Chapter 11 – Sorrows and Doubt
While Jaina led Clark around the city to restock on supplies, Arthas exchanged impressions with his father as the two stood atop one of the castle towers, gazing upon the streets below.
"That elf may be insufferable…" Arthas remarked. "Especially around Jaina. But he does have a point this time."
"It was not an easy decision." Terenas said gravely. "But wanton vengeance and butchery are not our way. If we become as savage are our enemies, if we discard the principles we live by, then what will become of us?"
His father's words rang familiar and a thought crossed the prince's mind.
"Did Lord Uther know of this? Is this why he cautioned me about letting one's passions turn to bloodlust?"
Terenas nodded in response.
"Uther is a shrewd man and a trusted friend. He may have had some doubts about my decision, but the thought of slaughtering the orcs wholesale did not sit well with him either."
"You know that choice has earned you a great deal of critics." Arthas pointed out. "Some even blame it for tearing the Alliance apart."
The aging king sighed and his shoulders sagged for a moment as his face contorted into a mournful expression.
"The sad truth is… regardless of my actions, I fear that without an external threat to force unity the Alliance was not going to last. There were always some tensions and disputes and all the realms retained a fierce sense of independence ever since the fall of the ancient kingdom of Strom."
"Still… Isn't our shared heritage good enough? Shouldn't that be a rallying point?"
Terenas shook his head.
"My son, you have been out here, among the people. You know it is not so simple. In fact, if not for the Horde, the kingdoms of Man might well have turned on one another in time. The rats of Alterac were constantly scheming against one another and everyone else. Dalaran may be content with focusing on magical research and teaching, but Gilneas and Stromgarde have not always been on the best of terms with the other kingdoms."
The prince furrowed his brow.
"Do you really think Greymane would go that far?"
Arthas had no love for the man and in fact thought him and the nation of Gilneas little more than traitors to the Alliance for abandoning it once the threat of the Horde had been subdued, but he mostly kept such thoughts to himself.
"Under different circumstances, who knows? Stromgarde has always had a militaristic edge as well and while most of the continent has been settled, some untouched lands could still be a point of contention. We can never completely predict what prideful and ambitious rulers might have done were they not faced with the threat of annihilation."
"So quick they are to forget..."
Terenas scratched his beard, temporarily losing himself in recollection.
"My son, the Alliance was never an ironclad monolithic entity. Even putting it together was a challenge. After the razing of Stormwind, when the refugees started pouring in from across the Great Sea, the other nations dragged their feet at the notion of coming together even when confronted with the horrid tales."
Arthas frowned.
"Just like the elves. But why were they all so stubborn?"
"I suppose some could not believe that Stormwind might ever fall and thought that accepting that would be an admission of their own vulnerability. In the end though, we were able to unite the realms and drive the Horde back after much struggle and sacrifice."
"But why did you let the orcs go on their way? Was it because of Blackmoore or something else?"
Terenas sighed.
"During the Second War, we all saw things we would rather forget. Horrible things that kept many of the survivors awake at night for years. But we must not forget the lessons we have learned. Yes, the Horde committed unspeakable atrocities and the scars left by their rampage are not fully healed."
"Then why?"
"After it was over, I saw what was left of them." Terenas recounted, with a somber, haunted look on his face. "Broken. Like walking corpses. In turn, I saw our people and our allies clamoring for blood with a savagery not so different from that of the Horde."
As a sudden gust of wind blew by and an unpleasant chill settled in, the king suppressed a shiver and headed down a spiral staircase into the chamber below, beckoning at Arthas to follow.
"They had our kingdoms by the throat." Arthas noted as they went. "I doubt they would have hesitated like you did."
The king sighed again, walked up to a nearby window and let his hands rest on the windowsill, peering into the distance.
"I know they would not. But there are times when one has to draw a line, my boy. A time when one needs to examine one's actions and motivations."
"So you're saying that you didn't do it for the orcs…" Arthas realized. "But for our people?"
"It is one thing to meet a foe on the field of battle and cut them down in defense of kin and country. But if we stooped to their level by butchering them while they were as helpless as children…"
Arthas had known his father to be a strong man, but at that particular moment he seemed incredibly tired, as if the years had finally caught up with him.
"Some may dream of glory in war…" Terenas noted. "But war is a terrible beast, all-consuming in its ravenous hunger. It shatters lives and changes people, both victor and vanquished. I had hoped that your generation would be able to live free from its specter, but now… it seems that rambling prophet was right."
"Some wars just have to be fought." Arthas said. "It's our burden. Our responsibility."
"No doubt about that. But how you choose to fight makes all the difference. If you were caught up in a desperate struggle, would you be able to overcome it without sacrificing your principles? How far would you be willing to go for victory or for our people's sake?"
Arthas opened his mouth but Terenas raised his hand.
"No, my son. Do not answer right away. Ponder this more thoroughly first."
With that, the king stepped away from the window and sank down on a nearby wooden chair.
"I've made my share of mistakes. Letting Deathwing manipulate me for his own ends. Trying to force your sister to marry the bastard when he was going around in his Daval Prestor identity and tried to set himself up as the new ruler of Alterac. Not noticing Blackmoore's abuses and treachery right under my nose."
"To be fair, there are few who could spot an obscenely powerful dragon in a magical disguise." Arthas pointed out. "Let alone counter such mental influence."
Terenas clenched his fists and his face twisted with anger.
"It was still my responsibility. If a king falters or blunders, the repercussions can be most dire for everyone else."
In that moment, looking at his aging father, Arthas saw more of himself than he felt comfortable with. The same impotent anger at being swept by events beyond his control. The same fury at being unable to protect his people.
Meanwhile, in the market district…
"I don't know…" Clark said, eyeing some of the gleaming suits of armor on display at one of the stores.
Once his anger had subsided, Jaina had instead been confronted with the heart-wrenching grief laid bare on his face. Not wanting to leave him by himself in such a state, and with Arthas still talking to his father, Jaina had taken the initiative of showing him around in an effort to distract him.
Jaina turned her attention to a particularly striking suit of armor, decorated with silver engravings and polished to perfection. She pinched her chin, then looked back at him.
"Too shiny? Maybe something a little more discreet?"
"Maybe…" Clark said, his thoughts focused elsewhere.
"But taking your speed into account…" she pondered. "And your issue with magic… maybe a few enchantments..."
She then noticed his distant expression and frowned.
"Still with us?"
Her efforts weren't meeting with much success, but she was undeterred. She was determined to do something nice for him and after recalling the way he had accidentally made Lady Paletress faint, a replacement for his ruined suit of armor seemed like a good option.
Clark sighed, his gaze turning to the floor.
"That suit of armor was a gift from my mentor… and I went and wrecked it like an idiot."
Hearing those words, she couldn't help feeling another pang of grief for her new friend. Though a towering young man, he still retained an almost childlike earnestness and could be surprisingly gentle when he was not fighting the damned and their masters. Though they had known each other for less than a week, it pained her to see him like that.
"I understand." she said with a nod. "All the faithful are in mourning, but it's much more personal to you."
Clark nodded and gazed into the distance with a sad smile.
"I remember the day he came to Hillsbrad for the harvest festival. He started his life as a farmer and never forgot his roots or the common folk."
Jaina nodded. The departed Archbishop's humble beginnings were considered by many to be poof that the Light touched all from commoners to kings. Although the faith was loosely organized and there was still much about the nature of the Light that was not understood, the kindly old man and his pupils had been a comforting presence for decades.
"I knew this day would come eventually…" Clark mused. "After all, he wasn't so young anymore. But is anyone ever really prepared?"
Given the suspicions on the cause of the Archbishop's death, a funeral procession to the capital was out of the question. Instead, they had learned that a small ceremony was to be carried out in Tirisfal Glades and a discreet monument was already being erected at his chosen final resting place. Rather than being interred within the monastery grounds, his last will and testament had requested to be laid to rest somewhere near one of the roads, so he could watch over travelers from beyond.
"Do you want to… go pay your respects?" Jaina asked.
Clark nodded.
"Yes, I would like to go. It's the least I can do for my mentor."
"Then you won't be going alone." she said resolutely. "Come on, let's see who else is coming."
Outside the store, they came upon Kael'thas and his entourage, all of them with somber expressions.
"Lady Jaina." the elven prince said with a nod. "Where are we headed next?"
"There is no need to escort me everywhere, you know." she said, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.
"These are dark times." he answered, unusually sullen. "It would not do to let those cultist mongrels harm you as well."
With his arms folded behind his back, he clenched his fists.
"Regardless of what you may think of me, I will not allow it."
Gone were the flirtatious airs and the borderline theatrical poses, replaced by a pensive mood. The loss of such a prominent figurehead was reason enough for concern, given the fact that the faith in the Light was also prominent in Silvermoon. The fact that the Cult of the Damned had seemingly been able to reach him undetected raised another slew of questions.
"A mysterious illness… with an unknown cause… The timing cannot be a coincidence. But how? Has the church also been infiltrated? If so, then where else is that cultist filth hiding? How far does their grasp reach?"
For his part, Zaram cast a glance at Clark.
"My condolences." he said with a polite nod. "I may not have known the Archbishop personally, but by all accounts, he was a good man."
"He was." Clark said, feeling his eyes grow moist once again.
The group made their way through the streets and back to the castle. Once they reached the courtyard, they saw Uther saddling a magnificent black steed.
"Lord Uther." Clark called out. "Are you leaving?"
Uther turned to him and nodded.
"As much as the king would like to go pay his respects, it would be unwise for him to leave the city at a time like this, so I will be attending in his stead."
For a brief moment, his countenance shifted and instead of the king's trusted advisor and the head of the Silver Hand, Clark saw something else.
"I would have gone even if I had not been asked to." the seasoned paladin said. "The Archbishop was my mentor too, you know. Back when the Second War broke out I was his humble assistant."
"And he saw something in you, just like he did in me." Clark said, recalling his history lessons. "And so you became the first of our order."
Uther nodded.
"Yes. I still don't know why he never told me about you… and now I may never find out. But clearly his sight was as discerning as ever."
"Was it?" Clark asked, his expression once again turning downcast. "I cannot help wondering if his trust was misplaced. The Eastweald is barren and tainted, a field of corpses. Stratholme is reduced to ash. I nearly got killed charging blindly into Northrend and placed all of you in danger when you followed me."
"That temper of yours seems to keep getting you in trouble." Uther remarked. "But your heart is in the right place. Besides, even if you feel that you were not able to change much, you still saved lives. Take solace in that."
"It was not enough." Clark said, clenching his fist. "I should have been able to do more."
"And who are you to decide such things?" Uther countered in an even tone.
Clark tried to argue, but words failed him.
"People like us are ready to forfeit our lives for the sake of others, but that does not mean we can always save everyone." Uther continued. "If you focus only on what you were unable to do, then you will drive yourself mad."
"Then what am I supposed to do?" Clark retorted. "Just forget?"
"As I said, take solace in what you were able to accomplish… and learn from the experience so you can be better prepared next time. We all have to deal with that frustration sooner or later, but we must not let it cloud our judgement and lead us astray."
Moments later, Arthas too stepped into the courtyard with a backpack strapped to his armor. Without a word, he helped Uther finish saddling the black steed, then lent him a hand getting on the saddle.
"Are you not taking a horse as well?" Clark asked.
"No." Arthas said, shaking his head. "Never again."
Clark was intrigued by the answer, but, seeing a pang of grief in the prince's eyes, he did not press the matter further. Instead, he glanced in Jaina's direction and, as if guessing what he was thinking, she tapped the base of her staff on the cobblestones and a silvery metal disc covered in runes appeared seemingly out of thin air.
"Just a little side project." she explained as she stepped atop the disc. "Supposedly there are ancient artifacts similar in form and function but their whereabouts were lost to time."
She then glanced in Arthas' direction and beckoned him closer.
"Are you sure this is safe?" the prince hesitantly asked.
"Come on." she said, before flashing a mischievous smile. "Or are you afraid of heights?"
Kael'thas quietly summoned Al'ar and then glanced at his compatriots.
"I will be joining them to pay my respects… and to investigate this matter further. I need you to stay here and keep an eye out in case those cultist mongrels try anything else."
The other elves nodded and then he turned his attention to Clark.
"So from what I hear, you are full of surprises."
"A few." Clark said, wondering what he was getting at.
"I would like to take a better look at those abilities of yours later. With your permission, that is."
"Very well. But I'd rather not show too much of them in public. The way things are now, I don't want to risk causing a panic."
Kael'thas nodded.
"A reasonable precaution. Not to mention that between those abilities and your actions here and in Northrend, I imagine you've painted quite the target on your back."
Clark nodded and cracked his knuckles with a bitter scowl.
"I only wish those bastards would stop hiding and face me. But I know they won't, so I have to use my head and control my temper. I don't want a repeat of what happened at Dragonblight."
"Sooner or later we'll have to take the fight to them." Arthas said, sharing his anger and frustration. "But we can't afford to be rash right now."
Uther managed to smile despite the circumstances.
"You are learning. Good."
Arthas did not have a retort for that, so instead he nodded, trying to hide a quiet feeling of shame.
"If I hadn't seen him lose control like that… I might have done it instead."
The dark thoughts running through his mind back in Stratholme had quickly been cast aside, but the mere fact that he had even considered such a thing, even in passing, still unsettled him.
"Well then…" Clark said, breaking the awkward silence. "Shall we be on our way?"
With Uther on his steed, Kael'thas on the back of Al'ar and Arthas and Jaina riding on her flying disc, Clark pondered his options.
"I think I'll walk." he finally decided. "At least until we're well on the road."
"Actually…" Jaina noted. "Where's Muradin?"
It was then that Arthas realized he had forgotten to mention something.
"Oh. Right. He said he's reaching out to Stormwind and Ironforge to confirm if there's been any suspected cult activity there. We doubt they'd be limited to Lordaeron."
"I have already forwarded our findings and the latest events to Silvermoon." Kael'thas informed, his mutual annoyance at his counterpart temporarily forgotten.
"Hopefully they'll stop ignoring this threat." he thought, somewhat irritated.
And so they went at a leisurely pace, with the black horse trotting along the cobbled road while the phoenix and the disc flew overhead. Even on foot, Clark had no problem keeping up with the others, though he was in no particular hurry. The opportunity to use his legs was a welcome distraction from his emotional state and the thoughts racing in his mind.
After a few hours in solemn silence, the group finally arrived at the monastery, where Clark was greeted by some familiar faces, including a middle-aged man clad in typical priestly garments, with a prominent nose, graying black hair that ran down the back of his head but left the top barren, a short beard and narrow gray eyes framed by a weathered face.
"Deacon Fairbanks." Clark said, stepping closer. "I haven't seen you in a while."
The man nodded, his expression downcast.
"If only we could have met again under better circumstances. It's true that the Archbishop's age and health were causes for some concern, but this…"
Clark tensed up.
"So my suspicions were correct then? Was it…?"
Fairbanks nodded.
"It seems that way. For now, we have placed his remains in a sealed casket and quarantined his quarters until we can determine if there are any lingering traces of it there."
"I think he knew somehow…" Clark pondered. "Before he sent me out on my mission, he had grown increasingly reclusive. I didn't think much of it at the time, but…"
Fairbanks nodded.
"According to his assistant, the Archbishop discreetly consulted several mages and physicians. But why didn't he tell the rest of us anything?"
Clark sighed.
"I think I know."
"What do you mean?"
"I ran into some… unusual company in the Dragonblight." Clark explained. "A bronze dragon. She said that not even the Dragon Queen herself could cure that plague."
Fairbanks stared at him with a mortified expression and pursed his lips.
"Then may the Light have mercy on us all, for I get the feeling that this is just the beginning."
Clark nodded, his mind drifting back to that strange encounter.
"Where has she run off to anyway? Why isn't she hounding me again?"
He still wasn't completely sure what to make of the strange dragon or her pint-sized persona. While she had chided him time and again for interfering with events that she said were meant to happen in a certain way, she had also probably saved his life. Then there was another thing.
"Kal-El… What does that mean?"
While Clark was lost in his thoughts, Uther stepped forward and addressed the deacon.
"So, what spot did you pick for the burial grounds?"
"A little space southwest of here. For now we have prepared the plot and are already laying the groundwork for a small shrine. We shall call it Faol's Rest."
Elsewhere…
"So…" Chromie pondered, pacing around with her hands behind her back. "With Arthas no longer being a viable option, the Lich King will need a new champion. Who does that leave?"
"There is also the matter of Frostmourne." Medivh pointed out, scratching his beard. "Considering how much effort was poured into creating that blade and steering it into the hands of a suitable user, I doubt the Lich King will simply let it rest under the frozen sea."
"I may exist simultaneously across several timelines, but I'm far from omniscient." Chromie grumbled. "That boy is too impulsive and that may come back to bite all of us."
"So what do you intend to do?"
Chromie sighed.
"At this point it's clear that the harder I try to restore the original flow of events the harder he will push back and the more unpredictable things will become. I still have no solution for that."
"Well, technically you do." Medivh noted. "But you don't seem to particularly care for that solution."
"Again, we're not dealing with some opportunistic mage trying to improve his own situation. I'm sure now that he didn't come here by choice."
She paused for a moment, staring into the distance with an anguished expression.
"I have my duties as a Keeper of Time. But when I look at him, at all that he is and at all that he may be… I find myself hesitating."
"You are in a rather unenviable position." Medivh conceded. "Enforcing the so-called correct timeline also means allowing much pointless strife and suffering."
The dragon in the guise of a gnome sat down on the grass, looking like she was on the verge of a headache.
"You… have no idea."
The Guardian rested a hand on the head of his staff, shaped like a raven, and took a moment to examine the crimson ribbon below it.
"Given the raw possibility the boy presents… I imagine that the rest of your brethren won't take his continued influence lightly."
"Which begs the question." Chromie pondered. "If Nozdormu has such a keen awareness of the timelines, why would he assign me specifically to this task? Wouldn't he have foreseen this?"
"You would have to ask him."
Chromie let out a deep sigh.
"We are all trained to deal with this in a detached manner. Warned about the chaos that could ensure if someone unravels the threads of fate. On the other hand, I can't deny that his actions have resulted in more innocents surviving. He may well have prevented the rise of another great evil without even realizing it."
"And if you carry out your mission, that will all have been for nothing." Medivh pointed out.
"Maybe I've been doing this for far too long, but… sometimes I really hate this whole thing."
She then stood up again and stared at the open road ahead.
"Well, I guess we'd better get going. If we want to find out who exactly put the boy here and why, then we'll need to keep monitoring his antics."
