Put your faith in the Light, and all is possible.

The halls beneath Light’s Hope Chapel sang with an unhallow note that grated against his teeth and the very fabric of his soul. The Light wept in sorrow and he wondered why. The hall of the Silver Hand was a sanctuary of warmth and holiness, a place he had often sought peace and solitude while he thought on the Argent Crusade’s next move against the Lich King, Arthas.

It should not feel like the Scourge had desecrated the place.

And yet... the Light wept on.

“No... I will not allow the Ebon Blade to fall!”

“Darion!”

“Finish... it, Deathlord!”

Finish what... The pain! What in the Light is happening?

“Rise Tirion Fordring and serve once more!” He recognized the voice or rather the familiar echo of a death knight. The agony that ripped through his soul was too much for him to think clearly on who exactly the death knight was or why he was committing sacrilege within the halls of the Silver Hand.

“No, this cannot happen, not here of all places...” Liadrin. Her name was the only thought he could cling to as he felt his soul shoved back into a broken body wracked with the scars of Fel torment. A light soon pierced the darkness in which he was surrounded in, the stone slab that covered his tomb was pushed aside by a gnarled hand with the strength of ten men.

A strength he should not have.

“Monsters... The heroes of Azeroth will not stand for what you have done today!” he heard Liadrin declare with the fiery defiance he knew her to possess. “Tirion.”

His name was a reverent breath on her lips and it took him a moment to focus his eyes to gaze upon her. Carefully and with the same confidence he had held in life, he climbed out of the sarcophagus and steadily stood on his feet.

Everything felt wrong with his surroundings. The gaze Liadrin gave him was one of astonished regret before she shifted it angrily toward the three death knights behind her. He recognized one as Nazgrim of the Horde and the other, the female was Whitemane of all people. The third he did not recognize immediately but he suspected a past king of Lordaeron with the broken crown he wore.

“What... what have you done?” he croaked in that metallic tone all death knights seemed to possess. Frozen eyes turned to the death knight beside him, the one that had risen him from his eternal slumber.

“The world is under siege, Highlord,” the Deathlord reminded him. “The Lich King has commanded the Four Horsemen to return and you are to lead them.”

“The Lich King?” Tirion Fordring repeated the dreaded name of the one being who had destroyed his people and led his son down a spiraling path of darkness. He glared at the Deathlord. “So... the Helm of Domination has taken over.”

No, old friend. I am still very much in control. But the threat of the Legion is far too great to leave you slumbering. The former paladin shuddered at the voice of Bolvar in the dark corners of his mind. He had always wondered how it was like for the death knights who had served Arthas and now he knew. Although Darion was to take your place, he has not made the sacrifice I intended. Still... bring him and the others back to the Acherus. There is much we have to discuss.

As he reached down to pick up the lifeless body of Darion Mograine and the Deathlord opened a death gate back to the necropolis, his frozen gaze fell upon Liadrin once more and saw the mournful pity in her golden eyes. “Have faith, Lady Liadrin, all is not lost,” he smiled wearily and then turned to the dark future that now awaited him.

Tirion Fordring was a kind man who loved his wife and family very much, and would nearly do anything for them. But he was also a paladin and a nobleman who had to present himself a certain way whenever he was in public. That meant a lot of the things he would like to do he kept behind closed doors in private settings where others could not judge him or his family for his behavior.

But on this night he was willing to let things happen as they happened. This was a night of celebration and joy and he wasn’t going to let propriety stand in the way of happiness for himself or his wife. The anniversary of ten years of being wed to Kiyagosa was well worth allowing himself to be well... himself.

“You look beautiful tonight,” the Highlord softy commented as they slow danced to a bit of Lordaeronian music. “More so than ever before. The star and moonlight shining upon you majestically, perhaps?” He smiled fondly.

The dragonness gave him a mild smirk that promised him things later as a reward for his sweet words, “You are such a romantic, love.”

“Only for you.”

She rested her head against his shoulder and Tirion turned just enough to rest his on her. He can hear the laughter of their children, the twins enjoying the stories of one of his knights. The merriness of friends and colleagues filled the air in accompaniment to the crackling bonfire behind them. It was a pleasant night, a memory that he would cherish forever.

“I love you, Tirion Fordring,” Kiya quietly declared and her husband raised his head enough to look at her fondly.