c5

In Stormwind Keep...

Genn Greymane stood late at night circling a long wooden table with three SI:7 handlers: a lithe, dark haired human woman, a dwarf man of the Bronzebeard clan, and an emerald bearded kaldorei man with azure skin tones, all with serious expressions on their faces. They were in a plain, windowless, mostly unremarkable upstairs room in their somewhat unassuming headquarters to the south of Old Town in Stormwind City that evening. The gray stone walls of the room were bare except for a soft wooden board against an interior wall covered with maps of Azeroth, the extra dimensional world called Outland, the alternate Draenor, and even the planet Argus. Small colored tacks had been lightly hammered in at various, seemingly random points on each of the maps with the exception of Argus. This one had small holes randomly placed as though all the markers had been pulled from it some time before. The wooden table had several unused chairs and sat in the center of the room covered in written report parchments and leather dossiers. A few oil lanterns sat in strategic locations around the room to provide enough light to read by. Greymane stood pouring over the reports, being particularly concerned with those coming out of Lordaeron for the moment.

Behind him, the map of Lordaeron had innumerable fresh tacks from one coastline to the other.

Greymane had taken a personal interest and hand in Stormwind's intelligence affairs, funneling and sifting information to himself first before allowing it to reach the king's eyes and ears—as much as he could at least. There was a certain practicality about this that Genn felt justified his involvement in this way. He had more decades of experience as a king than Anduin had years of life. Anduin was a good man and a generous soul. He had the heart of a Holy Priest, and while that made him a better king in some ways, Genn had known it also meant he wouldn't have the stomach for the more pragmatic measures which kings must take to ensure the security of their kingdoms as well as their own survival. And so the older man had stepped in, having no qualms about dirtying his own hands with blood when necessary, only really informing Anduin when he needed to know certain things like the Azerite discovery in Silithus by the Horde some time ago, and the sudden disappearance of the mineral after the "dawn event."

The report he held in his hand detailed the movements of Sylvanas Windrunner and Nathanos Marris. Greymane had begun to appreciate the irony of the increasing ease of slipping SI:7 agents into Lordaeron since their population now appeared for all the world to be entirely living humans except for the queen and her elven rangers. The only real issue had been the Lordaeron accent the spies had to learn on the fly, but that was a trifle. A flood of information to Stormwind had ensued, and Greymane had been able to keep close watch on their leadership, where they went, what they ate, and with whom they spoke. The report in front of him in particular spoke of the church service Sylvanas had attended the day before, reopening the cathedral in the city.

"So, the Banshee's gotten religion." Genn had snorted upon reading it. "I guess that's what happens when you've got one foot in the grave... or both in her case."

The other men in the room chuckled as he said it.

"We might be able to use that somehow." He then added, his expression turning more pensive as he considered the possibilities, speaking more to himself than to the others.

They had been like this for the last several hours. Several mugs of cold Blackrock coffee sat on the table bearing witness when the door to the room opened without warning, and a tall blond masculine figure stood in the doorway wearing the insignia of Stormwind's monarchy. Even with the darkness of the unlit hallway behind him he was clearly visible. The king appeared to bring light with him even among people who thrived in shadows and secrecy.

"Genn, we need to talk." Anduin Wrynn spoke into the room, his voice even, but heavy.

Greymane looked up from the dossier in front of him to see the young king's face in the lantern light. His blue eyes held a disappointment and an anger in them. His expression was that of a man who had been betrayed by one closest to him.

Genn gestured to the others in the room and said unceremoniously, "Leave us. Close the door behind you."

Without a word, the handlers obeyed and, as the king stepped into the room, they stepped out and closed the door behind them, at least giving the appearance of understanding this conversation was for the ears of kings alone.

"How did your talks at Light's Hope go, Anduin?" Genn asked in a friendly, even paternal manner, seeing from Anduin's expression his question would be ignored even as he asked it. He could imagine what had been said without Anduin relating anything to him.

"When were you going to tell me?" Anduin replied, refusing to be diverted from his course by the older man. "I am Stormwind's king. I decide when to commit forces."

Genn looked down at the table again, gathering his thoughts quickly. Though he could make an educated guess, he had not been informed of what was said at the Paladin stronghold. SI:7 had not been able to get agents into the meeting who wouldn't be spotted immediately as not belonging.

"It would help if I knew to what you were referring, your majesty." Lord Greymane replied, a practiced air of innocence in his voice.

"Did you send one of our own Paladins to ask the Order of the Silver Hand to murder an entire village of innocent people?" Anduin demanded from him.

Ah... that. Greymane thought.

"Do you really think you can believe anything the Banshee Bitch tells you? I thought you had better sense than that, Anduin." Genn retorted, taking the tone of a teacher trying to get something through a student's head.

"I didn't hear it from Sylvanas, Genn." Anduin responded, the look of hurt in his eyes growing as he stepped closer to his friend, standing eye to eye with him.

"Then who?" Greymane asked.

"The Highlord of the Silver Hand informed me of the plan to purge Darrowshire; a plan that apparently had your backing. Genn, how could you even think of such a thing? There are children there for Light's sake! Innocent children!"

"It wasn't my plan," Greymane replied quickly, "it was discussed by Bishop Marcus and the clergy before they came to me with Lord Shadowbreaker. But yes, I gave my backing to it. I was working off the best information I had at the time, and all of that information said that all of these supposed healings and resurrections were necromantic illusions. What I did, I did for the Alliance and for you, Anduin. We didn't need another Lich King raising the dead to lead another army of monsters against us, not after what we just went through."

"These are living people Genn. I saw the proof of that myself. Sylvanas cut her own hand to show us her living blood. I healed her with the Light myself and she did not react as an undead would. The Highlord of the Silver Hand and their governing council has sworn on it. The healings are real. It's all real. You would have been responsible for the murder of hundreds of innocent people, and through you, the Alliance. I would have been responsible! Their blood would have been on my hands! We can't afford those kinds of mistakes!" Anduin's voice was passionate and angry, and so unlike anything Greymane had seen from the young man.

His tone of voice was more assertive and kingly than Genn had ever heard him before. It was clear by the young king's tone that his words should also be considered commands. In spite of himself, the older man felt a streak of pride in Varian's son just then.

"The Highlord is a good man, and an honest one. I fought side by side with him once during the Legion War." Genn responded. "Did I ever tell you that? It was over Stormheim."

"As did I when he escorted me through the Broken Shore. I trust his word." Anduin told the older man. Whether it was meant or not, there was a certain subtext to the king's words that struck the older man painfully as though the blow had been physical, more than I trust yours right now.

"I have always only had the best interests of the Alliance in mind, Anduin, and yours as well. I made a promise to your father as I watched him sacrifice himself so the rest of us could live to fight another day. I've spent every day since trying to keep it." Greymane told him, the pain on his face real and not just for Anduin's benefit.

In spite of his own blood vendetta against Sylvanas Windrunner, he had believed his actions had been in the Alliance's best interests. He had wanted to see Anduin grow into the king he believed he could be. He owed Varian at least that much. Every action he had taken against the Banshee and the Forsaken had been in the Alliance's best interests, and, as far as he was concerned, so had the actions he had taken against the preacher who had caused this most recent mess for him to clean up. He had worked hard to expose Sylvanas and her followers for the monsters they were, and the preacher had upended all of it.

"I know, my friend." Anduin replied, his tone softening just a little. "But in order for us to move forward, we can't hold on to the past. The time of conflict with the Horde is over. Sylvanas has agreed as warchief to stand down the Horde's forces, and I have agreed to do the same with ours. With all the reconstruction which needs to happen in the north, they have to. If nothing else, they need to redirect their manpower. They can't afford to focus on warcraft when both Lordaeron and Quel'Thalas need to plant crops, rebuild towns, and restore their living societies. Our own people have suffered heavy losses over decades of war as well. We all need this peace if we are going to have a future."

The Horde actually standing down is new information. Genn thought to himself in surprise as the wheels in his mind began to turn. We'll need to confirm it. It would explain some of the reports of movements that just came in from Kalimdor.

"I suppose the Banshee still wants you to turn me over to her?" Greymane said in derision. "You have to know I had nothing to do with the preacher's death."

Anduin then paused for a moment, studying Genn's face before he responded. A pained expression crossed the king's face before he said, "No. She rescinded her request for extradition."

"Did she? And what reason, pray tell did she give if she believes me responsible?" Genn asked, his voice mocking, but underneath truly curious.

"Because Jeshua asked her to forgive you." Anduin answered.

"I'm sorry?" Genn replied with genuine surprise. "I thought the preacher was dead and buried."

In truth, he had reports in front of him from SI:7 that spoke of the general belief among the denizens of Lordaeron that Jeshua had been raised from the dead somehow, but the agents hadn't seen him alive themselves and couldn't verify it. Genn had assumed that if there was any truth to it, then the Banshee must have used one of her Val'kyr and hidden him somewhere to cause further problems later on.

"He had been. The third day after his death, he raised himself from the dead. A few days after that, as I have been told, he ascended into the sky and disappeared in an explosion of light." The king told him.

"And you believe this?" Greymane asked him.

"After everything I've seen and heard these past two weeks, yes I do. I only wish I could have spoken with him myself." Anduin answered, still studying Genn's expression intently.

Genn considered this pensively. He then turned from Anduin and sat down wearily in one of the old, plain chairs at the table, putting the tips of his fingers together in thought. This was not news he wanted to hear. It would make things incredibly difficult for the young king that he did truly care for. A heavy weight felt like it had settled on his shoulders, heavier than it had been in a long time.

"That is not a popular sentiment in the city these days, Anduin, especially not with the other clergy. Bishop Marcus has seen to it." Genn told him honestly. "You need to be careful with whom you express that belief."

"What do you mean?" Anduin asked, looking down at the seated old man.

"The good bishop is convinced the man is a heretic fraud, and an agent of evil. He's been teaching that the changes across Azeroth are illusions meant to deceive the faithful. He has most of the church's clergy convinced of the same. The general population of the city is split, but you of all people should know how many listen to what is taught in Stormwind's Cathedral." It was all the truth Genn told him, he had just left out his own complicity in the matter. Anduin didn't need to know how loyal Gilnean Priests were assisting the good bishop in spreading his opinions.

The Worgen king hadn't taken Anduin's sincere beliefs into his calculations. It was an error his mind was quickly trying to recover from and find another solution to.

"And what of High Priestess Laurena? Surely she has been a voice of reason." The king's eyes and tone of voice were alarmed at the news he apparently had not been paying attention to.

"The High Priestess increasingly finds herself having to be pragmatic about what she says in the Cathedral." Genn responded, again careful not to reveal his own complicity in boxing her in.

"Politics in the Church?" Anduin asked with disgust. "That is not the teaching of the Tome of Divinity."

"The Church's politics are usually the most vicious, Anduin." Genn replied. "Though they do love to display the good book, their service to the Light isn't always as immaculate as one might believe."

"Then as king mine has to be." Anduin then said resolutely. "It is only right. The Holy Light has given us a great gift and I won't be the one to cowardly sit by and see it blasphemed by misguided clergy. Not now, not when we've come through the fires of Argus to get here."

For just a moment, Genn just stared at Anduin's resolute and hardened face and could have sworn he was looking at Varian once more. The young king had the same lion's look in his eyes as he spoke of doing what was right. But still, he was alarmed at Anduin's response for the young man's own sake.

"Your majesty, you need to be careful. You may be king, but that doesn't mean..." Genn tried to warn him off. The mood he had helped to create in the city was not in Anduin's favor, and if he wasn't careful it could prove disastrous to him. In his mind, a vision of Liam's dying form came, and then it was Anduin he held in his arms.

No! Never again! Genn's very being rebelled at the thought.

"I am king, yes, but I must answer to the Light too." Anduin told him cutting him off, his determination fixed and unmoveable. "As must we all."

The wheels in Genn's mind turned even faster now as he tried to find a way to protect his young charge from the events he himself had been setting into motion. He had to contact his own agents within the city. He had to turn this around. He would not see Anduin come under threat.

Genn couldn't go through that again. He couldn't risk losing Anduin too.

The king then turned to leave Greymane to his thoughts. As he did, one more realization came to the exiled Gilnean monarch.

"You said you healed Sylvanas, Anduin? You said you used the Light to heal her?" He asked him before he left the room.

"Yes." Anduin said, turning around to face his friend once more. She had cut her own hand with a knife to prove to us that she was alive. It was only right that I be the one to heal it." The king replied. "Why?"

"It seems to be a much rarer talent in the city these days." Greymane replied. "The clergy appear to be having trouble with the Light since the dawn event."

Anduin nodded, absorbing this new information. "'The Light hears the cry of its own.'" The king quoted from the Tome of Divinity. "If what you say is true of the cathedral's Priests, then this is disturbing news indeed."

Yes it is. Disturbing. Genn thought to himself as Anduin left the room entirely.

On the road west to the City of Lordaeron...

The deep blue sky had only a few wisps of clouds, and the warm sun shone down on them merrily, a cool breeze keeping them from growing too hot from the day. To either side of them groves of healthy green trees, both needled and leafy, dotted the landscape of vibrant green grass and gently rolling hills to the north of the highway in Tirisfal Glades.

The Davidson family's horse drawn wagon had been on the road through Tirisfal Glades for hours since leaving that morning from the farm in the province which had generously boarded them for the night. The memory of meeting the farm's owner was still fresh in Miriam Davidson's mind. It was blending with her family's other extraordinary experiences since traveling north into what had been not long before hostile lands.

True to his word, Velen had sent a Mage to their house in Elwynn Forest with instructions to open a portal for them to Hearthglen two days after Miriam had spoken with him. The human man had arrived alone and wearing clothes that would mark him as a mere traveler on the road and nothing more. There had been nothing to indicate that he was one of Stormwind Keep's own royal Mages. In his possession had been a letter carrying Velen's own seal and addressed to the Paladin lord Maxwell Tyrosus whom Miriam had met before. He immediately turned this sealed letter over to Miriam, explaining his instructions from the Draenei Prophet.

The Davidsons, not knowing what they could carry with them, each had packed a large backpack with clothes and some few personal items. They had all discussed it as a family, and realized that they had no way of knowing when they would or could return home. Joseph Davidson had traveled before with his own father to the Night Elf capital at Darnassus once for two months, and so he had advised his children what they needed to bring and what they didn't. Miriam had never acquired much, preferring to retain the habits of simplicity she had acquired growing up in the cloister in Gilneas City. Her one extra everyday dress and spare shirt were folded neatly in her own pack along with some basic toiletries, and a few pictures and mementos of her family she had treasured.

The Mage had sent them all through the portal of sapphire energy in the sitting room of their home, away from the eyes of those who might be watching. Joseph had been the last one to cross through, making sure his family had all gone through first. Once the head of the household had gone, the Mage closed the portal behind them. He then discreetly teleported from the house back to his own chambers in Stormwind Keep, making sure there were no candles or fires burning before he did, and locking the doors.

Arriving in Hearthglen, they were met by Argent Crusade guards who immediately recognized the reddish haired woman. A Sindorei woman with deep red hair greeted her by name as she stepped out first from the Mage's portal, and then had been surprised to see two teenaged boys and a little girl all of whom bore more than a passing resemblance to the teacher who had lived in their fortified town so recently, and then finally the dark haired muscular tradesman who stepped aside, assuming that the Mage who opened the portal would be coming through after him, and expressed genuine surprise when it closed instead.

Lord Tyrosus had been informed immediately of their arrival, and upon breaking the seal and reading the letter addressed to him his expression had become worried and serious. He had immediately ordered horses and a wagon for the family and what provisions the Paladin controlled town could spare for their journey, apologizing that he couldn't do more.

"We're stretched thin as it is right now, Mister and Missus Davidson. If it were anyone else asking it right now, I would have said we couldn't help at all, no matter how much we wanted to." He had told them sincerely. "But I knew your son and what he did for all of us here in Lordaeron. There's no way we can repay that enough."

Miriam had considered the Paladin lord's words again and again, keeping them close to her heart as they traveled south to Andorhal and then west into Tirisfal Glades. Lord Tyrosus had also confirmed for them that Jeshua's emissaries had indeed gone west to the City of Lordaeron over a month before, and that was the direction he had sent them in. She had heard story after story of the Lich King's devastation and depravations of these lands growing up and well into adulthood, and she herself could barely believe even some of those tales any longer as the wagon drove through them. They saw no undead, no plagued animals barely clinging on to life. The forests were healthy and the fragrances of the various trees were carried on the breezes. The roads were clear, and all those people they passed were most certainly human and working hard to get old fields plowed and sown.

The city of Andorhal south of Hearthglen had been in a state of new building and growth when they stopped that first night at the inn, itself undergoing a massive renovation. There had been a light and a joy in the people's eyes, all just as human as her own, that she had rarely seen in anyone's. There had been nothing but kind words, and reverent, even worshipful expressions when Jeshua's name had been mentioned.

Jeshua did all this? The question came into her mind again and again, remembering the Paladin's words as they continued on their journey west.

It had been close to sundown when they spied the farm fields and house from the road the day before after entering Tirisfal Glades. They had passed a series of armored fortifications and tents that looked to have been manned heavily once upon a time, but they were not stopped by them. Upon seeing the wagon with simply dressed human commoners and children, the guards had just waved them on wearily without questions. Of course, they hadn't been the only travelers on the relatively busy highway either.

The white tabards the guards wore with the starburst door emblem and the single, blood red, "T" shaped human figure in the center burned itself into Miriam's mind yet again. She had first seen it when passing through Andorhal displayed everywhere. The mother had briefly asked the innkeeper in the city what it meant before they left.

"You must have been reborn pretty far out to not know. Your accent's not from around here at least." The reddish haired woman in Andorhal had told her, eying her curiously before continuing. "That's alright, we've had a lot of people come through from the east in the last week without any idea of what's happened in a long time. The Queen changed our standard to honor what Jeshua Lightborn did for all of us."

She then went on to explain to Miriam and her family how the center of the emblem represented Jeshua's murder on the main door of Lordaeron's Keep, and the golden cross sunburst around it represented his resurrection the third night after. The white background was the blank slate, the new start they had all been given in the Light. Sylvanas Windrunner had helped design the insignia herself.

But it was the farmer who had boarded them the night previous who had truly driven home to her what kind of an impact her son had made on these people, and how wrong her own prejudice about them had been.

The innkeeper's explanation of the new insignia had been on her mind when Joseph who had been driving the wagon next to her said, "The horses are near exhausted, and we need to find a place for the kids and us to stay tonight, but I haven't seen a real town since we left Andorhal."

It was then that she had spied the fields and farmhouse from the road. There had still been workers finishing up before heading in. "We could ask there. Maybe they know of an inn nearby." She had said.

It was reasonable enough, so Joseph turned the wagon down the dirt road off the main highway to catch one of the men nearby.

"Hey, friend." Joseph had greeted the man, pulling the horses to a stop.

"How's it going, friend?" The farmhand had replied, cautious but not unfriendly.

"We're new to these parts. Do you know of an inn or a place my family and I could stay for the night?" The carpenter had asked.

The man took off the wide brimmed hat he had been wearing and smoothed out his sweaty, dirty blond hair underneath it before looking this way and that and answering, "Nearest inn would be Brill, about fifteen or twenty miles down the road that way." He pointed west. "You'll see a fork in the road going north before you reach the city."

Joseph's face fell at the news. He had been certain the animals wouldn't last that long, and they hadn't eaten for some time since the morning.

"Are we stopping now, Mama?" Sarah's voice had come from inside the covered vehicle, followed by her girlish face peeking out between her parents.

The farmhand's stubbled face turned towards the sound of the little girl's voice. "You've got young'uns with you?" He asked, his voice surprised and quivering just a little with emotion.

If Joseph hadn't known better, he would have thought the man hadn't seen a child before. "My daughter and two boys." He answered.

The man then scrunched up his face in thought, seeming to wrestle with himself. He then said, "Let me go talk to Mr. Ferrigan. He's the owner of this place. Maybe he'll let you folks bed down in the barn for the night or something. You all just wait here."

It was about ten minutes later when another man came out of the house with the farmhand and met the Davidsons near the road.

This new man had been observing the wagon and its occupants in detail as he approached it. His expression also appeared cautious, and somewhat untrusting of the strangers on his land. He had a balding head of salt and pepper hair and full beard. He wore a sweat stained white workshirt underneath a dirty blue woolen vest as though he had been out in the fields working that day too. The callouses and blisters on his hands also attested to that fact. But there was a certain light in his eyes as well that the husband and father couldn't place.

"Gerald Ferrigan. The man said, tentatively offering his hand to Joseph in greeting.

Joseph climbed down from where he had sat in the wagon and took it. "Joseph Davidson. This is my wife Miriam, and my kids are in the wagon. We're on our way to Lordaeron, but as you can see our horses aren't going to go much farther. I had hoped to find an inn or a town but there don't seem to be any along this road."

Gerald Ferrigan listened intently to Joseph's explanation of their situation, his eyes intelligent and sharp. He then asked, "Where are you from, Mr. Davidson?"

It was a question that the family had been dreading, and up to that point had miraculously seemed to squeak by without too much explanation until now. "Well, we came down from Hearthglen a couple of days ago." He told him, hoping it would satisfy him.

It was the truth after all, just not all of it.

"Hearthglen's an Argent Crusade town. I got to know some folks from there recently. You don't talk like them. So, I'm going to ask you again, Mr. Davidson, and you're going to tell me the truth. Where are you from?"

Miriam began praying silently to the Light almost in spite of herself. She knew her husband couldn't lie to save his life. Literally.

"Elwynn Forest. I grew up in Stormwind if that's what you're asking. Is that a problem, Mr. Ferrigan?" Joseph replied.

The farm's owner took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "If you're from Stormwind, then you should already know the answer to that question, Mr. Davidson. But I already knew you were. I heard your accent enough around some of the Alliance soldiers on the Broken Shore during the Legion war. I fought there with the other deathguards and sometimes even side by side with you southerners when the need arose, though it wasn't often." He paused then for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. "We all have good reason to hate you and your people for what you've done to us for the last thirty years. Do you know how often we all had to worry about whether or not we'd meet the abyss at the end of a Scarlet Crusade or Alliance Paladin's hammer. I use to wonder if I would've known the man before the Scourge if it happened that way. To be honest, there was a time when none of you would have left here alive."

The family's hearts caught in their throats at the man's words. As much as Joseph might have wanted to fight to defend his family, he knew he wouldn't last long. Had he only brought them there to die?

"Now look, we didn't..." Joseph began to say.

But the man cut him off saying, "But Jeshua Lightborn taught us to love our enemies, and do good to those who persecuted us. I suppose that even means folks from Stormwind. My man here says you have kids in the wagon. Our cook's almost got supper ready, and we've got some spare rooms in the house. It's not much, but it's something. My kids... My kids didn't survive the plague, so I suppose yours can use the room that used to be theirs."

And at this Miriam's heart just broke completely, and her eyes began to water. She had really only thought of the Forsaken as monsters. What they had suffered hadn't really hit her until Gerald Ferrigan had started speaking.

Not knowing what else to say to him in response, she asked, "You heard my son teach?"

The farm's owner then looked at the woman intently, a recognition settling over his face. "You're Jeshua Lightborn's mother, aren't you?" He asked with some astonishment.

"Yes." She replied. "He was... is my son."

Both farmer and farmhand looked at each other as if to confirm they had both heard correctly. And then the farmer said, "Yes, ma'am I did hear him teach." The farmer's voice took on a reverent tone. "I spent a week in Hearthglen with him and his emissaries. He's the man who gave me back my life. He gave all of us back our lives."

He then stepped aside and spoke privately to the farmhand, giving him some instructions. The other man then started off towards the house, running as he went.

"Bring your wagon up near the house. We'll make sure your horses are fed and well rested tonight. You can eat with my wife and I. You folks won't have to worry about a thing." Mr. Ferrigan told them both sincerely.

"Thank you, sir." Miriam had told him, her eyes watering.

"No, ma'am. Thank you for your son. There's nothing I can do to fully repay what he did for us." He replied. "But I can at least make sure his family are taken care of tonight."

It was a conversation Miriam Davidson would never forget.