User talk:Semiiramiis

The Last Days of Grace (Chapter One) Semiiramiis

(Lore notes: Clarimonde, her family, and Baudoin are not lore characters.  Their interactions with each other, and the established lore characters within stray from canon.  The events they live through are taken from WWIII with few changes.)

I am Clarimonde, the firstborn of my father, Aaron De Nemesio. That would have been tolerable enough, I suppose, had the second born of my father been male. But there was no other, no male heir for the line that had served Lordaeron for generations, only me. And I was hardly a fitting holder for such a name, born small, pale, easily overlooked. Obviously the only answer was that I make as prestigious a match as possible, bring my father a son in law to rival the spirit of a son never born. So it was, when I hit fourteen, that my would be suitors started showing up, and I learned a harsh lesson. Nobility of blood did not necessarily guarantee nobility of a man. So many grand names…it was heartening on some level, that the men that bore them were as poor in quality as I was. But I wanted more. Why settle for these, when I felt I could have better? There had to be better out there. “Another gone?” My father questioned when I saw one away, and I dropped my eyes to the floor. This had gone on a year, and his patience grew thin. “Clarimonde.” He breathed, and I steeled myself for the coming confrontation, running through my options like fingerlings ran through a net. There had to be someone else, someone… better.

“He is scrawny. Weedy.” I noted slowly. “I am scrawny, weedy. Bad for the line.” My father shifted uneasily in his chair. He had problems rebutting arguments so obviously true. “We are running out of options, Clarimonde. Who else is there?” A name leapt into my mind, and I considered it cautiously. It could bring trouble, but it could bring salvation, or at least a stay… “Arthas.”  I stated, amazed at the level calm of my own voice.

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and I was surprised he didn’t laugh immediately. “Arthas?” He questioned slowly. “Arthas….Menethil?”

“I know of no other.” I agreed, passing to the window and staring out of it. Night spread from the shadows of the trees outside, an eerie and disturbing sight, but my mind was on my father not such childish fancies.

“Prince Arthas Menethil?” His voice was still steady, and it still lacked derision. Maybe I was on to something here? I did not bother to reply…obviously there was only one Arthas Menethil. The prince. “The boy is promised.” He mused, and I tilted my head. My mother ate rumors like a pig slopped at a trough. She told me he was promised… but not committed.

“As a wiser soul than myself noted once, such promises mean little to a young man.” Those were my father’s own words, the words his warning to not let those young men who courted me to become too friendly without a priest and a ring. “She is merely an admiral’s daughter, fine for now…”

He moved to the window beside me, but his gaze was not trained outside, but on my face. “You’d go so far?” He asked, leaning against the casement. “You’d push for Arthas?”  Me, Queen of Lordaeron…. It was a laughable idea, except that he wasn’t laughing. For the first time, he was listening to me. Considering me. I wasn’t a joke. “It would be worth the try.” Rumors told me Arthas was fair to the eye. Told me he was close to my age, not some decrepit specimen hoping to stave off death by getting children on me. My father rested a hand on my shoulder, silent. “Arthas Menethil.” He finally breathed, and I knew I had him then. All the others would go away. I had fixed the idea in his mind, and now, only the king’s son would be good enough. I only prayed that I would agree. “Proudmoore’s daughter has gone to training.” He mused thoughtfully, “In Dalaran.” I raised a brow. Dalaran was far, and trained only one thing…mages. Such training was intensive, great in depth and scope, if she had any talent for it. She could be gone for years… “And the prince?”

“Trains with the Silver Hand, at Stratholme.” I nodded slowly, locking my teeth together to keep my face bland. If he trained with the Hand, then the prince could not be grossly fat. Or painfully weedy.

My father spun a length of my hair through his fingers. “How far are you willing to go with this?”

“Is he as fair as they say?” I finally demanded, and my father barked in laughter. “Aye, little one. He is as fair as they say. Fair to the eye. Fair in name and blood. And a fair sort. You are correct, you can do no better.” “Then I will do what must be done.” Whatever the hell that was. I was pretty much making this up as I went along…

“Arthas is in training with the Hand.” He smoothed my hair down my back. “The Hand will keep him away from Court, away from such things. The only way you can get close to him now…. Is to go into the Hand yourself.” I blinked. The Hand trained paladins. Giant, resolute men charged with the defense of Lordaeron. Not….me. “Yes….” He nodded, his mind obviously carrying on, while mine mired down. “Of course. You are my only child. There is no boy for the Hand to train. Even if you do not become a paladin, there is much for them to teach you. It does work, Clarimonde.” It did? I gave him a tentative smile. At the worst, it would get me away from Brill, and away from him. It couldn’t be all bad…. If Arthas wasn’t all he was supposed to be, I could always fail. “Then…” My father nodded slowly. “We must prepare you for this. If you mean to go after Arthas, things must be done, and better than your mother must do them.” I squashed the grin that rose to my face. My mother had succeeded in turning me out well enough for here, kept on my father’s provincial estates, but not well enough to count me among those with a chance at a prince….no, the Prince. There would be gowns and teachers now…. Much better teachers than those hired to make me suitable so far. There would be books, more than the dozen or so here at the house. The Menethil family was well bred and well read, I would need to be both to aspire to this. I needed to be able to hold my own against the best that Lordaeron offered, against an unseen young woman counted good enough to go to Dalaran while I basked in exile in Brill. I let some of the grin free, meeting my father’s eyes. “Aye, little one.” He breathed. “It will be expensive.” The grin died on the vine as I watched him. Money… such a harsh reality… but he did seem as put off by the prospect as I was expecting. “Well spent.” I murmured. Even if I failed to fish up Arthas Menethil, such training would put me on a level with those young ladies of nobility raised in Lordaeron’s court. I was his only, my entire future rested in the marriage I would make. It was only right he spend the same money on me that he would have on a boy heir who had never materialized. “I do not understand.” My mother groused as the tailor scrutinized me as I stood in the golden light of Brill’s noontime. “You have gowns plenty.” The tailor only squinted, ignoring her and picking up the heavy plait of my hair. It hung in his hand, and he turned it to the light, then stared into my eyes, before nodding briskly. He left, returning with heavy bolts of fabric fresh from Lordaeron, rolling them out before me. “No.” My mother disagreed. “None of those. They are not suitable. All the young ladies wear lighter colors. Paler colors. Not… those.” Those… deep, rich colors of amethyst, wine, and the darkening leaves of autumn. Those colors best with my shining chestnut hair and violet eyes… warm, unlike the frosty chill pastels favored by the young blonde ladies of court this season. Arthas’s promised was said to be blonde, and I grimaced. “No.” I stated, touching my fingers to one of the bolts. “This… will do nicely.” To stand out from the herd, I could not follow fashion. I must set it. The tailor’s gaze met mine and he smiled conspiratorially, his hands moving of their own volition as he chose bolts seemingly at random. I gazed at his choices, and nodded agreeably. Seemed random, was hardly so. It would have taken me half an hour or more to settle on them, and he shuffled them out like cards. “Clarimonde.” My mother hissed, and I finally graced her with my gaze. “Yes, my mother?” I asked.

“Your dance master is to be here in an hour.” She grated out the words. “And after, you are to choose a horse and begin riding lessons. Then a music instructor. Do you believe money falls from the sky?” “Father chooses to spend his own money.” If I was a boy, I would have had tutors, riding instructors, arms instructors. Harnesses of armor, and a fine blade. It might be coming late, but it was still coming to me, and I was in no mood to hear my mother complain about it. I deserved this. So I learned how to dance, and I was good at it. And ride, and yes, I was good at that too. Sing, and play an instrument… and still, I was good at it. Card, dice, and games of strategy…those I was not just good at. I excelled. Gowns came, in warm tones, not as many as I’d been expecting and my mother had feared, but the reason for that came quickly enough. For I was to have that harness of armor and fine blade as well, a lethal length of shining sword that sang in my hand when I cautiously lifted it. My father stared at me as I admired it, pensive and dark as he’d been lately. He was falling from the King’s favor, a move from him that endangered this entire venture. What he had done, I was not certain, but he spent less and less time at the Capital City, and more and more time at home. This was a not a welcome turn of events for any at the estate, and I yearned to be away. “We travel to Stratholme tomorrow.” He finally stated. “You will not be returning with me, so pack all, Clarimonde.” My mother looked scandalized, her mouth half open as she tried to form a response, any response, to those words. “Aaron!” She wailed, but he ignored her, his eyes on me. I nodded. Yes, it was time to start this.

Sunlight flowed over Stratholme as I followed my father through its fair streets. The glory of Northern Lordaeron… I had never been to it before, and I stared. Such a wondrous place, filled with shining white buildings with blue tiled roofs. So much to see, so many new people… At home, I knew everybody and everything. Here, no. My father paused, and slowly reached back and pulled me forward. “Little one.” He breathed, turning my head in his great hands until my eyes fell on a young man standing on the corner before us. He had shoulder length dark blond hair, clean, unfettered. His face was narrow, canny…with expressive lips and luminous, feline green eyes. He was slender, but not fragile. He was, in a word, beautiful. “Come.” My father ordered when words failed me, and he pulled me across the cobbled street in his wake, headed straight for the young man. He waited until he had pulled up beside him, before inclining his head in the barest bow. “Your highness.” He said, low, his voice carrying no further than the three of us, and I felt my eyes widen. Highness…made this…. “Lord Aaron.” The young man….Arthas…. greeted, his smile genuine, tilting his eyes upwards at the corners. “What brings you from my father’s side?” A hand on the small of my back, pushing me slightly forward, and I stood to my full height. It was time to play this hand… “Your highness, my daughter… Clarimonde. Clarimonde, Prince Arthas.” I managed a smile. How, I’m not quite certain, but I did. And it wasn’t a mouse smile, but a dimple carving smile as I eyed him through my lashes. Oh, yes. This was entirely what I was looking for. Taking my clue from my father, who obviously did not want a scene, I refrained from the curtsey which had been trained into me and met his eyes instead. Yes, leave this comfortable, leave it informal. “She comes to the Hand for training, my prince.” My father continued. “As I lack a male heir, there are things the Order should teach her.” Those eyes fell on me, measuring. “So young, Lord Aaron?” The prince asked, and my heart plummeted. Small, fragile, I had always looked a handful of years younger than I actually was… and it was counting against me again. If I let his attention slide, I was doomed….

“No, your highness.” My voice was one of my better features, and to play it, I could not remain the silent one. “I am seventeen.” Only two years his junior, well old enough for this. And by the time he was done with his training, in two years, he would be twenty two, I would be nineteen. “My pardon, Lady…Clarimonde.” He bowed gracefully to me. “Such a lovely name, for a lovely young lady.” There was nothing false in his words, or his eyes. “I look forward to seeing you again. Lord Aaron…good day.” He moved away, under my father’s stare. “Not bad, little one.” My father granted when he was well out of ear shot. “Not bad at all.” “That is Arthas.” I mused, and he nodded. That was Terenas Menethil’s only son, crown heir to Lordaeron. “Then yes, my father. We play this game.” My father bowed to me then, deeply. “Yes, my daughter.” He agreed easily. “We play this game.”

“Lord Aaron.” The words were wary, and their speaker regarded my father much as I would a multi legged creature crawling on ground before me, right before I raised a foot to crush it. “What brings you to the Hand?” “Uther.” There was an unfitting nonchalance under my father’s words, by not granting this man an honorific of some sort, he had done wrong. I stared at the man in question; he was tall, towering over me and my father. Heavily muscular, with a bristling ginger mustache and glowering eyes, he carried himself like he missed the armor he was not wearing. “You said once…” Every time my father used that phrase, it was the opening of his using another’s forgotten statements against them. “That if I had an heir, anyone, especially the Hand, would be better to raise it than myself.” Harsh words, plainly spoken. A paladin’s words. “I did.” The man agreed to his ownership of them easily enough. “Somewhere along the way, your blood has faltered.” My father smiled. That, I knew, was a dangerous smile for those around him. That was the smile he wore when he beat the dogs. The horses. The servants. His family. Me, and indeed, he reached back and pulled me forward by the back of my neck, his grasp painful. The other man stilled at the display, his expression calming, his hand opening over his hip, where a weapon should rest, but didn’t. “Very well, then, Uther.” His voice was still pleasant, but I managed to not cringe, raising eyes to the man. “This is my heir. My only born.” He all but pushed me into the man’s side. I stumbled, and was gracefully and gently caught, cradled against him. I could feel his measured breathing, the beat of his heart. “Raise her from here as you see fit. I relinquish her to the Hand’s custody, your custody. Her possessions are in the courtyard.”  I could not see, held to the stranger’s shoulder, but I heard my father’s boot heels grind as he stalked from the room, punctuated by the slam of the door behind him.

“It’s all right, lass.” The stranger murmured. “He is gone, and I’ll see him removed from our grounds if he does not leave quickly enough for my liking.” His hands were gentle as he peeled me from his side and held me at arms length away from him. The glower in his eyes was gone with my father’s retreat; they were calm, level, kind. “I am Uther Lightbringer. You are?”

I had feared that from the beginning. How many Uthers could there be in the Hand? My father had chosen to throw me at the proverbial feet of the Order’s leader, the greatest of them all. “Clarimonde.” I breathed. “De Nemesio.”

He nodded, moving to the window of the office he’d chosen to meet us in, and I knew his view overlooked the courtyard that my father would have to depart through. “Welcome to Stratholme, Clarimonde.” He breathed, “As you have been freely given to me, you are now mine. My ward. We will see to the details later, after you’ve been settled and had time to calm down after that….” His words faded and the glower returned, focused clearly on the courtyard below him. My father had obviously become visible. Uther spun away from the window, surprising me with his speed, and stalked by me, throwing the door open. “Arthas!” He barked into the cavernous corridors beyond. There was a long moment of silence, then the sound of heels, moving quickly without running. He appeared cat graceful in the doorway. “Yes, sir?” He inquired, and Uther grimaced. “This.” He motioned at me, and Arthas’s luminous green eyes moved to me. “Is….”

“Clarimonde de Nemesio.” Arthas filled in the blank when Uther paused. “Lord Aaron’s heiress, I believe. From Brill.” “I was not aware he had a child.” Uther’s attention was on neither one of us, he’d withdrawn to the darkened northern corner of his office, his gaze without. “Or I would perhaps have not been so…abrupt in telling him he was unfit to raise one.”

The blandly correct face that Arthas had gained upon seeing me faltered somewhat, his brows rose in a question. “Aaron wails that he has no heir.” Arthas murmured cautiously. “Not that he has no child. He pines…no…lusts after other men’s sons. You told him he was not fit…sir?” Uther sighed. “I did. He has chosen to take me at that word and give his only born to my custody. You have met her before?” “We have been…introduced. Recently. Why would he give her over like this?” I really wished they’d stop speaking of me as if I weren’t even in the same room, but that question dragged Uther’s attention from the window casement and back to me. “The King would not touch my ward.” He muttered, his expression darkening. Arthas nodded. “And you would hold her estates in trust. You opened the door, and he pushed her through it. Brilliantly done, I would assume. You told him the Hand would be better to raise an heir, and when gets himself in trouble he’s not getting out of, he takes that and runs with it. You become his only heir’s guardian. Hold her estates in trust, and my father will not seize them.”

“I’ve been played.” Uther noted, and I suddenly wished I could become even smaller than I already was. My father had manipulated Uther Lightbringer into volunteering to raise me. I hugged my shoulders, contemplating the patterns of the rug on the floor. Let me out of here. A hand on my shoulder, its weight and positioning meant it had to belong to Arthas. “It’s going to be just fine….Clarimonde.” “Thank you, your highness.” I managed, fighting back true tears. This was not what I had volunteered for. I had volunteered to try for Arthas, still secure as my father’s heiress. Not thrown away to the Hand like some unwanted luggage. My father had done something heinous enough to endanger the most precious thing we possessed, the family estates. Terenas would not seize lands without justification….

“Lass.” Uther sighed. “It’s no fault of yours… Boy, what is that face for?” “Uther. You are a great paladin. A mighty warrior. But you are terrible at this.” Arthas chuckled, pulling me back into him and resting the arm around my shoulders. “Everything is just fine.” He murmured into my ear. “Some wine, some sleep, some food and a hot bath, and it will look better in the morning. I promise.” He smelled of horses, straw, and sunshine…I barely managed an agreeable nod. Those all did sound good…. Not as good as this moment was, but I wasn’t a position to be picky. “Yes, your highness.” “And, please. Call me Arthas.” “Yes…. Arthas.”

He made good on his promises… honeyed wine, a good meal, a hot bath and a deep feather bed in one of the Order’s guest rooms. I needed to pick up the pieces of what my father had left me with, but that would wait until the morning. Although it was still early, there was nothing left to do but throw the coverlet over my head and let sleep rescue me. It would be better in the morning. It might be better in the morning, but it certainly did not look better. It was gloomy when I opened my eyes, a thick fog pressed against the mullioned windows that overlooked the same courtyard my father had fled out of. It was chilled, as well. Summer was ending and Stratholme was farther north than Brill. I had failed to bank the coals, and the fire had burned itself dead. “Bah.” I grumbled, gazing around. My trunks had been left in the outer room, untouched, and I delved in them. There was a definite lack of finery and formality in this place so far, so I chose for warmth and comfort this morning, a warm flannel chemise and plain woolen gown. I braided my hair, took a deep breath, and stepped into the hallway. It was empty beyond, and I wandered aimlessly for awhile, ignored by the young trainees as they hurried on errands. “Clarimonde! There you are.” Arthas hailed me from under the balconies that surrounded the courtyard… a landmark I had finally managed to make my way to. “Uther sent me to get you…and I found your rooms empty. Always this early a riser?” I nodded. My father abhorred sloth, and slept little. Therefore, every one else slept little around him. “Usually.” “Ah. We are to break fast with Uther. He’s had enough time to calm down, so he can decide what needs to be done now. “As long as it doesn’t involve sending me back.” I stated, and he arched the brow again. Anything but back to the estates now, after that scene, I’d be lucky to survive the experience. “Never.” Arthas chuckled, easily leading his way through the compound. “Not with your father on his way down, Uther was correct when he said the Hand would be a better environment to raise you in. He just didn’t expect….”

“That I existed.” I stared at him. Had he known? “Many don’t.”

He nodded. “Lord Aaron was not always forthcoming with that information. It almost seemed as if he preferred being childless to…” he waved a disgusted hand in my direction, and I bowed my head. “Rather be childless than admitting he has a perfectly lovely daughter.” He frowned. “So many would consider that a blessing. But not your father. And yes, I knew of you…. At least of your existence. The fact that your father did in fact have an heir has tempered my father’s reactions to him. If your father had not forced this, then my father would have done nearly the same soon enough. Uther’s ward, no. But someone’s. But then, your father detests Uther, and has probably done this just to watch him squirm.” I sent him a wan smile, it was better that he thought that. Part of it was undoubtedly true, if my father had taken an active dislike to someone, and was handed an open invitation to move on that dislike, he’d take it. Uther had apparently given him that in more ways than being responsible for the young prince. “Good to see you had the sense to dress down.” He continued. “Uther sets little store by court fashion.”

I considered the words and their intonation. Uther was not the only one…. “I’ve never been to court.” I pointed out the obvious, and he paused. “I have some gowns for it, just in case, but most of my things are not that fine. I dressed this morning for the weather…”

He nodded, dressed in warmth over fashion this morning himself. “Bitter and damp.” He agreed, pausing outside of a door I recognized, Uther’s office. “Ladies first.” He chuckled, opening the door without knock or call. “Found her.” He announced triumphantly to the room as I entered. Uther sat, not at his desk, but at a rough table set to the side of the room. I smelled….food. Real food…ham, eggs, potatoes, spread out before Uther. “Sit, Lass. Eat. And we’ll talk. You too, boy. As fast as you’re growing, we need to keep some meat on those bones.” I sat on his left, while Arthas took the seat across from me, serving himself from the platter of ham without word or ceremony. It was odd, to sit at this plain table, with the crown prince before me, and the greatest knight of the realm beside me, and both seemed content to serve themselves. “My apologies for yesterday, Lass.” Uther said, taking the platter. “Your father…caught me off guard. I was angry with him, not you. I’m guessing that was as much a surprise to you as it was to me, then?”

“Yes.” It would have been my answer, but it was Arthas’s word. “What exactly did your father tell you was the reason for you to come to Stratholme?”

You. The word breathed in my mind, and was banished. That was dangerous. “My father told me I was to come to the Hand for training.” Do not lie to the Paladin of the Light. “To be a better heir. That he had taught me all that could be taught at the estates.”

“So. Not entirely a lie, and not entirely the truth.” The platter made its way to me, and I eyed it. I was hungry, starving, but my father frowned on that. Women were supposed to be delicate, and I had Arthas across from me, close enough to reach out and touch. But…that same prince was throwing propriety to the wind… I snagged one of the larger remaining pieces of the ham. I added some potatoes swimming in butter, the heel of the loaf of bread and eggs, and proceeded to eat. Uther did not pay that any mind and Arthas only snorted a laugh. “Well, she eats like a paladin.” He grinned, and Uther glanced at my plate. “Little thing like that needs to eat more.” The great paladin grumbled. “So. Your father told you were to come to us to train with the Hand, not be dropped off in my lap.”

“Exactly.” The food was wonderful, and yes, as promised, the morning was better than the night before. “My father had a harness of armor made, a sword, purchased a horse… Everything I was led to believe was that I was coming here to learn what he could not teach me.” “A sword? A horse? Armor? You were under the impression that you came to us as an initiate?”

“Maybe the man has finally given up on his male heir.” Arthas shrugged, “And decided to see the heir he does have trained as she should have been. Eight generations of service, and he desecrates the name.”

The ham, just moments before sweet and smoky, went wooden in my mouth. “My father fought for Lordaeron.” I breathed. He had, when the Horde had run over the lands… I remembered it vaguely, pulled from my bed in the dark of night and rushed to the Capital. The terror, the palpable rush and panic, held before my father on the withers of his horse. He’d been there, with our men, when the Horde came to the very walls of the Capital, and were turned back. He’d returned, bleeding, bruised, and picked me up… held me close…. “All safe now, little one…”

“Aye, he did, lass. On the walls of the Capital. And you have the look of one who remembers that day.” Uther said, and the look in his eyes marked him as one who did as well. Of course he did, he’d fought then.

“I was in the Capital. The estates were deemed too indefensible, so we pulled back to Lordaeron when the Crown gave the evacuation orders.”  Only the capital had stood against the assault… the manor and lands that comprised my father’s estates would have been destroyed in a heartbeat had it gone that far. “And that day, the Light shone on us all.” Uther stated. “So both of you were in the walls that day.” He glanced between us, Arthas silent as I was, before reaching out a hand to smooth my hair. “What we fought for…. You, Lass. And the boy. And all the others just like you. And you’re right, your father stood. Eat. You were hungry.”

“My father has done something wrong.”

They glanced between each other; obviously they’d expected that I knew it already. “He’s been skimming the royal coffers.” Arthas finally stated. “The only reason he hasn’t been arrested for it yet was you. My father was trying to decide what was best served with you… you are unmarried. Sheltered. There would have been a guardian, soon.” “And my mother?” I turned my attention back to the food. At least someone was finally having an adult and blunt discussion with me about this. “Will be seen to by the Crown.” Arthas stated. “She has no other family but you and your father.”

“Fair enough. And me?”

“You have come to us in the belief that you were to be an initiate.” Uther shook his head. “Your reasons to be here should remain unchanged…”

It was all I could do to keep from looking straight at Arthas, but I managed to keep my eyes on Uther. “And it would serve you well, I think.” He continued, oblivious. “Even if you do not swear to the Order, we have much to teach. Lordaeron needs its young, both male and female, to be strong, able sorts. With blade, word, law, and heart. I am not your father, lass. But I would be honored to be the guardian I agreed to be. To raise you here, in the heart of Stratholme.” “Thank you, Lord Uther.” “Uther, lass. Or sir, if you go into the Order. No lords here.” He glanced at me. “Nor ladies either. Brothers and sisters…”

I nodded… although sister was the last label I wanted Arthas to consider me as. That, however, paled with the situation my father had left me. Wisdom dictated I step back from that, and make my way in my new household as best as possible. “So. We test you and see where you stand, lass. You mentioned a harness and a blade. Go and get them on. Nothing like a chill day to work up a sweat.”

I nodded, returning to my room to change into the unfamiliar armor. I felt stupid and ungraceful as I stepped back into the hallway and made my way back to Uther’s office. Arthas had changed into armor as well, and his eyes narrowed as he saw me. “Your father’s taste in armor is fine.” He noted slowly, and I sighed. I was obviously wearing some of the money my father was accused of absconding with, and I had no defense for that. Uther just shook his head, grabbed the armor at the shoulders, and shook. “The armor is indeed fine.” He grumbled, choosing to not rise to Arthas’s comment. “But worn wrong.” He cinched the straps down tighter, as tight as they’d go. “I take it your father did not see fit for any sort of martial training…”

“My father told me none could teach me that as the Hand could. All he’d do was teach me wrong, and you’d have to break my habits. I was taught other things.”

Uther nodded. “Undoubtedly fine things for a well bred young lady.” He said, giving the armor another yank. “But not for my ward. I assume those trunks are full of fine things for a well bred young lady?” “Yes.” Unharnessed amusement touched Arthas’s expression at those words. He dropped his chin in a half hearted attempt to hide his grin. “You’ll get them returned at a later date.” He said in a sing song. “Uther will go through them and decide what is useable and store what is not. You are here as an initiate of the Hand. Finery is superfluous. A strong heart is as strong garbed in common wool as in velvet. You will be issued clothing commensurate with your station here, which is the same as every other youngling. We are brothers, young prince, and you will behave as such.” At least my father wasn’t here to hear that the garments would go unworn. I nodded. As long as there were no young women here not held to that same, then I was fine with it.

“Exactly.” Uther agreed. “And I have been charged with the raising of both of you. And you will both be better for it; you have my word upon it.”