Archive of Our Own ^beta

Spymaster Mathias Shaw’s brow creased as he reviewed the eighth or ninth report this morning, eyes scanning and decoding familiar cyphers. He hadn’t been home from Zandalar for a day before he was thrust back into work, and there was more than enough to occupy his waking hours. While Renzik had done a more-than-admirable job of handling SI:7 Operations while he was away, Mathias was putting his nose to the grindstone to catch any signs of the disgraced Horde Warchief Sylvanas. The atrocities she committed against the Night Elves still demanded retribution, and she was still an extremely dangerous unknown. Mathias had been at the Mak’gora between the High Overlord and Banshee Queen, and it had ended before it truly started. It seemed as though she could’ve obliterated most challengers there with little effort. Not all of them, perhaps. It was wise of her to run.

He reclined, leaning against the hard-backed chair, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. With Sylvanas on the run, the new Horde Council seemed like it was coming along. Still a constant threat and not easily trusted, but the armistice had continued to serve its purpose (and safely brought him home, mind), so he supposed he should keep their common enemy as the more important priority. Anduin was almost naive in his blind trust of Baine Bloodhoof, but the young king was wiser than his age and countenance would belie. Perhaps peace could reign for a short while.  

The long campaign in Boralus had spoiled the Spymaster. He was quite content to be back in his office with its cozy interior, hot coffee, and secret room behind the book case. However he’d be remiss if he didn’t miss the salty sea air, the breeze, the busy din of the harbor. His mind wandered, conjuring images from the deck of the Redemption. He imagined the shock of a golden brown ponytail at sunset and leather greatcoat down on the dock, directing recruits to the Middenwake to shape up and ship out on their next expedition. The way the captain would grip the wheel of his ship, the elation as he’d yell commands to set sail, the chipper shanties he’d sometimes sing as they left port. It made the older man wistful, a slight reprieve from dull analysis and empty documents.

His focus had been slightly shaken since coming back to Stormwind, and he regretted that he had all but left his heart on his sleeve for the Captain before proceeding to ignore him since their meeting at the Rose. But work demanded his attention; Windrunner was, well, in the wind. And until she was found, she would remain a constant threat, lingering just out of view. And Shaw didn’t care for that one bit.

One moment at a time, Master Shaw. She will make an error: when she does, your network of spies will be the first to know. Anduin’s chiding words echoed in the empty room, the call of a few sparrows echoing from the courtyard. He returned his attention to the scrolls laid out before him. He adjusted one, took a breath, and prepared to work up the motivation to read yet another fruitless, bland account from a quiet outpost.

He stilled his hand reaching for the parchment as he heard the soft thump of boots approaching his office. He heard them pause for a beat before his office door was swung open with much more force than required. Well, it wasn’t one of his agents, that was for sure.

“Why good afternoon, my esteemed spymaster without compare! Fancy finding you here,” Flynn strode into his room with the confidence of a peacock and a bounce in his step that didn’t escape his ever-watchful eye. The freebooter bowed deeply before his desk, his greatcoat billowing behind him in heroic fashion. To say it caught Shaw off guard would be inaccurate, but it had certainly served its purpose. Distracted slightly by the rogue’s dashing charm, he set his jaw and raised his brow.

“I work here.” It was almost a question, as though Flynn hadn’t expected to find him here.

“Right! You do an awful lot of that. Working, I mean.” Flynn’s words sent an unintentional pang of regret through him; he was right, of course.

Flynn set his hands down on Mathias’s desk, which was something his staff knew well not to do. Thankfully Fairwind’s hands had managed to find placement all their own among the parchment palace taking over the tabletop. His large Kul Tiran frame loomed over Shaw’s ornate workstation, the morning sun catching his features and causing a sparkle in his beautiful blue eyes. Shaw savored the minor details of the taller man’s countenance before mentally preparing himself to shoo Flynn off.

Flynn, however, had other plans. He procured a folded, yellowed piece of paper from within his coat, brandishing it towards Mathias. “In fact,” he continued while handing the paper over, “I’m rescuing you from your work.”

Shaw thumbed open the aging vellum, a sketched map of what appeared to be Duskwood given the landmarks. Along it, a hastily dotted trail pointed to an ornate and overdone X. He looked up again, meeting Flynn’s Cheshire smile.

“A map,” the Spymaster probed.

“Brilliant deduction.”

Strike one on my patience, captain. Shaw mentally admonished him and tried again. “Of Duskwood.”

“Blimey, you’re clever.”

Strike Two, Flynn. Clearly a more direct approach would be required if he was going to get anywhere. “Where did you get this?”

“Won it in a card game.” The lilt in Flynn’s voice let on that he was rather enjoying this game of cat and mouse. A fair enough answer, and about half of what the Spymaster had expected.

“And you’re handing it to me why?”

“To find treasure, of course! You’re slow for someone so smart,” Flynn teased. He emphatically tapped the large X on the map.

Shaw sighed. Strike three. He regarded the scrolls on his desk, regretting that soon he’d have to cut this short so he could get back to at least reviewing and cataloging these reports before lunch.

“Come on. I’ve scarce seen you for more than a moment since we returned from Zandalar.” Flynn rounded the desk, and the hand that had previously tapped (and creased) the map came to rest on Shaw’s arm. Shaw’s training told him that it was an empathetic gesture to gain buy-in for the captain’s proposal. Shaw’s heart, apparently having reminded itself it was impossible to maintain a stone wall against the magnanimous Captain Flynn Fairwind, skipped a beat and fell for it anyway.

“Just picture it mate!” Flynn continued, his tone beginning to speed up with excitement. “Two dashing adventurers — one uncommonly handsome, the other one, you —“ Mathias raised an eyebrow but let him continue. “Riding together in the fresh air, treasure gleaming, ripe for the taking…”

He had to suppress a chuckle. Clearly Flynn hadn’t done any research farther than this map and the name ‘Duskwood’ must not have inspired the same visuals for someone whose nearest comparison was Drustvar. “Few would describe the air as fresh. And the Night Watch might have something to say about treasure being taken.” Shaw felt like that last point was him almost making excuses now: the Night Watch’s hands were often full maintaining the undead that refused to remain at rest. A thought occurred to him - he hadn’t received a request for assistance with patrols in quite some time, which was slightly unusual. Likely nothing, but paranoia was what made for a good Spymaster.

“Ah, but you know them. You can just talk them into permitting a tiny little treasure hunt. And besides, you can check in with them while we’re there.” Shaw noted Flynn’s gaze towards his stacks upon stacks of paperwork and reports. “They might have some intel for you on… something or other.”

Shaw followed Flynn’s gaze to the stack reserved for Pandaria, and he wondered briefly if Flynn had ever sailed there. The sealed mark was a variant of the Stormwind crest, modified slightly to signify the agent of origin. Best to deflect this and end it quickly, he supposed. “What’s the point in running around Duskwood finding old goblets or tarnished silver?” He couldn’t put the usual poison into the question against Fairwind’s charm to kill the conversation, and it had regretfully come out more inquisitive than stern.

“Fun, mate. Which you haven’t had a lot of lately.” Flynn’s voice had changed, a slight desperation underlying the regretfully accurate statement. If it was designed to pull at Mathias’s heart, it was working.

“I’ve stayed around here and learned about… diplomating and so on. This is my world. And… I want to share it with you.” If the disappointment was a tug on the heartstrings, Flynn wanting to bring Shaw on his type of adventure was the gut punch. Mathias had shelved how much he wanted to spend time with Flynn since his return, and he had promised himself that he would make an honest effort. And an awful job of that he had done if he was being honest with himself.

He supposed if he worked through lunch these could be filed and responses sent before sundown. It would be a long day, especially if they were heading to Duskwood after. It would do him well to check in, he supposed: even if they were managing just fine it would serve the community there well to see a Senior Officer of the Alliance. He regarded the map - he felt he had a rough estimation of where it would take them. Duskwood was less than ideal after dark, but nothing the Spymaster couldn’t handle for the both. And that’s before considering Flynn’s own impressive combat prowess. If he was ready for a fight, maybe Shaw could make this work.

“You sailors have a lot of superstitions about ghosts and such. Duskwood has one of the biggest cemeteries in Azeroth, not all those graves are peacefully occupied. It’ll likely be dangerous.” He intended to put more caution into his words, but he supposed by this point he was mentally resigned to an escapade.

Flynn’s eyes lit up, potentially sensing the victory. “Erm — well, yes, we do have a lot of superstitions. And I admit, I prefer the company of living people. But I prefer your company above all. And besides, the bloke who lost the map to me swore it was genuine.”

Flynn preferred his company. When was the last time Shaw had heard that? It warmed his heart. He took one last glance at the tiny mountains of parchment that now seemed to litter his desk, regardless of how well organized they were.

“I still have so much to do here.” Shaw took a breath, resigned himself to working through lunch, and let it out. “So… go get us some supplies and be ready by sunset. I’ll have this wrapped up by then.” He looked up to meet Flynn’s gaze with a soft, weary smile. The cunning ex-pirate had managed to wear him down after all.

For a split-second Mathias thought Flynn was going to kiss him, but instead he awkwardly pulled him almost out of his chair into a hug. He was already smaller than the Kul Tiran, and him being seated didn’t favor him for returning the embrace. But, it did result in the side of his face being mashed rather unceremoniously just above Flynn’s belt buckle, pressing brass into his shoulder and that same scent that was patently Flynn into his senses.

“I’ll meet you tonight! Leave it to me, Spymaster. Let’s go on a treasure hunt!” Flynn recovered the map from the table, stuffing it back into his pocket and taking off for the door at record speeds with his greatcoat once again billowing behind him as he exited.

Mathias allowed himself just a few moments to bask in the happiness that the captain managed to leave in his wake, before crossing his office to close the door again. He returned to his desk with renewed vigor, reaching for the next stack of reports and pulling his references together to make quick work of what was left.

🌙

“Bit chilly here, isn’t it?” Flynn protested against the damp cold. He pulled his coat tightly around himself, following Mathias’s lead. Shaw was aware of his presence (in fact, Flynn’s banter made it likely that everything was aware of his presence) but kept his focus on their environment and what dangers lurked within. Every shadow that moved just beyond what small relief the lanterns along the cobblestone streets was a threat, living or otherwise. He kept steadfast watch for Dark Ravager eyes staring back, the sounds of chittering mandibles of the Black Widows and their hatchlings, and the putrid rot that clung to the undead here in an unpleasant miasma. Mathias was somewhat familiar with the woods, hardly needing the map to navigate. Which was just as well – even with the moons out in full tonight, making out the map had been difficult under the dense tree cover. Duskwood truly robbed the light at every opportunity.

“Someone’s up still,” Flynn remarked from behind him. Shaw turned his attention to the open doorway of a nearby home, a weak sliver of light spilling from the crack – the residences outside of the town rarely held living tenants anymore. The ghoulish moan of whatever was inside confirmed as much, and after assessing whether it was threatening (it wasn’t) Mathias moved on swiftly. The less time they spent out here, the better. And the sooner they could be back in the town proper, where they could enjoy a meal and discussion without death skulking around them.

Mathias heard Flynn whisper a curse or a prayer to the tides, he was never sure which, before Flynn outpaced him at a slight canter before turning to him. “We should be coming across something nice in a few minutes,” the captain offered hopefully as he passed.

Mathias’s lips pursed and his brow furrowed slightly. “Nice?”

“The Tranquil Gardens, good man! A whiff of flowers would do me a world of good right about now.”

Oh, Flynn. Mathias’s eyes softened a bit and he couldn’t decide if he felt sorry for the other man or if he wanted to laugh. “Flynn, Tranquil Gardens is a cemetery.”

He firmly decided he pitied him when the color ran from Flynn’s face.

“So, that’s why those rocks look like tombstones.” Flynn had grasped at the map, closely analyzing the headstones next to the location. “All I saw was ‘Tranquil Gardens.’ I thought, you know. Gardens. That are tranquil.”

Mathias started again, with Flynn keeping pace just ahead. The captain had tucked into his pack and was rummaging around, and although he had tried to sneak it Shaw could hear the distinct twist of a metal cap and a slight sloshing meet the eerie quiet. Mathias took over filling the silence, trying to lift the captain’s spirits a bit.

“This whole area was once beautiful. Brightwood, it was called. Darkshire was Grand Hamlet. Hard to imagine now. This area used to be part of Elwynn Forest, believe it or not. All of the Southwood was corrupted when Medivh died during his battle with the Guardian Aegwynn, one of the most powerful mages of our time. Possibly all time. The backlash of fel energies sapped the Southwoods of life, corrupting the flora and fauna that lived here.”

At a certain point recalling how the Scythe of Elune had brought Worgen to Duskwood, he realized that Flynn wasn’t truly listening. He would nod and hum his interest when Shaw would complete sentences, but it was clear that he was more focused on the decaying farms they were now walking through. But Mathias kept on, hoping that his expositing was at least a welcome distraction, if nothing else.

Shaw was cut short as Flynn wandered straight into a spiderweb – thankfully, something from a small spider instead of the larger, more dangerous breeds. Mathias was beginning to see the excitement draining from the taller man’s features, and while Flynn was doing a reasonable job shadowboxing the web he couldn’t help but reach and pluck a thick strand of spider silk from the Kul Tiran’s tawny hair. There was little else Mathias could offer in consolation, but Flynn regarded him warmly for the gesture.

“We’re close,” the Spymaster offered optimistically. “Assuming the map is right,” he offered, less optimistically. As much as he wanted to lift Flynn’s spirits a bit, it wouldn’t do to overshoot his expectations. There was still no confirmation that this map would lead them to anything worthwhile.

“It is, I’m sure.” Flynn insisted. “You know, after all that rubbish about –”

Somewhere in the dense forest, a wolf (or perhaps one of the Worgen that now called the farmsteads home) let out a mournful cry. Shaw raised an eyebrow as Flynn stood straight at the sound, before watching the captain turn to the darkness with as much bravado as he could muster. Light, that man’s confidence would be the end of him. Mathias suddenly realized how crucial Taelia must’ve been to Flynn’s ongoing survival in Boralus.

Flynn steadied himself and pushed on, drudging through brambles and thick bushes. “I got it, don’t worry!”

Mathias’s watchful eyes scanned their surroundings, ensuring that nothing of harm would come to Flynn from the dark. The swashbuckler’s voice continued to pierce the gloom.

“And that treasure should be –”

And then there was a pause.

It was a pause for far too long. Mathias bolted and was alongside his companion in a moment.

“What happened?” Shaw asked quietly on his approach.

Flynn was already kneeling next to a young woman who appeared to be severely injured. He began reaching for the pack with their supplies, likely rummaging for a potion or salve. “Hold her head up.”

Mathias looked down, and immediately recognized Commander Sarah Ladimore. She had survived the infiltration of the Veiled Hand cult into the Night Watch and had emerged its new leader for her immense bravery and dedication to protecting the citizens of Duskwood. What creature or magics could have done this?

Flynn uncorked a glass potion bottle, pressing the red mixture to her lips. Life seemed to return as she imbibed, but she did not recover. He then looked up to Shaw.

“Do you recognize her?”

The Spymaster steeled his resolve, his expression severe as he collected her to stand. “Sarah Ladimore. Commander of the Night Watch.”

“Shaw… shouldn’t the commander of the Night Watch be able to hold her own against local threats?”

“She is able to,” he replied sternly. He didn’t think to expand on it further, instead cataloging and indexing the various threats and what other field treatments or medical aid they could offer between here and Duskwood. Mathias had been aware of Sarah’s dark family history, but she was also a remarkable soldier and brave leader. She knew Duskwood better than most – what could have done this to her?

The evening had taken quite a turn; while Shaw had been so busy turning over possibilities in his head he hadn’t heard another approaching.

“That potion may have stopped the worst of it, but she’s not well,” a gravelly voice offered. Mathias had never met the man personally, but he recognized Watcher Cutford from his profile clearly enough. He’d been serving Darkshire for some time, had also managed to avoid the worst of the Veiled Hand, and was well known for his powerful lungs that warned the Night Watch to danger. “Follow me. She’s going in and out of consciousness.”

Mathias kept glancing down at Sarah in his arms as they walked. His head on a swivel, he was more alert now and taking in every crucial detail. He was prepared to keep Flynn safe from wolves, spiders, some mindless undead, and maybe even the off violent plant from the farms. He had seen the quality of the healing potion that Flynn had administered, and yet she still wouldn’t rouse. Something was wrong, and they walked quickly.

He had been caught unprepared tonight. He wouldn’t let that happen again.

When they had returned, the Night Watch was quick to administer care. Mathias and Flynn waited together in the hallway, the mood of their adventure quickly turned. They were invited in swiftly once the healers had completed what work they could.

Shaw approached Sarah’s bedside with his usual stoicism – now was not the time for empathy: they had a case to solve and by the looks of things, Sarah was not doing much better. They needed to act quickly while she was conscious. “Ladimore?”

Sarah’s eyes blinked open, although Mathias wasn’t entirely sure her focus was there. “Sh-Shaw. The Torch of . . . of . . . H-Holy Flame. Gone. Got a report . . . needed to check. My res-responsibility . . .” Her voice was barely a whisper as she struggled to get the words out.

The Spymaster was aware of the artifact – it had been used to dispatch Morbent Fel (twice), and since it’s reforging it had remained in Duskwood to aid in combatting the undead.

“Where was it?”

Before she could answer, Captain Ladimore’s eyes fluttered closed again.

“Forlorn Rowe,” another of the Night Watch replied. “After it was used to defeat Morbent Fel, Commander Ladimore placed the torch right in front of the bastard’s old house, facing the cemetery.” 

Shaw felt a slight warmth at that – he knew he had liked Ladimore.

“Who’s Morbent Fel when he’s at home?” Flynn asked nervously.

Shaw only needed to glance at the man to know he was expecting more dire news. Regretfully, he knew the answer already and it wasn’t going to be welcome information for Flynn. Mathias began breaking down motivations for stealing the torch: was this an attempt to incite the undead in Duskwood? If so, why? Darkshire was the only remaining active town; it wasn’t far-fetched to assume someone would make an attempt on them soon.

The same watcher answered him. “A necromancer. And a lich. We owe a great debt to the group of heroes who took care of him a while back. The torch was made from lightforge iron. For the last several years, it’s done its job well – dispelling dark enchantments, keeping the undead docile.”

Shaw considered for a moment, sharing his most likely outcome: “Its absence would be a perfect opportunity to catch Duskwood unprotected.”

Before he could consider further the door was thrown open and several Night Watchers spilled into the room, placing their injured in available beds. What medics were available began triaging wounds, and Shaw moved to be out of the way while addressing some of the Watch.

“Raven Hill,” one had mentioned. “Ghosts, skeletons, walking corpses – all heading this way.”

The Spymaster conducted his business among the crowded room of soldiers efficiently. He took in what bits of information he could, patching together a plan. Raven Hill would need to be their next stop, certainly, but the more he could prepare, the better chance he would have.

They would have, he supposed. The Watch was in no position to offer him backup and reinforcements from Stormwind likely wouldn’t arrive until morning. He and Flynn had handled the Tide Scepter Job with a few scrapes and bruises but nothing lethal, and Shaw would be a madman to attempt to investigate this alone. An overconfident assassin is how you ended up a nameless stack of bones at the whim of a necromancer. He only hoped that Flynn would be able to recall his gumption long enough to take a blade to some ghouls alongside him.

As he listened, he glanced through the throng of injured to Flynn, and to Sarah. The captain was dabbing her face with a cloth, his eyes studious and compassionate. He had a big heart, and the state of Sarah’s failing body didn’t seem to put him off. Flynn looked up, meeting Shaw’s eyes and motioning for him to join him.

Once he was close enough, Flynn bent to his ear in a whisper. “It’s like she’s… decaying. And she’s not even dead.”

Dire news. If they didn’t act quickly, Sarah would be lost. What would become of her afterword would be worse. He set his jaw, fixed his gear, and began strategizing.

As he stood, he could hear Flynn sigh.

“We’re going to have to find that torch, aren’t we?” 

🦅

Shaw instinctively gripped the reins tighter as Flynn wiggled his arms around the spymaster's waist, clinging on tightly. Mathias did his best to suppress the schoolboy-like grin that threatened to break the surface while Flynn was around, trying to keep his mind focused on the mission at hand. There was a lot at risk, and he needed to be sharp.

However, when the captain rested his head upon his shoulder, he could scarcely focus on anything other than directing the gryphon and the warm breath contrasting the cool night air against his neck.

"I must say, this evening just got a little bit nicer." Flynn squeezed lightly to accentuate his point.

"It has," Shaw agreed. The grin was no longer subdued, although Flynn likely couldn't see it. The hefty Kul Tiran made for a good riding companion - Flynn pressed closely to his back kept him warm as the cool night air whipped at them both.

"Can't wait to try my Cutlass of Exceptional Undead Fending-Offing," Flynn quipped. Shaw could tell he was more than a bit nervous, the way he regarded the undead mindlessly following the path beneath him. He could no longer see the deep earthen ruts carved by caravans that stood out from the broken cobblestone streets of the woods.

"That's not the name --"

"It's the name now, too late."

Shaw rolled his eyes. "Just don't confuse the potions with your flask," he warned.

Flynn hummed in thought. “I don’t know, mate, might be the right call. They do call it ‘liquid courage.’”

“I don’t think you’ll need it,” Mathias said with fondness. And he meant it – The Spymaster had seen his courage first hand, even if it was often forced bravado. But he had witnessed that same courage while Flynn had been sitting with Sarah; his kindness bolstered him. He could do this. Mathias was dedicated to making sure Flynn could see that same value that he admired. Careful confidence, and not recklessness, would win the day.

“We may be heavily protected, but there’s going to be a lot of wild undead out there. Many of them won’t be stopped by a blade – or your cutting remarks.” Perhaps a little levity would put a bit more mirth in the captain again.

At that, Flynn was silent. He was no longer perched on Shaw’s shoulder, instead regarding the river of rotting bodies below them. Shaw regarded them briefly; they were many in number but all weak, but that was the mindless undead’s strength. Alone they were simple to dismantle, but you could be quickly overwhelmed. The torch was their objective, and it would hopefully solve this crisis. The sheer volume of ghouls and skeletons below was unnerving, he had to admit.

“Do we have to follow the road?” he heard Flynn ask from behind. The freebooter’s voice had struggled to maintain composure, and Shaw’s heart ached at it. Mathias hadn’t regretted a single thing that evening except that he was bringing Flynn into dangerous territory; they had uncovered some sort of awful plot that might have come too late if he had been back in the city proper. Duskwood was dangerous, yes, but it was also Alliance territory and he had citizens to protect. There were still some beautiful things worth saving here. And with that, the Spymaster tugged the reigns slightly.

“Let’s move a bit north,” Shaw suggested. Their gryphon maneuvered above the treetops toward a large glade sporting several healthy trees. The smell of decay and mildew was milder as they approached the Twilight Grove and the World Tree that connected this place to the Emerald Dream. At night in the distance, Shaw could almost make out the vortex in Westfall that had emerged after the Cataclysm.

“What’s that?” Flynn had reached past him to point as they approached.

A familiar sense of ease washed over him as they circled around, making sure Flynn could get a good look at the calming glade. Shaw also could feel his shoulders loosen a bit under its soothing influence.

“The Twilight Grove. I thought it would do us both some good to glimpse something soothing before heading into the fray.” Mathias could feel the remaining grip around his waist ease slightly and Flynn turned to get a better look.

“I think I’ve seen one of those before… that’s a moonwell, right? A Night Elf thing?”

Mathias nodded, steering the gryphon back on course. “Yes. Moonwells are sacred to their goddess, Elune. The waters have healing properties. Very calming places.”

“Calm sounds brilliant. I propose that, for our next adventure, we forget about the adventuring part and just head to a moonwell.” Flynn once again rested his head on Shaw’s shoulders as they began to depart the grove.

“I did promise we’d go somewhere peaceful after our last mishap, didn’t I?” Mathias said with a sigh.

“Yes, but you’re forgetting that this mishap is technically all mine,” Flynn said sheepishly.

Mathias couldn’t help but smile at that. “So, moonwell it is, for our next adventure.” He felt a pang of regret for never being able to show him the gorgeous moonwells of Teldrassil; it would be lifetimes after Mathias’s own that it would ever return to what it once was. If it ever could.

He took a steadying breath, stilling his mind and slowing his heartbeat, and prepared for work. “But for now, we’re almost at Raven Hill.”

“No worries, mate! I am totally ready for this,” Flynn remarked. His valor had returned slightly, and the two began to make their descent. The other rogue wasn’t particularly convinced, but feigned confidence would see them through well enough.

The Spymaster brought them in quietly and out of sight, a close enough landing without risking being seen. Most of these undead had awful eyesight to begin with and lacked the intelligence to have much in the way of object permanence. It would make for a shorter walk and less stealth, and time was of the essence.

Once they had landed and secured their equipment, Mathias rubbed the gryphon’s beak in thanks before sending it on back to Duskwood. It was too dangerous to leave the gryphon here, where it would be quickly overrun. Roosting was out of the question as well with the number of poisonous anythings that would bite and scratch. From here on out, it would be just the two of them.

Shaw turned to Flynn with the recognizable posture from countless briefings on the deck of the Wind’s Redemption. From here they’d both need to be performing at their best – no room for error.

“Remember. These are feral undead. They operate on instinct, not intellect,” he said.

“Couple of rogues like us will sneak right past them! Er… where are we sneaking to?” Flynn stood tall, one hand secured to his cutlass. Mathias thought for a moment that this would make a good profile of the man – he supposed that any number of the portraits in the keep of a man with his hand on the hilt of a sword was the inspiration, but there was something about the way the moons had lit him.

He cleared his mind. No room for error.

“Forlorn Rowe, where the torch was last seen. Might find a clue as to what happened.”

And with that, Shaw turned to the shadows and became one with the darkness. He observed Flynn behind him, even so careful as to place his footprints on his own (although the Kul Tiran’s boots did outsize his). They had successfully maneuvered through many of the throngs of rotting flesh, oozing insides, dried bones and liquified organs. All told, the captain was doing well, save for the slight green around the gills. The two silently advanced on Forlorn Rowe, the home looking destitute and decayed as the undead wandering around it.

Shaw raised a hand to stop their approach, before pointing to wards that used to protect the area. He then traced downward, highlighting where the warding circle had been breached. Beyond the circle, grass had wilted in patterns leading to the abandoned home.

“Footprints,” he whispered. “But not just any footprints. See how the grass is withered?”

Only a moment later, a woman stepped out from the house and into view. Beneath her, the grass flagged and turned brown with desiccation. Mathias could make out her features clearly even at this distance – black hair, sallow skin, gaunt cheeks and pitted eyes. They glowed with a fierce green necrotic energy. On either side of her, two ghosts drifted and danced around in a defensive formation. A small cavalcade of skeletons and ghouls, some rotting, some oozing sickness, others chewing on bones, departed the wandering groups and followed behind.

Most importantly, however, had been what was in her hands. Mathias recognized the bright beacon that was the Torch of Holy Flame immediately, the lightforge iron and haloed flame standing in stark comparison of her failing flesh and dark attire. Most fortuitously for them, however, it appeared she couldn’t touch the consecrated item.

He placed a hand gently on Flynn’s shoulder, and the poor sailor nearly leapt out of concealment. Shaw grimly thought that perhaps false confidence wouldn’t get them as far as he had hoped. Which, given what he was about to ask Flynn, might be asking for a lot. The mysterious necromancer turned towards the crypts and had already began her descent into the catacombs, where she would have ample fodder for a fight if they were discovered.

“She can’t sense us. If she did… we’d know. We have to follow her and find out what she wants with the torch. See that cloth wrapped around the hilt? Looks like she can’t touch it directly, which is good news for us.”

“Do I want to ask where she’s going?” Flynn asked.

No, no you don’t. I’m sorry. Mathias tamped down every urge he had in that moment to protect Flynn, to keep him safe, to get him back to Stormwind and he could solve this problem tomorrow with his agents. But it was untenable, and he knew it. Time was short, Sarah and the Night Watch were quickly decaying, and he knew that Flynn could do this. He needed to help him see what he knew was already there.

He turned to Flynn, meeting his eyes. He steadied himself. “Into the catacombs. She will likely be at her strongest there. It’s sensible that she’d go where she has access to plenty of bodies.”

He hoped he didn’t need to explain that point. The swashbuckler more than understood though; Mathias could see him shaking.

“Mate… not helping,” Flynn responded with a failed attempt at a chuckle.

His heart tightened in his chest. Flynn was cunning, clever, very skilled with a blade and too stubborn to walk away when he had the chance.

“You don’t need help, Fairwind. You’ve taken everything this Light-forsaken place could throw at us and yet here you are. I know there’s a lot of them. But that doesn’t matter. We only have to do one thing: get that torch to safety. I want you to know I’ve got your back. And…”

I trust you.  

The words almost tumbled out of him before he had realized he had thought it. He trusted this scoundrel, completely. When and why hadn’t mattered, but Mathias could count the people he trusted on one hand. He would put his life in this beautiful dolt’s hands… and here they were.

“I know you’ve got mine.”

Flynn took a deep breath before him, squared his jaw, nodded once, and steeled something within himself. Mathias could see the color returning, the boldness in the way he carried his shoulders again. It seemed like the good captain had rallied significantly.

“I do, mate. That torch is as good as ours. Let’s go kick their bony arses.” Flynn then spun on his heel while maintaining his crouch and continued to stealthily lead them into the catacombs.

The pair of them descended further into the crypts, cool stone and mildew combating the smell of decay the further they went. Steady torches cast shadows along the halls, but dead air caused them to remain unusually still. The shadows remained static in the room, save for the subterfuge that the undead remained unaware of. All matter of zombie and wight seemed to collect in packs as they snuck by. Flynn was taller, but Mathias could see past him well enough to be alert to their surroundings, covering their flank while Flynn led.

Floor by floor, the plunged further away from the realm of the living. Sickly blue and purple light flowed from the deepest parts of the catacombs, telltale signs of a ritual in progress. Flynn arrived first, pressing his back against a large stone pew that had been knocked over long ago, eyeing Shaw before signaling him to approach.

Before them, a battle of ancient wills played out. The sorceress’s back was to them, making her a prime target. Striking her down now might result in her necrotic guardians falling to pieces… although Mathias’s experience with necromancers dictated that they just didn’t know when to stay dead, meaning a direct confrontation wasn’t ideal. The Torch of Holy Flame was locked in a contest: tendrils of void lashed and curled against the hilt, while the brilliant holy flame struggled to maintain its purity. The only sounds in the chamber were the chanting of the sorceress and the soft tear of oxygen being consumed by the torch as it struggled. The halo of lightforge iron contained the flame, which thrashed between its holy state and a corrupted, sinister, and bruised blue and purple hue, and back again. Around them, a ritual circle had been crafted of bonedust, ichor, and possibly blood.

Abruptly, the spellcaster drew silent. The pause hung in the air, the struggling flame the only remaining sound.

“I know you’re here.”

Her words creaked, a hollowness that came with the apathy for life. She turned to look in their direction.

A chill rivaling the snowmelt from Winterspring ran down the Spymaster’s spine. However, the element of surprise wasn’t lost quite yet. It would be up to Flynn. He locked eyes very sternly and shook his head, slowly and deliberately. A silent plea to keep Flynn safe.

Stay hidden.

With that, he stood with his shoulders squared and blades at the ready. The well-oiled daggers slid easily from their holsters, although their poisons were likely to have ill-effect on this necromancer.

“What is your purpose? Have you brought Morbent Fel back to torment the people of Duskwood?”

A sickly cackle fell from her dried, cracked lips. Her desiccated visage suggested she hadn’t completely crossed the veil, although the pallor of her skin suggested her blood had long slowed or stopped.

“Ah, Morbent Fel! That’s almost endearing. No, Spymaster, I have no interest in that sack of compost. Nor is my vision so narrow.”

It seemed like Mathias at least had her attention, for now. Flynn’s cover hadn’t been blown yet. Shaw could feel the sailor lean away from him, and it took his considerable years of discipline to maintain his focus on his target. Whatever he was working on, he hoped it worked.

“Vision? So you’re dangerous and delusional.” The severity he hadn’t been able to rouse against Flynn was back in full force, venom dripping from each word.

A wry smile started to crack across her face. At this distance when the torch flickered with bright light instead of the bruised, corrupted hue, he could tell that the whites of her eyes had also yellowed and the necromancer’s body had begun to decay. Her vital organs were likely long shut down, which limited Shaw’s combat options significantly.

“I’ve seen things changing, Spymaster. Visions in the rot. Decomposition making truth plain. Those close to life and unlife can feel it in our marrow. Death comes for the soul of this world, and I intend to prepare for its arrival. I’ve my sights on finer cities than Duskwood, but it’s always fun to visit one’s old haunts…”

The dark spirits circled closer around her, and Mathias gripped his daggers tightly. Every muscle was coiled to spring and lead her away from his partner the moment something went sideways.

“So many dead things to play with. Maybe I’ll take the king’s spymaster with me when I head to Stormwind. I’ll turn you against everything – and everyone – you love. You’re no stranger to killing, are you, Spymaster Shaw? You’ll adapt easily.”

And before he could retort, the chamber turned to chaos.

The torch suddenly was no longer being held aloft by the tentacles of void – they melted away silently as Flynn leapt from concealment with his cutlasses drawn. To his credit, Mathias fully expected to hear him roar as he made his advance, but Flynn was uncharacteristically quiet, trying to take advantage of her distraction.

The blades came together just inches from the sorceress’s throat; a hair’s breadth from beheading. She screamed as she dodged backward, revealing a savagely curved dagger, and slicing at Flynn. The Spymaster sprung; a rattlesnake poised to bite.

“Fairwind, the torch!” he yelled as he sailed toward the enemy spellcaster. The foul words she spit at the captain hadn’t been actual curses, but that was luck for having caught her off guard. Mathias’s practiced hands moved swiftly; in slow motion, he might’ve appeared to be placing a necklace around her as the garrote was laid against her skin. However, the motion was swift and fluid: he looped and twisted quickly. Sharp metallic barbs pierced and sliced, bathing in black ichor that bubbled from her injuries.

Mathias summoned as much strength as he could muster – It wasn’t clear if this accursed priestess needed to breathe, but as long as she couldn’t speak she couldn’t hex the pair of them. She clawed at the sharp wire at her throat, stomping and thrashing against the Spymaster trying to break free. Somewhere outside of the struggle, Flynn shouted.

“Shaw! Time for our next adventure!”

Adventure? The Moonwe—damn!

The coded message had caught him off guard, and in the split second it had taken to consider his grip loosened just enough. The witch gasped, and with a full breath let out a flurry of curses.

Shaw relented and staggered away – the necrotic energies that assailed him squeezed the breath from his very lungs and his whole body burned with it, starving for air. Pain wracked his muscles as he could feel his vitality being leeched away, but he rallied enough to catch up to Flynn. They sprinted upwards together, flames dancing and shadows slinking about as they hurried. Shaw could feel himself breaking out into a sweat – he wasn’t recovering as well as he had hoped, and he was already feeling winded.

“Adventure, huh?” His breathing labored as he attempted to quell the burning in his lungs. “Pray, what do you think the Moonwell has for us?”

Flynn was still running at quite the pace, but seemed none the less bothered by it as he spoke. “Rum’s good for cleaning wounds; I figure maybe a magic torch needs a magic something to cleanse it?”

It wasn’t a bad idea, he supposed. Simplistic and direct, but more reason it should work.

“You’re both brilliant and absolutely mad.”

They continued to climb, hastily trying to retreat from the tombs threatening to claim them. They neared a landing to the last few chambers separating them from the night air, and ever closer to the swath of undead they had avoided before.

The clacking of bones and smell of rot signaled the beginning of the assault; Flynn clashing ahead of him with all manner of horrific creatures. He kicked out, sending a foul zombie down the stairs toward Shaw, and he angled the daggers to let gravity sever the head from its shoulders as it fell towards him. The captain tossed his pack to his companion as they continued to race. As Mathias threw the pack over his shoulder, he felt several boils burst that he hadn’t felt before. He looked down and could feel all manner of sores and rot beginning to eat away at him.

They arrived at the top layer of the crypt and were met with the sea of undead they had thus far avoided. They collectively turned towards the only commotion and fell upon them. Mathias had maneuvered to cover Flynn’s flank, evading blows, and slicing at three of the wretches.

“The torch!” he yelled. If it still held power, hopefully it could help carve a path through.

He could hear Flynn bellow a joyous battle cry as the dead recoiled before him, white holy flame searing the decaying flesh and burning through the undeath. Shaw let out a sharp breath of relief before bracing himself, spinning the pack on his shoulder, and opening it. He let out a grunt as the bag twisted and pressed against him as it rotated, and Mathias could feel blood matting the uniform to his skin in places.

Flynn cleared a path through wave after wave of foul monstrosity, and Mathias rustled through the bag of tricks as they ran. His head swam at first, expecting to see snacks and rum and maybe a small shovel or two. Instead, he found no small wealth of tools, traps, and weaponry.

They weren’t exactly marked or labeled, but that didn’t matter at the moment.

Shaw grabbed at something that looked a lot like a bomb – it had an easy-striking self-lighting wick, a starter of Gnomish make, probably. He hurled it over his shoulder with a satisfying boom, seeing a green haze in their wake. He grabbed familiar tools like caltrops and marbles, hoping they would impede at least some of the undead (however unlikely). He noted the grappling hook, briefly questioning just where exactly Flynn thought they would end up tonight. He grabbed glass vials and satchels of powders, hurling them indiscriminately at anything that got too close for comfort.

The bag’s contents were dwindling quickly but the pair were quickly approaching the exit. They wouldn’t be in the clear, but at least the air would be fresher, and Mathias could finally catch his breath. He hurled the final glass vial, which splashed grease down the stairs behind him. The shambling ghouls began to slip back towards the depths; it would earn them a little bit of time. He sprinted towards the opening, meeting Flynn in the pale moonlight. His head spun a little bit as he panted, trying to catch his breath.

“Shaw… your face –”

Mathias looked up at Flynn. He could feel how tired he was, but the look on Flynn’s wasn’t one of horror or disgust – it was one of morbid fear. It had confirmed Mathias’s concerns; he was rotting from the inside like Ladimore. There was no time for fear, however, and he steeled his resolve.

A way out. We need a way out…

He scanned the graveyard, desperate for anything that could provide cover or a less-traveled path out of the cemetery. What we found, however, was much more of a blessing.

Mathias wasn’t a praying man, but in that moment, he could’ve blessed the Light, the Tidemother, the Earthmother, Elune, or anyone else for the beautiful sight before him.

“Gryphons!”

He pointed off towards where a gryphon was biting furiously at what leashed it to the wooden fence. The other man followed his gaze and tore ahead of him at a full run, and Mathias jolted forward to keep up. Flynn was already assessing the tether, trying to soothe the creature.

“Hello, beautiful. Half a moment and we all get out of here!”

Mathias managed to climb into the saddle with far less than his usual acrobatic grace. With a swift slice from his cutlass, Flynn cut the gryphon free. Before he could climb on, however, Mathias felt strong wings beat downward and begin to force him aloft. In a moment of panic, he looped one hand in the reins and he leaned down far, grasping the hefty Kul Tiran by the wrist. He grimaced and heaved with what strength he could muster, pulling him towards the gryphon’s claws. She instinctively opened to catch him, sinking talons around the sleeves of the greatcoat.

They climbed quickly, and Mathias tried to get his bearings to steer them toward the Twilight Grove. His shoulder throbbed in pain where he had hoisted Flynn upward, and he tried to roll it as they rose. He was snapped back to attention when he heard Flynn cry out from below

“Shaw! Behind us!”

Bone wings sliced through the grey mist, revealing a disfigured skeleton of a large steed making chase. The necromancer sat hunched over its reins, urging it forward. It had been twisted to that of a nightmare Pegasus which bled sickly green light from within. Mathias pushed the gryphon to go faster, but she already moved as swiftly as possible. The necromancer was gaining ground – it would be a close call to the grove. He leaned forward, the moonwell racing towards them.  He dipped them as close to the ground as he dared, the earth rushing up to meet the trio. A sickly green ray struck the gryphon, and the rogues were tossed into a short freefall.

Mathias rolled with the momentum, avoiding the worst of injuries but landing hard. He noticed Flynn do the same with slightly more grace, rallying into a crouch. The spymaster rolled, feeling his failing body bruise as he tumbled. The momentum carried him forward, and he rolled to his feet in a defensive crouch while scanning the skies. The necromancer was diving sharply and would be on them soon. Unfortunately, their gryphon had recovered and soared away towards Darkshire. Hopefully she would be bringing reinforcements.

“Shaw!”

Mathias had only moments to register the panic in the captain’s voice as he reached toward him. He raised his hand to push away at Flynn’s – he had no assurances that the disease consuming him wouldn’t jump to the next available host. He needed Flynn to survive tonight if nothing else. It pained him to turn him away, but he was focused on their sole objective.

“I’ll keep her busy. You purge the torch. It’s the only hope any of us have now.” He stood resolute, unsheathing his daggers once more, turning to the dark sorceress who would soon be upon them. He would stall for as much time as they needed; his fate was entrusted to Flynn now. He heard the soft boots treading away from him as the figure alighted from her nightmarish steed.

Mathias took a deep breath that stabbed like needles in his chest but gifted him with desperately needed breath to spring forward. Each strike was carefully calculated, and he kept his opponent off her guard, sufficiently unable to hex him with any more foul magic. Fragments of floating bone and frigid souls swirled about her, defeating his dagger strikes and protecting what mortal weaknesses she still had.

A few well-aimed slashes found their way through, and more of the black ichor splattered upon the grove at his feet. The enchantress did not slow, however, and Mathias’s body ached and trembled. His hands threatened to lose the grip on his weapons, and his legs screamed in agony beneath him as he ducked and spun out of reach. His blood pounded in his ears, and somewhere that sounded miles away he was aware of a frantic splashing behind him. He had managed to put some distance between himself and his opponent, and he stood resolutely between her and Flynn. His exertion caused his lungs to catch fire and each breath was agonizingly painful, but he stood defiant against her, nonetheless.

“What’s the matter, Spymaster? Are you finally losing your edge in your old age? They should’ve locked you behind a desk where old dogs like you belong. To fall in front of one of your men would be most unbecoming. Although I suppose I applaud you for not throwing more of your pawns’ lives away. I’ll be through with you soon enough, and then you can help me dispatch him.” Her wretched features twisted into a snarl of a smile as she spoke, fatty black slime spilling from her lips.

Mathias said nothing in return, reserving his strength for another onslaught if she took another step forward. Please, light let this work. I can’t keep him safe here. His thoughts were frantic as his head swam. When did his body become so heavy? His arms felt like pendulums; it would be so easy to take a knee.

“He’s not in uniform, though. Most curious. Dare I ask, Spymaster, is this man your plaything? I’d never known the Spymaster of the Alliance to have a paramour!” She loosed a hacking, harsh laugh that gurgled in her torn throat. “I’ll have my ghouls pin him down while I flay the flesh from your body, and once you’ve risen as my revenant you’ll watch as I pluck every one of the Alliance’s secrets from his innards. My dark magics will sustain him enough to watch me slice his belly from naval to sternum while his guts fall out before him. My ghouls need to eat, and newly risen I’m sure you’d be famished. To let you savor him one last time would be a gift, really.”

Mathias’s vision grew darker as consciousness was slipping from him. He steeled himself for a final assault but looked once more to Flynn. If this was his last moment, he wanted to remember the man he finally found worth dying for. The one thing above duty or service that he was afraid to lose. He could hear the witch going on about dark wings and other threatening monologuing, but in this moment, there was only one thing in the world he was concerned with. 

Flynn had met his gaze then, and Shaw’s heart cried out to him in silent need. The Kul Tiran’s eyes widened then, and with a roar he plunged the torch fully into the moonwell.

Mathias turned back to the witch, fighting to raise his daggers once more and muster a final charge. No sooner than he was about to stumble forward however he heard a cheer from behind him and felt a rush as he saw Flynn leading a charge of his own toward the necromancer – a blazing white torch lit in his hand raised high above his head. He brought it down with force, extracting a shrill scream from the woman as holy flame engulfed her.

Mathias lurched forward, following his partner in a combination of strikes. He couldn’t tell if he let out a cry as his daggers found purchase in her throat, silencing her finally as the white fire consumed what was left of her. She collapsed, a heap of emaciated skin and black tar. Mathias’s arms sank to his sides as she fell, and the golden lions on the pommels of his daggers stared up at him from the corpse. He could feel his breath rushing back to him as the curses were lifted, and he tilted his head back with eyes closed as the world continued to spin.

As soon as he felt like he couldn’t stand any longer, he felt a strong pair of arms wrap around him tightly. He could smell the familiar scent of salt, soap, and whiskey. The sturdy body against his supported him, chased away the cold and death from this awful place, and for the first time Mathias allowed himself weakness as Flynn held him as though he was the most precious treasure in the world.

🏰

Once Mathias had regrouped, he insisted on finding one of the Night Watch to report in. With the necromancer defeated, the undead should hopefully be dispersing. But in case they weren’t, it was urgent that he get the Torch of Holy Flame back in safekeeping to ward the cemetery once more. The captain reluctantly let go of him only after being assured several times that he was alright. He bent down to retrieve his daggers, and they made their way together out of the grove. Flynn held the torch high above them, warding away the darkness and dark forces that dared to come close.

A patrolling watchman caught sight of them not long after finding the road, and he raced back toward Darkshire while Mathias and Flynn began trekking back towards Forlorn Rowe. By the time they had arrived, a unit had been deployed to meet them. Commander Sarah Ladimore stood with Watcher Cutford at the fore, bearing a smile of victory as they approached. She looked well if not a bit fatigued, which Mathias supposed bode well for his condition too. He certainly felt better, and aside from some soreness that was still aching in his bones he felt as though he’d make a full recovery with a good night’s rest.

“Captain Fairwind?” Ladimore hailed them on approach. “Duskwood owes you both a great debt. You saved many lives here tonight, including mine. If you hadn’t stopped that necromancer from corrupting the torch… it wouldn’t be the first time an entire region had fallen to the undead.”

“Your watchers did the hard work,” Mathias interjected. He was very much ready to see Flynn back to safe keeping and desperately wanted to change out of his bloodstained armor. “Because of their actions, deaths in Darkshire were minimal. I suggest doubling patrols; I’ll send extra guards from Stormwind to help. The necromancer implied that the threat wasn’t over.” He watched as Flynn placed the torch back in front of Morbent Fel’s house, where it belonged. “And keep a close eye on this. A very close eye.”

Flynn turned to him with his patented grin. “Well, mate. After all this, let’s clean ourselves up and celebrate a job well done!” Mathias could feel the cheer radiating from him as well, and it did much to bolster his spirits. There were still matters to attend to here, but he could make quick work of them knowing Flynn would be waiting for him at the inn.

“You go ahead. I have some things to finish up here.” The stoic mask of the Spymaster was a familiar comfort, and afforded him time to finish his business here. The events from the evening put more urgency to a task that Mathias had been putting off – the powerful artifacts like the Torch of Holy Flame could be under threat from whatever this dark organization was. Up until recently he had plenty of good reasons to procrastinate on this particular errand, but perhaps now was best. Who knew when the next world-shattering event would occur? And perhaps he wouldn’t have to go on this journey alone.

“Oh. Right, right,” Flynn said dejectedly.  “But ah… we made a pretty good team, didn’t we?”

“We did.” Mathias couldn’t have wanted for better. Flynn challenged his way of thinking, tactically and otherwise. His cleverness led to an immediate solution in the field, he pushed through his own fears to secure victory, and he had come prepared for war despite only going out for what he thought would be a quick treasure hunt. It was clear to him that Flynn valued his safety as much as Mathias cared for his, and it was evident that he could be a capable partner in more than one sense.

He turned to Ladimore, eager to be done with his business. Perhaps he could ask a favor as well. There was still unfinished business from the start of the night, after all.

“Commander, a word?” 

🍻

The Night Watch had been gracious after his debrief and lent him a gryphon to help carry him swiftly back to Darkshire. He was quick to strip and bathe himself of the blood and ichor from his encounter and was able to change into clothes provided by the Watch. It was commoner’s attire, but it was loose and comfortable. He combed his hair and fixed his mustache to its pristine form and picked up the burlap bag that the Watch had recovered for him. He smiled as he made his way to the common room, eager to see Flynn’s reaction to their buried treasure.

He secured two seats near the fire, and he enjoyed the warm hearth as he waited for the other man. He didn’t have to wait long before he saw Flynn descending the stairs to meet him. Flynn smiled warmly at him as their eyes met, and he sank into the chair beside him.

“You clean up nicely,” the captain said to him with a smirk.

“I have a gift from the Night Watch. We didn’t get to finish our treasure hunt, so I gave them your map. They found this. I think you’ll find it valuable,” Mathias said with a grin. He handed Flynn the bag and relished in his joy as he opened it.

“Ooh!” He barked out that hearty Kul Tiran laugh that made Mathias’s heart skip a beat and warmth rise to his shoulders and cheeks. Flynn regarded the hand mirror with elation, admiring his features. “Perfect for our close shave.”

Mathias’s smile turned somewhat into a grimace at the bad pun, but he smiled regardless.

“And invaluable indeed,” Flynn continued. “I love looking at handsome men.”

Mathias basked in Flynn’s mirth for just a moment, cherishing that he had been graced with… whatever this feeling was. He was about to ask Flynn for something he wasn’t sure he was ready for, and even less so that Flynn would agree to. He looked to the fire and steeled himself as he set his proposal.

“I’ve been thinking. Sarah was right. Tonight could have been a disaster. The torch is a powerful artifact, and there are plenty of similar objects – many of them, mercifully, safely locked away. Occasionally, the king sends me to check up on them. The world is currently about as quiet as Azeroth is likely to get. Now would be a perfect time for me to take a thorough inspection trip, catalog everything we know about.” He trained his gaze from the fire to Flynn, whose eyes sparkled with iridescence in the low light of the fireplace.

“I’ll be gone a long time. Tonight’s events might look like a relaxing stroll. I’ll be speaking to my contacts, some of whom are in deep cover, discussing state affairs. I’ll be shown secret hiding places. Entrusted with the care of priceless artifacts. There will be caves, and enemies, and ghosts, and crypts. There’s always the chance I won’t make it back alive.”

In that moment, Mathias could see Flynn’s expression grow somber. He looked down from him, breaking their gaze.

“Is this because of… well… when you were fighting that necromancer and I was trying to cleanse the torch, she said something. And you looked at me, such a look, Mathias, and she said something about dark wings and –“

Mathias leaned forward and took Flynn’s hand from his lap, bringing his gaze back to his. He could see the sadness in his eyes, and Mathias squeezed the calloused hands with his own, holding them firm.

“I saw, Flynn. I saw everything. You didn’t load our packs with rum, but with bandages and traps and weapons. You were kind enough to be with someone who was suffering and sharp enough to spot something deadly in time for us to fix it. Despite your abhorrence of the undead, you chose to face scores of them in one of the biggest cemeteries in the world. You fought a dangerous being, and you figured out how to defeat her… and save my life. I’m not saying goodbye, Flynn. I’m asking you to come with me.” Mathias felt like his heart stopped, his offer hanging between them. How he hoped Flynn would say yes, but so afraid that he’d be left alone again. He didn’t know if he could go back to the solitude –

“Me? Why me?” Flynn’s eyes were wide, and Mathias couldn’t help but lose himself in the oceans of blue. He smiled, squeezing his beloved’s hands once more. He enjoyed the roughness under his thumbs, the way that Flynn’s hands cradled gently in his.

“Because I trust you,” Mathias confessed. And he did. His heart or his life, it didn’t matter. Flynn had saved him from himself back in his office, and he had saved him again in the grove. Flynn was good for him. He could only hope he was as good for Flynn, but damned if he wouldn’t die trying.

Flynn’s wry smile returned, and he looked at Mathias with that same casual coolness he had always been known for. “I knew you were going to ask me to come along.”

“Really?” Even with playful sarcasm, Mathias couldn’t mask his joy. A rare smile graced his lips.

“Oh yes, quite.” Flynn pulled Mathias closer, and Mathias moved to close the gap between them. “Whyever would you want to travel… without a fair wind?”

Shaw exhaled a chuckle at that.

“I can’t imagine,” he whispered. He gave into the gravity that was Flynn, closed his eyes, and kissed him.