Aaron Rosenberg - Beyond the Dark Portal

"Aye, it's a tricky issue," Muradin said, deciding to help himself to another pastry. "Ye canna be dropping him off a cliff, for it'll lose ye the trust of yer other fellows, but ye canna leave him to get away with it, either."

"We need to force him to abdicate," Terenas pointed out yet again — this was not the first time they'd had this discussion. "Once he's no longer king, we can try him and execute him as just another Alliance noble." He tugged at his beard. "The problem is, he's refusing."

Trollbane snorted. "Of course he is! He knows that means his death! But we have to do something, and soon. Right now he's got too much freedom, and that's bound to cause trouble."

Terenas nodded. "It has certainly sat for too long," he agreed. "Something must be done about Alterac, es­pecially with these new problems brewing." He sighed.

"The last thing we need is to fight another war while worrying about betrayal again."

'And what of the lad?" Muradin asked, flicking a stray crumb from his majestic bronze beard. "Will he no be tryin' for the throne?"

"Aliden, you mean?" Trollbane replied. He snorted. "Cut from the same cloth as his father."

"I don't care for young Aliden much myself," Terenas admitted. "He was far too pampered as a youth — he has never known hardship or travail, and has never faced danger. I fear he has no leadership skills, either. Yet what grounds have we to deny him the throne? He is Aiden's heir, Alterac's crown prince — if his father does abdicate, the crown falls to him."

"There's no proof he knew of his father's treachery," Trollbane said grudgingly. "Not that being ignorant is much better than being underhanded, but at least he has that in his favor."

Just then a servant appeared at the door. Muradin frowned, fearing that the pesky goblin wanted to talk to them. Instead, the servant had good news. "Lord Daval Prestor wishes an audience, Your Majesty," he told Terenas.

"Ah, send him up, by all means, Lavin," Terenas said. He turned to Trollbane and Muradin. "Have you both met Lord Prestor?"

'Aye, and it's a fine man he is," Muradin replied. "And much to his credit that he's survived as well as he has, with all he's faced." Trollbane nodded his agreement.

Lord Prestor had been dealt a harsh hand by fate, Muradin reflected as he bit into the egg. He'd never heard of the man until recently, of course — he didn't much follow all the twists and turns of human nobility — but from what he'd been told, Prestor had been ruler of a tiny do­main deep in the mountains of Lordaeron. He could trace his ancestry back to the royal house of Alterac and was a distant cousin of Perenolde's. Prestor's entire realm had fallen to a dragon attack during the Second War, and he and a handful of close family alone had es­caped. The first anyone had heard of the man or his realm had been a shocking introduction — Prestor had staggered all the way to Capital City without servants or guards, indeed with little more than the clothes on his back and his good name. His lineage had earned him ad­mittance into the noble circles and his engaging person­ality had won him friends, the three at the table among them. It had been Prestor's suggestion to pass martial law in Alterac, and not only Terenas but the rest of the Alliance had agreed at once that it was a fine albeit tem­porary solution.

The man in question stepped onto the balcony a moment later and executed a graceful and deep bow, his black curls gleaming almost blue in the warm early light. "Your Majesties," Prestor murmured, his rich baritone carrying easily across the small space. 'And noble Ambassador. How good to see you all again."

"Indeed it is," said Terenas jovially. "Sit and join us. Would you care for some tea?"

"The apricot scones are particularly fine today," Muradin offered, covering his mouth with his hand as he inadvertently sprayed some crumbs. Something about Prestor's characteristic tidiness always made the dwarf feel a bit… rustic.

"Many thanks, my lords." Prestor seated himself gracefully, though not before using his napkin to quickly dust off his seat, and poured a cup of tea. Muradin offered him the plate of scones, but Prestor smiled, holding up a manicured, uncallused hand in po­lite refusal. "I hope I am not intruding?"

"Not at all, not at all," Terenas assured him. "In fact, your timing is excellent. We were just discussing the matter of Alterac."

"Ah yes, of course." Prestor took an appreciative sip of tea. "No doubt you have heard about young Isiden?" He seemed surprised at the blank looks he received in response. "One of Lord Perenolde's nephews, little more than a youth still."'

"Ah, yes. Ran off to Gilneas, didn't he?" Trollbane asked.

"Indeed he did, shortly before you declared martial law throughout Alterac. Rumors say he is hoping to rally support there for his own bid for the throne."

"Greymane mentioned something of that," Terenas recalled. "But he has not met with the boy, or encour­aged his suit in any way."

Prestor shook his head. "He is noble indeed, King Greymane," he mused softly, "to overlook something which could so easily work to his benefit. All he would need to do is back Isiden for the throne and Gilneas would gain a direct stake in Alterac's welfare — and no doubt favored status through the kingdom's many mountain passes."

Muradin scratched at his beard. "Aye, that'd be a hard one ta pass up," he agreed.

Terenas and Trollbane exchanged glances. Greymane was canny enough not to miss such an opportu­nity. Yet he claimed he'd not spoken with the boy. Had he lied? Or was he playing a more subtle game?

"What do you think should be done with Alterac?" Terenas asked Prestor.

"Why do you ask me, sire?"

“An outsider's perspective is useful, and we value your opinion."

Prestor colored slightly. "Truly? You honor me, thank you. Well… I think you should claim it for your own, Your Majesty. You are the leader of the Alliance, after all, and took the brunt of the costs for the last war. Surely you are due a reward for all your efforts?"

Terenas chuckled. "No thank you," he said, holding up a hand in mock horror. "I have more than enough to handle here in Lordaeron — I've no desire to double my troubles by taking on a second kingdom!" Muradin knew he had considered the idea, of course, and from some vantages it held merit. But the troubles it would cause, not least of them among his fellow rulers, would far outweigh the benefits, at least to Terenas's mind.

"How about you then. Your Majesty?" Prestor sug­gested, turning to the Stromgarde king. "Your quick ac­tion stopped Perenolde's treachery I well know you lost many men defending those mountain passes from the orcs." A shadow of pain flickered across the young noble's face, and all three of his companions winced slightly, knowing exactly where his thoughts had led him. Maybe that was why he was so meticulous about his person. If he'd been forced to flee a city that had been destroyed by dragonfire, walking for ages in the same filthy clothes, Muradin mused, maybe he'd be a bit of a dandy now too.

Trollbane frowned thoughtfully, but before he could speak, Terenas interjected gently, "Neither Thoras nor I could claim Alterac. It is not simply a matter of one kingdom invading another. We are all part of the Al­liance, and must all work together to protect our world and our lands. The Alliance as a whole defeated the Horde and won the war. That means any spoils of war, including Alterac, must fall to the Alliance as well." He shook his head. "If any one of us tried to annex Al­terac, the other Alliance rulers would feel slighted, and rightly so."

"Aye," Muradin agreed. "It must be decided by all, or not at all." He grinned. "Though presentin' a fine idea to the rest could ease the matter somewhat."