"Of course you do, Mister Dawnstar. I am loathe to keep you from them, but you understand why we have been forced to undertake these measures, hmm?"
Silence for a moment, here; save the infernal dripping of icy water from the broken man's sodden form.
"I told you, I don't know anything about any Firewings. I make arrows, that's all I do."
"Ah, but who do these arrows go to, Mister Dawnstar? Are these the arrows that continue to harangue the Scryer's men in Terokkar? Come now, this can all be over much quicker. Simply tell me where we can find these Firewing radicals and I will have you warm, dry and back at home by dawn."
"I told you! I don't know what you're talking about!"
Denial always comes first. This was inevitable, and nothing ever came of it. The Hound knew this game, knew all its stages. She had brought the correct shoes for this little dance; whereas the man in front of her stood barefoot and shivering in the frost-clouded water.
Next came anger.
"...tell me again about your wife and child, Mister Dawnstar."
"If you do anything to them so help me I'll -" The poor man bit down, gritting his teeth, swallowing his words. He knew that no shouts would escape this chamber. His eyes flashed anger and fel-fire; the creak of teeth soft in the chamber.
The Hound ran a single taloned finger along the hardwood of the desk, peering at the freezing man curiously. Strong, for a fletcher. He had no incriminating tattoos, no hidden signet. All of this was on the word of an informant, who was now stood in the corner, watching the ordeal. His masked face couldn't hide his concern. If all this came to naught, he knew well who would be next in front of the tribunal.
"What...what do I have to do? So you'll leave my wife and little girl out of this..." Bargaining. It was then that The Hound knew she had broken the man. All that remained was too ensure he, too, knew he was broken.
"It is too late, Dawnstar. You know they must be involved. The leader of those Firewing rebels you so graciously supplied has ensured that they, too, will find their way here. Ironic, really, since he murdered my own child..."
"Auralis murdered your child?" Dawnstar's eyes were wide, here; shocked. The Hound merely sipped at her water, still peering at the man; waiting for his own horror to complete her task. Only when the realisation sank in, and the last sparks of hope drained from the man's eyes, did The Hound finally stand.
"You...you never said his name..."
"Nor did I ever marry, Mister Dawnstar. I apologise for deceiving you. Now, where are they hiding?"
One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three heartbeats...
"...South, they're heading South...please, I just wanted to do what was best for my family."
"Of course, Mister Dawnstar. If it brings you any solace, you did."
The man was still weeping as he was dragged from the chambers. Depression. The Hound gave her orders, quick and discreet. Soon men with swords would be marching on sleeping camps of Elves still loyal to a dead prince. Such was necessary and right, such was the way of the High Kingdom.
She spared a thought for Dawnstar. Up above her, the chanting of the Magisters had begun, the process of 're-orientation'. Soon Dawnstar would be back out on the streets, happy, healthy and only a little more quiet and distant. His family would worry, but would say nothing.
Such was necessary and right. Such was the way of the High Kingdom.