Keeper of Mine

by Sochineya

For a sin'dorei noble's free-spirited and mischievous son, being confined to the family estate and saddled with a nanny in the form of a troll warrior recently returned from Northrend is irking enough; a number of disappearances, strange occurrences, and a spate of violent deaths only exacerbate the situation. m/m

5. Chapter 5

Hey and sorry for the extremely long gap between updates. I had a really difficult time getting anything out for this (and for WLDS, unfortunately). But! I think it's finally ready, and to compensate for the wait it is super long. Like, so long I would cut it in half, but I wanted this chapter to end at a certain point and by God it's going to get there, so I hope you enjoy all fifty some pages of it and maybe take a little snack break in the middle.

---

Mucking the stables was unpleasant enough on its own; with an audience, it was all the more unenjoyable. Thankfully, his partner in misery was among the best he could have asked for in the unfortunate situation.

"Is there something to do about the smell?" the rogue asked Tarana as he heaved a shovelful of soiled straw into a pile in the corner. His nose wrinkled at the sharp, unpleasant odor of hawkstrider droppings.

She shrugged and bit into her apple, her appetite apparently unaffected by the pungent odor. "You can plug your nose, ser."

Strell propped up his pitchfork against the wall and looked at the girl. "You're not very good at giving advice."

The beginning of a smile pulled at her lips as she chewed. "You're not very good at cleaning a stable," she replied, exposing a mouthful of half-eaten apple with every word.

For the life of him, Strell couldn't recall how he'd ever mistaken Tarana for sweet and innocent. She was shy, at least around people she wasn't familiar with, but beneath that and the polite servant's front she put up, the girl could nearly be as crass and vocal as his acquaintances in the city. Of course, it had taken three days of sweating and swearing and shoveling shit alongside her before she finally stopped addressing him as 'Ser Strell' and started speaking freely- and he counted her fast friendship among his blessings, right along with Kinzal's return and Torril's blossoming independence.

"Were you half so cheeky to Kinzal during your reading lessons?" he asked as he began ripping handfuls of hay from a bale to cover the floor of the stall.

"Not when we were making progress," she said as she slipped off of the stool she'd been perched on to help him. "Just when I'd start having trouble, get stuck somewhere. Then I'd rather rib him a bit."

"Well, I've got nothing else to occupy myself with now," he muttered as they finished up in that stall and moved on to the next. "So I was thinking, maybe I could help? With the reading," he offered. "It'd speed up with two teachers, wouldn't it? I've never taught anyone anything, though."

"Don't you have parties to go to?" the girl asked, smirking. "With lots of lords and ladies getting sauced?"

Strell grinned and chuckled as he nudged a bin of sodden hay toward the barn door. "If only. No, the parties aren't quite that fun, and I wouldn't be allowed in anyway. Fairly certain I've been blacklisted from every respectable place in Eversong by now," he said as he fished out a strip of dried meat from a small burlap sack and fed Lok'tak before leading him into a separate paddock while they cleaned his stall.

"If you're really that bored," Tarana said, twisting and fidgeting in place.

"Excellent. I'll bring lots of dirty books-"

"Hah! It's true!" the stablegirl crooned triumphantly. "Maretha said she'd seen the cover of some scandalous book in your room once as she cleaned," she teased. "How many do you have?"

Strell whistled lowly. "I think there are about a dozen I'd rather not have my father see," the rogue said thoughtfully, trying to count out how many volumes were hidden behind other books on his shelf or in the back of his dresser drawers. "So, is that a matter of speculation among the servants?"

"Oh, yes," Tarana answered with a nod. She grunted softly as she grabbed up the empty feed and water buckets from Lok'tak's stall and carried them out. "Pretty mild compared to the other stuff they say about you-"

"Hm, not terribly surprised," Strell murmured, shrugging.

"And especially not lately," she said softly, twisting the cleaning rag in her hands. "Now it's your brother they talk about."

The brunet elf swore quietly, a scowl in place as he scrubbed down the walls with a damp sponge. Strell didn't really care if the servants gossiped about him- his aloofness and choice of activities invited it, really- but Torril had only ever been kind and respectful to the elves in his family's employ, a thoroughly decent and upstanding individual. Or maybe that was why they were so quick to leap upon his rare missteps...

"About him and Kinzal?" he asked.

Tarana nodded. "That he's to be asked to leave the Light's Hand, that he threatened to end his engagement, that you two found Kinzal in a whorehouse with a dozen blond elves," she said, rattling off the first rumors she'd heard in the kitchens and gardens.

"A dozen whores? Does anyone here even have an idea of what that would cost?" Strell asked with a shake of his head. "Kinzal doesn't make enough in a month. Ah... poor Torril. At least they do it quietly- perhaps he won't know they make mock of him."

The blonde elf quirked her lips to the side. "I think he already knows. Even if you don't hear the exact words, it's easy to tell when people have just been talking about you."

Strell sighed as he nodded. She had the right of it- he knew firsthand the feeling of entering a room and seeing its occupants suddenly glance up, the furtive smiles and sidelong glances that suggested gossip. "How can they be like that to Torril? They know how sensitive he is, and he's never been anything but kind to anyone working here."

"He healed my foot once when a hawkstrider stepped on it. Talon went straight through!" Tarana exclaimed, holding out her right foot. It was bare and dirty, the soles turned a dark, muddy brown from dirt, but on the top Strell could make out a pale scar the size of a gold coin.

"I hear shoes help with that," the rogue commented, one eyebrow quirking up. "The more civilized among us put them on our feet. Marvelous things, shoes."

The stablegirl stuck the tip of her tongue out at him as she dumped a pail of water into Lok'tak's trough. "Kinzal doesn't wear shoes."

"Kinzal has troll feet. Have you gotten a good look at those things?" he asked with a disbelieving grin. "They're like-"

"Tink real careful 'bout what ya 'bout ta say," a low, gravelly voice rumbled from behind him. Strell turned and found Kinzal strolling into the stable, arc of red hair bobbing with his long, hunched strides. "Now, what do my feet be like?" he asked as he came to stand by the rogue.

Strell arched a brow and decided to sidestep that question. Truth be told, he found the warrior's two-toed feet perpetually messy and slightly unnerving. "It's good to finally see you, Kinzal. Had a nice morning sleeping in? We don't all get to lounge around, of course," he sighed as he shoveled soiled straw into a wheelbarrow.

The troll chuckled and rolled his neck. "'S nice, not havin' ta be on ya tail every minute of da day," he said. "An' not my fault ya lost ta ya bruddah. But Tarana be gettin' mah pity," he added with a grin, his gaze shifting to the small elf. "He slowin' ya down much?"

The elf girl blew a chunk of hair out of her face and planted her broom on the ground, leaning heavily on it as she pretended to seriously consider the son of her employer. "Well, he was a bumbling mess the first day, but I have to say, he's come a long way under my tutelage," she announced approvingly, one hand on her hip. "He barely even gags now."

"I've become inured to the... fragrant odors," the brunet elf explained with an unhappy shrug.

"Ya reek of bird shit," Kinzal agreed with a slight grimace.

"Great." The rogue sighed as he glanced down and indeed found that his shoes were flecked with white hawkstrider droppings, while his tan pants had darkened a shade around the hems- hopefully from the water used to scrub the stone floors clean, not from soaking up hawkstrider piss.

"I think you've done enough for today, Strell," Tarana said with a coy smile. "You should probably go wash up. Lords aren't supposed to smell like a barn."

"Yeah, 'm pretty sure ya maddah wanted ya in dere for lunch, an' ya can't go smellin' like dat," the warrior said, his nose wrinkling. "Let's go, mon."

---

One shower later, Strell almost smelled like normal. The 'almost' became apparent when he joined his family at the table for lunch and saw noses wrinkle at the offensive odor. He discretely sniffed his shirt and was disappointed to find he must have in fact become so used to the smell that he didn't much notice it, though the same couldn't be said for his parents.

Lyrent grimaced as he laid his napkin in his lap, while his mother's face paled at the stench.

"Did some wretched vagrant wander in here? What reason is there for such a vile smell at our table?"

"That would be me," Strell sighed, avoiding meeting anyone's eyes. "It's from mucking the stables."

"Why on Azeroth are you out in the stables at all?" Yvine asked in distaste. "We pay good gold precisely to have other elves do that."

"We were sparring and made a bet," Torril said before Strell could speak. "I won, so he has to clean them for a week."

"Torril," she sighed, "you're a future lord. You shouldn't even be proposing such conditions. You can't risk letting people see you shoveling out stables. And Strell... I don't know why I bother. Telling lies and making up stories, associating with those wretched urchins that are constantly getting themselves killed, and now... what? Are you trying to make us the laughingstock of the other nobles?"

"You've found me out," he said dryly, mouth tightening in a smile. "Thankfully, I'm given quite a lot to work with."

"Eat that roast before it gets cold," she snapped, all patience for him dissipating.

Strell felt the awkward silence settle over the table like the hush that swept over the crowds when the regent lord spoke at the Court of the Sun- a silence that seemed to anticipate someone breaking it, but no one here dared to. His father concentrated on his plate, while Torril's worried green gaze swept around to each of them in turn, his golden brows knitting as the unease lingered on.

Strell watched his mother furtively, noting that she seemed focused on the window facing the garden. She raised her wineglass but didn't drink, and her food was largely untouched.

As was his own.

The roasted haunch of goat on the platter in the center of the table had soured his appetite on sight. It had been beautifully presented, of course, but once chunks had been cut away to serve them, gristle and strings of pink meat clinging to the bone had done for him.

Now Strell pushed the food around on his plate, not even hungry for the sautéed greens or buttered peas and onions. He picked apart the roasted goat with his fork, frowning at how the moist meat gleamed- he didn't know whether he was more disgusted or darkly fascinated to think that he wasn't much different in terms of composition.

The young rogue looked to his hands as he idly poked at his dinner. He studied the motions of his fingers as he gripped his fork; concentrated on the feel of his spine curving as he leaned out of the way of the server who brushed past to refill his glass. He thought of every movement in the most mechanical sense, of muscles pulling tendons pulling bones. All wrapped in flesh and skin. Fed by blood.

It wasn't that he had never seen bloodshed before Mistren- there were brawls in every tavern as a necessity, and injuries, and every so often a body did turn up on Murder Row- but never so much blood, and never from someone that he knew so well. Strell's gaze flitted up, suddenly afraid that perhaps all eyes were on his strange behavior, wondering or scorning at his vacantness.

But his father ate his meal without any sign of alarm at his drawn face or mechanical movements, his mother was still preoccupied with the garden, and Torril was quiet and focused on his soup- if the servants noticed anything they knew better than to say. But Strell did catch Kinzal giving him the oddest look from the doorway just before the troll slipped away to the kitchens, as if he knew the blood-ridden thoughts running through the elf's head.

Perhaps he did. Or close enough, at least. He'd probably seen a river's worth of blood in Northrend, and his old guardian had definitely heard by now what had transpired during his leave from the estate, had almost certainly caught a little gossip about his night terrors and changed appetites and reclusiveness. And now that look... Strell didn't know what to make of it.

Part of him wished to run to Kinzal now and tell him everything- to spill every confused, morbid thought that plagued him at night, to cry and be comforted. Still, the thought made him scowl at himself and his own dependency. It was hard enough to acknowledge to himself that he was cracked and cracking further, weakness spreading through him like poison in the blood. Kinzal had seen him falling apart at the seams too often already; certainly, if he hadn't been set on Torril beforehand, Strell's accumulating emotional baggage would seal it.

Besides, it seemed almost insulting to expect coddling and reassurances for seeing one beheaded elf from a person that had watched dozens of comrades splatter on the ground in Zul'drak.

The brunet pushed his plate away and excused himself to slip back upstairs, hoping Kinzal would appear once he finished his own dinner. He almost craved their old arrangement, the troll bound to him at all hours of the day, bedding in the same room. But the rogue knew that the warrior was relieved to have his own time and his own place, somewhere that he knew his nightmares could be locked away and unseen. And Strell understood that. Kinzal deserved a nice bed, anyway, not a flimsy cot.

He still had the troll lock him in, though. It was one ritual from before that the rogue needed, and it required little sacrifice on Kinzal's part; locked from within and without, his room regained a little of the safe feeling it had possessed in childhood. The warrior's brows drew together every night beforehand, reluctant to indulge him in this- he worried about the unexpected, the chance of a fire, a surge of shambling bodies from the Dead Scar. But Strell pleaded and bargained, guilted the other man a bit by mentioning that it was hard enough to sleep alone, and Kinzal relented and sealed him inside each night as if he was still trying to escape. The security it offered was strange, he knew, but undeniable.

The windows were still nailed shut, but rather than feeling like a barrier to freedom, they now seemed more like a barricade against harm. He could sleep alone in here, like this- closed off until the sun rose and Kinzal came with it.

The knock on his door was so soft Strell almost didn't catch it. "Come in," he nearly grinned, already feeling the anxious coiling of his muscles ebb.

"Strell. Ser Dayborne, I mean." He cocked his head and considered. "Nah. Strell. Ya mind if I wait here til da stink in my room goes away? Spilled a bottle of armor polish in dere. Still can't smell quite righ'," he added as he rubbed at his oversized nose.

"All the comforts of my room are yours," the rogue offered generously, spreading his arms wide. "There's half a chocolate bar in my jewelry box and a bottle of Suntouched Reserve somewhere... perhaps it rolled under the bed?"

"'M fine, but thank ya. Had a big dinner... how was yours?" the warrior asked as he settled down into a crouch a few feet from where Strell was stretched out on his bed.

"Fine. Same as always," the elf shrugged. He met Kinzal's eyes for a moment and bit his lip rather than let anything else slip out.

"Didn' look like ya ate much," the blue-skinned troll commented offhandedly. He twisted his head and rubbed at the back of his neck, the action sending a ripple up through his mohawk.

"Not my favourite selection of foods."

"Nah. Suppose not." Kinzal sighed and rose from his crouch into a full stretch, groaning as he straightened out his back. "Whatcha say ta headin' down for a bit an' helpin' Tarana? She said ya wanted ta lend a hand. An' ya should be outta dis room more," he added, amber eyes roving the largely unadorned walls.

The air had started to grow musty here, heavy and still with the windows shut and his door locked more often than not. It was his safe haven… but then, so was Kinzal. "I'd be grateful for the distraction," he said with a brief smile. "Should I bring my books?" the rogue asked innocently. "I don't think I have the one with Ah'tusa, but-"

"Leave dat filth," the warrior spat, though he grinned a moment after, even as his cheeks darkened slightly. " Dat's advanced readin' anyway. Pretty sure she'd get a nosebleed from da covers alone... kinda like ya bruddah in dat."

"Whatever will we do with them?" Strell asked with a dramatic sigh and a shake of his head. He followed close at Kinzal's heels as they left his room behind- and he made sure to grab a slender book on the way out. It was no Forbidden Love or Northern Exposure, but he had a sneaking feeling Tarana would appreciate something with a bold heroine on strider-back.

---

"Which lord was it that was always leading those raids against the Amani?"

He paced along beside the small elf as she led a hawkstrider around by a lead, occasionally holding out his bag of dried apples for her to stick her hand in. It was bright, the noon sun blazing down upon them as they walked circles through a pasture. "Hmm... you're thinking of Alasyr Brightdawn, perhaps? I hear he was quite handsome for his age. Never saw him myself, though."

"I've heard that too," Tarana said with a quick smile. "Sounds so dashing... a shame he fell. I wonder why he despised them so much," she added as an afterthought.

Strell shrugged and nibbled a soft bit of the fruit. "I remember hearing that his intended was carried off by them when he was young. Eventually he married another, of course, but I imagine the outrage never dulled."

"Oh." The stablegirl bit her lip, expression fallen. "That is tragic. Are all nobles so... like the stories?"

"Am I like a story?" It would have to be one of his lewd ones, then. Certainly not the sort with heroic lords and ladies rescuing each other and successfully navigating turbulent social affairs.

"No, not you," she laughed. "Well, maybe. A mystery, perhaps," she said with a squint.

"I could stand to have a little less mystery in my life," he sighed.

"That you could," she agreed, sobering slightly. "I've heard a good deal about the Lightboughs-"

Strell nodded at once. "The reclusive Lightboughs... they only seem to make an appearance when there's a battle to be fought," he said with a grin. "Cut of the Farstrider cloth, all of them. I don't think there's been a Lightbough that hasn't been a soldier or a ranger in ages," he muttered. "I was punched by one, once. I swear one of my teeth is still a little loose from it."

"What did you do?" the stable hand asked in exasperation.

"What makes you think I did anything?" the rogue cried. "Well, alright. I had inquired as to... I had very delicately asked whether she might be willing to remove her breastplate."

"Ser Strell-"

"I know, I know. She responded as Lightboughs are wont to do- with her fists- and I learned my lesson." He flashed Tarana a sly grin. "If you're going to proposition one of their house, make it a man. Much less dangerous."

"You are incorrigible."

Strell sighed. "Sometimes I wish that Torril was engaged to one of them, even if it would be a ranger. He's always admired the Guard Captain, and I believe she's distantly related to that house. Awfully handy with that spear of hers. And Lightboughs do love their spears... " He handed his bag of apple slices to Tarana in exchange for the hawkstrider's lead. "He could use someone like that. Strong- in mind, not just with a sword or an axe- but with a firm sense of purpose. And real. Not mired in the social game, not willing to cow themselves to be considered polite. He needs a good dose of that."

"I think he got a good dose of it," the other elf murmured with a pointed look.

Strell groaned softly. He didn't want to think about his brother and Kinzal, not right now.

"I agree with you, though," Tarana continued, a faint blush touching her cheeks. "He needs someone to bring him out of himself. Someone that could push him when he needs to be pushed, encourage him when he needs to hear it. He deserves that."

"He does." The brunet elf felt a pang as he realized how true it was. "And he won't be getting it from his betrothed..."

"You don't know that."

"Oh, I'm quite sure. Poor girl will probably live the rest over her life with my mother breathing down her neck. The last thing she'll want to do is push Torril in any direction that Yvine doesn't think is proper for him."

"I think it's rather silly that you nobles will only marry other nobles," the stablegirl huffed. "There are plenty of perfectly good people who don't have acres and acres of land or some old name," she grumbled. "Besides, so many noble elves fell... who will the ones left marry?"

"Rich merchants, most likely," Strell replied. At her increasingly sour expression, he sighed. "While unlikely and uncommon, marriages further down the ladder have happened. Not always with... happy consequences, but they do occur."

"And what about ones to non-elves?" she asked lightly.

"Lady Girsa Sunwood was tossed out when she proclaimed her affection for a dwarf," the brunet shrugged. "Is that what you mean?"

"Your family would not take kindly to a troll suitor," she said with a slow nod.

"I can't think of many that would," he answered with a frown. "But no. I think our mother would sooner send Torril off to some wretched sanitarium than have him wind up with a troll."

"What about you?"

"What about me?" he asked, feeling slightly agitated by her questions. Or maybe it was just the subject. Either way, he chewed angrily on a handful of apple bits, nearly glaring at the trees they passed.

"Would they care if you were with a troll? Kinzal, to be specific."

The rogue scoffed and turned to look at her curiously. "I don't know. They seemed to have given up on me, but I still might be associated with our house enough to embarrass them. Does it matter? Between the two of us, Kinzal would want Torril anyway. Not that I can blame him. I'm..." Damaged goods, was the phrase that immediately came to mind. He smiled quickly and said instead, "a bit more of a handful."

"I don't know," the girl said uncertainly. "He always talked about you. Complained, mostly," she grinned, "but not always. I think he likes how strong-willed you are. Or he doesn't mind it, at least. There's something very attractive about confidence," she said with a decisive nod.

"Yes, well, he kissed Torril, and I think that trumps chit-chatting about me."

"I thought Torril did the kissing?"

"It takes two people to kiss," Strell said with a drawn out sigh. "Even if Kinzal didn't start it, it's not as though he shoved Torril away."

"Who would?" the stablegirl said with a dreamy sigh.

"Oh, not you, too," the rogue groaned. "Light, is there anyone I can associate with that isn't in love with my brother?"

"He's very winsome," Tarana said honestly, her narrow shoulders rising in a shrug. " It's hard to resist."

"I'm aware," Strell sighed, looking down at his muck-covered boots.

After a moment, the stablegirl sighed as well. "Look, you don't have to do the stables today if you aren't feeling up to it, Strell," she said, gently laying her hand on his arm. "I know you hate it, and I can handle it by myself. I do pretty much all the real work anyway," she added with a slight, teasing smile. She pinched him playfully when he didn't respond straight away.

"No, no... I want to," the brunet murmured as he brushed away her pinching fingers. "I complain a lot, but only half of it's genuine. I like... having something to do. It helps distract me. And so do you." He smiled and was relieved to see her respond in kind- he hadn't wanted to offend her, insinuate she was nothing more than a way to occupy his thoughts and time. "Not that I'm just using you for that. I like your company. Even if I wasn't so preoccupied with thoughts of... unpleasantness, I'd still enjoy being around you. But-"

"I understand, Strell," she interrupted, placing her hands squarely on his shoulders and turning him to face her. "I didn't realize you still thought of it so much," Tarana added quietly.

The rogue shrugged and tried to wriggle away a bit, feeling flayed open under her inquisitive look. "Mostly when it's quiet and I'm alone."

"Then perhaps you shouldn't be alone," she suggested simply. "Although I don't think the company of striders is what you need right now." Her freckled nose wrinkled slightly as she brushed straw and small, downy feathers from the dark fabric of his shirt. "Kinzal or your brother would be happy to see you, I'm sure."

He hummed noncommittally as he handed the hawkstrider's lead back to her. "Kinzal's gone hunting. Light only knows if I'll manage five minutes with Torril before some servant whispers in my mother's ear and he's beckoned away," he complained.

Tarana shooed him off, her gaze asking that he at least try. "The stables won't be going anywhere, and neither will I. You can always come back," she assured him as he began to scrape the soles of his boots against a fencepost and untied his sloppy ponytail, shaking his head to set his hair right. "And we're reading again tomorrow night," she added as they meandered back toward the stables and the house. "I got through a chapter of the book you gave me. I like it a lot."

"I thought it might suit you," Strell said with a pleased, slightly relieved smile. It had seemed like the sort of story she would enjoy vicariously, all humble beginnings and adventure and class-spanning romance, but he had worried she would find some fault with it. "Just don't get any ideas about stealing a hawkstrider and riding off to rescue handsome princes held captive by yeti. At least not without saying goodbye to me first," he added as they began to split up, him heading toward the hedge-lined path that led to the house and her toward the barn.

"What if I just took you with me?" she laughed before turning to the chirruping bird at her side.

---

The house seemed still and quiet. Not unusually so, but it was still enough to unnerve Strell a little. He saw no servants as he took the stairs up to the floor that kept his brother's rooms- his bedroom, a room for studying, a room for meditation, a room for anything Torril might conceivably need. He peeked in them one at a time, briefly wrinkling his nose at the clean, orderliness of them all, the bare dresser tops and bland, pale colors; he was simultaneously drawn by the lingering scent of lemon and sugar from the sweet snacks the blonde elf liked to eat.

He found him in the small corner room meant to serve his brother as an altar and a place of meditation. Light fell in slants through the two massive windows that flanked the small, elaborately carved medicine chest set up against the far wall; atop it was a tome so faded by sunlight that its words seemed ghostly pale, left open to some page that held meaning to Torril, he supposed.

Each wall was decorated with bronze suns, shining discs with stylized flames of light curling outward. Strands of white-gold honeyblossoms hung down the sides of the cherry-stained altar, wilted by the afternoon sun. And Torril was kneeling before it, on the circular carpet woven of golden threads.

"You're not using the pillows," Strell noted as he quietly eased the door shut behind him.

The paladin-in-training turned at the waist, golden eyebrows rising slightly at the sight of his brother. He looked down at the stack of plush pillows beside him, a faintly perplexed look crossing his features. "The carpet is enough. I tried telling mother that they weren't necessary."

"She probably just wanted people to see her buying them," the brunet sighed as he came closer, careful not to tread on the pale rug that was so clearly reminiscent of the sun. He crouched and pinched the corner of one pillow between his fingers and was unsurprised to find the quality surpassed the one that he slept with.

"How do you fare?" Torril asked him, his thoughtful green eyes settling on his brother. He crossed his ankles underneath him and shifted slightly, turning from the glossy lacquered alter and the tome of light.

"Fine."

"Liar," the paladin breathed softly as he leaned his weight back. "I see you at meals. Barely eating."

"And you barely speak," the brunet accused right back.

"I hardly even see you," Torril argued softly, his gaze flitting back up to his brother, knowing he couldn't argue. With Kinzal's return his studies and training resumed- if anything, they had grown more intense and time-consuming to compensate for the lost weeks. Rarely was he afforded a chance to spend idle time as he would have preferred. "I don't see Kinzal at all," he added, his expression regretful.

"He misses talking to you, I think," Strell said, his eyes falling to the floor.

The blond elf's lips curled in a soft smile. Then he sighed. "I miss sparring with him."

The rogue nodded, the action more mechanical than actual acknowledgement. He thought with a brief, acute pang of the misery of their situation- Torril, once again prisoner of his training schedule, barred from even seeing the object of his affections; Kinzal, forbidden the same, forced by circumstances to remain unbearably close to Torril without any chance of actually acting on their proximity; and himself in the middle, trying to bridge a gap that seemed to crumble and widen with each passing day. Affection for his brother, so kind and well-liked and good-hearted... his increasing attraction and- he feared- dependency on Kinzal for companionship and security. He wondered how long he could balance the two. Restraint had never been his strongest suit, after all.

"I'm sorry. Again." Torril was pensively considering a painting that hung nearby on the wall out in the hallway- an old portrait of some relative long since passed, one of the few in their family's line that had joined the Farstriders. "I managed to put everything awry," he sighed, brow creasing with the weight of the blame he carried. "It's my own fault that I can't talk to him anymore."

"You don't have to keep apologizing, especially not to me." Strell chewed his lip in time with the strokes of his thumb over the fine silk of one of the pillows. "A part of me was... glad, though it shames me to admit it. That it worked out like this. That you don't really get to have him, either." He pressed his lips together in a tight frown, feeling the weight of Torril's stare but lacking the courage to meet it. "I'm a horrible brother. What else is new, eh?" he said with a tired laugh.

"You're not, Strell," the paladin sighed as he edged closer, rising up on his knees just enough to intercept his younger brother's gaze. "I don't blame you for feeling jealous. I was when you two spent time together while I poured over tomes. Even if they were very enlightening," he added as though obligated to do so.

"Why do you always have to copy me?" Strell asked with weariness. He wove his fingers through the other elf's hair, cut in the same manner as his own, even if Torril's was soft gold rather than dark like the bark of trees along the Deadscar. "I never figured you'd go after him, you know." He hadn't thought he himself would pine for Kinzal, much less his straight-laced brother.

Torril blushed and sank back down onto his heels, winding his hands together nervously. "I know. It seems very foolhardy in retrospect. I just... let myself be overcome. You needn't worry, though. Kinzal isn't in the cards for me," the paladin said with a flat smile. "This whole... thing isn't, really."

"This 'thing' being... love?" Strell asked with an arched brow.

"Maybe. I wasn't thinking, Strell," he said with a heavy sigh. "I mean, I kissed him. And what could have come of it? I'm engaged. I'm going to be a lord. A paladin. An elf of oaths and vows. And a… a public fixture." He stared down at his hands, now clasped together.

The brunet frowned and glanced out a window that overlooked the garden, with red poppies blooming. "They say that Lady Sunwood had a dwarven lover."

"And look where it got her," Torril said sharply, causing his brother to turn back from the view outside. The paladin's expression softened a bit as pushed himself up onto his feet and moved closer, looking out the window as well. "Even the rest of the Sunwoods won't have anything to do with her. Her order kicked her out-"

"I thought they just sort of fell apart," the rogue interjected.

"Same thing," the blond said flatly.

"Torril," Strell sighed, "there's nothing wrong with being like her. Well, the sour old witch's personality isn't worth emulating, but still, there's quite a lot to be gained from refusing to let other people govern your whole life. You can tell people to fuck off if you want to," he said softly.

"Like you did?" Torril asked skeptically, thick, sculpted brows rising.

The rogue hesitated a moment, feeling all of his recent doubts bubble up inside of him, the questions over choices of his own. "Like I did... or maybe in your own, more polite manner. However you want to do it, I'm just saying, you can. It won't kill you."

The paladin's lower lip jutted out slightly as he frowned. "I never thought that-"

"I mean metaphorically," the brunet said with a gently exasperated smile. "It may be inconvenient or uncomfortable, but it might be worth it anyway. You've surprised me lately," he admitted, shaking his head. "I can't help but feel like you're above all this, Torril. And one day you're going to realize it, too, and move on to some bigger calling, expectations be damned. I'd just hope it's before you've got a wife and family going," he said with a gentle nudge to the paladin's shoulder.

"You have me mistaken for someone else," the blond told his brother, his gaze sliding away, a familiar meekness settling back over him. "I do not mean to leave mother or father... or you."

"Torril-"

"I have... a party with my betrothed's family to get ready for," the paladin said with a dip of his head. His expression wasn't sad- more like resigned, dutiful. A hint of a smile crept across his lips as he readied to leave. "And so you know... the week is over. You needn't muck the stables anymore."

"Perhaps I like shoveling strider shit," Strell replied with a casual tilt of his head. "You might try it one day. I think you'd like the stables. Maybe Tarana, too."

The paladin's smile became uncertain. "Probably. But I can't see that going over well," he said apologetically.

"No," Strell sighed as he backed out of the room, waiting just outside the threshold while his brother pinched out the candles and reverently closed the book atop the altar. It was a place that was so thoroughly Torril that it felt like he was intruding even when he knew he was welcome. "I can't see it happening either," he agreed sadly.

---

"What smells... different?" Strell asked as he wandered in to the kitchens. The clatter of pots and pans and the bellowing of orders at washerboys were missing, replaced instead with a relaxed silence and a fragrant scent of fruit and spice.

"Ya cook was given da night off an' ya faddah asked if I could feed ya," the troll within said with a quick smile, his lengthy tusks nearly knocking a pot off the wall as he turned to glance over his shoulder at Strell. He held himself languidly, relaxed as he stirred the bubbling pot. "Dis be food from da islands. Well, close as I kin get it. Had ta make some substitutions," he said with a shrug. "Should taste close, anyway."

Strell edged past the troll to peer down into the pot on the stove. The countertop was littered with the rinds of colorful fruits- some of which he recognized, some he didn't- and shells, a stripped chicken carcass and the crimson stems of peppers from Kalimdor. Kinzal had obviously visited the part of the bazaar dedicated to foreign goods, imported from the tropic places that reminded him of home.

"What is it?" he asked as he stirred the pot with the wooden spoon left lying next to it. The liquid inside was thick and creamy, an off-white color flecked with bits of green and faint swirls of red. He lifted the ladle and recognized crab meat, chunks of chicken, and rings of squid. And rice- short, fat grained rice, unlike the type usually used in Eversong.

The troll said something in Zandali that the elf didn't quite catch. Then he smiled and said, "'S like a big soup ya throw whateva ya want inta."

"I hope you didn't use an Amani recipe for it. Might include elves," the rogue said with a little wince.

"Nah, dem Amani eat like pine branches an' shit. No, dis be Darkspear cookin' at its finest. Coconut an' chilies and dark sugar- 's got all da flavors goin' on. All in one bowl, dat's how we do it. An' it'll fill ya up better'n dese elfy foods," the warrior added, the skin around his nostrils wrinkling.

"And what's in this pot?" the brunet asked as he pointed to the one at the back of the stove, the same creamy white soup bubbling away.

"Ah... dat's da same, but witout any meat for ya. Jus'... in case ya wanted it like dat," the troll said quietly. "Or I kin add exactly what ya want- clams, squid, scallops, whateva. Dere's extra of everyting in da cellar."

Strell bit his lip and strummed his fingers on the countertop. "Thank you, Kin. I actually... I don't think I'd mind this, though," he said quietly, looking back at the troll. "It's not bad like this. It's when it's all... on the bone. I don't like cutting into it."

"I hear ya," Kinzal said with a low sigh. "I'm glad ya okay wit it," he added with a quick grin, the blue skin around his eyes crinkling warmly. "Dis be how my maddah made it. I wanted ya ta taste it."

"Thank you," the elf murmured again, lingering close at the warrior's side. He cleared his throat quietly and watched Kinzal tend to the pots on the stove with all the attentiveness of a new parent with their child.

"'S important not ta let da milk scald," the warrior said when Strell commented on his ceaseless stirring and tasting. He smiled after, lips pulling back around his tusks and the corners of his eyes crinkling, looking very content as he tended to their meal.

"It's a shame they're not here to try it too," the elf said quietly. He imagined the fare at Torril's betrothed's house right now was all impeccably elvish, served in well-ordered courses, crafted to impress. He found he preferred the thought of Kinzal's family recipe.

"We'll save some for ya bruddah," Kinzal said with a little laugh. "But I tink ya faddah would take one polite spoonful an' ya maddah would dump it on me instead."

The rogue grimaced at the accuracy of it and darted behind the troll to a cabinet that held sturdy wooden bowls, the sort that the servants used to eat. The fine china reserved for his family's dinners seemed wasted on the two of them. He picked up to and then hesitated, hand hovering over a third. "Think Tarana'd like to eat with us?"

"She went ta visit her aunt since she got da night off," Kinzal murmured, wiping his hands off on a clean rag before turning off the pale blue flames of the arcane stove.

"Are you worried about her?" Strell asked as he set the bowls down on the counter.

The troll was silent as he ladled soup into the dishes, careful to scoop out a fair distribution of rice and broth and meat. He carefully sprinkled chopped herbs and thinly sliced peppers on top, then nodded firmly as he nudged Strell's bowl toward him. "Let's sit outside, eh?" he suggested as he grabbed his own food.

Strell frowned as he followed, two spoons and a pair of cloth napkins in hand, out to the steps that led from the kitchen. The pale stone was discolored, dotted with faded tones of brown and old red- the drippings from slaughtered fowl and lynxes brought in to be butchered. He stared down until he felt a nudge on his shoulder, looked up to see Kinzal jerk his mohawked head to the side, toward the pavilion down at the bottom of the hill.

It was where he'd kissed Torril. It was all the elf could think as he followed the warrior down the slope and under the golden honeyblossom trees, their branches currently bare of flowers. They settled on the pillowed benches under the roof, brushing stray leaves off before they sat and made themselves comfortable.

"'S not jus' me dat's worried," Kinzal said after a few minutes of quiet slurping.

It was very good soup- delicious, something Strell would openly have praised as perfect, even if the spice of it made his nose run a bit- and he was almost bitter that the tone and feel of the conversation left little room to bring it up.

"Everyone be gettin' scared now," he continued, stirring in his bowl as he sighed. "Word's been gettin' out, more an' more missin' elves, more bodies… dey say a woman was found in da woods." He shook his head when Strell startled. "Not dese woods. Somewhere called da Lightswood?"

Strell nodded, recognizing it.

"An elf by da name of Lyseria Lightbough," the troll said, watching his face curiously.

"That's... a noble," Strell said in flat tones. He stirred his soup without really noticing it at all, once again thinking of the tendons and bones and muscle that were responsible for the action. "The guard captain said it wouldn't be long before… before he started coming after us, too. I suppose no elf can sleep easily now," he said with a grim smile.

Kinzal had set his bowl down and was watching him intently. "You can," he said slowly, pronouncing both words carefully. "No one's gonna touch ya. I ain' gonna let 'em."

The rogue smiled softly as he considered those words; enough appetite returned for him to take another few bites, savoring the mixed scents and tastes that all called Kinzal to mind. He glanced to the troll and chewed his lip for a moment. "We should maybe get your swords. They might come in handy, even around here."

Kinzal rubbed his chin and ran the back of his knuckles against the underside of a tusk, his brow furrowing. "I tink ya may be right," he agreed.

---

They spent half an hour sharpening and polishing Kinzal's already well-maintained weapons, and then another half an hour checking over the house's security. All of it put Strell slightly more at ease, and he hummed softly as he helped the warrior nail an extra lock to the servants' entrance. The handful of staff that lingered on to clean and tend to the house and stables seemed relieved by their impromptu inspection as well; the rogue was pleased but unsurprised to note that the servants seemed much more keen on Kinzal now that he was seen as a potential deterrent to the elf-slayer.

"Kinzal!" The old gardener approached them at a brisk stride, the knees of his trousers dark with soil. He offered an apologetic look as he interrupted them. "My lord,' he said first, nodding toward Strell before addressing the troll. "Kinzal, there is a messenger for you at the gates. He says it's urgent."

The warrior grumbled lowly, the sound deep in the back of his throat. He glanced between the two elves and sighed. "Be back in a few, Strell. Why don' ya find dat book on traps an' snares an' practice a few?" he suggested before he lumbered toward the front of the estate, the gardener trying to keep up with his long strides.

The rogue wasted no time in heading to Kinzal's room to find the text he'd mentioned. It was there in a perilously tall stack of books, all used for Tarana's instruction, his own reading, or both. He picked through them one by one, running fingertips across the embossed leather covers- Historic Sites and Where to Visit Them, The Qiraji Menace, A Study of Smithing, and a collection of heroic poems about the first of their elven ancestors to cross the sea. The elf never ceased to be surprised at how much Thalassian Kinzal had picked up, even able to decipher a few lines from archaic works with spellings that he himself had difficulty with. His grasp of Common was impressive, too, but he supposed it made sense after the troll had spent time working with the Argents.

There were books he didn't recognize, storybooks, small novels meant solely to entertain. One guide to local flora. And then The Handbook of Traps and Trap Construction. The small text underneath added that it also covered knots and bondage. The elf flipped through the yellowed pages and wondered how he'd never found this book before; this was unspeakably useful for a rogue, was the rare book he would actually consider worth reading. It had presumably sat in their library for years, gathering dust, until Kinzal found it in the course of his methodical exploration of the shelves.

Strell smiled to himself as he found instructions for an electrified snare meant to stun the prey into incapacitation, followed by a diagram of how to bind a captive's arms and legs with a single length of rope. As he flipped through more pages, dark eyebrows rose higher and higher. Perhaps his father had known that putting this sort of thing under lock and key would only have drawn him to it, opting instead to hide it in plain sight among thousands of other books that he'd never care to look twice at.

The rogue's brow furrowed as he turned the book sideways to better view an illustration of an elf gagged and trussed up like a pig.

"Good Light," he murmured to himself as he slowly headed back downstairs, eyes glued to the book in hand. He wondered if Kinzal had gotten this far, and what he thought of the numerous, very informative drawings of elves tied and restrained.

The shadow of an impish grin pulled at his lips as he thought of questioning the troll about it. His cheeks and ears would probably darken to that lurid shade of violet-tinged blue, his toes would curl against the floor. The elf was still smiling to himself when he picked up the sound of hurried steps in his direction, the familiar cadence of bare feet against polished marble.

"Is everything alright?" he asked as soon as Kinzal rounded the corner, the book temporarily forgotten as he quickly took in the warrior's flustered state- his shoulders squared and his skin flushed dark, his breathing louder and heavier than usual.

"Strell, I gotta go, mon," the troll said at once. "Just for a bit. My cousin's girl came here ta Silvermoon an' she done broke some whore's hip an' run up near fifty gold on her tab. I get ta go bail her out an' get her on a zeppelin back home," the warrior said, followed by a displeased groan and a twist of his head to work a crick out of his neck.

"Broke a hip?" Strell asked in disbelief.

"Aye," Kinzal groaned, running his hand down his face tiredly. "An' da brothel wants compensation for his healing costs."

"Do you need any gold?" the rogue asked, knowing that recovery from such an injury couldn't have come cheap.

"Nah, she need ta learn from dis, an' I don' want ya dragged inta dis mess anyway. Her problem. Family problem," he sighed. "I'm gonna vouch for her, an' hold her ta her word, but she gotta settle her own debts." He frowned as he scratched at his chin, already looking anxious to leave. "She be a good kid, but..."

"It's a big change, being on your own for the first time," the elf supplied. He thought of the troll girl at the tavern and grimaced for the situation she'd gotten into. "Tell me, didn't you do a few irresponsible things when you first set out alone?"

"Well, I didn' drink ma weight in wine an' den damn near break a whore in half," Kinzal said with a tight-lipped shrug.

"Fair enough," the rogue sighed. He pushed back his hair with the palm of his hand and pursed his lips, absently thumping the book in his hand against his thigh.

"Spirits willin', I'm gonna be back before dawn," the troll grumbled as he pulled his cloak out of the entryway closet. He paused long enough to give Strell an apologetic look. "I may not be back in time ta lock ya in before bed… ya wanna do dat now? Or are ya okay witout it-"

"No, no, now is fine," he answered quickly, wrapping his arms around himself and squeezing. "Just come and let me know when you get back, even if it's late. Or early. So far it's elves that have been targeted, but…"

"Don' worry about me," Kinzal said as he followed the elf up the stairs and to his room. "I'm gonna be fine. An' you gonna be fine. Locked in, locked out-"

"Thank you," the rogue sighed gratefully as the warrior tugged on the chain around his neck that held the key to the outer lock. He smiled through the sliver of open door and was comforted by the one he got in return.

He gently shut the bedroom door and listened for the click of the key before he bolted and chained it from inside and spun the lock on the doorknob.

"Be back soon as I can." Kinzal's voice was muffled through the thick door.

"Be careful," Strell answered, nearly pressing his lips to the wood, his fingers curling against the smooth carvings etched into the material. He checked the locks again as he listened to the troll's heavy footfalls as he hurried back downstairs and off to help his cousin's daughter.

The elf fished the half-empty bottle of wine out from under his bed and took a few sips to calm his nerves. Then he settled on the bed and worried in spite of the alcohol- about Kinzal and the troll girl, Torril and his family, Tarana and her aunt, and Lyseria Lightbough, who had once punched him so hard in the jaw that there were days he still felt it.

And while a rational part of him repeated to himself that it was not because of him, not tied to him, not related to him at all… He'd barely known her, had flirted too forwardly with her and received his dues, had perhaps passed her a mere handful of times since then.

But even so, he thought of her broken body lying somewhere in the woods that the ranger-elves of her house so loved and he felt partly to blame, even if he could not say why. He grabbed the bottle of Suntouched Reserve and took an angry swig from it, frustrated at himself, and the killings, and most of all at the lingering, sickening sense that there was a pattern to it that he wasn't seeing, one that involved him for reasons unknown.

For once, though, the quiet was as helpful as it was unnerving. He opened the book to a section on rope-based maneuvers and studied it seriously, taking the satin belt from one of his nicer robes and practicing with it. He moved on to knots when his attention began to wander, carefully twining the material into loose versions of the examples on the pages and then picking them apart again.

He only noticed the passing of time when the sunlight became too weak to read by; the rogue stood and stretched his legs and back, reaching for the ceiling and groaning. He lit candles and flipped on the arcane lamps along the walls and on his desk, then went to draw the curtains over his windows. The carriage was still missing from its place beside the stables, but no stable hands stood watch for the lord and lady to return, no servants waited to assist at a moment's notice and carry their things into the house. In fact, Strell noticed that though the lamps in the stable and along the garden path were on, no one was on the grounds at all, not even the few elves that normally stayed up late in the night on the steps outside of the servants' wing to smoke and talk. He frowned at how quickly the fear had spread once the killings had grown too noticeable to be ignored, how potent it was now that all knew even the highest born elves were not safe.

Strell stripped off his leather vest and undid his belt, flinging both into a pile by the feet of his desk. His cotton shirt was comfortable enough, but he traded his trousers for a pair of soft, looser drawstring pants and then settled back on his bed, determined to master the next knot in the series.

He cursed as the silky fabric came loose from the intended knot, the twists and ties all falling apart in his hands. His frown deepened as he tried it again and again, still having no success at making it stay. He was distracted from his frustration when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Too light to be Kinzal's, he realized with a frown- had his family returned since he last checked the window? Even so, the steps certainly weren't his brother's, and he could think of no reason his mother would ever have to see him.

"Father?" he guessed, confused at why he would visit at such an hour. "Why are you up so late?"

The footsteps didn't slow. They reached the landing soon after, toes tapping against the base of the door just barely and a dark shadow appearing at the sliver of a gap near the floor. And then the doorknob rattled, shaking as someone- who it was, Strell could not imagine- slowly twisted and turned it.

The elf sat rigidly on his bed, a dagger from a bedside dresser now gripped in hand, his breath held fast in his throat as the keyhole clinked with the delicate application of lockpicks. Cold dread swept up from his gut, bringing bile to peak in the back of his throat. He thought of Mistren, of the murderous creature that had dragged that girl into the woods.

"I'll kill you," he said shakily, clenching his teeth in response to the waver he could hear in his own voice. "I'll kill you if you come in here. I know what you are," he added in a hiss, steeling himself with the sudden and inarguable certainty that the malevolent person on the other side of the door was the very same one responsible for all manner of tragedy that had transpired over recent weeks.

The metallic clicking ceased abruptly, though the doorknob made the faintest noise as whoever was on the other side gave it one last try. After a moment of heavy silence, Strell saw something slip underneath the crack at the bottom of the door.

Then the footsteps resumed, light and leisurely as they retreated back down the staircase before being swallowed up by the nighttime silence of the house.

It was minutes before the elf regained his breath enough to stop clutching his dagger like a lifeline, and many minutes more before he could work up the nerve to crawl out of bed and toward the door.

A lock of dark hair tied with a red ribbon lay on his floor. Not ebony, like his own, or like his father's. Not Torril's blond or Kinzal's white-peppered crimson. An auburn shade, lustrous and well cared for… his mother's.

---

"Honestly, Strell, have you lost your mind?"

"You... you are alright, then?" he asked, worriedly scanning her face for some sign of threat, some fear, some recognition. He took a deep breath to steady himself, his mouth parting slightly as he tried to piece last night to this morning.

"I was doing quite well until my son nearly bowled me over," she said sharply, brusquely pushing past him and into the dining room. She was made up for the day, already moving with her usual sense of hurry to get somewhere else- but under the carefully applied makeup, the signs of a late, sleepless night remained. "I fear you have already put a wrinkle in my freshly ironed robes."

Strell's mouth remained open, but no sound came. Have you lost your mind? he asked himself, echoing her words. More and more every day. His mother was as she ever was- nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to indicate she had been victimized by the murderer that apparently favored their estate for stalking. They had not even been home at the time, he'd surmised after, their carriage only returning to the estate a few hours before dawn.

Strell shook his head and tried to pick up the thread of his thoughts, but everything seemed tangled around dark shadows and women in white and bloody scripts.

"Are you finished harassing me?" Yvine asked impatiently, her arms, swallowed up in the billowing sleeves of her velvety robes, crossing while she waited.

There was the hair. He had clung to it as proof, evidence of something twisted and strange having occurred, but in the dwindling seconds following her scornful dismissal Strell realized it proved nothing at all.

"I... I suppose," he answered dumbly, still caught up in scanning her hair for some missing piece.

Yvine's eyebrows rose as she turned away, already retreating back to her wing of the house.

Strell put his heels together and slouched in place, brow knitted as he replayed the previous night in his mind again and again until he'd once more convinced himself it wasn't a nightmare or a hallucination, nor some bizarre prank of a servant.

With a listless sigh and a few fidgety movements of his fingers, the young rogue took off to the other side of the house, toward the servants' wing, and up a narrow flight of stairs to Kinzal's room. He knocked on the thin wooden door and pressed his lips against the sliver where it met the frame. "Kin, I... I need to talk to you," he murmured. " Please."

A few heavy footfalls and then the door was swung open, the troll within quickly beckoning him inside. "Now?! Now ya kin talk ta me? Afta ya knocked me aside an' barreled down da stairs dis mornin'?" Kinzal asked as soon as the door was shut again. "I been sittin' in here wonderin' what I coulda done ta ya for ya ta bolt-"

"No, I'm sorry, I just needed to see my mother. Needed to see her myself- it was urgent. At least I thought it was," he added with a quick shake of his head. He told the warrior of last night's visit- the shadow, the rattling doorknob, the faint clicking of lockpicks. "I have the hair, it's in my room. I can show you, and I swear I'm not lying-"

"I don' tink ya lyin'," Kinzal said slowly, leaning down to lock eyes with him. "Ya don' gotta prove anyting else ta me."

Strell's tongue felt thick in his mouth, and for some reason tears were pricking at the corners of his eyes. He held them back- for the most part, at least. If one or two escaped as they made their way back to his bedroom, the elf felt certain they'd gone unnoticed by Kinzal. He remained steady as he dug through a chest piled high with dry volumes on arcane theory and lineages, fishing out the ribbon-tied lock.

"What's going on?" the rogue asked, curling in his lips and pressing them together to try and ward off the trembling of his chin.

"I dunno," Kinzal answered as he gingerly picked up the auburn hair and examined it. He stood to his full height, the crown of his tall mohawk nearly brushing the small chandelier hanging from the center of the ceiling. "I dunno, but 's gonna be okay, alrigh'? I'll move back in here," he said quietly, reaching out tentatively to rest his hands on the shivering elf's shoulders.

Strell shrugged off the warrior's light touch and pushed forward until he could press his face into Kinzal's chest and block out everything except for the feel of the thin cotton and the warm skin beneath it, and the smell of salt and lingering odors of wine and smoke. He was beyond caring about anything but how safe he felt with his arms wrapped around the troll, with strong, wiry arms coiled about him in turn. He didn't even have to think guiltily of his brother, because this wasn't a matter of coming between them, of encroaching- this was for survival, for his sanity, and no one could fault him for that.

"Is it me?" he asked, words sinking into the comforting solidness of Kinzal's chest. "The woman in the woods, Effie, Mistren, Lyseria, this. It's all happened to other people, but... is it because of me?" he asked, his heart thumping wildly at the thought.

Kinzal was murmuring reassurances against the top of his head, lips and tusks brushing his hair. It soothed Strell, eased his rising panic and slowed his breaths, but it did nothing to stop the growing unease within him.

"What if it is? If it is me. You could be in danger, and Torril, anyone I know, even slightly," he whispered against the troll's shirt. "If I do go, would it get better?"

"It ain' you," Kinzal snapped, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him back, forcing the elf to look him in the eye. "An' don' ya dare tink of runnin' off again," he growled.

"You said you believed me, that I'm not making this up," the rogue protested.

"I do. But 'm not gonna let ya sit here an' blame yaself somehow." The warrior took a deep breath and drew back a little further, the growing distance eliciting a disappointed noise from the elf. "I know, Strell, I know when dis be happenin' ya try ta see a pattern in it, try ta find some reason in da slaughter. But it ain' you. It feels like dat," he said gently, reaching out to press his palms to either side of Strell's chin, the rough pads of his thumbs trailing over his cheeks, "because ya goin' outta ya way ta see all da ways it comes back ta ya."

"I made an indecent proposal to Lyseria Sunwood," Strell whispered, biting his lip afterward as if he'd confessed to having a hand in her death. "The one you said they found in the woods. Years ago…"

"Years ago," the troll repeated softly. His tender strokes along the elf's cheekbones and the curve of his jaw never ceased. "Strell, for every Mistren dere were two more dat ya had no ties ta whatsoever. Elves ya probably neva talked ta, never saw. I know it be hard ta accept, but sometimes death be… chance. Senseless. Meaningless."

"Why would he come to my door?" the elf asked dully. He covered Kinzal's large hands with his own, pressed the warm palms more firmly against his skin.

The warrior seemed troubled by that, caught off guard. "I dunno," he admitted after a few moments. His brow creased and the lines around his mouth set in a way that made him look hard and unforgiving. "It don' matter, though. I'm not gonna leave ya alone for a minute," he said resolutely.

"Is that a promise?" Strell asked with a weak laugh. At the troll's expressionless nod, he both sobered and brightened. "You… you can't be with me every second of every day," he said tentatively.

"Watch me," Kinzal said in a tone that brooked no argument. "Come wit me so I kin get my shit from da other room." He made certain that Strell was only a step or two behind him, turning and checking on him repeatedly along the way.

"You're really serious about this?" the elf asked as he watched the warrior gather his meager belongings and stuff them into the thick canvas bag he carried slung over one shoulder.

"Serious," the troll said gruffly. He handed half of the stack of books to Strell for him to carry back and tucked the other half under his arm.

"What about…" He trailed off, not wanting to bring up Torril. "What about my parents? You think they'll look the other way?"

Kinzal shrugged. "If dey notice, an' if dey have a problem wit it, dey can say so. But I ain' gonna leave ya," he said in a tone of finality.

Strell felt warmth push outward from his center, driving away most of the lingering fear from last night. He felt lighter on the walk back, happier in spite of the dark shadow that he felt hanging over him like a storm-heralding cloud. "I wish you didn't have to use that stupid cot," Strell mumbled when they got back. He set the books down on his desk and sighed as he tried to picture where best to place the troll's bedding.

"'M not usin' dat stupid cot," Kinzal replied as he locked the door and bolted it. He mumbled something about adding another lock, and one for Torril's room.

The elf's brow furrowed. He looked inquisitively to the floor, wondering if it was more comfortable than the scratchy cot. "Then where will you sleep?"

In answer, the troll cleared his throat and glanced toward the bed. "I jus'… wanna be close by. At least for da next few nights. But only if it be okay wit ya," he hurried to add.

"Okay?" Strell asked, his incredulousness giving way to barely contained glee. "Okay?! It's more than okay," he said as he climbed onto the bed and hurried to push aside the blankets for the warrior. "Here, I don't need all of these pillows," he said as he fluffed one that had been squashed against the headboard and slid it to the other side of the bed. "Do you want to try it out now? I mean, you don't have to… I didn't sleep well last night, though. I didn't sleep at all, actually," he clarified with a tired slump of his shoulders. "Even if you're just nearby while I take a nap…"

He suppressed a smile when the mattress dipped as the large troll eased himself onto the bed and drew the blankets up to his waist; thought it was large, the mattress was still only made for an elf and proved too short for Kinzal, forcing him to let his feet dangle over the edge. There was a good foot of space between the two of them, perhaps a little more than that, even. Strell laid down and propped his head up and watched the warrior shift and wriggle until he was comfortable.

"What you said earlier about… trying to make sense of death," the elf said quietly, gaze concerned. "Did that happen in Northrend?"

Kinzal didn't respond at first. He expelled a great breath of air, his chest sinking with the sigh. "Yeah. When I first got stationed in Zul'drak," he said heavily. "Didn' know better, den. All I could see was dat people aroun' me kept dying. Dyin' for me, dyin' because of me. An' other times… one night I was helpin' ta guard da eastern wall of da temple, just sittin' next ta da other guy. It'd been a quiet night. We was talkin' abou' da state of da latrines, joking aroun'. An' I heard… an' den I felt it."

Strell waited while the troll chewed his bottom lip, eyes focused on the canopy of the bed that hung above them. "A gargoyle had landed up on da roof. It found a loose slab of rock along da edge an' pushed it off. Right above us, an' we never heard it. Crushed him. One minute we had been talkin', an' da next he was splattered all over me." He rolled his head to the side, long tusks pointed at the elf as he stared at him. "I couldn' believe dat it was just… da way it had happened. Why him an' not me? Why not both of us? What did I do, what didn' I do? I asked myself dat every time I saw someone else get carried up an' den dropped, or overwhelmed by ghouls. Wasn' til I had my first sobbin' fit dat I realized dat's how dey felt too, other survivors. I'd been so preoccupied wit myself… imagined dey all thought me cursed. 'Hey, don' patrol wit dat troll, everyone aroun' him gets eaten or clobbered'," he mimicked with a short laugh. "Nah. Dey were all too busy tinkin' da same about demselves, if dey'd outlasted enough comrades, too."

The skin around his eyes crinkled slightly as he turned back to the elf beside him. "'S not ya fault," he said with a tight-lipped smile. "Not even if he was hurtin' people just ta get at ya, which I don' tink is da case. It be his choices, an' you got no part in any of dat. But I understand worryin' dat somehow you be da cause. It be part of survivin' horrible tings, Strell, like da memories an' da nightmares. Ya don' get off unscathed jus' 'cuz ya don' die."

Strell nodded, his cheek rubbing against the cool fabric of his pillow. His gaze drifted down to the troll's tusks, which he'd never studied so closely or intently. They were discolored and nicked in places, shallow gouges dug out of the ivory-like bone. He ran his finger along the tip of one, feeling its graininess in some places, the polished smoothness of others. "Later this afternoon can I show you the knots I learned?" he asked with a small yawn.

"I'd like dat." His eyes were soft, pale glimmers of amber that comforted the rogue. "Sleep. 'M gonna wake ya for a late lunch. An' knot-making," he murmured with a gentle grin.

Strell let his head sink further into the pillow. It seemed surreal to have Kinzal beside him, practically within arm's reach. His presence alone was enough to banish the elf's anxiety. His smell, the warmth that even now seeped to Strell's side of the bed, the air stirring with his breath- it was better than any sleeping draught, more potent than a drug whipped up in Murder Row. And if he fell asleep to thoughts of the troll's gravelly voice and gentle touch, it was without any of the guilt or doubt that plagued him during brighter hours.

---

Strell tossed the last of the letters into the fire. He felt strangely unmoved as the flames licked at the parchment, curling the corners as it turned the lavender envelop to a sooty black.

He wasn't really in the mood for the usual fare of his mail- flowery praise intended to charm his clothes off or gossip about new scandals- especially now that the whispers would certainly involve him. Doubtless, the now-charred letters had contained many a carefully worded question as to the events that had transpired that caused Effira to leave her apartments and the city guard to move in, or how a Dayborne's son had stumbled upon a murder.

The thought that made him despair the most was a niggling worry that perhaps some would think he'd had a hand in it; worse, that he was responsible and was getting off free because of his status, which wasn't unheard of. Rumors in general he could brush off, but if Larilla heard and came to believe it, that he had done something to her brother...

He suddenly wished he had more to burn.

Green eyes roved over the desk. There was one more, but it wasn't his to destroy. It was a letter for Kinzal, marked from Agmar's Hammer, battered and stained with inky fingerprints.

Strell glanced back over to the heavily snoozing troll. His bed was the nicest Kinzal had ever slept upon, he said, second in comfort only to the hammocks he'd grown up using. The elf hadn't seen him struggle with any nightmares this night or the last, though he wondered if the folded parchment from Agmar's Hammer would soon change that.

He was silent as a shadow as he climbed back onto the bed, kneeling next to his pillow and folding his hands in his lap. He smiled to himself as he watched the troll's long ears twitch in his sleep. Kinzal looked years younger like this, the lines on his forehead and around his eyes softening considerably.

Strell was tempted to touch him- his hair, the broad fan of red that brushed the headboard, or his tusks, his half-curled hand or the sharp curve of his cheek. But he didn't want to risk waking him at all, much less in a manner that might cause the troll to lurch out of his sleep in a panic. Instead, Strell watched the even rise-and-fall of Kinzal's chest and was grateful- unspeakably grateful, so relieved by the warrior's vow to stay with him that he'd woken at dawn to attempt a prayer of thanks to the Light or whatever spirit had put things on a better path. He had felt foolish, but he couldn't deny that there was something uplifting about the rising sun, and for a moment he'd understood what drove Torril to seek it out.

Kinzal stirred, his lengthy arms stretching out like a napping lynx's, and then woke all at once, his golden-hued eyes focusing on Strell almost immediately.

"Good mornin'," he mumbled sleepily as he rubbed his eyes. He sat up on his elbows and blinked blearily.

"Good morning," the elf said with a brief nod, trying to pretend as if all had been perfectly innocent. He slid from the bed and went to the table, fearing the warmth in his cheeks would betray something to the troll. "For you," he said quietly as he plucked up the crumpled letter and passed it to the warrior. Thin, dark eyebrows raised in relief at the immediate distraction it provided.

Kinzal turned the letter over in his hands, a frown marking the corners of his mouth as he saw the sender's address and the wax seal on the back. "When?"

"Tarana brought them up this morning as soon as the postman arrived."

Amber eyes flickered to the desk, to the bedside table, and back to the bed. "Shouldn' you have a stack of 'em somewhere, den?"

"I wasn't in the mood for reading," the elf shrugged. He glanced pointedly at the blazing fire in the hearth, warming the room more than it needed.

"Oh." His frown deepened as he slid his thick thumbnail under the fold of the envelope and slit it open. The parchment inside was thin and yellowed, too small for the tiny, cramped writing that left no inch of it bare of ink.

Strell waited patiently for the troll to finish reading. He paced slowly beside the bed, swinging his arms, and after several minutes passed he took up his satin belt and practiced knots while sitting on the foot of the bed.

"Good news or bad?" the elf asked when Kinzal was finally done. He set his progress on a knot down on his lap and looked to him with concern.

"Bad," the troll rumbled as he folded the letter up and stuffed it back inside the envelope. At Strell's curious expression, he shook his head. "Ya'll be hearin' about it soon enough," he explained, all seven feet of him looking shaken and grim. "Let's head out. I be needin' some sunshine. An' I gotta send someone on an errand…" he mumbled as he changed his shirt for a clean one.

The errand concerned Strell far less than the suggestion of sunshine and the outdoors. He thought of the pond, the pavilion, or of simply walking through the autumnal forest, all gold with the last light of morning.

Kinzal took his swords, careful not to knock the chandelier again as he slid the blades into the sheaths strapped across his back, and the rogue brought his daggers. He quickly showed the troll his newest knot, and with a faint but approving smile, Kinzal promised they would find him a real rope to work with before they came back.

"It might be time I start practicing on a real person as well," the elf said teasingly on their way out the door. He eyed the troll up and down and made a show of estimating the length of rope he would require for such a tall, long-limbed prisoner.

"Try it an' I'd turn you inta a knot, elfie."

---

Strell examined the faint rope burns on his wrists as he rubbed the towel over his wet skin and dripping hair; in the mirror above the sink he could also see the discolored thread of bruising that ran diagonally over his torso, marking where the loop of rope had slipped over his head under his left arm and jerked him to a painfully abrupt stop.

"Why didn't you tell me you could do that?" he grumbled for perhaps the third time. He put his head through the open door into his bedroom to let Kinzal see his frown.

The troll shrugged, more concerned now with the letter and burlap bags that one of the servant boys had brought to him on their way inside the house.

Strell knew of Farstriders that used whips instead of, or in conjunction with, bows and spears and other typical ranger weapons. He knew they could be used to pull a rider off of their mount or bring a fleeing enemy to their knees. He hadn't realized that a lasso of rope could do the same, nor that Kinzal was proficient in their use.

"I really need to stop underestimating you," the rogue grumbled as he pulled on a clean set of clothes and threw his grass and dirt stained ones onto the pile by his desk. He checked his wrists again and decided to try dabbing some lotion on them. "You didn't have to tie me up and carry me back, either. And when did you get so deft at binding people up?" he asked with a suspicious squint.

"When I had ta start dealin' wit wriggly little elves," the warrior said with a slight smirk. "Stop tryin' ta play ya little tricks on me an' dis wouldn' have ta happen," he added with a snort.

Strell rolled his eyes as he shut the bathroom door behind him. "It was harmless fun-"

"Tch! 'Harmless fun', righ'. Dat's why ya bolted as soon as I got loose," the troll said with a mocking nod.

"Well, when a troll twice my size is bellowing obscenities just because of a little snare hoisting him up into a tree…" he reasoned, shrugging a shoulder as he continued to dry his hair. "Hey, what's this?" he asked as he grabbed up an unsightly dried chicken's foot that was lying on his table.

It was gnarled and twisted like a dried up root. It had apparently been dyed and doused in pungent oils before having brilliant hawkstrider feathers attached to it, all of which only added to the elf's confusion. His lip curled involuntarily at the offensive thing and he was dumbfounded at how it could have wound up in his room.

Kinzal's attention was finally drawn from the lengthy letter on his lap. "Dat's a protection amulet," the troll said lowly, rising out of his seat to snatch it back. "An' dat one is for Torril."

"Oh." The rogue let his arms fall to his sides, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He balled up the damp towel he'd been using and tossed it on the pile of dirty laundry.

"Yours be in da bag still," Kinzal added, giving the elf a quick, curious look.

Strell's eyebrows lifted as he approached the burlap sack that the warrior had pointed to and peeked inside. There was an entire flock's worth of chicken feet within, all dyed and powered in different combinations of colors, the myriad scents clashing horribly to form one headache-inducing odor. "There are dozens," the rogue said uncertainly. "Which one is mine?"

"All of dem," the troll said with a concerned sigh. "I tink ya need a little extra help from da loa."

"Oh," the elf said softly as he picked up a green-stained foot. He did suddenly feel much better, but he chalked it up to Kinzal's concern rather than any protection provided by the musty amulet in hand.

"Each one got a different purpose," the warrior said, reaching in to grab a few. "Dis one be for nightmares. Never worked for me, but maybe some loa got an eye on ya," he said with a little wink. "Dis one be for evil spirits, and dis one for physical protection, and dis one for bad luck, an' dese two supposed ta protect from lies an' treachery."

"Should have put in a bulk order." Strell smiled as he examined each of the smelly talismans.

"Maybe," Kinzal agreed. "Anyway, wear dis one," he advised, lifting up a curled foot colored like twilight, fading from lavender to a somber midnight blue, that smelled of peacebloom and orange peel. He strung it on a thin leather cord and carefully put the necklace over Strell's head.

The foot came to rest just at the center of the rogue's chest. He raised his eyebrows at the troll.

"Might be ya wanna wear it up under ya clothes," Kinzal said with a sage nod.

"And the rest? Do we just strap them all over me? Because that does seem like it'd be an effective ward. I wouldn't go near someone covered in licorice-scented chicken feet," he said as he tentatively sniffed a blackened foot.

"Nah, da rest go aroun' ya room. I might put some aroun' da house, too," the troll said thoughtfully. "But... I didn' mean ta boss ya inta wearin' it. 'S... silly," he said with a coloring of his cheeks. "We don' have ta do any of dis."

"No," Strell said quickly, his hand moving to Kinzal's arm of its own accord. "N-no, I mean, I like it. Thank you. I'm glad." He glanced down at the foot dangling from his neck, his free hand slowly spinning it by one of the curved, stubby claws. "And it's just my color!" he added with a quick grin, glancing up to find the troll watching him intently.

"Ya do look good wit' it," the warrior said after a moment, the tips of his long ears gently drooping. Large fingers turned the feathered claw until the three chicken toes faced out. "Dat's how ya wear it... should be extra strong. Doctah even wrote back offerin' ta work some voodoo for ya, but I tink we just gonna try dis for now. My sistahs always said dere's big power in amulets, an' I paid him extra for da good stuff for dis one, real rare ingredients. No powdered croc scales here, no, 's real dragon. An' da feathers, dat's from da rarest purple macaws in Stranglethorn. Others jus' hawkstrider feathers, cause he gotta make do wit' what be on hand, but dat one's done right, like back home."

"Thank you, Kinzal," the elf replied softly. He realized he'd been rubbing his thumb in circles on the troll's forearm and immediately let go. "I'm sorry. But thank you for all the charms. Should we put them up on the walls, you think?" he asked as he stepped back and began searching for fitting places to put the voodoo amulets.

"Strell," the warrior said, his voice dryly grating.

"The servants will try to throw them away if they find them, actually," the rogue said as he wandered toward his dresser and checked one of the drawers. "Better somewhere hidden."

"Strell."

"What?" the elf asked as he turned and found the troll very close, his body drawn up straight and tall.

"I... Ya don' have ta run from me," Kinzal said tentatively, his lanky body swaying as he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

"I don't want to make things uncomfortable," the elf said quickly, his gaze sliding away. He realized he was bending the amulet in his hand and stopped, afraid he might snap it in half.

"Ya don' make me uncomfortable." His hand was on Strell's wrist, thumb smoothing circles over the tender skin just as the elf had done on his arm moments before.

"No," the brunet said gently, pulling out of the troll's grasp. "It's… you must know that I have these feelings for you," he argued, upset without being able to put a clear reason on it. His face and ears burned like the fire at work in the hearth. "You know that. And I know that you don't return them. And that's fine, it's all fine as long as you don't do… this," he said with a shake of his head, stepping back and trying to compose himself again.

Long ears swayed as Kinzal cocked his head, his own expression stunned and perplexed. "Don' return 'em? I have ta try hard jus' ta keep from kissin' ya," he said with a short bark of a laugh. His thick brow furrowed as he read the elf's face.

"Well, try harder than you did with Torril and you should be fine," Strell answered, knowing that the amused tone he'd intended had come out strained instead. He pressed his lips together and shrugged as he edged back another step.

The troll's face lost its surprise, settling into something more knowing and defensive, and not without guilt. "So ya are mad abou' dat."

"Mad? I'm not mad," the rogue countered. "I'm fine with you liking him, I accepted that, but don't except me to roll over and let you vent your frustrations on me just because you know how I feel and the brother you prefer is off-limits," he said hotly. Suddenly the leather cord around his neck felt too tight, and he grabbed the voodoo talisman with the intent of pulling it off- but after a second he reconsidered, instead letting it fall back to his chest and throwing his arms out to the side in exasperation.

"Since when ya be knowin' who I prefer?" Kinzal asked, stooping and leaning in, his head cocked to the side. "Ya tink 'cuz he kissed me, I be crazy for him?"

"It's more based on the fact that you lost your job for his sake." Strell wanted to sneer, to shove the troll away for playing at this. "In front of everyone. You kissed him back in front of everyone, but you said no to me when we were alone," he added, almost surprised himself at how fiercely that stung.

"I didn' tink house servants was watchin' us-"

"I don't," the elf began, bringing his hands up to cover his eyes, then his ears. "I don't need to hear, Kin. I don't-"

"Ya do," the troll nearly growled, wrapping his hands around the rogue's wrists, still dark from the lines of rope, and pulling his hands back down to his sides. "I didn' kiss Torril. He kissed me-"

"I hear you didn't exactly hurry to part lips with his, though."

"Is dat what ya wanted me ta do? Push him away? 'S hard enough ta have a one-sided love- I didn' wanna hurt him worse, or make him tink he was wrong ta do it. I jus'... didn' know how ta stop him gently," the warrior explained, voice soft despite the hard intent of the eyes on him. He was running the tip of his tongue along the inside of his tusk thoughtfully when he continued. "I don' want him dat way, an' I told him so after, an' da look on his face coulda made a golem cry. He's like my bruddah- I wanna protect him, not fuck him. But…"

"But?" Strell questioned aggressively.

"But wit my eyes closed, once it had already started… I could pretend it wasn' him," he admitted reluctantly, dark amber eyes flashing as he looked up from the floor. His expression was torn between a glare and something more pleading. "Ya had an inklin' how I felt, too, Strell. One night ya interested in me an' da next ya gone, vanished, leavin' me behind witout a word. I wasn' sure how ta feel for a while dere. 'M sorry, though. I shouldn' have let dat happen wit him," he said heavily. "Would've avoided a lot of trouble."

"No," the elf muttered with a shake of his head. "How could you? Who could anticipate Torril, of all people, doing something like that? And I… didn't give you nearly as much consideration as I should have. You owed me no loyalty, were perfectly entitled to grant him your attentions instead," he said with a little shrug. "It wasn't your fault that I felt stung." There was a drawn moment of silence in which Strell bowed his head apologetically and Kinzal's upright, agitated stance deflated somewhat. "So… he reminds you of your brother? You told him that was why?"

Kinzal's smile was crooked, the guilt and hint of hurt gone from his eyes. "'S da truth. Half of it, anyway. An' I was tinkin' dat was da kinder of da two ta tell him."

Strell worked the hem of his shirt anxiously. His heart seemed to strike at his throat with every beat, rattling him inside. "The other half of it is... me?"

The troll sighed and pinched the bridge of his oversized nose with thick fingers. He nodded after a moment, as if pained that it had to be stated so plainly.

"You're serious?" the rogue asked, his expression lifting with rising joy. "Even since then?" he questioned, squinting slightly.

"At first I thought ya were a brat," Kinzal chuckled. "Actually, I still do. But ya do have a way of growin' on people," he sighed. "Among other attractive qualities."

"I have… more than Torril?" Strell asked somewhat nervously, his fingers finding Kinzal's larger ones and slipping between them.

The troll groaned wearily. "Didn' realize dis was goin' on between ya," he said quietly. "Didn' tink ya were so torn up tinkin' I was after him."

"I love him. He is my brother, and I love him, but how can I not envy him, too? I know firsthand how good he is, how even with approval and adoration and privilege he feels… wanting. And it's hard to look at someone so deserving and hopeful and see them denied, but… I'm very glad- and still a little surprised- that you would rather have me. And I'm thankful that you tried not to break his heart."

"Even if I hurt yours?" the troll chuckled softly, dragging his hand and Strell's to the center of the elf's chest. "Ya both be differen'. Ya not bad, Strell," he ground out, sounding almost irritated. "Frustratin', yes. But good-humored, an' carin', courageous, acceptin'. An' dere's someone out dere for Torril, someone who'll see what a good heart he's got an' love him for it. Maybe dat elf girl he's marryin', even." At the elf's skeptical scoff, he added, "If all else fails, I got two bruddahs, one sistah, an' probably two dozen cousins all witout mates. Gotta be a match dere somewhere."

"Do Darkspear normally go for blood elves?" Strell asked with a growing smile. "Or is that a peculiarity specific to your closer relatives?"

"Had one cousin settle down wit a tauren, so anyting's possible," Kinzal said diplomatically, "but generally… nah. Most consider elves too picky, too uptight, too silly. An' too small. But Torril be pretty substantial for an elf. Trickier if he likes a woman, though- I wouldn' want him ta end up like dat poor, dumb whore my cousin's girl got. Not every man's built ta handle a troll woman. No shame in dat. Better ta own up ta it an' avoid a broke hip."

"Trollish wisdom at its finest," the rogue intoned. "But Torril… he's got no idea you reciprocate my feelings, then?" he asked, dark brows drawing together.

"I suppose not," the warrior said after a brief silence. "You didn' even know, apparently," he added under his breath, on the verge of a scowl.

The elf's ears drooped and his eyebrows knitted together. "If… if he doesn't know… if he doesn't find out-"

"I barely even see him in passin' nowadays," Kinzal supplied, frowning. "An' dey keep him busy so he doesn' have free time for ya either."

"It's better, isn't it, to not tell him straight away?" Strell asked dubiously. "It's not so much lying as it is simply not rubbing it in his face," he reasoned. "I mean, what if it crushes him? What if it breaks him, like when you were fired? What if-"

"He doesn' need ta know anyting's changed," the troll interrupted, his hands cupping the brunet's face the same tender way he had days before. "We kin tell him when he be ready, when we be ready."

The brunet mulled that over for a few long moments, eventually accepting it as the best course of action for all involved. "If we were characters in a dirty novel this situation would be so much easier to resolve," the elf said glumly. "But alas."

Kinzal hummed in reply, the sound reverberating in his throat.

Strell leaned in and pointed his toes, rising up a few inches; he frowned upon realizing that he still lacked the height to close the gap. "I'd like to kiss you now. If you won't talk me out of it and then scurry off into the bathroom again, that is," he added with a wry smile.

Kinzal's kiss was eager but gentle, his lips warm and dry and rough with chapped skin, but only barely. He playfully stroked the tusks on either side of his jaw, grinned when the troll's much larger nose pressed forcefully against his own.

"Ya tink my nose be funny?" the warrior growled teasingly as they worked to find comfortable, fitting angles.

"Not as funny as your toes," Strell answered in between pressing loud kisses to the corners of Kinzal's mouth, marking where tusk met lip. He'd started smelling like vanilla in the days since moving to the elf's room and using his bath and soaps, but under it there was the familiar sea salt and metal scent to him, and he tasted of the same, aside from the faint, lingering bite of acid from the fruit he'd snacked on during their walk back. It was better than the smell of the hookah pipes, better than sweets baking or honeyblossoms in bloom or sex lingering on the sheets; of course, the smell wafting up from the chicken foot around his neck detracted from the moment a little, as did the press of the pointed claws into his chest.

"Well," Kinzal murmured as he pulled away just enough to part their lips, both of them panting softy, "me an' my funny toes'll be by ta bring ya back up here afta dinner wit ya faddah. Better get used ta 'em, elf," he winked.

---

"Ya sure ya wanna do dis now?"

"For the hundredth time, yes," Strell said through gritted teeth. It was all he'd thought about through dinner, with his fork held so tightly in hand that his hand had blanched and his thighs pressed firmly together. Kissing Kinzal was entirely rewarding, but after weeks of being so close to him while stifling his feelings- and with no other companions to unwind with- he was eager to explore further. And with the troll lying here beside him, the both of them facing each other, so close their breaths mingled…

"'S just dat I know ya've had a rough time lately… an' I don' want dat ta be part of it, part of how we get our start togetha," the warrior said uncertainly. He trailed his scarred finger down the side of Strell's face, tracing the rise and fall of his cheek, the curve of his jaw. "I don' want ya ta rush inta dis as a… a distraction from dat."

"I'm not," the elf assured him. "With or without stalkers and elf-slayers milling about, I'd want you. And I'd want this. It's sort of in my nature," he explained with a sly grin.

Kinzal's hand traveled over the rogue's shoulder and down his waist, circling the slim rise of his hip absently; the corner of his mouth quirked up in a teasing manner. "Only if ya surely sure ya wanna-"

"Infuriating troll," Strell hissed, leaning forward and covering the troll's lips with his own to make him silent.

It worked for a while, the only sounds within the room coming in the form of the warrior's muffled laughter, and then in muffled moans or heavy, hungry breaths. Strell was slightly uneasy with the troll's long tusks being so close in the beginning, the smooth, ivory-like bone pressing on each side of his face, running over his cheeks as Kinzal leaned over him and tilted his head to better slip his tongue into the elf's mouth. After a while their presence seemed almost natural, though, even as they pushed into the pillow behind Strell's head and pinned his hair against the silky pillowcase.

But the elf couldn't ignore the way Kinzal was rutting against his thigh, or the heat that seemed to stick to his skin wherever his large hands touched, the first beads of perspiration following soon after. Long, pale fingers slid between the two of them to trail just along the inside of the waistline of the troll's pants. At Kinzal's deep-throated growl and eager thrust against the elf's hip, Strell began to unbuckle the thick belt tied around the warrior's waist.

"Hasty, hasty," he chided as the troll nearly knocked aside his hands in his hurry to begin unlacing his trousers. "I hope you're not so quick later on," the elf teased.

"Trolls do it fast an' furious, didn' ya know?" Kinzal chuckled as he pushed the rough-spun cloth down his hips and freed his stiff erection.

It was long, as thick as the elf's wrist as it jutted out into the chilly night air, flushed a rich purple through the head and the bulging underside. The troll straddled his chest, leaving the drooping length of his weighty cock hanging just an inch above Strell's lips.

The rogue raised his chin and pressed a featherlight kiss to the underside of the head. It smelled of musk and salt- Kinzal's scent concentrated, made more potent. Strell toyed with the tip, lips and tongue quick and teasing as he watched Kinzal's face intently, hoping for a reaction.

The warrior was rocking back and forward, just barely, the whole of his upper body curling in over the elf until he blocked the ceiling entirely. He gripped onto the headboard like he was holding fast to a ship's railing for fear of being swept away. Orange-gold eyes were half-lidded with lust but undeniably focused upon Strell, waiting with fevered intensity for the elf to press on.

Slowly enough to make Kinzal's hips quiver and his jaw clench, the rogue lifted his head and eased the troll into his mouth. The fit was so full that he had to labor to keep his teeth from scraping against the searing, sensitive flesh as he bobbed his head, slowly keeping time with the rhythmic strokes he felt through his hair. Strell rubbed at the bulge of a vein on the underside of the troll's cock with his tongue, teasing and testing- he glanced up and again locked eyes with Kinzal, feeling triumphant as he made the warrior's toes curl into mattress.

The elf pulled back and let the length slip from his mouth. He wiped off his lips and worked his sore jaw as he tended to Kinzal with his hand instead, the pads of his lightly calloused fingers sliding slickly over the wet blue-purple skin.

"So..." he began as he slid his thumb back and forth across the rounded tip, "how does this work, reciprocation-wise? I mean, can you do it? I don't want to be gored, but I also don't want to be the one getting shafted- pardon me- every time we do this."

Kinzal's eyes were slightly unfocused and his mind was clearly more concerned with matters at hand. "I... ah, I dunno. Gonna be trickier, but I kin get it done," he assured the elf.

"Your teeth are pointy, too," Strell noted as he ran his lips lightly over the swollen shaft, tongue just peeking out to draw circles round the head.

"Nervous?" the troll asked, baring sharp teeth and long, tapered tusks in a brazen grin.

Strell rolled his eyes as he drew Kinzal into his mouth again, taking dark glee in his ability to reduce the warrior to seven feet of groaning, muttering, shuddering troll.

"Do trolls not do that sort of thing?" he asked afterward as he wiped away the last traces of saliva and seed on the corner of his mouth with a handful of blanket. It was stronger that anything he'd ever tasted from an elf, salty and bitter and thick enough cling to his tongue even after he'd swallowed. Strell had managed to stomach the swill from Murder Row's less pristine taverns, though, as well as the homebrewed alcohol in country inns- by comparison, a mouthful of this was easily managed.

Kinzal shrugged and shook his head in response to the question. "Big tusks don' make for doin' it easy," he added with a little wave of his hand. "'S different wit da women, but if ya inta other fellas... well, 's pretty nice, not havin' ta worry about gettin' poked down dere," the troll admitted.

"Great," Strell said with a long-suffering sigh. "Because worrying about that isn't an enormous turn off."

The warrior chuckled as he crawled backward, now straddling his middle as he leaned over to brush his tusks gently up the side of the elf's neck. "I kin keep ya happy," he purred, warm breath fanning over the elf's soft skin. "Promise."

"I'm inclined to believe you," the rogue drawled, an impish grin slowly spreading over his lips, "but I'd like some proof. One hears things about troll lovers..."

"Hears what tings?" Kinzal asked at once, his voice a low, suspicious growl.

Strell had to bite down on his lip to stifle a laugh. He noticed the warrior was still watching him intently, waiting for an answer, and he drew his tongue across his reddened lips mischievously. "Why, all talk and no cock, they say-"

He barely even felt his pants come off, so quickly were they tugged from his legs. His shirt must've gone off in pieces, because he found a button pressed into his back later. As the troll pushed him down into the mattress and began to trail tusk and tongue from his throat down to his navel, Strell decided that he had uttered the magic words for getting Kinzal into the mood to impress.

But the elf reconsidered his prodding when he felt the first mist of hot breath against his nethers, the brush of a gently curved tusk following shortly after. "W-we don't have to," he tried feebly, swallowing nervously as he suddenly imagined a dozen awkward sexual impalings that he'd rather not have his father stand witness to while a healer was summoned.

"'M not gonna hurt ya," the troll sighed against his skin. "Relax some."

"Relax," the elf scoffed, an anxious shudder wracking through him just before Kinzal took the whole of his length into his mouth.

When a minute had passed without any sign of a tusk boring into him, Strell did allow himself to relax and enjoy the strange new sensation of Kinzal's ministrations- his tongue was slightly rougher in texture, his movements hasty but obviously eager to please. And the temperature. Did trolls just run hotter? Kinzal's mouth was an inferno, a smoldering, pleasing warmth that made the elf sigh and push his hips up until the warrior's nose was pressed into his belly. It wasn't the best the rogue had ever had (for now, that title still belonged to a night with one of Silvermoon's pricier whores) but it was different in a very good way, one that left him as responsive to the sensation of worn, bony tusks scraping the insides of his thighs as he was to the feel of the long tongue wrapped around the tip of his prick.

"I could see myself getting used to that," he confided after, when Kinzal had finished licking his fingers clean and had settled in beside him to press his long nose against the elf's neck and hair.

"'All talk an' no cock'," the troll snorted. "Ya be gettin' da cock later tonigh', don' worry," he muttered against Strell's messy locks of hair as he began to drowse off. He sighed softly, sounding sated as he snuggled closer.

"Can I get a rough estimate of when you'll be waking up for that?" Strell whispered, earning only a drawn out 'shhhhh' in reply. He frowned, then wriggled and jostled to keep the warrior awake. "Like... eleven bells, twelve? I don't do early morning fucks. I just don't. Not for anyone."

"Ya too grumpy in da mornin'," Kinzal agreed sleepily. "An' it be more of an 'every hour on da hour' type ting, but if dat's too much ta start out wit-"

Strell rolled over to glare at the warrior, dumbfounded. "Every hour on the- Light, it's like cuckoo clock sex," he muttered as he swept his hair out of his face. He squirmed a little, feeling a mix of anticipation and doubt; he prided himself on his skills in the bedroom, but what Kinzal was asking would be taxing on all but the most vigorous of whores.

"Get some sleep while ya can," the troll advised, his golden eyes slipping shut and a lazy, contented smile crossing his lips. "Ya gonna need it."

---

He'd needed more. Dawn found Kinzal as spry as ever, and certainly more amorous, while Strell was conflicted.

"Quality an' quantity," the troll said in his low rumble of a voice when they awoke together in a tangle, his grin plainly stating that he was ready for a seventh go.

Strell, on the other hand, was experiencing the typical pains of both an early morning and a sleepless night, though it was all confounded by a vague feeling of satisfaction. He quirked his lips from side to side as he tried to make up his mind. He had said no morning sex- it had never proven enjoyable for him, always resulting in bad-breathed encounters that deprived him of his last precious hours of sleep- but now that the sun was rising and Kinzal loomed above him, smelling of musk and stale sweat, cock already stiffening against the elf's thigh...

"I need a full night's rest tomorrow," Strell warned while he laid back and wrapped his fingers around the troll's bicep, squeezing the thick muscle appreciatively as he beckoned the warrior toward him.

They'd stopped being slow and cautious and gentle the third time around. Kinzal had a particularly bad habit of wanting to go fast, which Strell had already vowed to break him of- there wasn't much chance of keeping their nights together quiet and discreet with him fucking at breakneck speeds.

As before, Kinzal wasted no time- he was already slick with oil from the bedside table as he leaned over the elf to rub the side of his face into mussed, tangled hair. He nibbled and sucked at long, pale ears and breathed deeply against the rogue's sweat-slicked skin, brushed his sizeable nose against the elf's, but he took care to never dip below the jaw- something Strell was immensely grateful for. While the elf appreciated the kisses and little love bites, tooth and tusk pressing against the soft flesh there recalled Mistren to mind too easily. He'd mentioned his worries to the warrior sometime in the night, after their third coupling, perhaps, and was pleased to find that Kinzal had listened attentively and carefully minded himself ever since.

They quickly worked up to the same rhythm as they'd had established through the night- fast, Strell thought with a weak, exasperated groan, letting his head fall back into the pillow as Kinzal doubled the speed and ferocity of his thrusts.

Much as he wanted to roll his eyes, or chide the troll for his unsophisticated approach to sex, Strell found it difficult to do anything but wrap himself around the warrior, open-mouthed but silent as Kinzal rolled his hips into him harder and faster. The pace made him feverish, lightheaded and skin ablaze as he was rocked against the bed. With his voice lost to him, the rogue instead dug his fingernails into the troll's shoulders until he slowed just shy of causing the headboard to thump noisily against the wall. It was still faster than Strell would consider ideal, but he couldn't deny the results.

The elf coiled his arms around the troll's neck and shoulders as the bucking of his hips grew more erratic, the breaths against his ear coming in labored bursts. His legs clenched around Kinzal's waist and drew him up closer, holding him fast against the quivering warrior as he was ground desperately into the mattress.

Kinzal came well before Strell did- the troll had stopped looking abashed about it a few rounds ago, at least- but soldiered on with a relentless dedication that made the elf grin. Thick fingers stroked and tugged him clumsily as the troll pressed into the panting rogue with slow, fluid strokes that stood in stark contrast to his earlier frenzy.

The elf arched up and pushed against him, savoring the way Kinzal slid comfortably within him now. All of the tight ache that had accompanied their first pairings was now gone. He'd been taken half a dozen times- claimed, in a way, or at least he liked to think so- and was left with a slick warmth inside him, his body comfortingly compliant. The rogue was no stranger to long nights spent abed, but never this many times, and certainly not with just a single lover. And Strell wasn't certain why, but the thought of the troll's spent seed and lingering stiffness riled him more than any sweet nothings ever could...

It was over in three more measured thrusts, his own come dripping and pooling on his stomach as the warrior chuckled against his ear, the noise low and lusty and thick with accomplishment. The rogue groaned softly as he let his grip on Kinzal's shoulders loosen at last, feeling strangely satisfied as he saw the marks left on blue skin and the faint tint of red on the tips of his short nails. Though his thighs quivered and trembled, muscles aching from exertion, the elf kept his legs wrapped tight around the troll lying half atop him.

"Now go to sleep," Strell said with a long yawn, immediately feeling weariness seep into his limbs. He dragged the covers over them both as he settled in and shut his eyes, hoping for another hour or two of slumber before decency necessitated they both appear outside of the bedroom. The press of their bodies was comforting- wrapped around him like this, with Kinzal still buried within him, he could feel every movement the troll made- and the heat that still lingered on their skin made him drowsy with warmth.

"Ya want me in ya still," Kinzal murmured, his voice close to the elf's ear.

Strell could hear the pride and lust in the troll's words, could practically feel his fierce grin. He could also feel the effect that this unintended compliment was having on the warrior. "Sweet Light, Kin, we just finished... no, not again, not now. Get off of me and go to bed," he grumbled as he loosened his viselike grip around Kinzal's middle and wriggled away, letting the troll's hardening cock slide out of him.

The warrior let out a keening whine. "But I-"

"Have two perfectly good hands," the elf growled as he pulled the comforter up over his head.

---

Strell was surprised to see Kinzal had finally woken when he emerged from the steamy bathroom. He smiled as he adjusted the towel around his waist, wrapping it tighter and tucking the corner in so it held up on its own. "Overexert yourself?" he asked impishly.

The troll mumbled something and rolled off of the mattress, disappearing behind the bed.

"Do you need a snack? Some juice or something?" the rogue laughed as he peeked around the corner.

"Jus' been a while since I spent a night like dat," the warrior moaned from his place on the floor. "An' I ain' young as I used ta be."

"Did you throw out your back?" the elf questioned, half sincerely concerned, half struggling to stifle a laugh.

Kinzal swore under his breath as he sat up, groaned as he got to his feet and stretched. "I'mma throw you out," he threatened half-heartedly. He flopped back down onto the bed, his weight making the mattress shake and the pillows bounce.

"If you're going to take a bath, do it now while there's still hot water," Strell advised as he plopped himself down beside the troll.

"'M gonna skip it for now." The warrior opted instead to run his hands over pale, bare skin, still damp and freshly scrubbed clean with vanilla soap. He smiled and gently toyed with the voodoo amulet that Strell had dutifully put back around his neck after bathing.

"It's almost noon," Strell sighed. He wanted nothing more than to lie here for the rest of the day, though; let the servants think they'd stayed in to read or pick locks, or he hadn't been feeling well enough to come down for breakfast and go on a jaunt in the woods.

"I need ta visit Lok'tak," the troll murmured, his lips pressing together slightly. "Kinda neglected him lately."

"Alright," the elf said with a little nod, withdrawing his fingers from Kinzal's hair, which he'd been stroking his fingers across. "I'm sure he's missed you."

"Ya not gonna walk wit me?" he asked, lines creasing his forehead slightly. "I promised not ta leave ya alone-"

"It's okay," the brunet reassured. "It's daylight outside and it's not far at all. I'll come out to you after- maybe with the stuff for a picnic. I'm sure Tarana'd like that," he suggested, already imagining the four of them- he, Kinzal, Tarana, and Lok'tak- sitting on a blanket under the winding branches of golden trees. "First I just want to take Torril his charm," he explained, craning his head to glance back at the voodoo foot sitting on his desk, the one that Kinzal had ordered with his brother in mind.

"Ah," the warrior murmured, understanding. He frowned a little. "Wish I could be dere ta see him get it."

"I know," Strell sighed. "Maybe once everything's sealed and done with his betrothed they'll loosen up with him," he pondered aloud. They both quietly considered this for a few moments, neither looking very optimistic. "Anyway, go take care of Lok'tak. Give him an extra piece of jerky for me. Let me go get dressed and see if I can catch Torril alone," he sighed.

Kinzal took far less time to get dressed than he elf did, simply finding a clean shirt and selecting his least-dirty pair of pants to wear under his armor. He threw mail on over it, and slid on his gloves and greaves, but was relatively lightly armored compared to his full-plate set. "Gonna walk him aroun' da east field, probably," he said as he buckled on his sheaths and carefully put on his swords. "Bring lots of cheese an' grapes if ya kin," he requested as he stooped a little and beckoned the elf closer.

Strell leaned forward slightly as he was given a brief good-bye kiss, tusks just glancing over his cheeks and ears. Kinzal's nose and forehead pressed against his own afterward, the fondness in the gesture somehow surpassing even the kiss. "Don't let him eat any hawkstriders," he warned as Kinzal eased back, undid the locks and slipped out into the hall.

"Good luck findin' Torril," the trollish warrior said in reply, his gaze sweeping up and down Strell once last time, looking as though he wanted to say something more even as he let the heavy oaken door shut between them.

---

He hadn't needed much luck to find his brother, in the end. It was a fortuitous day in terms of timing; or perhaps it had something to do with the amulet he had clutched in his hand, he thought with a small smile. Strell waited in a darkened portion of the hall on his floor, in between the times when the servants made rounds to stoke fires or deliver laundry, until he heard both of his parents downstairs as they prepared to take their monthly daytrip to visit Yvine's aunt, a courtesy he imagined neither of them was particularly happy about paying.

The great entrance doors had barely shut behind them before the rogue quietly slipped up the stairs to the next floor and checked each of his brother's rooms, though he had a feeling he knew where he would find him- the room at the end of the hallway, the one filled with relics of Light and the golden sun.

"Torril," he whispered as he slipped inside and shut the door behind him.

"Strell," the paladin murmured, golden brows arched in surprise. He quickly abandoned his contrite kneel for a cross-legged seat on the rug, gesturing for Strell to sit near him. "What are you doing up here? Oh, did Mother and Father leave already?"

"Just now," he said with a nod. "I come bearing a gift in the form of a withered foot," he announced as settled into a crouch. He pulled out the smelly charm and strung it on a thin strip of leather, as Kinzal had done for his, and then offered it to his brother. Torril had seemed skeptical until Strell explained its purpose and what good the troll hoped it would offer.

"That's very thoughtful of him," the blonde said as he slipped it on and studied the twisted claw. "Where is yours?" he asked after.

"Under my shirt," the rogue replied as he fished it out, holding it up for the other elf to see. "They're a little repulsive, but the thought is touching."

"They're beautiful," his brother said quietly, smiling as he examined both of them intently. "Especially yours. Those aren't strider feathers," he observed, green eyes squinting. "They're shaped like one of the species native to Stranglethorn-"

"Light, Torril, we need to get you back out of the library," Strell said with a pained sigh.

"They're from a very rare and valuable bird, Strell," the paladin-in-training murmured, locking eyes with the other elf. His eyebrows rose again, as if waiting for Strell to acknowledge what he'd said.

"Yes, he mentioned that," the rogue said, swallowing thickly as he tugged the feathered claw away from Torril and tucked it back under his clothing. He worried that he was beginning to perspire and glared at the oversized windows and their streaming light, blaming them for the heat of the room.

"You're… together now, aren't you?" Torril asked in a curious, cautious voice.

"What? No," Strell said reflexively, his eyebrows drawing together in surprise. "Yes," he admitted a heartbeat later, feeling both terrible and relieved to do so. "How did you... just from the feathers?" he asked incredulously.

The paladin sighed and tapped the side of his jaw, just where it met the lobe of his ear. "I've seen you with enough lovebites to recognize what they look like. And what they mean. I know you don't go out to brothels and taverns anymore, so I figured..." His brother let the sentence trail off, his cheeks tinged with the barest red.

The younger elf gaped for a few long moments, struggling for words. He felt his own face and ears go hot with embarrassment and feebly tried to tug his collar up higher. "I... I'm sorry, Torril-"

"You don't need to apologize," the blond said softly. "It's not..."

"I do, though. I-"

"No," Torril said forcefully, holding up a hand to silence the brunet. "You're my little brother," the paladin said, smiling when Strell rolled his eyes at the reminder of where they stood age-wise. "I have you here now, with me, and happy about it," he murmured. "When for the longest time I feared that you could never be happy here. I have Kinzal's friendship... even if we don't see much of each other. And I have a fiancé I cannot be anything but pleased with."

"Torril," the brunet began, shaking his head. His brother's resigned tone bothered him most of all.

"No, Strell. This is the most I could have hoped for," the blond insisted. He took both of the rogue's hands in his own. "Once... once I'm lord here, I can do as I please. And that means you and Kinzal can stay, and you'll never feel like you don't belong or you need to run away, and he won't have to work for us. Everything will work out."

"You becoming lord of the house is a long way off," Strell reminded him, not even knowing where to begin for the rest of Torril's plans.

"Mother dares not send either of you away again, not after how I behaved before. The Windsongs nearly ended my engagement over rumors of my... deterioration," he told his brother. "She can't afford to risk that again." He shrugged.

"Light, Torril," the rogue groaned, rubbing his temples with thumb and forefinger. "You know the saying about not counting your eggs til they've hatched, right?" he added. "Kinzal and I aren't... we're not married. It's just a thing. I wouldn't start envisioning a future where we're cohabitating couples just yet."

The paladin smiled, subdued contentment reading in his eyes. "It's not a fling to him, I'm sure. Is it to you?"

"No," Strell muttered, glancing away uncomfortably. "I... he's better than anyone I've ever been with."

"O-oh," the paladin said, now equally uncomfortable. He was dark with embarrassment and already distancing himself. "That's... good. I didn't mean to inquire after personal-"

"Light, Torril! Not like that," the rogue said with a shake of his head. "No, he's actually a little inexperienced in bed. Attentive, but not very patient. I meant that he's just... better. I feel safe with him, and confident," he added slowly. "I trust him. And I thought I'd trusted people before, but…"

Torril nodded, his thick golden eyebrows drawing together gently. "So long as mother doesn't interfere, I think you will be together longer than you seem to expect. You're persistent; he's dedicated."

"You're too generous," Strell replied flatly, glancing at his brother sidelong. "How is everything with your betrothed?" he asked awkwardly, hoping to change the subject from anything regarding him and Kinzal. Torril's acceptance almost bothered him more than the hurt or jealousy he had anticipated.

The paladin shrugged. "She's perfectly amiable. She's always interested in what I have to say, always cordial, always agrees with me..."

"They turned her into a parrot, did they?" the rogue asked with a sympathetic sigh.

Torril pressed his lips together. "It's not her fault that her family is so... genial."

"There's a difference between being genial and being conditioned to never speak your mind," Strell said hotly. "No, to never have a contrary thought to begin with," he groaned.

"She just needs a chance to act like herself," the blond said confidently. "I'm sure she'll open up once she's here with us. She won't really have a choice with you and Kinzal around," he chuckled.

"She'll be thoroughly scandalized by the pair of us tromping around her home and will probably leave you," the rogue said with with a faint,t easing smile. "Ah, well. It's not as though that will be happening for decades, Torril. I wouldn't get overly attached to any thoughts of... of us all being together. Trolls only live seventy, eighty years anyway, and I've probably knocked a good hundred off my lifespan," he added with a slight grimace. "Father'll probably outlive us all anyway. He's like a shining beacon of moderation."

Torril's expression was legitimately troubled. "I don't want to bury you," he said seriously. "Please stop blacking out from drink. And I've seen elderly bloodthistle addicts-"

"Oh, I've already pretty much quit that stuff," Strell sighed.

"But you've taken up whatever those leaves are that Kinzal smokes," the paladin continued, already slipping into the measured tones of a healer, the faintest lines of agitation appearing on his brow. "And I don't want to hear about the benefits of stress relief from him again- smoke in your lungs is never good. Tell him I said that. And throw away that hookah, would you?"

"Torril, this is why you only get invited to parties by old people," the rogue said with a slump of his shoulders.

The paladin scowled and straightened up. "We sin'dorei are few. Forgive me for trying to prevent those of us left from wasting away in the pipe and the bottle," he said tightly.

Strell's brows furrowed at the intensity of his brother's tone. "You've taken a strong interest in this," he noted.

The tips of the blond's ears grew bright with a blush. "I talked about it with Kinzal before... and I've been thinking about it since then. I may not be able to travel somewhere like Northrend to heal, but there's plenty to do here. Perhaps more than ever."

"You do have a certain… forcefulness about you when it comes to healing and good health," Strell said with a good-natured grin. "I think you would be well served by taking on a more active role in healing here… I'll even throw out the hookah, as a show of support. And I won't keep smoking, if it makes you feel better. No promises about Kinzal, though. He gets stubborn."

"If you can't convince him, I'll help," Torril promised, a slight smile curving his lips. "And I appreciate you trying to listen to me. It does make me feel better."

"Good. And I really am sorry, Torril. For a lot of things. For everything."

"Don't apologize," the blond said with a gentle frown. "Just… give my idea some thought?" he asked tentatively. "It might not be as far off as all that. I could move to the country house down south after I marry, and there's enough room there for all of us. You'd be far from Mother and we'd all be far from… whatever is happening."

"Perhaps," Strell said, edging around an explicit agreement. He wondered if such a change of location would distance them from the deaths and disappearances, or if the shadow of them would follow him even there. But he kept the thought to himself. "It sounds idyllic, Torril But you know I'm slightly less optimistic than you are by nature," he added wryly.

"I'm aware," the paladin sighed, his broad shoulders slumping. "If they're gone," he mused a moment later, an entirely un-Torril like mischief in his eyes, 'does that mean we could do down and have lunch together? I've noticed that the servants haven't been as open with Mother lately," he added with a tilt of his head, eyebrows lifting slightly.

"I think they hate me slightly less due to my association with Kinzal," the rogue explained as he stood, extending a hand to his brother. "And they hate him slightly less because he seems like he's good and scary to ward off the elf-slayer. We were going to have a picnic with Tarana, the stable girl." He smiled broadly, suddenly realizing it was a good opportunity to really have them spend time together. "You're going to like her. And she definitely likes you- apparently you healed her foot once?"

"She remembers that?" Torril asked as he followed the other elf out down the flight of stairs, a pleased, slightly crooked grin in place.

The rogue nodded and laughed to himself as they ducked into the nearly empty kitchen and began to root around for suitable picnic foods. "Grab lots of cheese, would you? I'll get some wine."

"Not too much," the blond called after him as he descended into the cellar. "One bottle, Strell. One."

Strell snorted dismissively and perused the dusty bottles of wine with an appraising eye, ultimately selecting three of his favourite varieties. He stood at the bottom of the stairs with the three bottles in hand, staring at the labels until he sighed and placed two of the bottles on a nearby shelf.

"One," the brunet announced as he ascended the staircase, lone bottle in hand, pouting with all the force he could muster.

Torril beamed at him and opened the large picnic basket- already filled with carefully wrapped parcels of food arranged in orderly stacks- for him to carefully place the wine inside.

"Fruit," Strell said suddenly, his eyes opening wide. "Grapes! Need grapes-"

"There are grapes," Torril assured him, patting on the top of the basket and giving the other elf a bemused look.

"Oh, good. You always get it right," the rogue said with a quick smile. "Kinzal was wanting them," he explained, "and I think Lok'tak likes them too, act-"

He paused mid-word, ears cocked as he listened; Torril was doing the same, his brow furrowed with concern. Faint at first, but quickly growing louder, there was the sound of footsteps and slamming doors, shouting and screaming. "Strell! Ser Torril! Strell! Strell! Strell-"

By then the brothers had dashed out to the hall and were moving toward the source of the commotion; they turned a corner and there was Tarana storming through the house, a few straggling stablehands in tow, pushing aside the pair of house servants that were trying to slow her approach. Her skirts were half-pulled up in her frenzy, revealing the stained leather breeches underneath. "Ser Torril, Strell! Quickly, you must go quickly!" she said breathlessly, her voice shaking. "We were just taking Lok'tak for a walk and they came, guards on striders- they arrested him! He did nothing!"

"Arrested him?" Torril repeated in open disbelief.

Strell was voiceless. Something had leapt into his throat, making it hard to breathe and even harder to speak. He stammered, blinking away his shock and the fearful hurt that pricked him like needles. "Where? Why?"

"Up by the road, where the field runs close to it," Tarana managed to say, on the verge of tears now. "They put him in irons, sers! And they're taking him to Silvermoon like some criminal," she spat, her face red with anger and exertion, streaked now with tears. "They wouldn't even answer me when I asked why."

"Tyrus, get her some tea," Strell said as he pushed through the growing gaggle of servants, Torril in tow. He knew he must be blanched, as colorless as cream. But he forced a light smile to his lips as he helped the servant guide a shaking, cursing Tarana to the kitchen. "It's alright," he tried to soothe, "we've just got to go fetch him again. Nothing to worry about."

"He can never run from us for long," Torril supplied from behind him, a hint of playfulness- strained but well-intentioned- in his tone.

Their combined efforts seemed to set her right for the time being, and at last the stable hand allowed herself to be seated and tended to. Torril quietly and calmly gave instructions to the steward and servants, advising them to stay inside until things had settled. He signaled two of the stable hands and sent them out to ready their hawkstriders first.

"What could they possibly accuse him of?" the blond asked as they hurried outside and found Ody and Ajax waiting, saddled and impatient to leave. They mounted up without pause and set off down the path to the main road. "He has never done harm to any here. Surely... it is some mistake. A-a-a misunderstanding."

Strell's frown deepened as he loosened Ajax's reins, letting the bird set a brisk pace northeast. A misunderstanding. He might have favored that suggestion with a bit of consideration a week ago, two. Not now. There had been too many coincidences, too many visits in the night, too many friends taken from him by one circumstance or another...

"We don't have the good fortune to expect simple misunderstandings, Torril," he said as he turned his heels into Ajax's sides and spurred him on even faster. "And the guard captain has questions to answer."

---

Also, I'm glad people have taken so well to characters like Torril! I like all the OCs I make (in one way or another) but he's a sweet babbu in a league of his own. And while I struggled to write this story out, I at least made substantial headway into planning/writing out the follow up, which is very Torril-centric. (Hey! There IS someone out there for him!)

I'm only anticipating needing another 2-3 chapters to get this wrapped up, and hopefully they won't take as long to churn out. -_-