Evelyn Whittaker woke up. Although the world had stopped rolling hours ago, she still felt nauseous and ill, and the weather wasn't helping to settle her stomach. Banastre slept on the floor within touching distance, stretched out to his full length, awkwardly on his back, front paws curled up. His jaws lolled open, his tongue hung out, and he was panting… punctuated by an occasional thick growl. The boat ride had not bothered him, he was more of a sailor than she'd ever manage, but the heat was an ever-present annoyance. Why he'd gone back to his heavily coated worgen form was beyond her, he'd been sleeping in his human form more and more, but she sensed he slept poorly. If he was having nightmares, he'd change, and those growls certainly sounded like nightmares to her.

"Ban." She was smarter than to physically touch him when he was like this, although they'd determined that he was no longer infectious, his bite was still the bite of a four hundred pound canine with inch long fangs. She instead prodded him with a broomstick, and his eyes shot open.

"Eh." He grumbled, melding back into his human form. "What?"

"You were growling and hissing." She grumbled pettishly, and he sent her a measuring look. He stood, stretched, and scratched his belly thoughtfully, rubbing the edge of the largest scar that rose, pale and taut, there. Evelyn knew what it was, he'd been hit by a Gilnean long arm, at close range, during his Change, and the scar was a lifelong reminder. Of course, the all too obvious slash marks of claws across his chest were as well. And, newly scabbed over, the intricate mark that symbolized he was a member of Genn's pack, carved into his shoulder. Once, Ban had been a fine and genteel Gilnean merchant's son, mostly unmarked. So much had changed so quickly….

"Stomach still bothering you?" He asked levelly and she sighed. He'd grown up so much in this last year; the old Ban would have risen to the argument with avidity and aplomb. Now, he just let it go.

"Yes."

He nodded, glancing around their sweltering room and shrugging. There was little he could do, and she understood that. "Sorry, Evie." He murmured, throwing his shirt on. He had slept in his thinnest, most ragged pair of breeches, and now looked like some wastrel vagrant instead of the Banastre she had grown up with. But, even if he still had the clothes of a well to do Gilnean merchant handy, it was much too warm for them.

"For Gilneas." She replied, not bothering the bleed the snide overtones off of the two words. She loved Gilneas; indeed, nothing would make her happier than to take Banaste home to it. Make a lovely dinner that wasn't elven…in fact, to just forget she'd ever even seen an elf. Forget about this sweltering hell hole called Stormwind. Light a fire in the grate, and sit next to him in their home, cozy and comfortable. Why had they become integral, necessary parts of this, known by Genn? Why did Ban bear the scabbing, pink mark carved into his very flesh by the king's claw itself? Why couldn't they be just refugees, still held in Teldrassil? At least the elven lands had been cooler than this…

"For Gilneas." There was no snide in his reply, only an intense sadness, and she dropped her chin. She wasn't sure what to do with this new Ban, and not entirely certain she liked him this way. He'd survived the unthinkable…but then again, he hadn't. The Banastre she'd grown up with was no more. There was no wailing about his clothing, or lack thereof. No distain for his shaggy hair and thickening beard. The scars went without comment. He'd stood still to receive yet another one. He felt bowed, devastated, and she didn't know what to do. She had only lost her home, he'd lost so much more than that… His expression sharpened, and he glanced towards the window. "The sooner we do this, the sooner we get it back, Evie."

That was an incontrovertible fact. Genn's stance was the only one that made sense, and even their presence here backed that up. "Go to Stormwind. Be a couple, look like every other young refugee couple flooding Stormwind. I hear there are many, just slide into them. I want to know what I'm getting into before I arrive. I want my pack on the ground, integrated, before I arrive, in case…."

Evelyn sighed, sliding out of the damp bed and moving up beside Ban. The King was correct; this place was uncomfortably filled with refugees. As long as they didn't talk, they didn't stand out. Unfortunately, Ban came with the long, luxurious drawl of a well to do Gilnean, and Evelyn was all too sharply aware that she shared his accent. The sharp, blunt accents of Stormwind's citizens were abrasive and ugly. Their clothing was garish and often immoral. Their manners were harsh and nosy. Everything here glared and baked, so very foreign to her nerves.

"I know, Ban."

"What's wrong?" He asked slowly, and she sighed. What was wrong? What was right?

"Ban…" He only stared at her until she sat, unwilling to stand any more. Her stomach was still rolling uncomfortably, her head pounded. "I miss you." There, it was out. She hadn't wanted to say it quite so bluntly, but it just sort of fell out, fueled by frustration. He tilted his head at her quizzically, and she flicked her fingertips at him. "Look at you! You're a disaster. I mean…" She hid her face in her hands, fighting back tears. She felt him sit beside her, and he finally gave in and rested his arm over her shoulders. It was safe to lean against him, to try and blot out the heat and the obnoxiously loud common room below them.

"Evie?"

"Ban, I fought so hard to get you back, but it's like I only got a ghost of you back. It's like you've been broken, you're just not yourself. The Ban I grew up with would have never been caught dead in what you're wearing. Please… please…" Come back to yourself. I can handle you being a worgen, but I can't handle this.

He sighed, stroking her hair. "What can I do?" He finally asked, "Evie?"

"You're not dead! Stop acting like you are!" He had been focused and alive during the assaults on Gilneas, but now, he had fallen into a dark lassitude. She had been dreading his reaction when he had the time to digest what had happened to him, but this was beyond what she had thought possible. "Damnit, Ban, you're all I have and if…" If she lost him, it would all be gone. What was the point of fighting to regain Gilneas, if all it would be was a haunted, empty land without him? What was the point of getting the house back if it would just be a memory of loss? Not a chance of filling it with joy again? "If I lose you, what's the point?"

"I'm… cursed, Evelyn."

She glared at him through her fingers, and he gave her a sheepish, lopsided smile in answer. "We're all cursed, Banastre! Are you going to tell Genn to give up? There are those who say that the affliction was a blessing in disguise…." And a frightening number of those who said so were actually worgen. But Evelyn could see it; she'd ridden alongside Ban headed into a conflict. He had become so glorious, if he could only see it. Grasp it.

"They're fools. So glut filled with bloodlust that they can't see their muzzles in front of their eyes."

Evelyn sighed, and only half of it was from disgust. The rest was from a sudden, rising nausea. She groaned, and dived back into the dubious comfort of her bed. Let him figure it out, if he was willing to. All she wanted to do was sleep until this ended…

She felt him get up, heard him playing in the basin of tepid water resting on the battered chest of drawers. "No." She grumbled. "It's hot. I don't…"

He rested a deliciously chilled cloth on her forehead and she sighed in ecstasy. "Remember." He chuckled, "I may not be the greatest mage in all existence, but I excel in comfort. Get some sleep, Evie. You'll feel better afterwards."

Maybe. Probably. She sighed and relaxed, uncertain if she could manage it.