Warning for incredibly and inexcusably long chapter (?). TW for swearing, slight depressive themes, violence and blood.
Oh, and thick plot.


Darnassian:

Sar'thera: A pejorative, meant for someone who's considered irritating or exasperating—mostly an idiot. Slang: Sart(e).

Quel / Quel'dorei: Children of noble birth, also slang for Highborne.

Dorei: Shortened for Kaldorei. May refer to a person (regardless of gender), a youngster and also can be used in plural.

Ana'duna thor: May translate to "Fight/trouble is upon us". Not to be confused with "Bandu Thoribas", said as a taunt or a war cry.

Pare'tharas […] amurabar: (Arcane spell) Teleport (incomplete).


Stormrage

"Arluin's missing, disappeared from thin air," Silgryn snarls, throwing what looks like a crumpled letter at the feet of his niece along with a hard glare, his usual merry mood nowhere to be seen, "And I believe your loving father is behind this…" He then deadpans as he faces them properly, lips contorted into a disgusted sneer.

Illidan lets Mylenne go with some reluctance, grabbing the piece of parchment from the floor and bringing it into the woman's waiting hands, his mind still trying to process the information. As much as he's not really accustomed to being that weary—not even at midday—he'd be lying if his working hours and the sudden events that came that morning with Mylenne hadn't already taken a toll on him.

At least it's not like he has to still pretend he's fine, for Mylenne's tired look in her face speaks louder than his own—despite hers being for entirely different reasons.

This isn't the time for that, Stormrage. Your sleeping issues can wait some more…

He's inclined to agree with his distant voice of reason, the subject dropped away from his mind when Hargo steps forward and to the group, a concerned frown narrowing his face. "What could possibly be so wrong for you to throw an accusation just like that, Silgryn?" He seemingly does his best to keep his voice neutral, approaching to Mylenne to surely assist her in some way, yet keeping his eyes on Silgryn, "Do you really suspect of your brother-in-law, of all people?"

Illidan can't be sure if his sudden annoyance is caused by the naivety in Hargo's voice or it's just his presence alone that does it just as easily—although it's easy to reach the conclusion of everything that regards his Moon Guard officer inevitably coming to be… insufferable. So when the man offers a helping hand to Mylenne, a heated glare is all Illidan sends back before bringing her to the nearest couch.

Mylenne doesn't complain, though, looking too engrossed with the parchment in her hands to even acknowledge Hargo's insistence. As Vanthir silently comes to her booth, Illidan takes a seat beside her, some part in an attempt of placing himself between the woman and Hargo and some other so to take a peek at her reading.

"Why, yes! 'Of all people', that piece of shit is the very first one that comes to my mind," Silgryn barks back, mockingly quoting Hargo's words and looking very worked up in a way Illidan hasn't ever seen in him, a sense of worry growing along. "Really, when did you decide to question me, pretty boy? At this point, I'd have thought you knew how that guy really is…"

"Stop it, you two," Mylenne retorts, slamming a fist on the table and startling the entire group except for Illidan, recalling everyone's attention. "I can't explain how tired I am. My arm hurts, my back hurts… ugh, honestly, everything hurts right now." Her eye twitches, trying to swallow a hiss as Vanthir exposes her wounded elbow to the crowd, his leather straps dropped onto the table. "And you seriously don't want me also having a headache, so I'd really appreciate if we go with one problem at the time, can we?"

As Hargo glances back at the woman, looking terribly apologetic for upsetting her, Illidan can't keep the annoyed snort that escapes his mouth. How did Mylenne ever decide to choose such an empty-headed sart as a lover and potential mate? That is probably a better question to consider. Sure enough, he doesn't know much about Hargo to figure that out, and most of the people's praises are directed to his—supposed—unwavering kindness and compassion.

However, that alone is not supposed to make him appealing or attractive, very much less more suitable to be picked above others as a mate.

By Elune, and if that behavior were all one needed to be looked by a female as a potential mate, Illidan is absolutely sure he'd be bonded by then. He'd passed the coming of age to marry by four centuries already, and while he ever got such proposals from the many women he'd courted over the past years, he hadn't really been disappointed with the outcomes.

Pfft, why are you even thinking about such things? Are you seriously considering the possible benefits of marriage? The dark voice of his conscience scolds him, sounding surprised and disgusted altogether. Of you, spending the rest of your nights with only one woman? Dear Goddess, that ride must have messed up with your brain…

Illidan shakes his head in a silly attempt to brush that voice away from his mind, in part feeling inclined to agree, yet not having the strength to keep on that line of thought for the moment. No matter how many excuses he may have, he's quite aware that a great part of his… displeasure of Hargo is just his jealousy showing.

It's not like he can help it, though. Honestly, what does that man have that he doesn't?

With Silgryn's quite unstable state of mind, it's Vanthir who decides to give him and Mylenne the quick summary. "Sil and Luin had been working around some… delicate matters for the past years, most of them regarding the future of House Stareye," He begins, pausing in his task of wrapping some clean linen bandages around the woman's arm for a moment, "I believe you're quite aware so far with Silgryn being the rightful heir to your mother's fortune and legacy, am I right?"

Vanthir speaks with evident carefulness, some more meanings hidden behind his words, making one of Illidan's brows quirk up in sheer curiosity. Mylenne sighs tiredly beside him, shoulders slumping down and dropping the letter next to the other parchments on the table, looking as if she'd heard that many times before. "Yeah, I know. Surprisingly, it was Lady Ailen Astravar who last reminded me of that…" She admits, craning her neck to look at her uncle. "What this has to do with Arluin?"

Silgryn then returns to the table, carrying some mugs of ale and more parchments to add to the pile on the table. "Let's just say I decided to track down this self-proclaimed patriarch of our household, and I've recently found some… things that need to be taken care of as soon as possible," Illidan doesn't miss the warning glance he throws to his niece, only lasting for a mere moment before tucking a rebel strand of dark violet hair away from his face.

He's tempted to demand them to stop with all the secrecy and start speaking more clearly, yet when Mylenne gasps softly beside him, shockingly staring back at her uncle, Illidan feels forced to bite his tongue. Still, his curiosity grows alongside with some sense of uneasiness, subtly leaning closer to the table and to her, a new pondering assaulting his mind.

He's not up to judge if she'd been hiding things from him—after all, both are just recently developing some trust in each other, and he can understand Mylenne's reluctance regarding some delicate subjects—but from her uncle? Had she been hiding something from Silgryn?

"Sil, I'm sorry, I—" She begins, worryingly biting her lower lip, but the elder Stareye cuts her off with a wave of his hand, dismissing her instantly.

"Doesn't matter now and… I understand, alright? It's fine, I get it," Silgryn scoffs softly as he takes a seat in front of them, idly sorting some letters and crumpled parchments, looking apparently decided to not unleash his irritation upon his niece. "Anyways, Arluin offered to take matters by himself, given the delicate information, but neither he nor his 'little birds' had reported since last dawn. He just doesn't do that."

Surprisingly, of all people, Hargo is the one who doesn't look convinced with the very few that Silgryn lets them know—hands clenched into fists, twitching and very faintly pulsing with magic as he crosses his arms over his chest, looking like attempting to keep his thoughts to himself. Mylenne seems to notice it as much, frowning deeply before stretching to grab one of the mugs, Illidan fetching one for her in an act of reflex.

"Gotcha! Here it is," The elder Stareye then hands his niece one of the letters for her to take a look, "This is from Verene, a friend of mine and one of Matron Scarleth's girls. Luin had been around her place lately, only told me something about one of his birds having a hard time with a client." While Mylenne quickly scans the letter, he taps his temple with two fingers as if trying to remember something, "Oh, yeah, Jynn, if I recall it right."

The mention of that name prompts the woman to meet her uncle's face, a soft gasp escaping her. "What? Jynn? Oh Goddess, is she alright?" Mylenne nearly drops the mug in her hand, the sudden panic in her voice making Vanthir startle next to her. "What happened to her? Oh, please tell me she's alright, uncle…"

"Huh?" Illidan blinks thrice, cobalt eyebrows quirking up when he recalls the woman they're talking about. "I didn't know you were a friend of Jynn. How did you meet her?" He can't help but ask, growing too curious to keep himself from voicing his thoughts.

Silgryn throws him a knowing look, "Really, lad? How does someone ever meet a courtesan?" He says sarcastically, in part annoyed yet also appearing half-amused—if he could judge by the slight smirk showing in his face.

"Well, knowing Jynn a little, if you ever, uhm, requested her—" But when he notices a sudden blush growing in Mylenne's cheeks, his jaw nearly falls down. "Oh? Ooh…" He looks away in an instant, clearing his throat in an attempt to keep an embarrassing chuckle from escaping him, the woman elbowing him lightly with her uninjured arm for good measure.

So, Mylie and Jynn…? Well, that's new.

Despite knowing he shouldn't be surprised so far, Illidan can't help but wonder if she's ever going to stop from doing so. And when—rather inevitably—he has a mental picture of the two women, there's not much he can do but gulp half of his ale, doing his best attempt to keep his face straight.

Hargo snorts and Silgryn only rolls his eyes—evidently noticing his small struggle—yet fortunately doesn't get on teasing him for it. "Jynn's fine, though, it's nothing she can't handle," He continues, waving a hand, "Verene only said she'd been requested by one of the Rooksguard this week, more specifically, one of Desdel's closest Lieutenants. No idea who, but judging by what the girls mentioned, probably that sart of Piet…"

Mylenne sighs deeply in relief before returning her full attention to her uncle, brows furrowed. "I don't understand. Why you bring this and what does that Lieutenant have to do with Arluin?"

"Better go to the end of the letter," He prompts her with a tilt of his head, some dark violet strands going loose from its bun.

From his position, Illidan is only able to read some bits of the letter, a rushed calligraphy showing in the parchment. "Sil, I have a feeling that the guard knew Arluin was listening..." It reads, a sense of unease settling in his gut, lips pursing as he does his best to get a better view and don't look like he's prying too much. "He wouldn't mention her and her friend's name so openly otherwise, I think—" Mylenne's thumb covers the rest of the line, her jaw visibly clenching, her lips pressed together as if holding her breath. "… Please, my friend, I beg you to be careful! Call it a sixth sense but this looks like a trap to me…"

A gloved hand settles over his shoulder, pushing him away from the woman, forcing him to straighten in his seat. His golden eyes meet Silgryn's silver ones, a warning flashing in his dull gaze—Illidan's nostrils flaring, becoming torn between apologizing as well as wanting to smack his hand away. While he's pretty much aware he shouldn't be prying in matters he wasn't called for, a huge part of him also believes he already earned some knowledge of Mylenne's life so far.

It's been two years since they first met and she already considers him a friend. It's only fair to believe himself somewhat deserving to know what's really going on, right?

But then Illidan nearly startles for the first time in the day, when Mylenne's hand unconsciously snatches his arm, her eyes blowing wide as she looks at nowhere in particular. "Jarod…" She breathes, nails digging into his muscle, gripping harder as her face contorts into sheer panic. "Oh, no. Oh, Goddess, no…"

Abruptly, Silgryn rises from his seat, slamming both palms on the table before them, making everyone flinch and jump away except Mylenne, looking too shocked to react. "What!? You just said Jarod?" He bellows, almost slack-mouthed, staring at his niece as if he'd just heard the most offensive curse in the world falling from her lips. "I can't fucking believe it, I… arane! That piece of shit went too far this time! I… I can't even—Jarod arane Shadowsong!?"

Looking just as lost as Hargo, there's not as much Illidan can do except for taking Mylenne's hand in his, prompting her attention to him. "Could you just stop for a moment and tell us what's going on?" He nearly demands, becoming more alarmed and worried than just curious, leaning further to meet the woman's eyes.

Her bright silver eyes meet his, unblinking. "Look, Lid, I can't—" With sheer regret plastered on her face, she takes her hand back before also rising from her seat, going to walk around the table at a frantic pace, unconsciously seeming to join her relative's near hysterical state. It's when Hargo intends to stop her when she suddenly comes back to where Illidan is seated, evidently unaware of her rudeness, "Listen, I'm sorry for all this mystery, I really am. This is still too complicated for me to talk about it, and I…"

"And we have more urgent matters to be worried right about now," Silgryn presses on, looking half-oblivious and half-uninterested to hear Mylenne's excuses, somehow also keeping Illidan from getting genuinely offended. "For starters, the matter of where the fuck Luin is, don't you think?"

Vanthir jumps in as the ever voice of reason. "From what all of you have already said, everything leads for him to be in the Black Rook Hold," Mylenne nods in agreement, yet with tiredness, some weariness starting to show in her face and body.

Thankfully, she doesn't seem to dare meeting Illidan's gaze again, his lips pursing tightly as he does his best with keeping his growing sense of hurt to himself. While a big part of him deeply demands to snap and scold Mylenne for all her secrecy and apparent lack of trust in him, there's also this voice of cold reasoning who insists against it—agreeing, if reluctantly, with Silgryn's opinions and current priorities.

"And surely in danger, knowing him…" Silgryn sighs heavily, staring at the parchments on the table as if contemplating their options. "That's it! I'm going there and face that sart once and for all," He declares a moment later, his resolve set as he drinks what remains of his ale in one long gulp. "I think my fist needs to get reacquainted with him,"

A grimace sets on Mylenne's face, glancing at her uncle with furrowed violet eyebrows, "You're seriously thinking you're going to the Hold all by yourself?" She says, her words coming out in a near growl, "No, I'm coming with you, and don't look at me like that," The woman faces him defiantly, managing to look bold and menacing even with her short height, pointing out an accusing finger at Silgryn's chest. "This concerns me even more than you, Sil, so there's no way you're keeping me in here."

Hargo is the first one daring to approach to the incensed relatives, placing a soothing hand on the woman's shoulder. "Then count on me as well. My saber could be of use, and you might need it to bring Arluin back," He offers solemnly, lightly squeezing Mylenne in a way to reassure her.

From his seat, Illidan just snorts at the scene, holding the bridge of his nose with two fingers so to keep the rest from noticing his growing exasperation. "You can't possibly be thinking about entering Black Rook by the front gates and politely ask the guards to hand Arluin over, are you?" He scoffs, sarcasm tinting his deep voice, "What you need is blending in, and half of Suramar knows your face, Hargo," Waving a hand at the man in dismissal, he then faces the group properly. "But I can join you instead; my skills would be of better use,"

Mylenne glances at Illidan from behind her shoulder, slightly gaping and looking lost for words, if for a moment. Right when she's about to protest—judging by the concerned frown plastered on her face—Silgryn claps his hands, startling her. "A fair point, lad. It's decided, then!" Without hesitation, he signals his niece to get on the move straight away, tidying his dark violet mane hastily. "Vanthir, grab the bows, we're going—"

"—anywhere, that's what." Vanthir deadpans, placing himself in the middle of the way, fisted hands on his hips and a stern look on his face. "You can't just run there in the middle of the day, you jerks! Besides, Mylie here needs to rest and heal properly." He waves a hand in Mylenne's general direction, prompting the relatives to stare back in a seeming shocked manner, blinking repeatedly as if not believing the bartender's determination. "The Rooksguard's shifts are at moonrise, you'll do better by waiting until then, anyways…"

Silgryn's whole face scrunches, dull silver eyes set into crinkled slits, narrowing at his friend with gritted teeth, showing his evident disapproval. The only woman in the bar doesn't complain, however, only a heavy sigh escaping her lips as she strides to drop herself on the nearest booth, looking completely tired. Hargo and the bartender make a fair job of quickly bringing more ale to the occupied table—probably looking forward to placating everyone's sour moods somehow—sorting and removing some parchments so to make some space.

In the meantime and as the group gets on idly discussing the best possible course of action, Illidan allows himself a moment with leaning further in his seat, the late hour of the day as much as the ale starting to take a toll on him. His mind drifts away from the group momentarily, eyelids growing heavy, not finding the will to remove himself from the comfortable spot he's in and see himself out of the bar and to his home.

He can't help but secretly savor the small victory he just got with tagging along with the Stareyes in Hargo's place, idly nursing his refilled mug so to keep himself from falling asleep right away, one corner of his lips quirking up in a smug smirk ever so slightly. It's not quite usual to—if unconsciously—earn Silgryn's approval on him over his Moon Guard officer, and Illidan is not the one to let that pass unnoticed, very much less when his pride is at stake.

And it may be his sheer jealousy talking, but he'd be lying to himself with not admitting how far he's growing willing to go so to keep that insufferable sart away from Mylenne.

You know you're disgraceful, don't you, Stormrage? This sheer need of yours to have Mylie's attentions is going to rot you, eventually. Why don't you stop thinking about your nightmares and just court her already? For everyone's sakes, at least…

The wicked little voice in his head stops whispering all in a sudden as the bar's doors open, a bald man making his way through in a languid manner, stretching his arms and yawning. "Oh, late for the party, again? Guess it's becoming a habit of mine," Oculeth chuckles, not bothering to greet the group as he manages to grab a mug for himself. "Did you find where our slippery friend is hiding, at least?"

Vanthir and Silgryn get on giving their friend the quick rundown, passing him the letter from the courtesan Verene for him to read, yet Illidan opts not to follow their line of conversation. "Come, let's get you into bed, dear. It looks you're in much need of a nap," He hears Hargo approaching, prompting Mylenne to head away and onto the rooms on the first floor.

Taking the woman's departure as a fair time to make his own, Illidan then summons the strength to rise from his seat, rubbing the muscles in his neck in an attempt to soothe some tension. "And you're still here, lad?" Oculeth glances at him from behind Vanthir's shoulder, a curious look on his face. "Haven't you said something about someone you needed to fetch?"

Illidan stops in the middle of his way out, forehead creasing into a confused frown at Oculeth's words. "What? When—" He finds Mylenne looking at him from the bottom of the stairs, a violet eyebrow quirking up in question. It's only when they lock gazes for a moment when he finally recalls what he was supposed to do way before meeting the woman at the merchant streets, half-unconsciously smacking his forehead. "Oh, crap, Sylenna! I was supposed to meet her at the Temple!"

And as Mylenne nearly explodes in a fit of laughter, Illidan is then completely sure of one thing: Sister Sylenna is going to kill him.


Vanthir's idea of waiting until moonrise had been, somehow, quite fortunate and surprisingly fitting, allowing Illidan some more clarity and much-needed rest after his long tiresome week at the Stronghold and that blunt assault at the merchant's road. In all honestly, he haven't had the sleep he'd really wanted—not after getting unusually aware of the cold sheets of his bed, lacking the female warmth he grew used to have for five months—but his displeasure doesn't last for long as he adjusts the belts of his shoulder pads, grabbing the thickest cloak nearby before heading out.

A quick glance at the western road gives him the reminder of visiting Sylenna later in the night, adjusting the dark silver hood over his head as he goes on his way to the bar, opting to not be noticed. Luckily it's his week off from work, yet he still keeps a steady pace, knowing deep down that the Stareyes are surely waiting for him after all.

Illidan is first greeted by Mylenne's frostsaber half an hour later, the beast stretching languidly under the bar's wooden roof, long rough tongue darting out as it—no, she, getting the quick reminder on how to address animals properly—draws a long yawn, bumping her side against his hip as she goes to where Rak'shakar lays, below the nearest tree.

The people he's looking for are already outside, Silgryn grunting a hello midway to his saber, clicking his fingers impatiently in an attempt to get the beast out of her lazy state. Meanwhile, Mylenne leans against the side of the bar's entrance, not looking particularly pleased with her lover's attentions on her, rolling her eyes and glancing away as Hargo helps with adjusting some leather bracers and shoulder pads properly. As he then cradles Mylenne's face—seemingly prompting her to look at him—Illidan can't keep an exasperated snort from escaping his lips, turning his back in a moment's notice.

Fortunately, Hargo doesn't mingle for too long, already dressed in his working clothes. "Goddess watch over you all. I'll be at the Harbor if you need me," He says, somehow somberly, sounding quite disinclined to leave the group right then, even if to tend to his duties. Unluckily, Illidan feels inclined to agree with the man this time—the sour and bitter mood coming from the Stareye relatives starting to get on his nerves as well.

As Vanthir makes his way out of the building, Mylenne nearly rushes her lover out and away, giving him a quick peck on his cheek before mounting his nightsaber, seeing himself out as he seems to notice he's being slightly dense. Illidan then seizes the moment and approaches the woman, leaning down to kiss her cheek and greet her properly.

Somehow, it's as she blushes ever so slightly when he recalls a particular topic from the last morning, golden eyes narrowing at her and mouth curling in the faintest of smirks. Mylenne only huffs, giving him a hard glare, "I can practically see what you're thinking right now, Lid. Please, just stop," She comments, struggling to look stern yet failing to some extent, a half-amused smile showing on her face.

Illidan tilts his head a little, "You mean you already know what an insufferable sart I believe your lover to be?" He half-lies, not feeling like needing to hide his thoughts of Hargo, "Or does that mean you're never going to tell me about you and Jynn?" Her small amusement disappears from her face after his pondering, avoiding his gaze as she prefers to focus on crossing the strap of her arrow bag across her chest. "What? Are you ashamed of her or something?"

"What? No! Of course I'm not!" Mylenne nearly gapes at him as if shocked, silver eyes blowing wide. After another huff, she strides past him and to her beast, grabbing her jeweled saddle as her uncle passes it to her, shoulders hunching down as she works into adjusting it over Rak'shareh's back. "What is there to say, though? Yeah, she was my… first one." A shrug follows, persistent in not looking at him.

Next to her and busy with his own saddle, Silgryn groans loudly, "Oh, for Elune's tits, Mylie! We're grown up people!" He complains, stopping his work for a moment to give her a knowing look, "Are you that shy to even say she was the first dorei you shagged?"

His blunt honesty prompts Mylenne to gasp and cough awkwardly altogether, "Goddess, Sil! Then forgive me if I'm not up to telling everyone all the details of my intimate life so blatantly…" She remarks, her face completely flushed, doing her best into recovering some composure and definitely not succeeding when Illidan can't help but chuckle at the sight. "Have I asked Illidan here how he knows about Jynn, at all? Of course not, because I'm not in my right—"

"How did you meet Jynn, lad?" Silgryn wonders rather bluntly, a deadpan expression on his face.

"Syra and I visited Scarleth's brothel some decades back, one thing led up to another and I ended up sleeping with her," He replies with a nonchalant shrug, not considering that memory as a big deal.

As Mylenne groans in disapproval, looking utterly embarrassed, the elder Stareye throws a quite satisfied smirk her way, "Theeeere you go! See? It was that easy," His amusement lasts only for a moment, disappearing right after he settles upon his frostsaber's back. "Now that's all said and done, can we please focus on this current matter of utmost importance?" The death glare the woman sends him speaks volumes, "Is that a yes? Why, thank you, guys! Now get your butts on the saddle and let's ride. I'm freezing already,"

Grumbling under her breath, still she obliges to Silgryn's impatience, climbing to her saddle and outstretching a hand to encourage Illidan to follow. Her mood doesn't seem to get better as he settles behind, careful with her arrow bag, a pretty much outstanding silver bow decorated with bright crescent moons and sapphires placed across her chest for better commodity.

As Vanthir climbs to his own saber for last, the woman adjusts a dark hood over her head before guiding Illidan's hands to her waist, then prompting Rak'shareh to follow her sister into the forest with a pat on her side, setting a steady gallop to Val'sharah. With the Moon yet not rising, sheer silence clings heavily among the group as they ride—only disrupted by the swift stomps from the sabers over bare grass and Silgryn's daggers clashing together from time to time.

It takes close to half an hour to reach the borders, Silgryn's tension becoming more visible as they reach deeper into the forests—his aura growing unstable, pulsing with evident fury before his eyes. "Is it just me or Silgryn seems to be way too… troubled?" Illidan mutters low, only for Mylenne to hear.

"You think so?" She says sarcastically, leaning down and pulling him by the wrist to avoid colliding face first with a couple of lower branches, her reflexes notably better than his. "Between us, I can't be mad at him for it, though. I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't be just as hysterical as him if my beloved were to be missing or in danger…"

Illidan hums in agreement, not missing her apparent slip up regarding the status of Silgryn's relationship with Arluin. The wanderer and the whisperer… guess I should have guessed that before. "To be honest, sometimes it's hard for me to think of you as just uncle and niece. You two are too much alike,"

An amused snort follows, "Yep, you can blame him for all my flaws," She admits with a shrug, straightening as they get into a clearer path among the cerulean trees. "What can I say? He was the only one who raised me somewhat properly, even from the distance," He can't see her face, but her head leans down in a seemingly pensive posture, outstretching her hand to brush her fingertips over the tall grass they come across—either uncaring of losing her balance on the saddle or relying too much on her beast's skills to keep them there.

Her reply doesn't particularly shed a light about their relationship, for their strong bond has always been pretty noticeable for everyone. "I guess Sil is the only parent figure I ever had." She says, sounding sad to some extent, almost melancholic.

Unable to help it, his hand reaches to lace his fingers with hers, squeezing lightly in an attempt to bring her some comfort, trying to make her know how much he understands with the gesture. In truth, he and Malfurion had become orphans at a way too young age for him to properly grasp what having parents really feel like, yet still, he knows how the absence of them can take a toll on someone.

But then, what he doesn't understand in the slightest is how a man like Lord Desdel Stareye can't see the incredible inner strength his daughter had grown to show. For a so famous warrior like him, it sounds almost unbelievable for him not to get it; for there isn't just strength with enduring, with surviving, but also power—a force of will that can turn the smallest of leaves into ironbark.

And besides not showing that pretty often, Illidan knows a great deal about surviving. In some extent—as well as being honest with himself—it's been actually what had driven him so far and to Suramar City. His arcane affinity and outstanding talent had only given him a certain advantage; a mere purpose, but not a motivation.

"You say that as you've been lonely and hopeless your whole life," Illidan says softly, the frostsaber below slowing her pace as they seem to be close to their destination, "And yet, if you ask for my opinion, it looks like you amassed a big family through the years," He then tilts his head to the side, prompting her attention to the humble bartender following their tracks, an endearing smile showing on the portion of her face he can glance at.

Vanthir nods back solemnly—as if he somehow knew what they were talking about—as the upper bridge leading to the eastern entrance of Black Rook Hold finally comes into view. Silgryn signals them to stop, procuring to keep the sabers and their riders among the shadows as he scans the area for possible scouts.

However, he wasn't expecting for the elder Stareye to, then, drop off his mount and walk alone to the bridge.

Illidan's forehead creases as he notices none of his companions looking as surprised and confused as he is—in some way, revealing all along how they knew of Silgryn's course of action. "What's he doing?" Still, he asks, unwilling to be left blind and out of the picture.

"Call it verifying the intel," Vanthir replies, shifting as he scans the surroundings, looking skeptical yet appearing to be struggling to keep a controlled composure. "If Lord Stareye hasn't yet started his… campaign against Silgryn, then his guards should acknowledge him properly as the noble Lord he is and let him in without any struggle. If he has, though…"

So, it's that simple as just allowing Silgryn to walk right into the wolf's den? Illidan thinks, trying very hard to grasp why are they being so reckless with just letting him on with that nonsense plan. "You can't arrest or hold any Highborne without sound proof. It could raise a scandal," He keeps his real thoughts to himself, however, after considering it wouldn't probably be the best moment to discuss what's already ongoing.

He follows Mylenne as she drops off Rak'shareh, the woman finding a spot behind a tree to perch over, bow and three arrows already drawn out and prepared. Not a single remark comes from her, appearing utterly fixed in following her uncle's figure as he stops before the bridge's entrance—back straightened, hands clasped behind his back, dark violet mane tied in a high ponytail and waving softly; looking as the very picture of the noble Lord he seems to usually fight not to be.

Four armored guards with silver bands in their forearms make their appearance, opening the gates and walking across the bridge, broadswords still holstered on their sides. While the group appears to talk to Silgryn nonchalantly—or at least not looking like hostiles at a first glance—Vanthir hums in thought. "Look, if you think of Lord Desdel as a mere pawn of the Court, then both of you are more naïve than I tho—" He continues their previous line of conversation… or tries to.

For in the next moment, they're left to watch as how—swift as a gust of wind—the elder Stareye draws a dagger from his back, slicing the throat of the guard before him in a single motion. "Mother Moon… Silgryn, you jerk! Ana'duna thor!"

Without a further word of advice, adrenaline kicks in as Illidan makes a sprint to the bridge, Vanthir charging in as well from atop his mount. His fists start glowing with arcane magic as he prepares a spell to cast, fixing his sights on the guard closest to Silgryn, huge broadsword drawn and prepared to strike. Illidan manages to disarm him with a blast pulsing from his palm, the weapon flying and falling down the bridge, its owner following after a kick from Silgryn straight in his armored chest.

"Come and get me, you shitty pawns!" He hears Silgryn taunting the rest of the Rooksguard, daggers on the ready as he slips into a battle stance. "You'll only get to cuff my cold dead body!"

Illidan speeds up his sprint, dread starting to settle in his gut as he reaches the far end of the bridge, struggling to find a better position to force push the remaining guards without hitting the elder Stareye in the process. "Silgryn!" He tries to prompt his attention, knowing his two small daggers wouldn't stand a chance against a couple of heavy broadswords, very much less so if they're carried by two plate-armored guards.

Yet suddenly, either of them has the need to engage—a long whistling sound coming from afar, all but announcing danger. The two remaining guards stop short just as Silgryn and Illidan freeze, swords falling from their hands with a loud thump, a silver arrow piercing the middle of their foreheads.

Sheer silence permeates over the group, only shattered with the sound of armor clashing against the stone floor of the bridge. As Illidan slowly glances behind his shoulder, he exhales the breath he'd been unconsciously holding.

Mylenne stands proudly on a small cliff right next to the forest's outskirts, staring back at them with her bow tightly clutched in one hand, a vicious resolve flashing in her bright silver eyes. As she comes to join them—walking with a particularly smug sway of her hips—Illidan has to bite the inside of his cheek at the alluring sight of her, her long violet braid coming into view as the forest wind messes with her hood.

She looks just as gorgeous and fierce as a Moon Huntress, sending Illidan's heart aflutter, not believing himself to have been any more captivated by the view in his entire life until then.

And any more obsessed with someone as well. Most likely infatuated, I'd say. Oh, and probably under a charm

It takes a disgusted huff from Silgryn to get out of his reverie, subtly shaking his head in an effort to take his eyes away from Mylenne, glancing at the man cleaning his bloodstained dagger with the fabric of his dirty boot. "Let's head inside before they sound the alarm," Silgryn growls before anyone can make a remark, taking the lead and walking through the open gates in long strides.

As Vanthir stays behind to provide some cover, the three of them come across the training yards, cautious of not being seen by some idle guard who may be walking around, their steps as silent and careful as a prowler. As for being the first time Illidan places a foot inside the Hold, his first thought is to crouch behind Mylenne, eventually coming to a stop as they find themselves having to choose between three routes leading to different towers.

Unlikely, their stealth doesn't last for long as they get startled by the sound of a clearing throat, the elder Stareye being the fastest to react and turn around, a dagger ready to be thrown. "If you were trying to grace me with your sudden presence, consider me surprised," The newcomer hums in thought, "Although my quarters are this way, not over there…"

"Jarod!" Mylenne half croaks, sighing in sheer relief and quickly pulling him to a more hidden spot, away from prying eyes. Illidan's fists unclench with some hesitance as he tries to relate the name with the face—right, Shadowsong, the one with the temperamental sister—relaxing just barely as the Stareyes get on giving him a quick rundown of the situation they're in, not bothering with many details.

Illidan doesn't have any idea of how Mylenne manages for her friend not to get mad at the chaos they're making, yet either way, none of them are in a position to complain or hesitate as she convinces him to bring them to the Hold's dungeons. After a tired huff, Shadowsong unlocks a metallic door with some reluctance, Silgryn patting him on the back affectionately before heading in.

It's when Illidan attempts to follow when a gloved hand grabs him firmly by the elbow. "I'd suggest for him to stay behind, Myl," Shadowsong first directs his words at his friend, missing—or avoiding, Illidan can't tell—the way his lips curl into a sneer at the absolute insolence of the man. Mylenne notices that, however, but she doesn't get to comment on it, "Listen, there's an anti-magic barrier inside, so his… sorcery skills would be kind of useless or maybe injure him," He insists, procuring to place some distance after Illidan sharply releases himself from his grasp.

The elder Stareye doesn't bother to stop—he doesn't rely on his magic after all—but as he heads inside Illidan can finally see the barrier placed before them, Silgryn's natural aura fading away in a moment's notice. A sense of unease assaults him, yet he fights against it and swallows it down. He hasn't got that far with those two just to stop right now because of a barrier… and he'll be damned if he's to be left behind with Shadowsong, of all people.

He shares a fleeting look with Mylenne before outstretching a hand forward, a weird tingle running up his forearm, goosebumps showing as he goes through; still, the feeling is not particularly hurtful, just slightly odd. So, he dares to test the waters even further, applying more concentration than usual into summoning an arcane flame onto his palm.

It takes a second longer than expected, but they're left to marvel as a bright purplish glow appears before them.

Shadowsong hums in slight disapproval, but the Stareyes don't seem to have eyes for anyone else but Illidan, beaming at him in awe. "Oh, lad, I could kiss you right now," Silgryn breathes, prompting him inside without hesitation, leaving Illidan only with a moment to glance behind his shoulder and flash a very sly smirk at Mylenne—the woman smiling back proudly, silver gaze intent and briefly intense on him. "Come on, let's move, it's near moonrise! Mylie, help Jarod with covering our tracks,"

As it's been since sunset, everyone complies with Silgryn's orders, leaving Illidan alone with the man as they delve deeper into the dungeons, taking copious routes downstairs and across empty prisons. He feels as if they're going through a labyrinth, dark skin heating up due to his magic unwilling to flicker out and a drop of sweat running down his temple, although he can't guess how much time they'd been going through in their search for Arluin—if there ever is one, however—not a single window nearby to figure out the time of night.

Silgryn's frustration becomes almost palpable, even without the flaring of his aura, looking dangerously close to either give up or breaking into every prison they come across, empty or otherwise. Until a hoarse voice croaks from the hallway, "… Sil? Is that you, d-dear?" Without needing to be asked to, Illidan casts an easy spell to track the origins of the voice, a purplish mist leading the way across one corner, slipping under a reinforced door far ahead.

"Arluin! Oh, thank Elune… I knew my gut was right," Silgryn cries as he runs past him, trying to catch a glimpse of the prisoner inside as he looks through a small barred window. "Honey, you look—" A hard swallow follows, evident guilt plastered on his face, "I'm getting you out, Luin, just hold on."

Right as when the elder Stareye works into breaking the lock with his dagger and a pin, near ear-piercing alarms flare around them, so loud and almost muffling the sound of a door slamming open some floors above. "Silgryn…" Illidan growls, a clear warning in his voice.

He's only replied with curses and grumbles. However, the lock gives up a minute later, Silgryn pushing his way in and nearly throwing himself beside his lover. "Luin, oh Goddess… just look at yourself. Did a bear stomp over your face on your way here?"

Illidan can't see him properly from where he stands, yet he only needs a glimpse at a portion of Arluin's face to understand Silgryn's near panic. He's no stranger to violence, but Illidan knows he'd ever have thought of Arluin getting beaten only for a silly grudge. Something is very, very wrong with all this. In what awful mess did he get himself into?

"Heh, can't complain… got treated by Lord Sar'thera himself," Arluin sounds utterly tired, his hard nose appearing to be broken, thick dark blood dripping down his face. Clinging heavily on Silgryn's leather vest as his lover helps with straightening him up, he tries to continue, "Yo-you shouldn't be here, Sil. The letters, couldn't intercept them before—he killed my birds, Sil, I couldn't j-just…"

Barks and shouts reverberate across the hallway, bringing Illidan to enter the prison and close the door behind him, obliging with the first thing that comes to his mind. "Ssh, honey, let's leave that up for later," Silgryn soothes his lover, holding him closer as he spares a glance over his shoulder, "Illidan, please tell me you have a plan. I'm afraid mine just kind of ended up after we stepped through the main gates,"

Illidan doesn't miss the mention of his name, taking a deep breath so to keep his composure. "Yeah, I thought as much," Sheer adrenaline seizes him as he hears sounds of hurried steps becoming closer, no longer muffled by the flaring alarms of the building. As his fists clench and unclench with anxiety, he finally comes with an idea. "Here, hold onto me. But I'm warning you, this probably won't be nice,"

Encouraging the couple to grab his forearm, Illidan does his best to clear his mind of all distracting thoughts, shutting his eyes close as he focuses with all his might into casting one of his signature spells—a very special one, the very same that captured the Conjurers' attention some decades back and gave him a way into the Moon Guard order. "Pare'tharas…" The room trembles ever so slightly with the force of his magic, two hands gripping harder onto him. "… amurabar, pare'tharas…"

With his sheer concentration, Illidan doesn't get to glimpse the moment when the three of them are ripped away from the prison and space itself. However, judging by a choking gasp coming from someone else and the feeling of the moonlight stroking his face once more, he knows he'd succeeded—the view of Val'sharah's forest appearing before him once his eyes drift open.

With some dizziness showing in his face, Silgryn falls onto his back, still holding the small and beaten form of Arluin looking to be clinging to him for dear life. "By the holy tits of Elune… it worked, I can't believe it!" He pants, scrambling for some purchase yet unwilling to let go of his lover at the same time, "I only saw Aedriel managing to—"

"Dear Goddess… I'm not even sure if to ask," Vanthir appears from the outskirts, staring at them in sheer astonishment, his reaction unconsciously feeding Illidan's ego, if slightly. However, he doesn't have time to savor it properly, not when Mylenne is galloping in their direction at full speed, Silgryn's frostsaber at par with her sibling.

She reaches them in a moment's notice, pushing Illidan's forearm not so gently to prompt him onto her saber's saddle. Rak'shakar drops next to her owner as they all work into carrying Arluin atop the beast, the man looking too weak for everyone's liking. Illidan only gets to hop in behind the woman before her saber gets on the move again, the group scrambling in different directions in no time.

"What now?" Illidan can't help but wonder, trying to catch up with everyone in some way or another.

A dark chuckle follows. "Now you hold tight onto me… if you know what's best," Mylenne says in a sultry tone, distracting him for a mere second—right before the frostsaber below rushes into the forest faster than a violent gust of wind.


A-N: I think I got way too carried away with the length of this chapter, and I deeply apologize about that D: In my defense, lots of things happened! Right? Right!?
By the way, you know that 'little evil voice' in Illidan's head? I think that's actually me.

:D