moonshadows

Sleep hasn’t come easily to him in several thousand years.

The steamy insect-ridden jungles where he first assumed the identity of Warlord Raphael weren’t so bad, but the strange underground cities tunneled into the mountains of this region remind him uncomfortably of another mountain he spent far too long beneath. Despite his soft bed and silky sheets, the darkness weighs down on him and he can feel stone beneath his hands, bars defining the boundaries of his prison. Strange as it is, he almost longs for the ruined temple he once called his own. There, at least, the stone lifted him into the air, cradled him against the wild alien sky.

His lips twist into a bitter smile. Ah, Draenor. A harsh, broken world for a harsh, broken man. The desolation was almost soothing. The way the wind screamed around the crumbling edges of the world, the planet itself howling its agony to the uncaring Void, reflected his own unceasing anguish. The acrid fumes that sustained him bled into the air from the wounds the land had suffered, like some abandoned mother holding him to her bleeding breast. Betrayed by her own children, she offered him the only nourishment she had left, her very lifeblood taking the place of the milk that once flowed freely.

He wonders what became of the ruined world he’d claimed as his, after his murderers had taken their revenge. No doubt the temple had been reclaimed by the coward who held the dubious honor of being the last in a long line of people who’d betrayed him. He wonders what became of his Warden-turned-prisoner. Did she march back to his brother in triumph, proudly declaring that his twin, the Betrayer, was dead? Did she march out into the harsh landscape that matched his broken mind and end her own life? He hopes so, but doubts it. He would not be so lucky.

Brother…

This will not do. If he keeps thinking like this, picking at the wounds of his past, he will only work himself into a rage again. It seems a shame to waste Tessa’s precious gift by deliberately clawing at himself. Not that he even deserves as much as she’s done so far-

Again, he cuts the thought short, fighting back irritation at himself.

His office is dark and quiet. The viewing screen on his desk casts a pale light on his face as he rewinds to Joshua’s last visit.

“What if he loses his temper one day and does something without meaning to?"

The recording pauses at his command as his heart constricts again. The words are just as potent as the first time he’d heard them. No…he can’t, he won’t let that happen. She is his key to freedom, she must never come to harm. He had been so very sure, earlier, that he could make good on that promise – but now that her calming influence has eroded, his history of failure and broken vows comes back to gnaw on him. Abruptly, he switches the screen to live feed. He needs to see her, to know that she is alive and well.

Her bed is empty. He switches to the living room and there she is, curled up in her favorite corner of the couch, cable in her mouth as she concentrates on – what? Whatever it is, she’s positioned it so that the prying eye of the recording device cannot see it. Something resembling a soft smile crosses his face. She’s far too clever for that to have been an accident; she’s making something, and she does not want him to see what it is. Very well, he will allow her this bit of secrecy. Even if she hadn’t earned it a dozen times over already, she certainly would have after today.

The memory of his cabinet’s discomfiture pleases him. Too long, they had used his temper against him and he, unwilling to search for their replacements, was unable to stop them but now – now, with the help of his Champion, he was able to best them. After all, death itself hadn’t been able to defeat him, why should he let a motley collection of scum and schemers get their way? One thing nags at him, though. How did she get into the gym unnoticed? He did not see her approach, nor did he hear the door open. He would have detected the magic of a portal opening, so how…?

With a bit of effort, he restrains the impulse to storm down there and demand answers, to threaten and interrogate her. He does not need such tactics with her; she will answer if he merely asks. And, a corner of his mind whispers, I don’t want to yell at her.

He rewinds the recording. “Tessa...I have to ask, because I'm your uncle and I care about you. Is he treating you right?" The memory of Joshua saying that Tessa doesn’t deserve to be treated like an enemy stabs him with a dagger forged of guilt. She doesn’t deserve that. He’s not treating her right. The rooms she is confined to are a more comfortable prison than his was, but they are a prison none the less. She deserves better – but he can’t. He no longer fears that she will knowingly do anything to hurt him, but he doesn’t have the same confidence for her devotion, and he doesn’t want to share. Once, a girl who smiled at him later turned around and abandoned him for another. He could not bear if that happened again.

The screen goes dark at his command; the door shuts behind him with a click. He does not care that he will be imposing on her. Right now, he needs to bathe in her smile and pretend that she will remain by his side forever.