Chapter 9

"Your Majesty."

A powerful voice resonated throughout the throne room of Lordaeron Palace.

"I am Anduin Lothar, a knight of Stormwind"

At long last, we have arrived. The anticipation gripped Thorwin's heart as he straightened his back, emulating the noble bearing of his grandfather. With a determined stance, he stood tall, mirroring the resolute presence that Anduin Lothar had displayed before the majestic King Terenas, ruler of the grand kingdom of Lordaeron. A sense of awe washed over him as he absorbed the splendor of the throne room, its grandeur unlike anything he had seen before.

As his eyes slowly darted to his companions, Derek and Varian, he could sense their nervousness, a reflection of his own feelings. The torches that lined the room's columns cast flickering shadows that danced across the incredible markings engraved on the walls, creating an atmosphere of ancient mystique. Above them, numerous balconies interconnected with the castle's pathways, adding to the sense of opulence that surrounded them. And all around the throne, courtiers of different standings stood with an air of solemnity, a testament to the power and influence that the throne held.

Terenas, the embodiment of regal authority, rose from his seat, his resplendent robes adorned with the emblem of Lordaeron trailing behind him. The sight of the king in person left Thorwin in awe. His greying hair fluttered with a dignified grace as he walked forward, and his well-groomed beard added to the aura of wisdom and benevolence that emanated from him. The stories of Terenas' wisdom and compassion that Thorwin had heard during their travels now seemed all too real as he looked into the king's eyes, which reflected both.

A hushed silence fell upon the assembled courtiers as Terenas began greeting each guest with a regal nod, his piercing eyes taking in the diverse group before him. The air was filled with a sense of anticipation as the visitors responded with polite and requisite replies, a mix of tiredness and nervousness evident in their demeanor. Terenas' gaze wandered, and he noticed the pale visage of the young prince, Varian. The king's expression softened with concern, and he beckoned the prince to come forward. "Please be seated," Terenas said, his voice carrying the weight of authority and warmth. He was perched on the top stair of the dais, an imposing figure yet with a gentle touch, as he drew Varian to be seated beside him in a fatherly manner.

With a graceful gesture, Terenas dismissed all but a few courtiers and guards, creating an intimate setting for their discussion. The tension in the room eased slightly as the space became more private, allowing for a freer exchange of ideas and concerns.

Concealed by the imposing figure of his grandfather, Thorwin's keen eyes darted from person to person, absorbing every word that was spoken. The gravity of the conversation sent shivers down his spine, and memories of the harrowing escape from Stormwind flooded his mind. They had managed to flee the city, but the horrors of the carnage lingered like a haunting specter, a grim reminder that danger still lurked on their heels.

The gathered men exchanged tales of monstrous creatures known as orcs, invaders from a distant realm that had somehow found their way to Azeroth. Descriptions of these green-skinned behemoths, their brutish strength, and insatiable thirst for blood, filled the room with a chilling aura. Anduin's somber tone described the orcs' formidable numbers, enough to "fill each and every corner of Stormwind city," a bleak image that weighed heavily on the hearts of those present. As the discussions intensified, doubt and skepticism crept into the hearts of some courtiers, challenging Anduin's grim narrative. Thorwin noticed his grandfather's temper rising, the lines on his face deepening with frustration, but Terenas stepped forward with a commanding presence, bringing the meeting to a close. "I will summon my neighboring kings," Terenas proclaimed, his voice resonating with conviction. "This crisis concerns us all. Prince Varian, I shall offer you my home and my protection for as long as you need it."

Thorwin exhaled a deep sigh of relief when the tense discussion finally came to an end. The weight of the situation had been pressing down on him, and he longed for the respite that the sanctuary of a castle would bring, especially for his friend Varian. It had been far too long since he had witnessed Varian's genuine smile, the kind that sparkled in his eyes and spread warmth to those around him. Throughout their harrowing exodus, Varian had worn either a forced, somber expression or none at all, carrying the burden of their journey on his young shoulders. Maybe their stay in the Lordaeron Palace would prove soothing to the sadness gnawing at Varian's heart.

With the courtiers departing the grand throne room, Thorwin observed Anduin and Terenas engaged in a hushed conversation. Their expressions were somber, a reflection of the dire circumstances to come. Thorwin couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for his grandfather, who carried the weight of his people's safety and well-being with unwavering resolve. Anduin's gaze was steely yet tinged with a glimmer of hope, a testament to his determination to protect his family and his kingdom.

As Thorwin had envisioned, the trio of boys were led by none other than King Terenas himself into the opulent hallways of the grand castle. Walking side by side, Varian and the king led the way, while Thorwin and Derek followed suit, their eyes wide with wonder and awe at the sheer grandeur surrounding them. Terenas' hand rested gently on Varian's shoulder, a gesture of both guidance and affection that spoke volumes of his seriousness to establish a bond between fellow leaders— even if Varian was one of a ruined kingdom.

Shortly after entering the guest quarters, their eyes were drawn to a blonde-haired boy with striking blue eyes, standing before them with an air of youthful exuberance. His cheeks still held a hint of childlike chubbiness, a telltale sign of his tender age. He was dressed in a garment adorned with the regal colors and symbols of Lordaeron, a clear indication of his noble heritage. Thorwin noticed the boy's eager expression.

"Allow me to present my youngest son, Prince Arthas Menethil," Terenas announced, his voice brimming with affection and pride. "Arthas, these are the sons of dear friends who have come from afar to seek refuge in our kingdom."

Arthas' eyes sparkled with curiosity and genuine interest as he bowed to Varian, Derek, and Thorwin with a warm smile. "It's a pleasure to meet all of you," he said, his voice resonating with youthful charm. "I've heard so much about your journey, and I could only wish the circumstances were better."

The three returned the bow gracefully. "Likewise, Prince Arthas," Varian replied. "We are grateful for your support and kindness during these difficult times."

Varian's voice wavered slightly, a mix of weariness and politeness evident as he responded to Prince Arthas' enthusiastic greeting. He felt a tinge of discomfort under the young prince's intense scrutiny, conscious of their disheveled appearances after their arduous journey. Despite the fatigue that weighed heavily upon him, Varian didn't want to offend the boy or the king, and so he mustered a small smile to match Arthas' enthusiasm.

On the other side, Thorwin observed the exchange, his eyes shifting from Varian to Arthas. The young prince seemed eager to learn more about their journey, but Thorwin could sense a subtle stiffness in Varian's responses, perhaps due to the unfamiliarity of being in such regal company. However, he admired Varian's efforts to remain courteous and respectful in the presence of Lordaeron's royalty.

Thorwin himself couldn't help but be immersed in the prince's enthusiasm and genuine curiosity. He saw how Arthas scanned each of their appearances, as if trying to glean some understanding of the trials they had endured. Thorwin's own clothes, like Varian's, were garments brought by the Stormsong men from the estate, hastily chosen and ill-fitting. But he didn't feel self-conscious about his appearance; instead, he wore the marks of his journey with a sense of pride and resilience.

Varian's clothes, however, seemed to bear the brunt of their escape, unable to accommodate his growing body. Despite the less-than-ideal fit, Varian wore them with a stoic determination, as if silently vowing to endure whatever discomfort they brought if it meant surviving the trials they faced.

"I will send some servants forthwith," King Terenas declared, his voice infused with kindness and hospitality, "with food to satiate your hunger, hot towels to soothe your weary souls, and a bath to cleanse the dust of your journey, Prince Varian." He emphasized Varian's title, using it as a reminder of the prince's royal lineage. The title, though bereft of its kingdom and power, was a symbol of his heritage—a subtle reassurance that he was still esteemed and valued, a royal even in the midst of hardship and displacement.

Thorwin, Derek, and Varian exchanged grateful glances, acknowledging the king's thoughtful gesture. It was a gesture that went beyond mere material provisions; it was a gesture of recognition, a subtle assurance that their struggle had not gone unnoticed by the ruler of Lordaeron.

"Thank you," Varian replied.

"Arthas, I will leave them in your care." Terenas squeezed Varian's shoulder reassuringly, then departed, closing the door.

The grand guest quarters of Lordaeron now embraced a newfound intimacy, with only Arthas, Thorwin, Varian, and Derek remaining within. The dim glow of flickering candles danced playfully on the ornate walls, casting intricate shadows that seemed to whisper tales of centuries gone by.

Arthas stood before his newfound friends, his expression a mixture of genuine curiosity and empathy. His sapphire eyes seemed to pierce through the layers of weariness and hardship that draped over Thorwin, Varian, and Derek like heavy cloaks.

"I am sorry about what have happened in Stormwind," Arthas said warmly, breaking the silence that had settled in the room. "And I am sorry about your father."

Varian grimaced and turned away, walking towards the huge window that overlooked Lordamere lake. His brown eyes glistened with unshed tears as he gazed out of the window. The once bright sun had been veiled by a blanket of heavy clouds, and snowflakes gently descended from the sky, adding to the somber atmosphere that seemed to envelop the room. Even the distant Fenris Keep, a symbol of strength, now stood quietly, blanketed in a hushed layer of snow.

Thorwin and Derek sat quietly on their seats, giving Varian the space he needed to process the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. As Arthas approached, Varian managed a small nod of gratitude. "Thank you."

"I am sure he died fighting for you and your people," Arthas gently spoke, attempting to provide comfort in the face of such profound grief.

Varian's voice wavered as he tried to speak, "He was assassinated," he replied with a blunt and emotionless tone, though his pained expression betrayed the deep sorrow he carried. Arthas gasped in shock, his eyes widening at the revelation. The painful memories of loss and betrayal reflected in his own bloodshot, brown eyes. His fists clenched tightly, nails digging into his flesh, a physical manifestation of the turmoil within. "She was entrusted along with a mage to guard my father. Then she killed him. Her dagger stabbed through his heart."

Arthas gazed deeply into Varian's eyes, his mind grappling with how to provide comfort in the face of such immense grief. In a moment of impulsiveness, he placed a hand on Varian's arm, attempting to offer some form of solace. "I saw the birth of a foal yesterday," he said, his words tinged with a sense of childish sincerity. Derek and Thorwin exchanged glances, unsure of how to respond to the unexpected comment, but they could sense the genuine intent behind Arthas's words. "When the weather is better, I'll take everyone to see him. He's the most precious thing."

Varian turned his gaze toward Arthas, his eyes reflecting a whirlwind of emotions—shock, offense, disbelief, and ultimately, understanding. The weight of his father's assassination and the fall of his kingdom were evident in his expression. Suddenly, his brown eyes filled with tears, and he looked at his two friends, especially Thorwin, who had been a pillar of comfort and safety throughout their perilous journey, a brother who had given him the strength to face each day. Tears streamed down Varian's cheeks, but he managed to suppress the cries that threatened to burst forth. He knew he had shoulders to lean on, friends who understood his pain and were there to support him.

In silence, Varian mourned his father, his kingdom, and the brave souls who had fought valiantly to protect them until the very end. He felt Arthas's hand gently squeezing his arm, a simple yet innocent gesture that conveyed comfort and compassion. It was in these small moments of understanding and empathy that Varian found a glimmer of sincerity from his fellow prince.

One week later.

Thorwin stirred from his slumber, a gentle knock on the door echoed through the room, pulling him from the depths of sleep. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up, the warmth of the bed reluctantly leaving him as he swung his legs over the side. The blanket lay in a disheveled heap, evidence of his hasty awakening. Outside, the snowflakes continued to dance in the frigid air, and the howling wind seeped through the cracks in the window frame, sending shivers down his spine. With a sleepy yawn, Thorwin stretched his limbs, trying to shake off the remnants of drowsiness. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a nearby candle casting flickering shadows on the walls. He glanced out the window, observing the serene winter landscape that lay beyond the glass. The beauty of the snow-covered world was mesmerizing, yet the biting cold reminded him that venturing outside would require wrapping himself in layers of warmth.

The knock came again, a bit more insistent this time. "Coming!" Thorwin called out, his voice still tinged with grogginess. He made his way towards the door, the wooden floor cold beneath his bare feet. As he approached, he straightened his clothes, running his fingers through his tousled hair in an attempt to appear more presentable. With a gentle push, he opened the door, revealing a figure standing in the hallway. It was Khadgar, the renowned mage, dressed in azure robes that shimmered faintly in the early morning light. The sight of the powerful sorcerer at this early hour both surprised and intrigued Thorwin. "Sir Khadgar," Thorwin greeted, his voice laced with respect after the mage's feat in the harbor. The last time he had seen Khadgar was before their landfall, when the mage's face had held the pallor of near-death, still lingering in the throes of a coma.

Khadgar smiled warmly, his piercing blue eyes glistening with a hint of magic. "Ah, you remember me, young lord," he replied, his voice carrying the weight of age and knowledge.

"It is good to see you awake and well, Sir Khadgar," Thorwin said politely, still somewhat in awe of the mage's presence.

"I apologize for the early disturbance, my young friend," Khadgar began, his tone sincere and earnest. "But there's something important I'd like to discuss with you."

Thorwin's nod was both eager and cautious, his mind racing with a mix of wonder and trepidation. The notion of the mage's arrival intrigued him deeply, leaving him with a lingering feeling that this encounter was destined, not mere happenstance. Could it be? His thoughts wandered back to a conversation he had with his grandfather, Anduin, just before Khadgar's awakening. Thorwin had shared his fascination with the arcane arts, and although Anduin had initially shown concern, he had assured Thorwin that he would relay this information to Khadgar once the mage awoke.

"Did Grandpa tell you?" Thorwin couldn't help but ask, his eyes bright with excitement and curiosity. "I was amazed by the magic you displayed in the harbor, Sir Khadgar."

Khadgar let out a slight chuckle, his gaze softening as he turned his attention to the young boy before him. He could sense a tinge of arcane energy flowing around Thorwin, subtle yet unmistakable. The mage's keen intuition told him that this was no ordinary encounter; there was a connection, a resonance, between him and the young boy.

"Why, yes, he did mention your interest in the arcane," Khadgar replied. "And I must say, young lord, that your potential in the arcane arts is truly remarkable."

Thorwin's heart swelled with a tumultuous mix of pride and excitement as Khadgar's words resonated within him. He had always been drawn to the mysterious world of magic, largely due to the captivating stories told by Jaina, the tales of powerful wizards wielding the forces of the arcane. To now hear that he possessed the potential to become a mage, acknowledged by someone as esteemed as Khadgar, was a revelation that surpassed his wildest dreams. However, as his excitement settled, a shadow of concern crept into Thorwin's thoughts. He couldn't help but remember the rigid teachings of his father and the tidesages, who held a deep-seated prejudice towards mages. Would they accept him pursuing the path of arcane magic, knowing their traditional disdain for its practice?

Before Thorwin could voice his apprehensions, Khadgar seemed to sense his inner turmoil and addressed his concerns with a reassuring smile. "Do not fret, Thorwin," the mage said, his voice warm and comforting. "The ways of the tidesages and the arcane may differ in their manifestations, but at their core, they share a common source of power. Both draw upon the mystical energies that flow through the world, channeling them through different mediums to achieve remarkable feats."

Thorwin listened intently, his curiosity piqued by Khadgar's words. The mage's reassuring presence and deep understanding of magic were evident, making him a comforting figure to lean on during this uncertain journey.

"Think of it as different paths leading to the same destination," Khadgar continued. "Just as the tidesages wield the power of the sea, you, as a mage, will harness the arcane energies that permeate the very fabric of reality. Each discipline has its unique strengths and applications, but they all stem from a shared wellspring of mystical power."

Thorwin's anxiety began to ease as Khadgar's words washed over him, soothing his troubled thoughts. The idea that he could embrace the arcane arts without forsaking the teachings of the tidesages brought him a newfound sense of relief and hope.

"Your journey will be one of discovery, my young friend," Khadgar added, a glimmer of excitement dancing in his piercing blue eyes. "If you allow me to teach you during our stay here, we shall explore the depths of the arcane, unlocking its secrets and honing your abilities."

At the end of their discussion, Khadgar gently placed a leather-bound book into Thorwin's hands. The tome was an introduction to the arcane arts, its intricate cover adorned with golden sigils that seemed to glow softly in the dimming light. Embossed letters spelled out the title, "Mysteries of the Arcane," written by a renowned mage from the illustrious city of Dalaran, situated south of Lordaeron. In eager anticipation, Thorwin carefully opened the book, its pages whispering secrets of ages past. The scent of aged parchment filled the air, and the room seemed to come alive with the magic contained within its bound pages. As his fingers traced the words, he delved into a world of enchantment and wonder, embarking on a journey of knowledge and power. Every turn of the page revealed new wonders, his connection to the arcane grew in each passing moment, like a flickering ember gradually turning into a blazing fire. The descriptions of the arcane were both captivating and enigmatic, written in a language that was both thrilling and challenging. Some of the terms and concepts were unfamiliar to Thorwin, but he was undeterred. Determination ignited within him as he made a mental note to seek guidance from Khadgar in their next meeting.

With the book cradled securely in his arms, Thorwin took a moment's respite to admire the ethereal display unfolding outside the grand window. The snowflakes danced in a mesmerizing waltz, their delicate forms catching the last rays of the setting sun, transforming into golden specks that illuminated the room. The warm hues bathed the chamber in a soft, enchanting glow, casting playful shadows on the walls.

Feeling invigorated by the mystical aura of the arcane book, Thorwin mustered his resolve and set forth through the castle's well-trodden halls. Having spent a few days in Lordaeron, the palace was now familiar to him, its grandeur and splendor a testament to its storied history. He recalled how Arthas, with boundless enthusiasm, had eagerly played the role of their tour guide, leading them through the labyrinthine halls, sharing captivating tales of each room's significance. Reaching the end of a hall, he turned left and entered the armory hall, its air filled with the scent of polished metal and the faint sound of clanging weapons. It was here that the four of them had agreed to spar, a chance to hone their combat skills and strengthen their bonds as friends.

I'm late. A sigh of frustration escaped his lips. Time had slipped away from him in the embrace of the arcane knowledge, and now he feared that his tardiness had kept his friends waiting. Hurriedly, he approached the sparring area, catching glimpses of Varian and Derek engaged in lively practice with helms, leather chest pieces, and wooden swords meeting with resounding clinks.

"Apologies for my tardiness," Thorwin called out, his voice a mix of contrition and determination. "I was engrossed in a book sir Khadgar gave me."

Varian and Derek briefly paused the flurry of their swords, and exchanged amused glances, knowing Thorwin's penchant for immersing himself in the pursuit of knowledge. "It's alright," Arthas replied. His eyes glowed when Varian and Derek began their final exchange. "Look, Thorwin," he exclaimed, pointing to the two as it intensified. "We are about to witness the victor emerge!"

The clash of swords reached its crescendo, and the bout ended with a resounding defeat for Derek, his sword flung far by the force of Varian's final swing. Both Thorwin and Arthas applauded in appreciation of the display of skill. "You fought valiantly, Derek," Thorwin commended, a glimmer of admiration in his eyes. "It's clear you've been honing your swordsmanship diligently."

Derek grinned. "Aye, but it seems Varian's strength is truly born from Stormwind," he teased, playfully acknowledging his defeat. "I must concede this round."

"It was merely luck," Varian humbly replied, not one to boast about his triumph. "You fought exceptionally well, Derek." With the spar concluded, Derek and Varian placed their equipment back on the rack. Turning towards Arthas and Thorwin, Derek extended an invitation. "Well then, my friends, it's your turn now."

Arthas beamed, eager to take on the challenge. "I'll spar with Thorwin," he declared, excitement clear in his voice. The two boys walked towards the equipment rack, carefully selecting their equipment.

Thorwin grinned, taking a moment to adjust his grip on the sword. "I'd be honored to spar with you, Arthas," he replied, a sense of anticipation coursing through his veins. As they positioned themselves, facing each other with a friendly glint in their eyes, Thorwin couldn't help but feel a deep sense of camaraderie. It was when Derek's voice called for the start of their bout, that Thorwin once again felt the thrill of combat, reminiscent of his sparring sessions with Cedric.

Arthas rushed forth; his movements were eager but uncoordinated. Thorwin's training and experience served him well as he easily parried Arthas's strike and swiftly sidestepped, following up with a well-executed shield bash. Arthas, caught off guard, quickly raised his shield in a panicked attempt to defend himself. However, the force of Thorwin's shield reverberated, causing Arthas to grimace as the impact jolted through his arms. Arthas stumbled back, readjusting his stance, determination now etched on his face. "Not bad," he huffed, wiping the sweat from his brow. "But I won't go down that easily!" He lunged forward once more, his left foot landing deeply as he closed the distance between them, his sword poised for a powerful strike.

Thorwin's eyes focused intently on his friend's movements, his own heart pounding with adrenaline. With swift reflexes, he raised his shield to meet Arthas's sword once more, deflecting the strike with practiced precision. Feeling the loss of momentum in Arthas's attack, Thorwin saw an opportunity and swiftly countered, using his sword to strike Arthas's wooden sword onto the ground. The impact sent a shiver up Arthas's arm, causing him to falter slightly.

In that moment, Thorwin took the upper hand, the pommel of his sword now pressing closer to Arthas's face, his eyes threatened to smack if the prince did not admit his defeat. "Concede?" Thorwin asked.

Arthas hesitated for a moment; his gaze downtrodden. But finally, he nodded, recognizing his friend's victory. "Alright, you win this round," he conceded, lowering his wooden sword.

Thorwin lowered his shield and extended a hand to Arthas, a gesture of camaraderie and respect. "Well fought, Arthas," he said, his voice genuine and warm.

"I fought terribly." Arthas sulked, yet he extended his hands to reciprocate his friend's gesture. He knew that he was a mess, but there was some hope that the two of them would be even in battle due to the closeness of their age. He followed Thorwin, hanging up his sword and unfastening his protective gear.

Thorwin couldn't help but chuckle at Arthas's sulking. "Well, even if you think you fought terribly, you put up a good fight," he reassured his friend, clapping him on the back. As they hung up their swords and unfastened their protective gear, Thorwin continued the conversation. "Grandfather taught me how to handle the sword when I was three," Thorwin explained, "and thereafter, my father hired a knight to teach me regularly. King Terenas will probably hire a trainer for you soon, especially after we defeat the orcs."

Arthas sighed, a mixture of annoyance and envy evident in his voice. "Don't rub it in," he grumbled, feeling a twinge of frustration at the thought of being behind in his swordsmanship compared to his friends.

"Sorry," Thorwin said with a grin, trying to ease the tension. Arthas reluctantly smiled back, appreciating his friend's attempt to lighten the mood. Thorwin couldn't help but notice that despite his lack of formal training, Arthas was remarkably athletic and strong for their age, perhaps even as strong as some of the hardened urchins in Brennadam. It intrigued him why the prince had been sheltered from learning the sword, considering his natural abilities. He decided to broach the topic with his friend. "I wonder why you haven't been trained in the sword like the rest of us?"

Arthas hesitated for a moment, considering his response. "It's not that I haven't wanted to learn," he admitted, "but my father always thought it was too dangerous for me. He wanted to protect me."

Thorwin nodded sympathetically, understanding the overprotective nature of a parent. His parents might have been similar if it weren't for his grandfather and his own enthusiasm. "I can see why he'd want to keep you safe," he said, "but you have a natural talent for it, Arthas. Maybe it's time to prove to your father that you can handle it."

Before Thorwin could say more, Varian interjected with a bright grin. "Tell you what," he said, his enthusiasm evident, "while I'm not trained to teach fighting, you can learn from the three of us during every spar. We'll help you improve, and by the time the orcs are defeated, you'll be able to hold your own against anyone."

Derek nodded in agreement, a playful smirk evident on his face.