((This took a long time to write. Not entirely sure I like how it turned out. But... bleh. ^_^;; Thank you again everyone who is following the story and commenting and leaving reviews. I have been trying to respond to them (I so didn't know I could for like the longest time XD), but haven't been able to respond to each one cause often I get them while I'm at work. But I really do appreciate them! ^_^ ))

Machinations

The study was quiet save for the occasional, irritated clicking of Zalmon's teeth and the soft flipping of pages. The quarterly financial logs for the House were disappointing, and giving him a headache. Not only that but he was fairly certain that the Oropher family had been scrimping on their House tithes. Not that they had much left to tithe. Of the four main families of House Dorthonion, the Orophers had lost the most in the invasion. Reinstating them to a position of financial security was of grave House importance to Zalmon, but he was beginning to find that doing so, and continuing his current policy of forgiveness over what they themselves –ought- to be putting back into the House was beginning to tax not only his own coffers, but his patience as well. They had three surviving sons, Light damn them, couldn’t at least one of them rise to the occasion? Not, he supposed, that he had any room to talk. At the moment he was the only son of the Stormcaller family who had not completely muddled up his life. No matter. It would not be that way forever, he would see to that.

The curtain to the study fluttered aside, catching Zalmon’s attention and he looked up to see Sorawen carrying a tray of tea and Stillwater Biscuits. “You’ve been in here all day,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him. “What are you pouring over so diligently, husband dear?”

Zalmon stood to clear a space for the tray and sighed. “The financial logs for the House.”

“Don’t you have a House banker that takes care of that?” she asked conversationally, setting the tray down and leaning against the desk.

“No. He died in the invasion, and his son, who took over his firm is an oaf completely lacking in any creativity. I would not trust him with my money.”

Sorawen poured tea, handing her husband a cup demurely, but the burning look in her eyes betrayed her keen intelligence. Zalmon smiled as he took the cup. “You are thinking something.”

“Of course not, darling. We both know I do not think,” she responded sweetly, pouring her own tea.

Zalmon grinned and chuckled at that. He had not married a stupid woman. Would not have married a stupid woman even if it had been advantageous. He valued his wife’s keen mind if only because it had the uncanny effect of making him and the House look better when properly employed. He sat back down with a sigh. Breaking a biscuit delicately between her fingers she dipped half of it in her tea and took a bite, chewing methodically as she observed her husband. After a moment she pressed her finger to the bunched ridge between his eyes.

“You have two worry lines, and thus I deduct you have two things on your mind. Care to tell me the first?” she asked.

He made an unamused face, but went ahead and told her anyway. “I am not sure what to do with the Oropher branch of the House. At the moment they are like dead weight. I’m this close to cutting them off.”

“To do so would lose you and the House considerable face, I imagine,” she said lightly.

He gave her a cold look. “I am aware of that. But I am pouring more money into reestablishing them than they are. Their three sons are laze-abouts, thistleheads, and drunks, and the patriarch is a doddering old man who is content to sit in the shambles of their estate and suck away my money. I have enough financial obligations, most of them to your father, that I do not need to be siphoning off gold to a hopeless cause.”

“Well where is their estate?”

“In the rebuilt section of the city. One of the few estates not to be completely decimated in the invasion; it’s in worse shape now than most of the reconstruction,” Zalmon grumbled.

“Sell it,” Sorawen said simply.

Zalmon blinked at her. “What?”

“Sell their estate. On the rebuilt side of the city it will go for a good price. After all the new construction is the ‘fashionable’ place to live. Greedy House matriarchs will be snapping at the chance to re-establish there. As Head of the House it’s well within your rights to liquidate any of their assets to pay off their debts to you. Reinstall them in one of the smaller House properties, or better yet buy one of the ruined estates on this side of the wall for a quarter the price you’ll get for the Oropher estate, and install them there. See if the constant threat of marauding Wretched doesn’t inspire a little gumption in their sons. Eventually I’m sure you will find some kind of placement for them in the city, and until you do they can work very hard at dragging themselves up from the muck. The House will still retain it’s presence through the Lightweaver estate in the city proper and in time will probably be hailed as having breathed new life and opulence into this side of the city. Not to mention it will consolidate the House properties. A good long-term plan I think,” she said with a small smile.

Zalmon stared at his wife for a long moment, his pale features unreadable and he scrutinized her. "I did a good job picking out a smart wife. You are a credit to me," he said shrewdly.

Sorawen laughed a little coldly. "I thought your father picked me out."

Zalmon smiled. "Well he picked out several girls of suitable breeding, but I picked you from the rest."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And why was that?"

"You had the nicest figure."

"Ah." She sipped at her tea. "And what of the second problem that is troubling you?"

Zalmon grumbled, irritatedly marking his place in the ledger and sitting back in his chair gruffly. "Tashin's wallowing. In his current condition he's utterly useless to me. At least before this whole episode I was getting some good information out of him and his brother. Now he hides behind his misery and that self-righteous paladin and will barely talk to me."

"Aren't you paying that paladin to care for him?"

Zalmon made a tsking sound. “A detail. I think I underestimated his misplaced sense of ownership in the situation.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that Tashin remains useless to me and the House so long as he is encouraged by his new ‘protector’ to allow himself to wallow and pine for Tavian. He needs to see that there is life after his melodrama with his twin. I can’t bring Tavian home until he does and is thoroughly moved on into pursuits of his own.”

“Pursuits to be supplied by you, husband dear?”

“Naturally. Tashin has yet to realize his inner strength and potential. But he has a far shrewder mind than anyone gives him credit for. I can guarantee you, my darling, that what happened between the twins was not just some grave lapse in Tavian’s judgment. I didn’t realize it at first, but I am sure that Tashin knew exactly what he was doing to himself and his brother,” Zalmon drawled.

Sorawen blinked, thinking of the sweet, sickly Tashin that she knew. She did not like to think of him being like the rest of his family. “Are you sure? That doesn’t seem like Tashin.”

Zalmon twisted his lips, sucking his teeth thoughtfully. “No, it doesn’t, does it? But it makes sense. He’s had a long time to observe the game. It really was just a matter of time before he started playing for himself. Tavian was just his first move. It’s up to us to make sure the rest of his moves are advantageous to all involved.”

“You mean to you and the House?” Sorawen took another sip of her tea, dunking a biscuit and nibbling on it daintily.

“And to Tashin’s own welfare. Don’t think me entirely heartless, dearest wife.”

Her lip quirked at the corner. “So you need Tashin to cease his wallowing in order to take charge of his life so that you can position him to you liking?”

“Something like that.”

“Well,” she said slowly, “what is the best way to get over a lover?”

Zalmon eyed her carefully, pursing his lips together as if he expected this to be a trick question. “Find a new lover?” he asked slowly, a shrewd look slowly spreading over his face. Sorawen smiled and tilted her head to the side with a small nod. “Yes,” Zalmon continued thoughtfully. “But it would have to be someone he feels connected to. I don’t think Tashin’s emotions can be very well motivated by lust. I could hire someone to play the part…”

“Why bother? Darling, the answer is staring you in the face. Someone he feels safe with, protected by, connected to. Someone who perhaps reminds him ever so slightly of Tavian. Someone who is already enmeshed in his wellbeing,” she said, leading him with a slight twirl of her hand.

Zalmon narrowed his eyes and chewed the inside of his lip. “The paladin? Seregon? He wouldn’t. I’m sure it’s against some self-righteous, holier-than-thou tenant of his not to seduce heartbroken, sickly, patients of his who just happen to be the identical twin of one of his students.”

Sorawen shrugged her narrow shoulders and stood up with a stretch. “I’m sure that you could find at least one or two points of persuasion. After all their House is all but dead. Seregon has no heir but his little sister, and she has absconded from the city. Truth be told the prospects for her are rather grim should something happen to him. She’d be vulnerable to being taken advantage of. That and a little political digging and I’m sure you of all people could find something to employ, husband dear.” She left the tea tray on Zalmon’s desk and headed towards the curtained doorway.

The warlock watched his wife leave, not responding, simply letting the possibilities sink in. His mind began to work quickly then. He pushed the ledger aside and penned a carefully worded note to Elias, bidding him visit the estate in a week’s time. He folded it sharply and then went in search of a servant to give it to.

“Take this to Elias Seregon at his estate on the other side of the city. Make sure he receives it personally,” Zalmon instructed a mousy looking servant girl and then returned to his study to pen another note informing the Oropher patriarch of the pending sale of his estate.

****

Elias narrowed his eyes and leaned back against the lip of the windowsill. His arms had been crossed over his broad chest for some time, in fact pretty much since Zalmon had opened his mouth. “Let me get this straight. You want me to seduce your little brother ‘for his own good’ and in return you are offering to help me how?” He narrowed his eyes. “And just to be clear there is almost no likelihood of me agreeing to any of this.”

Zalmon sighed and touched his temples. "It's not so much seduction that I am suggesting, but courtship. Wooing, maybe that's the word. And don't pretend you've never thought about it. I saw how you ran to Tavian the night you resurrected Tashin. That's the great thing about twins: they're so similar in -so- many ways."

Elias remained with his arms crossed, lips pursed and silent. His gaze was stony, but he made no attempts at denial either. He had been growing closer to Tashin, it was true. He even had those moments when he looked at him and could see Tavian, did see Tavian. But to desire Tashin for anyone but himself simply was not right. He deserved more and so did Elias. And he certainly wasn't going to indulge in his wayward desires to satisfy Zalmon's need to meddle in the lives of his brothers. The two strong-willed men faced each other for some time, silently forceful. It was Zalmon who finally broke the silence.

"And what about your little sister? Vulnerable, all alone in the world. Getting into Light knows what kind of trouble out there. What will happen to her if and when you are no longer here to watch out for her wellfare? What is happening to her now, do you suppose? Wouldn't you like to see her come home?"

Elias' eyes narrowed even farther. "What do you know about Lyritta?"

Zalmon shrugged. "Nothing at the moment. But I, unlike you, Elias Seregon, have resources. I would be willing to employ them to find her and persuade her to come home. I would even be willing to ensure the protection of her status and livlihood should anything untoward ever happen to you. As young as she is as the last heir to the Seregon House she will be a political sitting duck to the jackals and hyenas in this city. You help my younger sibling and I'll help yours. We both get what we want: what's best for our families."

Elias swallowed and then dropped his gaze for the first time. He could not afford to go after Lyritta himself, or to hire someone to do it for him. He barely had the resources to maintain the estate. He looked Zalmon in the eyes again. "You seem fairly certain I'll meet some untimely demise before my sister's future is ensured."

Zalmon shrugged. "With your political views, my friend, I'm surprised you're not dead already. Those who wish to see a return to the old alliances are none too popular. And those who speak too freely against our Prince even less so. I could, I suppose, even try to offer you some modicum of protection, but in truth I really prefer to stay out of the messyness of politics. I'd rather observe their ebb and flow safely from a distance."

"So you can ally yourself with whichever side wins? Truly you are a noble man, Master Stormcaller," Elias sneered.

Zalmon shrugged. Attacks against his character were not particularly bothersome. "I do what is best for my House and the families in my care. At a time of such political unrest I don't really think it prudent to pick a side, especially when I don't truly care. I have no great love for Kael'thas. He may be doing what he thinks is best for our people, but in truth the reports have convinced he's gone quite insane. But on the other hand he is our Prince, and deserves our loyalty. He's sacrificed much and always respected the Council of Houses and its opinions. Besides at this time what is the alternative? Theron ruling in his place permanently? The man that led us into the arms of the Horde like beggars? I'll pass there, too. So for the time being, seeing as I have no true preference, I'll hold my tongue, bide my time, and advance my House as I see fit. You might have been wise to do the same, Master Seregon." He tilted his head to the side, arching one long black eyebrow. "But think about what I've said. Tashin needs a distraction from his festering heart. There is life without Tavian at his beck and call, and he needs to be shown that. I think you would be doing both him and yourself a great service by taking a little initiative. Who knows? You might both truly fall in love. I'd even give him to you with my blessing. And as a show of goodwill and friendship I'll begin looking for your sister with no commitment from you to do anything about Tashin."

Elias's nostrils flared slightly. Zalmon's laise faire attitude about the precarious position their society was in infuriated him. It was because people like Zalmon did not care that nothing was being done. Their people continued to be ruled by an ever maddening Prince from a world away and his lack-luster regent and his cronies. His words about Tashin angered his as well. Zalmon had no right to speak about either of them as if they were cattle easily lead into mating and "given" away. But then there was mention of Lyritta again, and the promise that she might be found and brought home made him hold his tongue. "That is very generous of you, Master Stormcaller," he said thickly, bowing stiffly at the waist.

"I know, Master Seregon." Zalmon bowed in return.

"Good day."

"Selama ashal'anore."

Once Elias was gone, Zalmon turned to his desk with a satisfied if slightly pensive tsking sound. When he looked up again Sorawen was standing in the doorway with tea. He moved aside to let her set it down.

"So?" she asked as she poured, a strand of auburn hair falling across her shoulder and into her face.

"It may take time, but I am fairly certain the seeds that have been planted will grow. I think they were already there. The man is only looking for an excuse that will allow his holy conscience to let him act on his impulses."

"And have you given him one, my darling husband?" she asked as she handed him a cup.

"Perhaps. More importantly I have made him a promise that puts him in my debt. Simply knowing this will most likely drive him to some action. Speaking of which, where is Nerris?" he asked and then took a sip, eyeing his wife's form over the rim of his cup.

She turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "Home, I think. Why?"

"Send for her, will you? I have need of her hunting skills."

****

It happened inside of a month.

What neither Zalmon's plotting or Elias' reluctance counted on was Tashin himself: that he would sense in himself the need to be fixed, and that he would act on it. He had come to trust Elias. Of all the people Tashin had tried to bullshit Elias was really the only one he couldn't. This fact about him that Tashin had once so detested, he now clung to, demanding to be seen. Because if those eyes that saw everything could keep on looking, then what Elias saw couldn't be that bad. When he first sensed the growing tension in the holy paladin Tashin had been surprised. His light-filled touches seemed to cautiously seek some small thing more from time to time. What surprised Tashin even more was that occasionally they left him slightly breathless. It was a condition he could have easily passed off as being a product of his petulant heart. But he knew his body better than that. So perhaps it was out of curiosity that he began to lean closer, that he sought opportunities to touch or brush against the other man, that he looked for that momentary spark in Elias' eyes and wondered if he was seeing Tavian or himself.

Elias had been out once again as he had been more and more frequently since his confrontation with Zelanis. Tashin knew that the two thing were somehow related and it frightened him to think of Elias still embroiled with the rogue leader. More it frightened him to think of the two of them in opposition to one another. Zelanis was a ruthless man. Something told Tashin that even his status as an old friend would not save Elias from Zelanis' wrath if the paladin tried to get in his way. Elias returned home that evening with a cut on his face and sour expression. Tashin had lit a fire in the study, an unnecessary precaution against a non-existent chill in the air, but he liked the flicker of the firelight and it made it easier to read. Perusing Elias' library had become Tashin's most recent activity of choice. He rarely left the Seregon estate for when he did the eyes of the passersby made it feel as if the high-walled streets were closing in about him. The very streets that had once felt like limitless freedom now felt like the prison he'd fled to get to them. And it was now that Tashin was beginning to realize that the prison was not a place he could escape from. It was inside of him.

As he read he lounged sideways in a high-backed chair, legs swinging boredly as he flipped through a dissertation on the nature of something called "Arcanistry". If he could keep his brain full of enough useless facts it seemed he did not have time or room to think too much on how he missed Tavian and how much he despised his own pitiful existence as a shut-in.

... a sick mind, a caged mind. Those had been Elias' words. But where was the cure? Where was the key? In the tension of Elias' body. In the flicker of passionate eyes that do not belong to Tavian. Yet all the boring facts in the world could not keep thoughts such as these from his mind. They clamored loudly. Free yourself! Free yourself and your beloved twin...

He heard the heavy front door slam, and startled, closing the book in his lap with a loud snap of paper and binding. He took several breaths as the familiar sound of Elias' agitated footfalls echoed through the estate, coming closer until the curtain was pulled back and the grumbling paladin entered the room. "What happened? You're bleeding..." Tashin said as he caught sight of the paladin looking up from the chair, the firelight flickering over his pale skin.

Elias startled and stared at him for a long moment before sighing and shaking his head. "You scared me. And it's nothing. Just some ruffians that saw fit to turn a public debate into a riot," he grumbled. "This can't continue. Our people are turning into degenerates."

Tashin watched the tense lines of Elias' body as he aggravatedly tried to loosen the ties of his cloak. He was worked up he was having little success. Setting the book aside on the floor the younger twin got to his feet, bare on the soft rug, and went to him. "Maybe you should speak. Say something," Tashin suggested, stepping closer and helping Elias out of his heavy cloak.

"What would I say? And who would listen? I'm nobody. Just another embittered throwback to our old ways," he said bitterly, allowing Tashin to be successful with the ties where he had not been.

"That's not true!" Tashin said. "You are a great man, Elias. A holy paladin and a member of the Blood Knights. You've been a hero to our people. Anyone who didn't listen to you would be a fool."

Elias snorted. "Well, after tonight I am convinced this entire city is full of fools."

Tashin smoothed his hands over Elias' shoulders, feeling the firm lines of the muscles beneath, distracted by their broadness. "I'm serious. You should speak at one of the public debates. Unmask Zelanis and his followers for what they are... inciters of chaos. People will listen."

Elias looked down into Tashin's face and sighed, shaking his head. He ran his thumb over the cut on his cheek, erasing it as if it had never been. "You give me too much credit, Tashin."

He felt the heat from Elias' body and closed his eyes. He realized the moment was now. Act, fool, or remain a prisoner forever. "No," the young twin said, stepping closer, his hands sliding back up Elias' shoulders to touch his neck. "You don't give yourself enough credit."

Elias saw the danger too late, and by the time he was starting to pull away Tashin had already leaned up to press their lips together. It was a chaste thing punctuated only by the profound silence that accompanied it. Elias' hands rose as if to settle, shaking, on Tashin's sides, but instead he began to push him back, breaking the kiss and shaking his head. "No, Tashin, don't."

The young rogue did not let go, fighting to keep himself pressed against the paladin. "Why not? You've done so much for me, and for my brother. This is the least I can do for you. It will be good... for both of us." He took Elias' face in his hands and looked up into his eyes. The paladin looked back. "I'm not asking you to love me, Elias. Vendel'o eranu." He touched Elias' face, eyes soft and pleading. "You can call me Tavian."

Elias' eyes went wide, his mouth falling slightly open. "Is that what you think I want?" he breathed. His hands stilled on Tashin's sides.

Tashin colored, a deep flush on his pale skin. "I know how you feel for him. It was obvious to everyone but Tavian who saw you two together. I resented it, but... now I feel like maybe it could make us close... has already made us close. The loss of him is the greatest thing that we share. And if you don't want him, what do you want? Just tell me."

Elias hesitated, looking down into those achingly familiar eyes. They were his, but they were not his. The way Tashin was pressed against him made him remember the last time he saw Tavian with dizzying clarity. He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. "I could want you," he whispered back.

Tashin made a hollow chuckling sound. "Don't lie to me," he murmured, and then brought their lips together again, this time ensuring that the kiss was anything but chaste. It felt strange at first to kiss someone who did not feel intimately familiar. Elias was bigger than he, and thus bigger than Tavian. The small patch of hair on the paladin's chin tickled and scratched. His body felt strange, but it was exciting.

So many other things he found were strange and exciting about Elias. The way his hands felt on Tashin’s body, larger and rougher than Tavian’s or his own. The way they stripped him of his clothes and pushed him to the floor. The way they explored him thoroughly, inside and out, before removing Elias’ own clothes. And then there was the other man’s body. He was broad and more starkly muscled than Tavian, his skin was darker, duskier, contrasting with Tashin's own pale flesh even more so than his twin’s had. Even Elias’ erection was shaped differently he realized when he finally dared to look. It was larger and slightly longer, darker… different. It made Tashin blush to see it, to feel it press against him and then into him, filling him in a way that was foreign and frightening, but delicious and exciting at the same time. He felt completely out of control as his fingers clutched at Elias’ arms, his back arching sharply with each press and thrust of that foreign body. This difference… this separateness… it was what normal lovers felt every day, what Tavian had felt with many lovers other than his twin. It made Tashin dizzy, his pulse racing. Maybe he would simply die like this; his heart stopped as Elias coupled with him. His slender legs wrapped around the paladin’s hips, ensuring the deep angle of his penetration. He had done this many times for his beloved twin…

He didn’t know when it began, but by the time it was over and Elias was filling him with thick strands of his seed and Tashin writhed and trembled in his own almost involuntary orgasm the young rogue was in tears. They came hot and fast with trembling, gulped breathes as he fell back limply to the floor held in the post-coital embrace of his lover who he did not love, but whose body and embrace might finally unlock the cage.

It was over, ruined, thankfully. He could no longer ever be Tavian’s and Tavian’s alone. Could probably never be Tavian’s again at all. The relief was overwhelming, but the grief was even more so and it wracked him for long hours. Even as they coupled again and then again with a fierce conviction, he knew that it wracked both of them.

For the past two months little had changed in Tavian’s life except the now-constant presence of Tamarack. Shortly after he and Kiril had rekindled their flame the other druids, along with the woman Tavian came to understand was Tamarack’s niece, left the goblin town to head back to Kalimdor. Apparently they had gotten whatever it was they had come to the Vale to find. None of them had tried to stop him from staying, though they all seemed curious, and perhaps a few perturbed by his reasons for not going back with them. Amarra, the niece, was the only who actually seemed upset. From his perch on the crates Tavian had been able to watch the whole scene, and although he didn’t understand Darnassian, he understood the content of the argument very well. In the end the other druids with Amarra in tow had left and Tamarack had remained.

Tavian had gotten his own room at the inn, finding it both awkward and annoying to be around the other two in such close quarters. Not that he wanted to be alone all the time either. Quite the contrary, because when he was alone his mind would always revert to thoughts of home and Tashin and even Elias. And if he thought on these things too long or too hard he was almost always filled with a deep depression that would not go away until Kiril and Tam ousted him from his ennui and drug him through the jungle. Tamarack knew an amazing amount about the history of the Vale and the troll ruins. In fact he knew a surprising amount about troll culture and history in general. Tavian had never even considered that there might be different kinds of trolls with different beliefs and allegiances. Though he supposed it made sense. The one thing Tavian could not believe was the suggestion Tamarack made that all elves may have once come from ancient troll progenitors. Sure trolls had long, pointy ears, but that was about where the similarities stopped, Tavian was quick to point out.

All of which Kiril translated, though after some time Tavian found himself having strange conversations with the druid in a back and forth of their languages that the rogue found strangely comprehensible, though not in terms of language, but more absolute meaning. Tamarack claimed it was because they had shared the closeness of Tavian’s near-death at the dock in Ratchet. Absolute communication was the result of having a well-balanced alignment between their spirits. As Kiril had translated this he had rolled his eyes, but Tavian found it intriguing. At times he would even catch himself responding to the druid in Darnassian although he would never have any idea what he had said when he tried to recall, and when he tried to do it willfully he found it impossible to even conjure up a single Darnassian phrase beyond “dur”.

Tavian found that he liked the druid, although he often wondered if all Kaldorei were as strange and scattered as he was. If they all had the same quirky tendencies towards random action, and if so he wondered how anything ever got done or truly finished in their culture. He also found that he was not a fan of Tamarack’s wildkin form, something he and Kiril commiserated on. In fact Kiril had seemed shocked and almost appalled the first time Tamarack had shifted into the form of the strange, antlered, chubby bird-thing that did little but make hooting sounds and waddle through the forest. Tam often seemed to forget that he was even in a form other than his own when he was a wildkin, and often frightened and even came close to harming the Sindorei cousins with his increased strength and size.

Another thing that Tavian found himself liking about Tamarack was that he was deceptively playful. He teased and joked with Kiril in subtle ways that both amused and plainly irritated the priest. But it was good to see. Kiril had in the past several years become rather serious and overly wise in his priesthood. And even though he often maintained his more jovial self with Tavian, it was nice to see him more relaxed in general.

Thus the two months in Stranglethorn stretched by in a mixture of emotions and feelings as varied as the jungle weather. Days of sweltering sunshine would give way to torrential rains that lasted days on end. Warm rain that Tavian found oddly irresistible. He got more than one lecture about staying out and getting soaked. He was never want for something to do. The jungle and ocean themselves provided the young rogue with a multitude of distractions and intrigues. The comings and goings of Booty Bay’s residents and visitors supplied even more when he was sick of the sticky forests. And when Kiril and Tamarack were alone in their room, Tavian sought out the company of others in the inn tavern. Easy to make, one-shot friends he thought of them as. A few drinks and conversation was easy. Everybody liked a good joke and sharp wit, and Tavian was quick with both when he had a little alcohol in him. And although he got lots of opportunities to not spend the night alone, he always did. Not to say that he was a saint, but the touches and kisses of others did little but distract him momentarily and leave him feeling uncomfortable in his own skin.

But the peaceful regularity of life in Booty Bay could not last forever. And after those two months Tamarack received a letter that summoned him back to Kalimdor in service of the Cenarion Circle. His attentions were needed in Feathermoon Stronghold and Silithus, both places Tavian knew nothing about and which Kiril flat-out refused to go to. The stronghold was not an option, being a Kaldorei village, and Silithus, he said, was covered in bugs. After quite a bit of back and forth, some yelling on Kiril’s part and mostly helpless shrugging on Tamarack’s, Tavian was informed that he and Kiril would be moving to Gadgetzan, another goblin town that was positioned between Tamarack’s two posts.

“At least I’ll be able to see you in transit,” the priest grumbled to the druid.

“Thero’shan, I’m sorry, but I do still have duties. I always will. But I will have time to be with you. You are more important to me than anything,” Tamarack replied, enfolding the riled priest in an embrace that almost immediately deflated him. Tavian understood Kiril’s anger. He feared being forsaken again.

So it was that Tavian found himself crossing the Great Sea for the second time in his life. This time, however, he actually remembered the trip, and discovered he really did not like boats. On the previous crossing he had been too distraught to feel any discomfort other than the breaking of his heart, but this time he became intimately familiar with a gap in the railing of the top deck. He spent most of his time there trying not to vomit and failing rather miserably.

From Ratchet they traveled together as far as the fork in the road in Thousand Needles, where Tamarack had to bid them farewell and continued northwest to Feathermoon Stronghold alone while the cousins went south through the Salt Flats and on to Gadgetzan in the Tanaris desert. Kiril proved to be a morose traveling companion for the last leg of the journey, which took them by the Mirage Raceways. Tavian had never seen anything like it. The insane buzz and roar of the racers as they sped by sending buzzards and basilisks scattering into the baked salt dunes was possibly the most exciting thing Tavian had ever seen. If Kiril had let him he would have stopped to explore further, but the glare he got from his red-headed cousin at the mention of it told Tavian it was best to humor him and continue on to the goblin settlement. But he made a mental note to come back and explore on his own if need be.

The desert sun was high and hot, beating down on Tavian’s black head with a ferocity that had him almost instantly overheated, when they finally arrived at Gadgetzan. The funny, walled town made the rogue’s mouth hang open as they entered the pistoning, tinkered gates. Dirty, hot, and dry where Booty Bay had been dirty, hot, and wet the town felt eerily familiar for the change in geography. The inn was slightly less hospitable with drifts of dirty sand in the corners and often in the food and drink as well. Although the majority of the “rooms” were really only hammocks strung along the tavern walls, there were a few private rooms set apart from the main building for “long term” guests.

It was in one of these rooms that Tavian unpacked, took a deep breath, and prepared to distract himself with the wonders of yet another new part of the world.