Disclaimer: Warcraft and World of Warcraft are the intellectual property of Blizzard Entertainment, Inc. and are being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of Warcraft, World of Warcraft, or their derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.

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Purge, chapter 3: Jadaar

by silverr

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The Silver Covenant elves left him to his trophies, although one of them did snatch up the bottle of spring wine as they backed out of the room. Once Jadaar was certain that they weren't coming back, he carefully closed the door panel, retrieved the courier packet he'd hidden in his leggings, then sat on the bed to consider the "treasures."

He set the lock-picking tools, the courier packet, and the coins to one side. The vials, which looked as if they hadn't been opened in quite some time, he put back into the iron box.

Which left the rings and the velvet bag, which contained a necklace.

The rings were simple unjewelled bands, each of a different-colored metal. They were incised with faint geometric shapes, although the patterns on the two larger rings were worn nearly smooth from wear. All three rings were heavily tarnished both inside and out.

Curious. They weren't being worn and didn't appear to have intrinsic value. Did they have some magical property that wasn't obvious?

He put the rings aside and poured the necklace out of the bag. Chains of delicate, elongated links connected clusters of realistically-rendered leaves, which were tinted with pale green and violet and dotted with crystal dewdrops. Despite the tarnish that darkened the metal, the overall effect was very pleasing. There was a break in the chain, and the clasp looked damaged.

Jadaar placed the necklace carefully back into its protective bag. The natural assumption would be that any jewelry kept in a locked box had some value, even if only sentimental, yet something wasn't right. Why keep the box in plain sight, in a location accessible to either faction, with a door that didn't even have a lock? The box itself was hardly a deterrent. Competent thieves would break into it within seconds—and most likely discover the packet hidden under the false bottom as well, the packet that Asric supposedly had been willing to risk his life for.

Jadaar's professional intuition told him that there was a good chance that the iron box and its contents were a decoy or even bait, meant to distract thieves from finding something else. But what?

He put his head in his hands. It was the same dilemma he'd had with the packet. Even after all this time, his first instinct was always to treat Asric like a suspect rather than a friend. As a friend, he should do only what Asric had asked him to do. Retrieve only the packet, and nothing more. Still… if a distraught client had asked him to retrieve valuables, would he hesitate to extend the scope of the retrieval as he saw fit if he thought that he was missing items of real value? No, he would not. Had Asric anticipated this? Had he assumed that Jadaar would bring everything, even though he had not requested as such? Would he be grateful? Or would he instead accuse Jadaar of "snooping?"

Jadaar truly had no idea, but that was the elf's fault for consistently avoiding any but the most superficial of interactions. How could Jadaar be expected to understand him, when there were so few details of substance to go on?

He sighed. It was strange how much he was already missing someone he knew so little about. Asric had been gone less than an hour, yet knowing that the choice to spend time together had been taken from them made it feel as though some vital piece of the landscape was missing. Granted, what was missing was a stubborn, invasive plant that might be considered a weed by many, but as the botany master had taught, "What is called a weed by some might be cherished by others."

He nodded. It was decided. He would search the room, and no matter what he found—even if it was nothing—it would be an important lesson.

He scooped everything back into the box. He then stood by the door, and, using the edge of his hoof for precise placement, methodically stepped on the middle and both ends of each floorboard. Nothing. He then stood the bed on its end against the door and examined the floor for scrape marks, which would have suggested frequent moving of the bed to get to a hiding place underneath. There were no marks, but this didn't mean anything; Asric was slender enough to slide under the bed.

In the middle of the right-hand wall, two runs out, was a board that didn't squeak like the others. Although it didn't move when he pushed on one end with all his weight, when he knelt and rapped on it, the sound was slightly different than the surrounding boards.

He pried it up with a lockpick. In the shallow space was a small folded bag of deep blue velvet, similar to the worn one in the iron box: inside, three rings and a necklace of overlapping leaves. Oddly, this necklace also had a break in its chain, in the same spot as its copy. All four pieces were untarnished, and, even to Jadaar's untrained eye, far superior in craftsmanship to the versions in the iron box.

It was almost a metaphor for Asric himself. Out in the open, where anyone could take them, were the false items, flashy distractions so that what was truly of value could remain safely hidden.

...

After some thought, he relocked the iron box and left it as he had found it, with all its original contents intact except for the packet. He hid the packet and the velvet bag under the robes knotted around his waist, then placed a single hair across the top of the door panel as he closed it—a useful trick learned from Asric—and went downstairs. There was still no sign of the weapon shop owner.

Outside, there were fewer clashes in the streets, but this might have been due to the Kirin Tor mage he glimpsed patrolling with two unusually large water elementals. He got a few astonished looks, but no one stopped him.

In Vamira's studio, he found a note saying that Asric had made it safely out of Dalaran, and welcoming him to stay and watch her place while she was gone visiting relatives in Thelsamar.

"Good," he said, nodding and beginning to remove his disguise. "Good." He set the courier packet and the jewelry bag on the table, hung the two robes back on their hooks, then re-braided his hair.

He felt uneasy without his chest and shoulder armor, which had been custom made for him by a leatherworker in Lower City. Still, it had gone for a good cause—and at least he still had his leg armor. He searched through Vamira's costume boxes for something to wear, but as she had nothing comparable he settled on a white shirt and a leather belt wide enough to tuck the jewelry bag out of sight.

He considered leaving the courier packet in the studio, in the same place he'd hidden Asric's daggers, but decided to tuck in inside his shirt and under his belt. Whatever it contained, it was safest with him.

Tiffany Carter was alone in the Dalaran jeweler's shop.

"Welcome,"she said as Jadaar entered. "What can I do for you?"

"I wonder if you would be willing to close the shop for a brief time?" he asked. "I would like to consult you on an issue of some sensitivity."

She looked surprised, then nodded, moving from behind the counter to lock the door and pull down a CLOSED shade. "Normally I wouldn't, but business has been… a little slow this morning."

Jadaar followed her behind the counter and into the back room, slipping the jewelry bag from under his belt. "I have some objects," he said. "Retrieved from… the scene of an attempted robbery. Anything you can tell me about them might be useful in identifying the owner."

Tiffany nodded, directing two lamps onto a small work area and then pulling on a pair of white cotton gloves. "Let's see what you have."

Jadaar handed her the rings first, and watched as she first carefully wiped each with a clean cloth, weighed them on a small scale, then studied them with a magnifying lens.

"These were made by a hobbyist," she said after examining each ring.

"How can you tell?"

"The execution isn't professional. The symmetry is off, the incising is inconsistent…" She went from ring to ring. "It's the sort of work I'd expect to see from a student just beginning in the craft. Lots of determination, but without the skill that comes from experience. Although, if the same person made all three, they were a fast learner."

"Oh?"

"The larger rings turned out better than the small one."

"I see. What about this?" He handed her the necklace.

"Oh, my. Oh, this is beautiful." She took it reverently and set it down on the table, then fit a loupe into her eye and bent low over it. "This is stunning. Masterfully made. The delicacy of the chain, the realism of the metalwork, the nearly invisible settings for the cabochons." She lifted it carefully and studied the back. "Truly superb. I'm surprised it's not signed, but If you want the maker identified, I can put you in touch with an expert."

"I'm more concerned with trying to track down the owner."

"Knowing who made it might help you track down who it belongs to," she said. "Pieces like this are usually one-of-a-kind. Special commissions, kept in the same family for generations."

"A good point. The chain—would it be difficult to repair?" This was overstepping his bounds, perhaps, but he suddenly wanted to see Asric's face once he saw that what had been broken was now restored.

"Honestly? I'm not sure," Tiffany said. "If it was just the break in the chain, I might be willing to attempt it, but the clasp is damaged as well. Recreating the missing piece is something I'd only entrust to a conservator knowledgeable about high elven jewelcrafting design and techniques."

"So it's not blood elf jewelry?"

"Well, no. Blood elves didn't exist until after the Third War, and it's older than that."

Jadaar gathered from her surprised tone that his grasp of Azerothian history was shakier than he'd supposed. He should remedy his ignorance, in order to put Asric's background in perspective. "How old is it?"

"Hard to say. The high elves used the same techniques for thousands of years." She picked up one of the rings, and held it close to her loupe. "Did the thieves get the copies?"

Jadaar was surprised that she knew of the copies. "Pardon?"

She held the ring under the magnifier lens so that Jadaar could see it. "That white residue in the grooves? Probably from a plaster cast."

"I hadn't noticed that."

"Easy to miss if you're not used to looking for it," she said, putting the ring down and bending close to scrutinize the necklace chain, "but I always look for it. Plenty of our customers ask for replicas to guard against theft. The true owner of a piece generally never needs to have it done more than once. When we get a request to copy a piece that already has plaster residue, it's usually because the piece is stolen."

"Why would thieves make a copy?" He asked, then understood. "Ah, I see. If there's a reward, thieves will use the fake to collect it, then sell the original later."

"You got it."

"Thank you, you've provided much valuable information for my investigation," Jadaar said.

"Happy to help." Tiffany picked up a long slender pair of tweezers and held up the end of the break in the chain. "But here's an interesting detail. Why didn't whoever owned this have the necklace fixed before making the copy? Copying the damage is a weird thing to do."

"Yes," Jadaar said. "It is weird."

...

After receiving Tiffany's solemn promise to report anyone asking about their conversation, Jadaar went back to Asric's room over the weapon shop. He noted that the hair atop the door was still in place, which meant that no one had entered the room during his brief visit to the jeweler's shop. He hadn't expected any disturbance since he doubted anyone was following him or watching Asric's room, but it only took a few minutes to address the possibility completely by staying long enough (and making appropriate noises) for anyone who might be listening to assume that he had put the jewelry back into the iron box.

Having made certain that Asric's ruse was intact, Jadaar went back to Vamira's to plan his investigation, and finish off the remainder of the last night's dinner before it spoiled.

The best place to keep the originals and Asric's documents safe was a bank. Dalaran's bank wasn't stable at the moment, but Stormwind's was—and their library, if it lived up to its reputation, would be very useful. High elves had associated with the Alliance for much longer than blood elves had belonged to the Horde; Stormwind should have plenty of historical documents and information about elven history. Granted, it would have been more convenient if he could have approached the high elves in Dalaran with his questions, but with the current tense atmosphere it wasn't an opportune time for an in-depth discussion.

The talbuk stew was almost as good cold as it had been hot. The raw vegetable slices were a bit shriveled, but still edible, which was more than he could say for the extremely rare lynx steak that Vamira had provided for Asric. After wrapping it and a bowl of pickled eggs for disposal, he pinched off a small piece of goldencake. Sticky with honey, it was as sweet on his lips as kisses.

He licked the crumbs from his fingers thoughtfully. How long had it been since he'd been interested in such things? Two hundred years? Three hundred? Had it been so long since he'd buried Lila and Faasar?

He turned in the chair and contemplated the red robe for several minutes before beginning his journey.

...

Jadaar looked up as the librarian set another pile of books on the table. "Thank you."

The human, who looked weary, put his hand on a stack that Jadaar had set to one side. "And you're finished with these?"

"Yes." He was about to give up trying to identify the artist or the family associated with the necklace. Unlike humans, the high elves did not seem to have been interested in having their portraits painted—at least not by human painters whose art was reproduced in the books of Stormwind's Royal Library. Jadaar supposed he might have found something useful if he had access to jewelcrafting transactions, but such records would have been kept by elves, and therefore most likely had been destroyed during the Third War. Even if the records had survived, with Silvermoon now a blood elf territory the information was inaccessible.

Though truly, did it matter who the necklace belonged to? Whether an heirloom of the family that Asric had never mentioned—he had never been forthcoming about his past—or simply something the elf had found after the invasion amid rubble and corpses, the true owner was likely dead. Knowing who they were would not bring them back. Then too, there was no way he could bring up the name without making Asric more secretive, more armored, more determined to hide behind his mask of superficiality.

At least he had had slightly more success with his other quest. Knowing how much millennia of persecution and flight had shaped the Draenic character, he assumed that learning more about blood elf history would help him understand Asric.

It did.

Such a disheartening history! Driven from their ancestral home for use of dangerous magic, they shut themselves away inside shining, impenetrable walls. When at last they were forced to ask for help against troll invaders, they reluctantly shared their arcane knowledge without any thought of how that knowledge would be used by those they taught. Centuries later, nearly exterminated by the Scourge invasion—a destruction that was as sudden as it was unforeseen—the sickness that followed the loss of their Sunwell divided the survivors. Those who resisted the sickness considered themselves the 'true' high elves, and despised their blood elf brethren. When the blood elves, treated as expendable by their human allies, searched for a cure in Outland, internal strife divided them yet again.

In short, this was a people who could not trust their world, their allies, their leaders, or even each other.

The librarian leaned over to peer at the book Jadaar had been reading. "Saga of the Sin'dorei. Researching the Sunreavers?"

"Nothing so recent," Jadaar said. "The Scourge invasion of Quel'Thalas."

The human shook his head. "All that, just to resurrect a single necromancer."

"It is difficult for me to understand why such a loss of life was required to accomplish the task," Jadaar said. "Surely there were other sources of power they could have drawn on? Or were they targeting the elves?"

"Who knows?" The librarian shrugged. "Arthas sure did our work for us."

"Work?" Jadaar was puzzled for a moment, then he understood. "The elves were Alliance citizens at the time."

The librarian gave him an odd look. "Yes, of course." He tidied the stack. "It always seemed to me that they just chose what was closest to Lordaeron."

Jadaar had come to the same appalling conclusion. Draenei knew precisely why they were being hunted by the Legion. The knowledge was part of what defined them. It gave their hardship meaning. If the elves had died simply because they were in the way of an objective… that was far worse than being the object of a vendetta. If you knew your enemies, knew that they were coming for you, you could prepare, but if your core perception of the world was that you could be struck down at any time by a random, unpredictable event, then of course you would live only in the moment. Losing so much, so quickly, would make you reluctant to plan for the future, would make you wary of taking comfort or security from anything—or anyone—that promised permanence, because you assumed that inevitably your solace would be taken away by a caprice of fate.

"Are you writing a book?" the librarian asked.

"No," Jadaar said, "Just trying to understand."

The librarian hefted the stack of books and walked away.

It did not matter to Jadaar if Asric was a blood elf of the Horde instead of a high elf of the Alliance: where once he had been a nuisance, now he was essential.

The task now was to convince the brat of this.

...

The consensus in Dalaran was that the ban on the Horde was going to be permanent. If that was the case Jadaar was only going to stay until he heard from Asric.

He hoped it would be soon, as he found enforced idleness hard to bear. Having spent much of his life since leaving Argus in flight from the Legion, the best thing about each planetfall had been the need for work. Fishing, tilling, and housebuilding had always been such a welcome respite from recirculated air and hydroponic food and hours of the same conversations over and over in the eretudos.

After cashing out his stipend, he packed up what few possessions he had in his room at the Silver Enclave and brought them to Vamira's. No point in taking a space that someone else could use. He also decided to retrieve the iron box from Asric's room above the weapon shop. No reason to leave the box there, as obviously it was now public knowledge that Asric, like the other blood elves in Dalaran, would not be returning.

The weapon shop proprietors stood nervously behind their newly-repaired display cases. The bloodstains on the floor had been scrubbed away. "Can we help you?" they asked when he entered.

"May I go upstairs?" he asked.

"Of course!" they said, a shade too brightly.

The hair was still atop the door.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" they asked when he came downstairs.

The box, wrapped in rags, was tucked nearly out of sight under his arm. "More or less," he said, setting a gold coin on the counter with a decisive click. "Many thanks."

He checked in with Tiffany, but no one had come in asking about the jewelry. Almost disappointing, that Asric's careful feint had been for nothing. Jadaar hoped he'd get the story someday.

He climbed the stairs to Vamira's studio and sat watching the sunlight move across the floor. Once the light had dimmed, he shook himself out of his reverie and went downstairs through the quiet streets to the entrance that led down to the Dalaran underbelly and the Cantrips and Crows.

The cantina was deserted. The yellow lamplight that had always cast a sly, cheerful glow now seemed melancholy when reflecting off clean, battered tables.

Jadaar pulled out a chair and sat. So many memories. His friendship with Asric had first taken root here in the days following their expulsion from Shattrath. They had spent hours here, drinking watery beer and thinking of creative ways to insult each other.

"Jadaar!" it was Ajay, the bartender and innkeeper. "Lucky you came by! I got something I think is meant for you." He took an envelope from his vest pocket.

The envelope was addressed simply One-eyed J, Cantrips and Crows, Dalaran.

"How did you come by this?" Jadaar asked.

"Inside a letter addressed to me," Ajay said. He went back to the counter and rummaged under it for a moment, then brought over an envelope, grimy from handling and with several Stormwind-issued postal stamps. "They must not have had an address for you."

The handwriting on both envelopes looked somewhat like Asric's. "Thank you," Jadaar said, then opened his envelope.

J-

See you at the Faire.

A-

His first emotion was disappointment—this was all the elf had to say to him?—but immediately he chided himself. Anyone intercepting it would have no idea it was from someone of the Horde to someone of the Alliance, and sending it to Ajay, a neutral party who often received messages for transient Underbelly denizens, was the best way to ensure it got to Jadaar.

The Faire was several days away, but Jadaar couldn't stand the idea of sitting around in Dalaran. After retrieving Asric's daggers and packing a few other essentials, he went to Goldshire, rented a room, and then spent his time either nursing a drink by the fire or watching the roustabouts set up the tents and the framework for the portal.

Two days before the Faire was scheduled to open, he was sitting near the fire when a stranger in a bright blue hooded robe flopped down in the chair next to him.

Jadaar didn't pay them much attention at first; he liked drinking in silence, and watching the flames in the fireplace. But when the stranger gave out a prolonged, exaggerated yawn, Jadaar glanced over. The stranger was a brown-eyed human with oversized scholar's eyeglasses that flashed in the firelight, but he also had a small patch of reddish beard just below his lower lip.

As Jadaar watched, he undid the top two clasps of his robe, revealing a very familiar leather-and-mail chestpiece.

Jadaar stood. "Perhaps we should discuss this upstairs?"

"I knew you'd be here early," he said once Jadaar had closed the door to his room. He pushed back his hood and took off Vamira's leather cap.

"Did you?" Jadaar reached out, holding the elf's limp ears upright and massaging them slightly with his thumbs, assuming that this would help them recover their natural state.

"Huh… yeah." Asric grasped his forearms. "You know, it's polite to ask permission before doing that," he gasped.

Jadaar let go. "I simply wished to help."

"It's… it's alright," Asric said, He took off his glasses, revealing his normal fel-green eyes and extravagant elven eyebrows. "It's just… they're sensitive. And very… sensitive."

"Those glasses are interesting," Jadaar said. "Magical concealment?"

Asric nodded. "I helped a friend in Undercity gather some, ah, research materials, and she hooked me up with her thaumaturge." He pulled off the blue robe. "I'm sorry, but I had to stash your armor in a snowbank for a few days, and I don't think it took it too well. I hope it still fits; it feels like it shrank."

Jadaar stepped close, and felt the edges of the leather. "Yes, it's hard, but if I work some oil into it, it'll become flexible again." As he helped undo the buckles and lift the cuirass over Asric's head he noted that the elf's leggings were thin, tight, and in no way concealing. All that arousal, just from having his ears touched?

Asric was breathless, but also grinning like a fool. "Is that all? Rub some oil into it?"

"We shall see," Jadaar said. "As it happens, I believe that there is some oil in this very room that could be useful."

...

Some time later...

"How did you know to… when did you learn to do all that?"

"What, just now?" Jadaar asked. "Do you think my people spent hundreds of years in close quarters on our dimensional ships playing cards?" He traced the edge of Asric's ear. "After 20,000 years even an old windbag may pick up a few tricks."

"I didn't think you were interested in sex."

"I have never needed physical intimacy as much as some," he said. "However, I do enjoy using my knowledge to bring pleasure."

"That's because you are a showoff," Asric said.

"Perhaps." Jadaar settled his arm more comfortably across Asric's back. The elf was shorter and less broad than a draenei, which meant that he fit very comfortably against Jadaar's side. "So what is this rule?"

Asric pretended to be very interested in the scars on Jadaar's chest and belly. "Rule?"

"Yes, you very clearly said, 'Fuck Redmourn's rule!' I am certain of it."

"I was saying 'fuck Redmourn'. "

"Nonsense. I was already doing so, and hardly needed encouragement."

"No, you certainly didn't." Asric exhaled loudly, and let the silence stretch out for minutes before he said said, "It says to never sleep with anyone more than once."

Ah, so there it was—or part of it at least. "Why?"

"I didn't say it was a good rule."

"What happens if you break it?"

"I guess we'll find out."

Sweeter even than honey.

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~ To be continued ~

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first post 12 Sept 2017; revised 15 Sept