They gave him a reprieve from the pain simply to keep him conscious. As much as Eonthane prided himself on his resolution he had reached his limit and was sliding into the embrace of darkness. He knew, dimly, that he had screamed from the sheer agony of the spells, but had not broken to them. He knew them all. When it became apparent that the fear of mental assaults was not going to affect him they used physical violence, and this too, Eonthane was used to.

He would last long enough to make his brother suffer.

But he was drawing too close to the brink. He felt cold inside, his body numb to the tiles of the floor, heated only by the small tendrils of blood that laced his torso where the guards had beaten him. He knew his limits and apparently, so did his brother, for he could hear Akedas talking quietly with the other Magister off to the side, even over the voice of the man that was in charge of interrogating him. He had no name and no title – at least – none that would be given to Eonthane. But he knelt above the priest, quietly asking something that Eonthane would not focus on. He wanted to hear what his brother was saying.

"You're treading the line of treason already, priest!" the man hissed, suddenly grabbing hold of Eonthane's long hair and forcing his head up.

His head swam at the movement. The room went dim around the edges and he struggled, weakly, but the man's hand held him fast and his attention on his brother was broken and brought right back to where his interrogator wanted it. Those questions.

"We'll not hold back much longer," he said in a whisper so that only Eonthane would hear, "Your brother's name won't protect you. Since you care nothing for your own self-preservation I'll gladly order the priests under my command to rip open your mind even if it kills you."

"Not the best way to get answers," Eonthane replied. He knew the method. Taking control of one's body was one thing – taking control of their thoughts was another thing. Risky and unstable.

"I'll have something for my efforts." The man smiled. "And you'll die. Isn't that what you want?"

Eonthane was silent for a moment and the man let go and let the priest's head slump back on the tiles. Eonthane exhaled slowly and waited for the spinning on his head to stop. He was too weak to allow them to continue with their torture. Perhaps he was ready to die. It hadn't been much of a life anyway, and Akedas's hands would be forever stained because of it.

But there was a quiet nagging in his soul… wondering… what would happen if he chose to live? If that fine line was broken and he succumbed to the shadow he had embraced long ago? What then? He weakly turned to regard his brother and Akedas glanced over, met his gaze for a moment, and then quickly turned away.

Eonthane rolled onto his side, gasping with pain at the effort, and struggled to kneel. His interrogator noticed the movement and returned to his side, waiting for Eonthane to bring himself to one knee on his own, making no move to help or hinder. For a moment the priest knelt there, panting, cursing his own physical frailties that had reduced him to such a pathetic state.

"The Scryers have yet to trust me much," he said and coughed, finding it hard to breath. The man gave orders for water to be brought and Eonthane accepted it before continuing. "I can't speak much on their activities for I remain an outsider. They are engaged with petty squabbling against the Aldor-"

"We know this already," the man interrupted, "The Remnants. Any of them have close ties?"

"I-I think Raineigh… Camia… many of the others have chosen the Aldor, even Nastin, our leader."

"We know of Nastin. Tell us of their actions, then."

"There is one… Molinu, an orc of Durotar, loyal to Thrall, who has mentioned missions against the mana forges in Netherstorm. A joint operation between the Aldor and the Scryers, although a reluctant alliance as I understand."

"Is Molinu high up among the ranks of the Remnants?"

"An officer, yes."

"How loyal to Thrall?"

And it clicked. They weren't really investigating the actions of the Scryers but rather of the Remnants. Trying to decide if they were a danger or not. Of course they would be concerned about anyone who had been to Outlands. Someone with the right knowledge and the right voice with the right people could be devastating to the alliance between the Blood Elves and the rest of the Horde. That the elves still followed a hostile leader? It was a delicate illusion they were holding and Eonthane was certain that it was not for the benefit of the other faction leaders. Thrall was not stupid, nor were the others. They had to know by now. It was Silvermoon they were trying to protect… Silvermoon they were trying to hide what had become of their Prince from…

His beloved city.

"Just Thrall. Very much so. An absolute idiot when it comes to the Sin'dorei. He is a close friend of the shaman Warraven from Mulgore, who seems to hold little in the way of traditional loyalties and remains silent at most things…"

The man turned and nodded at the two Magisters.

"You aren't needed, Magister Akedas. I think your brother understands what it is we desire to know."

And Eonthane watched his brother leave, the cold in his heart only deepening. Akedas had been there when he had taken the oaths to the priesthood. He had not been there when he'd turned his back on them. He didn't understand, just as he hadn't understood as their parents fell deeper and deeper into madness, finally being driven from the city to join the ranks of the Wretched. His youngest sister had never been the same since that day…

There was a soft prodding at the corner of his consciousness. A priestly spell. Eonthane ducked his head and focused on it, recognizing it as the same he used against others. He quietly accepted it, allowing the spell to simply bypass his normal defenses and take hold on his mind. He felt the priest's intrusion into his mind keenly, a remote puppeteer that held all the strings and was completely obscured from his own senses. It was hard to keep the screaming panic at feeling so vulnerable down and his interrogator must have sense Eonthane's fear for he started speaking again, drawing his attention away from the spell.

"He'll do nothing more than-"

"Ensure I am telling you everything, yes, I know this," Eonthane interrupted. He too had learned much from the priesthood. "Then let's make it fast because I don't like his presence in my head."

"Fair enough. The other officers then… if you will."

And with as much detail as he could muster Eonthane betrayed the Remnants, one by one, listing their allegiance, their weaknesses, and any possible threats they might pose to the security of the illusion that lay over Silvermoon.

Somehow, it failed to bother him. This information was very valuable and could be used to tear the guild apart, piece by piece, but there was nothing that compelled him to refrain and keep it to himself. He would accept death, yes, and take these secrets with him and he had indeed considered it.

But there were things he wanted to see. He remembered the moment at Uther's tomb and quietly and willingly betrayed those that had done nothing against him and wondered if there would be forgiveness.

The torture he had endured simply to punish Akedas for his actions. His betrayal he would endure to see if he was right and there were depths from which a person could never be redeemed.