Journeys - 3 (Patreon)

Daelin Proudmoore's words hung in the air like bared fangs, his spiteful declaration that  we were little more than unwelcome intruders in his eyes cast back as echoes by the grand audience chamber we stood in. Not one of the Kul Tiran nobles were surprised by his outburst, not a single one of his guards – not even our escort, Cyrus Crestfall – reacted at all. His wife stood placidly at his side, her hands clasped before her – every last one of them united in their hostility towards Gilneas.

Towards me personally, maybe.

"Now, now, Daelin," Lord Ashvane chuckled softly, a wry grin on his face as he gestured towards us, "though they are trapped in the past as they are, even the Gilneans must remember that Kul Tiras has been independent from their... capable rule for more than a thousand years." His smile slid into a smirk, eyes glinting greedily. "Should they require aid we can surely provide it to them for a suitable price."

His portly wife put a foot forward, one hand on her hips as she tried, and failed, to look down her nose at Darius. "After compensation has been arranged for our care of their refugees." She sniffed, as if she considered the very word refugee to be a curse. "Our granaries fall more than three thousand bushels in deficit each and every day! Six thousand families displaced from their homes, throwing countless industries into disarray, and still they complain of ill-treatment! Vagrants who do little more than clog our ports and streets, disrupting trade and harming our people."

Her eyes narrowed, arms crossed under her ample chest. "A grand travesty that cuts to the heart of our nation. A travesty born of Gilnean misrule."

I held my tongue despite my immediate urge to offer to resolve their food 'deficit', or even their housing 'crisis' – ludicrous as both those claims were. Three thousand bushels was enough grain to feed a hundred thousand people, and that at two loaves of bread apiece. 

There were not a hundred thousand Gilneans in Kul Tiras.

Thousands, yes, even tens of thousands counting those who had not made the crossing to Kalimdor, but many if not most would be sailors. Fishermen. People who I knew from our time in Anglepoint could, and did, supplement their meals with their catches – and sold the rest to ungrateful merchants to buy supplies for their families.

The only possible way her numbers worked at all was if she was pinning the responsibilities of their Lordainian refugees on us as well. All because we had helped save their lives with the evacuation ships.

It was a farce.

"Lady Ashvane," Darius nodded his head politely towards her, his stoic facade unruffled as ever, "firstly I must thank you – indeed, all of Kul Tiras for caring for my people. My own disagreements with Genn Greymane's policies were many, and I am glad to say that the worst of them has been rescinded; Gilneas is prepared to welcome home all those that fled his reign, returning to them their livelihoods and embracing them as sons and daughters of Gilneas once more."

He continued quickly, not allowing Lady Ashvane to interrupt him as she seemed inclined to do. "As for compensation... at the very least Gilneas can offer to provide Kul Tiras with a portion of our grain surplus at a low cost." His eye turned to me. "I believe... half a million bushels of wheat would not strain our stores overmuch?"

I nodded slowly. "So long as nothing untoward happens, it will not be a problem." He knew the numbers kept in the storehouses better than me, but even in the worst case the Order would prevent a famine again. Half a million wouldn't be too much by any means...

Even if the number itself was somewhat daunting. 

"Two silver per bushel would be reasonable in light of Kul Tiras' generosity in these dark times." He added, smiling as both Ashvanes seemed taken aback by his swift, and somewhat absurd offer. Then his face fell and he bowed his head. "Alas, Gilneas has not the ships to transport such quantities of grain at this time. That task would be required of another..."

Lord Ashvane cleared his throat. "A task the merchant marine could certainly fulfil." He said, the greed in his eyes only growing greater. "For a further discount, of course."

Darius hummed thoughtfully, then shook his head. "A matter for the negotiations in the coming days. Haggling over prices is unbecoming of this audience." He tipped his head to Daelin and Katherine Proudmoore. "I do hope that Gilneas' sincerity, and indeed Gilneas' desire for further cooperation, is clear, Lord Admiral."

Returning his glower to Darius from where he'd been aiming it at the Ashvanes, Daelin snorted. "Only because it is convenient for Gilneas to do so. Neither gold nor grain can pay for the lives lost due to Gilneas' absence when your vaunted armies were needed most."

"I have already spoken of my disagreements with Genn Greymane's policies." Darius said stoically, a hint of steel in his voice belying the offense he took. "Yet, I must inform you  that your accusation is false. Gilneas did not stand idly by as our brothers to the north fell to the treachery of their prince–" he made a sweeping gesture towards me and Vivi "–indeed, those beside me, Vivianne Mistmantle and Gwyneth Arevin, alongside my daughter Lorna Crowley and the Wildhammer, Caedan Kindfeather, rescued Calia Menethil from the danger she faced."

Stepping forward Darius raised his chin high and clenched a fist before over his heart. "Even now the tens of thousands of Lordainians who sheltered behind the walls of Lordaeron are joined by the soldiers of Gilneas in securing the Hillsbrad Foothills under her banner. We have not forgotten our brothers and sisters under the Light."

"Princess Calia lives?" Scion Stormsong spoke for the first time, a relieved smile washing over his youthful features. "Tidemother's grace, we are blessed by her mercy."

"Convenient, is it not, that the daughter of the Menethils would resurface under the banner of Gilneas." Lord Waycrest said drily, an eyebrow raised more quizzically than accusingly – but the scepticism was accusation enough. "Regardless, Marshal Garithos has already contacted Kul Tiras to ask for our aid; why should we divert aid from a proven commander for someone... untested?"

I couldn't help myself, even biting my tongue, I literally could not stop myself from letting out a choked laugh at the very thought. Garithos, a proven commander.

"Oh, has something Arthur said amused you?" Lady Katherine asked curiously, making me freeze in place. Her gaze wasn't resentful like her husband's, but there was clear evaluation – judgment – in how she looked at me.

Aborting a glance at Darius – I'd made a mess, but now I had to own it, not deflect onto him. "Marshal Garithos is... well, to say that he is  problematic barely begins to scratch the surface." I paused, looking towards the vaulted ceiling for a moment. "Dismissive, if not hateful to those not human. Willing to set impossible tasks, and when completed, punish those that completed them for being inventive."

And a man who would ally with the undead, if it won the capital for himself. I chose not to say. Too much, a step too far – too easily disbelieved and entirely impossible to prove until it happened.

"What isn't funny is the idea that Princess Calia and her daughter, the people who caused our civil war, are fake." Vivi growled angrily. "Genn wanted us all arrested for bringing her to Gilneas, and you're acting like we're using them as... as puppets! We were trying to help!"

"More words spoken from on high by Gilneas' pet prophet." Daelin swept an arm out dramatically as he scoffed, disdain dripping from his words. "Words spoken to change the world to her whims. To order kings, princes, admirals, and our heirs about as her pawns – all without explanation. All without reason!" He drew back, standing straighter and lifting his chin. "I will not   have it. Here we stand, hearing more words without proof. Explain yourself–"

Katherine Proudmoore's hand touched her husband's arm. "It is Calia, Daelin." She said softly, a wisp of hope breaking into her voice. "She had a daughter in secret."

"Llianne." Vivi snapped, closing in to my side protectively as I seethed – how dare Daelin act like I hadn't tried to tell people! I had, I told them everything I could! He simply wasn't there – wasn't the kind of person to listen–!

Hope broke into relief on Katherine's face, a tired and weary smile forming, but one with genuine joy behind it. "Named for her grandmother. Just like Jaina said." She turned towards Lord Waycrest, though she kept a placating hand on her husband's arm. "It was a secret Jaina shared with me some years ago, of Calia Menethil falling in love with her protector after the Prestor betrothal fell through. She became pregnant, but it was kept secret – few knew of her daughter. Calia Menethil lives."

Daelin snorted heavily, his nose flaring with anger and frustration as he kept his gaze upon me. "So she is Kat. But that does not change what else the girl has done.

"I retract my objection." Lord Waycrest nodded to Katherine, then bowed his head to me. "My apologies, Miss Arevin, Lady Mistmantle, for casting aspersions upon you."

"Witch Arevin." I corrected him habitually. I matched Daelin's gaze, my anger building under my skin. How could he be so petty, so spiteful–! We had never met, never had the chance to speak before this day, and he declared that I kept secrets from him! All because I knew that if he chased Jaina across the world, if he followed after, he would start a war and die – destroying Jaina's life, severing Kul Tiras from the Alliance, all because of his hatred and pride!

And worsestill, he was turning his distaste for me, his personal foibles, into a reason to attack Gilneas. To harm the prospects of the Alliance in which he was a supposed leader! The Grand Admiral! "Lord Admiral Proudmoore." I pushed past Vivi, presenting myself to the chamber directly. "Gilneas asked nothing of Lady Jaina Proudmoore."

His gaze sharpened even further, his temper boiling over, yet control was something he still had. If only he had such a thing when faced by orcs I would not have had to tell her what I did about him. Looking at him, trying to understand how he thought, I couldn't help but feel a horrific sense of déjà vu. "It was in Dalaran that we spoke, after she sought me out to hear my advice. Which I gave freely. Who do you blame for that, Lord Admiral? Is it my presence or the presence of all Gilneans that you object to on this day?"

Behind me I heard Darius curse under his breath. An uncharacteristic outburst; I had thoroughly thrown off any script we might have had, directly called out another nation's ruler. Vivi was fretting, wind coiling around her as her nerves frayed.

The air itself was tense. All but ready to explode with fury as Daelin Proudmoore stared at me with cold and angry eyes. Dozens of marines, the Kul Tiran elite, watching on with baited breath.

"It seems we have much to consider." Scion Stormsong spoke, his hands raised and palms forward as he walked into the centre of the chamber. His footsteps echoed loudly on the flagstones as he stepped between me and Daelin. "Perhaps it is time to retire?" He smiled nervously, unease at his own actions leaving his hands with a faint tremor. Looking at him it was clear he was... young. Younger than me, if not by much. "To take refreshments and a chance to gather our thoughts after such revelations as we have had?"

"I do agree, Brennan." Katherine Proudmoore said steely, her grip on her husband's arm only growing tighter. "I feel the need to sit for a while – Calia, alive. Truly."

At his wife's insistence, Daelin breathed heavily once more, but averted his gaze with a grunt. "This audience is over. Cyrus, escort the Gilneans to their quarters – they are to be honoured guests befitting their station."

"As you say, Lord Admiral." Cryrus saluted with clear relief. 

Daelin kept his head high, as if he had done no wrong, as he strode out of the chamber. One by one the other nobles followed – the Ashvanes departing with words of considering what Kul Tiras can afford, the costs of shipping grain from Gilneas, and more. Waycrest with a polite bow and a word of thanks for protecting the line of Menethil, and a request for reports from the mainland in the coming days. Scion Stormsong simply breathed a sigh of relief, staggering away alongside Lady Proudmoore.

"Do not place yourself at risk for Gilneas' sake here." Darius said quietly, his hand on my shoulder as he steered me to follow Cryus. At his touch, and Vivi's hand grabbing mine at my side, I felt an immense weight – a pressure that both been welling up inside me and bearing down upon me – fall away. "Your life is more valuable than the coin we might spend in recompense for perceived slights."

"Sodding petty kings." I hissed under my breath. So much like Genn, too much like Genn... perhaps that was why they were said to fight so easily. 

-oOoOo-

"And just like that, Gwen solved all the problems the orcs had left them with!" Vivi smacked her fist into her palm for emphasis. "In a single day, before we even had dinner with the princess, they had enough food to last the winter and their wounds were healed!" She wriggled enough to look up at me with a fond smile, and despite some of my more frustrating thoughts, I couldn't help but smile back. "And on our way back she even made a bath for us out of a tree!"

"A better one than they have here." I grumbled, combing through Vivi's wet hair methodically. Still as voluminous as it should be, but the salty sea air had stolen some of its softness during the voyage – I needed to fix that. "What kind of castle doesn't have plumbing?"

Our quarters were pleasant enough, but hardly amazing. Six rooms set aside for our use, private sleeping quarters and enough seating to have meetings amongst ourselves or with guests. It was just the bathrooms... a basin placed before a roaring fire, filled by servants at our request, was all there was. Barely better than at sea or when we were travelling.

The less said about the garderobes the better.

"It's not weird. It's normal." Taelia Fordragon, Cyrus Crestfall's ward – and someone whose name I was sure I knew from somewhere – said, wrinkling her nose disbelievingly. "The servants would have to carry so much water up every day! Just to have to come back down again! That's weird!"

"Convenient." I retorted at her. "The word is convenient. And you just make machines do the lifting so people don't have to."

"That's even weirder!" She protested, then shook her head. "What was the Princess like? Was she pretty? I'm sure she was pretty! Like Lady Proudmoore– I see her paintings all over the keep!"

I snorted at the young girl's sudden switch. She was a cute child, and definitely invested in Vivi's stories – mostly about me – and hearing about our adventures. It was a good distraction from what had happened in the audience chamber.

Part of me knew I should be with Darius, asking questions of Cyrus Crestfall alongside him to learn the lay of the land as best we could. He was loyal to the Proudmoores, that was without question, but any information on the attitudes and intentions of Kul Tiras' four noble houses would be useful for negotiations.

Of course, that was assuming my provocation of Daelin didn't come back to bite us in the arse. Something which, in hindsight, was painfully likely.

Taelia's eyes only began to sparkle more brightly as Vivi moved on to speaking of our battles, how we fought against the monstrous Scourge. Her lip quivered in fear at times, but she exalted in the stories of our victories. She seemed particularly enamoured with Magroth's part in the tales when he was there, caring more for mighty warriors than clever mages, crafty witches, or accurate marksmen.

Eventually, story time was interrupted by the young girl nodding off to sleep. Her eyes drooping and sagging even as she fought to stay awake to hear more stories.

I picked her up, smiling softly as I held her to my chest with her cute sleeping face resting on my shoulder. "I'll take her back to Cyrus." 

"Don't be too long!" Vivi said, a tinge of pink on her cheeks. "We haven't had a real bed in weeks!"

Realising her intentions, my own flushed slightly, putting a smile on my face as I stepped out to find the giant man near enough knocking on our door. 

"Ah." He smiled. "I see she had the same thought I did. Well past the hour to be asleep. Let me..." He reached out to take her, only for her to cling to my neck.

"Mom." She murmured, pressing her head into my neck. "Mom..."

"Would you mind bringing her to bed with me?" Cyrus asked softly, his hands retreating. "She's not been sleeping well, if she stays asleep I'd be glad of it. News of her mother... it struck her like a hammer blow."

Meeting his eyes I winced. Another soul lost to the Scourge... "Alright." I nodded, cradling the sleeping girl closer.

I had such a stupid soft spot for kids. 

-oOoOo-

As we headed towards Taelia's quarters marines seemed to crop up at every corner, the guard only growing heavier despite the late hour of the evening. Their eyes met Cyrus', nodding at Taelia's sleeping form, and didn't protest at all – marking that we were travelling in the right direction. Despite the opulence that came to be on display, the fixation on the Proudmoore family and their bloodline which decorated the walls here.

It all seemed an odd place for a knight's ward, even a trusted one. He'd brought her with him, introduced her as his responsibility – his boisterous little shadow, even, said with clear amusement – and named himself her guardian.

My odd feelings reached a head as we all but bumped into Katherine Proudmoore in the hall.

"Cyrus?" She asked softly, then smiled and continued with a whisper. "Ah, I was wondering where Taelia had gotten to. Thank you for returning our ward to her quarters – and I assume entertaining her."

"It was no trouble. Peaceful." I whispered back, glancing between the girl and Cyrus again. She wasn't his ward... he was just in charge of her? That'd teach me to make assumptions on incomplete information. Like... I'd done for Daelin. And Genn. "If you wish, I can go." I moved to offer the girl to Lady Proudmoore.

She started to move to take her, then hesitated and shook her head with a smile. "No. I intended for your visit to be on the morrow, but as you are here now there will no difficulty in bringing it forward." She straightened and turned, her escorting guard moving to flank her. "Come."

Her word was abrupt and commanding, no question in her mind that it would be obeyed.

I struggled to find a reason not to, save that Vivi was waiting for me back in our room. But that wasn't a good enough reason to irritate the second half of Kul Tiras' ruling pair. Much as I'd like to avoid whatever this was, I didn't seem to be getting out of it.

Suppressing a sigh I followed her to Taelia's quarters, carefully separating the girl from me and tucking her into bed alongside Lady Proudmoore. Something of a surreal experience.

"They have both been eager for your visit." She said, more able to speak without risk of waking Taelia. "As much as my daughter-in-law is able to be at this time. She took ill last year and has yet to fully recover. Something I hope you may have insight into as you have into so much else."

Humming noncommittally I tried, desperately, to figure out where in the world I might have met, encountered, or influenced the daughter-in-law of the Proudmoores. When had they even had one?

The Proudmoores had three children: Derek, the oldest, who died in the second war to dragonflame under the control of the orcs – becoming the reason for Daelin's hatred – Jaina, who was straight, and also not at all married, and Tandred, who was barely a teenager and, as far as I was able to be aware, also not married or betrothed. 

Despite my best efforts my confusion didn't abate in the slightest before we reached the door of whomever we were visiting. It was large and imposing, embossed with the anchor insignia of the Proudmoores themselves – family quarters.

My confusion lasted until we reached the door of whomever we were seeing. Large and imposing, embossed with the insignia of the Proudmoores themselves – family quarters.

"Klinar, Finnall," Katherine asked calmly as she opened the door, "I have brought our guest."

Rather than settle my roiling thoughts, the names, names I knew – and angular face shrouded with golden hair – that I recognised cast them to a tumbling, screeching, halt. An abrupt and sudden stop as I looked at a pair I hadn't seen in years, who I felt a sudden wave of guilt over forgetting to plan to look for.

I'd not even thought of trying to find them despite knowing they were in Kul Tiras. And here they were, my old friends from Dalaran. Sorceress Goldensword and her daughter, Finnall... Proudmoore.

"Finnall's father was Derek, wasn't he?" I blurted out, cringing awkwardly as I realised how rude that was. "Sorry. It's been... a long time, Sorceress Goldensword. Finnall."

"Gwen?" Finnall perked up, her short ears twitching curiously. She had grown up well, the chubby features of a child fading away into the angular elegance of an elf – muted faintly by the softer, rounded, touch of her human heritage. "Gwen! It's been years!" She jumped up with a mirthful laugh, rushing over and hugging me. "You never came back to Dalaran!" 

"I was thrown out!" I protested, patting the top of her head – Rokkri's bleeding feathers, she was nearly taller than me, and four years younger! And an elf! "I didn't have much of a choice in the matter." My voice fell, the old hurt coming back. "They didn't even let me say goodbye."

"Mother was so angry." Finnall said taking a step back. "Absolutely furious, we had to replace the entire kitchen because she set it on fire."

"If I remember correctly, you smashed more than one chair." Sorceress Goldensword said tiredly. Looking past my shock at seeing them at all, I could see the bags under her eyes, sallow skin, and a pallor that went beyond the paleness of the High Elves. "It is good to see you again, Gwyneth. We... took your advice in the end. And I must thank you for it." She smiled sadly. "I had the chance to see my daughter grow thanks to you."

"And in doing so returned our granddaughter to us. One we did not even know we had." Katherine said, genuine warmth in her words. "As a mother I cannot thank you for sending my daughter away. As a grandmother I must thank you for seeing to the safety of my daughter-in-law and grandchild."

Sorceress Goldensword tried to stand, but she wobbled and fell back into her chair with a sigh. "For as long as it lasts."

"Mana deprivation." I said abruptly. "You're suffering from mana deprivation. The loss of the Sunwell, you've lost the connection and..." There wasn't a cure, not really. Just ways of managing the dependency. "Sorc– Klinar, if you have been casting spells, any spells at all, you have to stop. Entirely."

I took a deep breath and reached out to her, my hand on her shoulder as I felt her body. It was breaking down, something so vital to the way it functioned just... missing.

Everything was there to let it work regardless, to live without magic, but her body just didn't know how. Her whole life she had been tied to the Sunwell, flooded with Arcane magic that supported and buoyed her body. She spent as much time levitating as walking when I was in Dalaran! Her muscles were atrophying, her lungs weak, heart aching.

Even her stomach, her digestion, were slower and less efficient than they should be.

"I've tried." She muttered, eyes downcast. "I even gave up teaching Finnall. Stopped her lessons because I couldn't anymore. But to give up magic entirely? I would rather die. It would be better to die than surrender who I am."

It hurt to hear that. To hear she was willing to die so soon after seeing her again; the lack of surprise from her daughter, or even from Katherine told me this wasn't new either. "Then you need a different source of magic." I reached out to the Astral, drawing it in. Not for a spell, not to call the stars, not... not for any purpose. 

Simply to be.

My hair started to shift, floating towards an unseen pull in the sky – the Blue Child, high above and watching the world with curiosity, as she always did – and faintly glow. The stuff of Order and Life, the pulsating beat of the heavens forged in every twinkling star, born within every part of the cosmic dance that made up the physical universe, flowed through me. 

I breathed, holding the magic in my hands as lightly as I could. "Treat it like a mana gem." I whispered, unforeseen strain entering my voice. Without purpose, without meaning, it was hard to hold on to the magic. Diffuse and... and unstructured. 

Order demanded a reason. Life sought to become. And I had to reject the desires of both.

Slowly Goldensword reached out to take my hand and I felt a tug, a rushing torrent as the magic flowed out of me. A hungry pull that felt almost insatiable – yet seeing her breath a sigh of relief, I smiled.

"I can't do that forever. But there has to be something... just..." I grimaced, not wanting her to turn out like the Blood Elves had. "Be careful what you take from. The saying 'you are what you eat' applies literally with elves and magic."

"Mom!" Finnall pushed past me and grabbed her mother. "You look better!"

"I feel better." Goldensword gave me a brittle smile. "Like I had not eaten in a year and I was given the most delicious meal imaginable. As if my thirst had been quenched with the finest wine... but I know it will come back. All too soon."

Lady Proudmoore stepped up beside me. "I was right, you did indeed have insight into her illness." She looked down and met my eyes. "Thank you."

"The least I could do." I replied, moving back to the door as the three embraced closely. It was good to see Goldensword better... but before I left, I would have to explain in more detail. And offer the hope of Prince Kael'thas finding a cure – I could only hope he had listened to my advice, truly listened and understood.