14. A Day of Confusion

Fenuviel squinted against the heat of the giant forge that earned Ironforge its name. The orange light glinted off of his crimson armor and lit up his face. For a moment he paused, catching his reflection in the polished surface of the railing. He truly looked grand in that light, and so far changed from the miserable boy Shagrath had saved in the woods. He was no longer angry at his master for all the pain he had caused him. He couldn’t really be, anyway, for all that pain had inevitably brought him to power, and more importantly, happiness. Happiness that he would not give up for anything, even to change the past. For a moment Fenuviel thought he saw Shagrath standing ahead of him in front of one of the many stone houses, and had to smirk, chiding himself inwardly for imagining such. With a jerk he came to a halt, realizing that it wasn’t a hallucination. Fenuviel took a moment to puzzle over this. It had been some time since anyone had seen Shagrath, and still he did not hear Shagrath’s voice amongst the others of their dark choir. It was as though he could not hear them either. And so, Fenuviel approached him.

Shagrath gazed blankly ahead of him; his eyes were dull, as though he looked at the building ahead of him without actually focusing on it. Fenuviel leaned slightly to catch a better glimpse of Shagrath’s face, or perhaps hoped that leaning into his view would alert the older Elf of his presence. There was no reaction. Fenuviel licked his lips nervously before speaking.
“…Master?”
Shagrath turned slowly, his gaze falling upon Fenuviel and yet showing no recognition. He stared at his apprentice for a while before blinking, his eyes widening suddenly as though in surprise. This in turn surprised Fenuviel, though most things regarding Shagrath did surprise him these days, or at the very least, confused him.
“Fen… Fenuviel…?” Shagrath responded, his voice quiet, almost broken. Weak. Tired. Frightened? Fenuviel looked away for a moment and then back, nodding slowly.
“Yes… it is I, master,” he answered with an arch of a brow, and then more quietly, with a hint of concern, “Are you alright, master?” But Shagrath did not respond, merely echoed the question.
“Are… are you alright?” he asked. It took a moment for Fenuviel to realize that Shagrath meant it, looking up to find his master’s gaze upon him. He blinked in surprise. Concern was something Shagrath had never shown for him or his wellbeing. If he could stand and walk, it was enough. And as far as his happiness went… well, it only mattered so long as it kept him loyal to Shagrath. There were no genuine feelings.
“I… don’t see a reason why I shouldn’t be alright, master,” Fenuviel answered with a brief, faint hint of a smirk, still disbelieving. He kept waiting for Shagrath’s expression to harden, for him to laugh, or swat him. Anything. Shagrath raised a hand. There, that was it. But he didn’t try to strike Fenuviel; instead he reached out for his cheek in an almost tender gesture, but stopped at the last moment, his hand dropping to his side weakly. Fenuviel froze, drawing in a breath and holding it. For an instant he wanted to reach out and snatch Shagrath’s hand; press it to his cheek. He lifted a hand at least to catch Shagrath’s, but it had already fallen. And instead of a cold laugh, Shagrath’s face twisted into a look of pain, trying to speak and failing, looking down instead.
“I… I’m…” Shagrath stammered quietly. Fenuviel swallowed, trying to let out the breath he had been holding as quietly as possible, reaching out tentatively to place a hand on Shagrath’s shoulder, close to his neck so as to avoid the spiked shoulder pads. It was perhaps the most he had ever touched Shagrath, when it had not come to blows. His thumb moved slightly towards Shagrath’s neck, but he stopped himself abruptly. He could almost caress it. He forced himself to speak instead.
“Master, what is wrong?” Fenuviel murmured quietly, but insistent. Obviously Shagrath was not himself; even a fool could see it. But he had never seen pain in Shagrath before, or such a look of… regret? Remorse? What was it? The older Elf closed his eyes tightly for a brief moment before looking up at him, his voice shaking.
“Do you… do you think… t-that you can ever…” he spoke only just above a whisper before his face twisted in a look of agony, his eyes closing tightly as he hung his head again, the last words falling from his lips as barely a whisper, ‘…forgive me…?’

Fenuviel froze again, staring in shock at Shagrath. He couldn’t begin to fathom how or why Shagrath could ask this of him. There was a time where Fenuviel had considered himself wronged by Shagrath, hated him with a passion, and wanted to be released from him. Shagrath had made it clear he did not want forgiveness or even think that it should be asked of him. He had believed he was helping Fenuviel, and Fenuviel now saw it himself, and believed it too. His lips parted to speak, but all he could do was sigh. This was like no side of his master that he had ever seen before. This was something… human. Repentant. The pain upon his face was undeniably genuine, as strange as it seemed to Fenuviel, and he wanted nothing more than to hug the elder Elf, to comfort him, and tell him he wasn’t angry. But something held him back. He longed to hold him, gently, to truly feel something. Something else, something forbidden, not allowed. For being in Shagrath’s presence was as though he watched him from behind the bars of a cage. They walked and talked, but there was a barrier still, only broken when he had provoked Shagrath’s rage enough to earn the touch of his fist against his own face. But a true embrace… such affection would surely have earned him a blow if Shagrath were in his right mind. But despite his own desire, the change, the pain on the other Elf’s face, it was still Shagrath. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, but instead lifted his hands to cup Shagrath’s cheeks between them, lifting his face tenderly to raise his gaze from the ground.
“Forgive… but never forget. I forgive you everything,” Fenuviel murmured. A strange smile touched his lips, feeling for a moment what it was to have power over his master, somehow. But however he had changed since Shagrath had first took him as his apprentice, he couldn’t abuse it. He wanted to banish the agony. Fenuviel leaned forward, his heart pounding. He brushed his lips against Shagrath’s cheek, administering not even a true kiss, but a hint of one. No blows came, nor did the older Elf even try to pull away. Instead he let out a raspy breath, a harsh sigh in response to Fenuviel’s words. Sadness, relief? Fenuviel released him, taking a step back for his own sake. Shagrath shuddered miserably for a moment before looking at Fenuviel strangely once more, his eyes hazy.

“Are you… one of the chosen?” he asked. Fenuviel furrowed a brow.
“I don’t know…” Fenuviel questioned.
“Then I must be quick… there is little time,” Shagrath mumbled, turning and walking away. Fenuviel blinked in confusion before running after Shagrath. His master moved to the next building, staring at it appraisingly.
“It’s just a house, master…” Fenuviel murmured. Shagrath turned his judging glance onto Fenuviel, but once again there was no sign of recognition in his eyes. Fenuviel frowned.
“Are you one of his…? Are you an outsider?” Shagrath asked again.
“I am yours,” Fenuviel urged. Shagrath frowned at him.
“My… what?” he asked.
“I am your s…” Fenuviel let out a sharp sigh as he abruptly stopped himself. I am your son. Was that what he had been going to say? “I am your servant,” he answered. Shagrath raised a brow, looking further confused.
“…My servant?” he echoed incredulously.
“Yes, master. I am yours,” Fenuviel answered. Shagrath looked at Fenuviel with a look of contempt and perhaps disgust.
“You are crazy, outsider…” Shagrath snapped, turning away once again and beginning to walk down one of the great halls leading back towards the great forge. Fenuviel ran after him, catching his shoulder this time and forcing Shagrath to stop, turning him around.
“Master, what are you doing?!” Fenuviel asked, his voice raising from frustration and confusion.
“Are you one of his chosen…?” Shagrath asked. Fenuviel sighed.
“Maybe I am. Who is ‘he’?” he demanded. Shagrath offered him another contemptuous glance before turning away, pulling out of Fenuviel’s grip. Fenuviel frowned, blurting out in frustration a possible answer, since Shagrath would not give him one. “Teron?” Silence. Shagrath stopped short. In one swift move he drew the heavy blade from his back, wheeling about and stalking towards Fenuviel. The young Elf drew his own sword hastily, holding it in a defensive position, hesitant. It was his duty to protect Shagrath, and he loathed the thought of having to hurt him, even if only to subdue him, though he doubted he’d have any chance if Shagrath decided to truly attack him.
“How dare you speak his name, outsider!” Shagrath growled.
“I am one of his!” Fenuviel blurted again quickly, taking a step back with his sword ready still, “I serve him through you!” Shagrath paused at this, seeming to consider. He put his sword away slowly, and Fenuviel did the same, though eyed his master warily.
“Then I shall have to tell the Darkmaster of your lack of discipline. The Soulblighter will deal with you,” Shagrath muttered dismissively. Fenuviel let out a breath of disbelief, staring at Shagrath before he ran after him, grabbing his shoulder roughly and whispering quickly to him.
“You are the Darkmaster! Not the Soulblighter!” Shagrath stared at him incredulously, obviously thinking Fenuviel crazy still, trying to walk away. Fenuviel hissed again. “You carry the Sphere with you! You hide it under your tabard! Just check! How can you not feel its power?”

Shagrath did not respond, moving on to the next building. “Check, damn you! What have you done with it?!” Fenuviel cried a bit more desperately. Shagrath looked at him as though recognizing him.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“I wish to help you, master,” Fenuviel answered. Shagrath laughed a cold, harsh laugh. Fenuviel frowned, following after the Elf as he stalked away again. “It is my duty to protect you, master, and to aid you however I can,”
“Then you shall have your chance. I will call for you when it comes,” Shagrath responded. After what seemed an hour, Shagrath seemed satisfied with his strange tour of Ironforge. Fenuviel followed after him, glaring at the back of his head.
“Do you even know who I am, master?” he demanded, though came to a halt as he realized the Elf was walking towards the gryphon master. “Where are you going?”
“Yes, you are a miserable weakling… also known as Fenuviel,” Shagrath answered. “There is a lot to do… not much time,”
Fenuviel sighed.
“Fine. Then go… do it,” he grunted, giving up. He almost longed for Ataris to return, to make sense of things. The young Elf spoke again as Shagrath peered at him, though more grudgingly this time. “May the shadows hide and protect you, master,”
Shagrath offered him a salute before turning towards the dwarf that stood ready to accept his coins for the gryphon. Fenuviel did not return the salute, but turned away, retreating from the heat of the forge and the sour feeling Shagrath gave him.

Once in Stormwind, he sought refuge in the house of Jaqien Reynard. It was empty, but that was just as well. Fenuviel peeled off his armor piece by piece, letting it drop to the ground unceremoniously with a clatter, relieved at the cool air upon his skin. He sank into a chair in the far corner of the room, pouring himself some mead. The flagon remained untouched however as he rest his forehead against one hand, eyes closed, merely thinking. He wondered what it was that had happened to Shagrath. Why he acted so strangely, and hostile. Though even before he had become so, the image of Shagrath weak and begging for forgiveness stuck in his mind, and he frowned at how such simple questions as “Are you alright?” could have such an effect on his mood. How when the Elf had told him he was proud, his spirit had soared. He lived to serve. That was what he told everyone. To serve the master. Not even Teron, but Shagrath. He had said he was proud. Proud of Fenuviel. But now? What had changed? What had happened? What was his master searching for in Ironforge? Something… someone must have tortured him, toyed with his mind, for how else could he not remember that Fenuviel was his Dark Myrmidon? Worthy, not weak. And that he himself was the Darkmaster, the Soulblighter long gone. You are a weakling. A weakling. Also known as Fenuviel.

A weakling.