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| Details |
| Author: | Alli |
| Summary: | On a visit to Silvermoon, Syarra heads out to retrieve Roper's lost spy cache, while she thinks about what they are to one another. |
| Rating: | M for Mature 17+ |
Syarra shifted the pack of climbing gear on her back, and looked out across the ruins of Silvermoon City. She'd left Falconwing square a while back, and there was little ahead of here beyond rubble. Rubble that had been the homes and workplaces of people she had once known. Maybe in another decade it would be hard for her to remember what it had been like. Or maybe it would be rebuilt by then. She sighed and walked forward, following the path she'd scouted on her previous trip.
This trip to Silvermoon had been successful beyond her expectations. The plans for her sword were right where she remembered leaving them. Lady Aro'Ephel not only remembered her - after some prompting - but offered her a path to legitimacy in Silvermoon society. And now, if she could find this cache, everything she'd planned would be accomplished.
Roper would be happy with the progress. Wouldn't he? She frowned, slipping past a crumbled wall silently in the close-fitting leather outfit she had selected for rock-climbing. No saronite today, though she had brought her runeblade. But happiness. She could feel happiness, sometimes, so it was likely the same for him. Only little flashes, brief sparks in the darkness, but it was there. If she could find the cache, if the lighter still worked, that should do it.
She hadn't reached out to Terian yet, but that could be left for another day. How did one approach a conversation like that? She could remember his smile, his laughter, dancing, and then… Aze would have said she was being unreasonable. And Syarra knew what nobles were often like. But it wasn't wrong, either, to want to be the only one.
Licking her lips, Syarra could taste the salt of the sea in the air. It wouldn't be much longer. She paused, setting one hand against a half-destroyed wall. Small pieces crumbled off of it, pattering lightly on the ground.
A coin falling to the stone floor. She hadn't expected that reaction. Corpses, dressing up like they're still real people. Just a bitter joke about all they'd lost, and she'd expected him to be amused. He had been, but it wasn't only that. She could feel the faint chill of his hands on hers. You could use it as another weapon.
She moved on, picking her way through the crumbled ruins of a happier time. It's possible she should have seen that coming. She'd latched onto him, Corduin, and Forge, from the beginning. And then after the battle, when the driving force was gone from her mind, there had been nothing. She looked out at the world and it seemed as empty as her soul. She carried a faint memory of a cornerstone, something that she had always looked to within herself for guidance, but it was gone.
She kept existing largely because seeking true death would have required more conviction than she could muster, continuing by instinct and reaching for anything that could scaffold the unstable structure of what she was now. Dealing pain and death, of course, but also obligations, memories… missions. And then there was Roper. How defeated he had looked, when she found him in Acherus. But then, after, it was his energy, his plans, his ambitions that started to pull her back into something shaped like a life.
Would she have simply sat in the corner like a broken doll, without seeing the way he decorated his cage? Would she have bothered trying to be anything more than an instrument of death against the Scourge and the Lich King? Did it mean something, that being near him made her want more than that? Closing her eyes briefly, she could see his lopsided grin, the burn scars on his hands, and hear the sound of an impatient tapping finger. Maybe she still didn't have any cornerstone, but she had more than one purpose, more than one mystery to unravel.
Then again, maybe she was being ridiculous. It felt right to reach out to him, but every time she did he acted like it was so unexpected. And she wasn't a Windrunner, she'd never gone after a human in life. But was she even sin'dorei anymore? Maybe not in a way that mattered, for this. She was older, yes, but he was old enough. And there was no reason, now, that he couldn't live as long as any elf. If one wanted to call what they were doing living.
Coming back into the present, Syarra realized she'd made it all the way to the cliffs. Looking out, the deep blue water stretched as far as the eye could see. She checked landmarks, north and south, and pulled out her map to consult. She was in the right place. Now it was just a matter of scaling a cliff alone. It shouldn't be a problem, she wouldn't even tire. She sat down, opening her pack to pull out the climbing gear and prepare for the descent.
If that first night, with the dress, had been an accident, the next week and its sea-blue dress had been a question. And she'd had her answer. His reference to Alleria and Turalyon. The way he touched her necklace, talked about her cloak, trapped her against the wall of the cage. Whatever words he used, she heard the meaning: Let this mean you're only mine.
But what was she even offering, really? What was he offering? A shared mission, a shared strategy, yes. She did not want to bed him. Or anyone, for that matter. There were no butterflies in her stomach, nor a pounding heart in her chest. There was a sharpening when he was near, like the world was coming into better focus. It was soothing to watch him, the way he moved, the way he spoke. And she could admit that she liked the way he watched her, studied her. It was unnerving at first, but then it felt like… being cherished, sought-after. Like the way he called out to her, whenever she was leaving, to delay the moment of departure.
Syarra clipped the last of the climbing harness in place and for a brief moment smiled at empty space. Then the spark was gone, and she settled down to the business of slowly descending the cliff. Carefully, setting anchors in place as she went. She didn't come this far just to fall to her true death. There were still things she had left to do. Excessive care wasn't needed, though. She would heal, from anything short of annihilation.
Well, that was one thing she had to offer, something that gave a certain sort of happiness. Like a bonfire at midnight 'n the middle of winter. She didn't enjoy suffering, of course, but she would always mend. She didn't understand why Roper tried so hard to avoid it. Don't tempt the other monster in the room with your pain, he'd said, but he didn't follow that advice himself.
Syarra paused, closing her eyes again and leaning against the wall to remember. So soft, so alluring, and it would be the easiest thing in the world to just let it continue. Maybe push it along a little. And then he would be dead. She was not going to let that happen. She took a breath, and moved her hand down to the next hold in the cliff, a little crevasse.
There was a sudden hissing sound. Syarra jerked back, losing one foothold in the process. She scrabbled back at the hole and managed to dislodge some kind of serpent that went flying into the abyss past her. Whoops. She felt the stone crumble under her one remaining foothold, and there was a sudden wrench of pain as all her weight fell on one arm. She lost her grip and fell.
Luckily, the anchors caught, and all she did was slam into the stone wall. Her arm didn't seem to be moving correctly. Dislocated? Leaving her weight on the lines for the moment, she reached over and popped the shoulder joint back into place. The pain would be gone by the time she got back to Acherus anyway. Gingerly, she explored the wall, finding new handholds and footholds, and continued the climb.
It wasn't much longer before she found the correct little hole in the wall, and a more careful exploration proved that it was both serpent-free and contained a dusty bag that looked exactly like the one she'd seen back in the hold. She smiled again, another brief spark. Roper would be happy.