Note: Did you see the new intro? I replaced the old one with a shiny, semi Star Wars spoof. Enjoy! You'll see how it relates to future chapters. Also, to go with the introduction, I am going to insert some extra parts with the Bloodknights of today, Kael'thas and even Sylvanas looking back, since they're each remembering how horribly embarrassing their lives were before. Stay tuned for that, mauhahahaa...

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.

Sunthraze skulked downstairs in dingy pajamas and a shirt with holes in it. And he was horribly embarrassed about it. He sort of waved to Tempest as he went by, but mostly only because he had to. She'd already made flinty eye contact with him when he at first tried to pretend he was invisible.

"The other one is guarding the front door, and the whole premises, Sunthraze, so there's no escape that way," Britecleff clamped a hand on Sunthraze's shoulder and steered him away from the front door, back toward the living room. Tempest, who had been waiting at the bottom of the stairs, followed them in.

"Do you all have a quiet place where we can write? Perhaps an office?"

Sunthraze snapped, "What does this look like? Fancy Cantrips?"

"Be more respectful." Sunthraze's mother shook her head at him. "There's the tack office that the breeder uses when he comes by to update the registry. And we keep other livery records in the boxes on the floor, but never mind those. The desk is set with plenty of paper and my best pens. It's through there. Do you need anything else? Envelopes? Some extra candles to see by?"

"Moooom, stop helping them to punish me!"

Renelia ignored her son, "And you'll be ducking around Hawkstrider saddles, but it's decent enough. I'll get an extra chair—"

"Tempest, don't let our unusually compliant hostess strain herself during this house arrest. Because that's how I'm going to record it this time…"

"More Farstrider legal loopholes?" Sunthraze griped.

"…Tempest. Go get the extra chair."

Renelia looked up at Tempest, smug. Tempest made a wide arc around Sunthraze's mother, got the chair and followed them into the small office.

"Mmm… the smell of whips and leather—"

"Out. Now." Britecleff looked alarmed at what Tempest had started to say now, "And guard this door."

Tempest saluted, though she was looking at Sunthraze. She closed the door gently behind herself.

"Have a seat."

"In my own home? Why thank you, Commander Britecleff."

"Anytime. Now, about my question… I really did not want to do things this way. But you see the choices we have."

"Actually, no I don't. It's more like… I'm the one with no choices and you Farstriders are busy being the complete dillholes. Again."

Britecleff missed that remark, somehow. He was lost in worrisome thought, "Right." He leaned over knees and dry-washed his hands. "I'd better explain everything first."

Sunthraze became concerned as well, though he didn't want to be. But it was starting to sink in, for them to come and find him like this, in the middle of the night. It was a little Farstrider favor. Something truly wasn't right.

"Wait, you did say I had a duty to my prince? What did you mean by that?"

"Well it's… confidential, mostly. I thought I knew how to tell you, before. There were only a few more details to discuss with Sylvanas. And Sorn."

"Sorn! That guy again?"

"…But after what happened at the Garrison tonight, I re-thought everything. Absolutely everything."

"May I know…what happened at the Garrison?"

Britecleff slapped hands on his legs, "Man, about your age. He was locked up for treason and a lot of other things, and he tried to escape. He got as far as the outer wall. He got past all the guards, everyone. He severely injured one of my best recruits. A very good healer was visiting the Garrison for the first time that night. Possibly the finest we have. This guy attacked our healer that we'd sent all the way to Stormwind for, Sylvanas pulled strings with Uther the Lightbringer himself to have back. I don't know how this kid got a hold of Fennore. But it turned out he had this shiv in his hand and… It was so terrible."

"Gods. I'm sorry to hear that—"

"I'm not. I shot him."

Sunthraze opened his mouth, but couldn't find anything else to say.

"Not the healer. The other guy. The treasonous rat who tried to run off. Fennore's too valuable to take any chances with, whatsoever."

"I… I gathered that."

"Fennore. He'll be okay. On loan from the Cathedral of Light in Stormwind, which is a shame because we were really trying to make a good impression on him. It feels like a lot of Highborne magical talent is leaking out to the Human lands, these days. I guess they pay better, Plague or not. And probably their society is more open. In some ways."

"Welp. You murdered someone today. I… did the dishes."

"That guy I shot was also someone who was supposed to be helping the Farstriders. He was a civilian who turned on us. We paid him, and well for his job. But then he went and sold our secrets to the Amani Trolls." Britecleff paused, shook his head. "It's easy to crack under that kind of pressure, between two empires. If you're not trained for it properly, it can ruin you, to have to make decisions about who wins and who loses. When you realize you have that kind of power…" Britecleff didn't finish.

Sunthraze let out a breath. He couldn't keep Pyorin from coming directly to mind.

"I just don't want to do the same to you, Sunthraze. I want this to be very easy for you."

"Good. I'm glad you don't have any grand plans to shoot me."

Britecleff smirked, "Not yet."

"Ho… crap." Sunthraze winged, his shoulders sank.

"Oh, come on, I won't have to shoot you," Britecleff gave Sunthraze a playful shove, but it was more like they were talking about arena scores, not Sunthraze being heartlessly cut down someday if he let his country down, execution style, "I won't have to because I am not going to tell you everything and leave so much on your shoulders. That's how Sorn, Sylvanas and I finally decided to do it. You'll learn your mission on a need-to-know basis. And, I'm going to recruit you into the Farstriders. That'll keep you alive even if things do go badly."

"That tends to be a choice, enslaving yourself to the great Thalassian Empire. I've reminded you of this, many times. And why do you make it sound like I'm about to be squished between two empires in some way?"

"You'll want to join up in the end, Sunthraze. I've conscripted tougher characters than you, believe me."

"Like… Pyorin?"

"Yep."

"How did you find him?"

"He lined up and conscripted. And he's excellent at what he does, isn't he? It's more his… I shouldn't tell you this, but his chasing women around all the time is giving me a lot of problems. But that's never really it, is it? It's wanting attention, some sort of high. Or, being afraid to do anything else, to slow down and think about your own feelings. Your own insecurities. The womanizing is kind of a smoke screen for him. I don't know why Tempest puts up with it. Well, maybe I do. Maybe for the same reason I haven't given up on him, yet."

"Interesting."

"You have the same problem, too, you know. You hate to think about your own feelings. Maybe you resisted being treated like a criminal so well because you're already so good at suppressing and resisting everything else."

"So, now you're a counselor. Thanks."

"It's part of my job. I have to help young recruits."

"I'm not one of your recruits, Britecleff, no matter what you hear yourself saying out of your own mouth, it's not coming out of my mouth, okay?"

Sunthraze leaned on the back legs of his chair, brooding.

Then, Sunthraze couldn't help himself, "And Tempest, how did she get recruited?"

"You already know the answer to that, or you forgot. Like I said, she got fast-tracked from a military school."

"Right. She did tell me that."

"Of course she did. She's proud of that. I knew she must have done it. But then I guess she got cold feet about the rest of it. I mean, I know her. She always plays to win, so why leave that part out? It's a sure thing after that."

"What rest of it?"

"Look, now I feel bad. Even if I do think it'll get Pyorin and Tempest permanently out of my hair—I shouldn't be reading out their personnel files to you. Anyway, it's just a theory of mine. It's nobody's business, really. I was just very sure that it was true, and if so, then it would matter, a lot, to you. That's all."

"She's so… butch." Sunthraze looked disturbed, "I think she's going to grab me the next time I tell her 'No.' "

"You like it."

"What?"

"Thing is, Pyorin likes it, too. He's smart enough to keep her, but not mature enough to know what to do with her. I hope you sort yourself out before he does. Gods, it's like a race to see two grown men finally grow up. And you both have so much potential, it's killing me. But then again, it's also like watching paint dry… Ugh."

Britecleff put his head in his hands and just languished for a solid moment.

"Um…" Sunthraze winced, "Are you… alive, still?"

Britecleff made a fist on the table, "Time to work. Pen. Paper. You're writing a letter to Prince Kael'thas."

"What?! I don't… Huh? But he's all the way in Dalaran! Why would I need to write to him? Why me?"

"There's a loose family connection that I think we can use. Right?" Britecleff stared at Sunthraze, too tired to have noticed that he'd announced his intentions. Much like Tempest was always doing.

"You people are lunatics, seriously! I'm not writing something directly to Prince Kael'thas, so that it can get back to me and I take the fall. No thank you. You're going to have to hang me first."

"My gun. Is on Tempest. Just outside that door. And the funnier thing is, I don't think your mother will mind if we do have to pistol whip you."

"This is insane." Sunthraze dipped the quill in inkwell several times until it was wet. "This is really, really, ridiculous. This is crazy! I can't do this? I'm not really writing to him, for real, am I?"

" 'Dear Kael'thas…' write that." Britecleff waited for this to happen, then went on, "I hope that you remember me… and that… you don't mind me reaching out." Britecleff pulled a folded piece of white paper from his gauntlet and put it on the table, "I wasn't sure of the greeting, I had to cross it out a few times. But the rest is good. Copy this."

"Why does it have to be in my handwriting? Oh, right… the family connection." Sunthraze sighed and copied some more onto the page, "This is so terrible. I don't understand this at all."

"We need to get a message through to Kael'thas. That's the main thing you need to know. And you two, you and him together, you are family friends. I don't know why you didn't mention it… Pyorin re-affirmed what I already knew about your father and Celestia being old friends. But the other thing Sylvanas and I, and Sorn alone know, is that you are personal friends with our prince. You're the one."

"I'm not…"

"And that, with the fact that yours is an old enough family, like the Sunstriders, so custom dictates he will have to show some acknowledgement of the message. In the end, we can and we will get Kael'thas to read this letter, with the information that has to go in it."

Sunthraze set down the pen. "I didn't mention that I—Well, I never said I am friends with Kael'thas, because I'm not. I mean, it's not possible."

"Look, I didn't mean what I said the other day about your family being angry at King Anasterian. I spoke out of turn. There's no need to pretend, or to cover the truth of it now."

"You're tired, Britecleff. You're not making sense. I've had at least more sleep than you have. Listen to me say it again. I, nor my mother—and those are all the Sunthrazes on this side of the family left—we are not personal friends of the Sunstriders. I'd know if I had any real connection to the royal clan other than being disinherited or some… like you said, loose connections, some garden parties at the palace, some carriage rides Queen Celestia and my father took when they were young… and my mother probably went with them, too. But I, nor my mother, would be living in this dump right now if we were truly and actually friends with the Sunstriders, I can tell you that."

"But you are living in a dump. And yet, you are friends with the Sunstriders."

Sunthraze looked at Britecleff like he was crazy.

"When you were seven… Look, I don't want your mother involved in this. And I don't want to bring her in here, make her recall it, to prove everything. But you met Prince Kael'thas back when you were boys. Since then, there was a falling out that I don't understand. From what I can tell, neither side did anything wrong."

Sunthraze said, "Well… I mean, that was a long time ago. It was one summer. It was just for a week or two, right? And it was mostly… my parents. We didn't even go to the castle. There was this big event. A solar festival. He and I were just chasing each other around the house, or the estate. I think. But that's not a close connection."

"Sunthraze, it was two summers. Don't you remember? I've checked this already, with a few people close enough to know. Advisor Sorn, for one. Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider considers you to be a friend. A real friend. He even speaks about you sometimes."

"You're shitting me. This is that whole undie thing again, isn't it?"

"Or maybe at every… other family gathering, maybe? Kael'thas says, 'Remember that summer Lord Sunthraze taught me to skip rocks?' And then everyone in the family knows by now, knows it by heart, 'No, that other summer we watched the fireworks, but he fell in the pond. I almost drowned saving him.' Then, King Anasterian usually reminds Kael'thas that he was the one who had to go in there and save you both. The king put himself in danger for both of you that one summer. You really don't remember that?"

"I do remember almost drowning one summer. I remember… I was underneath the water. I saw all this water and I couldn't believe it. I was going under. I couldn't move fast enough or help myself. I thought, 'So this is drowning.' I remember being shocked that it was happening to me." Sunthraze sat back in the chair, "I… asked the Light to save me. I also remember that part. But I don't know why I did that, prayed. Highborne don't… usually, we don't pray. I think my grandparents, they used to. But nobody really does that any more, not in Quel'thalas."

Britecleff grinned like he knew everything already, and even more, "Natural-born to that school of magic, I think. Your instinct kicked in."

"Like when Tempest and Pyro were fighting with the Light? And their instincts kicked in? Kicked in so hard that they tried to kick my ass?"

"Again. His name is Pyorin. And what you saw on that morning is still classified."

"No problem. I won't say anything more about it. Like I would want the world knowing that I got my butt handed to me on my own property anyway."

Britecleff pushed on, "It wasn't technically your property. Look, however you feel about Kael'thas… if you write to him, if you're polite about it, he will definitely read your letter and anything else you have to say. So please, do try. Try and get his attention in the way that only you can. And if you have any ideas for how to make this letter better, any memories, like that one that you just shared, please tell me."

Sunthraze picked up the pen again. "Is Kael'thas in trouble? He has to be, if you're going this far to reach him."

Britecleff rested his elbow on the edge of the small desk, looking sleepy. "If I tell you, I may have to shoot you…already… but I already said that."

"Alright, I'm done squeezing information out of you. You need coffee. There's plenty in the kitchen. Go tell your gorilla-ess on the door there to go fix us some."

Tempest's muffled voice came through the door, "I heard that." Then, they heard her leaving for the kitchen.

"She's listening in on us? That pretty rude of her."

"You're just mad that you're not getting to first base tonight," Britecleff shrugged.

"Look. I didn't even say I was going to try—" then Sunthraze brooded about that statement for several reasons.

Hours later, it was dawn. Sunthraze woke up, sitting in the same chair. Britecleff had his feet up on the end of the table. Sunthraze was trapped behind those polished navy-green Farstrider boots. Sunthraz took one last look at the door, so closeby yet so far away. Then, Sunthraze grinned evilly. He shoved both of Britecleff's feet off the desk, hard. Britecleff twisted around in the swivel chair, then pitched forward to fall. Sunthraze then tripped over a box of leather Hawkstrider tackle and slid out of his chair too.

The door opened, fast. Tempest filled the bright white doorway. She stepped in, a shining silver and blonde polished blunderbuss in one hand, raised. Her vigilant gaze on both of them, in the shadows.

"You hurt?"

"I'm also on the floor too, Tempest. You know, your superior officer? That Britecleff guy?"

Tempest smiled pleasantly. She stooped and helped Sunthraze up first. She dusted off his shoulders.

She then told them both, "I think Commander Prick can help himself, being a big, fancy decorated Farstrider everything in a dress is clamoring for."

Sunthraze gave a good belly laugh at that.

"And she's started using your jokes, too." Britecleff huffed and swept back the sides of his expensive haircut, "Just perfect."

Tempest lingered, staring fondly at Sunthraze as he sat back down again.

"Alright, go on. More coffee."

Tempest ignored Britecleff's order, "I like your mother, Sunthraze."

"What—"

"She showed me all your baby pictures. You had a cute little bottom then, too." Tempest pulled the door closed again.

"Oh gods…"

"I think that's revenge enough for that shoving me stunt. You're really lucky I'm not your superior officer right now. Alright, have we finished the letter yet?" Britecleff yawned, "Where'd we leave off?"

"Right. I read the rest of your draft, here," Sunthraze indicated the folded up piece of white paper Britecleff had shared hours before. "I had to change a few things. I don't want you to read what I ended up with because my version is practically perfect, but I guess I have to. The Light knows, I'm not hand-delivering it to Kael'thas myself, all the way across the Plaguelands to Dalaran, just to prove a point."

Britecleff leaned over the desk and began to read. "Family connection thing… good. Yep, and you had to mention the part about you being in jail, but you were also found innocent. That's good, too. Mhrm… I like the congratulations on his 'major in all the schools of magic.' Very flattering."

Sunthraze shrugged, "It was in all the newspapers."

"It's strange, though. I could have sworn Human universities didn't work like that." Britecleff narrowed eyes at the next section, "Wait, what's this?" Then, he read aloud,

"…I hate to do this, but you're the only person I can think of who would appreciate the fine Hawkstriders that have been coming from the Sunthraze Estate, especially to the royal family and the Sunspire, over hundreds of years. To the point—would you like to make a larger investment in the future of the industry, by supporting the Sunthraze livery directly this breeding season? Your financial sponsorship will go toward…"

"Are you… asking Kael'thas for money? Seriously?"

"Hey, he might agree."

"I'm striking this out right now. You bonehead. And as if I'd ever sign my name to something so blatant."

"Wait, hold on—why else would I write to Kael'thas? He's smart. Do you want him to see through the fact that the postage was paid first-class, which I assume it will be, that I knew his exact address at the university in Dalaran as a civilian, which we'll have to, or else it'll get lost… Kael'thas will probably be able to see through all of this. If he does, you might've ruined my family connection, and worse, you'll have burned your only bridge to him, if I'm guessing right and Sorn, nor Anasterian, are able to just talk to him. The asking for money thing, it's essential."

"You greedy rat…"

"Think it over, Britecleff. Say it to yourself. Say it with me, 'Why else would I write to him, out of nowhere? Why else would I go through the trouble, or the expense?' Anyway, it's my family reputation so I do have some say in how all this gets handled, right? That's my other reason."

Britecleff thought it over.

Tempest knocked, then came in, "Ready for hot, steamy coffee? There's also some toast." She wanted to set down the small tray, but there wasn't any room. Tempest wedged herself into the small office, ducked a bit under a hanging saddle, bent down and let the men take wanted they wanted.

Both Sunthraze and Britecleff noticed how well she did that. Sunthraze was not so good at hiding it, though.

"Thank you, Tempest."

"Uh… yeah." And Sunthraze finally got his eyes where they were supposed to be, "Thanks."

"Anytime." She mouthed to him alone.

Tempest stood upright, bumped her head on a hanging saddle, then huffed and put a hand on her hip, "So, do I get to run with this over to the Sunsipre, yet, chief? Or do you want Pyorin to go do it?"

Sunthraze looked to Britecleff and drummed his fingers impatiently.

"Look, close the door. Let me ask you something, Tempest… Would you… If an old friend wrote to you, someone you really liked and missed, but lost touch with. Not their fault. If they asked you for money mid-way through the 'Hey, how's it been?' letter, would you get mad?"

Tempest looked a little sad. She let her arm, holding up the empty tray, hang at her side. Then, she knelt on the floor, rather than bump her head on the hanging saddle again.

"You're kinda… kneeling at my feet right now."

Britecleff crunched some toast, "Be quiet, Sunthraze. You had your best chance while she was your jailor. Unless now you suddenly have real courage."

Tempest took the letter off the table to read herself. "Aww, this is such a cute letter. You really were friends with Kael'thas? I thought I overheard that part. So that's why you wanted him to write the letter so badly, Britecleff?"

Britecleff had a sip of his coffee.

"Your own Farstriders are on a need-to-know basis, too?"

"I like them far better than I like you, generally. Though lately, they've been trying my patience." Britecleff looked at Tempest, "I double-don't-want-to-let-them-get-shot."

Tempest got down to the end of the letter. "Oh my gosh… You'd better take this thing back. I think I'm going to cry. That was so sweet."

Sunthraze winced, "You sure?"

"Yeah. It really actually just makes you feel… sorry for Sunthraze. Well, his whole family. And the Hawkstrider industry. "

Sunthraze looked dejected, then.

"I think we've got a winner."

"I want Pyorin to read this, Commander."

"No need, Tempest. Actually, there's no time." Britecleff gulped down more coffee, began to get up.

"Wait, you need my signature."

"Oh, right. Sign at the bottom please…"

"No."

Tempest looked up at both men, watched them getting angrier.

Sunthraze raised his voice, "I already know what happens next, if I don't get skinned alive when this penpal mess goes wrong. My mother is going to ask, 'What did you do for them?' and then I have to tell her, because I don't care what you say, I'll have to. And then she's going to ask me, 'Well how much did they pay you?' I'm telling you right now, if I don't say that we're making some money off of this, I won't be available to write any more letters because I'll be dead. This is a big break for us, she'll see it as the biggest break we've had in a long time. I know her."

"And now I think I know the Sunthrazes. Easier to ask for money when dear mummy's making you do it."

"Anyway, it's only fair, Britecleff. I want to be paid for this. I won't be doing this out of the kindness of my heart. Whether Kael'thas is… depressed or he's my undie or whatever. I just can't. You read the pity party I put in that letter, all true. I also lost money while being cooped up in jail for almost a month. My mother couldn't really manage on her own. You know, at the end of the day, we should really get reparations…"

"Okay…"

"And you wouldn't have half that letter without me. Me and my mother."

"Fine, fine! Here…"

Britecleff fished into his money pouch and handed Sunthraze a few shining yellow coins. Sunthraze waggled fingers for Britecleff to keep it coming.

"Heh, this looks exactly like you're paying for a hooker."

Sunthraze and Britecleff looked down at Tempest on the floor.

"I would prefer not to compare this top secret mission saving Prince Kael'thas' life to the Farstriders paying for sex, alright? Is that too much to ask from you, Tempest?"

"Wait, we're saving his life?" Sunthraze sat back down to count out the money again.

Britecleff was going to answer Sunthraze, but then Tempest lay her head on Sunthraze's knee, shut her eyes, began humming something.

Britecleff and Sunthraze became quiet, uncomfortable.

"I'm… afraid to move my leg," Sunthraze made an exaggerated whisper.

Tempest got up then, embarrassed, and Britecleff handed her the letter, "Make haste."

Tempest saluted quickly and then squeezed back through the many saddles and bridles hanging from the ceiling, to leave.

"You hurt her feelings with your smart mouth, you know," Britecleff said when they were again alone. He had taken off his jacket during the night. He picked it up from the back of the chair now, and put it on with one smooth motion.

"Yes, we kissed…" Sunthraze looked frustrated a moment, focused again on the money in his hand, "But I can't really give her anything else. She'll want a lot more from me, than even this." He raised his handful of gold, "And, honestly, Tempest is crazy if she's seen the way I live and these pajamas and she still wants to talk to me, anyway—"

"Not all women are like that."

"Look. I do know that… But it's just complicated, okay?"

"You're an idiot." Britecleff muttered, and then he left the room, too.

Sunthraze and his mother watched all the Farstriders mount up out on the road. It was annoying how fresh and confident Pyorin looked, though he couldn't have slept much, either. Supposedly, all his fancy military training accounted for it. Pyorin stared back at Sunthraze when he noticed him glaring. And then, there was something else in that look, the secret they shared. Pyorin wanted to see if Sunthraze had ratted him out yet. Sunthraze avoided eye contact, as if everything was still fine. That should have been enough for Pyorin.

"Same time, next week," Britecleff told Sunthraze. "I'll send word where to meet me, since you're so unhappy about doing it in the comfort of your own home."

Sunthraze looked at his mother, annoyed, "Some comfort."

She looked ready hit him for that.

"… And show up this time, Sunthraze." Then to Renelia, Britecleff inclined his head slightly, in a gentile fashion, "Ma'am. Thank you for your patience and support."

"It was only obvious what was required. And if I offer you my son once, or a few times… there's less of a chance you'll take him away from me permanently. Isn't there?"

Sunthraze blinked several times. That hadn't occurred to him.

Britecleff checked at that also. Her presence now was so different from when she dragged Sunthraze out of the carriage. Britecleff nodded to Renelia again, carefully. He gestured one way, and Tempest pulled her bird mount around in that direction, rode off. Then, Britecleff and Pyorin went the other way.

Once the soldiers were just dustclouds going down both sides of the road, the two Sunthrazes started whispering to each other.

Renelia Sunthraze smiled proudly, "…How much are we getting for this?"

"Two thousand."

"Good boy… good boy, Sunthraze!" Renelia mussed her son's auburn hair happily. Then they fussed at splitting the handful of coins right there, on the old creaky porch.