Gravitation

Arcadia-Sama

Summary- Never mind. You'll see.

Disclaimer- Shayl is mine. MINE. Comprende? She belongs to me. Everything else is marked as belonging to Blizzard, bottom line.

Suggested BGM – "Destiny"- Stratovarius

Author Notes – FINALLY. I've been working on this rewrite for chapter one for quite some time because the more I looked at the initial chapter, the more I just grew disgusted with how poorly it was written. I'm planning to rewrite chapters two through five as well, or at least go in and polish them up so they're on par with the later chapters. But here's the rewrite of chapter one. Enjoy. I do hope you appreciate this hard work. ;) And for those of you whom are my loyal readers, don't worry. Chapter 15 will be out as soon as I'm done trying to manage Illidan's insanity. Oooo, I just gave y'all a teaser of a hint. )

The hiss of sea water washed over the wooden hull of the boat that cut through the ocean, the snapping of canvas and ropes punching through the mostly silent journey. Cold water caught by eddies of wind was stirred into whitecaps, fine foam being lifted upwards to settle across the skin of one of the boat's passengers, making her shiver as she curled her hands about the railing. What a strange figure the tall woman cut when one saw the red and gold clad figures of sin'dorei about her on the deck while she herself wore skin of pale lavender and long green locks of hair. Now, any observer, if they had seen the sight, perhaps could have been confused. After all, the kaldorei and sin'dorei did not get along. It was obvious, however, that the kaldorei was a prisoner. No chains decorated her body, nor were there any sin'dorei so close to her as to be called guards, yet it was perhaps the way that she stood alone at the bow of the ship, long hair fluttering about her body for it was unbound and left free to do as it pleased.

Behind her came the thud of steel-clad feet against the deck as more then one blood elf moved, helping with the silence that came with this trip and the night elf shivered, drawing the thick fur that wrapped her body even more about herself as her eyes closed. To most, it appeared as if she were being thoughtful but there was something a bit different about the night elf. Apart from the fact that she was awake during the day, but one only had to look to the leaves twined through her hair and about her neck to understand what part of that difference was. After all, the druids of the kaldorei had slowly come to understand that it was the sunlight that empowered them. Even the light of the moon did not affect them as it once had.

There were no movements from her but a prickle ran up and down the back of the kaldorei woman as she turned her head, hearing a different tread approaching her. How easy it was for her to notice these footsteps for they always seemed to grow lighter when the owner of that sound approached her. Then again, with his manners and educated style of speaking, she knew that it was simply his way of showing a bit of manners towards her. The wind picked up as it whipped at her hair and exposed skin and while she felt the cold, the druid refused to budge from her current spot as her fingers tightened upon the wooden railing of the ship, unable to imagine the view before her of slate gray clouds scurrying through the sky overhead, the water being a cold blue-gray shade while foaming whitecaps were splashing across the landscape of the ocean. Through the deep troughs between the waves, one could see the shimmering of sea-green and orange and blue scales as the naga that served with the sin'dorei plunged through the cold arctic waters.

"We're almost there, Shayl Hawkeye," said the leader of the small expedition that manned the boat.

The man's voice was smooth in a fluid fashion, almost warm, almost kind, but entirely neutral towards her in the end. The inflections that accented his syllables were characteristic of his people whom had become much more melodious then the kaldorei had, and Shayl's head turned in his direction at last as golden eyes landed upon the one who had led those whom had kidnapped her away from her home without any given justification until after they had been well on their way. And though she could not see him, Shayl was wholly aware that she was being looked at it in return by the young princeling of Quel'Thalas.

It had been such a simple thing, she mused in thought now as she fought to find a way to answer his words, to take her. Shayl had long ago made her home in the woods she had been taken from, saving travelers that passed through on journeys, mending the forest with her own meager skills, caring for the wildlife that dwelt within. The young druid had been running low on some herb or another that she could not recall at the moment without its smell there to ground her knowledge and had never experienced trouble before in her woods. There had been a hiss of sound before there was a presence and a net landing upon her body as she was trussed up neatly as a Winter Vale present. She had tried to escape, at first, and repeatedly, but had given up after she had not only been drained of all her magic but partially beaten by one of the Myrmidons before Kael had stopped him. Sighing, Shayl finally murmured something noncommittal to the air; however, unlike before, Kael did not withdraw his presence this time around.

Yet, Shayl could not help but be mildly impressed with the prince. While he was not any warm fuzzy bosom-buddy by any means, he had treated her with polite, if cold respect and had seen that she had been equipped with proper clothing rather then her favored dress of a tunic and little else. It had been strange, pulling on stiff leather clothing and wrapping herself in a fur-lined and edged cloak, but Shayl had understood and heeded him when he said that they were going to a place where it was cold. But the true shock had come when Kael had taken her aside some time after she had been captured to explain the reason why they had captured her.

The reason for Shayl's abduction had come not from any whimsical or sinister means but for something else. She had been taken because their leader was ill and most likely dying. The priests had tried everything that they could think of, he had said, but they were unsuccessful in their endeavors to heal their leader. When she had asked whom this leader was, there had been a poignant, stark pause before Kael had answered. The leader of his people was not himself, as she had almost presumed, but the one known as Illidan Stormrage; the Betrayer. Shayl had felt almost as if the world had dropped out from underneath her feet with that revelation and she had been glad that she was sitting down at the time.

Broken from her thoughts by the sound of a naga's voice, Shayl's long ears nearly quivered at the thought, the sounds of landfall being imminent. Had that much time passed already? But then, she had no way to tell time. The cold here was constant with no change as far as she could tell, though her hands lifted to the collar of the cloak, turning it up higher as she pulled on the gloves she had been provided. The crunching scrape of wood over sand, or at least what she presumed to be sand, sounded like a dragon's roar in the still wind. As she was led down the gangplank, one of her hands resting upon the muscular arm of a spell-breaker, Shayl was aware of the lack of life or warmth in this dismal place.

They had no time to spare with walking and so it was that hawkstrider mounts had been brought along. Shayl had spent her time in the berth getting acquainted with them and she moved to her favorite one, stroking the deadly beak and soft, glossy feathers on his neck as she whispered to him. The large bird tilted his head before he bent down and Shayl scrambled clumsily onto his back, though the strider waited patiently for her to settle into his saddle. She was going to be guided, she knew, and Shayl didn't bother taking the reins. Yet it was an exhilarating experience as the hawkstriders began to run, their long legs carrying them over the rocky, snowy terrain of Northrend. More then once, Shayl could have sworn they were being watched, being followed and she was aware of those in the expedition changing, but always she was kept in the center. Four days of hard riding finally led them, however, to the encampment that had been built up while the priests tried to heal Illidan of whatever wound had caused them to go in search of a druid of their distant cousins.

In mere moments after she had slid off the back of the hawkstrider, the leader of the priests was marching over and she heard her speaking to Kael in the mellifluous tongue of the blood elves, almost as if she were angry. Perhaps she was from Kael having taken so long, Shayl wondered, before she was being approached by the woman. She smelled of holiness and incense and other scents that Shayl couldn't identify. There was a curt command in the tongue of their people. Likely doesn't know Common, Shayl thought, or she doesn't care at all. There was a sense of air difference as Shayl entered a tent, ducking her head after whacking it against the supports and rubbing her forehead now, and the first thing that she noticed was the air smelled foul. But she followed the healer until she stopped and Shayl felt a large presence upon the ground that simply demanded attention. Slowly, her hands extended to feel for anything that would be in the way, she carefully knelt down, her knees coming into contact with thick furs that had likely been layered many times over if she couldn't feel the cold of the permafrost in the ground through them. Removing her gloves at last, Shayl's hands reached out again and finally came into contact with bare skin.

Almost instantly, Shayl nearly recoiled from the touch on that body. But, swallowing hard, she forced her hands to move and study what she could not see with her eyes. And, despite the severity of the situation, the young druid could not help but notice her patient more intently for perhaps the first time. Strong muscles were obvious beneath her skin and the druid guessed that she had found his shoulder or arm at first. Long fingers slowly crept over his body and she felt a strong pulse fluttering beneath her fingers. So his shoulder had been what she encountered; lightly, her fingers skimmed over his face, feeling features that were twisted in pain and damp with sweat. But had they not been so warped, Shayl could have said that this man was handsome, despite knowledge of what he had done ten thousand years ago. Her hand moved upwards now to run over his forehead and she almost jumped at the sensation of growths beneath her fingers. A brief, inquisitive touch revealed that it was a set of horns.

Filing that information away, Shayl let her hands run over Illidan's facial features once more before her hands began to move down to his chest once again. Strong muscles, hard muscles, met her palms and then her fingers as she bent her head downwards in thought. Then Shayl's hand brushed up against the wound and she let out a ragged gasp as she ripped her hands away from his body, staring in horror, at least as much as a blind woman could stare, at Illidan's body. There was something about that wound that was not right and she had the strangest sense that it was almost like a crack in a container that something was slowly leaking out of. Her fingers slowly returned to rest on either side of the wound though she took obvious care not to touch it and her senses reached out beyond the physical world to the spiritual. There. A simple murmur as Shayl's spiritual self tied off the wound and she closed her eyes before they jerked open with a sudden reaction below her hands.

There had been a fever in this halfbreed sorcerer, a fever that had shown itself through the clammyness of his skin and the tense pain in his body. But someway, somehow, she had caused it to turn inwards on Illidan with a renewed sense of fury. Even as her mouth came open to ask for herbs and hot water wipes and other medicines, a sudden roar erupted in the air as her patient jerked upwards. Reacting instinctively, Shayl threw herself forward to hold him down, shouting for help. More hands joined in as Shayl's blind eyes closed. It was a gesture made reflex over many years and while it made no difference physically, it helped with her mentality. Her fingers dug into the muscles underneath her hands as she held down the thrashing man. Even as she did this, Shayl found herself speaking as calmly as she could, requesting the medicinal supplies.

Ignoring the chaos around her as shouting happened, bustling activity marking the fleeing of someone to get medicinal herbs for the druid who couldn't heal without them, her mind turned towards the man whom she was holding down. He was large; immense, perhaps, would have been a better term. Shayl was tall for a night elf woman, though still ultimately shorter then the men. But this man, the Betrayer, her patient made her feel absolutely small. It was a new sensation for she was larger then most humans or orcs who passed her way. She had treated a troll once and had been repaid by his hunting down a meal for her. The druid had long ago made an oath to Elune that she would treat anyone whom was presented to her as a patient and she would hold to that oath even now.

Pungent aromas met her nose moments later and Shayl was quickly taking the bowl of hot water and cloths and herbs from the elf who provided them. All eyes on the tent were on her; Kael watched with open interest as the night elf lifted bundle of herbs after herbs up to her nose. He watched as she arranged them in a pattern he assumed she favored due to her disability and stared as she began to shred the herbs in an order that seemed random to him, dried green flora fluttering down to soak up water in the bowl. A request for something to stir the now aromatic water gave her a knife and there was a quick swirl of the knife in the water three times counter-clockwise, four times clockwise, then two more times counter-clockwise. Returning the knife to its owner, Shayl dipped a cloth into the hot water and wrung it out once it had been soaked before she laid it over the deep gash on Illidan's chest. Repeating this gesture, she covered up the entirety of the wound and then her head lifted at last as Shayl spoke up at last.

"I do not know how long it'll be until his fever breaks," she said in weary tones, "but I can promise you that it will. This wound, though, it worries me. The Be.." Shayl stopped. Paused. Swallowed hard. ".. Illidan is a strong man. He will recover, of that I'm certain. Now, if I may.. The hut needs to be aired out and possibly cleaned up. Just a suggestion."

Silence met her words before she heard Kael speaking and activity began to move around her. But Shayl didn't move from her spot by Illidan's side. Again and again, she soaked the strips of cloth and laid them over the wound, her hands seeming to find some excuse to stray over his body. Something about him left her wishing to touch him more and more. Food was brought to her which she ate without tasting, some sort of soup and bread combination with milk and she remained by his side still. But weariness from the forced journey overtook her at last. Quietly, the druid dragged a furred blanket over herself as she curled up near Illidan and fell asleep. Yet, if one looked hard enough, they'd find the fingers of one of her hands gently resting against his own hand as she sank into an exhausted slumber.