Sleep

A drunk man, it's a universally acknowledged truth, weighs more than a fully armored Kodo. This was the collective, weary thought of every poor soul cursed with the task of serving a noble who'd had one too many. The only silver lining, if you could call it that, was that the moment Duke's unconscious form cleared the threshold of the throne room, his personal guard, a crack team of knights, materialized to take over the burden of the Alliance's most expensive, and currently most inebriated, asset.

"Well, gentlemen, leave the rest of the journey to the VIP suite to us," Casa Eurassis, a knight chosen for his unwavering loyalty and formidable biceps, declared with a strained smile as he took over Duke's dead weight.

In an era where the Alliance was finally hitting its stride, racking up victories like a goblin collects shiny trinkets, it was no exaggeration to say that Duke was the linchpin. There was even a slightly exaggerated, whispered adage among the ranks: "It doesn't matter who the Blade Master of the Burning Blade Clan assassinates; as long as Duke's still breathing, the Alliance won't crumble."

Casa and another knight, grunting with effort, each hoisted one of Duke's arms over their shoulders. Twelve fully armed knights, looking more like pallbearers than an escort, formed a tight cordon around their precious cargo, guiding Duke's inert form towards the room designated as the state guesthouse.

Before entering the room, Vanessa maintained an impeccable facade, her expression and demeanor perfectly aligned with the image of a prim and proper maid. But the moment the two knights heaved the comatose Duke onto the plush bed, their voices dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, "My lord is in your capable hands, Miss VanCleef," Vanessa's face flushed a furious crimson for no discernible reason.

Thump-thump, thump-thump! Her heart hammered against her ribs like a startled rabbit. She hadn't thought anything of it at first, but hearing those two chuckleheads, those knights, say that, she suddenly felt a cold dread creep up her spine. It felt like something was definitely, irrevocably, about to go down.

Along the way, she'd heard far too many sordid tales of nobles preying on innocent maids. Whispers of "the Duke's guide to adult enlightenment," or "the Earl's 'special' late-night lessons"... Her mind conjured images straight out of the most scandalous penny dreadfuls circulating among the servants. Almost subconsciously, Vanessa hiked up her maid's skirt a fraction. Not for any salacious reason, mind you, but purely to make it easier to snatch the throwing knife strapped to her thigh.

The next moment, Vanessa felt like the biggest idiot in all of Azeroth. "Damn it all," she muttered under her breath, "if I actually hurt Duke, my dad will flay me alive before the Horde even gets a chance."

You see, Edwin VanCleef had returned to Southshore during the recent Winter Veil festivities, practically bouncing off the walls as he excitedly recounted the glorious progress in the Westfall. According to Duke's brilliant, if slightly mad, plan, he and Stoutman had successfully established a covert base in the Moonbrook mine. Not only had they managed to sneak over two thousand refugees right under the Horde's nose and safely escort them to Southshore, but they'd also carved out a permanent foothold deep within the mine's labyrinthine tunnels.

"Using the mine's complex terrain like a master strategist," Edwin had crowed, "we butchered over five hundred orcs, and our own casualties were less than thirty! So, we've decided to christen it the 'Death Mine'—meaning it's the grave of every single green-skinned fiend who dares to set foot inside!"

Edwin, bless his oblivious heart, didn't realize he'd just twisted history into an interesting new knot. The Death Mine, a name that would one day send shivers down the spines of Westfall's citizens, had appeared earlier than expected, but in a different, far more righteous, glorious, and downright heroic form.

"Vanessa," Edwin had continued, his voice thick with fanatical admiration, "I've heard about Master Edmund's truly epic deeds! He's personally dispatched hundreds of thousands of orcs, or so the bards sing! Oh, by the Holy Light, I swear Master's wisdom is practically on par with Emperor Thoradin himself! He's a beacon of hope in the human world, fighting against those evil, foreign monsters! But can you imagine? Such a great man, and no heir! If something unfortunate were to befall him, how would the loyalty of me, Stoutman, Reginald, and all his other devoted subjects continue? Oh, just thinking about it breaks my heart into a thousand pieces!"

Feeling her father's utterly unhinged adoration for Duke, Vanessa was speechless. Vanessa, still a young woman, hadn't quite grasped the full scope of Duke's 'greatness.' At most, she thought he was incredibly powerful. The real problem was that her father was now practically gift-wrapping his own daughter and shipping her off! Vanessa felt a profound sense of conflict, remembering that she was already fourteen, practically knocking on the door of the generally accepted marriageable age of fifteen.

The only thing to be thankful for was that, despite her father's not-so-subtle hints and outright declarations, he was still a father who loved his daughter, and he hadn't forced her directly into this… arrangement.

The memories abruptly ended.

Well, the million-dollar question was: if Duke did get angry, should she obey him? Or, you know, not? Vanessa, in a state of profound confusion, poked Duke's handsome, unconscious face with her index finger.

"Huff, huff, huff..." The sound of even, peaceful breathing filled the room.

Well, this damn Duke was a surprisingly decent drunk. At least he wasn't cursing like a sailor, or getting belligerent, or acting like a wild animal. He was just… out cold. Squatting at the head of the bed, gazing at Duke's calm, impossibly young face, it was hard to reconcile this overly youthful man with the core figure of the Alliance, the one leading hundreds of thousands of soldiers and, quite frankly, holding the future of the entire human race in his hands.

"What if... it seems... not yet..." Before Vanessa could finish her internal monologue, a sudden commotion erupted from the door.

"Let me in! I have the most urgent matter to discuss with Duke!" It was a female voice, one Vanessa knew all too well.

"I'm terribly sorry, Your Excellency the Deputy Commander just had a rather spirited drinking contest with His Majesty Kurdran Wildhammer and is currently… indisposed. Please, if you have anything to say, perhaps tomorrow?" This was the voice of Knight Captain Casa, clearly doing his best to hold the line.

"By the Sunwell's shimmering light! How can he be drunk at this hour?! No, I must see him. I can't wait another second!"

"Get out of the way, you oafs! Even if I have to splash water on him to wake him up, I will!" This was another woman's voice, equally familiar and equally insistent.

Most of the Wildhammer Dwarves' dwellings were carved into the very rock of the mountain, built within caves. The entire state guesthouse, aside from a discreet escape tunnel, possessed only one main entrance. When Vanessa finally opened the door, she found the formidable Windrunner sisters, Alleria and Sylvanas, locked in a heated, very public argument with the knights.

Yes, it wasn't just Sylvanas; Alleria, looking utterly exhausted as if she'd just raced across the continent, was there too. Their quarrel, a symphony of indignant shouts and clanking armor, had alarmed half the castle. Gavinrad and Reginald, who had wisely abstained from the drinking contest, and Ilucia, who had only taken a polite sip, all emerged from their rooms, drawn by the commotion.

Seeing the scene unfold, Ilucia's eyes widened, a sudden, brilliant epiphany lighting up her face. She remembered Duke's shocking, meticulous planning, his uncanny ability to foresee every contingency. This whole situation, this glorious chaos, is probably all part of your grand design, isn't it, Master Edmund? Though, did you factor in getting utterly plastered yourself?

Ilucia gently brushed a stray strand of black hair from her face, a mischievous, almost impish smile playing on her lips. She then issued an order that, while perfectly polite, was subtly subversive: "Master Edmund said that if the Windrunner sisters wish to enter, they are to be admitted immediately. If Lord Eurassis is concerned, you may request the Windrunner sisters remove their weapons before entering. Of course, Lord Eurassis is also welcome to join them inside."

Everyone present knew about the… special relationship between Duke and Alleria, but not a single soul dared to voice the obvious. In truth, the weapons were merely a formality, a convenient excuse.

Faced with the critical urgency of the moment, Alleria swiftly unslung her longbow and ranger's dagger, handing them over to another elven ranger who had accompanied her. She and Sylvanas practically burst into the room, only to see Vanessa standing resolutely at the head of Duke's bed.

Vanessa, ever the dutiful maid, spoke with a weary sigh. "I'm sorry, but the Master is quite thoroughly drunk. If I had my way, I wouldn't even let you wake him. In fact, he's so far gone, he couldn't do anything even if he were awake."

Alleria's face, usually a mask of unshakeable confidence, dignity, calm, and high-spirited resolve, crumpled in an instant, her jaw practically hitting the floor.

"Oh, by the Light! Quel'Thalas is about to be attacked! And you're drunk?!"