flower of Betrayal - Near completely changed (read all)-New Vizard

Lor'themar stared at the letter upon his desk. The envelope's broken seal glinted strangely and seemed somehow to reflect his gaze through its deep violet wax. He sighed and lifted the parchment again, ignoring the ridiculous introduction and scripted lettering meant to flatter. It was upon the second page, subtly cached within a number of meandering sentences, that Aethas Sunreaver had announced his visit.

It was phrased nonchalantly, but Lor'themar now had seven years of practice in these matters and had become quite good at teasing apart such political communications. Halduron had been unimpressed. "Not even a request," his old friend and colleague had said, scowling. "He's just decided to show up, has he?"

What Halduron had not known was that Aethas had, in fact, requested audience with the regent lord several times over many months, and, uneager to confront him, Lor'themar had deliberately ignored his pleas. More recently there had been a good excuse, but Lor'themar still physically winced to think upon the events that had transpired at Quel'Danas. They, and their consequences, were still far too near.

He let the page fall back onto his desktop. Aethas had bad timing; Lor'themar had planned on traveling the day after the archmage would arrive, and he doubted he would feel compelled to postpone his original plans. That was Aethas' loss.

Lor'themar sighed. The parchment slid through his fingers as once had the long wooden shafts of Farstrider arrows. He had a good idea of what Aethas was going to ask when he arrived, and he still did not know how he wanted to answer.

Days later he stood among the red-and-gold draping in the front court of Sunfury Spire, Halduron and Rommath flanking him on either side. On his way down Halduron had stopped him, proffering a small bundle of soft crimson wool. Taking it, Lor'themar had held it up as it unraveled, beholding a regal golden phoenix upon its bloody red field: the Sunstrider tabard.

"No," he said curtly, shoving the garment back at his friend.

"You should wear it," Halduron pressed. "You are in charge, you know."

"I am the regent lord," he answered, striding forward. "Not the king."

"You may as well be," Halduron called after him. "There is no one else to take your place."

Lor'themar did not look back. The truth of Halduron's words nipped at his heels, sharp and unrelenting, as the ranger-general followed him to court.

For now, at least, Lor'themar clothed himself in the green of the Farstriders. Once Rommath would have protested and cited it unseemly for the regent to show favor toward one branch of the Thalassian leadership versus another. These days the fight had drained from the grand magister, pooling away in little eddies that left him hollow. Even now he stared vacantly into the hall, leaning so heavily onto his staff that Lor'themar could almost see him tremble as though he stood on a sheet of ice. For all the thorn in his side that Rommath had often been, Lor'themar could only find pity within his heart for the ailing mage. Kael'thas' final betrayal had left Rommath the most cold and barren of all.

The air in front of them shimmered, flashing violet—the unmistakable mark of magic. A moment later a swirling, bluish gate appeared, hovering impressively above the hall's pale ceramic tile. Aethas materialized through it, stumbling clumsily as he stepped into sight, his own awkward mannerism tarnishing the regality of his spell.

He regained his composure quickly, sweeping his robes around him as he straightened. Lor'themar could not help but notice how silly he looked; the elegant rich purple mageweave of the Kirin Tor clashed horribly with his coppery hair and refused to drape properly across his slender frame, making him seem like some small child playing at filling a grown man's place. Lor'themar only thought briefly of whose place that had been before he remembered and, shrinking from the memory, violently drowned the thought in his mind.

"Welcome home, Archmage Sunreaver," he announced, and he could still surprise himself at the skill with which he portrayed authority.
Aethas flashed a nervous smile and seemed even more absurdly young than before. "Thank you, Lord Theron," he answered, bowing graciously. "Would that I were returning to stay."

"Of course," Lor'themar replied, arranging his face to appear distant. "Your correspondence has familiarized me with the intent of your visit. Come this way; my advisors and I will hear your appeal."

Ordinarily Lor'themar would have led them all to the stately meeting hall at the north end of the palace: a chamber decked in cerulean and jade overlooking the sea. This day, though, shone clear and sharp as a shard of glass, and through the colonnade the isle would be visible across the channel. To avoid looking at it, Lor'themar seated them all in an alcove to the east of the main court, facing instead the tiled and sun-shadowed rooftops of Silvermoon City.

Aethas started without a moment's hesitation.

"I am here on matters of utmost importance—ones that concern us all. I am quite sure you are aware of the growing threat in Northrend. The Kirin Tor wish to address it."

"Arthas has always been a threat," Halduron interjected evenly. "Why come to us now?"

Aethas shook his head. "It's not only Arthas, anymore," he said. "It's Malygos as well. Krasus—Korialstrasz—has informed us of Malygos' intent to end all mortals' use of magic, once and for all."

"And the Spell-Weaver would do that in what manner?" Lor'themar asked.

"By killing us all."

"I see," Lor'themar answered, sitting back into his chair. Seven years he had dealt with naught but death. Aethas' words lacked impact.

"The Kirin Tor oppose him," Aethas added.

"Naturally," Lor'themar replied.

"I want to formalize our involvement with the Kirin Tor," Aethas stated firmly. "Many members of the Kirin Tor would consider it not only prudent, but imperative, that the magi of Quel'Thalas and the Violet Citadel again work side by side, as we have for many years in the past."

"No."

Aethas' irritation shone plain on his face, a scowl deepening at the corners of his mouth and between his brows. The voice of dissent had not been Lor'themar's. Turning to the speaker, he said, "I asked the regent lord. Not the grand magister."

Rommath laughed, a low, bitter sound that rattled and shook in a mouth unused to mirth. "Well then," he answered; his voice was sharp with acrimony. Its sudden keen edge put Lor'themar on his guard. "Let the regent lord deign that I am fit to speak."

"I daresay we shall hear your opinion eventually in any case," Lor'themar said, schooling his wry tones as best he could. "It may as well be now."

Rommath's eyes glinted, brilliant chips of jade, even in the well-lit room that should have dimmed their glow. "I daresay you are not wrong, Lor'themar," he replied, never shifting his gaze from Aethas' face. His voice recalled, to Lor'themar, a coiled snake in the grass: low and fierce and merciless.

"Tell me, Archmage," Rommath began, "did Modera send you with a statement before you left? Your words drip of her false diplomacy. At least she dares not set foot here herself. She has that much of sense, I see."

"Modera agrees with me on these matters, yes," Aethas answered stiffly, thankfully wise enough not to rise to Rommath's bait.

"She agrees with you," Rommath mused, "or, rather, you agree with her, for I doubt they would send you here to speak on their behalf had you half a mind of your own."

"Damn it, Rommath." Aethas' patience snapped. "Do you have any useful criticisms to voice, or are you content to sit and insult me?"

"You are blind," Rommath replied evenly, assuredly. "They fear to face both Malygos and Arthas, and rightly so. They seek aid beyond their own capacity—and to whom have they always turned regarding matters of the arcane? Oh yes, to us. The humans of the Kirin Tor will swear up and down that you are indispensable to them, that your skills are invaluable. The moment you become inconvenient, you will be discarded." He cocked his head to the side, one long ear twitching almost imperceptibly as his eyes slid first to Halduron, then to Lor'themar. "Ask them. They know. But not as well as I."

Aethas stared blankly back at Rommath. "Quel'Thalas and the Kirin Tor have been allied for nearly two thousand years," he said. "Since we joined formally with the Horde, things have been strained, but—"

Rommath laughed again, loudly this time, mocking peals that rolled like angry waves on a stormy sea: sharp-peaked and cold.

"Since we joined the Horde," he repeated. "Oh yes, of course. And do you, Archmage Sunreaver, remember exactly why we were forced into such a pact?"

Aethas did not answer, but looked Rommath straight in the eye, unflinching.

"A false accusation," began the grand magister, "and a monumental betrayal." His eyes glittered with seething anger that nearly a decade had failed to quell. "In Dalaran," he continued, "beneath the ever-watchful Violet Eye."

"The Kirin Tor had nothing to do with—"

"I assume you mean," Rommath interrupted, "that the Kirin Tor did nothing. Did nothing to prevent it, did nothing to stop it. And instead," his voice began to rise, "left us to rot in the prisons beneath a city many of us called home as much as ever we did Silvermoon. A city our own crown prince had served as faithfully as his own homeland for longer than a human lifetime. A city we fought and died for, and at the request of the Kirin Tor. A city within whose walls they would have watched, in silence, as we all swung from a hangman's noose. Their city."

"The Kirin Tor find themselves under new leadership," Aethas answered, and Lor'themar felt that his controlled tone spoke well of the young archmage.

"That is a lie, and you know it," Rommath replied. "Rhonin Redhair may be their figurehead, but Modera and Ansirem remain on the Council. These are the same people who happily turned their eyes away when Garithos sentenced us to death. They can all rot in hell." He laughed cruelly. "At least Arugal suffered a deserving fate."

"For someone who claims to care so little, you seem to be rather well informed, Grand Magister," Aethas said.

"Which would be one of the reasons I am the grand magister of Quel'Thalas, and you are not, I would think," Rommath retorted. "And as grand magister I will tell you this: I will never send my magi to service in the name of the Violet Citadel. If you want official support in Northrend, Archmage, you will have to convince the regent lord to overrule me."

Lor'themar's fingers twitched against the smooth table top as his mouth hardened. Rommath had walked a thin line, and overstepped it.

"That is enough, Rommath," he said coolly. "You do not possess the authority to issue such ultimatums. It will be my decision whether to send our forces to Northrend—and if I so choose, you and your magi will follow orders.

"Now," he said, standing, "it is clear that to continue this will result in nothing more than petty bickering, and by all means, if the two of you wish to go on in such a manner, feel free. I, however, do not care to waste any more of my time. I would hazard the ranger-general feels similarly.

"I have business in the south," he continued, "and I had planned on leaving tomorrow. I do not think I shall disrupt those plans. You are welcome to stay, Archmage, but I may be gone a number of days."

Aethas did not reply, but he was not such a skilled diplomat as to successfully mask his irritation; it shone through in his face clear as a clarion call. Lor'themar was more than content to let him be upset. He turned to leave.

"There are those who will go to Dalaran whether you will it or not, Regent Lord," Aethas' voice called out across the room. Lor'themar paused and turned to face him as he continued. "Give me at least the blessing to speak on behalf of the regency of Silvermoon, and I will see to it that the interests of the sin'dorei are protected."

Rommath snorted in response, but thankfully said nothing. For a moment Lor'themar considered Aethas, but the younger elf was in no position to bargain. They all knew well that Aethas' skills in statesmanship were far outclassed by the other men in the room.

"I shall have a servant show you to your quarters, Archmage," Lor'themar said.

Aethas went graciously enough, sparing one or two black looks in Rommath's direction. The grand magister appeared resolute, implacable as a mountain, but Lor'themar could see the sway in his step, the lines of exhaustion that resettled heavily upon his face the moment Aethas was beyond sight. Carefully he noted Rommath's fragility; his will could be bent.
Once, in the past, Lor'themar would have called it ignoble to even consider using such a thing against another. Now he recognized its necessity.

Alone now he sat by the window in his office, a place in which he spent more time these days than his own home, and recounted the afternoon's debates in his mind. Absently he twisted a long roll of the curtain between his hands as he stared across the Spire's gardens, hearing Aethas' determined voice in his head. There are those who will go to Dalaran whether you will it or not. Lor'themar could not deny that truth, but privately he agreed with Rommath's disdain. How could he trust Aethas to faithfully represent Quel'Thalas when he already cloaked himself in the dress of the Kirin Tor and used their stamps upon his correspondence? Aethas was committed to these Nexus Wars; that much was clear. How many others would he convince to follow him? And how far was he, as regent lord, obliged to protect his people when they forged into ambiguous territory?