TBTT 38. We could have told him that

[moonshadows]

Best day ever.

Sighing happily, she sprawls sideways across her bed, one pillow clutched to her chest. Oh, sure, it sucked royally for those few hours where she thought he was rejecting her, and it was a bit nerve-wracking teaching him about phasing into the Nether without letting too much slip about Nathrezim mind magic, but all in all...

He wants me to help. He wants me to help.

She would have done so anyway, of course, because what he needed was far more important than how happy she was. Being needed just turned it from an obligation to an honor.

He needs me. He needs me.

Heady stuff for the girl who'd been picked on by half of everyone she knew on Nathrezene and pitied by the other half. The Lord of Outland, the one who'd single-handedly made Azeroth too expensive for a frontal assault by the Burning Legion, a man who could easily have upwards of two dozen Nathrezim supplicants accepted for consideration, someone she would never have a chance to even get near on Nathrezene...and here, he was turning to her for help.

Some of the warm glow fades as she thinks back to their "bonding" on Week's Dawn. She'd focused mainly on Nathrezim biology and all but avoided the mental abilities, unwilling to say more than she had when she summarized the report he'd never actually collected from her. When she'd told him about Nathrezim society, she'd sidestepped the entire subject of romance. It made her uncomfortable, keeping things from her Kal'shan like that, but...

I don't want him to think I'm trying to control him, or trying to compete with the woman from his memories.

She still doesn't know enough about him, about his past. The statues from the artistic visualization likely represent people who played important roles in his life, or important events that shaped him. Until they are complete, she will keep herself to the role of Champion. She sighs and hugs the pillow tighter. Teenage fantasies aside - because really, what Nathrezim girl wouldn't fantasize about being alone on a world with him? - she knows that she'd never have a chance with him even if she ever manages to repair all the damage. Whoever Tyrande is, or was, she's far too important to him for her to compete against.

It's okay. I don't need that. She buries her face in the pillow, breathing in the scent of clean cloth, feeling her exhalation warm the resilient surface. I'm content to serve him any way I can.
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He frowns at the screen. After the emotionally exhausting day that started with attacking his walls and ended with the first taste of wind on his face in three months, he'd thought to relax by watching his Champion fall sleep. It puzzled him that his presence could induce blissful contentment like that, but he certainly wasn't going to complain. She'd looked so happy there, hugging a pillow, but now...

Something has made her upset.

A quiet growl simmers in the back of his throat. Whatever has distressed his Champion, he hopes it is something alive, so that he can kill it, and thinking, so that it can regret the foolishness of its actions before it dies.

He wishes he dared ask her what made her unhappy. Does she know about the monitoring device in her bedroom? Would it upset her further to know that he watches her sleep? Do her guards watch her the way he does?

The growl gets a fraction louder. His dulled claws click against the keys as he remotely blanks the guards' screen and locks it. On his screen, his Champion sighs and relaxes, her breathing slowing as she drifts into slumber.

Should he? Would it wake her?

Each talon is inspected as best he can. When his sight finds no sharp edge, he tests each tip against the softer skin of his wrists. Finally, he licks each one. Only when the sensitive surface of his tongue finds nothing but smoothness is he satisfied. He stands in the center of his office and concentrates, feeling his body become so, and the world fades out as he enters the Twisting Nether, that nebulous realm his burning fel-green eyes perceive naturally. Seen from within, he can make out details he never would have guessed existed, even after ten thousand years. It would have been impossible to navigate the hallways of his capital like this, but he can see faint traces, creases in the billowing Nether that show him where he has been. He can also see the orcish magic that caused his Champion's conception - a gossamer strand of spiked chain so dark a purple that it looks black - leading from him to her.

How fitting, he thinks, and how like her. Orcish in origin, demonic in nature. Something that could be a weapon of terror and cruelty in the wrong hands, but subtle and delicate at the same time.

The chain leads him easily to her and for a long moment, he hovers beside her spirit. He'd thought that her sleeping form was relaxing, but watching her astral form is...enthralling. Flickers of color dart about like fish within the swirling lavender of her substance, crawl slowly like arcane lightning through the clouds of her being. Eventually, he fades back into the world and stands next to her bed. She's still sprawled sideways across it. He kneels slowly, careful to make no sound and not touch the bed lest he wake her.

She looks even younger, sleeping. Innocent. Oh, he knows her childhood was unpleasant. Perhaps even more so than his, because she had to endure it alone. Still, she emerged from it relatively unscathed. Is it fair of him to inflict his scarred psyche on her, to make her deal with his problems? If she embraces his rough edges, will he wind up slicing through that gentleness and ruin her? Turn her into something like him? Is that the truth behind the unhappiness he saw?

If that's the case, he doesn't think he could make himself give up the comfort of her kindness, even if it was bought at the cost of her pain. He'll just have to make sure that he doesn't hurt her, and trust Joshua to bring to his attention anything he's missed.

She looks...sad, now. He could never bear it when-

The thought is cut short before a name or face can bring bittersweet memories to slice through his fragile stability. For now, it is enough that his Champion looks sad, and that this makes him unhappy in turn.

Carefully, he reaches out and brushes a few strands of hair off her cheek, just like in his nightmares. Unlike his nightmares, his touch does not cause her to bleed. In fact-

His breath catches. As his fingertips skim her cheek, she stirs slightly, her sleeping expression now one of longing. His other hand curls into a fist, dulled claws digging into his palm without drawing blood. Holding his breath now, he lays his hand gently on her cheek and watches in wonder as she smiles in unconscious bliss.

Could it be? No, it's not possible. Too good to be true. He could never deserve something this wonderful - but he can't quite deny the evidence before him.

His touch makes her happy.

She's not even awake to be consciously aware of his presence, but his touch causes her to smile. Could it be, then, that what was causing her unhappiness was his absence? Slowly, he lets out the breath he was holding. If he's right, he can satisfy his selfish desire to keep her by his side and make his Champion happy at the same time. Perhaps as early as next week. He'll have to discuss it with her during weapons training tomorrow. In the meantime...

Reluctantly, he lifts his hand from her cheek. She frowns briefly, and he strokes her cheekbone lightly with his thumb.

"Sleep well, my Champion."

The frown smooths out at his whisper, her sleeping face glowing with innocent joy again. Quickly, before he can change his mind, he phases back into the Twisting Nether and follows his own trail back to his office.