I don't have much to say about this chapter, so I'll leave it short and simple: thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy.

Take it easy, and I'll see you next week.


The audience with the king of Stormwind amounted to little more than an awkward luncheon for Sythius, who knew nothing of courts and lords and official happenings. Sylvanne talked animatedly, though respectfully, about the goings-on in Darnassus, the new kaldorei capital; if he had paid more attention to the subtext of the conversation, the druid might have understood that the young priestess was attempting—oh, so subtly—to ask for the good king's assistance. The city, winding round the new World Tree of Teldrassil, was growing too quickly for its resources, and the elves were too proud to ask their allies for help. Sylvanne, though, was young; she was part of a new generation, and unafraid of humility.

For his part, young Anduin Wrynn seemed most interested in this new city, and seemed thoroughly behind providing whatever help he or his people could provide. Lord Fordragon urged his young monarch to be more frugal; Lady Prestor outright denied Stormwind's ability to tender aid.

Sythius was not so deep a thinker to understand what it was that he felt from this woman, who was apparently a highly-trusted advisor to the crown. But he did not trust her, and was not tactful enough to hide his displeasure.

Big Olrec managed to pass this off as simple nerves. "Lad's nae use'ter grand halls 'n mighty people," he said, chuckling; though he sent a meaningful look at Fordragon as though warning him to steer the conversation elsewhere. "Born fighter, 'e is. Ain't 'e, Milady Sil'nathin?"

Sylvanne nodded. "Yes. Brother has always been one to speak with his actions. From what I hear from you, Master Stoutfeather, he has proven quite the asset to the Argent Dawn. Is he not?"

"Indeed." The old dwarf stood up as though preparing to make a speech. "Which is why I thought it'd do well for 'im to show 'is face to Yer Majesty," he said to the boy king. "This man here mightn't be one for court formalities, but 'e's one o' the finest soldiers I've e'er worked with. What stands afore ye is a hero in the makin', mark me words."

Sythius bowed his head with such honest humility that his previous rudeness was swiped from the table, so far as King Wrynn was concerned. He beamed at the druid and thanked him profusely for putting his life in defense of the people, and facing such horrors as the undead. The big elf blushed slightly, and his signature grin spread on his lips.

It was clear to all at table that Lady Prestor was not so forgiving. Nonetheless, nothing more was said on the matter. Sylvanne, sensing the other woman's reluctance to offer anything in response to her requests, steered attention masterfully away from the subject and managed to set everyone right again.

"The welcome that I and my companions have received in your fair city has been most gracious," Sylvanne said. "I must apologize for my adjutant's absence. Kayli is performing a task of utmost importance to my brother and myself. I should like to thank you, however, for the hospitality you have shown her. She was most pleased by it, and quite flustered."

Anduin smiled. "It is not often that our kaldorei allies visit the city. The honor is mine, to have followers of Elune in my city. I'm also very pleased to have met you, as well, Master Stoutfeather, and you, Master Sil'nathin."

"Feel free 'n clear ter call me Olrec," said the dwarf, chuckling.

"Sythius," the druid added, nodding in agreement.

Formalities and pleasantries continued, until the three companions were dismissed from the king's chamber. They left with their heads held high, secure in the knowledge that Stormwind had accepted them, and made a pleasant trek back to the Gilded Rose.

Night was falling, and the torches were being lit. Light licked and danced about their faces. The atmosphere was bright, cool, and accommodating. Perhaps it was for this reason that Olrec felt his nerves suddenly start to sing as he stepped into the inn. He'd spent so long in the Plaguelands that no pleasant feeling ever lasted long; there was always something tickling at the back of his mind, telling him that fair fortune always ran short, and there was always something about which to despair.

The old dwarf tried his best not to succumb to such depressions when they struck him, but he was never able to fully shake them. Indeed, the longer he fought such feelings, the stronger they became. Like a disease.

Or a plague.

Sylvanne, of course, had her youth and her faith to sustain her, and her smile was not nearly so jaded. And Sythius…well, he thought too simply to be affected by such doubts. The druid's emotions were of a kind with summer breezes and blooming flowers: they were swift, vibrant, far-reaching, honest…and delicate.

Olrec didn't say anything about his dark thoughts as they climbed the stairs. Nonetheless, he had a hand on one of his hammers as they approached the room where Kin and Kayli were staying, and when the young elf-maid came out looking pale and distraught, not to mention terrified, he was positive she was about to tell them that the poor boy was dead.

As it turned out, what she did have to tell them was even worse.

She said, quietly and shakily, as though she were dreaming and unable to wake;

"…He's turning."