Gulping the air around him, Deimos tried futilely to catch his breath; his heaving chest sending a stinging pain down his body with each pant. The cold and frigid air in the forested region of Quel'thalas was cruel and unforgiving to the Sin'dorei, blowing harsh winds against his body. The frosted grass would crinkle when stepped on, the frozen blades cracking from the weight straining them. The dying fall and approaching winter only showcased the dire and troublesome cold season that loomed over the land, the howling wind not showing any mercy for those in its path.
Palms resting on his knees, Deimos hung his head in an attempt to quell his hungered lungs for needed air, not taking notice to the freezing climate around him. A week had passed since returning to the Sin'dorei capital and commencing his rigorous training with his father. While the daily practices initially began well and sound, Tharsis immediately elevated his expectations and prospects for the paladin; the drills and exercises taking on more vicious and brutal attributes. Deimos continued to struggle for his father's acceptance and pleasing eye with each passing day; regrettably seeing the opposite. His sword lay forgotten on the frozen ground to the side of him as he struggled for air, the sound of blood pumping filling his ears drowned out the noises of the forest and steady stream of water resting beside him. Feeling a presence move next to him, Deimos grimaced his face in expectation for the harsh words that were sure to follow.
Standing beside the boy, Tharsis glared down at his sweating brow and wincing face as he leaned his body forward. Moving their usual training from Farstrider Square to the forested area beyond the city walls, the commander began the day of training with dedicating the complete morning to running; only calling the exercise to a standstill when the sun rested half way across the sky and allowed the fatigued paladin the privilege of lunch. While running wasn't a difficult endurance drill for the boy usually, Tharsis ordered him to accomplish the exercise while adorned in his plate armor. The first half of the run was done so with ease; Deimos having no qualms with completing the task. However, the eighty pound weight of plate armor impeding his limbs and their movements soon took its toll, the paladin being forced to stop every so often to catch a breath. The commander was quick to chastise him, straining his son to continue uninterrupted. After the brief interlude that followed the exercise, allowing Deimos to regain some of his strength, Tharsis moved onto a different drill. Wearing his own armor and outfitted in two swords, the commander ordered Deimos to strip himself of his plate for blade training. The skirmish between the two was hardly considered fair, Deimos having to defend himself against the twin blades as well as struggling to land a blow to the heavy plate armor defending his opponent. Indeed, Tharsis was quite aware of the advantage in his favor; the drill not meant to be even between the two. His son had to condition himself for better endurance and stamina, the harsh and brutal combat aiding in the process.
Gripping the hilts of the swords in his two hands, Tharsis glared down at the exhausted boy. "Get your sword. We're hardly finished here."
His body and muscles protested to the firm and strict voice resonating from above him, Deimos flinching at the tone while giving a small shake of his head. His vision was becoming as muddled and unclear as his thoughts; the effects of utter exhaustion and thirst beginning to take effect on his worn body. "I-I can't. I'm… sorry. P-please-"
Snarling at the quiet and begging voice, the commander released one of the hilts in his grasp with anger; not bothering to watch as it landed on the grass with a silent thud. Anger and rage coursing through his body, the older elf wretched the panting and aching boy harshly by the upper arm, pulling him towards the discarded long sword on the ground. The lack of resistance from Deimos was entertaining and pleasing to the older elf; unsure if it was due to lack of energy or genuine submission. Glancing down at the weak young elf, Tharsis was angered even more. Merely half the afternoon had passed and the paladin was prepared to end the drills. Growling in rage, Tharsis threw Deimos' aching body to the frozen grass. Smirking at the pained moan the boy emitted when landing painfully on his hands and knees, the commander retrieved his own discarded weapon.
"Now get up. You're weak display of swordsmanship is pathetic; the same as your defense. We'll be out here all night if we have too."
Slowly outreaching his hand, which was coated in a mixture of sweat and blood from a previous wound to his arm, Deimos weakly grasped the majestic and large sword, allowing a small groan escape his lips. The lack of water caused his aching head to spin, his muscles no longer complying with his demands to grip the hilt of the weapon tightly. Clenching his eyes shut in pain and defeat, the paladin slowly rose to his feet to face his incensed and impatient father; he was fighting a losing battle. Tired and hurt eyes met Tharsis', the young elf's heart plummeting in his chest. The commander stood upright and proud, his neatly pulled back hair not showing any evidence of the trying skirmishes that took place. Swallowing hard at the deathly calm face, Deimos willed his muscles to rouse from their tired dissents; the long weapon feeling far too heavy for his arms.
Sneering at the tired youth, Tharsis gave a small shake of his head in disgust. "Perhaps you do belong in Stormwind; your endurance is on par with the pitiable humans. You're a disappointment, Deimos." Pausing to watch dismay and sorrow wash over his son's face, the commander gave a dark smirk. "I don't have space in my company for weak elflings so you best improve."
Sighing at the insults, Deimos couldn't muster the strength or courage to voice his reply; though he was sure Tharsis wouldn't be pleased with what he had in mind. Clenching his teeth together as he tried to in vain to gather the dwindling energy in his body, the paladin squeezed his grip around the hilt of the long sword. Though his vision was wavering and cloudy, he refused to give in to his father's sick taunts. Swallowing in a feeble attempt to return moisture to his parched and aching throat, Deimos vowed to give one last stand in the skirmish; already fully aware of the dire and ominous outcome that was sure to follow.
Charging the scowling commander with a mixture of lingering energy and pent up frustration, the young elf brought his weapon across his chest as he lunged at his opponent. Tharsis, however, was well-prepared for the ill-planned and weakly executed assault; easily lifting one sword up in time to deflect the diagonal slice. Following through with thrusting the second blade a mere second after the paladin's failed attack, the older elf was surprised to find his weapon parried by a swift upward swing. Though fatigue and dehydration were hindering the boy's ability to land satisfactory assaults, his stubbornness and remaining strength aided him in his ability to survive. Engaging the young elf in a constant onslaught of swinging blades, Tharsis forced him to retreat from the strong attacks. Ducking and fading when he was unable to bring his sword up in time to deflect an attack, Deimos felt the battle coming to a sad end. His tired limbs refused to move at the speed he commanded them to; their delayed responses making him no competition for his father's fierce blades. Not seeing the false edge Tharsis performed with one of the swords, Deimos felt the weapon cleanly cut across his unarmored chest; the sharp blade easily tearing through his skin and grazing his ribs with malice. Falling to the side with a pained scream, the young elf landed with a thud on his knees; the hilt of his sword surprisingly remaining in his closed fist. His face contorted in pain and eyes clenched tightly shut, Deimos heaved his chest furiously, trying to calm his crying body from the wound.
Pursing his lips in anger at the effortlessness attack needed to down his son, Tharsis silently and slowly approached the kneeing boy with rage. Watching the uneven rise and fall of his chest, the older elf felt no amount of pity or sympathy for the dark and angry slice across the paladin's chest; it only aided in his postulation that the boy was weak and in dire need of more intense training. Glaring down over his son's kneeling form, Tharsis heard the recognizable words of a holy spell leaving his lips, each quiet word taking more energy from the boy. After watching the wound mend itself back together, Tharsis turned his angered glare away from him as he moved back to his position paces away, swords ready in his hands.
Turning back to regard the still kneeling young elf with annoyed and frustrated eyes, the commander growled at him. "Now get back up and actually try to fight. I've fought against a pair of useless humans that were better at swinging a sword. Maybe you do belong with that race; you sure are as much of a disappointment to me as they are."
He wasn't sure what took place in his body and mind but the comment broke a dam in Deimos' thoughts. Seeing red from anger and rage, the paladin immediately stood to shaky feet, the abrupt and fast movement making his vision spin. He didn't pay it any heed however, his infuriated attention solely focused on the older elf standing several feet way with a scowl on his face. Snarling in anger, Deimos whipped the long sword to the side, not bothering to watch it fly through the air and land with a soft thump. Balling his hands into fists on the sides of him, he took an aggressive and enraged step towards his father; whose face dropped the scowl to be replaced with a blank and expressionless stare.
"You know what? I'm done!" Deimos yelled at the scrutinizing elf in front of him, who only regarded him with an elevated brow. The forest was deathly silent, his loud and angered voice echoing through the trees; the only sound accompanying him was the rushing waters beside them. "I've worked my ass off for you my entire life! And for what? I'm tired and dehydrated; but that's ok because I'm such a disappointment, right? I would die trying to reach your unholy standards, just to try to make you satisfied. But even that wouldn't be good enough for you, would it? If I'm so pathetic and weak, why don't you just send me back to Stormwind?" Pausing to observe Tharsis' still blank and passive face, the lack of response and emotion from his father only seemed to fuel his outburst more. "You brought me back here just so you could have someone to exercise your sick and twisted dominance on, and guess what? I'm tired of it! So screw you!"
His angered and frustrated mind calming slightly from the explosion and venting, Deimos turned away from the older elf, prepared to retreat back to the city; only realizing his dire and dreadful mistake too late. While he felt his outburst was long overdue from years of brutalizing conditioning and debasing punishments, Deimos knew his disobedience and defiance wouldn't go unnoticed. Had his strength and energy been revived and full of vigor, he might have heard the exchange of air from the incoming attack from behind him. With amazing speed and strength, one hand gripped his shoulder while the other squeezed the nape of neck harshly. His fatigued muscles were useless to fight off the attack, Deimos instinctively bringing his hands up in an attempt to thwart off the vice grips; but it was in vain. The hands were clenched in determination and anger, the ruthless grasps sure to leave dark bruises on the paladin's fair skin. Feeling himself pulled to the side with a strong thrust, Deimos thrashed uselessly against the warm body behind him; slightly surprised at the lack of swift punishment from the older elf. Glancing to the side where his body was being propelled towards, Deimos fought with renewed vigor; his eyes landing on the destination he assumed his father had in mind.
Cold fear coursed through the young elf's blood as he felt his body momentarily lifted in the air, the strong hands on his neck and shoulder easily elevating his weight. Giving a surprised and startled cry, Deimos watched the calm stream of water come closer to his body; the chunks of ice floating serenely on the surface mocking the paladin. Hopeless to stop the impending action, the young elf squeezed his eyes shut in preparation for the pain and discomfort that was sure to accompany the water.
Slamming into the freezing stream, its riverbed to deep for Deimos to find his footing, he felt his breath be ripped from his body from the stinging coldness. Grateful that he was only wearing his leather pants and Netherweave shirt, the paladin gave a small thanks to the Light for having him remove his plate armor; the weight ensuring his drowning. His head barely above the surface of the water as he gasped for breath, Deimos cracked open his eyes; meeting the angered and furious green ones of his father. Abruptly, the strong hands were replaced on his shaking and freezing body, each giving a harsh and brutal thrust downwards. Shocked and terrified as his body was forced under the frigid water, Deimos was barely able to get in one last gulp of air before his head was submerged. Hands breaking the surface of the stream in an effort to force the grips to release his body, the bitter water caused his already aching lungs to thirst for more air; the unforgiving hands on his neck and shoulder refusing to give in to his thrashings. His mind beginning to panic from the loss of precious air, the young elf began to violently thrash and shake his body in an effort to escape the grasps holding him under. It was in vain; the vice grips refused to budge. Feeling his mind numbing and releasing itself into a dark void, Deimos was dreadfully aware of the drowning and dying sensation passing through his body; the fight slowly leaving his drained limbs. Though his body still stung from the freezing water, he didn't notice his arms had stopped their beating above the stream.
Suddenly, the hands hoisted his weight up, his face breaking the surface of the water and meeting the bitter air. Gulping for breath greedily, Deimos opened his pained eyes to meet his father's angered face; the cruel and malicious gleam in his glare made the young elf's heart sink. Blinking furiously from the water dripping into his eyes, the young elf took one more deep breath as he felt the hands immerse him back under the stream. Though he was rewarded several breaths of fresh air, his lungs still ached with needed breath, his mind struggling to stay conscious. Unsure how long the hands kept his body submerged, Deimos didn't have much strength in his exhausted body to fight against it; it would be futile anyways. Gladly welcoming the feeling of unconsciousness threatening to overcome him, the young elf could only be slightly relieved. The pained and agonizing feeling of drowning was, in some aspects, worse than the weapon wounds he received throughout his life. His mind was reeling; just waiting for the inevitable death that would come.
The grips on his neck and shoulder lifting him from the stream, Deimos was thrown unceremoniously to the forested ground. Shivering and trembling from the cold wind that whipped against his drenched body, the young elf couldn't gather his strength to move from his strewn position on his side; his lungs screaming for more air than his heaving could allow. Eyes clenched shut in pain and slight relief, Deimos couldn't bring himself to take notice to the approaching figure.
Eyeing the panting elf on the ground, Tharsis felt his fury increase tenfold. The insolent boy had dared to insult him; turning his back on his commander and father. Such insubordination and rebellion would not be tolerated, his anger and rage dominating his punishment. Snarling at Deimos' pained face, the commander sent a swift and hard kick to his abdomen. A strangled cry emitting itself from the young elf, the assault propelled the paladin on his back; his arms wrapping protectively around his aching stomach. Dropping to his knees in front of his son, Tharsis wrapped a harsh and strong hand around his neck, giving a sardonic smirk when the paladin opened fearful eyes to look him. The terror and dread resonating off his features, the older elf reveled in the power he had over Deimos as he tightened his grasp on the delicate throat.
Eyeing the blue tint to the boy's lips, either from the cold or lack of air, Tharsis scowled deeper at him. "I brought you into this world and I can just as easily take you out."
Unable to suppress the shivers that racked his cold body, Deimos tried to muster as much courage and strength into his voice. "Then do it."
The vice grip on his throat never faltering, the young elf felt his head whip to the side as he was backhanded across his face; the metallic taste of blood from his split lip evident in his mouth. Deimos knew the comment was too much, his father was already infuriated from his outburst. Daring a glance at the older elf kneeling next to him, he was taken back by the sheer resentment and wrath dancing across his father's face. He had pushed him too far.
Watching Deimos send his eyes to the side in submission and surrender, the older elf felt satisfaction fill his being. Demanding respect and compliance from his son, Tharsis expected nothing less from the boy. The venting of pent up frustration at his domineering ways had been frustrating to the commander; though he couldn't say he wasn't surprised. The paladin's young and trying age would predispose the elf to such quarrels; Tharsis' own rebellious and cocky attitude at the age coming to mind. However, the commander refused to deal with such an impudent boy; he would drill the attitude out.
Looking his son over, Tharsis took in his sopping hair and drenched clothes; no doubt beginning to freeze in the cold wind. The young elf shook from the frigid air, his eyes dutifully focused to the side while the older elf scrutinized him. Anger still swelled in his chest from the cheekiness displayed from Deimos, but he felt more than content with the brazen stance subdued from the boy. However, his eyes roaming the young elf, he felt slightly culpable for the severity of the punishment. While it was effective in repressing disrespectful behavior, it had dire consequences. Taking in the still blue tint to Deimos' lips, the older elf stood up with a sigh, the young elf cautiously lifting his eyes with curiosity.
Moving to the bundle of supplies he brought with them, Tharsis couldn't hide the lingering malice in his voice at the boy; the command coming out rough and strict. "Take your shirt off and come here."
Retrieving what he sought from the mound of belongings, the older elf turned around to glance at the still prone paladin. Hesitation and fear were etched on his face, unsure how to respond to the order. Still cautious and shocked by the punishment enforced by the commander, Deimos was reluctant to approach him; least of all disrobe. Lifting a mocking brow at the tentative elf, Tharsis crossed his arms over his chest impatiently. "Today, Deimos."
Timidly standing to his feet, his frozen limbs protesting from the movement, Deimos blinked several times at Tharsis. His inquiring gaze falling on the two folded cloaks in the older elf's hand, understanding dawned him. Nodding, the paladin slowly pulled the sopping shirt over his head; wincing as the freezing air touched his bare chest. Wrapping his arms around himself in a sad effort to retain some warmth, he gingerly approached the waiting and deadly calm commander.
Watching his son keep his head down in shame and submission, Tharsis thrust the two thick cloaks at him. "Put these on. I don't need you getting sick."
Not daring to lift his head up at the stern voice, Deimos gingerly wrapped the thick material around his shaking body; thankful for the small reprise from the bitter cold. Feeling his father's eyes scrutinizing and inspecting him, the young elf was sure to keep his face blank and void of emotion. He knew his outburst and explosion of years of built up frustration had caused the silent brooding from the older elf; the anger still resonating off the taller presence beside him. Standing deathly still, the paladin swallowed hard, not sure if he was expected to say anything or move.
Eyeing Deimos' dripping blonde hair and still quivering lips, Tharsis gave a small shake of his head. He couldn't tell if the emotions swirling inside him were anger from the paladin's words or annoyance at the situation. The compliant and obedient tilt of his son's head forward somewhat eased the commander's turmoil feelings, though not completely. "Gather your stuff. We're done."
As the shorter elf lifted his head up at the words, Tharsis felt his blood run cold; his heart nearly stopping in his chest. The once blank and void green eyes met Tharsis', the young elf's gaze full of guilt and remorse, swirled with a tinge of hurt and still ebbing anger. The combination of emotions wasn't unfamiliar to the commander; he had been on the receiving end of the look many times, just not from Deimos. The strange mixture of feelings was one that her gaze would be filled with after an argument with Tharsis; usually resulting in the commander asking for her forgiveness by the end of the night. However much he longed to force and push the memories of his departed wife from his mind, his son would always somehow bring them back, much to his dismay and horror.
The shocked and stunned look that overtook his features didn't go unnoticed from Deimos; his brows meeting together in confusion and uncertainty. "Ann'da, I'm fine to continue sparring. We don't-" (Dad)
"Just go!" Concealing his shaken emotions with rage, Tharsis' furious voice echoed through the silent forest. No longer able to look into his son's face, the commander tore his gaze to the side.
Eyes wide in surprise as he physically recoiled from the taller elf, Deimos gave a small and brisk nod of his head, though Tharsis didn't take any notice. The commander's troubled face was focused on the frosted grass as Deimos hastily gathered his sword and possessions; his clumsy movements dominated by his fear at the strange and unpredictable shouting from his father. Pausing to see if Tharsis was going to follow him back to the city, Deimos was surprised to see the older elf hadn't moved from his position; his gaze still concentrated on the ground. His face was etched in distress and forced anger, though his eyes remained blank and unfocused. Assuming his father's strange behavior was a result of his own angry words, gave a small shake of his head; he doubt this would be the end of it.
"How about Renan?"
"That sounds terrible. I'm not naming my son that."
Laughing at the feigned disgust in her husband's voice, Tavia playfully hit his arm; her small hand barely moving his strong limb. Grinning widely, she lifted amused brows at him. "Well, what do you want to name your son?"
Lying on a blanket in the enchanted room located in the center of their home, Tharsis had an arm wrapped securely around his wife's small and fragile frame; his protective embrace soothing her. Glancing at a small orchid Tavia toyed with in her hands, running her fingers over the velvet petals, Tharsis gave a small sigh as he laughed teasingly. "Anything but Renan. That name is horrid; I can't believe you even suggested it." Pausing to grin at the mocking glare he received, the elf felt his happy emotions be replaced with tenseness. "And the druid is sure it's a boy?"
Smiling knowingly at the anxious look on Tharsis' face, Tavia leaned in to give a quick kiss on his lips. "Yes, he's positive. And I don't know why you're so nervous. It's only an elfling; and you'll be a great father."
The arm wrapped around her waist tightened affectionately, his other hand lovingly pushing a loose strand of blonde hair behind her pointed ear. Eyeing his wife's swollen belly, Tharsis gave a small sigh. While he was overjoyed at the prospect of having an elfling with his spouse, he couldn't hide the scared and frightened feelings that accompanied the idea. Having no experience with infants, Tharsis couldn't help but be nervous. Give me battles, swords, and war; those I understand. "What if he hates me?"
Watching her laugh at the comment, Tharsis couldn't help but smile; her laugh was music to his ears. "He won't hate you, Tharsis. Please believe me, my love, you will be a fine father."
Grinning at the comforting words, the commander leaned back on his elbows with a smirk. "I guess I better visit the blacksmith; see what kind of swords they make for elflings."
The delicately enchanted orchid still resting in her palm, Tavia a small smack to her husband's broad chest lightheartedly. "Oh, don't you start. Renan is allowed to be whatever he chooses. Maybe he'll even grow up to an enchanter."
Rolling his eyes teasingly, the commander gave a smirk. "Ok, first of all, his name is not Renan. So stop calling him that. And no son of mine is going to be an enchanter. He's going to be a warrior, like me."
A brow quirked up, his wife gave him a look. "How about we agree to let him choose whatever he wants to be? He's not even born yet, for Light's sake, and you want to enroll him in the military."
Smiling at his wife's attempt to hold a stern gaze at him, the commander chuckled. "Fine, but I'm still training him the proper use of a sword. Then, he can decide what he wants to be."
Unable to hold the mocking firm stare, Tavia gave a small laugh, her eyes falling down to the smooth flower resting in her hands. "You've insulted all the names I've suggested for him, yet you haven't come up with any ideas."
Sighing at the unspoken request of him, Tharsis sat up. "How can I name an elfling I haven't seen? Maybe we should just name him after one of our fathers."
A deep smile on her face, Tavia gently picked up her husband's strong and firm hand in her own. Giving a small kiss to his fingers, she softly placed his hand on her pregnant stomach. Immediately panicking that the weight of his hand would bring harm to the elfling, Tharsis began to pull his limb away; only to have her thin fingers firmly hold it in place. "It's fine, my love. You'll do no harm."
His concerned eyes moving from her fair face to his hand resting on the large bulge, the commander gave a small sigh; his body relaxing. Unsure what he was looking or waiting for, he continued to gaze at the unseen infant resting under his hand. He couldn't fathom how something so delicate and precious found itself into his life, a similar feeling he had on his wedding day. He thanked the Light everyday for blessing him with a beautiful and loving wife, carrying his unborn son. She was his world and all; he would give anything for her.
Bringing his eyes up from her expectant abdomen, Tharsis gave a loving smile at his waiting wife. "Deimos. That's what we'll name him."
Returning the smile, Tavia gazed down at her stomach with adoration. "Deimos. Deimos Ares'mar. I like it."
Jerking awake, Tharsis sat up in his bed with a start. His usually tied back shoulder length hair was messily around his face; his sweat covered brow causing some of the strands to cling to his clammy skin. Panting, the older elf gave a small wave of his hand in the open air, the majestic chandelier on the cathedral ceiling illuminating the area with an arcane glow. The large and impressive master bedroom was floored in black marble speckled with pieces of granite, glimmering when the light hit it. Intricate and lushly carved woods of red and gold made up the walls, extending to the vaulted ceiling. Two large closets were nestled next to an adjoining bathroom, while two large windows decorated a long wall with swaying silk curtains.
Heaving a deep sigh, Tharsis pushed the Frostweave comforter to the side of the grand circular bed. Though he was aware of the importance of a good night's sleep, he knew the dream wouldn't allow him to fall back into a peaceful slumber. Her smiling face kept coming to mind, making his emotions torn between anger and sadness. Pushing himself to his feet, the commander pulled the discarded shirt on the marbled floor over his head. Not particularly caring the he was still dressed in his night pants, Tharsis looked at the clock that rested on the nightstand beside the bed. Seeing it was shortly after midnight, he gave a small sigh as he moved to exit the room, giving a small wave of his hand to extinguish the arcane lights.
The rest of the house was enveloped in blackened darkness; not a single sound echoing through the large dwelling. Eyeing the room at the end of the hall with strange interest, Tharsis felt his feet moving towards the area. While he occasionally dreamt of his wife, such detailed and thorough ones were rare. The commander recalled the memory with ease; however much he longed to forget her face and smile, he was unable to. A part of him still clung to everything that reminded him of her while most of his mind wished to wipe her remembrance from his life. Pushing the silk hanging in his son's doorway, Tharsis turned to the biggest reminder.
Lying on his back, Deimos had his head facing Tharsis; his mouth slightly opened while a deep sleep encumbered his mind. A thick comforter rested at his hips, the plush pillows spread around the head of the bed. The room was silent save for the boy's deep respirations and sound of the wind threatening to invade the room. Eyeing the boy, Tharsis was taken back by the similarities he held with his mother. While majority of the paladin's physical attributes stemmed from Tharsis, many agreeing that the boy was his splitting image, his facial expressions and attitude were similar to that of his mother. He inherited her brilliant smile and laugh; only fueling Tharsis' need to repress the emotion in hope of never being reminded of her. While Deimos took on his father's short temper and aggressive attitude, he had been born with his mother's confidence and serenity.
Sighing as he tore his gaze away from the boy, Tharsis left the room in haste and moved towards the ramp. While he knew sleep wouldn't come to him, the commander was aware of the growing mound of reports that called for his attention in the library. He would drown his sorrowful memories of his wife with the disheartening activities that were taking place in their capital; the city she loved so much.
The serene noises of night enveloped the Sin'dorei capital in its glory; the sounds of the magnificent fountains' cascading water and singing crickets resonating through the Court of the Sun. The district was void of movement from the citizens and inhabitants that called the region their home, the occasional arcane guardian's glowing presence the only interruption to the calm darkness. While the district was notorious for its serene and peaceful atmosphere even with the waking hours, the nighttime offered more tranquility to the area.
The calmness and stillness didn't extend to all of the residents in the district, however. Shifting from one side of the rounded bed to the other, Deimos futilely tried to ignore the uncomfortable sensation in his body. Growling in frustration, the young elf longed to fall back asleep; hoping that if he continued to disregard the aching feeling, it would simply desist. Squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to convince his body to discredit the sensation, he knew it was in vain. Throwing the Frostweave blanket from his form with more force than needed, the young elf gave into the clawing and empty feeling of hunger in his abdomen; he would be unable to find peaceful slumber with such an empty stomach.
Leaving the warming bed with much annoyance, Deimos gave a quick glance at the clock that rested on his desk: 0215. Sighing in great frustration, he ran a tired and irritated hand over his face; he would be expected to awaken for another day of training in less than four hours. Sparing a quick glance at the unmade yet inviting bed, he was inclined to give into its lulls. His stomach doing a flip in protest, the paladin reluctantly gave in to his body; food would have to be sought if he expected to fall back asleep. Running a hand through his messy and chaotic hair, he gave a small shake of his head as he made his made his way towards the darkened hallway, remembering why the aches of hunger resonated through his body.
After reaching the house alone following his father's abrupt explosion of anger, Deimos promptly showered in steaming hot water with the attempt to warm his body. His mind was muddled with confused and angry thoughts towards the older Ares'mar; the severe and cruel punishment still fresh in his mind. However, he couldn't brush off the strange behavior the older elf displayed afterwards. When Tharsis returned to the dwelling hours after Deimos, the older elf immediately occupied the library; causing the Deimos to be filled with bewilderment yet fear at the unpredictable behavior. When the time for dinner approached, the paladin was quick to excuse himself from the meal, giving a false claim of illness. He wasn't sure if the older elf would believe him, nor did he particularly care. From the events that happened that day, Deimos was determined to not be in his father's presence. Though he did feel a small pang of guilt at his father's slightly fallen face at hearing he wasn't feeling well, he was quick to disregard it.
Glancing at the darkened master bedroom in thought, Deimos moved to the ramp, his bare feet not making a sound on the polished marble. Beginning the decline, he gave a small shake of his head. As much as he wanted to compel the angered and enraged feelings he projected at his father, he knew they were forced. Guilt and shame accompanied the infuriated emotions, knowing his harsh words to his father were just that; harsh and unforgiving. Reaching the ground floor, Deimos curiously cocked his head to the side at the glowing light that spilt into the darkened foyer from the library. Squinting his eyes in perplexity, the young elf approached the doorway with as much agility his body could muster; alarmed at the presence that inhabited the room. The hour was late, his father likely asleep. Though they lived in the safest and most secure district, no neighborhood was without its criminals and thieves.
Placing his back against the wall next to the doorway to the library, Deimos strained his hearing to pick up on any indication for an identity. At first, he received nothing back from his senses; beginning to think Tharsis simply forgot to end the magically induced glow in the room. A silent sigh escaped his lips as his ears picked up the familiar sound of a quiet tapping. Deimos was familiar with the odd noise; the evidence of a focused and concentrated Tharsis. The commander, when placing full alert and heart into reading reports, would subconsciously begin the notorious tapping of his fingers against the table.
Not moving from his spot, Deimos felt his actions as torn as his emotions. Glancing towards the kitchen doorway, his body longed to receive needed nourishment, his stomach twisting in knots from the lack of food. He could easily move undetected, retrieve some sort of provisions, and retreat back to his room before his father was any of the wiser. However, his conscience was yelling at him to enter the lit up library. He still felt guilty for the brutal words he used to verbally attack the older elf; though a small voice inside his head told him to believe otherwise. He spent his complete existence under his father's dominating and overbearing eye; he was long overdue for an outburst.
"If you want to talk, come in here. If not, go back to bed."
Rolling his eyes at his father's knowing voice, Deimos' choice was made up for him; escape was no longer an option. Pushing back the silks that hung in the library, the young elf slowly and reluctantly entered the large room, his eyes squinting in response to the bright lights. His feet moving across the cold marble, Deimos eyed his father sitting behind the desk with curiosity. The older elf was dressed similarly as the paladin in night clothes, his usually pulled back hair hanging loosely around his face. Though Deimos was inclined to question the state of his appearance, he didn't dare voice it.
Sighing as he stopped in front of the desk, Tharsis eyeing him with a blank expression, the young elf let his arms hang limply at his sides. Breaking the hard eye contact, Deimos shifted from one foot to the other. "I-I'm sorry for what I said before. It was disrespectful of me. And…I'm sorry."
Leaning back in the cushioned chair, Tharsis lifted a brow while he eyed his son skeptically. "Is that it?"
His fair cheeks flushing red, Deimos crossed his arms over his chest. "Yes, I mean, I guess. What else do you want?"
Smirking at the flustered elf, the commander gave a small shake of his head. "I was unaware that I asked for anything. I believe it was you that was stalking me outside the library." Pausing to give a hand gesture to a white lavish couch resting next to the desk, Tharsis eyed the clock somewhat hidden underneath the mounds of parchment on his desk. "Why are you up so late?"
Thankfully sitting on the lush piece of furniture, its pillows and cushions enticing Deimos to slumber, he stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. "I'm hungry and couldn't fall back asleep." Pausing to eye the older elf scrutinizing him, the paladin brought his brows together in confusion. "Why are you awake?"
Promptly ignoring the question from the boy, Tharsis nodded towards the doorway as he pushed the chair out from under him to stand. "I was going to get myself something to eat anyways. I'll grab you something as well."
Nodding his head in silent thanks to his father, Deimos kept his questioning and curious eyes on the taller elf's retreating form leaving the room. The offer to retrieve him nourishment was surprising to the young elf; his mind still remembering the harsh and severe punishment from earlier. It seemed, however, his father was less determined to brood on the earlier event.
Left alone in the large and ominous room, Deimos allowed his eyes to roam the vaulted ceilings and looming bookshelves packed with bound volumes and scrolls. The room always held a threatening and intimidating feel to it; the place Tharsis spent most his time. When being educated by his father, the library served as a makeshift classroom; though it had been some time since the young elf used the room as such. While his father continued to challenge him academically with reading and theoretical conversations, his formal schooling had come to an end. He had no true qualms with his education coming to a standstill; he learned what his age group was taught in three months in one night on the battlefield. While he couldn't do calculi based equations or give a rhetorical analysis on poetry, Deimos excelled in strategy and tactic; the perfect combination for a soldier. He was well-versed with the battles that made up the three wars, having memorized reports and summaries from each officer. Though he read the famous poets and authors of Azeroth, the young elf had no desire to further his education in the subject. Thinking about Elik and the other elves that made up his age group, the paladin was thankful that he was raised in the manner he was; his training and instruction having meaning and showing results on the battlefield.
Eyeing the parchment covered desk, Deimos pushed himself to his tired feet. Moving towards the piece of furniture, he stood over the wooden surface, leaning his hands on the edge. The desk was an object of intimidation and fear when he was an elfling, usually seeing is father sitting behind the great table. Brows together in interest as he roamed his green eyes over the disarray of parchment, Deimos was careful to keep the pieces of paper in their place; though they seemed disorganized to him, he was sure Tharsis had an order to them. Leaning over the surface in concentration as a sentence on one of the parchments caught his eye, Deimos narrowed his gaze at the report.
…marking the third disappearance within a month. Discrete investigations have been undertaken to determine the possible cause. Connections to the previous abductions have been concluded.
His eyes darting down the paper, the young elf tilted his head in confusion; the reports scattered around the piece of intel he was reading seemed to mirror the same account.
...the Magisters have denied an increase in patrols to Murder Row. Arcane guardians have been programmed to guard the region though there's doubt about the effectiveness of the decision.
"What are you doing?"
Whipping his head up in surprise and shock, Deimos felt his breath hitch in his throat as his eyes met his father's. Taking in the two plates of food in Tharsis' hands, the young elf straightened from his leaned position over the desk; an embarrassed flush making its way across his face. Moving from behind the piece of furniture to meet his slightly annoyed father, Deimos gestured to the strewn reports decorating the wooden surface. "What are the reports talking about? What's happening in Murder Row?"
Heaving a deep sigh at the younger elf's inquisitive yet innocent question, Tharsis handed him the small plate; a delicately cut piece of cake resting in the center. Watching as Deimos moved to sit down back at the white couch, the older elf walked to the desk; running a tired hand over his face. "I would have preferred you not have read that."
Glancing down at the dessert that sat on his plate, Deimos gave a sheepish shrug in response; there was little the commander could do now. His interest and curiosity was elevated; the strange behavior from his father a week prior in Murder Row immediately stemming to mind. "What's happened? Who disappeared?"
Sighing at the genuinely questioning and fascinated voice, Tharsis took a small bite out of his snack; careful to rest the plate away from the delicate and important reports on the desk. Eyeing the concerned look on his son's face, the commander was tremendously hesitant to answer the boy. "If I tell you, you're not to get involved. Understood?"
The strange request taking him off guard, the paladin gave a small nod of his head. Usually, Tharsis was quick to educate his son on a report or piece of intel; finding every bit of new information useful in rounding the boy as a soldier. To see the concerned and worried look on his father's face only increased his interest at the odd report.
His eyes moving from the reports in front of him to the young elf, Tharsis took a deep breath. "For the past couple of months there have been… disappearances. At first, the Magisters passed it off as runaways or typical criminal activity. I didn't start receiving intel on it until a month ago; when more light was shed on the problem." Pausing to glance at the desk in thought, the commander cautiously continued. "Too many elves vanished to be able to pass it off as coincidences. Investigations were conducted, but we didn't find anything. And then a witness came forward."
Leaning forward in interest, Deimos eyed the hesitant older elf; the uncomfortable look making him begin to feel anxious at the words.
"The witness said they saw a group abduct some elves from Murder Row; using poisons and potions to subdue them. There was hardly a struggle."
Shaking his head at the words, Deimos shifted uncomfortably on the couch; the words not making sense to him. "Abduct them? Why? How many abductions have happened?"
Lifting a hand to give a gesture to the elf to calm the barrage of questions, Tharsis gave a tired sigh, his eyes roaming over the young elf's eager face. "Total, about fifty elves have disappeared; most last seen in Murder Row." Pausing as if willing the sentences to form themselves, the older elf struggled grasp the correct words. "The witness was able to describe a symbol on the abductors; we were able to identify it pretty easily. It was the Trade Coalition emblem."
Brows scrunched together in puzzlement, Deimos gave a small confused shake of his head. "Trade Coalition? What would they be doing in Silvermoon?"
Sighing at his son's naivety and adolescence, the older elf ran an unsteady hand through his hair. "They're here for trading. Trafficking." Pausing to see if any recognition dawned on his son's face, Tharsis watched the blood drain from his features. "The elves being captured are sold into slavery."
Eyes roaming his father's face, Deimos was unable to hide the horror and shock at the news. While slave trading wasn't unheard of, the young elf never had any experience with the sick business. He knew the goblins were involved in the illegal marketing but knew nothing else regarding the matter. "The report said the Magisters won't increase patrols. Why? Don't they know about the problem?"
Snorting darkly at the comment, Tharsis crossed his arms over his chest. "Of course they do. They just don't see it as their problem… yet. We're trying to keep this under the radar. If the citizens knew this was happening, the city would break out into pandemonium. We're trying to deal with the issue undetected."
Nodding distractedly at the words, a thought crossed the young elf's mind; his head cocked to the side in curiosity. "Why don't you want me getting involved? I want to help."
A stern and firm gaze boring into the paladin, Tharsis pursed his lips in resolution; he knew the boy would be adamant with complicating himself in the matter. "No, Deimos. You're not to meddle in this, and that's an order." Pausing for a second to see his son open his mouth to protest, the commander was quick to cut him off; answering the question he was sure lingered on the younger elf's lips. "Majority of the elves abducted were between the ages of twenty and fifty; all males."
Understanding seeping into him, Deimos shifted uncomfortably on the couch, his eyes breaking the contact with his father. "Ann'da, I'm more than capable of taking care of myself. I doubt the other elves have a lifetime of military training."
"Deimos!" Tharsis couldn't conceal the worried emotions from his firm voice, the uncharacteristic sound surprising his ears. "This isn't a time to be cocky or arrogant. This a lot larger than you think; I want you nowhere near this."
Sighing at the stern voice, Deimos leaned back against the couch. His mind was reeling for all the miniscule information he remembered hearing about the slave trades; but it was bare. "What kind of slavery is it? Who's buying them?"
Running a tired hand over the nape of his neck, Tharsis shook his head. "The intel we have regarding the slave trafficking is extremely diminutive. The goblins are, sadly, very good at covering their tracks." Pausing to shift uncomfortably, Tharsis eyed the reports on the table resting in front of him. "The age of the elves abducted could suggest multiple slave rings; physical labor, personal interest, sex, or military. It makes pinpointing the location harder too." Glancing at the pale and sick look that overcame his son's face, Tharsis leaned forward towards the boy. "Deimos, listen to me. You are to stay away from Murder Row and pretend you didn't hear any of this. Brightwing and I are working on it. Understood?"
Vaguely nodding, Deimos was taken back by the sheer anxiety and worry in Tharsis voice. Eyeing the half eaten snack in front of him, he felt his appetite flee his body. He couldn't fathom the disgusting trading; least of it happening to people from his city. Growing up in Silvermoon his entire life, the young elf always viewed the capital with security and protection; the thick walls subduing the dangers from the outside world. The fact that the threat was somewhere looming inside Silvermoon made the hair on the back his neck stand up, his stomach twisting into a knot. Though he was compelled to try to aid in the investigation, he would respect his father's wishes and keep himself uninvolved. While he felt confident in his ability to fight off a group of attackers, Deimos would abide by the commander's orders. Though, he felt based on the unease and alarm in Tharsis' voice, the order wasn't given from a commander-soldier standpoint, but rather a more parental one. Glancing up curiously at his father, who was inspecting a piece of parchment in front of him, Deimos wondered where the paternal emotion had originated from; the actions and severe discipline from the older elf hours before contrasting greatly with the concern displayed. Giving a small shake of his head, the paladin knew he'd never receive an answer. His father's closed demeanor never allowed for more insight on his behavior. Sighing, a small smile going across his face, Deimos felt a small amount of bliss at the strange yet welcoming manners from Tharsis. He didn't know what caused such a change in the older elf but he sent a silent prayer to the Light or whoever caused the alteration to allow it to happen it again.