One way or the other, you'll return to my side, Ebonbrooke.
Ishan's head lolled to one side as his strength ebbed away in the wake of those words. That voice was too heavy on his mind. The intimacy of being spoken to thus made him shudder. He felt as if he were choking, tasting blood at the back of his tongue. All he could do now was clutch weakly at nothing with shaking hands.
"I won't," he said, voice a mere rasping whisper, almost inaudible. "I'm not yours."
Regardless of what you think, you will always belong to me. It's not within your power to change that, Ebonbrooke. Since the day you fell, you've been mine, and so you will be for eternity.
Despair closed on Ishan's heart like a fist, just as cold and unyielding as Arthas's own hand.
Make your choice, Ebonbrooke. Return to me, or go mad.
Completely exhausted, without the strength to even think of moving, Ishan started to weep out of sheer misery and fear.
Everything was pain and everything was cold. Just...
...Hopeless.
Ishandarr
The world - shuddered then, distorted around him like a reflection with a pebble dropped through it. Ishan's blurring vision snapped back into sharp focus, as if a veil had lifted.
Ishandarr
Someone was calling him.
"Who are you?" he croaked.
Ishan
Wake up, Ishan
"I - "
WAKE UP ALREADY
Arthas startled violently. He didn't give any sign of having heard the strange voice but he could feel the new presence, feel the dream starting to unravel and collapse all around them. Once again, his fun was ruined. As his temper slipped his aura got utterly out of control, and Ishan was quite sure that it could have crushed him if he was fully dreaming -
"You," Arthas growled. "Who the hell--"
Ishan never heard the end of the question. He heard his name spoken again, and then inexplicable warmth settled over his heart, supplanting the cold and obliterating it - and snapping the link between Arthas and Ishan completely.
He jolted awake with a gasp, and cupped a shaky hand over the one splayed out on his chest. "Whah - I - Andra - ?"
Leilandra stared at him a moment, pale and wide-eyed, and then her face broke into a brilliant smile. "You're okay. ...You are okay, right, Ishan?"
"I am now." Ishan swallowed hard. Urgh, he'd been crying in the waking world too - "Gods, I - I thought I was going to - you honestly saved me from worlds of pain just now, Leilandra; I owe you more than I can say..."
"It's nothing," Andra said. "Really. All I did was hold your hand and yell at you - well, yell quietly."
"It worked," Ishan said with a watery smile. Gradually the fear was ebbing out of him, the reality of Andra's warm hand pushing back the echo of cold and pain. He realized then that he was clinging pretty desperately to said hand. "Um - should I let go or - "
"You don't have to if you don't want to?" she said. She was blushing a bit. It was really cute. Amend: she was really cute, just in general, and though he'd noticed before and known he enjoyed her company greatly, he hadn't known it was a mutual thing. He hadn't figured she'd ever be fond of a person like him (a bipedal weapon, a sadistic bastard who revelled in mindscrewing his enemies to hell and back, a failure of a knight who'd very probably died like an idiot), but apparently she was.
In spite of everything, she liked him.
Ishan started to blush himself. "...I don't think I want to yet," he admitted, but he did loosen his hold as he flopped back onto the pillows. "Ugh, that was awful. That - that was why I was afraid to sleep, every time I started to nod off those dreams would start clawing up my mind with as much vigour and candour as - as Kel'Thuzad's cat annihilating a sofa…"
"That was one evocative simile," Andra said, wincing.
"Sorry about that. I'll be less vivid and weird next time?" Ishan said sheepishly. Then, seeing the reagent pouch sitting beside Andra's pack, he said, "It's not your ward that was faulty, by the way, it's intact and it's well-made, he was doing something else, going through some other channel to get at me."
"Probably the astral, or else he's taking advantage of the remnants of your link and the fact that you've got exactly zero defenses on your dreaming mind."
"What?" Ishan yelped, and then remembered. "Oh, hell. That time - Ner'zhul must have just out-and-out erased them when he obliterated my memory and then just left them that way in case I got 'rebellious' again..."
"Gross," Andra said sourly. "Beyond gross. I'm the queen of understatement here. There are no words for that." She looked at Ishan for a long time, then said, "We're making tea."
"Tea?" Ishan was a bit plaintive. Oh, please, let me have heard right.
"Yes," said Andra primly (whereupon Ishan started to purr at a significant volume). She reached out with her foot and carefully tugged the little stove over, then took the kettle from her pack. Conjuring water was a simple matter, and Aer had supplied everyone with enough tea for months. Soon the scent of Dreamfoil and Peacebloom rose from Andra's cheerily-patterned teapot. Ishan closed his eyes and sighed.
"You seem better already," Andra said, amused.
"I honestly do feel better," Ishan said. "Just being with you and paying attention to where I am is helping."
Andra pressed a mug of tea into his hands. "Even so you ought to drink this. It works on regular nightmares, so it might take the edge off magical ones sent by astrally stalking jerkfaces."
"I'm willing to try anything," Ishan said, and then blew across the surface of the tea to cool it a bit. "Not sleeping doesn't work. I mean - the longest I ever last is three days, maybe four if I'm lucky, but eventually I end up exhausted and slipping into - micro-napping. That is - I'll conk out for all of five seconds and then wake back up, and five seconds is enough time for me to get good and hassled." He adapted his best Jailer-of-the-Damned tone. "Like, 'you can't remain awake forever, Ebonbrooke'--" That made his throat itch, and he had to clear it about four times before it stopped. "Behh. Sorry. And of course, I am thinking, yes, I know, you bastard, and shut up, and also get out of my skull. But he doesn't do either of those things, because he is an ass. Surprise, shock, bamboozlement, et cetera. …I'm abusing sarcasm."
Andra was sporfling. "You almost made me snarf tea, you evil beanpole."
"Mwa ha," said Ishan, and grinned.
"Doofus. Is he really that super-dramatic?"
"He likes his posing," Ishan said, and rolled his eyes. "He really likes his posing, and his speeching at people."
"So not only is he an evil grabby turbo-ass, he's annoying on purpose just because he can be. That's just adding insult to injury."
"You're telling me." Ishan sipped his tea and then closed his eyes in bliss, purring into the teacup and making Andra giggle. Warm beverages were wonderful anyhow, but Aerionn's tea blends were transcendent. The gingerlike Dreamfoil and the pear-and-melon flavour of Peacebloom complemented one another perfectly, and with his senses enhanced as they were, good tea was a whole new universe of joy.
Just then an inexplicable, nasty flicker of pain ran along the scar on his chest, and he flinched and almost spilled tea down his front. "Ah - dammit - "
Andra put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay? Did you burn yourself?"
"No," said Ishan. "It - I - " How would he even explain this? 'My scar hurts because I was pinned down and then had said scar felt up by my horrible ex-master in a nightmare' - right, sure. While he'd had odd little ephemeral pains there since they got back to Northrend, they were easy to ignore and he chalked it up to bad memory. Now, though -
Weird and difficult-to-explain as this was, it could have been worse. He could have awakened in the flustered-and-squirmy-as-well-as-terrified state he usually did after nightmares that went down that road. That would really eliminate his chances of being able to relate normally to Andra at all. What the hell kind of mad bastard would want that - would physically react like that?
Ishan found himself wondering if the Lich King's attack on him would have been counterproductive in the end. If Ishan was already something of a mad bastard, then didn't Arthas stand the chance of driving Ishan so far around the bend that he went sane again?
"You can tell me anything," Andra said then. "I won't laugh or freak out at you. If he's making you dream weird stuff that's not your fault, Ishan."
"It's not that import--" Ishan started, and then gasped as the twinge returned with a vengeance. "Ow, damn. Would it please stop doing that."
Andra took his hand. "I can try to make it, but you need to tell me what's wrong first."
Ishan bit his lip and fidgeted a little, and then said, "It - it's my scar, here..." He tugged the collar of his shirt down and to the side, revealing the mark over his heart. It stood out white even against his pale skin. "It's hurting for no reason. It's been doing that on and off for the past little while, but it's never been bad." Another twinge, and he instinctively moved to cover the scar with one hand.
Andra beat him to it, and something about her touch seemed to take the more jagged edges off the pain.
And he was clinging to her hand again.
"Er. you - you're - probably going to need that hand back, aren't you - I'm sorry, I keep on doing this, it has to be irritating..."
He let go of Andra's hand, at which point she seemed to realize where it was. She blushed, squeaked, and said, "No no no, it - no, it's - no, it doesn't bug me at all. Besides, I'm the one who suddenly decided she had to - like spiritually knead your chakra or something - " She started to pull back, but hesitated.
Ishan tentatively reached for her hand again. Was it all right if he...? "...It helped, though?"
"It did?" Andra looked from Ishan's hand to her own, then up at Ishan again. "Really?"
"Yes. I mean, it does. You don't have to keep doing that if you don't want to, of course."
After a moment of thought, Andra took Ishan's hand with her free one, and put it back over hers. "In that case - I think I want to keep doing that."
Ishan was sure he was discovering new ridiculous shades of pink now. "...I don't know how to repay you for this. For doing this for me even though we haven't known one another too long, for trusting me in spite of who I used to work for, and" - he summoned his courage - "and whose bed I was often in. It means more to me than I could ever express in words; I'm really not much of a poet..."
"I don't know about that one. But you don't have to make it verbal? Chocolate chip cookies of appreciation are always welcome."
Ishan beamed. 'In that case, I'll make some as soon as I can. I don't have the ingredients now, but I'm sure Highlord Tirion would be willing to lend me some flour if I asked..."
"I didn't know you cooked," Andra said. "How much of your cuisine have I scarfed not knowing who the chef was? I should've asked and thanked you. I'm such a fluffbrain sometimes..."
"The fact that you liked it was thanks enough, really."
"...it was probably obvious when i did, right? My sister says I make happy foodie faces."
"They're cute," Ishan said, and then grinned even more as Andra spluttered.
"Are you trying to make me do that because seriously. If you are, I will steal your blanket in the night, and you will be the obviously-sleeping-in-a-silly-curled-up-way beanpole, and then what will you do?"
Ishan dissolved into giggles at her expression. Andra poked him.
"This is no laughing matter, I'll have you know; I'll call Rauth in so he can immortalize your goofy curlicue of sleep in art."
"Curlicue - " Ishan tried to stop laughing and failed. "There's a curlicue?"
"You become round somehow. I don't know how that works because you're as tall as Kael'thas but only take up half a bedroll when you're sleeping. Why do you do that?"
"I don't know - it's comfortable?"
"But you curl up so TEENY."
"It's warmer that way too."
Andra fretted visibly. "Wait - have you been cold? Why didn't you tell me? Are you cold now? I have an extra blanket, or I can turn the heater up..."
"I'm not cold now?" Ishan said, and squeezed her hand very lightly.
"…Well, I could stay here, if you want to stay not-cold-now."
"You could." Ishan smiled. "It's my turn to be up, anyway - "
Andra rolled her eyes with a grin. "Yeah, no. It's not."
"...Wait, what? Yes it is - "
"Is not infinity. Try to go back to sleep." Andra nudged him lightly. "Shift times are measured by the amount of time you sleep, buster."
"Are those the rules of the world?"
"They are in my little world." Andra nudged him again. "Which you're in by merit of your proximity to me and my innately fabulous nature. Ishandarr, finish your tea and go back to sleep. I'm too adrenaline-giddy to rest for a while anyhow, and you still look like you'd be asleep on your feet if you stood up. You need to rest, and I am the boss of the world. So go back to sleep."
"Yes, ma'am." Ishan snerked softly. After a few moments, he let go of Andra's hand, and got comfortable again, wrapping himself in the blanket and curling up. Andra smiled at him and turned the little heater up a tiny bit.
"If you get too cold, tell me."
"I'm all right now," Ishan said, and it was true. The pain in his scar was ebbing away, gone with the fear and misery that he'd ben drowning in scant minutes ago. Andra's trust in him, her consideration for him, and the affection she'd shown just now had proven to be a hell of a lot more powerful than Arthas's more creative nightmares. She was a force to be reckoned with.
And he was developing a crush on her.
It seemed to be mutual.
Ishan watched Leilandra get comfortable again, pick up her book, and murmur something about 'heretofore your face'. He rearranged the pillows and curled up smaller, letting himself really enjoy the softness of the blanket, the warmth from the stove, the lingering scent of the tea. Keeping where he was firmly in mind, and the fact that he was absolutely not alone, he closed his eyes.
When the faint familiar cold started to creep up on his senses and a twinge of pain ran along the scar again, he reached for Leilandra's hand.
His fingers brushed her wrist and she reached back, snagging his thumb with her little finger and tugging on it and then curling her whole hand around his thumb. Again, the pain faded as if it had never existed.
A force to be reckoned with.
Ishan squeezed her hand gently again; she squeezed back.
Feeling more at ease and safe than he ever had since Light's Hope, warm and comforted, Ishandarr fell asleep.
***
It is an oreo whose icing is MADE OF DEMENTED, WHAT CAN I SAY
they are cute omg.
Also, Andra's font colour, for anyone who cares, is orchid. XD
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Date: 2011-05-01 02:42 am (UTC)I wish I had something more eloquent to say. XD; But you really got Andra's internal monologue in all its rambly wtf glory. I could completely hear her in my head, and it was sort of surreal seeing it on a page from someone else. God I ship this so hard. They're adorable. And Arthas is hot even when he's being a creeper fuckface. (He's v. embarrassed about his antics, btw.) This was made of pure win.
no subject
Date: 2011-05-01 05:52 am (UTC)XD And man I am so glad this turned out well. I worry a LOT about getting other peoples' people right and that I managed makes me joyous.