#aegnas

Like many times in their long undeath, when they finally ran into each other, it was surrounded by the dead.

Aegnas walked back and forth through the small graveyard outside of Darkshire, running his hand over the name on each headstone. He peered to look at each name after the dirt was dislodged from the stone. He was looking for a particular name, but he had no idea which of the many graveyards in Duskwood held the mage...or whether he was elsewhere entirely. There were also a great many graves outside of Karazhan itself that would have held those important to the sorcerer Medivh...

Jairius didn't bother hiding his approach. Bane's armor and reins jingled, Jairius's armor made a heavy noise as he dismounted, and his heavy footfalls approached Aegnas directly. It was like approaching a spectre of his past. There, looking over tombstones as if it were an afternoon shopping in Stormwind, was the elf who'd pushed him sometimes harder than Instructor Razuvious himself. The one whose body he'd seen crushed and broken at the foot of the citadel amidst the bones of the frostwyrm he'd been riding. The one whose blades Jairius's brother Aradrius now possessed. He reached up to grasp the hilt of his sword, then forced himself to let go. Perhaps Aegnas would be reasonable.

Aegnas's ear twitched and he looked behind him as Jairius grew closer. Then his eyes narrowed. "You know better than to pursue me alone, Jairius, even on the Master's orders. Don't think I won't send you back to him in pieces if you interfere."

In response, Jairius tapped the tabard he wore over his armor, black with a golden tree, the same symbol Aely wore over her armor. "I'm not here on his orders, Aegnas. He's been dead here a long time. The Helm has been destroyed now for years, so I don't even answer to his successor."

Aegnas stopped short at that, looking Jairius over again more closely at that. Unlike the energy he'd felt from a distance from the blades that were unmistakably his but not, the blade Jairius bore was well fed...better even than the one Jairius bore in his own timeline, where living opponents were becoming more and more rare as time went on. The armor was new, ornate, but it accentuated how much wider and more physically powerful the human was than his elven counterpart. There were lines on Jairius's face that didn't exist on the one from his timeline, lines of worry, of stress, that the knight dedicated to Arthas's domination didn't face. Aegnas narrowed his eyes. This was Jairius, but not. "I...see. If you're not here on his order, then whose order are you here on? I know you, Jairius. I can't believe even an alternate version of you would live without serving someone."

"I help protect Duskwood, Aegnas. Among other places. The world is a different place than it was when the Master lost in Northrend. We have no shortage of enemies." Jairius eyed Aegnas carefully. The elf paced back and forth in front of him like a hungry tiger, and Jairius realized that was exactly what he was. Hungry, caged, like a beast. Behaving for now, but barely, as his appetite and boredom grew. "That's something I thought you would have figured out by now."

"Perhaps I did. But with your own people so lost and pathetic, do you expect me to hunt the dregs that they should be feeding from when I don't require such frequent engagements? Besides, I want a meal, not the pathetic things sneaking about here. I want to fight. I want to watch someone fight for their life and think they've won, only to realize their life is spilling out onto the cold ground as the Plague ravages their body."

Jairius looked beyond him to the cluster of graves. "I know you didn't come to a graveyard for that, Aegnas. What are you doing here?"

Aegnas looked over his shoulder at the graves. Each name cleaned off and visible. None of them the correct one. "I'm looking for someone. I need a time rift sealed, and I can't find the dragon who was doing it. I know there were powerful sorcerers around here, attracted to Medivh and his father. I have names from records in the town hall. I just need to find them. And force them to help. I'm not going back, Jairius. Given the choice...I like not being a puppet. It's been a very, very long time since I was alone with my thoughts, without his voice spurring me on in the back off my mind, and I find I love the silence."

Jairius eyed the elf carefully. Aegnas was as serious as he'd ever seen him. And different. Something was... "The Torch has freed your mind, at least for the time being. Is that it?"

"I think so. That's what Sascha said. I should be angry, but I didn't even know that was possible. I suppose I should have been paying better attention when Lord Uther told us all things were possible with the Light." He smirked. Typical of him. He also drew his runeblades and raised them to a ready position. Not defensive, no. Ready to attack, pure offense. Just as he did in that long ago time when they both served the Lich King.

Jairius didn't draw his blade, no matter how much all of his instincts demanded he answer the unspoken challenge. "I suppose we'll find out how genuine you are, then. Know this, Aegnas. If you betray anyone in Duskwood, I will not rest until I rip out your heart. And I think you understand now, based on Duskwood's unique characteristics, just how much I mean that threat."

Aegnas just raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Frostsworn. Do you still go by that name?"

Jairius froze. "...yes. Yes I do."

"And do you mean it? Would you take orders, if they were given genuinely?"

Jairius sighed. "I'm very different, now, Aegnas. But yes. As long as you mean no harm to those under my protection, I will be content to follow your lead. I'm sure Adahlissa will be happy to have you at our hearth."

Oh man.

He’d probably just check in with higher-ups if they were actually legit; I have a headcanon that every Ebon Knight is “registered” in Acherus as a way of distinguishing them from Scourge and as a form of accountability for any actions they take. If they’ve not made at least some attempt to get in touch with them, even if they never associate with them afterward, they’re considered a rogue death knight and a potential Cult of the Damned operative.

So he’d not do anything outright hostile because he knows the Lich King’s death let a few break free, but he might try to find out who they are because the last thing the Horde needs is someone doing covert Scourge work in its ranks. The enemy of his enemy is not, in fact, his friend.

"Damn.."

Traejan still had his weight resting on his runeblade which was plunged deeply through the chest of the corpse slumped against his shoulder. He was bleeding where nails had torn at the flesh of his face and neck, a last futile effort to fight back before the end.

“Damn you. Damn you both for making me have to do this..” His voice was thick with emotion, catching in his throat as he reached a hand up to push the body back against the wall. Aegnas’ head hung limply, his eyes open and unseeing.

"We’ve been over this time and time again, haven’t we? You’re the responsible one and I’m the one that fucks up. You weren’t supposed to give in..”

Traejan closed his eyes, bowing his head until his forehead met Aegnas’.

"But you know I would have done the same, if it were Vittani. I promise you, she won’t suffer.."

He withdrew the blade and slowly lowered the other death knight to the ground. It was time to go and send the Mad Queen off to be reunited with her King. Aegnas had followed her, even in this, and so Traejan had no doubt they’d manage to find each other on the other side somehow. He wore a hardened expression as he turned away and made for the Queen’s chamber beyond.

Maybe it had always meant more to him than the others, even though they had once said that they were like a family in their own strange way.

Would they miss it as much as he knew he would?

Penned half in Draconic (bold) and half in Thalassian, messy, with dots of red like wine had hit the page.

-----

I remember the days when I could so very convincingly talk an angry person down from their cliff of rage. I remember when I was the mediator, and I could influence people with kind words and peaceful resolution. But as things grow more personal in my daily life, I realize such things become more and more difficult.

It brought me to a realization of course... This is obviously why I don't have any friends.

I mean friends in the traditional sense.

I've never had people I met with every day, people I could spend talking the day away with. People I spent time with since I was a kid that I could say I grew up with. When I was young I was left by myself, left to my own devices and stuck in bed or locked inside, or guarded every day because I wasn't allowed to leave the property. As a student I was wholly focused on studies and training, wanting to overcome the constraints my father insisted I would be bound with for my life. It meant I had no one else to concern myself with. As a servant I was bound by honour to make nice with those whose life had guided them down the same path as me. I made friends with people like Northaras and Tahlran and even Imrinde, out of obligation (or a sense of it), and less due to the fact that we truly got along as people. Perhaps that's why I stayed friends with Tahlran, even after we broke up.

Imrinde blossomed into true friendship, and then my weakness had to be the reason she died.

It's not that I don't treasure those friendships as much as others, but I've always hoped to bond with someone for a greater reason than the guardship of our Masters and Mistresses and the lands of Azeroth.

I've had a thousand acquaintences, brief friendships, or the kind of bond where I've only ever had to report once every ten years. Those were easy. Soothing the hurt in people then was simple because I was entirely objective in my reasoning. I could talk to both parties and understand the problem and bring them to understanding terms with one another. Now that it's personal, I'm a mess. I spoke for Rose when I shouldn't have, I sent Aegnas storming off from the home.

I can't handle friends like this, not when I botch it. It's days like this I miss my servitude. I hate being wrong, I hate being the one to screw things up.

I don't want to be responsible for placing salt in wounds and ruining bonds between people.