A few days passed. The sense of time was of stasis. Many elves had departed for the new world. Tenemire had perceived a process of selection take place that pleased him. The new world promised either escape, or opportunity, depending on one's perspective. For the aimless, those who had never recovered from the invasion, the former would be true. And as for the latter reason, this would have attracted the aggressive, those with ambitions and the necessary egoism, to have the previous group to use for the labour. It had emptied Eversong of what he perceived to be an excess population. And with those seeking power gone, a new peace had fallen on the woods. Those who had stayed wanted to be there. In those days Tenemire had taken his first steps into the gleaming city. Each detail was meant to intimidate. Those who dared to ever stand against the elves again would find their end in the light of the sun. The emerald crystals seemed to be ubiquitous, the source of their power still unknown to the those outside the court. He did not feel comfortable in the city, not for a lack of desire. The architecture demanded each elf to live their duty with purpose. Freywinn had left without notice and with no instruction for his former pupils. Tenemire attempted to continue on as if nothing had changed. It was a deeply held secret, his doubting this new mission which now united their race. He had come to maturity in and would happily accept his position as the odd spectator of events which happened around him.
Tenemire had fallen into a mire of sleepless nights, only finding repose at the break of dawn, he had gone long without seeing the morning sun. One morning, one much like any other, guards from the city had come to his home in the woods. He had a deep aversion to being seen when not fully dressed, let alone in the position of vulnerability of sleep. Nonetheless, the guards were cordial and meant to deliver a letter. They departed and Tenemire watched after them in the sun as they left, their new armour shone like fire. The stationery was regal and suggested import. The contents were brief, a request that he go to Sunfury Spire, the seat of government; there was a strong implication that the summons would be answered that day. The news was met with excitement, and a degree of perturbation that he would not be able to lie down again that morning.
He dressed slowly and with purpose, paying particular attention to his grooming. He may have little of import to occupy himself with, but he would at least look like he belonged in the city and at the court. He did not eat and walked swiftly through the woods. He was too interested in what await him that the splendour of a walk, especially one in the morning, through the forest, escaped him completely, unusual for him who lived by the breath of the forest.
The many guards flanking the path up to Sunfury Spire gave him pause before entering. This was his first time in the palace of Silvermoon. He walked slowly, wishing to not be presented out of breath with windblown hair. The deeply held notion of equality among the elves allowed for free movement in most elven institutions, and he was allowed to pass freely into the building. In the hall was standing Rommath himself already engaged with another elf. The letter did not speak of who was requesting his presence specifically and so Tenemire stood patiently to the side, hoping some minister would be by to direct him. Rommath finished his conversation and approached him directly.
"Grand Magister, it is an honour." In the absence of the prince, the grand magister would be the ruler de jure. The title itself demanded a degree of deference and respect. More than lineage and military prowess, the elves valued intellect and a mastery of many disciplines of study and magic.
"Tenemire Eventide, I believe it is." Rommath was a serious elf, and spoke so, but with cordiality, even a hint of charm in the near smile he gave. That he had been seeking Tenemire came mostly as a surprise.
"It is. How may I serve?"
"Come this way please, let us talk." They were led into a receiving room which looked like a library. "As you are no doubt aware, elven forces carve a path beyond this world. Resources are demanded, and intellectual acumen is a resource like any other. Those who once served at home, have now been called elsewhere. However this does not mean that the governance of our ancestral home, its safety and flourishing, and above all its insistence on the greatest minds of Azeroth serving its court in our continual search for mastery over the forces of this universe, are not being considered with as much gravity."
"I would not doubt Eversong is your, and our prince's, greatest priority." Tenemire was surprised with himself, he had loaded more into his response than he meant to.
"And it is pleasing that you share that intention. We need those like you now to serve."
"I will always serve these lands, Grand Magister."
"Those who have left us, for the moment, have created an opportunity for the ascension of new minds into our ranks. Mind you, we would never offer this place if we did not believe those whom we have chosen did not possess the adequate characteristics necessary to fill the position."
"I've no doubt in your wisdom."
"No doubt the loss of your previous master, the High Botanist Freywinn, has been difficult for you."
"It has been a time of great acclimation for us all." In truth, for some time before the high botanist's departure, he had so little to do with instructing his pupils that his absence had little effect on them.
"Quel'Thalas' flora need tended to; the life and magic of these lands are what make it our home and give us our power. As it is, we have reviewed the work of you and your peers' and you appear to be the most eligible successor for this purpose." Tenemire almost laughed. The title was a necessary one it seemed. Nobody else could be bothered with the responsibility.
"I am honoured by the faith you place in me."
"The work requires access to certain materials, and your work and presence in the court would be required, as all magisters have a place in council."
"I will see to it that I advance my studies in preparation for the trials." He had some years left of study before participating in the trials to become a magister himself.
"You will undergo the trials in due course. Out of necessity, and our belief in your competence for the task, we will grant you the title of acting magister immediately. Unfortunately, the usual ceremony must be postponed for now, however all the necessary arrangements for your access to the Magisters' Terrace will be made."
"I am not sure how to respond to this."
"I understand much has been thrust upon you, however you will have time still to study what is necessary. We can arrange an envoy to transport your belongings to the isle of Quel'Danas right away."
"I don't understand."
"As an acting magister, your official residence will be there, although you may choose to go about your daily life where and how you wish."
"May I have some time? To prepare my things?"
"Of course, this should be a day of victory for you, I look forward to seeing you more often." Rommath spoke convincingly, though there was a cold indifference in his speech. Tenemire filled a place, it did not necessarily matter who. "Shorel'aran, Magister Eventide."
Tenemire gripped the official documentation of his new titles as he walked swiftly through the forest. He was happy, in a nervous, almost confused way. His thoughts raced as he tried to lay before him all that had transpired and the implications. It was by all appearances a most enviable achievement. He was making plans, the new studies he would pursue, the experimental designs for the forest. How would Nathera and Tyniarrel react? He hoped Nathera would not feel slighted; she worked diligently and was a devoted botanist, though she was some years younger. Part of him would have been glad to see Tyniarrel's reaction, though it was quite possible Tyniarrel would not actually care. Tenemire had been a student all his life, was he ready to relinquish the last few years of study and the relative ease it afforded, leaving true responsibility to others? A sense of loneliness chilled him for a moment; that small voice of doubt returned. Was all as it should be? Or had they begun to take a very wrong path? He put a stop to the racing thoughts and decided to purposefully collect himself before continuing onward. He took a detour past the shore.
The sun was at its zenith and the forest was still; the waves were distant and constant. Tenemire found the area of transition from forest floor and grass to sand, where the canopy cast its last shade before giving way to the sunlit sand, to be the best place to admire the beauty of both sea and forest. He stood in his fine robe, hands behind his back clasping the parchment. He had spent little time considering what future lay beyond his studies. He assumed he would finish, become a magister, and continue mostly independent work, Freywinn would always be high botanist for the court, he had no intention of taking such a position, or any position like it. Political ambition lost its appeal as soon as the alternative picture of a slow and peaceful life in the forest appeared in his mind. He was happy, even ecstatic after the conversation with Rommath, but it seemed to him now that that was because that was how he was supposed to feel, as if he ought to feel gratitude for having his future dictated to him. He smiled. It was ironic, surely many students in his position, in any discipline, would have wanted nothing more than this; this is what they had been planning for their entire lives. He ought to make a prayer to the Light, he thought. One of gratitude and for guidance. He did not feel the spirit he would have liked to however, to commune with the Light in this way, as he once often did. It was another source of anxiety which ailed him, one he was not willing to yet contend with.
Tenemire was startled and turned his head in the direction of a sound which broke the monotony of the waves. Some distance away, far enough that he should remain unnoticed if he did not draw attention to himself, but close enough to make out some detail, he noticed another elf at the edge of the forest near the shore. He was lying under a great tree, on the mound gathering up to the trunk. The slant of the sun however cast him in full sunlight. He wore only leggings which covered his upper legs. He appeared to be tall, as his legs stretched carelessly before him. His chest was wide and appeared well-defined in the sunlight. At first Tenemire was concerned that this elf was ill, or worse, but then quickly realised that he was asleep. Had he drunk too much? The elf was clean, his skin had the faintest touch of the sun upon it, and he appeared well-groomed. Tenemire spent more time than he would have liked to admit looking at this other elf, but resolved to feel disgust for what he saw as a lack of modesty, a disregard for passers-by, such as he, who might be drawn into thinking things he'd rather not, to have his thoughts pulled out from the sea, down from the sunlight and leafy canopy, into the carnal recesses of his young mind. He must see Nathera to tell her of his meeting with Rommath. Beyond this, he simply wanted to speak with a friend, perhaps she may have her own reassurances. He looked once again at the strange elf and receded back into the shadow of the forest.