Thank you very much to everyone who's been following the story and has shared their kinds words with me. I love hearing back from readers. I'm sorry about the belated updates; I'm still waiting on life to settle down a bit. This was probably one of my favorite chapters to write; it's also one of the longest.

DISCLAIMER: I want to thank Matt711 for allowing me to borrow his character, 'Phobos', from his upcoming story (which I highly recommend everyone keep an eye out for). We've been collaborating working together for several months now, and have really come up with some great ideas.

Thanks so much for reading!

Fingering the silver clasp on his thick wool cloak, Deimos gave a small sigh. While the night in Stormwind didn't call for such protection from the weather, the young elf knew Silvermoon's frigid temperatures would. The lingering fall was fast approaching winter; the golden and red leaves on the trees beginning to blanket the floor in the human city. Located on the most northern tip of the continent, Silvermoon was vastly colder than Stormwind; a climate the young elf had grown accustomed to. Fidgeting uncomfortably from one foot to the other due to the heat the insolating cloak offered, Deimos only wished he waited to adorn the piece of clothing. While it was wise and sensible for him to wear it prior to arriving in the Sin'dorei capital, the young elf felt his temperature rising uncomfortably.

Standing in the mage tower with a handful of other blood elves, also donning similar clothing in preparation for their return to Silvermoon, Deimos spared a quick glance around him. Residing close to his son, Tharsis exchanged words of forced pleasantries with a human diplomat. Smirking while he eyed his father's impatient stance, the paladin knew the older elf was itching to end the conversation; though manners and etiquette dictated his actions otherwise. Still harboring ill-content towards the older Ares'mar, Deimos tore his gaze away from him; the less time he'd have to spend with him, the better.

Overhearing Lor'themar begin to exchange gratitude and departing good byes with the king, the young elf heaved a frustrated sigh. The remainder of the week had come and gone; the meetings and discussions between the Sin'dorei and Alliance concluding with splendor. Officially aligned with the faction, many more negotiations and treaties had to be decided upon; trade and passage agreements being one of them. Deciding to hold the next set of conferences in Silvermoon City, King Varian and Lor'themar agreed to schedule it in several months time. An ambassador would be assigned from the Sin'dorei, who would arrive within a week to Stormwind in Deimos' place.

The past days for the young elf had passed faster than he would have liked, his mind trying in vain to seek holes in his father's scheme. Finding none, Deimos knew it was useless; Tharsis wanted him back in Silvermoon for one reason or another, and the older elf would get what he wanted. He rarely ran into Brightwing; the ranger-general strangely keeping a wide birth from the younger elf. The paladin had packed the few belongings he possessed, consisting of several pairs of clothes and his sword.

Giving a frustrated sigh at the pulsing warmth that consumed his body, Deimos made up his mind. Either they had to leave for Silvermoon soon, or the cloak was going. Hearing Brightwing discuss a military tactic that he believed would be useful in the Blasted Lands with a human general, the paladin figured the latter was the most probable option. His fingers beginning to unfasten the silver clasp that held the thick cloak around his form, Deimos allowed an irritated breath leave his lips. Being required to leave the human city that he was so fond of was torment enough, but to be forced to overheat and boil while waiting was torture. As his fingers worked the fussy clasp to unhook it, a strong hand gripped his forearm, hindering his movements.

Sending a curious glance at the elf holding him, Deimos met his father's stern eyes. "Seiel'nuanas. Fiaelsu'nous ashthsu." (Leave it on. We'll be departing soon).

Sighing while he allowed one hand to drop limply to his side, the young elf fastened the silver clasp back together. Glaring at his father in contempt, he couldn't hide the malice in his voice. "Mema." (Fine)

Brows up in amusement at his son's sour attitude, the older elf gave an entertained smirk. Watching with interest as Deimos rebelliously broke eye contact with him, Tharsis figured that if the boy wanted to be bitter towards the situation, then so be it. However, the commander could only tolerate his defiant attitude for so long.

Turning his head as he heard two sets of footsteps make their way across the tiled floor, Deimos gave a tight grin. Moving towards him was Warren and Matheus; the rogue having a sad smile on his face while the commander kept his expression blank and impassive. Hesitantly glancing to the side as the two approached him, Deimos was relieved to find Tharsis continuing his discussion with a human officer. Somewhat grateful that he was given such a small amount of privacy from his father, Deimos smiled at the two humans. "Is this my going-away party?"

Returning the smile, Matheus stopped in front of the paladin with a large sigh. "I'm going to miss you, Kid. Promise that you'll come visit when you can?"

His gaze hardening as he glanced at the older Ares'mar residing next to him, Deimos rolled his eyes. "Yeah, when I'm allowed to, I will. But once the orbs are working, you should come visit Silvermoon."

Grinning at the thought of a new city with a new set of women, the rogue allowed his grin to deepen. "Definitely. I'll keep an eye on the construction of the orbs." Pausing to watch the young elf vaguely nod, his fair face sour with disdain at the thought of leaving, Matheus abruptly embraced the him in a hug. Being sure to keep his voice low, the rogue addressed the paladin in a hushed whisper. "If you ever want to runaway, I've got an empty couch and a pantry full of bourbon."

Breaking the embrace with a grateful grin at his friend's offer, Deimos gave a small nod of his head. "I'll keep that in mind; though I'm not sure I'd survive the night on your couch."

Chuckling at the jab to his untidy apartment, Matheus clasped the paladin on the shoulder. "You better write me, Kid. I want to hear when you finally get laid. And I want details; her height, where it was, any dirty talk, the size of her-"

A cough to the side caught their attention, Deimos and Matheus turning to see Tharsis' stern face glaring back. His fair cheeks reddening in embarrassment and humiliation, Deimos watched his father cross his arms over his chest and shift his weight from one foot the other. "I'm so proud to see the caliber of company you surround yourself with, Deimos."

Feeling his face burn a darker shade of red, the paladin glared at the older elf for a moment before turning towards the surprised and slightly offended rogue. "I'll be sure to write, Matheus."

Nodding, his eyes darting between the scrutinizing gaze from Tharsis and Deimos' face, the rogue scratched the nape of his neck nervously. A presence behind him drew his attention away from the examining eyes as he turned his head. Warren stood calmly beside the rogue, his blank expression focused on Deimos' face. The warrior's presence only seemed to cause the older Ares'mar to scowl deeper, his crossed arms tightening. Feeling the hovering elf over his shoulder, Deimos sent a glare at his father. "Can I at least have some space to say good bye?"

Lifting an uninterested brow at his son's tone, Tharsis sent a warning glance to Warren; who seemed to return the glare with equal hostility. The older elf glanced over his shoulder, watching a Sin'dorei mage prepare the portal back to Silvermoon. "Be quick. We'll be leaving soon."

His gaze lingering on Tharsis as moved towards the group of blood elves, Warren gave a small grin to the younger elf; whose irritation and annoyance seeped from his body. "I know this is a rubbish situation, Deimos, but try not to make it any harder on yourself. Your father may still come around."

Crossing his arms over his chest, the paladin rolled his eyes. "You obviously don't know him."

Sighing at the stubborn elf, the warrior gave a small nod. "Then, like I said, try not to make it worse for you. I'm sure you'll be allowed to visit eventually."

Swallowing hard, Deimos shook his head in anger with a snort. "Yeah, in eighty years when I'm an adult." Pausing to look at the man's solemn face, the young elf allowed a small sigh to go past his lips. "Sorry. You're right; maybe a miracle will happen and he'll let me off my leash."

Chuckling at the sarcastic reply, Warren grinned. "That's the spirit." Leaning forward to give a quick hug to the boy, the warrior exchanged an angry glare with Tharsis watching from a distance. "Take care of yourself."

Pulling from the embrace, Deimos nodded. "I always do."

"Deimos! It's time to go."

Turning around to look at Tharsis, who was standing next to the swirling mist of air the mage conjured, Deimos swallowed hard. The anger and contempt he felt resonating through his body was threatening to explode; furious words and actions begging to be released. Moving his gaze from his waiting father to Brightwing, the young elf was unsure what to make of the ranger-general. He seemed just as much in unease standing next to Tharsis as Deimos did; his aggravated eyes giving away his blank and somber expression.

Sighing, Deimos reluctantly grabbed the small bag resting next to him as he approached the waiting blood elves. Readjusting the long sword resting on his back, the paladin grudgingly made his way to join his race by the opened portal. Reaching his father's side, the young elf felt his gaze bore into him as he eyed the portal with disdain; its purpose the reason for his anger.

"Deimos! Wait!"

Whipping his head around at the sound of his name, Deimos scanned the room for the voice. Brows together in confusion at the lack of presence, the young elf nearly lost his balance backwards as a small force propelled itself on his legs. Taking an uneasy step backwards, the paladin let out a surprised groan as he glanced down. Clinging to his lower appendages was a small gnome, her pink hair pulled back into a messy ponytail.

"Hi, Lena. You should really give me a heads up before doing that."

Sobbing into the leather pants, the small mage increased her grip around his legs. "Y-you can't depart, Deimos! We've developed a profound… and… and… remarkable affinity. I'll miss you too much!"

Hearing a chuckle next to him, Deimos turned questioning eyes to see Brightwing eyeing the girl with mirth. Still not comfortable and familiar with the gnome's peculiar behavior and emotional outbursts, the young elf gingerly patted her back in attempt to quell her sobs. "Lena, it's ok. I'll come back and visit. I promise."

Shaking her head furiously, the mage squeezed his legs harder; her cries increasing in amplitude. "That's a falsehood. We'll never see each other again." Pausing to sniff several times, the girl continued her cries. "And due to my sincere lack of dexterous portalling, the chances of me going to Silvermoon are less than 5.5 percent."

Lifting a brow in interest at the gnome, Deimos continued to pat her back; completely aware of the interested and amused stares from his fellow Sin'dorei. "Did you just figure out that percentage right now?"

Reluctantly unwrapping her small arms from his legs, Lena turned her tear-stained face up to meet Deimos'. "I vow to bestow supplementary time to better verse myself with the art of portals in hopes of someday itinerating to your capital."

Licking his lips as he slowly tried to digest the fast onslaught of words from the small girl, Deimos gave a small nod. He wasn't sure if the gnome was aware that he rarely understood her. "I'll miss you too, Lena."

An oversized hand on the gnome small shoulder gently lulled her backwards, Lena turning inquisitive eyes to meet Warren's calm and patient ones. Hesitantly understanding his silent gesture, the small mage took several steps back, giving the blood elf his personal space. Biting her lip while her water filled eyes gazed at him, Lena felt more tears stream down her cheeks.

Sighing, the small gnome's emotional explosion had only fueled the raging fire inside of Deimos. Though he found her presence rather strange and odd, usually not being able to follow her line of thinking or conversation, the young elf enjoyed her optimistic and cheerful outlook on life. She accepted everyone for who they were; not what they've done. Easily forgiving even the most pronounced criminals, Lena contrasted sharply with Deimos' pessimistic and cynical attitude. But for some unholy reason, the small girl had taken a particular liking in the Sin'dorei.

Turning around to face the portal, Deimos found it easier to block out the saddened and depressing feelings of leaving the human city by replacing them with angered and incensed emotions. He refused to accept that he was returning to the capital on his own accord; the threats and intimidations from his father still looming over his head. Turning his gaze on his father's impatient face, Deimos refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing him submissively accept his fate.

Sending several last words of gratitude to the waiting king and officers, Lor'themar entered the portal shortly after several officers walked through first. Glancing at the group of waiting humans, Brightwing gave a small tilt of his head and smile at Warren; who warmly returned the gesture before the ranger-general walked through the mist.

Feeling a gaze boring down on him, Deimos turned questioning eyes up at this father; who crossed his arms over his chest in a scolding manner. Lifting perplexed brows at the older elf, the paladin gestured at the opened portal. "Are you going to walk through or not?"

Smirking at his son, Tharsis gave him an amused look while shaking his head. Placing a strong hand on the shorter elf's shoulder, he gave a firm push towards the portal; Deimos immediately attempting to shrug the grip off. "And risk you not going through? I don't think so; nice try, Deimos. Now go."

Pursing his lips in anger, the paladin brushed the hand off his body with malice, turning a heated glare at his father. Gripping the bag in his fist, the young elf narrowed his eyes at Tharsis. "If you're goal is make me hate you, then congratulations. You got it."

Chuckling at the resentment on his son's face, the older elf pushed him closer to the swirling mist. "Such drama and overreacting. And you wonder why I believe you're too immature to decide where you live?" Taking a step closer to the shorter elf, Tharsis allowed his amused gaze to harden as he glared down at him. "I will only tolerate these juvenile outbursts for so long, Deimos. Now go through the portal before I physically force you through it."

Tearing his enraged gaze away from his father, Deimos set his jaw as he walked through the enchanted air; knowing full well that while he would definitely return to Stormwind as an adult, the humans that he befriended would be long dead. The thought made him unable to turn around and spare one last glance at them; it would make leaving all the harder.

His green eyes lingering where his son used to stand, Tharsis felt a satisfied grin cross his face. Turning around to face the still waiting humans, the older elf allowed his amused gaze to fall on Warren's face. Immediately, the man assumed an irritated stance, his eyes flashing with anger. Standing beside the warrior was the small mage, rivers of tears traveling down her face. "I want to thank you, Warren Steele, for corrupting my son's mind." Pausing to allow a sadistic smile to cross his face at the darkened look that passed over the human's features, Tharsis continued with eagerness in his voice. "Now I get to undo the damage you've done by enforcing more… intense conditioning."

Growling in anger, Warren was unable to respond to the cruel comment in time before Tharsis gave a laugh as he walked through the shimmering portal. Clenching his hands into fists at his sides, the man gritted his teeth in rage. A small sob pulled his attention downward, Lena's sobbing face looking up at him. "What-what does that mean?"

Sighing at the overtly emotional gnome, Warren distractedly patted her on the head in a poor attempt to subdue her cries. His attention, however, was drawn to the slowly disappearing portal. He was unsure what would transpire in the Sin'dorei capital; whether Deimos would somehow convince his father to give him some leeway or not. He only hoped that Brightwing would somehow talk sense into the older Ares'mar, allowing Deimos time to visit the human city. Sending a silent prayer to the Light, the man hoped the relationship between Deimos and Tharsis wouldn't strain even worse; for Deimos' sake.

Walking through the portal, Tharsis was immediately greeted with the aroma of burning incense. The room materializing around him, the elf glanced to the sides of him as he took in the familiar area. Standing in the middle of the portalling and mage room located in Sunfury Spire, the older elf took in the circular room covered with shelves; crammed books hanging half out. A lavish chandelier hung in the middle of the ceiling, the arcane powered light illuminated the black and maroon accented walls.

Sighing in relief to be back in his familiar city, Tharsis whipped his head around the area. The Sin'dorei officers were filing out of the portalling chambers, their spirits slightly higher at the prospect of being home. Lor'themar and Brightwing were nowhere in sight, the commander assumed they retired to their quarters located in the palace. His green eyes silently searching the soldiers bustling out of the room, Tharsis gave a sigh of frustration at not spotting his son amongst them.

Gritting his teeth, Tharsis presumed the boy, in his streak of rebellious manners, had taken it upon himself to find his own way home, not waiting for the older Ares'mar. It wasn't as if Deimos was inapt at navigating his own way through Silvermoon; he had lived within the city walls for the entirety of his life. However, due to the current state he was in, Tharsis questioned his motives and any possible brash attempts to flee. Mentally preparing a lecture for the boy on respect and obedience, Tharsis began his way towards the exit in the dim room. His gaze landing on a figure lingering in the outlet, the older elf lifted a surprised brow.

Arms crossed, Deimos leaned against the doorway, his stare concentrated on the tiled floor in front of him. His face unreadable and emotionless, the swirling green eyes had evidence of the rage still filling his body; his jaw clenched tightly shut. Feeling a gaze boring into him, the young elf turned his head to meet his father's surprised and amused face. Sighing angrily, the paladin uncrossed his arms and straightened to his full height. "Finally. Can we go now?"

Smirking as he approached Deimos, Tharsis offered the frustrated and sarcastic elf a small nod; eyeing the impatient stance he assumed. "For being so reluctant to come back to the city, you look quite eager to return home."

Rolling his eyes as the two began to make to their way out of the palace, Deimos fought with himself at replying with a smart retort. He knew he was pressing his father's patience as it was; his welled up frustration at the situation no longer able to remain quiet. Turning the corner to exit the Sunfury Spire, the young elf took in an audible breath of surprise at the sudden freezing night air that hit him in the face. Unconsciously pulling the woolen cloak around his shoulders tighter, the paladin had gotten quite comfortable with the cold yet tolerable temperatures Stormwind offered. The northern climate of Quel'Thalas was not as kind to the citizen of Silvermoon. Though the leaves of the trees remained connected to their hosts, their orange and red color never fading, and the planted flowers never drooped, the near winter temperature made Deimos' teeth clatter. The air around his face fogging with each breath, the young elf tried futilely to increase his pace in anticipation of reaching the house faster; hoping that his father would match the enhanced speed.

Giving a small laugh at Deimos' reaction to the frosty climate, Tharsis refused to equal the amplified walking speed; his strides remaining their usual calmness and paced rate. "You've gotten too used to the human city that you've forgotten your own."

Glancing up at the full moon that illuminated the deserted city, Deimos unsuccessfully tried to quell the angered emotions in him. The placement of the moon gave evidence to the late night; the only movement around the neighborhood being from arcane guards and stationed soldiers. The palace behind them, the two elves made their way towards their home that was located in the same neighborhood, the Court of the Sun.

Stopping in front of a large two story dwelling, Deimos felt a comforting feeling overcome his body while he waited for his father to unlock the front door. While he still longed to return to Stormwind, he couldn't conceal the natural soothing sensations being home offered. Having grown up in the house, the young elf felt sentimental feelings towards the dwellings; no matter how many bad memories also riddled the structure. Glancing up, the paladin eyed the last window on the right side of the house; his bedroom window. The scarlet red silk drapes shifted as the wind blew through them; the lack of lighting giving evidence to its vacant habitat. His gaze moving down to his father, Deimos met amused green eyes looking back at him. "Having second thoughts about wanting to return to that filthy human city?"

Scowling at his father's ability to easily read his features, Deimos shook his head furiously as he followed him into the dwelling. "I would gladly choose Stormwind over this."

Shutting the front door after the young elf entered the threshold, Tharsis locked the walnut door in annoyance and gave a waving hand gesture in the air. Immediately, the large house was illuminated in brilliant light, arcane energy acting as the source. A lush chandelier hung in the entry, its shimmering dust disappearing before it reached the shined, black marbled floor covered with a blood red carpet. Resting directly under the hanging light was a small, purple circular table accented in gold; a large arrangement of exotic flowers sparkling with an enchantment. Interestingly, Deimos couldn't remember the last time the vase of flora was changed. The elaborately carved wooden ceiling was elevated, making the entry of the house all the more grander and imposing. The generous foyer was in a rounded shape, a circular elevating ramp with a golden rail beginning on the right side of the lavishly decorated area. Located straight ahead under the ramp was an intrinsically carved archway; bountiful blue silks hanging in the doorway. To the left and right were similar archways; one slightly larger and more imposing than the other. Deimos knew that the dwelling was considered immaculate and posh; though his father's attitude would never allude that he lived in such a setting. While the older Ares'mar was wealthy and prosperous, he saw little benefit in flaunting such an attribute; a quality he passed on to Deimos as well.

About to make his way to the ramp to go to his room located on the second floor, a strong hand on his shoulder caused the younger elf to turn around. His rebellious and defiant attitude quickly dissipated as he met his father's dominant and strict gaze. "I will not tolerate this attitude of yours. Either knock it off, or I will knock it out of you."

His eyes flashing in anger, Deimos had to urge himself to not respond in a cocky and arrogant fashion he was tempted to do. Pursing his lips, the paladin gave a small and quick nod of his head, ripping his shoulder free of the harsh grasp. Gripping the bag in his hand tighter, the young elf quickly moved up the ramp; knowing full well that his father's gaze was boring into the back of him.

Sighing as he reached the second floor, Deimos glanced around the long open hallway. It was exactly as he had known it to be growing up. On the far left side of the hall was a large doorway, thick hanging silks of blue and purple concealing the room behind it. The only bedroom with an increase in privacy, other than the bathrooms, the master bedroom had intricate woodwork over the archway. Moving to the right from Tharsis' room were two identical doorways; the blue silk drapes showing the spare bedrooms similar furnishings. In between the two spare bedrooms was a small doorway; the wood work not nearly as complex as the others. The bulky hanging silks hanging in the bathroom entrance offered more privacy than the other rooms. Swallowing as his eyes landed on the doorway at the far right side of the hall, Deimos gave a relieved sigh. Moving towards his room, the young elf pushed back the purple silks to reveal his chambers.

It was just as he left it; not a single article moved from its place. A smaller version of the elaborate chandelier from the foyer hung from the ceiling, the icy blue glow lighting up the large area. A well-groomed purple rug rested in the middle of the room, black and gold swirled marble making up the flooring. The walls were carved delicately from red woods, golden accents embellishing the woodwork. Blue silks hung from the corners of the room, the cloth blowing when the cold wind would hit it. Against the wall with the doorway was a rounded large bed, numerous pillows scattered at the head of the piece of furniture. Suspended in the air by arcane magic, cascading sheer silk enclosed the bed in a semi-circle. On the wall adjacent to the bed was a generously opened window, the red silks billowing in the wind. While the room had a chill to it, it wasn't anywhere near the true cold night; the open windows enchanted to hold the warmth of the house in. Facing the wall across from the bed was a beautifully crafted desk; the dark wood accented with lines of gold and red. A similar chair was pushed in, waiting to be used. On the wall opposite from the window was another doorway; the thick silks to the lavatory offering the same privacy the other bathroom did. Next to the bathroom was a significantly smaller doorway with only a thin draping of silk, the contents of the closet easily seen through the sheer fabric.

The room was kept neat and tidy, the bed's purple Netherweave comforter free of wrinkles. Swords of different shapes hung on a wall, one of the only indications the room wasn't vacant. Resting amongst the pillows on the bed was a small stuffed Pandaren, its fading color and worn fur showing the strong bond it had with an elfling. Sighing while he dropped the bag onto the ground indifferently, Deimos unstrapped the long sword from his back; tossing it to the bed without much thought. Unclasping the cloak around him, the young elf let it fall to the floor. Pushing back the thin silks from the closet, the paladin didn't have to think where his hands went to grab for the clothing; years of following the same routine etched the location of the clothes in his mind. His hands gripping a pair of loose night pants and a simple black shirt, Deimos moved mechanically from the closet to the bathroom.

Sparing a quick glance at himself in the large mirror hanging on the wall, Deimos gave a sigh. The bathroom followed the same decorations as the rest of the house; arcane sconces lit up the small space. A large bathtub rested against the wall, though Deimos preferred the enchanted stream of water that would fall from the ceiling upon command. His mind thinking back to Warren's house, Deimos felt his emotions were torn. The feelings of being home serenaded him, offering him soothing and calmness that the sentiment of the familiar setting often did when returning home from battle or a mission. Taking his boots off, Deimos also knew that he still longed to return to Stormwind; his friends and happiness lied there. There were no companionships formed in Silvermoon for the boy to look forward to; no friends to share stories over drinks in a tavern with. The only elf he remotely considered a friend was his older cousin, Phobos, who was usually preoccupied with military business. Pulling the shirt off over his head, the paladin quickly replaced it with the short-sleeved black one. His freedoms and independence was vastly restricted in Silvermoon; his father dominating his days with training and practices. Discarding the leather pants for the loose-fitting Netherweave ones, the paladin gave a deep sigh as he reminded himself who he sharing the house with. He would return to Stormwind in a heartbeat.

Scratching the nape of his neck as he exited the small bathroom, Deimos felt the cool wind from the silent night brush against his bare arms, bumps rising on his fair skin from the chill. Stopping dead in his tracks, the young elf whipped his head towards the doorway to his room; meeting blank green eyes staring back at him.

Rolling his eyes, Deimos crossed his arms over his chest. "I forgot, you don't knock."

Lifting an amused brow up at the comment, Tharsis entered his son's bedroom further. Eyeing the long sword dumped unceremoniously on the bed, the older elf scowled at the paladin. "The first thing you learned in training was how to take proper care of your weapon. This is unacceptable, Deimos. You know better."

A blush rushing up to his fair cheeks at the demeaning lecture, Deimos briskly walked forward, his hands plucking the long sword from the purple bed. Moving around with a sigh, the paladin placed it on holding pegs in the wall. Turning around with an impatient stance and crossing his arms, the younger elf raised his brows edgily at the older elf. "Satisfied?"

His scowl deepening at the manner displayed from the young elf, Tharsis cocked his head to the side with a disapproving yet perplexed look. "This brazen attitude stops now, Deimos. I will not put up with it." Pausing, the older elf watched with pleasure as Deimos sent his ashamed eyes downcast. Eying the obedient expression pass over his son's features, Tharsis placed an armful of folded fabric on the bed. "Here. I know you haven't been back since spring so you'll need to change out your bedding for thicker material; unless the savage human's taught you how to sleep in uncomfortable temperatures."

His green eyes examining the folded blanket on his bed skeptically, Deimos promptly ignored the jab at the race that he had befriended. Uncrossing his arms while he shifted from one foot to the other, the young elf sheepishly looked up at his waiting father. "Thank you."

Sighing, the older elf smirked darkly at the paladin, his eyes roaming the room. "There's nothing to thank. I'm not having you get sick and fall behind on training that I'm sure you've already suffered from living in Stormwind." Pausing, the older elf eyed the paladin's clothing, a satisfied look going across his face. "Get to sleep. Training picks up tomorrow; we can see what damage has been done. Be up at 0600.

Watching his father push back the draped silk in the doorway and exit the room, Deimos gave a defeated sigh. He knew the daily routine well enough; he grew up with it. Moving towards his welcoming bed, the young elf ripped the Netherweave comforter from its once neatly made position. Dropping the blanket to the ground, the elf made no attempt to complete the task in a tidy manner; having no intentions on picking the discarded blanket up. Beginning to unfold the heavy Frostweave coverlet, the expensive fabric causing his skin to erupt in pleasure, Deimos eyed the pillows that were pulled to the marbled floor. Resting amongst the various shaped and sized pillows was the small stuffed Pandaren, fallen on its side. Draping the blanket over the mattress messily, the paladin tossed the pillows back at the head of the bed; his hand hesitantly picking up the stuffed animal.

It wasn't as if he required the companionship and childish love the stuffed Pandaren once offered him as an elfling, but Deimos couldn't bring himself to discard the toy. Eyeing the small animal in his hands, the young elf felt a strange and peculiar attachment to the object, it's existence giving him joyful memories. Growing up, his father detested toys and playthings of any kind; forbidding Deimos from playing with such objects. Tharsis felt that if the elfling had energy, it could be better utilized on the practice fields instead of wasting time with worthless items. However, Deimos had one memory back when he was traveling with his father's battalion on a campaign, his tender age of barely six finding the whole notion of traveling fascinating. The camp had been raided by an unexpected company of Alliance soldiers at night, the sudden attack taking many of the Sin'dorei by surprise. Deimos' memory of the night was sparse and riddled with holes; though he clearly remembered the night elf that charged him, daggers drawn. Just beginning his warrior training several years prior, the young elf futilely attempted to thwart off the stronger attack. It ended badly. Waking up in the healer's tent, Tharsis' worried face looking down at him, it was one of the few times Deimos could remember concern and worry in his father's eyes for his well-being. The paladin recalled his father apologizing profusely, though at the time Deimos hadn't a clue what he was referring to; the young elf thought he had failed his father instead. It was during his recovery that Tharsis gave the Pandaren to the young elf. Since then, Deimos found comfort in the toy.

Crawling into the bed as he heard movement around the house, Deimos placed the stuffed animal on one of the pillows. Pulling the thick blanket up around his form, the paladin couldn't stop the relieved sigh that blew past his lips. The pillow-top mattress easily shaped around his figure; the feathery material immediately seducing him to sleep. The down pillows following suit, Deimos gave a small wave of his hand in the air; the chandelier and bathroom sconces ceased the arcane glow that once illuminated from them. The lights from the hall leaked on half of the black marbled floor, though the spilling light didn't hinder his ability to fall into a slumber. His ears picking up more sounds from the older Ares'mar moving around the house, Deimos allowed his tired body to give up, his eyes closing and body falling into a rapid sleep.

Sighing at the report in front of him, Tharsis ran a tired and impatient hand over his face. The thick pieces of parchment that made up the information indicated that the older elf would be forced to endure the boring account for a prolonged period. Having sent one of his novice rogues to run a scheduled inspection of the Dead Scar, the commander was stunned at the lengthy report the eager scout completed. For a monthly reconnaissance mission to produce such a vast description of the destructed path, the older elf knew he would not be assigning the rogue the mission again. It was painfully obvious the young scout was trying vainly to impress his commander.

Growling in frustration while he flipped the page to only read what he swore he read three pages prior, Tharsis leaned back in his chair. The study and library, located on the first floor to the right from the foyer, was where he spent majority of his time when at the abode. The elevated and tall ceiling made the area look more majestic, the shining red marble floor reflecting the numerous arcane candelabras decorating the space. A long table rested on top of a purple rug, its delicately carved woods complimenting the similar chairs. Covering all of the walls were bookshelves that reach the top of the tall ceiling; books and scrolls crammed into the spaces. White couches with orange and red pillows were placed around the room; the upholstery sparkling with cleanliness. Nestled in the corner was a desk; its elaborate and lavish wood work making it look all the more imposing. Large windows blew a cool morning breeze through the library; the pages of parchment resting on his desk fluttering with the wind.

Eyeing the small clock on his desk that read 0607, Tharsis gave a sigh as he sent his eyes to the ceiling; his ears straining to hear movement from above him. Waiting several beats, his respiration the only sound that met his ears, the commander gave a frustrated groan as he pushed the chair back; the wooden legs making a rubbing noise against the ground. His boots echoing off the marbled floor as he took long strides across the threshold, Tharsis shook his head slightly. Stormwind had affected Deimos is more negative way than he had hoped; damaging the rigorous and meticulous training the commander had taken great care in putting his son through. His defiant and bold attitude was frustrating and maddening; Tharsis demanding only obedience and submission from his son. He had given the boy leeway and patience yesterday; a privilege Deimos wouldn't be granted any longer.

Pushing the silks to the side, Tharsis entered the foyer, turning immediately to the right to ascend the elevating ramp. Reaching the second floor, the commander felt his face fall into a scowl at the lack of movement from the bedroom at the end of the hall. Clenching his teeth in frustration while he strode down the hallway, the older elf heaved a deep sigh. The lack of running water negated the possibility of the younger elf preparing himself for the day in his bathroom; the silence emitting from the region of the house disheartening.

Pushing back the silk that hung in the doorway, Tharsis felt his hands grip into fists as he turned his attention to the rounded purple bed. The dawning sun rising on the horizon began to sprinkle rays of sunshine into the room; the morning bugs singing their tunes to the citizens of Silvermoon. The day was still too early for the sounds of bustling people to be heard in the neighborhood; many most likely just waking from their slumbers. The sound of a deep respiration filled the space which frustrated Tharsis more. Glancing at the mound of thick fabric in the middle of the bed, the commander took an angered step forward. His eyes landed on Deimos' sleeping face resting on one of the pillows, completely lifeless to the world. The young elf didn't stir or shift to the new presence, giving evidence to the heavy slumber that enveloped his mind. Growling in anger at the lack of respect and esteem demonstrated by the paladin, Tharsis gave a strong jerk of his hand on his son's shoulder. The youth's fair face not alluding to being pulled from the sleep, the older elf increased the harshness of the shake.

Shifting slightly, Deimos gave a small moan in protest. "Screw off, Old School. It's still early."

The hand increasing its grip on the young elf's bicep, Tharsis felt his blood boil at the insulting words spoken in Common. He wasn't sure if he was angrier with the language used or the rude comment spoken back to him. "Excuse me? What did you say to me?"

The closed lids slowly fluttering open in confusion, Deimos' tired eyes met the furious green ones of his father. Disoriented as he glanced around himself, the young elf sighed as the memory of being forced to return to Silvermoon came crashing down on him. Scratching his messy hair, the paladin allowed his eyes to close again; his speech easily switching back to Thalassian. "I'm so tired. What time is it?"

His hardened and stern gaze only igniting into more fury at the lack of response from the elf, Tharsis squeezed his lips. "It's after 0600. Get out of bed. Now."

Moving towards the doorway, the older Ares'mar gave an impatient sigh. His lenience for the boy had long dwindled out, the prospect of hammering his obedience back into his mind sounded more appealing. About to pull the silk to the side to exit the room, Tharsis turned his head, expecting to see Deimos rising from the bed, only to find the boy back asleep.

Snarling in anger at the insolent elf, Tharsis reached the bed in two large steps, his body leaning over the paladin. One hand gripping his shoulder, the older elf allowed the other hand to grasp his short blonde hair into a fist and give a fierce thrust upwards. Immediately, the paladin's eyes snapped open; his face grimacing in pain as he was dragged from the warming and comforting bed. Imploring and pained eyes met his father's angry and rage filled ones. Half dragged and half walking, Deimos winced as his body was forced to his feet by the hand entangled in his hair and iron-clad grip on his shoulder pulling him across the room.

"When I said to be up at 0600, I meant it." Making his way towards the connected bathroom, Tharsis spared an annoyed look at his son's flinching face. Deimos tried futilely to ease the tension on his hair by gripping the taller elf's wrist with one hand while the other focused on keeping his balance.

The hand seizing his head tighter, the paladin was propelled forward; landing hard on his knees in the bathroom with a thud. Scratching where the vice grip twisted his hair, Deimos stood shakily to his feet, eyeing his father's deathly calm face; though his eyes gave away the true angered emotions. "Shower and meet me in the kitchen. You've got ten minutes."

Taking in his father's aggressive stance, Deimos obediently nodded his head, his eyes falling to the floor respectfully. He knew the look in the older elf's eyes; the tolerance for his rebellious streak had long run out. He was lucky to walk away with only a slight head ache.

Scrutinizing the submissive attitude and stance his son assumed, Tharsis gave a dark smirk; slowly approaching the younger elf with sick pleasure. Gripping Deimos' jaw between his thumb and index finger, the commander tilted his head up to inspect the blank and dutiful face, though his eyes still lingered with fatigue. Savoring the familiar and known manner from his son, Tharsis gave a sinister grin. "I'm glad to see it didn't take long for that rebellious attitude to die down. You only needed some reminding."

Blinking several times, Deimos fought himself to not tear his head free of the grasp in fear of angering his father worse. Instead, he struggled to keep an impassive face, his eyes locking with the older elf's. The sadistic satisfaction on Tharsis' face made his skin crawl; his stomach flipping at the dark grin. The older elf held the gaze for several beats, his laughing stare inspecting the boy's face attempting to hold the somber look.

Smirking, Tharsis removed his hand and took a step backwards. "You've got nine minutes. I best see you downstairs by then, or I will come get you."

Releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding after his father left the bathroom, Deimos turned towards the bathtub. With a quick twist of his hand in the empty air, a steady stream of warm water began to pour from an unseen source above the tub. Hearing footsteps in the hall, Deimos shook his head, annoyed at himself. He had allowed his father to claim his dominance over his body, his compliant behavior only reaffirming Tharsis' hold on him. Sighing as he pulled his night shirt over his head, the young elf knew it would prove to be useless to fight it. The older Ares'mar would only reinforce the submissive manner back into him with force. His hand falling on the small ruby pendant resting on his chest, Deimos felt a furious urge to rip the necklace off. The black and white markings on the ruby were his family's mark; the necklace being an heirloom that was passed down the Ares'mar line. Tharsis had presented the necklace as a gift to his son after a raid on Stormwind almost five years ago; the paladin making his father proud from his efforts in the raid. Biting his lower lip in thought, Deimos longed to see such proudness from his father again. Sighing as he removed the loose pants, tossing them in a pile with the discarded shirt, Deimos knew he was being timed; the looming threat of being pulled out of the shower naked fueling his movements to a fast pace.

Sipping the honeymint tea, Tharsis eyed the long report from the rogue. Giving up on full-heartedly reading it, the commander settled for skimming the redundant words. He was going to be sure to give the rogue a long-winded lecture about wasting his precious time with unnecessarily long accounts for a one day mission. No longer sitting in his study, Tharsis glanced at the clock that hung on the kitchen wall; Deimos had less than two minutes to finish his daily preparation. Giving a slight shake of his head at the prospect of having to drag the boy from the shower, the older man would do what he'd have to.

The kitchen, its doorway located under the elevated ramp that led to the second floor, had the same black marbled floor as the foyer. To the left side of the room was a small square table; its modest yet elegantly carved wood littered with the parchment stack Tharsis mulled over. Four similar chairs were pushed in around its base; one of the chairs already occupied. A large chest, enchanted to keep food cold, rested in the far corner of the room. Granite red countertops accented nicely with the dark wooden shelving and cabinets; the entirety of the kitchen in immaculate order. A cooking stove rested against the wall, the lack of heat evidencing to its current state of disuse.

Hearing footsteps enter the kitchen, Tharsis didn't have to lift his eyes from the boring report to acknowledge his son. "Almost thirty seconds left. Cutting it a little short."

Running a hand through his still damp hair, Deimos rolled his eyes, knowing the older elf would be unable to see with his head down. Retrieving a small glass from a cabinet, the elf mechanically navigated through the kitchen; growing up in the house causing him to memorize the location of objects. Pulling open the upright chest to grab a pitcher of sweetened goat's milk, Deimos poured himself the beverage in blissful silence. Replacing the jug back to the cold storage chest, the young elf turned around; leaning his body against the countertop while sipping the milk. Eyeing Tharsis' irritated and impatient look while his eyes skimmed the words on the parchment in front of him, Deimos scrunched his brows together in interest.

Moving to sit at the table with his glass in hand, the paladin tried to spare a glance at the stack of paper. "What's that?"

Quickly glancing at the curious gaze his son offered him, Tharsis heaved a deep sigh. "A ridiculously long report from the Dead Scar." Pausing to see the still interested and inquisitive look in Deimos' eyes, the older elf smirked; collecting all the parchment into a neat stack before pushing it towards the paladin. "Here. Read this by tomorrow night; I want a full summary what this rogue found so interesting there."

Taking a quick sip of the milk to resist a sarcastic and cynical response, Deimos reluctantly accepted the new order. Had it been any other report or reconnaissance account, the young elf would have felt honored to be given such a task. Eyeing the needlessly thick mound of parchment, he knew he was just a convenience for his father. "What are we doing today?"

Stealing a small taste from the tea, the commander stood from his chair while he moved to a cabinet; searching for an item in mind. Opening several doors only to close them empty handed, Tharsis continued his search. Neither him nor Deimos cooked; a hired chef prepared their meals at the house daily. Satisfied when his hunting produced the results he wanted, Tharsis grabbed a bag of sweet potato bread. Dropping it in front of Deimos, the older elf resumed his position at the table. "Eat. We're going to start with endurance and conditioning; I want to assess how bad of shape you're in first. After lunch, we'll work on swordsmanship."

Eyeing the bag of bread in front of him, Deimos gave it a small push forward with a shake of his head. "I'm not hungry."

Firmly pushing the bread back towards the younger elf in a battle of wills, Tharsis crossed his arms over his chest; his gaze stern. "You will be in an hour or so; and we're not breaking to eat until lunch. You'll need the energy."

Sighing at the strict tone in his father's voice, not allowing for any more arguments, Deimos reluctantly pulled a piece of bread from the bag. His freedoms were slowly being ripped from his body; Tharsis taking great pleasure in dominating all aspects of the younger elf's life. A thought rapidly coming to his mind, Deimos swallowed a mouthful of his meager breakfast before addressing his father. "Is Phobos in the city?"

Downing what remained of the sweet tea, Tharsis shook his head. "Not yet. He's finishing a mission in Northrend. I expect him back within several weeks, though."

Nodding at the response, Deimos couldn't quell the disappointment and distress that swelled in his chest at his cousin's absence. Though Phobos was nearly a hundred years older than him, he found great pleasure in his company. Leaving his warrior training to become a paladin when he was young, Deimos partially credited Phobos for the decision. Watching his older cousin duel and train beside warriors, the young elf was amazed at a paladin's ease to heal. Idolizing and admiring Phobos' fierce and honed skills, Deimos informed Tharsis of his switch of classes; much to his father's dissatisfaction.

Stifling a yawn with the back of his hand, Deimos gave a small shake of his head. "I'm so tired. It's weird; I'd usually get up at this time back in Stormwind, but I'm exhausted."

Standing up from the table with the empty cup, Tharsis placed it in the sink for later cleaning. "There's a time change between the cities." Pausing to turn around, the older elf met the paladin's curious face. "You probably feel it's around 0400."

Finishing the milk in his glass, Deimos placed it in the sink alongside the other cup. "Great."

"You'll get over it fast." Pausing, Tharsis gave a hand gesture to the young elf to follow him, his own movements heading towards the doorway. "Now, please tell me you've continued your daily meditation in Stormwind and I don't have to detoxify you."

Rolling his eyes at the derisive tone in his father's voice, Deimos couldn't stop the ironic smirk that crossed his face. He wouldn't tell his father, but he'd once had to detoxify himself. Copiously and shamefully drinking demon blood to fill his body with an unnatural amount of mana, the paladin had saved the king of Stormwind; an act that allowed for his pardon to leave the human city and inform Lor'themar of the impending attack. "I've meditated every day."

The two elves entering the main foyer, Tharsis led his son through the doorway opposite from the library; its larger and more intricate woodwork giving away to the elaborate and grand room on the other side. Entering the parlor, the sounds of their boots landing on the gold speckled, black marbled floor echoed through large space. The ceiling reached the roof of the house; an immense and luxurious chandelier hanging from the detailed wood carved ceiling; its arcane glow illuminating the red and black walls. The parlor was the largest area in the house with an entire wall made up of floor to ceiling windows; red silk curtains waving from the wind. Red over-stuffed armchairs were mixed with white couches, and small coffee tables scattered throughout the area. Two doorways completed the room; one leading to an immaculate and impressive dining room and the other to their destination.

Watching his father pull back the silk hanging in the doorway to their objective room, Deimos immediately felt a change in climate. Leaving the parlor, the two entered a luxurious and majestic garden; the sounds of running streams and birds filling his ears. The large room was roofless, the blue sky gazing down at them. A small winding path made of cobblestones weaved between thick throngs of green bamboo and palm trees; exotic flower beds of orchids and dahlia's lining the path. A creek made of rocks ran through the garden; brilliant pink and white locus' floating on the surface of the water. There were small waterfalls inserted throughout the twisting creek; the sound of trickling water adding to the Zen induced atmosphere.

Glancing up at the bright sun, Deimos knew it was all an illusion; the product of an enchanted room. Passing by a shrub of jasmine, the beautiful smell filling his senses, the young elf never bore from the magically-induced room. Such an area was rare and seen as a luxury in a house; the need for a practiced enchanter to create the room was expensive. Following behind his father, Deimos felt the area offered more to the older elf than simply a relaxed location for meditation. Several years back, Brightwing had reluctantly told the young elf the history of the room. Shortly after the Scourge attack, Deimos' parents had built the house; his mother claiming the area for her own personal use. A trained enchanter herself, she spent hours perfecting the magic in the room to create the illusion of the garden. The paladin knew his father still grieved for his wife in his own way; the room must have offered more feelings for the older elf than it did Deimos.

Pausing at a clearing in the lush forest, two plush pillows sat side by side on the ground. Unthinkingly, Deimos pulled his boots off; his father following suit. "Am I going to need my sword and armor today?"

"Leave the armor at home." Tharsis paused, a dark and mocking smile crossing his face as he eyed his son removing his shirt. "You're better at healing spells so it shouldn't be a problem."

Sitting crossed legged on the pillow to begin the meditation, Deimos set his jaw in annoyance at the sarcastic remark towards his trainer from Stormwind. While he figured the older elf would be bitter towards his human replacement, the paladin prayed the comments and jabs would desist. He father had won the battle of forcing him back to Silvermoon, though he still wasn't satisfied at letting the situation go. Deimos would force himself to get through the day's ordeals; figuring he'd mechanically complete the tasks his father sent his way. No longer in the company of his friends, he felt no desire to surpass the requested amount of him. A scowl going across his face, the young elf would offer his father the absolute minimal effort needed.

The sunlight graced the Sin'dorei city with its rays, though it did naught to ease the frigid wind that blew through the streets. The ending fall would soon progress to winter; the climate only growing all the worse. Though it rarely snowed in Quel'Thalas, the temperatures would be more than adequate to supply an environment for it. However, there was still several more weeks until the fall weather died down, only to be replaced with the new season. The citizens of Silvermoon were wrapped in thick cloaks, even the guards standing watch were adorned in the material over their armor to hide from the harsh winds.

Hoisting his weight upwards to complete the pull up, Deimos appeared atypical compared to the other citizens. Bare chested, a sheen layer of sweat covered his upper torso; his blonde hair plastered to his forehead from the warm liquid. The rigorousness of the endurance drills caused his body temperature to steadily rise; quickly feeling the woolen cloak and Netherweave shirt too confining for his body. Nearly an hour ago, in the midst of completing a drill, the paladin had discarded both to the ground. The freezing wind slamming into his bare torso didn't bother him; he hardly noticed such a sensation from the maneuvers on his mind. In all reality, he was quite enjoying the endurance practice. The morning had commenced with a five mile run; a simple feat for the elf to complete. Tharsis had brought him to Farstrider Square, the military district of Silvermoon City, to begin the more intense conditioning. He completed sit-ups and push-ups for an hour each, respectfully, before being given the drill of pull ups for an hour. Feeling a presence on the side of him, Deimos easily held the pull up for several seconds while he glanced to the side. A fascinated and scrutinizing gaze eyed the sweat covered face, Tharsis giving a small nod of his head towards the paladin. Understanding the gesture, Deimos allowed himself to fall gracefully to the ground.

Panting, the young elf felt a slight fatigue in his muscled arms, though the adrenaline coursing through his body was enough to ignore it. Grinning at the older elf, Deimos gave an eager smirk. "What next?"

Eyeing his son's glistening body, Tharsis tossed a towel at him with a half smile. "I'm delighted to see you're so enthusiastic about training. Perhaps we should send you to Stormwind more often."

His eyes lighting up at the jesting comment, Deimos wiped sweat from his body in thought. While he enjoyed Warren's battalion and drills, they weren't close to being comparable to his father's challenging and demanding ones. The human forgot Deimos' endurance and stamina were heightened due to his elven blood; the drills that would push his fellow human soldiers to their limits only somewhat tired the young elf. Shadowbreaker, the human paladin trainer, knew about his elven advantage; testing Deimos harder. However, nothing paralleled the taxing training his father enforced; with the adrenaline filling his body with a natural high, Deimos reveled in every second of it.

Swallowing hard, the paladin eyed his father's pleased face; a swell of emotions filling his body. The look in Tharsis' eye made the grin on Deimos' face deepen, the accepting and happy gaze from the older elf making his blood pump harder. "What's next for the drills?"

Offering the shirt and cloak to the younger elf, Tharsis smiled at the keen and excited tone in his son's voice. Gingerly accepting the items of clothing, Deimos gave a confused look at his father. "Your endurance training is done. It's nearly noon already."

Glancing up at the sky, the paladin nodded his head. "I'm not tired. We can start with blade training."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Tharsis was shocked at the change in his son; perhaps time away had done the boy good. "We're breaking for lunch. Once that adrenaline high wears off, you'll be thanking me."

Pulling his shirt on over his head, Deimos was inclined to continue the argument to carry on the training. Though his muscles felt a small twinge of tiredness, it was nothing he couldn't push through. However, he also felt an empty feeling in his stomach, the lone piece of bread from breakfast not sufficing his body. Rolling the cloak up in a ball to place under his arm and strapping his sword on his back, the paladin gave a small nod at the waiting commander.

Gesturing to the follow him, Tharsis began to make their way out of the military district. The sounds of swords meeting dummies slowly left the air, the trainers pushing their pupils to their limits, as the two elves entered the new neighborhood; the Court of the Sun, the area their house was located in. The affluent and prosperous district housed the palace as well as other aristocrats and nobles; who by no means carried any power of authority. The Magisters, as well as Brightwing and Lor'themar, resided in the Sunfury Spire; the imposing and intimidating palace. Turning to the left, Tharsis felt his hand go straight down to the hilt of his sword as they left the familiar and serene district; only to begin to enter Murder Row. Pausing in his step, he motioned for Deimos to stop; who sent him a curious and perplexed look. "Put your cloak on."

Sighing at his father's odd tactic, the young elf removed the sword, unrolling the wool fabric to secure around his body. Placing the weapon back in its place, he gave his father a look. "We're not going to be killed walking through."

Ignoring the sarcastic comment, Tharsis began the walking again; the darkened and shady district putting him in unease. Rows of dark fabric hung between the buildings, shielding the sun out of the streets in eeriness. The region was notorious for housing thieves and criminals of Silvermoon; even the Sin'dorei guards showing hesitation to patrol the area. Arcane guardians were more prevalent to be seen enforcing rules in the neighborhood, though the inhabitants had long learned how to go unseen by the guards. Always disliking the gloomy district, Tharsis reluctantly traveled through it, though Deimos found no qualms with the area. Cocky and arrogant, the younger elf didn't doubt his abilities to thwart off the thieves. To Tharsis, however, it wasn't the petty criminals that he detested so much; it was the warlocks. Wary and distrustful of such a group that allowed the company of a demon, the commander found the class disgusting. While he wouldn't have had such a heightened sense of dread at the district normally, an increase in sickening activity put Tharsis in discomfort; especially having Deimos with him. Noticing the lack of the shorter elf beside him, Tharsis whipped around to search for him.

His head cocked to the side, Deimos squinted through the thick purple silks concealing movement in a stucco building. Straining his green eyes to see the moving figures, he could vaguely make out what looked like a set of trainers demonstrating maneuvers with weapons. A group of eager students watched their teacher in awe, their own hands slowly mimicking the exercise. The room was dark and concealed; shadows and whispers dancing around the enclosed space. The inhabitants gave no indication to the curious paladin, continuing on as if unnoticed. Eyeing the daggers in their grasps, Deimos felt a strange sensation of sadness sweep over his body. The group inside the building were rogues. igniting memories of his close friend and ally, Matheus. Sighing, the young elf longed to see the cocky smile on the human's face, or hear about his ridiculous and absurd stories of woman; usually poking fun at the elf's innocence and virginity. While less than a day had passed since seeing the human, it felt like a year to Deimos. He would definitely write the rogue in hopes of convincing the human to spare a trip to visit the Sin'dorei capital.

His mind preoccupied, Deimos barely heard the exchange of air behind him in time to throw his hand out; grasping the incoming arm from an intruder. Twisting the attacker's limb painfully, the young elf immediately followed up the assault with a quick punch to his opponent's face; only to feel the firm ground beneath him fall out from under him as a strong kick landed behind his knees. Crashing down on his back, Deimos winced as the hanging sword on his backside slammed into his spine, assuring a dark bruise that would require healing later. His eyes shut in pain, he felt a firm weight press down on his chest; suppressing any struggles he may have had. Eyes snapping open in surprise and shock, Deimos found his gaze locked with the pointed end of a sword and strong boot planted on his chest. Swallowing hard at the vulnerable situation, the young elf dared his eyes to look up at his opponent; shame and horror dancing across his features. Calm and somber green eyes looked down at him, the facial expression holding its impassive state.

"And now, I'm free to do with you as I please," Tharsis began, staring down at his helpless son with disapproval and, much to Deimos' shocking surprise, slight worry. "You've lived in this city for how long, Deimos? Of all the places to zone out, this is the least area you want to be in. Consider yourself lucky that you're at my mercy and not another's."

A dark shade of embarrassment spreading across his fair cheeks, Deimos gave a small nod. Silently, he berated himself at his obvious inattention while in the shady district; his father was right. He allowed some minute activity to lull his awareness down, giving a watchful attacker sufficient time to take advantage of his guard down. Usually carrying a small dagger concealed on his belt, the paladin had forgone it for the day; assuming the training wouldn't require such a weapon. Sighing while the older elf removed his boot and sword, Deimos accepted the outstretched hand, his abused back protesting in the movement.

Standing on shaky legs, Deimos offered the older elf a sheepish and humiliated look. "Sorry, I was looking at-"

"It doesn't matter what it was. If you let your defenses fall again, I won't be as kind; nor would your captors. You should know better than that."

Diverting his eyes at the degrading lecture, he could only offer a small nod. While he had a hundred sarcastic and cocky comments threatening to spill out, he knew he was in the wrong. While the scowling look on Tharsis' face was mortifying, it was nothing compared to the alternative; which would most likely have been death.

Resuming their walk through the darkened region, Tharsis was sure to keep his voice low while he sent a sideways glance at his son. "We'll take the long route through the Walk of Elders and Royal Exchange back; I don't want you in this area again, understood?"

Whipping his head to the side, Deimos lifted shocked and confused brows at him. While his father's face was painted in annoyance and anger, his eyes gave away to the unease he was feeling. "I know it doesn't have the best reputation but like you said, I've lived here my whole life. I've walked through Murder Row-"

Satisfied that they exited the distressing and eerie district and entering the Walk of Elders, Tharsis abruptly pulled Deimos to the side; his strong hands gripping the confused boys' arms harshly. "You will do as I tell you, understood?" Pausing while an arcane guardian passed by the two, the older elf glanced back into Deimos' shocked and inquisitive face. "Stay away from Murder Row from now on. That's an order."

Had the anxious and apprehension not been apparent on Tharsis' face, Deimos would have replied with an angry retort pertaining to his lack of freedom. However, based on the uncharacteristic worry that swirled in his father's eye, the young elf felt his curiosity heighten to great magnitudes. "Why? What's wrong?"

Sighing at the inquisitive and imploring gaze from the shorter elf, the commander released his vice grip on Deimos' arms, signaling for the two to continue their advance. He had no intentions on sharing the intel with his son; feeling more than pleased to keep Deimos blissfully ignorant to the ominous activity taking part within the city walls.

Jumping to the side while lifting his sword up, Deimos felt his opponent's blade clash against his own with a resounding bang. The aftershock of the block sent tremors up the young elf's arms; though his straining muscles didn't dare respond to it. Instead, the paladin pivoted on his feet, attempting to bring his sword down in a sideways slice on his opponent's back. The other elf was faster, however, easily twisting his body to deflect the assault. Not letting his father's strong defense hinder his spirits, Deimos was quick to rebound from the failed attack; immediately bringing his blade up to continue the attempts of trying to slice his skin. Immediately spotting an opening, Deimos feigned to the left; unable to stop the grin on his face as his father moved his sword to block it. Following through with the attack, the paladin carved the air with his blade, satisfied when it made contact with the tender skin on the warrior's stomach.

Hissing in pain, Tharsis didn't allow the pulsing wound to hinder his vision or thoughts; his mind set on repaying the attack back to his son. Advancing towards Deimos, the commander kept his footwork strong and confident; the bleeding wound not obstructing his ability to fight. Sending the thick sword down towards the shorter elf's throat, his son was quick to lock blades in a front guard; their eyes meeting while each pushed strongly against the other.

Looking at the concentrated look on Deimos' face, Tharsis gave a smirk. "That was a good slice. Though you look like you're getting wary."

Feeling his flexing muscles strain under his father's brutal strength, Deimos allowed a laughing grin to pass over his face; though he kept his mind completely focused on the attack in his head. "Bring it, old man."

The insult taking him slightly off guard, Tharsis felt raw energy enter his chest, filling his entire body with stinging pains. The strength of the attack propelled the commander off his feet, throwing his body paces backwards, the bleeding wound on his stomach opening further from the attack. The holy energy consuming his thoughts, Tharsis felt his mind numb and go unresponsive to his demands. Lying on the ground, the older elf was vaguely aware of his hilt lying limply in his grasp be kicked away; his hand not responding in time to the disarming. Abruptly, the energy dissipated from his body as swift as it had come, his mind clearing of the fog and haze; but it was too late. The cold sensation of steel against his throat, Tharsis turned his eyes up to meet the triumphant yet fatigued ones of Deimos.

Grinning at the defenseless and exposed position his son had landed him in, the commander gave a nod of defeat; Deimos pulling his sword back to replace it with an outstretched hand. "Impressive. You no longer have to chant Exorcism?"

Assisting his father to his feet, Deimos gave a small shake of his head while he eyed the bleeding wound on Tharsis' stomach. "If I devout more energy to it, I can forgo the chant. It's more powerful but it drains me."

Nodding while the shorter elf's eyes glaze over in pure focus and concentration, Tharsis watched Deimos' mouth begin to recite enchanted terms. As each word passed his lips, the fatigue became all the more evident on his face. Glancing at the large clock tower in Farstrider Square, Tharsis was surprised it read 15:35. He felt the two had just begun the skirmish; the day whipping by. The dull pain in his lower abdomen immediately ceased, the sliced skin mending itself back together. Eyeing Deimos' blinking and tired face, Tharsis heaved a sigh. "Seems you need more teaching from the paladin trainer."

Wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, Deimos felt his energy low. "Shadowbreaker was trying to increase my holy tolerance; we made pretty good progress until I had to leave."

Turning his gaze at his sword that was kicked paces away, Tharsis scowled at the memory of the human trainer. Gingerly picking up the discarded weapon, the commander regarded his fatigued son with a blank look. "Master Pyreanor, a paladin trainer, has returned to Silvermoon; obviously not in Orgrimmar with the Sin'dorei no longer aligned with the Horde. You'll visit him for further training."

Surprised at the order from his father, Deimos nodded hesitantly yet still with obedience. Placing the long sword on his back, the young elf felt his adrenaline slow in his blood stream; the abrupt decline in mana quelling his high. His eyes roaming the ground, he attempted to search for the right words. "Are we going to run anymore drills?"

Eyeing the drained look on his son's sweating face, Tharsis gave a deep sigh. While the day was growing late, the boy could be pushed closer to his limits. Opening his mouth to reply, a figure behind the young elf caused him to close his mouth. Standing without his charger was Champion Vranesh, a slight tilt of his head suggesting the commander come hither. Nodding back in reply at the silent beckoning, Tharsis turned his attention back to his son; who eyed him with curiosity and oddity. "Go get water. Be back in twenty minutes."

The unexpected command taking him off guard, Deimos didn't have enough time to respond; Tharsis pushing past his son without care, his attention and steps focused on the figure behind the shorter elf. Not bothering to ponder on the commander's bold behavior, Deimos picked up his discarded cloak lying on the ground. He would gladly take the twenty minutes to rest and renew his energy; the backing of the holy attack and healing draining him.

The Bazaar reminded him of a significantly calmer and more placid Trade District from Stormwind. The lined trees and well groomed shrubbery contrasted with the human's neighborhood; Stormwind's trading area having far too much bustle and activity to sustain elaborate plant life. The Bazaar, its area significantly larger and more spaced out, offered similar merchants scattered about; their carts and trailers packed with items and merchandise in hopes of selling. A rounded stucco building stood in the center, the calm and cool voices of auctioneers differing from the human's fast and yelling tones.

His cloak tucked under an arm and a bottle of spring water in hand, Deimos pushed back the purple silk that hung in the doorway of the Wayfarer's Rest Tavern. Squinting as the sun reached his eyes, the young elf knew he had ten minutes of his break left; he didn't want to think of the consequences if he was late. Gulping down the water, the paladin felt his strength and vigor rekindling; his body preparing itself for further training. While his muscles were beginning to ache from the day's long training, he knew better to assume the practice was complete. Tharsis, on a good day, would conclude the drills at dinner time; allowing the young elf decent time to recuperate with a shower and a warm meal. On bad days, the commander would demand perfection and excellence from Deimos, forcing him through rigorous and brutal exercises until well after midnight only to expect the boy to awake with renewed energy at 0600 the next day. Spending the greater part of his life learning to interpret his father's expressions and moods accordingly, he usually knew immediately what kind of day it would be. Grinning, Deimos knew it was a good day; his father's proud and pleased look on his face with his performance at the drills burned in his mind.

"The prodigal son has returned."

Stopping in his tracks, Deimos whipped his head to the side at the sound of snickering and laughing; his gaze falling on a group of young elves sitting under a full tree. The five Sin'dorei sat on a spread blanket, open books and parchment scattered around them. The group was familiar to the paladin; though not in the sense it should have been. In all rights and customs, Deimos should have been residing with the group. In Sin'dorei culture, elflings were raised in a small communal setting; elflings of similar age creating the clan. Beginning their education immediately, the clan would progress together through their schooling collectively, creating a sense of unity and acceptance among each other. Tharsis, however, had forgone the custom; schooling his son at home. When elflings his age were beginning to write their names and alphabet, Deimos was learning the proper grip on a hilt. Instead of sitting in a classroom learning about the history of the three wars, he traveled with his father's company; seeing battles first hand. When his age group was learning about advanced mathematical properties, the paladin was planning strategic tactics for the raid on Stormwind. Though he didn't receive a formal education, Tharsis made sure Deimos was pushed as much academically as he was physically; Brightwing also taking great care at securing the boy's academia. His military-oriented raising was considered rare; elves staying in school until their eighties. After which, the elf would have to decide what they wished to do with their lives; continue their education at a higher academy, take on an apprenticeship, or join the military. Officially joining the military at nine years old, Deimos was considered extraordinary.

Sighing at the laughing and mocking voice, Deimos eyed Elik Rommath with disdain. The son of Grand Magister Rommath, the boy had a permanent sneer etched on his face. Living in the same district and their father's often working together; the two elves had grown up seeing each other, much to both of their dismay. Elik took no greater joy in mocking and annoying the paladin; the rest of his age group following suit. As much as Deimos was tempted to punch the conceited and snobbish elf, he knew better. His father's only son, Elik was studying the art of arcane magic; expecting to walk in his father's footsteps and take on the title of Grand Magister one day. Rommath adored and boasted about his son often; an act that annoyed Deimos and Tharsis to no end. Just as the young elves had a dire relationship, the fathers weren't much different.

Readjusting the long sword on his back as Elik stood to his feet, a smug smirk on his face, Deimos shifted from one foot to the other. The other four elves in his age group, half females, continued to snicker at the paladin's expense. Eyeing the approaching elf, the young Ares'mar crossed his arms over his broad chest. The same height as Deimos, Elik had shined ebony hair, the long cascading locks combed neatly behind pointed ears; contrasting sharply with Deimos' short spiky blonde hair. Reaching the paladin, the air surrounding the two was also vastly different; Elik enjoying the haughty and offensive aura he emitted while Deimos preferred the calm yet aggressive atmosphere. Their builds were markedly unlike; the magi's scrawny and gaunt body lacked the physical training the paladin grew up with. His one bicep easily twice the size of Elik's, Deimos' muscular and built body gave him little support against the magi. If the two did get into a serious quarrel, Elik only need to mention his father's name to win the battle; Deimos knowing the Grand Magister would heed his son's sick requests.

Visibly eyeing the paladin up and down, Elik tossed his head back into a laugh; the urge to smash his head into the ground overly tempting to Deimos. "And I was half expecting to see you mind-controlled to get back here. Rumor is that you chose those disgusting humans over us."

His lips pursing in annoyance at the elf in front of him, Deimos willed himself to calm; he didn't want to give him satisfaction of seeing him angry. "Still clinging to every word daddy says? You'd think with that expensive education you'd learn to have thoughts of your own."

The comment only fueling his mocking worse, Elik snickered at the paladin. "Well, at least I can say that I have one. How're your academics going? Or has your foolish and dense father completely stopped educating you?"

Moving an aggressive and threatening step forward, the paladin allowed his arms to uncross from his chest; balling into angry fists at his sides. His structure was nearly twice the size of the magi's, though his hostile stance didn't alarm the other elf the least bit. "Don't talk about my father."

Sneering at the menacing stance the paladin took, Elik mirrored the movement. "I see you're still Tharsis' dutiful little soldier."

His face inches from the other elf's, Deimos smirked darkly at him, an amused glint in his eye. "Still your father's little bed mate, or has he bore of you yet?"

The comment infuriating Elik, he snarled at the paladin. "Just wait till I tell my father, Ares'mar. You'll be drooling all over yourself by the end of the day."

Giving a slight shake of his head at the threat, Deimos took a retreating step backwards while swallowing hard, trying to down his pride as well. The threat wasn't empty; Elik's father had the power to order for the intrusive procedure, probable cause not required. Grinning tightly and mockingly at the four elves sitting under the tree, Deimos snickered. "Enjoy your books and homework. I've got to get back to doing, you know, meaningful training. I wouldn't expect you to understand."

Watching the elves for supple time to see resentment and annoyance spread across their features, Deimos gave one last smirk at Elik, whose face was also contorted into rage, before turning abruptly from the group. Gripping the innocent bottle of water in his hand harder, the paladin kept his head high and proud while he felt infuriated stares boring into his back; though it didn't bother him one bit. Blood pumping filling his ears, the young elf felt a renewed energy and vigor coursing through his veins; the altercation with his age group fueling his desire to persist the training with his father.

"You performed decent today; considering your lapse in training."

Eyes lighting up in happiness at the rare compliment, Deimos couldn't bring himself to react any more than a nod. Waiting patiently while Tharsis unlocked the front door to their home, the young elf felt a relieved sigh leave his lips. Twilight threatening to engulf the Sin'dorei city, the sun was preparing to set; its lingering life struggling to stay afloat. After meeting back up with his father to continue the training, the young elf resumed the drills with restored force; his father easily picking up on his change in mannerism. Though he swung his sword with an increase in strength and power, Deimos' attacks were sloppy and careless, trying any means to release the pent up anger swelling inside him. Tharsis easily blocked and berated his son for such hasty assaults. Calling an end to the day, the older elf felt content with the progress made.

Entering the dwelling shortly behind his father, Deimos felt his body screaming at him, his muscles aching from the harsh drills from the day. While he reveled in the high from the adrenaline during the exercises, the repercussions for such brutal training left his limbs in pain. Energy drained and mind half aware of his surroundings, the young elf barely noticed the appetizing aroma that filled the air; his thoughts dominated with keeping his limbs moving. Swallowing hard while he adjusted the long sword resting on his back, its weight feeling overbearing for his body, Deimos hung his head as he advanced towards the elevating ramp; Tharsis watching him under scrutinizing eyes.

"I'm going to take a quick shower before dinner, if that's ok."

Eyeing the lethargic and weary steps the boy took, Tharsis heaved a deep sigh. Indeed, Deimos' tolerance for such vigorous training was significantly less than before he left Silvermoon; usually able to withstand such a day with better stamina. However, the older elf mused, his son had returned to him after the twenty minute break with a strange glint in his eye; his eagerness to exercise with his blade somewhat disconcerting to the commander. While he encouraged his son to thrive on built up frustration, to allow it to dominate the body was a dire mistake; one which Deimos should have been aware of. Giving the exhausted elf in front of him another look over, Tharsis nodded his head in waiting approval; watching Deimos ascend the ramp and disappear.

Removing his own weapon from its resting place on his hip, the older elf moved into the library; his thoughts already pondering the stacks of accounts and intel waiting to be read on his desk. While the usual scouting and surveillance reports were long overdue to be critiqued, the commander couldn't bring himself to put full thought into the monotonous words; more pressing and important intelligence waiting on the desk drawing his attention. Sighing as he took a seat behind the desk, eyeing the growing mound of parchment, Tharsis knew it would be a long and trying night; the extensive reports requiring lengthy amount of time each. Distractedly noting the sound of movement above him, the commander retrieved a small stack of paper; presuming he had to start somewhere.

Pulling the short sleeved night shirt over his head, his damp hair wetting the collar of it, Deimos gave a tired sigh which progressed into a yawn. His thoughts were muddled and cluttered by exhaustion; the day's events taking its toll on him. Moving into his room from the adjoining bathroom, his muscles felt slightly at ease from the soothing warm water that rushed over them. Though his limbs were still tinged with a foreboding soreness; giving a taste of what the next day was to hold. Vaguely massaging his shoulder blade with his fingertips, Deimos knew it was in vain; tender and aching muscles were sure to follow the rising sun in the morning.

Sitting down on his neatly made bed, the thick comforter folded at the bottom in preparation for sleep, the young elf allowed his back to fall against the luxurious mattress; its plush and pillowed top warmly accepting his worn and tired body. Sighing as he stared up at the ceiling above him, Deimos couldn't stop the angered feelings at seeing the group of elves that, by all rights, should have been his friends. The lack of companionship from the arrogant and conceited elves didn't bother him; he had grown to accept his loneliness and solitude in the city. Though seeing the group only increased his desire to return to Stormwind; his own friends residing in the human city. Interacting with the young elves only reaffirmed his happiness that he was raised in the respect that he was; in a military and soldier way. Not sure how he would have turned out without the daily trainings or harsh endurance drills, the elf gave a small shake of his head at the thought. Would he be friends with Elik; studying the art of arcane magic as well? Would school and academic be as challenging and trying for him as the military exercises were? Where would he end up; an apprenticeship for a profession or attending Dalaran academy? Such questions would never be answered; they simply weren't his life.

Turning a tired face to glance at the long and impressive sword hanging on the wall in its proper place, Deimos gave a forced smile. As much as he hated and detested long days with his demanding and vicious father, he knew the significance of such ruthless training; however reluctant he was to accept it. He knew Tharsis' disciplining and punishing means were strict and severe, but they were needed; or so he told himself. The whole day, however, had been a good one; his father's proud and pleased smile burned into Deimos' mind. Allowing his eyes to close in thought, the young elf figured if he could only continue to push himself and impress Tharsis, the training would pass with ease. Unfortunately, it would only be a matter of time before the commander would augment the paladin's training to reflect his improvements. Licking his lips, Deimos would continue to strive for his father's acceptance in his trainings, with a small hope of being able to return to Stormwind.

Sighing in frustration as he reached the second level of the house, Tharsis made his way down the hall with determination. Not hearing the rush of water or movement coming from the bedroom at the end of the hall, the commander pursed his lips in anger at his son's obvious lack of respect. The sun had just set; the embers of night beginning to burn with resilience. Reading through the reports with force, Tharsis found it tremendously difficult to concentrate on the words decorating the parchment with the seducing smells of the waiting dinner. Patiently lingering in the library for Deimos, the older elf could no longer hold his serenity.

The bright glow from the arcane lights in the bedroom lingered into the hallway as Tharsis pulled the silks back to enter his son's room. He was never keen on knocking before entering; a trait he picked up from living in the barracks. Privacy was a great privilege; one which was reserved for the most respected of soldiers. His own childhood coming to mind, Tharsis was never granted such a luxury; his parents having no qualms with abruptly entering his bedroom. As much as he was sure Deimos longed for isolation at his age, Tharsis was adamant on delivering it.

His eyes immediately falling on the desk resting on the other side of the room, where he assumed he'd find the boy mulling over the report he assigned to him that morning, the commander was dismayed to find the chair empty. Turning to the left, Tharsis felt his annoyance increase at Deimos' position. Adorned in his night clothes, the young elf was passed out on the bed; his consistent and heavy breathing giving evidence to the deep sleep that enveloped him. His eyes moving from the folded blanket that rested at the foot of the bed to Deimos' matted down hair, the usual spiky style impeded from laying on it wet, it was evident the boy hadn't been prepared to sleep. Shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, the commander felt his decisions torn; to rouse the sleeping paladin or not. Having not eaten since lunch, the boy would indeed be needing nourishment; especially with the training that would commence the next day. However, he also required sleep to renew the energy that he obviously drained. Shaking his head is dismay and frustration, Tharsis was, despite Deimos' notable performance during the day, disappointed at the lack of endurance the boy possessed. While completing the drills with excitement and vigor with the aid and support from his adrenaline high, his son was quick to tire come the end of the day; his face unable to shield the fatigue and exhaustion. His scowl deepening, Tharsis vowed to fix the paladin's endurance dilemma swiftly; he would simply have to implement more challenging drills.

Sighing with a mixture of defeat and annoyance, Tharsis moved hesitantly to the bottom of the rounded bed, pulling the Frostweave coverlet free from its folded position. Throwing it over his son's prone form without care, the commander damned himself to eating dinner alone; leaving Deimos to sleep. Eyeing the shifting boy, Tharsis wasn't completely unfamiliar with the solitude. Returning from the campaign in Northrend nearly two months ago, the older elf had arrived to an empty house; Deimos already declared the 'ambassador' between the Sin'dorei and humans. Giving a small shake of his head at the irritating memory of being informed of his son's whereabouts, Tharsis gave a flick of his wrist in the empty air; the arcane lights diminishing their glow. Taking one last fast glimpse at his son's sleeping face, Tharsis gave a sinister smirk. If Deimos felt tired after the first day, the boy would likely be dead by the beginning of the following week.