Betrayers of the Horde

Concession (Zekhan)

Zekhan thought he had done a good job at hiding his concern from Teresiana. It seemed to have become a pattern that he wasn't able to sleep with her by his side, as if he was afraid she would disappear in the night, so he lay awake mulling over his possible futures. There were two main possibilities: either Thalyssra was convinced by Teresiana or she wasn't. All other futures were dependent on that fork in the road.

He wasn't sure how the First Arcanist had acted towards Teresiana, but she had been cold and accusatory to him and begrudgingly respectful to Saurfang. He tried to steel himself in the fact that they were together in this, hoping to the loa that he wouldn't be the one to ruin their chances. A glance down at Teresiana's blissfully sleeping face filled him with a renewed will to make it out of this.

Another problem arose while Zekhan was thinking about the unconscious nightborne beside him. If she did feel the same way for him as he did for her, there was the trouble with cross-racial relationships. He assumed that the nightborne, being a proud people, were on a similar level as darkspear trolls in terms of traditionalism, which would in turn mean that they frowned upon the clashing of races and cultures. Most darkspear women had yet to even receive the same rights as the men, which left another knot of anxiety in his gut.

"You think too loud," Teresiana yawned, stretching against him. "You can't sleep, can you?"

Zekhan shook his head, grunting. "I fear for our fate," he admitted, rolling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling.

"We'll know in a few hours, at least," she said, sitting up beside him. "If Thalyssra is anything, it is timely."

Watching her run her hands through her silken hair drove forward a somewhat-unfamiliar feeling in Zekhan. She blindly pulled the stands up into intricate braids that crowned her head, leaving two shorter strands out on either side to frame her face. Something about the gentle slope of her now-fully-revealed neck awakened a need within him. A need for her to understand how much he had come to care for her over the past weeks before anything happened.

"Teresiana, ya must know dat I--" A guard arrived, slipping two bundles of clothes through the bars before telling them that a formal tribunal would be held in an hour.

"What were you saying?" she asked, collecting the clothes from where they lay.

"It can wait," Zekhan dismissed, unfolding his pile. His sudden wave of courage had evaporated.

Teresiana examined the clothes for a moment before she decided they meant business. If they were dressing them up for the occasion, it must be a difficult decision, or so she said.

Zekhan turned his back to her in surprise when she began to undress without another moment's hesitation.

"Is something wrong?" she asked. Zekhan heard her clothes drop to the floor and the rustle of her picking up the new ones.

"No," he answered, unhooking the harness across his chest with a deft hand. "Just givin' ya some privacy."

She laughed, a sound like the glistening of the dew-covered tresses that hung from many of the silvery, weeping trees he had had a brief moment to glance at around the city. He had never heard her laugh before, he realized, and the pride at being the one to elicit the response took away some of the embarrassment he felt, if only for a moment.

"Ah," was Teresiana's reply when her ethereal laugh died down. "Don't worry, you can get dressed as well, I won't peek," she added.

The clothes were of higher quality than Zekhan had ever felt. The intricate designs sprawled along the hems especially caught his eye. The problem came with the tunic, as it fit oddly once he had slumped back down into his normal posture. Teresiana came to the rescue, however, with a few pins altering the garment just enough to make it fit comfortably. He turned around to thank her, but was taken aback by the way the clothes had made her look. All he could think of was a sort of anciently youthful yet benevolent queen that he had fallen for despite the impossibility of such a union. He supposed it wasn't so far from the truth.

"I'll be honest," she said. "Darkspear attire suit you better." She smiled, straightening his lapel, sending a jolt of electricity down his spine.

"But dis suits ya almost too well," Zekhan replied, meaning to be playful in the comment but ending the sentence with a sort of fervor he didn't know he possessed.

Teresiana's face turned serious and her hand lingered on his chest. She was studying him with a careful eye. Closing her fist around the bit of loose fabric she could grab she tugged him closer. His pulse was beating in his ears.

Their faces inched closer. Teresiana's face was between his tusks. He could feel her soft breath on his lips. Moving to close the gap he--

In an instant she had pushed him away, her long ears twitching at the sound of a guard approaching.

"Let us go," the stoic attendant said. Another two guards passed to collect Saurfang.

"You said an hour," Teresiana countered, her eyebrows furrowing.

"It was moved up. Get moving."

"Ay, mon don't be snappin' at 'er." Zekhan's blood boiled. He would never tell Teresiana, but he feared the worst. A life in prison for her and a traitor's death for him and Saurfang.

"Be still," she whispered, squeezing his arm briefly then scooping her book up off the floor and slipping it into the small satchel attached to her clothing at the hip--an odd choice for a prisoner of the state to have pockets, but he didn't question it. The guard eyed their quick touch disapprovingly and cuffed them both as they stepped out of the cell. Saurfang wasn't far behind.

This time, Zekhan was able to actually look at the city since he was conscious. Although he had never been to Suramar, it felt familiar from the tales Teresiana had told of it, yet nothing could compare to the real thing. He just wished she would say something, anything instead of staring straight ahead with a deadly resolve etched into her face.

The First Arcanist had had chairs set out for them and their wrists were shackled to the arms. Thalyssra looked very different from the last time she had spoken to them: disheveled and exhausted. Teresiana inhaled sharply at the sight, telling Zekhan that this was very unusual.

"Teresiana," she began. "Your claims against the Warchief have been confirmed." Thalyssra lowered herself into the large chair before them, her fingers at her temple. "However, an enormous bounty on you three has been ordered. Dead or alive."

"First Arcanist--" Teresiana objected, but was stopped by a wave of Thalyssra's hand.

"We do not intend to hand you over, and she does not yet know you are here, but this cannot last forever. Please, Teresiana, tell us what you envisioned for your people to do. We are small in number compared to the rest of the horde and when Sylvanas finds out you are here, her armies will rain down hell." The nightborne paused, looking up into Teresiana's shocked face. "How can we defeat her?"

"It is like I said, First Arcanist, if I can seek council with Anduin Wrynn, the combined forces of the nightborne and those in Stormwind will be able to overpower the Horde forces currently in Ogrimmar, as most of us have been dispatched to Zandalar." At Thalyssra's motion, a guard unshackled her and she stood, pacing in her slow, deliberate step, explaining the details of how they would attack Ogrimmar if they could get Anduin on their side.