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Chapter 23: Gunslinger's Glory, Part 1

The morning of the royal shooting party, Sunthraze found himself lying in bed at the farm, trying hard to recall a certain part of Kael'thas' letter. Sunthraze did remember a few passages before he had fed the page to his dog, Gravy. Had it gone something like this?

"I know you have to fight for the woman you want, that you need. But what if it is a fight that you cannot win? Perhaps it is just the perception of failure, that you have. Isn't it the innovators, the rule breakers in life who bend fate to their will? Can I not bend her and him, to my own will? It is not a question of me being a strong enough Bloodmage, or a prince. Not anymore, and I can finally see that. It is always a question of being a strong enough man. But here, it is difficult to see it. To ask myself and see myself in the mirror and know. Sunthraze, do you think that I am strong enough?"

Kael'thas had rambled about a lot of his other worries before he confessed to the killings in Dalaran in that tragic letter. That was so hard to think about now, to believe it happened, that Kael'thas had said that he'd done it. Neither Sunthraze nor Pyorin believed it at all. That sick feeling returned, when Sunthraze recalled how he had just fed the evidence to his dog, let Gravy eat the confession letter like his dinner. But then a feeling of conviction replaced that, it made Sunthraze lean up on an elbow in his bed, take in the dawnlit room. There was no way Kael'thas had done something so gruesome, at least—they needed to talk to Kael'thas first, get the full story. What if it had been in self-defense? But could a man, any man commit a crime of that scale in self defense?

And Sunthraze also wondered if a man who could write something about bending wills and trying to force Arthas and Jaina to do what he wanted them to do, was within in his rights, or even in his right mind to begin with. Yes, Kael'thas had sounded so desperate. And, Sunthraze was going to meet him soon, in person.

Really, Kael'thas' letter had been written elegantly otherwise. Chilling to think of it that way. But he had sounded so thankful to Sunthraze. He even offered to help his family with his farm, which felt incredibly strange. So Kael'thas did see him as a true friend. And not to mention, it also meant him and his mother could have asked Kael'thas for financial help ages ago.

"…But when I return to Silvermoon, I would very much like to rekindle our friendship and see your ranch for myself. It may then be easier to decide the sort of investment you all need the most. I can connect you with whomever you wish, if my own support will not be of use to you."

"Oh, damn. And I really did like how he handled my fake request for money, that was a weird relief." Sunthraze smiled very big, but then that wilted. All of this under horrible circumstances. "Classy guy, but I hope he still wants to see me after what me and this crazy Farstriders are about to reveal to him."

How in the fel would Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider react to a bunch of strangers inviting him to succeed his father? But the thing was, anyone who really knew the politics of Silvermoon City also knew that Quel'thalas was overdue a regency. Only a prince-regeant could stem the tide of chaos that King Anasterian was dragging along with him, even today. Even now.

And Kael'thas had Jaina, now. That's all Kael'thas had ever wanted. Surely, that had soothed the prince. Kaelthas must have healed, become a better man by now as well.

Whatever came next, Sunthraze was sure of one thing. It did not seem right to Sunthraze that he was the one, a lowly Hawkstrider rancher, positioned to choose the fate of his kingdom.

Later, in Britecleff's office at the Garrison…

Britecleff tapped his chin, "As for the more you need to do to prepare, Sunthraze? I don't know for sure."

Britecleff placed a crystal tumblr on his desk, then unstoppered a bottle of fine brandy. Big, chocolate and gold label with sweeping calligraphy written across, and somehow also delicately etched into the glass bottle itself. Britecleff poured some of the amber liquid into his glass. Then, he made a face and poured in even more, doubled it.

Both men stared at the lonely drink for a while, but Britecleff hadn't decided to do anything with it, yet. Nor did he offer Sunthraze any.

Sunthraze made his own awkward face, "So. Just be Kael'thas' friend? Just announce that a bunch of the Farstriders, going way up to Ranger-General Sylvanas are interested in a coup to overthrow his father. Oh, and force him to rule like a king in Anasterian's place. While his father still lives."

"Prince-regent."

"Do you think Kael'thas will really give a damn about his title while he has me in a headlock and he's busy strangling me? I know Kael'thas trusts me because of our past and the renewed bond in those letters we exchanged, at least I hope we truly do. But all the same…" Sunthraze sighed out and looked at the empty hands in his lap. His jacket was so humble compared to what Britecleff was dressed in. Those old buttons tarnished and loose. "I don't think I should be the messenger for this."

"Well, I have a few ideas on the delivery of said message. Really, you just sort of position Kael'thas off to the side and we'll be watching, waiting for that moment. Daphne will come in then and she'll do the talking. But you're there for context, to help make her look legitimate. Introduce Daphne to him, if Kael doesn't already recognize her since he's been away from the palace in Dalaran for so long. If Kael'thas can trust you, then he can trust Daphne, right? And she's a lady of the Court. Kael should have at least heard of her family name."

"I still don't think this is going to go well, Britecleff. And, a lot of royals are going to be wandering around us, armed with guns."

"Speaking of, we're running late. Did Pyorin tell you that he totally effed me up by making me challenge King Anasterian to a shooting match when I wasn't even in the room?"

"Uh, only a million times, Sir."

"Not to mention my boss Sylvanas and all the other nobles are going to be there, including my fiancee's father, who hates me. I will kill Pyorin one day, I swear. My only compensation…" Britecleff's smile returned, though a little sad, "is that the perfectly lovely Lady Daphne Weaver will be there, wearing my favorite coral dress."

"Coral?"

"Well… I thought it was pink." Britecleff looked down at his desk, and his fingers spread there, while lost in thought. "But she corrected me." Britecleff then looked up, met Sunthraze's eyes, "You okay?"

Sunthraze crossed his arms, "I was about to ask you the same thing."

"I'm a good shot. It's the one thing it seems I can do right, these days." He sighed, resigned to his fate. "Alright, enough delays. Let's go."

Sunthraze and Britecleff were both still eyeing the large crystal glass of amber brandy on his desk. Britecleff drummed his fingers for several moments, then cleared his throat, grabbed it, downed it in one go.

"Can I have one, too? I'm practically going to the executioner here—"

"No, you may not. I can handle shitty situations. You obviously can't."

"Let's reverse that when you were the one who wrongfully arrested me for losing your own temper."

Brightcleff and Sunthraze got up to leave. Britecleff put a hand on the younger man's shoulder, smiled for him through the anxiety they both felt. Then, they went out.

"Sunthraze, it did occur to me that you might still at least remember parts of Kael'thas' response letter to you."

"Okay."

"That's not an answer."

Sunthraze kept his mouth shut.

"It's more suspicious that you won't talk about that letter at all. You could have made up a lie about what was in there, or some feasible half-truth. Now, I'm certain that it was all bad."

"Well then, crap."

"I'm not above having you interrogated to get the real information out of you."

"And we both know which Farstrider you are going to assign to that task and what method of torture she's going to use."

"Hey, now. I didn't say anything like that about Tempest. You go and plan your own hot dates."

"Gods, speaking of—is it true that Prince Arthas is actually coming to Silvermoon? No matter how you guys have been setting up the scenario, it sounds bad."

"Nothing confirmed yet. But the invitation was sent and received by the Human prince's best manservant, I was assured of that. And Fennore did do what we asked, he mentioned something fiery about Kael'thas and Jaina to help stir Arthas up. However, as of yet, we still don't know how Prince Arthas is going to react."

"Another case of someone saying nothing at all when they could have at least conveyed something, anything about their reaction. If it was going to be a sane, normal 'I'm so pissed off' reaction that any mortal would utter on first hearing that his girlfriend is cheating on him? And, she's going to some big ole' party with his rival, whom she's engaged to? As his rival's date? At a royal function that Arthas has even been invited to attend."

Britecleff patted Sunthraze on the back again. "Yep. You know, you're using this undu'diel technique to the fullest extent, now. You're learning a lot about Kael'thas and how to predict his circumstances through your own misadventures. I am very proud to see that, in a strange way."

"Right. But Arthas' silence also means… Kael'thas is SO fucked."

"Basically, yes."

At the Sunspire, Tempest walked on one side of Britecleff and Pyorin joined them in the mostly empty throne room. A few palace guests were lingering there, chatting, but Britecleff gave Pyorin a look that meant business. Pyorine snapped to attention, saluted Britecleff before he strutted over and matched bootsteps with them.

The guards opened double doors, glistening with fire-red laquer and scarlet metallic ornaments, on their left. It was also the way to the royal apartments and reception rooms. Few entered on this side. When they were in, a Sunspire guard with phoenix shield trailed them a few paces. This alarmed Sunthraze, but then Pyorin eyed Sunthraze to keep cool. It was only a customary gesture.

As the Farstriders walked three-deep, in fresh, polished uniforms, their boots struck the marble floors in time. Not necessarily to impress anyone, but being an impressive Farstrider was, by now, an old habit. In the blood. Sunthraze trailed behind like a puppy.

Britecleff nodded, "Sunthraze, go mix in with the locals. Maybe we came in around the same time, and we do know one another, the whole city knows that by now. But we shouldn't be seen conspiring together."

"On it."

Sunthraze was only happy to peel off fast and try to fit in with a bunch of nobles who were similarly dressed. Well, Sunthraze was a bit humbled-looking by comparison, but it'd have to do.

When Sunthraze was gone, Tempest at last gave in and made her joke she was saving up, "Today is the one day you that are legally authorized to use this pistol, Commander…"

Pyorin bragged to a stoic palace guard just within earshot, "That's how good he is with it. My commander can't fight with it unless there's practically a war on, or if there's an emergency. Or, if someone high up as Sylvanas orders him to."

Britecleff began to turn red.

Tempest teased further, "Anything, or… anyone in particular you're looking forward to shooting today?"

Britecleff cursed under his breath and ushered them aside, away from any vigilant palace guards.

Guards at another pair of lacquered doors, this time, sun-yellow ones, saluted and pulled elaborate chains wrapped in white ropes that glistened like pearls. The doors began to open smoothly. Reliefs of roaring phoenixes with fiery eyes were revealed on the other side of each door. Golden light from the windows in the hall beyond cascaded over those arriving, along with birdsong and so much intentional drama. The way that entrance, that whole side of the castle had been designed and positioned was almost laughable. How arrogant had the architects of this part of the castle been?

When the idea was first hatched by Pyorin no less, making a foolish brag to King Anasterian some weeks ago, this was meant to be a royal shooting party. Just Britecleff, the king and two dozen guests or so among the king's closest friends and allies in the kingdom—for both economic reasons and for security. It just wasn't necessary for so many armed people to be around the king, with no war on.

However, King Anasterian had instead arranged, with Lady Daphne's skilled prodding of the royals and the Court of the Sun itself, what looked like a roaring sea of guests lingering around. All finely dressed, their chests or waists criss-crossed with white holsters for the most grandiose-looking weapons Britecleff had ever seen. Not all of them were the right sort of guns for sport shooting. Daphne must have taken real liberties in getting anyone and everyone with an interest in sportsmanship armed and dressed for the event.

Then, at the center of it all was a man who stood out from the Highborne wearing different shades of red, orange and gold. And, their wildly inappropriate guns. A tall Human man, a whole head or two above the Elves, also stood there next to the king. His hair was so fair, it appeared almost white, and he wore dark blue and silver.

Britecleff grabbed Pyorin's wrist, "You asked me who I wanted to shoot most of all…"

"No, that was Tempest."

"I'm warning you, right now, that I skipped breakfast today because of my nerves."

"Okaaaay… I guess I would, too."

"And I did have a brandy, I'll admit to that. A large one. That was right after I had to deal with Sunthraze."

"Welp. I might not have done that."

Tempest put a hand on her hip, perplexed at Britecleff acting so strangely.

"Before I order you to call me a doctor, Pyorin, can you please confirm something for me? Both of you… Is that… Prince Arthas Menethil standing right there, beside Anasterian? Or am I just seeing the Human man I want to put a bullet in, most of all?"

Tempest looked over. She opened her mouth with delighted surprise. "Wow. So he's shaggable. Definitely."

"Woah." Was all Pyorin could say for a while, "Alright, this time, I'm with you, Tempest. Arthas cleans up nice. Earlier today, he practically looked like a caveman when Sylvanas brought him in. Well, I don't think Queen Celestia can complain about Arthas running late anymore today. He clearly made an effort and I know how she is, you know, with men."

Britecleff flared, "Of course we know what you mean about Celestia—wait." Britecleff paused as he began to think through something and there was a wrinkle at the edge of his eye as new rage built up, "Pyorin. Are you telling me that you already knew the Prince of Lordaeron was going to be here this morning, looking like that? The man who is always giving us headaches with border disputes, who everyone knows Anasterian is wildly jealous of—him and his father both… the man who bullied and shamed Kael'thas time and again in Dalaran, took Jaina away from Kael'thas… probably the whole reason, the nasty, snarling impetus of our royal…penpal program—Prince Arthas Menethil? He finally decided to come between that day we were in the bar discussing the very thing and this actual moment, here in the Sunspire when it is too late—just this morning I was telling Sunthraze that we couldn't be sure whether or not Arthas was coming. But you knew hours ago, that Arthas arrived here looking like that, like THAT, armed and dangerous, yet you never said anything to prepare us, Pyorin?!"

Pyorin blinked at his commander and his girlfriend.

"I mean, what would we have even done?"

Tempest swatted Pyorin, "Britecleff could have brought a bigger gun, for one. Or got a rifle for Sunthraze to protect himself when he's gonna be in the middle of things, or suitable gun for Kael'thas, you doof!"

"Well then why didn't we show up armed to the teeth? Or we could have brought guns in some nondescript cases."

Tempest shouted back, within the raucous of the chattering, excited crowd now that Anasterian and the Human Prince Arthas himself had arrived. They were just barely able to hear her. "Because then if we came with a whole friggin' arsenal but everyone had these chintzy little pistols like this one," she pointed to Britecleff's pistol she now had in her blue Farstrider holster, "then it would have looked really suspicious, don't you think? For three Farstriders, who are totally not conspiring to overthrow the kingdom, to show up to the palace fitted out for war and Arthas is just over here being nice and friendly? You needed to think on your feet, Pyorin!"

"I did think on my feet. Arthas is a raging arsehole who's been stressed out fighting hordes of the Undead, plus his girlfriend just dumped him. I didn't want anything to do with it!"

"Aha! So you admit you're a coward."

Pyorin blinked rapidly as he defended himself, "I admit that I didn't want Prince Arthas Menethil to commit a war crime on my person because I'm whispering really loudly to a palace guard about his big ass, lord-of-the-dead-goat-skull-gun—Well, yes I am!"

Britecleff shook his head his two recruits, "No. Just. Sh-shut up. Don't." And then Britecleff looked frustrated, that the brandy had hit and he was slurring his speech ontop of everything else.

All three of them scanned the room helplessly for any sign of Kael'thas, or Jaina.

Tempest blew out a breath. "So what's his angle? What do you think Arthas is actually plotting against Kael with that thing? I mean, we knew it was a possibility Arthas would show up mad. But no one would ever let Arthas commit a crime with his blatant weapon in the actual Sunspire, or anywhere on the palace grounds. Let alone within the jurisdiction of Silvermoon City itself."

Britecleff harrumphed. "Or maybe Prince Arthas is just part of the gun-show crowd that's not here to actually shoot, they just want to show off their family heirlooms."

The giant Lordaeron flintlock Arthas slung up over his shoulder, catching a hint of sunlight along the dark metal barrel drew their attention. It looked like there was an opened goat's skull with coiling horns and crystal blue jewel eyes around the gun barrel. A black leather chest piece and spaulder attached by leather straps to his shoulder with more dark metal medallions looked custom-made to match. Arthas wore this black leather armore over his dashing deep blue clothing. Altogether, it made him look especially fiendish.

Pyorin squinted at the whole ensemble. "I don't know why Arthas brought that. You could blow a deer, well, apart with that rifle. Into shards, a meat-spray. No actual hunks of meat left to drag home to your starving Human family living in their shack, among the wilds of Lordaeron… Why do Humans even need or have guns like that?"

Tempest griped, "Haven't you heard Pyorin? Half the Humans out in Lordaeron these days, are risen zombies."

"Oh, sweet. So it's a zombie-killing gun? I wonder why Fennore never mentioned that."

Tempest's voice turned into a growl, "Maybe because Fennore is a raging, irresponsible idiot, like you."

Arthas looked over in their direction, it was hard not to when those three especially, were having such a strong reaction to him. The three Farstriders immediately looked away.

Tempest slyly observed, "And I bet he's searching for Kael'thas, too."

Britecleff frowned, "I hope that, by the good grace of the Sunwell, some loyal servant at least gave Kael'thas a big fucking heads up on this. Prince Arthas is dressed for a bloody murder."

Pyorin crossed his arms. "Well. I guess that would have been us? But us Farstriders were the ones who set Kael up in this whole thing in the first place."

"…Right." Britecleff rubbed his brow.