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Rebellion - 7.1 G/J/A
🕑 Added 2023-08-06 09:00:05 +0000 UTCThough Genn held his pen against the page, the opening lines of salutations written and the intent to complete the draft in his mind once more, the words still would not come. The reply to Lady Tulvan's declaration of intent, her banners raised against him, so rightly deserved – needed – a response, but try as he might, hours had passed and little had been done.
He deeply regretted the death of the archbishop, one who had served Gilneas and his family faithfully for so long. He regretted the dire circumstance, the horror they all felt, the desperate acts that they had been driven to when aid had not come.
There had been no time.
But no matter his thoughts, his feelings, each time he wrote them out they appeared little more than hollow simpering, begging forgiveness of an act most unseemly, rather than explaining its very necessity.
Because it wasn't. The spectre of the young woman who lurked behind his eyes whispered, her girlish face that belied she was little more than a child compared to him marred by his blade thrust through her bloody eye.
The pen slammed down on the desk and he stood, staring down at it. Wondering if somehow it was the cause of the ghosts that haunted him – Ashbury, his oldest friend, hanging limp with the noose woven from his own bedding around his neck as his eyes shifted to a feral yellow – made as it was by the worst of them all.
Those amber eyes, worn on a childish face which sought to judge him and his every act. He was king!
Had she but aided him as she aided Crowley, had she but trusted in his rule, had she but obeyed his authority, Gilneas could have risen mightier than ever. But his word was tarnished from the very beginning.
She wasn't wrong. The ghost whispered once more, and he reached into his desk to withdraw a bottle.
By the time he was interrupted, a dozen more failures thrown to the side and the pen discarded for a quill, he was well on his way to being drunk.
Not swiftly enough for his tastes; the faces of those he had buried for doing their duty to Gilneas, those that had trusted him and his worgen, still haunted him. The weight of kingship, of living up to his father's legacy, weighed down upon him.
"Oh, Genn..." Mia said, tutting as she walked up and lifted the half-empty bottle of wine. "You missed our luncheon; Tess was quite put out and decided to leave me to engage in mischief in turn, as she is wont to do."
His eyes closed, feeling worse for failing her as he had failed so many others, Genn grunted in reply.
A soft hand rested upon his shoulder. "Husband? This is no simple matter, is it. Please, tell me what is wrong; I cannot aid you if I do not know."
"Gilneas can ill afford another war." He grunted in reply, his words harsher than he intended.
Her fingers ran through his beard, tickling him into lifting his head and meeting her gaze. "We are Greymanes, are we not? We shall endure this, as we do all things."
Genn grunted again, but as much as he was tempted to reach for his drink he did not. "I do not see how. My rash actions have turned half the kingdom against us, and I cannot undo that." He shook his head tiredly. "Not without destroying all faith the people have in my rule."
To take back his word, his accusations of treason, to seek to undo what had been done now that Crowley had raised his banners in rebellion, would undermine the authority the crown depended upon.
It would be a betrayal of his house to even consider the act.
Had he succeeded in taking Darius' daughter into custody, claimed the damnable prophet for himself, Crowley would have been forced to parley. To seek submission. A compromise could have been reached, peace attained, and Gilneas would endure even if the rest of the world should burn.
But it was not to be. When he had taken Lady Mistmantle's accusation to his son he had not denied it, scarcely flinching and accepting that his hope for secrecy had failed.
To be betrayed by his own son was unthinkable.
And yet, no matter the words spoken in anger, the dire and slanderous accusations of what lay in Genn's future, he could not turn against Liam.
He was his son.
His wife's hand squeezed his shoulder sharply. "There is still time to consider, is there not? The seasons are still in flux, winter lingers over us, and war is a slow matter even in summer. We have much time to find a pathway to peace."
In lieu of a reply he waved at the strewn papers, the letter he sought to respond to. One of many in truth, for it was hardly the Duchess of the Dales alone who had written to inform him of their intentions.
Loyal lords and ladies begged for aid against the vengeful duchess, speaking of the movement of the very skies themselves to threaten their forces and how no matter how far they fled the army followed upon their heels. Snows did not slow their march much, clever shoes and magical garments protected them from the cold.
All that lay between him and the marauding forces was Godfrey's land, which itself was hemmed in on three sides with the turning of Lady Tulvan and the Northern Headlands.
Even though, in a truly painful ironic twist, the rebellion had averted the tragedy of losing much of the army to the worgen, those forces were still lost to him. Joining Arugal's mages in guarding the wall, holding more loyalty to Crowley than their king, trapped too deep within lands loyal to Crowley to escape in force with equipment intact...
He had nothing to offer those that begged for aid. What forces he could muster from the capital must be used to crush those that would surround them; his own Sea Lord had turned against him, and the west with him.
The capital could not be allowed to be surrounded from the west as well as the east, and control over the Northgate River was too vital to ignore.
Mia's eyebrows rose as she read the first of the letters. "The situation is more dire than I thought." She said, her jaw set determinedly, and then at last she came to Lady Tulvan's letter itself and her eyes went wide. "Oh my." She gasped, putting a hand over her mouth. "I had thought that Lady Tulvan was a... respectable lady, and I find myself corrected. To play the role in court as she does, she must be a truly capable actress if these are her true thoughts."
Barking out a laugh, Genn remembered the old Lord Tulvan's lessons on how to properly insult a man. That if one must repeat a single word in his cursing he is not showing proper dedication to his fury. Lady Tulvan would have been taught the same.
His raised spirits last only a moment, however. "It would take divine intervention to prevent the war now." He said darkly, taking up his glass once more. "And with the church choosing sides, such is in scarce supply of late."
There was a long silence after he spoke, filled only by the swirling of his glass and the dire thoughts in his head.
"There is an option for such," Mia replied, her words drawn out and thoughtful, "the Blackwald is part of Gilneas and an audience is well deserved. If we can but reach him."
Genn pauses, his eyes snapping to his wife. The great fox so many spoke of, the supposed Wild God the Order of Amber worshipped. There was little enough information to work from, but if an agreement could be reached the rebellion could be denied one of its greatest assets.
Or would the amber-eyed prophet choose to deny the word of her own god to continue with her grudge against him?
He shook his head. It mattered little, there were too many complications that could not be ignored. "No, though the thought–"
His denial was cut short by a heavy knocking on the door, and he would have dismissed the intruder immediately had it not been followed by a familiar voice.
"Let me go! Dad doesn't need to know!" Tess whined petulantly, her childish pitch cutting through the door easily.
So swift were they both to act, fearing the worst, that the hands of the king and queen both acted in opening the door. To Genn's great relief his daughter was unharmed, if perhaps less clean than she ought to be; her sleek black hair marred with grime, and black stains upon her cheeks.
"Your Majesty," Guardsman Patrick – Always know the names of your protectors, son, for they shall die to earn your kindness; such is the privilege of kings – "the princess was found absconding with your guest."
The witchling; Genn hissed through his teeth as his dear Mia started fussing over their daughter. He had all but forgotten the girl, ordered her thrown into the dungeons when presented with her after the failure to capture the girls.
That she had been a friend to his daughter, who now glared up at him defiantly with steel buried behind her innocent eyes, had entirely slipped his mind.
"To our shame, Your Majesty, she slipped past us. The stains are from her... escape with the guest. Had they not bumped into a patrol we may have had to comb the city for the girl – as it was, they were in the west wing apartments." Patrick explained, his eyes downcast from his failure. "They are both unharmed."
Little more than a child.
"The dungeons are no place for a princess, my little Tess." Mia whispered, using a handkerchief to scrub away some of the grime from her face. "What ever brought you down there?"
"They’re wrong for a friend too!" Tess cried out angrily, trying to push her mother away. "She was hungry and cold and you left her there!
Genn felt guilt well up in him as he met his daughter's eyes. "How did you even find out about her, daughter?" He asked stoically, but she pressed her lips into a thin and angry line. "If you do not answer, I may have to consider punishing her. To lure my own daughter into danger..."
"It was the bird with the letter!" Tess yelled, quickly fumbling in her skirt and withdrawing a rumpled piece of paper. "You put people in the dungeons when they do crimes and custody. So I looked there."
Tutting lightly, Mia shook her head. "People are put in custody, daughter, for committing crimes. Though I admit my curiosity in this case; I was unaware we had another guest...?" Before he could take it, she had read the letter, and her expression deepened into a frown. "Genn..." she whispered accusingly, holding it up for him to read.
The contents were themselves damning, begging for the safety of a child. One he had punished for the sins of her associates.
His daughter looked up at him, fear and worry for her friend causing her lip to tremble and her eyes to glisten.
"Patrick," he said, knowing he could at least set this to rights easily. "See that our guest is given proper quarters. Beside my daughter, and granted all the amenities becoming of a true guest of the palace. Further–" He turned the letter over to his guard. "–see that this reaches her."
"Really?!" Tess cheered, the threat of tears vanishing as swiftly as it had come. "Oh, Lianne will like her too! We can all be starry wolf friends! Mama, you've got to come too!"
"Very well. We did miss lunch." Mia said with a chuckle, taking their daughter’s hand and letting herself be pulled along. She offered him a thankful and appreciative look while answering Tess' happy jabbering suggestions for games.
"Your Majesty," Patrick saluted, stepping back and joining his fellow guards and moving to fulfil his orders.
Once more Genn was left alone with his thoughts. If only all the rebellion were so easy to resolve as that, to offer forgiveness and receive thankfulness in return. But he could no more abandon those loyal to him than he could turn back time.
Perhaps, though, he could consider heeding parts of that letter...
Not for sensitive matters, but to open an avenue of communication. To seek a measure of compromise before war took hold entirely. Yes, he could not trust the witchling with the correspondence of his vassals, but to his foes?
And if he found another witch, one truly loyal, it would not be just the damned rebels that made use of ravens.
-oOoOo-
"Land Ho!" Came the exuberant and bellowing cry of the ship's watchman through the patter of the rain. "Land Ho! Kalimdor Ho! We've made it, lads!" A moment later, reverberating in the very hull of the ship, came a chorus of jubilant cheers.
After nearly three months at sea, even with the great stores which had been prepared for them, the simple luxuries they could afford to dole out to the people they carried to safety, the long journey had worn on many tempers.
It had been a truly monumental task from keeping them from fraying completely; the fear that they might never find the near-mythical land of Kalimdor, that the Maelstrom would follow them and batter the ships again, the lurking horrors of the deeps that had more than once set themselves upon them.
At first she had wondered if she was truly suited for the task, of arguing with and giving advice to men, dwarves, and elves many, many years her elder.
Lord Uther was well respected and had long experience in command, but his injury denied him the energy to lead. Thane Macgraff was the most senior amongst the dwarves, an old rider who held his pride together easily; but he, by his own word, did not understand humans. Lord Saltheril was... not the most suitable for the elven refugees of Quel'Thalas to have, but he kept their spirits high.
William Silverlaine was of an age with her, Lord Stormsong content with coordinating the Tidesages and other elementalists in their fleet, and Speaker Aderic too reclusive.
In the end, much of the work of keeping the unity of their mismatched and ill-coordinated fleet from shattering had come down to her, and though the work was hard, it was fulfilling.
Rising from his position curled up around her heating stones, Nari yawned mightily. "At last." He muttered glumly, his eyes turning to the drizzling rain beyond the windows. "But of course, it's going to be sodding wet. Couldn't be nice and dry, no, never that for old Nari's bones."
Hiding her smile with a shake of her head, Jaina gathered up her staff and checked her appearance in the mirror. "You are welcome under my ward." She offered, touching up the signs of tiredness with a minor glamour before casting the spell. "I believe we both had enough of the rain after the Maelstrom."
"Hah! You had it better than we did." He complained, but still moved to follow closely at her heels.
Following his declaration that Lord Uther would either heal on his own or not at all, Nari had continued spending his time in her cabin. At first seemingly just to remain warm, as he would always complain of the cold, but soon that changed.
Though their methods were different she had learned a great deal from his lectures on illusions, and the old fox had a fascinating perspective on all forms of magic.
Cold winds buffeted them, though the rain it carried did not, as they stepped out onto the deck. "Lord Stormsong! How soon till we make anchor?" She called out.
"A few minutes at most, Lady Proudmoore!" He called back jovially from his place at the heart of a circle of sages. "The fog and storm hid the islands well, but we've made out the shape of Gilnean ships and their lanterns. We have found Admiral Candren's landing site as planned."
"Excellent news." She smiled and closed her eyes, holding her staff high above her head and coalescing magic at its tip.
A jolt of light leapt into the air above them, banishing the darkness of the storm and illuminating the fleet all around. Further beyond them was the shape of a tower jutting out over a bay – the steeply sloped roof of a Gilnean lighthouse. A number of ships lay at anchor or beached upon the shore, some in ill repair and others taken apart for material.
But, most importantly, a long wooden pier stretched out into the sheltered waters of the bay. The beginnings of a true port in this ancient land.
"Lord Stormsong, see the weather clear enough that riders can gather the council. We shall meet Admiral Candren together, and from there decide upon our course." She ordered and the man nodded.
"At once, Lady Proudmoore."
They had made it to Kalimdor and survived the first storm which threatened their course, but many more lay ahead of them. This was but the beginning of their resistance against the Burning Legion.
-oOoOo-
"It may not be much yet, but it damn sure is enough to call the place home." 'Licia said as she lead the 'fleet council', a motley bunch, down the 'high street' of Theramore. "Only Alicent Bay's getting much work done yet, for housing anyway. With the help of the witch we've got some farms being set up over yonder on Candar Isle – whatever that means in the middle of winter."
She was a sailor, not a bloody farmer. If it wasn't her mother’s roses she wouldn't even know when they blossomed or flowered or whatever it was plants did.
"Digging around in the dirt must leave Orion as happy as a, hmm." Aderic mused thoughtfully. "Not a clam, I would think he's had enough of the seas for a long time. A carrot, perhaps? No, no, too belittling... even if he turns the colour of one easily."
Ignoring the antics of the speaker, Proudmoore nodded serenely. Somehow she was unbothered by the cold and damp despite her bare midriff; the lucky brat. "You've done well for how little time you've had to get established, I would say the bay's name is well deserved."
'Licia snorted. "Damn right it is." It'd been tempting to name the whole main island after her family, and she had put up something of an auction and raffle to name the smaller islands as a reward for the flotilla. "The pub's the best place to talk, and I figure there's someone in there you'd like to meet." After gesturing at the building, she smiled at the wily speaker who raised his brow curiously and she shook her head. "Lady's gotta have her fun somehow; you'll see when you see."
"Hah! Very well, girl." He barked in amusement.
Running his hand through his, frankly obnoxiously fabulous mane of hair, Lord Saltheril smiled prettily. "I don't suppose you have a stock of Suntouched Special Reserve by any chance? If not, I shall send for some of my stores. Arriving at last deserves a proper celebration."
Thane Macgraff brushed past him with a dismissive snort and roll of his eyes, leading the others to follow.
"Never heard of it." 'Licia replied truthfully. Some fancy elven drink, no doubt.
The Wolf's Paw was hardly the most impressive of pubs, but build out of one of the ships they'd beached it was their most sturdy building save the lighthouse, and the biggest by far. Plenty of room to make themselves comfortable – even if the elf kept frowning at what he saw.
Elves. Prissy bunch by the look of them.
Though, apparently the ones up north were different. She'd believe it when she saw it.
"The marsh is miserable, worse than the Pyremarsh by far." She explained after they'd had a tipple and gotten past the congratulations and toasts for making the journey. "Found a good spot up the coast to land, though. Decent natural harbour and a flat plain heading inland for miles; dry as all hell and the nearest river's miles and miles to the north, so if you're planning to cross I don't envy you."
Proudmoore laid out her copy of the book on the table, laying out the map. "Would you say it's Northwatch Bay or Ratchet?" She asked, clearly taking the thing at face value in ways 'Licia didn't anymore.
The map might be damn useful but it showed Theramore as one island, not dozens. The coastline was... mostly right but drastically underestimated the scale of things.
And pointing that out spawned a great round of discussions on their direction, where they should go, and what path should be taken. Meeting with the elves first, seeking out the bloody orcs that either had or would be arriving soon, trying to make peace with the centaurs – sodding hell no, she'd met them – or trying to forge an alliance with the tauren to steal them from the orcs.
Amusing thought, that. Very amusing.
Aderic sure as hell had figured out what she was thinking about from the way he smiled at her.
How to cross the barrens to handle their supply lines safely, trying to navigate the South Fury River, or make their way through the reefs of Aszhara to be closer to Ashenvale, all came up.
In the end, though, their force was big enough for all of their tasks. No dinky and minor expedition was this – frankly, they had too many men to leave them idle.
"Then it is settled. I shall join Lady Jaina on her destined path to Stonetalon Peak." Lord Uther declared firmly. "Whether or not the orcs become a friend or a foe, they must be dealt with and I shall not see it left unresolved. I bid you state your intended tasks as well."
William, looking a little ruffled and out of place, smiled nervously. "I shall remain here to aid in the construction of the city. Too many of our people need caring for to be left without leadership."
"Good lad!" Aderic barked, slapping his back. "I expect a statue or two when we come back, maybe one of the city's honoured founder?" He said with a wink her way.
Oh for the sake of the bleedin' Light, she'd been stuck without any fun due to her position and rank for the whole voyage. He was seriously making her reconsider her previous belief that he was too old for her. "The bay could do with a little decoration." She chuckled.
After a few snorts of laughter, nods of further agreement followed William's decision. He had chosen a noble task, though it wouldn't be one to win him glory, and they could all respect that.
"Figure if I take the river you can handle the reefs, Tidesage." She offered the Kul Tiran priest. "Got experience with Northgate you lack."
He looked stern for a moment, as if ready to argue the questioning of his competence, then he settled. "I shall grant one of mine to you to aid you, of course." He offered. "But yes, the reefs of Azshara shall be little difficulty for our sailors."
Bloody backhanded acceptance is what it was. She'd better get her job done first. "I'm sure our witch'll appreciate the help; Alys, I think?"
Thane MacGraff chugged from his mug and slammed it on the table, breaking up their bickering. "Figure me an' mine'd be best tae find the bull men." He grunted slowly, levelling his gaze between them and daring them to interrupt him. "Me or Kindfeather, but me thinks ye've got need o' him, Speaker?"
Rather than answering, he smiled knowingly and let the bloody fox that had been with them climb up and place its paws on the table. "Aderic and I have an appointment with my granduncle. Thane Kindfeather has kindly offered to join us in our quest; no one else will be needed. The elves will be contacted."
Eyes sparkling with mischief, the fox gave off a needle-filled grin. "Whether they like it or not."
Comments
Quinn
Back in the final interlude of the Scourge arc, the soldier he killed before he realised she was posessed. A young woman, little more than a girl, yet bravely defending Gilneas. He killed her personally for something that was no fault of her own. That's sticking with him as a *mistake*. And yeah, Genn can't really see Gilneas as unimportant. They were the contendor kingdom to Lordaeron (if decidedly inferior on the whole, they came closest in the North. Stormwind was a world away) so *obviously* they're important. Also, just plain nationalism. But one thing to take away, is that he regrets the current situation and wishes it was different. It's just that, from his rather blinkered perspective, he can't see a way out. So war it is.
Apeljohn
> The spectre of the young woman who lurked behind his eyes whispered, her girlish face that belied she was little more than a child compared to him marred by his blade thrust through her bloody eye. I'm very confused who this is referring to. Context suggests Gwen, but what's with the blade through the eye? > Had she but aided him as she aided Crowley, had she but trusted in his rule, had she but obeyed his authority, Gilneas could have risen mightier than ever. Gah. He just cannot grasp his and his nation's comparative unimportance in the grand scheme of things, can he? Nor can he apparently recall the degree to which he has proven willing to ignore her advice when it clashes with his preconceptions. If nothing else, this segment confirms to my mind that Gwen was entirely correct not to seek his patronage. At best he'd have locked her in a tower to churn out predictions and inventions fOr ThE gReAtEr GlOrY oF gILnEaS. At worst he'd have treated her predictions as a personal attack on his rule and had her quietly disposed of. Or at least stuck somewhere where she couldn't point out that his glorious wall wouldn't be much use if Azeroth as a whole dropped out from under them.
Quinn
Lord Renard would have a *magnificent* number of ways of telling Genn that he is, quite thoroughly, fucked.
Bat
Gen talking to Renard the wild god sounds like it would be very entertaining. I can picture that going not in Gen’s favor at all.
