This story takes place halfway through the Cataclysm expansion. It involves side characters from "The Cat in the Bag: The Druid Pawn" and happens after the completion of that story. It's a 'rabble drabble' that goes off on some verbally cohesive tangents here and there. The main focus is on a character that isn't even present in the chapter.
~*~ Gates of Stormwind ~*~
"HALT! Who goes th- Lor'themar Theron?"
It was a beautiful, sunny day in Elwyn Forest. Gentel breezes brought the smell of fresh cut hay all the way across the river from Westfall. Bluebirds rivaled the higher pitch of the morningbirds in territorial songs staking claim to certain trees or bushes.
The very out-of-territory Lord Reagent of the blood elves sat atop his rented pony and returned the Stormwind Guard's surprised look with one that almost begged the same question.
"What in blazes is the Lord Regent of the Hordie elves doing here?"
Said Lord Regent was very glad this guard was quicker with her brains than she was with a sword, since running the ruler of a rival faction through with her weapon would do little to solve diplomatic problems between their nations.
That and years of betrayal still unresolved.
"I'm here to see Mathias Shaw."
"HA!" The sound burst out so quickly, and even her cupped hands over her mouth couldn't quite hide the laughing. There should be some propriety here, but she just couldn't must it even to fake it. "That is, do you have an invitation?"
"Certainly not." That would be beneath me. The man is a thief, a sneak, a thug, an assassin and cheated at chess last time we had a round. I won't stoop so low as to ask for an audience with a man who hides extra magistrix pieces up his sleeves.
"You alone?"
"Certainly am." Though the truth was that his honor guard of one currently had her hands full with the man who hadn't wanted to rent a pony to a Hordie. Last he saw them they were fighting – he with a pitchfork and her with an industrial sized broom – across the roof of a pig barn. Older brothers were suspect in just how she learned to handle a broom so well.
They wouldn't have had to stop for a mount if his raptor had not run off after bacon shortly after entering Elwyn. That it's former owner, a troll going by the roughly translated name of Baconmaster, named it Runsforbacon, should have told him something. Beggars can't be choosers, however, and it took bartering his eyepatch to get the raptor from the troll once his own hawkstrider ran afoot of some hungry crocolisks All they found was bloody sand and blue feathers.
The Lord Regent's ears had wilted over and stayed that way all day. His honor guard, sent to find the offending crocolisk, were easily given the slip. All but the one who insisted on staying by his side. No way was he taking a full escort of 20 armed Hordies into the heart of Stormwind. He meant to woo Mathias – or plead on hand and knee as they case may be – not make Varian think his piddly city was under attack and call the dragons on him.
He had word from Thrall about just what Varian's pride was worth when the Warchief's cheerful taunts ended in half his city being terrified by a tame black dragon named Lia.
As he waited for the guard to radio in to let Master Shaw know he had a visitor his pony tried several times to leave the road and graze. Not used to riding astride horses after most of them were killed off in the Scourge invasion the Lord Regent finally allowed the animal to forget he had a rider and carry him off the road and into the woods. The city guards seemed to care less that a wayward faction leader was being bossed around by a horse and allowed him out of their sight.
Several minutes latter the guard came to find him and find him she did: facedown in the grass beside his mount and munching on the clover. She didn't even question it as she removed her helmet and approached. Yellow hair shimmered in the sunlight, freshly washed just that morning, and she wanted to show it off to someone before it got caked in sweat.
"Um... Master Shaw says, and I quote, 'Oh, goodie, just what I need: a elfin ranger who masquerades as a non-king vising my humble corner of the world. I'm sure he's only brought me muffins from Sylvanas, and a get-well-soon card.'"
"Was he sick recently?" Note to self: don't give him the muffins from Sylvanas. Even as a joke.
An arched eyebrow and lowered chin said are you kidding me?
"So.." is that a yes or a no? "I can meet him now?"
A deep intake of breath said he was trying her patience – or someone who's patience was more important than hers – and a flip of her hand towards the gate indicated that she should let him in. "Go for it. Do you know the way around? I'm sure the guards... probably won't mind giving a Horde directions to our master assassin if you just ask nicely."
Lor'themar smiled from ear to pointed ear, hauled himself up from the ground and strode towards the gate like he owned the place. That he felt so heavy in flesh and bone that it cost him breath and life to keep upright as he passed under the huge arching gate of the city.
He had been to Stormwind before, as an emissary sent by the then ranger-general Sylvanas during the years when the Scourge were becoming a problem in the Plaguelands. As always he admired the beauty, the architecture, the magnitude of something so grand... but it wasn't Silvermoon. It just didn't compare to the might and majesty of his city. Per tradition he stopped and payed homage to the statue of Alleria Windruner, who proved once and for all that whatever depths his people have had to sink to in order to survive, they had bred some of the most memorable heroes the Horde and Alliance have ever seen.
Not at all surprising he found the layout of the city to be a bit different. The smell of dragon fire and smolder hung in the air, even though the worst of the damage caused by Deathwing had been repaired months ago. If he could visit the park district to mourn his fallen elves then he would have. However, that would reopen other wounds that were best left sealed shut until he was behind the door in Shaw's conference room and perhaps half drunk.
He'd almost drink something Shaw gave him if the man would fulfill his request.
Almost.
Well maybe.
We'll see.
It did take asking a guard to find his way there. Per the guard's warning he simply asked, "Hi. Lor'themar Theron, nice to meet you. I have a date with your master assassin; where can I find him?"
No doubt that guard would get a raise for pointing him the way. Hopefully it won't be on a noose when they realize the Hordie walked out of their city alive. Well, that was the plan at least.
Several corners, a few dark alleys, one slippery mote bridge and a demand for entry latter Lor'themar found himself in the sitting room of a one Mathias Shaw. For some reason he though the best ice breaker would be to say, " You haven't come after me at all. What's a sin'dorie have to do to get bumped up the threat list these days?"
"Be a threat." Shaw parried one insult with another.
Torn between offering his guest something to drink or a swift knife in the throat, he opted for wine. Sending some random person who just happened to be wondering by to the market for a fresh bottle showed Shaw's diplomatic side. No way would anyone drink something an expert in poisons just had lying around the house.
The Lord Regent made himself comfortable at the table, facedown in the hardwood and sighing heavily. He really was heavy... so lua damned heavy! Shaw walked circles around the room waiting for the wine and watching the blood elf struggle with the urge to not shed armor. The wine would only make the heavy feeling worse, but if the best thing that happened to him today was getting drunk of Shaw's dime then he was doing pretty good.
Briefly he wondered where his honor guards, raptor and pony was right now.
"Lot on your mind, Lord Regent?"
"I'm not a king. I know the guard didn't understand your message, but I can taste sarcasm like I can taste arcane magic."
"Whatever do you mean?" Shaw's dark hair and eyes clashed with the yellow robe he was wearing. Bright. Yellow. Fuzzy. Houserobe. The back was embroidered with the logo of a goblin racing team from Tanaris. Apparently the SI:Y leader was a Yellow Brick Road Racers fan. The matching slippers just made the ensemble that much better.
"'Mascarading as a non-king', that's what you said." Lor'themar turned his head from side to side but didn't pick is 75 pound skull up from the table. So heavy. "What you meant by that was that I'm pretending not to be a king when I am. I'm not a king. I don't have any royal blood. I'm a Farstrider."
"So I hear. And your Prince Kael'thas was a mage. What does profession have to do with ruling a city?"
Lor'themar's left temple started to tweak. How many times had he had this argument with Rammath and Halduron? "We don't call him prince anymore. He lost respects to that title long ago."
"Your kingdom is a kingdom, is it not? You don't vote for leadership there. If you did they'd have... well you... sitting on the throne."
"Not my plans at all." Each word was emphasized by his head bouncing off the hardwood as he repeatedly smacked his forehead into the table.
Shaw scowled as he answered the door. The exchange between the errand runner lasted a brief moment and then he returned with two wine glasses and a bottle of something from Thunderbluff.
"They sell that here?"
"Vintage. I though you'd appreciate something sunlit on a day when you seem so gloomy." Emphasis on that last word was more salt in the wound.
Lor'themar's shoulders slumped, joining his cheek pressed like dead weight against the table top.
"Regardless; there could be worse on the throne than you." Shaw poured a glass and handed it to him and then poured one for himself. "Rammoth, for instance? I'm scheduled to hop a portal to Tanaris in half an hours and I'm not going to be late, even for you. Tell me your problems or I'll kick you out."
The abrupt subject change pulled him back to the topic of his visit.
"I want you to hire someone."
Shaw stopped mid swig, wide eyed like he probably hadn't been in years. "Hire someone...?"
"As a spy."
"I don't hire spies, I hire out spies."
The Lord Regent's head came up off the table. Giving in he shed shoulder plates and let them clatter noisily to the floor. His cheek met tabletop once more. "You have to hire people, else no one would work for you." So heavy. Elfin bodies shouldn't have so many bones if they insist on being this heavy.
"Actually, it's a complex system of independent contractors and intricate subcontracting. Lots of paperwork that I pay someone else to do."
"When you talk like that all I hear is 'what do you mean the black team doesn't have three magistrix?' Cheater."
Shaw snorted, half his mouth going up in a smile despite himself. "That was a long time ago, Lord Regent."
"People don't change for other people, they change for themselves. You, Mr. Shaw, have never had a reason to change. I want you to hire someone."
Shaking his head of curly black hair, his host strut around the room sipping wine and formulating thoughts. "What makes you think I would hire someone you recommended, if I did hire people?"
"The guy hates me." Lifting his head once more he caught Shaw's brown eyes and said it again, "He hates me."
"You know why you're not a threat, Theron?"
Cheek = table. "Here we go."
"It's because of shit like this. Someone who hates you – genuinely hates you – and you're trying to find them a job... as an assassin... for your enemy's team."
"And?"
"And what's to stop me from sending him after you first thing?"
This time when Lor'themar's eyes met Shaw's there was a closing bear-trap in them set to snap around the younger man's leg and catch him where he stood. "Because, Master Shaw, I'm not a threat."
"Fair enough. I did send three people after you, you know? One defected and now works at a pastry shop in Silvermoon called Fel Confections. One didn't return at all and the third now serves Sylvanas as a deathguard. I believe he's stationed near the elevators."
"Did you get his two weeks notice, at least?"
"I did. But I fired him a week latter 'cause who's trying to not give unemployment benefits to survivors when someone un-dies on the job?"
"You know what your problem is, Shaw?"
Shaw sat down on the opposite end of the table and refilled his own wine glass before pointing the bottle at the untouched one in Theron's hand. Lor'themar took an obliging drink, indeed tasting shunshine and fresh cut grass. Right now it was bitter compared to the winter in his heavy heart.
"Oh, do tell me," Shaw prompted, an amused look on his face. "I don't have enough people telling me my problems these days."
"Your problem is that you don't take sides. You work for Stormwind because you were born here. You were literally bred for this job. But it could have just as easily been trolls or Cenarion or naga if you had been born to their races or factions. You do this because you don't do anything else."
The SI:7 leader regarded this, as he regarded most other scrutinies about his character, with a small grain of salt. In the end however he found the Lord Regent's words to be true. He didn't believe any one race was inherently evil or wrong for reacting to shit circumstances the way they do. Hell, he almost counted several faction leaders as friends, this one included. To say the least of the last time he visited Thunderbluff and tested out their latest bit of engineering by jumping off the bluffs with a jerry rigged parachute strapped to his back. Surprisingly it didn't fail to deploy.
"We all have to die some day," Shaw said, "and death sucks no matter what race you belong to. Why spend all day worrying about the pieces on the board when you only get so many of each kinda to begin with?"
"Somehow I feel like you're making this about me again."
"My portal arrives in 15 minutes. I am, because I don't disagree with you. I don't discriminate because I hate everyone equally. Stormwind just pays more. You rule Quel'thalas. You rule the sin'dorei. You're a king in everything but name. Saying that there is no one else of royal lineage to rule it doesn't change that someone of non-royal lineage is currently ruling it."
Forehead = table. Four times. "Do you know why I'm in this position?"
"Because you're in love with Synvanas."
Now the oh-so-heavy arms found their way onto the table. Lead. Bones were made out of lead and it just wasn't fair. "I was. A long time ago. Turns out I'm not anymore."
Shaw stood up again, half drained a second glass of wine and topped it off. A certain someone had no plans of paying 8 gold a pop for race stand beer and was pre-gaming while there was still time. Theron took another obligatory swig and the dark haired man did circles around the table again. This time when he got behind the blood elf he placed hands on the white haired man's shoulders and massaged gently.
Lor'themar grunted. Right now he'd welcome a blade to the ribs if it could get rid of some of this iron-laden blood. Why was blood so heavy?
"You found someone else?"
"Who would be perfect for your team." Theron avoided answering the direct question.
Shaw laughed softly while poking the former ranger-generals forearms. He lifted one of the dead-weight wrists and let it drop, slapping the table.
"So it's true what they say about high elven guilt. It literally weighs you down and makes you feel hundreds of pounds too heavy."
"This is true. Most of us manage to keep our clothes on, but some of us are less able to do so."
The younger man was very amused. "Is this why I get random reports of blood elves wandering around half naked, even though their status gives them gloriously beautiful weaving of the highest quality?"
"Like that time dearest Jetadiah spent a week hiding out in Brill wearing nothing but linen breeches and a potato sack for a shirt? Yes." Lor'themar had been highly amused when Sylvanas told him that story.
"How did that work out for him?"
"Corrosa cheats at chess as well. Pawns..." Theron muttered under his breath. They were all of them just pawns. Wasn't it great when you figured out the priest you though wore white actually wears black? Or that the Warlock you though was black has the whitest soul you'll ever see. That's sin'dorei chess for you!
"So, are you planning to turn the throne over to some random someday or do you plan to just stay Lord Regent and let the kingdom of Quel'thalas turn into the dictatorship of Quel'thalas?"
"Like you said; we're all just handed the cards we're going to get. I got a harsh hand is all. Some of the cards don't even face me and then when my opponent can see them so clearly, it leaves me at a sortied disadvantage."
"Like...?"
"Like a certain young man who used to work for me and is now working for a - " he choked on the words, disgust vile and sharp in his throat "- for a goat breeder in Dun Morogh."
After two seconds of silence Shaw was laughing again so loud it assaulted the back of Theron's head.
"Do try to contain yourself," the blood elf ground out while stripping off bracers and boots.
"I think I'd rather ask why anyone who ever worked for you is now breeding goats for Ironforge."
"If you want to hide from someone who hates the cold then that is the best possible place to do it."
"Did he slight you? I won't hire someone who's got a bounty on his head."
"No, he did nothing to me. His years of faithful service were rewarded with betrayal and exile. He's in need of a new purpose in life and I won't have it be to shack up with some dwarf and breed riding goats!"
Without looking he knew Shaw had stopped in his pacing, eyebrows in his hairline and eyes as big as silver pieces. "Come again? Shacked up with a dwarf?"
"Oh, not like that." The Lord Regent scoffed, "The dwarf is strait as a hunting knife." A hunting knife of exact levelness found it's way onto the table from one of the Farstrider's sleeves.
"But this young man... How do you know for certain."
At that the Lord Regent of Quel'thalas sat strait up, his shoulder length white hair spilling down around long ears. He met the Master assassins' eyes with a grin and a gleam. He said nothing until Shaw broke the eye contact and looked away, taking a sip of his wine to cover the momentary lapse.
"That type of relationship may be suited where you're from, with how long your people live, but here in Stormwind-"
"He won't be trying to hook up with any of your men. I know for certain."
Now Shaw looked at the heaviness of the Lord Regent as he slumped back down on the table, and also at hair that just brushed the shoulders. Male blood elves did not have short hair – That is, unless they lost someone and cut it off in mourning.
Then it hit him. "That one? You want me to hire that half-blood spy you murdered-"
"I wasn't the one who killed him!"
"I have ears in ever city, Lord Regent, least of all yours. You might as well have thrown him through the portal yourself!"
"Regardless, he's alive again and well. And in need of a job. Hire him. He does good work."
"The highest recommendations come from former bosses in the Horde who banish you from their city via portal to Darnassus."
Lor'themar jumped to his feet, "I'm not the one who killed him. I tried to stop him and he chose to go. He chose the portal, he chose to die, he chose to be a goat breeder and – and - I'm not having it." He sat back down heavily, then shed arm guards and breastplate. Face met table once more.
Shaw's brow creased but after a moment the pieces tried to click. "You exiled him for being a halfling, am I right?"
"Something like that."
"So what is he half of?"
"Human. Or more. Maybe only a quarter quel'dorie. We'll never know."
"His eyes are blue?"
"Yes."
"Mana addict?"
"No."
"Rare, amongst your people."
"Unheard of amongst my people. He's immune to the Hunger. Being human and all."
"Ah, I get it. You don't need him anymore now that Silvermoon has her feet under her once again, and a capable ruler on the throne."
"Something like that."
"Did he spy on the Alliance?"
"Yes."
"Did he assassinate?"
"Yes."
"Is he immune to his own poisons?"
"Yes."
"Is he immune to yours?"
Lor'themar didn't answer. Instead he downed the entire glass of wine and demanded a refill. That was as much a response as his host expected.
"Is he special to you?"
"He... wasn't worthy. Being a half-blood and all." Not to mention now with the population so low the biological imperative for half the men to take male mates in order to stop an immortal race from having a population explosion is no longer feasible. But what have we gotten in the past with pointing fingers for our biological designs? Dead.
"That doesn't answer the question."
"It's the answer I give myself so it'll have to do for you as well."
Shaw took his seat across the table again. "You don't want to be a king and yet here you are making decisions based on your status as king."
This time Theron's heavy eyelids slid themselves shut. The weight of his spine almost pressed the air out of his lungs. "We took in a lot of half-bloods in the beginning, because we needed hands to rebuild. He worked very hard and got paid well. A lot of them did. In the end I couldn't lead a nation divided half high elves and half blood elves. I exiled anyone without green eyes. He's one of the few who were allowed to stay, and only because his eyes could never become green. He was..." it took quite some effort to say this, "... one of the best amongst us. Embodying the true survival spirit of what it means to be quel'dorie, sin'dorei and human. I'll call you a liar if you ever tell him I said I'm jealous of his options at times."
Shaw sipped his drink. Rarely did an elf admit that half-breeds had anything in the way of options. Most of them were turned down by both societies and shunned into exile. Least of all the progeny of high elf and humans.
"So why do you not want him to be a goat breeder if he's washed his hands of you? Arn't you happy that he's happy?"
"The dwarves don't care what breed he is as long as they can wash the image down with a pint of ale. Anyone of elfin blood deserves better than just being around people who tolerate you. I want him to be valued somewhere. SI:7 is one such somewhere."
"Is he not valued by you?"
"He's not employable by me."
"Is he not truly valued by the goat breeders?"
"It's beneath him."
"You mean it's beneath anyone who shares your sin'dorei genes to be a breeder of goats on the farmstead of a dwarf."
"Yes. Better humans than dwarves. At least it's warm here." A thick shiver sent down the Lord Regent's leaden back.
Shaw had heard similar arguments. While most half breeds might be shunned, they were disregarded entirely by their former races. Quel'dorie on the other hand? They though that as long as you even looked remotely like a High Elf you had better live up to it. Even if you'd never be accepted, don't go around being an embarrassment.
"Are there not worse things than breeding goats? What if word got back to him that you disprove of his job and he sough other employment?"
"The worse job he could have ever had was to work for me at a time when my people were divided and fighting over who had rights to Silvermoon. All the while trying to figure out the mana addiction. To say the least of how much resentment he garnered when we realized he was immune to the Hunger."
Shaw let that soak in. Yes, the newly named Lord Regent had exiled just under half the elves from Quel'thalas in order to avoid a civil war. Years latter, after Kale'thas' defeat at Magister's Terrace he went back to them and offered assistance in hopes of eventual reconciliation. The goal had been to start negotiations in order to bring his divided people back together once again.
They flatly refused his help and there was nothing he could do but watch helplessly as they descended into the ranks of the Wretched. That dream of reunification was gone now, like so many others. But there is nothing to be said for any of that business now. Both Arthas and Malygos were nothing but bundles of bones and the world had bigger fish to fry. He couldn't save the ones who had never wanted to come home...
… the least he could do was save this one.
The silence stretched as both men though about the past. About the things they would change if they could and the things they will never tell someone they are so glad happened despite the costs and gave them so much more in the end than they ever had to begin with.
"Take the title of king and I"ll hire him."
"What?"
"Become the official king of Silvermoon and I'll hire him."
"That's not going to happen." Lor'themar stood up and collected bits of his discarded armor.
Shaw jumped up and slapped the bracers out of his hand. Both men stood strait up and faced each other. "You'd rather him be a goat breeder than give your people an actual leader to follow?" The words were louder than intended seeing how close they were standing.
"I have no claim-"
"Prestor."
"Onyxia? What about her?"
"She ruled Stormwind from behind the throne for five years. There have been way worse leaders out there than you. And few who are better at their job."
"I hate this job."
"You must have sought favor at some point because otherwise you'd never have been the second-in-command to the ranger-general when Silvermoon first fell."
"I sought attention of the ranger-general. It was a mistake."
"Yet you didn't forgo the position of ranger-general when it was forced upon you?"
"What choice did I have? It was that or give it to Halduron, who was still so green behind the ears he blended into the foliage."
"So you took it for lack of better suited candidates?"
"As you and the world full well know! My people were scattered at the time, both around the world and internally. 90% of the population died and half of that was exiled just a few years latter. The boatmakers, the chicken breeders, the farmers, the weavers, the storytellers – everyone is DEAD. That's what the world doesn't understand about Silvermon – our culture died when Silvermoon fell. There aren't enough of us left who know how to carve traditional quel'dorie woodworks, or work the magic that built and maintained our city, or craft the wines that we were so well known for to pass this information along. Especially when we're so focused on fulfilling our obligations to the Horde that we can't just rest and recuperate." He took a deep breath.
"You fear that with you as a leader your people will die off."
"I cannot avoid all these wars. And more are coming. Deathwing spared Quel'thalas for whatever reason, but that doesn't mean my people can sit back and relax while the rest of the world handles it. Crazy dragons are a threat to everyone. We learned that in Northrend."
Shaw smiled at that and Lor'themar retook his seat. This time he tried for a better position with propping his sock-clad feet up on the table. The bright checker weave bespoke their origins in the homeland of the dwarves. Shaw raised an eyebrow at that and tactfully said nothing. The Lord Regent had just admitted that all the weaver of traditional Quel'dorie textiles were dead, so where else was he going to get sox? Certainly not from Sylvanas!
"Have you though of importing artisans?
"Vereesa threatened to touch my hair if I tried to poach her musicians. I cannot blame her as I threatened to hide her candy if she even glanced at our one remaining wood worker."
"Things are not going well for the elves of Quel'thalas."
Lor'themar took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair till only two legs remained on the ground. He gulped at the wine with impressive speed and asked for a third glass. The bottle turned up empty, leaving the glass only half full.
"This is not solving my problem of a certain young man who needs a certain job well away from snow and goats."
"You're persistent, Lord Regent, Mr. Non-King."
"I'm well versed in providing a variety of reasons why I'm not suited to the title, and then changing the subject."
The toasted to that new skill.
"How about this...? I'll see about a cultural exchange with Vereesa if you hire my man?"
"Is he... your man?"
"Once. Not anymore. Sadly, I was too busy pining after a woman I can't have in Undercity to appreciate the man I can't have who stood right in front of me."
"Oh, the tribulations of being King."
"Oh, the tribulations of not joining Vereesa in Dalaran as one of her Silver Covenant and taking him with me. With halfbreed runts of her own, she could hardly turn him down."
Shaw saw that as never, ever, ever happening. "As long as you're going to dream then I suppose you should dream big! Defecting to Alliance and leaving the throne empty? Especially when your people love you so much That would paint a bigger target on you than on Deathwing at this point."
Which, Theron said to himself, is why I don't do it. I'm blackmailed into being de facto king because there is no one else. Not because I'm suppose to be here or particularly good at my job. How hard can it be to push endless amounts of paperwork and reply with "Yes, Ma'am!" every time Sylvanas barks for more troops to back her up in some mission or another?
"I swear if I had it to do all over again I'd let the quel'dorie stay and just fight it out amongst ourselves. At least then there would have been less of the population loss that came with their exile, and maybe someone would have ousted me off the throne. Probably Vereesa. I can see the next generation of Queens on the throne being -"
"Half human? What of Rhonin? You know as well as I that he's not the consort type. Ruling from behind the throne does not suit his personality."
"I was going to say Windrunners, but you have a point. Honestly, those children are going to be great and powerful men some day. Rather they were powerful for Silvermoon instead of Dalaran?"
"Half-breed is still half breed. And what of the generation to follow that finds itself on the thrown as a full throwback to Rhonin's rather unimpressive lineage?"
"What of my unimpressive lineage? I'm a glorified construction worker who fell in love with the ranger-general and joined the Fastriders to get close to her. Will they be OK with my throwbacks winding up on the throne some day?"
"No. Because you'll be the one and only King Theron."
Lor'themar didn't despite this. Elves of all kind mated for life. Rarely did they even find a second mate after a first mate died. If the dead stayed dead on Azeroth it may not have bothered him so much, but the sudden realization that his... mate... for lack of a better word, was alive and well in Dun Morogh had put stops to any dreams that he might find a woman who could take over the throne for him and allow him to slink away to consort status.
"You know," Theron said rubbing at the tiny beard on his chin, "if Vereesa's husband were to suddenly … cease to exist... I don't suppose it would be too forward of me to offer her the queenship in order to reunite our people. The moral scruples the quel'dorie had when we first divided are no longer a concern. As a race there is no difference between the blue and green eyes except the remaining traces of fel energy. Theory has it that, because the sunwell is now a bastion of the Light, that eventually all our eyes will turn gold. I wouldn't have a problem with that. Shouldn't we be one people again?"
"Wait." Shaw's empty glass thudded as he sat it down, "You mean to tell me that you'd prefer a civil war over having exiled your own people. Then, you'd prefer Vereesa kicked you off the throne of Silvermoon, except for her husband? Then you tell me you'd actually like it if her husband vanished so you could marry her and reunite your people peacefully?"
"Something like that."
"'Something like that' has got to stop being your answer for everything you don't feel like putting more though into than this."
"If you hire my man then I'll put more though into it."
"As I've already pointed out, there is no way for you to escape your role. Play it, Theron. You can't screw it up worse than Onyxia or Kale'thas."
And the sound of the former leader's name Lor'themar whinced hard. It was still a sore spot with all of them. He had tried so hard, their brave and noble prince, to gain them justice and retake their home, and hold on to old alliance, then to just survive and form new alliances, and then to go to outlands because the Hunger was a bigger threat to their people than Arthas, who by this point had run back to Icecrown. So much for one young man to do who was just a mage studying at Dalaran when the title of king was thrust upon him. Just like the man who would rule after him he felt himself as only a mage and hardly the man his predecessor had been. How could Lor'themar Theron hope to be such a loving and wonderful ruler as Kael'thas Sunsrider had been? They loved their prince, even to this day. Even now they understood why he went mad and the hardships he had to endure that drove him over the point of no return. Even to this day, while it was the greatest betrayal in the history of their race, they forgave him.
"My biggest fear is that my choices are the same as his and some day it will lead me into devastating what is left of my people. My biggest regret is that he did not live to see the day Arthas was brought low and made to pay for what he did to our people."
"You mean pr- Kael'thas?" When Theron didn't answer he took that as affirmation. "You forgive him, don't you? All of you forgave him in the end."
"What else was there? He was pulled in too many directions. It would drive anyone crazy. If your decisions might cause the genocide of a people you already failed to protect once, what would that do to you?"
Somewhere in the other room a sucking-pulling sensation caused the very walls in the room to fluctuate.
"That's my ride," Shaw said, "I gotta bounce. Literally."
"Hire that man. You won't be disappointed."
"I'll hire your man if you can truthfully sum up in five words or less why you can't be king. Your statement has to be backed with facts."
"Not in the same five words, I hope."
"Now, before the portal closes and I miss out on the races!"
Theron racked his brain. Because I suck at ruling? No, I've not done that bad actually. War will ravage any nation. Because I'm not royal? Well, who decided the first Sunstrider was royal? He did! Because I'll never take a female mate and make progeny? Most rules on Azeroth only had one kid to pass the throne too and half of them went mad. He just assumed he dodged a bullet by not having children. Because I'd rather be a Farstrider? But Shaw was right on that number as well; being a rule has never stopped someone from also being a mage or warrior or priestess. He can be a king and be a Farstrider if Anaterian was a warrior and a king.
"Tyranda, Jaina, Moira, Sylvanas: queens?"
A slow smile spread across Shaw's face. Yes, that summed it up just so. The night elves had been ruled by a non-queen for ten thousand years. Tyranda's greatest fear was being the second coming of Queen Azshara because she never wanted to rule to begin with. Jaina was equally hesitant to title herself queen even though she ruled Theramore as a kingdom. She was scared by the fact that she almost became queen of Loarderon, and then a queen of a different kind if she had died in Icecrown. No doubt Lana'thel had not wanted her title either. Moira? She wanted to be queen but had gone about doing it the wrong way, which cost her two queenships and a co-rulership until her son comes of age. The question here is should she be allowed to be queen just because she should be? Ah, and Sylvanas. No royal blood, similar to Tyranda, but she built a nation out of nothing and rules it like Jaina. She was the Banshee Queen under Arthas, but no one calls her Queen Sylvanas, even amongst the undead. Is she a true queen, or isn't she?
"I see," Shaw said as he headed to the door which would take him to the portal room and his beloved goblin races, "So what you're pointing out is that if women can rule without having to take the title – and therefor the official headache - of queen, then why can't men?"
That wasn't it at all. "That's it exactly."
As the door swung closed behind Shaw the last thing the blood elf leader heard him say was, "I'll go see this man of yours."
A deep sigh slipped out of Lor'themar's chest. A weight slipped off his back and slithered out of his bones. Suddenly he was hundreds of pounds lighter.
Suddenly he felt silly that all his armor was in piles around him and the yellow-robed master assassin of Stormwind had massaged his shoulders while he wailed like a gobby cow.
Lor'themar stood, placed his armor in shrinking bags, drained his glass and left. On the way out the door he stopped long enough to tack an address to the wall using one of Shaw's on throwing darts. The man hadn't even felt Theron remove it from his person.
This time it was the Lord Regent's turn to smile. Yes, supposing that's why he of all people was on the throne. He had survival skills. All his people who were still alive had survival skills and if nothing else he could rely on them not to allow him to go down the same path Azshara, Arthas, Kael'thas or even Moira had. The latter at least had come to her senses, but the rest had paved a path that any leaders to come after would fear to tread.
He found his pony in roughly the same spot as before and found his honor guard in the same spot as before. The farmer was overjoyed to see his horse alive and in one piece. Apparently his guard had been filling the man's head with all sorts of stories about their trip through Stranglethorn Vale and the fate of the Lord Regent's delicious blue hawkstrider.
They had to walk the rest of the way to Darkshore and found a slew of dead murlocs on the beaches of the river indicating the rest of his honor guard had made some very quick travel through Duskwood. About the time the alarms sounded saying Horde had been spotted in Goldshire Lor'themar and his remaining guard looked at each other and dove head first into the river. No way were they sticking around to take the blame for 10 forsaken deathguards, five tauren, three blood elves and one orc attacking Southshore in demands to know where their charge was.
As he came up on the beach on the other side his soaking armor and hacking slashes of his sword through the underbrush of Duskwood reminded him of the brighter days of a darker time. Yes, he was in this position because he was the best for the job. Yes, he was in love with a half-blood who bred goats. Yes, he was going to remain Lord Regent of Quel'thalas because that's what he was. No, he would not have progeny that took the throne from him, and no he wasn't entirely opposed to trying to get Vereesa to assume co-rulership with him if it meant getting his people back together. Even if it meant half-breed children ruling after they both kicked the proverbial bucket. Yes, his greatest fear was becoming another Kael'thas Sunstrider; so fixated with fixing his people that he made deals with devils and lost his mind. No, he didn't think trying to contact the quel'dorie and do a cultural exchange would work, seeing how they both despised each other at the moment.
He slashed through the saplings and slashed through the brush, the wet squish of his reinforced chain mail and leather armor taking him back to his first expedition days. It took him back to his first trip to Stranglethorn Vale, where Sylvanas had gotten her hands on an enourmous black jungle cat she named Mel'ody in order to save it from the Nessingwary Expedition of Murder(tm). Few people knew it was actually Sylvanas who was the greatest financial supporter of the D.E.T.A organization in Northrend.
A huge spider attacked from out of no where. His guard was on it like an dwarf on a keg of beer, breaking it open in the middle and ripping out the content. He stood back and watched her work, the fear in her eyes saying that she was afraid of arachnids but not enough to risk her beloved Lord Regent to it's poisons.
As he bandaged her wounds a moment latter he realized that just a couple years ago it would not have occurred to him to stand back and allow others to do the fighting for him. He would have been in there, been in the fray and kicking up as much blood and dust as the rest.
Latter when they were attacked by worgen while traveling along the open road it was honor guard and Lord Regent who repelled them together. As a warlock ambled by, too deep in his seedy romance novel to notice the Horde blatantly traveling along his Alliance roads, Lor'themar ordered his guard to let the man be.
"If he noticed us after all and tells anyone?" His guard insisted on going back after the loner.
"Then we'll deal with it. It's not for us to disturb the locals."
"Where did you go, my Lord? When you stole the horse and left the farm?"
"Stormwind, to talk to Shaw."
"About that half-blood in Dun Morogh?"
"Yes, about the half-blood in Dun Morogh."
"What do you owe that man?"
Years of apologies. "I'm the last person who can blame anyone for what they are or how they wind up. I treated him badly. We all did. I asked for him to have a place amongst the Alliance since... the Horde... rejected him."
The guard laughed, red hair falling out of it's bun and spilling down her neck. Two wolves attacked her at once, almost catching her off guard. They were big, shining yellow teeth covered in hot slobber, and beady eyes that shone of hunger. Lor'themar had noticed a distinct lack of small game in these forests and figured there might be larger carnivores to blame for that.
It was apparent that the wolves were intent on dragging off his subordinate when a third and then fourth appeared. Three hampered his attempts to reach the guard as the fourth started dragging her into the bushes. Lor'themar knew if she made it into the bushes he'd never see her again.
A sharp whistle pierced the air, startling everything. His guard gasped as, from around a bend of trees, a large white snow leopard tore across the clearing. It had been following it's master the whole time, stealthed until it was needed. Now it came, screaming fury at the animals who would try to take his food provider away from him.
It was over in less than a minute. The guard managed to kill two by herself, the cat took down two and Lor'themar got credit for a measly one. The smallest at that.
The guard sat on the corpse of the biggest wolf and bandaged both their wounds. The Lord Regent had stuffed his nice armor into his enchanted bags and shrunk them down to belt size when he left Shaw's place. The light leather and layer of chain mail hardly protected him from angry worg.
She stared at the cat and at the Lord Regent and his two swords. "I didn't know you had a pet … still." Not since becoming Silvermoon's ruler.
"I … that is... I still do. Don't tell anyone." He caught her eye, hoping she would just wink and keep it a secret. Instead the lines of her face were deep in disapproval.
"You're the Lord Regent."
"I'm a Farstrider."
"Lord Regents don't have … snow cats... for pets."
"Kael'thas-"
"Is dead. Don't model your kingship off his. A Tauren druid now flies his phoenix around town just to show it off. It's embarrassing."
"As embarrassing as the druids who learned to take on the form of a drag-"
"Yes! Do you want this cat to wind up as someone's special prize some day?"
The though paralyzed him with fear. He had always loved his pets and cared for them greatly. "I don't see why I cannot have both."
The guard sighed, like everyone does when they have to explain How to Be Royal to someone who isn't royal. "Everything you hold dear can be used against you. Try not to hold anything too dear that can be taken from you as easily as this cat can. Just one arrow -just one stray frostbolt or magma totem – and this animal goes from being the Lord Regent's battle cat to the Lord Regent's throw rug. Get it?"
He understood. He knew more about Mel'ody than most, seeing as he was there when Sylvanas tamed the great black jungle cat. The way Arthas had used the animal to torment the undead banshee queen had made him retch to hear it. The sounds of her screaming as Arthas broke the collar off the animal and sent it fleeing into the Dead Scar without her would remain part of him for the rest of his days. He had heard it all the way in Silvermoon from the spot she was slain in Elwyn Forest.
If the same thing happened to this cat?
"I may be Lord Regent, but I came to that title through the Farstriders. I will never cease to be a Farstrider. And Farstriders have battle pets."
"Not all Farstriders - "
"The good ones do," Theron argued, "and I'm a damn good one. Just like I'm a good Lord Regent. Just like some day I may..." he hugged his thick-furred cat, pressing his face into the coarse over hairs and rubbing it back and forth till it found the soft undercoat "... Just like some day I may be a damn good king. What kind of king would I be if I burned every bridge I crossed to get there?"
"You don't just mean the Farstriders, do you?"
"I exiled half our people. I am only king of half a nation until they come home again. That makes me no king at all."
The guard's eyes twinkled dim green as they found a second road and followed it in the general direction of Stranglethorn Vale. In the distance they could hear the sound of yips and fleeing feet as wolves and worgen and the Alliance got too close to the Lord Regent and were chased off by a big white spotted cat.
After a while the guard spoke again, "I think it speaks highly to your candidacy as our next king that you care so much for the quel'dorie, even after they almost started civil war going against your orders."
"We're all elves of Quel'thalas. A kingdom divided is no kingdom. I will be a king again when all of my people are home safe within my borders."
To himself he though silently, If we were a whole nation again it wouldn't matter if we said no to all of the Horde's wars. We'd be able to stand on our own again. We would reclaim our former glory. We could purge the Ghostlands and retake the Thenalassian pass and finally remove the Scourge from our boarders!
… We might even expand borders.