Begins right after the second-to-last chapter of That’s What Friends Are For. I wrote this for Liam's sake, because he deserves to be loved as much as Kain does.

Fixation

Liam awoke in a state of complete and utter confusion. He sat up in a bed of placid white sheets, in a room with white walls, and no windows. He was undressed except for a pair of loose, too-clean white pants, but there were no bandages, and no pain except the pain in his mind.

“Felfe…” He thought aloud, glancing around quickly, seeing only empty walls in the small room, no air, no windows, no door – wait, yes, but it was locked. They were always locked. Probably guarded as well.

“What happened to me…?” He mumbled, rubbing at his temples, eyes full of fear and the unshed tears of many years. He had the strangest feeling, of both destruction and rebirth, drenched in sin and yet purified by something he could not name. He felt dead.

This was not Heaven, but he had not expected it to be. What startled him was that it did not seem like Hell. Everywhere was dull white, blurring his vision of its own accord, wrapping him up in its folds of towel-white brightness and stifling him, erasing him with its complete blankness, absorbing him into the void of white, white, white.

This was some sort of blinding prison, he concluded, shutting his eyes tightly against the encroaching whiteness. Perhaps purgatory, a sort of waiting room where he would be held until judged and weighed in light of his deeds? If so, he hoped for a fast decision, because right now even Hell sounded more endurable than this vast whiteness, slowly devouring his being.

Just how had he gotten here? Keeping his eyes squeezed shut still, he brought back the memories in painful bundles, reliving the blasphemy he had committed and the injustice he had staged, witnessing his own judgment and then salvation at the hands of the one he had thought was his greatest enemy. How had things become so?

An enemy, becoming so because of jealousy and nothing more. An enemy ignorant of his rival’s true skill and determination, shocked at the time of their last encounter by the other’s efforts at contaminating Undercity and the Horde with his rebel group’s presence and poison. His enemy had been nothing but disgusted at his sabotage. And yet, he had not let him die…

If those memories held truth, he was not in purgatory. But what other place could possibly burn him with its bright light, like holy fire in waves encircling his bed…? He would know with certainty if this was a mortal realm in time… he would know when and if that door opened and he saw the world once again. He begged desperately, inwardly, for that time to come soon, as he lay there dying inside, heart hurting from the shame of what he had done, and yet eager with the thirst to redeem himself, anything but this waiting in the void.

He must have passed out after his resurrection. That was his conclusion until proven otherwise – if this was indeed an unearthly realm – and he firmly told himself to believe it against his other reservations. Yes, this must be some sort of hospital. But then, why was it so enclosed, so much like a dungeon?

No, best not to think about it. But he would rather not think about anything else. He kept seeing things from what he assumed was the day before – images in his mind, bits and pieces of his life floating by him again to remind him of their taint. He had really done it this time. He had started an insurgence, blockaded the city, captured the guildmaster and his royal sister, nearly killed an innocent member of the guild, kidnapped a certain night-elf, and then had begged for a mercy killing from the same man he had imprisoned. He could almost not understand anything now, not the reason behind all of this, not the reason he was here and not dead, not the reason he had decided to abandon his plans at the last moment and plead for death, the end to everything.

He vaguely recalled believing it to be the grateful end to his pathetic life, as if it could heal all of his wounds in its terrible finality. If this was death, he was wrong. He felt the pain still, as sharply as yesterday.

Eyes closed, he lay there rigidly, not admitting his fear to himself, and instead choosing to sleep once more. Sleep claimed him instantly, taking him over and soothing his troubled spirit.

He awoke an instant later, or at least it seemed so, sitting straight up to the sound of the door opening. A split-second decision told him not to reveal his panic, to stay calm in the face of the wrath he had no doubt incurred, to be stone, smooth-faced even as his punishment was stated and he was shackled to demon horses and dragged down to the Underworld.

Face a calculating and emotionless mirror, he rose from his bed and at last locked eyes with the being that had come into his prison. And at once, despite his careful effort, his self-control drained away into the white, white tiles, his mask breaking into a thousand pieces to reveal his youth, his awe, his reverent fear.

“An angel…” He rasped, throat suddenly rusting from the inside, making him aware of his thirst.

And indeed, it could be no other than an angelic being, sent to take him above, to be judged or accepted into their realm, he did not know. But he was certain that this was no mortal as he stood there, eyes locked with the ethereal creature.

Delicate pale skin, shimmering, nearly transparent hair of liquid gold cascading over his shoulders – yes, it was a ‘he’, if an angel could be said to possess such a human thing as gender – and framing a perfect face with bright, ice-blue eyes, eyes that knew everything about him simply by reading his own. The angelic messenger was dressed in a silken white robe with gold embroidery, but even the fine garment was only a simple robe, garnering no attention when seen on this perfectly sculpted figure, slender and yet giving the appearance of inner strength.

Liam recovered half of his senses and knelt, instinct telling him that he could not stand before such a mystical creature, no doubt sent by the spirits of judgment themselves.

And then the angel spoke, and his voice was soothing in its serenity. “Liam…?”

“Yes, your… your Holiness?” Liam stumbled, unsure of the proper way to address the seraph.

If he had not been keeping his head bowed in reverence, he would have seen the perplexed expression that crossed the angel’s face before he replied, “Please rise. There is no need to stand on ceremony.”

Liam eagerly got to his feet, eyes drawn to his guide and yet ashamed to look at such an immortally beautiful creation, unworthy of the joy given to him by such an action.

“I am taking you to another room for a preliminary assessment.” The angel informed him, with a slight nod of the head so very graceful in execution. He turned and proceeded to glide back through the doorway, and Liam was greatly surprised to notice no visible wings. Perhaps those only appeared in the heavenly realm, and not this in-between void?

Regardless, this ‘assessment’ he spoke of… it had to be Divine Judgment. He was about to be stripped of all secrets, searched for everything he had ever done, shown in a true light for all his wickedness. Would they find anything to redeem him? There could be no such option, for he himself had already searched many a time, in vain, for some such salvation, a quality that he possessed that made all of his vile ventures dust in the wind. He supposed that this next step, then, would bring him to where he belonged at last: the depths of Nowhere, the land of evil and spite, the Underworld.

He wiped the sweat from his brow as quietly as possible as he dutifully followed the angel through countless empty hallways. Oh so empty, like his room, all white and empty, like his soul. Perhaps that was a bit much, though. But his soul might as well be empty rather than, soon, chained to his enslaved body in the pits of Hell. These thoughts were making him agitated, nervous, and he desperately tried to calm himself despite the utter uselessness of such an action.

‘Gotta calm down, gotta… gotta calm down. Don’t wanna scare the angel or anything. Nope, don’t wanna do that. Calm down! Make a good impression. First impressions are important. Right. Really important. Calm DOWN!’

Abruptly his guide halted, and they entered a similar room to his own, except this one, despite its erased walls, contained a few small cushions, by the size of them chairs of sorts, and what was more, they were colored. Yes. Besides the angel, they were the first objects of color in this place. Vibrant green and blue and gold silks made them very fine seating cushions indeed, and if he had not been in such esteemed company he might have pounced on one immediately, such was the relief he felt from the color entering his world.

The angel turned to him with an expression of sincere apology. “We are still renovating, as it is. Please be seated.”

Liam inwardly thought it strange that Purgatory was being renovated, but gave it little thought as he sat down – actually sat down! – on one of the oh-so-valuable and colored cushions as the angel closed the door behind him.

Then, with a rustle of silk the angel reclined on one of the other floor cushions, and fixed his gaze on Liam once again, with that calculating and slightly curious look that Liam himself had been attempting but had failed at, instead having settled on just looking lost and a little confused.

The angel suddenly took out a notepad and a quill pen from somewhere on his person. “Your name is Liam.”

“Er… yes.” Liam answered nervously, watching as the angel’s omniscient eyes flickered back up to his at his answer.

“Are you having any memory problems?” The angel inquired methodically.

“No, I’m… okay.” Liam answered, stomach turning upside-down as those eyes drifted back up yet again to him.

“Then you must know why you are here…?” His guide questioned carefully, almost soothingly, eyes catching his and he felt as if he was being held gently, comforted by delicate arms.

Liam swallowed, took a breath, and confessed his confusion. “Actually, I’m… uh… having trouble remembering the part where I… died…”

The angel’s eyebrows rose so high they appeared to be trying to merge with his hairline, and his beautiful eyes widened in pure surprise. He seemed to be at a loss for words.

Liam tried to remedy this, knowing that most people probably knew very well their deaths, seeing as there was that whole ‘seeing-your-life-flash-before-your-eyes’ ordeal, and seeing your body lying there as your spirit left it and all of that. “Look, I just can’t remember, I’m sorry! The other people you get must all know their’s and everything, but I-”

The angel managed to calm himself, but his worry emerged much more obviously as he asked Liam a very serious question, “What situation do you believe you are in, Liam?”

Liam, having been cut off, looked back at his angelic guide blankly for a moment before thinking and replying truthfully, “Well… Purgatory, right? Judgment and all that?”

The angel shook his head slowly, as if to clear it of some sort of remaining shock, and then fixed his charge with an expression of utmost sympathy. “Liam… you are not in Purgatory.”

Liam blinked. Then he looked around, put together the angel and the whiteness everywhere and came to another conclusion. “Hey, I made it into Heaven? Never thought that would happen.”

He glanced back in time to see the angel with a hand over his eyes, from exasperation or emotion he could not tell. When the hand was removed, the still-mystified and now-wearied angel at last clarified things for him.

“Liam, I will tell you this as gently as possible.” His sky-blue eyes once again caught Liam’s in their kind grasp.

Liam gulped, knowing the words that would come next. He had definitely not made it into Heaven. He knew that already.

“You are not dead.”

Liam came out of shock to see the angel – or whatever he was – hovering over him with much concern, shaking his shoulder carefully to bring him back to consciousness after what had most likely been some sort of faint, though he didn’t like to think of it as that.

“Are you all right? That must have been a shock.” The angelic man sympathized, back on his own seat now that Liam seemed all right.

Liam sat up, still on his colored cushion, and reassessed his world. “I’m not dead… I can’t believe it…!”

“Good news, I am sure.” The angel – man – whatever – managed a weak smile.

“So this is… where?” Liam asked, having been stuck in his illogical mindset for too long to consider realistic possibilities. “And who are you?”

“This is a recovery center.” The man stated smoothly, composure unwavering now that the shock had passed. “I am your assigned mentor, Nahir.”

“Nahir…” Liam tried out the name experimentally, liking the way it sounded in the air. “Sounds like an angel’s name to me.”

“I am no more an angel than you, and fortunately, your divine judgment is still far off.” Nahir attempted to wrap up the situation’s misunderstandings in one concise sentence, and managed it as Liam was beginning to comprehend the real world again.

“So what am I here for?” Liam abruptly reentered logical life with a fill-in-the-blank situation. “This… recovery center?”

“We are offering you guidance, the chance to live a better life, Liam.” Nahir explained automatically, no doubt it was something he explained often. “This is all for your own improvement.”

Liam struggled to understand the embellished-sounding words in some real context, and figured that this must be some sort of place for people who were not right in the head. “So I’m here because I’m insane?”

“Liam. We do not use that word here.” Nahir said, politely cautioning, in the same way someone would scold a small child, and this grated on Liam in a way that seemed impossible for all the respect he had formerly held for the man he had thought an angel. “Confused, perhaps, lost in a world of their own.”

“Well, I’m not. So why am I here?” Liam asked quickly, almost rudely, as he was beginning to come back to himself and the old patterns of things, namely administrations and him, and the way they always seemed to think he had some sort of ‘problem’.

“Let me say this only once, and briefly.” Nahir stated briskly, all business unlike the moments before when he had shown human concern. “You are here because, had you not been taken here, you would be in the dungeons indefinitely.”

“That.” Liam remembered with a rapidly drying throat. “Damn.”

“Language.” Nahir reproached him gently, and then he took out his notepad and quill pen once again. “Now, this is your preliminary assessment. It will define what course your treatment will take, so be very clear and truthful in all manners.”

Liam, although somewhat ruffled by the way his supposed ‘mentor’ was viewing him as some sort of unappealing dining room about to be refurbished, nodded as civilly as possible. He was going to make a good impression, after all, even if this guy was not nearly as human as he had thought before – when he was not human anyway.

“I am going to say a word, and you will speak the first thing that comes to mind. Try to keep it to two words and under.” Nahir explained their exercise, and Liam had to stop himself from groaning.

This was that weird thing where the physician would throw a whole list of emotion-inducing words, along with some wildcards and frivolities, at the unsuspecting patient, who would inadvertently reveal much of their psychological troubles merely by stating their mind’s connections at different words. It was a startlingly effective practice, and unfortunately Liam felt bound to tell the truth in this case, for it would be even more difficult not to.

“Mother.” Nahir stated tonelessly.

“Huh?” Liam woke from his thoughts late, too late to notice it had already begun.

“Liam, you are supposed to say the first word that occurs to you.” Nahir looked like he was trying not to sigh. “Are you ready to begin?”

“Oh, yeah, right.” Liam nodded casually. “Sure I am.”

“Mother.” Nahir said once more, eyes fixed on Liam’s, reading his book of thoughts.

“Uh…” Liam hesitated, mind swirling in many directions at once, fear and anger and pain mixing together in a disturbing spiral. “Not getting a clear word for that one.”

One of the pale golden eyebrows rose significantly, and he looked a little annoyed, if possible. “We’ll get back to that one later, then. Let’s start with some easier ones.”

“All right.” Liam said unnecessarily, more to say something than anything, to keep this from seeming like he was at the healer’s room answering questions about how often he ate and what type of monsters he generally fought.

“… Toothbrush.”

“Hygiene.”

“Cats.”

“Panther.”

“Food.”

“Rations?”

“Healers.”

“Annoying.”

“Bread.”

“Water.”

“Axes.”

“Heavy.”

“Alliance.”

“Weirdos.”

“Night-elves.”

“…” Liam tried to divert his mind from the obvious course of thought, and hesitantly spit out, “Purple.”

Nahir did not seem at all satisfied with this answer, nor with his apparent pause, but he said nothing of it as he went on with his mission. “Stranglethorn Vale.”

“Death.”

“Paladins.”

“Pain.”

Nahir looked up abruptly at this odd answer, scritched something quickly on the notepad with slight interest, and pretended he had not even momentarily halted his interrogation. “Muffins.”

“Yum.”

“Rabbits.”

“Fox.”

“Green.”

“Poison.”

“Rogues.”

“Silly.”

Nahir raised an eyebrow and continued with the pretense of boredom. “Mother.”

Liam fought down the growing irritation at the process and bit out, “I told you, I don’t have one for that.”

“All right,” Nahir conceded, and Liam thought he had been excused from that particular duty until his guide threw the next words into the open. “Why don’t you describe her instead. Your mother.”

Liam was very tempted to snap back with, ‘why don’t I describe your mother?’ but instead clenched his jaw tightly for a moment until he was certain he could speak rationally. “Not much to describe.”

Nahir nodded patiently, much too patiently, reminding Liam that he had all the time in the world to listen to Liam fuss – after all, he was paid well for it.

“She’s just like every other blood-elf mother you hear about.” He said casually, almost roughly, without regard for the disdain that made its way into his voice. “Thinks a kid can tie down whatever guy she’s set her eyes on, and when she finds out it’s not working… she gives it to the orphanage. Motherly instinct only lasts so long with them, you know?”

“Go on.” Nahir said quietly, too politely.

“With what?” Liam snapped. “That’s all there is to it.”

“You must have memories of her…?” Nahir said as if by rote, still writing in that damned notepad of his, little movements of his hand making the quill twitch nervously as it sensed Liam’s swiftly expanding fury directed at its frail body.

“She… always said I was a good kid.” Liam mumbled, trying to forget who he was talking to, and the scritch-scritch-scritch of the stupid quill pen. “But in that way that’s like, she knows she’s supposed to say it but she doesn’t mean it. She always said it until the day she gave me away.”

“And what happened then?” Nahir prodded emotionlessly, so business-like it hurt to look at him any longer.

“She told me I was a wicked child, and I shouldn’t have been born.” Liam tried to disguise his boiling emotions with a short laugh, but it sounded painful even to his ears. “And it’s kinda funny, ‘cause it was the first thing she ever said to me that she meant.”

The scritch-scritch-scritch sound of the quill pen made it hard for him to organize his thoughts further, and with all the confused emotions swirling through his head he couldn’t even manage to look mildly composed as he finally growled, “Put… the notepad… away.”

Nahir’s eyes flickered to him with surprise, and his delicate pink lips opened, no doubt to say something to the contrary, before he was cut off by Liam in an entirely callous way.

“I won’t talk if you’re writing in that damn thing.” He felt utterly humiliated, even so far, by this whole situation, and he had to put on a tough face to pretend he was only annoyed by it, not unsettled and anxious. “You can write it all down later, I don’t care. Just not while I’m talking, yeah?”

To his lasting astonishment, Nahir put away the notepad and pen without additional complaints, and visibly relaxed as he said, “Please, go on.”

Liam’s mouth worked silently for a moment, until he got the courage necessary to begin anew, and he just let out whatever felt like the right thing to say until the words just began jumping out of his mouth of their own accord. “So, I mean, you know it only got worse once she left me there, with all the other kids like me. Soon enough, half-grown, I joined some shady group, did all sorts of bad stuff. It was what I was supposed to do, at least that’s what it felt like. Then I had a few rough turns and decided to get outta that place, ended up in Stranglethorn becoming a hunter. Never really knew why, I guess I wanted something that wouldn’t disappear on me. That’s where I got Shiya’mal – my cat, you know – and he’s the only thing that stayed with me. I managed to get myself together enough to join the guild, got pretty high up in there and started feeling pretty good about myself.”

“And then I met him. You know who I’m talking about, the night-elf. Probably the worst thing that happened to me, hope no one ever tells him that. I couldn’t think about anything after that but him.” Liam actually sighed at this point, forgetting himself, before he snapped back into the present and his eyes darted suspiciously to Nahir, who appeared to be still listening with polite interest and no notepad. Not that that made it much easier.

“You must mean Felfe.” Nahir said innocently, and it was so very obvious to Liam that his ‘mentor’ had not only heard the name before, but knew every publicly declared detail regarding him and his own patient’s connection.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know, I hate that.” Liam muttered, and was gratified when Nahir’s expression tightened somewhat, as if he was starting to get offended by the way his patient was being callous with him. “Everyone knows by now.”

“I wouldn’t say everyone. But you are right that I have much knowledge of both of you.” Nahir cautiously conceded, looking almost on-guard now, very much different from his previous state of polite apathy, and much preferred by Liam.

“Then there’s not much to tell.” Liam mumbled, throat starting to feel dry as he fought the emotion that threatened to show itself. “I met him, wanted him, couldn’t have him, so I did all sorts of crazy stuff to get him, and in the end I figured out what I was doing and decided not to go through with all of it.”

“And the suicide attempt…?” Nahir prodded, not at all gently. Those words could never be said gently, because they were not careful words, they were bold and distasteful, especially said to the one they regarded.

“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t have anything to live for. Figured I’d just be killed for everything I did anyway, and I didn’t want to face it. Would you?” Liam asked daringly, dangerously irritated at the way this ‘mentor’, his former-angel-turned-inquisitor, was handling this supposedly therapeutic process.

“… I do not know. I would hope never to put myself in such a hopeless situation.” Nahir mused, caught off-guard and off-track from the exercise, unaware of the painful words he had just uttered.

Liam refused to say anything back to that sort of reply, and instead tried to calm himself with thoughts of being back in that wonderful, white-on-white prison room. It seemed oh-so-inviting compared to being in the presence of this… this… this person! The uppity bastard thought he was helping, thought he could understand.

… So much for calm.

Nahir startled him slightly, bringing him back from his furious thoughts. “That will be enough for today, Liam.”

Liam didn’t feel the need to reply to that, either, and instead nodded the barest detectable amount, and got to his feet along with the ex-angel. He noted very belatedly that he had not been wearing more than those loose pants for the entire meeting, and his mentor had not even mentioned this somewhat odd circumstance. Liam himself didn’t care what he was wearing – he was a hunter, suited to living in the wilderness, and after all, he had killed lions with his bare hands (sort of) in the Barrens at one point, so he was comfortable even completely naked. But he had to wonder why Nahir hadn’t said anything about it.

“Come along. I will take you back to your room for tonight.” The blonde elf strode to the door, and motioned to Liam politely – always so polite it was sickening – for him to follow.

Liam followed mutely, and then time sped up until they reached his room, at which point Nahir was so kind as to open the door, show him in, and stand in the doorway for a few moments, as if to see if he was all right. As if!

“Don’t look at me like that.” Liam grumbled irritably as he made his way towards the white, white bed.

“I wasn’t aware I was looking at you strangely.” Nahir countered coolly, one eyebrow raised delicately, and Liam could sense the superiority wafting off his mentor, to the point that he spun around angrily.

“Listen, I-” About to explode at the man who was supposed to be helping him, he faltered at the look in those soft green eyes. The eyes that contradicted everything else – his posture defensive and slightly rigid, his expression disapproving, but those eyes! Those glowing eyes saw straight through his anger, saw his despair, and held some sort of appreciative sympathy. And Liam couldn’t say anything to that.

He wanted to turn around, just pretend he hadn’t almost said those furious words. As if to erase the things he had done, he shrugged, and suddenly wondered what he was doing. What was he doing in this place? He was all alone, alone, alone in this white room, though Nahir was still standing there, he was always alone.

“Are you all right?” The quiet inquiry came out of nowhere, and Liam wouldn’t have guessed it was Nahir speaking if he hadn’t been staring at him in disoriented confusion.

He tried to gulp down the nervousness that had suddenly sprang up from some hidden place, but it wasn’t working, so he managed to say awkwardly, “… Yeah.”

“Then I will be going.” Nahir said softly, and turned to leave the room.

Lightning-fast, Liam reached out and seized a delicate wrist, feeling like he needed the other to stay, to stay there and look at him with those sympathetic eyes forever. Just that would have been enough.

Nahir jerked back to seize his eyes with bright, stunned ones, flickering down to where his firm grip held a pale arm without mercy, stopping him from all movement. “… Liam?”

Liam felt so many emotions flowing through him at once that he didn’t know how to sort them all out – the confusion that had persisted since the start of his day at this strange place, the irritation and frustration at his new and not improved situation, the awe at the angelic guide he had placed his trust in, the betrayal he had immediately felt when he realized the angel was only another uncaring mentor, supposed to solve all of his problems, the anger and the desparation to leave this place, and above all the strong, strong feeling almost like passion that infused his blood like a million parasites, demanding something unrestrained, ridiculous, and yet necessary.

He felt as if he might yell, cry, hit Nahir as hard as he could, or even worse… push him against the doorway and kiss him until… until sometime. He couldn’t think, not at all.

“Liam, are you all right?” Nahir repeated, not making any move to brush off his patient’s steely hold on his wrist. His eyes showed a fair amount of worry now, perhaps at his own well-being. A smart one, Nahir. He seemed to know he could be in danger, and he was right.

Luckily for both of them, his words woke up Liam from the waterfall drenching his mind, and he released Nahir as if he had just realized he was sticking his hand in a vat of boiling poison.

“Uh… I wanted to ask…” Liam scrambled for an excuse, however implausible. “I wanted to ask… if…”

Nahir waited patiently as his charge nervously came up with some semblance of an explanation, nodding encouragingly at all the right times.

“This room… it’s too white.” Liam gestured anxiously at the white walls, white floor, white bed. “I was wondering if, I dunno, you could… put something in here? That’s not white, I mean…?”

Nahir seemed puzzled by the request, but he saw the whiteness, and figured Liam had something of a point. “I will be back in a few minutes’ time. Will you be all right until then?”

“Yeah.” Liam said hastily, about to lose his breath to some unknown and powerful force, wondering why in the world he was such an idiot.

Nahir left and closed the door behind him, and Liam was wondering why in all of Azeroth and Outlands that he had these feelings about his therapist. Yes, he was stunningly attractive, but then, that could be said for many blood-elves. What bothered Liam was that Nahir did not fit his usual ‘type’, did not fill that cookie-cutter mold that the ones he went after always snapped into immediately.

Is he timid, shy, and generally afraid of doing something wrong?

Is he adorable and fragile, like a doll easily broken?

Would he look nice chained to a dungeon wall, completely helpless?

Liam was positive that Nahir did not fit into any of these ‘yes’ categories. In fact, he almost contradicted them as thoroughly as anyone in recent times had. Anyone, that is, with whom Liam had any interest. Why should he be attracted to a cold, overly-business-minded therapist (‘mentor’, they said, pfft!) who, while beautiful, was obviously not shy, helpless, or the type to scream at any point in life, regardless of circumstance.

So Liam tried to calm himself, repeating to his unheeding mind that this Nahir was not his type, and he was only desperate at this point, desperate enough to make anything look good. If he were really to seek some sort of opportunity here, and if by some absurd chance something worked out, they were hardly a good match in personalities, since after only a few hours he had wanted to murder him right there in the seating room.

‘This is stupid, forget it!’ Liam groaned mentally. ‘You don’t like him at all, you hate him! You hate him so much, you want him dead! Yeah, that’s it. Dead.’

The unsuspecting Nahir reentered carrying something colorful, and Liam hopped off the bed to examine it, pretending very convincingly that he had not been thinking exceedingly strange thoughts about Nahir, all the while noting the qualities of this ‘present’ – no, couldn’t think of it as a present, more like a peace offering – that Nahir had brought him.

It was similar to the cushions they had been sitting on in the other room. In fact, it could have been one of the cushions they had been sitting on in the other room. It was bright green silk with golden embroidery and a few gold tassels. Liam was greatly relieved by its vibrant color, and took it gently from Nahir with much inner gratefulness.

“Thanks.” He said hesitantly, and stood there awkwardly waiting for Nahir to say something officious and polite, and then leave.

“… I am told that your cat is in the stables.” Nahir said, as if to the air, because he didn’t seem to be addressing Liam directly, and for once, for some odd reason, was not looking at him, but rather at the wall. “You do not have to worry.”

Liam was moved by this gesture of comfort, being that Shiya’mal was the only thing dear to him in the World with the possible exception of Felfe, who was out of reach anyway. “I… thank you… that’s good.”

“Tomorrow, then.” Nahir turned to leave at last, but Liam couldn’t help making a fool of himself at least once more.

“Nahir!” He called out pathetically, and the blood-elf turned around one more time, silently questioning. “It will be you tomorrow, right?”

“I am your mentor Liam, and no one else.” And with that line in place, he bestowed upon Liam a faint smile, barely noticeable, that stayed in Liam’s mind far after the door had been closed, and he had sat back down blankly on the bed, clutching the emerald pillow like it held the answer to all of life’s mysteries.

Why the smile? And since when did he care if someone smiled at him?