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(A/N: like I promised here's the latest chapter another big one, plus we are finally getting back to Alastor after seeing what his "kids" were upto on Terra)
(This is another 3000+ plus word chapter so you guys better give me those powerstones and become Patrons.)
(Also I saw a quite the post about Teletubbies that scar--I mean enlightened me and so I thought why shouldn't my readers also "enjoy" it. Go ahead it's in the Paragraph comments!)
—Azeroth—
Thankfully, Alastor was able to calm the leaders of the Northern Alliance and explain what had transpired in Gilneas—along with why most of its population had become what were now called Worgen.
He went on to clarify that the Gilneans retained full control over their transformations and Sanity. Throughout their entire journey to Hammerfall, not a single one of them had lost control.
In fact, they'd demonstrated some of the greatest eagerness to fight—often volunteering to be among the first to engage the enemy.
These actions earned them the trust of the members of the Southern Alliance during the journey, and their leaders also vouched for Gilneas alongside Alastor.
With a combination of evidence, merit, and the support of multiple kings and heroes, the Northern Alliance relented and chose not to escalate the matter.
Many among them even felt sympathy for Genn and the fate of his kingdom and while some still felt uneasy about fighting alongside what they viewed as "beasts," they were willing to set aside their discomfort and accept them as fellow allies in the war.
With that matter resolved, the integration of the Southern and Northern Alliance forces into a unified Grand Alliance proceeded smoothly.
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Alastor met with the various leaders and heroes—both those already present and those expected to arrive soon—to coordinate efforts. Together, they worked on plans not only for the integration and reorganization of the Grand Alliance army,
but also for preliminary strategies and objectives for future counterattacks against the combined Scourge–Chaos forces.
During this time, Alastor met three leaders who left a particularly strong impression on him:
Belegar Ironhammer, Malfurion Stormrage, and Gelbin Mekkatorque—who had returned to Hammerfall only a day earlier.
Belegar impressed him greatly—not only because of his expertise in siegecraft and defensive warfare, but also because he had been one of the main reasons the Northern Alliance had managed to hold their position at Hammerfall.
Gelbin Mekkatorque, King of the Gnomes, was an absolute delight to meet. Both he and Alastor were compassionate leaders, deeply devoted to their people and their world.
And Gelbin himself was a Forgemaster—a brilliant engineer of exceptional talent.
The moment Gelbin laid eyes on the weapons used by the human forces under Alastor's command—along with the Armored Core units—his curiosity ignited.
That curiosity quickly spiraled into something far more chaotic, as both he and Alastor descended into what could only be described as a shared "mad scientist" state.
Thankfully, Anduin and Gelbin's own entourage managed to snap them out of it—
though not before Alastor extended an invitation to collaborate after the war, which Gelbin eagerly accepted.
After all, even from this brief meeting, he had taken a strong liking to Alastor. The two seemed destined to work together like well oiled gears.
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And then there was Malfurion.
Introduced to him by none other than Tyrande, Malfurion was an old friend of hers—and one of the very few who knew her true identity as a goddess.
Alastor wouldn't deny it—the very first thing he noticed upon meeting Malfurion was the sheer magnitude of power emanating from him, born from his deep connection to nature.
In simple terms—
this was a Night Elf who had risen to the level of a demigod through his own effort and talent, trained under Cenarius himself.
Beyond that, however, Alastor found Malfurion to be a calm, wise, and resolute individual—a protector not only of his people, but of Azeroth as a whole.
If so they would together splendidly.
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Yet amidst all of this, Alonsus quietly pulled Alastor aside and handed him a piece of information.
Whatever it contained, it caused Alastor's expression to turn serious.
He gave a single nod—
and promptly left the war chamber.
Alastor soon reverted to his mortal form, casting a subtle spell upon himself to appear more inconspicuous as he made his way outside Hammerfall fortress to the sprawling city behind it that bore the same name.
He did this to avoid being disturbed.
By now, his appearance and reputation had spread far and wide—far too many would recognize him.
And for what he was about to do—
He needed privacy.
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"All better."
"Light bless you, Princess!"
A grateful mother thanked Calia Menethil after she finished using the Holy Light to mend her child's broken leg.
They were just two among the many refugees who had fled south after the war began. Much of the northern continent had either become too dangerous—overrun by the Scourge–Chaos forces—or had turned into active warzones.
Calia offered them a gentle smile.
Only after they left her sight did she allow herself to take a few slow breaths, her complexion noticeably paler than before.
"My lady, you've been channeling the Holy Light for far too long. Please—you must rest."
Danath Trollbane, nephew of King Thoras Trollbane, spoke with clear concern. To the loyalists of Lordaeron, the woman before him was their rightful queen.
Normally, Calia would have one of the great paladins—Uther, Saidan, or Tirion—acting as her guard.
But with the increasing presence of powerful daemons on the frontlines, they had been forced to redeploy.
That did not mean she was unprotected.
Danath himself had volunteered to serve as her guard—and he was more than capable. A renowned warrior of Stromgarde and a seasoned commander, he was more than worthy of the role.
Calia steadied herself, acknowledging his concern.
Taking a moment to regain her composure, she began walking back toward her temporary residence within Hammerfall city. Danath and the rest of her guard followed silently behind her.
Soon, they arrived at a large mansion situated within one of the most fortified areas of the city.
Calia entered the manse, while her guards dispersed to their assigned positions outside, maintaining vigilant watch.
When the servants approached to offer assistance, she politely declined.
All she wanted now—
was rest.
But the moment she entered her room and closed the door, her eyes widened.
A hooded figure stood inside.
He raised a hand toward her.
"Hey—"
"AAHH—!"
In an instant, the man closed the distance between them. Before she could scream, his hand covered her mouth.
For a split second, she feared the worst—
Until she saw a very familiar pair of purple eyes, wide with panic.
"Please don't scream!"
Her own eyes widened in recognition.
Alastor.
Realizing she recognized him, he quickly released her and stepped back, clearly embarrassed. He coughed awkwardly, trying to explain himself.
"Okay… maybe sneaking into your room in a suspicious cloak wasn't the smartest idea—but I have a reason! Well—I think it's a reason. I just didn't want anyone recognizing me on the way here—God, do I sound like I'm—!"
He was cut off mid-ramble since Calia had already rushed forward and wrapped her arms tightly around him, clinging to him like her life depended on it.
Alastor froze for a moment, before his expression became serious as he gently returned the embrace.
He could feel her trembling. He could hear her quiet sniffles.
He said nothing.
Instead, he held her—firmly, yet gently—letting his actions speak for him.
I'm here.
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I can't even imagine what she's going through…
Alastor's thoughts turned somber.
He remembered the Siege of Stormwind.
The withered visage of his father. His mother's silent sleep, the despair that overcame him and the rage that had nearly consumed him.
If not for unleashing that fury upon the daemon-beastkin army—and against Grimgor and Gul'dan—and through sheer force of will, he might have taken far longer to regain his sanity.
But Calia?
She'd witnessed something far worse.
Her beloved younger brother had returned as something different and wrong—a monstrous undead, who then proceeded to kill their parents and turned their home city into an undead wasteland.
And now…
That same "brother" stood as one of the leaders of the fel forces, hellbent on destroying all life on the planet and turning Azeroth into a daemon world.
Alastor couldn't comprehend the depth of her pain.
And yet—
She wasn't broken or rather she didn't allow herself to break.
Instead, she stood strong—not just for herself, but for her people—as the last living symbol of Lordaeron royalty.
In his eyes, she was just as brave and radiant as any of the heroes that fought for the living.
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Eventually, they sat together on the bed.
Calia had calmed down, her tears subsiding.
The two began talking—deliberately avoiding the subject of war.
They spoke of simpler times.
Of her visits to Dalaran.
Of the places they had explored together.
Of the antics they had gotten caught up in—most of them, admittedly, involving Rhonin.
There was just one…....complication.
Calia was sitting on his lap.
Alastor was doing his best to remain composed, but his face had taken on a noticeable flush. His mind kept reminding him of propriety—of etiquette, of honor.
Assuming she simply hadn't realized her position in the aftermath of her emotional outburst, he tried—subtly—to hint at it.
After all, while they were close friends, such intimacy should be reserved for the man she loved.
And besides—
Even though his mother had made it clear that polygamy wasn't uncommon in Azeroth—and had even encouraged him to be more… "open-minded"—Alastor was already engaged to two women.
(A/N: By Terra, he's denser than a black hole cannon.)
Still, Calia made no move to shift.
And Alastor… didn't have the heart to insist.
Not after everything she had been through.
So instead, he focused on the conversation.
And not on the fact that a very beautiful and voluptuous young queen was currently pressed against him.
Which only made things worse!
He was no longer virgin—and shared many intimate session with both Jaina and Alleria.
So now, he had to actively suppress the unwelcome "hunger" that grew within him.
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"I've heard of your exploits," Calia said softly. "From the convoy guards, the communication personnel and even the bards. What you've done—it's helped keep everyone's spirits up."
"I'm glad to hear that," Alastor replied. "I also heard you became the Archbishop's student—and that you've learned to wield the Holy Light. Alonsus told me you're a natural."
"It's not that impressive," she said, blushing slightly, though she smiled at the praise. "My talents are more… supportive in nature. Healing, barriers, purification…"
"I'm not really suited for the more martial aspects."
There was a faint sadness in her expression.
But Alastor only gave her an incredulous look.
"And? You say that like it's a bad thing. If anything, healers and supporters are just as important—if not more so—than warriors or paladins."
"You save lives, Calia. That matters."
"You're a queen now—and even before, as a princess, you had no obligation to go beyond your station like this. Yet here you are—not only stepping up as a ruler, but as a person."
Calia's blush deepened at his words. She tried to downplay it, her voice softening.
"I-It's not even that much… compared to how many are suffering… how many refugees there are…"
"The number of people I've helped isn't even that significant…"
"Stop."
Alastor's voice was firm as his hand gently guided her face to look him in the eyes.
"A mother. A father. A child. A friend. A loved one."
"Every life lost is one of these—if not multiple to someone. Too many people in power forget that the numbers they see on reports aren't just numbers. They're living, breathing people—people with lives, with stories, with those who care about them."
He held her gaze, his expression serious.
"I don't like war, Calia. No matter how good I'm at it. Because one truth of war is that people will always die. It may be more, it may be less—but they will die."
"The past months of campaigning have taught me many things—when conflict becomes necessary, when a firm hand is required to maintain balance… and why war, for all its cruelty and bloodshed, is sometimes a necessary evil."
"As leaders, it's my duty—and that of my fellow commanders—to ensure that those who fall are not forgotten. To give meaning to their sacrifice, and to honor those who survive."
His expression softened as he looked at her.
"But it's people like you who create the greatest change, Calia."
"Small, seemingly insignificant actions often have the greatest impact of all."
"Every person you heal, every life you save—you're preserving someone's world. A loved one. A future."
"And people remember that."
"They remember standing at the edge of the abyss—only to be pulled back by someone who genuinely cared. They carry that hope with them… and, often without realizing it, they pass it on to others."
"Given enough time, that hope gathers—like snow building into an avalanche—until it crashes through the darkness that blanketed others."
"And even if it's overwhelming… even frightening… it makes people believe in hope again."
Alastor meant every word.
He truly admired people like Calia—those who had faced despair and still chose hope.
Because in his eyes, it was people like her—kind, strong, and unyielding—who deserved to be called heroes.
"Calia Menethil… in my eyes, you're already a great hero—and a worthy Queen of Lordaeron."
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Calia had been given many titles since arriving in Hammerfall.
Princess.
Your Highness.
Queen.
But this—
This was the first time someone had called her a hero.
Not because of her birthright.
Not because of her position.
But because of her own choices.
Her own actions.
And it came from him.
The man she had quietly fallen for years ago—ever since that Winter Veil festival, when he had gifted her that beautiful flower of fire and ice.
Her feelings hadn't faded since then.
If anything, they had only grown stronger with time—especially during her visits to Dalaran, as she came to know him better.
And now—
He spoke to her like this.
Held her as though she were something precious.
Encouraged her. Believed in her.
After everything she'd endured.
Calia looked up at him, her expression conflicted.
You can't say things like that… and expect me not to fall even harder for you…
She wouldn't deny it—
She had been deeply hurt when she learned of Alastor's formal engagements to Alleria Windrunner and Jaina Proudmoore.
Though she hadn't been surprised. The closeness between them had always been plain to see.
Still, her feelings hadn't gone away.
No matter how much her mind insisted that a relationship would be impossible—especially with tensions rising at that time between Stormwind and Lordaeron.
Calia was kind.
Gentle.
But she was not naïve.
She knew very well that many would seek her hand in marriage if the the war was won. Even with Lordaeron City in ruins, its restoration was inevitable—and with it, power and influence.
To marry her would mean becoming king consort at the very least or even a chance at becoming king itself.
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So Calia decided to throw propriety and her royal teachings to out the window and for once be "selfish" on who she would want to call husband one day.
"Calia?"
Alastor's eyes widened as she shifted on his lap, turning fully to face him fully, she wrapped her arms around his neck, her gaze filled with longing.
"No… no more words. You've said enough."
Alastor froze.
Even with his enhanced brain, he couldn't properly process what was happening!
Wasn't he just encouraging her—!?
And then—
His mind went blank as her lips met his, as if she were pouring all her unspoken feelings into that single act.
With his mind still not booted up, instinct took over as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer much to her secret delight.
What began as a simple kiss deepened, growing more intense and passionate as emotions surged and Calia let out soft moans that only fueled Alastor's lust further.
Alastor's restraint broke as that suppressed "hunger" surged back with a vengeance.
His grip tightened as one of his hands descended down on her back and groped her plump ass over her robes.
Calia suddenly broke the kiss with a startled moan, her breath uneven.
Their eyes met, both flushed, both clearly aware of just how far things had escalated.
And yet—
Neither pulled away.
Instead, Alastor gently but firmly guided her back onto the bed, hovering above her as they exchanged heated looks.
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Fortunately—
(or unfortunately)
—that was as far as things went.
Since neither of them had heard the knock at the door at the door due to being "preoccupied".
One of Calia's maids, concerned after receiving no response, hesitated only briefly before pushing the door open.
"Your Highness, are you alr—?!"
She froze.
And she wasn't the only one.
Alastor and Calia both turned toward her, wide-eyed—still fully clothed, but undeniably in a very intimate position on the bed.
All three of them went completely still.
Their faces rapidly turned a deep shade of red.
"M-Melissa!? Wait—!"
"M-Miss, this isn't what it—!"
"F-Forgive me for my intrusion! PLEASECARRYON!!!"
The maid spun on her heel and bolted out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her.
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Silence.
Alastor and Calia stared at the door for a few long seconds before slowly turning back to each other.
The tension from before had completely evaporated, replaced by sheer, overwhelming awkwardness.
"…Well. That could have gone better," Calia said with a nervous laugh as they both sat up.
"…Yeah, I guess so."
They exchanged a look.
And, without needing to say it, thought the same thing.
At least it can't get worse than this.
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Murphy heard that.
And took it personally.
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"THE QUEEN'S ELOPING WITH THE GREY WOLF!?"
"Kyaaaah! What a fairy-tale romance!"
"I KNEW THERE WAS SOMETHING BETWEEN THEM! MY SHIP HAS SAILED!"
Both Calia and Alastor froze as the loud voices echoed outside.
Their eyes widened in horror.
Without another word, they rushed out to stop the rumors before they could spread any further.
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It didn't work.
If anything, their frantic "denials" only made things worse.
Before long a new spicy gossip had spread around the city, the fort and very soon the entire Alliance.
Of an "affair"…
Of a secret romance…
Of an elopement between the Queen of Lordaeron and the Heroic Prince of Stormwind.
Suffice to say the Bards had a field day.
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Because even in the Grim darkness of the far future's past no one is above Murphy.
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