Swinging his sword at the thick tree, the young elf was satisfied when pieces and chunks of bark exploded from his assault. Following up with a pivot on his feet, the paladin gave a strong backhanded slice; a thick slice of wood falling from the trunk to the grassed forest ground. Eyeing the damage done, the elf backed up several paces, his chest rapidly heaving from the physical exercise. His red shirt clung to his upper torso, the sweat from his body causing the cloth to stick to his skin. Eyeing the thick tree, the Sin'dorei gripped the sword in his grasp tighter in preparation for the advance. Charging the tree, the elf leapt high to complete a strong aerial slice. Bracing his forearms for the resistance he knew would strike back from his assault, the young elf was welcomed with the vibrating struggle. Feeling his sword penetrate through the tree's strong defensive wood, the elf landed gracefully to the ground as the thick branch fell to the side of him.

"Do you often deface the forest when practicing?"

Whipping around to the familiar voice, sword still gripped in hands, Deimos eyed the deathly calm form of his father watching him from a distance. Quickly averting his eyes to the ground, the young elf moved to his possessions to steal a drink of water.

The sun was just barely half across the sky, the morning dying into noon. The temperature was nicer to the citizens of the Stormwind, the sun offering some warmth from the chilling wind. Wanting a challenge and change of scenery, Deimos had decided to practice his swordsmanship in Elwynn Forest. Approaching his rolled up wool cloak and container of water, the young elf felt a presence behind him. Unscrewing the top to down the liquid that would quench his parched throat, Deimos turned to face his father's composed posture. Generously swallowing the water, the young elf eyed the older elf's face. While it was calm, his green eyes held some kind of mirth to them; making Deimos' skin crawl.

Placing the bottled water and sword on the ground beside his cloak, the paladin ran the back of his hand across his forehead; wiping the sweat off his face. "How was your meeting yesterday?"

Elevating a brow at the attempt of small talk from the shorter elf, Tharsis crossed his arms over his chest while he moved towards a formation of rocks. "Not very productive." Pausing to sit down on a boulder, the older elf smirked. "But what can you expect? This is the Alliance we're talking about."

Promptly ignoring the jab at their newest faction alignment, Deimos obediently nodded at his father; making no move from his position by the towering tree to join him. "Well, you still have several more days to make progress."

Eyeing his son's face at his positive words, Tharsis felt a small grin go across his face. The optimistic attitude would desist soon enough. His gaze landing on the golden hoop in Deimos' upper ear, the older elf clenched his teeth in anger. The boy had wasted no time to defile his body with the irritating piece of jewelry. "Who did you get to pierce your ear again?"

Immediately sending his gaze downcast, Deimos felt a humiliated blush cross his face at his father's question. Vaguely fingering the still tender cartilage around the earring, the young elf sighed. "A friend did it yesterday."

Standing up from the boulder, Tharsis calmly walked to his son sides, his own hand going up to finger the golden hoop. The area was tinged red, giving evidence to the new puncture. Watching his son tense under his touch, the older elf grinned as he roughly probed the area. Allowing his fingers to travel up the shorter elf's ear, his fingertips grazed the point at the top. "Interesting placement for it. I would hate to imagine what would happen if it was ripped out." Pausing to grip the sensitive area, Tharsis smirked at Deimos' nervous face, his eyes glued to the floor. "It would probably tear your elvish point; you'd look just like a human."

Giving a small sigh of relief as his father removed his hand from his ear, the younger elf glanced up at Tharsis. "If there's nothing else you wanted to discuss, I'd like to return to practicing."

His eyes roaming his son's blank and submissive facial expression, the older elf nodded slightly while moving towards the way he came. The small clearing in the forest wasn't located far from Stormwind, the sounds of the city still reached their ears. His back turned to Deimos while he walked away, Tharsis allowed a small smile to spread across his face as he heard his son give a sigh. Stopping abruptly in his walk, the older elf turned around. "Oh, and Deimos?"

Whipping his head around at his father's uncharacteristic merry and mirthful voice, the young elf lifted a questioning brow to him. "Yes?"

Unable to stop the smug smirk creeping on his face, Tharsis took a step forward. "Don't forget to have your stuff packed by the end of this week." Immediately turning around as if the information was nothing of importance, the older elf began his walking; though he knew full well he wouldn't get far.

The blood draining from his face at the words, Deimos was momentarily stunned. Taking several shaky steps forward, the young elf's mind was reeling. "Wait, what? Have whose stuff packed? What are you talking about?"

Chuckling darkly at the barrage of anxiety-filled questions, Tharsis turned around with a feigned surprised look on his face. The young elf had swiftly reached his father; confusion and horror painted on his features. Looking down into his son's face, Tharsis grinned sadistically. "Make sure your possessions, whatever you have here, are packed. You're returning to Silvermoon with me."

Stunned green eyes roaming his father's face, looking for any trickery, Deimos felt his heart skip a beat. He couldn't leave Stormwind; it had become his new home. He felt was training better under an actual paladin and had made several friends. Shaking his head, the young elf felt his respiration increase at the shocked information. "No, my home is here now. I can't go back to Silvermoon."

Lifting an unamused brow at the response, Tharsis crossed his arms over his chest threateningly; his voice coming out hard and stern "Can't? Or don't want to? Either way, you're coming home."

Setting his jaw, Deimos felt the initial feeling of shock dissipate from his body. Completely forgetting the obedient and compliant nature he was conditioned for his life to abide to, the young elf welcomed the angered feelings. Pursing his lips together, his blood began to boil as he looked into his father's face. "No, I'm not. I'm staying here. And that's final."

Clenching his teeth in fury as his son turned his back on him, Tharsis narrowed his eyes as he saw red from anger. "How dare you? You will listen to me, and you will return home. You're play time here is over, Deimos!"

Whipping around at his father's strict voice, the severe words only seemed to make Deimos angrier. Glaring back at the older elf, the paladin took an aggressive step towards him, his angry voice echoing through the forest. "I'm staying here. Maybe you didn't hear, but you're not my commanding officer anymore! I don't have to take orders from you!"

Snarling at the rebellious elf, Tharsis mirrored the shorter elf's movement with his own intimidating step forward. "I may not be your commanding officer, but I'm still your father."

Eyeing the older elf in disgust, Deimos' response came out deathly quiet. "Since when?"

A blur in front of him was the only indication of the charge. Feeling his head slam into the rough trunk of a tree, Deimos blinked furiously in an attempt to clear the dizzy spell. Just as his father's livid face came into focus, a hard punch to his face propelled his head to the side. Immediately following, the young elf felt his head whip to the opposite side as a second punch landed on his other cheek. His head pounding in pain, the paladin struggled to look up at Tharsis. A firm grasp on his shoulder holding him in place against the coarse bark, Deimos felt two rough punches impale his midsection. The wind knocked out of him, the young elf futilely began to thrash against the taller elf. A third well placed swing collided with his chest; the snapping of a rib causing his chest to heat up in pain. Moaning at his hurting torso, Deimos was somewhat aware of his body leaving the tree behind him. With a harsh slam, he was thrown back into the thick trunk.

Feeling a firm hand grasping his throat, the young elf opened eyes that he didn't realize he clenched shut painfully. Swallowing hard as he looked into his father's furious face, Deimos struggled against the hand that began to cut off his precious air supply. The resistance from his son only infuriated the older elf more as he slammed Deimos roughly up against the tree again. Leaning in closer to his son's face, Tharsis smiled at the fearful eyes looking back at him. "You're coming back with me to Silvermoon, Deimos. Or have you forgotten the laws that govern our race. By Sin'dorei decree, you're not old enough to make life decisions. Those choices are reserved for parents."

"Yeah? Well, I'd like to see you physically try to take me."

Smirking at the boy's desperation in his voice, Tharsis increased his grip on his neck. "You have two options for leaving this city. You can either willingly come with me, or I'll inform the Magisters about your rebellious attitude. They'd have no problem retrieving a runaway elfling."

He wasn't sure if it was the sadistic smirk on Tharsis' face or the truth behind the words leaving his mouth, but a bridge in Deimos broke; his pent up anger and fury erupting from his being. Snarling at the older elf, Deimos focused all his energy and mana in his body at the attack in his mind; the ferocity of the concentration making the spell no longer need a chant. Focusing on his father, the paladin watched with satisfaction as bolts of holy energy slammed into the taller elf's chest; throwing his body paces backwards with a pained grunt.

Realization of what he did dawning on him, Deimos began to regret his actions. Whipping his head towards his bundle of possessions resting nearly twenty feet away, the young elf knew if he wanted to stand a chance against his father he'd need to retrieve his sword. The strong holy attack had exhausted much of his energy, rendering his spells useless. Fleeing the area briefly crossed his mind, though he knew it wouldn't prove any point; Tharsis would find him in Stormwind. Beginning to sprint towards the prone sword on the forested ground, the young elf sent a silent prayer to the Light.

The desire for a miracle wasn't answered for the paladin. A body tackled him to the ground as Deimos felt the breath in his lungs be forced out at the heavy weight on top of him. Feeling the mass pull itself off his back, the young elf was fast to rebound; rolling on his back. His broken rib protesting at the maneuver, the paladin wasted no time to send a hard kick at his attacker standing over him. His foot making contact with Tharsis' lower stomach, the older elf doubled over from the unexpected attack. Taking advantage of the opening, Deimos was quick to pull himself to his feet and resume his strides towards the sword.

A firm and strong hand gripping the nape of his neck, Deimos winced in pain as he was thrown against a tree with surprising strength. Lying in a heap at the base of the trunk, Deimos struggled to keep his eyes focused at the body advancing towards him. His head beamed in pain from the abuse; his breathing was labored from the snapped rib. Futilely struggling against a strong hand that lifted him from the ground, Deimos briefly looked into his father's face. The older elf's eyes were mad with fury; the rest of his face sadistically calm. Somehow, the young elf had managed to land a fisted hand across the taller elf's face. Expertly rebounding from the weak assault, Tharsis harshly whipped his insolent son around; his chest pressed against the trunk of the tree.

Feeling the rough bark rub against his cheek, Deimos began to thrash his limbs to free himself. An angry grunt was heard from behind him as a hand snaked itself through his messy blonde hair. Gripping the hair painfully, Tharsis pulled the paladin's head back swiftly before slamming his face into the hard tree trunk. Ignoring the protesting grunts of pain from the younger elf, Tharsis was quick to follow up with several more thrusts of his hand; distractedly noticing the bark on the tree shine with blood.

Consciousness threatened to leave the young elf's body as his head made painful contact with the resilient tree once more. Deimos was somewhat aware of the warm liquid running down his face; his hair no longer its blonde color. Wincing as he expected his father to slam his face into the tree again, he was surprised to instead feel his head pulled back brutally.

Glancing down at his son's agonizing face, Tharsis grinned sadistically as he pulled his hair back further. The boy's face was streaked with blood, a pulsing wound on his forehead the apparent spot that took the beating. His grin turned into a full smile as he heard pained whimpers escape Deimos' quivering lips.

Feeling hot breath go past his ear and tickle his bruised cheek, the paladin would have flinched away had the hand not been holding his hair. "If you want to treat this like a duel, then so be it." Wincing at the whispered words, Deimos clenched his eyes shut as he heard the recognizable sound of a sword leaving its sheathe.

"I was expecting him to flip the table over and strangle you."

Laughing into his glass of mead, Warren eyed the elf sitting on the other side of the lavish table. "I was surprised he gave up as easily as he did."

Squinting his eyes in thought at the man's words, Brightwing sipped the mead in his own glass. Sitting at Warren's house, the ranger-general found the Sin'dorei decorations to be rather humorous. He was impressed that the young elf was able to complete such a feat as redecorating an entire house in one day; though he had an inclination that it wasn't out of the kindness of his heart. While the style wasn't completely identical to Silvermoon, such as the stairs, it carried a strong resemblance. "I still feel uncomfortable about that. It's not like Tharsis to throw in the towel that fast."

Shrugging at his friend, the warrior leaned back against the high rise chair. "I guess we'll see tonight at the meeting. I can't wait to hear what he has to say about Northrend."

"His battalion just returned from the front. I wouldn't be quick to disregard him, Warren."

"Yeah, well, so did Shadowbreaker's so we can compare notes."

"Just try to be civil."

Smirking and shaking his head at the elf's attempt at courteousness, Warren heard the front door of the house open with a creak. Footsteps into the home indicated that the person had entered the dwelling, the door slamming shut with a vibrating bang. Sharing a curious glance with Brightwing, Warren pushed the chair out from under him while he lifted interested brows up. Hearing the footsteps enter the foyer, the man gave a sigh. "Deimos? You back from practice? I was expecting you hours-"

His feet turning to lead as he entered the foyer, Warren felt his mouth fall slightly agape at the boy in front of him. Hand gripping the golden railing, Deimos was preparing to sprint up the stairs; pausing when he heard the human's voice. His wide green eyes darted from Warren's aghast face to Brightwing's knowing yet sad expression.

His gaze roaming on the young elf standing on the lowest stair, his face shocked as if he was caught doing something wrong, Warren couldn't stop the gasp that emitted itself from his lips. Blood streaked the elf's fair face, both sides of his cheeks developing angry purple bruises. His once blonde hair was dyed in dark blood, his shirt ripped relentless around his form. Opening and closing his mouth to say something, the older man was shocked at the abused state the paladin was in. Abruptly, Deimos turned on his feet and fled up the stairs.

His senses returning to him from his stunned state, Warren moved to run after the hurt elf; curiosity and anger at his state filling his body. However, a strong hand gripped his shoulder, causing the man to halt in his advance. Turning questioning eyes to the side, Warren met the darkened yet sad eyes of Brightwing; the elf giving a small shake of his head. "Give him time, Warren."

Pulling his arm away from his friend, the warrior heard the bathroom door slam shut. "Like hell I will."

Taking the stairs two at a time, the older man's mind was considering all the possible scenarios for the injuries. The most logical choice was that he was jumped by thieves; he had told Warren he was going to practice in Elwynn Forest. Though the forest was relatively safe, no place was without its criminals. And with Westfall's close proximity and the Defias' increased activity, it was a very sound reason. Reaching the shut bathroom door, Warren didn't bother knocking; already knowing what answer he'd get from the elf. Instead, he threw the door open.

"Light…"

Gripping the sink on both sides, Deimos leaned his hurt body up against the porcelain basin; the blood on his arms beginning to paint the once white surface. His torn shirt thrown to the side, the young elf stood shirtless as his body painfully shook with each breath. Glancing up in surprise as the door swung open, his hurt-filled and defeated eyes landed on Warrens' disgusted ones through the mirror on the wall in front of him. Swallowing hard, the paladin furiously broke the eye contact, instead focusing his attention on the sink. Vaguely watching the red liquid from his head wound drip down into the basin, the young elf felt his cheeks burn in humiliation and shame.

"Deimos… by the Light…" Moving forward hesitantly, Warren couldn't take his eyes off the boy's bare back. The muscled torso was smeared with thick blood; the hue nearly black. Running horizontally across the elf's back were angry slices; continuing down his back. The gashes were thick and deep; chunks of broken ribs and ripped muscles protruding from the wounds. Eyeing the rest of the elf through the reflection in the mirror, the older man was content that his chest wasn't riddled with similar markings. Straining his hearing, Warren took notice to a faint wheezing coming from the Sin'dorei's intake of breath; the recognizable sign of broken ribs.

Unable to meet the warrior's imploring gaze, Deimos tried his best to shrug; the screaming abrasions protesting in anguish from the movement. However much he tried, the young elf was unable to stop the wince on his face. "It's not as bad as it looks."

Placing a gentle hand on the top of the boy's shoulder to prevent movement, Warren narrowed his eyes at the gashes on his back. Upon closer inspection, the man took in the even and flush lacerations; a type of injury he was well experienced with seeing. The lack of ripped skin on the ends of the wounds negated the warrior's suspicion of bandits; the injuries were too clean cut. Shaking his head in confusion, the older man moved to the side of the elf; sparing a glance at the boy. Head down in embarrassment and shame, Deimos clenched his eyes shut as a sweeping pain rolled over his body. "Deimos, what happened? These wounds; they were made by a sword. But how can they be so level? I doubt the Defias are that skilled."

The scarlet blush on his cheeks deepening, the paladin bit his lip at the ignorant question. His back shrieked at him in pain; begging to be healed. However, the young elf knew he wasn't able to. Lifting his head up to respond to Warren, the Deimos widened his eyes in shock and horror at the second face looking back at him through the mirror. His unnatural green eyes meeting similar ones, Deimos felt the blood drain from his face as he glanced at Brightwing. The older elf slowly entered the bathroom, silently pushing Warren to the side while he inspected the hemorrhaging wounds. The younger elf was astounded and surprised to see grief pass over the ranger-general's face while he examined the slashes.

"These are lashings. It was a punishment."

Whipping his head to look at the older elf beside him, Warren regarded him with a confused look. "Lashings? From who?"

The paladin shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, his eyes refusing to meet the older men's. Sighing heavily, Brightwing ran a tired hand down his face as he hesitantly lifted his hand to probe the deep wounds; the body beneath him tensing at the touch. "What happened, Deimos?"

The younger elf flinched away from the contact, several beats passed without an answer. Gripping the basin tighter beneath his hands, Deimos felt ashamed under Brightwing's gaze. "I-I deserved this. It was my fault."

Clenching his jaw in anger at the small voice that replied, Brightwing felt his boil blood as he looked at the angry wounds. The older elf knew he wasn't directing his fury at the paladin but instead the sole elf responsible for delivering the cruel punishment. Glancing to the side, the ranger-general took in Warren's slightly confused face; his eyes darting from the bloodied backside to Brightwing. Moving to the side of Deimos with purpose, the older elf forced his voice to soften when addressing the boy. "Deimos, there is nothing on Azeroth you could have done that would deserve this kind of discipline. What made your father so angry?"

Brows rising in shock while his eyes widened in horror at the realization, Warren abruptly turned to the young elf around to face him. "Father? Tharsis did this?"

Quickly sending a silent scowl at the human next to him, Brightwing examined Deimos' blank and expressionless face. His gaze was locked onto the floor; refusing to meet either of the older men's. His green eyes, however, were a window into his tormented being. Swirling with anguish and panic, the young elf tried his best to conceal the emotions. "I started it. I shouldn't have-"

"What? Voiced your opinion? Stood up for yourself? What was it this time, Deimos?"

Lifting embarrassed eyes to lock with Brightwing's, the young elf was taken back by the concern and distress that clouded Brightwing's features. Standing next to the older elf was Warren, his face completely enveloped is disbelief. Unable to holding the hard gaze with the taller elf, Deimos turned his head away from the two. "Just please leave me alone. I can heal after I've rested."

Sighing at boy's words, Brightwing shook his head; his gaze not leaving the young elf's face. "No, Deimos. We can't leave those wounds open. You'll risk infection. Warren, can you call for a priest?"

Tearing his gaze away from the younger elf, Warren opened his mouth to reply to the question; his shocked face ebbing away at a troubled expression. While he knew physical punishment wasn't unheard of, the warrior still couldn't grasp the concept of dealing such destruction to your own kin.

A brisk and pained voiced cut off the older man. "No, I don't want a priest." Pausing, Deimos turned his fierce green eyes on Brightwing; anger overcoming his face trying in vain to conceal the turmoil in him. His voice came out harsh and firm, trying to hide the quivers that racked his torn body. "I told you; I'll do it myself. It was my fault; I can clean up my own messes."

His face turning to sorrow, the older elf sympathetically eyed the paladin's bloodied face. His attempted strong front was weak; the ranger-general easily seeing through the cracks that marred his defense. Narrowing his eyes on the boy, Brightwing gave a disbelieving shake of his head. "Deimos, you did nothing to deserve this treatment. The Light cursed you with a poor parent; which is not your fault. I don't know how to make you understand this."

Biting his lower lip in thought, the words from the ranger-general only seemed to make the young elf angry. Opening his mouth reiterate his responsibility for his own body, Deimos felt his mind become lightheaded. His sight turned fuzzy, the sides of his vision tunneling black. The pain enveloping his body seemed to ease as consciousness threatened to abandon him; his mind gratefully accepting the reprise.

Eyes widening as he watched the younger elf sway on his feet, Warren easily caught him as he collapsed downward. Careful to support the limp body under his arms so as to not irritate the wounds further, the man spared a worried glance with Brightwing; whose face was painted with concerned. Not sure if he should lay Deimos on the tiled flooring in the bathroom on his chest or back, the warrior sent a questioning gaze at the older elf while he stood in a half crouch while supporting the paladin. "What should we do? Should I go get the priests now?"

Bending down to inspect the younger elf's face, Brightwing was rewarded with seeing the closed lids flutter open. Pained and confused eyes looked up at him, his imploring gaze answering Warren's lingering question. Sighing at the boy's silent plea, the older elf gave a small shake of his head. "No. Let's clean the wounds and he can heal it in an hour or so."

Ignoring the skeptical look from the man, Brightwing kept his gaze locked with Deimos while he helped the boy to his feet. Eyeing the shorter elf sway on his two feet, the ranger-general was sure to say close to him in case he tumbled forward again. "Warren, do you have any kind of alcohol we could use?"

Nodding, the man allowed his gaze to linger on the boy's pained face; still uncomfortable with not hailing a priest. "I'll grab some whiskey. His room's at the end of the hall. We can clean him up there."

Watching the warrior leave the bathroom, Brightwing gestured to the silent elf to exit the small space. Being mindful to watch for any evidence of the paladin losing his balance or passing out, the older elf remained close to him. Silently and slowly making their way through the hall, Brightwing walked slightly behind Deimos; his eyes roaming the ravished back. Tharsis had taken the punishment too far.

Watching Deimos gently push his bedroom door open, the older elf vaguely heard Warren's footsteps resounding through the house with a swift pace. While Brightwing was somewhat familiar with Tharsis' brutal methods, it was obvious that the human was not. His shocked and stunned face alluded to as much; his ignorant behavior only hindering the already dire situation.

Motioning to the rounded Sin'dorei accented bed, Brightwing turned to the young elf. His face was contorted in pain; the movement irritating his already burning wounds. The gash on his forehead had seemed to have stopped oozing blood, his hair matted into the lesion. "Inard'a elamdieash'nuanas." (Lay on your stomach).

Nodding as he pulled off his boots, Deimos carefully lowered himself to the bed; gladly accepting the older elf's gentle aid. Turning his head on the pillow, the young elf felt his body relax significantly in the plush bed; the Netherweave comforter soothing his aching skin. The multitude of pillows welcomed his tired head; threatening to lull him to sleep. Gentle probing around the lashes on his back halted any notions of sleep; his pain receptors sending alarmed messages at the fingers touching him.

"Here," Warren said, placing a bottle of alcohol beside the bed, along with an armful of towels and bandages. "We should clean and bandage the wounds."

Silently nodding at the man, Brightwing sat on the edge of the rounded bed as he tilted the container of alcohol onto a towel. Placing a gentle hand on the younger elf's arm, the ranger-general addressed him. "Deimos, this is probably not going to be the most comfortable. Try to lie still."

"Just do it."

A small sigh escaping through his lips at the small muffled voice, Brightwing hesitantly brought the doused piece of cloth to one of the lashes. The dabbing motion not faltering when the young elf hissed in pain, the older elf noticed Deimos' back tense as the alcohol began to sanitize the area. Eyeing the tightened muscles, Brightwing tried to be as tenderly as he could as he poured more alcohol on the wounds. Cautiously lifting his hands away as the paladin shifted uncomfortably at the burning liquid, Brightwing shared a wary look with Warren. "You doing ok?"

"Yeah, just finish."

His hands resuming their cleaning movements over the harsh wounds, the ranger-general heaved a sigh. It wasn't the first time he was in the position; cleaning Deimos' injuries. More times than not, the older Ares'mar would push his son beyond his limits on the training field, resulting in the younger elf donning cuts and gashes. Grimacing as he distractedly wiped the blood away from the torn flesh, Brightwing hoped he wouldn't have to repeat the actions. Placing him in Stormwind was not only a logical move; the younger elf already having positive rapport with the humans, but also a protective one. While Tharsis didn't needlessly and unprovoked beat his son, the father would take punishments or training to a severe line. He claimed he was conditioning Deimos to be a strong and fierce soldier; his brutal and harsh methods would only strengthen the boy. Shaking his head slightly, Brightwing had often voiced his own disliking for the elf's logic. Deimos was still considered intensely young by their standards; at an age the humans would deem to be in the adolescent or teenage years. Despite his tender age, however, the boy was more than apt and deadly on the battlefield; Tharsis had trained him as much. Though he was proficient and fierce with a blade, the young elf lacked much when it came to development and personal life. He had grown up with hardly any friends in Silvermoon; Tharsis quickly squandering any notion of creating friendships with others. Further, it was difficult for Deimos to forge such companionships; elves his age weren't training with such rigor. The soldiers in the battalion he grew up with were all adult or his father's age; none of them being able to relate to an elf so young nor wanting to.

Silence enveloped the room for a minute or two, the older elf continuing the cleaning. Deimos, though still flinching several times during the process, had relaxed his posture. Warren stood on the side, arms crossed over his chest, as he mutedly watched the ranger-general wipe the alcohol over the wounds. A small voice, however, pulled the two older men out of their dazed reveries.

"He's making me go back to Silvermoon."

His hand pausing mid dab, Brightwing eyed the back of Deimos' head; unable to see his face. The quiet and defeated voice was chillingly calm, his tone not alluding to the distress that he felt in his heart. Sending a questioning glance at Warren, the older elf locked gazes with an equally confused yet angry look. Brows together at the comment, Brightwing continued the cleaning. "Deimos, he can't make you go back. I stationed you here and my orders over rule his."

Several beats of silence passed, the young elf's deep breathing echoing in the deathly still room. "He's going to go to the Magisters telling them I'm being rebellious. Under the Truancy Decree, I have to listen to him; I'm apparently not old enough to make my own decisions."

Brows brought together at the bitter sound in the young elf's voice, Brightwing gave a small shake of his head. Trying to force a generous amount of valor into his voice, the older elf felt doubt at his encouraging words to the paladin. "Those are ancient laws. I'm not sure that the Magisters would even enforce them."

Propping himself up on his elbows, the young elf turned disbelieving and angered eyes at the ranger-general. "These are the Magisters we're talking about, Brightwing. Of course they'll enforce them! They hear the word 'rebel' and immediately send someone to deal with it." Pausing to shake his head, Deimos couldn't hide the defeated and crushed look on his face. "I'd rather leave with my own wits instead of being mind controlled. I'm just going to go, move back to Silvermoon, and resume my old lifestyle."

Sighing at the sarcastic and sour voice, the older elf turned his gaze to Warren; who narrowed his eyes at the paladin in thought. The human was, no doubt, unfamiliar with the oppressive government the Sin'dorei lived under. He wouldn't be able to understand the dire situation Tharsis had placed his son in. To be called out a rebel or radical in a public area, least of all to the Magisters, could prove to be fatal. Typically, the panel of magi would promptly have the insurgent mind controlled; swiftly quelling the revolutionary thoughts the individual once possessed. It was painful, humiliating, and degrading; but nevertheless done.

"Is this true, Brightwing?" Warren asked, turning questioning and incredulous eyes at the older elf. "Can your government just seize Deimos?"

Running a tired hand over his face, the ranger-general glanced at the younger elf's defeated and heated face looking back at him; feeling bad about the words he was about to say. "Unfortunately, yes. He's considered a minor by our laws. Even if he could somehow get the Magisters to allow him to plead his case, he's not even half the age of what's considered an adult. By all rights, Tharsis does have authority in deciding Deimos' decisions."

Shaking his head in confusion and disbelief, the warrior darted his eyes between the paladin and Brightwing. "So, he's old enough to fight in a war but not decide where he lives for Light's sake?"

Sighing, the older elf knew the man would have difficulty grasping their foreign customs; their peculiar aging unfamiliar to the warrior. "Technically, yes. Majority of parents, however, don't enlist their child in the military at such a young age. Deimos is kind of a rare breed in this case."

Grunting in aggravation, the young elf dropped back down on the plush bed in anger; the conversation around him only fueling his heated thoughts. He felt a mass multitude of emotions filling his being; anger at his father for forcing him, hope for possibly finding a loophole, and sadness for knowing he'd have to leave Stormwind. The mixed emotions seemed to leave Deimos in a daze; the day's events feeling surreal to him. "I'm going to the meeting tonight. He's going to inform the king and Lor'themar so they can choose a different ambassador."

Nodding at the paladin's deflated voice, Brightwing gave a small sigh. He wasn't sure what sadistic and backward logic the older Ares'mar had in mind, but Brightwing felt his blood boil at the thought. For once, Deimos was happy and content with his life; he had friends and was excelling in his class as a paladin. To pull the young elf from the human city was cruel and harsh; an action that seemed to fit Tharsis perfectly. Gritting his teeth in anger, the ranger-general intended to share words with the young elf's father.

Gripping the quill in his closed hand harder, the king darted his eyes between the two figures standing before him. The meeting with the officers had commenced slightly early; Tharsis claiming he had information for Wrynn. The sovereign was slightly perplexed and surprised to see the younger Ares'mar accompany his father into the meeting hall; his gaze kept dutifully and respectfully down from the curious glances. The king was even more surprised to see Deimos promptly ignore Warren's and Brightwing's presences; his eyes not even sending silent greetings to the two. Instead, he continued to reside compliantly next to his father's side; Tharsis occasionally sending little glances at his son as if to check he was still there. The blank and empty look in the boy's eyes was the most disturbing to the king. Used to seeing liveliness and spirit in the young elf, his face was void of any.

"I'm sorry, Commander Ares'mar, I'm a bit confused," Wrynn paused, shaking his head slightly while he gazed at the two elves in front of him. Tharsis stood in the middle of the floor, facing the panel, with Deimos positioned silently at his side; his head down and eyes refusing to meet the inquisitive gazes. "Why is Deimos returning to Silvermoon?"

Sighing impatiently at the man, Tharsis replied with in deathly calm voice. "My son is far too young to be an ambassador between races. I believe he suited his purpose initially, but now that our races have more affinity, we can assign you a better fitting diplomat. Deimos has no political training. And, as his father, it's my responsibility to ensure he receives the best living situation. He is but an adolescent in our culture. I believe that the best way for him to mature into a well-rounded adult elf is to be brought up amongst elves."

Shaking his head slightly at the blatant lie the older elf fed to the room, Warren sighed in dismay. His eyes falling on Deimos' still form, he watched with interest as the young elf set his jaw in anger; obviously disagreeing with his father's speech. "And by best living situation, you mean living under your dictatorial eye?"

Heads whipping towards Warren in shocked surprise at the his outspoken comment, the warrior watched with angered eyes as Tharsis shifted furiously from one foot to the other; careful to keep his outward demeanor calm and collective. "As you're not a parent, Commander Steele, I don't expect you to understand."

Sighing, the king tapped the quill nestled between his fingers against the oak table; his eyes landing on the silent young elf. "And what about Deimos? Perhaps he should have a say in this."

Crossing his arms over his chest defiantly, Tharsis gave an impatient stare at the king in hopes to subdue the obnoxious questions. Quickly glancing at his silent son, the older elf had to force the threatening smile to desist. The paladin had easily taken a submissive manner; the attitude adjustment from earlier in the day seemed to have worked. "Deimos isn't old enough to know what is truly good for him. By law, he is vastly underage; his well-being is in my hands to decide."

Swallowing hard, the king glanced down at the pile of parchment resting in front of him. It was no secret that the human leader wished for a better-trained diplomat from the Sin'dorei; Deimos lacking any political knowledge. While trying to give his input on behalf of his race, the young elf had become a form of communication between the races. With the increase in treaties and agreements being decided upon, a more seasoned ambassador was the rational choice. However, Wrynn had assumed the young elf would continue residing in the human city.

"And what of his battalion? He can't live in Silvermoon and still be a soldier in my company." Warren leaned forward, his elbows on the table, while he bore his hard gaze into the older Ares'mar.

Smirking at the man, Tharsis lifted a brow. "Obviously, Commander Steele. Deimos will be leaving your battalion and joining his previous one stationed in Silvermoon."

Watching with displeasure as Warren and Tharsis exchanged heated glares with each other, neither one willing to break the silent battle, Wrynn cleared his throat in hopes of drawing attention to himself. Glancing up to meet Lor'themar's even and level gaze, the sovereign gave the Sin'dorei leader a tight grin. "With Ares'mar's unexpected departure, we'll need a new ambassador assigned."

Hastily stealing a curious glance at the two elves standing in the front of the room, Lor'themar gave a quick nod. While the leader was curious as to the reasoning behind Tharsis' behavior and decision, the leader had enough knowledge of the rough relationship between the father and son to know it was anything but the reason's the older elf told them. "Of course, King Varian. I'll consign an advisor when I return to Silvermoon in several days."

Sitting back in his chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest, Brightwing refused to break his intense and unwavering gaze from Tharsis' face. The older elf was sinister and cunning; feeding lies to the room for his true intents. Pursing his lips, the ranger-general wasn't sure himself what Tharsis' true motives were, but he intended on finding out.

"Tharsis!"

Sighing impatiently as his ears picked up heavy and swiftly approaching footsteps echoing off the stoned walls, the older Ares'mar paused in his step. Sparing a quick glance at Deimos walking beside him, who also stopped at the hailing voice, Tharsis was rewarded with seeing a grisly expression quickly cross his son's features. Lifting an amused brow up at the young elf's face, Tharsis gave a dramatic sigh as he turned around to address the new presence. "Yes, Brightwing. How can I help you?"

Glaring into the older Ares'mar's calm yet arrogant face, Brightwing had to use all of his self-reserve to not respond with a swift punch to the face. Clenching his teeth in frustration, the ranger-general tore his gaze from Tharsis to quickly glance at Deimos, who stood dutifully at his father's side. "Can we talk alone?"

Eyeing Deimos' fidgeting figure, Tharsis gave a small nod of his head. The young elf picked up on the silent request as he emitted a small sigh. "I think I'll turn in for the night." Pausing while he set his jaw in anger, the paladin sent a hardened look at Tharsis' inquisitive gaze. "I guess I better start packing too."

Pursing his lips in anger at the bitterness in the boy's tone, Tharsis watched with a disapproving stare as Deimos turned on his heels to leave; his angered retreating form giving evidence to the pent up frustration he was feeling. His gaze turning from his son's back to Brightwing's clouded face, Tharsis raised an uninterested brow. "Yes?"

Clenching his teeth, the ranger-general fought to withhold the fury he felt for the commander. Glancing at several human's passing by with curious peeks, Brightwing addressed the other elf in Thalassian. "What the hell is wrong with you, Tharsis?"

Smirking arrogantly at the rough question, the older Ares'mar crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. "Based on your tone, I can only assume Deimos went running to you today."

Shaking his head in disgust at the opposite elf, Brightwing lifted surprised brows. "Oh, you mean when I helped him heal the sword wounds on his back. I don't know what happened but, Light, that was too far."

Rolling his eyes at the tone from the other elf, Tharsis offered him an amused grin. "As much as you like to forget this, he's my son; I will discipline him as I see fit. And frankly, I don't appreciate you questioning how I raise him; you've overstepped your boundaries in this area and always have." Pausing to take an aggressive step towards the glaring ranger-general, Tharsis narrowed his frustrated eyes at him. "You've meddled in my personal affairs for too long, Brightwing; trying to protect and shelter the boy. But I'm telling you now; back off."

Clenching his teeth in anger at the commander, Brightwing felt his hands clench into fists at his side. His own eyes narrowing at the angered face, he felt a small smirk go across his face. "Don't forget who you're talking to, Ares'mar. I'm still your superior, so you best watch your tone."

Not backing down, Tharsis allowed a sinister and cunning smile to decorate his features. "Yes, I know." Pausing while the smile deepened on his face, the commander cocked his head to the side with feigned confusion. "And I wonder how the Magisters would react to hearing that the ranger-general was corrupting an elfling with rebellious ideas. I doubt it would go over very well. It would probably end the same way if they had to come retrieve Deimos."

Snarling at the threat, Brightwing felt his blood boil at the elf. "You would allow the Magisters to come get your son? That alone should be enough evidence that you're not fit to be a father."

The cocky and haughty smile never falter, Tharsis gave a small chuckle at the ranger-general. "Deimos is going willingly; I won't even have to approach the Magisters." Pausing as he eyed the heated look on the other elf's face, the commander gave a smile. "Though I can't imagine how surprised the Magisters would be to hear such radical talk about them from you."

Shaking his head in disbelief at the commander, Brightwing knew he had to walk away before he committed an act he would later regret. Tightening his lips in anger, the ranger-general eyed the amused and boastful face in front of him with disdain. "Screw you, Tharsis. When the day comes that you finally snap to your senses and realize what you've done, I pray that I'm there to see you crash and burn."

Smirking at the words, Tharsis lifted a delicate brow. "As heart touching as this little conversation has been, I have more pressing matters to attend to. Stay away from my son."

Using all his restraint to not throw a punch, Brightwing watched Tharsis stiffly turn around and move down the passage. The conversation had played out similar to what he was expecting; the commander immediately assuming a defensive position. The threats and intimidations, however, were unanticipated. Stooping to such a low level, even for Tharsis, infuriated the ranger-general tremendously; he knew he was powerless to stop such threats. If the magisters heard, whether there was truth behind it or not, that Brightwing was corrupting an elfling with revolutionary thoughts, the results would be dire. Though he held some power of authority amongst his people, Brightwing would be ineffective against the council of magi. Tharsis had coerced and cornered the ranger-general just as he did Deimos.