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late-to-the-fandom · 1 year

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Day 1: Love is in the Air

This is a T-Rated 1,035 word (not quite) drabble for the @daily-writing-challenge February words! Takes place in the universe of my Renathal and the Maw Walker series and features the Maw Walker's little lesson to the Dark Prince on consent. Note: There is no actual smut in this story, but it is full of decidedly non-graphic references to smut.

The Dark Prince stood stiffly, arms crossed deliberately behind his back, eyeing the Maw Walker’s proffered card with open skepticism.

It was pink. Like the arch behind him and all the decorations the "Mad" Duke had commissioned. Inked across the garish surface was Renathal's name in handwriting he recognised, though with many more elaborate flourishes and an excessive number of surrounding hearts.

“You’re starting to hurt my feelings,” said the Maw Walker, when he continued to refuse her lurid offering.

She arranged her face into an uncharacteristic pout. Renathal was not remotely fooled.

“What is this?” he asked.

“It's a love letter, of course!" Renathal was sure her voice was pitched purposefully to carry through the courtyard. “A visible token of my eternal affection. They’re traditional at this particular festival. I'm sure Theotar explained.”

As though summoned by the Maw Walker’s over-loud words, the Duke materialized at Renathal’s side.

“A love letter? For the Prince? What an astonishing and appropriately lovely gesture! I must admit, my dear friend,” he said, taking the Maw Walker’s free hand and patting it conspiratorially. “We were becoming most concerned your passion for our Prince was mere rumour! You must admit - and it is not critique, but, alas - your demeanour can be somewhat unnecessarily cool at times. Why, the way you practically quit the Ember Court last week when he bestowed the most exquisite of affections…”

The Duke indulged in a reminiscent laugh, shared by the Ember Court guests who’d been drawn toward his shaded tea corner by the ringing conversation. Renathal’s own lips twitched, but he refused to wholly drop his guard.

It was true. The Maw Walker’s reserve had become almost infamous in Sinfall now their relationship was a public fixture. Even the most temperate of kisses in front of witnesses left her flushed and wrong-footed; and in his exploitation of his normally unflappable lover's unexpected weakness, Renathal was unrepentant.

The incident Theotar referenced involved Renathal wrapping his arms around her from behind and pressing his lips fervently to the tip of her long ear, leaving her breathless and violet-faced in front of the Grandmaster and the rest of the visiting Maldraxxi contingent. It had left the Maw Walker disgruntled for the rest of the day.

“It was decidedly inappropriate," she had snapped at Renathal later.

“Oh, come now," he cajoled. "Surely, you cannot consider any part of my affection inappropriate?”

“When you use it to your own advantage for the express purpose of embarrassing me, I most certainly can.”

Renathal had made the requisite apology in order to restore their relationship's equilibrium, but he knew she considered it inadequate, and he had anticipated rebuttal. Which was why when he at last stretched out a wary hand to accept her unusually public gesture, it was with all the same trepidation as if she had handed him some unknown weapon from the Broker's cache.

“Well?" she prompted, her lavender face entirely too innocent. “Aren’t you going to read it?”

“Yes!" agreed Theotar, practically trembling in anticipation. "You must read it aloud for all to hear! We are proverbially dying to know the secret depths of the Maw Walker's passion for our Prince. And you do declaim with such panache!"

Murmurs of excited agreement rippled through the now sizeable congregation of Venthyr and visiting Bastion guests. Renathal glanced dubiously from the Maw Walker's glittering eyes to the folded pink paper, then opened it cautiously, half-expecting it to explode. A quick skim of its lengthy contents, and he thought his face might be less heated if it had.

"Oh, my Prince, you must not keep us in suspense!" cried Theotar, attempting to peer at the paper over Renathal's arm. "What has she written? Is it an essay? A poem?"

“Not ... exactly,” said Renathal, his mouth abruptly dry.

He had no idea what to call the document in front of him. Some portions read like poetry - of the most incendiary and licentious kind - but mostly it resembled a step-by-step instructional guide to the Maw Walker's intimate after-court plans. And a more gratuitously explicit list, Renathal had never seen risked to paper. There were descriptions that would make the Countess blush, and several suggested acts he thought might have condemned more than one soul to the crypts.

“Well, go on," said the Maw Walker. "Read it out loud."

Renathal's eyebrows could go no higher as he met her mirth-filled gaze.

"You want me to read this out loud? In front of the entire Ember Court?"

The Maw Walker shrugged.

"Why not?" she asked, voice drenched in sarcasm. "Surely you don't consider any part of my affection inappropriate or embarrassing?"

Renathal's lips twisted convulsively as he perused her manifesto a second time. There were words on this pink paper he had never said aloud, words whose meanings he didn't even know. The idea of his friends and followers - the stately Accuser, the modest Polemarch - envisioning him and his lover engaged in .... was that one even anatomically possible?

He looked back at the Maw Walker's expectant face. It was a bluff. But one even Renathal could not bring himself to call.

“I am afraid,” he said, pointedly closing the card and addressing the eager crowd. “I must respect my champion’s privacy. There do exist some sentiments best expressed between lovers alone.”

The Maw Walker smiled - a genuine smile, free of mischief - and Renathal reached instinctively for her hand. Then paused. His eyes asked permission, her nod bestowed it and the sedate kiss he pressed to the back of her fingers elicited only the faintest blush.

With the promise of a spectacle dashed, the crowd began to ebb, murmuring disappointments. Even Theotar‘s hair looked sadly wilted as he sighed and turned to his tea tray for consolation.

“However,” Renathal murmured, stepping to the Maw Walker’s side and reopening her libidinous treatise. “I do consider it your contractual obligation to perform every exquisite service detailed herein.”

“Oh, I plan to make good,” was her impenitent reply.

“Really?” The Dark Prince’s eyes glowed hot at the tantalising prospect. “And what does -“

He checked the paper.

“-slonking mean exactly?”

The Maw Walker winked.

“I’ll show you later.”

#daily writing challenge #februarydwc2023 #Prince Renathal #Renathal x maw walker #fanfiction #wow fanfiction #world of warcraft #shadowlands #Venthyr #Ember Court #Duke Theotar #Love is in the air #valentine's fanfiction

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farorasf · 8 months

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Friendly reminder that canonically every baddy you kill gets to meet your own personal fanclub.

#wow #warcraft #worldofwarcraft #shadowlands #ember court #questing #quest mob #pov #pov u ded #fanart #videogame #mmorpg #FaroraSF art

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auntarivia · 2 years

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Ok but look at him

He could just change his hair, but no. He is gonna wear the hat like that instead.

Such a dumbass.

I love him.

#revendreth #warcraft #theotar #ember court #world of warcraft #shadowlands

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artoriyasart · 2 years

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Fun in revendreth with Dark Ranger Syleeria, she also brings tea to Sylvanas in the maw, such a good friend.

#dark ranger Syleeria #sylvanas loyalist #sylvanas windrunner #revendreth #ember court #party #oc #both syls are bef: Best Elf Friends

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ruhnlidiasworld · 3 months

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Ruhn with “that Night Court dude” HE DOESN'T GIVE A FUCK ABT RHYSAND HE'S ONE OF US THAT'S WHY I LOVE HIM

#hofas spoilers #hofas #crescent city #ruhnlidia #lidia x ruhn #ruhn x lidia #sjm #nobody in the ccity world likes the IC and I love them for that #lidia cervos #bryce quinlan #ember quinlan #hofas spoiler #Ruhn I knew I could trust you #it's an offense for Ruhn being compared to the Night Court dude #Ruhn is better

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ramim · 3 months

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I'm no Elucien shipper.

Personally I much prefer crack ships to the canon ones! 😁 (Luzriel! I ship Luzriel)

But when Elucien's book comes out, one thing I'm waiting for the most is Elain describing Lucien's body until she see the whipping scars on his back... And then she freezes

I want to know what she thinks of Lucien's scars, I want to know how they make her feel! How angry or sad or desperate they make her

I need Elain to trace her fingers on his scars while Lucien is fidgeting because that is the part of him he doesn't want to burden Elain with, but oh Elain is so ready to be burdened with every tiny piece of Lucien's soul

Like if SJM just decides to forget about Lucien's pain and scars, I'm gonna pull at my hair until I'm bald and shiny on the head!

I want to see pain and then I want it to heal (not those redemption shit we saw in ACOSF, I want real actual healing!) Do you hear me Sarah? Pls heal my babies' souls...

#lucien vanserra #elain archeron #acotar #lucien acotar #lucien #acofas #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and embers #a court of silver flames #elain acotar #elain x lucien #elucien #pro elucien

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jmoonjones · 29 days

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We never saw it happen, but canon never says it didn’t happen!

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #hofas #crescent city #Sarah j Maas #nesta archeron #randall silago #ember quinlan

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xysidhequeen · 7 months

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In your Red Knight AU, do you think the rest of the family set up a betting pool on who confess first?

More questions! Yay!

Okay, I did answer a question like this on ao3, so here's the answer:

Sam: Has bet that they literally will not confess until one or both is on the brink of literal actual final death

Tucker: Bet that Jason will confess first (he knows his best friend. He does. Which is why he is not betting on him)

Jazz: Did not place bets, thats so wrong!

She bet on Jason confessing on accident first. Then, him trying to cover it up and brush it off, then panicking and throwing together a novel worthy date in under an hour to 'officially make his intentions known'.

The ghosts have not placed bets because none of them actually see anything wrong with the pining. When dealing with immortal beings, their concept of how long it is appropriate to pine (or court) is skewed. For them its basically been like. A week. They also all still see them as 🥺bebes🥺 and don't really fully compute them actually dating and things.

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princessofmerchants · 3 months

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Nesta, Bryce, the Mask, and the aftermath - HOFAS chs. 76-77 and the Ember bonus chapter

HOFAS spoilers after the break (this is a long one, lol)

I had an overwhelmingly positive reaction to HOFAS chs. 76-77 when Nesta gives Bryce the Mask, and the Ember / BAM bonus chapter when we see the aftermath on the Prythian side of things. It was fascinating to get on Tumblr and see all the negative reactions on all sides to this set of scenes.

Starting with the bonus chapter, I agree with others (@aelin-godkiller, @myfriendscallmeraba, @maddieimhot) that it is written in character for every person in it.

I'll start with Cassian, because the negative reaction to him in this set of scenes was the most confusing for me. Post-ACOSF, Cassian is one half of a healthy functional romantic partnership and mate pairing with Nesta. These two do not always agree. They learned in ACOSF how to disagree in a healthy manner and how to apologize when it is warranted, and for passionate people like these two, that can happen often. On page in the bonus chapter, Cass is exactly in character as both Nesta's mate (his "Rhys…" makes it clear he thinks his High Lord is emotionally overreacting) and as the General of the Night Court Armies (the fact that he doesn't make an argument to Rhys for Nesta in support of her decision is right in line with this for me).

The only part of the bonus that gave me a pang in relation to Nessian was when Nesta says to Ember that her Mate may be the most angry at her of all, but if that's even the case, I don't think that's because of the potential consequences of the decision Nesta made, but because she made it alone and failed to rely on those around her with complementary power and knowledge to hers. I also think Nesta's comment to Ember is residual evidence of her ongoing struggle with her anxiety... In reality, I'm pretty sure Rhys is more angry about what she did than Cass, y'all. But I also think, just like in ACOSF, Nesta is sometimes an unreliable narrator when it comes to thinking those who love her most are specifically and pointedly mad at her. As a fellow anxiety sufferer, this tracks. And the fact that during the later HOFAS scene when Bryce returns the Mask, Cassian is sitting with Nesta clearly holding no grudges or anger toward his mate (but you bet Rhysand is probably still freaking out somewhere over the Mask being in Midgard with the Asteri, and reasonably so!), tells you Nesta may have been projecting her own worry and even regret onto her mate, the one in the Night Court Inner Circle she is closest to and thus most vulnerable with.

The bonus is also 100% in character for Rhysand, as many have pointed out. I was honestly dying to see Rhys's reactions to Bryce's kind of bizarre, almost aggressively Fae exit from Prythian at the end of "The Drop," so having him bear down on the scene between Nesta and Bryce was peak entertainment for me. But then if we cut to the bonus scene, in Ember's POV we get a Rhysand who is reacting to the possible consequences of a Trove item potentially reaching the hands of the Asteri, by the hand of one with another Trove item in her back that can open the portal between their worlds. I don't disagree with him that this is a huge risk, and as a new father he's probably in protective fight or flight mode all the time.

The thing I think is beautifully in character for Rhys here is the familial development we see between him and Nesta. I don't read this exchange as some kind of regression to their pre-ACOSF animosity. I read it as two family members having more of a family fight than a fight over strategy. In my reading, Rhys is in fact having an emotionally vulnerable response to what just happened, and I think he knows it and is allowing it because Nesta is now family and allowed to see those parts of him. The problem I have always had with Rhys is not that he is messy and imperfect, but it's when those traits play out alongside the fact that he is politically and magically one of the most powerful beings in their world. In a strange way, though, his argument with Nesta that Ember observes is shaped incredibly and beautifully by their developed relationship as brother- and sister-in-law. He is angry and upset but he doesn't throw her into a dungeon, he engages her and shows all his cards in doing so - something he never does with a real enemy.

And, I also read Rhys's emotional reaction in another way which may or may not be a popular reading: Rhys is also throwing a tantrum because his sister-in-law is a power player at his level in the magical conflict that spans from Prythian to other worlds. As a leader who has never had anyone challenge him at that level except perhaps pre-ACOWAR Amren, it's a situation that he is probably still adjusting to. Rhys can't just remove Nesta as a threat, both because she is his sister-in-law and more importantly because she wields powerful magic (that he does not have himself - again, this is the grating part for him I think) as both a resident of the Night Court and mate to his General. And because Rhys isn't on top in all the ways any longer in the way magic shapes events in the Night Court and beyond, he loses it. And I found it very realistic and some of my favorite on-page Rhys material I have read since he plummeted in my esteem in ACOFAS.

Nesta is also in character for me in these scenes, both the HOFAS chapters and the bonus. We see in her words and actions both the (previously) human part of her as well as the Fae warrior part of her. She vacillates between being confident and being chastened, and I think both traits are healthy for her, and more or less in balance across the scenes. While I would have loved the exchange with Bryce to be less rushed, because this is a CC book I understand why it was paced the way it was.

(And again, the drama of Rhys bearing down on them with his Lord of Darkness and Night drama flying across Velaris, while Nesta and Bryce discussed and then traded off the Mask, was peak entertainment for me. Nesta also almost made the decision to stall long enough to wait for Rhys and make the whole thing his problem and not hers - I loved that glimpse we saw of her considering that too! That she decided instead to act, I think, was because she probably logicked that Rhys would openly battle Bryce on sight, and Nesta would have calculated that would not be in the best interest of both worlds given what she knew of the Asteri threat from her time under the Prison with Bryce and Azriel.)

And finally, Ember is in fact the queen of the bonus chapter for me. My biggest frustration when I came on Tumblr after reading HOFAS was how every reading of the bonus chapter centered the freaking males in the sequence of scenes, when if as a reader you don't make this about the IC and their dynamics, in my reading in this bonus chapter SJM was telling an important story between two women: Ember and Nesta.

This was a bonus chapter about how amazing of a mother Ember is (because her daughter is the FMC of this book, about to go save Midgard, so learning more about Bryce's mother helps us understand Bryce better), and SJM rightly realized putting her in the same room as post-ACOSF Nesta, whose mother was the opposite of Ember, was the perfect way to showcase this. That Rhys came along and added some drama was la di da for me and utterly secondary to what passes between Ember and Nesta.

The final thing I'll say is, the part of chs. 76-77 that bothers me the most is not anything in the scene itself, but the high expectation it set for the final conflict with the Midgard Asteri and how that expectation was not met satisfactorily for me. I did like the "Death / Not Death" filter Bryce experienced when wearing the Mask, and I also liked that Nesta's mental-emotional struggles while wearing the Mask were not universal to all wearers of it... But, the raising-the-dead magic was not consistent and was mostly vibes in the way Bryce manages to use the Mask to raise the Fallen. The whole thing with their wings attaching to the mech suits, and also how their command to do her bidding stuck even after she removed the Mask.....yea, that was a let down.

The Trove had such rich inner logic in ACOSF. I hope that logic returns when we get to ACOTAR5, and that the Mask as a Deus Ex Machina winds up being specific to Bryce's whole Magical Starborn Princess Powers schtick. The Mask is way more threatening to the wearer in Prythian than it seemed to be in Midgard, and I like that version of the Mask better.

#hofas spoilers #post hofas discussion #nesta archeron #bryce quinlan #ember quinlan #nessian #cassian #rhysand #hofas #hofas bonus chapter #house of flame and shadow #dread trove #acosf #a court of silver flames #sarah j maas

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thecw-unicorn · 8 months

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༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚.

𝐃𝐚𝐲 1: 𝐒𝐞𝐞𝐫

༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚.

“𝙄 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙨𝙤 𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙛𝙖𝙧 𝙣𝙤𝙬. 𝘼𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙖.”

༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚.

✮♱✮ art by @isis_villalobos_art

✮♱✮ commissioned by @oceanfairym & me

༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚.

Hello everyone, and happy @elainarcheronweek !! This week will be full of wonderful commissions so be sure to stay tuned! For today, the theme was Elain’s seee powers. The magnificent and amazing @oceanfairym and I came up with this stunning piece by the stunningly talented @isis_villalobos_art, featured Elain looking into a mirror and seeing her “seer self”—her at her full power. The idea of Elain reached her full potential really excited us and we wanted to showcase the 2 different versions of her that she could be. Her now, still finding her way and processing what’s happened—and her in the future at the height of her powers and abilities.

༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚.

✮♱✮ quote is from A Court of Wings and Ruin.

✮♱✮ character is Elain Archeron from A Court of Thorns and Roses.

༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚.

✮♱✮ likes, saves, and shares are always appreciated!

✮♱✮ no reposts allowed.

༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚.

#acotar #elain archeron #pro elain archeron #acotar fanart #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and embers #a court of frost and starlight #a court of silver flames #elain archeron fanart #elain archeron art #bookish #book art #my commissions #book fanart

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late-to-the-fandom · 1 year

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Sin'Dorei raised a long, blond eyebrow.

"I do have another job, you know."

But he gave Renathal an hour.

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

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

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

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

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

"And now, it's as much a ruin as this place," continued the elf blithely, eyes wandering the room in distaste. "Or so I hear, I've never been personally. But Lor'Themar, our Lord Regent, has been excessively generous in his assistance to the First Arcanist. He sent quite a few from Silvermoon to help them secure their city."

"The First Arcanist ... that would be the Nightborne ruler?" prompted Renathal, steering the discussion back to relevant waters.

"She is for the present. I don't know what their permanent plan is. They're historically led by some sort of coalition of noble houses. And the Grand Magistrix, but you know.” The elf shifted fractiously in his seat. “Are we nearly through? This chair was clearly not designed for beings with proper nerve endings.”

Venthyr did not require air to exist. Renathal's deep, rattling inhale was entirely affectation; a subtle warning to the mortal before him that he was rapidly losing patience.

"It is safe to assume," he said crisply, disregarding the elf's complaint. "That the ephemeral histories of one minor race on one small world are predominately unknown to those of us who have spent our existences blissfully unburdened by such quaint mortal affairs."

It took a moment for the elf to grasp this scathing pronouncement. When he had, he rolled his eyes once more, though this time it was accompanied by a blotchy, unflattering flush.

"The Grand Magistrix Elisande was the Nightborne's de facto ruler for something close on 10,000 years. Before she made a deal with the Burning Legion and let demons infest their city."

Renathal straightened in his chair. At last, they were getting somewhere.

"Anyone who disagreed with her was cast out and lost access to the Nightwell, their source of power. The First Arcanist was one of those, I assume the champion was as well. They put a stop to Elisande eventually, but they're still purging the Legion from the land." He shook his head. "Really, they ought to have dealt with her much sooner. When we discovered what Sunstrider was-"

The elf's editorial comments drifted to the background of Renathal's thoughts. He leaned on the arm of his chair, stroking the hair on his chin absently, as he compared this new information to the cryptic hints the Maw Walker had dropped. He supposed this Grand Magistrix was who she had meant by “her people's Denathrius", and he assumed her rebellion of subjective success was what the Sin'Dorei called "The Nightfallen". But nothing the elf said so far accounted for why the Maw Walker would not speak of it. Unless...

"The rest of the Nightfallen. Were they destroyed?" asked Renathal, interrupting the Sin'Dorei's diatribe.

"What? No, of course not. Not all of them," he said exasperatedly. "I mean, I'm sure many were killed by the Legion, but there's plenty left. Haven't I already said Lor'Themar sent them aid? Really, if you're not even paying attention -"

But the Dark Prince of Revendreth had finally had enough, and his title, unlike his breathing, was not an affectation.

He leaned slowly forward, claws clicking menacingly against the table, and his expression would have cowed even the most hardened of Venthyr. As for the mortal opposite, he looked as though he might faint; his pale face registered a wholly inelegant terror. And the only reason he was not reduced to a gibbering puddle of penitence was Renathal’s determination to extract every bit of information he could.

"And the Maw Walker’s family? What became of them?” Renathal said into the chill silence.

"Dead, I think. She let slip something about a dead sister once, but I don’t know any details." The Sin'Dorei’s voice quavered with the dregs of fear. "Besides the fact that she's virtually indestructible, nobody knows very much about her."

Renathal's burning amber eyes narrowed dangerously.

"You told General Draven you were her friend.”

"I said I knew her, and I do!" cried the Sin'Dorei, cowering in his chair. "I followed her around in Zuldazar, and we fought together a few times but you have to understand - the Champion doesn't have friends! Not really. Even her own First Arcanist doesn't talk to her. Or about her. I don't know anybody who does. And she does not like to be asked questions."

This time, there was no artifice in the Sin'Dorei's shiver. He looked a great deal less glamorous with his pinched face discoloured by fear, and Renathal allowed his own features to soften enough so the mortal would not ruin the chair's upholstery.

“Very well,” he said, and for the first time since their introduction, granted the elf a small, smug smile.

In fact, though it would not do to show it, Renathal felt almost excessively cheerful. The idea that this mortal - and his careful good looks - enjoyed a much lower standing with the Maw Walker than Renathal himself set him in such high spirits he could not even be disappointed the elf had nothing else useful to offer. He produced a sincere thank-you and a more than civil farewell before allowing the elf to gather what remained of his dignity and scuttle from the room. With the door safely shut behind the Sin'Dorei, Renathal gave his smirk free reign of his face.

She doesn't have friends, the elf had said, but had the Maw Walker not called Renathal just that at last week's Ember Court rehearsal? A different kind of friends, he remembered her thrilling words perfectly, and he leaned back in his chair and basked in the warmth of his immoderate pride. He had not learned all he wanted, but this proof the Maw Walker preferred him to her mortal acquaintances made the time spent more than worthwhile.

And - he steepled his fingers in front of him - it was not as though he had learned nothing. True, he had as many questions now as when the interview began - such as why the Maw Walker was here at all instead of aiding her own city’s restoration efforts - but he also had a greater grasp on Nightborne history, which could make it easier to coax the details he still lacked from the Maw Walker herself.

Renathal’s jovial self-satisfaction lingered through the rest of that day and into the next, insulating him from the disaster that was the first official Ember Court.

Reflecting on it as he scanned the now-empty courtyard for his co-host, Renathal was hard pressed to decide which part had been worst: the Maw Walker's spectacular failure at the Ritual of Atonement that elicited actual boos from the socialites in the crowd; some debacle with the dredgers Renathal had not personally witnessed but which resulted in the shattering of Theotar's favourite tea set; or the manifestations of sin erupting from the court's meagre anima font and assailing the precious few nobles who had consented to attend. The Prince had closed the court with his humblest apologies for the various mishaps, and assured their guest of honour - Cryptkeeper Kassir - that next week's would be a much more traditional affair.

Certainly an inauspicious inauguration, and yet … a smile teased Renathal's fangs as he spotted the Maw Walker's purple gown at the top of the rampart stairs. Apart from her belligerent argument with the Accuser over the appropriate atonements for sin, none of the incidents had really been her fault. And besides, he thought cheerfully as he crossed the courtyard, it was nice watching someone else fail for a change.

The Maw Walker was perched on the highest step, back ramrod straight and eyes tightly shut. If it were not for the slight breeze lifting loose tendrils of her high-piled hair, she might have been a statue carved from purple-hued stone. Renathal walked, rather than glided, up the steep staircase, letting the precise thud of his plate armour boots herald his approach. But the Maw Walker's eyes remained closed even when he stepped across her, carefully placing the items he carried on the nearest iron baluster.

"It could have been worse," he said by way of greeting as he set to work preparing his after-court gift.

A vague hum was Renathal's only indication the Maw Walker heard him until the pop of the cork from the bottle made her eyes snap open.

"It was only your first official foray," he continued, pouring a generous measure of anima wine into the two long-stemmed glasses. " I assure you, they do get easier. And Kassir is fortunately forgiving. He has already promised to return next week. So, we will have another opportunity."

He bent to offer a glass to the still-seated Maw Walker who regarded it steadily for a moment before, at last, accepting.

"To your first true court experience," said Renathal wryly, clinking his glass against hers.

He straightened and lifted his glass to his lips, then lowered it when he noticed the Maw Walker staring blankly at her own. Admittedly, it was the wrong sort of glass for this wine, but the best Renathal's dredger contacts had been able to purloin. He wondered if the Maw Walker - a self-proclaimed connoisseur - was particular about such things. But before he could inquire, she gave what was, for her, a dramatic sigh.

"I've been hosting courts much like this for thousands of years, your Highness," she said. "I'm afraid I’ve always been a bit disappointing."

Thus unburdened, she drained the glass in one, then held it out to Renathal again. He eyed it hesitantly, unsure if he ought to refill it or take it away.

"These sorts of affairs were a regular pastime at home," the Maw Walker added.

Renathal hastened to pour her more wine.

"Suramar, you mean," he said tonelessly, scrubbing his voice of any trace excitement.

"Mm," the Maw Walker hummed her agreement, sipping her second glass more sedately. "Political parties and courts ... impressing guests ... forging alliances over drinks. It's strange ... " She cast somewhat unfocused eyes on the courtyard below before continuing thoughtfully, "Running all the way to a different plane of reality just to find the same things you had at home."

Renathal took a short sip of his own wine, but tasted only the triumph of being granted the perfect opening.

"It is true," he said, after swallowing. "There are many similarities between our respective realms."

"What do you mean?"

The Maw Walker's voice had shed some of its dreamy quality, but Renathal, eager to flaunt his new knowledge, chose to overlook this.

"Well, the parallels between the Master and your Grand Magistrix speak for themselves," he said, taking his time with each word as if only now considering them. "Rulers who have betrayed their realms to an enemy in exchange for power. In Denathrius' case, the Jailer, and in Elisande's, the Burning Legion. And, of course, the Nightfallen rebellion has much in common with our work here in Sinfall."

He chanced a glance at the step below him. The Maw Walker was openly staring. Shock radiated off her like a wave of her arcane magic, and Renathal used his half-full glass to cover the smirk he could not quite contain.

"How do you know all this?" she asked in wary wonder.

Renathal, who had absolutely no intention of ever admitting the lengths to which he had gone to gain this information, merely arched an eyebrow and gave a shrug the Sin'Dorei would have envied.

"This is not Bastion, where souls are divested of their memories. Those who arrive in Revendreth bring many stories, their own and others. And I have always been a passionate collector of such tales."

The Maw Walker's eyes narrowed, and Renathal cast about for a decent distraction before she could pick apart his non-answer.

"Of course, stories lack pictures, but from what I understand, Suramar City was once nearly as handsome as Revendreth."

He was taken aback at how well this rudimentary tactic worked.

"Nearly as handsome?” the Maw Walker repeated, the growing shrewdness in her face abruptly vanishing. "Suramar City at the height of its power was the jewel of all Azeroth. Truly, there is nowhere that compares.”

Renathal sniffed, and took another sip of wine. "Quite," was his only reply, but its dubiousness did not go unnoticed.

"I am not sure you could be considered a qualified judge, your Highness, having never left the Shadowlands," said the Maw Walker loftily. "I have been to many, many worlds now and have yet to see anywhere more beautiful than Suramar City before its fall. It was..." Her mouth hung open, waiting for the right word to appear. But language ultimately failed her, and she shook her head. "Beyond description."

Biting back the argument unlikely to vouchsafe him more answers, Renathal dipped his head and agreed, "I am sure it was considered very beautiful among mortal cities."

It was the closest he could come to concession, but apparently it would not do.

The Maw Walker's glass rattled as she abandoned it on the stone step and finally stood, squaring against the Dark Prince with uncharacteristic vim. He gave no ground; indeed, the spark in her blue-white eyes - not to speak of her body's sudden close proximity - made anima pump through him pleasantly and his heart affect a faster pace.

She stared at him for several, unblinking seconds, and Renathal could not decide if she was more likely to hit him or kiss him. But the Maw Walker - always full of surprises - chose, instead, a wide and wine-dark smile.

"Would you like to see?" she said in a voice that promised mischief, and before Renathal could fathom her meaning, let alone decide on an answer, the Maw Walker had reached up and touched her fingers to his temple.

The last time she did this - when rescuing him from the Maw - her spell had granted Renathal a unique mental clarity. This time, it dropped a heavy purple veil over all his senses. The wuthering wind and caustic Light of the Ember Ward disappeared, replaced by the soft murmur of running water and a silky, violet twilight. He opened his mouth to ask the Maw Walker what she had done, but a glance at his new surroundings temporarily robbed him of speech.

The entire world was drenched in agnate shades of purple and blue. Renathal's vision swum as his eyes tried to focus; the lack of visible horizon on which to anchor himself made him sway. A city engulfed the skyline on every side, swelling in endless crescendos; it felt as though he was drowning in a sea of enormous, graceful buildings. Except, to call them buildings was uncharitable, almost indecent - they looked birthed, rather than made, crafted through some more elegant magic than Revendreth's steel and muck-made mortar. He craned his neck to follow their silhouettes where they surrendered to a glittering indigo sky.

"Welcome to Suramar, Prince Renathal."

The Maw Walker's voice broke through Renathal's trance.

“How is ... what did ...” he stuttered incoherently, his brain stumbling through the deluge of sensations, but the Maw Walker - as was often the case - understood his concern without words.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t kidnapped you," she said in mild amusement. "This is just an illusion. We’re still standing on the ramparts. So be careful where you step."

Her warning recalled Renathal’s sluggish mind back to his body. He became aware of his slack jaw, his loose grip on his half-forgotten glass.

“So… what do you think?” the Maw Walker asked with ill-concealed smugness.

Renathal brought his wine to his lips and swallowed thoughtlessly, buying himself more time to craft the admission she was certainly owed.

"You ... did not exaggerate,” he said finally.

The Maw Walker's laugh lacked condescension. It was a free, light-hearted sound, happier than any Renathal had yet heard, and her face was bright with a joy that made her look, somehow, younger.

“And you’ve hardly seen anything, your Highness. Come!"

She grabbed his free hand and attempted to drag him forward, but Renathal dug in his heels. Thrown off his axis and scrambling for some semblance of control, he regarded the Maw Walker sternly, an expression only part jest.

"I have asked you to call me Renathal."

The little violet spots on the Maw Walker's cheeks were the same shade as the surrounding twilight. She wet her lips briefly, then conceded, "Very well. Come then, Renathal."

She tugged at his hand, more gently this time, and Renathal allowed her to lead him into the illusion of Suramar City.

Conscious of the ramparts hidden beneath them, the Maw Walker picked a careful path through a courtyard of such splendor even the Master would have been envious. To Renathal's surprise and delight, she turned out to be an effusive guide, all her usual reticence gone as she named and explained Suramar's intricate architectural details. His eyes drifted in and out of focus, struggling to absorb each new wonder, but the longer they wandered, the less Renathal noticed the sights at all - the towering magenta topiaries, the dusk lilies floating in softly glowing pools - and the more his attention fixated on the Maw Walker herself.

Perhaps it was the anima wine or some effect of her own arcane magic, but the visible change it wrought in her usually impassive face was striking. He had noted on many occasions the Maw Walker's various physical attractions, but the carefree smile she wore now - as natural on her face as her nose or eyes - had transformed her into something as exquisitely lovely as the city she clearly adored.

At first, Renathal kept up a suitable dialogue, nodding and querying where appropriate, but this eventually trailed into pensive silence as he drank in the Maw Walker's voice. What must it be like to be talked about with such undisguisable affection, to be thought of in such adulation it leaked into every word someone spoke? His mind conjured mesmerizing fantasies of the Maw Walker saying his name like this, and the thrilling shiver it drew from him caught her eye.

"Where the arcwine is - Oh." She broke off mid-sentence and stopped so abruptly Renathal nearly knocked her down. "I'm ... so sorry, your - Renathal. I - I suppose I've made my point. I'm sure you must be bored. I'll take us back."

Embarrassment marred her earnest beauty, and Renathal could not permit it. He tightened his grip on her hand before she could end her spell and slip away.

“No, not at all! Far from it," he insisted. “This has been a rare delight. I have loved every minute we have shared here, I was ... merely wondering ..."

The Sin'Dorei's warning about the Maw Walker's stance on questions gave Renathal pause. But ... he was a different sort of friend; she had said so herself. Surely such rules did not apply?

As if in encouragement, the Maw Walker's thumb absently stroked the back of his hand, and the intimate gesture infused Renathal with a warm and sanguine confidence.

"Why did you leave Suramar?"

A cloud passed over the Maw Walker's shining face. She blinked it quickly away.

"I am better suited other places," she said, which answered nothing, and Renathal pressed recklessly on.

"Better suited somewhere other than your home? Other than ... here?"

He indicated the magnificence around them with his glass, spilling wine across the illusory marble. It made the Maw Walker laugh, albeit less fully than before, and pluck the cup from Renathal's careless hand.

"Is this your way of saying you no longer need me in Revendreth?"

"Absolutely not."

The low growl in Renathal's words surprised even him, and made the Maw Walker's breath catch sharply. He was suddenly very aware of how little space remained between them. To lean in and taste the wine still lingering on her lips would require no effort at all. But...

His eyes flicked from side to side, vainly attempting to penetrate the rich purple glow of the illusion to the courtyard lurking underneath. It had been empty except for the guards when he had first found the Maw Walker, but he had no idea how long ago that had been ... or who might have ventured out of Sinfall's depths in that time ... or even where exactly in the courtyard they now were.

Renathal inhaled deeply through his nose, a breath necessary only for cooling his heated anima. Reluctantly, he eased himself back a fraction, adding a measure of cautious space between himself and temptation.

"I am certainly not giving you permission to abandon the oath you swore to Revendreth," he said. "But it is evident how much this place means to you. It seems strange for you to have left it."

The Maw Walker's breathing was also measured, and Renathal wondered if their thoughts ran the same tantalising track. But when she spoke, her voice was subdued.

"This is Suramar as I remember it before the Burning Legion," she said. "Nearly everything I loved about it - that made it home - is gone. It is ... not like this anymore."

This time the Maw Walker succeeded in freeing her hand, and she touched Renathal's forehead again.

The noise assailed his senses first, a cacophony of terrified screams and uncanny, eldritch shrieks. Glancing around the same courtyard through which the Maw Walker had escorted him, Renathal watched as demons of various incarnations prowled the once pristine streets. The glowing trees and topiaries were alight with fel green flame, tainting the purples and blues in a jarring, inconsanant glow.

From a strictly aesthetic perspective, the scene was inarguably horrible, but Renathal was less discomfited than he had been upon his first vision of Suramar. Terror was much more his wheelhouse. He watched in professional curiousity as the fel creatures wrought their havoc, and cocked his head in interest at one beast in particular whose horns and hooves and wings were oddly familiar...

Renathal took a half step forward, intending to inspect the illusion, but the Maw Walker's hand suddenly clutched his shoulder, winning his undivided attention. His amber eyes widened as they found her face, more startled by her sickly pallor than any of the surrounding horrors. She leaned closer to him - head bowed, eyes closed - and if Renathal had not known her better he would have said she sought his protection. Which made it all the more fortunate none of the visions could do them harm; the Maw Walker's obvious and uncharacteristic distress had frozen him in place.

Some enormous demon of rock and green flame lumbered around the corner. Its steps made the ground beneath them shake, and the Maw Walker actually shiver. Her hand holding Renathal's wine glass trembled so violently he was sure it would shatter. But it was only when her head hit his chest plate that his trance finally cracked in alarm.

"End this," he said to her. "Now."

It was a command, and though Renathal lacked his medallion, it rang with unbroachable power. Eyes closed, the Maw Walker's fingers crawled up his face; locating his forehead, and pressing hard, and -

- and they were standing on the silent ramparts overlooking the Bridge of Banishment.

Renathal shook his head to clear the dregs of the vision, blinking in the abrupt change of light. The clamor and chaos had left a ringing in his ears, so he felt the Maw Walker's short sigh of relief against his chest more than heard it. Squinting through the Ember Ward's harsh light, he inspected her discreetly. Not that she noticed; her eyes were still squeezed shut, fingers fisting in his shirt. It would wrinkle the material, which was a ridiculous thing to be thinking about, but Renathal's mind was still fumbling to find sure footing in a world where the Maw Walker was afraid.

"I suppose that would be the Burning Legion," he said slowly.

He hoped his voice might break the spell of whatever horrors held her captive. But the Maw Walker only nodded once, another quiet tremor wracking her frame.

Renathal glanced around the ramparts and what he could see of the courtyard below. Apart from a few scattered dredgers, and the Stoneborn guards he knew waited at the gate underneath, there were no witnesses to observe them. With all the gentle, respectful caution he would apply to a skittish sinrunner, Renathal slipped his arms around the Maw Walker's bare shoulders. She didn't move - another surprise - although one considerably more pleasant.

The initial shock of her fear now fading, he found he very much liked being the Maw Walker's source of comfort. Seeing her capable of anything so mundane as fear was as nice a change as watching her fail at the Ember Court. It made the illustrious champion of the Horde seem more real, not to mention what it did for Renathal's ego. In fact, the only thing marring the buoyant experience was his inconveniently irrepressible curiousity.

Even as his fingers stroked soft circles in the Maw Walker's silky gown, his mind was racing, seething to know why such commonplace enemies should upset her. He sifted through the sights the Maw Walker had shown him, searching for something she might have let slip ... Let slip ... the Sin'Dorei had used those same words, and Renathal was struck with an idea.

"Was your sister among those Nightborne killed by the Legion?" he asked, realising his mistake too late.

The Maw Walker stiffened in his arms. She released her hold on Renathal and lifted her head, face fixed in an expressionless mask.

"Did one of Revendreth's souls tell you that as well, your Highness?"

The words were tinged with an unmistakable frost. Renathal scrambled to construct a plausible explanation, a suitable excuse. But he could think of nothing, and the Maw Walker was still staring, and he fell back on his old failsafes: dark humour and charm.

"In a manner of speaking," he said, painting on a wry smile. "I do not believe I specified whether the soul was living or dead. Or ... whether they were condemned to Revendreth or here on some different errand."

The Maw Walker blinked slowly, then turned, still carrying Renathal's wine glass, and walked briskly down the ramparts in the direction of the stairs. Leaving Renathal's heart to plummet miserably as he kicked himself for his misstep. Her uncommon volubility in the illusion had disarmed him, lulled him into a false sense of candor. And now ...

Now, he thought glumly, he had damaged the remarkable friendship they had managed to create, and almost certainly destroyed his budding hopes for more. He would be demoted to the same status as the Sin'Dorei: an acquaintance whose tiresome company the Maw Walker was occasionally forced to endure. And that thought was so unbearable, Renathal forsook his own scrupulous self-regard.

He followed the Maw Walker's path down the ramparts, in something shamefully close to a run, determined to offer an apology she could not reasonably refuse. He had no idea if he was truly sorry, or even what he had to be sorry for, but that was beside the point. The Maw Walker was the refreshing oasis that sustained Renathal in these tumultuous times, and he would shelve his sense of fairness - and his insatiable curiousity - if the alternative was losing her altogether.

His brisk footsteps slowed as he rounded the corner. The Maw Walker was still at the top of the stairs.

She had retrieved her abandoned wine glass and was filling it again, Renathal's own waiting beside it on the iron baluster. When the glass was full - much more than was strictly proper - she emptied the last of the bottle into his. Renathal took this as a sign the Maw Walker would permit his presence, though he walked the rest of the ramparts with a greater degree of caution.

"I'm sorry," she said as he reached her, though she addressed the courtyard below. "I know things are different here. Death ... doesn't seem like such a loss. It's not the end of anything for you, but ... you must understand, it was for me." Wine trickled down the Maw Walker's chin as she gulped down the last of her glass. She brushed it away, fingers hiding her face as she finished, "My sister's death was the end of my life, and I prefer to let it rest in peace."

There was a definite tremor in the Maw Walker's voice, but her hand as she set down her glass and picked up Renathal's was steady.

"I know you have an ... excessive fondness for stories," she said, turning to face Renathal though not meeting his eye. "But mine is disappointing. And I prefer it to be forgotten. I hope you can understand this, and I hope ... we can still be friends."

The Maw Walker held the wine out to Renathal like an offering of peace. Its request was inherent, and he hesitated only a second before acquiescing.

If privacy was the price for her friendship, he would find a way to pay it. He nodded his agreement, accepting the glass with both hands.

"I apologize," he said, and was surprised to find a genuine earnestness tripping his tongue. "I cannot pretend to truly understand, but ... you do not have to explain if it pains you. And ... I am sorry for your sake that circumstances have led you here. Revendreth must seem a very poor replacement for your home and your family."

The Maw Walker blinked, and her sangfroid gently thawed.

"I wouldn't say that," she replied. "Renathal." She added his name in a voice as soft as Suramarian twilight. And while it could not quite be called adoration, it still made Renathal's anima effervesce.

With a final eloquent shudder, the Maw Walker shed the conversation like an ill-fitting coat and leaned back against the balustrade.

"Alright," she said, adopting a business-like air. "Explain to me how atonement works. All these different sins and their punishments, I just - do not understand. How do you decide what sort of punishments make up for the different kinds of crimes?"

Renathal's long-suffering sigh would have made the Sin'Dorei's pale face green with envy, as would the friendly, familiar way he leaned on the balustrade beside the Maw Walker.

"We do not punish in Revendreth," he explained. "We educate."

The next hour found them propped side by side, debating the intricacies of atonement. And while they remained at least a sword's length apart, Renathal genuinely felt no disappointment. It was not exactly how he had hoped the evening would end, but, for the moment, he was smugly content in the knowledge he remained a different sort of friend.

The Maw Walker was not going anywhere. Renathal could wait.

Read Part 21: Mortal Reminders: What are you hiding? | Visit the Masterpost

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