Thanks so much to everyone who's been following the story! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Readjusting the long sword that hung from his back, Deimos fiddled with the lock on the front door; his key choosing to be difficult. Pursing his lips in frustration at the inanimate object refusing to comply with his wish to enter his home, the young elf felt his shirt cling to his sweating body uncomfortably as the lingering sun bore down on him. Staying up long into the night discussing the slavery issue with his father, Tharsis had allowed the boy to sleep past his usual waking time; informing him they wouldn't be taking the day to train. Instead, Tharsis had an impromptu meeting arranged for the entire duration of the day, though he still longed for Deimos to practice. Sending the boy to Master Pyreanor, a paladin trainer, the commander felt comfortable knowing Deimos was receiving proper lessons from his class instructor.

Cursing quietly at the stubborn lock, Deimos was half tempted to pull his plate armor off and remove his shirt; his body covered in a sheen layer of sweat under the layers. Having just returned from training, the young elf longed for a cool shower and the meal he knew was awaiting him; the setting sun giving evidence to the approaching dinner time. The sky was painted in an array of oranges and pinks, the clouds trying to retain some of their white color despite the cascade of colors influencing them.

Growling in frustration, the heat becoming overbearing, Deimos gave a strong turn of his key while pushing heavily on the thick door. Feeling the lock finally give in to his workings and the door swing open, the young elf gave a small sigh of relief; gladly entering the large foyer. He was unsure if Tharsis occupied the house or if he was still caught up in the unplanned meeting; not bothering to strain his hearing to listen for movement from the older elf. Ripping his sword off his back with impatient force, Deimos was sure to keep one hand gripping the hilt; a lecture would be sure to follow if he left the weapon unattended and discarded it on the marbled floor. His armor, however, was a different story. Pulling the heavy chest piece from his body, Deimos dropped it to the floor with a thud; his sweat soaked shirt soon following. The practice session with the paladin trainer had been trying and difficult; though Deimos reveled in every second of it. Focusing on increasing his spell tolerance, the trainer had put the boy through drills that coupled expert swordsmanship with difficult holy attacks; leaving the young elf exhausted and panting.

Grateful to be free of the constricting material, Deimos still held his grip on the sword; he'd place the weapon to its proper resting place in his quarters. Eyeing the discarded armor lying on the floor, he would pick it up later, most likely after eating dinner. His attention no longer solely focused on relieving himself from the uncomfortable layers, the young elf turned his head as he heard movement in the library. Cocking his head to side in curiosity, he presumed his father had already returned home. Smiling in enthusiasm, Deimos looked forward to informing the commander of the progress he made with the paladin trainer. The prospect of showcasing what he learned during their drills together was exciting.

Moving to the library, Deimos gave a broad smile, pushing back the silks that hung in the doorway. "Ann'da, I'm back. I learned a stronger shielding spell, though my mana's pretty much gone after using it. I'll have to show-"

Entering the large and imposing room, Deimos paused mid-sentence, his feet turning to lead at the sight in front of him. Seated at the long table resting in the middle of the library, all facing him with curious and interested eyes were the Magisters. Placed at the head of the table was Lor'themar, his brow lifted at the odd interruption. On the right side of the leader was Brightwing, an amused smirk on his face at the paladin's discomfort. Seated to the left of Lor'themar was Tharsis, his lips pursed in annoyance at his son's abrupt disruption.

A blush crossing his fair cheeks, Deimos felt embarrassed and humiliated as he stood shirtless and long sword in his grasp. His blonde hair was plastered to his forehead, his pants full of dirt and debris from the day's training. Opening and closing his mouth, the paladin was at a loss for words; his anxious and degrading position causing his brow to sweat.

A small chuckle resonated throughout the room, his laugh echoing across the walls. Turning a curious gaze at the source of the noise, Deimos was surprised to find it emitting from a magister; a wide smile on his face. "Wow, Tharsis; he's looking like you more every time I see him."

Glancing from Magister Darenis' amused face to Deimos' nervous body, Tharsis couldn't help the small smile that crossed his lips as he glimpsed around the room. Indeed, his son's battle-ready body was a sight for the Magisters to see. His bare chest showed the years of physical conditioning the commander put him through, his strong grip on the imposing and heavy sword displaying a childhood of rigorous training. Oddly, Tharsis felt pride at his son swell in his chest; feeling as if he was displaying a trophy. A sinister snicker on the other side of the table drew the commander's attention away from Deimos' anxious face; his gaze resting on the Grand Magister's mocking eyes. Sitting beside Rommath was his son, Elik, whom he declared was gaining real life experience from attending the meeting; much to many of their apprehensions.

"And I see he's inherited your lack of respect as well."

The comment putting him at more unease, Deimos darted his eyes between his father and the Grand Magister, his eyes briefly passing over Elik's sneering face, tempting Deimos to send a snide remark his way. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he nervously scratched the back of his neck. "I-I…I'm sorry. I didn't realize the meeting was here. And…I'll just leave."

Grinning at the stammering young elf, Lor'themar allowed a full smile to spread on his features; sparing a look at Tharsis' irritated face from Rommaths' comment. "You're fine, Deimos. I believe we were just finishing up. The day has grown late; I'll send word when we'll reconvene."

Unsure if he was supposed to stay in their presence or retreat into the house, an action he longed to do, Deimos stood awkwardly by the doorway while the room full of elves stood up from their seated positions. His hands griping the sword more firmly as his eyes fell on Elik's sniping face, the paladin felt aggravation overcome the anxious feelings in his body. Detesting the elf naturally, the paladin's anger and annoyance increased significantly seeing him in his home.

Moving to stand to the side of the doorway while the older elves began to file into the grand foyer, Deimos gave respectful tilts of his head as each one passed him. He was raised and taught to show esteem and politeness to the Magisters; their influential and authoritarian behavior calling for such. While Lor'themar was the designated leader of the Sin'dorei, he lacked the power the council of magi held. His father working closely with the Magisters, the young elf had grown up knowing their presence and how to behavior accordingly in front of them.

His eyes narrowing in anger as Elik gave a smirk and stared him up and down, Deimos clenched his teeth in frustration. The Grand Magister's close presence prevented the paladin from speaking his mind to the other elf, knowing full well the repercussions that would follow. The last Magister leaving the library, Deimos felt a hand clasp his naked shoulder; his eyes turning to inspect the new presence. Standing beside him was Brightwing, a broad smile on his face. "You sure know how to make an entrance." Pausing to chuckle, Deimos rolling his eyes, the ranger-general allowed the smile to fade from his face; his eyes darting to Tharsis speaking with the group of elves in the foyer. "How've you been? Things been ok?"

Nodding at the unspoken question, the paladin gave a small smile. "Some days better than others but it's going." Pausing to spare a quick glance at his father, who continued to bid farewell to the elves, Deimos gave a small sigh. "I still want to return to Stormwind though. Don't get me wrong; I love Silvermoon and my home. But, I don't know. I miss the city and my friends."

A forced grin spreading on his face, Brightwing gave a motion towards the foyer, suggesting they join the leaving group. "Give him time, Deimos. He may come around."

Quick to end the conversation as he entered the lavish foyer, Deimos stopped dutifully beside his father; who turned his curious gaze from the Grand Magister in front of him to glance at his son. Standing loyally beside Rommath was Elik, his mocking eyes enticing the paladin to send a hard punch to his face. Narrowing his eyes in annoyance to the other elf, Deimos shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"Well, Tharsis, I look forward to seeing you at the end of the week then," Rommath said to the older Ares'mar, who turned his blank gaze back to the Grand Magister; a small nod of his head in response.

Twisting the hilt of the sword in his hand distractedly, Deimos eyed his father's expressionless face; the older elf well versed with concealing his frustrated emotions at the Magisters. "Will the next meeting take place here?"

Chuckling mockingly and debasing, the Grand Magister gave a small shake of his head as he eyed the paladin swing the heavy sword around as if it were a toy. "Meeting? Your family is hosting the annual Onth'Talah celebration this year." Pausing to see Deimos' confused face, Rommath gave a sardonic chuckle. "Or have you forgotten about the important gala that remembers our race's history? It seems you were in that human city for far too long."

A deep blush spreading across his cheeks, the paladin pursed his lips together; part from anger and part in fear of an insult slipping from his mouth. The Onth'Talah celebration was an event the Sin'dorei took part in every year; Deimos being forced to commemorate the past. The annual festivities honored the dark spot in their race's history when Prince Kael'Thalas renamed the race the Sin'dorei, or blood elves, after the Scourge nearly forced their people to extinction. Sparing a quick glance at Tharsis in curiosity, Deimos forced a small smile on his face as he turned back to the grinning Grand Magister; his son reveling in the bewildered look that briefly passed over the paladin's face. "I've been so preoccupied with my training it seems the date completely slipped my mind." Pausing to send a smirking glare at the young mage, Deimos allowed a small edge to linger in his voice. "Elik, is the academy still forcing the students to write those reports pertaining to Onth'Talah?"

Narrowing his eyes in anger at the jab, Elik clenched his jaw in fury, sending a brief glance to his father before turning his rage towards the young paladin. "Those reports are assigned to respect and commemorate our fallen brethren and people, Deimos. Pray tell, seeing as how you're obviously not enrolled in the academy, how do you honor the event? Or have the humans convinced you to forget our history all together?"

His blood boiling as he glared at Elik's smirking face, Deimos gripped the sword tighter; taking a threatening and aggressive step towards the other elf, their faces inches apart. "Step outside with me, Elik, and I'll show you how."

Immediately placing a strong and firm hand on his son's bare chest, Tharsis gave him a push backwards; his stern gaze eyeing Deimos' angered face. The commander was well aware of the turmoil relationship between the younger elves; his own with the older Rommath not on the best of terms. However, he raised the boy to show more respect, especially in the presence of the Magisters and officers. His eyes going from Deimos' enraged face to a nearly identical one on Elik's, Tharsis knew if a physical altercation did ensue, there would be no contest. While the young mage had proficient skills in the art of arcane magic, he paled considerably to Deimos' lifetime of harsh conditioning.

Keeping an unyielding hand on the shorter elf, Tharsis spared a quick look at the Grand Magister; his eyes glaring at Deimos' face. The look made the older Ares'mar uncomfortable, his own gaze turning back to the boy; who refused to tear his attention away from Elik's face. "Deimos, that's quite enough. If it's pent up frustration that's fueling your attitude, I'll have no issue helping you vent it later."

The stern voice pulling him from his angered trance, Deimos tore his gaze away from Elik's; who smirked at Tharsis' comment. Allowing his posture to relax considerably, the young elf swallowed hard as he turned to his father's strict face. Opening his mouth sheepishly to apologize, the paladin was cut off by a looming presence that approached the group; his strong yet lighthearted voice drawing their attention to him. "Rommath, the day grows late. We must depart soon."

Sending a thankful look at Lor'themar, Deimos was surprised to see the leader return the look with a small smile; a gesture that didn't go unnoticed by the Grand Magister. Nodding respectfully at Lor'themar, Rommath turned a hardened glare at Tharsis. "I'll see you at the gala then." Pausing as he glanced at Deimos standing to side of the older elf, the Grand Magister gave a dark smirk. "Let's hope you have your elfling under more control."

Promptly ignoring the insult directed at him, Tharsis gave the elf a tight nod of his head. "Till then, Rommath."

Walking dutifully behind his father while the group of elves departed the dwelling, Deimos glanced at the taller elf beside him; Lor'themar sending a small grin his way. "There's a not soul in this room that wouldn't pay to see you break his nose, young one. But I would suggest not doing so under his father's watchful eye."

Grinning at the leader's words, Deimos eyed Lor'themar in thought. As with Brightwing and Rommath, he had grown up around the older elf; his father working closely with him. However, his time around Lor'themar was significantly shortened compared with Brightwing; though their meetings were usually a warming experience. The paladin had a deep respect and admiration for the Regent-Lord; his brave yet honorable intentions appealing to the younger elf.

Watching his father bid farewell to the last of the elves that left the house, the setting sun showcasing the dying day and only reaffirming Deimos' longing for dinner, the young elf gave a small sigh. Balancing the sharpened tip of the sword on the marbled floor, the paladin leaned his weight on the pommel of the weapon while he patiently waited for the lingering officers to leave; knowing full well the lecture that was sure to commence from his father. Already silently berating himself, Deimos knew his actions were brash and stupid. He already suspected the Grand Magister had a disliking for him, the aggressive action towards his son only confirming the thought. He had allowed Elik to aggravate and frustrate him; placing himself right where the mage wanted. Gritting his teeth in annoyance at his lack of self-reserve, the paladin gave a small shake of his head; there would be repercussions for his actions in some way.

Hearing the front door shut, Deimos was quick to react with haste. Bending down, he scooped up the discarded plate armor forgotten on the floor; slightly surprised that it was left unnoticed from the officers and Magisters. Quickly glancing at his father turning around from the shut door, the paladin briskly walked to the ramp that would lead to his escape. "Well, I'm going to go shower before dinner. I'll be quick."

His free hand gripping the golden railing, Deimos began to scale the marbled ramp; a grin going across his face. Silence responded his remark, a small feeling of triumph swelling in his chest. Smart to not slow his ascent, the young elf was surprised the Light had granted him such a miracle.

"Wait."

Closing his eyes in frustration, his hand squeezing the railing in annoyance, Deimos growled in displeasure. He was far too optimistic to assume the older Ares'mar would reward him with such a reprise. Sighing in irritation, the paladin slowly turned around; his imploring green eyes meeting Tharsis' stern ones. Standing beside the table in the center of the lavish foyer, the commander had his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his weight leaned to one side in impatience. The stance wasn't unfamiliar to Deimos; it was the one his father assumed prior to a lecture. Rolling his eyes at the unspoken request, the young elf retreated back down the ramp in defeat, carefully placing the plate armor on the ground in preparation for a long talk.

"Ok," Deimos began, his voice careful to keep any evidence of disdain or mockery out; only to be filled with obedience and respect. "I know what I did was wrong. I shouldn't have insulted and tried to start a fight with Elik. It was a lapse in my judgment. I'm sorry." Pausing to lift his eyes from the floor to inspect his father's reaction, he was rewarded with a blank and expressionless face staring back at him; causing a sigh to escape his lips. "Oh, and I'm sorry for interrupting your meeting. Not that it's fully my fault; you forgot to mention it was here. But I shouldn't have barged in like I did; but then again, you don't ever knock when invading my privacy so maybe I'm just picking up your habits." Breaking in his speech to watch Tharsis lift a brow at the words, his face still plain and vacant, Deimos gave a frustrated sigh. "Alright, now I'm sorry for disrespecting you. Yeah, I know; 'privacy is a privilege that you earn' – or whatever it is that you say. So I should have knocked or at least checked to see that there were guests over. You know, because I have to check for that so often." Closing his eyes at the lack of progress the apology he was making and sarcasm in his voice, Deimos gave a small shake of his head, wishing he could start the speech over. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry for… embarrassing you; especially in front of the Magisters. I know how much their opinions matter. Well, not really opinions but their judgment. And I guess busting into the meeting half naked didn't really help your favor. So for that, I'm sorry. And for insulting and showing aggression towards Elik in front of Rommath."

Eyes narrowing at his rambling son in front of him, Tharsis tilted his head. "Are you done yet?"

Face contorted in concentration while his eyes scanned the polished floor in front of him, Deimos gave an uncertain nod of his head. "I think so; unless you want a longer apology."

"That was an apology? I couldn't tell if you were begging for forgiveness or trying to bore me to death."

Brows up in thought, the younger elf gave a small shrug; surprised at the amused look on the commander's face. "Well, which one was closer?"

Heaving a deep sigh, Tharsis uncrossed his arms as he eyed the paladin in front of him. "You're lecture will have to wait till after you shower. I doubt I'd be able to get half way through without passing out from your horrid stench."

Bending down to retrieve the armor lying next to him, Deimos couldn't stop the victorious smile that painted his features. His father was in high spirits; indicating the meeting had gone well. "You know, you used to tell me that was the smell of a good day's work. And now you're complaining about it?"

"I'm not having dinner with you if you don't bathe. So if you plan on eating tonight, I would suggest hurrying." Eyeing his son moving up the ramp, a light bounce in his step from feeling successful at postponing the speech, Tharsis felt his amused expression slip from his face. "But Deimos, you should watch yourself, especially around Rommath."

Pausing in his ascent, the young elf turned around; escape seemed too easy. Meeting his father's dark face, he gave a small nod; his voice calm. "I know. And usually I'm good with it." Pausing to scratch the nape of his neck with his free hand, the paladin shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "And really, I am sorry for embarrassing you. It wasn't my intention."

Narrowing his eyes while he scrutinized his son under a hard stare, Tharsis gave a small nod in thought. "Go shower."

Sighing in relief, the paladin escalated the ramp with an odd combination of emotions. The most prevalent feeling was utter shock and surprise at his father's reaction, or rather lack thereof. Such irresponsible and brash actions called for disciplining and a prompt lecture; he received neither from the commander. Instead, he was rewarded with dismissive comments that disregarded the actions. Such behavior from his strict father seemed uncharacteristic and odd; though the young elf wasn't complaining. He would gladly accept the peculiar manner from the older elf. However, he was unsure if Tharsis would hold him true to being lecture at a later time.

Making his way to the top of the ramp, Deimos moved down the hall towards his room. The fading sun graced the rooms in glowing twilight; the arcane based lights slowly taking over in illuminating the rooms. Stepping into his quarters, the young elf was quick to first enter his closet; his thoughts dominated by the feelings swirling inside him. An ebbing anger still filled his being; his rage being directed at both Elik and his father. While he could verbally assault the younger of the two, Deimos was powerless to defend himself against the Grand Magister's words; the helpless feeling only infuriating him more. He knew his father, if provoked enough, would be quick to subdue Rommath's insults; mostly out of defending his own honor rather than Deimos'.

Shaking his head in frustration while he placed his armor in its proper resting place on a shelf far into the closet, the young paladin quickly grabbed a set of night clothes on his way out. Feeling his stomach clench in protest from hunger, he increased his pace; the aroma of food a floor below fueling his fastened steps.

Moving his restless hands from their position on the desk, Tharsis turned the page of the report to begin reading the next section. The account was from an older woman who witnessed a group of humans forcefully abduct a young elf; the tale disturbing and putting the commander in unease. While the witness was exceedingly aged, she seemed adamant on her story and the plausibility of it. Her small and meager home nestled in the heart of Murder Row, the witness claimed she saw the group silently subdue the elf with minimal effort; their larger statures and potions easily overpowering the lone elf. Her report said the altercation happened swift and nearly soundless; the humans moving with proficiency and determination. Sighing in frustration while he pushed the chair back, Tharsis began to pace the library in thought.

When he first received the intel about the odd string of disappearances of elves, he dismissed the cause as rebellious youths; the ages of those missing bearing similarity. However, the overabundance of reports became disheartening and overwhelming. Talking with several parents of the missing elves, Tharsis was taken back to hear that majority of them were responsible and conscientious; excelling in their studies at the academy and respectable to their parents. Such manners didn't seem reasonable to dismiss as a runaway case. It wasn't until the first witness stepped forth with their account of an abduction in Murder Row that Tharsis began to take the disappearances gravely. When the bystander was able to describe the Trade Coalition symbol on the captors', he knew immediately what they were dealing with. Shaking his head in disgust, Tharsis found the notion of slave trading a vile and dishonorable act. A being wasn't a piece of property or object; it wasn't meant to be traded and sold as such.

"You ready?"

Looking up from his pacing at the doorway, Tharsis eyed the boy leaning against the frame. Wearing a short sleeved shirt and baggy night pants, Deimos gave his father a questioning look. His blonde hair was still damp; the spiky style hindered by the lingering water that weighed it down. His mind clearing, Tharsis willed his thoughts to forget what was written on the mounds of parchment resting on the desk; he would return to it after the meal.

Slightly surprised at his father's unfocused gaze eyeing him, Deimos pushed himself off the door frame; raising a curious brow at the older elf. "If it's a bad time, I can come back."

Shaking his head in hopes of clearing the disturbing and troublesome thoughts from the reports, Tharsis moved towards the paladin with a large sigh. "No, it's fine. My mind's just slightly preoccupied."

Glancing at the taller elf's face, Deimos gave a small nod as the two moved towards the parlor. When first entering the library, the young elf was taken aback by the thoughtful yet darkened look on his father's face. Even still, remnants of dismay still lingered on his features as they walked through the house. "You look tired. Reading more boring reports?"

The question taking him slightly off-guard as they entered the parlor, Tharsis spared a quick look at the shorter elf beside him. Indeed, the commander felt tired and worn; the meeting and intel taking its toll on his body and mind. "No, unfortunately."

The short answer hinting that the commander didn't wish to pursue the conversation, Deimos wasn't quick to heed to his request. Pushing back the silks that hung in the doorway to the dining room, the young elf raised a questioning brow at his father. "Does it have to do with the meeting?"

Entering the lavish dining area, Tharsis approached the rounded table. The room was decorated in a similar fashion as the rest of the house; ebony marble making up the floor and an elaborate chandelier hanging in the center of the delicately carved ceiling. The black stucco walls were concealed behind red silks that hung from the top of the chandelier, draped to the walls, and hung loosely to the polished floor. In the center of the room rested a large circular table, its purple surface accented around the sides with brushed gold. The chairs surrounding the table were majestic and opulent, the golden frames enclosing red cushioned seats. Two spots at the table were set for dinner; posh golden chargers lying beneath white porcelain plates filled with food. Resting to the sides of the plates were rows of Adamantite utensils, while filled wine glasses sat above.

Taking his seat at his usual spot, Tharsis gave a small nod. "We received another statement from an eye witness in Murder Row."

Eyeing the food on his plate while he took his own seat, Deimos couldn't help the small smile on his lips. One characteristic that Silvermoon had over Stormwind was the excellence of food. While the Pig and Whistle Tavern in Old Town wasn't particularly the worst quality, it stood no contest to the luscious and succulent food the young elf was accustomed to. Having grown up with a Grand Master chef that would prepare their meals, Deimos had developed a lavish and expensive palate; which annoyed Warren to no end. The boy would openly complain about the lack of choices the tavern offered, mostly with the intent to rouse a response from his human host. While the Sagefish Delight was viewed as a specialty dish in the human tavern, it had no competition with the Dragonfin Filet Deimos eyed on his plate.

Looking up at his father sitting across the table, Deimos sent him a curious look. "Do you think maybe the Alliance would want to help?"

Sipping the fine wine in his glass, Tharsis gave a small shake of his head. "We're not asking them. We just joined; we don't need them thinking we're weak and can't take care of our own city."

Picking up the glowing utensil, the young elf poked the delicate fish on his plate in thought; choosing not to acknowledge his father's response. "Do we have any idea how they're getting in and out of the city unseen?"

"We've torn apart Murder Row and found nothing. There's most likely a warlock hiding here, summoning the others. As for leaving, a mage could easily portal out." Pausing to swallow a piece of the filet, Tharsis pointed his fork at the younger elf across the table; whose face was clouded in thought. "I already told you though; I don't want you getting involved."

Nodding while he took a large drink from his own glass of wine, Deimos concealed a sigh of impatience. Though he was considered underage to consume the alcoholic beverage, Tharsis allowed the paladin to do so at meals; a glass of wine would refine his taste for the fine drink. "Yeah, I know."

"Good."

Several beats of silence passed over the room, each elf mutely eating the food on their plates. Soundless meals weren't unfamiliar for the father and son; silence would usually envelope the dining room. On occasion, the commander would bring arms filled with reports to the meal, scattering the pages around the table while he ate. Deimos would sit in the deadly silence, sometimes pulling a page across the table when Tharsis wasn't looking to keep himself entertained. A thought coming to mind, Tharsis glanced over at the younger elf. "We're hosting the Onth'Talah gala this year."

Surprised at the interruption to the silence from his father, Deimos lifted surprised brows. "Yeah, I heard."

Frowning slightly at the lack of response, the commander took a sip out of his glass. "I meant to tell you earlier, but I must have forgotten."

Nodding at the comment, the paladin was unsure if he was meant to reply to the remark. The imploring tone that lingered in the words led him to believe his father was attempting to stir an actual conversation with him; but he quickly disregarded the thought.

Silence sweeping over the room for several seconds, the older elf shifted in his chair as he eyed the silent boy. His hair was drying, the natural spikiness slowly displaying itself. "Will you ever grow your hair out?"

The abrupt and personal question from his father taking him off guard, the fork fell from the paladin's grasp, landing on the plate with a loud bang. Unconsciously running a hand through his short hair, Deimos shifted in his chair at the odd question. Cropped hair was seen in the Sin'dorei culture as a modish and young fashion, the style not typically extending to the adults or older elves that made up the race. Shrugging while he picked up the utensil, the young elf glanced nervously at his father; unsure where the question was headed. "Probably not. I like it short."

Nodding at the small answer, Tharsis stole another sip from his glass; the boy refused to commence a conversation with him. "You're getting older; I just figured you'd adopt a more mature style."

Deimos blinked at his father. "I'm only twenty."

Glancing down at his plate, Tharsis picked at his food. "Almost twenty-one."

Narrowing his eyes at his father, the younger elf glanced at his face in thought. The comment from the commander was peculiar and odd; the older elf typically ignoring each passing birthday the paladin had. The date would usually be celebrated with a day full of hard training, his father pushing the young elf to his limits. Tharsis would regard him with a distance and coldness that put him in unease and discomfort; though he knew the reason behind his father's harsh attitude. The day not only celebrated his birth but also his mother's death. While Tharsis refused to discuss his mother with Deimos, Brightwing had reluctantly gave sparse details of her. He divulged enough to relay the deep love and compassion the husband and wife shared; her death slowly killing Tharsis from the inside out.

Eyeing the folded napkin that rested in his lap, Deimos gave a small shrug. "Yeah, I guess it's coming up."

"A couple months. Not that twenty-one is any more of a meaningful age."

Swallowing hard, the young elf tried futilely to decipher the direction of the conversation or hidden meaning behind the commander's words. While his tone was light and innocent, Deimos couldn't help but feel skeptical at the older elf. "Well, now it's seventy-nine more years till I'm an adult. I'm slowly getting there."

Placing the goblet on the table after taking a sip, Tharsis gazed over at the younger elf watching him. Turning his eyes down to the table, the commander offered the paladin a small smile. "Already counting down to when you can move out?"

Watching his father under examining eyes, Deimos was stunned to see a brief look of hurt cross over Tharsis' features. As quickly as it came, it was gone; overcome by the blank and expressionless façade that was usually painted on the older elf's face. Feeling his cheeks burn, the paladin shifted uncomfortably in the chair; a quick smile going across his face. "Don't take it personally, but I want my own place. You know, privacy."

Lifting his eyes up to meet his son's, Tharsis responded in a quiet voice. "Your own place in Silvermoon or Stormwind?"

The temperature in the room seemed, to the young elf, to plummet. A deep cold enveloped his body as he glanced into similar green eyes; the knowing look from his father making him even more uncomfortable. However much he willed himself, Deimos couldn't hide the shocked expression on his face from the question. Casting his eyes down to the table in hopes of his father not reading his emotions, he knew it was in vain; the older elf would be quick to notice his expression.

Laughing lightly at the nervousness Deimos displayed, Tharsis leaned back against the chair, his arms crossing over his chest. "So even after a little over a week at home, you still prefer the human city?"

Careful to keep his eyes focused on the gold accenting the edge of the table, the young elf answered in a quiet, hesitant voice. "I Iove Silvermoon and my home. I grew up here. But…" pausing to glance up at his father, who watched him through examining eyes, Deimos gave a defeated sigh; his reply coming out in a hushed tone. "I have friends in Stormwind; people who I can actually go out with."

"Friends?" Tharsis asked scathingly, leaning forward on the table towards the quiet boy; Deimos' hunched forward shoulders giving evidence to dismayed feelings. "Friends will only fail you, Deimos. I've taught you your whole life to not rely on another. And after spending a mere half year with these humans you're quick to disregard that?"

Sending his eyes back down to the table, Deimos blinked several times in discomfort. He knew the conversation was a losing battle. Sighing deeply, the young elf slowly lifted his eyes up to meet his father's gaze. He couldn't bring his voice to raise higher than its hushed tone, his reply coming out small. "It's not just humans. I'm friends with a gnome, too. She saved my life multiple times." Pausing as Tharsis darkly chuckled at the words, Deimos gave a small sigh. "I get freedom too."

Lifting a brow, Tharsis leaned back in his chair with a small smile. "You mean you get no supervision?" Eyeing the confused look on the young elf's face, the commander continued, his voice taking a surprisingly softer tone. "You're young; believe it or not, I was your age once. I know you want your space and privacy. But you don't deserve it yet, nor do you need it. And I know you hate me for that."

The words taking him by surprise, Deimos shockingly watched Tharsis push the chair out from under him and move towards the exit of the dining room. As much he tried to think otherwise, the sadness and disappointment couldn't be concealed from his father's voice; making the younger elf's mind reel. Only a day ago, he was being drowned in a freezing river by Tharsis, only to have his father displaying softer and kinder words to him. The change was confusing and baffling; but still refreshing. Hearing his father's steps echo through the parlor, Deimos stood up from his own place at the table. The change of attitude from his father was strange and curious, making the younger elf consistently wonder what had caused such a robust amend. However, he openly welcomed the change.

Pushing the silk in the doorway to the side, Deimos made his way through the parlor, his bare feet barely making a sound on the marbled floor. Faintly, he could see his father in the foyer; naturally assuming the older elf was going back to the mounds of reports waiting for him.

Sighing as he left the parlor to enter a vacant foyer, Deimos glanced towards the library; where he was granted with seeing his father's form moving towards his usual position. Scratching the nape of his neck nervously, the paladin reluctantly pushed the silks back to follow the commander. If Tharsis noticed his entrance, he didn't give any indication to it. Instead, he sat down at the desk, his eyes roaming the report in front of him; his facial expression void and blank. Lingering in the doorway, the young elf was unsure whether or not he should enter the area. The notion of leaving his father to brood seemed all to pleasing; but a small voice in the back of his mind told him otherwise. Gazing at the commander's vacant and distanced look in his eyes as he sat down at the desk, Deimos made up his troubled mind.

"Ann'da," the young elf began, his voice soft and hesitant, as he slowly entered the library, "I'm sorry."

Looking up at the apology, Tharsis watched his son sit on a white plush couch nestled beside the desk. The paladin's eyes were imploring and apologetic; his face painted with a concerned yet saddened look. Sighing, the commander looked back down at the piles of parchment on the desk. "There's nothing to apologize for."

Blinking at the older elf, Deimos flinched at the flat and emotionless voice. The elf that he saw only minutes before was gone; the cold and detached façade covering all emotions on his father's face. Shifting uncomfortably as silence enveloped the room, the young elf unsure what to say to Tharsis, he picked at a loose string at the bottom of his shirt. "I didn't mean to upset you." Pausing to take a deep sigh, the young elf responded under his breath. "I don't hate you."

Placing a report in his hands that he pretended to read back on the table, Tharsis turned his gaze to his son. Sitting on the couch, shoulders wilted forward in dismay, the boy kept his eyes down in an attempt to hide the troubled look on his face. Leaning back as he continued to examine him, Tharsis was slightly surprised at his words. "I recall before leaving Stormwind you saying quite the opposite."

Whipping his head up at the reply, Deimos squinted his eyes as he replayed the conversation; realization of the truth in his words dawning on him. Giving a small shake of his head, the young elf fidgeted nervously. "I was mad. Light, I still am mad at you for forcing me to leave. Something like that, I probably won't get over for some time. But that doesn't mean I hate you. Will I go back to Stormwind when I'm an adult and can go where I want?" Pausing to gather his thoughts, Deimos gave a shrug. "Probably. Who knows though? It's eighty years away – all my friends in Stormwind will be long dead. If given the chance now, I would return in a heartbeat."

Picking up the quill resting on his desk to inspect it between his fingers, Tharsis gave a small smile. "So you would choose friends over family?"

The question taking him off guard, Deimos scrunched his brows in confusion, his head shaking in uncertainty; his emotions torn in multiple directions. "You never once during my life thought of me as family and now you expect me to?" Breaking to see a disturbed look darken his father's features, the young elf leaned forward towards the commander. "Look, I understand that raising an elfling on your own is probably difficult. Even if I could go back in time and change things, I wouldn't. I like how I was raised, ok? But I never asked for anything from you. I did everything you requested from me and more; I was holding a sword before most elflings could walk, I learned to read from intel and reports, I trained thirty hours straight. Light, I would die trying to impress you then and still today. But the one time I ask for something, you can't do it? Aren't I entitled to something?"

Lifting his eyes from the quill in his hands, Tharsis placed the writing utensil slowly on the desk with gentleness. Running a hand over his tired face, the commander narrowed his eyes at his son's entreating gaze. "Deimos, I pushed you hard your whole life to give you a better future. You're already one of the best in my company at age twenty; at least a hundred years junior than your fellow soldiers. Imagine where you'll be at fifty? Light, you can even have your own battalion by your hundredth birthday. I'm sure having 'friends' in Stormwind is very enticing but it's not going to last. You said it yourself; they'll be dead before you even reach adulthood. Creating attachments will only hurt when they die and you live on."

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"

Pursing his lips in anger at the quiet and small question from the younger elf, Tharsis broke their eye contact to glance down at the parchment. The conversation had somehow turned a direction he loathed. "I'm speaking from experience; an experience that's still taking me twenty years to get over." Pausing to look up at Deimos, the commander was taken back to see a surprised look on his face. "Like I said before, you're young; I know going out with friends to taverns sounds like fun, but it's irresponsible. You want to throw away all the work and training we've done to get you where you are. And for what? A couple drinks with meaningless people?" Examining Deimos' tilted down head, his eyes on the floor in thought, Tharsis gave a deep sigh. "And just because I forbid you to live in the human city doesn't mean you can't visit or have your acquaintances come here."

His head snapping up to meet Tharsis' even and still face, Deimos gave a small grin; the words from the older elf taking him by utmost shock and surprise. "Really? I can go visit Stormwind?"

Leaning forward on his arms, the commander cocked his head to the side in amusement and slight annoyance at the excited look on his son's face. The paladin was far too easily swayed with the prospect of companionship. "For a short leave of absence, say three to five days, I see no problems with it." Pausing to watch the grin on the younger elf's face progress to a smile, Tharsis was sure to keep his tone firm. "But don't think you can run off there every month. As your commanding officer, you'll still have to submit a request of nonattendance to me; which I'll consider. Possibly once a year to visit should suffice your begging's."

Overjoyed at his father's words, Deimos nodded at every word. His mind was reeling; he assumed he wouldn't be setting foot in the human city for another eighty years. While a five day visit wasn't substantial, it was a step in the right direction. Perhaps with more finessing and work, he could somehow get his father to submit to his leaving to Stormwind for a longer period, or possibly a permanent setting. "Yes, that's fine. Thank you."

Nodding, Tharsis had to quickly turn his eyes downcast from the younger elf. Deimos' bright smile held joy and elation from the commander's words. Seeing the happy expression created mixed feelings in the commander's chest; contentment that he was able to accommodate his son and sadness at the reminder of his departed wife. His brilliant smile reaching his green eyes was nearly identical to his mothers, tearing a piece of Tharsis' heart out. A day never went by that he didn't think of her; his son only making his mourning and grievance all the harder.

Sensing the abrupt change in demeanor from the older elf, Deimos stood from the couch to gingerly approach the desk, straightening out his night pants in the process. "Is there anything I can help with?"

Quick to hide the saddened emotions from the forthcoming paladin, Tharsis lifted an amused brow with a smirk. "Oh, so now that I gave in to you, you're more than happy to offer help? You're a spoiled elfling."

Rolling his eyes at the comment, Deimos eyed the stacks of parchment littering the entire surface of the desk. Though it seemed alarmingly disorganized to the young elf, his father was more than apt at locating reports and intel under the mounds of paper. "I'm not an elfling."

"But you are spoiled?"

"Do you want help or not?"

Looking around the desk, Tharsis eyed the piles of reports; silently debating what he wanted his son's opinion on. The reports regarding the abductions in the city would remain untouched by the younger elf, but there were more than enough other stacks to send his way. Picking up a thick mass of papers, Tharsis offered it to the waiting paladin. "Here. Read this and get back to me. I want to know what your take on it is."

Accepting the stack with interest, Deimos brought his brows together in perplexity at the sheer size of the intel. "What's it on?"

"A scouting report from Icecrown. I've gotten through half of it so keep it in order. I want a full summary on the reconnaissance; this was an important mission. I'd like the report by the end of next week."

Nodding at the severity in his voice, the paladin glanced down at the heavy pile in his hands. An investigative report from the glaciered lands that housed the Lich King demanded full attention and concentration; the daunting task making Deimos feel proud. Such an imperative and vital assignment was an immense amount of responsibility. "I can start on it tonight."

Glancing at the clock, Tharsis gave a small shake of his head. "It's getting late; start on it tomorrow. It's nearly after eight."

Rolling his eyes at the words while giving a small laugh, the young elf moved towards the doorway of the library, the substantial report resting in his grasps. "Are you still enforcing that ridiculous 'bed time'? You know I'm no longer ten, right?"

Raising a brow at the boy, the commander continued to keep his eyes roaming the pages in front of him. "If I didn't, you wouldn't get out of bed till noon."

"Remember that 'freedom' I get in Stormwind? Maybe we should try applying it here."

"You'd get the same treatment if you lived in the barracks."

Sighing at the lack of progress he was making, Deimos knew he wouldn't get through to his father on the issue. The curfew had been instilled since the young elf could remember; the time he was required to be in bed slightly increasing over the years. While it didn't particularly bother him, after tasting the feeling of choosing his own curfew in Stormwind, getting back into the routine of the enforced rule was trying. Smiling at himself as he left the library, Deimos was at ease knowing his father had given him permission to visit the human city. While he didn't dare try for more privileges regarding Stormwind just yet, the young elf had hope that Tharsis would be swayed regarding a more permanent move.

Glancing at himself in the mirror for the umpteenth time, Deimos pulled the scratching Ebonweave shirt from his neck. The stiff material, while made of the utmost quality, irritated and annoyed the newly washed skin. Sighing in defeat, the young elf sadly accepted his fate of discomfort for the night; the shirt wasn't budging on the matter.

Opening a drawer from the vanity, Deimos retrieved a vial of thick wax from the back. Not usually taking much care to fashion his hair on a daily basis, the elf reserved the styling paste for occasions that required the increase in image. Glancing back in the mirror at his damp blonde hair, the paladin hesitantly ran a hand through it; debating the best approach. While his hair naturally held a spiky style, the use of the pomade would enhance the appearance. Sighing, Deimos gingerly twisted open the small jar of wax; the smell of Golden Sansam filling the small space.

The evening was dying, the darkened night conquering the blue sky with victory. The streets of the Sin'dorei capital were barren and deserted, save for the occasional arcane guardian or patrol. The Onth'Talah celebration called the citizens into their homes in preparation for the parties and galas that were sure to be in full-swing in a mere few hours; the Ares'mar dwelling no different. While Deimos was excused from the day of practice to help out around the house for the upcoming party, the young elf was less than thrilled. He detested the monotonous and droning parties; having grown up attending the events throughout his life. Hearing movement below him, Deimos heaved a deep sigh. He would remain in his bedroom as long as possible; postponing the imminent and pending tedious night.

Running his hands full of wax through his hair, the young elf turned his head to the side at the sound of a presence entering his bedroom. Lifting a brow as his father pushed back the silks to enter the adjoining bathroom, the young elf gave a dramatic sigh, trying to ignore the stern look on the older elf's face. "Thanks for the privacy. What if I was naked?"

Pausing to run his eyes up and down his son in an examining manner, taking in the slightly wrinkled shirt to the gelled hair, Tharsis pursed his lips in annoyance at the boy. "It's nothing I haven't seen. What's taking you so long? Half the guests are here already, Deimos."

"Sorry, I didn't even notice the time pass. I doubt they notice I'm not there anyways." Turning his gaze back to the mirror as he continued to work his hands swiftly through his cropped hair, Deimos generously added more wax. Turning his head to the sides in an effort to glance at the back, he resorted to relying on touch to insure its appearance was satisfactory. Running his hands through the locks slowly made it dry, the dampness leaving the blonde strands. "I'm almost done."

The words not offering any consolation to him, Tharsis shifted impatiently and angered from one foot the other; his arms crossed tightly over his chest. It took all his self-reserve to not yank the insolent boy from the small space. "You should have been ready hours ago."

Sighing at his father's incensed tone, Deimos hastily grabbed a small pile of jewelry resting on the vanity; satisfied with his hair. While he knew his father's words held truth, the young elf couldn't bring himself to particularly care. Quickly shoving thick Khorium rings on his right thumb and left middle finger, he spared a glance at the commander glaring at him. "Look, I'm sorry. I got caught up reading that report and lost track of time."

Watching his son pull the heirloom necklace around his neck, his fingers expertly working the clasp, Tharsis deepened his scowl at the paladin. "That's no excuse, Deimos. Don't think I'm dense and have no idea why you prolonged getting ready."

Moving to the last piece of jewelry to finish the ensemble, Deimos leaned against the sink and turned to the right to get a better view of his left ear. His fingers easily locating the hole only an inch below the delicate point, he brought the golden hoop up to it. Unsure how to respond to the angered elf, the paladin determined the best decision was to not reply; his father's annoyed glare boring into him. About to push the sharp back of the earring through his ear, Deimos jumped slightly when a firm and strong hand grasped his wrist, halting his movements to a standstill. Glancing to the side at the presence hovering over him, the young elf was surprised to find his father pulling his wrist down with a strong force.

"Leave the earring out. This is a gala, Deimos, not a gathering at some tavern."

Sighing in defeat, the young elf submissively gave in to his father's wish, placing the golden hoop on the vanity reluctantly. As much as he longed to debate the matter, the angered look on the commander's face and hard grasp on his wrist told him otherwise. Nodding obediently, the hand releasing him, Deimos gave himself one last look in the mirror before pulling the silks back to enter his bedroom, Tharsis following shortly behind him.

"I want you to mingle with the guests tonight, understand? Diplomatic training is just as important as physical conditioning, and dealing with the Magisters will require a vast amount of it. I want you to get comfortable with conversing with them in a discrete yet tactical way."

A silent sigh escaping his closed lips while he moved towards the doorway of his bedroom, Deimos gave a compliant nod of his head. The speech from his father was one he often received prior to an event that involved the fake and superficial council of magi. The thought of heeding the older elf's request sent shivers down his spine; he despised the forced conversations and scrutinizing eyes. The young elf was well aware of the hidden meanings behind all the words the Magisters said, the diplomatic dance disgusting him. Unfortunately, he lacked the esteem and confidence his father possessed when dealing with the magi; the older Ares'mar knew how to play their game. Pulling the silk back to enter the hallway, Deimos could only look forward to the prospect of the ending to the night; the notion of returning to his bedroom seemed more than delightful.

"Can I have bourbon?"

The bartender sighed as he looked over the young elf with examining eyes; a skeptical look on his face. "How old are you?"

Rolling his eyes, Deimos gave a dramatic and deep sigh. "Old enough." The doubtful look only increasing tenfold, the paladin decided to resort to his next tactic. "Look, I can use it." Pausing to glance around the parlor filled with elves, he turned back to the unamused bartender. "More like need it."

Sighing at the young elf in front of him, the bartender hesitantly placed a small glass filled with dark brown liquid on the granite bar counter. Smiling in thanks at the drink, Deimos happily accepted it. Prior to living in Stormwind, he found the booze to be disgusting and vile; his throat protesting madly from the burn. After spending countless nights with Matheus and Warren, however, his palette soon became more acclimated with the liquid. While he still preferred a fine wine over the hard alcohol, he knew the strong drink would help the night go by with more ease. Walking to the side of the bustling room, his drink in his hand, Deimos was quick to keep his gaze down in fear of making eye contact with someone.

The dinner had commenced and ended with no pomp; the meal was as boring and tedious as the mingling that followed. The lavish parlor was used for both the dinner and gala, decorated circular tables being taken out after the meal was finished to open the room up for cocktails and socializing. A quiet music resonated off the marbled floor and elevated ceiling, the fake laughs and forced conversations mixing to create a sound that made the young elf all the more annoyed. The sound wasn't unfamiliar to the paladin; he grew up being forced to endure the monotonous events.

Leaning against the wall as he eyed the numerous elves socializing, Deimos gingerly sipped the strong drink. The parlor was opulently decorated; thick silks swooped from the lavish chandelier to the carved walls. Servers dutifully walked around the elves, filled glasses on trays to replace the empty ones in the guests' hands. The whole spectacle was annoying and sickening to Deimos.

About to take another sip of the strong alcohol, a strong hand gripped his wrist while another pulled the glass from his grasp. Surprised at the action, Deimos turned his head to meet Tharsis' stern and harsh glare. As a server passed by them with a tray full of empty glasses, the older elf was quick to place the bourbon on it. "Not only is that a vile drink but you're also vastly under age." Pausing to send a firm look at his son, the commander nodded towards the crowd of elves. "Go socialize, Deimos."

Sighing at the words, the young elf crossed his arms over his chest; not the least bit pleased with his drink gone. "I did."

"Well, mingle more. There's still hours left of the party."

Sending one last hard look at the paladin, Tharsis joined the throng of guests; hoping his son would follow suit. Deimos, however, was less adamant to mix with the elves. While it was true that he attempted to socialize earlier in the night, the elf had only given enough time to promptly greet all the guests; not delving into conversation with them. The only guest he attempted to converse with was Brightwing; but it proved to be impossible. The ranger-general was being hailed left and right, other guests trying to speak with the elf with as much determination as Deimos. Giving up on trying to get more than two minutes with Brightwing, the paladin was quick to keep himself on the sides of the room; simply waiting for the night and party to end.

"You can't hide the entire evening."

Surprised at the voice, Deimos whipped his head to the side. Standing with a knowing grin on his face and a half filled glass of wine in his hand was Lor'themar. Slightly taken back by the older elf's comment, the paladin opened and closed his mouth while he attempted to search for the correct words; only making the amused look on the leader's face deepen. "I'm not hiding. Just…waiting."

Chuckling at the younger elf, Lor'themar sent a quick glance at the throng of elves. "I hate these things just as much as you do. I've perfected how to hide."

Raising surprised brows at the words, Deimos grinned at the leader. "You? But you're the Regent-Lord; how can you hate these events?"

Laughing at the words, Lor'themar placed a gentle hand on the young elf's shoulder, giving a kind push towards the crowd. "You forget that I was a ranger and paladin before taking my position." Pausing to glance at Deimos' reluctance to enter the intimidating mass of elves, the leader gave a small smirk. "But I also know the importance of socializing; as you should. Wars are fought on and off the battlefield, young one."

Nodding halfheartedly at the words, Deimos allowed himself to be led into the waiting crowd; a deep sigh escaping his lips. As much as he wanted to disregard and ignore Lor'themar's words, he knew he couldn't disrespect the older elf. Instead, he was damned to mix with the elves against his will.

Unsure where he was headed, the paladin followed the older elf's lead; his step having direction and purpose. Furiously glancing to the sides of him in an attempt to figure out where their destination was headed, the young elf gave a small shake of his head as he mentally prepared himself. Battles and physical training he would gladly take; diplomatic conversations seemed foreign and alien to the young elf. Turning his gaze forward, Deimos had to force his feet to continue moving across the marble as his eyes fell on the group of elves they sought. Standing in a semi-circle, drinks in hand, was Tharsis, the Grand Magister and his son, and Brightwing. Watching as a server passed him, Deimos blindly grabbed a small glass off his tray full of drinks. He didn't care what booze filled the glass but only hoped it was strong.

"There you are," Brightwing greeted Lor'themar, a wide smile on his face. "We were wondering where you disappeared off to."

"I had to use the restroom," Pausing to glance at the younger Ares'mar, who fidgeted on his feet nervously, Lor'themar gave a gesture to the paladin. "I ran into Deimos along the way."

The group's attention fell on the anxious young elf, much to his displeasure. Silently sending a death wish to Lor'themar, Deimos hesitantly sipped the drink out of his glass; hoping the booze would offer some sort of escape. The strange and peculiar liquid warmed his mouth as he swallowed; still unsure what the drink was. As the alcohol slid down his esophagus, the young elf felt like his throat was on fire; the sides constricting in protest to the vile taste. Eyes watering, the paladin couldn't stop the cough that forced itself out.

Chuckling while he took the glass out of Deimos' hand, who didn't put up a fight at the action, Brightwing gave the young elf an amused look. "Since when do you drink absinthe?"

Eyeing the coughing elf, the Grand Magister lifted a brow. "Since when do you drink?"

His choking subsiding, Deimos gave a small shake of his head at both questions. "I don't. At least not anymore."

Sparing a quick glance to see Tharsis' disapproving glare at his son, Brightwing smiled at the young elf while he offered his own glass to Deimos; who gratefully sipped the wine in an effort to quell the burning sensation enveloping his throat. Turning his attention back to the Grand Magister, who eyed the young paladin with dark interest, the ranger-general was quick to change the subject. "I hear Elik was accepted for an apprenticeship at the Academy of Arcane Sciences in Stormwind next spring. That's quite the accomplishment."

The words shocking him, Deimos coughed as he swallowed the fine wine; the elves immediately turning their heads at the interruption. Giving a sheepish and apologetic smile, the young elf turned his attention to the liquid resting in the goblet. The notion of Elik living amongst the humans was entertaining, yet at the same time distressing. For his rival and foe to be allowed to live in the city the paladin longed to reside in was upsetting and displeasing.

"Elik was honored to receive Maginor Dumas as a teacher. He's notorious for his book on the socio-contextual effects of magic and how it impacts the world," the Grand Magister paused in his gloating, sending a proud look down at his son, who kept the pompous look on his face. "It's nice to see all his hard work pay off. I foresee a Magister title in his future."

Giving a forced smile at the conceited magi, Lor'themar glanced at Tharsis to see a similar reaction from the commander. "Speaking of hard work; Tharsis, how is young Deimos' training going? I was fortunate enough to see him practicing the other day. His swordsmanship is quite impressive."

Nodding in thanks to the leader, Tharsis glanced at his son standing dutifully by his side; his voice coming out calm and level. Though he didn't look at Rommath, the commander knew the Grand Magister was fuming from the attention being taken off his own son. "His training is advancing quite well. I have to admit that I was impressed with the progress he made in Stormwind."

"Well, I would be most interested in spending some of my own time training with him; from one paladin to another."

While the words regarding him were kind and praising, Deimos couldn't help but shift nervously on his feet. The older elves spoke of him as if he weren't there; but he didn't dare voice his discomfort. It would be considered rude and disrespectful for him to interrupt their discussion, especially if it pertained to him. Glancing to Elik's annoyed face, Deimos sent a small smirk his way. The young magi, similar to his father's disliking, loathed the change in direction the conversation took. Giving a small shake of his head, the paladin found no comfort in hearing the flattering comments directed at him. He was raised to never expect them from his father and to not react if another admired his style; it was unbecoming. However, he couldn't stop the small smile that spread on his face at the recognition from the Regent-Lord.

Glancing around himself, the ranger-general gave a small chuckle. "I have a feeling the palace will be deserted tomorrow morning. It seems many of the residents are more than enjoying the pleasures of drink. I know I am."

Laughing at Brightwing's words, Lor'themar took a sip of his own wine. "I have no qualms with that. It seems we don't get enough nights of entertainment these days."

"Why do we celebrate today?"

The laughing coming to a standstill at the quiet and abrupt question, the group of elves turned their bewildered looks at Deimos; his odd question taking them off guard. Swirling the small amount of wine remaining in the golden goblet, the young elf kept his gaze focused on the spinning red liquid. Though he felt the numerous eyes boring holes into him, his stare remained transfixed on the alcohol; though his thoughts were elsewhere.

A cynical chuckle pulled the paladin from his reverie. Picking up his head to inspect the source, Deimos was greeted with seeing Rommath's mocking look. "Tharsis, I thought you said you educated the boy?"

Not giving his father time to respond, Deimos sent a heated gaze at the Grand Magister; the older elf returning the stare in equal intensity. "I guess what I'm asking is, why do we commemorate the day with celebrations? I know what happened on today. Prince Kael'thas returned from Dalaran and renamed us Sin'dorei. But, why do we celebrate nearly our entire race being wiped out and murdered with festivities?"

"Hope," Lor'themar responded lightly, placing a heavy hand on the young elf's shoulder. "You're young; you were born a blood elf, so I'm sure it's difficult for you to understand. But those of us who…witnessed that day have a different understanding of it."

Throwing his head back to down the absinthe in the glass he took from Deimos, Brightwing clasped Lor'themar on the shoulder with a laugh. "And that's why you're Regent-Lord; you're able to inspire the youths of our people."

Chuckling at his long time friend, the leader gave a small shake of his head; the seriousness leaving his voice. "And you, my friend, are forbidden to return to the bar."

Laughing at his words while glancing at the obviously intoxicated ranger-general, Deimos drank the remainder of the wine in his own glass. Glancing around the parlor at the roomful of elves socializing and taking part in fake chat, the young elf couldn't stop the smile that spread on his face. While the conversations were forced and superficial, they did all revolve around one event that brought their race together; an incident that defined their people in their hardest of times. Though he was born as a blood elf, Deimos understood the still fresh memories many of the older elves shared from the Third War. He grew up reading the reports and intel from the war; the atrocious and horrid slaughter that took place in the city shocking him to his core. The deepened hatred the Sin'dorei held for the Lich King and Scourge was rightfully so; their families and city torn apart by them. Though he didn't see the Third War first hand like the older generation, Deimos still carried the same feelings as those who did. Glancing around himself again at the elves, he felt a swell of an emotion he rarely felt in Stormwind; belonging.

Placing his toothbrush back in its proper place in the drawer to the vanity, Deimos glanced at himself in the mirror. His blonde hair still damp from the shower he stepped out of minutes earlier, his fair skinned glowed with renewed essence. The dark circles under his green eyes, however, were ever present as they contrasted with his naturally flaxen face. Running a hand through the wax free hair, the young elf was satisfied at the softness and usual feel to it. Donning a white shirt and red night pants, the paladin was more than prepared to surrender to the exhaustion that plagued his mind.

The party had ended less than an hour ago, Deimos quickly retreating to his bedroom to prepare for bed. The night had grown late; the time well after midnight. Waiting for the last of the guests to leave, the paladin had grown restless and tired. Brightwing's intoxicated and drunken stupor had kept the young elf entertained for the greater part of the evening; until Lor'themar convinced the ranger-general to return to the palace before he passed out in the parlor. After the two departed, the gala had grown all the more monotonous for him. Tharsis, having picked up on the tiredness and fatigue in his son was quick to stay by his side to ensure he didn't sneak off before the last guests left. With the supervision hovering over him, Deimos was forced to mingle and socialize with remaining officers and Magisters; though he mostly stayed quiet beside his father. The commander seemed forgiving for the silence, not forcing the young elf to openly engage but rather listen and answer when spoken too.

Sighing as he pulled the silks back, his fatigued body looking forward to the sleep his bed would offer, Deimos kept his head down in weariness as he entered his bedroom. He'd managed to sneak away after the last of the guests departed the dwelling without his father seeing him, unsure if the older elf would want to employ his help with cleaning up the parlor. Not hearing any movement beneath him, Deimos assumed the hired elves had completed the job with ease.

"You look exhausted."

Stopping as he approached the rounded bed, the plush Frostweave blanket and fluffed pillows enticing him to throw himself at them, Deimos turned his tired eyes towards the doorway. Tharsis stood at the entrance of the room, adorned in similar nightwear with his arms hanging limply at his sides. Eyeing the tired circles under his son's eyes, the commander knew the boy would be ready for a deep sleep. After Brightwing and Lor'themar departed, no longer giving the paladin a means of amusement, Deimos had seemed to crash. His energy level was close to depleted, the older elf instantly picking up on the lethargic and tired movements from him. Knowing full well that the young elf would attempt to sneak away or hide for the remainder of the night, Tharsis was quick to keep him compliantly at his side. Occasionally sending unspoken glances of reassurance to his son, Deimos had been unaware of the silent gestures.

Sighing as he ran a hand through his hair and sat on the edge of the bed, Deimos freely yawned; not even attempting to stifle the signal of his fatigue. "I feel exhausted."

Moving into the room while he roamed his eyes around the area, Tharsis gave a small nod. "I'll let you sleep in tomorrow. We'll start practice later in the day. Just try to be out of bed before the afternoon."

Nodding at his father's words gratefully, the young elf pulled himself to the middle of his bed in preparation for sleep, ruthlessly pulling the thick comforter from its neatly made position. The pillow-top mattress seduced his fatigued and tired body to give in to the sleep that threatened to envelope his being; the extra presence in the room deterring the action.

Watching the paladin pull himself under the blue coverlet, the older elf cocked his head to the side as he examined his son. "Did you have a good time tonight?"

Slightly deflated that his father didn't take the hint that he longed for sleep, Deimos propped himself up on his elbows to regard the older elf's question with a roll of his eyes; his voice carrying more irritation and annoyance than he intended. "No. I never do."

Lifting a brow at the bold and brazen response, Tharsis crossed his arms over his chest in thought. The young elf immediately recognized his attitude in the words, sending his eyes downcast in obedience and submission. "I know it's difficult for you understand why these events are important for you but you should really take them more seriously."

Nodding tamely at his father's words, Deimos was surprised at the gentleness and calmness in his voice. Swallowing hard, the paladin glanced up at him with tired eyes. "I know, and I try. I just can't take part in diplomatic conversations." Pausing to bring his brows together in confusion and thought, Deimos cocked his head to the side. "You're pretty good with them. How did you learn?"

A small smile going across his face at the question, Tharsis sat at the edge of the bed. Deimos instinctively moved over to retain a large gap between each other; a gesture that didn't go unnoticed by the older elf. "With time and practice. I have years of experience with the Magisters and holding conversations in a tactful manner. With your own practice, you'll learn how to socialize in these settings better." Inspecting the younger elf's small nod, his eyes blinking in an effort to clear the fatigue from them, Tharsis gave a small smile. "And if I'm going to be relying on you as one of my lieutenants, you're going to have to learn their diplomatic dance."

Widening his eyes in surprise at the words, Deimos pushed himself up to a sitting position, his gaze roaming over his father's face for any evidence of deceit. "Lieutenant? I'm not... there's other soldiers that deserve the promotion before me."

Smirking at the modesty and humility in the younger elf's voice, Tharsis gave a shake of his head. "You've really impressed me with your training in the past couple weeks, Deimos. You have the respect of your fellow soldiers; who are at least a century your senior. You're one of the finest in the company in strategic and tactical planning." Pausing to see excitement pass over his son's face at his words, the commander was quick to turn his voice firm. "Now, I'm not saying you're being promoted just yet. But I'm currently considering it. I value your opinion, Deimos, on and off the battlefield. You would make a fine lieutenant."

The compliments taking him by complete and utter surprise, the young elf was unsure how to respond or act to the warm manner from his father. Such praise and commandment was rare from the commander, the proud look in his father's eye an emotion he always sought for his entire life though seldom saw. "I-I don't know what to say. Thank you."

Eyeing his son's tired face, Tharsis gave a small nod at the boy. Pushing himself off the bed to approach the doorway, the commander turned back to the yawning paladin. "It's getting late." Pausing to give a sweeping hand gesture in the open air next to his face, Tharsis kept his gaze on Deimos as the arcane lights diminished. "Get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

Smirking, Deimos allowed his body to fall back on the feathered pillows with a comforted sigh. "Or later."

Pulling back the silks as he began to depart the room, Tharsis scowled at the younger elf's comment, a small shake of his head in response. "No sleeping past noon though. I'll drag you out of bed."

Rolling over to place his back to the commander, Deimos grinned as he pulled the Frostweave blanket up to his shoulders. "Deal. Good night."

Sighing as he eyed the blonde mass of hair on the purple pillows, Tharsis felt a strange pang of emotions fill his being. Strangely, he was reminded of his departed wife; her laugh and smile echoing through his mind. As much as he wanted to try to ignore her in an attempt to finish grieving over her death, he simply couldn't. Glancing around the darkened room one last time before entering the hallway, Tharsis was reminded back to when the couple chose the house to reside in. Their original home destroyed when the Scourge invaded, Tavia insisted that they design a house that would be able to hold a large family. She was adamant on having elflings, claiming her arms were meant to hold them, and the home would need to be built to suffice. Having a deep love and admiration for her, Tharsis had hired the best and most experienced architects and builders to design a home to her liking.

Pushing the silks to his bedroom to the side, Tharsis was surprised to find the usual saddened emotions that typically accompanied her memory filled with happiness and rejoice. He remembered her pulling him aside from his drills with his battalion to tell him the wonderful news; she was carrying an elfling. At first, he was shocked and nervous; the thought of caring for an infant seemed overly daunting to the commander. But the stunned emotions eventually faded to immense bliss and joy. Seeking the finest healer in all of Azeroth, Tharsis hired a respectable druid to care for his wife during her pregnancy.

Pulling the blanket back to get into the bed, Tharsis gave a small sigh. As much as he wished himself to stop the thoughts, he couldn't help but wonder what life would be like if the Light had allowed Tavia to survive childbirth. Would there be other elflings running around the house, or would Deimos have been enough of a hassle for the couple? His son would probably have grown up in the conventional manner in a proper age group, enrolled in the academy until he was of age to choose a direction for his life. He wouldn't be the strong and fierce soldier that he currently was; though he most likely wouldn't look at his father in fear and alarm. What their relationship would be like was a mystery; as much of the rest of the imaginary lifestyle.

Extinguishing the arcane lights with a wave of his hand and pulling his hair free of the tie back, Tharsis laid his head on the pillow with a sigh. As much as he willed and wished the fantasy to be real, it wasn't. His wife had passed away during childbirth; the druid being forced to place most of his resources in ensuring the survival of his son. As much as he wanted to speculate on what his and Deimos' connection would be like if Tavia lived, it was pointless. He had created a harsh and dominating relationship with his son; his only tie to his departed wife. While he couldn't undo the twenty years of damage he did to the boy, Tharsis would try to improve their bond in the years to come. Though he would never achieve the imagined relationship he thought he'd have with his son when he initially heard of his wife carrying a boy, Tharsis was determined to begin righting his wrongs; Deimos coming first.

Rolling over restlessly, the young elf hugged the silk covered pillow closer to his body in an effort to lull himself back to sleep. Pulling the thick blanket tighter around his shoulders, Deimos couldn't seem to quell the chills and shivers that raked his body. Lifting his knees closer to his chest in an effort to retain some body heat, he was curious as to the abrupt change in climate. While the night was chilly when he initially went to bed, it was nothing compared to the bitter cold that swept around him. Rolling over on his back, his green eyes slowly opening, Deimos glanced around the room.

The area was as dark as it was silent; the only sound of crickets chirping through the night resonating through his room. Propping himself up on his elbows, he was sure to keep the Frostweave blanket up to his chest as his tired eyes glanced at the clock resting on the nightstand beside his bed. Sighing at the numbers that stared back at him in a mocking manner, 0315, the young elf turned his attention back to the room. Cocking his head to the side curiously and intriguingly, Deimos sat up straighter as he eyed the window.

The silks that hung over the window billowed freely from the harsh wind that whipped through the room, enclosing the space with a bitter coldness. Narrowing his eyes at the opened window, Deimos tiredly wondered what had caused the enchantment to wear off. While the windows were generously opened, covered only with silks from the outside world, enchantments were placed on the panes to secure the harsh weather from entering the dwelling. While occasionally the enchantments would need to be replaced, the young elf was slightly perplexed as to the reasoning behind his window losing its charm. Though exhaustion and fatigue muddled his thoughts, he recalled an enchanter recasting the spells on the house only a year prior.

Pushing the blanket back and forcing himself out of the warm bed, Deimos reluctantly stood on tired legs. Wrapping his arms around his chest while he approached the window that allowed the cruel night into his room, his couldn't stop the chills running up and down his body. Dismissing them as side effects from the bitter cold, Deimos continued to slowly make his way across the room, his bare feet padding across cold marbled floor. Strangely, he felt his back muscles tense and go tight; his ears perking up with a heightened sense. Shaking his head at the odd behavior, the paladin reached the window. Sure enough, the enchantment was gone; the wind whipping around his form only reaffirming his conclusive findings. While he was no enchanter, Deimos was proficient enough to place temporary charms on various objects, an action he figured he'd have to do for the night. Sighing while he slowly focused his mana and energy on the open window, the young elf placed his full concentration on the enchantment. His arms crossed tightly over his chest, the charming took twice as long as it should have; his tired state impeding the process. Feeling his energy drain itself from his already exhausted body, Deimos gave a content sigh as he felt the chilling wind desist. The enchant was complete. He would have to bring up the odd disturbance to his father when the morning came. Running a hand over his tired face, Deimos was about to turn away from the window when a strange image caught his eye. Cocking his head to the side in confusion, the paladin pushed the silks out of the way to gain a better view of the outside world. Leaning forward slightly, the young elf narrowed his eyesight in curiosity. A cold fear swept over his body as his keen elven eyes made out the peculiar object.

Standing in the street right in front of the Ares'mar house was a figure; arms crossed over his chest. Staring straight at him, Deimos was easily able to see the dark smirk that danced across his features and a pair of daggers resting on each side of his hips. Taking in the gray and rotting skin on the figures face, the young elf felt his breath hitch in his throat and the blood from his face drain. The Undead standing in the street seemed to pick up on the realization from the paladin, his sneer deepening. Unsure what to make of the odd figure staring at him, Deimos felt his senses heighten; an alarm in his head sounding. Startled and anxious, he began to turn from the window with the intent of informing his father of the strange Undead outside. Had his mind and muscles not been overwhelmed with fatigue, he would've heard the looming presence saunter up behind him earlier.

Before he could react, Deimos felt a steel arm wrap itself around his midsection while a soaked cloth was pushed against his face. Kicking and thrashing against the firm grasp, the paladin whipped his head to the side in an effort to free his breathing of the metallic smelling fabric. The captor, his strong arm pulling the young elf against his warm body to still his fighting, was unyielding to the thrashes. His mind reeling, Deimos began to feel his thoughts numbing and going frozen; whatever liquid was doused on the cloth was beginning to take its effect. Placing his remaining energy into a deep concentration, the paladin focused his mana into an attack; his last stand against the foe behind him.

His vigor depleting as a bolt of holy energy slammed into the body, Deimos felt the arms release him. Though the attack was weak, the figure only staggering backwards slightly dazed, it offered the young elf sufficient time to escape his clutches. Unfortunately, the concentrated poison had taken its toll on his body. His vision beginning to darken, he forced his feet to move towards the doorway; his limbs beginning to disregard his commands sent to them. The silks that hung in the darkened doorway looked a hundred miles away, the thought of escape seemed nearly infeasible.

Resorting to a new tactic, Deimos opened his mouth to shout for help from his father. Immediately, a thick hand slammed over his mouth, replacing the wet cloth against his face, and a muscular arm returning to his midsection with a strong yank back. As much as he wished his limbs to protest to the movement, Deimos found his arms and legs wouldn't comply. The poison in his system had taken effect, making his extremities numb and paralyzed.

Glancing up, a cold fear filling his body at the situation, the young elf was somehow able to will his head to gaze over his shoulder at his captor. A serious and grave looking face stared back at him; the paladin was taken aback by the human holding his limp body. Standing silent and still for several beats, his mind slowly shutting down from the poison, Deimos sent one last prayer to the Light as blackness overtook his body.

Eyes closed, Tharsis expertly pinpointed the location of the figure looming in his bedroom with his elven hearing. Having woken up from his senses alarming him nearly a minute earlier, he could only imagine how the individual had managed to break into his home and the reason for the intrusion. His trained arm placed under his pillow, hand gripping the sharpened dagger that rested there, the commander was sure to not allude to his conscious state. Instead, he kept his respiration deep and even, his body not stirring as the figure moved closer to him.

Silently, Tharsis felt his chest swell in worry and concern for his son's safety. While he knew Deimos was more than apt at defending himself, he couldn't stop the anxious and nervous feelings that enveloped his mind. His senses were still sending distressed and alarmed signals to his body; his mind unsure for the cause. While he initially thought it was the presence of the intruder in his bedroom, the commander was surprised after acknowledging the figure the alarms didn't suppress. Instead, they only increased in intensity; putting the commander at unease.

His hearing strained to pick up on even the quietest of movements, Tharsis felt his heart plummet into his stomach at a nearly silent noise that resonated down the hall; a strangled moan. While the sound would be impossible for an individual that lacked the acute senses to hear, the elf was all too much aware what the sound was. Gripping the dagger tighter in his grasp, he sprung from the bed with amazing speed and precision. The human intruder was standing close to the bed, making Tharsis' attack all the easier. Slamming the burly yet surprised human against the wall with a strong forearm, the commander was quick to bring up the sharpened dagger. In a quick sweeping motion, he sliced the delicate and vulnerable throat open; taking a step back to watch the thick red liquid flow freely from the wound. The human, choking on his blood, futilely brought his hands up to his throat in an effort to slow his impending death. Not bothering to watch the life leave the intruders eyes, Tharsis wiped the liquid off the handle of the dagger on his night pants; readjusting his grip on the weapon while he turned his attention to the sound of movement emitting from the hall.

Moving with agility and dexterity, Tharsis stalked towards the doorway to his bedroom; careful to keep his actions silent. Heavy breathing and panting filled his ears from a source moving down the hallway, loud footsteps also accompanying the noise. The steps were significantly heavier than his son's lithe elfish weight; the clumsy and lumbering movement also giving evidence that it wasn't Deimos. Clutching his small weapon harder as the sound drew closer, Tharsis dared a quick glance through the thick silks that hung in the doorway; what he saw made his blood boil.

A large human, nearly the size of Tharsis, easily carried a limp and unconscious Deimos with far too much ease. With the young elf's prone body slumped over his shoulder, the intruder didn't take any notice to the extra presence in the hall that watched him under angered and scrutinizing eyes. While a human the size of Deimos would prove to be problematic when carrying, his light elven weight made the action effortless.

Moving with astounding speed, the commander charged the intruder; the sharpened dagger at the ready. The human, taken off guard by the assault, wasn't quick enough to react to the attack. Feebly lifting his free hand up in an effort to defend himself against the older elf, the man was at a loss. Tharsis, taking in the astonished and surprised look that crossed the human's face, capitalized on his momentary advantage. Not allowing his attention to be diverted as Deimos' unconscious body fell to the ground with a loud thud, the commander gripped the man's neck.

Propelling the intruder against the wall with angered strength, he didn't waste a second to end the battle. Gritting his teeth in fury at the situation, Tharsis brought his armed hand up to finish the human; the man weakly fighting against the fierce grip that held him in place. With amazing speed and strength, a sharp blade was slammed into the center of the human's chest; his eyes going wide in shock and pain. Allowing a small smirk to dance across his features at the gurgling noises emitted from the man's mouth, Tharsis thrust the dagger down; reveling in the feeling of the blade severing the ribs and organs. The commander pulled the weapon from his chest, releasing the intruders neck as he watched the blood flow freely from both his mouth and crude slice in his chest.

Not bothering to look at the human's lifeless body slide down the wall, Tharsis immediately turned around to the unmoving elf behind him. Sure to keep his weapon ready in his trained hand, the older elf anxiously knelt next to his son; who was lying on his side where he landed. Gently pushing Deimos on his back to inspect him, the young elf's prone body compliantly rolling over, Tharsis took in his features. His breath came in short and shallow gasps, his pale skin clammy to the touch. His eyes roaming the paladin's figure for any further injuries, the commander was relieved to find his body unhurt. Running a hand over his tired face, Tharsis silently sent a thankful prayer to the Light for his son's visually unharmed body; though he couldn't stop the concerned feelings for the unknown.