"Do you think I can be friends with Princess Calia?" Jaina asked, her voice low, almost hesitant, as though the thought had been weighing on her for some time. It was not a question born from doubt alone, but from something softer—hope, perhaps, or the quiet uncertainty of stepping into a world far larger than the one she had known. She had held the words back through their arrival, through the formal greetings and the procession into the castle, and only now, within the towering halls of Lordaeron's royal keep, did she finally give them voice.
Their welcome had been nothing short of grand. Upon arriving at the harbor, they were not met merely by guards or officials, but by a full retinue of Lordaeron's knights, clad in polished armor that gleamed beneath the morning light. At their head stood Princess Calia Menethil herself, eldest daughter to King Terenas, her presence poised and warm, her smile carrying both grace and sincerity. She had greeted them with a kindness that did not feel rehearsed, though the weight of her title lingered in every movement she made. Yet even amidst such a welcome, there had been an absence. No sign of Prince Arthas, the crown prince and heir to the throne, until much later—where now they stood inside a chapel, to which a sermon was currently being held.
Thorwin had taken note of everything.
The castle rose around them in quiet splendor, its vast halls lined with grand tapestries that told stories of kings, battles, and victories long past. Marble pillars stood tall and unyielding, carved with such precision that they seemed almost alive under the shifting light. Guards were stationed at every turn, their armor heavier than those of the harbor, their vigilance sharper, their presence a constant reminder that this was not merely a place of residence, but the heart of a kingdom. The entire structure spoke of wealth, power, and order—of a nation that had endured war and emerged not weakened, but firmly rooted.
It was impressive.
Undeniably so.
And yet, none of it held Thorwin's attention for long.
For all its grandeur, for all its carefully constructed beauty, it did little to settle the weight he carried. The halls felt vast, almost too vast, and though they were filled with life, there was a distance in it all that he could not ignore. It was only when his gaze shifted toward Jaina—walking beside him, speaking softly, her presence steady and familiar—that the thought of staying here became… tolerable. Bearable, at the very least.
Without her, he doubted he would have lasted long.
His thoughts drifted elsewhere then, toward what awaited him beyond these walls. Toward his training. Toward the man he was to serve under—the Lightbringer himself. The name alone carried weight. Not just a general who had fought alongside his grandfather, but one of the founding paladins of the Knights of the Silver Hand—a brotherhood forged in faith and war, composed of those who wielded both the Light and the discipline to command it.
Thorwin felt a pull toward it.
A need.
Something far stronger than the comfort these halls could ever provide.
And he knew, with quiet certainty, that if he had been made to remain here alone—without purpose, without direction—he might have left before long. Left abruptly. Offending not only the king, but perhaps the entirety of Lordaeron itself with his disregard.
But he did not say any of that.
Instead, he glanced at Jaina.
The question still lingered between them, soft and uncertain, and for a brief moment he let his thoughts settle before answering. "I'm sure you will," he said at last, his voice steady, though touched with quiet reassurance. He paused, considering his words more carefully this time. "She seemed… friendly. Beneath all that grace and royal protocol, at least. And she's not that far from our age."
Jaina nodded faintly, her gaze drifting ahead as if she were already imagining it—conversations, shared moments, something new and unfamiliar. "It would be nice to have a friend like her," she admitted, almost to herself.
Thorwin raised a brow at that, a hint of mischief slipping into his expression.
"Am I not enough as a friend?" he asked, his tone light, clearly humoring her.
That made her pause.
Not briefly—but long enough to make him wonder what answer she might give. Her lips parted slightly as if she meant to speak at once, but she stopped herself, thinking. Then, after a few seconds, she finally answered.
"You're different."
Thorwin did not miss a beat.
"I will always be."
There was no hesitation in his voice, only that familiar certainty he carried so effortlessly, as though the world itself had long since accepted that fact. Jaina could not help but chuckle at that—soft at first, then a little brighter, her earlier uncertainty easing away.
"Silly," she said, shaking her head lightly. "That's not what I meant." She hesitated, searching for the right words, her fingers fidgeting slightly at her side. "I just… haven't really had friends of the same… gender." She paused again, then nodded to herself. "Yes. Gender."
She glanced at him, a faint smile returning as she continued. "Mother always encouraged me to spend time with the daughters of noble houses. But I never quite had the chance to… find time for that."
Her eyes narrowed just slightly, her smile shifting.
"Because of a certain boy," she added pointedly, "who kept inviting me to his lands."
Thorwin placed a hand over his chest dramatically.
"How tragic," he said, feigning deep sorrow. "And how bleak, to learn that it is all my fault."
Jaina leaned slightly closer, lowering her voice just enough to match his tone.
"You should be," she whispered. Then, with a small tilt of her head, she added, "Now that you know, I believe I deserve the finest gift you can offer from now on."
Thorwin laughed at that; genuine this time, unguarded.
It lingered for a moment.
Then it faded.
Slowly.
His gaze dropped.
Not abruptly, not enough to draw attention at once—but enough that the shift could be felt. The laughter softened into silence, and for a brief second, something unreadable passed across his expression.
Jaina noticed.
Of course she did.
Her smile faltered just slightly as she followed his gaze downward—only to realize, a heartbeat later, that it was not the ground he had noticed.
It was everything else.
The hall had not been as quiet as they thought.
A few of the passing nobles had slowed. Some of the guards stood a little less rigid than before. Even the priest leading the procession ahead had allowed himself the faintest hint of a smile. Not mocking, never that, but amused. Observant.
They had been heard.
Jaina's cheeks warmed instantly.
"Sorry," she murmured, almost at the same time as Thorwin, their voices overlapping in quiet embarrassment.
She turned slightly, elbowing him in the side, not hard, but enough to make her point.
"You could have told me sooner," she whispered, annoyance laced with a hint of laughter she could not quite suppress.
The priest soon resumed his sermon, his voice echoing gently through the chapel, steady and unwavering as it carried the weight of prayer and tradition. Incense lingered faintly in the air, curling in thin wisps above the rows of benches, while the flicker of candlelight danced against polished stone and stained glass. Thorwin and Jaina lowered their gazes once more, composing themselves, though the warmth of embarrassment still lingered faintly on their faces. Time seemed to pass more slowly after that—each word of the sermon stretching the moment just enough for them to regain their composure.
After a while, they both lifted their heads—almost in unison.
Carefully.
Cautiously.
Their eyes shifted, glancing around to see if the attention had remained on them. For a brief moment, they held their breath—then exhaled softly when they saw that everyone had returned their focus to the front. The nobles sat composed, the guards stood as they should, and the quiet reverence of the chapel had settled back into place as though nothing had happened at all.
They were safe.
Or so they thought.
There, from a bench not too far from theirs—slightly ahead and to the side—sat the royal family of Lordaeron. And among them, a small figure stood out. A blonde boy, no older than them, perhaps even younger, sat watching.
Staring, rather.
His gaze was fixed on the two of them with an openness that held no shame, no attempt at subtlety. Curious. Observant. Almost amused.
Thorwin noticed first.
Then Jaina followed his gaze.
And there it was.
The boy, Prince Arthas.
Watching them.
Thorwin leaned slightly toward Jaina, just enough for his voice to reach her ears without carrying beyond.
"I suppose," he murmured quietly, a hint of mischief returning to his tone, "you're not the only one eager to make friends."
The words had barely settled when—
thud.
Jaina's elbow found his side once more.
Not harsh.
But deliberate.
And this time, she did not even try to hide the faint smile threatening to return.
…
"Lord Thorwin."
The voice came strong and steady, cutting cleanly through the quiet murmur that followed the end of the sermon. People had begun to rise from their seats, robes brushing against polished floors, hushed conversations returning to life as the chapel slowly emptied. Thorwin had been watching Jaina from a short distance away, her voice soft yet animated as she spoke with Princess Calia, when the call drew his attention.
He turned.
There, standing a few paces away, was a man who did not need introduction to command presence. Broad-shouldered, bearded, and clad in polished plate that bore the unmistakable sigil of the Silver Hand upon its neckplate; a hand, raised in solemn oath. The armor gleamed not just with care, but with purpose. A paladin.
Thorwin's thoughts settled quickly.
Uther.
"Good day, sir—" Thorwin began, stepping forward slightly.
"Uther," the man corrected, his voice measured, each word placed with deliberate calm. "A good day to you as well." His gaze lingered on Thorwin for a brief moment—assessing, perhaps—before shifting slightly. "And the boy here…" he paused, then angled his body just enough to reveal the figure standing quietly behind him. "If you may, my prince."
The boy stepped forward.
"Hello, Lord Thorwin," Arthas spoke, his voice carrying a trace of shyness, though he held himself upright all the same. His golden hair caught the light from the chapel windows, and his eyes, bright and curious, remained fixed on Thorwin. He extended his hand, just as he had been taught. "I am Arthas Menethil, Crown Prince of Lordaeron."
Thorwin did not hesitate.
He clasped the offered hand firmly, returning the gesture with equal respect. "Thorwin Stormsong," he replied, a small, polite smile forming as he met the prince's gaze. "Heir to House Stormsong. Though… you may simply call me Thorwin, Prince."
Arthas blinked once—then smiled.
"Then you may call me Arthas."
"I shall, then," Thorwin answered, his smile lingering just a little longer this time. "Arthas."
For a brief moment, the formality between them eased.
Then Thorwin's attention shifted back to Uther.
"I presume, sir, that this is not merely a meeting of introductions?" he asked, his tone respectful, though direct.
"Indeed," Uther replied without pause. "His Lordship Alonsus Faol has sent me, not only to fulfill my duties as a knight of Lordaeron, but to accompany you to Stratholme." His voice remained calm, though there was a weight behind his words that made them feel more significant than simple travel. "There, you will undergo study under him before taking your place as my squire."
Thorwin listened carefully, his expression steady.
"I understand," he said after a moment. Then, with a slight shift in tone, he added, "Though I must request… that I accompany my friend, Jaina, to Dalaran first, before proceeding to Stratholme."
There was no hesitation in his voice when he said it.
Only certainty.
Uther regarded him for a moment, then gave a small nod.
"That will not be an issue, Lord Thorwin," he answered. "His Majesty welcomes both your presence and that of Lady Proudmoore within these halls." A faint pause followed, and for the briefest moment, something almost resembling amusement touched his otherwise composed demeanor. "Though… it would seem His Majesty is not the only one eager."
His gaze shifted downward.
Toward the boy beside him.
Thorwin followed it.
He turned back to Arthas, and there it was.
That same look from earlier.
The prince stood there, his posture still proper, his hands now clasped behind him as expected of his station… yet his expression betrayed him. There was a smile there. Bright. Curious. It seems Jaina wasn't the only one making friends on this trip.