"She's upstairs, third floor. " The goblin finally stated, also giving a fearful glance to the gathering as the soldier gave his hurried thanks before standing and climbing the stairs.
As promised, he found her on the third floor of the shady establishment. Piles of documents, unopened letters and maps surrounded a sleeping elven woman, her peppered hair shielding her features as she gave a restless murmur before a quiet snore escaped. Sighing, the man knelt beside her before gently tucking her hair behind her torn ear.
Captain Iliae Niah Duskryder. Her name had come across his desk many times in recent years, standing as a reminder of her reputation as a deadly archer and worthy opponent to any Alliance assassin. Yet every time he had seen her name, he had dutifully shoved the orders to the bottom of the pile and directed his men to pursue less dire offenders to his faction.
"Illy." He whispered, gently shaking her arm as one hand knowingly rested on her other hand. As expected, she woke quickly- her hand instinctively jerking to the dagger on her belt before stopping as her face turned from drowsiness to recognition.
"Jackson?" She sat up before moving forward and pulling the decorated soldier into an affectionate embrace. The two remained as such for a long moment until he hesitantly lifted her back into her seat before settling himself into the seat adjacent to her. “How did you-”
“Crookshaw.” He answered, his lips never shifting from the faint hint of a smile as he watched her try to subtly groom out her hair.
“Still can’t keep his mouth shut?” Iliae bore an elated smirk as she reached for the half filled glass on the table.
“Don’t blame the man, he’s not as young as he used to be, you know…plus, you should have told me.” Jackson shifted in his seat, his eyes warily moving to the stairwell as he spoke, “You know, I’ve heard the rumors going around the Highlands about your situation.”
Nodding slightly, she sit the glass aside and frowned a bit. “I know…” She admitted, a tinge of guilt to her words as she sat back in her seat. “It’s not true.”
The man laughed half-heartedly at this, his brow raising as he watched her. “You think I believe it is? Illy, I know you can be a little lax in your choice of company,” Once again, he looked at the stairwell, his brow knitting as he thought back to the small company seated downstairs, “But I am well aware that you would never work with cultist filth.”
Iliae followed his gaze for a moment, her frown deepening before she looked back at him. “Then why are you here? Not that I’m not happy to see you…”
At this, Jackson returned his full attention to her, his face falling as words seemed to suddenly fail him. Shifting in his seat, he leaned forward against the table to meet her ever calculating gaze. Running his fingers over the bush of his beard, he soon after folded his hands in front of him. “Perhaps we should discuss this somewhere else.”
“Here is fine. What is it?” Any hint of joy disappeared as Iliae observed his apprehension, her eyes almost growing cold. “Jackson.” She stated, “What is it?”
Jackson inhaled sharply before sitting to his full height. “I’m sorry, Illy…” His brow furrowed again, his expression mournful as he forced himself to say the next three words. “It’s your father.” He cringed as he watched the ranger’s face fall, almost appearing as if someone had just come and knocked the wind from her.
“Is he…I mean, did he make it back?” Her words came quickly, almost frantic.
“He’s dead.” He cleared his throat, his eyes dropping to the table as the statement was met with a dumbfounded look from Iliae. “He got back to the camp safely, but was ill…there wasn’t time to send word. Lea said it didn’t take long…” He stopped as he saw her hand raise from the table to cover her mouth. Rising, Jackson moved to her side quickly as the elf collapsed from her chair and into his arms, an uncontrolled sob coming from her as she buried her face into his tabard. Raising a hand to her head, he pressed his lips against her hair as she grieved.
“I-I need to tell Daeryan…” She whispered, her fingers digging into his leathers as she clung to him.
Jackson sighed, “Don’t you worry about that. I’ll take care of it.” He continued to hold her, even as his ears detected that they were no longer alone on the floor. Turning his head, he found his gaze met by the cold eyes of Xynrael Frostbane, flanked by another well-armed warrior. Taking a slow breath, the human once again returned his attention to comforting Iliae.
They remained as such for a long while, and he much longer as Iliae had cried herself into a fitful sleep. Slowly, he shifted his arms before cradling the woman and rising, finally returning his gaze to her vigilant husband who had remained at the door. Silently noting that his young friend had left, Jackson frowned. “Where’s her room?”
Xynrael jerked his head toward the door nearest to him, quietly opening it wide to allow the human to pass through. Jackson gently laid her down in the bed, stealing one last stroke of her hair before turning and placing a blanket over her and standing. Leaving the room, he watched as Xynrael closed the door behind him.
A small eternity seemed to pass before Xynrael broke the stillness, moving eerily to Iliae’s former seat. “What are you doing here?” He questioned, his voice never raising above the growling echo of a whisper.
Jackson hesitantly followed, retaking his former seat. “Visiting a friend, is that a crime?”
“Yes, it is.” Xynrael looked to the door and outright scowled at the man, as if he smelled something unpleasant and was looking for the source, despite his unmoving gaze. “We’ve had enough problems without another one of our officers conspiring with the enemy.”
“Don’t you think that’s her decision to make?” He retorted, his eyes shifting as if his own words had just registered with him.
“No,” Xynrael said, the single syllable spoken cautiously, as if he were suddenly afraid of offending Jackson. “Because my wife, for all her strengths, is not thinking soundly at this particular moment.”
Jackson opened his mouth to protest, but the Death Knight lifted his hand. “You’re grieving, too. Nobody is at one hundred percent when they’re grieving. My father-in-law wouldn’t want Iliae losing someone else she loves for the selfish desire of having them close. Go.” He said, rolling up the paper on which he had been writing and handing it to Jackson.
Locking his jaw, Jackson took the paper and unrolled it before glancing at it and returning it to Xynrael. “You can give this to Illy.” Standing, the soldier made his way to the stairwell, pausing only to look back at the dead elf. “And don’t look so relieved. I’m not going anywhere.” He stated flatly before descending the stairs. Once clear of Xynrael’s view, Jackson let out a heavy sigh and reached into his tabard. Pulling free a wrinkled and old letter, he read it slowly before looking back up toward the stairs with a saddened smile.
Jackson Badger,
Poems? Are you barking mad? It is difficult enough to receive your post, but to travel to Gadgetzan and back to retrieve a pitiful excuse for a love poem is truly just ridiculous. Honestly, you are absolutely horrible at writing.
Oh, and of course insane. You are aware that you are absolutely insane, right?
Forever and most certainly not yours,
Iliae Duskryder
P.S. Thanks for the chocolates and give your mother my best.
