New Alliances

Dawn crept over Stormwind, bringing a tired grunt of relief from the guards who had been saddled with the much unpopular night patrolling duty. The kingdom of Stormwind might be at war, but no one preferred to stay up at night. The guardsmen themselves began to walk back to the barracks in the old town, looking to get some rest before the big celebrations of the day. In their haste to get off duty, they did not notice the hooded and cloaked figure that stealthily scouted the battlements of the inner defenses.

Matthias Shaw did not need sleep. Not today. The guards were doing what was asked of them. Their patrol routes were unknown to even him. They had stepped up their game. If he could not infiltrate into the city unannounced, a horde raiding party would have no chance of sneaking in without being challenged. An all out war often brought a different manner of securing the city's defences. Just last week, a horde adventuring party had tried to attack the city. They had somehow managed to fight their way all the way to Stormwind Keep itself, killing all in their way. They had fallen in the outer courtyard after being surrounded and cut off. Ever since then, SI:7 had been working over time to bolster the city's intelligence network. Reznak had been deployed to Ratchet, where he would infiltrate the city's ranks and send messages whenever he could.

Today was a different challenge. A week ago, all of the Dragon Aspects had blessed Stormwind with their August personages. Deathwing had been defeated, and the world itself now breathed a sigh of relief. The champions of the Alliance and the Horde had done the impossible. They had broken the corrupted earthwarder that had caused the Cataclysm. Dignitaries from all corners of the world, from Tyrande Whisperwind to Gelbin Mekkatorque were all staying in stately rooms at the Stormwind Keep waiting for the champions to arrive.

And they would be arriving today. The ships had docked at Menethil Harbour to take on further supplies. The council of the Three Hammers had sent an envoy through the deeprun tram as soon as the ship had set off. Never since the fall of Arthas had the city gathered to celebrate it's heroes. They might be at war, but that did not mean that their heroes were banqueted and honoured. It was his job to make sure that some angry fellow with delusions of justice did not attempt to assassinate some noble. Prince Anduin had nearly been killed by the Twilight's Hammer when he had been touring the destruction of the city. This would never happen again under his watch.

As the dawn turned into morning, the sounds of thousands of footsteps reached the Spymaster's ears. The honour guard was leaving the barracks. On this most glorious of days, it made sense for the best of the Stormwind to escort the Alliance to the keep. He knew the plan of the parade of course – he had helped to design it. The Knights of Stormwind would escort the heroes and champions through the harbour and throughout the length of the canals, marching at a slow and stately pace. Crowds of tens of thousands of city-dwellers were expected. Deathwing had irrevocably changed the face of Azeroth, and he had struck Stormwind the hardest. The Park, a symbol of what Stormwind could be was now part of the great sea. Thousands of lives had been lost in the monster's rampage. He had taken the skull of Onyxia and flown away, leaving a land scarred. Now it was his elementium Jaw that was hung in the place of honour. The Dragon Aspects had left as a trophy for the Alliance.

Civilians began to turn up. They kept a respectful distance from the guard. The ornate armour and freshly washed lion's head tabard commanded awe. When the King's own guard appeared, it meant that rare guests were coming to Stormwind. Word of their appearance would spread like wildfire. It was to be expected of course. Workmen in the pay of the House of Nobles were planting banners like farmers planted crops. The desire for secrecy in welcoming those heroes now conspired to create a fever pitch of excitement. Stormwind's citizens knew of course that Deathwing was dead. It would take the most brutish of Westfall peasants to not realise that the Honour Guard was not deployed for trifling guests. He wondered if there would be a riot. There almost had been one when the news had come that Garrick's army had lost half it's number in the fight against the Forsaken advance. The kingdom mourned for it's dead sons and daughters, and any chance to break out of the sad reverie was welcomed by most people. As it was, they would celebrate and cheer for the heroes until they were half blind from drunkenness. All the while the kingdom bled slowly and steadily during the war.

Westfall was still raw from Vanessa's coup. She had been defeated, but her mere presence had shown that there was still kindling for a major revolt against the Wrynns even in the heart of the Kingdom. Men and women were being conscripted from Redridge and Westfall even now to fill out the ranks of the Alliance armies for the war war was not even close to being won. The Hzorde still tenaciously fought wherever they could, inflicting crippling losses at times to the Alliance before being driven back. With the aid of the Bilgewater Cartel the Horde had created a naval power base in the dry lands of Orgrimmar that still challenged Theramore and the Night Elves. The Blood Elves and the Forsaken still used their considerable naval assets to harass Alliance convoys that shipped troops and supplies from Menethil Harbour and Southshore to Kalimdor. Ashenvale was ravaged, and Azshara itself had been turned into an ugly symbol of the horde, much to the horror of the Night Elves.

Matthias' train of thought was interrupted by the laughter coming from the canals. In his reverie, he had crossed all the way from the front gates of Stormwind, through the busy streets of the market and into the segment of the canals that separated the mages district and the port from the rest of the city. He passed through several shops that sold odds and ends – several of them magical. Living in close proximity to aspiring mages and magic users meant that several of the young students would try to craft magical items to sell to the shops, who in turn would sell them to the tens of thousands of people who walked through the streets. Nearly all of these were harmless, mostly magical fireworks or children's wands that sparkled when shaken. Now, most of the shops were closed as the shop owners and their workers were already at the docks – part of the curious crowd of onlookers who were waiting for something spectacular to appear in the quay. Shaw knew that only one building would be completely occupied with it's denizens safely at their regular place. The stockades loomed in the distance, ominous even in the bright morning of the day. Some of the most dreaded criminals in the city were imprisoned there, along with a smattering of Horde prisoners awaiting their sentencing.

Chief amongst them was a forsaken assassin – the sole survivor of a dastardly horde raid that had managed to overwhelm the defenders and fightt it's way to the throne room. The Orc leading the charge had been cut down by Varian himself, and the rest were similarly killed off – with the exception of the forsaken. He had been captured alive – if it could be called that – and taken to the stockades to be interrogated. Eventually it turned out that they had tried to gain more favour with the warchief by presenting him with Varian's head. There was no way they were going to succeed of course. But even as Matthias watched the brazen assault did what it was actually meant to do. Confidence in the city guard nosedived amongst the general populace and much of the House of Nobles. If they could not even protect the king from a motley band of killers that fought all their way to the throne room, what good were they for. How badly was the war going that the horde could charge openly into Stormwind Keep, plant their banners and fight against the honour guard of the king for hours before being defeated. It smelled like Sylvanas Windrunner's handiwork.

In life, Sylvanas Windrunner had been one of the brightest minds of Quel'Thalas' military forces. As the Banshee Queen her power and her ruthlessness had grown hundredfold. She knew of course that killing Varian Wrynn in a manner like this was a long shot. But the fear and the panic that it would cause would damage the kingdom in a manner that would chip away at the morale of the Alliance bit by bit. This had shocked and cowed the Alliance battlemasters and generals. They would not admit it of course but they lived in fear of being next on the horde's hit list. Perhaps next time the adventurers of the horde would go for their heads instead of Varian Wrynn.

Every nervous twitch, every bead of sweat in the cool rooms of the councils of war had been analysed and noted. What Shaw had lacked in his mentor's raw intellectual capacity, he had made up for in meticulous note taking. His notes had spelled it out for him in a manner that would be easy for a child to understand. The Alliance was losing the war. While Deathwing had rampaged throughout the world, the war had taken an ugly turn. The alliance might have been victorious in Ashenvale, but that was an island of hope, receding in a dark and roiling sea of war. The Barrens had been lost. Lordaeron had been lost. Gilneas had been devastated before the forsaken had finally been put to flight. Theramore was the only place south of Ashenvale that was standing.

The only ray of hope north of the Thandol span now lay in the hands of strange mercenaries. It had been half a year since they had appeared on the wings of a large storm in the Great Sea. What the Alliance had struggled to do, they had done effortlessly. Always mindful of a trap, Matthias had thought that it was a ruse designed to lure in more Alliance forces that could be pinched off. Garrick's death had cemented his worst fears, only to learn that the forsaken had been crushed afterwards. This small piece of news, corroborated and verified had breathed new life into the plans of the Alliance. The fears of the Horde swarming in the Wetlands had been replaced by a sense of impending victory against Sylvanas. Gilneas had been reclaimed. The Alliance was now in place to push into Silverpine from Pyrewood Village. Even the failed attempt to take Andorhal had caused Sylvanas to lose one of her precious Val'kyr.

And almost just as suddenly it was now in danger of turning to ash. Under orders to take the war to the Forsaken, the mercenaries had camped in Alterac for the winter. Not content with just gathering supplies for a push into Lordaeron itself, Erich Von Peiper had taken the delusional and dangerous step of resurrecting the Kingdom of Alterac almost single-handedly. SI:7 had enough intelligence on the Syndicate to know that a splinter group of a few thousand refugees – too stubborn to leave their homes – were slowly being hunted down by the Crushridge ogres. To have made remade Alterac from a bunch of rag-tag peasants was alarming enough – but rearming and drilling them to fight in their strange and foreign manner was a threat to the alliance that needed to be deealt with.

Assassinating the mercenary was out of the question. Words of his exploits had been heard in the Keep for a while, but now they had begun to filter down to the rank and file. The loss of morale that had crept through the enlisted men since the war began had been turned around. The fact that Alliance forces – over half the forces that had participated in the battle of Pyrewood were Stormwind men and women – could fight with and defeat the Horde in a brutal pitched battle was heartening indeed. Even the battlemasters and generals of the Alliance were increasingly placing the mercenaries at the centre of their plans. After all, dead mercenaries did not need to get paid.

The night elf who acted as emissary to Isiden Perenolde was now safely in the city, awaiting a response. Much to Matthias' surprise, Varian Wrynn kept his cards close to his chest, ignoring the more conservative elements of his council. If the message had been delivered a year prior, there was no doubt in Shaw's mind that the High King of the Alliance would have torn the message, sent the might of Stormwind up through the mountain passes of Alterac and taken over the land in it's entirety and arrested Isiden Perenolde. Something had changed in him during the battle for Ashenvale. He had gone hot headed and full of anger, only to return as a statesman. Even now he considered the implications of Alterac rejoining the Alliance. It was as if he was a different man from the angry king who had almost vetoed the Gilneans from joining the Alliance when the forsaken had pushed into Gilneas. Now it seemed that Alterac was planning on doing the same.

The fledgling kingdom had long been the weakest link in the second war, eventually turning traitor when Lordaeron itself was threatened by the horde. In the aftermath, the land had been taken over by Lordaeron when the claimants to the throne had disappeared. In time the human kingdoms would learn – to their shock and horror – that the Prestors had been infiltrated by Deathwing to wreak havoc in the aftermath of the conflict. There was no love lost for Alterac amongst the people of Stormwind. They had sold their own kind out for the orcs. At the same time, the situation in the eastern kingdoms had changed considerably since those days. Lordaeron, the bulwark of the Alliance was dead and gone over to the Horde. Stromgarde was almost as bad as alterac. The capital city was being fought over by the remainder of the Arathor league, the witherbark troll tribes and bands of ogres while the Horde extended their dominions from their fortified encampment at the former interment camp.

It was true that they needed allies, and the mines and mountains of Alterac were an excellent place to keep the war against the horde going. At the same time the inherent untrustworthiness was always an issue. There was no hard evidence that when the axe of the horde fell upon the mountain nation, Alterac would stand firm as a member of the Alliance.

By this time Matthias had reached the Stormwind harbour. Even as the household guard secured the main causeway into the city, hundreds of curious onlookers began to stream in. The Alliance banners were hung on every crevice and battlement, as a result the bleached walls of the seaward walls were seemed to be draped in a sea of blue and gold. It was a heart warming sight. One could almost be fooled into thinking that the Horde had been ground into the dust.

"Ah, there you are Mister Shaw. It has been a while since we met face to face." A familiar voice spoke up next to his ear. A mixture of alarm and joy filled Matthias' mind for one moment. Another cloaked and hooded figure was standing next to him. He did not need to turn around to see the short blond hair that would be well hidden under the burlap.

"Your highness, you should not be here. Your royal father will doubtless prefer that you stay within the Keep to receive the champions." He said to the young prince of Stormwind.

For his part Anduin Wrynn simply shrugged. "Yes, I know he would. Ever since the cataclysm, I haven't had too much of a chance to go off on my own. I will be returning to Velen at the Exodar soon." He fidgeted a little before continuing. " Father is busy directing the course of the war. It is not often that all the leaders of the Alliance come together under one roof."

Matthias nodded. "Indeed. Let us hope that this day is the first on the road to victory." He was not convinced. For all he knew this war would drag on for years more, ruining Stormwind in the process.

"So, when will the champions be arriving? I wonder if I have seen a few of them before." Anduin remarked. As if in reply to the young prince, the bell in the lighthouse began to toll, announcing the arrival of a new ship. Thousands of people turned their heads to look at the horizon, eager to spot the ships. Matthias checked his pocket watch. It was time.

As if on cue the shape of two cutters burst through the fog. Trailing them was one of the ships that the Alliance used for transporting troops to Northrend. It towered over the two cutters, leaving a trail of steam in the air, with it's golden eagle's prow jutting over the water, resplendent in the sun's light.

Even as the larger ship approached the quay, the two cutters retreated to a safe distance and fired their guns in a salute before returning to their patrol. There could be no doubt left in the most simple of minds. This was the ship that returned with the champions who had defeated Deathwing and saved the world. The roar from the assembled crowd was deafening as the ship docked. Several figures appeared from belowdecks. Matthias brought out a spyglass to see the hazy shapes with some clarity.

The captain of the ship, an older woman saluted at what seemed to be a heavily armoured human and Draenei even as the ship's crew moored the ship. Several other figures followed them. They seemed to be from every race that made up the alliance. He saw a dwarf priestess, a pair of night elven sentinels, a druid and what seemed to be a half elf, supported by a dark haired human mage. A gnome ran around the pair.

As they walked down the pier they were greeted by the cheers of the entire city. The sound rivalled the intensity with which the conquering heroes from Northrend had returned. What had transpired then had been a beacon of hope to the city for the Undead Scourge that had ravaged the world was dead, and there was a hope for peace on the horizon. Now, Deathwing was gone, but peace remained as fleeting as ever. Still, through valour and might, Azeroth had been saved. These heroes deserved no less.

Anduin also had a spyglass to his eyes, far more ornate and banded with old gold. Doubtless it had been a very expensive trinket granted to his father after the second war had been won. His young and handsome face wore a frown as he studied the heroes from afar. "I recognize Rhona and Meraan, but most of the faces are not so familiar to me."

Matthias took a second look with his spyglass. It was his job to find information of course. When the news of the victory had reached his ears, with his customary meticulousness, he had sought out every bit of information he could find about the heroes. Rhona and Meraan were siblings, four hundred years old and born in Karabor. They had risen through the alliance ranks during the assault on Quel'Danas isle, combining the power of both Light and the Elements. Ever since their record of meritorious services had grown exhaustingly long. It would be not surprising to know that Rhona would probably have led the group during the defence of Wyrmrest Temple.

"The plate armoured human is Sir Berthold. He is -"

"A Death Knight, I know. I remember him striding through the keep with the Highlord's missive in his hands." Anduin interrupted him softly. "It seems like yesterday, yet it was so long ago." The young prince looked troubled as he remembered that day. "Fordragon had just left the city then." Matthias was struck with Anduin's memory. Most people would have forgotten about the former minions of the Lich King, or remembered them with hostility. Not the prince. He was said to be unusually attuned to the Light, and under the tutelage of Prophet Velen, his mastery had grown. In all the crowd, he could understand what it meant to be completely cut off from the Light as the Death Knights were.

"The dwarf priestess is Aithwuda Forgebearer. She was inducted as a priest during the assault on the Dark Portal and was instrumental in foiling Arthas' attempts to plague Ironforge." Matthias continued his report. The prince might be soft spoken, but when his mind was set on something, he would do anything to accomplish it. If Anduin Wrynn wanted information, he would have it.

The prince simply nodded. "So many brave and valiant servants of the light. It humbles my heart to know that the Light reaches all, touches all of us even during our darkest moments."

"The two night elven sentinels are renowned warriors and huntresses." He had found their names unpronounceable, but their records spoke for themselves. Ten thousand years of warfare had turned them into fearsome killing machines. Those that saw them fight in denuded parts of Southern Ashenvale had begun to call them the Orcsbane twins. "They are the Orcsbane sisters, your highness."

"And what of those three over there?" Anduin asked pointing to the half-elf, the human the gnome who seemed to be walking apace with each other.

"The human is Dana Morris. She is a mage of no little skill, after studying the arcane here, her teachers recommended her to study in Dalaran. She earned her spurs after the Wrathgate incident when we had to send for extra volunteers."

For once Anduin Wrynn did not reply. His eyes were downcast. No doubt memories of Bolvar Fordragon had stirred up inside the Prince. He had been like a second father to Anduin, one that he had increasingly turned to when Varian Wrynn had gone missing. He had taken the news of the Lord Protector's fall with stately grace, but the guards had heard him cry wretchedly in the confines of his room when he was alone.

Neither one of them said much for a while before Anduin fidgeted. When he spoke it seemed that he was struggling through tears. "Who are the other two? I mean the gnome and the half-elf."

"Dana was supposed to have a gnome apprentice as part of her duties as a fully fledged mage in debt to the Kirin Tor. I presume that is her."

"And the Half-Elf?"

"I do not, your majesty. The most I could find about her was that she stayed at the same room as Dana and her apprentice in the Howling Fjords."

Anduin smiled. "It would seem that you cannot find out everything, Master Shaw."

Matthias chuckled. It was true. His efficiency about finding hidden nuggets of information was something that was relied upon by a lot of people. Part of him wanted to do better. This half-elf would be a start. She was a complete mystery to the leaders of the Alliance. Tyrande knew about the Orcsbane twins. A figure like Sir Berthold could not remain hidden. The elf on the other hand was a mystery to them all. The position of the Spymaster of Stormwind and his honour as one of Van Cleef's pupils demanded to know more.

"You should return to the keep, Your Highness. Otherwise the King will have my head."

Anduin smiled and waved as he ran away, mingling into the crowd with a practised ease that would not be amiss from a master spy. The future king of Stormwind certainly was a gifted individual.

After a few seconds, when he was satisfied that the SI:7 agents were at their designated positions in the burgeoning crowd, Matthias shaw left the alcove and began to make his way back to the Stormwind Barracks. He had work to do.

"There are so many people here!" Penny's wide eyed excitement was contagious. Serra barely held back a smile.

The gnome was right. There were certainly many people here. On the pier it had seemed there had been hundreds of people, barely held back by human guards had been cheering on their triumphal march. Serra knew that she would have to grin and bear it. This place was worlds away from Lothern – both figuratively and literally. Whereas the ancient Elven city was now a place of empty streets and ghosts, the human city of Stormwind was vibrant and full of life.

As they passed by each and every one of the human guards, they saluted smartly. Rhona took each and every one of their saluted with a smile and a blessing. Once or twice the sheer press of bodies broke through the thin plate armoured line. Men, women and children all crowded along the heroes and for one terrifying and exhilarating moment, Serra, along with the rest of the party lifted into the air by hundreds of pairs of hands. The celebration was not limited to the humans around them. At a distance, near what seemed to be a small citadel by the canals, couples danced in the street, music – all out of tune and discordant to her finely tuned Asur senses permeated the air. She had been part of The sounds and smells of what seemed like hundreds of thousands of humans assaulted her senses. It was too much.

Serra had been part of conquering armies before. For the Asur it had been a long, elegant and ponderous affair, taking place over several weeks as they marched slowly and in complete silence throughout the less abandoned thoroughfares of Lothern on the way to Finubar's court. The humans, short lived and lively as they were seemed to celebrate their arrival into the city with a gusto that was both vital and rude.

At one point, while she was being carried through the crowd, her eyes fell upon the canal. The somewhat dirty water of the city seemed revolting to her, with it's murky waters and stench. She crinkled her nose in disgust as she began to turn her head to look away. A large pale shape bobbed out of the dark water for a moment, and a pair of red reptilian eyed her as if she was a choice morsel. Serra shrieked and the humans carrying her dropped her. Her side exploded in pain.

Almost immediately, Dana and Rhona were there with concern writ large upon their faces. As the Draenei helped her up, Dana asked, "Serra, are you alright?" The humans formed a circle around her

"There is something in the water."

"Oh, the canals are full of crabs and other marine creatures. Some of them are even delicacies in the tavens of the Old Town." Dana replied as Serra dusted off her clothes.

"But this thing was gigantic, and seemed like an albino!"

Dana burst out laughing. "Oh, so you have seen the worst kept secret in Stormwind have you?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's the not-so-elusive Sewer Beast of Stormwind. Some noble's daughter wanted a pet so her father got her a croc from the wetlands. Cost a pretty penny too from what I hear. When it began to get too big and too savage, they flushed it down and pretended to have nothing to do with it. The City Guard pretends it doesn't exist while it swims along the canal eating crabs and whatever else it can get it's hands on."

"That sounds dangerous. I mean, what about the children?" Serra pointed to a gaggle of children, ranging from well to do ones to street urchins that seemed to be making a way for her coin purse. She swatted one older looking one's hand away from her rump who just grinned sheepishly before taking off.

Don't bother. It keeps the children well behaved. My sister tells her brats that the Sewer Beast will get them if they go swimming in the canals. It seems to work wonders." Dana seemed to be on the verge of bursting out into another set of guffaws yet again.

"You let your children get eaten by mutant monstrosities in the city?" Even in the most squalid settlements of the old world, people were known to take extreme measures to safeguard themselves from anything out of the ordinary. In contrast the people of Azeroth seemed laid back.

"Of course not silly! It is just that the sewers go for miles underneath the city so it is next to impossible to catch it. Besides, you should consider yourself lucky. Most people never see it on their first visit to Stormwind."

Serra was about to reply to that when a squad of guards broke through the crowd to reach them. The human, a short wiry haired youth saluted them with a mixture of respect and awe. Dana and Rhona responded in kind. "If the three of you would kindly follow me. We normally do not let honoured guests and heroes get manhandled by the mob."

The rest of the guards formed a circle around them shoving the assembled crowd out of the way while the three of them began to move back on the wide cobblestone paths and continue their march to the large Keep in the distance.

In comparison to Miragliano, the city of Stormwind looked far more ordered and well kept. Both the cities had canals, but that was where their similarities ended. Where the Tilean city was a maze of twisting alleyways and filled with shady characters, Stormwind was well ordered and filled with laughing and smiling people. The streets were broad and followed the canals almost perfectly. She saw what seemed like a cathedral in the distance, tall and white, shining in the morning. Dana simply said, "It is astounding isn't it? When the city was rebuilt, we built it grander than ever."

That explained it. The city of Stormwind seemed to have been rebuilt. It explained why the city seemed so tidy. Give it a hundred years and it would begin to build upon itself, ending up looking like a disgusting mess. Whatever else the humans of the old world might be, Serra knew they would fight to the bitter end to defend their homes. That was something worth respecting.

As the keep drew nearer, for a short while the air grew darker with soot and the smell of burning charcoal, quenching metal and sweat. It sounded like they were passing by the part of the city craftsmen worked in. What surprised Serra was the large presence of dwarfs in the crowd. She had seen small numbers of dwarfs, gnomes and Night Elves in the crowd before, along with the occasional draenei. Now in this part of the city, the dwarfs and gnomes handily outnumbered the humans in the crowd. Instead of proper dresses and clothes, most of the faces were grimy and full of soot, and blacksmith's aprons were distributed evenly throughout the crowd.

"What is this place?" She asked Dana.

Dana replied, "It is the dwarf district of the city. All our major forges and engineering workshops are located here. After the second war, the dwarfs were instrumental in helping rebuild Stormwind. So they built a temporary shelter for themselves as they continued to work on the city. After so many years, most of them elected to stay in the city. They say that there are more dwarfs in Stormwind than Ironforge."

"Fascinating." Was all Serra could say as dryly as possible.

"What? Do your kind not like dwarfs?" Dana asked her.

"You can say that." She replied. It would take hours to explain the complicated relations between the Asur and the dwarfs. The War of the Beard was a pointless conflict instigated by an overconfident and arrogant buffoon that had sat on the Phoenix Throne and a race of rigid and senseless bearded creatures that could not accept that they had made mistakes. Both the races had suffered immensely in the war that had thrown both their kingdoms into decline and paved the way for humans to rise.

"So how do the dwarfs travel from Ironforge to Stormwind. From the maps that I saw Wyrmrest, there are many hundreds of leagues between the two kingdoms?"

Dana smiled. "It is something the dwarfs built to help transport material. At the back of the Dwarf district is a tunnel that leads into the bowels of Azeroth. There they have a massive tunnel that links both the cities to the other. It takes a couple of days to traverse via tram instead of the months that it would normally take to march throughout the length of the continents."

"I see. The dwarfs in my world have a similar system, but they are loathe to share it with humans, despite the fact that they are closely allied with each other." Serra mused. It certainly was odd. The Empire treated dwarfs with reverence. It was a tenet of the Sigmarite faith. For their part, the elder race seemed to hold the humans in disdain second only to elves and orcs. Humans were disparaged for being long and shoddy. They were a source of gold for the greedy dwarfs and a meat shield for reclaiming their lost holds.

"That is rather strange. Well, here we are. Welcome to Stormwind Keep."

Up close the tower did really seem like a keep. It was at least four times as thick as the lighthouse they had passed through on the way to the harbour and taller than it by at least that amount. Several ancillary towers had been constructed on the higher tiers of the castle. Serra was reminded of the bretonnian city of Couronne almost irresistibly. The architecture of Stormwind would not look too out of place in the fields and meadows of Bretonnia. She wondered what the captain of the Bretonnian ship would think when he saw stormwind. A small pang of guilt hit her. He had probably been killed by those fish creatures they called murlocs. It had been her fault of course.

At the base of the keep, several impractically large stairs, polished to a gleaming white sheen and covered by a red carpet that seemed to be made of velvet. Serra had to smile. The bretonnian comparison was definitely apt. The dukes of that kingdom endeavoured to outdo each other in welcoming their elven hosts. The hostility of the peasantry was made up for the overly sweet and wheedling manner of their overlords. Stormwind, having the resources of an entire kingdom had scaled up the pomposity up to a gargantuan degree. The gold and blue banners every few yards was proof enough to her.

The soldiers were all mounted on large barded steeds. Each rider and his or her horse was a magnificent specimen of humanity's finest. Covered head to toe in plate armour that was as much fashion statement as it was battle armour, they posed an imposing figure. Large broadswords in scabbards and a lance with the pennant of Stormwind made up their offensive gear. The horses and riders stood still on the steps as statues. The entire procession was designed to intimidate as overawe.

For her part, Serra could barely hold back her laughter. The militia armies of Ulthuan would look far more spectacular in a parade, and would fight far more effectively on the battlefield. The White Lions that guarded Finubar were heroes amongst the Asur, and would be more than a match for heavily armoured knights with their Chracian axes. Centuries of drilling had turned the armies of the Phoenix king into some of the greatest mortal soldiers the world had ever seen. Even the tilean mercenaries and humans of the empire fought in a similar manner, using discipline and teamwork instead of individual valour and overly elaborate armour. She thought wistfully what her erstwhile employee and now employer Erich would think if he would see these stunning specimens of Stormwind's finest soldiers.

As they climbed up the steps, she noted that a bunch of figures at the top awaited them at the top of the stairs. From a distance, she could make out a night elven woman, regally dressed in garments of white that left her arms exposed, a human female standing by her side whose hair shone like gold in the sun. She wore robes of purple and white that left her midriff exposed. Both their bodies were extremely shapely, in entirely different ways.

A giant of a man stood next to them, wearing plate armour and carrying a massive and impractical sword that made the broadswords of the knights look like buttering knives. As they got closer, Serra noticed that a stern and not unhandsome face, brutally scarred by close combat framed by wild locks of hair that was dressed in a manner to unhinge a norscan made up the man. She did not need to know that this man was Varian Wrynn, the King of Stormwind. She had passed by enough statues and plaques commemorating the king to know the real person when she saw him.

At his side stood a young human, scarcely out of boyhood with short golden hair and dressed in regal clothes of blue, white and gold. There was a semblance of similarity between the two in how they held themselves. A mixture of casual disdain and military discipline that told that was common to rulers everywhere. This stripling must be the prince of Stormwind.

The last member was a female dwarf, who stood apart from the rest. She – like all her kind had long plaited hair that she tied in a pair of buns over her ears. A sable dress covered her body and gloves of a similar material covered her hand. A scowl to match her dress was on her face, and she looked darkly at the human king and his get. Nor was she the only one scowling. The dwarf priestess – generally so full of life and good cheer matched the stern dwarf female looking down on them with her scowl.

"What's wrong?" Serra asked Dana.

"It is Moira Bronzebeard. She married the Dark Iron dwarf Emperor and tried to seize power when her father died." The mage replied. She had worn a rather elegant and revealing dress that showed more of her curves – a sheer mass of blue and pink material. Nor was she the only one.

During Serra's time of convalescence at Wyrmrest temple, it would seem that most of her fellow heroes had gone to the flying city of Dalaran. Freshly rewarded by the dragons for saving the world, they had spent a king's ransom on frivolous expenses. Now she had to admit that it served a purpose. Serra looked like the poorest person amongst the heroes. Even her staff, a symbol of her standing as a mage of the White Tower looked far simpler and inadequate in contrast to the ornate staff carried by the blonde human in the revealing robes.

The dragons had been kind to her though. Serra was a scholar at heart, and she had used her time to talk to the dragons about their history. They were thousands of years old, older than even the oldest of Dragons on Ulthuan. The amount of knowledge imparted to her would have filled a wing at the Library of Hoeth. Two dragons were foremost in her thoughts.

One of them was Alexstrasza the Lifebinder. She was the oldest and wisest of the Red Dragonflight, and their matriarch. Hers was the domain of life, and in as a gesture of thanks, she had nursed the remaining champions backed to health. The winds of Ghyran emanated from her with the power of tempests. When she walked on barren ground, fecund life would flow. Her power rivalled that of Isha herself. She had commanded the power of a Goddess at her peak, and now even after giving most of it away to defeat her wayward kinsman, she was mightier than any mortal that had walked upon Azeroth.

The other was a female drake called Chronormu. Her name was odd. From what little Serra had understood of Bronze dragon naming conventions, her name should have been Chronormi. She preferred taking the form of a female gnome, and enjoyed pretending to be perky. It was somewhat annoying, but Serra had already been enthralled by her tale – and those of her flight. The Bronze Dragonflight's duty was to maintain the flow of time. In a world as full of magic as Azeroth, it seemed that it was possible for mortals to tamper directly with time. It was not the vagaries of timewarping to move at supernaturally large speeds. It would seem that time itself could be manipulated to alter the past – or destroy the future. The bronze Dragonflight mostly guided young and ambitious mages away from the folly of tampering with time. As they had complete mastery of time, they could look into possible futures and avert them in the most dire of circumstances.

Serra's heart longed to return to the Wyrmrest Temple and journey to the different dragonshrines. Her aid in the defeat of Deathwing had got her into the good graces of the dragons, and she wore on her neck an amulet that would transport her to the deserts of a far away land called Kalimdor, where she would be welcome to observe Azeroth's history in a mystical place called the Caverns of Time. It was something she looked forward to doing.

Until Asuryan's power was reborn within her, accessing Ulduar would be impossible. It suited her sensibilities to watch these ancient beings uphold their sacred duties. In a way, the role of the Dragonflights on Azeroth was analogous to the role of the Slann in the Old World. They were both charged with protecting their worlds by higher powers. The way they went about this was completely different. While the Slann kept to themselves, brutally killing almost everyone who came across them and destroying entire countries on a whim, the Dragonflights actively tried to preserve and protect intelligent life. The dragons had small armies of dragonkin, who acted as caretakers and defenders of their broods. The dragons also actively enlisted the help of the 'younger races' as they called the different peoples of Azeroth when the time came to defend the world.

Serra was brought out of her contemplative reverie when she noticed that all of them had climbed up to the top of the ladder. They stood before the august personages as the guards around them looked impassively. Then Varian Wrynn spoke. His voice carried over to the outskirts of the keep, where a large crowd – many thousands strong – had gathered to see their king thank the heroes of the Alliance.

"People of Stormwind! A year ago, the very world shuddered as the dread dragon Deathwing burst forth to complete what his daughter had attempted to do so many years ago. We beat back Onyxia, and became all the stronger for it! Now, these brave heroes have fought for the fate of the world, and defeated the monster himself. Deathwing's dark armour now adorns the entrance to our fair city!"

The crowd roared and cheered. Varian Wrynn simply smiled a warm and friendly smile before beckoning the heroes with his hand. "Please, champions. Follow us. We have kept you waiting for so long. You must be starving."

As he led them into the walls of the keep, Serra noticed that the golden haired human with the staff walked towards her. In human terms she was quite stunning to look at. A heart shaped face with intelligent blue eyes and framed by long golden hair was certainly something that merited a second look. This close, Serra could feel the power emanating from her staff. She was certainly a skilled mage by human standards. She idly wondered who would win between the two of them in a magical duel.

"It is always good to see a fresh face amongst our mightiest heroes." She remarked in perfect Thalassian.

Serra was momentarily nonplussed but replied. "I am glad to have played my part, your highness." She assumed that it was the Queen she was talking to. Talking to humans bored her, no matter how high or low their station.

The woman did not seem to take the hint. "I must say, you have a rather unique accent. I haven't heard it before."

"From very far away your highness. I must say, your Thalassian is impeccable." Inwardly Serra sighed. The Queen was clearly a powerful mage. The staff she carried swirled with arcane energies that were quite potent.

"Ah, my education at my father's court and in Dalaran was an excellent place to practice the language. It is always charming to talk to someone in the high elven tongue." Came the reply.

"I am happy to have been a pleasant distraction to you." Serra answered.

"I must be frank with you. Half elves are rare outside of Dalaran. It brings me much joy to see one of your kind honoured this way."

She had doubtless meant it as a complement, but as it was Serra stopped and gripped her staff so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

Rhona came to the rescue. "Lady Proudmoore, please. Do not call Serra a half-elf. She takes great umbrage to that." The Draenei knew about her. She had been injured as well during the battle. Much like Serra, she too had come to Azeroth from another world. Of all the people in the courtyard of Stormwind Keep, she could relate the most to Serra's predicament.

Lady Proudmoore appeared to be genuinely shocked at this revelation. Her mouth opened in shock and a delicate hand covered her mouth. She gripped her staff closely and Serra felt some of the latent magic in it begin to wake. "Please forgive me, Lady Serra. I meant no offence."

Serra exhaled slowly. Getting called a half-elf was tiring. She should have been prepared for this. "You had no way to know, my lady. I took none." Her grip on her staff lessened and she sagged her shoulders. She was an Asur princess. Human stupidity should be ignored by her.

By this time the trestle tables were being laid down with food and drink. At least that was something she could look forward to. Her short stint as a mercenary and an adventurer for hire had brought her appreciation for simpler and more tangible things. As it was, she sat down next to the Proudmoore woman without any lasting sense of ill will.

Matthias Shaw stood at a distance from the table, almost disappearing into the furniture of the room. The War Council might be in full swing, but he had his own failures to contend with. It was a novel feeling. One that he had last felt when some fresh adventurers had come to him with a scrip of paper from one of the Defias messengers.

The half-elf had eluded any form of information gathering. The only thing he had definitively learned was that her name was Serra, some of the marine soldiers called her Serpentslayer, and she hated being called a half-elf. One of his agents had tried to rifle through her belongings, only to be rushed to the tower infirmary after he had suffered several burns. Her companions, well known amongst the Alliance leadership in their own right had flat out refused to share any information about her.

Even when prince Anduin himself had asked the Draenei paladin Rhona, she had simply shaken her head. It would seem that the only way that they would know about Serra was if she decided to tell them herself.

Now he was observing the fate of Alterac. By the slimmest of margins the leaders of the Alliance had voted to reinstate Alterac to the Alliance. Genn Greymane had abstained. His anger at the fact that a large part of his subjects – both cursed and humans had escaped to Alterac – made him recuse himself from the table. That was good. It did not take a very perceptive man to say that the old king was going to refuse the entry of Alterac to the Alliance.

Tyrande Whisperwind had accepted purely on the basis of military expediency. Silverpine was too rocky and mountainous to use for a proper assault on the forsaken heartlands. Alterac on the other hand was far more secure from direct assaults and held a commanding view of Andorhal and it's surroundings. As long as the people of Alterac would accept an alliance military expedition to bolster their defences, they should be accepted in the Alliance. After all, holding Alterac would have a permanent knife to the heart of the Forsaken.

The dwarf delegation, led by Moira Thaurassian elected to abstain. According to her, it was a human matter best left to humans. At the same time she read a field report from the Ironforge artillery brigade signed by a certain Hulda Stoutiron who spoke highly of the combat effectiveness of the mercenaries. If they were training the people of Alterac, it would be a waste of resources to alienate this powerful faction. On their own, Isiden Perenolde might be a nuisance. As a member of the Alliance, he could provide a staging ground for the reclamation of Lordaeron.

Mekkatorque, who was here as an advisor to the Skyfire project decided to follow Moira's lead and accept whatever decision the human members of the Alliance.

Prophet Velen was magnanimous to the people of Alterac. The light was full of forgiveness. If the Sin'dorei could be redeemed after what they had done to sate their magical addiction, then so could the people of Alterac for a decision that had been made by their king at the height of a genocidal war. He wholeheartedly supported the reinstatement of the wayward nation into the Alliance.

Jaina Proudmoore was remarkably ambivalent about the whole affair. She believed that the humans of Alterac were not trustworthy enough to join the Alliance without proving themselves first. After hours of arguments it was decided that she would allow them to join the Alliance on the condition that they immediately help the war effort in Kalimdor. Garrosh Hellscream was on the move once more. With the loss of the Barrens, all that stood between Theramore and the Horde was Northwatch Keep.

Surprisingly enough, Varian Wrynn assented with Jaina. Matthias suspected that the mercenaries had intrigued the king. The forsaken were a fearsome foe, as the Wrathgate had shown. Any force capable of handing Sylvanas Windrunner a bloody nose was something to be putting into the fray as much as possible. Removing them from Alterac would also make it easy for Stormwind to influence the fledgling nation. It would work both ways to the benefit of Stormwind. If the mercenaries were victorious, the Horde would be dealt a crushing blow in Kalimdor. If they failed, Alterac would be all the easier to control.

As the messenger was summoned to send a missive to Isiden Perenolde with a conditional invitation to join the Alliance, Shaw retreated to the shadows. Melrick was dead. It would seem that the mercenaries would require a more hands on approach to control. It was up to him to figure that out. Meanwhile, far in the distance, the city of Stormwind celebrated, glad to know that the world was safe from the horrors of the twilight's hammer cult and the madness of Deathwing.

A/N: Sorry about the delay fellas, I had some IRL stuff to do. Plus I had to redo this entire chapter from scratch.

Deadliestfan, Regarding casualties. Most of the casualties in a battle at this phase occur when an army is killed off during the routing. The mercenaries do not waver or break their lines, leading to somewhat lower losses than what you would assume. The fact that they manage to destroy the siege train used to bombard Gilneas means that for the moment Sylvanas lacked her chemical weapons.