Chapter 2: Under House Arrest

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"Can you just shut up already?" Daeldric snapped, rapidly losing his patience with the insults his captor was hurling at him.

The young guard had a small frame that was more suitable for a powder monkey than a guard.

Perhaps I am being unfair, he thought. Even though it was a simple task, ferrying gunpowder from the powder magazines in the hold to the artillery pieces on the gun decks in the middle of a chaotic battle could be quite a daunting task.

Standing guard with a flask of grog and writing tools at hand seemed like a joke in comparison. And he was failing miserably at it.

The guard walked right in front of the cell door. "Or what, Kingslayer?"

Had it not been for the chain on his foot keeping him away from the cell door, Daeldric would have yanked the drunkard to the steel bars. Then, the boy's soprano voice reminded him that he was just a young fool. "Just go and play with your toys. Do not insult his Grace."

Laughter. "Or what?"

The Lord Captain took a deep breath. "Or I will silence you—permanently."

The guard tightened his grip on his longsword.

Daeldric lied down on his bed again. "Here is a tip for you, boy," he said. "If you plan to fight me in close quarters, use your dagger instead."

"Shut up!"

"Or what? You are going to kill me?" Daeldric laughed. "It honestly amazes me that so few of you understand how the world works," the guard was at the edge of snapping but Daeldric continued, "though it is understandable why Proudmoore has set the bar so low."

"Shut your mouth!" the guard rasped. "It was that idiot of a father of hers that ruined everything. We had an agreement with the orcs and the bastard ruined it!"

Daeldric smiled to hide both his anger and amusement at the boy's words. "Have you heard about Arthas Menethil and Lady Proudmoore?"

"They were betrothed."

"That's not the story I know," Daeldric chuckled. "They weren't even betrothed when they... you know."

The guard gasped, his surprise that his "heroine" had been deflowered before her wedding showing. "They were in love!"

From all the arguments he could find, this was most certainly the weakest one. "I remember the day after they broke up, Arthas was at the Lusting Wench hurling insults towards his beloved." Daeldric paused, his nostrils flaring with anger as he remembered the lieutenant that had been cut down by Falric and Marwyn for attempting to defend Proudmoore's honour. "Want to know the best part?"

The guard stared at him, idly.

"Arthas said the wench wasn't even her first."

The guard flew into a fit of rage and grabbed the chains from his belt.

Alarmed, Daeldric jumped to his feet. "Don't do this mate! It was just a joke," he pleaded. "Guards!"

When the door was unlocked, the guard lunged forward with his longsword.

Daeldric sidestepped the blow and punched the boy in the face before pushing him to the wall.

Where the fuck are the guards?

The boy whirled his longsword in a wide sweep. Daeldric jumped backwards to avoid the blow but the chain that kept him close to his bed reached its maximum length and almost tripped him. He gasped in pain as the blade grazed him across the chest.

Fuck it, Daeldric thought. He rushed to the boy before he could ready his weapon again and slammed him to the wall. Immediately, he drew the rondel dagger from the guard's belt and pierced the chainmail of his half-plate armour below his cuirass. Daeldric threw him to the ground and started punching the screaming man. When the flailing had stopped, he stood up, unchained his foot and grabbed the flask of grog from the table.

"Idiot," he muttered as he chugged down the disgusting drink.

For a moment, he considered to try to escape from the prison but he dismissed the foolish idea. Even if he somehow managed to escape from the Foothold Citadel (which seemed quite likely given that the guards seemed absolutely useless), escaping from the actual island without external assistance would be an impossible feat. The drawing on the table caught Daeldric's attention. He chuckled as he recognised the naked beauty painted on the parchment. Daeldric wanted to teach the poor, lovestruck idiot a lesson and not kill him while he supposedly protected Lady Proudmoore's non-existent honour. He took another look at Jaina's tall, lithe frame before saving the boy the post-mortem embarrassment by shredding the paper.

"Lord Captain," a man whispered in a surprisingly hoarse voice.

Daeldric stood up and walked towards the source of the voice. Despite his soldier's familiarity with scars and wounds, he had to suppress an impulse to recoil or look away from the hideous man. The lanky prisoner was missing an eye, his ear was torn, and half his hair had been practically torn off his scalp. He was missing his left hand and part of his forearm. Judging by the slashing wound across his throat, the man was lucky enough to be able to speak or even be alive.

"And who would you be, kind sir?" Daeldric asked.

The stranger saluted. "Gavis Greyshield, Sire."

Ah. This was the commander of the Theramore dissenters, a small cadre of marines that—after laying down their arms at their Lady's behest during the battle for Theramore— had decided that they wished to serve Kul Tiras again. It had been Tandred's kindness that had led Daeldric to scribble a letter instructing them to return to Kul Tiras but they had no obeyed for some reason. "When I give an order," he said. "I expect it to be followed."

"They were too powerful—"

"Which is why I ordered you to return to Kul Tiras."

Gavis blinked. "My Lord?" he muttered. "Your letter ordered us to keep fighting."

Forgery then. Why would Proudmoore have one of her people mislead the dissenters? Daeldric took a swig from the flask, trying to mask his bafflement. After careful contemplation, an idea came to his mind. "The person responsible for dealing with you, what was her name?"

"Calia Hastings."

"Did she do this to you?"

"No, my Lord, some mercenaries she hired for the job."

Daeldric nodded. "The woman, Calia Hastings, was she was from Stormwind?"

The man gulped. "Yes, my Lord."

He passed the flask to the suffering man and walked back to his cell. "I suspected as much."

Jaina Proudmoore moaned in displeasure as the first light of the morrow touched her fair face. As the ruler of Theramore, she could not afford to comply with the requests of her exhausted body. She stood up, threw on her violet robe, and walked towards the window of her quarters.

Her heart sprung with delight when she saw large snowflakes falling from the heavens. Even though the snow had not completely settled, young children were already playing, at the square in front of her tower, with the little snow they could get on their hands.

The rough knock on the door took her away from the happy image. She walked to her dressing table and started brushing her tousled hair. "Come in," she said.

Without saying a word, Lorena walked next to her.

"Lorena, is something wrong?"

"There was an incident in the prison," Lorena replied.

Jaina looked towards her friend in alarm. "Did something happen to Daeldric?"

Lorena shook her head. "No. I am not sure why or how it happened but we found the man guarding him beaten to death inside Daeldric's cell," she explained. "The prisoner was slashed across the chest but he is well."

Jaina breathed a sigh of relief. It was tragic that a man had died but Daeldric's death would have created a significant amount of problems. "I thought you said that you had your most trustworthy soldiers guarding him."

"Thomas was still in training but he was loyal."

"What do we do now?"

"Honestly? Other than sending him to Kul Tiras, I do not know," Lorena admitted. "I will discipline my men but once they hear what happened..."

Sending him to Kul Tiras would have solved their problem but, as her uncle had correctly assessed, would have created much greater issues for Kul Tiras and the Alliance. Still, she needed for him to be safe until she could make the correct decision.

"Bring Daeldric here," Jaina said and inwardly shuddered at the thought. "I wish to speak to him."

Jaina smiled when the tall, muscular man entered her study, she motioned for him to sit next to her.

Daeldric von Selaniir eyed her with caution, not comprehending why she would be inviting him to share breakfast with her.

"Please join me, my Lord," she said.

The usage of the honorific also surprised him. Eventually, he sat opposite to her. "What game are you playing now?"

Jaina smiled. "I am merely trying to be polite, I trust that you will do the same."

He nodded.

"My officer informed me that she can no longer guarantee your safety in the Foothold Citadel," she took a sip from her glass of milk. "You will be safer in one of the guest chambers in my tower."

Daeldric cocked an eyebrow. "Normally, you just throw your prisoner in a different dungeon. You don't offer him bed and breakfast."

"The breakfast is my apology for what happened."

The man run his hand through his unkempt black hair. "Had I known he would draw his blade, I would have kept my mouth shut." He placed three slices of bacon and a fried egg on his plate. As he was spreading butter on his croissant, he muttered something.

"What happened?"

"He kept insulting Admiral Proudmoore for hours," he garbled, his mouth full of croissant. "So when he called his Grace an idiot, I told him a story about the Lady of Theramore and her Prince."

It was almost amusing that Daeldric still worshipped her father when he had butchered the Admiral's remaining family. As for the story, she assumed it was the one that had nearly led to a war between Kul Tiras and Lordaeron. "You had to defend yourself."

They ate their food in awkward silence for quite a few minutes, both of them knowing too well that there was little point in addressing the elephant in the room. At some point, Daeldric spoke. "I'm sorry by the way."

She raised her hand politely. "You had no choice but to defend yourself."

"No, not that," he replied. "For finally realising the kind of man Alverold is."

Lightly, Jaina tucked a loose strand of her blond hair behind her ear. "It did not please me b-but my uncle needs to do what he must to keep your supporters in check."

"I was always told that you are a kind and just woman with wisdom beyond your years," Daeldric said. "All I see is a young woman throwing the tantrums of a little girl while allowing herself to be used by a man that should be, by all account, reviled by his family."

Jaina placed her cutlery down and stood up. "Perhaps it is my calm and kind personality that has given you the impression that you can insult me in my own home and get away with it." She walked next to Daeldric and placed one knee on his chair, between his legs. Although he was already looking at her, she touched him from the chin and forced him to maintain his gaze. The long, sidelong cut that marred his visage—a gift from Cairne Bloodhoof during the battle for Theramore—and had by miracle not cost him his eye was quite distracting. If anyone entered the room at that moment, they would have mistaken the compromising position with something completely different.

Daeldric shivered a little.

"You murdered my brother;" she begun, her voice was pure ice, "you murdered my best friend; you murdered a little girl that I never met but loved more than anything in this wretched world; you conspired with Greyshield to have me overthrown; and all but declared war to the Alliance." She paused and took a deep breath, calming herself and restoring an honest smile on her face. "I can be gentle but press me too hard and I will snap."

Slowly, Jaina slid off the disgraced Lord Captain and walked back to her seat. "You said that Alverold is using me," she said as she finished her milk. "Explain."

Daeldric took a deep breath. "My supporters have always served your family. Alverold's supporters are the ones that tried to overthrow Tandred when I and Catherine brought news of the defeat from Theramore."

"Why would they—"

"Because they know who I am", he said, "and unlike spoiled noble children; an orphan, peasant boy from Lordaeron that was literally picked from the trash by the greatest man in Azeroth does not betray his family."

Daeldric was supposedly the brother of one of the many heroes that perished during the Second War. During a military parade in Lordaeron, two years after the end of the Second War, her father had recognised the orphans among the crowd, struggling to look at the soldiers. Admiral Proudmoore had literally broken from the formation, took the confused boy by the hand and had him sit next to Jaina and the other noble children; an act that had soared his popularity among commoners and was seen by nobles as a ingenious publicity stunt. After the parade, Arthas told her that the Admiral all but drew his blade on King Terenas over the latter's inability to fulfil their promise to the war hero—take care of Daeldric and, eventually, ordain him into the Knights of the Silver Hand.

If Varian had not shown her the damning letters, Jaina would have almost believed Daeldric's words. "If that is the case," she replied, "you would have provided yourself with a credible defense during your trial."

A crooked grin formed on his scared lips. "Or perhaps the big reveal will happen moments before my execution," he drawled. "Or maybe I am just trying to turn you against your loving uncle."

Daeldric's cryptic manner irked her greatly. "Just speak clearly!" she snapped. "Did you or did you not kill them?"

He stood up and opened the door. "We are done here," he told the guards.

Jaina nodded her consent. "Take him to his quarters."

Although she had her doubts about the validity of his words, Jaina could not afford to risk leaving her brother's murder unpunished in the case that Daeldric was truthful but too proud to ask for her help. She rushed to her study and started scribing a letter to one of the few men she could trust.

A/N:

kantan: The story will be a mix of romance and adventure but I'm planning not too make it too one-sided. The next chapter we will have the OC (and Jaina) facing significant combat.

Guest: I hate Green Jesus too :(

scriptorml: Next chapter should be significantly longer and I hope you enjoy it.