Timeskip: Vaala

[moonshadows]

Illidan!

Oh no, no, no…whatever this was, it was going to be bad. Farthi didn’t use my male name unless I was going to be needed in my capacity as destiny’s hand. Where, and what?

There, he replied, shoving his map of his forest at me, one tree soaked in red. One of yours, the spunky one.

Vaala. She’d applied to be a ranger and been turned down for her abysmal skill with a bow after getting herself practically disowned from a mother who thought she should be a Good Daughter And Marry Someone Respectable. I’d heard it from her brother – who was well on his way to being a magister – and stepped in personally to train her. We’d found her a pair of swords that would have made my late brother Sandar whistle, and I had not been disappointed in her skill.

I dove out of my window, shedding skin and second skin until my wings stretched out to catch me, streaking towards that pulsing red finger without stopping first to ask Farthi what had happened to Vaala, or even put down what I’d been holding – which was the Skull of Gul’dan.

Oops.

Farthi, what happened?

Amani hunting party out looking for sacrifices. She got most of them, but one of them ran for reinforcements.

….and? There were plenty of rangers and Farstriders in the area; a simple party of trolls wasn’t enough for him to invoke my male name.

She’s dying, he said somberly.

I shut up and wove a spell to increase my speed.

Barely a handful of minutes later, I arrived at the small clearing where Vaala was going to die unless I managed to pull something out of my ass to save her. Normally, I took the time to circle down and backwing to a neat landing – but not with a life on the line. I dropped like a bolt of lightning out of the sky, landed like the crack of thunder by her feet, stood slowly with wings spread to regain my balance – and remembered what I was holding. Hadn’t I been looking for a way to disperse the potent demonic energy safely? Sure, this was a bit…unconventional…but so was stealing Deathwing’s secret weapon and using it to invert the polarity on the sub-planar acceleration matrix of a spell designed to turn the Well of Eternity into a high-speed, demon-spewing funnel. She’d still need it purged from her afterwards, of course, and I had no idea if she even wanted wings and horns and hooves.

Well, if she didn’t, she’d be alive to berate me.

“Vaala!” No reaction; she was sprawled against an aspen as though already dead. I went for the command voice. “Vaala Dawnstrike, open your eyes and look at me!”

Pale eyelids fluttered open. Good enough; I shoved the Skull at her.

“I’m getting you out of here. Hold this.”

Startled, she hooked her fingers into Gul’dan’s eye sockets while I scooped her into my arms and settled her against my chest, trying not to think about the puddle of blood she’d been sitting in. Sargeras’s shard wouldn’t be able to use her as a vessel if she was dead; the power would heal her fatal wound before it did anything else. I just had to make sure I got her to the priests before it progressed much more than that. Normally, taking off from the ground was a slow and painful process, but Vaala couldn’t afford that. I burned more power to shoot straight into the air high enough that I could catch the current back.

“Illidan?” If her head hadn’t been on my shoulder, the wind of my flight would have whipped her thin voice away.

“I refuse to let you die,” I snapped. “I won’t blame you if you’re unhappy with me for my solution, but it was the only one I could think of on short notice.”

“What…”

I gentled my voice with effort, swallowing thick anxiety and bitter terror. “Just keep holding on to that. I’m taking you to the priests.”

She whimpered, but the rest of the flight was silent. The priests were understandably startled when I walked in, hooves clopping against the mosaic on the floor, but they wasted no time in flocking around us to purge the demon essence from her while I stood back, skull clutched guiltily in one hand, hoping that I hadn’t done something I’d regret. One or two of them had been present when I’d…changed…and they waved the others safely away in the brief period of quiet before the shape etched into her soul warped her body to reflect it. I flinched as she thrashed and screamed, but did not avert my eyes as the priests did; I owed it to her. It was over in less than a minute, and with one corner of my mind I idly reflected that it had seemed to last much longer when it had been me thrashing, but that was the subjective nature of time for you. The rest of my mind was a writhing tangle of guilt and fear regarding her reaction.

I hadn’t gotten her to the priests in time; she had horns jutting from her forehead, although smaller than mine, and wings that spread limply on the floor. At least she’d been spared the hooves and talons of my third skin, and as she panted for breath I could see that she still had teeth. On the plus side, the Skull had a much less malevolent feel to it and I guessed that the shard of Sargeras’s power had nearly expended itself, leaving only the more conventional but still potent fel power pooled inside it. Small comfort in the face of having potentially ruined someone else’s life.

Vaala’s eyelids flickered and I braced myself; she’d be fully conscious and cognizant of everything that had just happened to her, as I knew from experience.

“Illidan?”

Here it comes, I told myself, wings resolutely clamped to my back as though denying any intent to flee.

“I was dying. What did you do-” One hand reached up to rub her temple, encountered a horn. She took a deeper breath. “WHAT DID YOU DO?”

“I…” There were no words. She was furious, and I couldn’t blame her. How do you tell someone that you twisted their form into a mockery of what it had been, but that you did it with the best intentions? “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? You’re sorry? I’m…look at me! What did you do?”

“You were dying. I didn’t know what else to do.” Slowly, I kneeled by her, close enough that she could strike me if she so chose. “I couldn’t bear to watch you die. I’m sorry. I can make you a talisman to give you back your first skin, hide your horns and your wings, but it will take a few days. ”

“Wait…wings? I have wings?” The appendages in question twitched.

“Careful! You don’t know how to control them yet. If you try to move them while lying down, you could break or sprain them.”

Obediently, she stopped trying to move her wings. “Will I be able to fly?” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re going to teach me how to fly.”

That was too easy; there was no way she’d forgiven me that easily. “You’re…not angry?”

“I’m not thrilled,” she retorted dryly, “but I’m alive. Uh…thank you for that, Illidan. I didn’t think…” Her eyes dropped to the mosaic on the floor. “I didn’t think anyone would ever find my body, much less find me in time to save me.”

I held out my taloned hand; she took it weakly, and for a long minute we sat in silence.

“If not for this skin,” I said quietly, “I wouldn’t have been able to get to you in time. That, by itself, makes me glad that my body was warped this way.”

Her voice equally quiet, she asked, “Do you think there’s a reason for my wings, too?”

“You mean aside from giving your mother fits?”

She nearly choked on a laugh. “Illidan!”

Vaala was going to be okay; it was all going to be okay. I found a devil-may-care smile somewhere and slapped it on. “You’ll need new tops if you intend to go around in public with your wings out. I’m sure we could arrange something scandalous where your mother can see you.”

“How scandalous?” she asked warily.

The humor drained from my tone. “As much as you like. I owe you.”

“What? No.” Stubborn as always, she struggled to her knees to glare at me from eye level. “I owe you my life.”

“And you’ll have to live that life with what I did to you. You don’t owe me anything; I saved you out of selfish refusal to let you die. I didn’t give you a choice.”

“If you had,” she said steadily, “I would have chosen this. So stop blaming yourself and help me stand up, because the priests are staring and I want to take a bath because I’m gross and bloody but I’m afraid I’ll fall over.”

Without a word I took her hand in the one not holding the Skull and lifted her to her feet. She leaned against me, whether out of balance or fatigue or something else, and one wing half-spread protectively around her until she straightened.

“Let’s go out to the courtyard,” I murmured, “and I’ll see if I can just fly you to my rooms. Let me take care of you for a few days and don’t argue, okay?”

She nodded, and I led her carefully outside. Gently, gently, I folded her wings against her back and lifted her into my arms for a second time, and once more burned power jumping high enough that I could catch air with my wings and circle the city until we came to the balcony outside my bedroom. While Vaala sat awkwardly on a divan, I slid back into my second skin and set the tub to filling before hunting through my wardrobe for a top she could wear with wings – and a bottom to match, since her trousers were soaked with blood. Her blood. She’d need food, and I could stand to replenish my strength as well. Easily taken care of; I had an arcane bellpull straight to the palace kitchens and a history of heavy eating after heavy spellcasting. By the time my guest was ready to come out of her bath, there would be a veritable feast for us.

Carefully, because her wings were still mostly uncontrolled, we bathed and dressed. Then, feeling better about everything, we fell on the lavish meal prepared for us like a pair of starving lions. Afterwards, I took my wings back out and walked her through the basics of motion. It was much less awkward for her to learn than it was for me, but I didn’t have the benefit of someone who could show me what to expect. The strain of having two huge appendages she couldn’t control evaporated, leaving her visibly less tense – and with that stress gone, fatigue stepped in.

“You need rest,” I said firmly as she yawned a second time. “Your body’s still recovering from the changes made to it, not to mention your brush with death. A good night’s sleep, a hearty breakfast, and we should have you temporarily back to your first skin by lunch.”

Vaala winced. “How long until…”

“Until I can work out something more permanent? The spell itself won’t take that long.” I grinned as she stuck her tongue out at me; Reevan got all the arcane skill in her family. “Finding something sturdy enough to hold the spell and which suits your taste is going to take longer. I can get you a temporary easily, but you’re going to want to have whatever-it-is on you at all times. That means something worn either on or in your body.” She grimaced again, and I laughed. “Come on, into bed. We can discuss it in more detail when you’re not exhausted.”

My bed, in true Highborne style, was big enough to pitch a tent on. Vaala crawled in far enough to flop down face-first, wings spread to full extension. She lay there like that while I dimmed the mage-lights, then rolled onto her side to face me as I crossed the great satin plain to settle relatively close to her. I wasn’t going to sleep until I knew that she was sleeping, but she didn’t need to know that. We murmured good-nights and closed our eyes, and for several minutes there was only the sound of our breathing.

“Illidan?”

I was in my first skin before my eyes opened, pulse racing. “Vaala? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I just…wanted to make sure you were there,” she said unconvincingly.

Mmm-hmm. That’s why she used my male name rather than calling me Solaria, as she’d met me and as most people thought of me. Two could play that game.

“I’m right here,” I soothed, reaching out to gently pull her closer until I had her settled with her head on my chest. Her breathing didn’t slow down any, her nipples were hard beneath the sheer cloth of her top, and her thigh was slowly rubbing closer to my groin. I moved my hands just slightly, and what had been slow, soothing circles on her back turned into unexpectedly erotic massage of the new and still-sensitive tissues at the base of her wings.

Now it was her pulse that was racing, her gasp sending a thrill down to the base of my spine, and I thought about lifting her up to where I could kiss her – but I had to be absolutely sure of what she wanted first. She was stubborn, she wouldn’t make the first move, but if I interpreted things the wrong way I’d damage our friendship. The hand creeping slowly down my abdomen was a pretty definitive sign, though. A quick twist of arcane energy, and I’d be good to go until I fell over from exhaustion.

“I’m right here,” I repeated, now inviting rather than soothing, and moved one hand from her back to guide hers further down. In my first skin, I was still kaldorei rather than quel’dorei, and my torso was longer than her questing hand seemed to be accustomed to.

Her fingers wrapped around my shaft with an ease that spoke reassuringly of experience, and as she finished the job her gasp had started, she said, “My body’s still recovering from everything. You better not expect me to do all the work.”

Now I did lift her face to mine and kiss her, ten thousand years of experience making her hand falter. “You know me better than that,” I murmured when we parted for breath. “I said I’d take care of you, and I will. Pull your wings in tight and roll onto your back. Take a minute to get comfortable, because I’m not going to stop until either you tell me to, or you stop responding to your name.”

The way her breath caught at that made me smile.

It took a minute or two for her to find a comfortable arrangement for her wings, but I wasn’t in any rush. The magic would keep me hard and prevent me from going over the edge. When she was settled, she nodded at me and I leaned in to resume our kiss while I shifted to the proper position. One of the benefits to being a kaldorei man with a quel’dorei woman was that by comparison, average became extraordinary. Vaala’s eyes widened as she discovered this, but I was thankfully not her first and had centuries of experience – and centuries more of elevating that experience to an art form. Those eyes fluttered closed and I kissed the line of her jaw to hide my smile at her reaction before teasing the edge of her ear.

The song I played on her body was an old one, written in the days before the world was sundered, the tune ageing like a fine wine over the centuries, the sound growing richer for the passing of time. Each verse was different, but the chorus – that never changed. A thousand crashing climaxes had crafted the notes to be played, ear and lip and throat and breast, a harmony in a minor chord to complement the greater song and entrance the audience until the next verse was ready to begin, and a thousand girls had signaled their approval of my performance in quiet sounds of pleasure and soft sighs. I took great satisfaction in my skill, and as with anything I did well, it was a point of pride.

Not this time.

For all her brave and stubborn words, I’d used magic of the foulest sort to twist her into something near-demonic, and that it had saved her life did not outweigh what she would have to live with. That I considered her one of my dearest friends made it even more unforgivable, and playing this song on her body until she finally gasped out, “no more,” only erased a small portion of the shame that ate away at me. She cuddled up to me, breathing deep and slow, every muscle limp with satisfaction, as a thousand other girls had. I held her as I had every other girl, stroking her hair and murmuring softly until sleep claimed her, but this time I did not follow. I lay awake, my erection slowly deflating in disappointment, taking cold comfort in her steady breaths. She lived. Because of me, she lived. Because I had twisted her body, violated her with a demon’s magic, she lived and her life would never be the same. If I had to play that song a thousand times for her, I would do so and let a fraction of my guilt burn away each time she cried out at the conclusion of the verse. Perhaps in a year, five years, ten, twenty, a hundred, perhaps when she had borne wings longer than she had not, perhaps when she could tell me honestly that she was glad of her second skin, I would forgive myself.

For now, I held her in silent apology.

Morning came, painting the world in shades of rosy gold and hope. Vaala stirred in my arms, but I kissed her hair and soothed her and she subsided. I thought about disengaging myself from her, of slipping from the bed and watching her sleep, scrubbing the scents of sweat and sex from my skin and turning all my focus to crafting a spell that would return her natural form. In the end, however, I skipped straight to the part where I focused on crafting the spell. I would be a poor magister indeed if I could not work the calculations while lounging in my own bed, nostrils filled with the evidence of having spent hours pleasuring the dear friend drowsing beside me.

And besides, maybe if I worked fast enough she could wake up in her own body rather than the abomination I’d inflicted on her.

The hard part was actually the easiest aspect of the spell; normally, removing entire limbs would require significant reconstruction. However, I’d already worked out how to accomplish that with my own body. I used my second skin as a template, altering the features one by one until it fit seamlessly around Vaala’s slumbering form. Removing the horns would have to come later, as would anchoring it into an item and building a trigger that she could manipulate with her limited skill in the arcane. For the time being, it was enough that I could set the spell on her and watch the wings fade as though they had never been. Immediately, she rolled onto her back, scratched one armpit, and sighed as sleep reclaimed her.

Feeling very accomplished, I went for that bath.

Breakfast had just been delivered when Vaala finally stirred and sat up, blinking groggily at me. I waved from the table, wearing my second skin and a comfortable dressing gown, and she frowned. One hand went tentatively to her forehead, encountered the horns, and the frown deepened.

“It was easier than I expected to alter the matrix of my second skin and apply it to you,” I said by way of explanation. “Come, eat. I’ll draw you a bath. I should be able to alter it to account for horns by mid-afternoon.”

“I have no idea what you said before ‘come, eat’, she said as she crawled out of bed and stretched. “All I heard was ‘blah blah blah, I’m a mage’. What’s for breakfast?”

I gestured to the table with half a muffin. “If there’s something you’d like that’s not there, just let me know.”

Considering it was now close to noon and I’d added a selection of heartier foods to my order, I was fairly confident she’d find something palatable. She heaped her plate and dug in with a good appetite, and when I finished my muffin I set the bath to fill.

“Hey, Solaria,” she said as I came back, “don’t worry about the horns.”

“But-”

“You wear them; they make you look dangerous, and people think twice about giving you lip. I could use some of that.”

“Anyone who underestimates you is in for an unpleasant surprise, Vaala.” Still, I couldn’t help smiling just a little as I sat down to peel and section an orange.

“Sometimes I’d rather not have to provide the surprise. Just leave them.”

“No.”

Now it was her turn to protest and be cut off. “But-”

The orange was sectioned with unnecessary force. “I did this to you, Val. I can’t undo it, but I can give you the choice to walk around with horns and wings, or just one or the other, or neither.”

Silence reigned for a long minute. I stuffed pieces of orange into my mouth, not looking up.

“Alright,” she said finally. “I guess I can’t argue about being given a choice without looking like a bitch, right?” When I glanced up and met her eyes, she smiled sheepishly. “So what’s on the schedule after breakfast?”

“Your bath, unless you want to spend the rest of the day silently announcing last night’s activities.”

Her cheeks darkened slightly at my amused look. “Riiiiight. Bath. Good idea. I am kind of sore.”

A thought struck me, and I frowned. “You should be more sore than that. I should be more sore than that.” Slowly, I raised my eyes to hers. “I haven’t done that since…” I tapped my horns with one finger. “I knew that the demonic warping increased my strength, speed, and stamina, but until just now…the extent of that hadn’t sunk in.”

“Demonic regeneration,” Vaala breathed, eyes wide. “Does this mean I could drink all night and not get a hangover?”

I could feel my lips slipping into a wicked grin. “I don’t know, but I think we should find out. Tonight.”

Her smile mirrored mine.

“Okay,” I announced briskly, “here’s the plan. Bath. I work out the part where you can not-have horns if you choose. We get dressed and go pick up an obscene amount of booze, have lunch, and talk about what you want the spell anchored in. Drinking starts in your favorite bar. We come back, I have the palace kitchen provide nibbles, and we see how drunk we can get. In the morning, we see how hung over we are and where we wound up and in what state of dress, and if it hurts to laugh at ourselves.”

Vaala grinned. “Good plan.”