The nights of Silvermoon

((still a twisted one, I know))



Head spinning from all the wine she’d drank during the night, Sylvanas Windrunner carefully made her way on the paved alley, guarded by stone walls that led away from the Sunwell and the music and rumour of the party.

“Easy”, Eireannan said, as her foot slipped on one of the cobblestones and she was ready to fall.

She chuckled, feeling absolutely careless and above all, filled with intense sensations, most of them derived from his simple presence by her side, as he had agreed to walk her home from the banquet.

She slid again, and this time he had to reach out and surround her waist with his arm, to prevent her from falling. Then, in a swirl, dictated by instinct more than her fading reason, she just took his head in her hands and kissed him, delicious warmth spreading inside her as he finally gave up and kissed her back.

Leaning against the wall, her hungry hands starting to untie his shirt, sneaking under the fabric to touch and caress. The kiss went deeper, leaving her breathless. She pushed harder against him, mind blackened with pleasure, her fingers digging in his back, as the craving need for his body reached apotheosis.

“No.”

A shocked gasp.

He broke the embrace, gently taking hold of her arms, to stop her frenzied movements. A second of utter confusion followed, as the thought made its way through her wine-dimmed senses.

Frustration.

She stepped back, pulling her arms from his grip, and then nervously brushed the rebel strand of silken golden hair that kept bothering her.

“My Lady…”

Tears of humiliation filled her eyes and Sylvanas was glad for the darkness. She averted her face trying to compose herself, show him no sign of the emotion that washed over her, uncontrollably.

He gently raised her chin and forced her look at him.
Oh, Light, she couldn’t! Why did she have to succumb to her passion in the first place, anyway?

“My Lady”, he whispered, “you are beautiful. You are everything a man could desire. Including myself. But my heart lies elsewhere, at least for now, and I intend to be truthful to my own pledges.”

“And that includes no sleeping with women that recklessly offer themselves to you, no?” she asked, her voice now betraying an irritation she had to make efforts to control.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. You’re the Ranger General, not a little, whimpy woman that sheds tears over being rejected.

But it is the truth. You’re being rejected.

“It takes whatever necessary to stand by my feelings, my lady.” Eireannan shrugged, still without letting go of her hand. If he did, she would have run away.

So now I am the temptress and he’s all that better for resisting me.

What the fel was I thinking?

Just don’t cry.

But, to her complete degradation, she did.
As tears streaked down her beautiful face, she broke down and sobs soon overwhelmed her control, making her slender body shudder under their violence.

If he would have had any reason left in that head of his, Eireannan Saralonde would have walked away and leave her to her own shame.

Yet he didn’t. Her eyes tightly shut she couldn’t see his expression; she only felt his warmth as he drew her closer, until their bodies touched again, this time without passion, only a protective, caring embrace.

By the Sunwell, how her pride did hurt…

He whispered something and the meaning of the words eluded her. Probably because it was very old Thalassian, she understood, such spells and power words that the followers of the Light learned in the years of their training. And there was calmness and peace behind the veil of madness that had fallen over her…such peace that Sylvanas Windrunner relaxed, her sobs fading, while she still stood there, lost in his arms, listening to his heartbeats…

Then, as she suddenly regained control over her emotions, she wrestled herself free and pushed him back, so strongly that Eireannan staggered, nearly hitting the wall behind.

“Stay out of my mind!” she managed to breathe, through gritted teeth. “I don’t need anything of you.”

Another one would have probably found a sarcastic answer to her statement. Only minutes ago she had been wrapped around him, kissing and touching. Yet, Eireannan only gave her another shrug, as he leaned closer, once again, and wiped a tear hanging on her chin.

‘That’s so much better”, he whispered, smiling, and then he was gone, like a shadow, melting in the night that embraced Silvermoon, especially in that remote corner, far from the glowing of the Sunwell.

Damn him, Sylvanas said to herself, as she swallowed the last tears and furiously wiped her face with the sleeve of the dress.

Boiling. Anger.

With a small cry, she almost crushed her fist into the stone wall behind. Pain shot through her entire arm, like a furious swarm of arrows and Sylvanas Windrunner cursed out loudly as she withdrew her hand, wrapping the bloodied knuckles into the folds of the silken dress.

She was really in for a terrible headache.

------

Ooooh, to be alive again…

“My lady Sylvanas?”

She turned abruptly, trying to compose herself, as the Deathguards retreated, allowing in the visitor.