#shoresofacheron

          mei jolted from her spot in hiding when she heard the sniper’s voice, still crouched on the ground trying to get her bearings back after she’d gotten snagged in a trap. if she had to guess, it probably belonged to that hacker she’d seen snooping around occasionally, but seeing her hadn’t been enough to warn her of the trap that shut down all her equipment, including snowball.

       The former librarian was the only living human within the Undercity. While forbidden to go into some places, she was usually found above within the ruined palace. Combing through the rubble and remains of the palace archives for anything she could repair and save. Historical documents, ancient treaties, accounts kept secret from the common people, and scandalous letters she ended up finding in pages of some tomes. Most likely a hidden spot to exchange letters for the other person to retrieve later. Horribly mushy and gross. Those she sent aside.

       Sadly, most of what was within the palace was destroyed or looted. “A message came for you, the courier gave it to me to give to you.” She did not recognize the seal. Trying not to snoop as she retrieved it from her satchel filled with books and magical sealed ink jars. Catching a feathered quill before it could hit the floor. Stepping closer, she handed the sealed message to Sylvanas.

       “He regrets not being able to deliver it to you personally. He had to go see the apothecaries and will report back to you as soon as he can for your reply – if any.” The poor dear, one of his arms had fallen off and the other was nearly about too. “Please do not be angry with him, my lady.” 

How tiresome it was that King Anestarian thought it best that she and the prince should ride through Lordaeron. The proposal was cited under the guise of promoting relations between the two kingdoms, though Sylvanas imagined it was ultimately to force she the unwilling couple to endure each other’s presence.

        In her opinion, it was a fruitless endeavour. All it did, was force them to lie. False pleasantries were a constant companion, pretending that they cared at all for what the other thought. The saving grace in the venture was Sylvanas was able to ride again. Sitting atop her hawkstrider, woods on either side of them, was almost refreshing.

        Only Lordaeron was a human kingdom. It was almost dreary compared to Quel’Thalas, and the lands did not hum with magic. She imagined she would enjoy the true wilderness it offered if she weren’t trapped to follow the King’s Road, but she was. She was the future Princess of Quel’Thalas. She could not ride through the woods as she’d once had.

        The woman’s expression hardened as she lost herself to the thought.

        She could, but she imagined there would be hell to pay.

        Her outfit was something similar to the regalia that the Ranger-General was expected to wear – but more royal and even somehow less practical. It exposed more skin, had less armour, and the jewelry that went along with it was enchanted and glimmering.

        Windrunner glanced back at Kael’thas, a wonder that’d plagued her since they left Quel’Thalas three weeks ago rising once more.

        She did not have Nathanos nor Lor’themar to speak to, and she did not know the royal guard accompany them well enough to strike a conversation up with them.

        Sylvanas slowed her mount down. It was habit to ride ahead of royalty, it’d always been her duty to protect them. Now, on what felt like the cusp of joining them, it was a strange thought that someone would be replacing her as Ranger-General.

        It bothered her.

        Still, her mind was still very much aware of threats.

        As she joined his side once more, she spoke.

        “Prince Arthas is returning to Lordaeron after a decade,” she began, “I find myself unable to explain why he would wait so long.”

        Sylvanas had little information on the human’s mission to Northrend. The frozen continent was near myth.

        “Any reports I had on his mission was to rout the undead threat to Lordaeron. The King sent a fleet after him to retrieve him, but they never returned.”

        Her eyes narrowed as she thought.

        “A decade is a long time for a human. Northrend is said to be the closest to the hells as achievable on Azeroth. What are the chances that one foolhardy prince survives that long?” She frowned, ears twitching in thought. “He was nothing but a paladin, one who my spies say turned his back on his mentor..”

        She lets out a soft, condescending chuckle.

        “I fear King Terenas will be disappointed in his son when he returns.”

Kael’thas had visited Lordaeron before, though never for more than a day’s stay. He was used to the blend of pine trees and salt of Lake Lordamere from even the distant comforts of Dalaran. What he was not familiar with were the interiors of much of the kingdom, having only stepped foot into Capital City on diplomatic affairs.

As they crossed the last bridge before the entrance to the kingdom, he noticed the stark contrast between the majestic spires of his homeland, all awash in magic, and the antiquated architecture of the human kingdom. Instead of red and gold accents on marble spires that towered high in the sky, there were stone walls on either side of the closed gate. Human statues of what he could only guess were model footmen or knights towered above the ground on either side. He could only surmise his traveling companion and his personal Royal Guard guffawed at the sight, but Kael’thas kept his quiet appreciation for the humans’ magicless yet sturdy woodwork to himself. Living in Dalaran had cultivated in him a sense of respect for human culture, earned him a number of friends, and a chance to experience a substantial amount of refreshment.

All but one human did not deserve such respect, and that human lived here. Or rather once lived here.

Kael’thas watched Sylvanas glance back at him and come to a stop before rejoining him. The Ranger-General’s duty remained steadfast even outside of her normal armor. In the most professional sense of her responsibilities, he appreciated the fact that even though they endured sharing false pleasantries, she would still carry out the responsibility of serving him.

He rode on his own personal mount--a white and blue hawkstrider clad in glimmering gold armor from beak to talons—and listened to Windrunner’s report as they neared their destination.

The news of Stratholme had reached Dalaran even before the culling began. Antonidas had warned the Kirin Tor of rumors that a plague had spread in the neighboring villages around Lordaeron. One by one, the investigation party extended all the way to Stratholme where Arthas senselessly culled every single innocent citizen. It had been a decade since the ignoble assault, but it would take Stratholme many more to recover its soil, if such an effort was even possible.

“A pity,” he said, pulling in the reins of his hawkstrider and waiting for entry at the foot of the drawbridge. “Only the frozen wasteland could spare Arthas the trouble of incurring his wrath. Perhaps the prince would benefit from additional lessons on how to properly care for his subjects.”

He said the last words with a hint of disgust and annoyance. Kael’thas could not empathize with the pain of genocidal loss, but he could not fault them for this betrayal. If pitchforks and swords came behind this gate, then they would demand rightful justice.

But the absence did leave him wondering about Sylvanas’s question. What exactly had become of Arthas, if not lost at sea?

A sudden rattle of wind shook the trees and spooked several mounts. Kael’thas jerked his head around to gauge his surroundings, ears twitching with awareness. His sharp attunement to magic gave way to a sense of impending doom, to something strangely amiss. If what Sylvanas said was true about Northrend and the loss of the fleet…