(AN: One thing you can take to the bank is Abner Varlaine and my brother's rather cynical view of revolution: he believes that revolts and rebellions draw into their numbers the lawless and reprobate; people who do not share the ideals of the revolution but only join to escape justice or have an excuse to kill. To him, this weakens and perverts "the cause" and gives the authority the right of it. Now obviously he doesn't think that about the Scarlet Crusade [and I'm surprised Rian Johnson didn't do that in The Last Jedi, since it was already hinted at in Rogue One, but Varlaine's faithlessness represents a more nuanced version of my brother's axiom. He supports "the cause" only insomuch that the undead are purged from Lordaeron. That way we can have our cake and eat it, by having a character who is not 100% lawful good but without falling fully into the "misunderstood villain" trope.)

(On with the next chapter)


The Crimson Circle

Abner knelt down almost as soon as he recognized the face; dirty and weathered, but still with the same likeness he had seen so many years ago.

"Please, don't bow to me," she dismissed. "I'm not a princess."

"Yes, you are!" he returned. "I...I need to get you back."

"Wait..." she began.

But he hadn't heard a word she said and took her hand, then came to a halt. The woods looked all the same to him.

"Are you lost?" she asked.

"No," he lied.

"Let go of my hand," she said. "And I'll lead you out of the forest."

"Why?" he returned. "Won't you just bolt and run?"

"I'm not like your Crusade," she replied. "I won't dishonor my pledge to you. Now, please, let go of my hand."

Abner released her hand. "I don't know what you've heard about the Scarlet Crusade, but it's not true."

"I've heard that you don't trust anyone not apart of your cult, not even humans," she stated. "That you've killed refugees for fear of them being carriers of the plague, or undead agents in disguise. That your zealotry has caused the deaths of many in your own order."

"Is that what they say?" Abner asked.

"Do you deny it?" she asked.

"Well, Your Highness," he replied. "I'm just a simple man myself. I don't have all the answers. If you want the answers, you'll have to come with me. Sister Clarke can answer your questions for you."

"A priest?" she asked. "I thought only ignorant peasants joined your Crusade."

"We have a whole monastery full of priests, I'll have you know," Abner replied. "Sister Clarke is one of them. You should hear what she has to say."

"I don't need to hear the rambling of some fanatical zealot," she retorted. "I know enough about the Crusade from what I've heard from those who have barely survived encounters with your order."

"Hearsay, you mean?" he asked. "Won't you at least give the sister a chance to explain things from her side? Listen, Your Highness, if we were as bad as you've heard, wouldn't I have killed you on the spot?"

The princess made no answer, but covered her head with her hood again.

"Lead on."

"After you," said Abner.


It was almost dark by the time they returned to the camp. The princess made a roughly straight line through the forest, with few or no turns; she seemed to know the way quite well. Once they arrived, Abner introduced each member of the party to her; he said nothing of the prisoner. When they asked who she was, the hooded priest removed her hood: Sister Clarke fell on her knees before her.

"Please, I wish you wouldn't, now," said Princess Calia.

"You are our rightful ruler," Sister Clarke replied.

"I do not wish to lead the Scarlet Crusade," Calia said. "Nor am I the ruler of Lordaeron."

"Not yet, Your Highness," Sister Clarke returned. "But soon you will be."

"What if I don't wish to rule?" Calia asked.

"I don't understand," Sister Clarke returned. "I thought you would want to see your kingdom restored and returned to its rightful ruler."

"Why would I wish to be ruler of a lost kingdom?" Calia asked.

Sister Clarke's lips curled into a frown, and Abner could have sworn that he noticed her eyes were welling with tears.

"Have you no love for your people?" she asked. "We who have fought, bled, and sacrificed everything to restore Lordaeron?"

"I could ask you the same question," Calia returned. "I've heard many disturbing things about your Scarlet Crusade and the things they've done. Intolerance of non-humans, fanaticism, defiling the sacred places of Lordaeron, internal purges that do nothing but foster fear within your ranks and weaken your cause, slaughtering hapless refugees out of some misguided fear of them being undead! If this is what Lordaeron has come to, then it deserves to die and be lost." She paused for a moment, then looked at Sister Clarke's garb.

"I'm surprised to see you wearing crimson," she continued. "I had heard that your Crusade was intolerant of intellectuals; that you slew any priests wise enough to question your methods. I assume you're as close-minded as the rest of these common folk."

"The nerve of this human woman!" Setheras sneered.

"Watch who yer callin' 'common', string bean," Marion interjected. "I'll wager them dainty noble hands o'yorn ain't never built a thing in yer life."

"And unlike her," Setheras replied. "I happen to be quite well-educated."

"Your Highness," Sister Clarke began. "I know that many reprehensible things have been attributed to the Scarlet Crusade: I'm sad to say that most of them are true. There have been Dwarves and Elves who fought in the Scarlet Crusade, as you see here before you. Many noble ones who were martyred by the undead for the Scarlet Crusade stand immortalized in stone in the Scarlet Monastery. As for the present, you of all people, Your Highness, should know how fickle the Eastern Kingdoms have always been, even before the orcs invaded our world. They look after their own first and foremost, and concern themselves with the troubles of others as long as it is convenient for them. Our fight is for Lordaeron, and they dismiss our problem as only concerning Lordaeron. It matters not to us: we began this fight on our own, we will end it on our own if we must."

"There would be no need to fight alone if you didn't shun outsiders or purge your own ranks," said the princess.

"We cannot be too careful," Sister Clarke retorted.

"But the refugees!" Calia replied. "Women and children..."

"We have protected many refugees in these lands," said Sister Clarke. "Refugees whom your brother would see butchered like cattle and raised as mindless undead in service to their Lich King. The people living in Lordaeron know that we protect them: the same cannot be said for those outside of Lordaeron."

"I don't know what you're saying," Calia replied.

"I think you do," Sister Clarke returned. "If you've heard rumors of our misdeeds, then you must know other things about the world beyond Lordaeron. Lady Proudmoore sailed off into the west, to her death most likely. Meanwhile, we hear that Stormwind is rebuilt, yet they do not lift a finger to help our cause; even though Lordaeron did not withhold the hand of mercy to Stormwind's refugees during the Second War.

"As for your accusation of defilement and fanaticism, I can say only this: those who have been lost to madness have been consumed by the endless war with the undead. Did not your brother find it likewise? Their fall is tragic and greatly mourned, but it doesn't take any legitimacy from our cause. We have not defiled any sacred places in Lordaeron: we honor them with the same reverence as others before us have. Furthermore, we have only done what we must in order to save Lordaeron."

"You speak to me of Arthas?" Calia asked. "Many terrible deeds were done in the name of saving Lordaeron. Is so much blood worth it anymore? Should we not rather let the past die?"

Sister Clarke stood up from her place; none of them had seen her this angry before, and they feared for what might happen. There were only two humans in the group, but Calia was not queen yet. She had no one to protect her from them; no one to hold back the wrath of Sister Clarke.

"Is this what the House of Menethil has come to?" Sister Clarke asked. "Do you care so little for the people and the country that loved you and your family? Your father never abandoned us, even in the face of portents of doom. He knew what I knew: Lordaeron is our land and it is our duty to defend it no matter what. Have you not read about the Troll Wars and the Kingdom of Arathor? Humanity fought against insurmountable odds and won this land for themselves and for all of their descendants until our time. We will not, we cannot, give it up so easily." She paused for a moment to catch her breath, before continuing.

"Now I understand that we've done terrible things. We all will be called into reckoning for those terrible deeds, I believe that with certainty. I also believe that what our Crusade has done will be remembered for good when we've driven the undead out of our land and restored the Kingdom. Our war against the undead is not an unjust war: we fight for our very survival against a menace that not only seeks to supplant us, but take what is ours and leave in its wake nothing but death, destruction, and disease. They have no comfort or joy in the world of the living; they only know corruption and death. They would bring that to all of this land, if not all lands, were it not for our ceaseless Crusade. For this we are chastised, censured, forsaken, and abandoned by those who we once called our allies; yet still we fight on against impossible odds. Now we have a symbol of Lordaeron as it was, a promise to give to the people that their bloodshed and sacrifice haven't been in vain, something perhaps that might turn the course of the war we've been losing. At least, we did." With this, she seemed to settle down and spoke no more.

The princess made no response but simply walked away to sit at the trunk of one of the trees. Sister Clarke said little to nothing afterwards, entering a kind of meditative trance. Meanwhile, the three others talked among themselves for a while.

"Listen," Abner said. "We have what we came out here for. I don't give a damn if she doesn't believe in Lordaeron or not: we have her, we should go back with her and return to the Scarlet Monastery. Our brothers need us, if the siege hasn't fallen already."

"How can she call herself a noblewoman," Marion asked. "An' yet say such things? Does she 'ave nae compassion?"

"If you had no home left," Setheras retorted. "Would you be any more noble than she?"

"So all in favor of taking her back with us?" Abner asked.

"I didn't come all the way out here for nothing," Setheras replied.

"Neither did I," Marion retorted. "But still, we shouldnae just abduct her 'gainst her will. I mean, we should at least convince her o' why she should come with us."

"Hasn't Sister Clarke done that enough, and we got not answer from her?" Abner asked.

"If she dunnae want th' crown," Marion said. "Ain't there stout folk in th' Crusade who'll take it up instead?"

"No," Abner retorted. "We can't just hand the crown out to anyone who wants it. I...I don't know the particulars about it, you'd have to ask Sister Clarke about that, when she's feeling open."

"So that's two for and one against," Setheras commented. "Do we override the Dwarf's opinion or abandon our mission?"

"This Dwarf'll abandon her boot in yer arse, pretty boy, if ye talk about me like I'm nae here," Marion threatened with a wicked grin on her face. "And I say that we havetae come t' a unanimous decision, one way or another."

Abner nodded. "Marion, Setheras, we've been through so many battles together. Every time we've pulled victory from the jaws of defeat, you two have been at my side. I'd rather have you two than any army of thousands. We must come to a decision together or else not at all."

"This is pretty heavy stuff," Marion replied. "These words o'yorn."

"Things aren't looking too good for us," Abner stated. "I'm gonna level with you. I've heard that our war against the undead hasn't been going our way: in fact, we may very well be losing. We may have to be looking after our own fates soon."

"What would that be, though?" Setheras asked. "We've given so much to the Crusade; will there be a life for us if the Crusade fails?"

"Dyin' in battle 'gainst th' undead seemed like a good way t' go," Marion added. "As long as me body was burned a'fore they brought me back."

"If we don't fall," Abner said. "We'll have to figure out what to do with ourselves. I say, no matter what, we should stay together."

"Are you our leader, though, merely because you're human?" Setheras retorted.

"Why do ye gotta make it about race?" groaned Marion. "You're soundin' like Garithos."

"Oh, please," Setheras sighed.

"Both of you!" Abner interjected. "Can't we have a conversation without it falling into arguing for once, especially now that our last hope is probably lost?"

"I didnae think ye were a hopeless one, all things considered," Marion said.

"If she won't go with us, and we can't decide on what to do," Abner replied. "We might have no choice but to leave and return to the defense of the Scarlet Monastery, and whatever might happen afterwards. I'm just being realistic."

"And you dunnae think death in battle will happen?" Marion asked.

"I for one have no intention of dying," Setheras added snidely.

"So what happens if we survive?" Abner asked. "I for one say that we should stay together, no matter what. Even if it's just the three of us, we're the best at what we do. Marion, you're a damn fine paladin, and you're not too bad at healing when you put down your hammer. Setheras, you're pretty handy with a sword. Me, I know these lands better than anyone, I'm good with a bow, and I can track anything on four or two feet. Together, we can keep the war against the undead alive for years. We'll last much longer together than apart."

"If the worst should happen," Setheras said. "That is, not including our deaths."

"What'll we call ourselves?" Marion asked. "The three arseholes?"

"Oh, how droll," Setheras dismissed. "How very much like you. I say that names are foolish: we should be ourselves and let that be that."

"All of the great orders have been united by a common name," Abner said. "The Alliance, the Kirin Tor, the Silver Hand, the Scarlet Crusade, even the Argent Dawn. We need something of the sort for ourselves."

"The three hunters?" Marion asked.

"Ugh, pathetic," groaned Setheras.

"Wait, isn't Sister Clarke with us?" Marion asked. "Ye didnae name her among us."

"She has been silent since her outburst," Abner replied. "Once she starts talking, we'll ask her if she's interested in joining us."

"The four hunters?" Marion suggested.

"Can you not have a number in something?" Setheras exclaimed.

"Well, yer not comin' up with nothin'," Marion retorted. "So how about th' Circle o' Four?"

"No!" Setheras hissed.

"Wait," Abner spoke. "I like the idea of a circle. Both of you, the symbol of the Light, the halo and sunshaft, right? It has a circle in it. And we've chosen to not make a decision without full unanimity. None of us will be a leader..."

"Except for you," interjected Setheras.

"We all will lead, Setheras," Abner retorted. "With no head, like a circle."

"The Crimson Circle, then," Marion suggested.

Setheras shrugged. "It's not terrible."

"Then it's settled," Abner said. "The Crimson Circle we will remain, no matter what happens."

At that moment, they heard soft footsteps crunching the dry leaves upon the ground behind them. They all turned towards the sound and saw the princess had returned to their camp. A grim look was upon her face as she spoke.

"I've been listening to all that the four of you said," Calia began. "I do not condone what your Crusade does, and I am not joining your cause, or giving any legitimacy to it. But I admire your resolve, your determination, and your devotion. I'll go with you as far as the Scarlet Monastery: but what happens after that will be a different matter."

"Why do you suddenly care about us?" Abner asked. "I heard all the things you said about us."

"Enough people have died in the name of Lordaeron," Calia replied. "I wish that no more would die for it. If my going to your monastery can prevent any more lives from being lost, I will go with you."

Abner grinned. "Well, then, it's a good thing we have a spare horse. We leave at first light. Try to get some sleep."

Marion disturbed Sister Clarke's trance long enough to tell her what had transpired. She smiled grimly, but her happiness seemed shadowed by something else; something that she had no desire of telling them right now. As the light finally faded and buried the forest in darkness, they went to sleep one by one.


Each of them awoke within moments of each other some time in the dead of night: all of them had had terrifying dreams. One by one they described to each other what they had seen.

"I was inna cold, northern place," Marion said. "I couldnae see or feel th' sun. I was walkin' through th' snow, when I thought I heard a voice calling t' me from somewhere deep underground. The more I ignored th' voice, th' more it spoke, till I thought it'd drive me mad. I started digging through th' snow, hopin' t' make th' voices go away. I found a woman's face in th' snow: a very large face, but it had mouths fer eyes. Lipless maws full o' sharp teeth. The voices were comin' from those eyes: they talked about earth an' stone, and things deep beneath th' earth. I got th' feelin' that whatever it was talkin' about wasn't all that good."

"I saw them again," Abner grimly added. "My neighbors...my friends...my wife; lying in the ruins of my village. All dead, all rotten: then..." he choked. "Then they stood up. They looked at me, their eyes glowing white. I could hear them say 'come to us in the north, we are waiting for you.'"

Setheras, as usual, was tight-lipped and took a little more explaining before he finally revealed what he had seen.

"Nothing more than an old memory of folly, of pain, and of hunger. Lanael was right; I never should have left Silvermoon. Not if I knew I'd be answering the incessant questioning of mortals." He would not tell them any more regarding them dream, or who Lanael was: they assumed it was an Elf he had known in Quel'Thalas who had been opposed to his coming south.

With nothing more to say, they are their breakfast in silence; then they made their preparations to return to the Scarlet Monastery. It was agreed that Calia would ride on Ashton's horse; it seemed a fitting way to honor his memory, though she had reluctantly agreed to accompany them. The trouble came when Calia noticed the bundle that was being loaded from the side of the tree onto Marion's goat: in her mind, it looked like a body.

"What's that?" she asked Abner.

"It's nothing," Abner dismissed. "Only a prisoner Sister Clarke insists we take back with us to the Monastery."

"Why treat the prisoner so roughly by covering its head?" Calia asked.

"It's an undead," Abner replied.

Calia rolled her eyes. "You think everyone is an undead who's not one of you."

"No, that thing really is an undead," Abner retorted.

"He's right," Marion added.

"You Scarlet Crusaders are all the same," Calia dismissed. She walked over to the prisoner quicker than they could stop her and removed the shroud. Beneath the assassin, bound and gagged, was thrashing about madly and gnawing at the gag.

"Do you see?" Abner asked. "I wouldn't lie to you, Your Majesty."

"It's Calia," she replied.

"Doesn't matter," Abner stated. "Now put that thing back on it."

"She is not an it," Calia returned.

"It is an undead!" Abner retorted. "Or don't you remember being imprisoned by these rotting bastards? They would have had you die rotting in a jail-cell in the Undercity while they pillaged and destroyed everything your father built!"

"Be that as it may," Calia said. "She is a prisoner and must be treated with compassion. After all, she was as we are in life, was she not?"

"I won't abide that kind of talk," Abner shook his head. "Whatever it was in life is no more. What it is now is a monster."

"I see four monsters here, not one," Calia retorted. With that she reached up and pulled the gag down off the prisoner's mouth. No sooner had her black lips been freed, but the assassin tried to bite Calia's hand; Abner seized her arm and pulled her back before the assassin could bite her.

"Unhand me at once!" Calia demanded. Abner released her.

"See what you did?" Abner asked. "That thing could have bitten you!"

"It was necessary to show her mercy," Calia replied.

"The only mercy meet for that thing is a swift death," Setheras added.

"Mercy?" the assassin rasped. "Mercy?" She spat in Calia's face. "I spit on you and your mercy!"

"I mean you no harm," Calia answered.

"Well, I mean to do you plenty of harm, Goldilocks," the assassin retorted.

"She is an undead!" Abner shouted. "You're putting us all in danger by letting her see where we are!"

"Not all undead are mindless creatures," Calia replied. "If you know about my imprisonment, then you'll know that I was rescued by an undead just like her." She turned back to the assassin. "There must be some good in them still."

"Hmm," the assassin mused, sarcastically pretending to think before abruptly answering. "Nope."

"You're just saying that," Calia said. "Because of present company."

"Are you stupid or something?" the assassin asked. "I've made my intentions quite clear. Do I have to tear open your belly and spell it out for you with your bloody entrails?"

"What is your name?" Calia asked.

"My...name?" the assassin returned, taken aback by the question.

"Yes, your name," Calia repeated. "Everyone has a name."

"My name is...go fuck yourself," the assassin retorted, flashing and clacking her yellow and black teeth at Calia.

"Do you know who I am?" Calia asked.

"The ghost of my past life come back to haunt me?" the assassin asked. "I don't know and I don't care."

"My name is Calia," she continued.

"I know who you are," the assassin replied. "And that Scarlet scum is right. You've put yourself in more danger than you realize. Soon I'll have you back in that cell where you belong. The Dark Lady will reward me handsomely."

"If she's that valuable to you," Setheras asked. "Why did you say you didn't care who she was?"

"I loathe the company of others, you fucking imbecile!" the assassin snapped. "I guessed rightly that she wants to befriend the poor, innocent little monster! How very droll. I don't need her pity any more than I need her mercy. Now turn those bright eyes of yours somewhere else before I put them out forever!"

"Thanks, Princess," Marion groaned. "Now we gotta listen t' her ramblin' on all day."

"It's better than bumping along behind your ass like a saddle-bag, Dwarf!" snarled the assassin.

"Tell me your name, please," Calia continued.

"They know what it is," the assassin returned. "They'll tell you. Now leave me alone, unless you want to die slowly and painfully." Calia turned to Abner.

"Mardenholde," he said.

"I'm not your enemy, Mardenholde," Calia said. "I'm not going to let them hurt you."

"You're a very foolish girl, Goldilocks," Mardenholde repeated. "When are you going to get it through that thick skull of yours that I'm not your friend? I don't want your help, I don't need your help, and the more you keep talking, the more pain I'm going to bring you once your time comes."

"Take her down," Calia said. "Put her on my horse."

"No!" Abner retorted. "That horse belonged to our captain, who's dead because of her!" He pointed at Mardenholde, who hissed at him. "I won't allow it."

"You will allow it," Calia retorted, stamping her foot on the ground. "If you ever honored the name of Menethil."

"You know, you're proving to be more harm than good right about now," Abner said.

"Then why don't you kill me?" Calia threatened. "That's what your people do to those who aren't part of your little Crusade, isn't it?"

"Kill her!" Mardenholde urged. "Kill her, Scarlet scum! Shut that b*tch's annoying dick-hole!"

Abner could scarcely restrain himself from punching the assassin in the face. Instead, he turned back to the princess, ignoring the undead's taunting and addressed Calia.

"I made a promise to a man that I honor and respect," Abner replied. "And I intend to fulfill that promise even if I have to tie you to the back of my horse and drag you back to the Monastery. Now you've got three options ahead of you: you can get on that horse and come along with us willingly and peacefully, with that monster on Marion's ram, you can sit here and stamp your foot and use your father's name whenever it's convenient to you, or you can try and go your own way. But I warn you this: there's four of us and one of you. I'm not sure how good those odds are for you to try and fight us or escape."

"You don't think I can look after myself?" Calia asked. "I've been on the run for years, hiding in the mud to escape the Scourge."

"Make your choice!" Abner firmly replied.

Calia frowned, crossed her arms furiously, then looked this way and that at the others. Clearly she was unaccustomed to not getting her own way as soon as she asked for it. She let out a frustrated groan, then lowered her gaze.

"I'll go with you," she said. "But Mardenholde remains unbound."

"Well, then," Abner sighed. "If that's the best I'm gonna get, I guess I'll have to go with that. But I warn you, she's trouble. You might live to regret this act of 'mercy.' I know I certainly will."

With no more ado, they led their horses back down the mountainside after Abner went back and brought Thoradin back with them. Calia was shocked at the sight of the large bear, who made no advance towards her. Once the bear sighted the assassin, he roared at her and would angrily swat a large paw in her direction. It wasn't until Abner forced the shroud back over Mardenholde's head that Thoradin calmed back down: Calia was none too pleased with this arrangement but said no more.


It was a cool, wet, misty morning with little visibility, and the ground was slippery on the way back down. They went therefore slowly, as they had before. Calia hesitated at the rear, expecting that help should be offered to her in getting down the hill. When she saw no one coming to help her, she rolled her eyes and followed along behind them, leading Ashton's horse as best she could. Though the assassin was shrouded, she was not gagged, and her muffled voice came out from beneath the shroud. Every bump and jostle they encountered on the way down she complained about, and mimicked or talked back to anyone who spoke to her. Needless to say, it was just as difficult going down as it had been coming up.

Once they came down the mountain, Abner set their course due east. Rather than follow the same path they had taken, and risk their luck yet again, he determined to go straightly east, cross the hills east of the Agamand Mill, then follow a roughly east by northeast path back to the Scarlet Monastery. Though this land was dangerous, he too had been a fugitive and a vagabond in Tirisfal for many years before the Scarlet Crusade found him. He knew how to disappear in this land without truly losing his way.

They rode on in relative silence for many miles. Calia rode at the rear, just behind Marion and the assassin; after them came Setheras, and then Abner and Sister Clarke at the front of the column. For the most part, they had been quiet. When they no longer said anything, Mardenholde made only soft groaning noises: nothing to inflame the passions, only the macabre rasps of the grave to annoy them and try their patience to the utmost, in order for them to lash out at her and respond. They ignored her to a man.

While they rode, Sister Clarke brought her horse alongside Abner's and broke her long silence.

"We need to talk," she said.

"What about?" he asked.

"Your dedication to the Scarlet Crusade, for one," she replied. "I heard you and your little Crimson Circle talking about your plans for what you would do should our crusade fail. Do you expect us to fail?"

"No," Abner replied; he was in no mood for a row, having already had plenty with Calia and the assassin.

"Do you not believe in the cause?" she asked.

"The restoration of Lordaeron?" he returned. "I believe in that plenty enough."

"Then how could you say those things?" Sister Clarke asked. "You know, most inquisitors would have had you sent you to the torture chamber or the stocks for such words."

"I'm a practical man, Sister Clarke," he replied. "When the Princess said she wouldn't go with us, I was concerned. Especially after all you've told us about how badly things are going for us. For myself, I always thought that I'd be dead before the Crusade ended, and hoped that my fellow crusaders would burn my body rather than let me come back as a monster. But I have no intention of dying just yet."

"Why?" Sister Clarke asked. "What makes you want to survive, even without us?"

"I don't know," Abner sighed. "Maybe it's some damned thing inside me that doesn't want to quit, doesn't want to give up, that wants to keep on fighting." He chuckled. "Or it could be as simple as revenge." He sighed. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. She said yes, even if it was reluctant, and you have nothing to worry about, sister."

"Call me Nora," she said.

"Alright then, Nora," he returned. "Care to tell me what you and Setheras were talking about yesterday, when you two were off by yourselves alone?"

"It's meant to be a secret," Nora replied. "The kind of secrets that are kept and not told. It would be a danger to us all if I told you. Especially now." She gestured with her head back down the column, towards Marion's ram: specifically, the shrouded undead assassin who was seated on the back of the ram, swaying and groaning.

For several hours more they rode on in silence. In the distance they could see the grim, gray walls of the Capital City: still proud despite years of ruinous decay. Though there were trees throughout Tirisfal, there were plenty of wide, open glades that offered no protection from unfriendly eyes. But the keen-eyed watchers were also able to spot an enemy coming from afar. Here they paused and looked out towards the old Capital City.

"That was home for you, Princess," Abner said. "Do you remember? If we win, the Kingdom will be restored and you'll have the Capital City all to yourself."

"Is it worth all the blood that's been shed?" Calia asked.

"Every last drop," Nora responded. She looked back southeast, towards the city, then pointed out something in the distance. Abner removed his spyglass from his belt and examined the land around them.

"Shit!" he exclaimed. "Looks like an undead patrol." He handed the telescope to Sister Clarke, directing her to look to the right of the line of trees. She looked therein and saw the purple banners with the shattered mask.

"Do you think they're coming for us?" Nora asked.

"Maybe," Abner said. He turned back to Marion. "Gag the prisoner. If they hear her, we'll be in for it."

Marion gagged the assassin, despite protests from Calia: the Dwarf's plate gauntlets could not be penetrated by the rotting teeth. Once she was bound, Abner gave the order to ride.

"Ride fast!" he said. "We make for the Agamand Mills!"

The group galloped off at a swift pace, going roughly northeast until the hills began to rise up before them. Here the hills were not as high as the mountains in the east or west, and they were able to ride up them while remaining mounted. Once they reached the top, they made their way into the ruins of an abandoned barn. It was dry and relatively safe for them, and here they could hide out from the undead: it was rumored that the windmills were haunted, and few even of the Forsaken came to this place.

Here they rested in the solitude and safety of the barn. There was no straw in the stalls, having either been rotted or eaten by vermin. They gave their mounts what food remained in the saddle bags, then settled down to hide. Many long, restless hours of quiet passed between them, as the fear of discovery hung heavy upon them. Every creaking board, every howl of the wind, every distant moan, made them fearful for their lives. But there was no resistance.

The day passed on and grew darker and darker as night fell yet again: the fourth day of their expedition was drawing to a close. The horses, goat, and bear each had a stable for themselves, while the group slept each apart, wrapped in their own cloaks for warmth. As for Abner Varlaine, he was still restless and went up the creaking stairs of the barn to the loft, to look out upon the land and see if the undead were near. He looked this way and that and saw nothing but the darkening land around them. In the distance, some plagued creature howled dolefully and there was a strange sigh upon the wind that sounded too much like a voice. Abner became distinctly aware of his surroundings, his hunter instincts still strong even at night. He could hear the distant rustling of the leaves of trees upon the wind and somewhere afar off a ghoul slavering: it would be a dangerous night. Thoradin would have to protect them while they slept, though he had to make sure at least one person remained awake and on watch, most likely himself. A board creaked behind him and he turned about, one hand upon the grip of his pistol: he saw only Sister Clarke standing at the top of the stairs.

"Thank goodness it's you," Abner replied with a relieved sigh. "It's not safe, being up and about this late."

"I wanted to speak to you," Nora said. "In private, before we arrive at the Monastery tomorrow."

"Maybe I should come back over there," Abner suggested. "These floor-boards aren't very sturdy."

"If they could hold you, they can hold me," Nora replied. "Despite what that assassin may say, I'm not fat; I just have a little meat on my hips." She slowly made her way across the loft and came to Abner's side.

"You wanted to speak to me?" Abner asked, once she stood before him.

She nodded. "I wanted to ask you something in confidence." She looked at him in his blue-gray eyes. "Do you believe in the cause of the Scarlet Crusade?"

Abner sighed. "I thought we were past this already."

"I just want to hear you say it," she replied.

"Nora..."

"I'm not asking you as an inquisitor," she clarified. "But as your superior, as a citizen of Lordaeron, and...as a friend. Nothing of what I say will be shared with the High Inquisitor."

Abner sighed. "I want to see Lordaeron restored, the way it was before the plague came. I admit, there are days when my faith is...weak. To be wholly honest with you, my faith in the Light died the day my village was attacked by the undead. I was forced to kill my wife and neighbors, and then burn their bodies afterward."

"I'm so sorry," Nora said, placing her hand on his shoulder.

"Why are you asking me this?" Abner asked.

"I've been thinking about what the assassin said, while she was under the confession spell."

"You really put any stock in what that monster said?" Abner asked. "I mean, it's an undead. What if it was lying? What if it just said that to mess with your head?"

"No one can lie under the power of that confession spell," Nora returned. "I've told you that. Not even a demon. But how could the Light abandon us? Is not our cause just?"

"Look, I didn't have the answers then and I don't have any more now," Abner replied. "I'm a simple man, a hunter, a man of the world. You're a cleric, you tell me."

"I've always believed in the justice of our cause," Nora began. "Any sacrifice we've made has been for that greater good, the eradication of the Scourge and the restoration of Lordaeron. But we're losing our war and the Light hasn't been coming to us as strongly as before. I've even heard that some priests in New Avalon are dabbling in forbidden shadow magics. Has the Light truly abandoned us?"

"If it has, what does that mean to you?" Abner asked.

"Without the Light, we cannot possibly win this war," Nora said. "Even with the Crown, even with the Princess, even with all the armies of the Eastern Kingdoms. We've lost too much and there are enemies hiding behind the faces of friends."

"Then what do we do?" asked Abner.

"Make provision for the future," Nora replied. "One way or another, Lordaeron will survive." Her hand reached up and touched his face.

"Nora, please," he dismissed, removing her hand from his cheek. "I don't deserve this. Not after what I've done."

"We've all done terrible things," Nora said. "If the Light has truly abandoned us, then all we have is each other. We need each to stay together."

"But what about Setheras?"

"What about him?"

"Your little private conversation with him," Abner said. "Did you say this to him?"

"What? No!" she dismissed, taking a step back. "I needed him for something important. But if you're not..."

"Wait," Abner returned. "I..." He sighed. "I know, it's been a while. I wouldn't say no, but, well..."

"But what?" she asked. "Don't make me order you to do it."

"Order me?"

"Priests have great powers of persuasion," Nora said with a sly grin. "Besides, I was Captain Ashton's confidant throughout the mission: it falls that I should see this mission through till the end."

"Uh huh," Abner nodded. "And what would the purpose of this be?"

"To keep the race of Lordaeron alive," Nora replied. "Because battle and death wait for us at the Scarlet Monastery; all we have for ourselves is this moment." She stepped back and began removing her wimple. Once it was unfastened, she removed it and the silver circlet that bound it atop her head and placed these on the floor, revealing her long blonde hair. Next she unfastened her belt and removed her outer robe. Beneath was a white bodice, similar to a corset, set with crimson and gold. Her boots went up to her knees, but her thighs were visible: soft, pale, and lucious. She reached out, took one of his gloved hands and placed it against her waist.

"The next move is yours, hunter."


(AN: Lots of stuff happening [and once again skirted away with only slight iffy stuff]: well, I don't know if I'll ever depict sexual intercourse in my fics again. Looking back at what I've written in other fics, it's cringe-inducing. I hope I gave Sister Clarke a decent explanation for what happened in the last chapter. There is in fact a reason for this end scene [albeit a cheap, overplayed one], but to reveal any details about it would give too much away. Since I needed a first name for her - and really like that, like in Game of Thrones, some human names in Azeroth are similar to real-world ones - so I went with the name of my second favorite WoW YouTube vlogger. No offense meant.)

(Aside from that, there's plenty of interesting stuff in this chapter [since it was so long]. I hate that Calia's reason for not taking up the crown was left out of Legion [i guess they wanted to make Illidan the center of the universe], so I included that bit of cut content in this chapter. It also drove her at odds with our characters, created some friction, and gave us a second kind of foil: rather than the undead one [which i've always wanted to make since I played through the Cataclysm revamped Silverpine Forest quests], we see the 'normal' Alliance perspective and how they respond to the Scarlet Crusade as well as their reaction and rebuttals to that.)