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| - Bulwark, the small Horde outpost bordering the Plaguelands, hadn't changed at all in the course of years. The nigh-eternal moonlight of Tirisfal Glades plated rock and the trees with eerie silver as always, and the air felt like it had remained the same for the seven years the Plaguelands had existed: still and almost stagnant, stinking of rotten flesh and nauseating vapours. The bestial roars echoing from beyond the border sometimes turned into mindless battlecries of the blight-ridden beasts and undead, making sure that no soldier slept well and forgot to stay on their toes. Mehlar Dawnblade stared dully into the crackling campfire. Tirisfal Glades were never too warm, and the fire gave both shelter from the unliving and consolation in the everlasting night of the depressing land. His training, the war and the loss of the Light had boiled Mehlar hard, but even he did occasionally reminisce about Quel'thalas – the times when the Scourge had not yet broken his home and his family. The era when all the elven eyes did not yet glow eerily green, a giant scar didn't make the scenery ugly and half of the nation had not been bluish grey and haunted by ghosts. The thoughts left him grim, and he tried to quell the once uprising anger by poking the fire with a stick. The Blood Knight was almost glad that his musing was soon interrupted by the sound of rustling grass. A rider approached with a Hawkstrider and dismounted a few metres away from the outpost. Mehlar stood up, grasping his large greatsword almost as if he had been expecting to use it, and eyed the newcomer with a frown. Almost immediately after, the straight line of his mouth turned into a slight, crooked smile. "If I didn't know you, I would have wondered why a priest was coming to see us." Aenor smiled a little embarrassedly and dusted his white, finely woven robe. "It is hard to get rid of old habits. Besides, this might my last chance in a while to wear this", he explained with a slightly apologising tone. Mehlar had never understood why his brother preferred to wear such an unpractical garment even while travelling. It was hard enough to run while wearing one, not to mention riding – no dignified Sin'dorei would ever be caught dead riding sideways on the saddle. Well, at least tonight Aenor wasn't carrying one of those silly jewel-adorned wooden staves which broke when they were hit with; instead, a decorated dagger had been sheathed on his belt. It was hardly imposing, but Mehlar still considered a better and more dangerous option than the typical Arcanist's staff... or he would have, had it not been that dagger. Mehlar's eyes narrowed as he recognised the faintly glowing weapon. He had nearly forgotten Aenor had managed to find their shortly-lost family heirloom, Dawnblade, upon a skirmish in the Ghostlands. The sight of the dagger aroused the irritation within Mehlar once again. He tore his eyes away from it and decided to focus his attention to something else, and he did quickly find a good target and managed to cool down. "It has been a while since I last saw you wear your hair like that", he commented, keeping his gaze fixed onto his little brother's head. The golden locks which usually cascaded down to Aenor's waist had all been tied into a neat ponytail, emphasizing his thin face and giving him a half militaristic look. "It doesn't really suit you." A slight blush crept to Aenor's pale cheeks, and he tugged the tail lightly. "Well, err... variety is once in a while refreshing?" "It reminds me of the times when I tried to train you with swordsmanship", Mehlar murmured, staring into Aenor's emerald eyes and slowly sinking into his memories again. It had been their father's wish that he would train Aenor with sword-fighting, insisting that 'it was in their name and their blood to carry a sword and fight for the Light', but Mehlar had always been dubious of whether his fragile younger brother could ever live up to the expectations and requirements of a Paladin. He was ill half of the time and seemingly weak-spirited for the other half, and given the… unnatural conditions after his birth, Mehlar had been unsure whether the Light would have wanted to inhibit such a wretched body. He couldn't help heaving a long, somewhat bitter sigh. Here they were: he, a former Knight of the Silver Hand whom the Light had abandoned like the rest of his kin, and his brother, who claimed to still have faith in that Nether-forbidden thing or more accurately to have found his faith in it - even though he was an Arcanist to begin with! Mehlar bit his teeth tightly together and tried to suppress his heated feelings, but he couldn't avoid a little bit of his anger slip into his next question as bluntness. "So, what is it that you want?" "Ah, right. I was on my way to Quel'thalas and thought I could stop to say you hello", Aenor answered, but his polite tone and simple answer were in conflict with the way he was shifting his weight from one foot to another and his avoiding, bouncing gaze. "You would hardly go this much out of your way only to exchange a few meaningless words with me if you were going from Undercity to Silvermoon", Mehlar grunted. "A-ah, well... yes, I think it would feel a bit unnecessary", Aenor admitted, tugging his sleeves nervously. "Spit it out. What were you doing? Did you have something to tell to me... or those Argents?" Mehlar gestured towards the small camp on the other side of the road with his head while speaking the last words. Two soldiers clad in silvery armour and wearing a tabard with a stylised sun on it were sitting by another campfire there, and while they appeared to be casually chatting, Mehlar was certain that they were as much on their guard as he was and could smite an undead enemy in the matter of seconds. He didn't mind the members of the Argent Dawn as additional forces to help in repelling the Scourge, but their philosophy and ideals left him wary and feeling cynic. More or less unfortunately, his little brother had something to do with the organisation, and thus he could have come to Bulwark to meet with the local members. "N-no, no, no... this time, it's not about them – or at least them as individuals. Err, what I mean is that I was actually going to the Light's Hope Chapel and thought that I might see you while I'm still able to." "So it was about the Argents after all." The statement was little more than a snort. So Aenor had indeed come to turn in some of the Scourgestones the Argent Dawn collected for no apparent reason and only come to talk with Mehlar because he had seen him on duty and thought it would be polite. "Yes, and this time, the form ‘Argents' is actually quite correct", Aenor replied, seemingly ignoring the negative tone in the previous sentence. "My matter has to do with both the Argent Dawn and the Argent Crusade."Mehlar arched his eyebrow but let his brother continue. "Ah... You see, Mehlar, I'm going to ask lord Tyrosus if he could send a letter to the Argent Crusade to confirm my membership in the Argent Dawn and the wish to join their ranks." "You're trying to join the Argent Crusade?" Mehlar asked incredulously. "What for?" "I want them to train me. I need to advance my skills in Divine Arcanism and preferably in something else as well if I want to be able to battle the Scourge legions more effectively." It took a moment for Mehlar to realise all the things which were wrong with the plan. "...Wait. You cannot be seriously saying that you're going to train with those fools in order to risk your life against Arthas's minions in Northrend", he voiced his thoughts. "Essentially, yes, I am, except that Highlord Fordring and the Argent Crusade are not fools. Not at least any more than I am." Mehlar didn't expect Aenor to agree with his words and only to add a small, playful mark. It caught him off guard. "Aenor, you're out of your mind! The Crusade will take you to a skirmish to Icecrown or some other damned wasteland out there, and that will take you to your untimely death!" "It won't, if I manage to learn something, and I won't be alone even during my trial." Aenor's tone was calm and controlled, a total opposite of his older brother's impetuosity, and it sounded odd with as soft a voice as his. "Besides, I'm bad at dying." He might have looked like he was smiling, but his eyes remained serious – uncharacteristically serious. "You won't live though it! You'll lose your body or your soul, or even both!" Mehlar ranted. "The Light you hold so important and believe in may keep you safe from losing your sanity for a while, but it won't protect you from the Lich King! Why, Aenor – why the Fel are you even thinking of something crazy like that?!" "Because I don't see that I would have much choice. If the Horde and the Alliance are left bickering as they currently are, I don't think we stand much chance against the Scourge. We need a force that can stand united; we need a force which won't fall." Aenor's words came out firm and first almost loud, but they being to fade away towards the end and the last ones were little more than a whisper. He lowered his gaze to the ground and turned his face partly away, and Mehlar thought saw something he was far more familiar with: despair, pain, anguish. He had seen much pain during the years he had spent as a Blood Knight, and those years had left him nearly callous. "I... the Red Dragonflight showed me the events at the Wrathgate and the Undercity while I was gathering salvageable materials from the battlefield", Aenor continued quietly. "They said that it was important that I should see it – not so that I would learn hatred but rather in order to understand. We stand divided and are so lost in our way. That is why we need a force that can lead the way and show an example. Seldom had Mehlar been ready to admit that he might have been misjudged a person, be it an aspiring Blood Knight, common Horde grunt or especially his former mentor, Uther Lightbringer. This time, however, while watching his brother raise his head and fix his eyes into Mehlar's, he started thinking that he perhaps had been wrong. "What about your body?" he asked with a low tone. "You know of that as well. The more you do, the quicker the true effects of that spell will show, and one day, you will break down." Aenor's hand searched his chest and closed the rearing unicorn pendant inside. Mehlar hadn't paid attention to the platinum necklace earlier, but even he didn't have much trouble telling that it contained powerful magic. Aenor wouldn't have had the funds or the creativity for creating something like that; whether it was an ancient treasure or a gift from someone, Mehlar didn't know. It could have been from a lover, but he doubted Aenor could have loved anyone without hesitation and uncertainty – and definitely not up to a degree of commitment. "This necklace won't protect me forever from the effects of the Nether Fortitude nor do I even want to turn dependant of it, but it will help me where I'm standing on the edge and attempting to reaching a bit further", he said softly, releasing the pendant and letting his hand fall down, clenching it lightly into a fist. "I can't just stay still and wait for a miracle or an impending doom to come. If there is even a slight chance that things will change if we try enough, then I will believe in that chance and work in order to reach it. That is why I need to get stronger. I know that arcane won't fail me and that divine won't leave me. I have to try – and I will try." After Aenor finished his speech, Mehlar found no words to say. He merely kept on looking at his smaller, younger and more idealistic brother and finally realised how fitting the ponytail in fact had been a signal or a hint. Aenor hadn't come to Bulwark to ask his opinion; he had come to explain why he would be gone for a long time: probably a couple of months, if not more. "How long will your training last?" "As far as I know, aspiring Argent Crusaders are given one month for their trial. The training will last notably longer. I doubt I will be able to keep in much contact with anyone for the rest of this year", Aenor answered, looking thoughtful. "I have already planned that I will take a break when next spring arrives if I haven't finished it earlier, however. Then I will come to see if Silvermoon is still the same, and I will probably visit you again, too." Mehlar sank into his thoughts once more and recalled the previous time he had seen Aenor like this. It had been over thirty years ago, when Aenor had announced both his brother and his parents that he would go to study in the Magisterium and that he had in fact already been tested for his magic capabilities with positive results. That was the last time Mehlar had seen Aenor this serious, this determined and this stubborn, and Mehlar had thought that would have been also the last time. Back then, he got his will through. Things were apparently repeating themselves. The thought was somehow amusing – actually, it was so amusing that it made the corner of Mehlar's mouth twitch, forming something akin to a lop-sided grin. The sight apparently confused Aenor, as he blinked once while staring at Mehlar, but the Blood Knight decided to continue the unexpected acts and put a gauntleted hand on his brother's shoulder. "I always thought that you picked the worst traits out of father's idealism and strong will and mother's more down-to-earth approach to things and fickle heart. Maybe I was a bit wrong", he said and squeezed the shoulder. He was still partially torn whether he could forgive his brother for not defending their homeland and letting their parents die, but he figured neither he nor their memory would be happier with one more family member in the grave. "Don't you dare to die, Aenor." "As I said, I'm bad at dying. Don't worry, Mehlar - I won't", Aenor replied, smiling more genuinely this time. "I promise." Soon after Mehlar released his grip and Aenor turned around to leave, although not before he had saluted the members of Argent Dawn. The Mage mounted his crimson Hawkstrider a little awkwardly and rode off into the Plaguelands without saying one more word or looking at his brother. Mehlar returned his attention to the campfire and noticed it had grown notably smaller down, and he quickly grabbed a few logs from the pile nearby his tent and threw them into the fire. It first almost died down before bursting into large, hungry flames and then calming down into a stable fire. He sat down and stretched a bit. Judging from the small changes in the sky, it would soon be morning.
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