Waking up feeling refreshed, Varrus blearily reached over to kiss his wife good morning, only to find a noticeable void in the bed.

In place of his wife, there was a note. Varrus rolled his eyes, and sighed in relief. He hated to admit it, but her near constant presence acted as a blanket of security, and warmth he didn't know he needed.

Holding the letter up to the light, it read:

You were so cute while you slept, I couldn't bring myself to wake you. Your little nose was so alluring, I almost took a nibble! Worry not My Love, I won't be gone long. The Vanderguard have informed me of a cache of plague free ingredients, and I awoke early to prepare breakfast. Rho'dan also informed me of some rare flowers, so I just HAD to take care of them for you.

-Your loving wife, Syra.

Varrus shook his head and smiled to himself.

Ah, what a considerate woman. He took a deep breath, catching a whiff of her scent, then slowly exhaled, content.

"Although she can be quite silly, Vanderguard of all things!...besides, if we were going to give them a name, it should clearly be the Crossguard!" Varrus cheerfully admonished his wife to himself.

However, Varrus' cheer soon turned to confusion as the cry of a dragonhawk came accompanied by a letter being dropped in through his bedroom window.

Unfolding the letter, Varrus raised an eyebrow in surprise. This upcoming meeting would be quite interesting. If the contents of the unsigned letter were to be believed, it seemed that treachery was on the menu.

Closing his eyes in thought, Varrus couldn't help but shake his head.

Damn smug elves. They were on the brink of destruction, yet politics mattered more to them than the survival of theri race.

"Tsk." Varrus spat.

A series of light knocks on his door and a quiet cough that suspiciously sounded like Rho'dan had Varrus jump in his place.

Quickly casting a small jet of flames, Varrus burnt the unsigned letter into ashes. He then took one last look at the letter Syra had written for him, kissed it, then placed it into his inventory.

Slipping on his robes, and applying some basic cleansing and hair/skin care spells, he answered the door.

"Highlord, the Vongstag patriarch, Tou'vor has arrived. He mentioned something of a potential alliance. I have placed him and his sons in your office." Rho'dan said, and stepped aside to follow behind Varrus.

"What do you know of Tou'vor, Rho'dan?" Varrus questioned as they walked down the hallway of Varrus's massive estate.

"Strong. I fought beside him in the Troll Wars, and his knights proved a crucial role in that conflict. While fighting in a squadron of dragonhawks, his value is almost equivalent to the Lady." Rho'dan spoke in a direct and dry manner, yet Varrus could detect an underlying hint of respect.

So Tou'vor was an old, powerful veteran in charge of aerial units. Crucial traits to survive in the current era. Especially airborne fighters. Control the skies, and the enemy would be in fear of losing their logistics, being flanked, or bombed at any time.

Likely accustomed to giving orders, and the cruelties of war, Tou'vor would make for an effective ally.

"Anything else?" Varrus queried as they turned one last corner and neared the office.

Rho'dan halted, causing Varrus to swiftly turn back, and look at him questioningly.

"At the founding of Quel'Thalas, the Vongstag's were offered a seat on the table of Highlords for domesticating dragonhawks, and hawkstriders. However, they refused due to their pro-monarchy stance. The current patriarch is soured by his father's actions, and has been political adversaries with the Covenant for the last couple of millennia."

"I take it he and my father didn't see eye to eye?" Varrus quipped sardonically.

"Muffle please." Rho'dan whispered.

Varrus raised an eyebrow, yet obliged, eager to learn any additional information to prepare himself for this very important meeting.

The spell Muffle was one many Highborn learned, as rumor and gossip was the strongest currency before Mana Stones entered the market. One of the countless tomes of knowledge given to him in exchange for some Mana Stones contained this spell.

A faint deep blue sheen coated Varrus and Rho'dan in a 10ft bubble, limiting any sound from traveling outward.

"Over the millenia, your father has cut funding to the Knights of the Hawk, and attempted no less than eight assassination attempts on Tou'vor. In the process, Tou'vor's wife was slain in the crossfire. In fact, part of the reason why your father made a political marriage between you and the Lady in the first place was so that he could secure Faedra's expertise, and her silence." Rho'dan whispered while covering his mouth, taking extra precautions not to be heard or have his lips read.

Varrus paused as he mentally fumbled. Well, his wife's superhuman feats made much more sense knowing that his mother-in-law was an assassin. However, that was a thought for another time. He had a meeting to go to, and the more he learned of Tou'vor before he met him, the stronger of a position he would be in.

"Why did my father hate him so much?" Varrus asked.

"Your father didn't hate Tou'vor, he despised him. You see, the dragonhawk are no native species to Azeroth. They were the mix of a dragon and a mighty hawk. One of the dragons who bred with the hawks just so happened to be Tou'vor's wife. Their copulation was an affront to your father's sense of propriety." Rho'dan stared at his feet as a complicated look revealed itself across his face.

"...." Varrus was speechless, his father was a blood purist of all things! How sickeningly Malfoy. While Varrus admitted to himself, having your wife breed with some hawks to gain a military advantage was not something he would be willing to do. It was frankly disgusting and borderline NTR, but hey, as long as it wasn't his wife doing these things, he really couldn't be bothered to care that much.

More importantly, could he realistically make allies with a man who had centuries of beef with his family?

"Well, let's go inside." Varrus said with a sickly grin.

He did not have high hopes for this negotiation. Perhaps he would be pleasantly surprised, and his martial ability would outweigh his youth and inexperience. Perhaps Tou'vor could ignore a thousand+ years of constant backstabbing and political jockeying.

Haha. Yeah. Fat chance.

Throwing on a plastic smile, Varrus nodded at Rho'dan.

"I have your back, Highlord." Rho'dan nodded in reassurance.

Varrus took a deep breath, and exhaled. What was political talk in the face of a never ending horde of zombies? He had this.

Entering the room, Varrus saw the twins sitting at a large meeting table, and the backside of a man decked out in a set of crimson plate armor. He was blonde with long hair, and was tall and stocky like Thor from Marvel.

"So the young one has joined us at last. You know, it was awfully vain to have placed a portrait of himself in his own office." The man, Tou'vor took a swig of a wineskin, then tilted his chin up at a portrait.

Varrus' attention was drawn to a white haired elf pointing a dagger outward. Cursed memories of such a man admonishing him for decades sent a frown to his face. This father of his not only looked like a super villain, but his political maneuvering had him act like one too.

Tou'vor ignored Varrus's momentary discomfort, and continued to monologue, seemingly to himself.

"Bastard must've known he'd be gone for good one day. Let whoever inherited this mansion know who they owed their wealth and prosperity too. Am I right, Varrus Vandercross?" Tou'vor's smile was stained purple from his beverage. A sharp glint entered his eye as he took another long swig of his wineskin.

This was a rough start, but Varrus could smooth things over. His Speech skill wasn't low anymore, if anything, he could trust in that.

"Tou'vor Vongstag, perhaps we've gotten off on the wrong start. I am not my father, and am interested in working together to solve this undead crisis that plagues our lands. The survival of our race matters more than any petty politics, or power plays." Varrus said in a diplomatic tone as he moved closer and offered his hand.

"Pwah! Honeyed words for a boy not even a century old. I wouldn't trust you to clean a dragonhawk, much less ride one! How could someone inexperienced like you possibly restore order to Quel'thalas? Wake up child, those 'petty politics and power plays' are the lifeblood of our race. I came here to see if my sons spoke truth. So far, I am unimpressed." Tou'vor said as he brushed past Varrus to sit at the end of the table.

Varrus felt his blood boil at the blatant disrespect. Clenching his fists behind his back, Varrus smiled brightly, and waved a palm.

Mana Stones poured out one after another, spooling across the table, and clattering to the floor.

'Watch this mana addict lose his high and mighty attitude once he sees a road to feeding his hunger.' Varrus thought to himself, all but barely withholding a smirk from forming on his face.

"You came all this way. You must be starving. As a host, it is only my duty to be accommodating!" Varrus gestured toward the Mana Stones that had fallen to the floor.

'You want to be antagonistic? Fine. I don't need to be your friend to use your forces. I know how your addiction to mana old man. Bend your pride backwards, and pick up a stone from the dirty floor.'

'Go on. Pick it up.' Varrus thought to himself as he maintained eye contact.

"My boys told me tales of warrior's rising from near death, of a thousand, thousand undead crushed beneath the boot of the Quel'Dorei. Yet all I see is a child attempting to fill his father's shoes. These Mana Stones may enamor the foolhardy and gullible, yet this ploy is that of a child preying on simple addictions." Tou'vor briefly paused to glance at Koren.

"Tou'vor, Tou'vor, to reject a gift during our most desperate hour, I am confused. You hate my father, and trust me, the feeling between us is mutual. However, these are Mana Stones. If not for your own stubborn pride, at the very least you could accept them for your soldiers." Varrus said as he took out another Mana Stone and began to errantly play with it, and seemingly ignored Tou'vor's ever growing scowl.

"The wise and experienced will see you for the youth you are. I say this not to insult you, Vandercross, but to educate you to the ways of the world. A word of advice: put away your impossible promises, and focus on the attainable. There's nothing stopping me, or anyone else for that matter from robbing you blind, and laying claim to that generational horde of Mana Stones that the Vandercross have built up over the millennia."

Varrus crushed the stone he was fondling, and deeply inhaled as the energy coursed through his veins. He deliberately wore an expression of ecstasy as the mana shone through his blue eyes.

"To be robbed blind, one must be blind Tou'vor. I do not think either of us is quite so stupid as to enact violence upon one another immediately after the destruction of Silvermoon. But then again, I do not hold in high esteem those who would parade their wives like a pig at a county fair." Varrus said, and inclined his head.

"Amusing Vandercross. Most amusing. I see that the drama stage has made a fine clown of the family name. Japes and mummery are what I expected when I came here, and I am disappointed to have been proven correct. You came to my boys, and asked them to ally with you. But with all the supposed power of a Highlord's family, your forces only saved what, eight, nine thousand? While my Vongstag suffered from mana sickness, and yet we have secured well over 20,000 survivors! You should not be asking us to ally with you, Varrus Vandercross, you should be begging us to protect you. Or will you continue to mock your superiors? To continue posturing now that an experienced elf has called you out on them?" Tou'vor took a swig of his drink, and directed a bemused look at Varrus.

The smug radiating off of Tou'vor had Varrus itching to cast a spell.

"An old man lost in his own glory. I offered this alliance in good faith, yet all you can do is lecture and threaten. You're past your prime old man, and unwilling to listen to reason. You see 8,000 survivors and judge me to be weak. Yet it was the Undead who were too strong! You, who defended Falconwing Square, commanded a genuine fortress. All I had to work with was a few hundred irregulars, yet destroyed ten to twenty thousand! Do not mistake my youth for weakness, old man. I am simply stunned at your lack of awareness. Did Koren tell you nothing of our victory?!" Varrus looked across the meeting table, and chuckled with confused incredulity. How confident could one idiot be? Was the death of his father so impactful on this millennia old rival that he had lost the plot?

"The young Vandercross bares his teeth! Yet you know not what you say! Children tell tall tales, Dakar told me a much different story. I know you have twisted Koren's perspective, and for that, I will have to educate him. No, my old rival had quite the collection of Mana Stone powered golems, and weapons. It would be more surprising if you lost! Only me, someone who sparred over the years understands your father and his resources the best. Only I can safeguard your holdings without bloodshed." Tou'vor said while leaning over the table, and squeezed his fist.

Varrus shook his head in disbelief. This guy was really trying to shake him down! After all the bloodshed, power hungry fools would remain as power hungry fools! He supposed that chaos was the best opportunity for someone to raise their social standing, and Tou'vor seemed all too happy to take out his rival to do it. Letting out a sigh, Varrus wrote Tou'vor off as a lost cause. If he continued to threaten him like this...Varrus would be left with no other choice but to end the threat.

"Once the other Quel'Dorei see your wealth, they will stop at nothing to seize it. You need my protection. Otherwise, there will sadly become yet another casualty to the Undead, just like the previous Vandercross patriarch. A tragedy to be sure, but no one would know better. No longer would you be a name, just another statistic. Do you really want that? Or will you accept my help, and survive to see the glorious rebirth of the Sunstrider Dynasty?" Tou'vor finished speaking with another giant gulp of his wineskin, and a shit eating grin.

By this point, Rho'dan had unsheathed his sword, prompting the silent twins to mirror his actions.

Varrus remained silent, lost in thought.

It was naïve of him to think every Highborn would bend over backwards for his Mana Stones. Moreover, this enmity clearly ran deeper than Varrus had ever imagined. That old hatred could override the threat of extinction.

He was probably going to have to murder this guy. What a waste of time.

The brief silence was broken by the sound of applause.

Decloaking from invisibility, Faedra revealed herself to the room.

"What a wonderful performance, how many times did you have to rehearse that one? I was particularly moved with the oh so subtle threat in between the lines. Proof that age doesn't equate to wisdom, it only makes us spicier." Faedra said with as much disparagement and mock disdain a spiteful woman could muster.

"Faedra Greathollow, why shouldn't I gut you where you stand." Tou'vor scowled, and took an extra long swig from his bottomless wine sack.

"Such passion! We truly are a mercurial people once our masks come off! The only reason why he wants to convince you so badly, my cute little son-in-law, is he wants you to remove the wards to the treasury. Otherwise with his talent, he can forget about seeing those fabled contents in his lifetime!!" Faedra sauntered over to Varrus's side, and lifted a goblet of wine that had been prepared for the table's occupants beforehand. Then she raised it in salute at all present before splashing its contents across Tou'vor's face.

The armored elf fumed silently as he directed a look of pure hatred her way.

For her part, Faedra responded with a tiny smirk, and reached to drink from another wine goblet, then dropped some powder from a packet inside. The contents foamed over, and a sinister smell wafted into the meeting room.

Varrus quickly pushed the wine cup closest to him away. He didn't know what it was like to be poisoned, and even if he could cure it he didn't want to find out.

"Faedra Greathollow…" Koren spoke in a whisper.

"Hmm?" Faedra hummed, only for Koren to quickly look away.

"So you're the slut sleeping around with the Highlord's, the Madam of Murder Row! The way father spoke of you, I thought you would be 12ft tall and covered in shadow!" Dakar cheerfully slapped the table and exclaimed.

"Boys." Tou'vor hissed in warning.

"Now, now, let the children speak. Besides murder is such an ugly word. We of Augur Row are simply friends interested in sharing secrets to relieve ourselves. A little drama is the spice that relieves this dull thing we call life. That's not so bad, is it?" Faedra cooed as she tilted her head to the side, and placed a finger on her cheek.

Dakar blushed, and turned away.

"Ha, drama, she says! The mysterious deaths of not one, but three royal children is indeed what some would call drama." Tou'vor spat, voice dripping with scorn.

"Now, now my dear, there never were any witnesses tying me to those little accidents. Anyone could've fallen down the stairs. In fact, it happens at least once a decade!" Faedra said, while spreading her palm, and inspecting her nail polish.

"And the King's sister drowned herself in the well, while you were her only attendant?" Tou'vor growled, slowly drawing his weapon.

"She was a young woman in love with a married man. I could only speak to her in consoling words. It was her choice to go down that path." Faedra smiled magnificently, all the while adopting the most faux innocent expression Varrus had ever seen.

Varrus frowned, and glanced at Rho'dan for confirmation.

The subtle nod was all he needed to know.

Although Varrus had learned of her skills just before the meeting began, the information was still fresh, and had yet to sink in. His mother-in-law was more than she presented herself to be. Not only had she taken out the wife of a prominent noble, but she had apparently also killed royalty! Perhaps her blatant disregard of him earlier was, as she said to Tou'vor, a removal of masks. What use did the playboy Varrus have to offer with his father dead? But when he revealed himself as Varrus the Mana Stone maker, she was quick to use the ties of family to bind them together.

Varrus would have to watch this woman closer. But not too close. He liked his eyeballs where they were, thank you very much!

Maintaining his frown, Varrus kept silent, interested to see how these two 'long time friends' would roast one another.

"When I came to this accursed place, I had not expected your bloody hands to be behind it. Now it all makes sense. From what my boys told me, your forces were ambushed by well over 10,000 Undead. How could anyone-even a wet behind the ears boy-fail to spot such a large force with the best rangers in all of Azeroth at his disposal? But with a gadabout like you pulling the strings, why, I'm not very surprised." Tou'vor coldly laughed.

A stinging pain hit Varrus in the heart as Tou'vor's words hit too close to home. He was genuinely caught out with his pants down by a large force. Complacent with his magical sight that allowed him to spot the undead from a mile out, he hadn't bothered sending out scouts far and wide.

This entire experience was a lesson. One to etch into his memory, and learn from. First, the duplicity of the elves was astounding. When he met them in the future, he would have to assume that any elf was in it for themselves, and might value prestige over the unity and strength of the race. Heck, the arch traitor, Dar'Khan himself betrayed the Highborn all because they wouldn't make him the chief magister. Elves were untrustworthy across fiction for a reason, and Varrus had to keep that in mind even if he now looked like them. Secondly, his military prowess was severely lacking. He needed to find some skilled strategists and tacticians to surround himself with. Varrus knew he wasn't the smartest man in the room, but he was smart enough to know that. He would go the George Washington approach to warfare, and seek out talents to fill his ranks.

While Varrus was internalizing to himself, things had grown tense between Faedra and Tou'vor.

Tou'vor and Faedra both took a drink at the same time, and regarded one another with hostility as silence ensued.

Tou'vor's silence was steely, promising hot violence at the business end of a sharp pointy stick.

Faedra held Tou'vor in utter contempt, as if what she was looking at was nothing more than a lower life form.

In the silence, Varrus noticed Koren seemingly becoming more and more uncomfortable. He kept fidgeting, and his eyes kept shifting around, then meaningfully at Varrus like he wanted him to do something. As if he was pleading for Varrus to take action.

Short of sending them on their way-either as enemies or in a body bag-Varrus didn't really know how to resolve this conundrum.

The tension was broken when the door to the office opened up, revealing Syra holding a tray of steaming hot, delectable food.

Stomach rumbling, Varrus inhaled, and exhaled the divine scent emanating from the plate. He wanted to eat!

Deciding to ignore the potential fight about to break out, and trusting in his Ebony Flesh, bodyguard, and wife's reflexes, Varrus relaxed himself, and beamed a smile up at his wife.

"Guess what's for breakfast!?" Syra cheerfully entered, then placed the tray in front of Varrus.

"Steak and eggs?" Varrus queried as he put a mouthful of scrambled eggs into his mouth.

"So this is the lynx you used to marry into a Highlord's House. What a shame you chose Vandercross of all people. But I suppose whore mother like whore daughter." Tou'vor sneered with satisfaction in his voice, like he had just served justice to a truly vile criminal.

Just as the eggs were halfway into Varrus's mouth, he heard Tou'vor's remarks about his wife. Slowly lowering the fork, Varrus placed it gently on the plate, and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

Before this moment, he was unsure if he should show Tou'vor the door. However, insulting his wife like that? The only way this smug elf was leaving his house was in a body bag!

"Yes, very good! It was dragonhawk steak and eggs!" Syra giddily clapped by the side.

"This insult will not stand. You Vandercross have crossed the last line. I think I'll be taking those Mana Stones naow-kuah, Ko-Koren??..." Tou'vor stood mouth agape as blood dribbled down his exposed neck. He took a confused step forward, only to stagger-fall into the embrace of his son.

"I am sorry father, but I won't let you doom our House and our people. The Sunwell must return." Koren shed a tear as his sword dug greedily into Tou'vor's neck, killing him.

"Koren, what the-!" Dakar stood from his seat in a hurry, yet was stopped in place by Rho'dan's sword pointing at his neck.

"By my right of succession, I pledge the Knights of the Hawk to ally with House Vandercross." Koren said, then took a knee.

Varrus pursed his lips at the scene. It would seem the anonymous letter he had received earlier in the morning was from Koren. He expected some sort of trap, or trick, or maybe as events unfolded, some plot hatched by Faedra. But reality proved otherwise.

"Oh my, what a rich ending for such a tough man. My friends conducted eight separate attempts, yet Tou'vor was slain not by poison or intrigue, but by a blade to the back! And the deed was done by his own son no less! Despite my lack of involvement, I cannot say I'm displeased. Because this oh this will live on as an especially memorable occasion. I really must thank everyone present for putting on such a remarkable performance!" Faedra covered her mouth, and let out a dry chuckle at Koren's face fraughtful of pain.

Then suddenly her tone switched to one of tedious seriousness.

"And what makes you think we won't kill you twin brothers, and take your refugees for our own? After all, who can trust a kinslayer?" Faedra said in a matter of fact tone, as if she was discussing the purchase and sale of groceries.

Stolen novel; please report.

Faedra then Blinked forward, and teleported an enchanted knife into her hand all in one swift motion, placing the blade's edge an inch away from Koren's eye.

Crazy, it would seem, ran in the family.

"We are not our father. Highord Vandercross…Varrus, I saw the glory of your final charge the other day. The power you exhibited. My father didn't believe me, but I know how strong you truly are! I truly believe you can restore the Sunwell. So please, please let this vile act convince you of my sincerity to your cause!" Koren said with mad fanaticism, his voice starting calm, but reaching a crescendo at the end.

"My, he's cuter than I thought. I think you should keep him after all. As for the brother…" Faedra flipped backward, and gracefully landed behind Dakar with the fluidity of an Airbender from the Avatar series.

"Spare him! He can be useful!" Koren was quick to beg.

"Okay, I've seen enough. Faedra, enough with the theatrics. You may be a powerful assassin, you may be my mother-in-law, but this is my house. Unless you want me to show you what has made Koren so in awe of me, you will withdraw." Varrus said, and prepared himself to Blink incase Faedra decided to attempt to speed blitz him.

"Oh very well. I must confess, I did want to marry into the House of a Highlord, but Syra chose you. How happy I am that she finally did something right. Come see me you two, when you're done with your little play date. My friends have informed me that Prince Kael'thas is on the cusp of conquering the eastern half of the capitol, and we will want to be there when he does. Let this frankly pathetic attempt at negotiations serve as an appetizer for the political bloodbath to come." Faedra glanced at her daughter several times as she spoke to Varrus, then disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

Varrus quickly cast Detect Life, and made sure she was truly gone.

'Damn rogues acting like shinobi out here.' Varrus thought to himself.

So Faedra was some important broad from Murder Row, the place where rogue/warlock trainers gathered in WoW. Lovely thing to have a millenia old professional assassin for a mother-in-law. One that everyone and their mother seemed to fucking recognize! That certainly wasn't going to bite him in the ass.

Well, at least that explained why Syra was such a killing machine, and could consistently sneak up on him.

He was going to have to question his wife later, but for now, he had to take care of business. Varrus hoped his breakfast would still be warm by the end of this.

He then turned an appraising eye at Koren. It took a lot to commit patricide. Varrus didn't think he could off either of his parents on Earth even if it concerned the future of his country. As for Koren, he could only hope that Tou'vor was the scummiest elf to ever exist, because this was just brutal. In some regards, medieval politics was scarier than a zombie. You could blow a zombie up with a fireball, but a dagger to the back from those you trust and love was the most sickening of things.

Varrus tried to justify Koren's actions in his head. Tried to make reasons as to why he should spare a father-killer. Perhaps Koren hated Tou'vor, perhaps he was scared of Varrus and Syra's power and knew he couldn't win. Or maybe it was as he truly said, and he was in genuine awe of Varrus' abilities, and fanatically wished the Sunwell to be reborn.

Any of those could be true, or partly true. The zombie apocalypse genociding Quel'Thalas, and destroying the Sunwell touched more than one elf in the head. Varrus had seen his fair share of crazy and suicidal in the last few days. Perhaps Koren was one of them.

Tapping the table, Varrus slowly chewed on his dragonhawk steak as he thought.

Suppose he did kill the twins right there and now, he could as Faedra put it, claim credit for retaking the entire western capitol. But if he let them live, he could do the same thing, and get a pair of Hero units out of it. One of which was a potential flight risk.

Plus, who was to say if the Knights of the Hawk would disband, or simply get absorbed into the Rangers of Silvermoon? While they served the Vongstag's, the Order would act as another one of his arms.

What mattered most was the cache Varrus would have as the leader of western Silvermoon. With them under his banner, he would have a much better time negotiating with the eastern half. Keeping that in mind, Varrus had come to a decision.

"Very well, I accept an alliance between our two Houses. Now go secretly cremate your father, and spread rumors that he had died to an undead rogue on the way back to your home." Varrus gave a series of instructions, and traded markers (their word for telephone numbers) so that they could communicate with one another via magic orb, and sent the pair on their way.

He almost sent them to their deaths, or demanded the other brother, Dakar, serve as a hostage. But he didn't want to go down such a dark path if he didn't have to. Varrus had no illusions as to the harsh reality of this world, killing that Undead kid still haunted him.

Cliche as it was, he would do anything in his power to keep those close to him safe. Even if it meant going to extremes. He wanted to try to be good and merciful if he could afford to. But if this meeting taught him one thing, it was that some people, like Tou'vor, couldn't be reasoned with.

Glancing at his guard, Varrus smiled in relief. It was reassuring to know someone other than his wife had his back.

"Thank you for guarding me during this tense negotiation Rho'dan, you may stand outside, or go on patrol." Varrus said with a warm smile.

"Aye." Rho'dan replied in his typical serious tone, and exited the room.

Varrus then gestured for Syra to sit beside him, and took a bite of the eggs.

They were by this point, sadly, cold.

However, Varrus was a man, and wouldn't want to make his woman disappointed.

"Delicious!" Varrus made sure to hum his enjoyment at the clearly not appetizing eggs to his wife.

"I'm so happy!" Syra gushed, and wrapped herself around Varrus' side.

Varrus wasn't totally lying either, the dragonhawk eggs were different from chicken eggs, and actually tasted pretty good. But cold food was cold food.

Moving on to the steak, Varrus nodded along, and complimented it too.

He much preferred breakfast with his wife to politics. If he could survive the next 30-50 years of turmoil, he would enjoy doing this for the rest of his life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Within the ruins of the Palace of the Sun, Kael'Thas sat within the gloom of his father's office.

He rubbed his hand gently across the broken blade of Felo'melorn, and let the legendary sword burn his hand slightly just to confirm that he could feel pain.

"So it really is true. This is no dream, but a waking nightmare." Kael'Thas bit out to himself in sadness and anger.

When he received word of the invasion of Quel'Thalas, he was unconcerned. The Elf Gates were an impenetrable barrier that not even the old Horde could not penetrate.

He was confident in his people's defense, but mostly, he was reluctant to return home and face his father. His fascination with human tales of heroism and culture had seen him ostracized in court. Oh, no one said anything to his face, but the sly smirks, whispers behind his back, and narrowed eyes said it all.

So he left.

Kael'Thas thought time would heal the heartache, that he would eventually come home and greet his father with a hug and a smile.

Instead, that cursed bastard, Arthas Menethil.

Kael'Thas paused and took a deep breath of repressed rage. Just thinking about that monster sent him into a downward spiral of rage and depression.

That bastard somehow breached the Elf Gates after a week of failure. Then with nearly the entire population of Lordaeron zombified and at his back, Arthas smashed through their unprepared defense, and marched straight to the Sunwell.

This crumpled blade that he lovingly held in hand was proof of his father's demise.

Proof of Kael'Thas's failure.

"If only I had done more. I have failed you." Kael'Thas spoke to the blade, and clenched his fists.

What happened after his return was nothing but a blurred nightmare.

Arthas corrupted his people's very lifeblood, the Sunwell was tainted beyond measure.

The countless corpses, and the ashes of his father presented to him with a broken blade.

In truth, he wanted nothing more than to die alongside the Sunwell once he freed the Highborn of its corrupted influence.

To have his last act as a failed prince to be one of good.

Unfortunately, Rommath teleported them out at the last second before it exploded.

And when the elite force of Elves who followed him to the Sunwell shouted their devotion and loyalty to him upon their return, Kael'Thas couldn't in good conscience deny them their hope.

This new lease on life put things Into perspective. He once cared deeply when he heard the hushed whispers of ridicule just within earshot. About the love he had for Jaina Proudmoore.

But now that only blood and ash remained of his people, he saw them for the fragile magic addicts that they were. That he was.

Even now the pangs of withdrawal sent him into a searing headache.

Pressing his hand onto the enchanted blade once more, Kael'Thas hissed in relief as the mana sickness momentarily left him, and he absorbed the ambient magic in the heat.

Six days had passed since that fateful day. Six days to retake the eastern capital.

Six days to vent on the Undead.

Yet despite the cheers and glorious cheers, Kael'Thas paid attention only to the silent ones. Those who looked blankly into the horizon, or grinded their teeth in repressed wrath.

These ones he understood. All this cheering and talk of reforming their institutions, it infuriated him to no end.

Wise the ancients may be, but their slowness to act was what caught them off guard when the Elf Gates broke!

What they needed was action, not talk! They needed vengeance.

Smoldering flames spread across Kael'Thas harmlessly, and rose from his body. From within an egg hidden in his robe, his Phoenix companion, Al'ar cried in sorrow.

He was so caught up in his sorrow, he barely registered the knocking on his door.

"Enter."

"Ahem, apologies for intruding on Your Majesty, but the wisest and most accomplished have gathered in the throne room. They await your presence." His father's herald, Pathaleon the Calculator announced.

Kael'Thas lifted his blank gaze from his weapon, and focused on the spiky haired, red headed herald, forcing him to flinch backward.

"Very well, I will be there in a moment." Kael'Thas said dismissively.

Watching the career courtier slink away, Kael'Thas was reminded why he hated the palace so much.

Imagine their surprise when he announced his plan? The mere thought of it sent Kael'Thas mad with laughter.

His insane chuckles echoed along the empty halls as he strolled to the throne room.

The vast palatial hall grew silent as Kael'Thas entered.

His father's throne sat empty, as did the seven thrones for the members of the Convocation that circled the room. From what the few survivors had told him, the members of the Convocation of Silvermoon had perished due to the treachery of Drathir Dar'Khan. Another name to add to his list.

The rest of the wise sat themselves down below on a large meeting table placed in the middle of the grand chamber.

Kael'Thas glanced at the throne, its elevated position commanded respect, yet Kael'Thas only felt bitter disappointment when he saw it.

Deciding to forgo those honors, Kael'Thas instead chose to sit at the head of the table.

"King Sunstrider, this breach of protocol is highly unusual!" Someone said in protest.

"I am not your king, nor do I intend to hold that mantle. At least not until I have discovered a cure for our people's sickness." Kael'Thas said with determination.

His fierce glare across the table silenced any would be protests.

"Status report, how goes the mustering of our troops? Are we prepared to launch a campaign on the line of Menethil?" Kael'Thas said, some eagerness entering his typically melancholic voice.

The assembled Elves kept quiet, and glanced at one another waiting for someone to step forward and speak.

Kael'Thas barely withheld a scowl. Politics. How he loathed the institution. If only they would speak their mind, instead of waiting to test the waters. He wasn't some tyrant, he wouldn't smite someone for speaking out of turn! What he needed was information! If he was to lead his people out of the dark, then they had to trust him.

Standing up from his seat to speak, Kael'thas recognized a stalwart elf. It was the acting Ranger General, Lor'Themor Theron, former right hand man to Sylvanas. His efforts proved critical in retaking the Royal District. If anyone had information regarding the movements of the enemy, it would be him.

Kael'thas gestured for the man to talk, eager to begin the downfall of his hated nemesis.

"There is some good news, Your Majesty. Word has reached us that the son of Highlord Vandercross, Varrus Vandercross has retaken the western capital. Yet my rangers have yet to fully confirm this information." Lor'themar Theron, leader of the Rangers, spoke up. His general bearing, long white hair, eye patch, and goatee gave him a feeling of masculinity lacking amongst most High Elves.

Kael'Thas drummed his fingers across the table, lost in thought when he heard that name.

Memories of a pair of boys ostracized, and forced to face the wall together came to mind. Kael'Thas's punishment for his infatuation with humanity, and Varrus for failing his studies.

He hadn't seen Varrus in more than 40 years, not since he left to join the Kirin Tor.

A small smile graced his lips as he recalled the mischief they had gotten up to. Highlord Vandercross was quite cross with the two of them. His father's great belly laughs, and Vandercross's sour expression were a treat to recall.

Such joyful memories of his father only served to darken his mood.

"The prince requested information on Menethil, not about some fanciful rumors." Thaladred the Darkener, one of the Heroes that had joined Kael'Thas in destroying the corrupted Sunwell said harshly as he slapped his large axe onto the table. His crimson plate armor, and horned helmet marked him out as a warrior through and through.

"Apologies Prince Kael'Thas, I thought you would be interested in the security of your kingdom." Lor'themar said, pausing to glance at Thaladred. He then continued to speak. "Word has reached my ear that Menethil is overrunning Dalaran as we speak. A force of Alliance holdouts under the command of Grand Marshal Garrithos is rallying the Humans and Dwarves for a counter offensive." Lor'Themar replied.

"The security of our people is the only thing on my mind, acting Ranger-General. Which is why I seek to obliterate this Scourge infestation once and for all." Kael'Thas said sharply.

The tense meeting was interrupted as the herald, Pathaleon ran into the room, and spoke in haste.

"My Prince, Varrus Vandercross has come to the palace leading a force of hundreds at his back! He is demanding entry by his right as a member of the Convocation, what is your command?" Pathaleon said in a hurry.

Kael'Thas frowned. This was most unlike the friend he recalled.

"The boy Varrus Vandercross?! Hah! He is no member of the Convocation! True, the position is often regarded as a hereditary one, but he lacks the qualifications to sit here. Just last week, he had his father reprimand me, and saw me out of his opera house! His childishness has no place governing over the Quel'Dorei! Send him back." Sanguinar, another accomplished Hero who accompanied Kael'Thas said mockingly. His scarred face, chiseled features, and plate armor placed him as a veteran soldier amongst the typically magically inclined, scholarly members of the wise.

Many mutters and disparaging comments were thrown out at Varrus. None believed him to be a threat, and utterly dismissed his claims.

Kael'Thas wanted to accept Varrus into the room just so he could see the astonished looks on their faces. But if he was going to strike back against Arthas, then he was going to need all the popular support he could get.

"Deny him access. Tell him that the Convocation is dead. We have no need for his services." Kael'Thas declared with a heavy heart.

The Convocation had governed Quel'Thalas alongside his father, and in many cases could override his authority. In a way, he blamed the Convocation for their current predicament. So sure of the power of the Sunwell, they let their years of uncontested hegemony cloud their minds. The world was changing, and Kael'thas would see his people adapt to it.

Although he disdained the title of King, he would not forgo his royal responsibilities and power. Kael'Thas could not bear to suffer such a thorn in his side when he wished to wage all out war with the Undead.

"But Your Majesty, a crowd of thousands have come to follow him! They are cheering his name in the streets! All because of this." Pathaleon pressed forward, and spoke with a hunger in his voice as he presented a large Mana Stone.

"A Mana Stone, so the young pup has revealed the Vandercross fortune. How long does he think he can sustain a population of tens of thousands? This position is untenable." Sanguinar shook his head and chided.

"Agreed. Be on your way Pathaleon. Now then, let's resume our plan of attack, Lor'Themar, I want your Rangers to-" Kael'Thas began, then paused as his ears twitched.

"Your Majesty?"

"Does anyone else hear music? What a forlorn, yet joyful melody." Kael'Thas muttered as all sorts of emotions began to well up inside of him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At the urging of his mother-in-law, Varrus had taken her, Syra, the Crossguard and the Vongstag brothers with him, and traveled to the eastern capital.

Along the way, he was close to achieving his quest to clear Silvermoon of the Undead. As it stood, there were less than 1,000 remaining within the city. However, the most depressing thing about this journey was how quiet it was. A from one end of the city to the other was about 25-35 miles. In that time, there was nothing but damage and destruction as far as the eye could see.

Sadly, there were no survivors.

The largest feature of note amongst all this desecration was the Dead Scar.

The Dead Scar was a giant necrotic line of plagued soil. The giant black line was almost a mile wide, and it split the two halves of Silvermoon in half. The Scar ran from the border between Quel'Thalas and the human kingdoms all the way to the sea. It was a sickening and awe inspiring feat of magic, proving just how dangerous Arthas Menethil was.

Along the way, Varrus slew a few hundred mindless zombies and skeletons. Without any leaders to direct the mindless horde, or Hero units to tie him down, he easily soloed the majority of enemies with his increased Spell Power.

The super effective beams of Light energy crisped and turned every Undead he came across into purified piles of ash.

By the time his army made it to the ruined gates on the western side, Varrus couldn't help but be amazed at Kael'Thas's efficiency.

At least half of the buildings suffered nothing more than a scratch or a few burn marks. In contrast, the eastern capital was like Berlin after the Soviets had their way with it.

As they drew within a few miles of the palace, the army took a break, and Varrus began to think about the future.

Considering Kael'Thas's personal skill and charisma, Varrus was seriously considering convincing the prince to stay. In his quest to cure the Highborn's mana sickness, Kael'Thas would take 15% of the survivors, and incorporate them into his army.

Amongst that force were the strongest and brightest of the Elves. At least a dozen of which were powerful bosses, and many more experienced veterans at Rho'dan's skill level.

In contrast, all that remained in Silvermoon were maybe 5 boss level Heros, and the dregs of the Rangers, leaving Quel'Thalas a shell of a shell. Without them, Lor'Themar was forced to ally with the Horde. This weakness would lead to Sylvannas threatening Silvermoon. Either join the Horde on a campaign to Northrend against the Lich King, or die. The crazy bitch had to be stopped. For that, Varrus would need all the help he could get.

On the other hand, if Varrus sent Kael'Thas off on his quest for revenge, he would have much to gain politically, and would practically have no rivals for the Highborn's hearts and minds. At the same time however, the prince would become more and more deranged under Fel corruption, and eventually pledge himself body and soul to the demons.

Varrus' desire for leadership, and concern for his new people's future warred in his heart. He didn't have any easy answer, and was still uncertain on what he should do.

Did he truly have to become the sole leader of the Highborn at the expense of his entire race? Wasn't he just disparaging Tou'vor earlier for playing politics when his people were on the line?

Not only that, but he would be throwing away his only friend and ally outside of his wife and mother-in-law if he let Kael go on his mad quest for revenge.

Syra seemed to see his stress, and squeezed his hand for comfort.

That was right, as long as he had her by his side, all would be okay.

Varrus sighed as he decided to let go of ultimate authority. He would attempt to convince Kael to remain with Silvermoon. However, that didn't mean he was giving up on the Convocation. If he could reinstitute and become the leading voice in what was essentially the Senate/Parliament of most Earth countries, then Varrus' desire for authority would be sated.

At the end of the day, what mattered was the strength of the people. The stronger and more united they were, the better odds they faced when the likes of the Old Ones or the Burning Legion struck.

While Varrus was brooding, he received a tap on the nose.

Looking up from the ground, Varrus blinked his eyes as a fair finger tapped him on the nose once more.

Varrus smiled weakly at his wife, to which she flicked him on the ear, then smiled widely at him. Her bright white smile reinvigorated Varrus somewhat, and he rolled his eyes at her childish antics.

Syra suddenly came in close, leaving Varrus without enough time to blink. She stared him deep in the eyes, gold meeting blue.

It felt like he was trapped in time as he was mesmerized by her good looks and cheerful attitude.

His heart beat increased, and he felt sweat on his palm. He had made love with this woman a dozen times yet she still made him crazy.

He opened his mouth to lean in for a kiss, then felt a pain in his stomach, and the air swiftly expelled from his lungs.

Falling to his knees, Varrus looked at Syra questioningly, only to be met with her admittedly attractive and plump backside.

"Stop staring at the ground all day, it'll make you depressed. Maybe this will help keep your priorities straight." Syra said over her shoulder, then promptly collapsed onto Varrus' chest, forcing him to the ground.

Varrus was embarrassed as he overheard a few of his House Guard snickering just a stones throw away.

He moved to get up, but Syra pushed down.

"I'm not going to eat you my Lord, if that's your fear. That's for later tonight." Syra huskily whispered, then placed her hand underneath his robe, and gently fondled him at an angle that no one else could see.

"You're, u-unfair." Varrus harshly whispered and felt himself squirming in her grasp.

"Ah-ah, no moving, otherwise my great and magnificent man will embarrass himself in front of the boys. We wouldn't want that, would we now?" Syra cooed as the palm of her hand began to glide up and down Varrus' shaft.

Biting his tongue, Varrus felt his erection spring into her grasping hand. His breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps, and he felt himself getting close.

"Mnn, go win in that palace my love. You know what awaits." Syra suddenly released her grip on Varrus' head, then sauntered away like nothing had happened.

'Dammnit!' Varrus thought to himself as his eyes snapped open, and he was greeted with his wife's voluptuous ass prancing away.

Fuck, but that woman knew how to motivate!

Fugue over, Varrus was dead set on killing that damn meeting!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Standing atop a raised wagon, like some sort of parade float, Varrus waved down at the confused crowd of people as his guards tossed down handfuls of Mana Stones.

Honestly, he felt like an idiot waving his hand back and forth, and smiling like some plastic celebrity. But it seemed to be great for his reputation.

It was Faedra's idea to help spread his popularity, and although it was embarrassing, Varrus was looking forward to helping the Highborn manage their addiction.

"The Convocation has not abandoned you! Rejoice, rejoice in House Vandercross's gift to you!" Guards shouted out.

Listless Elves who did nothing but stared blankly at the ground lost their lethargy as Mana Stones found their way onto their laps.

People were going crazy like sharks at a feeding frenzy.

Varrus smiled to himself. At least the average person was still moved by his Mana Stones. It was the old, calculative monsters that he had to be on guard for.

By the time they reached the end of the street, a crowd of tens of thousands had swarmed behind them. They pushed and shoved so much that the Crossguard were barely able to maintain order. These people were like war-torn refugees receiving food from the UN, they were desperate.

Frankly speaking, Varrus pitied these people. Average civilians just living their lives suddenly forced into dire straits. When he saw them begin to regain their coloring and some of them laughed, wept or shouted their thanks, that was what made doing this all worth it. He had to admit, it felt good to be loved.

Varrus just had to make sure he didn't become complacent. The people loved Julius Caesar too, yet his fate was well known. If he was going to navigate this world, he would have to keep aware. People were fickle, and while he loved the sound of his name being chanted from the streets, he couldn't afford to let it get to him. These ardent supporters might one day become his harshest of critics. But for now, he allowed himself to bask in the praise, knowing that this good deed would cement himself as a major figure in Highborn society.

As the procession continued, they eventually made it to the Palace of the Sun.

Similar in size to Versailles, the Palace of the Sun was a monumental structure, and took up a full quarter of the Royal District.

According to Faedra, the oldest and most accomplished Highborn had been summoned to discuss the future of Quel'Thalas.

While he wasn't invited, he was certain his accomplishments would earn him a seat at the table.

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Varrus approached the grand doors to the Palace of the Sun, only to be stopped by a squadron of Spellbreakers. They were the elite royal guards, trained in the ways of silencing mages, and redirecting magical attacks.

"Halt! I recognize you Varrus Vandercross, playboys have no right to attend his Majesty's meeting! Begone!" A man Varrus recognized as the King's herald said as he shooed Varrus away.

"Not even for an old friend? Oh how you wound us Pathaleon. It would truly be a shame if someone were to discover a recording of a certain someone embezzling thousands of gold coins from a certain vault, wouldn't you say?" Faedra purred as she slinked out from behind Varrus and Syra.

"F-Faedra!" Pathaleon stuttered, and pulled at his collar.

"Well big man, are you going to step aside, or are you going to force us?" Faedra sauntered up to him, and lightly caressed him by the cheek.

"You, you stay right there! I will request an audience with His Majesty!" Pathaleon turned around and ran so fast, Varrus was left flabbergasted.

Ten minutes passed, and Pathaleon had yet to return.

"It would seem we are not welcome here. What do you intend to do Varrus?" Faedra questioned in a tone dripping with schadenfreude.

Syra wordlessly unsheathed her buster sword, causing the royal guards to tense.

"No one disrespects my husband." Syra muttered. Bright holy energies began to furiously swirl around her. Such was its intensity, some of the ground was torn up, and turned into rubble.

Varrus hugged her from behind, diminishing her wrath.

"We could throw a party?" Dakar, quiet and sullen this entire time due to the murder of his father, spoke up.

Varrus turned to look at him like he was the dullest block of wood amongst a pile of tinder.

The heck was throwing a party going to do?

"Yes, the idea has merit. The tens of thousands behind us would make so much noise, the so called wise and experienced would be forced to investigate the commotion." Faedra tapped her chin, and nodded along at the idea.

"A party? We lost so many people, the last thing we need is a party." Varrus countered.

Were these people insane!? Then again, he distinctly remembered the Highborn gathered in his ballroom, sipping on wine while the world was on fire outside his walls.

Highborn society was different from that of Humans. Perhaps social functions were their way of coping?

"We never danced at our wedding." Syra said, and adopted a pitiful, childish look.

Varrus' heart melted, and he stroked his wife's hair.

"Fine. But only for you." Varrus barely bit out, only to feel a tight embrace across his ribs, driving the air from his lungs.

"So many people will watch us dance, oh how exciting! The whole of Silvermoon will know that you are mine!" Syra madly giggled.

"Very well, a dance needs music, and I have something in mind."

Varrus sent some guards to gather some instruments, then enchanted them to play a melody.

Holding Syra tight, Varrus began to dance to the music in a slow and rhythmic cadence.

She stared him in the eyes, and looked down with a bashful smile. Tears streamed down her face, her complexion became radiant.

Varrus leaned down, and kissed her on the lips.

"Why so sad, My Love?" Varrus questioned.

"I never thought we would dance. It has been my girlhood dream to do this with my husband, to dance with you! I am so, so very happy now!" Syra gushed as a fresh wave of tears trailed down her cheeks, and tickled Varrus's face.

"Is it everything you ever imagined?" Varrus whispered as he gave Syra a twirl.

"It's better." Syra replied as she clutched Varrus close, and let herself be guided round and round.

Varrus was struck by her beauty, and completely forgot about politics, the war with the Undead, and all his woes.

Moving to the beat of the music, and gliding gracefully with Syra in hand was all that mattered.

In this one, blazing moment of passionate, innocent love, there were only two beings in all of Azeroth.

Him and his wife.