World of Warcraft - Five worlds in which Koltira and Thassarian never met
Title: Five worlds in which Koltira and Thassarian never met.
Author: Shaded Mazoku.
Part: 1/1.
Disclaimer: Nothing but this idea belongs to me, and no profit is being made. Just borrowing for fun, here.
Warnings: None.
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: Five worlds in which Koltira and Thassarian never met.
Character/pairing(s): Thassarian/Koltira Deathweaver.
Fandom: World of Warcraft (fusion with Stargate Atlantis, Transformers and Final Fantasy VI)
Words: 5936.
Notes: At the end of the fic, for explanation's sake.
He was alone now, having left his men where they'd hopefully be safe. The remains of their ship weren't much, but it should still be possible to lock the doors and keep the enemy out, and hopefully buy his crew some time while he tries to find the gate.
It was an ice planet they'd crashed on, cold and unforgiving, the steep ice cliffs around him mazing him in like a laboratory rat. Out there, he was prey, unprotected by anything but the remnants of his padded uniform. Even before they'd crashed, the uniform was not intended for sub-zero temperatures, and he felt the chill to his bone, his hair and beard frozen.
His men hoped that the unforgiving climate of the planet would deter any followers.
He knew better.
If there was a gate on this world, he had to find it soon. The cold was a slow killer, almost gentle, but the creatures that followed them here were anything but.
There had been no sign of anyone since he'd left the ship, no flashes of dark coats or pale hair, only the dead silence of space. Too silent for a planet; even without life, the world had wind that tore at him as he walked, but he heard nothing. Just dead silence.
It was dark on the planet. It didn't seem to have a moon, just the stars glittering far out of reach, barely imparting any light at all. Not an ideal world for humans by any means. He had a small torch in his pocket, but he kept it hidden, knowing all too well the kind of attention it'd attract.
He gritted his teeth and kept on walking, counting each step in his mind as he walked, trying desperately to think of anything but being alone in the dark with something following him. His mind filled with images of his mother and sister back home, giving him the strength he sorely needed to even move in the biting cold, he took one step at a time, never looking back.
His men should be safe. The loss of one man was regrettable, but if he could save his men by luring their stalkers away, he'd gladly do so. If he could save them without dying, if he could reach the gate and dial home, he'd be delighted, but he hadn't expected to come out of this alive since he'd first stepped out of the wreck of their ship and first heard the engines of another ship in the distance.
Something caught his foot and he tripped, the ice shards on the ground tearing his hands as he tried to catch himself. The pain was sharp and searing, surprisingly hot in freezing air. He gasped, an gust of ice filling his lungs almost instantly. Staggering to his feet, something in the distance caught his eye. It was a shadow of something, something that looked a lot like an arc.
He put the last of his energy into a burst of speed, launching himself forward as fast as his feet and the slippery footing would let him. The scent of his blood had already made his presence obvious, and he knew that he had little time to do anything.
The gate loomed before him and he was almost at the dialling device as a figure stepped out from the shadow in front of him, just out of reach.
The wraith was tall, dressed in a dark coat that left only the hands and head free of cloth. In the dim light, his eyes glowed brightly, illuminating parts of his face, enough that an amused smirk could barely be seen.
Their eyes met and for what seemed like a small eternity, they stood looking at each other.
He managed to break away first, fumbling through his pockets for anything that could be used as a weapon. His fingers closed around a cold, hard cylinder.
As the wraith, too, broke free of the odd daze, he threw his hand up and flashed the beam of light into the wraith's eyes.
Hissing, the wraith drew back, baring sharp teeth in his direction.
The light wouldn't protect him further, he knew, but he kept it on the wraith anyway. Better an enemy you could see than one hidden in the shadows.
The wraith snarled but didn't move.
He'd never seen a wraith up close before, fascinated despite the situation. The wraith was about his size, though he seemed taller somehow, with pale green skin and pale hair, a small patch of beard on his chin. Almost attractive, in an alien, reptilian way. Caught up in his wraith-watching, he lost track of the wraith's hands, a mistake he paid for only moments later, agony searing through his body as the wraith slammed his hand against his chest, draining him.
Almost as suddenly as it had began, the agony stopped. He dropped to his knees and winced as the pain of the impact added itself to the soreness in his chest.
The wraith loomed above him, still illuminated by the torch's light. His lips were moving, forming words without sounds, words that might be names. Some seemed familiar, some were truly alien.
One was his, and that chilled him to the bone far more than the icy atmosphere could.
He staggered to his feet and was surprised as the wraith let him, just watching him with those cold, still faintly glowing eyes.
He watched the wraith back, feeling almost at ease, which was ridiculous and worrying.
Again, they stood staring at each other for a long time, neither speaking.
Finally, suddenly, the wraith turned away, disappearing into the night as though he had never been there in the first place.
Watching the other leave, a hand raised to his chest, he took a moment to calm himself before taking a deep breath and dialling for help, his mind no longer filled with just his family, but with images of green skin and pale hair. There had been something in the wraith's eyes at the end, just a brief flicker, but he needed to know why he'd been left alive.
Even as he reported his situation, he was already planning for the next time he saw the wraith.
And he knew he'd see him again soon.
2. Deathweaver was fearless. He was ruthless. He was a Seeker, a Decepticon elite warrior. He'd fought countless battles, killed more Autobots than he could remember, and there was nothing he feared. He had the sky under his wings as he danced in the updrafts, the planet its insignificant inhabitants called "earth" far below him. Every movement marked him as what he was, sparked in the towers of Vos to be a ruler of the sky. This was his element, in which nobody could challenge him. Here, he was untouchable.
In the skies, flying like he was sparked of the winds and clouds themselves, he could always find the peace that came with supremacy.
But not this time. Though his movements were grace incarnated, his pale green and silver dermaplating catching the sun, and the eye, his processor was in turmoil.
It was not the first time he'd tasted defeat in battle. He was proud, not foolish, and only fools thought themselves invincible. He'd been beaten before, but he'd gotten even eventually. Seekers on the ground were often underestimated, until their claws dug through dermaplating of those of their opponents stupid enough to turn their backs. Everyone could be defeated. Deathweaver's pride lay in still functioning, while most of those who'd defeated him didn't.
He rolled over, the vibrant blue markings on his arms and chest panels lighting up as they absorbed sunlight. His flight had grown almost languid, basking in the warmth of the sun and in the vast expanse of unclaimed sky, this dirt-ball of a planet's only redeeming quality. Cybertron hadn't had a living sun of its own in millennia and there are towers everywhere, spires breaking the horizon and making flying like this impossible. His optics shut down for a moment as he remembered the magnificence of Vos, how its spiralling towers kissed the sky in praise to the element all its citizens were born to conquer. Going into a dive, he tried in vain to keep the images he knew would follow away.
Vos burning, its towers crumbling away in an ocean of destruction and fire.
Pulling up only moments before he hit the sea, Deathweaver let his claws dip into the cool water. His mind still reeled, the memories he wanted gone before returning to base still as clear as the reflection beneath him.
A battle like any other, Autobots against Decepticons, fighting over an energy converter. Megatron had barked out orders and the Decepticons had gone into battle, following their commander's lead. Not without misgivings, of course. Megatron's rule grated on more than just Starscream, though the rest of them were usually more subtle. Deathweaver had no urge to follow the air commander's example. But then, he didn't crave the silver tyrant's attention the way Starscream did.
Let the air commander have Megatron's brutish ways. Deathweaver would never want his cruel servos on his plating.
Images of dull charcoal and silver came unbidden to his processor; of large, solid hands on his wings, reverent touches and pale, vibrant blue optics set in a silver face, framed by strange purple marks.
Instantly furious again, Deathweaver rose through the clouds as fast as his thrusters could carry him. He flew in his natural form, not his jet mode. As a jet, he was faster, but he felt more aware like this, the winds on his face plate as much as on his wings. Again, his mind drifted back to the earlier fight, as he wove through the cloud cover almost without thought.
The battle had gone as usual, a big pile of fighting mechs, their leaders trying their best to beat each other into going offline. Starscream had screeched through the Seeker bonds about the stupidity of using fliers for ground combat, but though he agreed that they should be in the air, he knew better than to listen to the air commander's ranting.
The humans had gotten involved, a shock bomb dropped in their midst that had scattered the combatants. Deathweaver chuckled at the memory of the look on Optimus Prime's face, or what was visible of it. Not shock, not anger, but a deep disappointment. He'd wanted to believe the humans were better. Deathweaver would call him an idealistic fool, were he to adress him at all. Even after all this time, the Prime hadn't learned.
Deathweaver had.
Nobody was better or worse. They were all the same, fighting a ridiculous battle over stagnant memories. The only reason he still remained with the Decepticons were that they were willing to be ruthless.
The humans' attack had done nothing but enrage Megatron. Their leader was not entirely sane any more, Deathweaver knew, worn down by a war that had lasted so long nobody seemed to remember what they were fighting for any more. He'd charged the humans, fusion cannon first, and for all his complaints, Starscream had been right behind him.
Not willing to make himself that much of a target, Deathweaver had launched himself at a group to the side, taking advantage of their momentary distraction to knock all three of them into stasis. He'd been prepared to make sure they would never wake again when he'd been grabbed and thrown a good distance away from the main battlefield. He'd caught himself with his thrusters before he'd hit the ground, but he still hadn't seen the attacker.
It was an Autobot, of course, one he'd never seen before. One of the newcomers to the enemy ranks. A mech, as tall as he was, immense for an Autobot, and with a dull blue-charcoal chassis with silver details, purple marks lining his optics in the style of an gladiator.
Hissing in his anger, Deathweaver had gone into battle.
And he'd lost.
The loss mattered little. He still functioned. He could still take the mech down another time. But the mech had taken damage, too, and for a moment, he'd sat next to Deathweaver, only the sound of their vents working overtime being exchanged between them. Then the mech had risen and he'd been magnificent just then, sunlight glinting of his silver detailing, blue optics like fire. His servos had ran across the edge of Deathweaver's wings, the caress of a victor appraising his spoils of war, and Deathweaver's fans had hitched.
Nobody had touched him like that.
His wing mates had called him then, and he'd snapped out of it as the mech did the same, a strange mix of emotion on his faceplate; disgust, unease and a raw hunger. With a roar of his thrusters, Deathweaver had joined his trine in the sky, ignoring Sliver's com calls as he flew away, despite the lack of an order to retreat.
It hadn't mattered in the end. Like always, Megatron blamed the Prime and Starscream both for their defeat, there was chaos among the Decepticons and Deathweaver refused to return to base until he'd cleared his processor. Soundwave would see, and Soundwave was the only Decepticon Deathweaver truly feared.
So he flew. To any onlooker, he was a Seeker claiming the sky as his own.
But his processor was still flooded with the feeling of hands on his wings, of searing blue optics meeting his own, and of being claimed like he had claimed the sky.
3. Thassarian ducked under an outcropping in the dried-up riverbed. He wasn't sure how much that could be seen from the tower, but he wasn't about to take any chances. Besides, the area was filled with roaming monsters. Drawing undue attention would only cause trouble.
Being a Returner had never been safe, but after the world had been destroyed, it'd been even worse. He'd had to be even more careful now than before, or something might lead back to Leryssa. He couldn't have dealt with that. Not Leryssa. The breaking of the world had already claimed his parents. He couldn't lose his sister, too. If that meant having to live in solitude, then that was what he would do. Better that he be lonely than to lose the last person who mattered to him.
Still, scouts had reported something down here, in the river bed, something glimmering when the sun hit it just right. It could only be seen from this side of the cliff, not the other side, which was probably why it was still there. The tower was on the other side.
The wait was long and warm, and he wished he'd brought water with him. Sunset was approaching, though, so hopefully, he could get out of there soon.
He wasn't expecting much. The few scattered Returners that were left had tried their best to find anything they could use against Kefka, to stop his reign of terror, but nothing they found seemed to do any good. Most likely, this would be more shrapnel from the destruction of Vector, or more chunks of crystal, but they couldn't afford to let anything go unchecked.
Finally, the rays of the setting sun hit the spots underneath the outcrop and something gleamed, catching his eye.
Thassarian took a deep breath and started clearing the rocks and dirt away.
His fingers encountered something smooth and hard, warm to the touch and almost pulsing. His instincts realised what it was he had found, but his mind still refused to believe. Carefully, he lifted the crystal out of the dirt and wrapped it in strips of fabric from his bag, before placing it inside.
He made his way back to his secluded cabin as fast as he could, keeping out of sight as much as he could. Only when he was safely inside, blinds and doors shuttered, did he dare to take the crystal out and unwrap it. He sat down, the crystal warm in his hands and pulsing as though it was alive. In many ways, it was.
Magicite.
It was the stuff of legends, a source of the magic that had destroyed their world. By all rights, he should destroy it outright. But the magicite pulsed like a heart's beat in his hands, familiar and almost comforting. He'd been alone since the breaking, unwilling to do risk anyone else. The scouts and the travelling merchants were the only people he talked to, and even that was for short moments only.
The warmth of the magicite felt soothing.
There were ways to call on the Espers bound in the magicite, but Thassarian had no idea how to do that. There were few people alive who did, and those were scattered all over the world, in hiding. If he could learn, an Esper could be a valuable tool against Kefka. They had as much reason to hate him as anyone. But he had no idea where he could learn to use Magicite.
Despite knowing nothing about Magicite, he found himself reluctant to let go of the rock. It felt almost alive in his hands. He carried it with him, cradled against his chest. The heat it emitted was comforting. Pathetic as though it might be, he felt much less lonely with it against his body. The way it pulsed was soothing.
Closing his eyes, he could almost feel the stone's pulsations in his brain.
/...warm.../
He jumped, startled. "Hello?"
/warmstrongcalmprotected/
It was a voice in his mind, soft but clear, even if its words made little sense.
/...warmgoodstrong...name?/
Either he was losing his mind, or he was actually talking to the stone. With Espers, either might be a likely answer.
"My name is Thassarian," he said, his voice surprisingly loud in the empty room.
/...sarian.../ The voice resonated in his head.
Thassarian smiled softly, running his fingers over the surface of the stone. "You're an Esper," he stated.
/...Esper...yes...Returner?/
"Yes," he confirmed.
/Call...callme.../
He paused. "Call you?" The Esper wanted to be summoned, apparently. However, he had no idea how to do so. "I don't know how to call you."
/callname...call...Koltira.../
"Your name is Koltira?" The name sounded strange to him, but he knew nothing of Espers, except that they were a possible ally against Kefka.
/yescallnamewantsummonwant/
Sighing, he cradled the stone further against his chest. The stone pulsed faster and harder, its heat spreading through his body. "Come then, Koltira!" He called.
Nothing happened.
/needtoneedwantsummoncallcrave!/
Thassarian hadn't let himself want anything in years. He'd forced himself to leave anything important to him behind. His sister, his friends, his life. Wanting led to distraction and that wasn't something he could afford. But the stone burned against his chest now, blazing hot, reminding him of all the things he couldn't have.
"I can't," he sighed, biting his lip. "I don't know how."
/know...remember...want/
Unbidden, memories flashed before his eyes. The warmth of Leryssa's smile; the calm of William next to him, laughing at something. The smell of his mother's pies and the sound of his father's laughter. He'd lost so much to the Breaking. And he was so alone.
He didn't want to be.
The stone pulsed in his hand a last time as energy surged through him, his mouth moving on its own accord even though he couldn't hear what he was saying.
Light spread through the room like a nova, then faded.
"Thank you."
Warm arms encircled his shoulders, long light hair falling into his face. Thassarian closed his eyes and leaned back into the embrace.
He was no longer alone.
4. Koltira snorted and adjusted his sunglasses. That had been an exercise in futility. Two hundred dollars for a man who had to cover his walls in diplomas to convince himself of his own worth to tell him that he was depressed. Like he didn't know that already. He'd lost his brother and his sister-in-law in a car crash. Faltora had been his last living family, and he'd watched him die. Of course he was depressed.
Sighing, he looked around. The psychiatrist's office was in a part of the city he wasn't familiar with. Unlike the places he frequented, this part of the city was filled with tiny little stores and offices, included that of his psychiatrist. The appointment had utterly ruined his will to go back to work, so he decided to walk back to the office instead of calling a taxi.
As he walked down the street, the scent of coffee and baked goods caught his attention. A small café in between two larger apartment buildings seemed to be the source. It was a tiny little place, but it looked well kept and clean, and the smell was heavenly. Making up his mind, Koltira crossed the street and opened the door, walking up to the counter to look over the menu.
They had quite a nice selection for such a small place. Much more interesting than the fancy coffee shops his colleagues worshipped as though they were deities. Koltira never had developed much of a taste for coffee, anyway, and those shops never had decent tea. Twenty-seven flavours of coffee but the best they could offer was the choice between Earl Grey or English Breakfast tea.
"A cup of orange tea and one of your lava cupcakes, please," he told the dark-haired woman behind the counter, handing her the payment almost automatically.
She smiled at him. "Right away!"
Koltira gave her a nod in return and sat down on one of the bar stools. A break, some cake and a nice cup of tea was a far more tempting option than the anti-depressives the psychiatrist had offered.
It didn't take long before the woman set the tea and cake in front of him, smiling cheerfully. He'd never understand how someone could manage to maintain that sort of disposition. Koltira was lucky if he could manage a "you are an idiot and I will chew your throat out" grin on the best of days.
The tea was delicious, though, sweet without being too sweet and wonderfully soothing. What the tea lacked in sweetness, the cake more than made up for. It was like an explosion in his tastebuds; sweet, just a little bitter and with a surprising bite to it. Apparently, there was a hint of chilli in the cake. The rest of the cake was eaten with more genuine pleasure than he'd felt in a long time.
Maybe he did need that therapist, if the best thing in his life was a chocolate cake. Even if it was a very good one. Of course, he could just eat more cake. It was much more tempting than having a psychiatrist dig into his childhood. Clearly, his perfectly ordinary childhood with loving parents, a younger brother and three pet cats was the root of all his problems, and not the fact that he'd seen his brother die. The damn man would probably suggest he had an Oedipal complex or something next.
Snorting, Koltira licked the last of the chocolate off of his spoon. He'd have to come here more often. Maybe he should order some of the cakes to go. Might be nice to have something to bribe Sunstrider with, to help facilitate his unscheduled lunch breaks going "unnoticed". Not that he thought his boss really cared as long as he did his work.
Lacing his fingers around his cup, he allowed himself a moment to just soak up the heat. It felt nice. He was half tempted to order another cake, but there was limits to what his metabolism would let him get away with. Just sitting here with sunlight on his back and warm tea in his hands, and the scent of orange in the air, was nice.
The door opened behind him and someone came in, walking over and sitting down a few chairs over. "The usual, Leryssa," a man's voice said.
"Sure thing," the woman behind the counter replied, still sounding as cheerful as ever.
"Excuse me?" The man asked. "Could I bother you for the time?".
It took Koltira a moment to realise the man was talking to him.
The woman chuckled. "Oh, Thassarian," she said, fondly. "Please tell me you haven't lost your cell phone again."
The man didn't answer.
Koltira fished his Blackberry out of his pocket and checked the time, then turned to give the man one of the false smiles he'd perfected so well. The fake smile faded from his face as he met the man's eyes, though. They were blue like his, and like his, they seemed far older than their owner could possibly be.
He found himself staring, but then, the man was staring back, a bemused smile on his face.
For the first time, Koltira understood those who described attraction as lightening striking from clear skies.
5.
An old saying claimed that meeting someone once was an accident, twice in a day was a coincidence, and meeting someone three times in a day was a sign that their destines were crossed.
Thassarian first met the elf by sheer accident, bumping into him as he tried weaving his way though the crowded streets of Lordaeron.
Disoriented at first, the elf blinked at him a few times, then smiled, all grace and exotic appearance, and before Thassarian could apologize, the other had disappeared in the crowd. Thassarian had to shake his head to clear it before chasing after Leryssa's back, not willing to get separated in the masses.
The second time they met that day was by a stall in the market. Leryssa had been talking about taking up tailoring, and was looking for decent but affordable materials to train on. Thassarian was bored even before they arrived at the stall, but he had promised his sister to come with her, and he kept his promises. Still, as his sister chatted with the merchants to find the best deals, he stayed in the background and occupied himself with some apples he had bought earlier while watching the crowds around the stall.
Many people came from far away to attend the monthly market in Lordaeron. Though most of the crowd were human, there was the occasional dwarf, gnome and elf, weaving their way through the masses like everyone else. Two elves had approached the stall at some point, looking at the many fabrics and conversing silently in their own language. Both were high elves, dressed in spell casters' robes and with jewellery that glowed in time with their eyes. One was a very comely female, whose garments left little to the imagination, and many eyes were on her.
One of her watchers was yet another high elf, which surprised Thassarian a little. Years could go between every time an elf willingly left the forests of Quel'danas, and this was the fourth he saw in a day. This one wore a sword, unlike the two at the stall, and his expression was one of protective pride as he watched the elven woman.
A movement at his side drew his attention, and Thassarian turned his head to see the elf he had bumped into earlier lean against a post with an amused smile on his face, eyeing the other three elves. His eyes met Thassarian's, and he nodded in acknowledgement. Apparently, they were the only two males around not staring at the elf woman.
Thassarian sort of wanted to speak to him, but the crowd around them were too loud for conversation to come easy, and in any case, elves weren't exactly known to talk to humans that much. Their lifespans and seclusion meant they were often haughty towards other races. This elf, though, didn't seem particularly arrogant or dismissing to him, though.
On an impulse, Thassarian held one of his apples out to the elf, who accepted it with a raised eyebrow and a small smile. Their fingers brushed against each other as the fruit was passed over, a brief but warm touch.
All too soon, the moment was over, as the two elven mages disappeared into the crowd. Their watcher called out, and the elf went to join him, apple still in hand. Soon, they had also disappeared into the crowd.
Sighing a little, Thassarian waited for Leryssa to finish her own purchases.
The third meeting was later in the evening. By the time Leryssa had finished all her errands, and they'd gotten the supplies for the farm they'd originally come for, it was too late to return home, and so they'd taken a room at one of the city's many inns. Leryssa had met up with some female friends and had been whisked off to help plan a surprise for another friend, leaving Thassarian by himself. He was pretty satisfied with that. With all the crowds that had been all over the city all day, it was nice to finally have some peace and quiet.
The inn they'd chosen was a smaller one, more affordable than the large and luxurious ones but less crowded than the cheapest inns. It didn't have that many people in the common room, and Thassarian had managed to find himself a table in a corner, settling down to enjoy a nice supper and some good dwarven ale. As he ate, he was going through the things that needed improving on the farm in his head, planning out where to put the new barn they needed and where they needed to clear more land.
He was so caught up in his plans that he didn't notice that he was being approached until someone sat down at the other side of the table.
Looking up, he found himself looking at the elf for the third time that day, this time up close. He was strikingly attractive, as was often the case with elves, with lightly tanned skin and light blond hair that seemed to have a mind of his own. There was an amused smile playing on his lips, and he had a glass of wine in one hand, dangling it carelessly.
"You don't mind the company, do you?" He asked.
Thassarian shook his head. "Not at all."
They spoke for a while, about little things. The elf's name was Koltira, Thassarian learned, and he was here with his brother, his brother's fiancée and the fiancée's friend, to visit the market and the Royal Library of Lordaeron before travelling on to visit Dalaran. Thassarian told him about his own errands in town in return, and about Leryssa. Koltira, as it turned out, had a sly sense of humour, explaining that they did have rooms at one of the larger inns, but that he'd rather not spend the night in the company of the male mage, as he was apparently the kind who stayed up all night reading and had little sense of fun.
"You seemed more interesting," Koltira offered, waving a waitress over to order another glass of wine.
It had been a while since Thassarian had spent time just talking with someone. He did so with William, but Will was away for a year, studying blacksmithing in Ironforge, and though he was on good terms with most people in their community, he didn't have many true friends. Koltira was easy to talk to, which surprised him, because Thassarian was never quite at ease talking to people he found attractive, and he'd have to be blind and deaf not to be taken with the elf's natural allure.
Of course he knew that nothing would come of it, and he kept such things to himself, but he was still greatly enjoying spending time with Koltira. Talking to him seemed almost automatic.
As the evening passed, Thassarian had to admit he was a little drunk. Not much, and he would likely feel fine in the morning, but he was definitely feeling the effect of the ale he'd been drinking. If Koltira felt the same effect from the wine, he hid it well, but he'd pulled his chair closer and leaned near as he talked, creating an illusion of intimacy that felt almost too natural.
He'd probably never see Koltira again after that evening, Thassarian thought, and that thought sobered him up a little. Just because he felt so much at ease with the elf didn't mean the other felt the same way, and he should probably stop drinking and go to bed before he got his hopes up.
At least he didn't sway as he got to his feet, and he took that as a good sign, as he somewhat hastily bade Koltira farewell and headed upstairs.
He paused in the hallway on the upper floor and leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath. Most of all, he wanted to go downstairs and talk to Koltira more, just to spend more time in his company, and it wasn't the most pleasant of feelings. He was sure he was good company to pass some time with, but he had little to offer an elf apart from that brief respite from boredom. Better to back off now than to feel even worse later, or so he supposed.
Sighing again, he turned to go down the hall to the room he shared with Leryssa.
A hand on his wrist stopped him.
Koltira moved far too silently for someone who was as tall as Thassarian was and wearing armour.
"Is everything all right?" he asked, what seemed like concern on his face. It was hard to read the glowing blue elf eyes properly.
Thassarian nodded. "I just..." Didn't want to miss Koltira more the next day than he was already going to. He had no idea how to explain it, because he couldn't explain to himself why Koltira felt so familiar to him.
The elf nodded, slipping his hand down from Thassarian's wrist, entangling their fingers. His hand was warm in Thassarian's, warm and strong, and alarmingly real.
Carefully, Thassarian looked down at their clasped hands and pulled Koltira a little closer. Standing like that, they could both feel the heat from each other's bodies. It was nice.
The sound of someone else coming stumbling up the stairs ruined the moment, and for a moment, they just stared at each other in bewilderment, before Koltira tugged on Thassarian's hand, dragging him down the hall and to a door, which he unlocked with some difficulty. Thassarian let him pull him inside, closing the door behind them.
Still holding onto his hand, Koltira pulled him over and pressed their lips together in a kiss that was honestly more awkward than anything.
They both burst out laughing, relief flooding Thassarian's body as he did. Koltira's head dropped to his shoulder as he laughed, his left ear tickling Thassarian's neck. Thassarian wrapped his arms around Koltira and just held on until they had to catch their breath from laughing too hard.
When they'd both calmed down a little, Thassarian mirrored Koltira's earlier move, lifting the elf's face up so he could kiss him.
It worked a lot better, that time, an unmistakeable feeling of rightness filling them both. Once they pulled apart this time, Koltira sat down on the bed, inviting Thassarian to sit next to him. Thassarian didn't need to be asked twice.
Like their meetings, their third kiss was better than both the previous ones, and from there on, the kisses just kept improving.
None of the kisses were as good as waking up the next morning with Koltira wrapped in his arms, though.
1.This was the one that started this idea. Koltira looks a lot like one of the Wraith from Stargate Atlantis. For those who haven't seen SGA, the Wraith are alien life-sucking vampires, descended from bugs. They're all tall, white-haired (as least the men) and more or less green-tinged. They're also prone to random facial hair. They drain life-force and makes you older, but I'm sure Koltira didn't steal too much of Thassarian's life before he decided to let him go. I imagine Koltira is a hive-less Wraith here, gone somewhat loopy and very lonely from the lack of the psychic network. Wraith mainly communicate telepathically.
I'm not sure if Thassarian is Atlantis crew or Traveler, here. He could be any Pegasus native, except that only the Travelers and the Lanteans have spaceships, so presumably he's one of those.
2.Seeker!Koltira. For the TF-challenged, that means he's a jet plane Transformer working for the Decepticons, the bad guys. He's so angry and bitter in canon that I have no problem imagining him as one of Starscream's disillusioned air troops. His trine mates would be Baron Sliver and Bloodrose Datura, as just Sliver and Bloodrose, because those sort of sound like Cybertronian designations. Also, Soundwave is scary.
The markings on Thassarian's face in canon looks a lot like those Megatron has in Megatron Origins, when he's a gladiator.
3.Final Fantasy VI is my main fandom, so a cross-over seemed natural. Koltira is an Esper in this one, a magical creature that can be summoned to aid in battle. Magicite is what they become once they're dead, but they can still be allies even after death, so I guess Koltira is sort of undead in this setting, too. This is set in World of Ruin, after the villain has broken the world. It's not a nice place. Thassarian is part of the Returners, a resistance group.
4.Modern day Koltira and Thassarian. Koltira is a businessman, working for Kael'thas Sunstrider, an evil CEO of some sort. I have no idea what Thassarian is. Except gay for Koltira...
5.Surprisingly, this one was the one that gave me a twinge of ouchiness. Perfect!Azeroth AU. In this world, Arthas never got all possessed, and is busy fighting over Jaina Proudmoore with Kael'thas. Eventually, Arthas will win and Kael will be driven into not-a-demon!Illidan's arms, or something. No Plague of Undeath, no Burning Legion, and nothing like that. Thrall is a happy Orc in Nagrand, the trolls are still living unbothered on their island, Gnomeregan isn't fucked up and Kel'Thuzad owns the best cattery in Azeroth (he's married to Donni Anthania, the crazy cat lady in Elwynn).
Author: Shaded Mazoku.
Part: 1/1.
Disclaimer: Nothing but this idea belongs to me, and no profit is being made. Just borrowing for fun, here.
Warnings: None.
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: Five worlds in which Koltira and Thassarian never met.
Character/pairing(s): Thassarian/Koltira Deathweaver.
Fandom: World of Warcraft (fusion with Stargate Atlantis, Transformers and Final Fantasy VI)
Words: 5936.
Notes: At the end of the fic, for explanation's sake.
He was alone now, having left his men where they'd hopefully be safe. The remains of their ship weren't much, but it should still be possible to lock the doors and keep the enemy out, and hopefully buy his crew some time while he tries to find the gate.
It was an ice planet they'd crashed on, cold and unforgiving, the steep ice cliffs around him mazing him in like a laboratory rat. Out there, he was prey, unprotected by anything but the remnants of his padded uniform. Even before they'd crashed, the uniform was not intended for sub-zero temperatures, and he felt the chill to his bone, his hair and beard frozen.
His men hoped that the unforgiving climate of the planet would deter any followers.
He knew better.
If there was a gate on this world, he had to find it soon. The cold was a slow killer, almost gentle, but the creatures that followed them here were anything but.
There had been no sign of anyone since he'd left the ship, no flashes of dark coats or pale hair, only the dead silence of space. Too silent for a planet; even without life, the world had wind that tore at him as he walked, but he heard nothing. Just dead silence.
It was dark on the planet. It didn't seem to have a moon, just the stars glittering far out of reach, barely imparting any light at all. Not an ideal world for humans by any means. He had a small torch in his pocket, but he kept it hidden, knowing all too well the kind of attention it'd attract.
He gritted his teeth and kept on walking, counting each step in his mind as he walked, trying desperately to think of anything but being alone in the dark with something following him. His mind filled with images of his mother and sister back home, giving him the strength he sorely needed to even move in the biting cold, he took one step at a time, never looking back.
His men should be safe. The loss of one man was regrettable, but if he could save his men by luring their stalkers away, he'd gladly do so. If he could save them without dying, if he could reach the gate and dial home, he'd be delighted, but he hadn't expected to come out of this alive since he'd first stepped out of the wreck of their ship and first heard the engines of another ship in the distance.
Something caught his foot and he tripped, the ice shards on the ground tearing his hands as he tried to catch himself. The pain was sharp and searing, surprisingly hot in freezing air. He gasped, an gust of ice filling his lungs almost instantly. Staggering to his feet, something in the distance caught his eye. It was a shadow of something, something that looked a lot like an arc.
He put the last of his energy into a burst of speed, launching himself forward as fast as his feet and the slippery footing would let him. The scent of his blood had already made his presence obvious, and he knew that he had little time to do anything.
The gate loomed before him and he was almost at the dialling device as a figure stepped out from the shadow in front of him, just out of reach.
The wraith was tall, dressed in a dark coat that left only the hands and head free of cloth. In the dim light, his eyes glowed brightly, illuminating parts of his face, enough that an amused smirk could barely be seen.
Their eyes met and for what seemed like a small eternity, they stood looking at each other.
He managed to break away first, fumbling through his pockets for anything that could be used as a weapon. His fingers closed around a cold, hard cylinder.
As the wraith, too, broke free of the odd daze, he threw his hand up and flashed the beam of light into the wraith's eyes.
Hissing, the wraith drew back, baring sharp teeth in his direction.
The light wouldn't protect him further, he knew, but he kept it on the wraith anyway. Better an enemy you could see than one hidden in the shadows.
The wraith snarled but didn't move.
He'd never seen a wraith up close before, fascinated despite the situation. The wraith was about his size, though he seemed taller somehow, with pale green skin and pale hair, a small patch of beard on his chin. Almost attractive, in an alien, reptilian way. Caught up in his wraith-watching, he lost track of the wraith's hands, a mistake he paid for only moments later, agony searing through his body as the wraith slammed his hand against his chest, draining him.
Almost as suddenly as it had began, the agony stopped. He dropped to his knees and winced as the pain of the impact added itself to the soreness in his chest.
The wraith loomed above him, still illuminated by the torch's light. His lips were moving, forming words without sounds, words that might be names. Some seemed familiar, some were truly alien.
One was his, and that chilled him to the bone far more than the icy atmosphere could.
He staggered to his feet and was surprised as the wraith let him, just watching him with those cold, still faintly glowing eyes.
He watched the wraith back, feeling almost at ease, which was ridiculous and worrying.
Again, they stood staring at each other for a long time, neither speaking.
Finally, suddenly, the wraith turned away, disappearing into the night as though he had never been there in the first place.
Watching the other leave, a hand raised to his chest, he took a moment to calm himself before taking a deep breath and dialling for help, his mind no longer filled with just his family, but with images of green skin and pale hair. There had been something in the wraith's eyes at the end, just a brief flicker, but he needed to know why he'd been left alive.
Even as he reported his situation, he was already planning for the next time he saw the wraith.
And he knew he'd see him again soon.
2. Deathweaver was fearless. He was ruthless. He was a Seeker, a Decepticon elite warrior. He'd fought countless battles, killed more Autobots than he could remember, and there was nothing he feared. He had the sky under his wings as he danced in the updrafts, the planet its insignificant inhabitants called "earth" far below him. Every movement marked him as what he was, sparked in the towers of Vos to be a ruler of the sky. This was his element, in which nobody could challenge him. Here, he was untouchable.
In the skies, flying like he was sparked of the winds and clouds themselves, he could always find the peace that came with supremacy.
But not this time. Though his movements were grace incarnated, his pale green and silver dermaplating catching the sun, and the eye, his processor was in turmoil.
It was not the first time he'd tasted defeat in battle. He was proud, not foolish, and only fools thought themselves invincible. He'd been beaten before, but he'd gotten even eventually. Seekers on the ground were often underestimated, until their claws dug through dermaplating of those of their opponents stupid enough to turn their backs. Everyone could be defeated. Deathweaver's pride lay in still functioning, while most of those who'd defeated him didn't.
He rolled over, the vibrant blue markings on his arms and chest panels lighting up as they absorbed sunlight. His flight had grown almost languid, basking in the warmth of the sun and in the vast expanse of unclaimed sky, this dirt-ball of a planet's only redeeming quality. Cybertron hadn't had a living sun of its own in millennia and there are towers everywhere, spires breaking the horizon and making flying like this impossible. His optics shut down for a moment as he remembered the magnificence of Vos, how its spiralling towers kissed the sky in praise to the element all its citizens were born to conquer. Going into a dive, he tried in vain to keep the images he knew would follow away.
Vos burning, its towers crumbling away in an ocean of destruction and fire.
Pulling up only moments before he hit the sea, Deathweaver let his claws dip into the cool water. His mind still reeled, the memories he wanted gone before returning to base still as clear as the reflection beneath him.
A battle like any other, Autobots against Decepticons, fighting over an energy converter. Megatron had barked out orders and the Decepticons had gone into battle, following their commander's lead. Not without misgivings, of course. Megatron's rule grated on more than just Starscream, though the rest of them were usually more subtle. Deathweaver had no urge to follow the air commander's example. But then, he didn't crave the silver tyrant's attention the way Starscream did.
Let the air commander have Megatron's brutish ways. Deathweaver would never want his cruel servos on his plating.
Images of dull charcoal and silver came unbidden to his processor; of large, solid hands on his wings, reverent touches and pale, vibrant blue optics set in a silver face, framed by strange purple marks.
Instantly furious again, Deathweaver rose through the clouds as fast as his thrusters could carry him. He flew in his natural form, not his jet mode. As a jet, he was faster, but he felt more aware like this, the winds on his face plate as much as on his wings. Again, his mind drifted back to the earlier fight, as he wove through the cloud cover almost without thought.
The battle had gone as usual, a big pile of fighting mechs, their leaders trying their best to beat each other into going offline. Starscream had screeched through the Seeker bonds about the stupidity of using fliers for ground combat, but though he agreed that they should be in the air, he knew better than to listen to the air commander's ranting.
The humans had gotten involved, a shock bomb dropped in their midst that had scattered the combatants. Deathweaver chuckled at the memory of the look on Optimus Prime's face, or what was visible of it. Not shock, not anger, but a deep disappointment. He'd wanted to believe the humans were better. Deathweaver would call him an idealistic fool, were he to adress him at all. Even after all this time, the Prime hadn't learned.
Deathweaver had.
Nobody was better or worse. They were all the same, fighting a ridiculous battle over stagnant memories. The only reason he still remained with the Decepticons were that they were willing to be ruthless.
The humans' attack had done nothing but enrage Megatron. Their leader was not entirely sane any more, Deathweaver knew, worn down by a war that had lasted so long nobody seemed to remember what they were fighting for any more. He'd charged the humans, fusion cannon first, and for all his complaints, Starscream had been right behind him.
Not willing to make himself that much of a target, Deathweaver had launched himself at a group to the side, taking advantage of their momentary distraction to knock all three of them into stasis. He'd been prepared to make sure they would never wake again when he'd been grabbed and thrown a good distance away from the main battlefield. He'd caught himself with his thrusters before he'd hit the ground, but he still hadn't seen the attacker.
It was an Autobot, of course, one he'd never seen before. One of the newcomers to the enemy ranks. A mech, as tall as he was, immense for an Autobot, and with a dull blue-charcoal chassis with silver details, purple marks lining his optics in the style of an gladiator.
Hissing in his anger, Deathweaver had gone into battle.
And he'd lost.
The loss mattered little. He still functioned. He could still take the mech down another time. But the mech had taken damage, too, and for a moment, he'd sat next to Deathweaver, only the sound of their vents working overtime being exchanged between them. Then the mech had risen and he'd been magnificent just then, sunlight glinting of his silver detailing, blue optics like fire. His servos had ran across the edge of Deathweaver's wings, the caress of a victor appraising his spoils of war, and Deathweaver's fans had hitched.
Nobody had touched him like that.
His wing mates had called him then, and he'd snapped out of it as the mech did the same, a strange mix of emotion on his faceplate; disgust, unease and a raw hunger. With a roar of his thrusters, Deathweaver had joined his trine in the sky, ignoring Sliver's com calls as he flew away, despite the lack of an order to retreat.
It hadn't mattered in the end. Like always, Megatron blamed the Prime and Starscream both for their defeat, there was chaos among the Decepticons and Deathweaver refused to return to base until he'd cleared his processor. Soundwave would see, and Soundwave was the only Decepticon Deathweaver truly feared.
So he flew. To any onlooker, he was a Seeker claiming the sky as his own.
But his processor was still flooded with the feeling of hands on his wings, of searing blue optics meeting his own, and of being claimed like he had claimed the sky.
3. Thassarian ducked under an outcropping in the dried-up riverbed. He wasn't sure how much that could be seen from the tower, but he wasn't about to take any chances. Besides, the area was filled with roaming monsters. Drawing undue attention would only cause trouble.
Being a Returner had never been safe, but after the world had been destroyed, it'd been even worse. He'd had to be even more careful now than before, or something might lead back to Leryssa. He couldn't have dealt with that. Not Leryssa. The breaking of the world had already claimed his parents. He couldn't lose his sister, too. If that meant having to live in solitude, then that was what he would do. Better that he be lonely than to lose the last person who mattered to him.
Still, scouts had reported something down here, in the river bed, something glimmering when the sun hit it just right. It could only be seen from this side of the cliff, not the other side, which was probably why it was still there. The tower was on the other side.
The wait was long and warm, and he wished he'd brought water with him. Sunset was approaching, though, so hopefully, he could get out of there soon.
He wasn't expecting much. The few scattered Returners that were left had tried their best to find anything they could use against Kefka, to stop his reign of terror, but nothing they found seemed to do any good. Most likely, this would be more shrapnel from the destruction of Vector, or more chunks of crystal, but they couldn't afford to let anything go unchecked.
Finally, the rays of the setting sun hit the spots underneath the outcrop and something gleamed, catching his eye.
Thassarian took a deep breath and started clearing the rocks and dirt away.
His fingers encountered something smooth and hard, warm to the touch and almost pulsing. His instincts realised what it was he had found, but his mind still refused to believe. Carefully, he lifted the crystal out of the dirt and wrapped it in strips of fabric from his bag, before placing it inside.
He made his way back to his secluded cabin as fast as he could, keeping out of sight as much as he could. Only when he was safely inside, blinds and doors shuttered, did he dare to take the crystal out and unwrap it. He sat down, the crystal warm in his hands and pulsing as though it was alive. In many ways, it was.
Magicite.
It was the stuff of legends, a source of the magic that had destroyed their world. By all rights, he should destroy it outright. But the magicite pulsed like a heart's beat in his hands, familiar and almost comforting. He'd been alone since the breaking, unwilling to do risk anyone else. The scouts and the travelling merchants were the only people he talked to, and even that was for short moments only.
The warmth of the magicite felt soothing.
There were ways to call on the Espers bound in the magicite, but Thassarian had no idea how to do that. There were few people alive who did, and those were scattered all over the world, in hiding. If he could learn, an Esper could be a valuable tool against Kefka. They had as much reason to hate him as anyone. But he had no idea where he could learn to use Magicite.
Despite knowing nothing about Magicite, he found himself reluctant to let go of the rock. It felt almost alive in his hands. He carried it with him, cradled against his chest. The heat it emitted was comforting. Pathetic as though it might be, he felt much less lonely with it against his body. The way it pulsed was soothing.
Closing his eyes, he could almost feel the stone's pulsations in his brain.
/...warm.../
He jumped, startled. "Hello?"
/warmstrongcalmprotected/
It was a voice in his mind, soft but clear, even if its words made little sense.
/...warmgoodstrong...name?/
Either he was losing his mind, or he was actually talking to the stone. With Espers, either might be a likely answer.
"My name is Thassarian," he said, his voice surprisingly loud in the empty room.
/...sarian.../ The voice resonated in his head.
Thassarian smiled softly, running his fingers over the surface of the stone. "You're an Esper," he stated.
/...Esper...yes...Returner?/
"Yes," he confirmed.
/Call...callme.../
He paused. "Call you?" The Esper wanted to be summoned, apparently. However, he had no idea how to do so. "I don't know how to call you."
/callname...call...Koltira.../
"Your name is Koltira?" The name sounded strange to him, but he knew nothing of Espers, except that they were a possible ally against Kefka.
/yescallnamewantsummonwant/
Sighing, he cradled the stone further against his chest. The stone pulsed faster and harder, its heat spreading through his body. "Come then, Koltira!" He called.
Nothing happened.
/needtoneedwantsummoncallcrave!/
Thassarian hadn't let himself want anything in years. He'd forced himself to leave anything important to him behind. His sister, his friends, his life. Wanting led to distraction and that wasn't something he could afford. But the stone burned against his chest now, blazing hot, reminding him of all the things he couldn't have.
"I can't," he sighed, biting his lip. "I don't know how."
/know...remember...want/
Unbidden, memories flashed before his eyes. The warmth of Leryssa's smile; the calm of William next to him, laughing at something. The smell of his mother's pies and the sound of his father's laughter. He'd lost so much to the Breaking. And he was so alone.
He didn't want to be.
The stone pulsed in his hand a last time as energy surged through him, his mouth moving on its own accord even though he couldn't hear what he was saying.
Light spread through the room like a nova, then faded.
"Thank you."
Warm arms encircled his shoulders, long light hair falling into his face. Thassarian closed his eyes and leaned back into the embrace.
He was no longer alone.
4. Koltira snorted and adjusted his sunglasses. That had been an exercise in futility. Two hundred dollars for a man who had to cover his walls in diplomas to convince himself of his own worth to tell him that he was depressed. Like he didn't know that already. He'd lost his brother and his sister-in-law in a car crash. Faltora had been his last living family, and he'd watched him die. Of course he was depressed.
Sighing, he looked around. The psychiatrist's office was in a part of the city he wasn't familiar with. Unlike the places he frequented, this part of the city was filled with tiny little stores and offices, included that of his psychiatrist. The appointment had utterly ruined his will to go back to work, so he decided to walk back to the office instead of calling a taxi.
As he walked down the street, the scent of coffee and baked goods caught his attention. A small café in between two larger apartment buildings seemed to be the source. It was a tiny little place, but it looked well kept and clean, and the smell was heavenly. Making up his mind, Koltira crossed the street and opened the door, walking up to the counter to look over the menu.
They had quite a nice selection for such a small place. Much more interesting than the fancy coffee shops his colleagues worshipped as though they were deities. Koltira never had developed much of a taste for coffee, anyway, and those shops never had decent tea. Twenty-seven flavours of coffee but the best they could offer was the choice between Earl Grey or English Breakfast tea.
"A cup of orange tea and one of your lava cupcakes, please," he told the dark-haired woman behind the counter, handing her the payment almost automatically.
She smiled at him. "Right away!"
Koltira gave her a nod in return and sat down on one of the bar stools. A break, some cake and a nice cup of tea was a far more tempting option than the anti-depressives the psychiatrist had offered.
It didn't take long before the woman set the tea and cake in front of him, smiling cheerfully. He'd never understand how someone could manage to maintain that sort of disposition. Koltira was lucky if he could manage a "you are an idiot and I will chew your throat out" grin on the best of days.
The tea was delicious, though, sweet without being too sweet and wonderfully soothing. What the tea lacked in sweetness, the cake more than made up for. It was like an explosion in his tastebuds; sweet, just a little bitter and with a surprising bite to it. Apparently, there was a hint of chilli in the cake. The rest of the cake was eaten with more genuine pleasure than he'd felt in a long time.
Maybe he did need that therapist, if the best thing in his life was a chocolate cake. Even if it was a very good one. Of course, he could just eat more cake. It was much more tempting than having a psychiatrist dig into his childhood. Clearly, his perfectly ordinary childhood with loving parents, a younger brother and three pet cats was the root of all his problems, and not the fact that he'd seen his brother die. The damn man would probably suggest he had an Oedipal complex or something next.
Snorting, Koltira licked the last of the chocolate off of his spoon. He'd have to come here more often. Maybe he should order some of the cakes to go. Might be nice to have something to bribe Sunstrider with, to help facilitate his unscheduled lunch breaks going "unnoticed". Not that he thought his boss really cared as long as he did his work.
Lacing his fingers around his cup, he allowed himself a moment to just soak up the heat. It felt nice. He was half tempted to order another cake, but there was limits to what his metabolism would let him get away with. Just sitting here with sunlight on his back and warm tea in his hands, and the scent of orange in the air, was nice.
The door opened behind him and someone came in, walking over and sitting down a few chairs over. "The usual, Leryssa," a man's voice said.
"Sure thing," the woman behind the counter replied, still sounding as cheerful as ever.
"Excuse me?" The man asked. "Could I bother you for the time?".
It took Koltira a moment to realise the man was talking to him.
The woman chuckled. "Oh, Thassarian," she said, fondly. "Please tell me you haven't lost your cell phone again."
The man didn't answer.
Koltira fished his Blackberry out of his pocket and checked the time, then turned to give the man one of the false smiles he'd perfected so well. The fake smile faded from his face as he met the man's eyes, though. They were blue like his, and like his, they seemed far older than their owner could possibly be.
He found himself staring, but then, the man was staring back, a bemused smile on his face.
For the first time, Koltira understood those who described attraction as lightening striking from clear skies.
5.
An old saying claimed that meeting someone once was an accident, twice in a day was a coincidence, and meeting someone three times in a day was a sign that their destines were crossed.
Thassarian first met the elf by sheer accident, bumping into him as he tried weaving his way though the crowded streets of Lordaeron.
Disoriented at first, the elf blinked at him a few times, then smiled, all grace and exotic appearance, and before Thassarian could apologize, the other had disappeared in the crowd. Thassarian had to shake his head to clear it before chasing after Leryssa's back, not willing to get separated in the masses.
The second time they met that day was by a stall in the market. Leryssa had been talking about taking up tailoring, and was looking for decent but affordable materials to train on. Thassarian was bored even before they arrived at the stall, but he had promised his sister to come with her, and he kept his promises. Still, as his sister chatted with the merchants to find the best deals, he stayed in the background and occupied himself with some apples he had bought earlier while watching the crowds around the stall.
Many people came from far away to attend the monthly market in Lordaeron. Though most of the crowd were human, there was the occasional dwarf, gnome and elf, weaving their way through the masses like everyone else. Two elves had approached the stall at some point, looking at the many fabrics and conversing silently in their own language. Both were high elves, dressed in spell casters' robes and with jewellery that glowed in time with their eyes. One was a very comely female, whose garments left little to the imagination, and many eyes were on her.
One of her watchers was yet another high elf, which surprised Thassarian a little. Years could go between every time an elf willingly left the forests of Quel'danas, and this was the fourth he saw in a day. This one wore a sword, unlike the two at the stall, and his expression was one of protective pride as he watched the elven woman.
A movement at his side drew his attention, and Thassarian turned his head to see the elf he had bumped into earlier lean against a post with an amused smile on his face, eyeing the other three elves. His eyes met Thassarian's, and he nodded in acknowledgement. Apparently, they were the only two males around not staring at the elf woman.
Thassarian sort of wanted to speak to him, but the crowd around them were too loud for conversation to come easy, and in any case, elves weren't exactly known to talk to humans that much. Their lifespans and seclusion meant they were often haughty towards other races. This elf, though, didn't seem particularly arrogant or dismissing to him, though.
On an impulse, Thassarian held one of his apples out to the elf, who accepted it with a raised eyebrow and a small smile. Their fingers brushed against each other as the fruit was passed over, a brief but warm touch.
All too soon, the moment was over, as the two elven mages disappeared into the crowd. Their watcher called out, and the elf went to join him, apple still in hand. Soon, they had also disappeared into the crowd.
Sighing a little, Thassarian waited for Leryssa to finish her own purchases.
The third meeting was later in the evening. By the time Leryssa had finished all her errands, and they'd gotten the supplies for the farm they'd originally come for, it was too late to return home, and so they'd taken a room at one of the city's many inns. Leryssa had met up with some female friends and had been whisked off to help plan a surprise for another friend, leaving Thassarian by himself. He was pretty satisfied with that. With all the crowds that had been all over the city all day, it was nice to finally have some peace and quiet.
The inn they'd chosen was a smaller one, more affordable than the large and luxurious ones but less crowded than the cheapest inns. It didn't have that many people in the common room, and Thassarian had managed to find himself a table in a corner, settling down to enjoy a nice supper and some good dwarven ale. As he ate, he was going through the things that needed improving on the farm in his head, planning out where to put the new barn they needed and where they needed to clear more land.
He was so caught up in his plans that he didn't notice that he was being approached until someone sat down at the other side of the table.
Looking up, he found himself looking at the elf for the third time that day, this time up close. He was strikingly attractive, as was often the case with elves, with lightly tanned skin and light blond hair that seemed to have a mind of his own. There was an amused smile playing on his lips, and he had a glass of wine in one hand, dangling it carelessly.
"You don't mind the company, do you?" He asked.
Thassarian shook his head. "Not at all."
They spoke for a while, about little things. The elf's name was Koltira, Thassarian learned, and he was here with his brother, his brother's fiancée and the fiancée's friend, to visit the market and the Royal Library of Lordaeron before travelling on to visit Dalaran. Thassarian told him about his own errands in town in return, and about Leryssa. Koltira, as it turned out, had a sly sense of humour, explaining that they did have rooms at one of the larger inns, but that he'd rather not spend the night in the company of the male mage, as he was apparently the kind who stayed up all night reading and had little sense of fun.
"You seemed more interesting," Koltira offered, waving a waitress over to order another glass of wine.
It had been a while since Thassarian had spent time just talking with someone. He did so with William, but Will was away for a year, studying blacksmithing in Ironforge, and though he was on good terms with most people in their community, he didn't have many true friends. Koltira was easy to talk to, which surprised him, because Thassarian was never quite at ease talking to people he found attractive, and he'd have to be blind and deaf not to be taken with the elf's natural allure.
Of course he knew that nothing would come of it, and he kept such things to himself, but he was still greatly enjoying spending time with Koltira. Talking to him seemed almost automatic.
As the evening passed, Thassarian had to admit he was a little drunk. Not much, and he would likely feel fine in the morning, but he was definitely feeling the effect of the ale he'd been drinking. If Koltira felt the same effect from the wine, he hid it well, but he'd pulled his chair closer and leaned near as he talked, creating an illusion of intimacy that felt almost too natural.
He'd probably never see Koltira again after that evening, Thassarian thought, and that thought sobered him up a little. Just because he felt so much at ease with the elf didn't mean the other felt the same way, and he should probably stop drinking and go to bed before he got his hopes up.
At least he didn't sway as he got to his feet, and he took that as a good sign, as he somewhat hastily bade Koltira farewell and headed upstairs.
He paused in the hallway on the upper floor and leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath. Most of all, he wanted to go downstairs and talk to Koltira more, just to spend more time in his company, and it wasn't the most pleasant of feelings. He was sure he was good company to pass some time with, but he had little to offer an elf apart from that brief respite from boredom. Better to back off now than to feel even worse later, or so he supposed.
Sighing again, he turned to go down the hall to the room he shared with Leryssa.
A hand on his wrist stopped him.
Koltira moved far too silently for someone who was as tall as Thassarian was and wearing armour.
"Is everything all right?" he asked, what seemed like concern on his face. It was hard to read the glowing blue elf eyes properly.
Thassarian nodded. "I just..." Didn't want to miss Koltira more the next day than he was already going to. He had no idea how to explain it, because he couldn't explain to himself why Koltira felt so familiar to him.
The elf nodded, slipping his hand down from Thassarian's wrist, entangling their fingers. His hand was warm in Thassarian's, warm and strong, and alarmingly real.
Carefully, Thassarian looked down at their clasped hands and pulled Koltira a little closer. Standing like that, they could both feel the heat from each other's bodies. It was nice.
The sound of someone else coming stumbling up the stairs ruined the moment, and for a moment, they just stared at each other in bewilderment, before Koltira tugged on Thassarian's hand, dragging him down the hall and to a door, which he unlocked with some difficulty. Thassarian let him pull him inside, closing the door behind them.
Still holding onto his hand, Koltira pulled him over and pressed their lips together in a kiss that was honestly more awkward than anything.
They both burst out laughing, relief flooding Thassarian's body as he did. Koltira's head dropped to his shoulder as he laughed, his left ear tickling Thassarian's neck. Thassarian wrapped his arms around Koltira and just held on until they had to catch their breath from laughing too hard.
When they'd both calmed down a little, Thassarian mirrored Koltira's earlier move, lifting the elf's face up so he could kiss him.
It worked a lot better, that time, an unmistakeable feeling of rightness filling them both. Once they pulled apart this time, Koltira sat down on the bed, inviting Thassarian to sit next to him. Thassarian didn't need to be asked twice.
Like their meetings, their third kiss was better than both the previous ones, and from there on, the kisses just kept improving.
None of the kisses were as good as waking up the next morning with Koltira wrapped in his arms, though.
1.This was the one that started this idea. Koltira looks a lot like one of the Wraith from Stargate Atlantis. For those who haven't seen SGA, the Wraith are alien life-sucking vampires, descended from bugs. They're all tall, white-haired (as least the men) and more or less green-tinged. They're also prone to random facial hair. They drain life-force and makes you older, but I'm sure Koltira didn't steal too much of Thassarian's life before he decided to let him go. I imagine Koltira is a hive-less Wraith here, gone somewhat loopy and very lonely from the lack of the psychic network. Wraith mainly communicate telepathically.
I'm not sure if Thassarian is Atlantis crew or Traveler, here. He could be any Pegasus native, except that only the Travelers and the Lanteans have spaceships, so presumably he's one of those.
2.Seeker!Koltira. For the TF-challenged, that means he's a jet plane Transformer working for the Decepticons, the bad guys. He's so angry and bitter in canon that I have no problem imagining him as one of Starscream's disillusioned air troops. His trine mates would be Baron Sliver and Bloodrose Datura, as just Sliver and Bloodrose, because those sort of sound like Cybertronian designations. Also, Soundwave is scary.
The markings on Thassarian's face in canon looks a lot like those Megatron has in Megatron Origins, when he's a gladiator.
3.Final Fantasy VI is my main fandom, so a cross-over seemed natural. Koltira is an Esper in this one, a magical creature that can be summoned to aid in battle. Magicite is what they become once they're dead, but they can still be allies even after death, so I guess Koltira is sort of undead in this setting, too. This is set in World of Ruin, after the villain has broken the world. It's not a nice place. Thassarian is part of the Returners, a resistance group.
4.Modern day Koltira and Thassarian. Koltira is a businessman, working for Kael'thas Sunstrider, an evil CEO of some sort. I have no idea what Thassarian is. Except gay for Koltira...
5.Surprisingly, this one was the one that gave me a twinge of ouchiness. Perfect!Azeroth AU. In this world, Arthas never got all possessed, and is busy fighting over Jaina Proudmoore with Kael'thas. Eventually, Arthas will win and Kael will be driven into not-a-demon!Illidan's arms, or something. No Plague of Undeath, no Burning Legion, and nothing like that. Thrall is a happy Orc in Nagrand, the trolls are still living unbothered on their island, Gnomeregan isn't fucked up and Kel'Thuzad owns the best cattery in Azeroth (he's married to Donni Anthania, the crazy cat lady in Elwynn).