Chapter 439: Lordaeron

The docks of Southshore were bustling as the fleet finally made landfall.

A group of armored men disembarked first, clearly soldiers. Leading them was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a bald head, a resolute face, and a thick beard. 

His armor bore the scars of countless battles, and on his back was a massive golden runed sword.

This was Anduin Lothar, the supreme commander of Stormwind.

Behind him, flanked by armored guards and attendants, came King Llane of Stormwind, his queen, and a young prince in her arms. 

The mayor of Southshore stepped forward with a deferential smile to greet them.

The meeting proceeded smoothly. King Terenas Menethil III of Lordaeron had already made arrangements. 

Temporary settlements for the refugees from Stormwind were being constructed near Southshore, ready to accommodate them.

The only surprise was how quickly Stormwind had fallen.

News of the city's breach and the exodus of its people had spread across the continent of Lordaeron in a single day.

Everyone now realized the orc invasion wasn't a minor skirmish or even a war between kingdoms—it was a conflict between entire races.

Yet hesitation and caution persisted. Until the orcs directly threatened Lordaeron, doubts lingered.

To expedite the formation of an alliance to retake Stormwind, Llane and Lothar, after arranging for the refugees, rode gryphons to the capital city of Lordaeron. 

The queen and the young prince followed under the protection of mounted guards.

Of course, Alaric and Khadgar, both mages from Dalaran and witnesses to the war, joined Llane on this journey.

The distance from Southshore to Lordaeron City wasn't short. Even on gryphons, the trip took three days.

Stormwind had been a towering, imposing city, its spires and spiral staircases constructed of gleaming stone that defied sea winds. 

Now, however, they beheld a capital of a different kind, equally captivating.

Unlike Stormwind, Lordaeron wasn't tall or grand.

Its charm lay in its elegance.

Situated on the northern shores of Lake Lordamere, it basked in the lake's silvery reflections. 

It lacked Stormwind's dazzling brilliance but exuded a serene radiance, as if the sunlight naturally emanated from within, imbuing it with tranquility, peace, and even sanctity.

"This is a magnificent realm," Khadgar remarked beside Alaric. "Though if you ask me, it'd be perfect if the climate were warmer."

Their gazes drifted southward, where another city rose on the lake's southern shore.

Its graceful lines mirrored the capital's, yet this city had a distinct character. Its high walls and spires radiated a soft violet hue.

"That's Dalaran," Alaric said. "The stronghold of the Kirin Tor mages, where Khadgar and I hail from."

"Yes," Khadgar affirmed. "That's my homeland before I was sent to be Medivh's apprentice."

"Perhaps one day you'll return there, even if only for a short while," Llane said. "But for now, we must focus on the capital."

He nudged his mount forward, the gryphon taking a few lazy steps as they left the shadows of Silverpine Forest. Lothar, Alaric, Khadgar, and the soldiers followed closely.

Out of respect for Lordaeron, they dismounted before entering the city, choosing not to fly directly into its heart.

At the city gates, guards stood vigilant, though the massive doors were wide open, accommodating two or three wagons side by side. 

A group of distinctively clad warriors in red robes stepped forward.

"Your Majesty Llane, welcome to Lordaeron City," their captain said with a bow. "King Terenas awaits you in the throne room."

Escorted by the guards, the group made their way through the bustling city to the palace gates. Their gryphons were handed over to attendants, and Llane led his entourage into the palace.

They passed through the outer gates into a vast courtyard, almost like an open garden. 

Small pavilions lined both sides, leading to another set of grand open doors that revealed the throne room.

The throne room was an imposing circular hall, its high vaulted ceiling disappearing into shadows. 

Golden light filtered through faded glass at the dome's center, illuminating intricate patterns on the floor: nested rings encircling a golden emblem of Lordaeron.

At the far end stood a round platform, its concentric steps culminating in a massive throne seemingly carved from glowing stone. Its clean, angular lines radiated strength and majesty.

Seated on the throne was a tall figure. His golden hair was tinged with gray, his armor shimmered faintly, and his crown resembled a spiked helm rather than a traditional diadem.

The hall was filled with people—citizens, workers, and farmers—all keeping a respectful distance from the throne. 

Some carried small scrolls or offerings of food. However, as Alaric and the others approached, their distinguished attire and bearing prompted the crowd to part silently.

As the visitors' faces became visible, the man on the throne rose swiftly, striding down the steps to embrace Llane tightly.

"Ah, my old friend!" King Terenas exclaimed, his blue-green eyes brimming with emotion. "At last, you're here. It's such a relief to see you safe."

"Yes, it's a blessing amidst misfortune," Llane replied, equally moved. "But Terenas, we must speak in private."

"Of course," Terenas said, turning to the crowd. "Please, allow us some privacy."

Though phrased politely, it was a command. The crowd quickly dispersed, leaving only a few nobles and guards. 

Llane's entourage also stepped back, leaving Llane, Lothar, Alaric, and Khadgar with Terenas.

"My apologies for not aiding you sooner," Terenas said regretfully. "Gilneas and Alterac have been stalling, and many nobles still doubt the threat of the orcs. 

But rest assured, I will do everything in my power to help you reclaim your homeland. For now, perhaps you can tell me more about the orcs."

"Of course, my friend. That's why we've come," Llane said, launching into a detailed account of the war with the orcs.

Terenas listened intently, occasionally asking questions. Lothar added his own observations to Llane's recounting.

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