Eye Contact

In the state guesthouse at Aerie Peak, right beside Duke's bed, Alleria recounted her harrowing experiences in Silvermoon City, her voice barely a whisper, thick with unshed tears. It was a feeling of utter, soul-crushing despair, as if the very heavens had decided to take a swan dive onto her head.

"Not a single soul would believe me," she choked out, her voice cracking. "They drank the Kool-Aid, hook, line, and sinker, believing blindly in the impregnable defenses of Eversong Woods. They were convinced the orcs would rather fight to the death in Stratholme and take on the humans first. They simply refused to believe that Orgrim would be crazy enough to lead his army directly to Silvermoon City. Some even whispered that I'd been bribed by humans, deliberately spreading panic to strong-arm Quel'Thalas into joining the Alliance! The Silvermoon Council, those stubborn old coots, banned all evacuation operations. The only thing I could do was to tell my rangers to step up patrols in the border areas... a drop in the bucket, really."

Once upon a time, Alleria had possessed an aura as sharp and vibrant as a freshly honed elven blade, like a warhorse chomping at the bit to charge into battle. But now, Alleria looked like a drowned rat, her beautiful feathers not only ruffled but completely plucked, her heart stomped on like a discarded goblin toy. And that was the cruelest part. The saddest thing wasn't to be blindsided by tragedy; it was to know, deep in your bones, that disaster was barreling down the tracks, and to be utterly powerless to stop it.

As for Duke's chilling calculations, his 'divine predictions,' not only Alleria, but even the pragmatic Seamus and the stoic Windsor, believed them without a shadow of a doubt. Believing was one thing, though; agreeing to actually do something about it was a whole different kettle of fish.

General Seamus stroked his beard, a thoughtful, almost pained expression on his face, before finally speaking. "Lady Alleria," he began, his voice surprisingly gentle, "I suggest you don't put Lord Edmund on the spot."

"How can you even say that?!" Sylvanas practically snarled, looking like she wanted to punch Seamus's teeth down his throat.

Seamus raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Hold your horses, Ranger-General. I have no intention of sitting back and watching a tragedy unfold. First of all, we must make one thing crystal clear: if this tragedy does happen, all the responsibility does not lie with Lord Edmund or the Alliance. Do you understand?"

The Windrunner sisters' facial muscles did a little dance, their mouths opening and closing like fish out of water. Words caught in their throats for a long, agonizing moment. Finally, the two sisters nodded weakly, their shoulders slumping.

"Secondly," Seamus continued, his voice firming, "as a general of the Alliance and Stormwind, I flat-out oppose Lord Edmund Duke leading his army into Quel'Thalas in any form before Quel'Thalas formally asks the Alliance for help. This is a matter of principle, ladies. Today, we use the orcs as an excuse to send troops directly into the High Elf Kingdom. Tomorrow, some other country could waltz into the border of a third country in the name of clearing out bandits. That's a very, very bad precedent, a slippery slope we can't afford to slide down."

The Windrunner sisters' faces turned ashen, looking like they'd just seen a ghost.

At this point, General Seamus, ever the stickler for rules, added, "Of course, the final decision rests with Lord Edmund. But before he makes that final call, I will remind him, once again, that power and responsibility go hand in hand."

With that, Seamus gave a crisp salute and, along with all the other men, beat a hasty retreat from Duke's room. The only souls left in the room were the comatose Duke, the fiercely protective Vanessa, the subtly amused Ilucia, and the two utterly distraught Windrunner sisters.

"Well," Sylvanas huffed, pacing like a caged cat, "we must wake Duke up first..." She almost let slip the word 'boy,' but swallowed it just in time. However, her actions were still disrespectful enough to make a seasoned drill sergeant blush, because Queen Sylvanas, with a grim determination, actually picked up a bucket of ice water, clearly intending to shock the wine right out of him.

To her utter astonishment, Vanessa, with a lightning-fast movement, lifted her skirt to reveal a glinting throwing knife strapped to her thigh, while Ilucia's magic circuit flared to life, condensing a razor-sharp ice cone that hovered menacingly in mid-air.

"As the master's maid," Vanessa declared, her voice surprisingly steely, "even if I don't particularly like him when he's being a stubborn mule, I can't let you do anything to him."

"As a half-disciple of Master Edmund," Ilucia added, her eyes narrowing, "I also cannot allow you to be disrespectful to Master. Or harm him."

Under normal circumstances, Sylvanas might have wiped the floor with both of them. But now? Now was a powder keg, a sensitive period where one wrong move could blow everything sky-high! A whole squad of fully armed knights were practically glued to the thin door outside, their ears practically pressed against the wood, ready to burst in at the slightest hint of trouble and toss the sisters out on their ears without a word. The worst part was the already strained relationship between Quel'Thalas and the Alliance. Because of their stubborn refusal to join the Alliance, the bond between elves and humans had regressed to the point where it was almost in name only. Even though these arrogant soldiers and warriors used to respect the Windrunner sisters, they'd be the first ones to bail if Duke so much as sneezed wrong.

Alleria, ever the diplomat, grabbed her sister's arm and bowed gracefully. "I'm truly sorry," she said, her voice laced with desperation. "We have no intention of hurting Duke. It's just that the situation is dire, truly urgent. I just want to ask... what means do you allow us to use to wake him up?"

"Can't hurt him," Vanessa responded immediately, her hand still hovering near her knife.

"No pain allowed," Ilucia chimed in, her ice cone still shimmering ominously. She, it seemed, genuinely cared for Duke's well-being.

The Windrunner sisters were dumbfounded, their mouths agape.

"I'll go first!" Sylvanas declared, striding forward with a confidence that bordered on recklessness. She leaned over and, with a delicate yet firm grip, pinched Duke's nose shut.

Duke stopped breathing.

One second, two seconds... five seconds...

Suddenly, with a sound like a geyser erupting, Duke vomited. A torrent of sour, rancid vomit flew out of his mouth like a projectile. Sylvanas, with a shriek of disgust, leaped away as if she'd been struck by lightning.

Fortunately, there was a magician present. Ilucia, with a flick of her wrist, cast a small ice cone spell that took only a second to complete, blowing Duke's projectile vomit clear off the bed and instantly freezing it into a solid, disgusting sculpture on the floor.

Vanessa glared at Sylvanas, her eyes spitting daggers. "Don't you dare touch him again." With that, Vanessa, looking utterly disgusted, went to clean up the frozen vomit-cubes.

Ilucia gently wiped the corners of Duke's mouth with a warm towel, but her eyes, cold as winter ice, warned Alleria not to try anything similar.

Alleria was utterly helpless. Why, oh why, was this happening?!

She could only walk over, sit down beside the bed, and gently shake Duke's arm. "Duke, wake up! Quel'Thalas is truly in danger, just as you calculated! I need your support, Duke... Duke..."

"Huff, huff, huff..." A dead pig was sleeping soundly, utterly oblivious to the fate of an entire kingdom.

Alleria was practically tearing her hair out. She shook Duke harder, but he refused to stir, stubbornly clinging to the sweet oblivion of his drunken slumber.

Vanessa, hands on her hips, offered her expert opinion. "Based on my extensive experience with my father's drinking buddies, the master won't wake up until at least tomorrow noon."

Tomorrow noon?! The main force led by Orgrim had already marched north a day earlier. Orcs were fast, like greased lightning. Even if they set out to chase them in the middle of the night, they might not catch up. Waiting until tomorrow noon? If the human army truly waited that long, by the time they reached Eversong Forest, they'd likely be left to collect the elves' cold, lifeless bodies.

Without realizing it, Alleria's shaking became more and more rapid, and her body unconsciously leaned closer and closer to Duke's prone form. Duke slept so profoundly that even the System AI, the all-knowing, all-seeing entity, couldn't rouse him. In his blissful, boozy dream, he unknowingly drifted into a fantasy involving his 10TB collection of 'action movies.'

The girl in the dream was so unbelievably pretty. Just as Duke was about to whisper something delightfully inappropriate, the dream girl, with a smile that could melt glaciers, took the initiative to hug him...

When Duke suddenly lunged, Alleria, a seasoned ranger, had at least ninety-nine and eighty-one ways to dodge his unconscious clutches. But Duke's gentle, almost tender whisper, made Alleria feel like she'd been hit by a thunderbolt.

"Alleria..."

The soft, sleepy call of her name, spoken in a dream, always held a special, almost magical meaning at such a moment. Whether it was true or not, Duke had called her name in his sleep.

Alleria was utterly floored.

The next moment, right in front of the other three stunned women, Duke, in his drunken stupor, enveloped the nearby female elf in a bear hug, burying his face in her chest, utterly immersed in the dream of his 'Meat Mountain Demon King' fantasy.

The most ridiculous part? Duke actually woke up because he couldn't breathe. When most of his vision was blocked by a substantial 'meat mountain,' Duke's eyes, blinking like a confused puppy's, fluttered open and met Alleria's wide, emerald green gaze, mere inches from his face.