Chapter 4: New Year's Eve pt.1

30 Haring 615

Clad in full-plate armour, the footmen crossed their spear when Jaina approached ramp that led onto Victory, the pride of the tirassian fleet.

"State your business, Lady Proudmoore," one of them ordered in a hostile voice.

"I wish to speak to Catherine Rogers."

"Of course." They uncrossed their spears. "The Lady Captain is expecting you in her cabin."

Jaina rolled her eyes. The soldiers would not have dared to show such hostility unless they had been explicitly ordered to do so. At the top deck of the three-decker, a number of workers were busy repairing the forecastle and the rigging that had been damaged from the frost wyrm's attack. She had offered her own engineers to assist in the repairs but they were not there.

At the door that led to the captain's quarters, a pair of knights was standing guard. Unlike the footmen, these were members of the elite force that guarded the Lord Admiral, his immediate family, and the Lord Captain. Their armours were made out of mithral and gilded mithral and were highly ornamental without hindering the ability for sustained combat. As was traditional in Kul Tiras, the front of their plumed, winged helmets were beautiful full-face masks to give them a more elegant and mysterious visage.

The admiralsguard knights were equipped with a spear at hand, a longsword on their hip, two handguns on their shoulder belt and a shield strapped across their back. The librams dangling from their chain made it clear that they were not mere knights.

The paladins dipped their spears in respect and opened the door for her. "My Lady."

"Thank you, Ser," she replied gently.

Catherine Rogers motioned towards an empty chair at the front of her desk and continued scribing a letter. At the front of her desk, Jaina saw one of the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life, easily rivalling both Kael'thas and Arthas. As a half-elf, the young man—barely past human adulthood—had somehow managed to perfectly combine the slender features of elves and the tall, muscular bodies of humans. His robed full plate armour made it clear that he was a member of the inquisitorial squad of the Knights of the Silver Hand.

The young half-elf stood up. "Arator the Redeemer," he said, "a pleasure."

"The pleasure is mine, Ser Arator," Jaina replied. She glanced at the chess board on the table. "I apologize for interrupting."

Arator chuckled. "Such a shame, truly," he quipped. "I am afraid we'll have to call this a tie, Captain."

Rogers placed the quill on the inkpot. "You noticed that you've already lost, right?"

Jaina glanced at the location of the chess pieces and came to the same conclusion. Although an average player would miss it, Arator would be losing within three moves. Arator had been doomed before the game even started; the mastery of chess was expected from the few that successfully graduated from the Naval Academy of War.

Arator sighed. "You see what I am dealing with, my Lady," he said. "I challenge Captain Rogers in a game of hearthstone and, somehow, end up playing chess."

Rogers rolled her eyes and grabbed her quill again. "If you are looking for someone to play silly games with, you know where to find Daeldric."

"You played Hearthstone with Lord Daeldric?"

"Kind of. We played it mostly to entertain Princess Emma and her playmate Vanessa," his expression turned sad at the mention of the dead children. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have certain preparations to make for the New Year's Eve."

When Arator closed the door, Jaina walked past the large table in the middle of the room, that served both as a war table and for dining, and sat down on one of the leather chairs in front of Rogers' desk.

"What did you want, Lady Proudmoore?" Rogers asked.

"Jaina is enough, there is no need for titles."

"With respect, I disagree."

Jaina frowned. "I apologise for not arriving earlier but I wanted to personally thank you for your assistance during the battle. Dealing with the frost wyrm and sending your dragoons to Northwatch Hold saved many lives."

Rogers chuckled. "It's completely understandable that it took you five days to come here. After all, you were busy visiting your friends in Orgrimmar."

How the hell did she know? Jaina had directly teleported inside Thrall's private chambers to avoid anyone from eavesdropping on them. With Kul Tiras in the Alliance, greater subtlety was necessary.

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't bother. Our ships have wards to detect teleportation in the vicinity." Rogers grabbed a cup from a nearby drawer and filled it with whisky. She pressed it on Jaina's hand. "Of course, we did not know if the two spells were to or from Orgrimmar but, as it happens, my bluff worked."

Jaina opened her mouth to speak but Rogers continued. "Now, you did not come here to thank me. Just state what you want."

As she was searching for the proper response, Jaina stood up and looked through the study. She smiled grimly when her eyes fell on the portrait of her family, drawn a few months before the start of the Second War. At the centre of the frame, Jaina and Tandred were sitting together on the great throne of Kul Tiras. Dressed in their naval uniforms, Daelin and her eldest brother, Derek, were standing at the sides of the throne. We were so happy back then, she thought.

The only visible change since the days her father was in command of the ship was the set of full-plate armour on the armour stand and, if she recalled the word correctly, a dwarven urgrosh—a pollaxe with a large axe head on the primary end and a spear blade on the reverse end—on the weapon stand behind. The armour was almost identical to the ones worn by the admiralsguard but the dark green mane was longer and furrier. The top of the helmet's mask had the silvery hue of mithral while the bottom half was gilded along with the rest of the helmet. The mask had been split in half by a long sidelong cut. Jaina gulped. The armour belonged to Daeldric and although it had been repaired, he had chosen to keep the locations of the cuts on his mask and across his belly pronounced and with dried blood around them.

She sighed. Why would someone cling to so much hatred?

"Why did you keep the armour?" Jaina traced the coarse cut on the smooth, mithral mask. "Why are you even the Captain of this ship?"

"The Admiral wanted something bigger and better for himself." Rogers finished writing, rolled the parchment, placed wax on the letter and sealed it with her signet ring. Then, she started writing another letter. "Do you rehearse your speeches in from of a mirror?"

Jaina looked towards the Captain, confused. "What does that have—" Rogers gave her a sharp look. "Yes."

"That"—she pointed at the armour—"is where I rehearse my speeches."

"Where you and him—"

"Oh by the Light," Rogers sighed and pressed her palm on her face, the wedding band on her finger revealing itself. "Don't tell me that he has already seduced you."

Jaina visibly recoiled. "No, absolutely not! How dare you!"

Rogers chuckled and went back to her letter. A moment later, she jumped to her feet when the parchment was incinerated. She drew her pistol but Jaina flung it away by making a slapping motion with her hand. The gun discharged with a loud crack.

The admiralsguard charged into the room, the blade of their spear glowing with a faint light.

"Out, get out!" Rogers snapped to her guards. She took a deep breath and motioned for Jaina to take a seat. "Out of respect for your father, I will not throw you off my ship yet but—I warn you—choose your next words very carefully."

Jaina sat down and took a sip from her whisky. Her face twitched with displeasure by the strong, iodine taste of the drink. "I think Daeldric may be inno—"

"Tell Alverold that if he wants to question my loyalty, he should be man enough to do so himself," Rogers stood up and shut the door to the balcony. Then, she approached Jaina and whispered: "Go down that path and you might not like what you find."

Catherine Rogers was clearly afraid that Alverold was trying to set her up for treason but she had revealed everything Jaina needed to know without incriminating herself. The truth was much more sinister than just Daeldric and Edwin VanCleef murdering her brother.

Jaina stood up and started leaving.

"Your brother's murderer will be hanged, drawn, and quartered after Hordefall."

It was an extremely old and basic trick in getting prisoners to talk but, after all this time, Daeldric had come to appreciate the empty journal and the writing tools Jaina Proudmoore's people had given to him. Under a false sense of security, prisoners would often write their thoughts on the paper which would then be used against them or their country.

Daeldric obviously would not fall for that basic trick but the journal had helped him pass time in between his sleeping and exercising. The journal had nothing to do with his nearly non-existent plans to save himself and find Tandred's true murderer.

Instead, Daeldric had started recreating his favourite moments in the Naval Academy of War when the Admiral would take him and the other trainees to war rides. These were excursions—on horseback or on ship—at areas that, in the event of war, would be used (or had been used) for significant military engagements.

When it was possible, Daelin would split them into teams and deploy them in the field (without troops) as commanders of a regiment or army. Umpires would be used to handle reconnaissance and movement orders while an official panel of older officers, led by either Daelin or Captain-General Farnham, would critique their plays at the end. Mock combat were too impractical at sea and were instead emulated with tabletop games.

During the reconquest of Dalaran, Daeldric had adopted a strategy that was largely based on one of the pre-war staff rides. Grand Marshal Othmar Garithos, had taken all the credit for the assault but it hardly seemed important at the time. It had turned out to be a massive mistake; Garithos', supposed, military "ingenuity" had led to the Kirin Tor siding with the disgraceful general rather than Daeldric.

Daeldric had argued that the decision was, simply put, insane. "Ignoring the fact that the decision will cost us the Sin'dorei. The leaders of the Second War were unable to execute Aiden Perenolde," he had argued, "how can a mere baron execute the ruler of an entire Kingdom."

Only his former brothers and sisters in the Silver Hand had been sympathetic to his words but they had barely raised their voices. Saidan Dathrohan, fair Brigitte, and the rest simply did not have the protection of a War Hero.

Their decision had soon proven to be catastrophic. Kul Tiras withdrew immediately until Daelin Proudmoore could forcefully relieve Garithos of his command; the Sin'dorei had fled to Outland with the Demon Lord Illidan Stormrage; and the army of Lordaeron fell only a month later.

Daelin said I made the right decision, Daeldric reminded himself when he started doubting himself. It was one his political enemies would never forgive but it had been the right decision. Some even mocked him that only the future members of the Scarlet Crusade had, to an extent, supported him.

Daelin had tried to implement this system to the entirety of the Alliance but, other than Thoras Trollbane, the rulers found the concept of war rides rudimentary. The truth had to do with the fact that foreign nobles were too thin skinned to accept advice from military officers. Kul Tiras had many issues with the nobles but never in military matters; the tirassian military tradition was based on intelligence and proven merit instead of nobles playing war.

Daeldric stood up and opened the door when he heard a knock. He gasped at the beautiful sight.

A young maiden with a tallish, slender form stood in front of him. The golden threadwork of her violet and white robe-like ensemble glittered under the candlelight. She had her hood raised and wore an elegant mithral mask carved with the depiction of sea creatures and an eagle covered the upper part of her face. The visible skin of her abdomen, upper chest—a choice that, although extremely pleasing for any man's eye, was quite distasteful for a Lady of her station—and the visible part of face had a soft, pleasant glow to it.

Although Daeldric found the masks uncomfortable and annoying, he approved that Jaina Proudmoore had maintained the ancient tradition. It had started approximately five hundred years ago when the first Queen (or Lady) Admiral of Kul Tiras Josephine Proudmoore had enforced the usage of the masks that hid the upper face while promising two weeks of lawful adultery to her vassals. The "anonymity" offered by the masks was purely symbolic since they were hereditary in nature and made extensive use of heraldic symbols.

"Milady," he said as he gently kissed her knuckles. "You have an uncanny resemblance to an acquaintance of mine but I'm afraid she has always shunned me."

The Lady of Theramore smiled grimly. "Alverold is planning to execute you after Hordefall."

Way to ruin the mood. Daeldric laughed but it was cut short when he noticed the sudden twitch on Jaina's lips. "Come now," he told her, "there is no need to sulk over my fate."

"You are innocent!"

It was touching that those words had come from her lips even if it was based on her naive but trusting intuition. She murdered Daelin, he reminded himself and clenched the feelings that threatened to surface. "Why would you believe that?" his voice coming out rougher than he intended. "You have letters with treasonous content and members of the Defias Brotherhood murdering the ruling family. You also—"

"Am I wrong?"

Daeldric considered lying but he decided against it. "No."

"Then quit mansplaining and do your duty to your family and your country."

Part of him wanted to laugh at her. Another part of him wanted to slap the bitch senseless for daring—a kinslayer of all people—to lecture him about duty. Luckily for her, Daeldric was a man driver by law and reason.

He recalled Daelin's last words and nodded. Even if it brought him disgrace, how could he call himself a patriot if he did not whore himself out for the benefit of his country. "You should know that the letters are not fake but I swear that neither I nor VanCleef and his men had any part in the assassination."

Jaina raised her hand, politely interrupting him. "Say no more. We will be departing for Kul Tiras tomorrow." She flicked her wrist and a dark green uniform with a military mask placed atop it appeared on her hands. "I want you to celebrate with me."

Daeldic could think of at least a dozen reasons why that would be a terrible mistake. Instead, he grinned. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

Red flushed on her pretty face. She bit her lip. "You will be posing as a tirassian officer that has curried my favour."

"That's called a date."

She frowned. "A date with Jack Morrison not Daeldric von Selaniir."

He widened his crooked grin and took the clothes and the mask. "Give me a couple of minutes, my Lady."

When he was alone again, Daeldric sat at the desk and contemplated his options for a few moments. The girl might not have realised it but even if this disturbing, to say the least, alliance ended with his execution, it would at least allow him to fulfil Daelin's last order.

"Forgive her," Daelin had ordered with his last breath. "Forgive her."

Daeldric returned to his journal and wrote something before tearing off the page. Your daughter might still be salvageable, my Lord.

A/N: The "war rides" described were invented by the german/prussian General Helmuth von Moltke and are still used today. The tabletop game mentioned (although for land armies) is Kriegsspiel and was also invented by prussian officers.

The usage of their masks was inspired from Orlais in Dragon Age. Daeldric's armour and (when it appears) his sword are similar to the one shown in Marshall Proulx's concept art for Heroes of Dragon Age.