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 4: Asric
by silverr
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The kites were one of the things he liked best about Pandaria. He supposed that they were enchanted in some way—to be able, after only one good shove from the kite-master, to find uplifting currents and glide all the way to their destination—but that's not what appealed to him. It was instead the wild sense of abandon. Unlike windriders and bats, which you could steer off-route if you had a firm enough hand, a kite went where it was aimed and that was that. You couldn't even throw your weight to make it bank, as he knew first-hand. Try too hard and you'd fall.
With a kite, you just accepted that you had no control, and enjoyed the ride, the wind combing your hair and sneaking up under your clothes.
As his kite descended toward Halfhill, he saw that there was a fracas at the flight point. An enormous orc and an almost equally enormous human were having a drunken shoving match. It looked as it it had been going on for a while, as the human's fancy jacket was missing both buttons and a sleeve, and the orc was missing a bracer and a boot.
"In a hat!" the orc said as Asric landed, stabbing with his forefinger at the human's bare chest. "A HAT!"
The human's reply was too slurred to understand. He leaned forward and grabbed the orc's shoulder. They swayed in unison for a second, then both lost their balance and fell over the hill and out of sight.
Asric and the kite-master peered over the edge. Impressively loud snores were coming from the tangle of tan and green limbs.
"Passed out," the kite-master said. "They'll be fine. Grass down there is thick and very soft."
Asric smiled. Nice to see that not everyone was fighting.
…
The kite skimmed south over Krasarang and out over the Nayeli lagoon toward Angler's Wharf. As Asric got closer he saw a smear of blue on the roof of the inn.
Was it—Jadaar?
Sunbathing?
On a roof?
Asric shook his head, then crouched as the kite swooped for its landing.
"You can go up there if you want," the innkeeper Haito said, pointing at a ladder propped against the side of the inn. "But if you break the roof, you will be repairing it."
"Don't worry, I'll be careful." Asric climbed and saw that, yes, Jadaar was sleeping, on the roof, face down, nude. If not the for eyepatch and a particularly nasty scar he recognized, he'd have doubted that it was really Jadaar. He had been so different in Goldshire, playful, gentler... He had even smiled. More than once. It was… well, it wasn't scary. It was weird. Asric supposed he was partly the cause of the change, and he wasn't sure it was altogether a good thing. For one, the old Jadaar's disdainful glares were enjoyably abrasive. Like striking a match on a rough surface.
Asric moved carefully across the roof until he was blocking the sunlight, then pulled a straw from the thatch and poked Jadaar in the shoulder.
Jadaar grumbled, turned his head and squinted, then pushed himself up. The roof had imprinted into his skin, making him look as if his torso and limbs were tightly wrapped with invisible threads — except for a strip across his crotch, where he had been lying on his clothes. "Finally. I had begun to wonder." Showing impressive balance on the slanted surface, he got dressed. "I have some things for you in the inn," he said. "We can get them now, or I can come back for them later."
"Presents?"
Jadaar snorted. "Don't get too excited."
A Pandaren head poked up over the edge of the roof. "Oh," she giggled, "You're awake. I can take you over any time."
"Thank you, Linnshi." As she went down the ladder, Asric asked, "Take you where?"
Jadaar pointed across the water to the small formation that rose out of the sea west of the village. It looked like a huge stone chair that a giant might sit in to soak his feet in the water. The south side, the seat of the chair, was a grassy plateau with a Pandaren fisherman's hut, elevated on stilts near the cliff edge closest to the village. The chair back, a stone spire northwest of the plateau, was capped with its own tiny hut, perched improbably high.
"I rented the lower hut for the next two weeks," Jadaar said.
What Asric heard was I mention renting for only two weeks because I know that you, Asric, flee from anything with even a faint aroma of permanence. Well, sure, it was true, but having it called out made him want to prove otherwise! "Just for you?"
Jadaar's good mood faded visibly. "For both of us, if you wish."
"Sure," Asric muttered as he followed Jadaar down the ladder. So much for a smooth beginning. It was so much easier when all they did was insult each other.
Jadaar entered the inn. "I'll take that box now," he said. "And please tell Linnshi we're ready to go over whenever she has a moment to take us."
The innkeeper handed a very familiar iron box to Jadaar. "I'll tell her to get the boat ready," he said, then went outside.
Jadaar handed the box to Asric. He was back to his usual scowl.
"Thank for taking care of it," Asric said. It sounded awkward. "Look, Jadaar—"
"There is no need to thank me," he said, folding his arms.
Asric had seen this tell many times; it meant that Jadaar was armoring himself behind a wall of defensive stubbornness. "Look, I didn't mean to…" He set the box on the counter of the inn. "This is new territory for me."
Jadaar gave him a sour look. "Territory? Oh yes, your rule."
Asric sighed, exasperated. "You're not making it easy for me to change."
"It's my fault?"
"No, but, just… it takes time."
Jadaar gestured. "Open the box."
Asric reached inside his shirt and pulled out the key he was wearing around his neck. When he unlocked the box and opened it, he was surprised to see it filled with shiny red fabric. "What is this?" It was a robe, red silk with a subtle embroidery of gold thread. Under the robe were the other items he'd had in the box—the lockpicks, the vials, the coins, the courier pouch—as well as both blue velvet jewelry bags.
He held up the robe. "Nice. Yours?"
Jadaar shot him a look that was endearing in its gruff defensiveness. "It was at Vamira's. I thought it might suit you."
Asric pulled the string with the key over his head, and held it out.
Jadaar, looking surprised, took it.
Asric took off his shirt, then put on the robe. "I do like it," he said, smoothing his hand along the sleeve. "Thank you."
Jadaar nodded. His expression had softened a little. "Good."
…
Linnshi had loaded a basket of provisions into the boat, and paddled them to the far side of the tiny island. The weathered remains of a smashed boat were scattered across a narrow strip of white sand beach. Asric didn't see any way up to the hut other than to scramble up a spill of rocky scree.
"I offered to construct stairs," Jadaar said.
"In exchange for rent?" From Jadaar's expression, the answer was no: it probably hadn't even occurred to him to ask. His altruism was sweet, but it was clear that Asric would need to assert control over all business transactions. "Are stairs are a good idea?" he asked. "Once they're there, then anyone can drop in. Pirates, Silver Covenant vigilantes, relatives, ex-lovers..."
Linnshi laughed as she poled the raft away from shore. "The birds will be more of a problem for you."
Jadaar, the surefooted showoff, started climbing one handed while balancing the basket on one shoulder. Asric followed, and after some scrabbling and cursing reached the top as well.
He saw what she meant. The grassy field in front of the hut was home to a flock of ill-tempered long-beaked cranes, who charged at them as soon as they stepped away from the cliff edge.
They hurried up the wooden steps and into the hut.
It wasn't very impressive. There was a table in one corner with a single clay mug and a box of assorted iron spikes and hooks. Woodworking and fishing equipment hung on the walls. A ladder led up to a wide ledge that ran across the back of the hut. A net, stretched across part of the open space above their heads, was a storage area for assorted buoys.
"It's rough, but it will do," Jadaar said.
Asric looked around. "What are we supposed to sit on? Barrels?"
"Why not?" Jadaar had taken the lid off the basket. Inside, a Pandaren mattress, disappointingly thin, took half the space. The rest was various hard rolls and cheeses, a few pieces of unripe fruit, two plates, two mugs, some utensils, and, happily, a small keg of beer.
Jadaar held out the mattress. "Put this upstairs."
"Upstairs? You mean upladder?" Asric said.
"Yes."
He climbed. The ledge, which had a raised lip, was filled with a layer of dried greenish-gray muck. "Look out down below," he said to Jadaar, "I'm going to brush this whatever this is off first."
"No, leave it," Jadaar said. "It must be dried moss or seaweed. For cushioning."
"For sleeping?"
"In general."
Asric unfolded the mattress, then looked down at Jadaar. He had already cleared off the table, dragged two barrels over as seating, and was setting out the food. Very domestic. "You should come up and make sure I did this right."
"I'm sure you—" Jadaar started to say, then turned around and looked up at him. "Ah." He chuckled, or perhaps growled, but either way it was a sound that even bruised ears could appreciate.
Yup, he was done with Redmourn's Rule.
...
The dried whatever made the mattress surprisingly comfortable, although still appealingly firm. Unfortunately, the ledge was narrow, and the roof strongly angled. Spooning was the only option that didn't cause either claustrophobia or fear of falling.
"I think we need to get a bed downstairs," he said. "There's not much room to move up here." He realized after he spoke that what he'd said had Implications.
"I could build one," Jadaar said. "The stairs will not require that much lumber. Where would the table go?"
Had Jadaar missed the implications, or chosen to ignore them? Asric wasn't sure; once, he would have been. He leaned forward enough to peer over the edge of the ledge. "Do we need it? We can eat up here. Store the food here too. That'll keep the cranes from going after it." Did cranes eat cheese? He had no idea. Probably; everything was always hungry.
"I don't think there is any danger that they will enter the hut," Jadaar said. "You made enough noise that they will be terrified for weeks."
"Don't blame all of that on me," Asric said. He knew that this was the same Jadaar he'd always known, and yet it seemed like someone entirely new. Someone who joked and smiled and gave thoughtful gifts. It was strange and slightly frightening and perhaps also wonderful.
...
After they woke from their nap, Jadaar was unexpectedly enthusiastic about building the stairs. He gathered up all the various saws and hammers hanging on the walls, and took the bucket of iron spikes.
"I have no idea how to build," Asric said, making sure to put the red robe on as he followed him out of the hut.
"Not a problem," Jadaar said. "I will build. You can talk."
"That, I know how to do."
Jadaar gave a snort that clearly meant, Of course you do.
Asric noticed that the cranes were keeping a wary distance, and so held out the sides of the robe until they flapped in the wind. Most of the cranes scattered; the boldest made rude cackles as Asric slid down the gravel incline and struggled to keep his balance.
On the beach, Jadaar took a long metal pry bar and began to disassemble what was left of the ship's hull.
Asric didn't see the point of this. "Building steps seems like a lot of work. Why not just drag the wreckage so that we can walk up and down on it?"
"That would be the lazy way," Jadaar said. He was stacking each board he removed into one of four neat stacks. "Also, it would be too steep to walk on. And very slippery in the rain."
Huh. He knew what he was doing, it seemed. "Why four piles?"
"Short warped boards can be used for the steps," Jadaar said, "long warped ones for runners and struts. Anything square and true I am setting aside for the bed."
"Oh." He watched for a while. "Why warped for the steps?"
"Perfectly flat boards will pool the rain," Jadaar said. "The wood will rot faster. If they're bowed this way—" he demonstrated with his hand, making a shallow, palm-side down dome—"the rain will run off."
"I see." He took the red robe off and draped it over a bush. "I don't want it to get wet," he told Jadaar as he sat on the sand.
He watched for a while. It was funny. Elves looked the same whether moving or standing still, but draenei, somehow... when they were moving they transformed from hulking slabs of meat to powerful, graceful beasts. Jadaar was currently putting his entire weight into prying up the stump of the broken mast from the keel, and the effort was making muscles normally unseen bulge and strain against his skin—skin that was already glistening with sweat under the bright sun.
Asric shifted and adjusted himself. The windbag was going to be utterly insufferable if he ever realized how sexy he was. "I knew you'd snoop around until you found the second bag."
"You expected me to?" Jadaar asked, grunting as the stump finally began to give way.
"Of course! I was counting on it." Which was a lie. He'd been too panicked at the time to do the reasonable thing, which would have been to say, Bring the iron box and the bag hidden under the floorboard. But no, he hadn't done the reasonable thing, had he, and why? Because he had been worried that Jadaar would ask why there were two bags, and apparently to avoid answering that question he had been willing to risk losing his most precious possessions.
"That was foolish," Jadaar said, pulling nails from the stump. "What if I had taken you literally, and retrieved only the packet?"
And he'd been dead wrong. Jadaar hadn't even opened the courier packet, let alone asked why there were two sets of jewelry. He hadn't treated him as a suspect, but as a friend. Or, at the very least, a valued client. He must have been curious, but he had respected Asric's privacy. "But you didn't, and I'm very very grateful that you went ahead and did what you did." It felt strange, almost dangerous, to say something so truthful, but if Jadaar was going to drop the gruff disinterested act and suddenly woo him, well, he had to step up his game and match that, if for no other reason than to see where it would go.
Jadaar stopped working and turned to him, his face clouded with disbelief.
It stung, but Asric supposed that he'd given him plenty of proof that he was incapable of being sincere. That should probably change: obviously now wasn't the right time to tell him that the packet mostly contained identification papers for the accounts that he had set up over the years to hide his earnings. "If I tell you all my stories now, there won't be anything left for later."
"That is true." Jadaar turned back to his hammering. "Though if you plan to space your stories out, keep in mind that draenei are extremely long lived. Adjust your doling accordingly." He sounded entirely serious, but Asric had learned that sometimes this meant that he was telling a joke.
"Oh, I have plenty of stories," Asric said. "Which one do you want to hear this year?"
Jadaar chuckled. "Your choice."
Asric folded his arms. "What are you most curious about?"
"The necklace," Jadaar said. "The jeweler in Dalaran said that it was very valuable, and that an expert would be needed to fix it. Did it belong to your family?"
"You think I stole it?"
"I did not say so."
"It was my mother's."
Jadaar put down the hammer, turned, and sat, giving Asric his full attention.
Well, alright, they were doing this. "She was the only daughter of an ancient, noble family," Asric began. "The kind that thinks that children are just assets for strategic marriages. For her coming of age celebration, her parents commissioned a necklace, and she convinced them to let her watch it being made. During the time it took to craft the necklace, she fell in love and became pregnant.
"And before you ask, no, I have no idea who my father was. Of course I wondered, especially once I got old enough to notice how often people pointed out that my family was incomplete." He swallowed down the unexpected bitterness.
"Asric, there is no need to tell such a personal story if it brings painful memories."
It was a considerate thing to say, Asric knew that, but this wasn't just telling a story to Jadaar; it was telling a story he'd never spoken aloud before to anyone. "She loved me enough for three parents, but never talked about her life before I was born. I pieced it together after she died, when I found unsent letters she'd written, and letters she'd received. The mother I'd known as Celia Redmourn had been born Faenna Desgarux."
"She changed her name?"
"She was forced to. By her family."
Jadaar clasped his hands and leaned forward, but said nothing.
"Her parents were enraged when she refused to name the father. No noble house would marry their heir to a wife who came with a bastard of unknown lineage! In the end they cast her out, allowing her to take only the clothes she was wearing and the necklace. They said that, like her, the necklace would always be a reminder of the family's shame. As a last insult, they offered to send her a small monthly stipend on the condition that she change her appearance and name, and never admit to anyone that she had been born a Desgarux."
Jadaar scowled. "Such cruel and unfeeling persons do not deserve the name of 'parent.' Did no one care that she had disappeared?"
"The story was that Faenna had taken her own life after being seduced by an assistant in the jewelcrafting shop," Asric said, "though the more romantically-inclined claimed that she and her lover had eloped."
"Perhaps your father was made to disappear as well."
"No, I think he must have been one of the shop's wealthy clients. Too cowardly to come forward." Asric shook his head, remembering how he'd briefly clung to the ridiculous fantasy that his father was someone from the royal family. How young and stupid and desperate he'd been back then.
Jadaar looked puzzled. "What is it?" Asric asked.
"It is just—I saw the rings. All three rings, equally worn."
"We made them when I was still a child. Still in school. One for me, two for her."
"She wore both rings to symbolize that she was both mother and father to you?" Jadaar asked. "Or did she hold hope that he would step forward some day?"
Asric was suddenly irritated by this theorizing. Jadaar hadn't known Celia; how could he possibly guess what she thought, why she did things? "Maybe. I don't know. He never did. Doesn't matter now, since he's probably dead. They both are." He was tired of the conversation, of Jadaar's attentiveness. He waved his hand. "Break's over. Get back to work."
Jadaar didn't take offense; he simply stood and began sorting through the short boards, setting aside a dozen of the shortest before hammering the remainder into a sawhorse. He then took the remaining boards, and, using the shortest as a ruler, scored the other boards with a sharp stone.
"Who do you think it was?" Asric asked.
Jadaar shrugged. "Without seeing the letters, it's pointless to speculate."
"But you speculated about what the rings meant to my mother!"
"Some aspects of a situation can be understood without evidence."
What did he mean, evidence? "Is that what this is? I tell you something personal, extremely personal, about my life, things I've never told anyone before, not ever, and you see a case?"
"No. But I see how much the uncertainty about your parentage distresses you, so I am trying to find a way to help."
"I am not upset!"
Jadaar tilted his head, then turned back to his boards. "My mistake."
"Jadaar!" Asric said. "I killed her."
Jadaar set down the stone, walked to him, and embraced him in an implacable hug.
Asric was going to explode. Why didn't Jadaar hit him, or call him a brat and throw him in the sea? "Stop it! DIdn't you—didn't you hear what I said?"
Jadaar didn't let go. "I heard."
"So what are you going to do about it?" Asric demanded, and it was horrible, the silence, the forgiveness and acceptance, it was horrible, but he couldn't help himself. He leaned into it, and let himself go.
...
It wasn't until the landscape turned red from the setting sun that he realized how long they had been sitting on the sand.
"I was on assignment," Asric said, finally, whispering because his throat was raw. "She sent me a letter saying that her parents had asked her to come home. They said that all was forgiven." He had wound up sitting in Jadaar's lap, being cradled like a baby, while Jadaar rocked back and forth ever so slightly. He felt secure and cleansed and new and utterly comforted, which should have horrified him, but it did not. It was wonderful, and he didn't care. "And then her letters stopped coming, and the rumors about a plague in Lordaeron started. I wrote letter after letter but didn't hear back from her, so I abandoned my assignment and headed for home. I can't even begin to describe what I found." They'd never discussed the invasion, even while they were at the Tournament.
"No need for description," Jadaar said quietly. "I have read the histories."
Asric barely heard him. "We couldn't afford Silvermoon rents, so we had a little house outside the city. In Eversong. There were birds, and a creek, and a peach tree. We loved it there." Asric wiped his face. "But then… everything was dead. And then this thing came out of the house. Wearing her dress, and her necklace, and I, I cut its head off before I noticed that it was wearing her rings." He clenched his jaw; he was tired of crying. "And I should have been there. If I had been there to protect her…"
Jadaar tightened his grip very slightly. "No. You would have died as well. There would only be blame if you had knowingly, willingly, abandoned her to her fate. You did not. There is no blame."
"You have no idea of the things she did," Asric said, "what she did simply to put food on our table."
"Save that story for another time," Jadaar said. "You are not finished with this one."
"What do you mean?"
"You have not told me why you had the necklace copied."
"Oh, that." Asric took a deep breath. "My grandparents weren't as interested in having their daughter back as they were in getting the necklace. Symbol of the family stain or not, they wanted her to bring it to them. She didn't."
"You had the copy of the necklace made so that If they ever asked for it, or tried to steal it, you could let them have a worthless replica."
"Yes."
"Why copy the rings as well?" Jadaar asked. "They wouldn't have been interested in stealing those."
"Props are important when setting up a con," Asric said. "If they had noticed the rings, knew she wore them, having them in the bag as well was better stage dressing. Made it more believable. Seeing just the necklace might have made them suspicious." Something Jadaar had said earlier just struck him. "Wait, since when have you been reading about elf history?"
"Your people feel they cannot trust or rely on anyone," Jadaar said. "Not their world, their allies, or even their leaders."
"Don't forget family and friends. Most of the elves I've known have been let down or even betrayed by a friend or family member."
Jadaar inhaled noisily, as if preparing to make An Announcement, but instead said, "I am not an elf."
"I've noticed."
"I am also not so easy to chase away."
"I noticed that too."
And still they sat, listening to the soft shush of water lapping at the sand while the reds of sunset shifted into the blues of dusk.
"No matter what we plan, or dream, or hope," Jadaar said at last, "life can sometimes make us feel as though we are leaves in the wind, unable to control our fate. It is a painful thing to comprehend, but even then we have choices. Numb ourselves with frivolity, or find the courage to endure the truth." He stroked Asric's hair comfortingly. "Sometimes it takes even greater courage to share our despairs and fears with one another."
Asric felt tears welling up again, but this time they were good tears. "Just like a windbag to give such a long speech," he whispered.
"Just like a brat to not appreciate it."
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Epilogue
The sound of thunder and rain pelting on the roof woke him. It was dark; he had the bed all to himself.
A flash of lightning illuminated Jadaar, sitting in the doorway, looking out to sea. He turned and patted the floor. "Join me," he said. "Enjoy the view."
And so he did.
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~ The [happy] End[ing] ~
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first post 17 September 2017; revised 20 September 2017