September 3, year 24

The musty office smelled like old paper and silverfish. There were no silverfish to be seen, but there was plenty of old paper given all the drab, boring looking books on the shelves behind the desk. Even the colors were boring - everything was dark brown, dark red or unpainted from the wallpaper to the couches to the very desk Tirith found herself sitting in front of. Aside from herself, the two armored humans just outside the open door and the gnome across from here, there might as well have been no color in the place at all.

Freshly out of her detainee's rags and dressed into plain cotton slacks and a shirt with the odd features that the outlanders called 'buttons,' Tirith at least felt comfortable physically. Anything was better than the crowded holding area she'd been sharing with drunks, prostitutes and pickpockets while her fate was decided by others.

Across from her, Dr. Finklesnap scribbled more of his endless notes onto a thin, fragrant piece of paper, ignoring Tirith entirely until he felt he needed more information from her. It couldn't have been a coincidence that the gnome psychiatrist had been appointed by the court as her mandatory anger management counselor; and since Agent Smithers had gone missing in the Plaguelands roughly a week before, Tirith found she had no more possible allies on the inside of the government to speak up for her.

After what seemed like ages even to a being as ancient as she, the gnome finally looked up and tore the sheet of paper off of his pad, revealing yet another sheet just like it that would also undoubtedly be filled within the next few minutes. "Let's review, shall we?" he asked rhetorically without even looking at her. "For the sake of your mental healthcare, your former camp commander has generously negotiated an honorable discharge from military service for you. After a psychotic break during which you attacked several of your comrades, you confessed-"

"Under duress," she interrupted him, doing her best to suppress any defiance in her voice while still defending her honor. It was a balancing act, and one that she wasn't sure she could manage.

Glaring at her but at least making eye contact for the first time, Doctor Finklesnap grimaced and wiggled his tiny, pointy goatee. "Alright, since you're still new to this, I'll accept your first instance of insubordination as simple stress from a change in surroundings," he talked down to her, lecturing as if she were a disobedient child. "You attacked your comrades during a rescue operation, in which you were one of the people being rescued. So you either suffered a psychotic break - as you already confessed to in writing - or you knowingly attacked a comrade in defense of the enemy. Plus, you lied in your signed confession and the second signed document I have here from you where you signed to acknowledge that you were not under duress during the first confession." The gnome waved a sheet of paper in front of her that she knew all too well, and Tirith just sank into her chair when he stood his ground. "You aren't a liar, are you Tirith?" Doctor Finklesnap asked slowly as if she wouldn't understand him otherwise. The mock friendly grin masking his irritation only added salt to the wound.

After staring daggers at him for a few moments, she mumbled her dishonest affirmation and folded her arms in front of her.

A victorious grin spread across the doctor's smarmy face. "Good, glad to see that we're on the same page. May I continue?" he asked condescendingly, though he didn't actually wait for her to answer. "So the Alliance valiantly exterminated the Skullsplitter threat after those mongrels sacked out observation outpost without any provocation at all-"

"Two of their children were murdered," she interrupted involuntarily.

Without any escalation at all, the gnome raised his voice to yell so loudly that the two armed guards outside the door of his office poked their heads in. "Tirith calm dow - I said calm down!" he repeated after himself despite the fact that she wasn't interrupting him, and she got the distinct feeling that he was attempting to portray her as unruly for the sake of the two guards in the hallway. "We're all trying to help you Tirith, don't you see that!" he cried out while sweeping his hands toward the two guards who looked like they wanted absolutely nothing to do with the entire exchange.

Suspicion floated into her mind; she'd already been betrayed by the Alliance government enough times not to trust anyone she met. Tirith couldn't be entirely sure whether the doctor was trying to build some sort of a case against her or not to have her locked away for good - he, Marge and the latter's now deceased human lapdog had already conspired to do so once. Anything she said could prove incriminating at a later date, and the night elf found herself uncomfortable speaking behind another token affirmation.

"Fine."

Smiling stupidly, Doctor Finklesnap seemed to revel in how easy his job had become. "Fine. I'm glad we've come to an agreement. Now, Tirith...we need to focus on putting these bizarre fantasies behind us," he said while clasping his hands together gingerly. "I need you to admit the truth: the government did not commit 'genocide' or 'ethnic cleansing' anywhere. We carry the burden of educating and enlightening the less civilized races of the world, just like what we did with your people when your grand sorceress appealed to join the Alliance."

"She didn't..." Tirith meant to say that High Priestess Tyrande didn't appeal to join anything, but rather accepted one of many repeated invitations to join. At the last second, however, Tirith deemed it unwise to argue about anything, even when her nationalistic pride was insulted.

Once he was satisfied that she'd censored herself properly, Finklesnap continued. "So what I need you to admit, Tirith, is that the government merely upheld its duty of bringing the Light to those monsters, and they chose to fight us instead. And as multiple witnesses testified, you physically attacked and injured several of your comrades who were only trying to save you. You have Silvermoon Syndrome, Tirith; you began to identify with an enemy that tried to sacrifice you to the blood god. And the sooner you admit that," he said while snapping his fingers at her rudely for emphasis, "the sooner you can start to move on."

Memories of murdered children and fallen defenders of an extinct town flashed through her head before Tirith promptly shut them out, working hard not to show any emotion in front of the doctor. "Fine," she lied, staring into her lap once more.

Pleased, Doctor Finklesnap put his signature on the pointless sheet of paper gleefully. "Good, that's great progress, Tirith," he quipped in a suddenly joyful tone. "Now all we have to do us get past the messy issue of your two year treatment plan here at my office." The doctor continued to scribble notes on a second sheet of paper as if his bombshell wasn't a significant piece of news.

Every hair follicle on Tirith's scalp felt like it stood up. Another heart palpitation struck her, and for seconds that felt like hours, she found herself unable to respond. "Wh...what do you mean here at your office?" she asked shakily. "I have to keep sailing back her for two years?"

Nonchalant and downright dismissive, the gnome didn't even seem to notice the alarm in her tone of voice. "Sailing? Oh, no no. You're just legally obligated to live here in Stormwind for the next two years during your court appointed treatment," Finklesnap replied casually as if it weren't the least bit important.

Dizziness struck Tirith as she felt an irregularity in the rhythm of her heartbeat. A sense of shock like what she'd experienced when watching masses of civilians being massacred struck her, and she struggled to believe that she'd heard what she thought she'd heard. When Finklesnap just continued writing and she successfully felt the pinch she'd inflicted upon herself, she had no recourse but to accept the fact that what she heard was real.

"How?" she asked, struggling to form sentences.

Trying his best not to listen to her, the doctor pretended that he needed to shield his eyes with one hand while writing with the other. "How what?" he asked in obvious disinterest.

"How can I be required to stay here for two years?"

Sighing and setting his pen down on his desk as hard as he could, Doctor Finklesnap looked back at Tirith as if the question were a big waste of time. "It's simple, Miss Nightshade; your anger management care is a part of your plea bargain for avoiding prosecution over hitting your comrades," the gnome explained in annoyance as if it should have been obvious. "And we need you to remain here in Stormwind so we can actually monitor your progress in that anger management plan. Your identification papers have already been marked to notify authorities that you don't have permission to leave the Eastern Kingdoms, just as a precautionary measure-"

"I only had ten months left!" Tirith protested. Her voice was weak but audible as she found herself unable to remain silent any longer. "I even received the missive stamped both here and in Darnassus - my retirement is ten months away!"

"Yes, well, that's all null and void now - in order to prevent you from prosecution, we had to invalidate that decision-"

"You've added two years onto my stay now! That's more than double the amount of time!"

"For your own good; it's imperative that you accept the court's decision," Finklesnap answered, an air of finality in his demeanor.

Waving a shaky finger, Tirith struggled to talk, lament, wallow and breathe all at the same time. "N-no, no this can't be!" she stuttered, losing all the command in her voice. "No, no, no, no, no, that's not fair!"

At that, Finklesnap looked up from his scribbling. "What's not fair?" he asked in sincere confusion.

"It's not fair that my time on this continent has been doubled without my consent!" Tirith lamented, her voice becoming shrill in a way unbecoming of a sentinel, but she was beyond her desire to retain her dignity by then. "I applied for early retirement officially! I had every document stamped, and then stamped again! I contacted the right people, I completed every process! I adhered to all the laws and followed all the rules - I did everything the right way! I didn't do anything wrong!"

Though his dislike of her on a personal level manifested itself often, there was a tangible change in the way Finklesnap was looking at her. If only for one moment, his demeanor softened and he almost appeared to pity her, albeit in the way that people pitied apes who didn't understand why touching a hot coal would hurt their hands. "Miss Nightshade...who ever told you that playing by all the rules somehow means that you deserve to win the game?" he asked, once again rhetorically but at least not condescendingly. He even waited to watch her squirm, fidget and then acquiesce once she realized how naive her miniature tirade had been.

Folding her arms even more closely around herself, she found the hopelessness unable to dodge, and she felt as if her stomach were being dragged down into the floor. "I just want to go home," she muttered in defeat.

Cocking his head back in surprise, the doctor only shook in negation and returned to his scribbling. "You have no home to return to; I did the research," he commented casually as if it were inconsequential. "Apparently you're from some village in Ashenvale, which is now Alliance territory, re: the decision of your grand sorceress."

"High Priestess," Tirith mumbled while folding in on herself.

"Whatever. Anyway, it's Alliance territory now and there are zoning laws; you can't just set up a house on any piece of land you wish without a permit. The night elves follow written laws now, just like the civilized races of the world. Sentinels will require you to apply for a permit and then pay for the land in cash just like any other citizen. The only way you could live in free housing would be to move to Moonglade or join a barrow den, but you're too old to respec as a druidess this late in life - I checked on that, too. So even once you're done with treatment in the year twenty six, you won't have a home to return to across the ocean." When she just let her chin sink into her chest, the gnome continued his scribbling and chattering, no longer hostile once she submitted to his authority. "By the way, you'll need to find gainful employment within a week or else you'll be held delinquent under the court order - it's standard procedure."

Tilting her head up slightly, Tirith looked at the gnome incredulously. At every turn, she was hit with news that progressively became weirder and weirder, and she wondered when it would all just end. "But...wait a minute, doctor. They told me at the holding cell that I'm legally obligated to inform potential employers that I'm in anger management counseling!" she exclaimed in protest.

"That's right," he replied absentmindedly.

Furrowing her brow, she waited in vain for a reaction or more explanation from him, growing even more frustrated when she received none. "Well how am I supposed to find a job, then - nobody will hire me!"

"That's not my business," he replied more tersely and directly. "I'm your counselor, nothing more."

At least she had a new issue to focus on that occupied her mind and grounded her a little more in reality. A bit of anger worked its way to the top of her cocktail of emotions, and she even loosened the hug she'd wrapped herself in. "How can you logically say that? Nobody will hire someone in anger management counseling - they'll think I'm a liability. Can't the court at least give me an extension beyond one single week to find-"

"Not my business," the gnome repeated uncaringly. Even the way he shrugged without looking at her seemed half hearted, as if he couldn't be bothered to rebuff her via a full shrug. Tearing another sheet of paper off of his pad, he slid it over to her rapid fire and snapped his fingers toward the two armed guards waiting outside. "This is your prescription - just a little something to help you mellow out before a job interview. I'll send the guards to fetch you for our next appointment on Saturday."

"But wait..."

"Time to go, miss," one of the two guards said from behind her. Twisting in the chair, she saw one of the two footmen holding his hand out as if to help her stand up. The man didn't appear hostile at all, but his voice had been very firm and left no room for argument. For his part, Finklesnap simply swiveled around and began inspecting his bookshelf, signaling that the meeting was over and that he intended on speaking no more of the ruination of all Tirith's carefully crafted plans.

Opening and then closing her mouth when she found nothing to say, Tirith stood up on her own and walked out of the room, leaving the disinterested guards back at their posts as she retraced her footsteps toward the stairwell on the opposite end of the building. Once out of view of the guards, she tossed the prescription into the first available trash can and began counting the stipend of gold coins she'd been granted by the city police per standard policy upon her discharge from the local jail. It was a one time payment for food along with one week free at a terrible, roach infested inn for her to ostensibly get back on her feet, as if one week were enough time for someone unfamiliar with Stormwind to find a job and a place to live despite bearing the stigma of psychiatric counseling attached to her name on every job application. Three days of her free week were already up, and she had only just then been informed that she had a week to find a job; knowing the corrupt oligarchy that ran the court system in human lands, they would probably start counting that week from the moment she was discharged, giving her only four days in actuality to find a legal job that would sign off on court papers that they accepted the risk of employing her.

So nauseating was the reality that Tirith promptly shoved the gold coins back into the pocket of her stiff, starchy pants and opened the door to the first balcony she passed in the long hallway. Opening windows without permission was considered an offense inside most professional buildings in Stormwind, but when she felt the twinge of sweat on the inside of her cheeks as if she would throw up the stale crackers she'd eaten for breakfast, she no longer cared about breaking any more rules.

The air in Stormwind was polluted by the large amounts of smithies in the city, in addition to the small scale factories near the port. Her appointment had been early in the morning, and forcing herself to switch to a diurnal schedule against her body's natural inclinations had damaged her health. Leaning over the balcony, Tirith closed her eyes until she felt the pangs of disgust in her stomach pass, leaving her instead with the crushing realization of all that had happened to her.

Truly, she'd coped with the fact that she'd witnessed a horrifying war crime only two. I the prior as well as one could be expected to; perhaps even better than expected. And after she'd accepted dying during that incident, she'd better put into perspective the fact that she had no family and no particularly close friends once Serenity Grove had been spoiled and its twenty five original inhabitants scattered. If anything, Tirith had spent the past two months almost getting used to the fact that both she and the world would be better off if she spent her last decade or two or however much longer she had left to live alone, without attachment to others. Emotional attachments were difficult for a being her age to build up easily, and they would only lead to heartbreak in the end. But if the end were so near, why couldn't it be comfortable? That was the question in the back of her mind. Couldn't her remaining years in the world of the living at least be easy, carefree ones? What had she done wrong to be cursed by the burden of written laws and heartless, machine like societal constraints -

"Tirith!" called out a familiar voice from the ground below the balcony.

Snapping her eyes open, she looked down to see two more night elves in the cobblestone street below, waving toward her as she squinted in the sun to get a better look at them. "Soraya? Pontus?" Tirith asked in pleasant surprise.

From the second floor of the building, it wasn't difficult at all to hear them, especially on a rather empty side street. "Night elf network!" Soraya joked in Darnassian while adjusting a uniform that Tirith assumed was a part of her job as the Kaldorei consulate. "We heard of your presence the moment they brought you here in town in chains, and got the run down from a bailiff from Darkshore who overheard the details of your detention. We've been waiting for your release ever since...hey, just jump on down here, I'm tired of shouting!" the younger night elf female laughed.

Her spirits greatly raised, Tirith gladly leapt over the railing of the balcony, soaring an entire story below but experiencing a rougher landing than she was used to and grunted when she stumbled. Soraya and Pontus both caught her before she slipped, and she felt a measure of embarrassment in front of her youngers. "I don't move like I used to," she confessed.

"Nonsense, the cobblestones here are tricky and smooth," Pontus insisted, though Tirith could tell that he was just being polite.

"We already know what happened. None of our people believe a word of it, by the way," Soraya assured her elder while respectfully brushing Tirith's shirt sleeves off for her. "We just didn't have a chance to come find you until we heard you were sighted this morning."

"Are there really that many night elves here in the city just hanging out and watching?" Tirith asked, only halfway joking this time.

"You'd be surprised. Everybody talks. Which you need to watch out for," Pontus chuckled. The good natured meeting warmed Tirith's heart, and after just a minute or so of speaking she could already feel her mood improving.

Before she could even delve into the topic of her current living arrangement, Soraya had already beaten her to the punch. "I heard that you were seen staying in some awful motel in the poor quarter. I hope you understand that I won't accept you to return there unless it's to fetch your belongings and come move in with me."

Blushing slightly at the offer, Tirith found herself rather embarrassed at the prospect. "Oh, Soraya...I don't-"

"Oh Soraya what?" Soraya laughed while pulling Tirith in a direction that she assumed was the woman's apartment. Pontus separated from them and walked a respectful distance away from the two unrelated women, likely worried about the aforementioned tendency of their people to talk about each other. "Come on, we can even get your things later. You look sleepy, just come crash for a bit and get your bed set up before you do anything else. It will be nice to see your home."

The word echoed in Tirith's mind, and while she was flattered enough to accept the offer temporarily, it was a reminder of how dire her long term situation was. "Soraya, it's a little more complicated than that...they're requiring me to remain here for two years for legal reasons-"

"You can stay even longer than that if you like," the younger woman insisted while locking arms with her, embarrassing her elder even further as Tirith realized that she had become a charity case.

Unable to disappoint her younger, especially when the woman was going to such lengths, Tirith swallowed her pride and accepted the charity for the time being; talk of her job search could wait for later. "May the goddess bless you, Soraya; I'd much rather have you as a roommate than the roaches," Tirith chuckled uncomfortably.

"Well I'd certainly hope so!" Soraya replied, and the trio continued walking past buildings and streets that Tirith didn't quite recognize. "I'm actually looking forward to having a roommate; it gets lonely sometimes, especially when Pontus is too busy to meet up."

"Which isn't that often, in my defense," the Druid replied heartily, making Tirith feel like a third wheel as her two youngers laughed together.

As if noticing her apprehension, Soraya quieted down for a bit and waited for the group to pass a few more streets before talking again. "Two years isn't a long time, big sister," she said softly to Tirith. "I know you might have had other plans, but it's possible to have a decent life here as well. Just you wait - it will be over before you know it."

"However it ends up feeling, Soraya...I will never be able to thank you enough for your kindness, or the goddess enough for willing you to be waiting outside that balcony at that specific moment," Tirith sighed, not entirely uplifted by her energetic young counterpart's attempt as reassurance.

It wasn't long before the three arrived at the apartment in question. After sipping on some green tea that Pontus grew, Tirith found herself quickly asleep as her biological clock tried to reset. As much as she wanted to believe in Soraya's words, the simple reality that Tirith faced - and that Soraya didn't - was that she was running out of time. And when she thought of how she would only have mere decades left, the two years hanging over her head weighed more heavily on her shoulders than the entirety of the Long Vigil. When coupled with the burden of court appointed harassment and nightmares of village children screaming, then Tirith knew she'd be in for a hell of a two years waiting for her freedom.