Unexpected Meetings

The letter sat half open on my desk when I left. I'd considered crumpling it. Burning it. I decided those reactions would be childish, no matter how I felt about its author. The servants would attend to our bed before I returned home. I'd needed my Theryl's warm arms. I'd needed her kisses. Her love. When one goes to face the demons of one's darkest memory, one ought to go girded with armour. I kept my mind firmly centred on my love's body, the way she tasted, the sounds she made, the scent of her curling red hair. Call it armour if you like.

It performed the same function as I walked, feeling a ball of icy hatred burning deep in my gut. Protecting me from my own rage. I had many things to rage about, after all.

To he who has been called my 'father-in-law'
I am writing to you today to warn you quite clearly to remain away from me and my daughter.

Your son, for all I know, is dead, and as such, my time with him is over. My daughter and I have retired to Silvermoon. The child that would have shared your blood died at birth, before I could even hold him. What more agony do you wish to visit upon me?

I would like to think you above sending 'discreet' individuals to seek us out and eliminate something that is hardly a threat, but apparently, I thought too much of you.

If you ever send anyone to discuss 'my husband' with me again, I will kill him, and then take out everything that remains that you love.

Thienna

Thienna.

A tanned little elf brat who'd come to my home three years ago to 'save' her precious Velion from my nefarious clutches. Not realizing that Velion was there by choice, of course. Thienna had offered everything she knew in order to 'rescue' a multiple rapist and madman. I suppose she just might have enjoyed being choked while he had her - the boy was a menace when he'd come to try and kill me and found a Master he worshipped instead. And she'd responded to my courtesy with blatant efforts to seduce me, had broken every bond she sought to make with me.. not two hours after whining into my mouth that she belonged to me, only and ever to me, she'd rutted at the top of her lungs with Velion a few rooms over. Not a day after accepting a physical marking of my ownership over her - elves are bluntly fit only to be owned as a rule, she and her sort are living proof of their inability to discipline themselves like civilized beings - she ripped it out and tried to burn down my house, leaving one of my men a drooling idiot with a magical assault.

Thienna the bitch. Thienna the child. Thienna the whore.

Oh, the history I have with this elf. Three years of hatred. Of her first attempting to control me - ME! How LAUGHABLE a thought! - with her body, then finding it impossible, subverting my wretched useless son Ythfas into her pitiful mewling whipped boy. Oh, his awkward pride to inform me that he intended to wed a bed slave he used for sex alone. Oh, his joy to inform me he would wed a whore I'd myself bedded. A barren, inhuman, slut. Damn our line and complete what he'd begun when he orchestrated the murders and destruction of every one of his doting family members.

That was the fury that pulsed inside me even now. Should it not have? Should it have dimmed with the news of Thienna's move to obscurity in Silvermoon, her removal of her invidious presence in a city within which I dwelt? Constant, flagrant reminder of a son I despised, and his asinine choices?

Perhaps. I'd visited her when she was pregnant by Ythfas. Barren? Evidently that too had been a lie from her lips. One of so very many. She told me the babe's coming would kill her, and I recall gravely informing her of my gladness - that both she and her halfbreed spawn would perish was frankly not a thing I felt any regret over.

When I heard that she'd only survived the birth using a soulstone from my son, and thence left and absented herself? I will admit to some relief. If I cannot have her skin tanned for a rug, at least her absence from my view is solace enough. As for my son...

I felt a purring pleasure snake through my nerves as I approached the courtyard I'd sent to meet her in. I'd broken Ythfas. That was some measure of joy in the twisted affection our family had once held pure and unsullied. Before Ythfas's unnatural dalliance with elvenkind had turned him from a proud human into some perverse would-be Quel'dorei content to howl his love for the slut of all the sluts - Visasti Sunstrider.

I felt a pulse deep within me. A snarl building. I dismissed it. The thought of Theryl and Iloam.. Iloam the first.. no. I needed control and focus, and while I felt secure in my beloved's love for me.. my pre-eminence.. I did not need to think of the elf who embodied all I so loathed about the breed.

Focus, Ythgar.

When she arrived, I was calm. Controlled. She carried some elven brat - thank the Light without human characteristics to make me rage - in her arms, and at my gesture to kneel where I knelt, our words masked by the fountain's pleasant chiming, she typically defied me to seat herself on the edge. I restrained a desire to shove her into the water, and smiled. Thank the Light for my years at court that I rarely permit emotion to unveil itself.

She bluntly told me I looked like my son. An offensive statement given the sorrow that maggot had caused me. But one which turned my mind to its usual twisting and crafting. No, I'd not kill Thienna. Tempting though you may be certain that was. In our world, death is impermanent - I'm unliving proof of that - and the last thing I need is an undead Thienna hounding me for eternity. No. No, as usual, as I often do, I set my mind to planning how to limit the woman. Control her. Permit her only what I offered, and no more.

Evidently someone had come to pester her.. at Iloam's behest, it seemed. Iloam, Iloam.. do all paths lead to you, you freckled little wretch?

She mentioned the name Ythfas had typically decided to inflict upon some adoptive little elf brat - the infant she held was legally named Stephanie. I felt my vision dim at the words, and it truly took all my strength not to kill them both then and there and damned be any consequences.

He named some unknown orphan brat after his brother. The indignities never ceased.. not content with causing my poor Stephan's murder. not content with sending him to become Scourge fodder, not content with trying to become a necromancer to rule his own elder brother, not CONTENT with mocking both me and my dead son by sending me his ashes in  A WINE BOTTLE of all things... he'd offended my golden, slain son with this final insult. Thienna's blather barely pierced the ringing blood pounding in my ears.

"Her name on paper honours your other son, but other than that, it is paper. And it was not Ythfas' idea...I chose that name to honour a person he loved...and you love. Accept it as that, not some...ploy. Regardless -- "

It had been Thienna who had guided my spineless second son in this. Not Ythfas. No, Thienna had crafted this insult, and my wretched disinherited traitor murderer had agreed. Can I be blamed for struggling with my emotions? For the coppery taste of hatred I felt flooding my mouth? Somehow, I managed to keep myself steady, and informed Thienna that the name would be changed. In Stormwind and wherever else. That name ended or I would have both their heads.

I made her come to the point. She accepted that I had not sent this whore messenger, so she termed it, but she wanted something of me. What a surprise. Ever that had been the way of it.. She wanted something, and reacted with destructive madness when denied. Such a shame that I would and could destroy her now - no protectors, this little wretched priestess had. And her adored child sat in my lap playing with my belt buckle.

That was evidently the issue.

"All I ask is that I be given freedom of refuge should I need it. That you would help me protect this child. She is a child, and has done nothing to have her life threatened, except be related to you through the stupid papers filed by the man who walked away."

How ironic. I teased more from her. I am hardly a fool to eagerly offer an open invitation to a woman I despise.

"So. You want a home? Protection for this child? Make me an offer, Thienna. A basic guarantee would be her name legally changed to bear no relation to the son I loved, whose brother first caused his death, then his place as a  ghoul, and finally sent him to me in a wine bottle for a casket."

"I have no power to do that. I am a Sin'dorei...the papers are in Stormwind. But I will not prevent...or object...that you do it."

As if she could stop me. "Then we can negotiate, yes. Parameters of this protection you claim. And of refuge should you claim it in turn. And what you're offering me in reply."

"I intend to keep my shop open...and defy this intrusion into my life. But should it not be safe to do so...I want a place to flee with my daughter, and enough prestige to not hide in the shadows as 'the Marquis' son's slut'."
That was highly amusing to hear from a woman who'd writhed underneath me and then hopped from my bed to Velion's and thence to my son's. And typical of the jumped-up guttersnipe to demand prestige.

"So you have said, my dear. What coin are you willing to spend for this haven, and what status do you desire? I recall you once wishing to be my chatelaine. That position is now filled by a most capable woman."

She avoided the point, squirming like a fish to avoid the bait and the hook alike. So very like her. Demand, and refuse to give any guarantees. Wretched elves..

 "And what prestige or status is it that you wish for from me, Thienna? As for coin, I'm hardly suggesting what you gave my son. Or what you once gave me." The funniest part of even mentioning her long ago willingness to become MY bedmate was the way her cheeks flushed. It seemed by all things holy that the elf was finding me desierable. How droll.  "I have a woman I am very much in love with, and no particular interest in replacing her. I am hardly looking for a third wife, and bedding you offers me little that comes easily to mind politically. So we're left with other forms of payment."
"If that was the price you named, for the sake of the child, I would do it.  So I assure you, I am glad you are happy and it is not the price you desire. As for prestige...I simply do not want to be known as 'the whore' or such. If it is simply a priestess, fine. I do not want my child to be seen as a refugee, or a beggar. I am not asking you to be her grandfather...I know you would not want that."

Oh Thienna. Always you try to slide the needle in. Always you jockey.

"No. I would not. I never approved of your relationship with my son. I make it a habit not to lie, and I trust you have noted my often irksome honesty. So. A priestess affiliated with my house should you become a refugee within it? Is that what you desire, Thienna?"

 "I desire a safe place for my daughter. Whatever else comes with it, comes with it. I am not here looking for personal gain, unless you count the safety of that child 'personal gain.'"

 "We have yet to discuss alternative payment beyond your body, Thienna. You operate a shop in Silvermoon." I couldn't trust her, of course. That would be utterly idiotic on my part. Thienna was the physical embodiment of untrustworthy. I frankly couldn't recall a single occasion where she'd kept her word to me. Very fond of giving it, however. Really, the extent that I could trust the wench was in acting to her own benefit, serving herself alone, and mouthing any promises that took to get her what she wanted, and abandoning them the moment they seemed trying. Typical, childish, elf.

 "Some time ago, you offered to belong to me, Thienna. You let me pierce you as a marker of that. Tore it out shortly afterward, mind you. I have one thing you can offer me as coin for my protection extended to you and your daughter."

She's not the only one who can toss barbs.

"I listen."

 "Fealty. In the human sense. I don't want a mistress, or a lover. I don't need guards. What I need are ears which belong to me and outwardly have no connection. Your loyalty is the price of what you request. Information of possible interest to me sent folded in shipments of garments you will tailor to suit my taste."

She agreed. What else could she do? It was not a trying offer, so she was unlikely to duck out of it just yet. It seemed to offer what she desired. Her fealty and service in the manner I described, in return for which she could claim haven in one of my homes, and a place as nothing more than a priestess. The finer details would be ironed out, of course. She offered to measure me for clothes. I nearly laughed aloud. Elves.. their minds are ever on their bestial natures. Flitting about gracefully like blowflies to writhe and couple on everything and anything, breeding more maggots to fester and display the same complete inability to grasp duty or honour or obligation. So ironic for such long lived things to be so utterly untrustworthy or reliable. Really, one simply had to assume with elves that their motives were as apparent as their headlong carousing through life - they were in it for themselves, and all the moral affectations they might present did not matter in the slightest when they wanted something. A brief flicker in my mind, a memory of sun-kissed skin, of terror in the slanting eyes. "What've I even done!?" the mouth shaping, shouldering the tackle as they both fell to the dirt packed floor. "I haven't DONE anything!" No. NO. I do not need to think of that.. that deepest... calm, Ythgar. Calm around this one who is too close to every pain you have. Tangled with my hatred for my murderer...  I spoke calmly. Trivialities. Easy words. Dry, calm, warm words. Long habits. Like a cloak about me. 

We spoke in my suite at the Hero's Welcome. I felt a certain wry amusement given what the walls had witnessed, and now gazed in mute curiosity upon. She took measurements while I waited, her infant snoring on my foot like a puppy. She replied to my subtle barbs with some of her own while we drank some of my Tokaji. And then she tried to say that seeing Ythfas in my face - revolting - was making her feel as she might imagine I would feel to move in close proximity to my Elsbetta.

Again my vision narrowed to a pinpoint as I looked at this ignorant little slut of an elf who fancied she knew anything. She'd been besotted with my wretched son for what? A year at the most? And she DARED to imagine that a LIFETIME of joy could remotely compare?! She DARED to think that because her master and lover or whatever filthy titles they gave each other was locked away pouting and sulking, her loss was even REMOTELY akin to the fact that I would NEVER again see my beloved wife's face, never gaze into her eyes, no hope EVER of that easing in my breast?

I could feel my heart suddenly thundering.

I love Theryl. There's no lie in that. I love her deeply. But even that new love... I would exchange ANYTHING in all this benighted world if I could see my Elsbetta's sweet face again, kiss her lips one last time.

I NEVER was able to bid her farewell.. waiting every day for her to arrive in the south, aching every day for her.. we'd aged together, she and I.. My WIFE. I managed to form the words, shape them, reveal nothing of the pain this Light-damned elf woke in me.. she knew my chinks, the places where my armour did not cover. How gleefully she brought my heart's blood welling up to make my very soul tremble.

"Ythfas is still alive. You can SEE him if you try. I think the situation is rather different."

 "Can I? Do you not think I have? The tower won't open for me. He may as well be dead. The death of his son drove him MAD."

That was something. The murder of Julilla Vinguld and my theft of my grandson to keep him from this slut's corrosive touch.. to keep him from my unworthy son.. that was one sliver of pleasure in this sea of rage and pain. I debated stabbing Thienna with the truth - that my hand unseen had driven her lover mad. I quelled the impulse as quickly as it came.

 "Good. Maybe he has some inkling what he did to me. Do forgive me if I do not mourn my murderer's pain. I would sympathize, but really, why bother? He did not SEE his son die. Did not fight and struggle against his enemies as they murdered his son before his EYES. You have the knowledge that he is likely  alive. I have no such... gift. Elsbetta is gone from me. She will not some day perhaps unlock some tower to embrace me. She will never change her mind and welcome me into her sanctum. My son may yet do any of those things for you."

 "He ages every moment he is in there. When he emerges, how old will he be? How much of our lives will have been lost? Will I even still be alive?" The idiot priestess put the glass she held down with enough force to break it and drive fragments into her hand. I confess to no small comfort in watching crimson well and drip.

"I despise you for your role in our misery, and at the same time, I understand it. It was always a fight between he and I, me wanting to see him try to rectify the distance I put between you. When I met him, he was interested in repairing the damage done by his actions. I drove him away from that. Do you not think I regret that? And I see you here, and you look like him, you have that accent like he did. You emphasize how much I miss him. I see you play with her, the way he used to ..." Her voice was a drone. Salt rubbing into wounds three years scabbed.

I let her see my pain.. I likely shouldn't have, but it was more than I could staunch, as evidently the blood was more than she could. Or cared to. Likely a ploy for my pity.

She sighed as she spoke. "He did give you a legal heir, you know. Except someone had Julilla killed."
I hid my smile.
 "Yes. So I read. Lucky for her, I suppose. She didn't deserve my son's callousness. I doubt he showed her anything kindly, given some of what he once bragged to me at Raven Hill. The wretch never did comprehend gentility. One may not love a woman, but one ought to be caring and kindly."

I changed the subject. Carried her brat to my room and put the child on the now-tidied bed. Not my Theryl's bed, thank the Light. The thought of ANY elf on that bed would be.. no. Do not think of these things, Ythgar. I used the distraction to let the wine work on the wench. We spoke of inconsequentialties, and noting how inebriated she'd grown, and let her stay while I worked in the room alongside the bedroom. Light willing, she'd have nightmares.