#renathal x oc
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Another Interruption - A Wend in the Shadows Smut Drabble
Just some good, old-fashioned Renathal smut taking place between Chapters 9 and 10 of Wend in the Shadows. Warning for explicit sex and little effort.
Renathal stared down at the uncurled scroll on his desk, amber eyes unfocused. He did not need to read the actual red-inked writing to know what the letter said. It was the Countess’ anima requisition request for her upcoming court - an amount that made Renathal’s jaw drop when he first saw it. He had denied it on reflex, and the Countess had appealed to Denathrius, who had, apparently, approved.
The official wax seal of Nathria glowed smugly up at him; a slight to the Prince’s authority and a reminder that the Master’s motives remained mysterious. Renathal had resolved weeks ago not to question Denathrius’ methods any longer - not after his Master’s most generous gift. But how could so much anima be spared for one event, even a Harvester’s Court, when every district in Revendreth was bleeding dry?
Wrapped in anxious musings, Renathal barely registered the quiet knock at his study door, or the creak as it opened, or the familiar footsteps that tread the embroidered Tazavesh rug. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, reaching thoughtlessly for the teacup that suddenly appeared beside his elbow. Rolling his stiffened shoulders - he had not moved for an hour, at least - he sat back in his chair, breathing in the anima-infused steam, still lost in troubled thoughts. Until warm breath against his ear alerted him abruptly to the room's new presence.
Renathal looked up. Elisewin was staring down at him, blank expression coloured by the ghost of an affectionate smile.
Before he could say anything, her fingers were combing pale hair off his forehead; a sweet and unexpected sensation. His lover was generally studious about not distracting him while he worked. Renathal, however, had no such scruples, and leaned willingly into Elisewin's hand. Her other plucked the teacup from his slack grip and replaced it on the desktop, then eased his neck gently back, casting his face into lavender shadow as she leaned over him, lips fumbling for his.
A complicated angle; which made the deep, purposeful kiss all the more enticing. It was slow and luxuriant, kindling fire in Renathal's core and dragging a protracted groan from low in his chest, that devolved into a growl of disapproval when Elisewin pulled away. With another quicker kiss to the tip of his nose, she straightened and stepped around the chair, for all the realm as if intending to leave. Renathal would not allow it. He stood before she had gone two steps, snatched her wrist and dragged her to him, her back against his chest.
“Were you dismissed?” he asked.
Elisewin tilted her head until he could just see the sharp edges of her growing smile.
“You’re working, your Highness.”
“Yes, I am,” replied Renathal sternly, “and you interrupted me.” He clicked his tongue in admonishment. “You will have to make some atonement for that.”
Elisewin’s smile only grew more wicked. It crept up the side of her face in time with Renathal’s fingers up her thighs. She shuffled in place, spreading her legs as he pushed aside the hem of her black and scarlet tunic, slipping his hand down the waistband of her linen trousers to find a familiar, enticing wetness waiting for him inside. Flames of pleasure, possession, and pride licked Renathal's lower abdomen. He ran his fingers through her damp curls, wondering how much was her arousal and how much his own essence, still leaking out of her from when he had taken her that morning.
He dipped one finger tantalisingly just inside her sex, and Elisewin hummed in happy dissatisfaction. She squirmed against him, attempting to affix herself more securely onto his hand. Renathal’s smirk was a crime. He knew exactly which spots needed friction and avoided them simply to tease her. He was in that sort of mood. It had been a restless, unhappy work day, and he wanted his lover as vexed and frustrated as he.
“Beg me.”
Elisewin blinked through a dark, desirous haze.
“What?”
“Beg me for it,” he demanded, the words dripping cruelly off his fangs.
Twisting her neck the better to stare at him, Elisewin regarded Renathal’s face steadily for a moment, then her lips quirked again.
“And if I don’t… what? You’ll stop?”
“Absolutely.”
She snorted, the undignified sound somehow laced with lust.
“You couldn’t stop now if you wanted to.”
This was the wrong answer. Renathal jerked his hand from Elisewin’s trousers at once, revelling in her automatic noise of dismay. He stepped away from her, keeping his visage grim and forbidding, cocked his chin at the door, and commanded, “Go,” in a carefully modulated snarl.
Elisewin did not move. Her face revealed nothing, but Renathal knew she was calculating; trying to decide if her playful refusal had truly angered him. It was a bluff, of course. On both their parts, he was sure. But Renathal refused to be the first one to cave.
“Very well,” she said at last, meeting his eyes with a wilful insouciance. “Let me just clean my mess up first.”
And she sank to her knees before him, took up his hand, and suckled at his still dripping fingers.
It was a performance calculated to arouse him to no return, and Renathal knew it. Elisewin moaned as she lapped at his hand in lewd imitation of what she so enjoyed doing to his cock. The throbbing of which was now almost painful as her tongue flicked shamelessly along the points of his claws. Her blue-white eyes, cloudy with lust, sparkled up at Renathal, clearly sure of her success.
But she had miscalculated. Her little display of defiance had come when the Dark Prince was already perilously on edge.
“Get up,” he growled at her, snatching his hand away. Elisewin obeyed. “Off,” he ordered, plucking at her tunic and delighting in her immediate acquiescence. His cock twitched in his trousers as he watched her work to please him, hastily stripping off layers until her clothes were piled in a heap at her feet.
“On the desk,” he demanded.
This time, Elisewin paused. Something flickered in her eyes Renathal could not interpret. After a second’s hesitation, she turned and began carefully to relocate his letters and organised piles of paper safely out of their way.
And this clear, unalloyed evidence of the depth of Elisewin’s care for him broke some final barrier in Renathal he had not known remained. Their own immediate pleasure she considered second to his later inconvenience, and a warm and weighty emotion - love, he thought - swelled in his chest, solidifying like a newly formed and wholly necessary organ. His mortal was as vital to his existence as anima. And Renathal realised he would never - could never - let her go.
Elisewin had just started on the tea things when he pushed her bare body to the lacquered wood of the desk. She managed half a syllable of protest before his mouth claimed hers, wiping all thought of mess from both their heads. A careless swipe of his claws knocked the teacup to the floor with a slosh and a clatter. Neither noticed. Their hands were working frantically to free Renathal of his own many inconvenient layers. One day, he thought bemusedly, he would have to find some magic to do this for them; though Elisewin’s unconscious mmph of pleasure as his erection sprang from his open trousers was a more than suitable reward for the lengthy, unglamorous process
Propped on the desk, her legs parted of their own accord - a desperate, wanton invitation. But Renathal had not forgotten his lover's earlier show of intransigence. He let the head of his leaking cock brush against her equally wet entrance, but refused to accommodate her any further. Elisewin whimpered.
“Please, Renathal.”
A pretty plea, but not nearly enough to atone for her earlier refusal to concede.
“Please what, dearest?” he asked with infuriating calm.
Her little noise of frustration and the arch of her hips elicited only one coolly raised eyebrow. Renathal stroked his own length slowly, watching Elisewin's eyes widen, and her tongue flick across her lower lip in unrepentant greed.
“Please, Renathal, fuck me, fuck me please-” but the words had hardly left her before Renathal had her thighs gripped in a vice and slid himself thickly inside.
“There now … was that so hard?” he snarled between pants as an instinctive, insistent rhythm overtook him.
He did not really expect an answer. The angle at which he entered was a favourite of Elisewin's - one which hit resistance deep inside her with every exacting thrust, and never failed to rob her of words and thoughts and breath. Her head thumped back against the desk, dark hair spilling over the side, her mouth parted in a silent gasp.
A familiar, rapturous expression; and one which Renathal adored. He craved tangible evidence of his impassive lover's desire for him almost as much as his own pleasure, and had discovered a talent for drawing it from her; as though Elisewin's body was a language he had forgotten he could speak.
He knew precisely the pitch at which she would keen when he bent to latch his lips and fangs around one dusky nipple. Knew the shudder and the arch and the exact depth her nails would gouge into the skin of his arm when he circled his thumb across the dip in her hip. And knew just what she would do when he straightened and tugged her legs over his shoulders, hitting a different, shallower angle that brushed an inner bundle of fiery nerves.
Elisewin’s fingers scrabbled at the desktop as she pushed herself up to meet him. Once seated upright, she held her hips still, afraid to disrupt Renathal’s perfectly gauged thrusts. Her hands, on the other hand, clutched at any part of him she could reach, her eyes almost indigo with manic, desperate light. That spot stripped her of mask and ego, erased anything except the sensation. The sensation he created.
“Renathal,” said Elisewin, and her voice was deceptively coherent, but, “Renathal, Renathal,” was all she was capable of saying.
“Yes, dearest?”
Renathal's reply was a teasing purr. He had taken her this far before, but this time he wanted more. Wanted to break his lover's will into pieces, and stake his claim on each. Careful to keep up his pace and position, he rubbed one claw-like nail past the hood of Elisewin’s clit, wet with a mix of fluids, and watched her face contort in bliss and over-stimulation.
"Whose are you, dearest?" he breathed between each precise pound of his hips. "Who owns this body?"
“You, Renathal, you do!”
Elisewin’s voice was cracked, her submission ecstatic. Her fingers swept limp hair from his glowing anima-red eyes to watch him in awe, but it was not enough for him.
"Who?" Renathal demanded again, rubbing mercilessly at the swollen bud of nerves until Elisewin writhed.
“You, Renathal, you! Just you! The Dark Prince!”
“Your Prince?”
“My Prince," she agreed with a sob as the snap of his hips increased in force and speed. "My Master!” and Renathal, face twisted in pleasure and profligate pride, rumbled his wordless approval and dipped his head to taste the honorific on her tongue.
He was her master. Denathrius had all of Revendreth and he had Elisewin. Renathal considered this a more than reasonable trade.
“Yes. That's right, dearest,” he groaned against her lips, his own words a thoughtless babble as his rhythm devolved into a desperate, primal rutting. “Yes, Elisewin, take it. Take all of me.”
And, cupping the back of her head in one hand to press her rapt face to his, Renathal panted praises into his lover’s open mouth until he felt that exquisite clench that milked his cock of anima and made him gasp and growl his own glorious release. Distantly, he heard Elisewin’s wrecked voice whimpering similar endearments as she quivered against him. He smiled - a natural, benevolent expression - and clutched her more tightly, her legs trapped between them as Renathal secured her against him; an anchor against the gradually receding waves of both their violent orgasms.
How much time passed like this - their bodies pressed together, lips occasionally meeting, Elisewin’s hands running patternlessly across his hair, his neck, his face - Renathal did not care. If he had possessed the power, he might have commanded the moment to last forever. All worry abated, all tension released, wrapped around his lover and basking in the feel of her soft, warm hands. This was all that mattered.
Only when Elisewin's ankle twitched near his neck and she winced did Renathal reluctantly release her. Her legs slid limply from his shoulders, and she slumped back with a groan against the desk. Bending one knee, then the other, both gingerly, she rested her bare feet against the lacquered wood. Renathal reached absently for her calves, massaging the mistreated muscles as he asked conversationally:
"Was there a reason you did this?"
“Mmm... you seemed... stressed," was Elisewin's slightly breathless reply.
“I was." Renathal paused, then admitted, "I forget why."
She giggled, the movement doing tantalising things to her bare breasts. Before Renathal had time to do more than appreciate the visual, however, Elisewin was sitting up again, shaking back her mussed hair and tucking a strand of Renathal's own behind his ragged ear.
"Best get back to work then," she concluded with a reluctant sigh, prising his hands from her calves and bestowing a chaste kiss against his gathered fingers.
Renathal permitted the gesture, and her graceless slide from the desk to the floor, but when Elisewin attempted to squeeze around him to reach her clothes, he bent, caught her under the knees, and lifted her naked and protesting into his arms.
"Yes, we could, I suppose," he said loudly over her, and in a tone that made it plain he had no intention whatsoever of enduring any further work that day. "Or..." he drew the word out, waiting for Elisewin's undivided attention, "I could sweep you upstairs to my bed and fuck you until everyone in Darkwall hears you scream for your Master."
The low growl in his voice, the crude term he rarely used, and the picture his words conjured had Elisewin wide-eyed and whimpering in his arms all over again. Abandoning their clothes, and all thoughts of anima conservation, Renathal wended them both through the shadows to his room, to wile away the rest of the working hours on more important matters.
#renathal x maw walker#prince renathal#fanfiction#wow#smut#wend in the shadows#venthyr#elisewin#renathal smut#renathal x oc#wow fanfiction#world of warcraft#shadowlands
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Two autistics kissing at Autism Peak, nature is healing
#my art#digital art#digital drawing#artwork#artists on tumblr#digital artwork#my artwork#venthyr#prince renathal#renathal#molly mitchell#canon x oc#oc x canon
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So I’m writing a Renathal x OC fic
#there needs to be more renathal content#world of warcraft#prince renathal#oc#renathal x oc#venthyr#angst#because i'm always writing angst
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yeah....... vampire love time.....
#world of warcraft#digital art#art#venthyr#warcraft#world of warcraft oc#elf#prince renathal#wow#venthyr oc#ship art#yeah we love oc x canon in this house keep scrollin#im love...... renathal
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Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and I’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it. And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.
Tagged by @mysdrym
OH BOY GET READY FOR HOW BAD I TITLE MY DOCUMENTS
1. Menenius survives au (FFXIV)
2. polemarch adrestes x venthyr maw walker indulgence (WoW)
3. Broker OC indulgence (WoW)
4. Renathal/Maw Walker Countess (WoW)
5. Renathal/Draven asdf (WoW)
6. Zagreus and Theseus compete for Asterius’ attention (Hades)
7. And i’m free, freeholding (WoW)
IDK who to tag asddjgdd
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blizz made a whole bunch of npcs for shadowlands that make me want to see oc x canon stuff. secutor mevix.. nadjia the mistblade.. when you click prince renathal and he says “i look upon you and dare to feel hope” even.. i’m drowning in kissable npcs
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Incorrect Quotes!
Tagged by the ever sweet @writingpotato07
Rules: use this quote generator & list as many quotes as you like using characters from your WIPs, then tag as many people as quotes you listed.
Tagging: @crunchypuff125, @scourge-lover, @velvethopewrites
Pretty sure each of these is a direct quote from my Renathal/Maw Walker series. It’s actually spooky how dead on this is.
Maw Walker: What’s up? I’m back.
Renathal: I literally saw you die. You died. You were dead
Maw Walker: Death is a social construct.
----
Renathal: Truth or dare?
Maw Walker: Truth.
Renathal: How many hours have you slept this week?
Maw Walker:
Maw Walker: Dare.
Renathal: Go to sleep.
Maw Walker: I don't like this game.
----
Renathal: Are you ready to commit?
Maw Walker: Like, a crime or a relationship?
----
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The fluffiest of Winter Veil gift exchanges. Rated T for very veiled sexual references. Read here on Ao3 for triggers and tags
"Am I expected to attribute this to mere coincidence?"
The words were dry enough to crackle in the cold, wintery air, but the slight smile that crept past Renathal’s fangs betrayed his true feeling.
"What else would you attribute it to?" asked the Maw Walker, her face all inscrutable innocence. She fiddled with one of the elegant knots on the silk-wrapped package she held, the words “Prince Renathal” inscribed on its small tag in a cramped and curly script. “Everyone in Sinfall is part of the gift exchange, so someone had to draw your name. It just ... happened to be me."
"And the fact that you were the one who enchanted the little bits of paper with everyone's names, and distributed them?"
The Maw Walker shrugged, and swept her long braid firmly over her shoulder.
"A statistical improbability," she said, the unrepentant smile that lit her face rivalling the candle-filled tree behind her for brightness. "I tend to attract them."
She offered Renathal the parcel, then nearly dropped it as “Picky” Stefan jostled her elbow in his haste to reach the tree. He wasn't the only one. Other eager denizens of Sinfall now flocked to the courtyard's festive centerpiece - and the offerings waiting beneath - prompting the Maw Walker to tuck her arm through Renathal's and drag him to a more sheltered corner, safely out of the fray.
For a moment, Renathal was entirely distracted by the sight of his friends and followers enjoying the unique holiday festivities. Apart from the tree and the gift exchange, there was caroling and what looked like an impromptu snowball fight courtesy of the Maw Walker's conjured snow. The Prince couldn't help feeling a proprietary pride at the merriment of his people, even though the Winter Veil themed Ember Court had been all Duke Theotar's idea.
"Well?" The Maw Walker interrupted his fond reverie. "Would you like your gift or not?" she asked, proffering the parcel once more, and Renathal’s eyes flicked from her face to her hands in ill-concealed longing.
The Dark Prince of Revendreth adored gifts.
There was little he looked forward to more than occasions on which he could anticipate receiving a present. He craved them with a passion unbefitting a leader of his station, not to mention a Venthyr his age. What the gift was hardly mattered; the object itself was always secondary. It was the exquisite pleasure of being considered - knowing he was thought of in his absence - that elevated Renathal's soul to lofty, unassailable heights. That his secret lover should orchestrate events to ensure she could give him something particular was a thrill as substantial as an anima feast, the echoes of which he could subsist on for weeks.
"You need not have gone to any trouble," he demurred, accepting the silk-wrapped package as casually as his electric excitement would allow. He tugged at the elaborate knots, the cloth collapsing neatly in his hands; then falling to the stone at his feet, forgotten, as he stared at the garment within.
"Where did you get this?" he asked in astonishment, tracing the familiar green and silver pattern worked into the comfortably bulky material.
“Get it?” the Maw Walker scoffed. “You think the Night Market just happened to have a jumper with your armor's exact colours and motif? I made it, of course.”
"You made this?" Renathal repeated, amber eyes widening in surprise. That the Maw Walker could knit was its own interesting detail, but it paled before the more confusing question of, “How ever did you find the time?”
The glow animating the Maw Walker’s smile dimmed by several shades.
“Well … I suppose I can't really claim much credit after all,” she said slowly, with the air of having made some significant realisation. “I'll have to take you to thank the needles later.”
Renathal's eyebrows rose.
“The needles?” he asked, nonplussed.
“The knitting needles I enchanted," she explained. "They did all the real knitting, I guess. I mean, I left them the pattern and obviously I gave them the knowledge to read it, but … credit for the actual labour really should go to them.”
His eyes could go no wider, his eyebrows no higher, leaving Renathal to run his fingers distractedly through his hair as he struggled to wrap his mind around this onslaught of strange information.
"You ... enchanted a pair of knitting needles and left them to an extended task? Unattended?" There was a light but unmistakable bite to his sarcasm. "Surely that goes against your personal code of ethics concerning enchanted objects?”
The Maw Walker had the decency to look at least moderately abashed. She turned under the pretense of watching the snowball fight taking place on the distant terrace.
“Well, they weren't exactly unattended," she said, playing absently with the end of her braid. "I had Vorpalia watch them for me while I was gone ... you know, make sure they stayed on task, didn't get up to any mischief.” She shrugged the light dusting of snow from her shoulders and tugged her heavy gloves tighter. “I think she’s grown rather fond of them to be honest. She gets a bit lonely, you know. I might leave the enchantment up for a while. Just ..." She let her eyes wander to Renathal's. "Don't tell -"
She blinked, her little self-deprecating smile slipping at the sight of his face. Renathal had no idea what it looked like to her, but he doubted it expressed even a fraction of what he felt.
The Maw Walker’s disapproval of permanently enchanted objects had been a bone of contention between them since their very first meeting. Only months ago, even the mention of his sword was enough to make her tense and churlish. Now, she was willingly working with Vorpalia to plan him elaborate surprises, and breaking her own - admittedly ridiculous - rules to provide his sword companions?
The upswell of tender emotion in him was such Renathal thought he might burst trying to contain it. The urge to sweep her into his arms was physically painful to deny, and he found himself suddenly wishing they had done this in private. On wild, besotted inspiration, he let the jumper hang over his arm, taking the Maw Walker’s gloved hand in both of his and bringing it to his lips. He pressed words he could not say against the silk of her glove, lingering long past the point of propriety. He could only hope the courtyard around them was too preoccupied to notice.
There was a hardly an inch of her body Renathal's lips had not touched, yet something infused in the innocent gesture made the staid Maw Walker blush.
"Perhaps,” suggested Renathal quietly, when he at last released her hand. “We might escape the rest of the Winter Veil festivities early?"
The Maw Walker bent down, ostensibly to retrieve the abandoned wrapping, but Renathal knew she was hiding her face until the heat in her cheeks had subsided.
"I suppose we could sneak away," she said casually, making a show of folding the silk into exactly even squares. "I doubt anyone would miss us what with everything going on. I just need to find the person who had my name, so they don't come looking for me later."
"Ah!" Renathal exclaimed. "Of course! I had nearly forgotten." And he drew his own exquisitely wrapped and tied parcel from a capacious inner pocket of his coat.
The Maw Walker blinked at the present once, then furrowed her brow at its supremely smug owner.
'You did not have my name, you had Draven’s!” she said, her indignance only half affected. “You can't switch names, that’s cheating!”
"Can it truly be considered cheating if the game itself is rigged?” asked Renathal, giving the archest look he could produce while fighting down amusement. “How did you know what name I was originally given?"
The outrage froze on the Maw Walker's face, and Renathal allowed himself a victorious smirk.
“Perhaps, in the spirit of Winter Veil, we might agree to ... let it go?"
The Prince offered his present like an acknowledgement of a truce, and the Maw Walker, shaking her head, accepted.
If there was one thing Renathal enjoyed even more than receiving a gift, it was giving one. From the item itself, always carefully selected, to its presentation, never anything short of exquisite - he poured himself into every offering no matter how inconsequential. And the time - not to speak of the gold - he had spent on the Maw Walker's gift had been excessive, even for him. But as she delicately undid the precise purple ribbon and unfolded the sharply creased paper, Renathal felt a prickle of apprehension. Her gift had included such sweet, personal touches. Perhaps that was the sort of thing she preferred ... what if she considered his gift too gauche...?
But her face as she withdrew the shimmering material promptly dismissed all his worry.
“Is this ... a dress?" the Maw Walker asked, but the gown could speak for itself.
It cascaded to the floor as the she unfolded it, the icy blue of the bodice and sleeves deepening to cerulean where it brushed the stone. The Maw Walker ran her gloved hands cautiously across the sparkling fabric, as if fearing even so light a touch might cause it to dissipate, like one of its train's beaded snowflakes.
"It's so light ... and it folds so small. I've never seen material like this. What is it made of?”
It was a long time since Renathal had seen the Maw Walker gush over anything, and he drank in her excitement like the finest anima wine.
“I am not entirely sure,” he admitted. “I cannot claim any hand in its creation. I asked for a gown light weight enough for easy travel without sacrificing aesthetic, and Te’Xera was able to provide." He wrinkled his nose at the gown's one fatal flaw. "I know it is not in your preferred colours, but -"
"It's gorgeous," crowed the Maw Walker, and Renathal's amber eyes glowed.
He watched in a pride that could have condemned a soul to the crypts as she pressed the dress against herself, holding its glittering train out to the side. It caught the light, and the eyes of several nearby Venthyr socialites, who wandered over to stare and admire and offer appreciation. The Maw Walker accepted the praise with a distracted smile, but her eyes remained on Renathal.
“Can I try it on?" she asked.
So much for slipping away. But the uncharacteristic enthusiasm brimming in the Maw Walker's face soothed any slight disappointment. And Renathal was confident her appreciation would show itself fully at a later time. Besides, he too had longed to see what her lavender skin looked like encased in the shimmery blue. Not to mention, the high slit in the leg had haunted his thoughts since he'd first laid eyes on the gown. Except -
“I fear it might not be best suited for your preferred Winter Veil weather,” he admitted. "The sleeves are long, but I do not think they were meant to provide any real warmth."
"Oh, don't worry about that," said the Maw Walker, tossing her braid back over her shoulder. "The cold never bothered me, anyway."
For my daughter - who never forgave me for not letting the Maw Walker be Elsa for Hallow's End.
Read Part 20: Mortal Reminders: An illusion! | Visit the Masterpost
#renathal x maw walker#prince renathal#renathal fanfiction#renathal x oc#revendreth#venthyr#shadowlands#wow fanfiction#world of warcraft#fanfiction#no smut#christmas story#winter veil#light & shadows#once upon a winter's veil
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Day 5: Damage
This is an entirely G-Rated 766 word drabble for the @daily-writing-challenge November words! Takes place in the universe of my current series and features Prince Renathal and the Maw Walker having a row about Vorpalia. Trigger warning: incorrect pronoun usage. Read them all here on Ao3
The quill pen snapped between Renathal’s shaking fingers, and with it the last of his patience.
"I would appreciate if you would refer to her properly,” he said, in a voice of deadly calm.
The Maw Walker, perched on the edge of the table, jumped at the sharp crack.
"It��s a sword, Renathal, not a person," she said. eyeing the broken pieces of pen still clutched in Renathal's hand.
"Regardless of her particular anatomical specificities, Vorpalia has as much personhood as I do."
"No, it doesn’t,” said the Maw Walker with quiet emphasis. “It's an inanimate object. You enchanted an object - one that could do serious damage if left to its own devices, might I add - and you left that magic on the object too long and now it’s developed a semblance of a personality. That does not make it a person."
The broken pieces of quill began to splinter in Renathal's fist.
"What, then, oh all-knowing mortal, does define personhood?"
The Maw Walker rolled her eyes delicately.
"I'm not a philosopher, Your Highness, but I suppose an actual soul?”
"And how does one acquire such a thing?" Renathal asked, still in that deceptively calm voice that throbbed with more anger than any furious yell.
"I -" The Maw Walker stopped short, cocking her head slightly. “I honestly don’t know where you’re going with this."
“From whence does your soul come?” he demanded. “How did your superiorly crafted soul come to animate your mortal flesh?"
The Maw Walker’s pale eyes flicked upward, seeing not the distant stone ceiling, but ten thousand years of memories. Renathal’s heart pounded a tense, unnecessary beat as he waited for her answer.
Finally, she sighed, and confessed, "I don't know. But I feel confident it wasn't artificially manufactured."
"But it was certainly brought into existence or manufactured by something, was it not?" contended Renathal. "What makes a soul created by magic less worthy than one wrought through some divine mystery?"
The Maw Walker slammed her hands on the table.
"Because I am looking at the person who created it!” she cried, exasperation cracking her usual sangfroid. “Unless you used some sort of soul-creating spell I don’t know about , it’s just an enchantment! You waved your hands, you said some words, your sword started talking. That is not the forge of creation, that's … a magic trick!"
"And when Denathrius created me?"
Renathal’s voice was barely a whisper, but his words made the Maw Walker's breath catch audibly.
“When my Sire waved his hands, and said some words and called on his magic to bring me into being, was that a valid enough creation for you? Am I a person or a magic trick?"
The Maw Walker‘s jaw dropped. If he wasn’t still panting with fury and pain at the reopening of this long secret wound, Renathal would have laughed. He’d never seen the Maw Walker so completely wrong footed.
Her mouth hung open, but she seemed incapable of speech. Renathal inhaled deeply through his nose, forcing air to cool his boiling anima.
"Vorpalia may not possess a traditional soul from your world's way of thinking," he continued. "But using that same definition, neither do I. If you can deign to treat me with the dignity of personhood, you can surely extend her the same courtesy."
In the silence that lingered, long and heavy, after this final pronouncement, Renathal realised he was still holding the pieces of his broken pen. He relaxed his fist and let them fall to the table, then dropped heavily into the high-backed chair.
"Renathal - " The Maw Walker hesitated, biting her tongue as if fearing the wrong words would escape. "I am … so sorry. I ... had not ever considered ... this idea from that perspective."
Her fingers twitched on the table, unsure what to do with themselves as Renathal remained silent.
"Perhaps you're right," she admitted in a rush. "And even if you're not, I ... I better understand this issue's importance. To you ... and to ... Vorpalia."
The Maw Walker swallowed hard, and Renathal knew the concession had cost her. Before he could decide what to say, however, she had reached across the table for the remnants of his pen. She held them in her hand, murmured something he didn't understand, and set the freshly repaired quill back on the table in front of him.
"I will apologise to Vorpalia the next time I see her.”
The Maw Walker smiled tentatively. It was a question, and Renathal replied with a shaky smile of his own.
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#prince renathal#renathal fanfiction#renathal x reader#renathal x maw walker#renathal x oc#revendreth#the maw walker#vorpalia#venthyr#shadowlands#wow fanfiction#world of warcraft#tw:incorrect pronouns#the reservoir#light & shadows#daily writing challenge
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Day 7: Endless
This is a T-rated (just for safety) 560 word drabble for the @daily-writing-challenge November words! Takes place in the universe of my current series and features Prince Renathal and the Maw Walker discussing the Maw Walker's accommodations post Sinfall. Trigger warning: extremely implied and in no way implicit sexual scenarios. Read them all here on Ao3
“You know what this place needs?” the Maw Walker asked, then continued without waiting for a reply. “Windows.”
“You and your windows,” Renathal murmured fondly.
“You never want to see outside?”
“Everything I want to see is in here,” he said, stroking her hair.
The Maw Walker rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a small grin. She stretched luxuriously across the four-poster bed, recently returned to the newly renovated Darkwall Tower.
“Still,” she continued, playing absently with Renathal’s long fingers “Don’t you ever find it suffocating? Would it really be so hard to knock in a few windows while you’re still completing the repairs?”
“The repairs are complete, and I prefer my room as it is. But not to worry,” Renathal added at her little sigh. “I made sure to put one in your room.”
“You made sure - what? ... To my what?”
“Well, I assumed you would need somewhere to stay when on shore leave from Zereth Mortis. And it is much more conveniently located than Sinfall."
“You made me a room … here?”
The Maw Walker pushed herself off Renathal’s chest, shock plain on face, and a smile curled past his fangs. He would always enjoy finding new ways to surprise her.
"I suppose now is as good a time as any..." he said, sitting up in mock reluctance.
-
"This is ... for me?"
The Maw Walker's head rotated slowly, drinking in the room in long, slow sips. It was smaller than Renathal’s by a decent margin, the carved bed not nearly as large or elaborate, the wallpaper less ornate.
But it was obvious every part of it had been handpicked for her. The colour scheme was lighter, and favoured a great many more shades of purple. The few possessions she had abandoned in her Sinfall room had been retrieved and carefully arranged. And prominently featured behind it all…
"There," Renathal pointed to the far wall of tinted glass. "Have a look."
The Maw Walker tiptoed across the room, as if fearful of disturbing its true occupant, and - at Renathal's encouraging nod - pushed open the heavy glass doors.
While the room itself might be considered modest, the view from the terrace was unparalleled. From here, one could see across the entire realm, past Revendreth’s endless twilight and into the in-between beyond.
"Well?" asked Renathal, joining her, impatient for her thoughts. "What do you think?"
The Maw Walker did not reply. What he could see of her face, as the wind whipped her hair about, remained entirely blank. Renathal flattered himself that, by now, he knew her better than any who still existed, but even he could not interpret her expression as he studied her silhouette closely.
"Of course,” he added, picking stray thread from the sleeve of his dressing gown. “If there is anything you dislike, I can always have it changed. It is yours, after all, for as long as you remain in the Shadowlands. While you are here, it should ... feel like home."
The Maw Walker turned, her pale eyes shining in the dark. Before Renathal could manage a full inspection to determine whether or not she was pleased, she had flung her arms around him, and buried her face in his neck.
And any doubts still lingering in Renathal dissipated when the Maw Walker murmured, "This does feel like home."
Read Part 17: Vices and Vows | Visit the Masterpost
#renathal x maw walker#renathal x reader#renathal x oc#prince renathal#revendreth#renathal fanfiction#venthyr#sinfall#darkwall tower#shadowlands#wow fanfiction#world of warcraft#the maw walker#the reservoir#light & shadows#daily writing challenge
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Characters Out of Context
New Tag game by @promptinator-writes!
tagged by the ever sweet @writingpotato07
Tagging: @velvethopewrites @diaryofomellas @mousterian-writes @shipping-through-eternity and open tag for anyone I missed!
Rules:
➥ Include one character quote — of your choosing — from each chapter of your WIP (or as many chapters as you'd like).
➥ Give absolutely no context, save for what's between two parts of an interrupted sentence, should that occur. You may mention who said it.
➥ Have fun, no pressure!
I was going to say I did this instead of battling my writer’s block, but! Re-reading my previous instalments actually helped so much. So yay!
(Since my wip is one story released in a serial instead of chapters, I did a quote from each of the instalments, minus two that really had no remotely sfw dialogue 😅 also going in chronological order instead of publishing order)
The Maw Walker : ‘Certain doom is…something of an old friend.’
Renathal: ‘My eternal responsibility is to ensure those in Revendreth adhere to their purpose, and do not fall to temptation. The Master may not be Venthyr, but I believe my charge includes him as well. Perhaps... he created me for just such an eventuality.’
The Maw Walker: ‘You know, it was ignoring my advice about assistance that led to this injury in the first place.’
Renathal: ‘I believe you carry hope around with you. And when you are gone, it dissipates.’
The Maw Walker: ‘It’s not. My story is…disappointing. It would be best forgotten.”
Renathal: “I hope you consider us good enough friends that you will always tell me such hard truths.”
The Maw Walker: ‘People will be looking for us in earnest by now, and it wouldn't be wise to worry them." She tucked Renathal's hair back into place with a smirk. "Unless you'd like the next rumour to be about how the Maw Walker absconded with the Prince.’
Renathal: ‘I am afraid the after party will require my fullest attention.”
The Maw Walker: “I don’t think there’s anything you could do to me that I wouldn’t want.”
Renathal: ‘As much as I love to hear you scream for me, I'm afraid you'll fetch us an unwanted audience.’
The Maw Walker: ‘You think I know the secret to immortality and I just don’t trust you with it?’
Renathal: ‘I did not enjoy that particular lesson.’
The Maw Walker: “Everything in the whole world changed. Forever. I was this brand new person I never asked to be, I didn’t want to be. And I never regretted it. And it was never a burden.”
Renathal: ‘Are you planning to release Denathrius yourself?‘
The Maw Walker: ‘Just one last task to complete. Then I’m all yours.”
Renathal: “Anything within my power to give, you shall have.”
The Maw Walker: ‘Yes, well, it wouldn't do to be too excited about it. It's unbecoming."
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Day 6: Unnatural
This is an entirely G-Rated 603 word drabble for the @daily-writing-challenge November words! Takes place in the universe of my current series and features Prince Renathal's escalation of the Ember Court prank war. Trigger warning for spider death.
Read them all here on Ao3
To Renathal, it was simply another humourous prank. Hardly even an escalation. The Maw Walker had put slime in his drink one Ember Court; he had hidden some in her tea sandwich at another. She had overinflated the cushion on his chair so it made a most indecorous sound when he seated himself ... he felt something on an equal level of embarrassment was not uncalled for.
So the Dark Prince had slipped the little eight-legged creature into the pocket of the Maw Walker’s gown while she held Theotar’s tea tray for him. He glided a short distance away, and waited eagerly for her little yelp of surprise.
He was not expecting her blood curdling shriek or the enormous crash that followed. Renathal whipped around, eyes widening at the scene: porcelain flying, Theotar wailing, and the Maw Walker spinning wildly in place, beating frantically at her own legs.
The spider landed a foot away and scuttled across the stone. It didn’t get far. The Maw Walker lifted both hands and blasted the tiny creature with a shower of purple sparks. She continued her arcane barrage long after the poor beast had disintegrated. Then she stood in the wreckage, panting loudly, her pale eyes wide and manic.
“Was this you?”
The Maw walker’s voice could cut glass. Renathal contorted his face fiercely to betray no hint of amusement.
“It was only … an amusing joke,” he tried, but something in the twist of his lips gave him away.
“Does this look amusing to you?” she shrieked, gesticulating wildly at the surrounding carnage. “What part of putting a SPIDER in someone’s pocket could possibly be considered amusing?”
“The slimes never bothered you,” said Renathal, attempting to reassert calm. But his soothing tone only inflamed the Maw Walker further.
“Slimes don’t have eight legs and ... hairy bodies and - and - and the unnatural way they move!”
The Shadowlands Champion shivered uncontrollably. She rubbed at her own arms as if fearing what other invisible horrors might be crawling there.
Renathal frowned. She was taking this a little far.
“You have fought spiders often in the Banewood,” he chided. "And those are considerably larger and more deadly.”
“I am aware,” snarled the Maw Walker. “And I don’t like them either but at least they’re big enough to see and are never just ... just hiding in my pocket when I least expect it!”
Her words ended in a quaver that threatened murder or tears.
Guests were openly staring now, whispering to each other behind their hands. Curious onlookers from other parts of the courtyard were wandering this way. Renathal spared them neither thought nor glance as he rushed toward his distraught Maw Walker.
“I am sorry,” he said and this time his face was entirely free of mirth. “It never occurred to me this would be going too far. I would never have intentionally cause you this sort of … distress”
He briefly considered the usefulness of a rational explanation into how such a small creature could do the Maw Walker no harm. Then decided against it, in favour of gathering her into his arms.
“You will forgive me, won’t you?”
The Maw Walker looked up at him, eyes still guarded.
“Can I forgive you and still be upset with you and not be ready to laugh about this for a few days?”
“Certainly,” said Renathal solemnly, and pressed his lips to her forehead.
The whispers crescendoed, a rustling sea of excited murmurs to which Renathal paid absolutely no mind. Truly, one of the best parts of defeating Denathrius was that he didn’t have to anymore.
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#renathal#renathal x maw walker#fanfiction#prince renathal#renathal fanfiction#renathal/oc#renathal x oc#ember court#revendreth#Sinfall#the maw walker#the reservoir#light & shadows#daily writing challenge
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Day 3: Forest, and honestly, it's embarrassing how poorly I shoe-horned this word into here, I apologise.
This is an entirely G-Rated 620 word drabble for the @daily-writing-challenge November words! Takes place in the universe of my current series and features the Maw Walker's introduction to Prince Renathal and Duke Theotar's long-standing prank war. Read them all here on Ao3
“I will take that.”
“Excuse me?”
The Maw Walker regarded Renathal steadily from the ground where she'd knelt to scrub a bit of lingering green slime. She had hosted enough Ember Courts by now (precisely two) to know the Venthyr socialites - and their ample petticoats - had difficulty navigating the terrain.
"The refuse. I will ... dispose of it for you."
The Maw Walker blinked up at him, but Renathal declined to elaborate. His mortal friend might share much of his mordant humour, but he wasn't sure it extended this far.
"That's not necessary," the Maw Walker finally said. "It's quite messy."
"Oh, I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty."
The Maw Walker's pale eyes narrowed in visible suspicion. She sat back on her heels and waited for Renathal to explain.
"If you must know," he sighed. "I plan to use it to prank Theotar later."
The Maw Walker blinked again, an expression Renathal was now positive meant surprise. Whatever she had expected him to say, it wasn't that.
"Not a cruel trick," Renathal hastened to explain. "It is something of a tradition between us. I have never been quite as enthusiastic about these formal affairs as the Duke, and on occasions past, when a court has been excessively dull, I amused myself by putting ... well ... " Renathal broke off at the Maw Walker's blank stare, and busied himself adjusting his cuffs. "Well, I suppose it must seem rather childish."
The Maw Walker slowly got to her feet and faced Renathal, slime in hand.
"Are you saying my court is 'excessively dull' ?"
Renathal was grateful he had eons of experience in tactful backpedaling.
"Decidedly not," he assured her earnestly. "Today's court represents the perfect level of formality to please our invited guests. It was ... merely a whim ... inspired by the slime. But ... perhaps another time. At a more appropriately casual court."
And the Dark Prince scarpered as quickly as his dignity would allow.
He avoided the Maw Walker for the rest of the Ember Court, catching up with her only when it was time to call it to a close. He found her with Theotar in his shaded corner of the courtyard, bending her knees dutifully to allow the "Mad" Duke to stir sugar into her tea.
"My Prince!" exclaimed Theotar jubilantly at Renathal's approach. "Come! Join us! Our Maw Walker and I were about to toast our second successful Ember Court!"
Renathal glanced at the Maw Walker's serious visage before graciously accepting Theotar's proffered cup.
"An excellent idea!" said Renathal indulgently. "A toast to our Maw Walker's tireless efforts to orchestrate a most formal and enjoyable court."
After a gentle clink of glasses, Renathal brought the cup to his lips, swallowed, and immediately gagged.
Whatever vile substance had been lurking under the dark tea oozed its way back up Renathal's throat, and the Dark Prince had no choice but to hunch down and spit it indecorously onto the ground. He watched in shock as the forest green slime slid innocently away across the stone, accompanied by the near hysterics of the two beings behind him.
Theotar had thrown himself across his own tea tray in howls of dramatic laughter. Even the normally staid Maw Walker hid her face in her hands, shoulders shaking with visible mirth.
Renathal straightened decorously, enduring the hilarity with good grace. He set his now empty cup carefully beside Theotar's elbow and smoothed his mussed goatee.
"Not above such childish games yourself, I see," said Renathal with as much dignity as he could muster around his own budding smile.
The Maw Walker winked, the first time he'd ever seen her do so.
"I never said I was."
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#renathal x maw walker#renathal fanfiction#renathal x oc#prince renathal#ember court#theotar#revendreth#venthyr#wow fanfiction#world of warcraft#shadowlands#the reservoir#daily writing challenge#light & shadows
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It's just Renathal/Maw Walker smut. Rated E for you know.
Read here on Ao3 for triggers and tags
Takes place a few days after The Harvester of Dominion.
Footsteps echoed down the stone corridor, and Renathal stopped mid-thrust, making the Maw Walker whimper and wriggle against him. He snaked an arm over her shoulder and held his hand against her mouth, just hard enough to muffle her sounds of need before moving his hips against hers again.
In hindsight, this was a dangerous time and place to do this: up against the wall in the room the Maw Walker took as her own in the depths of Sinfall, when it was openly known she was there. The Maw Walker always had a steady stream of visitors looking for help or advice or simply her company, and her room, unlike Renathal's, was near Sinfall's main hall and easy to access.
Renathal knew all this, knew they would have no privacy. But it had been nearly a week since he'd last had his hands on his Maw Walker and his patience had been threadbare, hers nonexistent. She had thrown herself into his arms the moment the door was shut behind him, and the discovery that she was equally as frantic after their longest separation yet drove any thought of propriety - or practicality - from Renathal's head. And once they had started, Renathal could not bring himself to pull out of her long enough to make the move to her bed; stopping altogether to adjourn to his own, more private quarters was out of the question. The sight of her beautifully curved ass thrusting back to meet him and the dip in her back as she arched up against the wall was too mesmerising for any other thoughts.
But the other denizens of Sinfall clearly had many other thoughts, and the steps were obviously headed this way. There was an unspoken agreement between them to keep their trysts secret, and even if there was not, Renathal was sure the Maw Walker would not want anyone to see her like this. Which was perfectly fine with him. He preferred to believe he was the only one to ever see her so desperate.
The footsteps stopped and someone rapped hard on the door.
"Maw Walker?"
It sounded like Nandor, whom the Maw Walker was training for combat in her limited spare time.
Renathal froze inside her again. He could feel her walls throbbing around him, the sensation so intense he had to grit his teeth to keep from moaning. He lowered his hand from the Maw Walker's mouth to caress her throat so she could answer.
"I'll be ready in a few minutes Nandor. I'll meet you upstairs," she called breathlessly.
"Is everything all right?" Nandor asked through the door, but the Maw Walker could not speak. Renathal had started kneading circles in her hip with the hand not stroking her throat, and it was all she could do to keep breathing evenly.
The handle of the door began to turn.
“Yes!” the Maw Walker cried, her voice far too loud, as Renathal - in spite of the precariousness of their situation - thrust into her again, the stillness unbearable. “I mean, yes, I’m fine I’ll see you in a minute thank you...”
The Maw Walker said all this too quickly and desperately, and Renathal knew if it were anyone else out there they would be in trouble. But Nandor was never the sharpest fang. He merely said, "Very well, I will await you on the surface!" and his footsteps clattered away.
Renathal managed to hold himself in check for six whole seconds, merely rocking his hips where they were, already sheathed against hers, as he waited for Nandor's footsteps to fade. As soon the click of boots against stone could no longer be heard, Renathal picked up his pace, pounding against her quick and deep to make up for their lost time, fingers still stroking her windpipe.
The Maw Walker tried to keep quiet, she really did, but he was so big and she was so full and the sensation of him sliding thickly within her was too overwhelming for her to control her voice. She keened softly as Renathal's other hand stroked patterns down her spine and she slammed her hips back to meet his as hard as she possibly could.
With a growl, Renathal pinned her flat against the wall and pushed his body flush against hers, forcing her up onto her toes to keep the deep angle she preferred. Renathal wrapped his hand fully around her throat and gripped her hip with the other for leverage as he rammed into her. The Maw Walker cried out, quivering at the delicious feeling of being pinned between her lover and the stone, rendered completely helpless and at his mercy, and Renathal knew she was close.
“Hush, dearest,” Renathal whispered, his mouth against her ear. "As much as I love to hear you scream for me, I'm afraid you'll fetch us an unwanted audience."
The Maw Walker pressed her lips together in an attempt to obey, though her wordless cries continued to spill out brokenly from between them in spite of her best effort. Renathal smirked. He loved making his typically unflappable Maw Walker lose control.
“That’s it. Good girl,” Renathal crooned in her ear, and her walls clenched around him at his praise.
He pulled her face back to meet his and pressed his lips to hers in a bruising kiss, trying to swallow her jubilant cry. He did not let her rest through her orgasm, however. Instead, he quickened his pace, rutting faster and faster until he was there, just there, and spilling inside her, his own growl now audible against her mouth.
Renathal could feel the Maw Walker's bliss-filled smile against his lips; feel her legs shake as she fought to keep herself upright in spite of the powerful high she was coming down from. He eased himself slowly out of her with a low groan and a soft noise of disappointment from his lover. It made Renathal smile in satisfaction. She turned, leaning her back against the stone as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders again, this time dragging him down for a deep, slow kiss Renathal could have drowned in.
The Maw Walker broke first and leaned her forehead against his, fighting to control her breathing.
"Hello," she murmured. There had been no time for salutations when he had first arrived.
"Darkest greetings," Renathal replied, making her laugh against his lips. "It has been entirely too long. I have ... quite missed you."
"I missed you too," and she said it so tenderly Renathal could almost pretend she was saying something else.
Read Part 5: Keys for All Occasions: The Maw | Visit the Masterpost
#prince renathal#fanfiction#renathal x maw walker#renathal x oc#rated m#renathal x reader#revendreth#romance#shadowlands#world of warcraft#smut#Maw walker#interrupted#light & shadows
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Day 1: Instinct
This is an entirely G-Rated 425 word drabble for the @daily-writing-challenge November words! Takes place in the universe of my current series and features Prince Renathal and the Maw Walker in a heated competition. Read them all here on Ao3
"This is absolute madness!" cried the Maw Walker in despair. She dragged her hands down her face, leaving long streaks of dirt and blood. Her hair and robes were caked in the muck she had collapsed in.
The Dark Prince had to work extremely hard not to laugh.
"I have destroyed monsters of every sort!" the Maw Walker continued to rage. “I’ve defeated the Legion, escaped the Jailer! I’ve killed bloody elder gods!” Her dirty nails clenched in her filthy, tangled hair. "There is no reason I cannot do this!”
The Maw Walker struggled out of the muck with a most undignified squelch. Renathal hid his growing smirk behind a faux-thoughtful hand.
“We can stop anytime you are ready,” he offered politely.
The Maw Walker clambered to her feet. She shook her head, and the dirt from her robes, with equal violence.
"No. Not until I figure this out." She combed vainly at her hair, trying to clean the worst of the grime. "Isn't there an instruction book for this, or something? I always learned better from books."
"It is not a science, it is an art form. An instinct honed over many years," Renathal mused. "Really, you ought not to compare yourself to me. I am something of an undefeated champion."
"Surely smugness of that magnitude is a sin?" snapped the Maw Walker.
Renathal's smirk curled past his fangs.
"Not if it is also true."
The Maw Walker's glare crackled with the threat of arcane magic. Abandoning any further attempt at presentability, she turned and limped away up the hill, wincing at the bruises Renathal knew blossomed under her robes.
As she walked, she pulled bandages from some hidden pocket, and began winding them tightly across her bloody, blistered palms. Renathal watched, concern finally pushing its way through his cheerful pride.
"Perhaps ... we should try again another time. I should not like to be accused of injuring Revendreth's champion."
The Maw Walker cast Renathal a brief, contemptuous glance as they crested the top of the hill.
"Never," she said, rolling up her sleeves. "Have I ever conceded defeat in anything." Her fists clenched once around the newly fastened cloth, testing to be sure each was secure. "I am certainly not going to start with this."
The Maw Walker wrapped her bandaged hands around the wheelbarrow's rough, splintered handles, and Renathal, with a dramatic sigh, turned his face to his own.
"I am winning one of these damned dredger races," the Maw Walker spat through gritted teeth. "If it takes me all bloody night."
In memory of the hours I spent on this cursed world quest that I will never be able to get back.
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#renathal x maw walker#prince renathal#the maw walker#wow fanfiction#shadowlands#world of warcraft#dredger races#renathal x reader#renathal x oc#light & shadows#the reservoir#daily-writing-challenge
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Prince Renathal struggles to come to terms with his time in the Maw and his relationship with his Maw Walker during the Venthyr's covenant assault on the Tremaculum. Rated T for implied sexual scenarios. Read here on Ao3 for triggers and tags.
Takes place several months after the imprisonment of Denathrius.
The Maw. It was as dark and harrowing as Renathal remembered. And standing on the ramparts of the Tremaculum, gazing out over the endless expanse of screaming black lurking on every side of the fortress, even the Dark Prince could not suppress a shudder.
Convincing himself to return here had been no small task. All those hazy, horrid memories of his imprisonment - the helplessness, powerlessness; stewing in his own misery and madness, convinced he would never escape - he was able to keep them at bay in Revendreth where he had no end of distractions and little time for dark reminiscences. But now... being back here, where it all happened.... it no longer felt like a distant fever-dream, but an all-consuming nightmare.
Renathal hurled another bolt of vermillion anima magic at the Mawsworn in the fortress below him in an effort to thwart his growing despair. He had hoped the presence of so many friends and allies would make a difference. Just down the ramparts was Theotar's indomitable tea party, an oasis of peace in this stronghold of misery; in the other direction, the Curator, whose determination to join the fight in spite of her own torture in Torghast had bolstered Renathal's resolve to come as well. And everywhere he looked, the Ardenweald defenders' sparkling lights and high battle cries brought pockets of laughter to the bleak desolation. He paused in his spell casting and gazed wistfully around, trying to let the sights cheer him, strengthen his courage, anchor him to existence outside the Maw.
But, as he watched his friends, old and new, being slowly smothered by the Tremaculum’s miserable air, Renathal feared he had made a mistake in bringing them here. He had led them into a hell from which there was no escape. The Mawsworn simply kept coming, no matter what power he threw at them. However many he destroyed, more waited in their wake - a vicious, unending sea of blades and chains and cruel magic. His small band of defenders would never be enough to push them back. And even if by some miracle they did -
Another distant roar echoed from across the battlements, a reminder of the guardian of the Tremaculum, merely biding its time before it chose to descend upon them in fury and demonic flame. The familiar tendrils of despair Renathal thought he had cast off when he escaped the Maw crept across his chest once more.
This damned darkness would swallow them whole.
Then Burly Hurly's rumbling basso echoed up from behind him, followed by a clatter on the ramparts and a light oof, and Renathal's mouth twitched in the shadow of a smile. The Maw Walker's voice always conjured that expression from him, like one of her many little useful spells. He turned, watching her right herself and smooth down her robes, a small self-deprecating smile gracing her features at her less than elegant entrance. She caught him staring and winked.
"You started without me?"
It was no real reproof. Her voice sparkled with humour, and the tension in Renathal's shoulders eased a fraction at the sound.
"I am afraid our friends from Ardenweald simply could not wait. But rest assured, there is still plenty for you to do."
Something of his earlier dark mood seeped into his voice, and the Maw Walker's face shifted into its usual expression - smoothly impassive; what Renathal once read as lack of interest and now recognised as focus, her pale eyes drinking in every detail. She stood beside him, surveying the carnage taking place in the fortress below.
"How goes it?"
"Our enemies currently surround us on all sides. Their forces are seemingly endless."
"Nothing is endless."
She said it with such quiet confidence even the Prince could not bring himself to argue. The Maw Walker turned her head at his uncharacteristic silence, inspecting him with the same laser focus she had the battlefield, as if he were a puzzle she was trying to solve.
"What do you need from me?"
Renathal's amber eyes glowed briefly. There were so many ways to answer that question - many of them sufficiently distracting from his current downcast mood, but only a few of them appropriate to the setting. He knew what he needed from her, but he could not ask her for it. Not here. Not now. His true needs would have to wait. He took a steadying breath and returned his thoughts to the situation at hand.
"Assist the others.” Renathal gestured around at his compatriots on the ramparts. "They will all have specific tasks for you, I am certain. We must push more of these Mawsworn back before we can move on the beast above."
They both glanced up automatically at the platform in the distance where the shadow of the Tremaculum's fiery guardian crouched. The Mawsworn called it Gothra, the Trembler. Renathal had assured his forces when they had first arrived - when he had more of his usual optimistic fatalism about him- that it would be his and Lady Moonberry's task to take on this evil. But now, seeing it loom so large even from so far away, he worried whether their power would suffice.
"Excellent!" The Maw Walker clapped her hands together lightly, derailing his anxious train of thought. "I'll make the rounds then."
She spoke as if she faced a somewhat challenging assortment of guests at the Ember Court rather than an army of merciless fiends. Renathal usually adored her casual approach to danger, but ... the Maw still weighed heavy on him, a burden he could not shed.
"Do stay safe, my Maw Walker."
She gave him a mock-formal nod, though Renathal thought her eyes lingered on his face longer than strictly necessary.
"As you command, your Highness."
And she disappeared.
Renathal cast a subtle glance in each direction, waiting to see where she would blink back into existence. There she was - halfway down the ramparts, where Theotar and his coterie sat. The Duke rose to greet her warmly, immediately offering her a cup which she accepted with a gracious smile. She stood at her ease for several minutes, listening attentively to the Mad Duke's chatter, sipping politely, nothing to indicate she had arrived for any reason other than to enjoy his company.
Something of the fondness Renathal felt for her trickled into his face, his lips curling in as true a smile as they could muster in this place. No matter the situation, the Maw Walker always stopped everything for her friends, always acted as though their needs, however small, were the most important part of her existence. It was a quality he greatly admired.
He continued to watch from the corner of his eye as the Maw Walker made her way across the ramparts to the various generals of the assault; asking questions, taking orders, assessing where her power would be best used. Finally, she hopped lightly onto the balustrade and, without preamble, stepped off into space. She floated gently to the ground below and was immediately accosted by two Mawsworn guards. A purple flash of light burst into being around her, flinging the soldiers back and knocking them to the ground. More purple lights, and the Mawsworn stayed down.
Renathal released the breath he had not known he was holding as the Maw Walker flitted further across the Tremaculum until all that could be seen of her was her signature purple glow. It was a colour he had come to associate with hope, with beauty, with strength - and the sight of it inspired strength in him, as well.
It was time to do his part. Renathal called on his own magic and rose gracefully into the air.
"Lady Moonberry," he called, pleased to hear his voice come out confident. "Might you kindly cover our advance into the fortress?"
"A simple trick," chirped the ever-cheerful winged Night Fae, engulfing them both in blue light. "Now no one can see us unless we want them to!"
They drifted down into the midst of the battle, swathed in the lightly shimmering blue mist. Renathal gazed around him as they descended, trying to catch a glimpse of the Maw Walker, but her flashing lights had disappeared around a dark corner. He did his best to keep apprehension at bay as he and Draven cut a path through their own swarm of enemies to reach the Tremaculum's stairs. After all, this was the Maw Walker's area of expertise. She was powerful and competent, had defeated the deadliest enemies on any numbers of worlds, Renathal knew this well. He rarely felt any fear sending her on dangerous missions throughout Revendreth or the other realms of the Shadowlands. But this was different.
This place...
He shuddered again, disguising it as an adjustment of his coat as he and Draven took stock of themselves under the Tremaculum's stairs behind Lady Moonberry's invisibility spell.
Renathal had never experienced true suffering before the Maw. He was the firstborn of Denathrius, the favoured son. The Prince. He had his pick of everything, succeeded at anything to which he set his hand. Perhaps that was what had given him the confidence to believe he could take down his own Sire; what convinced him that he, in the right, must win out over corruption no matter who was behind it. Instead, he had been cast down, tortured, and finally caged and forgotten, left to waste away in this unending nightmare.
Until the Maw Walker came. The shadows broken by her soft purple glow, her eyes peering at him through the bars, her gentle voice saying his name. Renathal closed his eyes, picturing her, as he often did when stressed: the image of the Maw Walker's hand, held out to him after releasing him from his prison against all odds, offering him freedom and hope. She had changed him. She had changed everything. Even this wretched place.
It took Renathal a few seconds to realize the purple glow was no longer merely in his memory but glinting between the cracks in his closed eyelids. He opened them to find the object of his thoughts peering around the corner at him. Her typically inscrutable eyes held unmistakable concern. He fixed his face into a mask of nonchalance.
“How goes the fight?”
“Smooth as glass. I'm just returning Lady Moonberry's wand.”
The Maw Walker held out the long wooden rod to the winged Night Fae who took it with a giggle.
"I could see the little tormenters scampering from here! That will teach them to be such bullies!"
The Maw Walker's smile widened to match the winged Night Fae's tinkling laugh, and even Renathal could feel humour blossom in his chest like a widowbloom, choking the weeds of anxiety.
“Let it not be said that it was ever boring while Lady Moonberry was present,” he declared with a hint of his customary wry humour.
He caught the Maw Walker's eye, and she glowed at him, an expression that took his breath away. He was so accustomed to looks of respect, even awe, from penitent souls and other Venthyr, he hardly noticed them anymore. But to be the source of such naked admiration... and on such a beautiful face. It was like a draught of strong anima wine. It left Renathal dizzy and uninhibited. He felt a sudden urge to rejoin the fight.
"We are ready to take the brute upstairs at your command," he told the Maw Walker, finally feeling as confident as he sounded.
She glanced away across the Tremaculum, searching for something he could not see, then back at him again.
"Just one last task to complete. Then I'm all yours. Lady Moonberry?" She released Renathal's eyes to address the Night Fae emissary. "Do look after my prince for me, will you?"
And she was gone again.
Did she know what her words did to him, Renathal wondered, or was it merely coincidence? Could she have any idea what an electric thrill it sent down his spine to hear her call him her prince? And there were so many other things of hers he wanted to be...
A sudden burst of whoops and applause from the Night Fae contingent interrupted Renathal's heady musing. He stepped past Lady Moonberry's spell into the unprotected space beside the stairs to see the source of the commotion. An enormous, sparkling gorm was lumbering across the fortress, knocking back an oncoming band of Mawsworm and squashing them under its squirming weight. Atop it sat the Maw Walker -his Maw Walker - and she was laughing.
No matter what the Maw Walker was doing, she was almost always smiling. A small, inscrutable quirk of the mouth was her face's natural expression, as much her signature as her sparkling purple magic. But laughter - true, unfettered happiness - that was harder to draw from her. Making the Maw Walker laugh was a favorite past time of Renathal's - he found he had rather a talent for it as they shared the same dry humour. Now, watching her meet her enemies, face aglow with laughter, he felt his heart truly lighten for the first time since he had returned to this forsaken place.
As the Maw Walker reined her wriggling steed around, doubling back towards Renathal again, she found his eyes and laughed still harder. And Renathal realised he was smiling, really smiling, something he did not know he could manage in this soul-sucking realm. But the Maw Walker's joy was infectious that way.
Had there been joy in Revendreth before her? If there had, Renathal could not remember it. There was pleasure, certainly, and revelry - courts and balls and endless extravagances - anything to distract from eternity with the worst of the damned. But joy? It was such a different feeling, what she inspired in him, like torch light growing brighter and brighter in his chest, burning but never searing. Renathal had never known pleasant associations with light and fire before the Maw Walker. Never known how wonderful it felt to be truly warm. And now… now, he could not imagine a world without it.
The growing fear of what existence would be like when this was all over, if the Maw Walker left, prickled at Renathal again, as it often did. But he did not have time to indulge it.
"Ready when you are."
The Maw Walker had dismounted at the stairs, leaving her Gorm to be corralled and led off by several merry Sylvar. She shook drops of glowing slime from her robes and reached up to straighten her hair. Her face still shone with the memory of her laughter.
And Renathal found he was ready. That thrill of excitement he felt in battle, no matter its likely outcome, had finally overtaken him, outshining the oppressive dark. He threw off the weight of the Maw like a sodden cloak, reveling in the feeling of freedom and hope once more, and, with a surge of anima, he glided forward up the stairs, his allies and his Maw Walker falling into step behind him.
"With the power of Revendreth and Ardenweald united, even the most dreaded of the Jailer's beasts will fall with ease!"
Renathal's voice was triumphant, loud enough to be heard over the continued sounds of battle. But not loud enough to drown out the furious roar of the charred behemoth that met them at the top of the stairs.
Gothra, the Trembler. It lumbered slowly around to face them. It had clearly not expected anyone to charge it. But the creature recovered quickly, lurching toward them with another bellow as it drew itself to full height, its wicked fire blotting out the sight of their allies far below.
"However, I did not expect it to be quite so large!"
Renathal's attempt at humour was punctuated by a short cry as he swerved to dodge a jet of angry flame.
"Now it's easier to hit!" called Lady Moonberry, ever a source of practical optimism.
She sent a sparkling blue perabola of light hurtling toward the beast, and Renathal, hovering out of its reach, raised his hands to add his own magic to the assault. He watched another beam of red anima meet his own: Draven's magic; then a stream of purple sparks ascending from the ground which was the Maw Walker's. The combined effect of magic meeting flame lit the eternal blackness of the Maw as brightly as any corner of the Ember Ward.
Gothra simply roared. An explosion of demonic flame from within its core sent fel heat across the platform, extinguishing the defender's spells and sending them staggering back.
Renathal’s stomach dropped all in an instant; just as it had when he had fallen to his knees before Denathrius, realizing too late what a miscalculation he had made. The beast before them cut through anima like a gentle breeze. The power on which they relied would be no use here at all. He wracked his brain for an alternative plan, thinking vainly of Vorpalia whom he had left behind in spite of her protests, assuring her she would not be needed. Well, at least she would be able to say she told him so if he managed to return, which seemed less and less likely.
And then, as in every one of Renathal's darkest moments, the Maw Walker's voice broke through.
"Hold on! I have an idea!"
Her words were saturated in staid assurance, and Renathal knew hope still existed.
He glanced to the side of the platform where the Maw Walker stood and noticed she had conjured - a mirror? One of the mirrors of Revendreth's transport network, or very like it. Renathal knew she had a fascination with their mirrors. Conjuring them was a piece of magic she had picked up from the Venthyr and used frequently. It always delighted him to see her use his magic, the power he had given her and knew so well.
The mirror's glass finished crystalizing into existence, red mist swirling within. And the Maw Walker disappeared through it.
The thought that she was abandoning them here in the Maw flicked briefly across Renathal's mind like the swing of a sudden blade. He parried the strike at once. Never. She would never abandon them. He conjured up the memory of their first failed charge on Denathrius, a fight she had known they would lose. But she had stood beside him regardless, smiled in the face of certain defeat, and assured him if Denathrius cast them into the Maw once more that she would find him and his allies and get them out.
Denathrius' betrayal had shaken Renathal's faith in many things, but his faith in the Maw Walker held strong. He let it soar through his anima, bolstering the magic thwarting Gothra's attempts to reach him, Draven, and Lady Moonberry. The Maw Walker would never leave her friends here. She would never leave him here.
Though, Renathal did wonder what her plan was, exactly.
Light began to seep through the red mirror; first a trickle, then a steady, golden ray, quickly followed by the Maw Walker herself. The Light hit the beast's legs, burning them, causing it to howl and stamp in rage - but there was not enough Light to hold it. Not nearly.
Renathal was wondering how best to thank the Maw Walker while also acknowledging her plan had failed when she disappeared in that shimmer of purple and blinked back into being on the other side of the platform. She spread her arms wide, conjured another ornate mirror into existence, and leaped into its swirling depths.
And Renathal understood. He could not stop the triumphant laughter bursting from him, unbidden. His body shook with it, his head thrown back as he gave himself over to pure, exuberant joy. He was sure he looked less than dignified. Joy often had that effect, he had discovered, but the feeling it left was well worth it.
When the Maw Walker next reappeared, she met his eyes and gave him a quick nod as she sprinted to his corner of the platform, already conjuring her third mirror.
"Allies, brace yourselves!" Renathal called. "Our Maw Walker is nearly ready!"
The creature was now writhing in the presence of the Light. Three beams succeeded in hemming it in, cracking its armored casing and blistering it unmercifully, but they were not enough to destroy it entirely. Renathal focused on his stream of glowing anima, eyes flicking between the rampaging beast and the fourth mirror the Maw Walker had now conjured and disappeared through.
One minute passed. Then another. Renathal waited, arms beginning to tremble with the effort of holding the beast in place.
More minutes slid by, as long and slow as ages. The Maw Walker did not reappear.
A flicker of worry wormed its way into Renathal's confidence. What had she met with? What was happening in Revendreth without him there? All his many suppressed fears struggled to loose themselves on him at once. Had Denathrius made a bid for escape? Had the remnants of the Sire's supporters attacked Sinfall? There were so many things that could go wrong, and no way for him to know or stop them from here....
And then brilliant, victorious Light burst through the fourth mirror. It connected with its sister beams in the middle of the platform, engulfing Gothra in a furious golden swathe. The guardian of the Tremaculum sank to its knees, its howls of agony deafened by the Light's song, like the ringing of a thousand bells. It was not a sound to typically thrill the soul of the Dark Prince, but the sight of the purple light emerging from the final mirror was.
"Burn in the light of the Ember Ward, wretched beast!" cried Renathal, and whether anyone could hear him over the noise and chaos, he neither knew nor cared. His words were for the Maw itself.
Gothra's death throes shook the fortress's foundations until, at last, it disintegrated, leaving behind only smoking, sulfurous ash. Renathal lifted his arm to shield his face from the Light burning into his own form, but he knew better than to worry. The red mirrors were already fading from existence at a spoken word from the Maw Walker below, and the Light evaporated with it.
Renathal slowly descended to the platform, eyes adjusting to the abrupt lack of light, blinking past the spots in his vision as he searched for the Maw Walker. His heart skipped a beat when he could not immediately place her, but - there she was, waiting at the other end of the platform next to an ecstatically fluttering Lady Moonberry.
The Maw Walker's chest rose and fell heavily. There was a long gash in the side of her robes and her hair was in disarray. But she caught Renathal's eye as he approached and straightened, as dignified as she could manage in her disheveled state. She folded her hands in front of her and dipped her head in a deep nod, her formality belied slightly by the wry grin on her face.
"The Tremaculum is yours, Prince Renathal."
The sound of his name on her lips was the moment's crowning glory. Perhaps it was the thrill of battle still coursing through him, but Renathal's red eyes darkened at the rush of unbidden fantasies of all the other ways he wanted to hear her say his name. Only there was no time just now to explore that exciting avenue of thought. The crowd of Ardenweald and Revendreth defenders had gathered below the platform, waiting on tenterhooks for victory to be confirmed.
"The Tremaculum is ours!" Renathal let his voice carry across the forbidding air of the Maw, careless of who or what beyond the Tremamculum could hear him. Hopeful even. Let them all come. "This victory is not just for Ardenweald and Revendreth, but for the Shadowlands!"
The fortress below him exploded in cheers and whoops of approval, applause and elated laughter. The Night Fae's many-colored sparks shot into the dark air, lighting the oppressive sky with a bold and beautiful glow. Renathal let the sound of their celebratory revels wash over him like a wave of cleansing anima, then turned to find his Maw Walker again.
She was sitting on the platform's filthy, ashen floor, legs dangling over the side, arms propped behind her for support. Her eyes were closed and for a moment all the wear and war she had endured showed on her face.
The Maw Walker was tired.
People forgot she could be anything so mortal as tired as they piled task after task upon her, knowing she would never say no, certain she would succeed at whatever was asked. Renathal himself included. He winced at the thought.
He lowered himself to the ashen ground beside her, close enough for his armored shoulder to brush hers. The Maw Walker's eyes flicked open, found his, and she smiled - of course, she always did - though this was not her customary, supercilious smile. It was a warm, living thing that grew as she drank in the sight of him. The idea that the Maw Walker could draw as much strength from his presence as he did from hers was a point of pride in Renathal from which he could never repent.
"Well," he said casually, surveying the unending dark landscape in front of them, "in spite of the danger, I believe this has been a good bit of fun." The Maw Walker laughed softly, and his chest swelled. "Although, you did have me worried on that last mirror."
"Valeri was there," she said. Renathal raised an eyebrow, but the Maw Walker shrugged a weary shoulder. "I took care of her, and her acolytes. One more thing to cross off our to-do list."
"So, all in all, quite a productive afternoon."
"Indeed."
They sat in amicable silence for a moment, watching the Night Fae and the Venthyr below venting their high spirits on the last remaining dregs of the Mawsworn. Maybe it was the lack of Gothra's hellish flame casting the place into shadow, or perhaps it was the gorms still racing about in shimmery streaks, but Renathal thought the Tremaculum seemed less dark than it had earlier.
"Are you alright?" the Maw Walker asked, her gaze fixed on him again.
A simple question, but laden with meaning. She knew, and he knew she knew. Knew exactly how hard it had been for him to return here, what it had taken from him to do so, and what had given him the strength to do it.
Renathal shifted slightly to face her, his lips parted in a soft smile.
"Entirely."
He tucked a strand of loose hair back behind her long ear and leaned down to meet her lips.
It was an innocent sort of kiss, unlike most they had shared in the last year: the stolen kisses in the halls of Sinfall in between her many missions; those long, heated kisses broken by the moans he drew from her during their nights together; the passionate, lingering kiss she had left him with that morning before he readied his forces to enter the Maw, infusing Renathal with the energy he needed to do what he had set his mind to.
But this - this was really more confirmation than kiss. A physical sign that he was truly fine, and more than fine. With the Maw Walker beside him, Renathal was perfect.
"Awww... I love it!"
Lady Moonberry's high squeal broke them gently apart.
The Maw Walker glanced up. The sight of the Faerie's delighted clapping and Draven's stoic approval drew violet pinpricks on her high cheekbones. Being caught in an affectionate moment made the usually implacable Maw Walker flustered, and her blush was so delightful to Renathal he made a note to kiss her in front of others more often.
"Oh, just wait until Star Lake performs this play! Action and monsters, and romance? It's an instant classic! We'll call it, 'Taking the Tremaculum'! Niya's already been practicing her Maw Walker impression, we'll just need to find someone dashing to play the Prince...."
Renathal, chuckling through Lady Moonberry's excited chatter, rose to his feet and offered the Maw Walker his hand.
"I do hope you will invite us to opening night. That sounds like a performance we would love to see, does it not?"
He brushed long fingers against the Maw Walker's warm cheek, tracing the line of her face fondly. She leaned into his touch, her smile back in its proper place as she admitted, "Well, I do love a happy ending."
Read Part 2: The Harvester of Dominion| Visit the Masterpost
#prince renathal#Renathal x reader#Renathal x Maw Walker#Renathal x OC#revendreth#shadowlands#world of warcraft#fanfiction#Lady Moonberry#Draven#Covenant Assault#the Maw#Romance#established relationship#fluff#angst#venthyr#head canon#taking the tremaculum#light & shadows
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