#☼ unholy alliances ( v. outland )

[cloakoflame]

tag dump

[cloakoflame]

shoresofacheron​:

@cloakoflame ❤︎'d for a starter ( sylvanas )

ROMMATH HAD RETURNED TO SILVERMOON WITH A SOLUTION THAT WAS ENTIRELY UNACCEPTABLE.

Sylvanas would not see her people bound to fel influences, she would not aid in the deliverance of the quel’dorei straight into the hands of demons. Unlike others that would so happily indulge the Prince and his lackeys with their half-baked ideas, Sylvanas would not.

She was Regent-Lord, and she’d used her station to override the Herald.

Ranger-General Lor’themar and she had quite the discussion about how denying the Herald of the Sun King was treason. Sylvanas didn’t necessarily disagree, though she wasn’t defying Rommath or even Kael’thas by extension for some sort of dramatic political gain or revolution.

She was doing it to keep her people safe.

She was also doing it to lure the prince back to Azeroth. She’d ordered Rommath return to Kael’thas and tell him that Sylvanas had refused the directive. She’d done that a few months ago, and it’d come to her attention that Kael’thas and his royal guard had been spotted entering Quel’thalas.

So Sylvanas had done what any Regent-Lord would do.

She’d sent her farstriders to ‘escort’ Kael’thas to Silvermoon directly, while also ensuring none of his followers tried to spread the horrific solution he’d been gifted by a wanted fugitive.

Quel’dorei relations with the kaldorei were strained at best. The last thing Sylvanas wanted was to anger potential allies. The kingdom was tired of war, and facing the Scourge that still remained – they did not have the resources.

She waited in the throne room of the palace. Once a grand hall that gleamed with magical prowess and the glory that the quel’dorei basked in… it was in shambles now. Destroyed by Arthas and the Scourge.

The throne itself was once gold and red, the back resembling the wings of a phoenix, while the arms ended in gilded eagles.

Now it was tarnished, the back was broken, and there was no regal shine.

Sylvanas stood next to it, regarding it with curious scrutiny.

For a moment, she thought she should have left Kael’thas in whatever hellscape he’d run away too…

Perhaps the quel’dorei needed a queen.

The thought was banished with a harshness true treason deserved. She’d already undermined Kael’thas in that the majority of the people called themselves the High Elves. She’d purged the blood elf notion from the populace with clever propaganda and manipulation.

She needn’t steal the throne completely.

The doors to the hall opened, and in strode her rangers, flanking the long lost prince.

“Your Highness,” she saluted him, but did not bow her head as she once would. And she did not hide the impish edge to her tone as she spoke. “Welcome back to Quel’thalas.”

As the rangers left, she did not descend the steps to the hall floor. She kept herself purposefully on a higher station.

She gestured to the decrepit chamber. Ruined carpet leading to the broken throne, banners torn and burn, and precious tapestries that’d once told the tale of the Sunstrider lineage destroyed.

Save one by pure chance, which happened to be of the prince himself. It’d survived the Scourge, and Sylvanas ensured it was prominently displayed.

“Welcome home.”

(Trigger Warning: Paranoia)

What was the meaning of this? In between Outland and Silvermoon, Kael’thas had ample time to consider his own question, yet no suitable answer came to mind. He shrugged off the rangers as they flanked him, gladdened in part by Windrunner’s prompt decision to dismiss them at once. Her lackeys needed not hear the displeasure in their prince’s voice. He met Sylvanas’s gaze, a slight mark of disapproval curling his lips in realization that she had not drunk from the blood of demons as instructed. Come to think of it, none of her rangers did either.

Now the Regent Lord had the audacity to welcome her prince home as if anything more dire than Outland happened here. If she hadn’t refused Rommath’s directives, she would not have needed additional aid. Green eyes narrowed at Windrunner, beckoning him to the throne where he would command armies, where he would rule the kingdom. 

Amongst the charred remnants of banners and tapestries hung the royal portrait of the prince. The face of a man he barely recognized, crimson crown upon a head of spun gold and regal garments fit for the crown prince of Quel’Thalas. Compared to the lively look in the prince’s countenance, the shining cerulean eyes of his family, and the fair complexion, Kael’thas caught a small reflection of the man standing now in the empty space of the portrait’s corner. Sickly, green eyes gave off an unhealthy glow and complemented the gaunt, rock-like face of the man he became.

He sighed in annoyance. What did Windrunner hope to accomplish with flaunting the portrait of a man so weak, so fallible? Too trusting for his own good? He turned from her to see the imposing figure of his father on the throne, flanked by the elderly elven lords of the destroyed Convocation, angry eyes asking how dare he show his face here, and with nothing to show for it? 

My prodigal son, how far you’ve fallen...

The sun broke through the aperture of the ceiling to glisten upon the portrait of the one named Sunstrider, the one who promised salvation for his people. So perfectly aligned.

And it hurt to watch, his failures crumbling like debris in the city’s wake. To Sylvanas, the turn of his head was only slight, but to him, it was sharp. On a second look, the throne was empty, waiting for him. Only, the sunshine was indeed real. It had been so long since he felt the warmth of it. He’d missed it and yet did not deserve its rays.

He could not accept that broken throne, fit for a broken king. He implored. No! Such a feeble word implied a lack of power, and Kael’thas Sunstrider possessed the power to dismiss Sylvanas Windrunner from service. Perhaps Lor’themar made a more competent, far wiser fit than someone who failed to do her duty.

Failed to do his duty. Perhaps he should thank her for safeguarding--

He swallowed the thoughts so hard, they literally formed like lumps in his throat and would constrict the flow of words he uttered if he did not afford himself a minute to compose himself. Damn the insecurities, damn the emotions.

He turned to address his Regent Lord, whose blue eyes remained intact and sought to mock him with its purity, its lack of corruption. Its color alone confirmed she indeed refused his teachings, and no doubt every citizen that followed suit. He saw the signs. His mind was not completely addled with the fel energies, save a nagging pang of regret he only pushed back down.

He remained where he stood, unwilling to budge, tall and regal in stature yet visibly displeased. “And what has the Regent Lord accomplished in the Sun King’s absence?” Kael’thas finally said, his musical voice carrying a hint of suspicion in its almost discordant tone.