Who was the one to propose: Syll, as a joke. Whoops.Who stressed more over wedding planning: Neither until they realized it was the day of. Then they both stressed.Who decorated the house: Cynthael, with much crazy (and mostly ignored) input from Syll.Who is more organized: Syll, oddly enough. Cyn is too carefree at times.Who initiates bedroom fun: It’s equal.Who suggested kids first: Definitely Cyn, and he got laughed at for it.Who’s more dominant: Syll.Who’s the cuddler: Syll.What’s their favorite non-sexual activity: Jump-scaring strangers while in stealth.Who kills the spiders: Syll. With guns.Who falls asleep first: Cyn, the lazy fuck.Who is louder? Syll.Who is more experimental? Both.Do they fuck or make love? Both, though Syll teases Cyn when he calls it ‘making love’.Who is more likely to be caught masturbating? Syll. Probably on purpose.Who comes first? The lady, of course. CYN IS A GENTLEMAN.Who is better at oral and who prefers it? Syll is better at oral, and also prefers it.Who usually initiates things? Fairly equal.Who is more sensitive? Syll, about certain emotional things, and physically.Who has the most patience? Cyn. Definitely Cyn.
The wedding was exactly the amusing, wonderful, perfect ordeal that Cynthael hoped it would be.
The Sunfire family was born. It was unorthodox and a little crazy, but full of love. What more could a man ask for?
Cynthael had spared no expense in the jungle treehouse-home for Jhulen and himself. It was nicer than any place that Silvermoon had to offer and it was private. Nothing but the best for his priest.
Ever since his cliff-dive Cynthael felt as though he had precious little alone time with his fiance. He had spent quite a few days recovering and then even more days helping Jhulen deal with the many people in their lives that always seem to need them. It wasn’t a bad thing, but he did miss the long evenings they used to spend wrapped up in just each other. The rogue wasn’t about to turn away Aeryssa in the middle of her crisis with her dead husband turning up alive or his sister’s issues with her idiot husband. When people needed him or Jhulen he was more than willing to help. Cyn just wanted a few hours of uninterrupted Jhulen time. As many hours as possible, really.
They had worked together on his Light-abilities lately and that was tiring, but rewarding. Practicing and researching how the elves who had a natural use of the Light worked, the redhead was getting a little better at it with each passing day. The morning had been busy as usual and while he whipped up breakfast for the growing family of elves that were residing in the apartment, the rogue’s mind was hard at work planning a surprise for his love. He convinced his sister to remain safe in the apartment with the kids for another day or two; at least until Jhulen or himself could deal with Aerhneas.
The tree-house surprise wasn’t ready yet so Cynthael arranged for a private vacation home out in Pandaria and wrote a quick note to Aeryssa, Syll, Aythala, and Dan so the four would know why he had disappeared with Jhulen. The clinic and the people they loved would have to survive without them for that time. Packing clothes for them both, Cyn grinned to himself as he slipped out of the house and left Silvermoon. Once payment for their new lovenest was dealt with and he had dropped off their things, the redhead set about writing Jhulen a letter. He made sure the words appeared rushed so that his message was all the more urgent.
‘Meet me at the shrine as soon as possible. I need you. Hurry.
~Cat’
Before mailing it, he set a bottle of fine wine in the icebox to chill and arranged the main room so Jhulen would see his box of pastries, fresh vase of roses, and their favourite assortment of chocolates on the table. Making such grand gestures was oddly natural for the elf considering he never bothered to commit to anyone before Jhulen. The last thing Cynthael wanted to happen was for their relationship to suffer because they were in such high demand with everyone else. Jhulen came first. Tonight he planned to ensure that the priest would never doubt that.
Another day, another list of jobs and tasks to complete. Cynthael had checked in on the secret project in Stranglethorn and he was pleased to see his tree house plans coming along much more quickly than he anticipated. It was amazing how things got done when he threw money at them. In a couple more weeks he could surprise Jhulen with their new vacation home. It could even just be a getaway spot for when things in the city kept them too busy for one another. The day before had been exhausting and he hoped to get home earlier in the day, today. The rogue had considered putting off work for a day and spending the entire time in bed with Jhulen, but the new expense of the tree house project put pressure on him to bring in more gold.
The jobs weren’t so bad anyway. Cynthael wasn’t too prideful to take whatever odd requests paid the bills. Some days he didn’t even have to draw his daggers to earn a fair wage. His constant mental bond to Jhulen also made the day a little less dreary. The ever-present warmth of his priest in the back of his mind made him smile and he was used to it enough by now that it didn’t distract him from work. Nothing made life quite as worthwhile as having someone he loved to come home to.
Consulting a bit of parchment from his pocket, he frowned thoughtfully. He had cleared out a troll problem at a small farm near the Ghostlands, escorted a Lord’s shipment of goods to the city, and visited his sister at the usual time for lunch. A couple intimidation jobs after that, Cynthael was left with only one more thing before he could journey back to Silvermoon. A desperate man had misplaced his intended engagement ring during a picnic at the old Spire ruins in the Ghostlands and he was paying generously for Cyn to retrieve the jewelry and return it before the end of the weekend. Easy enough.
Almost time to come home to you. He knew Jhulen was listening and grinned as he received an affectionate response, the warmth filling his heart as he hopped on a dragonhawk for the flight to the Ghostlands. Continuing on foot, Cyn stayed to the shadows as he jogged from Tranquillien to Windrunner Spire. The rogue was pleased by how quickly he covered ground, avoiding undead and plagued beasts like it was a game. The air always had a distinctly stale flavor here and in places the stench of rotting flesh was nearly overpowering. The Sin’dorei’s cleanup of the land was going well, but it would be a great deal longer before any of their wealthy brethren were interested in living there.
There was a well-worn path that led straight to the Spire from the days when it had been more than a ruined tower of stone and formerly beautiful craftsmanship. Cynthael followed alongside the path, keeping to the trees and foliage out of habit more than necessity. If anyone else knew about the ring and the reward then there was a chance other mercenaries or random elves were coming to claim it themselves. It never hurt to be careful. The air was colder at the higher elevation of land and a strong breeze swept the elf’s hair back from his face. With it came more pleasant scents of salt and the ocean, relaxing the rogue as he made his way higher towards the Spire entrance.
The climb was slower once he reached the precarious, winding road that was the only way up into the structure above. The stones were worn and broken after years of neglect and Cynthael carefully picked his way through the overgrown area, wishing for better cover as he moved. It was quiet here and his ears flicked this way and that as he listened while he crept forward. There was no reason to be on edge, yet he usually was. It seemed to be a rogue sort of mentality. It was even slower going once he was inside the spire because each stone had to have weight applied to it before he dared to trust it to support him. Why any couple would come here for a romantic picnic was beyond his comprehension, but he had seen elves here before. Risking their lives for a special dinner memory seemed pretty idiotic.
He methodically searched the area until it led him to the bottom of a ramp, right near the edge of the steep drop to the rocks and ocean below. The spot was scenic, certainly, but not safe by any means. Pausing a moment to look around again, a glitter of gold caught his eye. That had to be it! Just as he had hoped, a small circle of gold awaited him when he checked and Cyn grinned while he tucked the ring safely away in a side pouch. All set. He could deliver the jewelry, collect his pay, and head home to his love.
A faint scrape of boot against stone was his only warning before the attack came. In the split second between the sound and the attack, Cynthael drew his daggers and ducked. The air hummed as a blade cut through it where his head had been a moment before and he hissed as the weapon caught the tip of his ear before he could finish putting distance between him and the assailant. He rolled and came up with daggers at the ready, but they were faster than he anticipated and crashed into his chest the moment he regained his footing. Two blades slashed for his throat and sparks flew as his own daggers caught and dragged, metal against metal, just barely preventing a killing blow.
Taking advantage of being under the stranger, he drew back his legs and kicked them forward as hard as he could before his back hit stone. The attacker was knocked aside, but not for long. Winded, Cynthael barely rolled out of the way when a blade came down again so close that he could feel the rush of air against his cheek. They were relentless. His only chance was to get back on his feet again. He sent an urgent call for help through his bond with Jhulen and had no time to explain beyond the adrenaline and fear the priest would feel radiating from him. Refocusing, Cyn lunged to the side even though it was dangerously close to the edge of the structure. He needed distance between himself and the other being.
He surged to his feet with both daggers already sweeping the air in front of him and one connected, slashing the assassin’s shoulder. At the same time a blade pierced his forearm and Cynthael tried to stifle a strangled cry, the burn of the wound telling him the weapon was poisoned. “Get the fuck off me!” he roared, bringing up his knee towards the stranger’s gut. They were familiar with fighting dirty it seemed as the shadowy figure was out of reach before he could connect and the move threw him off balance. Staggering forward a step, Cynthael released a barrage of throwing daggers from his sleeves. It was baffling to watch the masked elf – the ears had to be elven – flipping and dodging the tiny blades. Who was this?
Even the throwing daggers didn’t distract enough to giving Cyn a proper shot at them and he missed a stab, a boot to his ass sending him crashing into a wall. Never before had he been so humiliated in a fight. He knew they were trying to corner him and he spun himself away from the initial collision spot even before he recovered his wits enough to really see. Sure enough, they would have pinned him if he had stayed put and Cyn lifted his head in time to see a dagger rising up above him. How he managed to slam his fist into that elf’s face before they brought the blade down into his skull he would never know. Blood spattered the stone, adding to what had already been spilled.
Cold wind tore at both elves as they fought, blinding Cyn momentarily as his hair stung his eyes like crimson whips. His left arm was going numb and useless now and he was fairly certain the blade was still jutting out of it. There was no time to look right now. The other elf was already charging in again, darting side to side to psyche him out. He didn’t move, just watching for a moment. At the last second he ducked down and to the side, slamming himself into the assailant’s midsection. They both went flying and it wasn’t until the wind bit at his flesh even colder and faster than before that Cynthael realized they were falling. He’d tackled them completely off of the Spire.
There was no time for panic to set in as their bodies flew towards the ground. He shoved the masked figure away from himself and slammed a dagger towards the stone of the cliff side, the metallic screech of blade on rock causing him to wince. It didn’t take hold. As the ground rushed up to meet the rogue he reached out to Jhulen for one last, desperate ‘I love you’. Then flesh and bone met rock. His organs ruptured as flesh tore and blood splattered, painting the rocks as red as Cyn’s hair. Bones shattered all at once in a sickening crunch and a breathless scream on the rogue’s part.
The Spire was just tall enough to cause fatal injuries, but not to completely splatter him. The agony was so incredible that he would have welcomed a dagger to his skull in that moment. Unaware of what had happened to the elf who tried to put a knife in him, Cynthael desperately grasped at the mental bond to Jhulen. His priest; his lover; his fiancé. That warmth was all he had as his blood and his life drained rapidly from his body. He prayed for Jhulen’s happiness and tried his hardest to hold that warmth and that Light close to him. The rogue had never tried so hard to block out any pain before, but this was unbearable. At some point he had vomited and he knew he was choking on it, yet he would be dead before the asphyxiation got him. All he wanted was for the darkness to swallow him now. Jhulen wouldn’t make it in time.
The more he prayed and begged for the pain to end, the less crippling, mind-breaking pain ailed him. Cynthael found he could roll his ragged body to the side enough to cough and vomit again, his form half dangling over the water below. He felt weak, helpless, and broken beyond measure, but…the pain had dulled. Before he could think on it, the welcome darkness of unconsciousness finally swallowed him up.
Knowing he would be away for most of the day, Cynthael had arranged for the entire upstairs flat to be filled with roses. Jhulen would awaken to find every surface sprinkled with rose petals, loose roses, and covered in vases of red rose bouquets. The rogue had spared no expense and the entire house smelled fragrant and beautiful. On Cyn's pillow, that still bore a slight indentation from his head, there was a short note for Jhulen:
'Never doubt how much I love you, Doc. I could fill one thousand rooms and it would still fail to express just how much I adore you. My melody; my everything. I will be home as soon as work allows.'
Cynthael had never realized how easy it could be to give himself completely to another soul. All of him belonged to Jhulen, just as the priest was his everything. He had never been happier.
