A/N: Hello, and welcome to the sequel to Four Nights in Gorgrond! This takes place six months after the end of that story. Expect a few cameos and tie-ins to my other stories (except for Vegnus - unfortunately, there didn't seem to be a scene to include him in here without it seeming forced. Next time, buddy!).

The story contains both graphic violence and mushy couple fluff in all three chapters. Consider yourselves warned on both counts.

Mid-summer, year 31.

The stars tinkled brightly on a cloudless night over Talador that summer, casting their light down through the branches of the lightly swaying trees. The breeze was light and cool, and from a distance the dark green grass ruffled like waves in the ocean as the air flowed over it. Trees dotted the hilly landscape, not quite as thickly as in northern Kalimdor back on Azeroth but just enough for the canopy to blanket most of the natural green carpet, turning it an even darker hue.

Through the darkness of the west-central woodlands of the region, a red light shimmered between the trees. Bounding up and down steadily, the light weaved in and out of the trees, stopping every so often as it hovered in one spot before continuing on its way. In the night, the tree trunks were illuminated slightly as they took on a shade of crimson in addition to the dark brown of the bark, and the shrubs and roots on the forest floor came into clear view.

The further the red light approached, the wider it became until it was apparent that what had seemed like a single light shining was actually two. The high bridge of an aquiline nose came into view in between the two lights as the face scanned the area, still searching for something.

Then, off in the distance through the wood, two faint silver orbs answered the silent call of the red. They both paused, gazing at each other for a moment before the red weaved around another tree trunk, stopping every few seconds to wait for the silver. The silver followed suit, bouncing slightly as the bearer hopped on her toes to avoid the tall, jutting cypress-like knees found in the Talador woodlands.

Pausing again, the silver gripped one of the tree trunks and suddenly dropped out of view. The red stood and watched in anticipation of what she was doing, unsure of what would come next. Quickly, the silver came into view again, darting out from behind the tree as she peered at him. A shy smile spread underneath the dim light of the red as the dim light of the silver fluttered twice, her eyes opening and closing in an exaggerated way before disappearing behind the tree again.

Following her lead, the red gripped one of the tree trunks and tried in vain to hide himself behind it, though his broader shoulders were impossible to conceal behind the oaks and cypresses of Talador. Waiting for what he felt was the right moment, the red finally whipped out from behind the trunk, only to flinch back as he realized that the silver had closed the distance and was now only three feet in front of him.

The night elf giggled in a youthful way that belied her twelve millennia of life experience, amused that she could startle the jungle troll like that. They both moved forward into an embrace, though she struggled to wrap her arms around his torso with the bulk of the large travel bag strapped to his back. She shuddered as he breathed in the scent of sandalwood on her scalp, memories of their first night in Gorgrond sweeping over them both.

"I missed ya," he whispered in Darnassian with that low, baritone voice as she could feel the rumble in his lungs press against her own chest.

With her head tucked underneath his chin, she spoke off to the side, their long, sensitive ears able to pick up the quiet sound of their voices. "Me too," she answered with that husky, breathy way of speaking that always warmed his heart. "It's only been seventeen days this time…are we too sappy?"

"Nah, girl," he replied with a grin. She was literally five-hundred times his age, but despite her initial protests the way he would refer to her had begun to feel more endearing."Ain't nobody around ta see. Whatever we feel like doin' or sayin' is just tha right amount of mushiness for us."

An opaque, beige canvas tent had been set up on the banks of a small stream winding away from Exarch's Refuge on an alternate version of Draenor, the trees lining each side providing some measure or privacy despite the close proximity to the large neutral city. A considerable number of travelers native to Draenor and adventurers from Azeroth passed in the woodlands nearby, though the trickle of the stream and the natural sound barrier formed by the trees provided a measure of intimacy that raised Khujand and Cecilia's comfort level enough to almost feel like a normal couple.

The grass ended shortly before the edge of the shallow stream, and a fine, smooth sand with a stone greyish color provided a soft spot for the two to lay on. They were both still soaked and stripped down to their underwear after having tried their best to paddle around in the water. The stream was about four feet deep and lined with smooth, circular rocks on the bottom, allowing them to dip their heads down but not to swim.

Not that it mattered. They were together again, after having had another nearly three-week gap between visits. If wetting their hair and lightly splashing each other was all they could do given the shallow depth of the stream, then that was enough.
Khujand sat in the sloping, sandy shore with his feet planet down and his knees raised, resting his elbows on top of them. Cecilia was so preoccupied with a pebble she had stepped on when exiting the stream that she hadn't noticed him ogling her. Slowly, they were both learning to function as a couple, though it wasn't easy for either of them. His entire love life across his twenty-seven years consisted only of two loveless marriages and two empty, unfulfilling one night stands; she had spent the millennia of the Long Vigil surrounded only by other women and then moved on to a few hazy years at Booty Bay where she hadn't been sober enough to remember any of her exes by now. They loved each other very much – she said it without hesitation after their first month – but they were also inexperienced, especially with appropriate public behavior. That their respective races belonged to opposite factions didn't help to ease their social anxiety, either. Spending time together in private was always easier.

Finally looking up to see Khujand staring at her, Cecilia tried to whip her wet hair back behind her head sultrily, reveling in the awe she was inspiring him with. Unfortunately for her, she didn't tilt her head far enough to the side and her long, nearly waist-length hair just slapped against her arm.

"Wait, do over, do over," she giggled as she tried in vain to sound serious.

She bowed her head down far too low for it to be sultry anymore, though he was loving it all the same. "Ya gotta tilt ya head more ta tha left," he chuckled.

Since she was already leaning to the right, tilting her head to the left just caused part of her hair to wave around in a circular motion against her stomach and the other part to fall over her face.

"You said left!" She didn't even bother pulling her hair away from her face, though he could see the goofy grin on her face behind the wet strands.

"Sorry, I meant my left. Ta ya right," he answered with a fake-serious voice and dramatic hand motion.

Arching her head and upper body straight back, Cecilia held still for a moment while Khujand raked her body with his bewildered, widening eyes. He was entirely unprepared when she crunched her abs, strutted forward and knelt down, slapping him in the face with her long, wet hair.

"Hey!" he laughed as he grabbed her fake-resisting arms and pulled her into his lap. She spun around with her back to him, sitting between his legs as she pushed his hands aside and rested her own elbows on top of his knees.

With his chin resting on top of her head, they were both able to enjoy both the peaceful experience of the rushing stream and each other. The weather wasn't cold or even chilly, though he could feel her huddling between his body and limbs. Elven bodies weren't as hot as trollish bodies, and despite the fact that Cecilia definitely wasn't the touchy-feely type, she had a tendency to cling to, wrap herself around or otherwise hold on closely to him whenever they were alone.

"Ya tha most childish twelve-thousand-year-old I know," he whispered into her still-wet hair.

"I'm still the only twelve-thousand-year-old you know, at least until we find a way for you to safely meet my family," she whispered up to him as she leaned her head back against his shoulder. "And remember: emotionally, I'm only as old as when the Long Vigil ended."

At that comment, he chuckled a bit, struck once more at the vast disparity in their life experience. She reached a hand back to tug on one of the four-inch, sawed-off knubs that were once his long tusks. "Don't make me feel like we're so different," she said in a lecturing tone, only halfway fake this time.

"Never," he crooned to her quietly. "No matter what anybody says. I share more with ya than with any of my own people."

Cecilia reached her other hand back and scratched his scalp near the base of his vibrant scarlet mane as they sat in silence for a few more minutes. They both tried to control their breathing, the heaving of their bodies against each other putting them both at risk of dashing back into the privacy of their tent again before either of them had properly rested. Khujand fidgeted as he sat, and she could already tell he was considering opening up a relatively heavy topic. She could read his eyes, his face, his movements and even the rumble of his lungs so well.

"Tell me what you're thinking," she asked as she slid her hand down to his face, giving his short beard a tug.

He hesitated for a moment as he looked for the words to use about a topic that caused him some nervousness despite her very relaxed attitude toward it. "Are ya sure that ya don't want a weddin' or nothin'?"

"Mostly sure," she said confidently as she rested her hand on the back of his neck. "We used to do weddings before the Sundering, but that was ten thousand years ago. It's very rare now, and we've forgotten the significance of a lot of the rituals." She peered up at him again with a sly smile on her face. "But I'm still happy that you asked for marriage before I did. I'm a hundred percent sure that I want that."

Khujand's shoulders loosened. Cecilia had told him this so many times, but in private, they were both each other's confidants and armchair therapists; they could air their insecurities without fear. That she never tired of making plans for the future or sharing her stories of the past – about her people, about the world, about the millennia of history she had witnessed – was one of the things he loved about her the most.

"Everybody I ask says night elves don't do tha whole marriage thing," he pondered out loud as he massaged her arms.

"That's not really true or false," she explained, falling into story mode without even realizing it.

"The number of men dropped below the number of women during the War of the Ancients as they were still the warriors back then. After that, eight or nine out of ten night elf men were in the Emerald Dream, and most of those who weren't druids instead devoted themselves guarding the barrow dens while the other ninety or so percent slept.

"The druids woke up only three times during the whole Dream: for the Satyr War, for the exile of the highborne and the War of the Shifting Sands. People who were married before the Sundering reunited those three times and three separate generations of children were born. Otherwise, not much else went on. Kaldorei have no problem with monogamy – I don't know where this stereotype stating otherwise came from, I mean, freaking half the world went to Tyrande's wedding – but since we weren't fertile during immortality, most of us weren't interested in relationships. They didn't serve a purpose. Hey, what are - ack!"

Khujand hugged Cecilia tighter without even realizing it, causing her to croak playfully. It was fortunate for them both that, as much as she enjoyed philosophizing about the world, he enjoyed listening, never seeming to have enough of the tales she had to tell.

"Sorry," he chuckled softly. "I love it when ya tell me this stuff."

She laughed along with him, leaning further back into his intense body heat as she continued.

"Point is, to say night elves do or do not get married is difficult. We didn't have any men around for literally thousands and thousands of years save the very few den guards, and since we were a completely martial society with different assigned roles, we never really got to see those men. Not even my dad, who was one of them; my mom would always complain that he didn't visit enough. But you know, since immortality ended about ten years ago, the Temples of Elune have held a handful of weddings. I hear that my sister has helped officiate some. And marriage is back, along with reproduction."

In a flash, Khujand was already squeezing her again and dug his chin into her shoulder to tickle her. She resisted playfully but there was no point in trying to escape his grasp, whether she wore the pants in their new family or not.

"So - ack! - now that immortality is finished - hrrngh! - there's nothing I want more than - blarg - than to raise an army of trollbebehs!" They both shared the same giddy look before bursting out into laughter.

"Speakin' of which," he chuckled as he released his affectionate bear hug, "ya never showed me tha list of baby names ya wanna use when it's time."

He saw a flash of remembrance on her face as she grinned again and turned to face him. "Oh, yeah! I brought mine with me. It's back in the…tent." Her voice trailed off as they both turned to look at the open flap and then back to each other.
"Do ya…need any help retrievin' it?" he asked with a sly grin.

She raised a hand to her face coyly, considering the notion for a moment. "Will we still have energy left for the hike back to Exarch's Refuge if you do?"

He ran his fingers through her gradually drying hair and cupped the back of her head. "Probably not. But tha red elves and tha space goa…I mean, draenei have secured much of tha surroundin' area from tha demons. Shouldn't be hard ta rent a room with beds long enough for us once we get there."

Blushing slightly despite her fatigue, Cecilia rose and brushed the sand off of her backside, letting out a yelp when she felt Khujand 'assisting' her.

"Hey!" she shouted half-surprised and half-playful. "What happened to renting a room?"

"Right, right," he chuckled shyly. "Listen, I forgot ta bring a towel this time. Why don't ya dry off ya hair for now, I'm gonna go pick us some of those fruits we saw around tha bend. I can worry about my mane when I get back."

"Please, that would be lovely!"

Closing the tent flap slightly, Cecilia began fiddling through her much lighter travel bag – she had already been stationed at Fort Wrynn and most of her heavier items were stored with Irien and Anushka at the post office their employers had established at the secured portion of the Refuge.

Slipping on dry underwear and a baggy pair of light brown Darkspear-style pants, Khujand wandered barefoot along the stream as he sought out the trees they had spied earlier with the oblong, surprisingly tasty pink fruit. They seemed to sprout from the thick bark of the branches in the canopy, and were just low enough that he could pick them without needing to climb.

As he strode through the forest, he couldn't help but marvel at their situation. It felt almost arrogant to do so, to even think it in his own head, but given his hopelessness just six months ago, it was hard to resist.

Half a year, his inner voice, the occasionally out of control critic and confidante, whispered to him. You didn't think the two of you would make it this far, but you were wrong.

In two days, it would be their six month anniversary. It was hard to resist mulling it over in his head, but still hard to imagine as well. Six months ago, their paths had crossed again in Gorgrond; she was on a work assignment protecting her employer's cartographers, and he just happened to be stranded without a mount or food while on a low-paying quest. Eight years before that, his sole act of kindness while working as a jailer and torturer at the Mor'shan Ramparts – helping Cecilia escape the makeshift jail – had seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime tryst they would never have been able to pursue.

So many times in the past six months she had worked to convince him that logically, statistically, it was possible. They were both adventurers, and as far apart as their paths had diverged during the interim, most adventurers with any amount of gumption would also be supporting the campaign against the Iron Horde on Draenor, whether through protecting logistical service workers like her or joining raids against Iron Horde depots and outposts like him. Their meeting was entirely possible and even probable, and she likely wouldn't be the last one of either his former captives, or his former cellmates from his own prison sentence, that he would bump in to. Still, despite her explanations and their shared belief in fate, it felt like a dream sometimes – to not only be together but to function so well as a couple. His participation in the joint Alliance-Horde assault on the Blackrock Foundry a few weeks prior suddenly seemed less exciting and more foolish as he realized there was someone waiting for him to come back, now.

You angered her more than you would like to admit, the inner monologue chastised. Finally admitting it to himself, he shook his head silently as he walked and stared at the grass instead of the branches where the fruit was supposed to be.

That was a big sticking point in the relationship, actually, and so far their only serious source of tension. As much as he tried to convince her that his participation would earn them more money through the spoils of war to finish paying off their house back on Azeroth, and as much as she understood the argument rationally, it was difficult for her heart to accept. She had lived her entire twelve-thousand years of existence as a bachelorette save a handful of courtships with boring suitors before the War of the Ancients (she couldn't even remember them) and a few years of bad relationships and substance abuse in Booty Bay. Now that more and more night elves from her generation were dying of old age, her biological clock was ringing a loud alarm, and she made no secret of the fact that to even think of losing him was the only thing in the world that still scared her wise, ancient self.

He felt guilty to put her through that and was no less torn over the possibility not spending the rest of his days with her, but the sooner they could earn enough money, the sooner they could be done, finished, completely and irreversibly retired from adventuring, questing and war altogether. She and Irien had put a downpayment on their property in Ratchet – a neutral territory where an interracial, interfactional couple like Cecilia and Khujand would be relatively free to live their lives and even raise children. Sure, the neutral port cities run by the cartels were a bit seedy, but other mixed couples like Sonja and Erikur had made it work, and Ratchet certainly wasn't as bad as Booty Bay; Cecilia could tell him that from experience.

But that all cost money, especially given all the business ideas they and Irien were brainstorming. Every raid he joined would be his last, he repeated to himself every time.

"And here we are…" he thought out loud as he realized he had already walked past about a dozen pieces of the pink, hanging fruit.

The branches of the scattered trees arched overhead, allowing a bit of starlight to shine through. He was slightly distracted as he reached absentmindedly to pick some of the fruit, wondering what it would be like to stargaze once they returned home to Kalimdor. Oh, what a sappy fool he had turned-

"Raaa!" growled a low voice from behind him as he felt a weight heavier than Cecilia's but less than his own latch on to his back.

A furred hand that was such a dark shade of brown it was almost black gripped his left shoulder as he felt the sting of claws digging into his flesh. The soles of two padded feet planted firmly on the sides of Khujand's heels as an impressive sword was brought down in front of his face. The snarl was the unmistakable sound of a worgen, one of the wolf people the Alliance had recruited, and he could tell that like himself, his attacker was big for his people, almost the size of Khujand himself.

"Back away slowly, Horde scum!" the man barked at Khujand in Common while clinging to his unshaken upper body. The claws sank just a bit deeper into his shoulder and broke the skin as the sword's blade remained steady about three inches in front of his face.

"Kinda hard ta back away when ya hangin' onta me like a spider monkey," Khujand grumbled with no hint of fear or intimidation in his voice, though his patience was wearing thin only a few seconds into the exchange.

"Well…uh…walk away from the trees!" The worgen held tightly onto Khujand's back, seemingly shocked that trolls, being just as uncouth and brutish as the wolf people, wouldn't be frightened by them.

"There are trees in every direction, ya dumbass," the Darkspear answered, his lack of fear or even respect shining through in his voice.

There was a pause as the worgen seemed to mull over his poorly thought out plan. Though he wielded the sword properly and sounded like he was wearing the plate armor of a proper warrior, he obviously wasn't a master strategist.

"Hey! Listen! I have the advantage here, I'm giving the ord – graaah!"

Before the man could even finish his sentence, Khujand had looped his right forearm around the crook of the elbow of the worgen's sword arm, then reached behind his own back with his other hand to grab the worgen's left ankle. Sharp claws scratched across Khujand's shoulder, drawing four lines of blood as the worgen foolishly held on to an anchor that was useless from a tactical standpoint. The sword banged the jungle troll's cheek but without enough force to open a wound, and the grip on the worgen's opposite hand and ankle allowed Khujand to easily flip him sideways.

"Whoa! Wait-"

Giving up his own footing, Khujand jolted them both straight back to the ground and slammed all his weight onto the worgen's body as they grappled, releasing the wolf man's ankle but holding onto his sword arm and splaying his own legs across the grass. He twisted around to smother the squirming wolf man beneath him, working to cramp the man's leverage space as much as possible.

"Drop tha sword! Drop it!" Khujand ordered, grabbing the worgen's wrist with his free hand and applying pressure onto the veins just at the meeting point of the man's hand and forearm. The worgen panicked and let go of the sword, and Khujand knew that for all his combat experience the wolf man didn't know how to wrestle.

"Sword stealer! You thieving scum!" the worgen shouted gruffly as he kicked the soil with his feet, his legs flailing when they should have splayed and helped to support his weight while on the ground. He tried pushing Khujand's arms away and rolling to his side, a big mistake.

Khujand was lying perpendicularly over the worgen's chest, and drove his own toes into the ground to push all of his weight onto the armored wolf man's body. Noticing a gap in the man's armor just over his midsection, Khujand transitioned by swinging his knee up onto the man's torso and pressed all of his 500 pounds downward while holding his palms on the ground for balance.

"Aargh!" the worgen gasped, ineffectively swiping at Khujand's clipped tusks. He dug his claws into the troll's upper arms and took a threatening snap with his jaws.
Khujand no longer held any factional animosity – except toward Varian Wrynn as a person, not that he'd ever have a chance to skewer the hypocritical king – but the sting of the worgen's claws was testing him.

"Ya wanna bite, huh?" he asked angrily as he raised up and jammed both of his hands down into the worgen's mouth. "Let's see if ya change ya mind!"

With the jungle troll's massive mits wedged between his jaws, the worgen couldn't muster enough pressure to chomp down with his sharp teeth, and Khujand gripped both its upper and lower jaw with each hand and started to pull.

"Hhrrnng!" The worgen grabbed Khujand's forearms and continued kicking at the grass with his feet, not knowing how to escape from the bottom of a mounted position.

"STOP! PLEASE! WE HAVE MONEY!" the voice of a female worgen cried.

Khujand looked up and saw a wolf woman with jet black fur run toward them and fall to her knees about two yards away struggling to pull something from the pockets of her snow white wool jacket. Both the navy blue Sunday dress she wore and her brash approach to two grappling warriors without being armed herself insinuated that she was a civilian; he was able to spy the ring on her finger as he continued to pin who he assumed to be her husband beneath him before speaking.

"He attacked me!" Khujand growled. He felt guilty for speaking so harshly to the obviously distraught woman when he already had her husband beaten anyway, but the clawmarks on his shoulder and forearms had caused more anger than actual pain.

"He was only trying to protect me!" she pleaded as she pulled a coinpurse out of her jacket pocket and tossed it to Khujand, accidentally hitting him in the eye. "Let him go, please!"

Quickly releasing his grip on the man's upper and lower jaws, Khujand slammed the worgen's snout shut and held it closed at the tip, a trick his father had taught him when handling unruly raptors. The man stopped struggling as much despite the asphyxiation from 500 pounds of troll driving down onto his chest, seemingly embarrassed at having to be saved by his noncombatant wife. Khujand tossed the coinpurse back at her with his free hand.

"Protect ya from what? From me throwin' fruit at ya-"

"Oh, Sentinel! Sentinel! Help, we're being attacked by Horde!"

He grumbled and turned to Cecilia while retaining his grip on the worgen's snout. She was wearing plaid drawstring pants and a mahogany-colored, loose-fitting short-sleeved smock along with…her Third War-era huntress helmet, only one bracer and her moon glaive attached to it. She was also barefoot. Despite the bleeding cut on his shoulder and rather dishonest explanation by the wolf woman, he couldn't help but smile at the sight of his fiancé looking like she had come to fight in her pajamas.

Cecilia fell into Sentinel mode rather quickly. "Khujand, come stand behind me," she said politely but firmly. He understood the need to appear fair given the tense situation, and did as he was told. She turned back to the wolf woman, who dashed to her husband's side and helped him sit up.

"Why were they fighting?" Cecilia then asked with the typical cold, unemotional manner the enforcers of the night elves used.

"We were trying to find our way to Exarch's Refuge for the festivities in a few days," the wife sputtered like a tattletale, appearing perturbed by the fact that the Kaldorei treated the Darkspear in such a casual, familiar way. "We saw the troll through the trees and I was afraid it wanted to eat me, so my husband had to save us!"

Khujand sensed the quaking thing Cecilia's shoulder blades would do when she was trying not to laugh out loud; he also found it strange that the wolf people would be accusing anyone else of attempted cannibalism, given their carnivorous diets.

"Alright, ma'am, listen," Cecilia started with her armchair therapist voice. "I understand that you felt threatened, and I'm very sorry for what has happened. However, the man whom you saw through the trees is my fiancé and I can assure you that he has no desire to fight or cannibalize members of the Alliance."

Both of the worgen and even Khujand himself grew a little wide eyed at Cecilia's comment. Although the local community at Highpass had accepted him sleeping within the settlement walls (though not within the town proper) when he came to visit Cecilia and the couple had become comfortable enough both at Beastwatch and neutral zones to walk, sit or stand next to each other, her confession to two obviously proud members of the Alliance seemed very forward. She, on the other hand, appeared totally unfazed and unperturbed by the reactions of the two wolf people. Khujand couldn't help but feel a bit guilty at his own lack of openness about a love that wasn't anyone else's right to judge.

"You're…oh…" the wolf woman said with a perplexed expression as her voice trailed off. She turned to her downcast husband and then back to the pajama-clad, purple-skinned elf in front of them. "We didn't…um…we thought…I'm Elizra. My husband Tyron was only defending me while…"

Still crestfallen, the wolf warrior named Tyron looked up as he caught his breath. "We were assisting with the rebuilding efforts at Tuurem," he grumbled in that rough voice common to their people, though he sounded more haggard than angry. "We heard that the war effort was succeeding at Auchindoun and thought we'd be of more use there, but we were attacked by bandits from Azeroth on the road here. I slayed three of them and drove off the others, but our talbuk…it didn't make it."

Cecilia knelt down to hover close to the same level as the two worgen. "Bandits from Azeroth?" she asked while looking to Khujand and then back to the married couple. "They came all the way through the Dark Portal to steal?"

Elizra shook her head in dismay. "They were all green-skinned orcs except some bald human man, and we recognized their clothing as being from back home. There was also a wiry pandaren with them who was speaking Orcish, they had to have been from Azeroth."

"Elizra here is a medic," Tyron said as he tapped his wife on the shoulder, sharing a mushy look that reminded Khujand of how he and Cecilia had looked at each other earlier but confused him when it was shared by wolf people. "She can heal and knows first aid. We had supplies so she could help at the infirmary tent at Exarch's Refuge, but the bag was knocked into a river when the bandits who had escaped ran away with some of our stuff."

Cecilia stood back up and shook her head in sympathy. Tyron stood up as well as Elizra helped him dust off his armor.

"We were just about to hike there now," Cecilia explained with an inviting tone as she took Khujand by the arm and tried to pull him around to face the two worgen. "We're very sorry for how this first impression turned out, but we're also thrilled to find others willing to contribute to the campaign any way they can and would be glad to show you the way to the Refuge. Right, dear?"

It took Khujand a few seconds to notice his fiancé looking at him expectantly. He crooked his head and saw that Tyron appear both embarrassed and apologetic at the same time. Normally Khujand would have had an easier time forgiving due to his own sensitivity toward social gaffes, but the scratches on his shoulder and forearms were still irritating him.

"Yeah, whatever," he muttered with a sneer, staring at nothing. He winced as he realized that he was being disrespectful to the love of his life and not just the two worgen.

Suddenly feeling like a complete and total asshole, Khujand avoided whatever look Cecilia was shooting him and quickly turned away when he saw Tyron look down in shame, Elizra's wolfish face looking puppy-like as she was wounded by disrespect to a husband who obviously did his best to take care of her.

"I mean...uh...I'm sorry too. And, eh...we would...be very happy ta help ya join tha war effort around Auchindoun." Though he would accept an apology from Tyron for starting the fight based mostly on racial stereotyping, Khujand understood when the worgen only nodded, his pride too damaged for him to say sorry out loud.

Khujand and Tyron stood on the outside of the four-person phalanx, sharing the load of Cecilia's camping gear as she and Elizra walked next to each other in the middle. Perhaps only half a mile down the road they could see the new gates of the quickly expanding Exarch's Refuge, makeshift buildings quickly popping up thanks to goblin contractors from Azeroth like Cecilia's employer seeing the opportunity to make money while helping out with the campaign against the Iron Horde.

Cecilia had flexed her counseling skills well, keeping Elizra talking and even laughing during the hike back to the settlement, even pulling in a slowly lightening-up Tyron and a still sheepish Khujand into the mockery of the Iron Horde's shoddy smithing and the Shadow Council's gradual internal crumbling.

"We're just about there," Elizra beamed as they neared the Refuge. "It will be nice to rest for a bit before looking for work, and we're looking forward to the celebration of pushing the demons back that we heard about."

Several local draenei children shot past them while chasing a ball down the road, a reminder that even during war, every day life had to continue. The parents hurried after them, a reminder that even during every day life, there was still tension in the air.

Anushka, the draenei cartographer's assistant Cecilia worked with for the private postal service in Gorgrond and Talador, just happened to be disposing of some paper waste by the gate. Her light brown work uniform - she seemed to have an endless supply, every jumpsuit exactly the same - was freshly cleaned and she took care to avoid the refuse piles the refugee children had a tendency to carelessly create. Brushed back short hair that matched the color of her uniform, her brightly glowing eyes beamed as she spied the group.

"OhbytheLightCici!" sputtered the manic, hooved technical worker as she happily pranced over to them. "I not seeings you for one week, I has a sad!"

"Hey! Oh, Elizra, this is Anushka, you're going to like her," Cecilia said as she broke the general elven rule about excessive touching in public and allowed her horned friend to give her a warm hug.

Cecilia noticed that Khujand had stood back a bit, likely thinking he could extend his hand to shake first in order to avoid the impending uncomfortable hug and the obligatory jealous frown Cecilia never was able to supress. Anushka foiled the plan as always, her eyes even awkwardly darting down to the big troll's waist before shooting back up; both her hug and her release of the hug were so fast that it added to the awkwardness.

After a few minutes of introductions and chatting about the children's song and dance that happened to be planned on the same day as their six-month anniversary, Cecilia shot Khujand a rather frank look, trying to silently prod him to make peace with who seemed like decent people despite the bad initial impression.

"Listen, Tyron," her fiance started contritely. "We're, uh...very happy ta meet others that want ta help wherever they can. We'd be honored if ya let us buy ya a late dinner after tha sun goes down."

The worgen's eyes lit up as he seemed sincerely touched by the peace offering. "Oh, we'd be honored too! I'm...well, you're not like all the other Horde I've met. I'm sorry about earlier."

That Tyron apologized with so much less hesitation than Khujand seemed to make the jungle troll feel even worse for his previous immaturity, which Cecilia found comforting in a way. As difficult as it was to see him sending himself into a guilt trip yet again, she knew it would be better for the recovery of his social skills after years in prison. Cecilia explained the location of the food stalls serving local Draenor cuisine in Common while Khujand slipped Anushka a few coins and explained the worgen couple's situation and lack of funds in Orcish, requesting that they not be allowed to pay for their room in the local inn.

After saying their goodbyes for the time being, Anushka led Elizra and Tyron away, leaving Cecilia and Khujand by the gate. As they turned to each other, she pursed her lips and gazed at him with an expression she knew he'd read not so much as irritation as bemused dismay.

"I wasn't bein' understandin', I know," he admitted while rubbing the back of his head.

Cecilia touched his arm, giving his bicep a squeeze. "Well, that, and the fact that I noticed your shock when I admitted to them that we're engaged," she whispered with disappointment. "I know Thunder Pass has a different environment, but we're in neutral territory now. Nobody can pass judgment on us here."

Khujand sighed heavily, and he appeared to know that she was right. "I'm gettin' used ta it, yeah? It just takes time. Ya been mixin' with both factions longer than me, what with tha jobs on tha goblin ships and all." He gripped her elbow and tickled it slightly as he examined the crystal blue irises ringing her silver pupils. "This anniversary will be good. I promise I'll improve on that point."

They lingered with those mushy smiles for a moment longer before Cecilia picked up the bag Tyron had been carrying and pretended she would carry it herself before slipping it over Khujand's shoulder with a cheeky grin.

As they walked into Exarch's Refuge intent on a few days of relaxation and browsing the local bazaar, they focused their attention completely on the town. Hidden behind the trees, an abnormally lean pandaren, a greasy human with a bad combover and a one-eared orc wearing a stupid looking headband watched the happy couple's every move silently.