The Winter War - Epilogue: Parts 1 & 2 (Unedited) (Patreon)

Beve lay contently in her luxurious lounge, soaking up the weak rays of Lordaeron’s sun before it disappeared behind the clouds again. Her hands were cradling a strip of parchment; the script was elegant and the missive long, layered with unsaid apologies and subtle dread.

‘As it should be Falconcrest, if not for your dallying, Durnholde might still have been a serviceable fortress.’

Glancing at the messenger bird he had sent her way, still perched on the window enjoying some food and water she shrugged. ‘Still all is well that ends well as the saying goes.’

Rising to her feet, Beve popped her back and sighed, summoning her stave into her grasp in lazy wave of magic. “I will return with a message for him shortly, get some rest,” she told the bird that chirped in answer.

Richelle rose from the bed, her chest still layered in bandages, arm in a sling and her expression stony, “Princess?”

“Now, now, stay here,” she said, trailing a finger along the taller woman's chin. “You need your rest, and I am hardly in danger at the capital.”

Richelle frowned.

“I will be taking Singer with me,” Beve conceded airily. Motioning to the woman who peeled out of the shadowy corner she had been hiding in, smirking behind her bandanna.

Richelle bowed her head, “I can be of little use to you like this, but please be careful princess.”

“I always am~” She sang, strutting through the grand chamber doors of her royal guest quarters.

The royal halls were strangely subdued, the Drakkari’s number had dropped, but not enough for that she thought. Eying trolls curiously as they went about their patrols and oversaw the city, now long since repaired from the siege.

Finally, she found her way to a small lounge reserved for her family… Well, reserved for she and her lieutenants now. 

Suppressing her frown swiftly and smiling brightly at the sight of her students chatting idly at a table over some tea and biscuits, Beve waved her stave.

“My lovely Lisa, and Radiant Rose, good morning.”

Both women slipped form their chairs and curtsied, “Your majesty, we did not hear you come in, good morning.” Both looked to one another and then to her, silently wondering what to ask her, how to act, but Beve waved them off.

She was queen now in all but name, not in any manner she would have liked, but the rank came with certain expectations of decorum even among her favorites.

“I certainly hope I am not to be neglected,” Pai sang from a ladder leaned against the towering bookcases. A sanguine smirk adorning her features as she stretched and looked very much like a cat, Beve thought.

“Forget my Pretty Pai,” Beve faux scoffed, “Never my dear. But tell me, did you all rest well after your thrilling escapades in Dalaran?”

“As well as anyone could after all that,” Lisa said breathlessly.

Rose patted her chest, “I thought my heart would never stop racing!”

"I have not yet slept, such a marvelous experience and to think, I would have the chance to take that miserable Kel'Thuzad's revenge while he lies dead," Pai laughed. She pulled a book loose and tapped the leather cover, a snort escaping her lips, “The castle bubbling with activity did not help in matters of rest of course.”

“Hmm, yes Singer mentioned as such when I woke this morning,” Beve yawned and snatched up a sugar biscuit.

“As much as Singer says anything, I am sure,” Pai sniped.

Singer answered with an elegant wave, Beve knew to mean, ‘I can and will drown you in your own blood on a whim’ which went studiously ignored by Pai.

“Oh, she told me much, still,” Beve said, lazily tapping her staff on the carpet. “It is odd given the Drakkari’s performance elsewhere; though I suppose Dalaran of all place would prove a tough nut to crack.”

“Oh, actually,” cut in Rose excitedly, “We heard word that another batch of trolls are being sent to Dalaran via portal and the King will be returning soon!”

“Really?” Beve purred.

“Yes," Lisa nodded, "One of the servants said they had to get supplies ready for them." 

“Well then my sweets, I will have to leave you for now; duty beckons me to Dalaran. Come Singer, let us bring the good word to our emperor,” Beve intoned.

_______________________________________________________

Dalaran was a wreck, and that was to put phrase it diplomatically. 

The moment she and Singer stepped through the portal, her assassin breathed in the scent of ash and blood on the air like an old friend. Even as she scowled at the dirt ebbing its way onto her gown.

Beve had kept her peace as they shuffled through the ordered chaos that was the Violet Citadel. Surrendering scholars, more Nerubians than she had ever seen as well as Drakkari trolls and some Wolvar bustled through the once resplendent and now ashen gray tower.

The city itself fared little better than its iconic landmark. 

From her perch on the second-floor balcony, Beve could see nearly every arcane tower had fallen into crackling heaps. Parks had burnt and several city blocks had been reduced to ashen rubble and were now filled with tents that made up an impromptu medical center.

‘Is this how Malakk responds to his allies being kidnapped and tortured, or is this merely him letting his true colors show?’

She cast off the second though almost as swiftly as it appeared. 

Beve had seen what one did to a hated enemy’s home when given the chance with her own eyes after all. The image of her childhood home in tatters, the city streets crumbled, wealth picked clean.

Dalaran was wounded to be sure, but the sight of once proud Alterac's capital reduced to mere foundations was still burnt into her memory.

‘No there may have been rage or even hatred, but this was not an act of deliberate cruelty,’ she assured herself.

Resolve steeled, she cast a quick spell on Singer’s dress to help repel the dust and motioned for her assassin to follow, which the woman did, eyes sparkling.

They found Malakk outside the main hall, a smattering of advisors surrounding him with agents racing two and from with new orders and questions alike.

Singer’s gaze instantly fell upon the nightmarish mish mash of shapes that made up his mighty Greatwsord. A clear indicator to Beve the thing should either be destroyed or lobbed into an enemy camp, even as it sat latched onto the trolls back, seething.

“Ah, Beve, welcome. Good news brings you here I am thinking?” He asked quietly. His gargantuan, muscular form was lined with soot and blood, recently healed burns and cuts were scattered across his skin barely perceivable.

All in all, he looked the very picture of a battle worn conqueror, something she would have expected to make him look all the more powerful but instead he just seemed…. worn.

Bowing, she smiled, “Indeed my king. As you no doubt see I escaped Durnholde safely after the fortress fell, but not before ensuring Trollbane and his allies were struck with a heavy blow and…” she added lyrically.

“I have just received word that thanks to sabptage on the read lines, my followers have secured Thoradin’s Wall; harrying Trollbane and company back to Arathi. By the time they’ve the strength to try and take it back we will have had no trouble staffing it with cannons and casters aplenty.

Malakk sighed, a subtle tension leaving his shoulders, “That is heartening to hear, kudos Beve, I shall ensure you and yours are well rewarded for your efforts.”

“Your generosity abounds my liege,” she curtsied. “I must warn that we could not liberate the Orcs and I did promise sanctuary to a collection of Wardens who helped secure my escape.”

Before she could continue her explanation, Malakk waved his hand, “That is well, I could not ask for more and I see no cause to penalize the guards.” His gaze drifted across Dalaran and towards a white-haired trol...

Xex’Mon she recalled, the leader of the Orcish Legions!

‘Well, that explains it all doesn’t it?’

“A wise king knows to admit his mistakes,” Malakk said, hand over his heart. “I should have better heeded the warnings offered by you and your contemporaries on the Council.” His eyes met hers, deep orange so much one could drown in them as he bowed his head, “I am sorry for, all of this.”

Eyes darting, Beve rallied as her mind grappled for the appropriate response, hand on her own heart she bowed. “Please do not trouble yourself my liege; you acted as you thought best. No king can be held accountable for every act taken on their bealf or in their lands.”

“Maybe not, but maybe I should, I must try lest I forget my duties,” He murmured, before shaking his head and leveling a look at Xex’Mon. “Beve, you told me Alterac was largely abandoned now, yes?”

“It is so my liege, though I wish to change that,” she said tersely.

“This will not last long, but for now, Chieftain Xex’Mon," The troll perked up, uhis face gaunt with worry. "Rally the Orcs and guide them to Alterac, we can shuffle them off to the coast in a few weeks once things quiet down, but their part in this was is done.”

Xex’Mon bowed low, “As you command, Frost King Malakk, I must beg-”

“Calm yourself,” Malakk cut in, “I will not fault you for failure on such a task as this. You needed more Commanders, more legionaries of discipline and honor than I granted you. This was my mistake.”

Xex’Mon tensed and looked near ready to throw up before he nodded his head and rose. “I will obey Frost King Malakk, but I must accept some responsibility for the actions of my legionaries but… Despite everything, some did perform well, I hope-”

“Chieftain," Malakk said curtly., "I cannot rely on such undisciplined warriors. If some amongst them are as you say, suitably honorable then they shall be needed to make sure the Orcs do not war on their new neighbors in the Howling Fjord. Anything else..." The troll drew his words out, gaze drifting across the city, "Anything else will come later.”

His tone grew sharper, “Now go, I must return to the capital." He gestured to his servants, "All of you, please tend to things here, save whatever and whoever you can, keep the streets stationed and the city secured.”

The Drakkari saluted as one, “As you command, Frost King Malakk!”

With that, he turned and motioned for Beve to follow, he kept his strides slow that she might keep pace with him as they spoke quietly on the way to the portal.

“May I ask what you plan to do with Dalaran now, Frost King Malakk?” She asked.

“What I shall do with all these new dominions, rule as a just and fair king, or try to,” he added with a frown. “It will be hard to repair this damage, the buildings, the farmland, let alone gain the trust of the people, but it will be necessary.”

“If it is any consolation, most conquerors show far less regard for the conquered,” Beve said idly.

Malakk chuckled without humor, “A low bar to clear, but I appreciate the sentiment Beve.”

They came to a halt near the portal as several Gundraki Elite carried unconscious mages through the gateway.

“Who are they?” She wondered.

“Most are just mages we captured who were too powerful to be left to roam free at this time, though two among them are members of the ruling Council,” Malakk said. “At this stage them signing a declaration of surrender is moot, but they may prove worth speaking to regardless.”

“Only two… Did the others fall?” Such a thing had to be possible given the city too had fallen, but it was still hard to entirely believe the six most powerful magi on the planet were all dead or captured.

Malakk shrugged, “Two were laid low thanks to the sacrifice of Moorabi. With his dying breath he invoked an epic feat of divine power they could not guard against, wounding one so severely I could end him quickly and leaving the other unconscious.”

“I… See, I am sorry for such a loss,” Beve offered, something pressing against the back of her throat.

“Given your own grief, that is very kind, Beve,” Malakk answered, before continuing. “Another fell to a host of elite Legionaries and Seer Ixit, but not before killing half their number and then. The last was defeated by Great Mother Arctikus, though she was forced to retreat to the capital to have her wounds treated.”

“Oh my, I hope she recovers!”

Malakk arched his brow, “I did not think you two talked often?”

“Oh, we don’t ‘talk’,” Beve answered with a smirk as Singer chuckled silently behind her.

A small smile etched its way onto Malakk’s face, “Aha, I see! Well don’t be so shy as to avoid her recovery room then, but come, first we must discuss your report and ensure the capital is in order.”

“As you command, Frost King Malakk.”

With that, they stepped through the portal.

_______________________________________________________

The Orc Legionaries camp was lit by dozens of fires around which the liberated people ate and drank, some even singing while others merely spoke. They were in good spirits, but tension ran as a near visible undercurrent among them all. Malakk’s displeasure and that of many of the Drakkari Legionaries they'd fought beside was an unspoken fact.

For his part, Xex’Mon kept his tone and manner light, it was his failure after all there was no need to burden his warriors with his own burdens. Making his way to the heart of the camp he was greeted by Nazgrel and Burx standing by his dozing mount, each standing at attention the moment they saw him.

“Chieftain,” Nazgrel intoned solemnly.

“Do we have new orders?” Burx asked, sounding hopeful.

The troll nodded, “Commanders, good evening, and indeed we do, but first I have some questions.”

Leaning against his rhino, the troll, folded his arms and asked, “Have all the wounded been moved?”

Burx spoke up, fist thumping against his chest, “Indeed Chieftain. All suffering debilitating wounds have been given treatment and are being moved to the capital or nearby medical center by gunboat. The rest among us report minor wounds but nothing that will not recover in a few days.”

“I am heartened to hear that,” Xex’Mon said, nodding as he tallied his mental list “Still, even discounting the injured we lost many last night.”

Burx’s head fell low, “I failed to command my troops properly, I-”

“Calm yourselves, commander, as Chieftain responsibility falls to me more than any other, and even the greatest commander cannot control every soldier in every moment.” Turning his attention to Nazgrel he said, “How many new recruits do we have from among the survivors of the Dalaran Internment Camp?”

Burx’s head fell low again at the mention of 'survivors' and Nazgrel frowned, before nodding. “Of the survivors there are two thousand, of what should have been three thousand; at least at last count.” The orc toyed with his tusk, a habit he was picking up from Xex’Mon the troll mused; not seeing he was idly toying with his own as Nazgrel continued.

“Of those, some requested an escort to the capital or are mired in apathy, they number some five hundred. The remainder wish to join us on the march. I believe the many are warriors and Peons, however there are some youths, and far more would be Warlocks and former Shamans than in most camps.”

Xex’Mon’s brow furrowed, “I take it they have been informed what we think of demon dabbling?”

“Indeed Chieftain," Burx said promptly, "they will not cause trouble." 

“At least not again,” Nazgrel scoffed. “A few claimed the mages requested their camps have most of the casters, a few say their fellows were taken away for experiments but…” Nazgrel shrugged, “No one seems to be sure with how divided their camps were and the fact others came back, it’s all rumor.”

“I see, well I am sure if there is proof of such skullduggery, our agents scouring the city shall find it,” Xex’Mon intoned. Some part of him almost guiltily hoping for that, so the damage done to Dalaran might be more forgivable.

Pulling a map from his hip pouch, Xex'Mon passed it to his Commander and began to stride around the campfire, the surrounding warriors watching him curiously. “We have been given orders to make haste into the Alterac Mountain.  I want our camp to be ready to move early come morning.”

“What?” Burx gaped, as several confused grunts and utterance rumbled around them. “But what about the other camps!?”

Xex’Mon waved for calm, “The other camps within our controlled territory have been liberated already, and with the actions of Beve Perenolde and her Syndicate, Durnholde has fallen.”

“So… We’re free?” Nazgrel murmured.

“Not quite,” Xex’Mon dropped down to tap at the map, “She was forced to retreat in the chaos of battle, so while Durnholde fell the Orcs within are not among us.”

“Did the Alliance slaughter them?” Burx hissed.

“Hardly,” Xex’Mon scowled, sending the smaller warrior rearing back a little. “The Alliance were far more interested in slaying traitors and actual warriors, your kin escaped in the chaos. Its expected they shall retreat in uninhabited places or the safety of the Hinterlands. Thus our mission in Alterac is to find them and offer aid as needed. Once that is done and your people have been rallied, fine lands have been made ready for you all in Howling Fjord.”

“But…” Burx mumbled, “I recall you said this campaign was to take us as far as Ironforge, are we being taken from the war before it is done?”

Nazgrel was already looking shamefaced.

Xex’Mon shrugged, “Winter shall be ending soon and with it our campaigning season. What is more, the accord we struck was to aid in the liberation of the Orcs, bringing them into the Drakkari Empire with the offer of new lands, far from the humans you loathe so. “

There were technically a few internment camps left. But if the Orcs within had not been slain by now, then the Frost King would secure their release with words and saber rattling, rather than a massacre.

Nazgrel saluted, “I understand, chieftain, our loss of control in the last battle… It must make us look unreliable.”

Xex’mon sighed, “I would be lying if our Frost King Malakk were not… Unhappy that so many who could not be called warriors lay dead. For now, just focus on the future, not on battles and bloodlust, but on building a homeland where you will have no need for bloodlust.”

“This is an insult!” An orc he did not recognize roared from gathering the crowd. “This troll wants us to feel shame for slaughtering our former masters! Wants us to fear being orcs! How is he different to the humans that tried to tame us!?”

A hushed hiss fell across the crowd and the orc blinked, as if realizing he had taken a step too far.

Burx snarled, foot stomping, “You dare insult our chieftain, his people are the ones that freed us!”

“To control us!" Argued the orc, a handfull of others clustering around himm protectively. "Why do you think he shames us for fighting heartily! To silence the stamping feet of our people’s conquest!”

Xex’Mon’s head lolled back, bones cracking as he rose to his feet and half glanced at the puny critic he seethed, “How many?”

“What’s this?”

“How many Orcs died last night?" Xex'Mon asked again, firmer and louder. "Or more, how many were killed thanks to carelessness born of bloodlust,” he turned his full, furious gaze on the troll. “How many were killed by the stamping feet of your own people?”

The camp gasped, several however looked to the floor, and mournful moans echoed on the winds, even as other warrior bristled, “You dare accuse us!?”

“This one accurses nothing, merely states fact," his hand slashed. "I had to watch it through the spy glass as we raced to stop it. Warriors mired in bloodlust running headlong into cannon fire being ripped to shreds before slaying even one foe! Interned Orcs trying to escape the blazes started by out of control magics from ill trained warlocks. Children  being trampled beneath the warrior’s charge. I watched this in horror, warrior and mourn them, do you!?”

“Bah, they were weak!” One of his companions roared, eyes shining red, veins swelling.

Nazgrel nearly lunged at his fellow orc, “Weak!? They were prisoners, fool!”

“To be an Orc is to know battle and blood, the weak die and the strong survive!” the first Orc bellowed.

Xex’Mon let out a sharp cackle that died in his throat swiftly as all eyes turned to him. “Oh, little warrior, do not spout ideas naïve as that to me, for it truly does show you to be a fool.”

Voice turning sibilant he hissed, “By your own ideals you’ve no cause to weep when a friend dies, no injustice to avenge from bondage, no reason to even help your fellow orcs and!” he snapped, “Do not claim there is depth to this thinking! Your ideals are thin as dying grass, little more than an excuse to hide from shame and cloak your own dishonor!”

Xex’Mon opened his arms, “Tell me, what would you do if one stronger came to put you down, make you languish in torment and chains, would it be just because they are strong!?”

“No one is stronger than Orcs!” Spittle flew and the Orc rushed towards him, Xex’Mon did not move, grunting as the Orc struck his belly. A sharp twitch ran across his frame at the second blow and a grunt at the third before Burx and Nazgrel tackled him to the ground.

Their fists raised high to strike, Burx cursing, “You traitor!”

“NO!”

Xex’Mon’s voice cut through the rage and his commanders looked to him, the fallen warrior and the camp stared at him, all wide eyed as he strolled forward with a forced ease.

“The pups blows did me no real harm,” The warrior seethed at that, “And even if they did, striking him would prove him right, but I will not!”

Xex’Mon knelt before the warrior, motioning his commanders away and watching as the Orc raced back and to his feet, even now unable to wholly meet his gaze on an equal level. 

“I could have let my loyal commander pummel you, I could have snapped your neck like a twig the moment you raced to strike me, I could do all of this and more, but I did not. Why?” 

He looked to the crowd, “because you are one of my warriors, you are under my protection, because I have no need to kill that which cannot even harm me. Because I have restraint, discipline and honor!”

The warrior’s veins bulged but he did not strike, a faint shiver running through him at the sight of one so unbroken by his strikes.

“My friends, my legionaries, I lead you, I fight with you, and now I must ask of you to think with me for a moment and to think hard. I have spoken to many among you, shared meals and heard stories of times before demons. Heard tell of your longing for a new land, for new lives.”

He rose to his feet and motioned sharply to the malcontent Orc, “But what future comes of his words, what is promised to you with repetition after repetition of Dalaran’s fall? More died in that fight than needed, many children and young warriors were lost before they could bring honor to their families.”

A hush had fallen over the crowd, the warrior was looking around eyes wide and wary at the sullen glares directed his way.

“A new land awaits you all, a new story to tell. But what story will it be, what will you build, where will you live if again and again you lose ourselves to bloodlust? What will you be left with thinking of only your own strength, of only the next battle? What shall be left for you, for your children but ashes and a final death?”

No one spoke, heads hung low, the warrior’s gaze snapped around wildly as his teeth ground audibly, but anything he might have said was lost when Burx knelt and spoke loud enough for all to hear.

“You speak with great wisdom chieftain, and I know you speak the truth, for you have given us aid and shown us mercy that no one else would.”

Nazgrel spoke next, kneeling, and slamming his fist into the ground, “You have fought and bled alongside us, defended even those who seek to do you harm. This is honor and I… I wish to embrace it as wholly as you do.”

Facing his lieutenants, Xex’Mon placed a hand over his heart, “You honor this one with your words and regard, thank you my friends.”

“Thank you, chieftain!” Both warriors looked to one another and turned a baleful glare on the warrior and roared as one, “We are legionaries of the Drakkari Empire! Lead the way, Chieftain Xex’Mon, Lok-Regar!”

Voices and roars rose from the crowd, loud and audible cries of “Lok-Regar!” echoed across the winds and with each proclamation the warrior shrank in on himself, scowling as he pushed his way back into the crowd.

Slamming a fist against his chest, Xex’Mon cheered, “You honor me with your loyalty, and I thank you! Before we leave camp, another round of drinks and meat for everyone!”

Boisterous cheers echoed and Xex’Mon sent a silent and apologetic prayer to the Drakkari staffing the food banks as the camp bustled and his lieutenants raced to his side.

“Orders, chieftain?” Burx intoned.

“Do you want us to deal with the traitor?” Nazgrel growled.

“Leave him be, his words were folly, but he is still one of my legionaries.” What was more, Xex’Mon knew striking him down would merely inflame any resentment, providing proof he was a threat, better to leave him to mire in irrelevance.

Turning his attention back to his commanders, Xex’Mon clapped each on the shoulder, “Thank you for your aid in this matter, I can always rely on you two.”

“Thank you, chieftain!”

“Once everyone has had time to calm, Burx you see to the north-West sector of the camp and Nazgrel, you the South-West, I shall oversee the remaining commanders and tend to our forces there. I want us prepped and ready for slow but steady march bright and early.”

“It will be done, Chieftain!” They saluted and marched away.

Patting his bruised belly, Xex’Mon turned and went to find his remaining commanders.

In the distant shadows of the noisy crowd Rekshak watched the troll with a baleful scowl, a trio of warriors joining his side, as he hissed. “We must get word to Grom and Orgim; before it is too late.”

_______________________________________________________

Smoke still lingered in the air, the smell of blood and sewage stained the streets and while victory had been assured, tension still suffused every living soul within the city.

Quetz’Lith could not stand it and has coaxed Barafu to the Western woods, a place which had been touched little by fighting. With tall trees and snow still glistening clean and pure on looming rock formations.

“You wished to speak with me, brave one?” Barafu said, her frame radiating tiredness, but her eyes were sparkling.

Tilting her head, Quetz’Lith shrugged, “Just needed time out of the city; This one thought you could do with a rest as well.”

Barafu scoffed good naturedly before running down Quetz’Lith’s arm, “I may be a magus, but I am not delicate creature, do I seem so meek?”

“Never my lovely,” Quetz’Lith assured, holding the smaller woman’s hand in her own, “I just… This was bloody… Bloodier than we intended.”

Barafu looked confused, “You told me your Sky Shriekers were reputed for their ferocity, is this so odd to you?”

“Fierce yes," She nodded. "And not always with honor, we would raid and surprise but this… This was a gutting of a city. Like the scorching of a town it is not what we should do, not without it weighing heavy as it always has.” 

Quetz’Lith’s gaze fell upon Barafu and she felt the smeller woman confusion, pulling her hand away in one sharp motion she grimaced, “You do not care, do you? Not at all.”

“Dear one,” Barafu soothed, hand over her heart, “I do, I am sorry this pains you so, your honor and righteousness are like flames on a cold night…”

“You don’t care about them,” Quetz’Lith, looking to Dalaran’s cracked towers and occupied streets.

“Of course not, they are our enemies, why should I?” Barafu snapped.

“Because they are still people this was their home!" She shouted. 

Barafu huffed, "Is it not fitting, is it not justice?" 

Quetz’Lith snarled, "We came to break armies, not tear apart tailors!”

“This is war, it will not always be so clean, Quetz’Lith!" 

“How can you be so indifferent, Barafu!?”

“Because I hate them!”

Quetz’Lith snapped back, her surviving ear stinging as she looked upon the fierce magus like she’d never seen her before.

Eyes wide, tusks and fangs bared, hands quaking not with exhaustion but rage as she spiraled around, kicking up snow and letting loose a bolt of ice that shredded a tree.

“I hate them! I hate them so much, all of them, you… You cannot understand,” She hugged herself, body shivering as she stared at the ground. “This was a mercy compared to what they did to our ancestors, compared to what they tried to do to us, all of them are guilty, all of them benefited from our pain. Why should I feel shamed when they suffer a kinder fate than those they deliver unto others?”

Quetz’Lith was no philosopher, nor was she often merciful to her foes and yet... “Just because they did worse does not make this right, we have to be better.”

“Better,” Barafu hissed, “So easy to say when growing up in a mighty empire resplendent with wealth and power, but not so for us, we lacked that luxury. We had to win,” she seethed, “we had to survive, to get what justice where we could, however we could. If our honor suffered from that, very well, if this one's heart turned to flint, fine. I just…”

“Hate them,” Quetz’Lith said quietly.

“More than you can know,” Barafu said, head hanging low.

They lingered in silence for a time and slowly, deliberately, Quetz’Lith removed the betrothal band from her pouch and huffed a weak chuckle. “I expected this day to be quite different. The evil army would fall, the people would surrender, and we would tour the city streets before retiring somewhere comfortable and I’d…”

She shuffled up to Barafu’s side who gasped, before looking away, “I suppose those plans are ash now?” Her voice quivered with unshed tears. 

“Mostly… Except this one… It is not how I would have done it, or under these circumstances, but maybe it is better this way?” She offered Barafu the inscribed betrothal band.

Reaching out to rest her hand atop it, Barafu looked up at her through tangled braids, “You saw an ugly side of me today.”

Quetz’Lith cradled her lovers’ hand, “You saw a reproachful and self-righteous side of me this day. No marriage is bereft of conflict, but I still cannot see my future without you in it.”

Barafu smiled, gently wiping a tear from her face she pulled her hand back, betrothal band coiled between her fingers before she slid it over her right hand. “I will make you one soon.”

Then, without another word they embraced and for a single moment, all was right in the world.

________________________________________________________

Part 2 

Gal’Darah sat comfortably on an ornate cushion beneath a tent, outside Andorhol’s lovely if cramped town hall. 

He was not a tall Drakkari and he'd have to crawl and contort himself through the doors. He could not imagine his glorious liege being able to even sit within the cozey wooden domicile.

‘Building codes will need to be made more accommodating,’ he thought. Remembering the wave of remodeling Zul’Drak had gone through to accommodate the Wolvar after the reunification made travel to all tiers safe.

The night had fallen, and his battle had been won, many fleeing to rejoin the main army or surrendering without a fight. Those that didn’t were easily killed or captured, and with foresight on his side, he had sent a contingent of Sky Shriekers to… Discourage panicked evacuation of Andorhol.

Now, he and the Barov’s sat together beneath the tent in the town square, across from them was the Lord Mayor Darrick Renn. 

He was an aging and nervous fellow with a short greying beard and shoulder length hair. Alongside was the towns judge, and the captain of the guard… Well third in line for the position as her superior officers were either gone, dead or imprisoned, but she was carrying herself well, Gal’Darah thought.

“These, ah, provisions of surrender... Are ah, most, well, flummoxing to me,” Darrick said.

Alexi’s teacup slapped down with a snort, “Dammit man, we have gone over this. Stop wasting our time or see yourself replaced!”

“Now, now,” Gal’Darah hummed, “This is a nerve-racking situation, we must be patient.”

“Your generosity is noted, Grand Prophet,” Illucia said. “But my husbands’ patience is beyond this mere meeting, this nonsense if keeping us from the capital and our Jandice.”

The representative of Andorhol tried and failed to hide disdainful grimaces as their gazes turned away. Word of the young lady Barov’s safe return to the capital and a battle at Dalaran had robbed much of the fire from them.

Hand on his chest, Gal’Darah spoke softly. “My heart goes out to both of you and though it is no substitute for your presence, trust that she is in the best of hands. Still…,” he turned his attention to the trio before him who stiffened, “We cannot be derelict in our duties.”

Grasping onto the offering the guard captain motioned to a map laid out on the low table between them all. “May I ask again as to the need for these garrisoned troops? If this is not an occupation, should there really be a need for them?”

“A temporary garrison,” Gal’Darah assured her, “And for the people’s safety as much as anything else. With the chaos of war, Bandits and their ilk have been growing bold." 

His gods had been kind enough to grant a vision of victorious Hala'Zhi smoking a pipe atop the ruined walls of Hearthglen even before word came oftheur victory. So he knew better than to blame banditry on Gnolls and Ogres any longer. 

"Still, if it is any consolation, " he continued gently. "I can arrange to see it that the soldiers shall hold you in the same esteem as they do their commanders. Thus only chieftains and this lands Great Family shall outrank you in these matters.”

She leaned back, biting down on her tongue as she sought an answer when a scholarly record keeper shuffled into view. “Lord Mayor, if I may have a moment of your time?”

Ilucia scowled, “You may not have noticed we are in the midst of a meeting to end this war, perhaps trouble him another time or share this with the rest of us?”

Gal’Darah watched the color draining from Darick’s face before tapping his fingers, “Now, now, let us give the man some privacy, shall we? No need for us to be rude when he accepted us as guests, no?”

The Barov’s scowled but nodded, and Darrick excused himself, mumbling thanks and excuses every step as he and his servant shuffled into the town hall. 

Both guard captain and judge looked to one another, before the judge spoke up, loudly.

“You have spoken of how our laws and culture shall be respected, and our faith not denied, but can we truly discuss this without the local chaplain?”

His Rageclaw Scribe cut in, "Andorhol’s responsibility, priest and his flock marched to battle; rendering his words moot..." 

Gal’Darah only half listened to this long-addressed point, as the Barov's chimed in and went over, again, how the Archbishop had already agreed to their terms. Instead angling his head to the side and listening to Darrick and his servant speak, their hushed tones doing little to hide them from one blessed by the gods.

The duo words were muffled but but clear to Gal'Darah as Darrick spoke with his scholar.

“I cannot waste their time much longer; before long they will simply move their forces into Andorhol and liberating us will become impossible. When can we expect Trollbane, or Lord Commander Morgaine?”

"We have heard nothing from the Lord Commander since his forces retreated across the bridge, but word is Hearthglen has fallen.”

“I do not want rumors I want facts.”

“… The facts are Lord Mayor that we received word regarding King Trollbane’s army, they were ambushed enroot to rendezvous with Dalaran’s forces. They lost their supply trains and have been so bloodied that they were forced to turn back. They promise-”

“Damn their eyes and their promises, we need help now.”

“I know Lord Mayor but that is all I can report save for…”

“For what…”

“Some claim as vengeance for the capture of Barov the troll king has burnt Dalaran to the ground.”

“Impossible.”

“Maybe but…”

“Rumors always hail from somewhere, yes I know. Damn. Dammit all.”

“Lord Mayor?”

“We have no choice, we’ve not the strength or resources to fight them, let us hope that they keep their word.”

Gal’Darah leaned back and cracked his neck, instantly drawing all eyes to him; he smiled benignly and whispered to his Wolvar scribe n Zandali, “Just pretend we are talking.”

“You mean like so? Can do easily. Hear their conversation?”

“I did, this should do, thank you.”

“Of course.”

With the time passed, and Darrick shuffling back to their company, eyes sunken in defeat, Gal’Darah clapped his knee. 

“I have most joyful news,” All eyes turned to him. “Our noble ally, Beve Perenolde has succeeded in her mission to drive back the armies of the Troll Slayer and secured the South!”

“Brava!” Alexi and Illucia cheered, “It seems this war shall be ending sooner than anticipated!”

“Indeed, it would, still, I am sure we have much left to discuss here,” Gal’Darah let his gaze drift over the judge and guard captain to meet Darrick’s and with nary a moment pause, the man blinked.

“No, no I believe you have communicated this arrangement very clearly,” he sighed.

“Lord Mayor?” The Judge whispered but received merely a gentle tap on the shoulder from the scholar who locked eyes with the Guard Captain. Both souls understood the truth before Darrick even sat down.

Looking at the declaration laid out before them, Lord Mayor Darrick Renn spoke. 

“The city of Andorhol accepts the terms and conditions of Queen Lianne the Peace Maker, to the Drakkari Empire and accepts Frost King Malakk as our true liege. May this peace last forever.”

Then, without another word, he picked up a quill and signed it.

_______________________________________________________

Jandice lay in a plush bed, one quite literally fit for royalty given it had once been a royal guest chamber for visiting monarchs. Gentle sunlight shimmered on her frame, made thanks to the actions of a Shaman making the clouds part when she asked for more sun. It was genuinely nice she thought, and interesting.

Her head lolled to the side and dull sparks of sensation flickered across her frame, but there was no pain, the healers had seen to that.

‘A shame it makes me so woozy…’ She thought, as the room blurred and twirled a little before going straight again. Finding her once again in an ornate white marble and royal red bedecked hall over the blurry brown mess she had been seeing moments before.

She twitched as a familiar pair of hands touched on her own and hissed at the distinct numbness on her right side.

“Jandice are you well?” Her mother asked, brow heavy with exhaustion. Her father leaned in too, oddly fretful, and watery in the eyes.

“My legs gone…” she drawled forlornly making the quilt cover twitch as she lifted the stump.

“I know dear, but the healers will mend it, I promise, I will make them,” Her father ground out.

The healing trio as she dubbed them stood on the other side of the room and did not look confident, frowning, fretting, or letting out a low whine. The towering troll was kneeling and clapped the cuddly wolf creature on the back and said, “Regenerating the leg is not impossible, but for a human may be… Hard.”

“Hard how,?" Her father spat. "If it is some nonsense about the Light we care not,” He continued, ignoring how the human cleric aiding them scoffed in offence.

“Yes, what matters is healing our Jandice, she suffered much for the empire and deserves the very best!” her mother added.

The healer trio bowed, and the little plush toy said, “Providing all we can, we are the best available.”

The troll, gosh these Drakkari were broad weren't they? He motioned to the side room, “There is a full suite of other healers, items and medicines awaiting to tend to her every need.”

“That does not answer our concern,” her mother intoned as Jandice tried to push back the cascading headache, failing and wincing as they continued to chatter. 

‘Better than silence and the humming…’

She forcefully cast the memory of the cell and torture circle from her mind, she was free, free, and fine… Were they still talking?

“… The magic used on her leg is like a curse, we had to stall its growth before anything else,” The cuddly creature growled cutely.

“Re-growing the leg may be possible, but it may not… Take is our concern,” the human said.

“The compounding trauma could put a great strain on young Jandice’s body, so we do not recommend rushing this treatment,” the troll added. He was waving some documents around like they meant something.

“Is she to remain bedridden for months, years then?” her father snapped.

“I could fly...” Jandice hummed, “I know the spell, very tiring though,” she yawned and then yawned again just because she could breathe fully again with nothing crushing her...

‘Stop it!’

“That’s unreasonable dear," her father said in that stern fatherly way he spoke when he wanted to be comforting but in charge. "You simply must be able to walk again,” 

“Ah, well, we do have some skilled crafters who can make a fine prosthetic, it could be of ivory, or metal, or even divinely blessed wood.” The troll said.

‘Prosth- what?’

Jandice’s confusion was lost when the grand doors knocked… Or were knocked and a voice announced, “Frost King Malakk asks to speak with one, Jandice Barov.”

“At last,” Her mother groused as her father answered, “Please enter your majesty!”

“I thank you,” answered a rough but not unpleasant voice.

The doors swung open to reveal an absolutely gargantuan troll in a strange blend of a suit and robes with ornate patterns in shining metal. His deep lavender hair was slicked back in three ponytails and he had to skulk to fit through the doors. “Forgive me please for interrupting your reunion, but if I could beg a moment of Jandice Barov’s time, I wish to thank her personally for her bravery.”

Before anyone else spoke, Jandice’s head lolled around as she tried to take in his broad frame, murmuring, “aah, so you are the one I bled for?”

He knelt before her bed and still stood taller than its frame, his massive size meaning even his gentle tones sent vibrations through stone, “I am. Please know that the chief of the Violet Citadel who did you harm now lies broken and dead in its rubble.

She wanted to chuckle at Kassan being buried in his beloved prison but laughing still made her twinge oddly, so she just huffed happily, “That... Does put me in a bright mind… Wait what of Modera?”

The troll blinked and thought a moment before nodding, “I cracked most of the bones in her body when she tried to attack me. She is currently our prisoner but given all that was done to you… She will be punished most permanently, milady.”

Jandice tried to order her words, “That does… Put my heart at ease… Or will when I am awake at least.” Did what she’d said make sense, she wasn’t sure, her pillow was very fluffy.

The troll king took her free hand in his own and intoned, “You risked everything and suffered much in my name. The empire shall spare no expense in providing you every comfort and aid in recovering, for as long as you desire it, and you shall hold a place within my heart forevermore.

Jandice blinked, "Oh?"

Malakk stared at her, gaze slowly shifting to her parents as he muttered, “That term means something else in this land I take it?”

Her mother coughed lightly, “It does have rather, ah, romantic connotations, my king,”

“Ah,” Malakk said awkwardly, freeing his hand and rising to his feet, head still stooped to avoid the roof. “Well that would be quite inappropriate given the circumstances, my apologies, Jandice Barove.”

She shrugged, “Better proposal than most I have had.”

He bowed grandly, “I shall excuse myself before I say something else foolish, if you have need of anything, do not hesitate to ask.” He nodded at her parents and quickly vanished through the doors, his grinning guards trailing after him as it closed.

Jandice’s eyes were fluttering closed as she mumbled, “He seems nice…”

“Yes, in fact-”

Jandice yawned again, her chest ached but for once nothing flashed in her vision, she was too tired. Eyes falling closed, too heavy to open again as her parents and the healers spoke.

“I won’t be leaving her side.”

“It is likely best you stay, she has been through much, the presence of one’s she knows will ground and comfort her after such trauma.”

Jandice squeezed her mothers’ hand just to make sure she was still there, and felt her squeeze back. 

Then, she was asleep.

_______________________________________________________

The bustling sounds of people at work hummed in the background of the palace as Malakk strode down the castle’s halls. But despite the sounds of measuring and murmured discussions of remodeling. Of staff carrying trays and cleaning and bureaucrats note taking, there was an almost physical pallor hanging in the air.

For as gentle as Malakk was trying to be, he was under no delusion his rule was welcomed, yet. 

Thus, while many had fallen back into the humdrum of their worker day lives the people wholly expected their heroes to strike him down and place a prince on the throne. Now, with much of Eastweld in retreat, their armies from the South driven back and Dalaran fallen, that flame had burnt out, leaving an ashen taste in their mouths.

His own followers were of a different sort, many longing for home and others who might have been jubilant at his victory suddenly seeing the cost of war. Not just in bodies, but in honor. Where once all looked to him with reverence, many now seemed subtly wary or simply disappointed.

‘I promised them a swift and heroic war, and now I have gutted a city, they’ve every right to be aggrieved.’ Even those with no love for the humans would think poorly of his command, a king losing control of his own army? Absurdity, empires have toppled from less!

‘Only the fact I acted to save a tortured prisoner and that so much can be laid at the orcs feet spares me.’

He was torn from his thoughts by the pitter patter of Wolvar paws on the carpet and a familiar scent on the air that brought him to a halt before a grand window overlooking the city, bedecked in red silk drapes.

“Frost King Malakk, we have word from your elf Speaker,” The portly Wolvar scholar said, offering a thick and ornately decorated scroll which he took.

“I take it duplicates have been made, fair scholar?” He intoned, slowly unfurling it.

Nodding enthusiastically the Wolvar rocked on their paws, “We have, very many of them in fact, we have two teams studying them and not talking.” The Wolvar grinned, “So we can compare notes after. Some focus on questions and speaking; others check the records and tomes. We shall investigate everything the elf said before offering our understanding.”

“As always, you and your fellow scholars work ethic amazes,” Malakk said as he half read the truncated translation of the Elves missive. Were he less tired seeing the subtle similarities and disjointed distinctions thanks to the translation would have been quite engaging, but for now his mind was locked onto task.

“Hmm, if he is to be believed the prince of Quel’Thalas is of less worth than I thought, but still of import,” Malakk murmured. “These Magistrates, I can almost see similarities in our own governance.”

“Indeed, indeed, fascinating,” The scholar yipped, “If the elf tells no lies, then the king holds judicial authority, similar to you. But it seems these Grand and Noble Houses dictate to him far more than he leads, and we think…” The Wolvar tapped their claws, “Thinkin I should not be biasing you to my groups reading.”

“I will heed whatever conclusions are drawn by you all no matter what I am told here, still, this will be useful, thank you for your service," He rolled up the scroll. "I shall peruse this more as time passes and speak with you all again soon.”

The Wolvar bowed and offered a respectful bark before trundling off.

Rolling his shoulders, Malakk turned towards the familiar scent and was greeted by a mane of vibrant purple hair, a pale blue frame, bedecked in robes and sacred wooden ornaments.

“Apologies for keeping you waiting, Gal’Darah, and congratulations for your stunning victory,” Malakk said, hand over his heart as he met Gal’Daraha’s yellow gaze.

His Grand Prophets grin was wide, his aura elated and nothing but his usual exuberance shone through in his eyes as he bowed grandly. “Frost King Malakk, I thank you and no apologies are necessary, matters of state weigh heavily upon you, I know this.”

Malakk nodded, and reached out, hand coming to rest on the other troll’s shoulder, “You heard of Moorabi, yes?” Gal’Darah’s grin faded as he nodded. “I know you two were not always allies…”

“But he was one of my lieutenants and as the leader of the prophets I would be telling a lie to say word of his death did not pain me, but...” 

Gal’Darah’s chest swelled as he began to smile again. “I am awed and pleased with how he chose to leave this world. Not by his enemies’ hand and in the service of Zul’Drak, in the service of our Frost King. He was a companion worthy of you my liege.”

Malakk huffed, “I made a foolhardy decision trying to hold the prison and many paid the price for my hasty actions, including my friend.”

Gal’Darah clicked his tongue, “I have heard some tell of your brave battle at the Violet Hold, all to save one soul!” Gal’Darah slapped his chest, “Word of such valor will spread faster than that of the fool Orcs reckless abandon, I am sure.”

“I am king,” Malakk stressed as they began to walk down the halls, “I am responsible for my soldiers. I should have had them place the city under siege.”

“Would they have listened?” Gal’Darah intoned, arching his brow, “The demons blood runs hot in their veins. They may have sworn themselves to you, but their spirits are not their own and your journey with them not yet done.”

“Then I was a fool rather than a savage for relying on them so,” Malakk countered, only to wince at the pained look on his Grand Prophets face.

“You wound yourself-”

“Not as much as my actions wounded others.”

Gal’Darah’s pained expression morphed into something like vexation, and his tone became breathy and almost desperate. “Self-pity does not suit you great liege. Mourn the dead and resolve yourself as you always have.”

He sucked in a low breath, his chest tight and said, “I planned to,” drawing himself up, “Please forgive your king this moment of weakness.”

Gal’Darah blinked and his eyes flickered before he smiled and bowed his head, “Your sense of honor and unshakable resolve is what inspired my loyalty so long ago, Frost King Malakk. I merely feared… It was foolish of me.”

Malakk spat out a laugh, “If you thought me so mired in self-reflection, I had grown numb then cast those worries aside my friend! It is as you say, the journey is not done and the story not yet told." 

He cast his gaze towards the window, "Still, I have made my displeasure known and already ordered the Orcs to Alterc; then, soon after to Howling Fjord where I expect them to behave. I will broke no more of their foolishness in battles to come.”

“A wise decision, though I imagine they were not all you were concerned about,” the Grand Prophet guessed.

Malak huffed, “Far from it, I shudder to think what Zol'Maz might already be thinking. As word of this spreads it shall hurt morale and encourage anger among the people. We will need to adjust accordingly.”

Gal’Darah toyed with his tusk, “With the winter season ending soon, few I doubt will take Umbridge at less war fighting. As to any heretical treason, my acolytes and I shall ensure all know the truth.” Gal’Darah’s head lolled to the side, his tone quiet, “In this, noble Moorabi’s death may soften the blow.”

The thought of that was a bitter one, but if nothing else Moorabi did not die to see the empire fall, so the only noble thing to do was use his every act to the utmost. Nodding, he answered, “As will the orcs being orcs rather than trolls, but I am still bound to these acts if not wholly responsible. In the coming weeks we shall need to walk softly an speak subtly.”

“It will be as you say, Frost King Malakk,” Gal’Darah blinked, “May I ask where we are going?”

“The Arcanum cells, there is something I need to resolve now, before we move forward. Did you have anything else to share with me on the way?” Malakk asked, knowing he would need to pay a visit to the new dominions soon and wanting to know more.

Gal’Darah clapped his hands, “Andorhol is a lovely town, smaller than the Rageclaw Dens but well situated. With how things went I foresee few problems for the future overseers, but would recommend a garrison nearby, or,” he chuckled, “Maybe just let Zol’Maz retire to the mobile fortress. He has taken quite a liking to it I am told.”

Malakk scoffed, “And let him weep about missing his family every day? I think not, but yes, the mobile palace will likely remain and patrol the river border for some time." 

Malakk's ears twitched at the distant sounds of the familiar and sibilant Amani tongue down a hall. "Tell me, War Priest Hala'Zhi led the claiming of Hearthglen, what of it?" 

Gal'Darah clicked his tongue, "All went well from what I bore witness to. The Gnolls and Ogres joined hands with Amani of another tribe and our own forces. The city, I am told, was much evacuated in preparation for a siege." 

They turned and began moving deeper into the palace as the Grand Prophet continued. "When the warrior raced out to cull their seemingly disorganized foes, Hala'Azhi enacted a mighty prayer that stuck their leaders low and they broke through the gates to the sight of militia men and steely soldiers." 

"Good, at least this was clean, and this other tribe, did they decide to join hands with us?" 

Gal’Darah shivered and said, "I think not your grace, word is they took supplies and disapeared back into the forests. Also," He added, hastily pulled a scroll from his robes. “I had almost lost my thought, but I received a missive from an Amani falcon before the Nerubians called me back.”

“Oh? They’ve been so quiet recently.”

“By design it seems,” Gal’Darah answered cheekily, “According to the words of Warlord Zul’jin, he arranged an ambush for a fleet hailing from a coastal city, Tyr’s Hand.”

Malakk nodded, tapping his tusk, “That place was always going to cause us trouble.”

“He ambushed them in the straight and struck them low and has since bombarded the city. He boasts to have brought ruin to their churches and reclaimed many lost trophies from the Amani’s glory days.”

Malakk hummed, “I did not plan on this, but it is appreciated all the same, please remind me to send him a gift, something tasteful. Though…” Malakk frowned, “Does he seek a boon from me, or is Tyr’s Hand his prize?”

“I would want it looked over by yourself and your Speaker first, but I would say the latter, he claims the coastal settlement in the name of the Amani Empire and makes no suggestion as to offer them as a gift. Even the ambush he couches in pragmatism, such fortune and providence you have majesty!”

Malakk smiled, “You are too kind, and haha, canny Zul’jin, very canny! I may not be in his debt but to say he has done me no favor would be a lie, the scales shall need to be tipped back into balance one way or the other.”

“Of course, Frost King Malakk,” Gal’Darah said as they came to a stop outside a room literally humming with magic and inscribed with runes.

“Well, let us get this over,” Malakk sighed as the doors were pushed open for him.

It revealed an empty chamber lined with white tiles all painted in runes, while totems adorned the floors, and a crackling arcane cage surrounded the unconscious figure within.

“Wake her,” he murmured to the Nerubian watcher, who nodded eyes blinking discordantly, before rolling back into its head.

With a shuddering gasp the Arch Mage, Modera of Dalaran, returned to the waking world. “wh… What? Where are…” Magic flickered and faded in her hands, her gaze was wild but fearless, she was braced for harm and Malakk could practically see her trying to pull magic from the air and into her frame.

“You are in a prison designed to hold only the strongest mages, Kael’Thas resides in another and shall be treated well,” Malakk intoned, drawing the woman’s gaze to him. 

“Your other counterparts on the council fell in battle, as did Dalaran, though it shall be rebuilt with time,” he continued, tone growing softer but for a moment. “I however have some questions… for… you?”

Malakk looked down at the scowling magus, her hands bound by Saronite studded manacles and a familiar ferocity in her glare.

She spat at his feet.

‘I see…’

“We meet again,” He drawled.

She scoffed, “Do we now?”

“Yes, yes, it was a theory before but I am certain of it now,” he rumbled. “You Were the one I swatted to the ground like an errant bug during the battle. How happy I am you survived, given you are the one who tortured Jandice Barov correct?”

Lurching forward, magic crackling at her fingertips before fading, “I interrogated a traitor! Think you to lecture me, savage!?”

Kneeling before her, he kept his tone firm, but soft and answered, “When I campaigned to become king of Zul’Drak, I once sent some of my followers to speak with a rebellious chieftain.”

His gaze sharpened, tone growing harsher, “They were captured by his followers before they could invoke guest rights, tortured and sent back to me mangled and traumatized.”

“If only you had gone yourself, I would have been spared this conversation,” she answered.

Malakk kept his gaze locked to her and said, “Tell me,” he leaned forward, “What do you believe I did with him when I felled his fortress?”

Madora steeled her nerves, “If you intend to torture me for what I did to that traitor Barov-”

“Torture you? Of course not,” The troll countered, rising to his feet, marching in a slow circle around her when-.

Her world vanished with but a sharp pulse of something at the back of her head, and then… Nothing.

Malakk looked at the fallen mage and said, “After all, I am not a savage.”

_______________________________________________________

Lianne and Callia had not returned to their previous chambers since Kel’thuzad’s… attack. Instead, they now resided in a separate royal suite, one on permanent reservation for the Archbishop or priests of similar rank.

In contrast to the vibrant royal colors this new chamber was of paler make, emphasizing shining marble and ornate carvings of the Light and effigies of past saints. In place of busts and portraits were banners and scrolls decorated with imagery and prayers.

The windows were stained glass and with the clouds parting, a gentle rainbow of hews lit up the room, casting out any remaining chill that the pulsing embers in the fireplace had not.

Lianne sat before her daughter, cradling Callia’s hands in her own as the girl sat on the bed, head low, chest rising and falling as she sucked in harsh breaths.

“Just breathe easy dear, have faith, not just in the Light, but in my belief in you,” She murmured.

A weak smile of acknowledgement flittered across Calia’s face as she steadied her breath and cupped her hands as a prayer fell from her lips.

“Lights love, Lights glory, Lights Shine. I call to thee, pray to thee, please I ask of thee to brighten our dark days and show us the way…”

A gasp escaped Lianne’s lips, Callia’s hands began to shimmer and cradled oh so gently between her hands was a flickering, flaring ball of gold. So warm to touch yet cool and calm, it soothed her by sight alone.

Callia cradled it to her chest even as it began to fade, a ragged gasp of relief fleeing her lips as Lianne pulled her into a hug, “That was wonderful my sweet.”

“Thank you, mother, I know… I know it is small, but it is a start,” Callia whispered.

Lianne ran her hand through Callia’s hair, “You have only just begun to study the ways of the Light, even the Archbishop said this would take time.” She cradled Calia’s cheeks and kissed her brow, “I am so proud of you.”

Unshed tears still seemed to swim behind Callia’s warming gaze, but her daughter was stronger than she knew, and the young woman whispered, “Thank you mother, for everything.”

There was a knock at the door and Lianne bit out a sharp sigh as the words, “Frost King Malakk wishes to speak with you.” She looked to Callia who nodded.

Replace with De'Jana wanting to keep Lianne in the loop "I am merely the Chief Burecrat, you are still the Queen Counselor". 

“Please come in,” Lianne said gingerly, ignoring the coiled pang of nervous dread and sadness that had only grown since she heard of Dalaran’s fall and the army’s retreat.

If salvation were to come, it would not be for a long time, or… It would need to come from her own efforts, she thought. Resolving herself, hands folding over the other before her dress as she watched the opening doors. 

In strode De'Jana, bedecked in more ornate materials and manner than was custom, much of it in Drakkari style, but with a Lordaeron-ish flare. 

“My apologies,” she offered in a smooth tone, “Did I interrupt?”

“You did,” she answered, “but I imagine it is with good cause?" 

De'Jana nodded, revealing several scrolls from behind her back, "This one does. Matters of state demand the Queen Counselor's attention as do Frost King Malakk's plans for the future, of which I have chosen to inform you now, that you might prepare."

Lianne hid her shock well, head tilting in curiosity, "I did not think I would be returning to such meetings for a time, if at all. Are you not the Chief Bureaucrat now?"  

De'Jana bowed,  "I am merely the Chief Bureaucrat, you are still the Queen Counselor." 

She could muse on the motives later, instead Lianne nodded and murmured, "You have my gratitude." 

Lianne looked to the dining table in the corner and beckoned for the half troll to join her, when Callia stirred and rose to her feet. Coming to stand at Liane’s side, “May I… I wish to join you and my mother for this.”

De'Jana's brow arched, gaze flickering over Lianne who was stunned stiff as the troll intoned. “Gentle Callia, you wish to stray away from your studies and join us. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Her daughter swallowed, “I… I am well-schooled in manners, politics and diplomacy and as my mother’s daughter,” She stilled for but a moment. “Am I not heiress to the title of Queen Councilor?”

De'Jana's smile looked genuine if confused, as Lianna resolved herself, shoulders squared and her pose regal she nodded to to the half troll.

The troll clicked her tongue and nodded, “Very well then, Queen Councilor, Apprentice Royal Councilor," She took her seat, "Shall we begin?" 

They moved to join her as a pair of servants bustled in with her favourite tea and snacks, laying them out as De'Jana organized her scrolls.

Once the servant had left, De'Jana offered her the first scroll and Lianne patted her daughter’s arms, “Let us begin, shall we?”

Callia’s smile was small as she took the scroll, the light in her eyes but a flicker; yet It was there, and Lianne treasured it.