Disclaimer: The characters and settings created by Blizzard Entertainment Inc in this story are owned by their creators. I do not claim them as mine in any way, shape or form. I am not receiving monetary profit from this story and no copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Three: Why the Garrison Wasn't in the Game

Some military organizations focused on defense and protection maintain control through intimidation, they manipulate a target's natural fears. Giant, over-bred horses move malingering people down the road. Barking dogs can chase down and startle even armed criminals. For some reason, on the road to the Silvermoon Garrison—and Commander Britecleff and Pyorin were skilled enough to see it, and be unashamed of using it—Ranger Tempest frightened the daylights out of Sunthraze like nothing else. So she was put in charge of Sunthraze's imprisonment while he was at the Garrison, and Sunthraze did not resort to any more damning outbursts or tavern-style brawling with her holding the end of his chained manacles.

For the first hour while Sunthraze was locked up, Tempest watched him carefully. He paced. She took the hunting pistol from her gunbelt, began spinning it around one finger.

"That's a fancy uh… gun. But it's not loaded, is it?"

"Only one way to find out."

Sunthraze stopped pacing.

After that, Tempest was gone for maybe two or three more hours, Sunthraze wasn't sure. He hoped it didn't matter. Processing him as a criminal shouldn't take all that long. Hopefully.

When Tempest returned, and it looked like she had bathed and freshened up, she had a folded up newspaper under her arm and a mug of what smelled like coffee.

"I'll take over." She grinned prettily at the soldier who had been instructed, by her, to stand there at attention and keep eye contact with Sunthraze for the last three, or even four hours. Or had it been five? Sunthraze had been trying to take a nap on the bench chained to the wall. But knowing he was being stared at like that made sleeping even less uncomfortable on the rock hard bench. That Ritten guy leaving was at last some relief.

Sunthraze turned over and saw Tempest, and she smelled lovely if he was honest with himself, but she was also still covered head to toe in green, tan and gold leather armor, and her shining weapons. Then Sunthraze felt uneasy again, and even less sure of his fate. He lay his head back, sighed, and let one arm sink to the floor, looking especially exhausted and pathetic.

Sunthraze grumbled, "Welcome back Miss… Temptress."

"It's Tempest, but I'll take it as a compliment. Finally nice to have one… Little Lord Sunshine."

"I see you still have that fancy gun on you, that you don't know whether or not it's loaded. Do you know now?"

"…Yes."

"And I suppose that's because you shot someone between here and the showers?" He turned his head and looked at her, eyes dead, "Probably some poor prisoner who wouldn't join you in the showers."

"Oh calm down, it's not my gun. It's Britecleff's. It's just safer for everyone if I carry it for him—"

"Please don't explain that to me." And Sunthraze was starting to notice that Tempest had a habit of smiling most beautifully when she was about to dole out the worst news, ever.

"…Chicken?"

At first, Sunthraze didn't hear it. He was back in his own thoughts and too worried about what he couldn't really see or hear a few paces away. They were at the end of a short corridor. Just around the corner, Sunthraze could barely see the bustle inside of the jail. Orders being shouted, prisoners in chains being brought in. The garrison complex was large, star-shaped (he had been face-down for most of the ride, but Sunthraze knew that much about the Silvermoon Garrison from books). And every now and then, he heard a cannon go off, or the peal of a lone gunshot.

For some other reason Sunthraze didn't want to understand, Tempest had two chicken legs in a cloth napkin, unfolded for him to take one. She had smuggled it in, inside the newspaper. Also, there was a barred window at the top of the wall behind her. They both could just barely see the lit ledge of the window sill. Tempest was tall enough to reach and had set her steaming cup of coffee up there.

Sunthraze backed up on the bench, hugged knees to his chest.

Tempest waggled her gift of food at Sunthraze again. She wanted him to come close to the bars. Poor wild animals in cages about to be snagged into a collar came to mind for some reason…

"Come on, Sunthraze. I know that you haven't eaten, yet."

"So?"

"I told them not to feed you."

"…Oh."

The Garrison. It was so awful.

The newspaper crunched when Tempest forced it to fold back down tight under her arm, against her breast.

"I see. So, you're not a leg man."

Sunthraze looked at the floor again, quickly.

She sighed and let her hand hang down, with the crumpled napkin full of food. "What is it, with men? Or, is it me?"

"Oh, don't worry. It's you."

"Well, what is it about me? I'm attractive, right? And I'm… kind. When it doesn't go against my duties."

Sunthraze made a face and swept both hands back over his long red hair, "Yeah? What would we actually be doing right now, if your so-called duties weren't in the way?"

Tempest waggled her eyebrows at him.

"I meant… the point I was trying to make, Temptress—is that you'd be mean to me anyway. You'd look down your nose, you'd see where I live, how I live, you'd just shun me. So whatever this act is, flirting all the time, I'm not buying it."

"It's not an act. I was like this with you before. I was in your field, remember?"

And when Sunthraze got a mischievous look, ready to catch her admitting to being on his family's land that morning, and not the royal government's, she said, "Well, I was close to there. I even met some of your friends, when I stepped on them."

Sunthraze hugged his knees again, bored, "What friends of mine were you stepping on?"

"The little… uh, Hawkstrider and cow-pats and things. So I took a break when we got back here and I had a bath. Mmm… how else was I going to impress you? Don't you like my perfume?"

If he was even more honest with himself, her perfume was making him want to screw her on a tropical beach somewhere. The thought was so fast, so bold, Sunthraze had to shut his eyes and ask himself if his mind had really just gone there. All the way there.

And that he was practically in a cage and she was on the other side of the bars was making it worse, or better somehow? Which wasn't fair. At all. So awful. The Garrison was so awful.

Sunthraze let go of one knee, then another, "Look. How long does it take to be processed? Or, put in the system, or whatever. Or are you guys planning to keep me in solitary confinement, forever? I do have chores, a life. I need to get out of here while I'm still young and awesome."

"Young, awesome… You sure you're not hungry, too?" She raised a chicken leg, waggled it at him through the bars.

Palm trees were swaying away in his mind…

Sunthraze got up, leaned lazily to the side as if he wasn't going to bother. Then, he went for it. Tempest tried to be funny and snatch it back at the last minute, but Sunthraze grabbed her fist, pried her fingers open while he made a goofy face and she laughed. Sunthraze took the chicken, ate fast. Mouth full, "Bet it's poisoned, too."

"Is not." She began to eat the other one. While she chewed, "Anyway, if I poisoned you, I'd only get in trouble with Britecleff. And, Pyorin. He wants you alive, too, so he can punch you some more."

Sunthraze had another bite, "…Some muscle relaxers or something, then. So you can throw me on the ground later, or across this fine, plush bench and have your way with me when the lights go out."

There was a bench on Tempest's side, too. Just as elegant, and chained to the wall. She finished eating, wiped her hands on one of the napkins from her bundle, and leaned forward to hand Sunthraze the other cloth through the bars.

"What's this? Map to break out? Secret tunnel that goes under the prison and ends at your bedroom?"

"Hey, I wouldn't want to spend hours in a jail with greasy hands. Go on, clean yourself up." And, when Sunthraze was done, "Now, hand me that back. And all the bones."

"What? Do they think I'd make a shiv out of a chicken bone?"

Tempest reached in, waggled fingers, and Sunthraze put the used napkin and bones into her hand. "Thank you, sweetie."

"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it? Doesn't kill you to have manners and act like a real lady. And that's a way cuter smile than the 'I'm-raining-on-your-day-you-peon' one."

Tempest smiled that the sort-of-compliment had slipped out, though Sunthraze hadn't meant it to. He tried to cover for it, "Well… it was good chicken."

"I'll steal you a whole henhouse next time, then." She got back up and paced alongside him, as he walked on the other side of the bars, "…And no napkins. We can roll around together in the chicken grease."

Sunthraze laughed unexpectedly. "That was horrible. That was terribad, Tempest."

Tempest paced back the other way, smiled at him. Sunthraze followed.

"…In answer to your question, Lord Sunthraze Sunthraze… Britecleff doesn't usually process criminals. But today, he had to. Since you attacked an officer, and then that's paperwork ontop of paperwork, because he was the officer you attacked. And then, Pyorin and I were both witnesses… and we weren't… really supposed to be at that particular place, at that particular time. In a nutshell, Britecleff did have more important things to take care of this morning for Sylvanas—"

"Sylvanas Windrunner… Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner? Holy… Did I punch the wrong guy or what! I really, really, should not have done that."

Tempest waited for Sunthraze to take that in, "Then, only after Britecleff finished those things, could he make the time to process you. After all that stuff is filed, by Clerk Blaize, who is notoriously slow when he isn't being bribed…"

Sunthraze stared.

"No bribe for Blaize then? I'm only trying to help."

"I'm a broke Hawkstrider rancher, Tempest." He plucked at his ratty overalls. "I'm not dressed up as anything today. This is who I am. This actually what I wear."

"Okay, then. Well, whenever Blaize does finish, only then do you get your note out, to call on family, have your bail posted, whatever. So if I were you, I'd be a very, very good boy until then."

Sunthraze squeezed the bars, then grimaced and let go, "…I see."

"And one more thing…" she unfolded the newspaper, and pulled out a section, handed it to him

"What's this?"

"Pick out some undies! That's what I do when I'm feeling low."

"…Huh?" Sunthraze did take the newspaper, though. At the very least, it was better than being bored with nothing else to do for hours. And a woman he didn't want to like and couldn't have anyway, "You know Tempest, with you, and in this situation, I don't know if we're talking about shivs again or… actually my underwear."

"Undies. Your fellow underdog. Or, undu'diel, if you've never heard of it… long story. I think my celebrity undie right now is Lady Jaina Proudmoore, because the 'graduation day proposal' from Prince Arthas that Jaina and the whole of Azeroth thought was coming? That never came." Tempest then paused, grinning at this clever and salacious gossip she had that Sunthraze was so beyond passé about, standing in a jail cell as he was.

Tempest had a seat on her bench and shrugged, "Arthas stood her up; he wasn't even at graduation! Heh. Oh my do I wonder, which eager Sunstrider prince could possibly be by her side right now, busy picking up the pieces like some horny little vulture. Muahahaa…"

"What? Prince Kael'thas? He wouldn't do that."

"He's a personal friend of yours then, and that's how you know?"

"No…"

"Hahah! Well, maybe he's your undie. You seem so defensive about him already. Does that mean you relate to him, in the mess he's bound to be in? Is there an amazing woman you want, and desperately, but you can't have her? Could it be because there's bars of steel between you, keeping your hot bodies apart?" Tempest then tossed her short red hair, like she was in one of those not-so-classy theater productions, in the red light district.

Sunthraze stopped smiling and rolled his eyes at her, "This sounds stupid. And why do I care how some celebrity is suffering?" he started flipping through the wrinkly newspaper pages anyway, "Why do women always do this to newspapers?"

"Well I mean, you make fun of the big stars… or, really, you're supposed to empathize with them, and see what connections can be made, how you might help out if you two ever met face to face. That's your undie. It's also a training exercise."

Sunthraze got interested in a particular article and had a seat on his bench, too. They sat for a few moments reading newspapers quietly together. And it wasn't so bad, really. The sunlight over her shoulder, like the sunlight from a kitchen window some summer morning after breakfast… Sunthraze spoke up over his thoughts getting weirder by the moment, "Why am I not surprised that leagues of Farstriders are being trained to manipulate and use people?"

"No, it's not like that." Tempest put her paper down, annoyed, and crossed her legs. "The undu' diel concept is like one of those older Highborne magical theories, you know, from way back? You ever heard of an olvia'thon?"

"Uh, no…" Then, eyebrows raised, "Wait, isn't that some kind of creepy sex crime?"

"You have a one track mind when it comes to me, don't you?"

Sunthraze huffed and went back to his newspaper. She went on, "Well, undu'diel is like a lot of old Highborne words, ideas… that just fell out of everyday use, you know, as educational standards change, as each successive generation got further and further out from the days of King Dath'remar and the needs of the Highborne during that time. We were all different back then, right? Our ancestors, they were all taming this land, they were practically all mages. They had to be at that time. But, you know, it's a lot to learn, a lot of pressure to put on kids, so they don't teach intense stuff like that in school anymore, and nobody ever really talks about it. However, last year, the officers got together, like they tend to, and decided to bring certain things back for the armed forces. Our training, you know? If a soldier, or a spy, or a… city guard, whomever, anyone charged with the people's protection, if they are always thinking that someone out there could be their undu'diel, it encourages them to always strategize and look for resources, connections to fix a problem. Your undu'diel is your one hope, that chink of light at the end of the tunnel to overcome your darkest conflict."

"Because Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider cares whether or not I punched an arrogant jerkoff Farstrider commander who had it coming to him?" Sunthraze challenged, "Or you—you think Lady Jaina Proudmoore cares that… well, that your boyfriend, Pyro-face, is obviously a jerk?"

Tempest uncrossed her legs. A look of embarrassment crossed her features, but then she hid that, "You proved my point, though. Whatever you go through, whatever you suffer, you're not so special."

"Wow. Thanks."

"You're not alone, I mean. You're a mortal. In a way, you're just an animal, like other animals, dealing with the same kind of stuff. You're not so unique that no one, nowhere, can understand what you're dealing with. Following me?"

"I guess."

"And it gets better. If you're in the same place, on the same continent, in the same kingdom even… and you're both stuck with the same problem... You're bound to run into each other. Or, at least, get close enough so that your lives touch. Then, you never know? They might help you. You need the same help, after all. Your buddy in the trenches, your best friend on your worst day, your best… bad friend, I don't know. Your undie. Your fellow underdog. Your sidekick. Your hero! Ask the sun and all the gods out there that you meet him, or her, someday. Pray that you meet your undie. Because that is when, no matter how bad your life gets, it will start to get better."

Sunthraze folded his section of the newspaper flat in his lap. He watched Tempest for a long time. She took a pencil down from her behind her ear and started flipping pages, circling things.

"…You're cute."

She looked up.

"And you're sexy. And you're fun. And you do smell… amazing. Like water over my body, on a beach."

Tempest was afraid to do anything more with her hands, then.

"And now… she's speechless."

"Well… you've been resisting me all day. And you only just met me."

Sunthraze relaxed against the wall, folded arms beneath his head, "You shouldn't have, or need an undu… whatever."

"…diel."

"No undies for you."

Tempest blushed.

"I'd tell you the same thing, Lord Sunthraze Sunthraze, but you're in a cage."

"I'm in your cage. Let me out."

"Oh, I see. That's where the compliments came from, all of a sudden. I should have remembered that I hog-tied you earlier and threw you across the pommel of my horse… that's not how all the fancy romance novels tend to go."

"Cause maybe ours is a trashy one."

Tempest turned redder, "I'm not letting you out until it's official for you to go. And that's final." She went back to circling things in the newspaper on her lap.

Sunthraze came up to the bars again. There was one crossbar running mid-way up, so he was able to lean his elbows on it. "Hey. Compliment was meant as read. I just really don't want your ape-man boyfriend sitting on me again, that was really unpleasant. And whatever else…" his brows knit, then he straightened and wanted to look more confident, "well, I listen to my instinct and I know something still isn't right about you chatting me up like this. It's part of your training or something too, right? To keep me sweet? Get me to confess to things I didn't do?"

"I'm just being nice to you." Tempest said in a careful, even tone.

"Eyup. Well, anyway… either way… that doesn't mean I'm not tempted. And I already know you're not going to let me out of this cage. Where would I even run? I couldn't hide forever. I just want to go…" he sighed, "Back home. The legal way. And then never piss off a Farstrider who's best friends with Ranger-General Sylvanas herself, ever, ever again. I can't believe I got myself into this mess."

"What did Britecleff tell you… before? That got you so angry? You kept saying that Anasterian did something to your family."

"I was afraid that he…" Sunthraze was afraid to say Anasterian's name, "maybe he did. I don't know. But my whole life, my memory of my father, was fine until Britecleff brought it up."

"Brought what up, exactly?"

"…Nevermind. You're giving me that weird look again."

"What weird look?"

Sunthraze leaned in, tried to see down the hallway instead, see the activity at the front desk. He gave Tempest an impatient look.

She remained calm, "What does your tattoo say?"

"It's not for a lady's ears. Next question."

Tempest gave him a disbelieving look, "I'm really not a lady. That's just your fantasy."

Sunthraze waited for more of her questions. But then Tempest, curiously, had become very quiet. Sunthraze tried to see around the corner again, notice if it had anything to do with the soldiers and prisoners going back and forth. Nothing out of the ordinary, from what he could tell.

"…Find any good ones, then? Your undies?"

"Hrm? Oh… no. I've done my undie this morning already. It's definitely Jaina. I'm just circling… places I'd like to live. Things I'd like to buy. I'll be able to live outside of the barracks one of these days. Next couple of years, maybe, when I'm a full officer, like Britecleff. He has this… really nice house, though he's never there. Other than that, nice clothes when he's off duty, nice girlfriend—and she's a titled heiress. Gods, sometimes I hate him, he has everything." But Tempest was smiling, "Well, he has a nice life and he worked hard for it. I want that."

"You'd be an officer so soon?"

"Mhrm. I'm on the fast track. Came straight over here from a military school. I'm uh-rah all the way, baby. Joining up with the Farstriders was the best decision I ever made."

"Oh, that explains it. A reform school, for bad girls."

"I said 'military school.'" Tempest looked at him, annoyed. Then, she stood on the bench and reached up for her coffee on the window ledge. She sipped it.

"I've got this feeling, all of a sudden, that you're not supposed to have snacks down here?"

Tempest nodded, "Yeah, I skipped lunch. But how am I supposed to relieve Ritten for lunch and I don't even have time for my own lunch break? You get innovative in the jungle." She finished the coffee, then came over and offered him the rest of her newspaper, "I don't need it, really. But you need it more than I do. I've got to go take care of something else."

"You're going?"

"Look, handsome. They'll call you when Britecleff's ready to interview you and set bail for your crime against him, so hang in there."

"That seems rather… unfair and unethical."

She shrugged one shoulder, "Like I said, welcome to the jungle. I'll call private Ritten back."

"Ok. Alright, one more thing, before you leave. Tempest, you said that the person who is your undie… they have the same problems you do, the same bad luck. So you end up in the same situation, because you have the same problem to solve. You need them in order to fix it, and you're lucky to find them. Your best worst friend, something like that?"

"Yeah." She smiled, "You've got the hang of it. You're quick. And here I thought you didn't care-"

"It's Pyorin. That… pie guy, whatever his name is."

Tempest backed away from the bars. "Wait…"

"He's your undie. You need to get rid of him."

"Mine? But he's my boyfriend. I don't think you really understand how the undie thing works. Look, your boyfriend, or your girlfriend, whatever—the person you're in love with can't be your undie, technically. The two of you would be doomed. The relationship itself would be the main problem you have in common, so you couldn't proceed…"

Sunthraze gave Tempest a knowing look.

Then, as it all began to sink in, "…Mine?!"

"It's so obvious. You're supposed to be with him, but you're busy flirting with me. Maybe it's you're training and that's why Pyorin hasn't completely lost it yet, because he's in on it too. Or maybe do you want me, or even if you don't… Anyway I'm thinking, who else is there? There have to be others. But the main tip off is, this Pyorin guy is making you miserable. I heard him talking to you like you were… the way no woman should be spoken to. And it wasn't just Pyorin talking to you that way. It was him and it was Britecleff. You've settled and you're angry."

"We… when we fight, using that… ability. It gets intense, we don't even know what we're saying." Tempest flared, "Like you have any idea what it's like to be one of the only women in the Farstriders—"

"If those Light spells are so…" he lowered his voice, "Distracting, then how can you know what you're doing? So maybe you shouldn't be using that… ability, either. A girl like you probably shouldn't be mixed up in any of this."

"Are you my daddy, or something? How dare you! And I'm over here, sneaking you chicken, a-and newspapers. Risking getting caught. After how disrespectful you were to Britecleff, and to Pyorin. But I managed to make myself feel sorry for you, didn't I? That's what I did!"

"Keep your voice down. I'm just trying to do you a favor, too."

"You don't even know Pyorin. And you don't know me." Then she grabbed his hands on the bars, squeezed them hard against the metal, "You don't a thing about me, or else you would not have said that! Got it?" She let go, her voice faltered, "You're such an ass… Ritten!"

Ritten came, resumed watch, glaring at Sunthraze harder than ever. Sunthraze came to the edge of the cell, craned his neck, watched Tempest leave. She almost made it to the sliver of the outside doors that he could see, just barely, before she moved her hand to cover her face. He'd made her cry.

"…Well, crap."

"Ah." Ritten pointed, "You've got a newspaper in there. Tempest is good for that. She must like you."

"Yeah, I'm the most popular prisoner in cell block D. Little miss sunshine, making everyone's day. Somebody hurry up and give me a bunch of roses and a tiara, so I can make my speech."

Amber-headed Ritten lightened up at that. "And you're funny."

"Funny-looking, mostly."

"D'ya hear the news about that 'I'm-a'princess' Jaina, being stood up on graduation day? Yeah, that's right! Bust those Humans down a notch. Best thing I read all morning."

Sunthraze wandered back and stood near the bench. He wondered if he should really chance speaking to this Ritten guy, or not. All the Farstriders were so… well, plain awful. Shifty. Or was it the Garrison itself? Everyone trained to play some head game, and you never knew which side you were on. Sunthraze then sighed, tried to keep his mind off things, "I guess. But do you really think our Prince Kael'thas is the kind of guy to… swoop in there, so pathetic, and pick up the pieces? I mean, if Jaina already said 'no' so many times. And not like that… like that cute girl way, when they say, 'no, maybe later,' but like a scary, life-threatening, 'my boyfriend is Prince-freaking Arthas, a vengeful Knight of the Silver Hand, kind of no.' "

"Well, that's what Tempest says. And did she tell you, Pyorin's sure of it too. He has a little pool going, if you want in. Do you want in?"

"I don't have any money, obviously."

"Kael'thas is definitely going to go for it, though. They… well, they just know, those two. Come on, I'll tell the guys up at the desk to put your bail money on it."

"How could Tempest possibly know him, Prince Kael'thas, better than… than most people? Guess I also shouldn't be surprised that someone as moral and upstanding and not-a-womanizer as Pyorin is making money off of our prince's terrible misfortune." Sunthraze had a defeated seat on the bench and leaned elbows on his knees.

Ritten took a few paces back, so he could lean a bit against the edge of the bench on that side. Same trick he used earlier that day, to keep comfortable standing hours on end. Funny that Tempest came in was there eating chicken, drawing on a newspaper and hanging through the bars at him practically, and nobody corrected her. Sunthraze decided then that some institutionalized games were definitely going on.

"Why are you so worried about Kael'thas? Heh. He your undie or something?"

"For the—last, freaking time! Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider is not my undie!"

"Then, why be so defensive about it?"

"Ugh!" Sunthraze curled back up on the bench and covered his eyes.

They came and got him out of the cell around dinner time. That was what Sunthraze suspected it was. The last meal of his day. That wasn't even going to get.

"Kind of a… get this stamped, approved and moved on before dinner kind of thing, do you think?" Sunthraze asked Ritten as he walked beside him through the front doors of the jail, and then to the left, manacled. "I mean, they're obviously not feeding me, but even Farstriders want to eat before they go home, right?"

"I can't give you any details." Then, after a few quiet footsteps, "…Sorry."

"S'okay man. I get it." Sunthraze leaned in, "Thanks, Ritten."

Sunthraze hoped that meant something. He figured, if bribes made Farstriders go round, then great. But all he had to bribe Ritten with was his personality.

He and Ritten were flanked by four guards, two front and back. The six of them walked under a long porch with columns, then across the gray, gravel yard into another building. This building looked more official, and there were desks, more clerks. Marble floors.

"Wow, way to make a starving prisoner feel like shit."

Ritten snerked laughter at that.

Then they went upstairs. Up three flights of stairs, to be exact, and then down a corridor with proper offices. Phoenix emblems and red and gold flags everywhere.

At the end of one very grand hall with statures of intimidating spread-legged statues of war Elven war heroes, they came to a double set of doors. And Sunthraze's favorite two people in the world were standing there, just as commanding as the heroic statues, guarding the way in. Ritten made a gesture, handing Sunthraze off to Tempest and Pyorin. The prison guards and Ritten saluted them, then went back the way they came.

Sunthraze tried not to look at Tempest. But then, he was stuck looking at Pyorin.

Pyorin grunted at him, "Just get in." And he pulled one of the doors open. Sunthraze went, and another set of guards waited there. There were soldiers posted every few feet. None of them looked friendly. Tempest playing with her gun earlier looked like a teddy bear compared to them.

Teddy bear Tempest… or maybe with a pink bow around her neck, waiting on the bed, just for me…

Sunthraze tossed his head back, wanted to kill himself.

Tempest walked with her fingernails just over the scabbard of her sword. She tapped them every few steps. Some song, some game? Which one? He caught her noticing him. Tempest put her hand back down, looked straight ahead. Sunthraze felt bad over that.

Then, Sunthraze realized she was miming playing a guitar—she played the guitar?! That turned him on again.

Please, oh Light… kill me…

They passed a large, ornate desk. It wrapped around a corner. Five clerks were busy filing papers, making notes. Sunthraze guessed Blaize was the bored-looking redhead, too old to be in the Farstriders and still stuck that kind of work, whose eyes lit up when he saw the Farstriders march fresh meat by.

It also meant Blaize was very sure who Sunthraze was by now, because he'd seen his entire record.

"Evening."

Both Tempest and Pyorin inclined their heads in turn. "Evening, Clerk Blaize."

Then, a few footfalls later, Pyorin mumbled, "…More like jerk Blaize."

Tempest made an adorable muddled half-giggle. Sunthraze reminded himself that it wasn't for him, though.

"…Thanks again, for the chicken."

Pyorin frowned, "Chicken? You brought him chicken? I missed lunch too, but you don't bring me anything anymore."

"Don't we have a job to do?" Tempest sounded commanding all of a sudden, and both men stopped what they were about to say next. So it ended it there. Well, not really. Sunthraze kind of wanted to wrap the chains of his manacles around Pyorin's neck. He was full-on imagining himself doing it, and her enjoying the sight of it, too.

They came to another door. Tempest opened it, and shook her head at Sunthraze. She whispered harshly, "Don't fuck this up."

Sunthraze stepped into the office, unable to really hide his anxiety. He began to wander around looking at things.

Britecleff was at the desk, quietly observing Sunthraze do all that. The curtains were mostly drawn, plenty of shadows. A sign of someone who'd developed a strategy against having to work long hours while stressed, in strong lantern light, "Have a seat."

Pyorin positioned himself outside, with the other vigilant guards. Tempest closed the door on them, and then gave Britecleff a loud salute. Sunthraze turned around again once he was in the chair.

"At ease."

"Yes… s-sorry."

"I was talking to my other flying monkey over there." Britecleff gestured at Tempest, annoyance and stress from a long day plain on his face.

Sunthraze turned again and watched Tempest fold hands in front of herself, spread her feet apart. The leather creaked. The green seemed to embrace her curves while the curling gold piping framed her stomach and thighs, covered in tan. Then, his eyes focused on the curious soft glow of the silver gilded pistol she wore at her hip. It wasn't really positioned for her to grab it and shoot it, though. It was more centered…

"Stop staring at Tempest's crotch, Sunthraze. Yes, women exist. And they look great in uniform. But have some goddamn sense in my office."

"I wasn't—" Sunthraze shut his mouth. And he was about to tell Britecleff he didn't sound very respectful himself, but it was the worst time to do that, obviously. Sunthraze breathed out through his nose, focused on keeping his temper in check this time.

Britecleff didn't say anything else for a while. He kept dabbing his stylus in ink, writing a long paragraph of something. Then, he carefully lifted that aside. Next was a page with lots of blank lines on it, breaking up the text.

"…Name?"

"Me?"

"Your name." Britecleff repeated.

"Lord… no."

Britecleff exhaled, rested the pen in the inkwell.

Sunthraze's head was spinning. Or he was possibly very hungry by now. Maybe they wanted that. Well, he didn't know. That didn't matter at the moment. The Britecleff of right now, behind the terribly fancy desk, in the office done in dark wood, reds, suntouched scarlet curtains, he was far more intimidating. Sunthraze couldn't imagine making the decision to punch Britecleff in a room like this.

"Uh… Sunthraze. Just Sunthraze."

Sunthraze saw Britecleff write, Lord Sunthraze Sunthraze…

"I didn't tell you to write that."

"…It's an official record, Lord Sunthraze. I'm not going to lie on an official record." Britecleff kept writing, filling things in for him. This time, without asking first, "I only just now got to your stuff, I apologize… though the arrest record did get past Clerk Blaize's desk, unfortunately." Britecleff set down the stylus again, lifted away that sheet of paper. He was faced with another. Very empty.

Britecleff sighed. He leaned an elbow on his desk, felt his face. His cheek was still bruised, from where Sunthraze had hit him.

"This form…" Britecleff tapped it with the gloved finger of his other hand, "Is designed for me to tell what you did wrong. There's no way for me to explain that it was a misunderstanding."

"…Was it? It felt like…" Yes, Sunthraze wasn't doing well, being so hungry, "…like a lot of stuff happened?"

Tempest cleared her throat. Sunthraze turned around in his chair again.

"You should listen to her instead of just getting your ogle in. She's pretty smart. And Tempest reads me very well."

Sunthraze looked back to Britecleff. Somehow, now, Britecleff was warm. The sliver of window at the edge of his desk was bright, it could have been blinding. Was it? But it must have just been the way the room was facing, the position of the wall, the way this section of the star-shaped Garrison was facing. The room itself was still, somehow filled with so many shadows.

"I can't tell a lie, Sunthraze. I provoked you. I said something about you, about your family, that I had no right to say. You saw us doing something that any normal Highborne citizen would be disturbed to see Farstriders do. We said awful things. Yes, to a lady." He pulled himself up, another sigh, "We said awful things to a lady. Sorry about that, Tempest."

In what felt like such a small voice, "It's okay, Bart."

"Bart?"

"Commander Bravo Artanyan Britecleff, at your service. Or, Bart Britecleff. Or Bart. Or Britecleff."

"…Oh."

"And we were very close to land that was not our property. So, you did what any moral person, with a desire to be a part of the problem and not the solution, would do. You defended the lady. You stood up to the villains. You tried to put them off your land. Moral… outrage. It's not a crime in any book I consulted, to file the last of your papers. Honestly, according to every publication that I do have, to untangle this for you, and in my own opinion… Sunthraze, you are a menace to society."

Britecleff put the pen back in its inkwell. He drummed fingers on the desk. He sucked his teeth. "But then, society also ain't much, in my opinion. Well, present-day Highborne society, anyway."

"Oh, that's fine. It's only the thing you're meant to uphold, protect and serve." Sunthraze tried to wave a dismissive hand in his manacles.

Tempest almost laughed.

"You have a very smart mouth, Sunthraze."

"…Sorry. I don't think I can help myself, at times."

"No, I don't think you can. I wish I'd seen that earlier today." Britecleff looked over everything on his desk. "In my job, every day, I meet young people who want to steal everything that isn't nailed down. Or they want a license to beat up other people. Some think that women in the army are a sport. Or, they just want to get paid to lop heads off, or they're already going downriver for lopping heads off. Or, they're reform school rejects…"

Was Britecleff looking over at Tempest? Sunthraze sat straighter. The room had sort of chilled.

"I see people off to prison or I help mentor them through their training. Sometimes, especially recently, I swear I can't tell who is who, or where they're going, or even why. Or why I'm even still here. And I'm young, too. I'm nowhere close to retiring. But… young people, well people younger than me—it sounds so strange saying that, I'm not that old… People, any person, who becomes morally outraged and takes a stand… I don't meet young women and men like that every day. Sunthraze, you're the reason I'm still in this job. People like you."

"I don't… what?"

"I don't want to fill out any more of this form. I think… I think that you'll pass basic fine. You should, if you're in shape enough to beat up two of my officers and myself." Britecleff paused, irritated, "I'm better with my gun. Well anyway, from there, and that's about two months on, you should be making enough money to send home as well as save for yourself. I've seen it done before." He leaned over the desk, "I'm willing to front the cost of running the ranch, hiring additional help in the interim, all of that, myself. I don't offer a charity, I offer a loan. I've done that before, too. I'd be proud to do it, and I'm confident you'll be able to pay me back, as I'll be signing your paychecks in the first place."

Then, Britecleff waited.

Sunthraze became very aware of the golden clock, ticking above the bookshelf against the wall. Warring phoenixes, their fiery wings encircling the clock face and rays of the sun radiating out from that.

"I don't… why are you talking about giving me money? I thought you had to set my bail."

"If you sign up for military service, right now—a much simpler form—then there will be no bail. I can get you in with a special note of recommendation. That I'd be happy to write. Then there's your family military history… And you have no criminal record. Not yet. It's still sitting on my desk, and I'm sure I can still bribe Clerk Blaize out of a simple arrest record. Not like that hasn't been done before." Britecleff pulled open a drawer, which made Sunthraze jump, but he unwrapped what looked to be a caramel candy and put it in his mouth.

"Want one?"

"I'm… so confused."

"I recruit Farstriders for a living. And I oversee almost everything they do here at the Garrison. Everything from mail duties to getting ready to go to the front, with the Amani Trolls. Well, when I don't have to do this." Britecleff grimaced, and he looked particularly informal, pushing a caramel candy into his cheek with his tongue in order to do that. Sunthraze wondered just how old Britecleff really was, they could have been hanging out over drinks, the way he carried on, "I really dislike paperwork. It never really tells you about people, what they need, how they're truly doing." Britecleff sucked on the candy, for a moment, "Sunthraze, you're much better than the Farstriders I've had to put up with. Even lately." He smirked at Tempest, "Even today."

Leather creaked behind Sunthraze again. This time he didn't turn around. Britecleff was the one being more interesting.

"Lord Sunthraze Sunthraze, I kind of want to wind you up, like you were this morning, and set you loose on some dissidents down at the Spire, or some Armani Trolls or something. I can send you in any direction you wish, actually." He smiled, candy between tongue and teeth. "Would be amazing. Right Tempest?"

Tempest came up from the wall. She must have. And then Sunthraze could feel her standing, just behind his chair, though he hadn't heard her coming, "You know me, Commander. Another toy to play with…" she suddenly grasped his shoulder, "I'm all for it."

"I still don't understand. I… I beat you up? And I pissed her off? Did she tell you that I pissed her off, down in the jail? I was sure I screwed that up."

"Screwed what up?" Bartcleff smiled, very amused with Sunthraze all of a sudden. And it was also a definitive raunchy look.

Sunthraze opened his mouth, looked around, scandalized, "And now, you're making fun of my love life! Are you? But he's an official-Can he do that?"

"What love life?" went Tempest.

"Oh don't you even start—"

Britecleff went on with the serious bit, "You stood your ground, this morning." He leaned down and pitched the tiny gold candy wrapper into a trash bin Sunthraze couldn't see.

"I attacked you."

"I should have held my own. I couldn't. Not against a Sunthraze. And not after years of a damned desk job… And yours is a family tradition that got broken recently. I say, let's unbreak it. Do you think your family would have any objection? I can't see any."

"Now just hold on here!" Sunthraze stood, raised his hands, jangling in the chains and cuffs, "I want these things off me."

"Technically, you're still a prisoner." Tempest told him, pushed Sunthraze back down to sit.

Britecleff ordered her, "Take the cuffs off, Tempest. I think we're finally negotiating."

Tempest looked concerned, but she hauled Sunthraze up again by the arm, then unlocked the manacles around his wrists.

"I'd thank you, but I think you enjoyed that, playing with my chains that you so happily put on me in the first place."

Tempest rolled her eyes, "Shut up."

Then, to Britecleff, "And you! Was this whole thing about recruiting me?"

"Would I throw someone in jail first? And there's a long line of… wannabe delinquents, like I said, waiting to get into the Farstriders. If we had met anyplace else, I would have offered you the same, Lord Sunthraze Sunthraze. And I could have done it with a smile, not with a… a black eye." He gestured at his face.

"If I'm innocent of any crime, then I want to go home right now."

"You can't. The system is skewed against you like I explained. Any form I fill out in this room will result in you standing trial."

"That doesn't make any sense. You just said I was innocent!"

"It doesn't work that way. Sadly. But help us change the way things are. Come on. Sign up. You were going to do it anyway, in a year or two. Most living on the edge out in Eversong end up doing it. There's no shame in it."

"Oh, the poor country boy has no choice, has he? Send me home, then, and I'll see you in two years, what do I care! I won't be blackmailed into joining the Farstriders."

Tempest flared, "Hey, It's a damn privilege!"

Britecleff stood as well, raised both hands for everyone to calm. "Look. There's another thing I want to say, that might change your mind. It might change everything. It has to do with… before. What I shouldn't have said… to you."

There was commotion outside.

Britecleff hesitated, with so much noise close to his door. Then he seemed impatient to get it out, "The thing is, King Anasterian Sunstrider is your—Pyorin! What the hell is going on out there that you can't take care of, yourself!"

Pyorin came into the room. He held the door open for someone. Britecleff went right into cussing down his own officer, and the uninvited guest, but then a man entered the room and his fury made everyone stand up straight. He was an older gentleman, red-faced, wearing a round black cap and a monocle that flashed green and gleamed for a moment in the weak light, before he turned into the shadow. His robes were red, velvet-black and bright gold. The robes of a Magister, or something like it. A black sash with a royal phoenix could be seen tied round his upper arm. Sunthraze wouldn't have known, but Britecleff and Tempest were sure that only personal servants to the royal house wore emblems like that.

"This was open…" The old magister had a fistful of an envelope. He put it in Britecleff's face, "When I received it, sent by a secure messenger, using a diplomatic bag that could not be searched, this letter from his majesty, the prince, was already slit open!"

"Advisor Sorn, I will definitely find the one responsible—"

"Every single time that you have said that, this has happened again. And again!" Sorn shouted.

Sunthraze raised eyebrows. Sorn had the hand in his robe, holding something that was concealed.

Tempest thought it was odd Sunthraze was staring at another person's crotch so soon, especially this person's, then followed his eyes and noticed the problem, too.

"Hold! You will disarm!"

Sorn brought out an impressive mageblade. It was slender, needle like, but glowed with a wide blade of sparking violet arcane magic when he raised it.

"I wonder, what I, a member of the royal house of Sunstrider, will have to slice up, before the corrupt Farstriders get the bleeding point! What is private remains private! How is Prince Kael'thas' life a joke, in any measure? No wonder the papers are full of it! Kael'thas is the future king of this kingdom! If I had my way, it would be treason. And maybe it soon will be when I show Anasterian this!"

"Tempest, get him out of here."

She repeated, "I said, disarm!"

"Tempest, for the sun—this is Anasterian himself shouting at us right now, don't you understand that? Better I die than you stand on ceremony and bring the whole army down. Get… him… out of here!"

Tempest didn't want to, but she got Sunthraze carefully by the shoulder, guided him around Advisor Sorn, so as not to stir this man's temper any further, and then quickly made for the door.

Sorn asked, "…Who was that?"

Their last view of Britecleff was the king's personal advisor closing in, magical knife in hand. Britecleff spread his feet, managed to make himself look just as ferocious, though he could not draw his own weapon.

"…He needs his gun." Sunthraze worried after the door closed. He looked from Tempest to Pyorin. Pyorin and the other guards looked like a bunch of scared rabbits. "… I think. Why can't Britecleff have his gun? I mean, if the advisor to the king can have that creepy… dagger thing."

"Did you tell him?" Pyorin took Tempest aside.

"No, why would I? I don't wanna get in trouble for your stupid stuff."

Sunthraze was still worried, "Uh, guys?"

"Shh!" Pyorin edged near, tried to listen. Not that he had to. Both men were yelling, before long.

Tempest shook her head, gently pushed Sunthraze away from the door. She pointed to a bench a ways down the hall. "You wanna be a good boy? You wanna help? Sit."

"Is he going to be okay? I didn't know the king's advisor… went around threatening people with knives?"

"It's not a squeaky clean system, you'd be surprised. Remember what I said? Welcome to the jungle?"

"Yeah, the Farstriders set up their prisoners for questioning after not feeding them all day, and the king sends his cronies to go stabbing his own military officials."

"That blade silences magic…" Tempest explained, but then Pyorin started making noises for her to come back to the door, "…and voices. Sure, Sorn could stab Britecleff with it, but he'd have to do it hard, you see," she took a step back and thrusted her own arm, "Hard, like that, straight through is chest. Or, his temple."

"…what."

"I'm kind of a weapon snob. But that Vortex Mageblade also interferes with the magical recording devices in the room, it can re-write your interview being picked up by the scrying orbs or something—what is it, Pyorin!"

Sunthraze freaked out, "Wha… what the hell! Re-write my… and you guys were recording me?"

"Of course we were recording you with tiny scrying orbs all over the room. But Britecleff knows how to erase those, don't worry."

Pyorin snarled, "Not so loud, Tempest, and will you get your ass over here!"

Tempest jogged back over.

"He's been yelling for you through the door, and I'm not supposed to be listening to him do that—"

The door opened for Tempest. She went in immediately and closed it behind her.

"No sir… no. I only carry Prince Kael'thas letters on Thursdays, sir…."

They sort of heard her say.

"No, Advisor Sorn, not to my knowledge… No, it never leaves his hands, either. Yessir… of course, sir… Well I did say yes, but that doesn't mean—"

Then, they couldn't hear anything. Sunthraze tried to get up from the bench, but then Pyorin noticed and angrily waved him back down.

Tempest's voice flew up, "But sir—sir! With respect… Right, but that was just a training exercise. All Farstriders have to… No, Advisor Sorn… I'm trying to explain… Yes. No, he's just an upstart we arrested. His name? … It's… Well, of course it's Lord Sunthraze Sunthraze."

The next voice was definitely Sorn, his hold relaxing on the magical blade, certainly. "A member of the house rival to House Sunthraze was standing in this very room? And he's still listening outside, is he?"

Everyone in the hall froze when Sunthraze was accused.

"What the—" Sunthraze mouthed. This was fast becoming the worst day of his life. He hadn't even known about a rivalry, none at all, until Britecleff said anything that morning. His mind raced. He considered that even this was part of some elaborate set up. Too many… too many damn coincidences. Sunthraze considered all these things perhaps too fast.

Even as Pyorin shook his head at Sunthraze, began walking toward him and gesturing for him not to do it…

His cuffs were off anyway. And he was an innocent man, wasn't he? Sunthraze's heart raced. Anger welled up in him. Outage surged. Then embarrassment. Finally, cold dread riveted him. It was impossible. He shouldn't. No sane person would dare. Especially when he could just explain. He was there by mistake, wasn't he? Right?

The door began to open. A flash of red and gold robes.

Perhaps in the end, Sunthraze even imagined it was angry King Anasterian himself, finally coming for him.

Sunthraze ran for it.

Pyorin cussed him and sprinted after.

"Yes, apprehend that spy!"

"Advisor Sorn. As Tempest and I already, very carefully explained to you… He's just a boy, and he's scared." Britecleff remained calm, "Please don't—"

Sorn turned to Tempest and the guards waiting for Britecleff's order, "All of you, any who lay a hand on that boy and stop him cold will be redeemed of any charge I was considering against you. Now, go!"

Tempest wanted to stop it. She locked eyes with Britecleff at the last moment, but her commander was lost in a different panic of his own.

Tempest ran with the others. Sunthraze got through the double doors by being very polite to the guards on the other side and thanking them for their help, a beat before Pyorin charged through, fuming and shouting for them to get their acts together. Sunthraze went around a corner, and then another. There had to be a different set of stairs, somewhere. He looked back and saw a slew of armed Farstriders running down the far corridor where he had just come from, certainly after him. He hid in an alcove in the empty hall he was in now, trying to think, unable to do so. Then, a woman ran past him, almost all the way down the lonely hallway, before she realized her mistake and jogged back.

"You're a real wily fox, aren't you?"

Sunthraze grabbed Tempest and kissed her, pulled her into the alcove with him, "Shh, shh… Please don't give me up."

Tempest was more startled by the kiss.

He got angry with her, "Yeah, now you know how this seductive spywork stuff feels. You cracked into me earlier, now I'm cracking into you. Please—when you know I didn't do anything, get me out of here!"

Her eyes raised, looking down the hallway, at others certainly coming for them.

She mouthed, "… It's too late."

Sunthraze grabbed her hand and ran. They ran together down that hallway, then another, "Dammit! Show me which way! Guards are everywhere."

"It's the Garrison, dummy!"

Sunthraze pulled her down another corridor. This one was especially quiet, it should have been okay. But it was a back route to the clerks' desk. Clerk Blaize leaned out to see what the matter was. The others stopped their work as well.

Sunthraze spun around. His heart pounded in his ears. He saw them coming on all sides. This time, Farstriders were running down every single hallway that met at the center, here in front of the clerks, the command center where everything was processed. From all four directions.

Sunthraze looked up at Tempest, eyes pleading with her. Then he gave in and put his arms around her waist, took his time and kissed her again. This time, properly.

Their lips parted. She said, "Oh gods, Sunthraze…"

When Pyorin slammed into him, Tempest went down too, because she was holding Sunthraze just as tight.

"This time!" Pyorin pushed Sunthraze's cheek against the cold white marble floor. "We really are going to lock your ass up and throw away the key! You… y-you spy!"

Advisor Sorn came walking up next, his red and black robes sifting over the floor. Britecleff's leather boots hit hard behind that. Sorn looked down, sparking purple blade still in gloved hand.

"You don't remember me, you may very well make that claim," Sorn shook his gray head at Sunthraze, "But you see, the problem is, young Lord Sunthraze, I definitely remember you." Sorn then gave the order, "Lock him up, with the spies and enemies of the empire. This one is my prisoner now. The prisoner of the House of Sunstrider."

Sunthraze looked at Britecleff, terrified as they pushed him to his feet. Sunthraze wouldn't let Tempest go. He squeezed her hand and she let him. He shuddered, unable to hide the raw fear now welling up inside of him. Everything from that morning now rising to the surface, "Please… p-please… don't let them… take me…"

Britecleff stepped in and pulled their hands apart. Then held Tempest back, where she was safe.

Sunthraze watched Britecleff and Tempest just stand there, sorrowful, but unable to do anything else for him. The funny thing was, now, as cruel as his fate seemed ahead, they almost felt like they had been friends. Friends fight, don't they? Friends make mistakes. Or, was that just an instinct? A weird, twisted instinct the middle of all the madness.

Pyorin then took Tempest's hand, whispered in her ear.

Something in Sunthraze flared up, then. It was far more violent. It felt like a phoenix.

"PYORIN! I'll kill you!" Sunthraze kicked and gave the guards the hardest time he could manage before they took him through a set of metal studded doors that slammed and resounded, it seemed from everywhere.