Conflicts

Despite his ennui Tavian still found himself rising regularly with the sun. It would creep through the dirty single window of the small, equally dirty room he shared in the Booty Bay Inn with Kiril. The sunrise would reflect off the cerulean waters of the bay, dazzling his tired eyes as he sat up in bed, running a hand through his short black hair. He still wasn't used to it, the way it slipped so suddenly through his fingers, and he still did a double-take when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His hair had once fallen nearly to his waist and now it didn't even cover the fronts of his ears. Kiril had done a good job of fixing the mangled hacking Tavian had done, it wasn't that it didn't look good, it was just... different.

Glancing to his side he saw Kiril curled up beside him in the bed, his long orange-red hair wrapped around him like a cloak trailing over the yellowed sheets and his pale skin. He let the priest sleep and slipped silently out of bed, pulling clothes on in an automatic manner, not caring what he looked like. Not that it really mattered what he put on. Most of his clothing was nondescript: bland leather breeches and cloth shirts that Sorawen had made. Often he would go about the town barefoot, liking the way the warm, splintered wood of the walkways felt beneath his calloused feet.

He ducked out of the room and down into the tavern. In a shipping town built around trade such as Booty Bay most everyone of any importance was up with the sun, and so there was usually drink and hot food to be had even at the early hour of Tavian's waking. His routine since they'd arrived a week earlier was generally to get a mug of warm ale and whatever hot porridgey substance they were offering that day and then perch himself on one of the crates on the dock and simply watch the day go by. Sitting there in the gloriously hot sun he saw more of the world than he had ever seen in the busy streets of Silvermoon. And although members of other Horde races were occasionally seen in the home city of the Sindorei it paled in comparison to the veritable menagerie of citizens and visitors to this dirty little goblin port.

It was there sitting on that crate that he saw a gnome in life for the first time, unable to keep his mouth closed at its almost grotesquely adorable tininess. He'd seen a dwarf and a tauren, both hunters, arguing good naturedly about their latest kills. Trolls of all shapes and sizes. Humans, orcs, Kaldorei, Sindorei, even the rumored draenei, and the Forsaken, stinking in the hot sun, moved up and down the wooden causeways; all either passing each other in the agreeable silence of the town's neutrality, or even greeting one another, sharing drinks, stories, a good laugh, or a curled lip but nothing more threatening than a dirty look.

At night the rowdiness of the combined races in the inn was truly something to see. Again Tavian would simply perch himself in a quiet corner and watch as the revelry unfolded, wondrous to behold in its variety. And when inevitably a troll went up to their room with an orc or a human - or both - and the two dwarven warriors who had been flirting all night with the Sindorei mages finally convinced them that size was not everything, no one seemed to notice or care. Eventually the tavern would empty by pairs or threesomes or flocks and the creaking of the wooden slates of the converted ship was intermingled with the soft punctuation of muffled cries, moans, and sighs. Tavian had to smile, and remember Kiril's words: what happened in Booty Bay stayed in Booty Bay. And although the next morning the tavern was generally full of hangovers and groans it never seemed to be full of regret.

While Tavian went about his people watching, Kiril did very little but stay in their room and think, his eyes often distant, staring out the window. Tavian knew it had to do with the druid. And even though he had assured Kiril that the small enclave of Kaldorei who had come over with them on the ship had left the town, presumably to fulfill whatever duties the Cenarion Circle had sent them to the jungle for in the first place, the priest showed no sign of wanting to emerge for more than a few minutes to get something to eat or take a quick walk down the boardwalk. It worried Tavian. He tried to bring it up with his cousin several times, but Kiril would just shake his head and say, "I don't want to talk about Tamarack."

If they were both a mess who was going to take care of either of them?

This morning, after a week of being in the port, Tavian did as he usually did and perched himself on a crate, mug on his knee, and settled in for a day of people watching. It was mid-morning when his routine was broken by the appearance of the druids.

They looked tired but excited as if their time in the jungle had been both taxing and invigorating. The only one who didn't look invigorated was the woman who was obviously not a druid. She just looked tired. The dark green haired druid with the twilight colored skin, who Tavian now knew to be Tamarack, spied him, and hesitated for a moment before detaching himself from his comrades and coming over to spryly perch himself up next to Tavian. The rogue looked at him and blinked. It felt very strange to be this close to one of the Night Elves. Other than what had happened in Ratchet the only interaction he had had with their cousins from Kalimdor was dealing with the ones who had infiltrated the Ghost Lands.

"Ishnu ala," he said with a tired smile.

Tavian returned the smile. "Anaria shola."

They chuckled at one another a little awkwardly, and the druid surprised him by reaching out to run his fingers through the short hair at the back of his head, one eyebrow raised, clearly asking why on earth he had cut off his hair.

Tavian just shrugged and looked away, shaking his head with a sigh.

After a few moments the druid pulled his knees up close to his chest, looping his long arms around them. "Kiril?" he asked softly.

Tavian tugged at one of his ears sheepishly. He knew Kiril would be angry with him for talking to Tamarack, especially about him, but he secretly felt for the druid and thought Kiril was being a bit pig-headed. He knew that if he hadn't seen the one he loved for years on end there wouldn't be a whole lot they could have done that would have kept him out of their arms. But then Kiril had always followed his head a lot more than his heart, it was one of the things that made them such good friends. They balanced each other well. Giving the druid a sheepish smile he pointed up at the inn and said, "Sleeping maybe. Thinking?" He shrugged and shook his head. "I don't know."

Tamarack sighed and leaned forward to put his chin on his knees. Sympathizing Tavian put a hand on the druid's back, patting comfortingly and then picking a piece of the jungle out of his thick braid. They sat thusly for a few moments, strangers connected by a single common thread and a mutual suffering of the heart. Then Tamarack looked over at Tavian and raised a hopeful eyebrow, nodding toward the inn, and then pointing, saying something in a language Tavian didn't understand. But he knew that Tamarack was asking him to show him where Kiril was staying, or possibly even take him to the priest. Tavian bit his lip and shook his head no.

"Not a good idea," he said.

"Please," the druid responded, "Ash surfal." The painful, pleading quality of his voice was enough to make Tavian sigh and slide down from the crate, motioning the Kaldorei after him. His rogue's senses told him that he did not like having the tall elf at his back, but he forced himself to swallow these feelings and lead him up through the inn. He hesitated at the door to the room. looking back over his shoulder, finding the look of anticipation on Tamarack's face almost painful. He knocked for some reason, though he wouldn't have done so if he were alone and then entered.

Kiril was sitting in a chair dressed, staring out the window as he often seemed to do. He turned his head slowly to regard Tavian and then startled, bolting to his feet when he saw Tamarack over his shoulder.

"What is he doing here?" he shouted, pointing.

Tavian put up his hands defensively. "He wanted to see you."

"Tavian why do you think I've been staying locked in our room? I don't want to see him!" Kiril snapped.

"Well..." Tavian said with a shrug, "I think you're being foolish. Deal with your feelings, Kiril. I need you to have your head straight, because I can't do this alone." With that he turned and pushed back past the druid, letting him farther into the room as shut the door behind him.

Kiril and Tamarack faced each other in silence for a few long moments. Kiril's face was hard, but his lips and fists were trembling. Tamarack just stared at him softly and then suddenly stepped forward. "Thero'shan..."

Kiril stepped back around the chair, putting it between them. "Go away."

Tamarack halted. "You don't meant that."

"Then why do I keep saying it?" Kiril snapped.

"I don't know. But please, thero'shan..." he stepped forward again, trying to reach for the priest around the chair, but Kiril maneuvered out of the way, pulling out of his grasp each time, stepping around the chair to keep it between them.

"Stop trying to grab me," Kiril hissed.

"Then just come here," Tamarack replied, making another grab for the red-head's wrist, and growling in frustration when he could not grasp it.

"No. What do you want?"

"What do you think I want?" Tamarack said loudly. "I want you."

"You have no right-" But Kiril's words were cut off by a loud crash as Tamarack suddenly grasped the back of the chair and flung it savagely against the wall hard enough to break one of its legs.

"Stop this!" he shouted. "This is foolishness, thero'shan!" He glared at the Sindorei priest who was now staring at him wide eyed and nervous. It had been a very rare occasion that Kiril had ever seen Tamarack lose his temper or become violent towards anything. He was frightened, not of him, but of his intensity. He stood silently, watching Tamarack as the druid took several deep breaths and then advanced on him, backing Kiril against the wall. The priest swallowed and looked up into golden eyes which seemed to burn into him. "Do you truly want me to leave?" Tamarack rasped.

Kiril opened his mouth, working his lips around the word before it finally came out. "Yes."

"Then tell me that you do not love me."

"I hate you."

"That is not the same thing," Tamarack replied now putting his hands on Kiril's body, one on his hip, the other his cheek, thumb stroking along his cheekbone.

Kiril closed his eyes, feeling his body want to melt into those touches. He made a trapped, miserable sound, flinching back from the druid and his feelings. "Tam... don't..."

"Then tell me you don't love me."

"I already told you that I hate you," Kiril hissed, looking into his eyes defiantly, but the gaze wavered as Tamarack's thumb moved to his lips.

"Is that all you can say? Because I'm not impressed," Tamarack murmured as his body came closer until it was pressed against the priest. Kiril remembered this trick. He had played it on the him the day Aeltha came to fetch him home. Trapped against the wall and his warm body Kiril had nowhere to go, and nothing to do but give in. He pushed ineffectually against Tamarack's chest, but his body was beginning to tremble. Slowly those lips came upon his again, tasting of all things Tamarack. It was a languid, hot thing that he felt himself pulled into against his will. Or was it? He didn't even know anymore. Days of thinking had done nothing to clear his head.

"I hate you," he whispered harshly as their lips parted slightly.

"You have a bad habit of repeating yourself, thero'shan," Tamarack murmured back against those perfect lips, moving his hand from Kiril's hip to the small of his back, pulling him more tightly to him. "You always have." They kissed again, Kiril's skin flushing hotly as their tongues brushed together and his hands began to move to Tamarack's shoulders. It was becoming all too clear to his logical mind what his heart and body had known all along: he wanted this, had longed for it, had dreamed about it, had feared it.

He was not the person he once was. When he met Tamarack he had been a spoiled brat, the son of a rich house that he rebelled against simply for the sake of rebellion. He had never experienced hardship or heartache. He had never sacrificed anything for anyone. And although he had told himself that not returning to Quel'thalas was a sacrifice he was making for Tamarack, it had truly been returning that was the sacrifice.

Tamarack had been the one who began to open his eyes eyes to the truths of the world, but it was only since they had parted that he had seen so many terrible things, lost and ached over so much, his own grace, the suffering of his people, sickness, corruption, the festering of a wound across the soul of the Quel'dorei and Sindorei alike that was slowly spreading its infection. He fought against these things, fought to repair them, to rebuild, had sacrificed, found a calling, faith, the Light...

Could he love Tamarack as the person he was now as he had then and vice versa? And even with love renewed could they ever truly be together or would he just lose him again and again as one or both of them were pulled in different directions in their duties? Wasn't it better to simply let the dull ache remain forever rather than rip the wound open to bleed all over again every time they met? But Kiril knew it was already too late for that. It had been since the moment he saw him on the beach in Ratchet.

"I hate you..." he was on the verge of tears, his voice catching. Those strong fingers in his hair, clutching, pulling, demanding another kiss. It made him delirious and dizzy, hungry and desperate as he clutched at the druid. Those firm, warm lips covering his own. That slick tongue in his mouth. His scent. The pressure of his body. It was enough to make Kiril want to scream. When their lips broke apart this time there were frustrated tears running down the priest's face. "I love you," he sobbed this time, broken apart by the inevitable truth of his words.

He was lifted then into Tamarack's arms, hoisted up to wrap his legs around the druid's waist. They continued to kiss, clinging to each other as he was pressed against the wall for a moment more and then carried to the bed where he was tossed down and immediately covered with the weight and pressure of Tamarack's larger body.

Clothing was removed by hasty, clutching hands and soon their bodies were naked and grappling in the messy sheets.

Tamarack murmured to him over and over again, "Dalah surfal... dalah... dalah..."

Kiril could do little but arch against him, hands clutching as he whimpered and moaned, feeling adrift in his own body. All he wanted to feel was the druid, tears and fears be damned. His legs opened wide, spreading apart wantonly. He wanted Tamarack inside of him now, and he told the druid as much. He didn't care if it had been 6 years since had given himself to anyone, the last of course being Tamarack. He didn't care if he was prepared. He was simply consumed by need. His breath caught in the first few glorious moments as their bodies came together.

It was his favorite part of love making, those first intense moments of sensation and joining. They were, of course, over all too fast as Tamarack pushed further and further into him, filling him with a burning intensity of pain and pleasure. The priest wrapped himself around his druid as tightly as he could, legs and arms clinging to him as he tossed his head back, red hair spilling around him, as he arched his back and neck recklessly.

They made forceful, passionate love. They bit and scratched, kissed and cried out. They made each other come and tremble. They took turns taking each other, tasting each other, giving in to one another. Bodies slick with sweat and cum, barely able to speak or even breath from exhaustion they coupled in the final throws deep into the evening.

Tamarack was astride Kiril's hips, taking him deeply as the priest lay back, fingernails scratching along the druid's muscular thighs. His long green hair had long ago come undone and tumbled down his back, damply clinging to the curve of his spine. Moaning deeply Tamarack leaned back, hands finding the sheets behind him, clutching them as he used the leverage to rock himself weakly against Kiril. The muscles of his thighs flexed and relaxed with each thrust, and both of their breaths were coming in panting sobs, neither of them able to make a sound.

He moaned pitifully as he climaxed again, as if despairing that he knew this was the end of their lovemaking for the day. The force of previous ejaculations was no longer present, and Tamarack spent only a small amount of seed, some of it splashing across Kiril's belly, but most of it dribbling down his penis as it began to go soft. Ready to collapse he gasped one last time, tightening his abused inner muscles as he felt Kiril come as well, a distant increase in the full wetness within him.

Moaning, panting, shaking the druid tumbled down onto the bed, ignoring all else but the desire to have Kiril in his arms. Weakly they embraced each other, neither of them able to speak yet. After a time their frantic heartbeats calmed and their breath returned. Kissing Tamarack's face, arms weakly around him, Kiril whispered, "Now what happens?"

"Now we love each other forever."

He had not wanted to return to the dormitories beneath Murder Row, but Elias had insisted. Everything about that place reminded him of Tavian. This had been Tavian's world, a place Tashin had never truly felt at home. And it was also the place where everything had gone so terribly wrong. The tiny alcove in which they had made their home together for a time was immaculate. The blankets over the mattress had been straightened and pulled up, the pillows neatly stacked against the wall. All of Tavian's things were gone, and Tashin's own few belongings had been neatly packed and sat waiting for him.

It hurt Tashin to see all of this and know that Tavian had been there before he left the city. That he had taken the time to arrange the room thusly, and pack away Tashin's things. He could almost see his brother's hands working, shaking slightly but efficient as he numbly, mechanically went about his work. He lay down for a moment on the bed, pulling a pillow tightly against his face and inhaling. Light, it still smelled like him. Suddenly Tashin's entire body ached and he let out a barking sob though he had no tears to accompany it.

"Tashin? Someone told me you were here. I'm surprised; I wasn't sure you were going to return... or even that you were alive." The smooth, cold voice drew the young rogue's gaze, peering over the top of the pillow. Zelanis stood in the opening to the alcove, holding the curtain back with one hand. His short, flaxen hair shone dully in the dim lighting of the underground room. His sharp, handsome face was set in an expression of cold curiosity.

Tashin propped himself up, embarrassed to be caught thusly. He looked away from Zelanis' face, shrugging. "I just came to get my things."

Zelanis made a soft tsking sound. "Really? Where are you going?"

Tashin suddenly felt very uncomfortable. He had never had much interaction with Zelanis, but he knew that Tavian both respected and feared him. Would the older rogue try to detain him? To keep him in his service? No... not if he knew... "Elias Seregon's estate. He's caring for my health in Tavian's absence. He's expecting me soon." Tashin made sure to make eye contact with Zelanis. He knows where I am. He will come looking for me.

The rogue raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "Is that so? I know he was very..." Zelanis paused as if searching for the right word, his lips finally working around it exaggeratedly, "fond of Tavian. How good of him to take care of you."

"My family is compensating him for his trouble," Tashin went on, still maintaining eye contact. They too will come looking for me.

"Ah," the rogue looked down, a thin smile playing on his lips. "Well then take care of yourself. I had hoped perhaps to continue your training, but if you are not well you should concentrate on your health. Still, should you wish to continue you know where to find us. Even spoiled rich kids can benefit from some experience under their belts."

"I'll remember that. Thank you, Zelanis." He lowered his gaze now, wishing the older rogue would just go away, but he lingered a few moment longer. The silence became tense and unnerving, though Tashin did not fully understand why. Finally Zelanis shifted and cleared his throat.

"Well your rent is paid up until the end of the week, so take your time with your things. Though it looks like you don't have much to get together." With that he let the thick curtain fall back, leaving Tashin in near darkness. He waited to hear Zelanis' footsteps recede through the common room and then did not linger. He grabbed his pack and the pillow he had been clutching and left the tiny alcove behind. His heart was beating faster than he liked, and it ached besides. He felt a short, but intense chapter of his life ending, and it hurt. He knew that no matter what happened between him and Tavian in the future they would never have their time together in that tiny little place that had been theirs and only theirs again.

By the time he reached Elias' estate again he was slightly out of breath and had to sit down heavily on the floor, dropping his pack and the pillow as soon as he closed the front door behind him. He panted for a time, pressing the heel of his hand against his chest. He sat thusly for a few long moments before trying to get back to his feet, feeling weak and shaky. "E-elias?" he called out, fearful that he might faint.

A moment later the paladin appeared from the kitchen wearing one of the ridiculously frilly aprons that Lyritta made for him. Tashin would have almost laughed if he wasn't feel like he might collapse. "You're back- Oh, Light." Elias was at his side in a moment hands guiding him back down to the floor. "Take deep breathes," he said in his deep, soothing voice. Those strong hands loosened the front of Tashin's shirt and then began to work a small healing spell, bringing Tashin's heart rate down and soothing his frayed nerves. "Did something happen?" he asked after Tashin began to breath evenly.

Tashin shook his head, now a bit dizzy from both the episode and the tingly feeling of the Light weaving through his body. "No... I just... I don't know. Zelanis was there. I didn't expect to see him. I guess it startled me."

"Zelanis talked to you?" Elias asked his voice surprised, and then it dropped lower in tone. "What did he say? What did you tell him?"

Tashin looked the paladin in the eyes and shook his head. "Not much. He was surprised to see me and asked where I was going. He... he gave me a strange feeling."

"What kind of feeling? What did you tell him?" Elias seemed genuinely concerned, almost alarmed.

Tashin closed his eyes for a moment and wet his dry lips with his tongue. "I had this feeling like he might try to make me stay... to do the kinds of things he made Tavian do. I told him the truth, that I'm staying with you. I knew he wouldn't do anything then, because you'd know where I was."

Elias' hands where still on his chest and neck, applying a soothing pressure. His expression became hard and thoughtful, slightly concerned. "That was good. And what do mean: the kinds of things he made Tavian do?"

Tashin shook his head, feeling tears start to rise as he had to think and talk about his beloved twin. He looked down, hair falling into his eyes. "I don't know. Tavian would never talk to me about it, but there were nights he was gone all night, sometimes for days. And he smelled so often of blood, and his boots would be covered in mud and he would be pale and..." And he would always wake me to make desperate, needy love, which I never denied him.

Elias rocked back on his heels, his expression now distant and thoughtful. He clasped his hands together between his knees and simply stared into space for a time. Tashin watched his face, wondering what the paladin was thinking. Finally he looked back at Tashin. "I don't want you to go back there, or to talk to him. And if he does approach you tell me about it. Promise me."

Tashin blinked, not particularly liking to be told what to do, but also not having enough energy to want to fight about it. He nodded. He didn't want anything else to do with the rogue anyway. "But isn't Zelanis your old friend? You don't trust him?"

Elias gave Tashin a long look and then shrugged with a sigh. "I don't know. I do know he is very capable of using people, even me." After a moment he reached out to pat Tashin's head and ruffle his hair slightly. "Are you feeling well enough now?"

Tashin couldn't help but color slightly at the affectionate gesture. It make him feel childish, like Elias was patronizing him, but it also comforted him. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but a part of him relished and needed the attention he got from the paladin. His care had been meticulous and genuine since Tashin had finally gotten himself up and around again. It has been a week, and the young rogue knew that without Elias there with him he may never have gotten out of that bed, and he certainly would be bereft of most feeling or will to live.

But Elias had challenged him to prepare himself for a day when he would see Tavian again and be able to look him in the eyes. Where once he had resented Elias for his uncanny ability to see through his disguises and defenses, he was now beginning to be relieved and appreciative of it. It meant that maybe the paladin would help him see through himself.

"Yes, I'll be alright," he murmured.

"Then perhaps you should go lie down. I don't want you taxing yourself physically or emotionally. I'm making dinner; I'll get you when it's ready," he smiled softly at Tashin and helped him to his feet, handing him his pack and the pillow. He paused for a moment with it in his hands and Tashin knew that Elias, too, could smell Tavian on it. He reached for it slowly, the distant, suddenly sad expression on the holy paladin's face making him angry and empathetic at the same time.

"You miss him, too, don't you?" he asked, almost against his will, voice tight.

Elias looked up at him, seemingly surprised as he handed the thing over. "Of course. You of all people know how I felt for him."

Remembering his hateful words, Tashin colored again and looked away. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I should never have said those things to you."

Elias did not respond right away and Tashin could not bring himself to look up at him until he felt Elias' hand come to rest on his shoulder and squeeze it gently. When he did look up Elias was regarding him with a tight, sad smile, but the look in his eyes was genuine. "You're doing well, Tashin. Go lie down. I will call you for dinner."

Tashin nodded and ducked out from under Elias' grasp to make his way up the curving ramp to the second floor. Once alone in his room he let out a long, troubled sigh and then threw himself down on the bed, once again clutching the pillow to him. It was only a matter of moments before he was asleep, surrounded by the smell of Tavian.

Returning to the kitchen Elias went about preparing dinner deep in thought. Did he trust Zelanis? No, he didn't think so. Yes, he was an old friend, but that meant that Elias knew the rogue better than anyone. And lately the things Elias had been noticing disturbed him, though it seemed that few others in Silvermoon City were even paying attention. It hadn't been a coincidence that he had met Tashin at a public debate between Kael'thas' supporters and dissenters. He had been closely following this particular political thread almost since the day their prince had left them for the Outland.

At first any doubt in Kael'thas was small and easily dismissed as the mutterings of a frightened, disheartened people who felt partially abandoned by their leader. And for a time, as the city was rebuilt and one of the naaru was delivered to them by their prince so that they might regain the powers of the Light, his support had been overwhelming. But it was also with the enslavement of the naaru that the first true tremors of doubt went through those like Elias, who keenly felt the corruption of participating in such a thing.

Since then the dissenters had slowly grown in number and influence, especially with the reports reaching the city from the Outland. Reports of Kael's increasing corruption and the allegiances he was making. Could their prince truly have allied himself with Illidan and the naga queen? Did their people not understand and learn from their history? And what of the reports of those that called themselves The Scryers who had allied themselves with the naaru in the Outland, turning their back on Kael'thas and his decent into madness?

If these things were true, how could any of their people in good conscience continue to put their faith in their prince and follow his teachings and his vision for their future? A growing number of the Sindorei had decided they could not, many of them adventurers who had returned from Outland, but far from all.

The day that Elias first met Tashin he had been at the public debate as a supporter of those who spoke against Kael'thas and sought alternatives to a demonic alliance to manage their arcane addiction and rebuild their civilization. But even then he had noticed a disturbing permanent silencing of wagging tongues that spoke out against Kael'thas. At first it seemed like a random series of thefts that had gone bad, but the harder Elias looked the more he saw a pattern that had him convinced these deaths were no accident.

Politics, as always, could be a deadly venue. With the majority of the Blood Knights and the Spellbreakers firmly under Kael's sway there really was no one to take this information to other than other known dissenters to warn then, to caution them to be wary. Elias had always had his suspicions that Zelanis might somehow be involved in the killings - assassinations really - after all he knew most of the important people in the city, and had the largest force of rogues and assassins at his fingertips.

But even more dangerous than these things was the fact that Zelanis was almost completely disillusioned by their peoples' fallout after the war. Yes, Elias knew him well, had once considered him a friend, almost a brother, but he was not the same man he had once been. He was dangerous, unscrupulous, and capable of most anything. And now, after what Tashin had said, Elias could not help but wonder to what uses Zelanis had put Tavian in all this. His heart sunk to think of it. Tavian, his student, the object of his affection... an assassin?

He hacked a potato in half rather savagely. He needed to talk to Zelanis. To get to the bottom of these things. If Zelanis truly was using his students to silence the opposition to Kael'thas then Elias could not stand by and let it happen, and he certainly could not associate himself with his "friend" any longer.

Shoving the potatoes in the oven he slammed the oven door shut and tore off his apron. He needed to talk to Zelanis now. The potatoes would bake an hour, just enough time to get down to Murder Row and back without too lengthy of an exchange. He made sure to lock the big front doors to the estate, keenly aware that Tashin was sleeping alone inside and that his protection now fell squarely on his shoulders. His walk down to Murder Row was brisk, and no one gave him a second glance as he pushed his way through the rogue trainers to get to Zelanis' private room.

The rogue was stretched out shirtless on some cushions on the floor. He seemed to have been dozing, but sat halfway up, brushing stray blond hair from his eyes as Elias entered, boots clacking on the polished floor. Zelanis' daggers were still at his hips, and he blinked at Elias a little blearily.

"Zelanis, we need to talk," Elias blurted out.

"Nice to see you, too, old friend," the rogue said with a quirk at the corner of his mouth. "I hear you, too, are taking in strays now."

Elias paled a little bit and jabbed a finger towards Zelanis. "That's not what I came here to talk about, and you keep well away from Tashin."

Zelanis blinked up at the paladin, pursing his lips and regarding him warily for a few long moments. "I wouldn't do anything to Tashin. And I thought it was the other one you were all gaga over, although with twins I suppose it's really six of one, half a dozen of the other, right?" he said with a smirk.

Elias curled his lip. "This has nothing to do with that. Tashin is ill and he doesn't need to be any part of whatever it is you are doing here. He's a good boy from a good family."

Zelanis rolled his eyes and started to get to his feet. "Gods Elias do you hear yourself? 'A good boy from a good family?' Is there even such a thing any more? Get your head out of your ass and out of the past. We're a civilization of vagrants, anyone who wants to pretend otherwise and play at being nobles is living in a dream world. You included."

Elias narrowed his eyes at the rogue and frowned angrily. "We're a civilization of vagrants only because unscrupulous people like you are shaping us. I have to know the truth, Zelanis, are you using your students to assassinate citizens who speak out against Prince Kael'thas?"

Zelanis raised an eyebrow. "Well that was cutting right through the bull shit, Elias. How uncharacteristically concise of you."

"Just answer me."

Zelanis shrugged. "I train rogues, Elias. Rogues do two things well. They steal and they kill. This street is called Murder Row for a reason."

"So you are," Elias growled.

Again that shrug. "I give them contracts which come to me from all over the city. Some may have come from Kael's supporters, some may have come from his dissenters. I don't ask questions I just filter the money and instructions to those who are capable."

"Like Tavian."

Zelanis could not help but smile now. "Tavian... Tavian... yes, like Tavian. But believe me, Tavian had no problems killing for me. He was quite good at it. And he would do pretty much anything I asked of him as long as it kept my attention away from his little sickling twin."

Elias snarled and actually slammed his fist into the wall. "How could you? He-"

"He what, Elias?! He what? Are you going to tell me that he, too, was a nice boy from a nice family? Tavian was anything but a nice boy. He -fucked- his brother, Elias. He killed for me, and when he was done he came home and fucked his twin. Don't tell me he was a nice boy. Tavian had a gift and he liked employing it." Zelanis leered at the paladin, a hateful smirk on his face.

"You're wrong..."

"About what? That he fucked his twin, because I know he did that. And if he didn't like killing for me... well, then what he lacked in zeal he made up for in skill. But I know his type, Elias, we both do. The nice ones, the normal ones, the ones that get blood crazed, the ones that go crazy at the first taste. We've met our share of them in the many wars we've fought together. I recognized the potential in Tavian the first moment I met him. Subtlety was never his thing, but I assure you assassination surely was. He liked the rush, and he liked the abuse he got when a job went bad. Half the time I think he screwed up on purpose. Take my word for it, Elias old friend, the brothers Stormcaller are both headcases."

"Shut your mouth," Elias growled, leaping forward and shoving the rogue back hard enough to slam him into the far wall. "How dare you speak about them like that? You who has turned your back on the good of your people, who turns a blind eye to what is right and wrong! Haven't you paid any attention to what is happening in our world, Zelanis?! You would silence the voices of reason who speak against our mad Prince? Knowingly or otherwise this is inexcusable!"

Zelanis laughed out loud and then shoved Elias back with a snarl. "What does it matter, Elias, who we let be in power? None of this is going to last. This city, this 'reconstruction' is nothing but a gossamer web of conceit. Our people have learned nothing from their mistakes. Let them tear at each others throats. They deserve it. Our war heroes are treated like trash. Those of us who sacrificed and fought at the fronts are mocked because we couldn't save the city against the Scourge and Legion. Mortals against the undead and demons... -demons- Elias. And where were our precious allies? They fought for the Kaldorei, -we- fought for the Kaldorei. We were at Mount Hyjal, Elias, we lost lives to save their damned homeland. Where were our allies when it was -our- homeland? They were the ones that brought it on us. Arthas and his insanity marched against -us- with our undead allies at his back. And where then were the Kaldorei? Rebudding their life tree, no time to save us. Where were our dwarven friends, our longest time allies? Hiding beneath the ground? Shivering in fear of the Scourge that came to end us? Our allies failed us and our people scorn us! So let the web fall, let it break, and burn to the ground around our ears again. I don't care, Elias! I do not care what happens to the Sindorei, but I will make every moment work to my advantage before we destroy ourselves again."

Elias stared, horrified at his old friend. He barely recognized his face it was so twisted with rage and disdain. Deep in his fel green eyes there was an unforgiving pain he had at times recognized in his own reflection, and it frightened him. "You're inciting chaos, and I won't be a part of it. Do not call on me ever again. I wash my hands of you, Zelanis. I have potatoes to take out of the oven."

Zelanis snickered then. "Elias Seregon, great battle healer of ages past, master of baking potatoes. What has happened to you, old friend?"

"I have accepted my life, because not doing so would make me like you. And I fear what has happened to you far more than what has happened to me," he said with a note of bitter pity in his voice before he turned away.

"Do not turn you back on me, Elias! I know you better than you know yourself, and you know that I am right!" Zelanis cried after him.

Elias paused to look over his shoulder. "You are a sad excuse for the man you once were." With that he was on his way, filled with a sick, heavy feeling. He had expected perhaps to discover a conspiracy that Zelanis was involved in, but to discover he was simply an agent of chaos... a willing advocate for the demise of their people, was more than he felt he could handle. Some of what he had said rang painfully true, through his almost insane tirade, but that was no excuse... no reason...

Climbing his front steps he unlocked the door with a shaking hand. As he entered he caught sight of Tashin coming blearily down from the second floor. He was rubbing his eyes, and Elias felt an unprecedented amount of relief upon seeing him. So much so that he began to walk towards the young rogue with purposeful steps.

"Where'd you go?" Tashin asked, his voice muffled by sleep. Elias pulled Tashin into a sudden embrace, holding him tightly, still feeling that overwhelming sense of gratitude that the young elf was alright, not that he knew what he thought could have possibly happened to him. "Er..." Tashin stiffened slightly not expecting the hug, his face pressed into Elias' shoulder. He flushed for a moment and then tentatively returned the embrace. "Are you ok?" he asked against the paladin's tunic.

Elias chuckled softly and gave Tashin a good squeeze before letting him go. "Yes. I just went to see Zelanis. After what you told me I had some questions for him. I'm just glad that you're here with me instead of still with him."

Tashin flushed a bit more and tucked a piece of hair behind his ear as he nodded. "Me too. He gives me the creeps."

"As well he should." Elias took Tashin by the shoulders and smiled at him. "Dinner?"