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“You cannot possibly be in agreement to this tryst?” Kael’thas asked, shutting his book at the spine with one hand and shooting his friend an incredulous look. “I took you for having better things to do, Rommath.”
The grand magister burst out laughing, nearly choking on his wine. “A tryst, is it? By the Sun, if I knew you any better, it’s that you are ever so critical.” He cleared his throat. Kael’thas could see a shine of conspiracy in his friend’s eyes, a flash that failed to lift his suspicions. “The Regent Lord specifically told you this was a matter of ‘strengthening bonds’ with the Nightborne. After all, it is rude of us to turn our new allies away after all we’ve done for them. We share a common perspective.” He deepened his voice at the last sentence, and Kael’thas knew exactly that he referred to the elves’ shared struggles, both the invasion of the Burning Legion and the leaders that sought to usher them into the world. Corrupted was he. It was several years ago, yet a singular moment that touched him like a ghost. His people might have seen him in a more favorable light since his recent aid on Argus, but the aid did little to assuage his guilt. He could hear the deceased Kil’jaeden echoing in his head. That deceiving bastard is gone, he repeated over food and drink, while in his bed at night, over paperwork. Kil’jaeden is dead.
“Besides,” Rommath said, stirring Kael out of his reverie. “So, what if it is a tryst? You could definitely use some comfort, some relaxation away from this cramped study of yours, and I—” He stared down into the empty contents of his glass. “I dismissed the notion before, but I believe I finally have half a mind to attempt their arcwine.”
Kael’thas ignored the suggestion. “Perhaps Lor’themar is a better candidate.”
“Don’t be a fool. You are the figure in question. Why wouldn’t anyone be more curious of someone who was long thought dead? You practically ooze with mystery, Kael. The Nightborne, what with their astromancers prattling about stars and the void, are intrigued by this.”
“I am hardly worth anyone’s time. Now, if you will excuse me, this letter requires my undivided attention,” Kael’thas said. He took an envelope from the tray and waved Rommath away.
Rommath snorted. “How ironic. I will inform the regent lord of your decision.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“I will walk, but your generosity is appreciated nonetheless,” Kael’thas said, taking an elegant bow before the palanquin bearers that offered him a ride into Suramar. Flanked by his personal guards, the blood elven prince of Quel’Thalas, Kael’thas followed behind them. Such a gregarious method of transportation, he thought. The act of four laborers carrying an individual of high status was simply unheard of in his homeland, unnecessary even, but he could respect the gesture.
“Satisfied, are you?” It was the first time Kael’thas had said anything since the journey to the Broken Isles. He kept his eyes on the path ahead of them, careful not to look his companion in the eyes. By the way Rommath snickered under his breath, Kael’thas could tell a smile broadened behind that sly mask.
“Indeed. I am more than happy to see how the prince takes his own affairs,” Rommath said. “I trust you will make quite an impression on the nobles here, as per your stiff nature and moodiness. Trust me, I am the best man to accommodate you on such journeys.”
A muscle behind Kael’s eye twitched. What affairs? As far as he was concerned, this “dating” service was a contrived concept at best. He had never gone to one himself, yet he had heard of some of his own kin as well as humans (some former friends of his) and even dwarves partake in the activity. He hated the idea of spending five miniscule minutes with multiple people. Multiple people. He felt dirty at the thought of it. It was like picking from a ranger of potential brides all over again. Like, clothing to be worn and tossed aside. And the small talk about what exactly? Only the bare minimum one is required to know a person. They were nothing short of unique. If he could not spend hours and hours engaged in deep conversation with someone, he would much rather spend them behind books; the substantial text never ceased to captivate him.
As they drew near the gates to the city, Kael’thas felt the immediate surge of arcane energies. So natural and powerful were the minor leylines all around the land of the shal’dorei. He could sense each of their locations even without having to search for them. While a fledging student himself at Dalaran, he had once read mentions of the elves’ city, lost below the currents at the time of the Sundering. And now he was visiting it for the first time. He felt his sour mood lift a bit, and it left him wondering why he was even bitter at all. He was always curious to learn about other people and how they lived, always looking for insight into how their minds worked. Just the sheer magic of this place stimulated his senses enough. Clearly Lor’themar had played this out to be a social get-together rather than one of diplomacy and approval of alcoholic importation.
Kael’thas sighed. He was in no mood for romantic outings.
“Aran’arcana, Grand Magister. I am pleased to see your kind once more,” First Arcanist Thalyssra turned to greet Kael’thas, a look of mild surprise on her face. “And you must be Prince Kael’thas Sunstrider. It a pleasure to finally meet you. Welcome to the Twilight Vineyards.” She introduced them to Vintner Illtheux and flipped two coins to the tall Nightborne, who examined the dusk lilies imprinted on the “tickets” to the event.
Vintner Illtheux remained straight-faced with a neutral tone in his voice that Kael’thas could strangely tell mingled with a mildness of excitement. “Ah, so it seems the leaders of the sin’dorei seek to extend more than just their allegiance with us. Splendid.”
What?
Before Kael’thas could retort, Vintner Illtheux showed him to his table of wines. “May I interest you in any assortments of wine, Prince Kael’thas?”
He stared at the bottles. Yes, he supposed he could do with a glass to help settle his nerves. “Shadowberry sounds rather interesting.”
“I’m afraid I’ll have the sparkling cider,” Rommath said. “One needs a sober mind in case his friend makes an embarrassing fool out of himself.”
Kael’thas glared at him.
“Fine choices,” Illtheux said. “Let me get them made for you. There you are.”
Kael’thas thanked him and turned to find the moderator responsible for the event. As he did so, he noticed other members of the Horde joining in. Some familiar, some new. Some excited, some not as thrilled.
“How interesting. Aethas Sunreaver is here,” Rommath snorted, taking a sip of wine. “Seeking to clear his shame after his apprentice found him in a harpy’s nest without his clothes, perhaps. My Seeker of Wisdom, Esara Verrinde, tells me much on her… travels.”
Kael’thas ignored him and reached for a score card from the moderator, whose heavy lisp intermingled with the smell of wine. She told him to stand alongside the other men and before he lost his friend in the crowd, he caught Rommath smirk and raise his glass to him. Good luck, indeed. By now, he would rather have been in the company of other quiet people than that of Rommath right now, whose bluntness did little to make him comfortable. His only solace was that the elf would not be paying attention to his situation but instead, visiting Oculeth and Valtrois, the other Nightborne leaders. For all the years they knew one another, Rommath at least knew when to back off.
The moderator rang a silver bell, and Kael’thas followed the men, who branched off at a single table around the circular threshold. For every five minutes, the applicants would meet one another. The bell would sound, and the cycle would repeat. By the third applicant, Kael’thas was already exhausted. He certainly had enough of Dark Ranger Velonara’s melancholic speeches about how no one can reach her “dead and cold heart” while she tore at black rose petals in her hand—and that she would most definitely tell Sylvanas Windrunner she saw him here. What did he care about how the Warchief thought of him? She, too, was a memory forgone. The second applicant, the honorable Mayla Highmountain, had come for stories from other members of the Horde, especially those of the tauren led by Baine Bloodhoof. Her company started out awkward, but it became more welcoming as the session went on. Her final hope was that he would find a companion he would always feel comfortable with. In truth, Kael’thas had one certain person—one of the world’s powerful human sorceresses—and she had weighed on his mind a great deal. The only thing to pull him out of it was the striking of the bell to force him out of the table and onto that next applicant, who was none other than—
“Oh, it is you,” he said with disdain.
Elisande chuckled, dragging a rose across her mouth and placing it into the vase at the edge of the table. “Well, isn’t this exciting?” she said as he sat down. Not taking her eyes off him, she clapped loudly for the attendant. “Another wine for your queen, please!”
Kael’thas fumbled for the words. He kept his face carefully composed, save for a mild crease in between his eyebrows. He finally cleared his throat. “Apologies, Grand Magistrix. It’s just that I hardly expected—”
“To see me in-person? After your people helped ransack my city and foil my plans for my own’s salvation? No, no. I foresaw my failings. The Burning Legion would see my people enslaved and starved if cast in the hands of Gul’dan. Tell me, Sunstrider. Did you say the same with your last breath?”
No, I did not. Only a minute in, and the woman already proved to be quite condescending. Of course, he did not. He cast his own people in with the Legion. He squinted his eyes hard. “No.”
“Dear me, where are my manners?” she asked, placing her hand on her chest. “Allow me to properly introduce myself. I am the mistress of time. I could manipulate it, so that we have all the time in the world to tell one another our darkest secrets.”
A wily seducer, he supposed, willing to play at this service. He sighed. Although Kael’thas did not participate in the Suramar rebellion, he still heard reports from both his authorities, especially Rommath, as well as from the Nightborne about Elisande. Just as they described. Elisande was still anticipating his answer when she sipped on her new glass of arcwine, the gold in her eyes never leaving his. She was seeking a challenge. He was going to have to get more creative. Now he determined to use strategy to turn the topic of discussion back around. “I have… heard that the ancient Nightborne—and Highborne—prided themselves on immortality. Alas, you are speaking to the wrong Sunstrider. Such a trait more closely befits Dath’Remar.
“Dath’Remar was both a fool and a bold man. Your ancestors started the war and helped Queen Azshara in her bid for power. He defected all too late. I only speak now to one of his more foolish descendants.”
“And yet he possessed more wisdom than his own followers could estimate. He is still remembered for his very deeds, sacrifices, and heroic ventures. If I’m so foolish, what difference is there between the sin’dorei and shal’dorei but the same Highborne ancestry?”
Elisande looked up from her fingernails and yawned. “Bloodlines, transformations, it’s all the same boring, irrelevant nonsense. Our beauty remains, yours simply devolved. Time can be so cruel to the younger generations.”
“Beauty is subjective,” Kael’thas said. He took a moment to glance at her as he sipped his wine. This sect of Highborne, he remembered reading in historical texts as a student, had transformed into the Nightborne through the power of their Nightwell. Over ten thousand years, they knew nothing but their own kind—isolated themselves in fear of a second Sundering. He understood the decision, but isolation warped her perceptions of others, much like it did his father. Kael’thas had his own prejudices, but he was much more open, had even made friends with other races. What had this woman done but make enemies and rebels? Yet he also had done the same, defectors and people who revealed his misguided allegiances. And he was so afraid, so distraught that he had become the very thing they hated. Paranoia had set within him as deep as the fel infecting his veins.
“Your pride is fleeting, Prince Kael’thas,” Elisande said, snapping him out of his reverie. She leaned back comfortably in her chair, examining him just as much. “Such sadness.”
“And yours is quite grandiose.”
“You pay me a flattering compliment. Pray do tell,” she said, wiggling in her seat with her elbow tucked in her other arm as she wrapped it around her form. She proceeded to tug at the leaf of an overhanging tree, its light bursting into small magical energies. “How does the prince of the sin’dorei find my city? I’m afraid asking your lackey over there will grant me a different answer seeing as how he’s ransacked the Nighthold to bits.”
He saw Rommath across from him in the distance speaking with Oculeth and Valtrois, chatting over refreshments with a bard playing the lute. The black-haired elf caught sight of him and raised his glass in acknowledgment. Kael’thas faced Elisande again. “Well, Suramar is quite unlike any other place into which I’ve stepped foot.” Her eyes brightened, and a blush colored her grin. He smirked and sipped his wine. “Not even our ancient homeland of Quel’Thalas lay sunken into the depths. Now that it’s been raised, I can see how such aesthetic appeal would render the Legion upon your doorstep, and you allowed them in.”
Deep-seated anger welled on her face, and a sturdy hand shattered the glass, liquid splashing down her hand. She shook it. “Servant, my handcloth!” She received one at once and wiped down her arm, groaning through gritted teeth. “You understand nothing. I was given an ultimatum! Lower the barrier and be spared. Refuse, and be destroyed.”
“I was offered a similar solution,” he said, almost hissing. “But even before I lost all sanity to fel magic, I would never have allowed my people to fall before the Legion. They were facing more suffering than they needed. My ‘lackey’ can certainly attest to this.” He saw her open her mouth. “Ah, you were clear of mind. You placed your trust in them all too easily. At least I refused until I had no choice, until the fel overtook my mind.”
“I, too, had no choice! I scryed into every possible thread of time,” Elisande retorted. “I foresaw my people surviving. You weren’t born when I made such a difficult decision, little one.”
“A prophetess, are you? One who failed to see how the Legion could warp your threads of time. Yes, I admit my wrongdoings. What about you? You killed a young girl, right here in the very place we are holding this event. Your very presence taints these grounds.”
Elisande threw her hands on the table and stood up. “You are a naïve, foolish little boy who would allow his people to mingle with these degenerates and mongrels.”
Kael’thas stayed sitting. “They aided the Nightborne, Grand Magistrix. Surely, they at least deserve your gratitude.”
The bell rang. Sweet release.
“Hmph, you’re so clever, Prince Kael’thas. I should be honored to have you join my concubines in my personal quarters, but you’re nothing but an arrogant sod. You’ll only insult them and spoil their fun.”
Kael’thas shook his head. “Truly. It has been a pleasure.” He stood up and leaned in, whispering. “I’ve no interest in your tryst, only in the interests of my people. Like it or not, yours are now in safer hands.” He took up his glass of wine and proceeded to the next applicant.
By day’s end, the score cards had been tallied. The only applicant who seemed interested in him was Dark Ranger Velonara, if only to invite him to be the target of Sylvanas’ mocking laughter and interrogation. He threw the card away.
“Their arcwine is bitter,” Rommath said, disposing his drink of cider. “Why drink their well’s energies? I stand by my dismissal. However, I have heard from several of the laborers here that this event was held in memory of the manager, Margaux, that Elisande had executed. They say she would have loved to have hosted one. A pity.”
“Indeed.” He then saw Rommath’s expression flash in eager anticipation at him.
“… I’ve no one compatible if that is what you are wondering.”
“The Grand Magistrix gained a rather full audience.”
“An unpleasant one, at that,” he said, placing his wine glass on the attendant’s tray. “Tell Lor’themar never to send me to one of these services again. Next time, it shall be a gathering of professionalism and diplomacy.”