The chapters have changed, exciting! A note: Hi there! So, my goal for writing fanfiction is to practice my writing. I realized after the first few chapters, I had sort of 'written myself into a corner.' I got stuck, and I also realized that I could create a stronger story with more things happening around the central character. So, believe it or not, I re-worked a lot of it. And don't worry, nothing's really been thrown out. Almost all of the scenes are still exactly the same, but there's also some really cool new stuff inlcuded. I'm about halfway through revisions (two more chapters to go, including the rest of the Kael'thas chapter that's intact and definitely returning), and after that, we'll only have new content.

You don't have to re-read anything if you'd rather not. To make it easy for you to skip what you might have already seen: the tail end of chapter 2 after the duel is new, and all of chapters 3 and 4 are new.

Next, I'll bring back some very familiar scenes and also add another new one for you. Look forward to it! Sorry about this, but maybe it'll even be interesting for you to experience the revision process and see the 'before and after.' It's been fun writing all about their origins...

Disclaimer: The characters and settings created by Blizzard Entertainment Inc in this story are owned by their creators. I do not claim them as mine in any way, shape or form. I am not receiving monetary profit from this story and no copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Two: A smokin' hot, short redhead

Present day, in Pandaria…

"I don't want to confess everything, but it seems I have to." Tempest sat down, then leaned elbows on her knees. She looked at the floor, sorrowful.

Lady Liadrin had a seat also, in the small room. She and Sorn had asked for an office to take the confessions in. What they got was a strange octagonal space with one large window and green bamboo screens placed along the walls at intervals. The other four walls were decorated with heavy, glossy paper scrolls. Leaf patterns, small flowers, sunbeams, snow… Liadrin didn't have time to admire it too much, but the four seasons were obviously a theme. Sorn hadn't been happy about the fact that there was no desk. In Silvermoon and everywhere else in Azeroth, "office" usually and strongly implied a chair and a desk to write and study books on. Not in Pandaria, apparently. And other than the couch Tempest was sitting on, and Liadrin's one chair, there were plenty of sweet-smelling mats on the floor. Sorn positioned himself as best he could on one of those and tried to lean back against large, dusty pillows. He dragged the small red tea table near. Sorn set five crystalline styluses on it. Then, he removed a large scroll from his leather satchel with a gold phoenix on it. He shook his head, that it was definitely not going to work, but what else could they do? Sorn adjusted his monocle, then nodded to Liadrin.

"My child…" Liadrin leaned in, tried to get Tempest to look up at her. "We are ready for you. Whatever you tell us, we will combine with Pyorin's recollections and with what Daphne and Fennore are gleaning from Sunthraze's own mind as he dreams. I think two solid Mind Vision spells and two honest confessions should give us an accurate sense of what happened, at least when you all first met. Slowly, as things progress, we'll bring in Kael'thas, Saturna and the others. If we all do our best, then Sorn and I will the serum, and finally Sunthraze… all of the ones affected, they should recover."

Tempest was already shaking her head, "No. There are no guarantees, Liadrin. We both know that. And when Sunthraze remembers every single thing that I ever did to him, when he finally learns about the real me…" she swallowed anxiously. "Well, not losing Sunthraze. Keeping him safe, that is the main thing. The sun above and the gods only know—we nearly did lose him once before."

Sunthraze's wife Tempest pushed back short red hair, blinked several times. "Alright. First off, what you need to understand and forgive me for… I was such a hotblooded harpy in those days. I needed a man, any good lover, so badly."

"Erm—"

"You heard me right, Liadrin. I mean, if we're going to be blatantly honest and not be judged about it. Looking back, I could be this… bitch-goddess from hell when I didn't get the love and attention that I wanted. And Sunthraze was seriously, dangerously hot stuff. Worse, he didn't realize that about himself. So innocent, you know, full of self-doubts. Poor, lonely country boy."

"Oh how sad for him. Tempest, I didn't realize—"

"Yeah. He obviously needed a good shagging to set him right."

Liadrin frowned at her.

Tempest smiled dangerously, heaved a big breath, then sat up to cross her legs. She eased into the little couch, smoothed hands over the cushions on either side of her hips, "Sunthraze was so ready to be… bitten."

"My dear, are you an esteemed Bloodknight, an accomplished warrior? Or a wanton succubus? Memories are what they are, but let's not become so nostalgic about the ones we love that we get carried away…"

"Succubus? Or a woman? Liadrin, in those days, he made me feel like I was a little of both. And lust is, actually, a big part of our story together. The first time I met Sunthraze, well, after I almost beat the crap out of him… I nearly ate that handsome man-imal alive."

Liadrin turned back and gave Sorn this look, that she didn't want the word 'man-imal', whatever that meant, anywhere near her serum spell.

Sorn glanced up in kind, already busy crossing through his last blue shimmering line of conjured magic. It hissed in mid-air above the small red tea table.

"Now then, Tempest. If you could continue… This time, a little less lasciviously?" Liadrin crossed her leg also, far more politely.

Tempest mused, "Becoming a Bloodknight, it changes people. Completely. Growing into the role, going after that man… it all helped to finally sate some of my darkest desires." Tempest looked up from her warm thoughts. Her eyes then flitted aside, with hurt. "Alright, here we go. And remember," she hissed, "you asked for it."

The story came together, a bit like this…

Eversong, 128 days before the Sundering.

When the white gold sun rose, and Sunthraze always timed it well, he stood with hands pressed high overhead, then opened them, slowly. He liked to pretend that the light was his, every day. That he placed the sun itself in the sky, and those searing, pale rays—and his fingertips played at stroking them now, spreading them out, painting them across the flushed blue sky… that the light was his creature. Sunthraze knelt down in the grass when he got tired of that and raised just one arm, lazily painting sun over the sky and the tree tops. Tracing a finger over the forest canopy in the east, then sweeping high over the white towers of Silvermoon City. The Shepherd's Gate. The garrison. The Sunspire. Whatever he could see from his lonely field in Eversong.

Then Sunthraze went back to sleep, eventually. He itched his wild red hair. He smiled and pretended not to smell the Hawkstrider patties, inevitably everywhere. But out there, somewhere, was someone else's farm, someone else's sweet wheatfield that could be left to seed, not every inch of it planted for food or for Hawkstriders to make their nests and raise their eggs in. Or, some fine, fine lord or lady out there had a real, rolling green lawn. No animals, whatsoever. Just sweet-smelling grass, and flowers. And that perfect, fine mansion and its lawn overlooked the Sunwell and the sea, way out that way. Though he'd probably never see it.

Not that he couldn't. Sunthraze could spend the day walking to the Sunwell and get there by lunchtime. Then, spend an hour or two and head back. Better yet, he could hitch a ride off someone like he was a leech. If he bathed and combed his hair, maybe someone with a decent cart wouldn't be too afraid to stop and let him hitchhike. But there were too many damned chores to do at Chimera Rook, so better to just… not. Just don't do anything. Don't dream. Sunthraze sighed and lay flat in the yellow grass.

"I'll just stay home and suffer. Again."

Soon, deep green sleep filled Sunthraze's mind. Perhaps, he imagined he was back in his real bed, under his old blanket. Sunthraze didn't really know. He was just bone tired. He imagined even the marrow of his bones was tired. Sunthraze cleared his throat and snatched an arm up over his eyes, against the fully risen sun. He heard himself snoring.

But other people out in the field were shouting.

"Heal yourself!" Sunthraze sort of heard.

Then a man grunted. He was getting pushed about. But it was far enough away to ignore. Anyway, they sounded like soldiers exercising, so Sunthraze knew he definitely could ignore it. But why were they practicing so close to his Hawkstriders? Surely those armored idiots could smell them, right?

Sunthraze tried to get back to his mid-morning nap, but the soldiers were really making all his getting up at the butt-crack of dark, feeding the Hawkstriders their seed, grooming them, turning the eggs over, trying not to get stabbed by their javeling-sized beaks feel especially useless this morning. All that work and not even a chance to rest?

Had it quieted down? Sunthraze listened. His eyes slid shut again. Sunthraze rolled over and reached for a familiar green blanket that wasn't there. His confused, tired arms folded beneath his head instead. Sleep, the most valuable thing to him. More precious than gold, he was more desperate for it than water, or chocolate or sex… Sunthraze opened his eyes a moment, thinking that one over. "Well, I won't touch that last one." Then he grunted, "Not like I can, like there's any hope of that happening around here anyway." The life of a Hawkstrider rancher could be so depressingly lonely and pointless sometimes…

"Heal! Come on, Pyorin!"

"Commander, I—ow! Sun-dammit, Lucia!"

"Good, good… that's it. Good girl! No mercy, Lucia. Give him none!"

It was when this ranger woman with the pretty name started this sexy wildcat growling, that finally got Sunthraze up on elbows and knees and squinting through the tall grass.

"Hit him again, Lucia!"

"Oh for the love of—"

"Good girl… HARDER!"

"Britecleff! Who's side are you on?"

"Nobody's. Not if you both give another sorry performance today… Alright, Lucia. Alright! Get off of him… Woah, wait! The tide has finally turned, eh, Pyorin? Give it to her! Really do it. Oh, that's excellent, that's perfect. Now punish her—where are your retributive spells?"

Sunthraze kept low as he ducked through the grass, a naughty smile on his face. He kind of wished he could switch places with the Pie-urine guy, whoever he was. What the hell are they doing to each other?

Then, Sunthraze dropped to hands and knees, mouth open. A mere spray of tall yellow grass folded between himself and the sight of a woman flat on her back, both hands on her sword, desperately trying to fend off a giant man—Sunthraze could swear he was the size of a bear (or at least reminiscent of one, with all that long dark hair and scrubby beard) bearing down on her with all his might. Their arms were getting tired. The metal blades scraped and cast messy spurts of thick Light magic between their armored chests, igniting the blades of grass all around. Sunthraze would never forget that, that the living things around singed, were actually smoking. He could smell the blasphemy they burned all around him. Sunthraze had never seen anything like this before. Only in his nightmares, perhaps. Holy Paladins of the Alliance chasing down zombies and other foul be-plagued beings. It was never supposed to come so close to home, or have anything to do with Highborne. Or Farstriders. Weren't there even laws against it?

The woman was able to push Pyorin off. Then, the bear-man hung back for a breath or two. Both of them were tired.

"Did I bring you two jackasses out here for this?! Did I? Did I stake my reputation and your lives on such a sorry show?! I said, finish your enemy!"

That Commander Britecleff? He was such an asshole.

Pyorin was faster. Sunthraze watched Tempest give a cry, drag arms through real pain to block his savage strike at the last moment. Both of them deadlocked again. But then Pyorin freed a hand and released a handful of golden magic overhead. A wicked grin, that he liked the feel of it. Sunthraze's heart raced. The sick bastard was healing himself. Like any priest! Then, he cast that same hand at the prone Tempest girl and she arched her back in agony. In the next moment, Pyorin reared up, sword in both hands, and pounded at her again, and another time. Tempest almost screamed through this defense of her life, trying desperately to parry him again and again. But she couldn't keep it up.

The Farstrider commander circled at the edge of it, no different than a vulture. He stepped through the grass, right between Sunthraze and the woman. There, he stood and made a fist of his sword arm. Sunthraze noted the ornate officer's sword gleaming in the morning light and the savage spray of Light magic, just sitting in its runed scabbard. Just… hanging there, when he could help. Wasn't he going to do something about all this?

The sun, the sword, the girl, her certain death, the coldness of it all, the madness he was witnessing. It was so hard to see, to think it all through fast enough. Sunthraze lost his breath. This was wrong. This was really happening?

Britecleff hissed, "Finish her, Pyorin. You know you want to. Finish the bitch!"

Pyorin's large shoulders sagged. His chest heaved with breath. Pyorin spread his feet apart, centering himself. When the lady clearly couldn't handle any more, this would be the final, aimed, decisive strike.

Sunthraze could have left. He could have stayed in his life, on his farm, forgotten about the whole miserable thing. He didn't know them, did he? And he had other chores to do.

But, you see, the Tempest lady was crying. She was truly afraid. And these two jerks, they were picking on her. Whatever they were up to together, that's what it really and truly was. Indignation roiled up in the redheaded Hawkstrider rancher. In the marrow of his bones, going back generations, he was a gentleman. Sunthraze knew that about himself and he hated to keep ignoring it now. Soon, nothing else made more sense than acting on that clear instinct. Seeing a woman in distress, knowing that it was wrong-it was all he needed.

Sunthraze crawled on the ground between Britecleff's legs. He got Britecleff's sword. When the man reacted, too slow from the surprise attack, Sunthraze gave Britecleff half a look and jerked back, to knock Britecleff in the face with the metal pommel. Next was the Pie-urine bear man guys. Pyorin's face was contorted with this dumb look of confusion and outrage as he saw Sunthraze suddenly coming at him. Pyorin came down with the sword anyway because they both knew it was too late for him to stop it. Sunthraze still held the commander's sword the wrong way round, blade down, his fingers on top, and his arm not really positioned to swing it correctly Sunthraze was very aware that he was now holding it more like a broomstick. A smile formed on Pyorin's face. Pyorin judged the younger man in an instant, already decided that the next swing would disarm this intruder, maybe take the fool's arm off, with it.

But Sunthraze was shorter and used his advantage there, well. Sunthraze got low, fast. Between the blade and the woman. Sunthraze parried the sword tip askew, just enough, then dropped beneath the falling sword, to completely clear it and came up on the other side, to smash the commander's sword a second time, into some other Farstrider's stupid, arrogant face.

Pyorin fell over.

The woman shrieked with fright. Sunthraze checked back to see if she was okay. Instead, she looked ready to kill him.

You see, back then… he didn't know Tempest very well.

"The hell are you?" She sort of… hopped back to her feet, the way an agile assassin might. But this woman had a full set of Farstrider armor on. Sunthraze had to blink at that. And he noticed she had her sword in hand again, the right way.

Then, ahead of him. That bear-dude, Pyorin, he struggled to his feet after slipping once or twice, clutching his face. He stared through bloodied fingers with murder in his eyes, too.

"Baby, you okay?"

Sunthraze was so flustered by now, he almost answered her when she asked.

"…I'll be fine."

Sunthraze flinched to hear the man ready to kill Tempest only moments ago, sputtering through his bleeding hand to say it.

"Hang in there, Pyorin. I'll toss you a heal—"

Wait.

"Thanks, babe." Pyorin dropped his hand then, face perfectly healed. He closed in from his side and cracked his neck at Sunthraze.

What the—

Sunthraze again raised the sword he'd stolen. He faced one angry Farstrider, then shuffled his feet to face the other one. It was easy to see now, that he was screwed and why. Why oh why had he bothered with these stuck-up, always so selfish and arrogant, freaking crazy Farstriders!

"Get off my land!" It was all Sunthraze could think of.

Pyorin shouted back, "Your land? This land belongs to the House of Sunstrider. The king. And we're Anasterian's soldiers. We're the ones on this land, actually using it. What did you do with it? Your family let it go fallow."

Tempest put in, "Yeah, we're doing you a damned favor! Why did you attack a bunch of Farstriders?"

Sunthraze looked helplessly back at the woman named Tempest. Now was a bad time to notice how attractive she was when she was standing. And facing him. And wanting to kill him. And so freakishly tall.

"Hey! It's called chivalry. I was worried about your… lady, here! But I swear, if I'd known she was the freaking jolly red giant, able to fend for herself, you know I wouldn'ta bothered!"

"That's it—Pyorin! You go high, I'll low. I think this pansy just said he has balls for me to crush."

"Aaargh! This so…. SUUUUCKS!" Sunthraze ran for it. Tempest, with her long legs and stride, was able to quickly overtake him. He caught her sword with his own as it reached in to slice and hamstring him, maybe. Sunthraze let her run over him, ontop of him almost, and the blades seared against one another. When his handguard tangled with hers, he threw, with all his might, and was able to wrench the sword from Tempest's hands. She had a moment then, to decide whether to run and go get it. By then, Sunthraze was sprinting the other way.

Pyorin was a strong runner, too. Sunthraze was not trained like they were, though he was running like a mandman. And Sunthraze got tired after his burst of energy. When he felt the other man gaining on him, Sunthraze desperately attempted to swerve away, change direction. Pyorin kept on him like a shadow. Sunthraze turned completely on his heel at the last minute, thinking to slide out of Pyorin's reach and double-back. But Pyorin was already there. The two men did another panicked zig-zag before Pyorin matched Sunthraze's fancy footwork and finally put a sword between them. Sunthraze caught his breath, backed off and circled as well, kept his own sword ready.

The smartmouthed redhead and the lumbering bear-man both gasped and shuffled, neither of them wanting to strike first. "One thing… why the hell is she with a slob like you, who wants to kill her during some practice?"

Pyorin smirked, shrugged one big shoulder, "I've got a lot of things that you don't. Which is easy to see from those dingy overalls you're wearing. You really don't have any actual clothes, do you?" and to Sunthraze's deeply checked reaction, "Heh. I know the type. Broke as a joke… farmer boy."

"…Farstrider freak."

"Short man."

"Bed head! You never condition, do you? What do you do, let your cavewoman girlfriend gnaw the ends of your hair with her teeth?"

"What did you just call me?!" Pyorin lunged.

Never insult a male Elf's hair…

Fast sword play was the result. Sunthraze was shorter, lighter, but he was able to match Pyorin stroke for stroke. Pyorin tried to disarm Sunthraze, several times, but he was slow to recognize that this country bumpkin was just as skilled, if not better. Sunthraze hadn't mishandled their commander's sword earlier, stolen it from its scabbard out of clumsy wrecklessness. Sunthraze got it with the confidence of a man who wasn't afraid to use the sword backwards, if he had to. Sunthraze was sure he could manage.

Frustrated, Pyorin made a wild swing that sent all his black hair flying. He wanted to take Sunthraze's head off. Rather, Pyorin knew he couldn't actually manage it, but then again, he couldn't best Sunthraze either, and so needed to scare him. Buy time. Sunthraze ducked with easy agility, then kicked Pyorin hard, in the gut.

Pyorin went down again.

Tempest came sprinting up once more. Sunthraze ran backwards. He really didn't want to face her again. She swiped and he parried, just barely.

"You naked under there?"

"Wait, what?"

A very good stab, that should have gone through his middle, but Sunthraze winced and dodged it.

Her voice lowered, "…What do all those cool tatts say?"

"Huh? What the- are you… hitting on me?"

"I'm Tempest. Some people get to call me Lucia."

"You're busy trying to kill me, though!"

"Ungh!" another hungry swing, "Call me Lucia!"

"Uh… no! Not till you stop trying to kill me! What is wrong with you freaking… freaky Farstriders?"

Tempest swept her sword around, sloppily. Sunthraze took it neatly, readied to disarm her again. But it was a trap. Tempest hooked him in tight this time, was able to pin his arms up high because she was taller. Sunthraze was up on his toes, stupidly, while she smiled at him and sniffed deeply of his neck, then dropped one hand from her sword to give him a good squeeze…

"Gah! Oh gods! That was… that was NOT ladylike!"

"Get your hands off my woman, pumpkin head!"

"Oh my gods, did you not see her try to ravage me just now? This is sick. Why can't I just run away from you two?" Then, Sunthraze broke away and recovered, only to see the tall redhead and her bear of a boyfriend encroaching steadily, now a united front, with angry or amorous looks across their faces.

"Belore!" White hot light seared everywhere.

Sunthraze got low. While he was doing that, his sword was snatched away. Light, sense, feeling… all deafening. But eventually, he understood a voice saying to him, that same commanding voice, "…stand up straight."

Sunthraze could hardly see through all the white. When he looked, to his right, he saw Pyorin and his Tempest, kneeling on the ground with hands folded more reverently in their laps than Sunthraze felt looked natural for them. When they weren't pummeling or groping their enemies…

A man not much older than him, average height… everything about him average, really, looked back at him. But then there was this intense blonde haircut that fell over one eye, just so. The rest was shaved close to the sides of his head, and brunette. One of those very expensive fancy haircuts… weird on a Farstrider.

"I've put them in a state of meditation. That should last about a minute or two."

"Oh thank the gods—"

"So you have one, maybe two chances to get my next questions right. After that, I release the dogs and they finish you. Got it?"

Sunthraze reeled for a moment, worried that he hadn't heard this right. Then, some old wive's tales about Farstriders executing criminals with no warrant in these backwoods, that kind of stuff came to mind. That brought him back. Indignation, again.

Britecleff inhaled angrily, puffed up his chest, "Who are you? And what the hell were you doing?"

Sunthraze was ready with a fast answer—

"In that order. And I'll know if you're lying to me." Britecleff's dark brows furrowed, "Trust."

Sunthraze was very tempted again, to lie. It would be easy. Why should he help them? Then the world opened up a little. It was starting to feel like there were two paths ahead. Like when he decided to fight and help, rather than run. Now, was he really going to lie? Just like that? How dare this Farstrider assume he would be such a coward? Anyway, his mother at least deserved a chance to find his fool body if they were going to be such lawless bastards, rather than worry the rest of her life without him…

"I'm Sunthraze. And you're a jackass."

Britecleff barely got a chance to react to this when Sunthraze went on, "I don't care what you're doing out here. You're too close to my family's land, and then, part of your torturous practice is to have a woman, on her back—a lady—"

"Yeah. Tempest is hardly a lady."

Sunthraze asserted, fully serious, "She is a lady. She was vulnerable, and you were calling her foul names and degrading her and told your goon to kill her. I heard you say that, I know I did. What kind of man does that to a woman? So I did what you were supposed to do, with your sword." Sunthraze gathered himself up, "…I stopped it."

Britecleff crossed his arms. "I can smell your Hawkstriders."

Sunthraze decided not to make that one so easy on Britecleff. Sunthraze refused to rise to it.

"So we are, indeed, close to the Sunthraze Estate. That's who you are? A relation to Lord Roann Sunthraze? Or, the late Roann Suthraze."

"This called Chimera Rook, now. And I'm Roann's son."

Something in Britecleff's countenance melted. He uncrossed his arms. "Your first name?"

"I already told you my name."

"The one named… Sunthraze Sunthraze? You're the double Sunthraze? The heir? Or, you were the heir."

Sunthraze shuffled on his feet, uneasy. "…So? What business is it of yours? You still haven't told me that."

Tempest and Pyorin drowsed awake then. Both warriors saw Sunthraze so close to their commander and went for their swords.

"You keep your flying monkeys offa me!" Sunthraze swiped a hand wild in their direction.

"…Jerk." Went Pyorin.

Tempest cleared her throat, "So… what does that one tattoo say, across your belly? That's kind of a nice one."

Sunthraze stared at her, staring at him. But then, he was further distracted by two more pairs of eyes staring at him. Sunthrazed flinched at the two other men.

"Well, that is kind of a cool one. Never seen one like that before." Pyorin grunted.

"…Is that in Trollish? Good gods!" Britecleff snerked laughter.

"Aww… what does it say…?" Tempest ran up and almost put her hands on Sunthraze's naked stomach, beneath his overalls. She moved that fast. Britecleff swept a hand down, parrying her wrist with his own, though. Being her commander, he had to be faster.

"So, are we busy arresting him?" Tempest reached into the bosom of her gold and green armor instead and pulled out a small white notepad. She slipped a pen from the metal spiral bind, ready to write. "What do you want him down for?" then her voice dipped sultry, "Cause I'm down for anything."

Britecleff tightened his uncomfortable smile. "Tempest. Go play with Pyorin."

"Too bad I don't get to decide your punishment…" she set teeth around the end of the pen, raised red eyebrows at him, then waltzed away.

Sunthraze almost turned himself around, watching her go. Britecleff snapped his fingers to get the younger man's attention back. "I should arrest you, you know. She was right. What you saw today was classified—"

Just as fast, "I didn't see anything."

"Uh, yes, you were just looking at everything. I saw you."

"Did she say her real name was Lucia?"

"It's too late for that, Lord Sunthraze."

"My name is Sunthraze. Just Sunthraze. I know what I am—do you think I don't know? I lived through it, me and my entire family. We had debts, they got called in. Almost the whole estate is gone. I raised my father's Hawkstriders after he died. I've been doing my duty for a long time. I know my place and I have my pride, so I don't need someone telling me what I am and what I'm not."

"It's who you are. Not what." Britecleff leaned on his back leg. "So… that's what I saw. The great swordsmanship of the Sunthraze line, passed down. You've never been with the Farstriders before have you? Trained like your grandfather? You can't have been. So why do you fight like it?"

Sunthraze made fists at his sides. "My grandfather didn't—"

"He did, I would know. And his father before him, and the Sunthraze before that. All decorated. But one generation got skipped. Just one."

"My father couldn't conscript. There were more important things, like his family. Trying to save it from ruin. Though, you see how much it helped. Look, why are we even talking about this? If you're going to arrest me, then arrest me."

"It's just so amazing to me. It's not genetic, not in your blood at all, but still… you fought like a… like a lynx. You really did. I congratulate you."

Sunthraze felt his heart thundering in his ears. They'd said enough to one another. He should go. He really should take the chance and get away… but it was something Britecleff said. Something he'd never heard anyone say before.

Bad decisions, they come in threes.

"Wait, what do you mean? It's not… I don't have my father's blood? But I do."

"You all lost the land, though."

"We had debts—why are you rubbing this in? We had debts that had to be paid. So the royal House of Sunstrider took the land, like they took our neighbors' lands. Like they take everyone's land."

For the first time, Britecleff seemed approachable. Because he seemed sad. Truly sorry about something. Sunthraze read it in an instant, that the man regretted saying something that Sunthraze had never heard before, that no one else had ever told him. And when Sunthraze thought of Britecleff's words again, replayed it all in his mind, he felt like a fool. The biggest fool in all of Eversong, in all of Quel'thalas, for not seeing it before. Yes, his family had debt, like other families. But the other reason, the main reason why families lost their land in Quel'thalas… was because an heir was not an heir. Because he didn't have his father's blood. Because he was not his father's son.

But that simply couldn't be so.

Britecleff raised his hands in apology, "I thought… this whole time I assumed it skipped a generation, the military service, because there was a vendetta against the House of Sunstrider. Please… I am asking you to forgive me, Sunthraze. I shouldn't have assumed."

"But my name—"

"It is a good, honorable name. That you well deserve."

"They named me twice." Sunthraze looked at nothing. He felt like nothing. His mother was just about strange enough to do that. Name him twice, to prove a point. To raise a middle finger to the world, over the son she loved anyway.

"…And why would I have a vendetta, against the royal house? Why would anyone in my family be personally angry with… What did King Anasterian do to us, then? What does he have to do with it?"

Britecleff wore the stolid mask of a soldier once again. "There were things… I shouldn't have said. And there were things you shouldn't have seen, today." He snapped, and pointed at the Hawkstriders, tied up near the road. Pyorin sheathed his sword, and so did Tempest. They each gave Sunthraze a final look (Pyorin's was threatening, Tempest's was more amorous but… still sort of threatening) before going to the road. "You won't see me again. But try anything, and you'll be dealing with those two. Again."

Sunthraze watched the three soldiers go. A wind came and snapped Britecleff's emerald officer's cape, high over his right shoulder. The pommel of his ornate officer's sword gleamed.

Something about it, all that status… now Sunthraze felt acutely what others were always saying about the Farstriders, that they were just bullies, that none of it had been earned, "I don't understand any of this!"

Britecleff would not turn and face him again.

Sunthraze saw his opening, and also, that he would never get away with it. That this was an impressively stupid impulse, a very bad decision coming on. Sunthraze began to move toward the overblown, over-dressed, departing figure, "Hey! You just insulted my family's honor." Sunthraze spread his arms out, incredulous, and fully unashamed of that now, "Why would the Sunthrazes ever hate the Sunstriders? Tell me what they did! Or what you think we did!"

Pyorin spun around, hand on his sword again. Britecleff half turned to him and must have said something because the dark haired fighter soon made a fist, and jogged over to their three Hawkstriders, tied onto the fencepost. Pyorin mounted up. Then, Tempest jogged over and got astride quickly. And it was Sunthraze's fence, he was sure of that. Whatever the actual property lines were, he'd mended it last summer. They pulled their animals into the road. Britecleff's Hawkstrider was this showy green thing that made Sunthraze scowl.

"Manky jack-ass bird, manky, jack-ass commander…" then, loud enough for Britecleff to hear, "Hey! I was talking to you! What did the Sunstriders do to my mother? Or my father? What did King Anasterian do to us?"

Sunthraze ran at them. He sprinted.

"Look, boy. I'd go home if I were you—"

Britecleff didn't get his condescending look off fast enough. He looked down to see a furious redhead coming at him, and feel his fingers claw into his beltloops. Tempest and Pyorin kicked their birds to ride ahead. That had been Britecleff's last thought, his last action, too. But it only got his Hawkstrider out from underneath him faster. Sunthraze dragged him off the Hawkstrider and they both fell to the ground.

"And your saddle's crap. Who's outfitting the army these days—" Sunthraze almost laughed, "If it isn't the Sunthrazes?"

Britecleff was dazed for a moment, "You really are a dumb country bastard—"

Sunthraze punched Britecleff's mouth, even as he was saying it.

Pyorin and Tempest really had expected there to be no problem. When they turned back to see what was going on, shock and true fear crossed their faces. Sunthraze threw Britecleff down again, crawled over him, kept punching him. And it clearly hurt. Britecleff groaned when he was hit, again, again. They got down off their mounts and raced to their commander's side. Pyorin wrested Sunthraze off, picked him up off his feet, but then Sunthraze used the leverage to kick Britecleff back down again, dead center of his gut. And this caused Pyorin to lose balance and fall to the ground.

"Okay, kid! This time, you are under arrest!" Tempest had a rope. She tied it around his ankles, and then Pyorin rolled him over, lay flat ontop of Sunthraze to keep him down with his sheer bulk, while Tempest pried his arms back and tied his wrists. Then, Pyorin got the rope from her and finished dying his wrists to his feet.

"What for?" came Sunthraze's muffled complaint, "You jerks trespassed on my land, you insulted my family! And then he can't even face me like a man…"

Tempest grabbed Sunthraze's hair, at the scalp. She snarled into his ear, "You know, we could have done this in a much nicer setting, you and I…"

Sunthraze really jerked about then, fearful that she was so close to him.

Pyorin continued sitting on Sunthraze. For Pyorin's part, he feared to turn around too much, move too much and give Sunthraze any kind of edge, "Commander? You alright?"

"Yes! Of course!" but Britecleff's voice soared at the end. And, he was spitting blood every other sentence.

They hauled Sunthraze to his feet, then put him across the back of Tempest's Hawkstrider. She mounted up behind him, one hand on the reins, the other gripping his shirt collar tight, like a mother lioness with jaws on the scruff of her cub's neck.

"You comfortable?"

He couldn't possibly be. She adjusted her hips in the saddle, the leather creaked, and the pommel poked Sunthraze painfully in the ribs.

"…Poor thing. You really did mess with exactly the wrong Farstriders today. And it's only morning." Then, Tempest threw her weight against him again, urged her Hawkstrider into motion, "HYAA!"

The three Farstriders then set out for the Garrison with their latest prisoner. A country boy who had become their criminal, captive, a true curr in moments.

Or, do dumb things happen in fours?

Halfway across the Eastern Kingdoms, someone else was about to do something incredibly… sophomore. Though, technically, Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider was, by then, a fourth-year senior.

Dalaran, 127 days before the fall of Silvermoon.

Kael'thas had a seat on the couch in his room, so that he wouldn't have to face the purple window behind him. He decided he hated that about the city, and its university: purple. Everything in Dalaran was purple. All this damnable purple light casting a heartless 'I'm better than you' glow in the school colors, over everything a person does. He'd never seen so much stained glass in one place before coming to Dalaran to study, and he'd been raised in the Sunspire itself. A Highborne palace that the ignoramuses of Dalaran made fun of…

A splash of water in the next room, a woman murmuring to herself. Kael'thas decided to ignore it, for now. He leaned over and slipped a gold cigarette case off the table. He flipped it open, had one, then tossed the case back. He was used to the ruby phoenix and platinum filigree on the cover and never really made a big deal out of it. The case alone could pay a year's worth of tuition at the university. Kael'thas leaned over his knees and stared at the bright metal case now. Both of them cast in this oppressive, 'Dalaran knows best' purple, and that white star always hovering at the center of each window. Right now, it felt like they were mocking his latest failure, covering the Thalassian crimson curtain and furniture with its amethyst shadows. Some days, Kael'thas hated that he ever came to the Human lands to study at the mage's Arcanium. Four years later and he was at the top of the Arcanium rosters, and living in the highest tower in the Spire, the most lush dormitory apartments… and the Humans still managed to make him feel like a freak.

The woman's voice throbbed through the walls again. Kael'thas shook his head and pointed a finger in front of him, set the white edge of his nail alight with one tiny flame, smiled, then pointed at the end of the cigarette. Snapped his finger to put it out when he was done. Or, Kael'thas could have just pinched the end like every other mage did at the Arcanium, but that didn't suit him at the moment. In this moment, Kael'thas wanted to enjoy who he was, show off a little. There was at least one thing to celebrate, before she came into the room and probably pulled it all down.

Kael'thas smoked anxiously, because he knew what was coming. His father always said, 'Prepare for the worst, but expect the best'… Kael'thas had a problem with the expectations part. He felt the small box in his pocket. Still there. Then, he had a look down at himself. He was so tired and nervous, he'd thrown on a robe and forgotten to properly dress. The Highborne prince wondered, idly, if Jaina would like him to put something else over his naked body besides the robe, and considering the situation… Or if he should let her enjoy it one last time? Tempt her. Was that game playing?

Kael'thas listened again. Jaina turned off the sink, finished up in the bathroom. She was coming out into the conservatory any moment. Kael'thas' heart raced. Jaina always teased him for being the only student in the dorm that had a conservatory in addition to the posh living room and his bedroom. Really, his father King Anasterian surprised the whole school and showed up in person to inspect his son's quarters at the Spire freshman year and found them 'so completely unacceptable.' Before the day was out, the dean had been displaced in some off-campus cottage so that Kael'thas could have these apartments. So, on Kael'thas' first day at university, he'd completely pissed off the dean by making him homeless.

"Yeah, thanks for that great start to the last four years, dad."

Then, Kael'thas tried to focus. In moments, his life would change. How many times had he gone through it in his head? Today, and on so many other days before this one. Kael'thas stood and faced the empty center of the room. He took the ring box out of his pocket, opened it.

A very red ring, now cast in a purple hue that made it seem to hum, hover with strange life above its bright metal setting.

"Jaina Proudmore," Kael'thas mouthed to himself, "Would you… do me the great honor of…" Kael'thas shut his eyes, had another calming breath, "Marry me. Please."

Kael'thas did not focus on what would happen to him, if she said no. True worshipper of the unremitting sun, which did set, but always, always rose with each new day… he filled a vision of his future life, with her. Her filled his mind with only her 'yes.'

Why does it always feel so good, to reach? Why must hope always push and shove its way through? No, they never do feel like bad decisions, at the time…