Authors Note: I do hope you'll all forgive me for spending this chapter on boring character development when you all have been waiting a month for the next piece of the action. The thing is, when I was rereading this story, I found that I wasn't quite sure how I felt about Laros. I sternly believe that you can only write about characters you have a strong affection for, and since he is the only character thus far actually created by me, it should be even more like this. So I used this chapter to flesh him out, give him real dimension. And it worked. I now love him to pieces and wish to coddle and protect him. Don't worry, I promise to FINALLY get back to Raven and Starfire next update! (Though who knows when that will be).
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Laros couldn't speak. There was something tied around his neck, probably a leather string, which cut into his flesh and blocked the passage of air just enough to keep him from speaking without too much danger of choking him to death. He had seen the method used before; it was a simple way to keep an Azerathi from using his powers. While Laros could do a few simple tricks without using his Words, they would probably involve blowing something up or knocking something over, neither of which would be very helpful in his current situation.
It was so dark, he might as well have been blind, but Laros could discern a few things. He knew he was chained to the wall because he could feel the smooth, cool manacles on his wrist and the rough, cool stone blocks of the wall against his back. He also knew that Robin was in the room with him because he could hear the other teen's harsh, gasping breaths cutting through the darkness.
Laros leaned back his head and closed his eyes. So this was it then. The end. All of the years of training, of discipline, of finding dark, hidden corners to meditate in, all of it was going to waste. And what good had he done? Had he made even a dent in Hailorn's iron hold over the City? Yes, he had joined the Secret Sentinels, but since then he had been sent on nothing but useless missions. He had spent three months following a cloth merchant who ended up not having any connection with the Sentinels at all. And why? Because Bendris told him to. Most of the time he had been given no assignment at all, just told to wait, hold on, be patient, meditate, practice, say nothing, don't give us away. Laros knew why he was given no useful duties. Laros had always suspected that Bendris didn't like him, and just two weeks earlier, Laros had been given proof: Bendris had told him so.
It had been in one of the old orchards. The trees were so ancient, their thick trunks had become gnarled and twisted, and their roots wove together into a knotted mass over the ground. Even the fruit grew wrinkled and sour–if it grew at all, and so the orchard had been abandoned over a century ago.
The sun had been high and hot when Laros carefully made his way through the trees, but the interwoven branches overhead had formed a canopy that blocked the sunlight and cloaked the orchard in cool, grey-green shadow. He spotted Bendris sitting with his back against a tree and made his way over to the older man. Once Laros was looking down at Bendris, it struck him just how old the leader of the Secret Sentinels was. His eyes stared clouded and unseeing out of a face that was creased and speckled where it wasn't hidden by a wispy white beard. His dark robe hung awkwardly on a body that seemed incredibly thin and impossibly frail, while the hands resting in his lap were almost...monstrous. His fingers curled in on themselves, their cracked, yellowed nails brushing his palm, and blue-green veins bulged from the back of his hands. When Laros looked at Bendris, he forgot, for a moment, who this man was and what he had done, and could only think of how disgusting his age made him.
"Sit." Bendris's voice was surprisingly clear and crisp, as if his throat was younger than the rest of him. "My old neck is too stiff to strain looking up at you."
"It's not as if you can see me, anyway."
"So you think I'm blind, do you?"
Laros remained silent. This man was his leader, and if he wanted to believe that he could see, it was in Laros' best interest to agree with him.
"Sit."
Laros sat. Then discovering that the hard knot of root he had dropped onto was quite uncomfortable, he stood back up, took off his cloak, and folded it into a makeshift cushion. Bendris was silent until Laros had settled down again and stretched out his legs. "Laros Kuruk of the house of Teleth..."
"Yes."
"I do not like you."
"Well, I can't say I didn't suspect something of the kind."
"You're arrogant, adversarial, you needlessly seek out conflict..."
"We're in a rebellion; we're not supposed to be genteel."
"You hide behind your supposed wit and believe that it makes you wiser than your elders. You joined with our cause not for the good of the City, but because of some selfish idea of personal vengeance against Hailorn..."
For the first time during this entire stream of insults, Laros felt his face go hard. "There's nothing wrong--"
"Nothing wrong? With what? With seeking vengeance?"
"Yes!"
"It is wrong for vengeance to be your only reason, your only motivation. It is wrong to support an evil man until you feel his hand on your own throat, and then turn your back on him, not because of the sweeping evil he inflicted on the world, but because of the small evil he inflicted on you."
Laros's face felt hot; he could feel his chin quivering and his hands shake. He was losing control, a feeling he always loathed. He stood up. Retreating was not one of his usual tactics, he considered it clumsy and ungraceful, but he couldn't stand to stay and listen to this blind old man talk about "small evil." Small evil, small evil. There was no way Bendris could have experienced the things Laros had and still call it small. "So it would have been better if I had never joined your Sentinels, would it?" He could feel his voice began to tremble and tried to stop it, tried to keep himself steady, clear, calm, cold. " It would have been better if I just sat around and never tried to fight the man who killed my father, just because I cared more about my own father than a City full of strangers? Because for you bringing down Hailorn isn't a good thing unless its because of some blurry-edged notion of nobility and...and feeling for the plight of others? Well, I feel for my own plight, and that's worthy enough for me!"
There was power sizzling at his finger tips, sparks skittering up and down his arm and burning at the corners of his eyes. For an Azerathi to lose control of his power like that, no matter what the provocation, was inexcusable. It showed he was undisciplined, uneducated, weak. But Laros didn't care. He didn't care that the words he was spewing weren't exactly smooth, eloquent arguments. He didn't care that he was spewing them at the leader of the Secret Sentinels. He was thinking of nothing but those words: small evil, small evil, and they repeated themselves over and over in his mind.
Suddenly Hailorn's voice broke its way through. "I never said that the Sentinels did not need you."
"But I thought I was arrogant and selfish!"
"You are! But you hate Hailorn and we need that. Though it is not quite loyalty we know still that you will never abandon us."
"Just watch me." Laros began to turn away.
"We need you to find Raven."
"I don't care about Raven."
"Do you care about Lady Aleran?"
Laros stopped. Aleran. The name was so familiar, and yet he had not heard it in so long. "What does this Raven have to do with Lady Aleran?" he said, without turning around.
"Everything."
"What do you mean?"
"Raven is Lady Aleran."
At this, Laros turned and stared into Bendris's milky eyes. "Lady Aleran? You want me to find Lady Aleran?" A nod in response. "She isn't dead?" Another nod. Laros felt his power steadily draining, leaving him numb. "I suppose I knew that. Everyone knows that. Or thinks that. But if she isn't dead, then she's lost. And how should I know how to find her? And why me?"
"If you would kindly sit down on your nice, soft cloak cushion and lean back against the nice tree, I will explain."
So Laros sat, and listened and Bendris explained to him just how Hailorn's daughter had disappeared, about the lost Place. Explained that Laros was an opener–Bendris could tell such things. He told Laros that it had come to a point when only Aleran–and the idea of her Azerathi still cherished and even revered–could possibly keep the Secret Sentinels from being hunted out and wiped away, and so she must be found and brought back. And he told Laros, that if she was unwilling to come, to tell her that Bendris was dying.
"Are you?" Laros had asked, taken aback.
"Do you think I could have made my way to this obscure orchard if I was deathly ill? No."
"You want me to lie to her?"
For a moment, Bendris just looked at Laros, and he could swear the old man could not only see him, but see through him and into him. "If you must lie to her than lie to her. We need her. We need Raven."
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Laros remembered those words clearly as he stared into the dark. He had lied to Lady Aleran after all. He had lied and it had worked; she had come. And he led her straight into a Sentinel trap. The only mission of any worth he had ever done for the Secret Sentinels had come to nothing. The only thing of any worth he had ever done had come to nothing. And soon he wouldn't be able to do anything anymore. They would come and execute him, or simply wipe him clean. He would never avenge his father's death, or, for that matter, selflessly save all Azerathi. The end had come, and not only was the world no better because he had lived on it, it was much worse. After all, Hailorn finally had his hands on his daughter, all because of Laros's carelessness.
Now all he was left with was utter blackness and the heavy breathing of some self-proclaimed hero. In fact, was that snoring? The birdman was snoring! All at once Laros found himself less depressed than he was annoyed. He struck out with a foot in the direction of the noise—and was immensely satisfied as it connected with some part of Robin.
"Ummph. Hey, who did that?" So they hadn't tied a string around his throat too? That was awfully careless of them, even if he was from an alien world. "Is that you, Kukuk?"
Laros managed to choke out a grunt in response. "Why won't you answer me?" A few half-hearted squeaks. "Look, I know you don't like me. I don't like you either. But we have to cooperate to get out of here, and if we're going to cooperate you're going to have to talk to me." This time Laros didn't even try to answer. "What is wrong with you?" exclaimed Robin, beginning to sound angry.
So now he was not only going to die, he would have to listen to this idiot right up until the end. Things were looking very, very dark.
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Laros couldn't speak. There was something tied around his neck, probably a leather string, which cut into his flesh and blocked the passage of air just enough to keep him from speaking without too much danger of choking him to death. He had seen the method used before; it was a simple way to keep an Azerathi from using his powers. While Laros could do a few simple tricks without using his Words, they would probably involve blowing something up or knocking something over, neither of which would be very helpful in his current situation.
It was so dark, he might as well have been blind, but Laros could discern a few things. He knew he was chained to the wall because he could feel the smooth, cool manacles on his wrist and the rough, cool stone blocks of the wall against his back. He also knew that Robin was in the room with him because he could hear the other teen's harsh, gasping breaths cutting through the darkness.
Laros leaned back his head and closed his eyes. So this was it then. The end. All of the years of training, of discipline, of finding dark, hidden corners to meditate in, all of it was going to waste. And what good had he done? Had he made even a dent in Hailorn's iron hold over the City? Yes, he had joined the Secret Sentinels, but since then he had been sent on nothing but useless missions. He had spent three months following a cloth merchant who ended up not having any connection with the Sentinels at all. And why? Because Bendris told him to. Most of the time he had been given no assignment at all, just told to wait, hold on, be patient, meditate, practice, say nothing, don't give us away. Laros knew why he was given no useful duties. Laros had always suspected that Bendris didn't like him, and just two weeks earlier, Laros had been given proof: Bendris had told him so.
It had been in one of the old orchards. The trees were so ancient, their thick trunks had become gnarled and twisted, and their roots wove together into a knotted mass over the ground. Even the fruit grew wrinkled and sour–if it grew at all, and so the orchard had been abandoned over a century ago.
The sun had been high and hot when Laros carefully made his way through the trees, but the interwoven branches overhead had formed a canopy that blocked the sunlight and cloaked the orchard in cool, grey-green shadow. He spotted Bendris sitting with his back against a tree and made his way over to the older man. Once Laros was looking down at Bendris, it struck him just how old the leader of the Secret Sentinels was. His eyes stared clouded and unseeing out of a face that was creased and speckled where it wasn't hidden by a wispy white beard. His dark robe hung awkwardly on a body that seemed incredibly thin and impossibly frail, while the hands resting in his lap were almost...monstrous. His fingers curled in on themselves, their cracked, yellowed nails brushing his palm, and blue-green veins bulged from the back of his hands. When Laros looked at Bendris, he forgot, for a moment, who this man was and what he had done, and could only think of how disgusting his age made him.
"Sit." Bendris's voice was surprisingly clear and crisp, as if his throat was younger than the rest of him. "My old neck is too stiff to strain looking up at you."
"It's not as if you can see me, anyway."
"So you think I'm blind, do you?"
Laros remained silent. This man was his leader, and if he wanted to believe that he could see, it was in Laros' best interest to agree with him.
"Sit."
Laros sat. Then discovering that the hard knot of root he had dropped onto was quite uncomfortable, he stood back up, took off his cloak, and folded it into a makeshift cushion. Bendris was silent until Laros had settled down again and stretched out his legs. "Laros Kuruk of the house of Teleth..."
"Yes."
"I do not like you."
"Well, I can't say I didn't suspect something of the kind."
"You're arrogant, adversarial, you needlessly seek out conflict..."
"We're in a rebellion; we're not supposed to be genteel."
"You hide behind your supposed wit and believe that it makes you wiser than your elders. You joined with our cause not for the good of the City, but because of some selfish idea of personal vengeance against Hailorn..."
For the first time during this entire stream of insults, Laros felt his face go hard. "There's nothing wrong--"
"Nothing wrong? With what? With seeking vengeance?"
"Yes!"
"It is wrong for vengeance to be your only reason, your only motivation. It is wrong to support an evil man until you feel his hand on your own throat, and then turn your back on him, not because of the sweeping evil he inflicted on the world, but because of the small evil he inflicted on you."
Laros's face felt hot; he could feel his chin quivering and his hands shake. He was losing control, a feeling he always loathed. He stood up. Retreating was not one of his usual tactics, he considered it clumsy and ungraceful, but he couldn't stand to stay and listen to this blind old man talk about "small evil." Small evil, small evil. There was no way Bendris could have experienced the things Laros had and still call it small. "So it would have been better if I had never joined your Sentinels, would it?" He could feel his voice began to tremble and tried to stop it, tried to keep himself steady, clear, calm, cold. " It would have been better if I just sat around and never tried to fight the man who killed my father, just because I cared more about my own father than a City full of strangers? Because for you bringing down Hailorn isn't a good thing unless its because of some blurry-edged notion of nobility and...and feeling for the plight of others? Well, I feel for my own plight, and that's worthy enough for me!"
There was power sizzling at his finger tips, sparks skittering up and down his arm and burning at the corners of his eyes. For an Azerathi to lose control of his power like that, no matter what the provocation, was inexcusable. It showed he was undisciplined, uneducated, weak. But Laros didn't care. He didn't care that the words he was spewing weren't exactly smooth, eloquent arguments. He didn't care that he was spewing them at the leader of the Secret Sentinels. He was thinking of nothing but those words: small evil, small evil, and they repeated themselves over and over in his mind.
Suddenly Hailorn's voice broke its way through. "I never said that the Sentinels did not need you."
"But I thought I was arrogant and selfish!"
"You are! But you hate Hailorn and we need that. Though it is not quite loyalty we know still that you will never abandon us."
"Just watch me." Laros began to turn away.
"We need you to find Raven."
"I don't care about Raven."
"Do you care about Lady Aleran?"
Laros stopped. Aleran. The name was so familiar, and yet he had not heard it in so long. "What does this Raven have to do with Lady Aleran?" he said, without turning around.
"Everything."
"What do you mean?"
"Raven is Lady Aleran."
At this, Laros turned and stared into Bendris's milky eyes. "Lady Aleran? You want me to find Lady Aleran?" A nod in response. "She isn't dead?" Another nod. Laros felt his power steadily draining, leaving him numb. "I suppose I knew that. Everyone knows that. Or thinks that. But if she isn't dead, then she's lost. And how should I know how to find her? And why me?"
"If you would kindly sit down on your nice, soft cloak cushion and lean back against the nice tree, I will explain."
So Laros sat, and listened and Bendris explained to him just how Hailorn's daughter had disappeared, about the lost Place. Explained that Laros was an opener–Bendris could tell such things. He told Laros that it had come to a point when only Aleran–and the idea of her Azerathi still cherished and even revered–could possibly keep the Secret Sentinels from being hunted out and wiped away, and so she must be found and brought back. And he told Laros, that if she was unwilling to come, to tell her that Bendris was dying.
"Are you?" Laros had asked, taken aback.
"Do you think I could have made my way to this obscure orchard if I was deathly ill? No."
"You want me to lie to her?"
For a moment, Bendris just looked at Laros, and he could swear the old man could not only see him, but see through him and into him. "If you must lie to her than lie to her. We need her. We need Raven."
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Laros remembered those words clearly as he stared into the dark. He had lied to Lady Aleran after all. He had lied and it had worked; she had come. And he led her straight into a Sentinel trap. The only mission of any worth he had ever done for the Secret Sentinels had come to nothing. The only thing of any worth he had ever done had come to nothing. And soon he wouldn't be able to do anything anymore. They would come and execute him, or simply wipe him clean. He would never avenge his father's death, or, for that matter, selflessly save all Azerathi. The end had come, and not only was the world no better because he had lived on it, it was much worse. After all, Hailorn finally had his hands on his daughter, all because of Laros's carelessness.
Now all he was left with was utter blackness and the heavy breathing of some self-proclaimed hero. In fact, was that snoring? The birdman was snoring! All at once Laros found himself less depressed than he was annoyed. He struck out with a foot in the direction of the noise—and was immensely satisfied as it connected with some part of Robin.
"Ummph. Hey, who did that?" So they hadn't tied a string around his throat too? That was awfully careless of them, even if he was from an alien world. "Is that you, Kukuk?"
Laros managed to choke out a grunt in response. "Why won't you answer me?" A few half-hearted squeaks. "Look, I know you don't like me. I don't like you either. But we have to cooperate to get out of here, and if we're going to cooperate you're going to have to talk to me." This time Laros didn't even try to answer. "What is wrong with you?" exclaimed Robin, beginning to sound angry.
So now he was not only going to die, he would have to listen to this idiot right up until the end. Things were looking very, very dark.