The Forsaken Chapter 1: A Thief in the Dark, a gundam wing/ac fanfic

Title: The Forsaken
Author: Link Worshiper
Pairings: 1=2, 3=4, maybe some others if I feel like it
Rating: PG-13
Stuff: Fantasy AU, fluff, sap, language, adventure, squick?, WoW nerdiness
Disclaimer: I own Gundam Wing action figures? Warcraft and its lore belongs to Blizzard Entertainment. Both things are being played with out of fangirl love.

Thanks to danse and Natea for the once over. Despite the fact this is part of Natea's birthday present, I still needed her to fill me in on the Alliance history they don't teach us on Horde, so thanks for that also =P

And another note for you people who probably cruised in here after I kind of wandered off this site: I have a website where all my fics are archived, and the URL is (the old , which no longer exists). In case you forget, it's all been updated on my user profile. I'm posting here to kind of make a sneeze about it, and I've written about 10 or so fics, some of which are kind of long, since I left , so there's lots to read. Maybe I'll post them here one day, since I know no one is reading this note.

*Edited a mistake in this chapter. Sorry for confusion. Treize = Arthas. Oops.

Part I
A Thief in the Dark

In the darkness of the Silverpine Forest, Heero crouched in the shrubbery that lined the Sepulcher, blending in with the shadows around him. The leather of his jerkin and leggings creased uncomfortably against his skin as he shifted into a more comfortable position in complete silence, one hand ever-lingering upon the sheathed dagger at his hip. He peered through the gloom, through the twisted iron fence that lined the old graveyard: there were only a few undead guards wandering the perimeter, though with their diseased gait, it was hard to tell how watchful they actually were. Still, it didn't pay to be lackadaisical, he thought to himself as his other hand wandered to the pouch clinging to his belt, digging for a flask of poison to slather across his blade. He would make short work of this mission, steal the item and make it back to his guild's encampment down the road in less than an hour.

Finally ready to go, he pulled up his mask over his nose and mouth and retied the hood of his cloak more tightly around his neck before venturing from the safety of the wood and into the eerie graveyard town that was now overrun with Lady Catalonia's undead followers. It was strange to see the Sepulcher like this now, he thought as he crept along the broken iron fence, unseen. When he used to live in Dalaran, back before the betrayal of Treize had chased it into the sky, he used to escort his friend, Quatre, to this little graveyard town for priest training. Now, those bright days seemed like a distant memory.

One of the Forsaken stood watch near the Sepulcher's main gate. Heero dashed by him and slit his throat before he even had a chance to register what was going on. He fell to the ground and silently rolled into an open grave as a small commotion started to brew near the gate, the fallen guard aggravating the attention of the other undead watchmen that were stationed nearby.

He took the chance to dart across the rest of the graveyard, heading towards the old opened crypt that now served an orbital place of study for a small legion of Lady Catalonia's apothecaries. From this dark library, he was to steal the last fragment of a sigil he and his band of fellow rogues had spent the last month traveling across Azeroth in search of. He was not sure what powers the mysterious sigil held, but King Milliardo Wrynn himself had bid Heero to take his guild of bandits on this quest for the sake of the noble Alliance, and so he had accepted. He did not fully endorse the treaty councils Relena Proudmoore had hosted for the Horde Warchief Thrall, and was thus willing to investigate alternate means for achieving peace in Azeroth - at least for the Alliance, at any rate.

Under the cover of night, he slipped towards the fire lit stairs that descended into the crypt library, knowing that the moment he stepped into its warm glow, he would truly have to keep his wits about him. He had a vague idea of what he might find down below, but there was no telling if he really had a chance of surviving this particular mission. But dying for the Alliance was something he had prepared himself for the moment he had begun training as a fighter. Heero peered around the corner and into the tiny library, surveying it with the calculating eyes of the finest thief. There were four undead scholars, each clad in the robes of Lady Catalonia's Royal Apothecary Society, and three more Forsaken guards, who were lounging about the library as if they knew they'd scored themselves the easy post for the night. It didn't take him long to mark the location of the sigil fragment that matched the other four they already possessed; it lay almost carelessly on the table in the middle of the room, serving as a mere paperweight for a stack of yellowed enchanting formulas. A dark smirk formed on Heero's face: this would be like taking candy from a baby.

Without dallying a second longer, Heero leapt from safety and into the library, thoroughly startling all the Forsaken there. The four apothecaries were quick to abandon their studies and back themselves against the far wall, while the three guards clumsily fell into formation between them and Heero. Quick as lightning, Heero leapt across the table at them, his dagger bared and already slashing at the nearest Forsaken warrior, who dropped like a sack of bones almost immediately. In one fell motion, Heero turned on his heel, lifting his dagger and bringing it down upon the next undead guard, making equally short work of him and the soldier who stood after him. Then Heero snatched the sigil fragment off the table and squirreled it away in his hip pouch as he shot a warning glare at the four brooding apothecaries, who were murmuring in Gutterspeak amongst themselves. They seemed to come to some kind of consensus as Heero was slowly backing away. However, whatever course of action they had decided upon never came to fruition, for just as the first apothecary was about to make his move, Heero instinctively hurled his dagger at the undead scholar, where it soon found a new sheath in which to rust. The apothecary crumpled to the ground, no longer even undead, and his colleagues quickly rushed to his aid, while Heero hurried out of the crypt library as fast as his legs could carry him.

Homefree, he thought giddily to himself as he dashed for the safety of the woods that surrounded the Sepulcher; I will be revered in Stormwind by King Milliardo for this show of valour for the Alliance. But just as he was just about to dive through a hole in the bushes to the dark safety of the underbrush, he felt a chill around his heart, like a pair of claws had dug their way into his soul and was pulling him in the opposite direction. It was only then that he realized that a pair of ghostly, sapphire hands were closed around his chest, holding him fast. Heero's eyes darted about with wild fear as he tried to search out the master of this otherworldly being that had impeded his getaway. It didn't take long for the one matching such a description made himself known.

"Where are you running to with such fervor in this dark wood, rogue?" came a deep baritone that was gouged with the scratchy tones of the undead Forsaken. Heero's eyes widened fearfully as a powerful looking warlock materialized out of the gloom, his yellowed eyes glowing like twin lanterns in the night. His matted brown hair hung in tangles around his rotting face and fell in a long, knotted braid over one shoulder.

"It is none of your affair," Heero retorted snidely, certain that even the most polite of mannerisms wouldn't save him. He was fully aware that the Forsaken had no love for anything that still drew breath, and he shuddered to think what sort of torturous end this warlock had in mind for him. Turning his head away from the warlock, he snorted, "O, have this hellspawned minion of yours do what it will with me already. I am not afraid to die."

A slow smile that revealed a mouth full of decayed teeth spread across the warlock's face as a scratchy cackle fell through his stretched, white lips. It strained the leather stitches that barely held fast the rip extending from the corner of his mouth. "Humans, ever so amusing, even to the end," the warlock mused, lifting a bony hand that was only half covered in flesh to stroke his chin. "It is ironic that you and I would crave the same thing so desperately. What makes you think you have earned the right to the eternal sleep when I have been waiting an age to experience it?"

Heero whipped his head back to shoot a dastardly glare at the warlock for a comment that so belittled his want for a honourable death. In an instant, the warlock seemed to have been taken aback, as if startled. Heero was not slouch enough to miss the fact that despite being surprised, the warlock's ghost minion still held him fast. He must have a great mana well, he reasoned bitterly, more concerned with the warlock's power source than what had caused the upset in the first place.

The warlock seemed to be undergoing an attitude adjustment, eyeing Heero up and down as if he were trying to come to a personal decision about what he ought to do next. "You carry no weapons," he said at length, striding towards his captive warily. "What is your business here, human?" He reached out and boldly ripped back Heero's hood, revealing the ragged mop of chocolate hair it had been concealing, which he then ran a skeletal finger through curiously. Then he suddenly grabbed Heero by the chin, his bony digits cutting into Heero's jaw; "Speak true, rogue," the warlock warned, his tone suddenly dangerous once more, "or I shall not hesitate to sacrifice you in the name of the Dark Lady."

Heero frowned, his mind racing at the various options he had and completely unsure what the best course of action would be. He decided that the warlock was going to do what he would with him not matter what he chose, so he shrugged and said, "I was here to steal. I lost my dagger making my escape."

The warlock seemed to consider the comment before he snapped the fingers of his other hand, this one much more resembling of a human hand, though its colour was pale with deathly rot. The sapphire ghost minion that had been holding Heero fast vanished in a twist of blue smoke, carelessly dropping Heero to the ground with its departure. Heero fell to his knees, ripping his facemask from over his nose and mouth as he clutched his chest and he gasped for breath, suddenly aware that the ghost had sapped him of most of his strength.

"I believe you, rogue," said the warlock, who was staring down at Heero with that bemused smirk still adorning his twisted lips. "And because even I feel unease at the notion of killing someone who is unarmed - even if that someone is a filthy Ally - I will reward your honesty with allowing you to continue on your way." Then his apparent good nature fell away, and he added darkly, "But should I catch you sneaking about the Sepulcher again, I warn you now that I will not hesitate to kill you. Understand?"

Heero, still feeling winded, stared up at the warlock with disbelief. Part of him almost wanted to say something disparaging, but he knew that such idiocy would end in certain death, which simply would not do with his goal so near at hand. He swallowed deeply and then gave the warlock a curt nod before abruptly taking to his feet and dashing off into the night. He didn't once look back, not even to see if the warlock was still standing there, watching him go.

When Heero came stumbling back into his guild's encampment, looking like Death warmed over, the others were all immediately at his side, certain that some terrible evil had befallen their brash leader. He shrugged them all away and slouched towards the low burning embers of the campfire that still smoldered between their little tents. Sitting, he wordlessly stared at the flames, thinking mostly to himself about the odd encounter he'd just had with that Forsaken warlock and how strange it was to know that a member of the Horde had allowed him his freedom. It made him question what they were doing there for the first time in his entire career serving the Alliance. What if he had just witnessed the kind of thing that Relena Proudmoore saw in the ranks of Thrall and his mighty Horde?

"Well?" came the voice of Otto, another Stormwind rogue in the loyal service of King Milliardo. "Did you find it?"

Heero faltered at the question, the hand that had automatically started to reach for his hip pouch hovering over the leather flap with uncertainty. He tapped the buckle that held the pouch fast, mulling over his recent musings once more. Perhaps assembling the pieces of this Epyon Sigil wasn't such a grand idea after all. Maybe completing this quest would end up hurting the Alliance more than aiding it. Even just the possibility made Heero think about relinquishing the final sigil shard in a completely different light.

"Was it not there?" came the voice of another fellow guildmate, this one a blond rogue by the name of Alex. He had a friend called Mueller who was quick to add, "Did we get faulty information about the sigil's whereabouts?"

It was the bother of all these constant questions that finally caused Heero to give in and relinquish his findings. Stuffing his hand into his pouch, he pulled out the granite hunk that glowed with the light of all the runes engraved around its edge. "It was there," he said simply, holding it out for whoever would take it from him. "Do what you will with it. My work is finished."

Alex impatiently snatched the shard from Heero's uncaring hand and thrust it towards Mueller, who was the lone mage that had come along with them on this journey. "Seal the magic," Alex commanded as if he had the authority to order other guild members around. "We will present King Milliardo with a viable tool he can use to crush the Horde once and for all."

Sadly, Mueller followed Alex's orders with the pathetic air of someone who allowed a so-called friend to push him around. He took the sigil shard from Heero and then announced to the rest of the guild, "I am going to perform the bonding ritual inside one of the tents. I beg you to not interrupt me, or the entire thing may as well be for naught."

Heero let out an annoyed grunt, unable to keep his thoughts straight with all this discussion around him. He stood up and told them he was going to go scout the coastline of Lordamere Lake, though the truth of it was that he wanted to find a quiet place to brood without the prattle of his somewhat idiotic guildmates there to distract him. He had a lot weighing his mind, and the thought that most of it was making him question everything he had ever believed in was a rather alarming shock he wanted to deal with as soon as possible. He was gone before anyone even had the chance to protest.

It wasn't long before Heero was able to find a nice, isolated knoll a good enough distance from the encampment that he would be left alone, but not so far that he would be unable to aid his allies should something unfortunate befall them. Again, he dug through his pouch, this time in search of a small trinket his friend, Quatre, had given him before they'd parted ways so many years ago. It was a small, silver charm in the shape of an owl that Quatre had enchanted with his magic to serve as a sort of communication tool. Simply rubbing the charm would immediately connect him to the similarly enchanted trinket that Quatre carried with him at all times, even if they were oceans away from each other. Knowing that Quatre was the wisest person he would ever have the fortune of considering a friend, Heero rolled the owl charm between his palms, praying that Quatre's counsel would at least give him some peace of mind.

Within moments, a warbled, glowing ring of light that depicted Quatre's countenance all the way from Theramore hung in the air before Heero, even just the sight of the familiar face of his friend was enough to make him feel better. "What's wrong, Heero?" Quatre voice echoed dreamily through the communication portal. "You look deeply troubled."

"I'm fine," Heero answered, though it was clear by his posture and his tone that it was a thinly veiled lie. Quatre sent him a stern glare through the portal, and Heero relented. "My life was spared by a Forsaken tonight, Quatre," he confessed, desperate to get it off his chest. "But I don't know what that even means."

Quatre said nothing at first, instead taking a ponderous moment to look thoughtful. "I will not ask what new foolishness you are undertaking for Stormwind now, but I will say that I have heard tales that even the Forsaken can be prone to mercy," he mused aloud, tapping his lower lip. "Perhaps you were fortunate enough to have been caught by one who has been shown mercy by one of our own in the past."

"That... could be," Heero said slowly as he tried to decide whether or not that was plausible or not. "But they would kill and feast upon even one of their own Horde allies out of mere spite that they still have blood in their veins. They are a proud and selective brethren."

"They are no more proud than you, Heero Yuy," Quatre said glibly with a roll of his eyes, privately thinking that even Heero's elite training had not managed to quell the hot-blooded rashness that had fuelled him in his youth. There was a pause, and then Quatre asked, "Are you unnerved by the thought that your forsworn enemy is just as capable of pity as you?"

As usual, Quatre had been quick to see through to the heart of the matter. Heero supposed that was part of why he'd wanted to talk to Quatre at all, but at the same time, it was disheartening to think that he was so transparent. He said nothing and stared down at his boots.

"The Horde is not without honour, you know," Quatre said at length. "Even the dreaded Forsaken, freed from the wrath of the Lich King and yet still damned, are not without their reasons for their dark ways. We fear what we do not understand, and I think it is that lack of understanding that keeps the Alliance fearful of the Horde. The old wars are over, now, Heero; we live in a different world, and I personally think it's high time that the people of Azeroth begin to change with it."

"Thanks for the lecture, Quatre," Heero muttered moodily, "but I didn't call on you to hear you spout the trivialities you hear in Relena Proudmoore's court."

Quatre let out a very audible sigh, running his hands through his short, blond hair. Quatre knew Heero had never approved of his decision to use his priestly training to aid Relena Proudmoore's politics from her seat in Theramore, but his disdain for that was no less apparent than Quatre's reservations towards King Milliardo Wrynn's far brasher methods. It was a heated debate that they tried to avoid ever since they had nearly ended their friendship over it in their youth. At the time, they were each trying to settle upon where they each would best be of service to the Alliance, but their differences in worldviews had left the two friends at a crossroads. Still, it was impossible to keep a snide comment or two from loosening itself when it came to discussions such as these, and sometimes Quatre thought it a miracle of friendship that they hadn't dueled each other over such differences.

Quatre was jarred from his thoughts when Heero suddenly jumped to his feet as if there was something amiss near where he sat. "What now?" he wondered, confused by Heero's sudden alertness.

"Shh, I-" Heero hissed, his eyes darting around suspiciously. He thought he had heard some kind of commotion from the woods, but he hadn't been listening closely enough to pinpoint exactly where it had come from. He piqued his ears in hopes of hearing something else, and it didn't take long before he heard the sound of shouting a billowing fire coming from the direction of the guild encampment. Fearing the worst, he brusquely closed the communication portal with Quatre, and, stuffing the owl charm back into his pack, took off immediately for the place he had left his comrades.

At first, Heero had suspected that the undead warlock had sold him out and had brought a Forsaken hunting party into Silverpine to smoke them out. However, when he arrived at the camp, it was apparent such a thing was hardly the case. Instead of undead standing amidst the flames that had engulfed their camp, there was a large, shadowy form that seemed to be neither beast nor spirit. It had great hands with heavy claws that hung nearly to the ground and burning red eyes that glowed with the hatred. Heero hung back, watching the creature in fearful awe from the nearby shadows. It was obvious that the binding of the sigil had gone awry and that it was unlikely any of them had survived the calamity. Heero couldn't say for sure if it was the result of a miscast spell, since magic was an alien tongue to him, but if there was anything he could be certain of was that the sigil had unleashed something truly horrible into the world.

And then, almost as if the demon had been wrought from some kind of unholy dream, it suddenly vanished, though where it had gone, Heero couldn't be sure. Amid the fire, which seemed to be dying without the shadow's presence there to fuel it, he could see the sigil still glowing beneath the burning remnants of one of the tents. Its light somehow radiated with the kind of temptation that had ruined the lives of lesser men. Heero frowned at it, hating its very existence for betraying the ones that had made it whole once more. Yet, he also knew it wouldn't do to leave it there for someone more irresponsible to come across by accident. Carefully picking his way through the patches of fire that still burned strong, he snatched the sigil up like a hot coal, tossing it from hand to hand to cool it down as he quickly made haste to get away before the fire garnered anyone else's attention.

He wandered aimlessly through the forest, at first careless of where he ended up as he tried to decide what he should do next. Going back to Stormwind didn't seem like a viable option at the moment, not only because of the distance, but also because he wasn't sure he knew how he would explain to King Milliardo what had just transpired. Such power would surely please His Majesty, Heero was certain, but considering the sort of reckless campaigns Milliardo Wrynn was famous for, Heero wasn't sure he was quite willing to simply hand over such a potentially destructive item. Heero then thought maybe it would be most prudent to figure out exactly what it was he and his comrades had found; he might feel more comfortable if he could at least be sure that the power of the sigil's creature wouldn't backfire and harm the Alliance. Somehow, though, he was already sure he knew what the answer to that speculation would prove to be. Perhaps the Horde had reasons for dashing it to pieces in the first place after all.

Unfortunately, as noted before, Heero was at a complete loss when it came to magic and spells, for it was not something that a rogue really had any use for. Quatre probably wouldn't be of much service without being able to physically examine the sigil, Heero reasoned, though he supposed another council with the clever priest might not be a bad route to take either. He came to a halt and leaned against a nearby tree, clutching his forehead in deep thought. He hated decisions that needed extreme mulling over; the lack of action was enough to drive him insane.

There was a shout from somewhere off in the distance, and Heero looked up at the sound, figuring that someone had discovered the remnants of the flaming encampment. Perhaps they were Forsaken, he thought, clutching the sigil tightly in one fist. Perhaps that warlock was amongst them....