|“Well, that went poorly, didn’t it?” Mirium’s voice echoed across the abandoned park.|
Amazingly, no one had stopped the couple on the way out of the gladiator’s arena. Now they were perched on one of the walls overlooking the drop-off of the rock hulk that held Dalaran. Mirium was helping Keelath reset his ribs: his magic still hadn’t come back, and her panicked healing job had healed some of the bones crookedly.
|The re-breaking didn’t hurt, but the constant little jabs of the Light magic in his side did, as she repaired her own mistakes. “Yes, it did,” he agreed tiredly, not wanting an argument–especially not when Mirium was responsible for putting his injuries to rights.|
|“What happened back there?” she asked in a gentler tone as she moved to his other side and began tapping her way up that side of his chest. “I’ve seen you heal yourself with blood magic before. Why not then?”|
|“I couldn’t,” said Keelath. “Once the hunger disappeared, so did my magic.”|
“They are tied together,” Mirium confirmed quietly.
She paused. Keelath did nothing did disabuse her of the notion he was sure was in her head. Every healing came with a price. There was no easy road to cure him of his curse.
|“This heals you,” she finally offered, giving a smart crack to the next rib with a little hammer specially magicked for the job. “My Light.” She then manuevered the bone into its proper place, “freezing” it there with a burst of her magic.|
Keelath hissed. “Yes, but painfully.”
“Like how every normal person heals themselves.”
“Every normal person with Light magic at their beck and call?”
Mirium smirked. “Well, until I become the first elven shaman, I’m afraid you’ll have to make do, good ser.”
“You could become a druid.”
“And grow antlers and purple skin to match, I’m sure.”
|Keelath chuckled and winced, as she fixed the last rib. She then painstakingly packed up her tools and sat down beside him, arms loosely wrapped around him.|
He put a hand to her cheek and laid his head against hers. They sat together and watched clouds pass below. It would be a rainy night; normally the only time Dalaran flew above the clouds was when it was foggy on the ground so far below the flying city.
“Yet it did work to control the bloodlust,” Keelath finally said. “If I could be the one in control of that scepter–”
Mirium sighed. “You aren’t convinced by how disastrously this turned out? That could’ve been an Alliance army instead of just some two-bit Ogron and his human, and you would be dead. And me too, likely.”
“And the war with the Alliance is over.” He turned towards her, raising an eyebrow. “Only daily wear and tear is a threat to me now, and I think I can stand your Light prickles for that.”
“I suppose,” Mirium agreed reluctantly. “But with you in control of the scepter! For a moment there, I almost thought he was going to let you–”
“Die?” supplied Keelath when she trailed off. She knew as well as he did that it took a lot more than an Ogron to truly kill a death knight.
“I don’t know,” said Mirium. “The whole thing still doesn’t feel right. But I know how important it is to you to not feel a slave to your…undeath, so if this is the only way to keep you on the even keel, I’ll support you. All the way.”
Keelath kissed her cheek gratefully. “I’ll tell him no more fighting rings.”
“And who will you test it on then?”
Keelath shrugs. “My brother? Alelsa’s demons?”
“Yes, but, would that be enough to prove it? Would you ever feel hungry enough to want to hurt either one of them?”
Keelath just looked at her.
“…oh,” said Mirium, dropping her head.
Keelath tucked it under his chin. “And so it is important we make this work. I’m confident, Miri. Though it was admittedly terrible timing, the magic in that scepter was strong. We only have to learn to control it.”
“And to get it out of the hands of that slimy worgen.”
Keelath smiled. “Yes. Eventually, we will do that, too.”