Chapter Text
Downstairs, any trace of the foolish and cowardly hope to escape notice that Acharin had still had despite his words to Levaindil went up in smoke as their appearance was commented by an excited outcry from Darea.
“There they are! Those are the Farstrider and the demon hunter you have to thank for rescuing our dear Arlan”, she commented and rose, stepping toward them.
The older man who had stood near her chair turned and the younger one with the boy in his arms rose from his own sitting place. Acharin was somewhat surprised that they still looked exactly the same as when he had last seen them: while taking his farewells before leaving Quel’Thalas as a member of Prince Kael’thas’ army during the aftermath of the Third War. Of course, this had solely been about sixteen years ago for them, which was nothing measured against the possible lifespan of a Thalassian elf, even if for him many more years had passed, due to his travels trough the Twisting Nether under Lord Illidan’s command.
His older brother still had the typical – boring – look of the bookkeeper he was, spectacles sitting atop his hawkish nose and his brown hair cropped short and orderly, obviously unaffected by becoming a parent. His father, on the other hand, looked stern as always, his jet-black hair combed back strictly into a neat tail that didn’t show any hints of grey. The observation caused Acharin a pang of sadness as he was reminded of Rael’nar, whose silver strands revealed that – at least in theory – he had less years still to live than the man in front of him, although it wasn’t clearly established yet how becoming a demon hunter affected their further physical aging.
“I’m sure you’ll agree with me that they have earned some reward for their heroic deed!”, Darea continued her excited chattering, though a hint of nervousness had entered her voice, as she had actually promised them some such back at the Bazaar, when she had been desperately searching for a way to get them to help her.
Acharin wasn’t sure if the following silence while the two men examined first Levaindil and then him was indeed as long as it felt or if it was just his imagination. He was sure, however, that he was not imagining the frown that briefly appeared on his father’s face when his gaze fell on him. Although Acharin had been doubting it in the past, the man had immediately recognized him.
“Not all heroic deeds ask for some special reward, dear daughter-in-law”, Selmar Crimsonwing lectured, “After all, the young lady is a Farstrider and has therefore only been doing her duty as a protector to the citizens of our kingdom, and he ”, a condescending note entered his voice, “was just fulfilling his duty to his family, though I’m honestly surprised he suddenly remembered as much.”
Acharin barely managed to stifle a rising growl in the back of his throat at those words, but luckily the reactions of the couple distracted him.
Darea blushed, clearly having noticed the veiled reprimand of her father-in-law, but her embarrassment only prevailed for a short moment before it was overshadowed by puzzlement, followed by understanding upon her husband’s disbelieving question.
“Va-valmin?! Is that really you? We thought you were dead!”
“Hello Lorven”, he answered, not surprised that his raspy voice caused his older brother to wince, “I no longer go by that name, though. It’s Acharin Crimsonwing now. The man you knew as Valmin has indeed died in Outland.”
“So, you were one of those who ran over to Stormrage to become half-demons”, Selmar commented, “No wonder you were so reluctant to show your disfigured face here again. Choosing to follow Sunstrider was already an incredibly bad investment by you, but that?”
“Would you have preferred for me to stay with Kael’thas and actually conspire with the enemy?”, he sneered, “You would do well to remember those half-demons did an important part in saving Azeroth from the Burning Legion and, in case you hadn’t noticed, the same is true for repelling the Scourge’s direct attack on the city today, father .” Acharin couldn’t prevent a growl from underlining his words this time.
It was weird. He hadn’t even hoped for a warm welcoming from the man, instead he had actually expected to be mocked, but he had also assumed he would feel ashamed by that, instead his father’s reaction only made him angry. Acharin also found it surprisingly difficult to address the man by his family title. He briefly wondered if that was because of his inner demon’s influence and reminded himself to keep a tight hold on his rising fury.
Darea and Lorven (with Arlan in his arms who had apparently nodded off in the safety of his father’s arms) exchanged uncomfortable glances but otherwise decided to keep themselves out of the confrontation.
“Then I assume those demon hunters we passed on our way here are affiliated with you?”, Selmar inquired, not the least bit impressed by Acharin’s obvious displeasure.
“They’re my pupils. Why are you asking?”
The older man subtly wrinkled his nose. “I merely noticed that two of them were kaldorei. Then again, that’s not too surprising given your lunatic leader was one of those uncivilized elves. Your pupils, you say? I sincerely hope you at least charge them twice as much for their education as the sin’dorei pay you.”
Acharin uttered a disbelieving snort. “Pay me? None of them are paying me anything.”
The mere idea was ridiculous, just as ridiculous as the fact that the Elite had refused to pay closer attention to the former Eternal Adepts. It was in the Illidari’s best interest to ensure that all demon hunters were as capable as possible and especially apt at controlling their inner demons.
“They don’t pay you?!”, Selmar’s eyebrows arched upward, “Then how do you make a living? Or are demon hunters that savage you no longer have a proper person’s needs? You’re wearing armor and weapons, though, and those had to be payed for somehow.”
Acharin clenched his hands into fists at his side, struggling with another surge of anger. The clearly exasperated huff from Levaindil at his side made it easier to deal with the emotion, realizing that he had her full sympathy. Apparently she wasn’t more delighted by meeting his father than he was.
“Not everyone needs a rich mansion to live in”, he pointed out, “I earn my money like every other adventurer: by helping people all over Azeroth or lately even the Shadowlands.”
His father shook his head in disappointment. “You’re truly hopeless, but I realized early on you didn’t have what it takes to be a successful tradesman.”
“Something I never wanted to be in the first place”, Acharin replied, not even feeling the barb to the other man’s words this time, “Are you done insulting me now? I actually got more important things to do than listening to a self-important cloth merchant… like keeping this city safe, for example.”
That actually caused Selmar to narrow his eyes at him for a brief moment, but the man had his temper under as tight a control as always. “Don’t mind me. If not for your appearance, I’d been off to the Bazaar already. I need to check what of our booth’s wares has endured the riot there.”
“By the Sunwell, I totally forgot about that because I was so worried about Arlan!”, Lorven exclaimed, “I hope Tal is all right. He was at the booth today, wasn’t he?”
“Don’t worry, the guards brought all the people there to safety. I’m sure Talnesh is fine”, Darea said, putting a soothing hand on her husband’s arm.
“If anything happened to your younger brother, I’ll sue the city guard”, Selmar said, turning to his oldest son, “I get that they didn’t have the capacity to save our goods, too, but in case they didn’t even succeed in keeping the people safe they no longer deserve our tax money. They already failed enough this day… as did the Farstriders, now that I’m thinking about it. It’s their duty to keep such fiends far away from Silvermoon.”
There was sharp intake of breath from Levaindil and Acharin had made a step toward his father before he could stop himself. “Stick to your own business. You lack the basics to judge the city guard or the Farstriders, because you have no idea about who today’s attackers truly were. This wasn’t just your average Scourge strike. The Mawsworn have powers none of you who’ve been living in Quel’Thalas for all your life have seen before.”
Selmar’s sharp eyes wandered from his face to that of the braided huntress behind him and back again. For the briefest moment Acharin thought to catch a hint of amusement on the man’s usually stern face.
“Hmm. Seems we all have our blind spots”, he then said cryptically.
Acharin frowned, not quite sure if the older sin’dorei had just admitted to a fault of his or if it had just been another veiled insult. It didn’t actually matter.
“Now then, Lorven, I assume you’ll take today’s events into account for your next order? Fabrics for funerals will certainly be in high demand, so we can raise the prices.”
“Of course, father”, the other elf assured, though there was a short hesitation to his words.
Maybe he was offended by the man’s worries he might not think of taking something like this into consideration, or maybe he actually condemned his father’s intention to capitalize on the tragic aftermath of the attack. Either way, he didn’t speak up, though Acharin hadn’t expected such insubordination from his older brother toward the head of the family anyway. They had always been like this, Lorven, Talnesh, himself and also their mother.
Acharin shook his head in realization. For his part, he was certainly done with that kind of behavior.
Selmar stepped toward the exit of the Ranger’s Lodge, where he paused. “Oh, one last thing. Acharin, was it? Valmin was proclaimed dead years ago. I’m not going to change my will again based on your appearance here, just to get that clear.”
The demon hunter couldn’t help himself but utter a short laugh at that. “You really haven’t changed one bit. Don’t worry, your riches are safe from me. You’ve got your priorities, I’ve got mine. As I said: Valmin Crimsonwing has died in Outland. I neither expect nor need any form of support from your side ever again, and I won’t ever claim that us sharing the same surname is more than a coincidence, Selmar.”
After a last piercing glance and a stern nod, the man finally disappeared into Farstriders’ Square.
“Wow, that was certainly something”, Halthenis eventually said into the tense silence that followed, brushing a hand through his long light brown hair in clear awkwardness and pulling Zandine close, the two of them having kept themselves quietly in the background even more so than Darea and Lorven.
Levaindil uttered an agreeing noise and stepped up to Acharin, gingerly reaching out to him and looking up. “Such a pleasant acquaintance. I fully understand now why you wanted to avoid that man.”
Looking into her emphatic turquoise eyes, the tension he had felt for the past couple of minutes left Acharin. He stooped and brushed his lips against hers, a gesture the huntress returned eagerly.
The surprised but quickly stifled noise from Darea showed that she obviously hadn’t yet realized that the two of them were a couple. “Oh dear”, she quickly said to gloss over her reaction when they broke their kiss, “I’m so sorry it all turned out this way. I really thought… but I didn’t know… well, Lor and I will just have to think of a reward by ourselves, won’t we?”, she elbowed her husband.
“Err, sure”, the short haired elf replied, adjusting the positioning of his glasses with one hand while balancing the sleeping boy on the other arm.
“Just forget about it”, Acharin rasped, earning Levaindil’s approving nod. “Selmar might have said a lot of stupid things, but that was actually something he got right: we were just doing our duty.”
“If anything, we owe you our thanks”, the huntress added: “If you hadn’t been so insistent on the matter, we would have ignored you, thinking we were doing that for the greater good and a lot of people could have got hurt.”
While Darea launched into some flustered stammering, Lorven stepped forward.
“Val- err, Acharin, I just want you to know that I am glad to see you. I was often wondering what might have happened to you… if you’d ended up as one of those horrible death knights… or even a cursed San’layn after hearing about what had happened to Kael’thas’ forces in Northrend.”
“Because you didn’t think I was good enough to survive those battles?”
“I… no! I’m sorry, that’s not what I wanted to imply!”
Regretting his clearly poor attempt at a brotherly joke, Acharin lifted his hands in a soothing gesture. “It’s all right, Lor. I know what you mean. I was just kidding. And I’m happy to hear you’re not thinking the same way as Selmar is.” He didn’t add that it was especially surprising to him as he had expected his brothers to share their father’s opinion in regard to pretty much everything. Apparently he had wronged them there.
“Absolutely not”, Lorven insisted, “Darea and I know what… your people sacrificed – and still are sacrificing – to have given our forces a chance at defeating the Legion. They… you’ve got our deepest respect for that and I’m not going to add on that burden.”
Feeling somewhat flustered himself by those words, Acharin studied his older brother’s face where he could find only sincerity. As if upon a secret signal, they stepped up to each other, exchanging a heartfelt half-embrace.
“And also thank you again from me personally for saving my son”, Lorven added quietly, looking down at the still slumbering child between them.
“Don’t mention it”, Acharin replied just as quietly, “He’s a cute boy.”
Lorven smiled. “You know, I do think Tal and mother would be glad to see you, too. Maybe I could invite them to some lunch or dinner without father’s company, to which you and your girlfriend could join us if you’d like.”
Acharin hesitated and then briefly glanced at Levaindil, who shrugged neutrally.
“Why not”, he decided. “It’s worth a try.”
He would only need to get one of the smiths from the Ashtongues to forge a pair of child-sized and – more importantly – dull warglaives before that, for him to gift to Arlan.
–.o.O.o.–
In the evening of the same day, Acharin and Levaindil lounged in the comfortable chairs arranged around the small table in front of them, on which a lit hookah stood beside two glasses and two carafes to refill their drinks. All around them, the whole panorama of Silvermoon sprawled, made even more impressive by the colors of the sinking sun in the background and myriad lights atop the many spires and in the windows of the intricate houses that slowly popped up one after another. Even to Acharin’s altered sight, that was something to appreciate.
It was the highly exclusive Sky Spire lounge of the Silvermoon City Inn, high above the rooftops of the average other buildings in the area, which was usually only accessible to the richest and mightiest. Acharin had no doubt that originally some other guests had already rented the place for this day, but – to no big surprise – Lor’themar Theron’s claim to it was ranking above theirs. Only that the Regent Lord of Quel’Thalas hadn’t come in person but had instead gifted this evening entertainment to Acharin and Levaindil as thanks for their fulfilled duty to Silvermoon and its people this day.
Earlier, they had already enjoyed a fine meal with several courses, or rather Levaindil had clearly enjoyed it, while Acharin had simply accepted the food since it was free anyway and there was no drawback for him to ingest perfectly edible goods apart from them lacking taste. He had only drawn a line when they had been offered some very high-quality vine, leaving that to the huntress alone, and had instead asked for something stronger that left a nice burn on his tongue and in his throat that was palatable despite his fel-addled taste buds. If Levaindil wouldn’t finish the bottle by herself, they would surely be allowed to take it with them and Erlath would probably be happy to get a taste of such a good wine – as long as he could still savor it. That stubborn idiot.
After the confrontation with his family this noon, Acharin and Levaindil had spent the following hours riding ceaselessly through and around Silvermoon, meeting up with Farstrider patrols and being especially aware of any unusual happenings close to the Hall of Blood or involving the roaming Scourge. Fortunately, there had been no other attempt by the Cult of the Damned or any other terrorist organization to invade Silvermoon and the breach in the door of the city wall had been sealed soon.
Later this afternoon, Nylanea, Ith’ranir, Sydia and Farador had returned from the Ghostlands bringing very pleasant news: the San’layn Vorath had indeed been – once and forever – killed in Deatholme by the special ranseur Lady Liadrin’s adoptive daughter Salandria and the adventurer had brought back from the Shadowlands. Without a smart mind controlling and guiding their actions, the rest of the Scourge had quickly been killed or at least scattered, no longer posing a serious threat to Tranquillien and the sin’dorei lands beyond. Already having received the invitation to the inn’s Sky Spire at that point, Acharin had sent the four returning demon hunters as well as Lelan and Erlath back to the Fel Hammer, excusing himself for the rest of the day.
The message had been a relief to both of them, but clearly even more so to Levaindil who had finally allowed herself to relax once again. As it was her habit, she had eventually suggested to go and take a swim somewhere to get themselves cleaned up for the evening. Their little excursion along the river that emptied itself into Stillwhisper Pond had come to its finale a bit further up the stream in the direction of Farstrider Retreat, where their bathing had taken a pleasant Ardenweald-style twist (Acharin was starting to grow very fond of taking baths in company of Levaindil, though the cleaning itself had little to do with that).
Eventually they had returned to Silvermoon to claim their unexpected reward, allowing themselves to be treated like kings and queens for one evening by the inn’s servants, which was an especially strange experience for the demon hunter. He was pretty sure that not even back in his days as Valmin anyone had made an effort to serve him with such courtesy and ever since his transformation he had to be glad if he wasn’t kindly (or not so kindly) asked to leave the establishment especially in case of the more exclusive ones who could be more picky with their customers.
Shortly before, they had asked the servants to leave them unattended for the rest of the evening, intending to enjoy their one-time accommodation just between each other for the remaining hours.
“Damn, I drank too quickly. The wine is getting to me. I thought after all that food it wouldn’t happen that easily”, Levaindil muttered, indeed sounding a bit tipsy but also drowsy at the same time. She patted her stomach and then moved closer, nestling her head against Acharin’s shoulder.
The demon hunter chuckled, pulling her close and giving her a warm kiss atop her head before taking another sip from his own glass.
They remained in that position for a while, simply savoring the moment, though Acharin eventually wondered if the huntress might have fallen asleep. She hadn’t, as it turned out a moment later.
“I certainly hadn’t expected the day to end like this”, Levaindil said, sounding less played out than before.
Acharin muttered his agreement, absentmindedly tipping his index finger against his glass that was still half full, producing a low ringing sound on the crystal. He vividly remembered his last hangover and wasn’t too keen on repeating the experience, even if the booze here was definitely very inviting to drink more than was recommendable even for him… and especially if one didn’t need to fear an astronomic bill in the end.
Levaindil suddenly shifted and took a deep draw from the hookah before lying down on the cushion beside him, resting the back of her head on his thigh. She breathed out, blowing the cloud of fragrant fume to the side and then stared up at him, watching him attentively.
“Are you all right?”, she asked intently.
The question made Acharin smile softly. He had been awaiting it since noon. However, first their work hadn’t given the huntress much opportunity to ask and then she had clearly wanted to give him time to think about that answer himself.
“I am”, he said, putting away the glass and starting to gently brush his fingers over Levaindil’s head and through her still slightly wet hair, not too concern about loosening strands from her long braid in the process.
She didn’t immediately say something else, appreciating his affection, but eventually she picked up the topic again. “I’m nonetheless very sorry your father reacted like that. I hadn’t expected him to be that… well…. At least your older brother doesn’t seem to be cast from the same mold. I know you didn’t want to have this encounter yet, but it happened now because I asked you to come to Silvermoon.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Don’t think for a moment I’d be regretting that. This might be your city, but these are still – at least partially – my people, too. And honestly, that confrontation was long overdue. I should have visited my family here at least after we were freed from the Vault of the Wardens and accepted among the factions. Selmar did have a point about me having been ashamed to show my face to them. That was cowardly of me.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself”, Levaindil commented with a frown. “You obviously know that man well and knew what was to come. Something like this isn’t easy to stomach.”
He only replied to that with a grunt and then made a move to reach for the hose with the mouthpiece of the hookah, which was out of reach since Levaindil’s position limited his scope. She helped him out and a moment later he felt the pleasant burn of the warm smoke fill his lungs. He held his breath for a moment before exhaling slowly, directing the stream into the air above them.
“Nonetheless, it’s kinda ironic. Despite my claims to have been transformed into a different person and my wish to no longer be measured against who I was, the… fear of that man and the submissive respect for him was certainly a part of who I’ve been to which I’ve unintentionally held on to far too hard. But I let go of it today.” He lowered his head, slightly anxious about how the huntress might react to his words.
She watched him for a spell, before she lifted a hand to his face and began to tenderly trace its features, the linen blindfold and his rough horns.
“I’d say that was well done”, she said softly after a spell, continuing her caresses.
Acharin could feel Levaindil’s love for him in every gesture, every touch, which was even better than hearing it said straight out. Deep down, he had been a bit worried about how she might have taken the outcome of his encounter with the members of his family this noon. He had finally cut himself off from the man he had once called his father and with that in a way also from his past as Valmin. No, his anger at Selmar’s reaction hadn’t just originated from his inner demon, he had simply lost his respect for the man and no longer felt the need to get his acknowledgment to know he himself had achieved something of worth in his life. Acharin knew the decisions he had made had been the right thing to do and he would continue to do so by himself, even if he might screw up now and then. After all, everybody made mistakes, but he would certainly do his best to fix them later on if it happened.
He lifted Levaindil’s head from its fleshy pillow and then switched his position until he was lying beside her, able to pull her close and bury his nose in her hair, savoring her scent and her presence, feeling her do the same.
They rested like that for a while, only gently illuminated by the warm light of the lantern at the entrance to the circular stair leading down the spire and the twinkling stars in the endless sky above, which were clearly visible now as the orange sun had sunken beneath the horizon some time ago.
Levaindil eventually propped herself up on one elbow, watching him.
“Do you think your pupils already need you again tomorrow morning or could we find the time to finally pay a visit to my parents?”
That had been something the huntress had already suggested a few times in the months before their travels into the lands beyond the Veil, but they had never actually done it and she hadn’t seemed too unhappy about it. Back in the Shadowlands, Acharin had suddenly understood why, and to have her suggest it again now with such a specific date attached to it made the warmth he was currently feeling grow even more intense.
“I’m sure it can be arranged”, he said, “If you truly think your parents won’t be offended at having to welcome a filthy half-demon beneath their roof.”
Levaindil uttered a not very lady-like snort and then poked at him until it tickled and he had to chuckle.
“Never!”
Acharin left it at that, making a mental note to later on send a message to the Fel Hammer. After today, his pupils would be anything but unhappy about some more leisure time. Even if they had acted as if all the fighting had been a piece of cake and they would do the same again any time, he knew they had also been tired. They all displayed that typical demon hunter behavior of always wanting to outdo their peers, constantly challenging each other. That was good as it motivated them to progress their skills, but now and then it wasn’t bad to force them to take a break as their mentor. An exhausted mind and body were easier to be overcome by the inner demon and that always remained a risk, even for him.
“I’m actually thinking about getting an apartment in the city”, Levaindil announced out of the blue, interrupting Acharin’s musing.
“Oh?”, he said in surprise, “I thought you aren’t a city girl.”
Levaindil shrugged. “But it’s Silvermoon. And I don’t want to always stay at my parents’ house when I’m here. A place in the city would be closer to the Farstriders’ headquarters, closer to my friends… and more private, in case you would be willing to visit the city more often in the future.”
“I’d say after today there’s no bar to that anymore”, Acharin assessed and then grinned, “Let me guess, the most important thing your future home must have is space for a huge bathtub?”
“Naturally!”, Levaindil agreed with a similarly wide grin, before his lovely braided huntress leaned in closer again for a deep kiss.