Author's Note: Semi-sequel/pre-quel to Honoring the Fallen, which was posted exactly one year ago to date. Tirion, Karandra, and Taelen visit the gleaming city of Caer Darrow and meet with Lady Jandice Barov, while Archmage Kel'thuzad of Dalaran offers Taelen a place at a certain new school he is attempting to set up on Jandice's property. After the timeskip (during which Honoring the Fallen took place) Tirion revisits Scholomance, once again on the anniversary of Taelen's death. This time with a new goal in mind: put an end to the evil of Darkmaster Gandling, new Headmaster of the school of magic and undeath. As for the Tirion/Darion interaction, he is NOT a pedophile, he is just trying to help a sad child. No slash here.
The Honor of Love and Family
Tirion's son leaned precariously over the boat, pointing at some critter or other in the gleaming lake. His beloved wife had to pull him back and reprimand him. It was a beautiful day. The most beautiful day of his life, he would eventually realize. The sky was clear and blue, the moons were both full and seemingly shining with their own lovely light, his family was happy and healthy, and they were going on vacation. Away, away from the stuffy hole of Mardenholde Keep and all the chains of honor.
Just a day with his family. A day that he would never forget. A day that would be the last vacation, the last moment of truly free happiness that he would ever have with his family. The paladin knew none of this now. Just knew that a mutual friend of he and Karandra had invited them to her estate, her island city, for a day of fun. Lady Jandice, daughter of Lord Alexei and Lady Illucia Barov.
Jandice had spoken of a new school that a powerful mage from Dalaran was setting up on her property. She had seemed thrilled by the prospect in her letter. Tirion hadn't exactly wanted to go to see that mage in particular, but his wife and son were excited about a new school. Karandra was excitedly talking to Taelen about all the wonderous and great things mages could do and wondering if the school would teach only magic or other things.
She had even mentioned to Tirion that if the school became popular, he should apply for a teaching job to teach children about his precious Light. While he was good with children, Tirion wasn't so sure Kel'thuzad would be happy about anyone setting up a school of the Light in a place dedicated to the arcane. Tirion was adamant that his son become a paladin or priest. He had spoken to Isilien some time ago, when that brilliant weapon, the Ashbringer, was being forged, and Isilien seemed to think Taelen could be a good priest. He had said Taelen had the Light in him. Had said he was more adept with the Light than Tirion.
Tirion believed Isilien. It was every father's hope that his son surpass him, after all. It made Tirion proud. He couldn't help but beam at his handsome young son, his brilliant blonde hair gleaming in the sunlight, blue eyes sparkling with excitement. Taelen would be a worthy warrior of the Light someday. Tirion looked up and found Karandra smiling at him. She, too, must have felt this vacation was like a shackle being removed after years.
The poor woman, his beloved wife, had been cooped up in Mardenholde for too long. The Lady of the Keep wasn't allowed to go with her Lord on missions. Their marriage had been an arranged one, but a happy arrangement. It had been love at first sight. Karandra was beautiful. Her blonde hair went perfectly with his dark auburn, her blue eyes went wonderfully with his green. Taelen had taken after her when it came to hair and eyes, but he had his father's fire and passion for the Light, even as a young child.
A sharp bump jolted Tirion out of his reverie about his family. Taelen squealed with delight.
"Papa! We're here! Look! It's so pretty, papa, mama!" Taelen eagerly scrambled over the side of the boat, but misjudged and landed on his bottom in the puddle. He looked stunned for a minute, then burst into giggles. "Papa, the water is so warm! Can we go swimming later? Pleease?" His son looked at him with those sweet, pleading eyes. How could Tirion and Karandra say no?
Tirion's mustache twitched slightly as he forced back a smile. "Maybe, honey. For now, Lady Jandice and Archmage Kel'thuzad want to talk to us. Then we can enjoy the city, promise."
Taelen eagerly scrambled out of the crystal clear water and jumped onto the sandy shore, dripping wet.
Karandra laughed. "Oh, Tirion! He is so excited! This was a brilliant idea, my love." His gorgeous wife kissed him softly on the cheek, sending tingles through the paladin. Oh, how he loved her. So much, always. He would give up anything for her, she need only ask.
Tirion took hold of Taelen's moist hand and forcefully led him away from the various other sights to behold on the great Barov estate. It was greater than Mardenholde. It was larger, more stately. Mardenholde was made to be humble, but not this. This, this was made to impress. As he led his family closer to the large estate itself, he caught sight of two figures making their way toward him.
One was a dark-haired mage, inexplicably stroking and cooing to a small kitten, and the other was Lady Jandice Barov. She was a pretty young woman with hair the color of dark cherries and had a sense of nobility about her that was undeniable. She smiled as she greeted her guests.
"Lord and Lady Fordring! Young master Fordring! Welcome! I'm so glad you could come. Since Mardenholde is close to Caer Darrow, I thought you would be good people to talk to about this."
Tirion bowed to Lady Jandice. "We are grateful, my Lady. We appreciate your consideration. What of Andorhal? Does that city not merit an invitation to your estates to survey the new school?"
Jandice smiled. She had a lovely, infectious smile. "Lord Araj has agreed already. As Andorhal is closer, we spoke with him first, since one could argue that our school might encroach his land a bit. Araj was quite pleased, in fact, especially after my esteemed colleague, Archmage Kel'thuzad, spoke with him in private."
Karandra clapped her hands together. "It sounds great, Lady Jandice! We would love a tour!"
Jandice's nearly-strained smile almost faded. "We aren't giving tours yet. However, I could allow you to speak with Kel'thuzad in private as well, if you wish."
Tirion glanced at the mage. Kel'thuzad lifted his head, dark eyes locking with Tirion's green. Tirion felt a tingle through his spine, a warmth spread through his body. He blinked. He had called upon the Light without realizing it? The feeling was the Light, and it was always the same. A soft, warm glow that seemed to fill him, soothe him. Why did the Light come to him when all he did was look at this mage?
Kel'thuzad's brow wrinkled in confusion and he looked away from the paladin as quickly as he could manage. "Lady Jandice, I have elsewhere to be. You may tell them about the school if you wish. I really must be going." Kel'thuzad was nervous. He was licking his lips and stroking the cat almost forcefully. The little kitten hissed at him. The mage glared at the tiny thing. It glared defiantly back, as if daring him to reprimand it.
Kel'thuzad still risked a sideways glance at Tirion's son and forced a smile. "Lord Fordring, if your son has interest in magic, he would definitely be a delight to have in my school. It will be the foremost school of magic outside of Dalaran itself, I promise you. Think on it, my Lord." The mage bowed stiffly, raised a hand, and vanished in a flash of silver-blue light. Mage teleportation.
Jandice glanced at the spot the mage had occupied only seconds before with a frown. "Forgive me, my Lord and Lady, I must find Kel'thuzad. Something has upset him. Without his...assistance...this school will amount to nothing." Jandice gave a clumsy curtsey and ran back to her large estate, presumably to look for the mage.
Tirion followed her with his eyes. "That was odd. Very odd. The Light-" He was cut off by Karandra.
"Tirion! No Light-this, Light-that here! Please! You promised." He looked at her and found that her eyes were threatening tears. Did his being a dedicated paladin really bother her that much? Either way, he wanted his wife to enjoy this day. Wanted to enjoy it himself. He smiled at his love.
"I'm sorry. Let's go. I heard there was an artist in town. What do you say to a family portrait?" Tirion heard Taelen's excited gasp and almost felt Karandra's relief.
"Yay! Can I be in front, Papa? Please? You and mama can stand behind me." Taelen grabbed his father's hand and pulled. Tirion sighed and let his son lead him to the painter they'd seen when they had disembarked at the docks.
It was a bit hard to stand still for the length of time the painter required to make the portrait, but eventually he said he had the outlines and told them to return in a few days for the finished product. Tirion paid him for the full work, even though it was unfinished. The painter would get a substantial bonus for the finished painting. Tirion liked the artist's rendition of them very much. The painter was excellent.
As they were leaving the painter's house, Tirion noticed another child, a bit younger than Taelen, standing in the shadows of the painter's house. The boy looked quite sad, upset about something. Tirion recognized him on closer examination. Darion Mograine. The son of Alexandros. Tirion looked around for Darion's father. It would be nice to see Alexandros. It had been a long time. He didn't see the younger paladin anywhere. Had Alexandros really just left his youngest son here by himself? Part of Tirion wanted to go to the boy, comfort him, but it was family time, with his own family.
Karandra would dislike it if he were to ignore their family to help a random child she'd never met. Tirion sighed and summoned a bit of Light. He sent a slight wave of comfort, a small flash of Light, at the boy. Darion jerked slightly, looked up, his eyes locked with Tirion's. Tirion gave him a small smile. Darion seemed to blush and looked away, but not before Tirion caught his little smile.
Karandra gave him a little jerk. "Tirion? What are you doing back there? Come. Taelen wants to play in the lake." She playfully gave Tirion a little punch in the arm.
"Nothing, love. Just taking in the sights. This place...it is beautiful. With you, both of you, here...I have never before felt such a bond of love and family." He pulled Karandra into a deep, soft kiss. He heard Taelen in the background making gagging noises. He laughed at his young son. Hopefully his precious boy would someday discover the wonders of having and loving his own wife.
Of love and family. Tirion pulled his wife and child to him, embraced them, and went on to enjoy the rest of the entertainments Caer Darrow had to offer.
-MUCH LATER-
Highlord Tirion Fordring of the Argent Crusade and the Silver Hand stood on the shores of Caer Darrow, basking in the glow of A'dal's gift. The ghostly figures of himself and his family, enjoying themselves in the living, lively city of Caer Darrow. A gift from the Naaru. A greater gift than a mere painting. Even before this, A'dal had given him the gift of just one more day with his family. One more chance to tell them he loved them and how sorry he was. To ask forgiveness and be granted it at last.
Again, the anniversary of his beloved son's death. It still stung, after so many years, even after finding out that his wife and son were in a better place, that his son's death had saved the lives of thousands of others by pushing Tirion into the role of Ashbringer. He wasn't here to mourn this time, but he would anyway. One year ago today, A'dal had given him a chance to speak to his family again. It had hurt, but it also gave him closure. Much needed, much desired closure.
Now, today, he was here to honor the living, not the fallen. He was here to put an end to an evil that, long ago, he hadn't even recognized. He couldn't blame himself, because who would have thought that the smiling, laughing young girl would betray her own people to the undead? Who would have imagined that the stiff mage cuddling a tiny kitten would become the most powerful lich in the history of Azeroth? No, this wasn't his fault, it was no one's fault.
He would still protect the living. Still honor the oath he took as a paladin, as he always had, and always would. Darion, once a scared, sad young boy that Tirion had seen constantly in the shadows, had grown into a strong, handsome man, overcoming the loss of his own family and his subsequent death and rebirth as a Death Knight. The leader of the Knights of the Ebon Blade had insisted upon coming with Tirion, but of course the paladin beat him down. This was something he wanted, no, had, to do on his own.
He would put an end to the evil within Scholomance, within the former Barov estate. He pulled the Ashbringer from the straps holding it to his armor and loosened his shoulders. He didn't know if the undead within would attack the Ashbringer, but he wanted to be ready just in case. Tirion glanced again at the stairs leading down, down into the great Scholomance. The Barov estate, other than the lower floor, had collapsed upon itself. Only Scholomance remained.
Scholomance, and the evil within. Kel'thuzad had escaped to Naxxramas again, the heroes who killed him had once again failed to procure his phylactery. Tirion only hoped some poor, easily-manipulate soul did not try to return him to his body once again. If he did, Tirion would be there, Ashbringer in hand, ready to put an end to the monster that had ruined Darion's life.
He descended slowly into the depths of Scholomance. It appeared barren, empty, but Tirion knew better. He felt the dark presence of the undead, the Scourge, the Cult of the Damned, and far below, the dark arcane energies of the dark Headmaster Gandling, who had taken the place of Kel'thuzad after the mage had ascended to become a lich and Arthas' right hand...man? Tirion snorted slightly.
As he went further into the Scholomance, a few ghouls and skeletal undead saw him and immediately ran for it. They could feel the Ashbringer amongst them. Would they tell their Darkmaster? No. They were too afraid that he would punish them for allowing the Ashbringer within the walls of his precious school. Gandling did not yet feel his presence. Nor did the corrupted Lady Jandice, now Mistress of Illusion and the Arcane. Jandice...that sweet, smiling, cherry-headed young lady, now a dark servant of the Cult of the Damned.
He would save her, or at least put an end to her unlife. Tirion slowly descended into the Hall of Illusion. At least, that was what the words above the hall said. Hall of Illusion. So, Lady Jandice was the teacher of Illusions. No ghouls, nothing. Nothing but a small young woman, familiar, who stood in the back of the room, perusing a tome. She stiffened as he approached. Despite his heavy plate armor, his footfalls made no sound. Another blessing of Naaru plate. She sensed him.
As he got closed, Lady Jandice turned to face him. A dark smile lit her pallid, tattooed face as she caught sight of the paladin. "Ashbringer. Tirion Fordring. What an honor. So that is why my minions fled so quickly." Jandice gave him a languid bow, almost mocking.
"Lady Jandice. You've much changed since last we met. I do not come for a fight. I come to free you. Free you from the darkness, the evil you have embraced. Where is the sweet-faced young lady I knew? What made you give in to this darkness?" He wondered.
Lady Jandice laughed, a high-pitched tinkling sound that ended with a growl. "Free me? I do not need freedom. I have freedom. More freedom than you, with all your shackles to honor and Light." She sidled up to him, reached out to touch his cheek, then jerked her hand back. "Ah. Ashbringer, champion of the Light. I would not touch you for fear of my own flesh. If you would renounce that protection, I could be everything your wife wasn't. I could give you excitement, pleasure, and I would never abandon you." Jandice sauntered back to the podium she apparently used for teaching and leaned over it, giving the paladin a clear view of what was beneath the tunic she wore.
Tirion gave it a bored glance. He was not the least bit interested. "Surely you know me better than that. My wife was everything that you are not. You could never take her place. You gave in to evil, darkness, corruption...for what? Power? You had that, as Lady of the Barov estates. I come to free, Lady."
Tirion hefted the Ashbringer with ease, and swung it toward the former Lady Barov. She could have dodged. Could have used illusions. If the person facing her was anyone but the Ashbringer himself. As it was, she was caught by the brilliant light, the sparkling sunlit orb in the sword. Pain. Jandice gasped. She hadn't felt such pain since...since never. Pain...and...Light. An ending.
The end. The girl she used to be saw the horrors she had committed and cried, cried and begged forgiveness. And the Light granted it. A brilliant, gleaming being, shining with such Light as she had never seen, embraced her and she saw her family, embraced death. Father, mother...Forgive me.
Tirion watched as the Light engulfed Lady Jandice, forgiving her, embracing her, because Tirion had asked it to. Had asked the Light to remember the loving, kind young woman she had been so many years ago. He placed a hand on her cold, pallid face. "May you find peace, Lady Jandice, may the Light grant you paradise."
He closed her dark brown eyes with his palm. She looked peaceful in death, free. Tirion turned from the woman's dead shell and made his way toward his end goal. Darkmaster Gandling, the one who had perpetuated all this after Kel'thuzad's departure, and then after Araj's departure. What was it about Headmasters of Scholomance becoming Liches? He didn't know. Perhaps it was the ultimate goal of any necromancer. To master death and become death.
Tirion shuddered at the thought. He had always knew death was inescapable. Had never wanted to avoid it, would welcome it. He was not afraid, like these people were. Death was something he waited for. The next grand adventure, beyond Azeroth, beyond the Dark Portal, it was an adventure no one should want to put off. He inadvertently thought of Darion. Dead, and yet alive. Darion, somehow, was still warm and supple to touch, unlike most other undead. Perhaps, in a way, the Death Knight Hightlord was still alive. Perhaps Darion would eventually join him in death, when old age finally claimed the old paladin.
Tirion sighed and entered the open room where Darkmaster Gandling stood, the evil Headmaster's face deep in thought as he channeled some type of arcane magic. Tirion was no good at identifying magic. He'd had no truck with the arcane. The Light was his life, his breath, his reason for being. No magic, no matter how powerful, would sway that so-strong faith. Should he at least make his presence known to the Headmaster? Yes. It was dishonorable to slay an opponent who did not know you were there. That was always why the Highlord had disliked rogues. Their entire being was based on dishonorable combat. Stealth.
Tirion vaulted over the small gates above Gandling and landed with surprising agility in front of the Headmaster. Gandling glanced up, thinking perhaps one of his pupils had interrupted his study, then returned to channeling the spell before again looking at the paladin. His dark eyes were wide with fear. He knew the foe he faced, knew his pathetic life was forfeit. He forced a smile.
"Ah, great Ashbringer! To what does the humble Darkmaster owe this honor?" Another smug, forced grin.
"You lure people here with promises of a school of magic, of learning the secrets of death, the art of the arcane, and then you turn them into monsters, you corrupt them. I remember this place before the corruption, before the darkness, and I would see Caer Darrow returned to it's former glory."
"Really? FORMER glory, Highlord? No, THIS is glory! The glory of undeath! The glory of mastering the greatest foe of humankind! We have mastered death here. We learn the secrets of death and master them, becoming, if we pass the final test, a lich. Great Kel'thuzad will grant us eternity if we prove worthy!" Gandling raved.
He was insane. Possibly more insane than any of his fellow Cultists. Tirion lowered the Ashbringer. "Then prepare to meet this foe, then perhaps you can tell me if you have mastered and beat it." Tirion charged.
Flash. Gandling was no longer there. He had blinked a few feet away, echoing laughter rang in Tirion's ears. Four copies of the Darkmaster laughed at him. Which one was the real necromancer? Well, Light? Which one is it? Warmth, a feeling of peace. Tirion then knew, without doubt, which mirror image was the real Darkmaster. The Ashbringer pierced soft flesh, corrupted necromantic magic spun in the air as Gandling's partially lichified body attempted to heal itself. Gandling, lich or powerful necromancer, was no match for the pure Light of the Ashbringer. The dark magic surged around Tirion's sword, attempting to engulf it. The orb pulsed, expelling and destroying the dark magic, and the necromancy that held Gandling's body together after all the experiments he'd done on himself.
The Headmaster had a look of permanent surprise on his face as his soul fled his body. Tirion did not call upon the Light to save him. Gandling was an irredeemable monster. The Light would not answer even should Tirion have asked it to save him.
"No...nothing...save me...I don't...want...to...die..." The Darkmaster's voice faded and he collapsed. Tirion removed the Ashbringer from the wicked necromancer's chest. There was no blood. Perhaps Gandling's transformation was more far along than Tirion had first thought. He returned the Ashbringer to its scabbard, or the equivalent. No scabbard would hold the Ashbringer. Tirion sighed and made his way back to the entrance.
Two people appeared to be waiting for him. With a shock, he realized they were the Barov brothers. The ones who had NOT succumbed to the corruption within Scholomance. Alexi and Weldon. Even more shocking, Weldon seemed perfectly fine with his brother, who was a Forsaken. They were talking animatedly and appeared to be quite friendly toward each other. Brothers who had reached beyond faction lines, and undeath, to become a family once again.
Weldon smiled as he saw Tirion. "Highlord. I take it Gandling is dead? As well as my poor dear sister, who gave in to the Cult's lies?"
Tirion nodded gravely. "Forgive me, Weldon, Alexi. Your sister was forgiven in the end. The Light took her into its loving embrace. She is happy now. Happier, perhaps, than any of us still present on Azeroth."
Alexi, the Forsaken, nodded. "If that is true, perhaps there will be forgiveness for me, as well. I never asked to become Forsaken. I never asked to contract the plague. I should be punished for trying to have my own dear brother killed so many years ago. Weldon says he forgives me, and in fact tried to have ME killed as well, but I do not forgive myself, Ashbringer."
Weldon sighed. "Alexi, how many times have I told you? There are Forsaken members of the Highlord's Crusade. The Light doesn't even care if one is Forsaken. The Light only cares whether one is evil or good. You may once have been under the sway of the Banshee Queen, but no longer. With Gandling and our sister dead, we can claim our inheritance. Caer Darrow will rise again, under the name of Barov. WE will rule this land, both of us. Undead or not, you're still a Barov, still my brother."
Weldon squeezed his brother's bony shoulder before giving him a slight shove. "Come. We must assess the damage. This will require untold repairs. We must reclaim our inheritance before we can afford any repairs, and...give our sister and parents a proper burial. So long have our parents' dead bodies lingered in the ruins of Scholomance, now, at last, the Barov brothers can give the rest of their family a proper burial. Thank you, Ashbringer, for this closure at long last." Weldon gave Tirion a deep bow.
Tirion nodded. "I have but one request, my lords. There is a small building, within it are two unmarked graves." Tirion hesitated. "Please, I ask that you do not disturb them. Leave the building, the graves, as they are."
Alexi looked puzzled. "Highlord, what is so important about these graves? They're just graves! I remember crawling out of my own grave..." Weldon cut him off with sharp slap on the back of the head.
"Forgive my uncouth brother. Death seems to have removed any manners he ever possessed. It doesn't matter what the graves are. They will remain untouched. It is the least we can do for the service you have rendered us here today. Thank you, Highlord, and...good luck." Weldon bowed, and took off toward the basement of Scholomance, dragging his brother with him.
Tirion sighed and walked slowly back to the boat, passing the grave in question. He ran his hands over the Silver Hand marker and the golden sunburst. Karandra and Taelen. I love you still, and miss you always. He looked at A'dal's last gift. The illusions of the real Karandra and Taelen, and indeed Tirion himself, lived on here, in happiness, enjoying that day long ago when Tirion had felt the greatest bond of love and family.
Here, today, he had honored love and family, even if it were not his own.