Part one of a series of short stories centered around the sin'dorei, and based on my interpretations of the 4.1 patch: Rise of the Zandalari. There's an intriguing conversation involving Halduron Brightwing in the Ghostlands, which brings into question the current state of blood elven government. This, then, is my interpretation of these events as they would take place within the story I roleplay as Cerylia.
Part one focuses on Lor'themar Theron, the Regent-Lord of the blood elves, and his response to Halduron's comments in the Ghostlands. Do enjoy!
To live in blissful, blind denial was one thing; to have the raw truth lie torn and bleeding before him was quite another. It was one frustration after another for him, day after day, and this time Lor’themar felt it was done on purpose. Reminding him once again of everything he wanted yet could never have.
There, upon his desk, on top of the scathing missive from Halduron telling his Regent Lord, in so many words, to piss off and leave the defense of Quel’thalas to him (whether or not high elves were involved), was a crisp letter marked with the seal of the Dawnwing family. It was printed elegantly in gold ink, though not by any hand he personally knew, and picking it up again sent a pang of grief through him once more. Yet, as if he enjoyed the pain, Lor’themar read it again.
“Regent Lord Lor’themar Theron,
You are cordially invited to the wedding of Lady Cerylia Dawnwing and Crusader Lord Mithraius Sunrose, to take place on the 7th day in the 6th month of the Year of the Rising Flame. This joyous ritual is to be followed by a small reception. Please respond promptly with your intentions to attend or to decline this invitation. Your presence would be greatly welcomed, though it is to be understood if your attendance cannot be possible.
Regards…”
The impersonality of the invitation had been such that at first, Lor’themar believed it to be some kind of prank. If Cerylia were truly getting married, she would have penned a personal note to Lor’themar in her beautiful hand, telling him how she would want him there because he was near and dear to her heart, as he had always been. But he had quickly tracked down Llylithen Dawnwing, Cerylia's older brother, who confirmed—with a bit of a scowl—that the wedding plans were real. The only thing was… Halduron Brightwing had taken it upon himself to have the invitations written up and sent off without consulting either of the betrothed. The two were now in a mad scramble to make wedding preparations, since they could not take back the invitations.
Lor’themar resisted the urge to crumple up the invitation again. Damn the Ranger General for his arrogance, his audacity, and his betrayal. Halduron was supposed to be one of his best friends, advising him gently in personal matters, and giving the Regent Lord a stern shoulder to lean on in the leadership of their people. And he had been. But things had changed dramatically with the recent uprising of the Amani trolls down south… Suddenly, Halduron had become cold, sharp-tongued, and openly hostile, for reasons still unknown. It was so sudden, in fact, that Lor’themar was at first left at a loss as to how to respond.
Setting down the letter again, Lor’themar took several deep breaths to calm himself. This last, inconsiderate gesture was the final straw. Halduron knew perfectly well how Lor’themar felt about Cerylia. Having grown up with her had left him with a shy, yet fervent love for the young noblewoman. Unfortunately, he had been too shy about it… and he could only watch in stunned silence when it became known that she had taken the Blood Knight Mithraius as her lover.
For a time, Lor’themar had been hurt, but he had grown to accept this circumstance. He turned a blind eye to the relationship, accepting that Cerylia could give love and affection to many people. He naively forced himself to believe that in time, maybe she would take him into her heart as well. And for the past few years, it seemed like it could be true. With every tear she shed for him, every discreet hug, every kiss given out of heated emotion… Lor’themar felt himself closer and closer to his original desire. That Cerylia could be his. Maybe she really did love him most of all.
But this invitation was the knife in all of that. Halduron had done it on purpose; Lor’themar knew it. It wouldn’t be unlike the Ranger General to deliberately inconvenience and anger his second-in-command, just so he could get in this most perfect of jabs at the Regent Lord. At least in recent days. Llylithen—wise as he was, yet emotionally distant—had placed a sympathetic hand on Lor’themar’s shoulder and sighed, as if he hated to confirm what would hurt his best friend the most.
“I’m sorry… but she really does love him.”
Of course she did. Lor’themar knew that. Perhaps he had just been stupid enough to think that Cerylia would love him just as much.
He balled his hands into fists, biting back the tears of frustration that threatened to come, and looked up to the sound of armored footsteps. A guard had entered the chamber, saluting to his lord.
“My lord, Lady Dawnwing has arrived, as per your request.”
Lor’themar nodded, and the guard turned to leave the room again. In a few moments, the sound of lighter footsteps approached instead, and Cerylia entered, dropping into a curtsey as soon as she saw him.
“Lor’themar.” Though she spoke his name reverently, she still spoke it, instead of his title, when they were alone together. She knew him intimately, as he knew her. He had known her since the day she was born, for Light’s sake. But perhaps that was why she could never love him as much. Perhaps there was a brief, underlying sense of platonic affection, seeing him as more of a friend than a lover. Friend was too cheap of a word, though—it was something beyond friend, beyond brother, beyond any word that language could come up with. It made his heart swell, with both admiration and sadness, knowing he could never voice his true feelings for her. And that, he knew, was why he had lost her in the first place.
“Cerylia. I’m glad you came so fast.”
She stood up again, a timid smile forming upon her lips. “How may I be of service?” she asked, politely.
Lor’themar knew that she already was aware of the invitations. Judging by her nervous, tense demeanor, he was certain she also had been told—perhaps warned by her older brother, or even informed by Halduron himself, just to upset her—that Lor’themar had seen one before Cerylia could tell him of her engagement herself.
“I am sure you’re aware of the Ranger General’s… response to my disapproval of the quel’dorei presence at Zul’Aman?” he asked, gently.
Cerylia reddened a little, nodding. “Yes. Though I may assure you that I in no way approve of what he said—”
“Of course not. I know you better than that,” Lor’themar snapped, almost frustrated that she would think he believed her a traitor too. “…It merely seems that, since words have no effect on Lord Brightwing… I will need to take action against his insubordination.”
“Y-you’re going to punish him, then?” asked Cerylia, looking pale at the thought. As much grief as Halduron gave her sometimes… Lor’themar knew she liked him too, in her own way. He could understand.
“In a sense… yes. And I would demand your help in this. I do need Halduron’s talents serving me still. It wouldn’t do for me to remove him as Ranger General,” Lor’themar explained, pacing as he spoke. “No… it is the Alliance presence in my lands that needs to be removed. And it will happen, whether Halduron likes it or not.”
At the fierce tone in the Regent Lord’s voice, Cerylia glanced up, startled… before smiling a little. “Well,” she murmured, sounding impressed, “how does my lord wish to proceed?”
Lor’themar stared at her, sternly. “I want you to defeat those damned trolls before Vereesa or Halduron do. Take whatever allies you like. Pledge yourself to Master Vol’jin. Claim Zul’Aman in the name of the Horde. But in the end, I want you to make it painfully clear that I sanctioned that defense of Quel’Thalas. Not the Ranger General, or that human-loving quel’dorei. It will be by my command.”
Cerylia’s eyebrows raised sharply. For once, he could see her shrink a little in his presence… something that never happened. Lor’themar knew perfectly well what she thought of his political prowess. She tried to flower it up as best as she could, but in the end he knew that she believed her more knowledgeable than he was. He wasn’t stupid enough to not notice how she gently, subtly manipulated him, even if he didn’t realize it until it was too late. Perhaps his foolishness was in the fact that he let her do it for so long. Perhaps he relished the thought that she could force him to bend to her will if she was patient enough, that feeling of being hers.
But he wasn’t hers, and he never would be, now. Perhaps now was the time for him to exercise his power, like he should have long ago. Long before Halduron and Rommath and Cerylia and Llylithen and everyone else believed that Lor’themar was weak, unfit for the position of Regent Lord, and would never do what was necessary unless they poked and prodded and urged him step by baby step forward. He’d had enough.
“And to convince Lady Vereesa that she and her elves are not needed in Quel’Thalas’s defense,” Lor’themar continued, “I would have you send word to your fiancé. As I understand it, Mithraius is serving some duty for the Argent Crusade at Light’s Hope Chapel at the moment, isn’t he?”
Cerylia blinked at him, perhaps shocked by his use of the word “fiancé.” Perhaps surprised that Lor’themar did not show any weakness while speaking it. “Ah… yes, you’re correct,” she replied.
“Excellent. Please give this command to him.” Lor’themar reached over to his desk and picked up a sealed letter, handing it to Cerylia. “It is a request for him to return to Silvermoon immediately, and assist you in the command I have given you. But, it also asks him to collect some information for me. Specifically, from the Quel’lithien Lodge.”
She gaped at him a little, confused at what the high elven Farstrider lodge in the Plaguelands had to do with anything. “But… why?” she asked.
“You’ll see. I’ll just say that Vereesa is not welcome in my lands if she cannot even take care of her own people.”
Cerylia still looked confused, and Lor’themar was content with that. She couldn’t be expected to know about everything in and around Quel’Thalas; she was an ambassador of the Horde and often had far more important missions elsewhere. But Halduron was unaware of this tidbit of information as well… something Lor’themar would take pleasure in using against him too.
I have my own eyes and ears, as well. I am not as helpless as you think I am.
“I know this is a great task I ask of you, but I trust you, and Mithraius as well. I also have asked Llylithen to aid me in this. The three of you will succeed. I know it.”
Blushing, Cerylia gave another curtsey. “Thank you. I will not let my lord down,” she promised.
“No, thank you,” Lor’themar replied, bowing. “In these trying times, it is good to have someone I can trust completely.”
She hesitated at that, before she spoke, more softly. “Lor’themar… about… the invitations…”
He shook his head. “Do not apologize. I know it wasn’t you who distributed them. Llylithen told me everything.”
“Ah.” Cerylia paused again, before looking up at him. And at her gaze, he weakened slightly, at her eyes wide with apology and affection. “Lor’themar… I wanted to tell you myself. I… I know we have not spoken of our relationship. But I know how you have felt about… us.”
Lor’themar had steeled himself against such words in so many ways, before summoning her, but they hurt him nonetheless. “It is my fault for not speaking up,” he said. “…Mithraius is a lucky man.”
Cerylia’s gaze softened, before she looked away. “I do love you.”
“Not the way I love you.”
“…I know.”
He bit his lip, holding himself stiff and steady, willing himself not to break. Even when she came to him, taking him into a tight hug. “I would… like you to come, though,” she murmured, against his chest. “I owe you so much. You are one of my best friends. I want you… to share this important part of my life as well. Please… don’t hate me for this.”
“…Of course not,” Lor’themar replied, weakly. “I want you two to be happy together. And if coming to the wedding makes you happy, then I shall certainly be there.”
She smiled, warmly, letting her hug loosen. “Thank you…”
Despite himself, even though he knew he should not… Lor’themar couldn’t bear to let her go. Despite all that he said, all that he told himself... he let his face dip and catch her mouth in a soft peck of a kiss, one he had no right to take, before pulling away. “…Diel al a’nar,” he whispered. “Please stay safe…”
Cerylia blushed a little, though she mostly looked saddened, moving away and giving one last curtsey. “I will. Don’t worry about me. You’re the one I worry about.”
His mouth curled into a brief smile. “Don’t,” he chided. “I know what I am doing.”
For the first time, she looked as if she genuinely believed that, standing straighter with pride in his presence, smiling out of understanding instead of pity. “Of course, my lord,” she replied. “By your leave, then.”
“You have it. Please report back when you are ready to depart to Zul’Aman.”
With a final nod, she turned and left the chamber, leaving Lor’themar to himself once more. He turned to his desk with a sigh and looked over the impersonal invitation again… before setting it aside for the missive beneath it.
“…In conclusion, while the Regent Lord is welcome to request reports regarding progress in Zul’Aman, I regrettably must admit that all such requests must be ignored until our military objectives here in the Ghostlands are met. In the future, I advise no further interference. My Farstriders, coupled with Lady Vereesa’s rangers, Master Vol’jin’s soldiers, and any Horde or Alliance volunteers that report to us will be more than sufficient to handle the Amani threat. The Regent Lord’s attention is not necessary at this time.
Regards, Ranger General Halduron Brightwing”
The letter crumpled sharply in Lor’themar’s hand.
“I trusted you like a brother, Halduron,” he said, darkly. “But if you are foolish enough to act openly insubordinate, there will be consequences. At least Cerylia was smart enough to be respectful.”
Enough games. His people needed his protection now.
--
A few endnotes:
- Mithraius is my boyfriend's paladin character. At the time of this story, he and Cerylia are engaged to be wed in the RP.
- I don't think I mentioned it here, but Llylithen is a death knight. Llylithen was a friend of Lor'themar's when Llylithen was alive. I guess they're still friends now, but it's kinda... awkward.
- I'm in charge mostly of RPing Lor'themar in our RP story, so this is my take on him. If you don't approve of such creative liberties or my interpretation of lore... too bad. There's a back button on your browser you could have used at any time. :)
If you liked what you read here, my previous story on Lor'themar might be of interest to you as well.
Part two will be about Halduron Brightwing, and what his reaction is to whatever Lor'themar has planned. Silly boys are going to get in a bit of fight, it seems...
As always, comments are welcome. Thanks! :)
