Chapter 8: Planning the Future
The air in their room at the inn was warm and still, heavy with the scent of sweat, sex, and the faint, lingering perfume of the blossom garlands outside their window. Pale morning light filtered through rice-paper screens, painting everything in soft gold. Alex’s back was a map of faint scratches, his body humming with a pleasant, deep-boned exhaustion. Alyna lay half atop him, her head on his chest, the smooth skin of her shoulder cool under his fingertips. Her blonde hair was a mess, her ponytail long since undone.
He traced the elegant point of one ear, a gesture that had become habit. She stirred, nuzzling against him, and he felt her smile against his skin.
“I love you so much, Alyna,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep and use. “And if you have a stamina problem, I love you anyway.”
Her head snapped up. Her green eyes, initially blurry, sharpened into dangerous emerald points. The provocative grin he wore was a dare. A challenge.
“A stamina problem,” she repeated, her voice low and velvet-wrapped. “Is that what you’re calling it?”
She moved before he could blink, her rogue’s agility undimmed by their hours of passion. In a tangle of limbs and soft laughter, she had him pinned, her strong thighs caging his hips, her hands holding his wrists to the mattress. Her expression was pure, wicked promise.
She wouldn’t let his provocative grin go unpunished.
She made sure that he would walk funny the next day.
It was a slow, delicious punishment. A re-exploration of every inch of him, her mouth and hands relentless, her own arousal a fierce, insistent pressure against his thigh. Alex loved her passion, her desire, her erect cock the most sexy image he knew. This amazing woman wanted him. Not in spite of what she was, but with a ferocity that included all of her. He surrendered to it, to her, let her dominate the pace until he was shuddering and breathless, crying out her name into the crook of her neck.
Later, much later, they lay entangled and exhausted, more relaxed than they had ever been since they met in that frozen cave. The storm outside was memory. The factions were a distant rumor. Here, in this nest of rumpled sheets, there was only skin and steady breath. Alex carded his fingers through her hair, watching the dust motes dance in the sunbeam.
“I guess we should explore Pandaria,” he said, his voice quiet in the calm. “Work, and then travel further. See where the road goes.” He paused, gathering the thought that had been growing in him since Ratchet, since their dinner at The Golden Lotus. “When we find a place we like… I would love to have a house of our own.”
Alyna made a soft, agreeable sound against his chest.
He took a deeper breath, the next part more fragile, more monumental. “And maybe, if you’re interested in this… we could adopt children. Perhaps an elf and a human child. Give them a home. The one we’re making.”
Silence.
It stretched. He felt her stillness, a sudden tension in the limbs wrapped around him.
Then she sneezed, a small, abrupt sound in the quiet room.
And then the tears came.
It wasn’t a sob. It was a silent stream, hot and urgent against his skin, her shoulders shaking with the force of a dam breaking. She buried her face deeper into him as if to hide it, but he felt it all—the wetness, the tremors, the sharp, hitched breaths she tried to swallow.
“Alyna?” he whispered, his heart clenching.
She couldn’t speak. She shook her head, clutching him tighter.
She had never felt more accepted than now, when he made these plans and considered her body thoughtfully. Not as a flaw to be hidden, not as a monstrous secret, but as a simple, integral fact of her—a fact that didn’t cancel out a future, a home, a family. He had spoken of children, and in his words, there was no hesitation, no asterisk, no condition. He saw a path forward with her, all of her, and it was as natural to him as the plan to find a house.
All the cheeky bravado, the dominant swagger, it melted in that sunlit bed, leaving only the raw, yearning core of her that had always been afraid it was unlovable. The humiliation she’d endured, the scornful whispers, the lovers who’d fled in confusion or disgust—they were ghosts that his simple, casual words finally banished.
He held her, saying nothing, just letting her cry. He kissed the top of her head, her damp temple, the curve of her pointed ear. His own eyes stung.
When her breathing finally evened, she shifted, lifting her head. Her eyes were puffy, her face splotchy, and she had never looked more beautiful to him.
“You’re insane,” she croaked, a watery smile tugging at her lips. “A house? Children? With me?”
“With you,” he confirmed, thumbing a tear from her cheek. “Who else is going to keep me on my toes and make me walk funny?”
A laugh burst out of her, shaky and real. She swatted his arm, then collapsed back onto him, a sigh of profound relief leaving her body. “An elf and a human child,” she murmured, testing the words. “We’d have to find a very understanding midwife. Or a very confused stork.”
He laughed, the sound rumbling in his chest beneath her. “We’ll figure it out. We’ve figured out everything else.”
Outside, the sounds of Dawn’s Blossom were rising: the chatter of pandaren merchants, the clatter of carts, the distant chime of a temple bell. A world waiting. But for now, in their pool of sunlight, there was only this. The scent of their skin, the weight of the future settling comfortably between them, no longer a wish but a plan. She traced idle patterns on his chest, her tears drying, replaced by a deep, settling peace.
“Start with the house,” she said softly, decisively. “Somewhere with a big kitchen. And a very sturdy bed.”
Alex smiled, closing his eyes. “Deal.”
“Deal.”
They lay there until the sunbeams climbed the wall and the noises from the street became too insistent to ignore. Hunger eventually drove them from the tangle of sheets. They moved around each other in the quiet room, washing, dressing, a comfortable silence between them filled with the echo of promises made.
The market of Dawn’s Blossom was a symphony of scents: steaming dumplings, pungent spices, the earthy smell of wet clay and growing things. They walked, shoulders brushing, fingers loosely linked. It felt different today. The aimless wandering of the past few weeks had gained a direction, a gentle pull toward a specific horizon.
“So, a house,” Alyna said, stopping to examine a vendor’s rack of silk robes with a critical, appraising eye. “Not an apartment in some grimy goblin tower in Ratchet.”
“No towers,” Alex agreed, steering her toward a food stall by the gentle pressure of his hand on her back. “And no grime. I’ve shoveled enough snow in my life to want a patch of land. Something that’s actually ours.”
“Land.” She savored the word, taking a steaming bun he offered her. “Easy to defend?”
“Easy to garden, maybe,” he countered, blowing on his own bun. “I’m tired of defending. I want to build something.”
She took a bite, considering him. The shy boy from the snowstorm was still there, but a steadiness had grown over him, like a tree hardening its bark. “A garden. You’d need a fence, though. To keep the vermin out. And a very high wall so the neighbors don’t get a show.”
He coughed, a piece of bun catching in his throat. “A show?”
“When you inevitably try to carry me over the threshold and trip,” she said, her eyes gleaming. “Or when I chase you around the vegetable patches. For disciplinary reasons.”
He laughed, the sound blending with the market din. “Fine. A high wall. And a big kitchen, you said. For your legendary Pandaren cookery attempts.”
“Our kitchen,” she corrected softly. The correction was deliberate, significant. She pointed with her chin toward the architecture of the town. “Something like that, but bigger. A sloping roof for the snow. A wide porch for watching rains.”
They wandered out of the main bustle, following a path that led toward the terraced hillsides. The air grew cooler, scented with pine and mist. A small, abandoned lumber mill sat by a fast-moving stream, its wheel still turning with a lazy, rhythmic creak.
Alex stopped, looking at it. Not at the mill, but at the land around it. A gentle slope covered in wild grass, a stand of bamboo shielding it from the wind, the constant, cheerful music of the water.
“Here,” he said. The word wasn’t a question.
Alyna followed his gaze. She saw the practicalities immediately—clear sightlines, fresh water, defensible high ground. Then she saw what he saw: the dappled light, the privacy, the quiet. She walked a few paces, imagining the shape of a foundation against the hill.
“The main room there,” she said, pointing. “Facing the stream. So the sound is always there.” Her voice had lost its teasing edge, turning dreamy, precise. “Bedroom off the back. Where it’s quietest.”
“A workshop for me,” Alex added, moving to stand beside her. “For fletching, leatherwork. Not in a damp cave.”
“A real bath,” she said, a note of longing in her voice. “Not a tin tub. One of those deep Pandaren soaking pools. Heated stones.”
“We can pipe the water from the hot springs to the south,” he said, thinking aloud, his hunter’s knowledge of terrain shifting into a builder’s blueprint. “It’d take work.”
“We know work.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “We could do the woodwork ourselves. I’m handy. You’re… moderately useful.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“The children’s rooms would go upstairs,” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. The statement hung in the misty air, bold and fragile. She didn’t look at him, keeping her eyes on the imaginary house. “Lots of windows. So they can see the forest.”
He slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her close. He felt the tension in her, the daring hope. “Two rooms. At least. In case they want space.”
“In case we find more than two,” she whispered, leaning into him. Her bravado was gone, stripped away by the raw simplicity of the planning. This was the deepest intimacy yet, this shared conjuring of walls and windows and futures.
A cloud shifted, and a beam of sunlight broke through, illuminating the spot where they’d placed the front door in their minds. It felt like a sign. A stupid, sentimental, irresistible sign.
“We should find a lumber seller,” Alex said, his voice thick. “And a stonemason. To ask about costs.”
“We should,” Alyna agreed, not moving. “Right after we find lunch. Planning is hungry work.”
He kissed her temple, right where her pointed ear met her hairline. “Our house,” he said.
“Our house,” she echoed.
They stood there for a long time, listening to the stream and the creaking wheel, watching the ghost of their home solidify in the light before they turned, together, to go and bring it back from a dream.
The walk back to Dawn’s Blossom was filled with a new, buzzing energy. They debated roofing materials, argued playfully over the merits of a cellar versus a root-cellar, and got genuinely sidetracked for twenty minutes by a pandaren gardener who explained the philosophical importance of aligning your herb plot with the celestial jade serpent. It was mundane. It was everything.
“We need a ledger,” Alex said, his breath making little clouds in the cooler air of the town’s outskirts. “To track costs. Lumber, nails, labor if we need it.”
“A ledger,” Alyna snorted, looping her arm through his. “My big, practical human. I’ll keep the ledger in my dagger sheaths. Very accessible.”
“You’ll lose it in a week.”
“I’ll lose it tomorrow. You’ll keep the ledger. I’ll keep the neighbors in line.”
They passed back under the arched entrance to the town’s main square, the noise and color washing over them. The fountain at the center bubbled, a stone statue of a wise-looking pandaren serenely ignoring the market chaos around it. That’s when Alyna saw them.
Three draenei women stood together by the fountain’s edge, their blue skin vivid against the earth-toned stone, their elegant horns curved like polished ivory. They were laughing, a sound like wind chimes. They were stunning. And all three had massive, clearly visible bulges straining against the fine fabric of their skirts and trousers.
Alyna stopped dead. Her hand slipped from Alex’s arm.
Every instinct, every old scar of humiliation and fear, tightened her throat. Her gaze was fixed, a trespasser’s stare, her mind refusing to process the casual, public normality of it. They were just… standing there. Unhidden. Unashamed.
They noticed her staring. The tallest of the three, with sapphire-blue skin and horns adorned with tiny silver chains, met Alyna’s wide eyes. A gentle, knowing smile touched the draenei’s lips. She murmured something to her companions and glided forward, her hooves clicking softly on the cobbles.
Alex, sensing the shift, looked from Alyna’s frozen form to the approaching draenei. “Alyna?” he whispered.
The draenei stopped before them. Her eyes, luminous and kind, swept over Alyna—taking in her elven features, her tension, the way her confidence had just evaporated. She didn’t look at Alex with hostility, only a flicker of appraisal.
“Honey,” the draenei said gently, her voice a low, melodic rumble. “In your condition, Pandaria is the best place imaginable.”
Alyna couldn’t blink. She couldn’t breathe.
The draenei’s smile widened, crinkling the corners of her eyes. “Here are many of us. People don’t care what’s between your legs.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a confidential, playful murmur meant only for Alyna’s long ears. “You already have a human. Good. They are eager. My human had to struggle hard to take me for the first time, and now he loves it.”
Alyna was speechless.
The world tilted. The noisy market faded into a distant hum. Every whispered insult from Silvermoon, every shocked gasp, every rejection that had taught her to armor herself in dominance and humor—they all cracked under the weight of this stranger’s simple, smiling solidarity. This was not tolerance born of ignorance. This was knowledge. Shared existence.
“I…,” Alyna started, but no sound came out.
The draenei gave a slight, understanding nod. She reached out and, with a tenderness that made Alyna’s eyes burn, adjusted the collar of Alyna’s travel-worn tunic, a matronly gesture that was profoundly disarming. “Breathe, sister. The air is free here.” With a final wink that held millennia of shared secret history, she turned and rejoined her friends, their laughter continuing as if nothing momentous had occurred.
Alex’s hand found Alyna’s. It was cold. He laced his fingers through hers, his grip firm and anchoring. He had heard enough. He had seen the draenei’s parting gesture. The pieces, the secret she had confessed in their darkest, most intimate moments, snapped into a new and glaring context.
“Alyna,” he said softly.
She turned to him. The bravado was utterly gone, stripped away, leaving her face naked with a tumult of emotions—shock, vulnerability, a dawning, terrified hope. Her green eyes were wide, glistening.
“They were… like me,” she finally managed, the words a bare exhale.
“Yeah,” Alex said, his thumb stroking her knuckles. He looked from her to the retreating draenei, then back to her face. “I guess they were.”
The implication settled over him, too. This wasn’t just about one house on a hillside anymore. This was about an entire world where that house could simply be a home, not a fortress to hide in. Where children with pointed ears or blue skin or any configuration in between could play by a stream without a legacy of shame. Pandaria wasn’t just a place with good food and weak factions. It was a refuge they hadn’t known they were searching for.
Alyna took a shuddering breath. She looked at the fountain, at the pandaren vendor selling buns, at the ordinary bustle of a town that didn’t stare. The high wall she’d insisted on for their dream house suddenly seemed less necessary. A weight she had carried since adolescence, a weight so constant she’d forgotten its shape, began to dissolve in the clean, misty air.
“Let’s go get that ledger,” she said, her voice still unsteady but gaining strength. She squeezed his hand. “And I’m paying for the soaking tub. No arguments.”
“No arguments,” he agreed.
They walked, their steps slower now, more deliberate. The dream of the house was still there, but its foundations had just been dug into a different, firmer kind of earth. One where they might not be the only ones, after all.