Second Posting

(A few minor edits on it, as well as more added)

Sintas Ilthalaine walked quickly along the path to the Cenarion Enclave in Darnassus. The iridescent flagstones pressed back against her feet, still sore from her long trek to the great tree upon which the city itself lay. She glanced up to the top of the archdruid's tree, curbing her inherent desire to simply marvel at the fact that night elves still retained the ability to dwell within living trees, even in these difficult days. She shook her head to herself at the sight of a silhouette in one of the top floor's windows. He wouldn't be happy with her tardiness, not one bit. But then again, what did make the man happy?
The fair druid sighed, finally reaching the ramp into the tree. She gave a hurried wave to each of the suppliers on the first level, offered a quick bow to Mathengryl on the second level, then scurried along the outer walkway that wound its way around the tree, leading her up to the top level. She raised a tired fist to knock on the door, but it struck air. The door was yanked open before she could offer her announcement of arrival, and worse, the visage that greeted her was none other than the stern gaze of one terribly displeased Archdruid Fandral Staghelm.
"You're late," he declared flatly.
Sintas sighed, nodding in resignation.
He rolled his eyes, setting a hand on her arm to usher her in. The door swung closed, rattling its frame slightly.
Sintas stepped over to a bench, ignoring the usual magical this-or-that sitting on the table next to the bench in favor of simply holding up a cloth-bound stack of papers to Staghelm. He snapped it up quickly, and then unwrapped it slowly as he spoke.
"Late, always late. I dare to wonder how well you plan on serving the Cenarion Circle when you cannot even show up on time. Wasting my time, wasting the Circle’s time."
Sintas remained silent, knowing nothing she could say would cause him to be any nicer towards her. She was all too familiar with his way of domineering conversations.
And yet, she thought, why wouldn't he? He is about eight feet tall, after all. Certainly, he must feel some sort of power over all others because of that alone.
Staghelm paged through the report, golden eyes scanning each hand-written paragraph. The discerning orbs flickered to Sintas' direction now and then, as if to be sure she was still sitting complacently, not about to argue with him. He dropped the report on the table abruptly, causing Sintas to jump.
"Skittish, as usual."
Sintas ventured a glance up at him. Such a stern visage, indeed! She couldn't begin to imagine getting in an actual fight with him, though they had had arguments in the past.
Heated arguments.
Sintas smiled up at him a bit.
"Only in your presence, Archdruid."
He scoffed, his voice irritated. "You've been calling me by first name for how long?"
She raised a brow. "...I thought you would like to be called by your title now and then. My apologies, Fandral."
He let out a heavy sigh. "Being addressed by my title simply spurs the instinct that I'm about to be requested to do something I wouldn't normally do. My first name is preferred." He looked her over a bit. "What progress has been made in Outland?"
Sintas shrugged. "Well... I've figured out a new path for one of the rivers... But the problem of it is that--"
"It's a dying planet. A speck of a grand world clinging to life, but losing its grip rapidly. Yes, I know."
Sintas sighed. Here he goes, she thought.
"Honestly, there shouldn't be any effort put into it. Let it die in peace. After all, it's not as though we would be losing anything or anyone important."
Sintas frowned. "Yes, I know your views on, how should I say it this time, anyone without long ears, tall stature, and at least nine thousand years of life lived."
Staghelm waved a dismissive hand. "On second thought, take Outland's business up with Saturna instead. He'd give you more satisfactory answers, undoubtedly."
Sintas leaned back on the wall behind the bench, frowning. She sat there for a moment, fidgeting with a feather on her kilt as Staghelm watched expectantly. She hesitantly opened her mouth to speak.
"Has there been any word from--"
"No."
She sighed. "It's been so long... I fear for him deeply."
Staghelm raised a brow. "Yes, we're all concerned. Yet you look just as the high priestess does when he's discussed in her presence."
Sintas blushed.
Staghelm frowned. "Out with it."
Sintas shrugged. "I... Well, I've been spending the majority of my time in the Eastern Kingdoms, as you know."
"Get to the point. I'm the one who assigns your work, I know where you've been."
Sintas nodded quickly. "Yes. Well, the men there are rather... insufferable."
Staghelm blinked. "Ah. But you have... Whoever he is to protect you, yes?"
Sintas shook her head.
Staghelm's brows shot up.
"But I thought you had promised yourself to--"
"No," she said flatly, signaling her abhorrence to discussing the person further.
Staghelm eyed her a moment, then nodded slowly.
"I see..." He coughed. "Back to what you were saying earlier."
Sintas nodded, eyes on her hands, resting on her lap. "Yes. Anyways, many of them have approached me for..." She wrinkled her nose. "...Various purposes. Some of them elves, others humans. And I've given a few of them a chance. But... I've become convinced." She nodded purposefully.
Staghelm waited for her to continue. He drummed his fingers on his knee a moment.
"Convinced of what?"
"Convinced that..." She bit her lip. "That... None of them are..." She sighed. "I feel terrible. I feel as though I'm above every single one of them. I try to keep myself open to honest suggestions, but I can't help but feel as though--" She blinked, realizing Staghelm wore a wide, entertained smile. "What?"
Staghelm smirked. "Nothing, nothing. You're simply naïve, Sintas."
"Naïve? Of what?"
Staghelm looked about the room nonchalantly. "Of yourself. You haven't changed one bit in your life, so it seems to me."
Sintas frowned. "I'm well aware of myself. And you make sure of it when I slip up."
"I point out your flaws in the hopes you'll become the better for them. Surely you understand."
She sighed. "Of course." After a moment of thought, though, she blinked. "Wait. But if that's the case, what do you think of me?"
He met her confused gaze with a confident, thoughtful look of his own.
"The world knows not what it has been blessed with."
Sintas shifted a bit, having promptly become uncomfortable. "Ah. So... I am doing well in my works, yes? Is that what you mean?"
Staghelm watched her for a moment, relishing the uncertain expression on her face as she awaited his confirmation. He smiled.
"Yes, of course. You're a very talented druid, Sintas. No one is in a position to question that."
Sintas nodded slightly. "I-I see. It's good to hear such kind words from you, Fandral." She glanced at the door. "You have my next assignment, correct?"
Staghelm nodded, standing up. "Yes. I'd like you to deliver this report to Saturna. I have other business to attend to, another druid to meet with. Return to me once you've discussed the contents of the report with him."
Sintas smiled, assured now that nothing was amiss. "I'll make haste." She nodded, stepping to the door and turning the handle. She blinked, chiding herself mentally for forgetting to check the lock on the door. A quick turn of the lock, a twist of the handle, and the door opened.

Striding down the familiar path from the teleportation point, Sintas straightened up the stack of papers. She wrapped the cloth around them again, tying the string attached to the cloth, and nodded to herself, content that the papers were presentable.
Rabine Saturna drummed his fingers on the railing of the meeting hall in Nighthaven, looking out over Lake Elune'ara with a grim expression. His thoughts rested upon the returning highborn of Eldre’thalas, those who were among the caste responsible for the Sundering. To think they hoped to be welcomed back into society… He wasn’t fond of it, especially after the corruption of the Fruit of Fertility in their very city. The sound of light footsteps crept into his consciousness, bringing him back to the present setting. He turned, standing up straight. Sintas bowed respectfully.
"Rabine."
Saturna nodded. "Greetings, Greenkeeper. We have a report to discuss, I presume?"
Sintas smiled, nodding. She held out the cloth-wrapped report to him, grateful for his kind demeanor after dealing with Fandral.
"Yes, it's the most recent report of Outland for your consideration. A letter from Ysiel is enclosed as well."
Saturna smiled. "Good, good. How is the Expedition doing out there?"
"Surviving, thriving now that many threats have been eliminated. There are pockets of naga here and there, but nothing they can't handle."
Another nod from Saturna. "Glad to hear good news." He began untying the report's bindings. "I'll read through this, contact who I need to. I don't want to keep you long. I'm sure the Archdruid keeps you busy."
Sintas frowned. "Actually, he didn't seem to have another assignment lined up, as he usually does. He simply said to come meet with him after I finished speaking with you."
Saturna raised a brow. "That seems a bit uncharacteristic of him. But perhaps it's important. If that's the case, you should return to him immediately."
Sintas nodded, stepping over to the railing. "Thank you for your time, sir."
Calling on the spirit of the storm crow, Sintas grew feathers as her armor and staff melded to her body. She shrank slightly, arms elongating and legs shortening as her body transformed fully into the dark grey form of a storm crow. She preened a couple of her feathers, then leapt from the railing, gliding low above the lake. Beating her wings, she climbed into the air, circling a few times as she ascended above the lake. Her sharp eyes set on the giant "island" to the west, the rest of her form following her gaze, gliding through the cool air.

Fandral paced quietly within his chamber, eyes glancing about, scrutinizing his surroundings. He strode quickly to a table, adjusting the magical artifact upon it to the center of the table.
He reached a hand up to smooth his moss-green mane, concerned that it might have become tangled during his pacing. He mused with himself for a moment, recalling that her hair was never out of place. If a strand were to jut out at any strange angle, though, he probably wouldn't have noticed it. He wondered how she accomplished anything while appearing so... Perfect.
A knock at his door. For once, Fandral was slightly startled. He strode over to the door, opening it.
A young messenger looked up at him, holding up a folded note. "Message for you, Archdruid."
Fandral scowled, snatching the note away. He reached into a bowl by the door and flicked a piece of silver from it to the messenger, closing the door again. Turning from the door, he unfolded the note bearing the seal of the high priestess.

Archdruid Fandral Staghelm,
You are reminded of the council meeting in two days time, to be on September third. You are expected to bring one representative from your respective group to meet concerning a matter of great--

Fandral tossed the note aside, rolling his eyes.
"Yes, Tyrande, I don't like the highborn either. Let's discuss something new next time, such as your lack of leadership, or your silly policies concerning--"
Another knock at the door.
Fandral spun around, stopping himself as he gripped the handle to let out a sigh, expelling the disgust the note brought him. He twisted the handle.
Sintas waved to him, blinking a bit at his still scowling face.
"Is something the matter, Fandral?"
He shook his head quickly, wiping away the expression. "No, not at all. Come in, I've matters to discuss with you."
She nodded, stepping into the room.
"I trust Saturna is well and received your report?"
Sintas nodded. "Yes, he said--"
"Good. There is an event soon I'd like you to attend with me." Fandral winced slightly, displeased with his speed of reaching his point.
Sintas nodded again. "I see. What is it?"
Determined to extend her time spent in his presence, Fandral shifted his jaw slightly. "A council meeting. I've been asked to bring my best representative along with me. That would be you."
She blinked, raising a brow. "I see--"
"And I would be terribly displeased if you did not attend."
Sintas frowned. "Yes, I understa--"
"It will be the third of September. Your calendar is clear on that day, I trust. I can't imagine you have any other--"
Sintas' hand shot up quickly to slap over Fandral's mouth, pressing on it.
"Fandral. Silence yourself a moment. If you would, I'd let you know that I wholeheartedly accept your invitation."
He blinked, taking her hand from his mouth. "Good. Well."
The two druids watched each other a moment. Sintas, to be sure he had no other attempts at assuring her attendance. Fandral, to figure out what she would do next after such a moment of spontaneity.
Sintas sighed. Fandral let her hand free of his grip.
"So..."
"Yes, Fandral?"
"You are able to attend on the--"
"Yes, Fandral."
Fandral shrugged his shoulders a bit, resettling his feathered spaulders. "Good. I shall expect you at the temple, then. Midnight."
Sintas quirked her brow. "Midnight? But the council meets an hour after that. You don't need to give me an hour to arrive, I'll get there on time."
He patted her head. "You were late to meet with me. I would hope the council would be important enough for you to arrive on time, but I can't be sure."
Sintas reached up, taking hold of his hand and lifting it away from her head. He frowned, looking at her questioningly.
"Don't do that."
"Why not?"
"It reminds me of someone."
He nodded. "My apologies... Might I ask who?"
She shook her head.
"I'd prefer that you don't, no."
Fandral looked around the room for a moment. What to do, what to do...
"Ah. Sintas. You are an enchantress, yes?"
Sintas nodded.
"Good. Come here a moment, I'd like you to tell me what you think about this artifact."
Fandral led her over to a table, opening the lacquer box on it. Inside glimmered a white gold, twisted pendant on a chain of matching metal. Sintas eyed the pendant curiously, reaching in to slide her fingertips along its smooth surface.
"What is this?"
Fandral lifted the pendant by its chain. "It is a gift to Tyrande from the highborn of Eldre'thalas. They hope to dazzle her with their magics and amulets to get a share of Darnassus for themselves."
Sintas nodded. "Ah. You're suspicious, I presume."
He frowned. "Bah. You say that as though it's unfounded. I'd like for you to check this pendant for any unsavory spellwork."
She nodded, lifting her enchanting rod from its loop on her belt. "Very well."
Raising the rod over the pendant, she held her free hand under the pendant. The crystal focus of the rod, a perfect spike of Draenethyst, glimmered, picking up on the enchantments of the pendant. Slowly, bits of silvery light slipped out of the pendant, expanding into runes floating in the air. Sintas eyed each rune carefully, waving them aside one by one. Fandral watched closely. The glow of the runes, softly alighting her features. Each curve of her face lit as though a crescent--
The glowing stopped abruptly as Sintas nodded. "It's fine. There aren't any I was unable to identify, and they really are beneficial. Things such as memory charms. There were two of those... Oh, and a beauty charm." She smiled, placing her rod back on her belt. "Nothing to worry about with it. I'd say it's safe."
Fandral nodded. "Hrm. That's good. I suppose."
Sintas rolled her eyes. "You and Tyrande. Who needs the highborn to divide us?"
He quickly pointed to her, expression hardening into his usual scowl. "As though my distaste for that woman is unfounded! Bah!" He tossed his hands up. "Do you know how far we've come with her in charge? We haven't moved an inch since Stormrage left!"
Sintas frowned. "Look, Fandral, you're in control of a different part of the night elf forces. You don't have the same--"
"Vision! She lacks it! All we've done is give ground to the Horde in the name of peace! What kind of peace is it when we lose more and more of Ashenvale to the barbarians?"
Sintas glared at him. "Fandral, you really need to figure out a better use of your time than to dream up reasons you're more suited to rule than Tyrande. After all, she is a witness to the tragedy of--"
"I don't CARE how many more years she has than me!" he snarled back, lips tight. "Is it my mistake that I was born on a certain date? No! Experience..." He spat. "All it means is a person has had more time to make the same mistakes repeatedly than another given person!"
Sintas frowned.
"By that logic, you don't trust me at all."
Fandral blinked. "What? No, I trust you."
She set her hands on her hips. "That doesn't make sense, Fandral."
He blinked again.
She sighed. "September third?"
Fandral nodded. "Imperative that you arrive."
"Of course."
Sintas turned, stepping over to the door. She turned the lock and twisted the handle, stepping out. Before closing the door, however, she looked back to Fandral.
"By the way, do I have an assignment or not?"
He thought for a moment. Sintas smirked; she received more assignments from the top of his head than any actual reasoning.
"Yes. Go see what the highborn are up to right now. They're lodged in the inn."
"Report back to you?"
"Indeed. Don't introduce yourself." He looked her over a bit. "And perhaps change into something less... obvious of druidism."
Sintas nodded. "Of course."
She closed the door behind her.

The sounds of shouting men met Sintas' ears as she strode towards the inn, peering to the entrance. Two males stood by the inn's door; one with white hair tied back in a ponytail and wearing a brilliant blue robe with bright purple embroidery, the other with loose blue hair and a brown leather kilt, lacking both a shirt and shoes.
Though from the looks of their conversation, they may as well have been coyotes with their hackles raised, as far as Sintas was concerned. She watched as the kilted man shoved the man in blue, and the victim's lack of physical response. She sighed.
"Children. What are we fighting about?"
The kilted man whipped around to stare at Sintas.
"Children? You equate their age-old exile being breached to a child's fit?!" He growled. "Has everyone forgotten but me? Feh!" He stomped away, casting an indignant glare over his shoulder.
The man in blue looked to Sintas with relief. "Thank you, my lady... He was becoming rather violent."
Sintas nodded. "Did he simply recognize what you are?"
The man sighed. "Yes... We had hoped to come here without much incident, but... Alas, we knew we hoped for too much." He smiled. "How rude of me. My name is Farran. And yourself?"
Sintas fought the urge to bite her lip as she remembered Fandral's order: Do not introduce yourself. She smiled a bit instead, nodding.
"Ah. You may call me Sint."
Farren nodded, smiling. "Well. I'm glad a local came to my rescue, then."
Sintas smiled back. "Of course." She shifted her weight. "So, what's there to do? You haven't had an audience with the high priestess yet, have you?"
Farren sighed. "Yes. We've all been preparing for that day thus far. Statements, displays of our worth, that sort of business. A lovely lady such as yourself probably wouldn't be interested in the boring exchanges of politics, though." He grinned a bit. "So bore you I will not. Would you care to step inside for a bit of drink, though? Perhaps some conversation?"
Slimy twit, she thought. She merely shook her head, smiling shyly. "Oh, no, I have other places to be, unfortunately... Perhaps some other time."
Farren nodded, visibly disappointed. "I see. Of course. I wouldn't want to keep a fine woman from her duties."
The two elves exchanged parting words, leaving their separate ways; Farren, to the inn, and Sintas, back to Staghelm.

Fandral found himself busily pacing again, awaiting the knock that would startle him. He had enjoyed being surprised for once, much unlike the usual routine of scheduled appointments.
And of course, no disasters. Never reported to him, at least. Even news of the Wrathgate and the Battle of the Undercity had reached him slowly.
Ah, to have the respect and admiration of Shan'do Stormrage... Then everything would be different. Then, Tyrande would listen to him. He would have a voice for once. Most of all, he could cast aside the wench's opinion as easily as she did to his. With that kind of respect, my, he could even shun the simpleton tauren from the Circle. A true accomplishment; something that would set him apart as bold, as useful. He looked around his chamber: a few tables with benches, a chest of drawers. Hanging from the ceiling, two mobiles. Certainly, everything in the room had significance, but he felt something was not... Well, just not good enough. Not good enough for...
Fandral sank down onto a bench. Why now? Why did this have to strike him now? During what could be the greatest political decision made since the exile of the Quel'dorei, his mind had to be a flurry of thoughts. And none of them happened to relate to the issues at hand.
Though they were issues. His issues. For the first time in ages, his thoughts were allowed to shift to himself. Not the Circle's problems, not Nighthaven's whining, not the Expedition, not the Silithid...
The Silithid.
Fandral shuddered, lowering his head into his hands. The Silithid. Of all the evil in the world that he had faced, none could stand at level with the hatred, the contempt he felt for them.
Memories began to flash through his mind, the kind of memories that haunted him before sleep. Sun. Sand. An army, looking to him for direction. Dragons, uncaring, unemotional, arrogant. Scarabs, wasps, statues of obsidian brought to life by foul, ancient magics.
A young elf, growing close to his own size, his head covered by a slick sheet of moss-colored hair, secured tightly in a long tail. Smiling, reassuring.
Ripped in half before his father's eyes.
A massive, laughing general. Claws dripping with the elven blood of Fandral's beloved son.
His hands clenched into fists, gripping strands of his hair tightly. It was too much. Too much for him, too much for anyone, too damned much to live with.
And before that. His wife, the mother of Valstann. Fate had traded him a wonderful son in exchange for a wonderful wife. Valstann had been the last bit of his love he had left, the last reminder of her face.
He focused his mind on that memory. Her slender features, laughing eyes, her respect for him. He smiled to himself. Ah, but she would fight him at times. They didn't always agree. But they felt stronger for it.
Her beautiful face. Full lips, but not by too much. They looked as though they could speak, not just look admirable. Long, flowing hair, the color of spring leaves--
What? He blinked. No... Her hair had been... He couldn't recall. So long ago, but that color stood out to him. Why that color? Why not the color of his son's hair? They had been similar, hadn't they? He sighed. Replacing his wife's hair color was a simple mistake after such a great amount of time, but that specific color--
Sintas.
That was it. That was her color. He recalled his wife once more, straining his memory. But her hair was always that spring leaf color. It wasn't right... That wasn't her. Perhaps it was simply the frequency at which he met Sintas. It had been daily, at the very least weekly for years now. She was a good druid; talented, hard working, and didn't question her assignments too much. He smirked. Too much, yes. She did question them often, though. But they hadn't had that many rows concerning her duties. Obviously, if she disagreed too much, he would have replaced her by now with someone more complacent, someone easier to work with. But at least she asked intelligent questions and was able to put up a good argument. Fandral liked that. The assumption was, and he was well aware, that he enjoyed exerting his forceful personality on others. While it wasn't the opposite, he did feel as though it was too easy to do so. The least the other person could do was put up a fight. And yet, even with his ability to dominate a situation, he still felt he rarely got his way. Tyrande always found some way of undermining him, of forcing some flaw into his judgment.
A knock at the door. Fandral looked to the door, standing from the bench. He smoothed down his hair, then unlocked the door, opening it.
Sintas nodded to Fandral. "I spied on the highborn, like you asked."
He raised a brow. Where had she gotten this dress? He had never even seen her wear it in Darnassus when she was going to or from her house.
He blinked, then nodded. "Ah. Yes. Tell me what you learned." He ushered her in, closing the door behind her. His finger flicked the lock switch to be sure it locked upon closure. Reliably it had.
Sintas shrugged. "There was a man accosting one of them when I arrived. I split them up, asked the highborn what he was up to. He said they were simply preparing for the audience with Tyrande." Fandral's lip twitched, about to scowl. "And you, of course." His lip moved no further. Sintas sighed. "I don't think they're up to anything. I honestly think they're going to be cautious this time about what they do." She shrugged. "That's all, really. He invited me in, but I told him I was busy."
Fandral nodded. "Good. I'm glad they don't think they could simply walk into Darnassus and expect welcome. Feh..." His eyes flickered to her dress. "I've never seen you wear that before."
Sintas frowned. "Fandral, we don't exactly hang out."
"Hang out?"
"You know... Socialize."
He rolled his eyes. "Humans and their slang. You've spent too much time in the Eastern Kingdoms, obviously." Sintas frowned, opening her mouth to speak. Fandral interrupted quickly. "But it does look fine on you."
She raised her brow. "Just fine?"
"Er... Lovely, then. What adjective do you want?"
She smiled. "I'm kidding. So, what next? Any more paranoid missions for me?"
He rubbed his beard, thinking... "Well, if they're all just sitting in the inn... Then no. I suppose not." He looked at her a moment, locked in her gaze. Her eyes were pretty, really. A nice shape, evenly spaced, level with each other perfectly. The silvery irises glinted with amber occasionally--
He grabbed her arms, staring into her eyes further. Sintas yelped, startled.
"F-Fandral?"
He squinted. "Your eyes. Something just happened."
She raised a brow. "What? Is there a bit of something in one? I don't feel anything, but--"
He took hold of her chin, keeping her head still as he continued to stare. There it was again, another glint of amber. He pulled back, letting go of her chin and loosing his grip on her arm. "Your eyes... If I watch closely, I see... Just small flickers of amber." He frowned. "Have they always been this way?"
She blinked, brows raised. "I... I don't know. I haven't noticed anything... But I don't look in mirrors often, so--"
He pressed his thumbs onto her forehead, patting around above her eyebrows. She sighed. "Fandral, what on earth are you doing..."
He pulled his hands from her forehead, bringing one up to rub his beard. "There aren't any nubs..."
Sintas frowned. "Nubs?"
Fandral nodded. "Yes. Nubs. Buds of antlers."
"Why would I have any?"
He looked at her with disbelief. "The symbol of divinity, of course! But they aren't present, so perhaps--"
"No, I mean why would I have antlers at all? I'm female."
He paused. "...Ah."
She folded her arms. Great, now she was offended. Or annoyed. Possibly both.
"Right. Well. Wait and see, I suppose. I don't know of anything else to really do, of course..."
A heavy knock on the door startled Sintas, her attention whipping around to the door. Fandral stepped over to the door, unlocking and opening it.
The comparably large and heavily clad Broll Bearmantle looked into the room. He glanced from Fandral, to Sintas, and back again. "...Apologies. Is this a bad time, Archdruid?"
Fandral smirked. "No. It's not. Care to lend your opinion for a moment?"
Broll raised a brow. "Not often you ask for my opinion... Of course. What is it?" He cast another uncertain glance at Sintas, obviously wondering what a regularly dressed woman was doing in the chamber of the Archdruid.
Fandral motioned to Sintas. "Her eyes are developing into amber. I'd like to know what you think this means."
"Really now?" Broll stepped over to Sintas, of whom was feeling quite small at this point compared to the two massive elves in the room with her. Broll gazed into her eyes for a moment, then reached his thumbs to her forehead as well, pressing in above her eyebrows. His own antlers nearly poked her on a few occasions. He frowned. "So there's no nubs on her, eh?"
Sintas rolled her eyes. "I already told Fandral. A female wouldn't likely have antlers."
Broll straightened his posture, nodding. "A good point." He looked to Fandral. "But not why I'm here. Fandral. I'd like my idol returned to me."
Fandral shifted a bit, glancing to Sintas. He gestured for her to sit on the bench, guiding Broll to the other side of the room.
Sintas watched, frowning. Left out yet again. It was usually this way, when there were two male druids in the room with a female druid. The females were later on in druid training, so they were generally considered less important in discussions. She frowned. No, not less important. Less respected. That fit more to the reality of the matter. She returned her attention to the two men discussing Broll's idol. Broll stepped away, looking at Fandral with a sigh.
"I still don't see what you want with it. But fine, it's safe with you, that's true. You won't be keeping it forever, though. I'll need it back eventually."
Fandral nodded. "Yes, I know. But there's much to still be learned from it."
Broll snorted. "It's possible we're not to learn all of its secrets. A gift of trust from the green dragonflight, if you will."
Fandral nodded. "I see. I'll be careful, as always."
Broll nodded. He didn't look particularly pleased. "Right." He stepped to the door, then paused, looking back to Fandral. "Ah. Also, the council is meeting soon, aren't they?"
Fandral nodded. "On the third."
Broll thought for a moment. "Hrm. If you ever need my advice during one of those meetings... Don't hesitate to ask."
Fandral nodded again. "I'll keep you in mind, then. I've already a representative to bring with me this month." He gestured to Sintas.
Broll blinked a few times, then gave a slow nod. "Ohh... Heh. I see." He smirked. "Good advice. Indeed. Evening to you two." He twisted the handle of the door, frowning.
"Ah, it locks when closed," Sintas offered.
Broll clicked the lock, then opened the door. "Hrm. Thanks." He stepped outside, closing the door behind him.
Sintas sat on the bench a moment, drumming her fingers lightly. She sighed, getting up. "Well. I'll be off, then. Nothing more for me to do here."
Fandral frowned. "Er, wait. Sintas."
She turned, looking to him questioningly. "Yes?"
He paused, biting the inner side of his lip. "...I was thinking earlier today. Ah."
She nodded, listening.
He reached up, smoothing his hair. "Well." He coughed, sighing. "Do you think I should try for another mate?"
Sintas raised a brow. "Oh. Well... If you want to, then yes, go ahead." She smiled.
He smiled back. "You're sure? I know it isn't terribly common."
She nodded. "Mmhm. If you feel your life is lacking something, and that's what you're missing, then I don't see any reason not to."
Sintas checked the table by the door to be sure she hadn't forgotten a stack of papers, as she had once before. Fandral watched her, then sighed, lowering his head. Sintas looked back, blinking.
"Fandral?"
"Hrm..."
Sintas walked over to him gingerly. She wasn't sure of what to make of his indecipherable grunt, but such an uncertain sound coming from someone so proud was never a good sign.
She looked up at him. His eyes were closed, mouth set in a slight frown. She looked to the side, then back up to him. He reached out and embraced her tightly. Sintas let out a small yelp in surprise, her face heating up.
This... she thought, This isn't like him. I've never even seen him hug... Anyone. Or show affection, for that matter. Sure, a smile here and there. But... Oh my. Her mind buzzed with thought, most of it flying by too quickly for her to even consider. But one thing was there for her, staying put: him. It wasn't unusual for druid men to be shirtless. That was nearly a tradition. She was used to bare chests, and paid little mind to it. But how well she could hear--no, feel his heartbeat. She felt so small; he always towered over her, and everyone else for that matter, but she felt little more significant in size than a doll. His scent was apparent to her, as well. She had become accustomed to the aged wooden smell of his chamber, as well as his breath during the times when their discussions would escalate to arguments. His body, however, was an entirely different smell. It reminded her of the woods, of the animals. He smelled... Feral. But clean. He didn't smell dirty, not at all.
She slowly realized, through the haze created by this dizzying array of sensations and thoughts, that her arms were still at her sides. She was still stiffened by surprise, unsure of the next step to take. This wasn't bad... There was nothing wrong with this kind of attention. Still, Sintas debated with herself. Hug him back? What would happen after that?
She closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around his waist. Her hands clasped behind his back at first, then released, setting themselves flat on his skin. The end of his mane of hair brushed against her fingers.

Fandral stood stoically, arms wrapped around Sintas as though he were guarding her from some unseen enemy. Though he knew that was the way any observer would see it, he knew why he held her; if he didn't, her parting would have come sooner. The loneliness, the echoing silence of the chamber before his own departure, he couldn't have taken it. Not tonight. Not after his worst memories forced their way to the front of his mind. His mate... His son... His head lowered, shoulders slumping as he pressed his lips to her head. He had declared long ago, at the end of the War of the Shifting Sands, that he would have his son back. Back before he had had a chance to mourn, to think, to try getting through outliving his son. He was so angry. And who wouldn't be? He felt justified...
And yet, despite his losses, despite his mourning, he now felt as though a part of his heart had started to heal. Finally, after so long, he held someone in his arms. Someone he cared for enough to expose himself in his vulnerable mood. He had forgotten this sensation; this sense of another person in the same place as him, not just occupying space near him. He felt finally that someone was with him. Not near him, not by him, not against him. With him. And he hadn't simply forced anyone into such a situation. Sintas had given him her reply. She held him, too. Did she need him?
She pulled back, sliding her arms back from around his waist. Her eyes were downcast as she offered a quick bow, flicking the lock on the door, twisting the handle, and stepping out.
Fandral stood in the chamber, staring at the door. The silence of the room overtook him, pressing in on his eardrums. Stepping quietly to the wall opposite the door, his head stayed low. Suddenly, he drew his fist back and slammed it into the wall.
The wall did not give. His hand was broken.

Sintas changed out of her dress into a simple nightgown, sliding into bed. She sighed, realizing she had forgotten to ask about a new assignment.
How could she even think about that? There was something more pertinent to figure out. Why had he embraced her? It wasn't at all like him to do such a thing. He had been emotionally removed from just about everyone, other than anger from his flaring temper.
The council meeting was in two days. She knew she would return after tonight to him, to collect an assignment. It would definitely be awkward, to say the least. But she wouldn't bring it up. It was out of line to question him to begin with, so trying to delve into a personal matter of his would be a mistake. There was no telling what his mood would be tomorrow, and she didn't want to take any chances. She trusted he wouldn't overreact.
Well. Not enough to hurt her, at least.
She recalled the bang she had heard upon leaving. Whether he had knocked something over on accident or on purpose, she didn't know. Or had he even knocked something over?
Sintas, you worry yourself too much, she thought. He's been alone for a long time. This is a good thing, him showing he's not completely lost to anger. She closed her eyes, rolling from side to side to wrap the covers around her. Yes. It was a good thing.
She was falling, slowly. She passed through layers and layers of the world, thousands of years of trial and error flying by. She was light as a feather, but falling like a rock. No, not falling. She was drawn to the ground. As soon as she reached it, she fell through it. So it continued, seemingly for ages. Layers. Layers. Layers.
She sighed. It would not happen. Not tonight. She might as well just wake up, pull herself from the transfer. It had taken too long already. She would not be allowed in. She wasn't particularly disappointed, since it was so dangerous. She was better off just staying out.
She reached for the tether to pull herself back to her body.
But... Why did it take so long to get a grip on it this time?
Sintas woke slowly, each of her senses eventually returning to life, rejoining her awareness. Her ears picked up the sounds of birds and water, wind rustling the trees. The confused, fluid thoughts of dreams began to slow and harden into understandable images. She realized her feet were cold, kicking them a bit to pull the blanket back over them. Her mouth tasted funny; it always did upon awakening, though.
Traveling down the road from Darnassus, she reached the Pools of Arlithrien. The pools were fairly obvious and in-sight for the most part, but taller brush had grown up around one of them. A sapling had sprung up next to the pool. Sintas looked up at its branches, saw no clothes hanging, then knocked on its slick bark twice. No reply came from the water, so she proceeded into the brush, sliding out of her robe and into the water.
Resting back against the shore, she looked up at the canopy of trees above her, nestled so comfortably, intertwining each others' branches.

Fandral was angry. He was usually angry, but this time, he had only himself to direct his rage at. But he had no time to sit alone to fight it out; a representative of Nighthaven was present and speaking to him of matters of utmost importance, undoubtedly. He didn't care much. They constantly pestered him. Why are we doing this? Why aren't we doing that? Bah, he thought. One day per week, I'd like a day away from these ambassadors. It's bad enough we've lost our immortality...