Chapter 86: Arrival at Lordaeron

The meeting “perfectly” approved Silvermoon City’s envoy mission, appointing Patrick as the representative to Lordaeron’s royal capital. As for the credentials and gifts for the diplomatic visit, the council provided detailed plans, which Patrick accepted in silence. The council had already voted; resistance was pointless. Patrick's wings were not yet fully spread, his power insufficient to intimidate the others. Acceptance was not without merit—after all, he was still under the eaves.

If he were to refuse outright or oppose the council, it would only give others ammunition against him, handing them a pretext to attack. Once he became the target of all, it would be a fatal blow. Now, all he could do was accumulate strength slowly, hoping to expand his influence.

Moreover, Patrick was a piece on the chessboard, needing to carefully weigh what schemes the old councilors were plotting.

Upon returning to his territory, Patrick deliberately chose Higgins Eir, Idonis, and Quelrinthys, along with Melaris, the old steward sent by his father. These four were familiar and trustworthy to Patrick, making them his preferred aides.

Back at the Tower of the Sun, the portal to Lordaeron’s royal capital was already open. Quel’Thalas and Lordaeron had dedicated teleportation arrays. Patrick’s mind entered, sensing the surging spatial and arcane forces within the portal.

The ceremonial entourage and guards were ready. Patrick, resplendent in formal attire, utilized levitation magic, white-blue energy radiating from his body and intimidating those around him. Seeing everyone prepared, Patrick led the way into the teleportation array. The surrounding space shifted, like a temporal wormhole, and in an instant, they arrived in Lordaeron’s capital. Awaiting them was a man in archbishop’s robes, surrounded by human mages and clerics.

“Res… respected… ambassador of Quel’Thalas, welcome to Lordaeron’s capital.” The leading cleric stammered, awed by Patrick floating in midair.

Beside him, the diplomat displayed elven arrogance: “This is a councilor of the Kingdom of Quel’Thalas. Is this really your hospitality?”

Truthfully, unless King Terenas himself appeared, Patrick’s diplomatic aides would show no courtesy. Even if the king came, the elves would likely have comments—perhaps only the dragons of Azeroth were esteemed by high elves.

Night elves? A joke. Once exiled by those wretches, it was the greatest shame. Humans? Merely a short-lived race of monkeys; how could they compare to us? Dwarves? Those fourth-rate cripples who do nothing but drink and mine are not worth the trouble. Gnomes? The same, thank you. Trolls? Not even worth considering, thank you.

The arrogance of the elves was truly unreasonable and lacking in empathy; their first words left the welcoming archbishop speechless.

Patrick waved his hand, signaling the diplomat to step back and easing the awkwardness: “Greetings, Archbishop. I am the ambassador from the Kingdom of Quel’Thalas.”

“Ah… Ah, thank you for coming. I am Alonsus Faol, Archbishop of the Holy Light in Lordaeron.” The tension dissipated, and a smile returned to the archbishop’s face.

Hearing his name, Patrick was astonished. So this kindly old man was the future founder of the paladins. He hadn’t expected to meet him.

“Patrick Cabron, councilor of Silvermoon.” Patrick gave his name, but when he said “councilor of Silvermoon,” Alonsus visibly tensed. The humans hadn’t expected Quel’Thalas to send a councilor, but the archbishop signaled to his attendants, who hurried into the palace.

With the entire retinue assembled, Alonsus led the impressive elven delegation toward the inner city. Patrick, feet never touching the ground, floated at the center. Many citizens came to watch; most had never seen high elves and crowded forward, eager to glimpse the legendary visitors. Like spectators drawn to excitement in a previous life, people pressed close, hoping to see as many elves as possible.

“Who is that high elf at the front? Floating in the air—so impressive!” one onlooker exclaimed.

“So these are high elves? They look so dignified and noble!” said another.

It was indeed the first large-scale visit of the high elves, attracting many eyes. Their progress was slow, and Archbishop Alonsus made a point of introducing local customs to Patrick, lengthening the journey to the palace by at least a quarter.

Overall, the architecture of Lordaeron was quite remarkable: simple, with clear lines, strict symmetry, and striking use of light and color. Its style evoked grandeur and elegance, rich with romanticism—a classic Western design.

The delegation advanced slowly toward the palace. Its walls were massive and solid, adorned with rows of small arches. Doorways and windows featured concentric layers of rounded arches to reduce the heaviness. One side boasted bell towers; some walls bore the cross of the Holy Light. The horizontal halls atop the city walls also had bell towers, and from the outside, the palace resembled a church—solemn and elegant, somewhat Gothic in style.

Inside, columns alternated rhythmically, and narrow windows created a mysterious, shadowy atmosphere in the spacious halls. The contrast between the austere central hall and the ornate altar was striking. The corridors connecting rooms allowed for dramatic spatial changes. The exterior was bold and free, while the interior used lavish decorations, carvings, and vivid murals—often with reliefs and curved surfaces—to convey the majesty and authority of human kingship.

Outside the palace gates stood a golden-haired man in a crown, awaiting their arrival. Alonsus was visibly excited; this must be King Terenas Menethil.

“Greetings, councilor of Quel’Thalas. Welcome to the capital of Lordaeron.” Terenas Menethil was surprised—the neighboring high elven kingdom had sent a councilor as envoy for the holy ceremony. When he received the news, he was taken aback.

If a Silvermoon councilor served as ambassador, it made sense for the king himself to greet them. After all, Quel’Thalas’s political structure differed from the human kingdoms; Silvermoon’s councilors were the highest authorities among high elves, and Terenas knew this well.

“Your Majesty, this is the ambassador from Quel’Thalas, Councilor Patrick Cabron,” Archbishop Alonsus introduced.

“Good day, Your Majesty of Lordaeron.” Patrick nodded slightly, a sign of respect—and for high elves, their best gesture toward humans.

“I didn’t expect the ambassador to be a councilor; it’s truly an honor. Archbishop, be sure to treat our elven guests with utmost care. They must not suffer any neglect—this is Lordaeron’s hospitality.” The king was delighted—a councilor, and an arcane master, no less. Excellent, powerful.

“This is Rotandegili, the Primate of the Holy Light Cathedral, who will see to every arrangement and guarantee for our distinguished guests.”

“Please, follow me. His Majesty has prepared exceptionally luxurious accommodations for our elven friends.” Along the way, there was much polite conversation. Rotandegili, a gentle and talkative priest, explained local customs at his leisure.