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 mate, the mother of Valstann. Fate had traded him a wonderful son in exchange for a wonderful mate. 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 mate'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 mate 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 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 looked up at him. "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 Remulos, 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 glanced 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.
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