Chapter 16: Chasing a Stray

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Kael'thas sat in his underwear with a drink in his hand. Elbows on his knees. The sweet-smelling amber liquid gone sideways in the glass just beneath his fingers. His fist cramped around the glass and pressed into his temple, as he stared.

The Naga magic had dissipated hours ago. Now he was simply a man again. He presumed Faltheriel was the same. Kael'thas, with good mage sense, had torn them through so many levels of the keep, using his most powerful an arcane blink spell. Kael'thas wasn't completely sure he could do it, but didn't have time to warn Faltheriel about that at the time. It was mad and it was reckless. They disappeared and reappeared on the roof after several violently bright moments. Then, it was only obvious to any spell caster how to get back down to the street. Kael'thas grabbed Faltheriel as he'd grabbed him moments before and saved him from Sweeney. Kael'thas made Faltheriel come with him as he stepped off the edge. That took trust. Too much damned blind trust in his prince. Faltheriel being so vulnerable to him in that way made Kael'thas feel even more guilty. The slow fall spell brought the two of them to the bottom, coming down as easily and as innocently as two floating feathers. It felt far too innocent for the two of them. After, of course you split up.

Now, Kael'thas was at home. So-called home. Kael'thas' apartments were filled with curious, wondrous trinkets, parts of experiments, yes, the large colorful flow chart of his plan to win over Jaina, and also heirlooms brought all the way from Silvermoon, to help him feel at rest and at peace in this strange Human city.

All that, and it was all still so empty.

Kael'thas felt sleepy. Worse, he vaguely sensed he was about to drop his alcohol. He sniffed, blinked several times. He stood up and began to pace around in his shorts.

"Dear Sunthraze… it's funny how, one day, you're just… sitting in the back of class, hating your life, drawing crap in a notebook. Nothing serious, just a joke. It could be graffiti, one day, if you have enough courage to… slash it all over a Founder's Hall, with a paint brush. And then, after graduation, everything is different. Nothing is the same after you graduate," Kael'thas squeezed his eyes shut, tapped his glass of liquor against his brow again, "It all goes to shit, doesn't it? You wonder, 'What am I doing? What the fel am I doing, anymore? Is this all? Is this really it? I'm on my own and I have to make it all by myself? No, I have to submit. Submit!" Kael'thas toasted no one, "Submit and cower before some other master. All that training and learning only to give your soul over to some… kingdom. The freedom is the lie. That you can make your own life. Nothing can save you if you were born a jackass. That people hate. Because you exist, it's just because of that, really. You insist on being an Elf around them. And ontop of that, you're taking up the space that they want." Kael'thas wandered past the mirror. He wouldn't look in it. He turned his back to it, "And if you are a mage, a real Bloodmage, the way I've done it… you can actually carve that shit right into the air, right on people. That hateful scrawling you once did in class. I think it was arcane… astral physics class, something…" Kael'thas almost twirled, in a drunken attempt to turn around without really seeing himself in that mirror, pace in a new direction, "I tried. I failed, then I tried." Kael'thas stopped, pointed a finger out from his drink. He was trying to follow what he'd just said. Of course, he couldn't. "Well, Sunthraze. I'm finished." Kael'thas waltzed by the ashtray and picked up his cigarette again. He inhaled, deeply, then set his drink down hard on the glass table. A part of Kael'thas did want to break that glass. Everything was too peaceful. Everything was being too nice to him.

There was a knock on the door. Ruthsalia, Kael'thas' golden succubus, could have been a statue as she stood there silently, minding his odd rant. He gestured sloppily for her to open the door.

Knowing better than her master at the moment when she had her orders, the demoness asked, "Who waits on my glorious master?" She'd said it with conviction, too. Ruthie likely believed it was her one chance to do something for her unhappy warlock. Kael'thas was capable of little else that evening.

Whoever was waiting checked at the voice. "Um… that's not Jaina is it? If so, then I can just come back…"

Kael'thas was too far gone to notice much about his succubus answering his door. It should have been forbidden to him. First of all, that he had a succubus out when he was alone at all, and second, that having a demon woman around while he was in his underwear had nothing to do with his studies.

Faltheriel could be heard cursing himself through the door, "Right, it wouldn't be her. Ruthsalia, is it? It's me."

Ruthsalia frowned, unsure how to handle that. She wasn't really the violent kind of succubus, and she really was trying for Kael'thas, "Me, who is?"

"Faltheriel. Faltheriel Darkweaver. He should have given you instructions to yield, only to me." Then, after a few moments, "Woah, that sounded… so excellent."

"Master, it is the weird one. Please do be careful." Then the succubus let Faltheriel inside. She locked the door behind him, then stepped on dainty hooves to block the only way in and out of the apartments of Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider.

Faltheriel looked up and down Kael'thas, who was wandering around in only his shorts. But Faltheriel wasn't smiling.

"I don't think I've resurrected so many people in my life. It felt like we were at war. I was terrified for a while… but, no. The Naga illusion had concealed my identity well. I think it was worth the risk." Faltheriel worked through some pain in his head, or his hands. But he winced as if it was deeper than that, "Don't you think it was worth it, Kael'thas? For me to sneak back?"

"…Want a drink?"

"Are you high?"

"Not yet. Or, I've been coming down. Last hour or so. Anyway, I'm out of arcane crystals if you were interested in my private stash."

Faltheriel wanted to walk over, but he paused after the first step.

"I'm in my underwear because I'm miserable. I don't feel like getting dressed or caring or anything. Can you handle that, Faltheriel?" Kael'thas turned his back on him, "You insufferable butthead."

"I covered for you! I just spent the last three hours of my life covering for you, my prince." Faltheriel sounded as if he would weep.

"I did not ask for you to do that."

"I had to! Someone had better, too much is at stake!" Faltheriel went over again, to where the bottle of whatever Kael'thas had been drinking was set up. Stormstout beer, Goblin gin, red wine all the way from Darnassus, Silvermoon Special Reserve… Actually, it was a poor time to recognize that Kael'thas had an impressive mini bar in his college dorm room. Faltheriel passed his hand over a few deep green or heavenly white or blue bottles before choosing one. He unstoppered it, with a pleasant 'pop' that did not fit their present situation at all. Then, Faltheriel poured.

Faltheriel obviously needed courage for the next part, "Did you do as I said? Did you stay here, and do nothing?"

"Technically, a person can't do nothing. You're breathing, your hair is growing. That's physically impossible—" but when Kael'thas eyed Faltheriel scowling at him over near the drinks, he stopped being funny, "Mind pouring me another?"

"Are you a lush?" Faltheriel slammed his drink down, much as Kael'thas had done a few moments ago, but he chose to be obedient as well. Kael'thas watched as Faltheriel filled his glass.

"Yes. I locked myself in. I put Ruthsalia on guard, and you see how well she did. I only drank, I only stared at the floor and drank myself away. I didn't even read, or touch the vials," Kael'thas made a loose gesture at Faltheriel's satchel that Kael'thas had taken with him, since the memory deterioration spell samples were coming to his room anyway. "Well, I had the arcane crystals, like I said. And I talked to myself." He furrowed his brow, "But all that time, I stayed right here. I even walked calmly up the stairs to get here."

"No yelling at your succubus that…" Faltheriel hissed in whisper, "You coldly murdered our own allies?"

Kael'thas tried to put a hand in his pocket and act casual, but as he was only wearing underwear, he didn't exactly have pockets at the moment. Kael'thas waited for his drink instead. Faltheriel was tempted not to hand it over.

Ruthsalia rolled her hip, placed a hand on it.

"Take five, doll." Kael'thas enjoyed telling her, pointing, with a smirk. Though his delighted look couldn't last.

Ruthsalia walked confidently into the next room, as if there was another important mission for Kael'thas in there as well.

Likely, so. She'd strolled into his bedroom. Faltheriel shook his head, "So then, all the worst rumors about Kael'thas Olvia'thon Sunstrider are true… Then again, why should I be surprised?"

"Don't talk to me like I'm Greatfather Winter and you just now realized I wasn't real, just a fat guy in a red suit. I'm not supposed to be your hero, Faltheriel."

"We could argue ethics forever. It's a waste of our time."

" 'Our!'" Kael'thas' mocked him, "When did we come a 'we'?!"

"I'm obsessed with you, get over it. Be glad I watched you commit murders and am still talking to you."

"You, of all people, would take this chance to take advantage of my state of mind and cement a real friendship between us." Kael'thas leaned elbows a tall dresser, narrowed eyes at Faltheriel.

That hurt.

Faltheriel had another large drink, "I think you should tell your father."

"What."

"Or your step-mother. Or, Sorn. Someone you can trust. We shouldn't try to handle all of this alone. The Sunspire is much better at managing a cover up."

Kael'thas rushed fingers back through his mess of blonde hair, "You're an idiot. Just when I thought you could handle hanging out with me after all."

"You were insulting me a moment ago. Thankfully, I know you have every right to be in a strange place right now, and I'm sure it will pass. Give it a few weeks. You'll be grateful to me. It will be like it was before, between us."

Kael'thas suddenly sank to the floor, crouched and covered his face. Perhaps it was too clear now how wretched he was. Kael'thas was stuck with a madman as his only friend in the world, and Kael'thas couldn't really talk to Faltheriel in that case, could he? He couldn't really confide in his stalker and get real advice on how to cope, what had happened to him to make him flip and do something so horrendous to other members of the Alliance. And on those stairs, it was like he craved it, he needed it…

Azshara's presence whispered nearby him again. It felt like she breathed against Kael'thas' cheek. Instinctively, Kael'thas wanted to turn into it, kiss the warm feminine presence so close by him, that he felt he needed.

But nothing was there.

"Kael'thas?" Faltheriel was pouring himself a second drink, "Maybe I should stop after this so that you can start taking me seriously."

"…What did you just say? About Silvermoon?"

"Well," Faltheriel hesitated. That Kael'thas had not heard him the first time must have given him false courage, "You must go to Silvermoon. You have to go back home. There are too many enemies here, and you will be found out."

"Not… without… Jaina."

"It's not up to you anymore, or her. For the last time, Kael'thas—"

Kael'thas shouted, "NOT WITHOUT JAINA!"

Then he tore across the room. He pushed Faltheriel back into the row of drinks on the silver cart, "Everything, absolutely everything I've done up until this point, after stepping first foot on this campus has been for her. She needs me, she is perfect for me! And do you know how dangerous it would be, for me to leave her here, for these wolves to take advantage of?"

"What if Arthas comes back?" Faltheriel wasn't exactly pushing Kael'thas off as wholeheartedly as he should have been.

"Exactly! What if Arthas returns? I want to be here for that." Kael'thas noticed a bottle sliding to the edge of the silver surface of the cart. He reached out and grabbed it. It also served to brace Faltheriel up, when he'd been meekly trying to slide out that way.

"S-sorry…"

"You bet you are. Never, ever speak about her like that again. The only way Jaina is leaving Dalaran is with me, as my bride!"

"Kael'thas. You need coffee. And I warn you that you're starting to sound like a cute little blonde royal parakeet…"

Then, so startingly rational, so painfully, it came out, "No. I need my father."

Faltheriel watched Kael'thas break down and cry in front of him.

"Your father… is in Silvermoon."

Kael'thas managed to get to the couch. He leaned over the side and sobbed, no longer able to control it.

Faltheriel had to finish his drink, seeing Kael'thas like that.

"I miss my mother, too." Kael'thas managed after a while. He swept a great deal of hair away from his flushed face,"She was so beautiful. So good."

"You remember her?"

"I could never forget. No matter how… silly, or strange or… well, bad I was. She understood me. She was able to forgive me, no matter what I broke. She never hated me."

Faltheriel drifted near the couch. But then, he thought better of sitting nearby or touching Kael'thas. He didn't look like he would welcome it.

"I do want things to calm down. Start a family, look ready to take the throne, settle things once and for all with Arthas… I want to reassure everyone that I can do this."

"You mean, reassure yourself."

"Well, yes. It's the last thing, the last loose end I must tie up. So don't tell me that I can go on without her, because I can't!"

"Alright. But it is starting to seem like you have all the problems ever, Kael'thas. There's a lot of talking going on here. Couldn't we start thinking of some solutions?" And possibly, Kael'thas was rambling on because he was still pretty high on arcane crystals.

Kael'thas sprawled out on the couch in a quite pathetic way that confirmed Faltheriel's suspicions. His mood was all over the place! "I can't stand life sometimes because I know that I need a… certain kind of person." He looked away, dramatically, "Is that dark?"

Faltheriel sat on the floor, at Kael'thas' feet. "A woman that feels like your family, like home. Like she would fit in your home. I think most men who are the marrying kind want that." He shrugged, "But that's not so strange, I guess. Anyway, maybe if we sort of… broke your problems down into smaller, um… piles?"

"Good. I miss my mother in a terrible way, sometimes. I think that makes me… intense, with Jaina."

"So, I guess that goes in the mother-issues pile. Hrm… So then, we have your drinking and doing a lot of arcane crystals. And then the succubus thing. Also, your giant ego, your violent temper… are we up to pile four or five?"

"…But I just don't want to lose Jaina, too. I can stand on the right side of it, you know. People don't I'm capable, but I can. I can totally choose not to be obsessive. If things would just calm down for me."

"Are you thinking… there is no other woman…" Faltheriel hesitated, really hesitated this time, "I'm sure that I just heard you say that you don't believe that you could be with any other woman than Jaina Proudmoore."

"Yes. I love her. Jaina. Jainaaaa..."

"And could no one else love you?" Faltheriel got angry, fast, when Kael'thas sneered at him, "I'm not talking about me! We handled that last night. I'm just saying… don't write off all the other women in the world, Kael'thas. It can't be that lonely for you."

"She would have to be a mage, though. A very talented mage who could enchant like… whole ships and make them fly through the air with sparkly purple arcane powers to attack an enemy castle."

"Fine. She'd have to be an intellectual."

"And Jaina is gorgeous. She's got these—"

"Alright, everyone knows you have a thing for beautiful blondes. No real harm in that. I wish you'd consider other hair types, but this is still a work in progress."

"I want a woman who is understanding and kind, who would know my moods."

"Well, you should… go on and date someone who's just a big a jerk as you are. That'd work."

"I didn't call Jaina a jerk, Faltheriel."

"Nor did I. I didn't think that she was. I'm talking about your plan B who will eventually beat out Jaina and become your plan A, if you let her. And then you'll be like 'Why was I even making plans, when this woman I love is so amazing…' "

"Well. Only Jaina can—"

"You've proven your point. But I also think I've proven mine, if you consider it for a while. At least try it, eliminate the doubt. Walk into your future marriage with a clean… uh, perspective."

"I don't blame you for not wanting to say the word 'conscience' around me."

Faltheriel attempted to keep it light, "When you're ready, you will see what I mean. It's an easy thing to see, anyways." Faltheriel had a last sip of his drink. He then got up and took Kael'thas' glass away from him. He had to wedge it out from Kael'thas' fingers.

"I also think you should try dating one Elf, in your life, before you settle on Jaina!" Faltheriel then tried to control the tone of his voice, "I mean, just while Jaina is making up her mind. What do you think of that? You can try it once you're back in Silvermoon City, and after you've seen your father, explained things to him."

Kael'thas looked over, "Nice try, Faltheriel."

"What is it going to take to get you there? An ice storm with shards of… ice and snow nipping at your heels, specifically? Perhaps a squadron of hungry yetis?"

"Why ice?"

Faltheriel then went to the sink and rolled up his dark sleeps. He began to wash their glasses, as if it was any other afternoon. Then came the gentle click of glasses being moved around together, among soap suds. Kael'thas' eyes slipped shut and he frowned.

"We were just drinking, my prince. Guess I thought of ice."

Faltheriel glanced back over. Kael'thas had gone back to brooding. But at least he was more calm.

"You know what, Faltheriel?"

Hopeful, "Yes, Kael'thas?"

"Jaina has the prettiest, ice-blue eyes. I just realized that's the perfect way to describe them…"

Faltheriel growled to himself and silently prayed something or someone brave would drag the gloomy, intractable Kael'thas Sunstrider OUT of Dalaran!

One hot summer morning, Sunthraze was up on his Hawkstrider hunting down stray birds from his flock. While a swath of the blue and violet Hawkstriders lingered along the gold valley beyond him, he set out alone. Tall grass just beginning to go to seed swept by the toes of his boots as his red-black Hawkstrider followed the tug on its reigns or the slight pressure Sunthraze applied to its sides by squeezing his thighs. A breeze snatched bright, candy-colored hair loose from beneath Sunthraze's wide-brimmed hat. He gripped the heavy rope lasso looped round the pommel of his saddle, let fly another charismatic whistle or two.

Sunthraze's dog tramped along just behind them. A big hound that knew it wasn't worth running as fast as the Hawkstrider could go, but was also well versed in the perfect accents of his master's whistling. This one meant that the man with bright red hair, up on the Hawkstrider, had somehow spotted the stray first.

The dog picked up his gait a little, tail low. Sunthraze whistled again, more angrily this time, and his dog Gravy suddenly cut into a fiery race down into the next field.

"Damn dog. Sorrel, when your dog is about as resentful helping out with the flock as your so-called friends, you know that things are bad." Sunthraze shook his head, then had to grasp his hat when the wind picked up again, "I even pay the dog. Technically." Dinner scraps counted, right?

Money. Money for food, clothing, the house, and for everything. Money for a date. A date with Tempest. Tempest…

Her body, her red and white dress, her holding his guitar. That day alone with Tempest in the barn kept distracting Sunthraze. It had been weeks since. He'd gone down to the barracks once or twice to see Britecleff, and he managed to see her too, even if it was to whistle at her like he whistled at his dog so she could come running from whatever she was doing in the practice yard and leave that Pyorin behind for a moment or two. Then, Sunthraze made the mistake of explaining to Tempest how he'd learned to whistle like that. She tried to slap him, he stopped her, stole a kiss, had to run off. He was pretty sure both of them were laughing by the end of it. Still, though… it really wasn't good enough. Not for a girl like her.

"Well, if this flock sells well, I'll have some kind of money by the end of the summer."

Would Tempest wait that long for him? What if Pyorin stopped being so stupid and got his act together? Tempest could easily dangle the fact that there was another man around in front of her boyfriend's face. Then, Pyorin might straighten himself up. And flatten Sunthraze out.

But was Tempest even the sort of girl to play those kinds of games?

"…She's so, so sexy." Sunthraze got stuck on that again. Then, he indulged a dark laugh at himself, "Well, that settles it, then. None of my worries about her being a man trap could possibly be anywhere near relevant!"

Sunthraze remembered he had a dog and a stray Hawkstrider to look out for. He moved his hips and urged his own mount onward, faster. He hefted up the loop of rope in one hand, let it slip through his fingers as he and his mount gained momentum.

He whistled for his dog again. Sunthraze could suddenly hear both animals heading his way.

It was work, it wasn't a carnival act. But when Sunthraze saw that big fussy green-blue male, the adolescent that was always kicking off on his own, now charging angrily right at him, plumage flared, something impulsive seized the young rancher. Anger and excitement roiled up. Some kind of lunatic ferocity seared through Sunthraze.

"Come on you big BASTARD! Hiyaah!" Sunthraze pulled on his mount, the two birds were now going head to head. But his Hawkstrider was trained to cut, and that's just what they did together at the last moment. The dog helped, putting pressure on the same side where old Sorrel leaned in and snapped his beak.

Baby Blue, and it seemed Baby Blue knew Sunthraze was always making fun of him for calling him that, rustled his feathers as he veered off. But Baby Blue was getting puffed up because he'd got a shot of courage as well. The blue-green bird pecked at Sunthraze's stirrup as he went by. That sharp beak nearly stabbed into Sunthraze's foot. It forced Sunthraze to squeeze his red bird on that side with his leg, and that nearly put the whole effort off.

"Blue! You wanna get FRIED for dinner? Cause I'm just in the mood!" Now, Sunthraze rode up right behind the other bird. His dog was there too, staying up tight against its long legs, too close for the dark blue taloned feet to lash back and catch him. Both of them like hell on wheels on the creature that was making them work so hard in the summer sun, ruining their mornings.

Sunthraze whipped his arm around three times, fast, then let the lasso fly. It slipped around Baby Blue's head and neck so fast, the bird didn't know it, and he seemed genuinely surprised to find himself being dragged along by the man and red Hawkstrider he'd so insulted only moments ago.

"That's right. Come with me now or get dragged, strangled and stuffed for dinner. Come on!" Sunthraze pulled the bird. His dog had slowed down again, a silvery gray lump sifting between the tall sheaths of grass, somewhere in the background.

Sunthraze imagined that if his dog Gravy could talk, that hound would be about as jaded and smartmouthed as he was. The moment they were all within shouting distance of the main flock, Gravy started lagging behind even further. Sunthraze cussed at his dog and gave another hard whistle for him to keep up. The dog did barely enough to keep Baby Blue hemmed in, and then peeled off for shade and quiet as soon as he had the chance.

Sunthraze was scowling, sweating and breathing hard when Sorrel brought him back alongside the other birds.

It's not like he and his mother had a whole lot of money, but Sunthraze was very good at fast-talking strangers, Hawkstriders, more recently Farstrider rangers, and most certainly his own friends. He checked over to see if his buddies were still on their own Hawkstriders, keeping the flock tight in line. They were supposed to be moving them to the next foraging plain, where there were more shade trees and water.

His friends were all clumped together on their Hawkstriders, though. They weren't supposed to be doing that, lingering. As he got closer, Sunthraze saw what the problem was. Another rider was there with them.

"Hey! This is private land, you can't—"

It was Ranger Pyorin. And Pyorin looked more pissed off than Sunthraze had ever seen him before.

Sunthraze cussed himself, this time. Well, this would be the day, then. The day that Pyorin fought him over Tempest. Sat on him again, harder. Killed him. Worse. Pyorin sure looked ready for it. So, she did tell on him. Well, Tempest was probably tired of sneaking around, Sunthraze couldn't blame her… Wait, how whipped was he already not to blame her?

"Well?" Sunthraze knew he was dead before he even got it out, "I'm ready if you are. Meathead."

Pyorin walked his green standard-issue Hawkstrider over to Sunthraze. He was alert, not pissed off. And, he was worried.

"What's this? More orders from Britecleff? Doesn't that guy know how to use the mail?" Then, Sunthraze got distracted with his own joke, "Think Britecleff will ever mind if I make that joke to his face?"

They were a good many paces off from Sunthraze's friends still.

"Hey Sunthraze! Do you need us?" Rennin, one of Sunthraze's friends called. Rennin had long dark hair tha he kept in a messy braid over one shoulder.

Pyorin cooly intoned, "…And do they actually think that they're threatening me?"

Sunthraze waved his friends off, that he was fine.

"We're going to have some water then, rest with Gravy over there…"

Sunthraze glanced up, saw that they weren't going too far, just to a pair of trees. Sunthraze also noted that he wasn't the only one who sometimes thought about his dog Gravy like he was an actual person. A gray, sneaky low-to-the-ground sort of person with with better ideas about hard work than most bipedal people.

"Pyorin, you opened it."

"You told me to." Pyorin's voice got very low, "That's our deal."

Sunthraze turned the envelope over in his hands again. The elegant script was painfully familiar. He went from anxious to delighted, then to horribly nervous all over again.

The letter was from Prince Kael'thas. In his own hand. The one they had been waiting for all this time.

Sunthraze could hear himself swallowing, "What… what's it say? You've read it?"

"Have you read the newspaper this morning, yet?"

"Well, look. We're broke, we don't exactly get it delivered. I usually pick it up for Ma around supper time…"

"Well, there's a headline in there. About a raid on Violet Hold. Do you know what that is?"

Sunthraze seemed annoyed to have been asked, but then again, he couldn't answer Pyorin either.

"It's the keep in Dalaran where all the worst monsters and the most dangerous magic in the Eastern Kingdoms are all kept secure. Behind bars, locked up. Smaller things might go in iron-clad trunks with spell-locks. The larger prisoners are in chains…"

"Look. I know what a keep is, Pyorin."

"Not long ago, about the time it takes for news to get from there to here, I'm assuming, there was a break-in. Two people in Naga costumes."

"Probably some students playing a practical joke, then."

"I don't think so, Sunthraze. They went after a special spell, something dangerous that is meant to fight the Plague. It was the Human's one hope, the one lead they had to turn back the war with the Scourge. The dean of the university says he is working with authorities already. They're narrowing down a list…" Pyorin fumbled, "I-it's the way they were killed, you see—"

Sunthraze's expression darkened, "Who was killed?"

"Several humans. All magisters, all working for the Violet Hold. There was a rescue effort. A Highborne priest was able to help them resurrect the victims, thankfully all of them, so thankfully, there's that." Pyorin paused, uncomfortable. He wasn't thinking of lives, he was thinking about the reputation of Quel'thalas, thinking like a ranger. Sunthraze rolled his eyes. "But still, the trespass is huge, Sunthraze. They say it was an attack that came from the inside."

Sunthraze took the letter out of its envelope and unfolded it. Kael'thas' handwriting was elegant as usual but also some how… hurried. Very slanted.

"Is Kael'thas okay?"

Pyorin began to answer, but then the words didn't make it out. Pyorin reached across their Hawkstriders and grabbed Sunthraze's wrist.

"…Sunthraze. He did it."

"Who?"

Pyorin frowned.

"Who are we talking about, here?" But Sunthraze was almost accusing Pyorin of something. Of some betrayal.

"Look… is there someplace where we can talk?"

"Nothing but wide open spaces out in these parts." Sunthraze angrily got down from his Hawkstrider and then shoved the big nosey bird away. Sunthraze marched off with the letter and Pyorin jogged after him. The two men walked for a while, not talking. Sunthraze hiked along in the tall grass, over the uneven ground, covered in rocks and lumps of bird-trodden earth. Their claws scraping it up and scattering it here and there for years and years. For generations of his family using it to let its birds graze and forage.

Sunthraze read the letter again and again. The wind came, the grass whipped around. Sunthraze felt like he still couldn't catch his breath. Not even the ground would steady him. But Pyorin's footfalls, in those damned Farstider boots, they were solid and they were ever-present. Pyorin, used to marching all over the place, like in fancy parades, all through the barracks double-time, jogging after Tempest every morning, probably… well, however Sunthraze disliked Pyorin or Pyorin's place in the world—and it often felt like they should change places—Pyorin was now keeping up with Sunthraze better than his own dog Gravy would.

Finally, Sunthraze shuddered a tired breath. They had come to the edge of the creek anyway. He sat among the smooth rocks there. Pyorin squatted nearby.

"Afraid to get your pants dirty, Mister Fancy?"

"If I get mud on myself, then they'll know I took a detour. Went to see someone else before bringing this straight to them."

"They? And who's them? These amazingly special people you need to impress."

"Queen Celestia."

"…Oh." Sunthraze winced that he shouldn't have forgotten. Well, he hadn't forgetten about offering to help Pyorin, and really, help himself by doing the spywork together. Since Pyorin was so bad at it. Advisor Sorn would eventually have both their hides, otherwise.

"It might be a while." Sunthraze looked elsewhere while he unbuttoned his shirt. "How come it always sounds like I'm coming on to you, whenever we team up—have to work on something together?"

Pyorin didn't rise to the jibe.

"…My friends aren't watching, are they?"

Pyorin shook his head,"No. I can't see them."

"Here, sit on my shirt at least so that your knees don't go. I bet you're older than I am, aren't you?"

"Tch, not by much."

"Sit, Pyorin."

Gravy was suddenly there behind Sunthraze, whining. Sunthraze had a white undershirt on beneath his plaid one. He swore at the hound dog licking his back.

"Sit!"

Pyorin and Gravy both sat quickly.

"Sorry, I meant the dog. Why are you over here, anyway?" Sunthraze tried to shove the dog back, the way he'd made his Hawkstrider go away earlier. But Gravy was insistent. Gravy stared and panted at Pyorin, next.

"Oh. Well, I eat lunch by the creek, sometimes."

"Smart dog, then."

"Pyorin…" Sunthraze flipped through both pages of the letter, dismayed. The plan was for Sunthraze to copy out the letters from Kael'thas, then hand the original back for Pyorin to re-seal it. Pyorin would then deliver the copy to Queen Celestia, as had been their arrangement for months.

"Pyorin, I can't. There is no way that I can do it this time."

Pyorin leaned back on his elbows. He said nothing for a while. Perhaps he felt Sunthraze would come to the inevitable conclusion on his own. That it would be better for him. Unusually clever for Pyorin, until Sunthraze realized it was starting to feel high-handed as well, which was much closer to Pyorin's usual M.O.

Sunthraze sighed, had to say it out loud for himself,"…But Kael'thas confessed to the whole thing. Why?"

Still nothing, except for the creek bubbling along.

"Why, Pyorin!"

"Sunthraze, our prince killed people."

Gravy whined that he wasn't getting any food. Then a bird sailed overhead.

Sunthraze grimaced, "And to believe I was just thinking… how hard my life is. How much I hate being out here. How much I even hate that dog," Sunthraze listened to the creek for a while longer, "I bet Kael'thas would love to change places with me right now."

Pyorin chose to say on topic, "Prince Kael'thas is a murderer."

Sunthraze picked up a page of the letter once more. It crackled in his fingers.

"Sunthraze. Can we really keep helping him, then?"

Sunthraze was stalling, "Recovery effort, you said. In the newspaper? What else did it say? About the victims? No, I mean… the one who helped them."

"You can't seem to make up your mind about how exactly to waste my time right now."

"Was there anything else significant? That's what I mean!"

"Well, it rambled on about some star student, Faltheriel Darkweaver, who came running in and helped them find everyone who was injured or… well, dead. He did most of the resurrections, he was able to find the bodies faster than anyone, he was pretty upset by it. You know the Silvermoon papers would make sure to get that one Highborne angle in. I hope the Human papers did too, but you never know with those."

"So the people Kael'thas killed… allegedly killed… It was an accident anyway. Well, not anyway, but… they're all alive now."

"He did try to kill them, Sunthraze. Are you ready to come with me, yet? We have to report it. You and me, we're in this together. My end doesn't make sense without your part in it."

Sunthraze looked at the brown creek water. Ugly, in a way, as it rushed passed, foamed around rocks and sweeping silt downstream with it. But it also looked warm. He knew that it was warm and sweet. Sunthraze had relaxed and even had handfuls of the water to drink, for as long as he could remember. It just wasn't that way. Bad water. Not this water. Whatever it looked like. Sometimes that water even lulled him to sleep. It was trying to do that now, even through all of this.

Sunthraze looked over at Pyorin. Pyorin had crossed his ankles. He was very relaxed in Sunthraze's presence now, with the help of that old creek.

Sunthraze read the letter out loud, "…I thought I was going to die. I couldn't let that happen. I don't know what I did, Sunthraze. I don't remember. It felt like I… I knew that I just exploded. After, he grabbed me and we ran. Ididn't realize what we were running from until much later. I took several blink spells through the floors of the Hold. Then, I used a mage spell so we could slow-fall from the roof… it was like we were in the middle of a war. They wanted to kill us. What else could I do?"

Pyorin asked, "Right, that's the confession I was talking about. Right there."

"Pyorin, I think my point is, it sounds like Kael'thas was temporarily… well, he sounded out of his mind. That isn't him. This letter," Sunthraze waved it in the air, "It isn't him."

"You don't know him!" and when Sunthraze tried to remind Pyorin of the family connection, Pyorin became red-faced, "I'm saying that neither of us do. Kael'thas isn't a real person to us that we actually understand, he can't be! Now, we need to get out of this. We need to both… stop doing this. I say we just… give all of this back to the royals! Let Celestia just have the damn letter and let the Sunstriders deal with their own damn problems!"

"Pyorin! Will you think? For once? We can't do that. If Celestia wants Kael'thas gone—and I don't mean on an all-expenses paid cruise round to Northrend and back—this is all she needs! It's a confession to a crime, a skewed, hurried… panicked confession, when Kael'thas was alone and scared, freaking out in his room. And then, it's just… stuff he wrote. It's not evidence, it's not someone actually piecing together what happened! What about the witness, the one with him? What if he was tricked into it, or drugged, or—or somehow forced! Pyorin, what if Kael'thas was blackmailed?!"

"What? Where the Sun are you getting all this stuff from? These are excuses! What Kael'thas did is right there, in black and white. We need to turn this over to someone in authority who knows what to do. If you're scared of Celestia, fine, I guess I'll admit she scares me too, in a way. But then we have to at least go to Britecleff."

Sunthraze had a feeling then, in his gut, that something more was going on. That something was horribly wrong.

Pyorin insisted, "Sunthraze, you're taking this undu'diel thing too far! What are you, reading Kael'thas' mind now? All the way from Quel'thalas?"

Sunthraze thought quickly, "You could have shown this to Britecleff or even to Ranger-General Sylvanas to begin with. Why didn't you?"

"Because we have an arrangement, you and I. Remember? I can't actually make a move without you backing me up, though now I'm starting to regret it."

"No, Pyorin. You came to me first, because you sensed it too, that something was up. Admit it." Pyorin was shaking his head at him, "Come on now, meathead! You're afraid to go to them, but you aren't afraid to come to me. Deep down, you don't want Celestia involved and you don't want the Farstriders involved either, right? So what does that tell you? Geez! Don't tell me you don't even trust, let alone know your own instincts."

Pyorin set his jaw tight.

"Stop being so hard all the time. You don't want to see Kael'thas hanged for something he didn't actually do. Right?"

"Maybe. But it doesn't matter what… questions I have about it. It's still there on the paper!"

"It's just a paper, it's just ink! And how do you know if he even wrote this? What if one of his enemies is setting him up?"

"Yes, I'm a little freaked out too, but we have our duty. This is evidence and so we have to do what the paper says—I mean, what it tells us to, right there!"

Sunthraze raised his eyebrow, making his point about the set-up. Next, deadpan, "So, we're taking orders from a piece of paper, now."

Pyorin dragged a hand down his face. "How the fel did you do that? Dear gods, now I can actually see it."

"Right. Why are you in such a hurry to have our prince hung, drawn and quartered for treason against the Alliance? Kael'thas needs our help, not our judgement—that should be left for a court to decide. Right?" Sunthraze then spat out, impatient, "Since you're a noble law-abiding Farstrider and justice is your bitch and all that—"

"Okay, okay! I said I finally got it, didn't I?"

"Good. So, then." Sunthraze itched at the back of his neck, probably around where the dog licked it, "If… if Kael'thas is guilty… I'm not saying we should mindlessly follow him, but Kael'thas is an unusual guy. And he's under a lot of pressure. Let's protect him and get the truth first before we decide to do anything."

"How do we do that though?"

"Don't the Farstriders investigate crimes?"

"Not the ones in Dalaran."

"Well…" Sunthraze was stuck, "What we can do, you and I, is hide this letter so we can buy Kael'thas some time. Celestia's certainly not got it on her calendar that her step-son is due to write her a confession about a random attack in Dalaran Hold, and is tapping her foot, waiting for it to show up at the castle."

"True…"

"So, let's… Let things calm down. I'm sure King Anasterian wouldn't appreciate something like this coming to light about his son, and I sure as fel don't want to be the one to hand it off to him. And what explanation could we even have, for meddling so far? Celestia wouldn't have any explanation for it, either."

"I did already say I'm glad to do it your way. Sunthraze, if you're going to lead a clandestine effort, you need to stay calm."

"Stop recruiting me to be a Farstrider!"

Pyorin sat up, glared at Sunthraze.

"…Sorry."

"Thank you. Now, then. What do you propose we do, until Dalaran investigates and we know more?"

Sunthraze folded the letter back up. He put it back into the envelope, though his hand was trembling, "I joked about her not having a letter from Kael'thas on her calendar, but think about it-if Celestia's spies know that a letter has come because they don't like to leave absolutely everything up to her Farstrider stooge, but they don't' have their hands on it yet, then we do have to give them something, Pyorin."

"Who's Celestia's stooge? Not me."

Sunthraze rolled his eyes.

"Look. Let's make up something about Jaina Proudmoore, or his studies or something and give Celestia that. And then I'll copy it out like normal."

"Are you a master forger who can copy Kael'thas' handwriting?"

"Trust me. I'll make it happen. It might involve a discreet, blood-related third party you need to bribe…" Pyorin rolled his eyes at Sunthraze telling him this, and then Sunthraze made it even worse, "But don't worry. I'll take a cut."

"Whatever. And what do we do with this letter? Someday, it could be evidence."

Sunthraze snatched the letter away from his dog, who was sniffing at it. Gravy had started to lick the envelope.

"What would it be evidence of, though?" Sunthraze gave Pyorin a look. A long one. Then, he reached back and scratched his dog behind the ear.

And, almost casually, he let Gravy have the letter.

"Sunthraze… that letter… we shouldn't…" but Pyorin's protests were very weak by then.

They both watched as the dog wagged his silver tail and began to chew on the paper. Encouraged by the fact that the two people nearby weren't stopping him, Gravy began to paw at it and tear it apart.

"…Even if we have to prove Kael'thas wasn't in his right mind?"

"An unusally intelligent thought for you."

Pyorin grit his teeth, "Tempest slapped you. That's what I heard. That's another little thing I know."

Gravy began to noisily wolf down the paper. He growled and showed teeth, while ripping into the last of it.

It became very tense between the two men.

Sunthraze said this carefully, steering them back to the matter at hand, "Hate me if you like, Pyorin. But if Kael'thas goes down, you will go down."

"How the fel do you figure that?"

"Because I will bring you down. Kael'thas is my friend."

"You are becoming obsessed with him."

"I'm obsessed with justice being done in my country."

"Kael'thas is not the same as Quel'thalas."

"He is our future. He is our prince. He will be our king."

"You're an idiot to throw your lot in, our lot, with a man you don't even know. How many times do I have to say it?!"

"I am going to save him. I will do whatever it takes until we are sure of his guilt, or his innocence."

"Sunthraze, I don't think—"

"Isn't that the Farstrider oath? Doesn't it amount to something like that? Defending the law or some crap? So why are you fighting me on this! Pyorin, if you think I'm going to let you ruin our prince's life because you're jealous of me and you want to keep shagging a woman you hardly deserve-"

"I am going to punch you in your fat mouth if you keep going."

"We don't have to like each other, but we do have to work together. Pyorin?"

"…Fine."

"And was that the only copy of the letter?"

Sunthraze got up. He whistled for his dog, but Gravy was enjoying ripping up the last of the envelope.

Pyorin affirmed that it was the only copy. Then, he stood as well. Pyorin opened hands at his sides, and then his voice broke, "What if we're wrong? What if Kael'thas is guilty, and we're in too deep? What if we've risked everything for a murderer and he has failed us, Sunthraze?"

Sunthraze decided to be affectionate toward his dog, then. He petted Gravy roughly, then let Gravy leap up and lick his face. Sunthraze then motioned for his dog to sit up again, then stand up on his hind legs for another good, long scratch.

"…Sunthraze?"

"And what if it's even darker than that, Pyorin? What if Kael'thas killed them, for a reason? Or what if someone drove him to it, for a reason?"

Pyorin just stood there. The creek bubbled away.

Sunthraze finished it, "That's the point. We have to find out. Everything. We can't assume."

Pyorin came closer. When Sunthraze looked into Pyorin's face, it was clear how troubled his rival was.

"Why did your dog like the taste of that letter? Does he always eat paper?"

"He likes fish. I know it's weird… but this greedy big boy loves a catfish or two if I can catch him one. I try not to give him any bones, though."

Pyorin's brow knit, "Are you saying… Do you think someone could have framed Kael'thas, for murder? But it's a murder that Kael'thas confessed to, in a letter." He raised hands defensively when Sunthraze glared and it seemed they'd start the same argument over again, "It really does look like it's in Kael'thas' own handwriting. And if so, Kael'thas is convinced that he's done it, that it was all his idea. Who could convince him of all that?"

Sunthraze waited for his dog to get back down, then snapped for Gravy to come along. Sunthraze began to walk them back to the Hawkstriders and his friends who were bored and waiting by now.

"Yes, it'd be very long game. And, really, there's no reason for us to suspect it. I just have a hard time believing Kael'thas could flip out like that, whatever kind of pressure he was under."

"…Maybe. Do you know who I think might snap one day? That Arthas. Or, Sylvanas. Illidan. Maybe Jaina. Archdruid Fandral Staghelm. King Varian. Deathwing, for sure."

"Sylvanas is fine."

"She's intense!"

"And why did you just name like… everyone?"

Pyorin shrugged, "It's the universe we live in."

Sunthraze sighed, shook his head. "Do you know what the real problem here is? We need to get his ass out of Dalaran. While Kael'thas is over there, too many strangers are around him, probably maneuvering him. I bet he doesn't have space to breathe, let alone write a letter by himself, uncoerced."

"True. If Kael'thas was here, we'd have Sylvanas, on her good days of course, and then Britecleff and Anasterian to help… I dunno, at least keep up some kind of defense." Pyorin worried further, as their boots crunched through the dry grass, "And who would even want to set up Kael'thas? He doesn't have any enemies, unless you count Arthas, who wouldn't stoop so low without a good enough reason, and Jaina Proudmoore. And any poor woman Kael'thas has ever laid eyes on."

"You really should stop talking about our prince like that."

"Well, it's true, Sunthraze. I hate to say it."

"That's the thing, you love to say it."

They came back to scratched up Hawkstrider dirt. Their footfalls were now far less dramatic.

Pyorin asked, "Sunthraze, did you lasso a Hawkstrider earlier? I think I saw you, when you were coming over to us."

"Sure I did."

"…I can't lasso a freaking Hawkstrider. Is it hard?"

"Yes, definitely. If you don't know what you're doing, you could get blinded, killed."

"I don't believe you. I bet I could ride up to a Hawkstrider right now and grab one if I had a lasso. Here, lend me yours."

"Alright, you can try, but I think you're a bit too husky for it. Your bird would get slowed down—they don't come in as many shapes and strengths as horses, you know. You really do have to be slender like me."

Pyorin's competitive smile faded, "Okay… Well, why not show me how?"

"And another thing, your Hawkstrider definitely isn't a cutting-bird. It's not even trained. You could never do it or even learn to do it properly. And definitely not at your age. Hawkstriders are tricky things and I've been doing this for years. For you, it'd be too dangerous."

"Really?"

"But eh," Sunthraze yawned and pretended to flex, "As for me, I was born to it. It's just a part of my job."

Pyorin, poor dear, had been trying to be friendly, to renew peaceful conversation between them, "… … I hate you."