Medicine

Syldan is right, arcanist Trueflight realised with a sigh. It is about Emberdale.

He was sitting alone at his office, his chair located away from the dim late afternoon light. Dusk would not be long now, an hour or two at most. Weary and defeated, he had now ceased looking at the dark corners of the chamber in spite of the urge which told him to do so. At long last, his paranoia was something he was becoming quite aware of. He could not continue like this, but at the same time change was beyond him, not a simple matter of choice.

The elf's fingers pressed against the edges of cool metal; they were sharp once, for several of his agents as he very well knew liked to utilize every item on their person as a weapon if needed, even if that meant sullying the wings of the Spire with blood. Time and choice however had taken that away from the insignia that once belonged to Ethalis Emberdale. Still, one could not say that the woman had not cared for the symbol of her eternal loyalty to Quel'thalas. It had been clean and preserved when she dropped it. Often enough in times of solitude, Avarel would remove it from his robe to look at it and polish the golden surface, as if that was all he could do for the fallen Ren'dorei.

No, he corrected himself, eyes thinning with anger turned inwards. Sin'dorei. She was a Sin'dorei. I did this to her.

The last month, the form of the agent would often visit his troubled dreams. In most, it was not she who haunted him, but his sin. The very evening he gave the order for her to follow Ravenfall to wherever Umbric would take his heretics, then report. Other times, she would just be there in his office, pure with green eyes and dark hair, until an arrow would strike between her eyes. But unlike reality, she would not die. A Void abomination tended to take her place, setting the blame to the one who rightfully deserved it.

His eyes refused to leave the insignia, the very name inscribed on the gold. Before her death, he had not cared for her and the others who had been damned by his command. Perhaps he had even found the prospect delightful once, being granted spies for the Spire that could roam amidst the Ren'dorei and the rest of the Alliance without a shred of suspicion. Perhaps he had once considered this turn of events, the suffering of those agents, as a personal triumph granted by luck.

The very memory of the man he was disgusted him.

Avarel's lips parted, but his second sigh was something more akin to a sob. He kept looking at the insignia. He could not bear it any longer and yet he had to.

Forgive me.

But no divine light shone upon him, no phantom emerged from the walls to grant him the peace he desired. Trueflight's hand began to spasm. He closed his eyes in order to trap the moisture that threatened to reach his cheeks.

He was not the only one feeling like that, he knew. Some had realised how they had damned individuals like Emberdale before him, while others viewed it all as a chance to do Xoriana justice, or wished to further spite her exiled brother. But all those involved in the investigation had agreed upon the return of a girl as meaningless as Ashfury, as if that would give them some sense of retribution. What a foolish belief. And still, the arcanist needed to believe it to be true.

He clutched the insignia of the Spire even more tightly, holding his breath as he regarded the darkness of his fallen lids.

I will do what you asked me, his mind called out. I will bring her back, I will do all I can, I will fall on my knees. Please. Forgive me.

But silence was all that he received from the empty room. The nothingness did not respond. A scream suddenly escaped the arcanist's lips. His hands flailed, venting on the objects on his desk. Precious tomes and papers were ejected to the sides with a cluttering sound.

"Forgive me!"

His plea echoed in the office, but no change came. Shaking, he buried his head under his hands. Not once did he release the insignia.

It may have been only a few seconds later, or even an eternity that two soft knocks echoed on his door. At first, Trueflight wondered if they had been a part of his imagination, of a mind so burdened and restless. He tried his best to raise his chin, but all sense of pride had abandoned him. Instead, all he could do was hide the insignia back to his robe, not far from his heart, then begin the arduous task of tidying the mess he had caused.

"Come in."

It was a surprise that his voice sounded steady and firm. A gentle creak followed. The door to his left opened just a little, allowing an individual to step in. The blond, lean man, typically dressed in green and gold, did not take the liberty to step inside any further. He closed the door with one hand, while balancing a tray with the other. A polite, yet rather reserved smile painted his thin lips.

Trueflight did not stop his task more than the couple of seconds required to steal a glimpse of the individual. He offered a weary nod. "Ah, Alendis. Thank you for coming at such short notice."

The archivist inclined his head and stepped forward. "It is my duty, arcanist." he responded, his voice pleasant. Yet he was no senseless flatterer, a quality Trueflight valued about him.

He had only lasted a couple of days without taking advantage of Runeheart's offer to transfer Kelieren Alendis to him. His pride did not allow it, nor did his increasingly concerning paranoia. Yet for the benefit of the Spire, the investigation and his very health alike, he had to acknowledge that he could not do this alone. At least Alendis had never shown anything but loyalty to Xoriana Ravenfall.

"Forgive me." Avarel mumbled, still picking up parchments from the floor. "My office ought to be more presentable than this."

Was it pity in Kelieren's eyes? Understanding? Trueflight was not sure what he saw. Perhaps he was imagining things again. Still, he could not ignore the fact that the archivist smiled kindly and set the tray on the desk, with a cup of tea on it. Complimentary desserts were absent. Some people thought it vulnerability to eat in front of another, or even accept food. Alendis was being careful, not just polite.

"I believe it is why I am here." the blond man replied. "You may have asked my assistance with your work, though Magister Runeheart is quite concerned about your health. He wished me to see to your mind being relaxed."

Avarel did not look at him, but only the tea for a moment. Again, he sighed. "Of course he did."

Kelieren's smile widened a touch. "A secret we can keep between us, certainly."

The arcanist noted the attempt for amusement and stopped to look at the archivist. Oh, he very well knew what those green eyes saw, the very image that Avarel presented ever since his return. Unkempt and sleepless with disheveled hair and shaken by spasms. It was a mircale that his body had not started turning against him by developing a stress-based diseased. Defeated, the man ceased the task of recovering the fallen objects and turned forward.

"Very well." Trueflight uttered. "I... Of course, forgive me." His hands came to rub his face in evident weakness. He hated himself for its display. Yet at the same time, he did not care. "The last weeks have not been easy."

Archivist Alendis nodded. He took a seat at the other side of the desk in spite of not having offered one, but Avarel did not complain. The priest set the cup in front of the arcanist, only to then speak calmly. "You have been through some awful trials. No one would blame you if you wished to share the burden with another and seek aid. Had Lady Ravenfall done more on this matter, things would have perhaps not ended this way."

For a moment, Trueflight felt the temptation to simply break and trust Kelieren, someone beyond the Magisters. Yet the mention of Xoriana was utterly wrong.

"Do you truly believe that she took her life?" he asked the woman's former subject. "That she was driven to such despair?"

Alendis merely shook his head. "I do not know." he replied. Perhaps it was grief that made him avert his gaze and turn towards the small window; he had served Lady Ravenfall for years after all. "Fate had been unkind to her. She was never the same after the strikes life succeeded against her."

Yet she had not taken her life, as some believed and Avarel knew this to be true. It was he, Runeheart and a few others who were aware of this, cursed with knowing and not telling. Xoriana had not been as private as he and she had paid for that with her life at the hands of the unknown spy. One who was still out there.

"Thank you," Trueflight inclined his head, one hand reaching for the tea. "but I believe it may be best to continue as pre-determined for now."

Archivist Alendis nodded. He did not seem to take it to heart. "At least allow me this..." he began to utter while sinking his hand into his robe. It did not take long for his search to wield a small, blue vial. As long as he removed the cork, a pleasant, slightly floral aroma reached Avarel's nostrils. "It is the medicine I like to take when my mind feels too heavy and demands relaxation. It is nothing as powerful as a sedative however, just an innocent powder my mother used to make before her passing."

Surprisingly, Avarel caught himself nodding. It would not hurt. He had to trust, he had to relax. It would not hurt at all. "Very well."

The powder was white in colour, that much was seen as the archivist poured a small portion of it into the tea. He then picked up a spoon from the tray and swirled the amber liquid, before offering it to the arcanist. "You will feel better."

Trueflight brought the cup to his lips, consuming the tea gently and with his gaze lowered, focused on it. That did not allow him to ever see the devious glint in the angelic eyes of Kelieren Alendis, nor the dark shadow which momentarily claimed his triumphant smile.