The old man sighed in despair. He had spent hours without sleep, studying tome after tome. With a frustrated move he shut the book that was in front of him and added it to the huge pile of similar ones that was formed in the ground next to his chair.

 

"This is hopeless" he murmured in despair, a rare sentiment for him. "All this tomes on Lore, on research, on studies of the occult and nothing. Nothing whatsoever." Lowering his head with his hands crossed in a joined fist, he sighed once more, ready to give up. "It seems I have met my match."

 

Somehow he managed to smile. Somewhere deep in his mind, he could almost hear a familiar voice speaking in its usual tone. "And abo't bloody time too, if ye ask me! Now at last grow some sense, boy, and retire. This ain't the werk for ye, not anymore." The old man laughed to himself softly.

​

"Oh Dearglar, old friend" he whispered with nostalgia. "That sounds like something you would say if you were here, doesn't it?" A smile of sweet memories covered his face. He remembered the countless times his dwarven friend had tried to persuade him to finally retire and settle down as a ruler and not a warrior, over the last decade or so. And he remembered the answer he would always give.

​

My work as a Paladin will be over when my last breath is drawn. Light will decide when that will be and I will accept the end with no regret.

​

His own voice spoke the words into his mind, strong, confident and judgmental. But it was a younger voice, the voice he used to bear in his prime. Something stirred in him, his spirit and determination re-kindled. An almost stubborn expression covered his wrinkled face.

​

"No. Not yet." he said to himself. For a moment at the back of his mind a thought of him growing mad spoke shyly, speaking to himself and hearing voices. He quickly discarded it. He had asked the Knights not to engage. He asked for time and had promised them a plan. He would not fail them. "Focus, Alfos!" he went on. "There has to be something you can think of, some lead, some clue, anything!"

​

Bringing his hands to hold his head as he plundered in deep thought, the Paladin sat there without moving for hours. The Herald. That was the only thing he could think of. That vicious being that time and again had hurt his friends, brought destruction to this world and taken lives for sport. As much as pure vengeance was a tempting thought and many of the Knights would embrace it with passion, he knew it was no solution. Kryptman had already slain the demon in the past but she only came back, probably stealing another soul to claim its body. Magic didn't work either. Halera's grip over Winterspear was a short one, if it ever existed at all. The Lady of the Stars, it seems, was no match for the power of Shadow that this chosen of Sargeras bore, or at least, her priestess didn't.

​

No, neither priest magic nor violence was a solution. The will of the Herald was too powerful for that. But what options were they left? Faith and the Sword are the weapons of the Paladin. With neither successful, the old man felt lost. He had to change his way of thinking and for an aged Paladin that was hard.

​

At some point he took his sword and polishing kit and started cleaning the blade. It was an old habit of his and it helped him concentrate. He allowed his body to go through the familiar moves as he let his mind wonder freely. Once he was done with the sword, he turned to his armor and went through the same routine.

​

Hours later, his gear was shining like a mirror, the jewels that decorated them glittered in the candle light like stars. The Paladin stood up, smiling, amused by his work and satisfied by the options he had come up with. They all bore risk but Alfos knew that was necessary.

​

As was suggested, the Library of Lordaeron would provide more information on the subject. Whether by force or stealth, the Knights should visit it. He knew the ranks would embrace this idea. The flame of their lost homeland burned in their hearts. He just hopped Kate would approve.

​

Dalaran was also an option. He doubted the Council of the Kirin Tor would allow anyone into their sealed city, so much study their guarded tomes, but he hoped some of the Order's crafters of the Art would have a chance of getting clearance. The Lordaeron Council of Magic was bound to keep bonds with the Kirin Tor.

​

Then there were the artifacts that seemed to have driven the Highborn and the Blades mad. He knew about the Troll-God's Heart, but Langlam had spoken of a certain "Tear" as well. While Alfos would prefer that the Order remained impartial to all this, some research on those artifacts and their alleged powers could prove useful and also it could help prevent the war between the two guilds.

​

And lastly, though the old Paladin would not pick this option until he was 100% certain that there was no alternative and that its success was guaranteed, there was the easy way out. If priest magic did not manage to contain the will of the demon, then perhaps magic that is dedicated to this cause could. Alfos shivered in this thought. He did not trust warlocks. While some of them meant well, he knew all too well that however mingles with the shadow sooner or later finds it in himself in one form or another. And besides, the most powerful warlock he could think of was the one man he would gladly see run through by his sword. No. This was not an option. Not until everything else had failed.

​

With these thoughts in his mind, the grey-haired man wore his shined armor and balanced his Lionheart sword on his back. He exited the room in haste and walked the long staircase down until he reached the entrance hall, it too filled with tomes and experimental desks as the study he had spent the last hours. Looking around for his host but unable to find her, he wrote a letter of gratitude with his elegant handwriting and left the building. Saluting the guards that stood outside, the Paladin walked to the stables and retrieved the battle-charger the alliance forces had offered him until the return of his beloved steed and friend.

​

Breathing deeply the cool sea air as the sun was rising in front of him, Alfos galloped to the port, leaving the Tower of Theramore behind him, where Jaina Proudmoore had kindly allowed him to do his research in a protected environment. He felt grateful for the Lady's assistance and support to the cause but mostly he felt hopeful again. At last he had come up with ideas. At last the Knights could make their move.

​

 

***************************************************

​

Months passed. Progress was slow, as the interest of the Order passed to other matters, focusing on battling more direct adversaries. Fel Orc infested wings of the Hellfire Citadel, Illidari Nagas, hidden deep beneath the Coilfang Reservoir, power-monger Blood Elves in the Tempest Keep... They all required the Order's attention and as time passed and the spite of vengeance against the Herald died out, so did the Knights' interest.

​

"Young people are like that" thought the Paladin as he was searching through the dust infected library around him. "They live in the moment and feel they have all the time in the world. It is pointless to try and change their minds. It will change on its own, when least expected, when their focus turns on something else, something new and at the time looking important". He paused and threw a glance above his shoulder, the light of the few lanterns he had left around him shining brightly in his eyes. From the room behind him he could hear the laughter and jokes of his comrades, as they were gathered around lanterns, resting from the long siege against the demon Prince, Malchezaar. They were in a haunted tower, where evil lurked behind every corner, yet their good spirits never died. "The bliss of youth" he thought, a longing look in his eyes, as he realized that enthusiasm was long gone from his aged mind. With a sigh of sweet memories, he turned to the bookshelves and continued his search. If the library of the Guardian Medivh didn't have the knowledge he sought, no place in Azeroth would.

​

Half a watch passed and still, the old man was looking for anything of value among the books, his thoughts and the pale lantern light as his sole companions. He didn't notice the plated footsteps, nor the soft chuckle that came from the door, as a plate-clad woman came to stand.

​

"Looking for books from your time, old man?" the woman said with a taunting voice, her eyes glittering playfully. Alfos smiled.

​

"Aye...But even Medivh has few of them" he said. They both laughed softly in the gloomy light of the library.

​

"What are you doing here, Kate?" he said as he jumped from the small stool he used to reach the highest parts of the shelves. "You should be with the others, boosting their spirits and sharing a good laugh".

​

"So should you, old man. The troops need to spend time with their officers. I don't have you high in rank for your good looks, you know".

​

"No, but I am sure they played a part" he chuckled. Mollrye laughed.

​

"What are you doing here?" she asked, curiously.

​

"Same thing I've been doing for the last months"

​

"The Herald?"

​

"Aye".

​

"It's been a month, Alfos". She said. "She's gone". The aged Paladin smiled bitterly.

​

"I doubt that, Kate. She is out there, somewhere. Thinking, plotting. When the time is right, she will strike again". The young leader shook her ponytail, a move of habit.

​

"An old man is allowed his obsessions, I guess" she said indifferently.

​

"Perhaps you're right" he sighed but then continued, with passion in his voice. "She is powerful, Kate! Powerful and cunning! She mocked us under our nose and whatever we did she was always a step ahead of us. She played with our emotions, our thoughts, our passions, as if they were toys. She played with our very lives and souls while we watched, feeling defenseless. Long had I to find such an adversary! A worthy adversary indeed!"

​

"You sound like you are almost enjoying it" she said calmly. "Aren't you taking this a little personally, old man?". Alfos stood still for a moment, his eyes narrowing.

"Aye, I guess you're right" he sighed after a while. "She was a challenge on many levels. Force alone was no match for her. Confronting her needed thought, planning, precaution. And it's been a while since I was probably challenged. Perhaps...Perhaps it made me feel young again. Useful". Mollrye sighed, moving her hands in a dramatic way.

​

"Where other people need a few pints of ale to make them feel better, you need a powerful demon. Damn it, old man, sometimes you're too weird to even pretend to understand!" The old man laughed.

​

"One day, lass" he said "one day you'll be where I am. Just make sure you stay alive until then, that ponytail of yours attracts too much attention in the field".

​

"Pah!" cried the young woman. "You'll be there and we'll see. You survived so many centuries, I am sure you can hold on a few decades longer. In the meantime, come inside. You can still be useful by talking to the younger, like most men your age do. Well those few who managed to cheat death for so long".

​

"I think I will stay with the dusty tomes of ages passed, where I belong, just a little bit longer" smiled the aged Paladin.

​

"Come to your senses, Alfos" she said in a serious tone. "She's gone. Let it go". Alfos stayed looking at her for a few moments then smiled and nodded.

​

"You're right. Let's go" he said simply and joined his leader as they started walking towards the gathered Knights, getting greeted by jokes of suspicion about the time they spent alone in that room, only to be returned by a witty come-back from Mollrye about how she would never date someone older than her grandfather, bringing the company to heavy laughter.

​

Later that night, when only some guards where still awake, the old Paladin walked back to the library, where the lantern light was slowing dying out. "Maybe she's right. Maybe you are gone for good. But I'll be damned if I am not ready for your return" he thought. He nodded in sharp salutation to the air. "Goodbye, Herald" he whispered. "You fought well". With a soft blow, he took out every light in the room, bringing darkness over the dusty tomes.