Chapter 8:

11 Wintermarch 617

When he stepped out of dungeons of Bolarus, Daeldric von Selaniir closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Freedom. The pardon was certainly not the optimal outcome but there was no point complaining about it. Not only had they refused to restore his lands and titles, he had been removed from the military with a prideful discharge. Normally, it was the greatest of honours but it was clearly a roundabout way of telling him to go fuck himself.

With the golden thread of his dark green officer coat glittering under the moonlight, Daeldric set forth for the Pride's Citadel for one final time. As he walked through the well-lit streets, the looks of the civilians—in a way—brought him great joy. Now that they knew the new "truth", half of them resented him for failing to avert the assassination while the rest looked towards them in pity.

Daeldric was pleased by the anger because, even in their diluted truth, he bore great responsibility in failing to avert the assassination while those that pitied him made it clear that, to an extent, they cared. In his mind, pity was only insulting when it came from people that could solve the issue; he used to consider Jaina Proudmoore as the poster child of this category but that had changed after she had apparently contributed to his release.

Daeldric paused and saluted when Daelin's statue was within eyesight. He held his hand for a couple of second while he silently chanted a prayer that was unique to the Knights of the Silver Hand. In a way, he felt guilty for using a prayer that belonged to the order that had excommunicated—an extremely daunting process that practically drained the Light out of the dishonoured paladin—but he did not care. The Light knew the truth.

Daeldric pushed the useless thoughts aside and walked through the park and towards Pride's Citadel. Unlike the rest of the buildings, the Citadel had been constructed by thick black stone that was seamless enough to make scaling the walls an almost impossible task even for the most skilled dwarven mountaineer.

"Halt! Who goes there?"

Daeldric paused mid-step. He did not recognise any of the sentries, a sign that Alverold had completely changed the entirety of the garrison of Pride's Citadel. A terrible mistake. The problem was not the guards for they were the best; the problem was that the enemy had somehow intercepted the night watch schedule.

"Captain Daeldric von Selaniir," he informed the sentry. In Kul Tiras former officers, unless punitively discharged, were addressed with their previous title and had the right to wear their uniform or don their armour. The only exception was that the regimental colours on their uniforms were white and, if they had been honoured with shoulder cape like Daeldric, they wore it on the right shoulder instead of the left.

The lanky Sentry nodded and stepped aside.

"Continue the challenge, soldier!" someone, the watch officer most likely, barked from inside.

Although Daeldric approved of the practice, he doubted that the order had been issues for the right reasons. The Captain shrugged apologetically to the sentry and took a step back.

"Advance to be recognised."

Daeldric took a step forward.

"Halt! Present identification."

The rest of the sentries were now alert and aimed their guns towards Daeldric, prepared to gun him down if he did anything suspicious. The former Lord Captain grabbed his identification papers from his pocket and presented them to the sentry. With the invention of gnomish photography, the verification process took only a few second before the sentry stepped aside.

Inside the Citadel, a middle aged officer approached him for a short questioning. He was an officer of the tirassian army judging by the orange regimental stripes of his uniform. "What are you doing here, Daeldric?" he asked.

Daeldric was right, the officer had challenged him to piss him off. Not being addressed as Captain or Lord (which he was technically not) or even von Selaniir was a grave insult. All it would take was a simple complaint to the Admiralty to punish the young lieutenant with kitchen duty for months.

"Boy," he started, "When Alverold instructed you to insult your former Lord Captain, you were not supposed to utter my name."

The man went pale, clearly not expecting Daeldric to strike back. "You see, when you are called to answer for your misconduct to the Admiralty's representative, you could have denied recognising that I am Daeldric von Selaniir. It would have worked… you'd still be punished for failing to recognise my insignia, my sash, or even my shoulder cape but it's nothing compared to recognising me and insulting me."

"My Lord, I—"

Daeldric brought a single finger on his mouth. "I am not finished. You will escort me to the Lord Admiral and demand an audience for me. Since you are of dim wits, allow me to rephrase. You will request an audience but there will be consequences for you if he refuses."

"T-the L-lord Admiral i-is—"

"Shut up. Take a deep breath and talk properly idiot."

The army officer took a deep breath. "The Lord Admiral is in a meeting with Varian Wrynn and Jaina Proudmoore."

"Even better, lead the way."

"Hold," another voice interrupted.

The voice belonged to a tall and lanky man with a long moustache and short beard. The man was wearing the black regimental colours of the 7th fleet and the plumed bicorn of a high captain.

Duke Falrevere—the filth!—laughed. "Congratulations for your pardon, friend," said the pirate lord with a toothy smile.

Don't do anything stupid, Daeldric thought, reminding himself that his actions needed to be extremely smooth and graceful if he wanted his pardon to remain valid. Plus, he realised with a wicked grin, it was Falrevere that was ten times more uncomfortable for having to exchange pleasantries with the man that killed his pirate daughter.

Daeldric bowed subserviently low. "High Captain Falrevere!" he exclaimed and extended his hand for a handshake. "I see that his Grace's compassion knows no bounds. My congratulations."

Falrevere took a step forward and went for a handshake but was forced into a forearm handshake. Daeldric's grin widened, satisfied that Falrevere kept a hidden blade under the glove of his hand.

"So. Who else is in the pardon club?"

"You are a dead man walking, peasant," the pirate lord whispered.

"Kul Tiras never forgets," Daeldric whispered back. The celebration of Hordefall would be technically starting the next day but it was a fitting threat.

Unfortunately, Falrevere did not reach for his blade. He wrenched out of the firm grasp and walked away quickly. It was of no consequence, there were better ways of forcing that filth to make a deadly mistake. And Daeldric knew just the perfect place; in front of the entire senate and the Alliance.

He turned towards the dumbstruck lieutenant behind him and smiled. "Lead the way, good sir."

Jaina Proudmoore's intense nervousness reached new heights when Daeldric stepped in the chamber—a suite of two rooms that had once served as her mother's personal quarters. This is where I killed her.

The cursed room now served as Alverold's leisure room. If this was a way for her uncle to punish her for pressuring him to pardon Daeldric or him simply not realising the pain he was causing her, she did not know.

Now that he was free, Daeldric was finally wearing his highly ornamental naval uniform. As a highly decorated Lord Captain, he had been given the right to wear a special uniform that looked downright magnificent. The highest of all honours was the insignia on his shoulder head; the twin-headed eagle of the Arathi Empire protecting two crossed anchors, the heraldry of her own family. The stripes on his uniform were white, designating him as a member of the Legion of Pride—the military order of former officers that had been discharged with honours. Draped from his right shoulder to the opposing hip was the sash of the order of Neptulon. A set of a longsword and a saber were sheathed on his left hip while two gilded pistols were holstered across his sash. A curved dagger was resting at the back of his belt.

As Alverold stood next to him, the comparison between the two men was amusing. Daeldric was strong and taller with countless of decorations already from the age of twenty seven on his, objectively, less elegant uniform. Then again, to be fair, no naval officer could compare to a Knight of Neptulon. Daeldric looked like a War Hero while Alverold looked like a entitled noble.

She glanced towards Varian in an attempt to gauge his reaction. He was relaxed on his leather armchair, observing for now the Tirassian men.

"What are you doing here?" Alverold asked.

"M-my Lord," the guard that was escorting Daeldric started. "Lord Dae—"

"I wasn't talking to you," the Admiral snapped, "I was talking to him... and he is a Captain, not a Lord."

"Of c-course, I-"

"Leave us, lieutenant." When the guard left, Alverold turned towards his rival. "I assumed that you would have already left for Stromgarde."

Daeldric grunted. "Soon."

Jaina turned towards her king in an attempt to gauge his reaction at the news. She sighed when she saw the anger in his eyes. Now that Edwin VanCleef was dead, Stromgarde was the topic that angered him more than anything else; more than even peace with the Horde. "Traitors," he used to call them, Gilneas and Kul Tiras too, "the Alliance will not assist them until Galen begs for forgiveness."

It was a petty attitude that had made her realise that she would never be happy with him. She still cared about him greatly and always was there for him but they could never be anything more than friends. Not that she wished for that but… Varian could be dangerously insistent.

"You are going to let him go there?" Varian snapped to Alverold. "We agreed that Stromgarde will have no assistance until they rejoin the Alliance!"

"Daeldric is a free man that served his nation with honour," Alverold replied, "I will not stop him from assisting our Stromic brothers and sisters."

That was not the answer neither Varian nor Jaina expected to hear. Varian looked absolutely furious that the normally subservient Lord Admiral had talked back at him. As for Jaina, she was surprised that her uncle had actually supported Daeldric. Perhaps it was no surprise, Daeldric abandoning the island to die in Stromgarde was a way for Alverold to permanently get rid of his rival.

"Why do you even want to go there?" she asked.

Daeldric hesitated. "I have a personal duty to Danath Trollbane and Tandred."

Jaina raised an eyebrow. "Tandred?"

"We were planning to liberate Stromgarde," he replied. "With Tandred dead, the duty of restoring the Alliance of Lordaeron fell to me."

Varian jumped to his feet. "The Alliance already exists!"

"When a member of the Alliance does not respond to an official Call to Arms in an defensive arm, they are automatically expelled from the Alliance," Daeldric continued, "a Call to Arms was issued. Kul Tiras, Dalaran, and Khaz Modan responded instantly. Stormwind is not a member of the Alliance."

"We were preoccupied with the Defias Brotherhood."

"And we were fighting an existential threat. Regardless, this is all irrelevant now that I have lost." He turned towards Alverold. "I simply wish to collect a few of my personal belongings. I'd also like to celebrate Hordefall with your permission, your Grace."

Alverold nodded. " You may stay as long as you need. Take whatever you need from the your former quarters, Catherine has your armour with her."

"I don't need anything from my room."

"Oh?"

Daeldric walked towards one of the bookshelves at the far edge of the room, it was filled with countless arcane books that belonged to her mother. He lightly tugged one of the books and whispered a single word.

Alverold and Varian startled when the bookshelf vanished into thin air, revealing bright purple portal that depicted the faint image of some kind of room. Jaina would have been surprised too had she not recognised the common Titan word Daeldric whispered to dispel the illusion.

Daeldric took a deep breath and walked through the portal. Varian was instantly behind him with Shalamayne held firmly in his hands. Jaina and Alverold followed next.

Jaina's vision was blurry as she stepped to the other side of the portal but an unnatural sense of euphoria washed over her as mana coursed through her veins. It was an odd sensation; long range teleportation could bring even the most skilled transmuter to his or her knees. Unlike herself, the three men had dropped to their knees, ready to puke their guts out at any given moment.

After brushing her eyes to clear her vision, her eyes widened in awe. A small avian with brilliantly coloured wings that were wreathed in fire was standing atop a bird stand next to the fireplace. The phoenix cocked its head at her, considering her for a moment before inviting her over with its wing.

With the gait of an excited child about to open its present, Jaina approached the fiery bird. "Hello there," she cooed. "I'm Jaina!"

Part of her wanted to touch the creature but she kept her hands to herself in an attempt to avoid offending or scaring the proud animal. Or burning herself of course. To her surprise, the bird quickly tapped its beak on her forearm three times.

"You want to sit on me?"

The phoenix cried its approval.

Jaina shook her head. "I cannot protect myself from fire without harming you."

Fire had always been an element that Jaina avoided using. Kael'thas had taught her a large variety of fiery spells but a fire shield or a cloak of flames was beyond her abilities. She could use a frost armour or an elemental absorption shield but they were both unsuitable; frost armour would turn the phoenix into ashes while the second would have her trembling as mana was rapidly drained out of her body.

The phoenix turned its beak away from her in disapproval before leaping off the stand and disappearing in the upper levels of the tower, the fire of its feather revealing that the bookshelves extended to the very top of the tower with no discernible way to reach the upper floors without magical assistance.

"Dalaran," she decided, "we are in Dalaran."

Daeldric and Varian were back on their feet by now while Alverold was puking in the enchanted basin found next to the portal.

"How did you know?" Daeldric asked.

"This is as much my home as Kul Tiras, I can feel the aura of this place."

It was an educated guess to be precise. A mage could only know the precise location by divination or by outright enslaving the elements. In this case, the invigorating sensation arriving in this place and the perfect attunement with the ley lines could only happen in three places: the Nexus of the Blue Dragonflight, Karazhan, or Dalaran.

Varian grunted and sheathed Shalamayne. "Why did you bring us here?"

Daeldric pointed to himself mockingly. "I brought you here? I certainly did not ask you to follow me," he paused and knelt next to large chest, the only item in the room that was not of Dalarani design.

"I always wondered why Queen Calia and her daughter were in Josephine's quarters when they were murdered." Alverold grabbed a scoop of cold water and splashed it over his face. "Now I know."

Jaina narrowed her eyes on her uncle, the momentary happiness vanishing from her face. "Not only did you force me to sip coffee with you in the room that I murdered my mother. My best friend and my niece died there too? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Alverold took an instinctive step backwards and raised his hands in surrender. "It was not intentional, I swear. We cannot hide from the demons that haunt us."

She laughed bitterly. "And what demons haunt you uncle?"

"The demons of the thousands my cowardice sentenced to death due during the First War."

Jaina sighed. Alverold—Lord Captain at the time—had been tasked with the evacuation of the city of Stormwind towards the end of the First War. Driven out of fear, her uncle had ignored Anduin Lothar's orders and forced the ships to withdraw too soon. Alverold had been stripped of lands, titles, and had become a pariah to his own family. According to hushed whispers, Admiral Proudmoore had setup his brother to fail in order to promote Derek to Lord Captain. Jaina found the rumour preposterous, her father was not a vain man. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking—"

Alverold waved his hand dismissively. "It's quite alright. It is your right to judge me for my actions."

"Uncle… why are you being so nice?"

"After our previous confrontation, I felt very guilty for threatening and snapping at you. I also realised that I was in the wrong; I do not regret sentencing Daeldric but he did not deserve the fate I had in store for him."

Daeldric chuckled as he stood up, he was holding a cutlass with its scabbard. "By the Light, man… she is a known kinslayer not an idiot. In fact, a kinslayer that somehow is seen as the poster child of peace is—without a doubt—an absolute genius."

In an instant, Shalamayne was resting on his throat. "Don't you dare insult Jaina in my presence. Ever." Varian said, his voice uncharacteristically calm.

"Varian, it's f—"

"No, it most certainly not fine," he interrupted, "Apologise or lose your head."

Daeldric hesitated, knowing that the hot headed King would not hesitate to go through with his threat.

Jaina shook her head. Why do you even care? a sinister voice whispered to her, you fought for his innocence while he is running around crying wolf when he knows you are innocent.

Daeldric spat at her feet and pointed the axe head of his large urgrosh towards her. "I know who I'll be killing first, orclover."

Before she and Thrall could respond at his insult or her father's aides could laugh, Daeldric's handsome face met the plated fist of his master.

"Do not dare insult my heiress in my presence," Daelin snapped, his voice saddened as he spoke the next words, "especially not you."

Daeldric nodded and placed his mask on his proud greathelm to hide the anger and shame. Then, he removed the green mane on his greathelm and unclasped his cloak as he prepared the spearhead of urgrosh to charge Cairne Bloodhoof and placed his off-hand on one of his pistols. The legendary Halford Wyrmbane emulated the motion and prepared his two-handed blade to engage Rexxar. The elven high priestess Selaanna Lightwalker glowed bright as she grinned towards Vol'jin, chieftain of the Darkspear Tribe. The four admiralguards, whose names she did not know, also prepared for combat.

"Father please, put an end to this," she pleaded, countless tears streaming down her face, "the Horde is no longer our enemy. They—"

"You have always been naive my daughter," Daelin replied, "you aren't old enough to remember what these monsters did to our homeland. The orcs and their kin cannot be trusted! They must be exterminated like the mongrels they are! And I understand more than you suspect my dear."

"Even if this orc is twice as honourable as you claim," he continued and pointed towards Thrall, "his people are not. Their culture is one of rape and pillage; as you will find out one day, war with the orcs is inevitable."

"Admiral… we have repented for our crimes," Thrall warned.

"Can your blood atone for genocide, orc? Your Horde killed countless innocents with its rampage across Stormwind and Lordaeron. Do you really think you can just sweep all that away and cast aside your guilt so easily? No, your kind will never change, and I will never stop fighting you." Daelin drew his blade.

"At least spare you men of your stupid pride!" Jaina cried out, searching for any excuse to dissuade him from fighting. They were outnumbered three to one with countless more orcs outside the throne chamber but nobody cared.

Daelin chuckled, bitterly. "You fear death too much, my sweet little girl. I will not order them to draw their blades but, unlike you, I will not insult them by ordering them to stand down."

"Death to the Blackbloods!"

"Death!" the rest of his loyal subjects snapped as they charged into the enemy line and smell of gunpowder filled the room.

Jaina smiled softly towards Daeldric. She could not save her father and brother but she would be damned if she did not try to protect their friend. "Just do it," her eyes begged.

Daeldric sighed as he looked at her. "If I misunderstood the events in Theramore, I humbly apologise. As for you, your Majesty, the next time you draw your blade against me, either you will kill me or I will kill you and be executed for regicide."

Varian nodded a couple of time, satisfied, very satisfied. "I always assumed that you were like the rest of the nobles but I was wrong. You have a spine made of steel."

"That tends to be the case when commoners are granted noble titles."

The King continued nodding, completely agreeing with the statement. "I will be retiring to my quarters, we will continue our conversation when Argent Crusade arrives," he told Alverold and Jaina before vanishing in the portal.

"The Argent Crusade?" Daeldric asked.

"Tirion Fordring merged the Silver Hand and the Argent Dawn," Jaina explained.

"Why the hell would Benedictus approve of that traitor assuming command of the Silver Hand?"

Alverold shrugged. "When he touched the Corrupted Ashbringer, the blade was instantly cleansed and accepted him as its wielder."

A look of pure terror settled on Daeldric's scarred face. He paced around the room quickly. "No, no, no… it's not possible, he was excommunicated! I was there, I saw it myself. No, no, NO! This can't be happening!"

Jaina walked close to him swiftly, stopping him in his track. She tried to offer a comforting hand but he roughly pushed her off him.

"I'm fine," he snapped and rushed for the portal.

"Dae—"

Out of nowhere, the phoenix soared downwards and settled on the couch in front of the fireplace. It was holding some kind of collar ribbon. The violet collar's clasp was a large "O" with a phoenix in the middle looking upwards, it's two wings and its tails connecting to the circle. The colour and texture of the clasp was the smouldering red of melted metal, live fire coursed throughout the metal.

Jaina walked nearby. "For me?"

Cautiously, she reached for the amulet. Fire may have been flowing through the collar but it was barely warm at all. It was a fire protection item, a method to touch the phoenix without getting burnt.

As she clasped it around her neck with the decorative phoenix visible at the front, she felt a very sharp pain in her mind. This is not my mother's pet, she thought, it is a familiar. And now the phoenix had forced itself into servitude with a new mistress.

"Are you sure about this?" she said.

The bird agreed via their mental connection and settled on her lap.

"Of course you do. You poor thing… you must have been so lonely without my mother."

As Jaina stood up, the phoenix perched on her shoulder. "Come," she said, "We will explore the entire world together."

A/N: I apologise for taking so long to release a chapter but I have a project to deliver in a few weeks, significantly limiting my time. I hope the story is still enjoyable and that you do not my portrayal of Varian and the SI:7.

Next two-three chapters will have significant romance developments with M-rated scene and we will be leaving towards Northrend soon. Too many OCs in Kul Tiras :P

UPDATE: I AM CURRENTLY REWRITING THIS STORY with an extensive plot-plan (had none before and fell into plot traps) without having to introduce a billion OCs in Kul Tiras. My apologies to all the readers/reviewers but I think it will be for the best. Jaina deserves the best story possible!