A Letter to the Queen

The news had spread through Stormwind like wildfire, and like that consuming flame, it danced and flickered, passing from ear to ear and becoming ever more horrible, ever more real with each retelling. Regardless of how the tale was spun though, there was one underlying truth that could not be denied.

Theramore was gone.

Not just gone, obliterated. It had ceased to exist. And worse, the ships that the 7^th Legion had sent there had also suffered great losses. Ships built in Stormwind's harbor, ships crewed by the loyal citizens of Stormwind, ships that House LaFevre had, in part, helped to build with its various holdings.

Britany LaFevre sat in her parlor, feeling nothing but numbness inside as her servants passed in and out of the richly appointed estate in Stormwind's magic district. Dimly she heard their chatter, heard the hushed whispers as they spoke of the loss and speculated about what the grim future would hold. She dismissed them for the moment, simply contemplating the reality of the blow that had been struck against the Alliance. Beside her, a cup of tea sat slowly cooling on a coffee table, forgotten for a moment as the Lady of the house tried to make sense of the news.

She had never had any strong patriotic feelings. House LaFevre had originally hailed from Lordaeron, and had been established in Stormwind for three generations, building its shipping empire slowly with the growth and rebirth of the city after the Second War. In all of that time, House LaFevre had taken great strides to keep itself firmly grounded in its primary businesses and buried its head in the sand when it came to talk of war. Except, of course, for the opportunities it presented.

This was a completely different situation.

How could a House prosper when the threat of total annihilation existed? What trade would exist when the seas were owned by Horde vessels, slaughtering even the innocent crews of trade ships and merchants like those that House LaFevre sent out to sea regularly? In all of her thirty seven years, Britany had never been forced to contemplate that all of those who relied upon her could be put at risk because the Horde had become suddenly genocidal.

Britany's thoughts were interrupted by a polite cough. She turned to see her manservant James standing in the parlor's entrance, a parchment in his hand covered in elegant script. She nodded to him once and he immediately walked into the room, arranging the parchment before her, their familiarity over the years allowing them to almost communicate subconsciously. With a frown, she read the declaration, pausing to run her hand across the words written there, as if touching them would give the moment more substance.

“Quill, ink, and parchment James,” Britany said softly, “I've a missive to send.”

In moments the necessary supplies were gathered and the declaration and Britany's cold tea were pushed aside, her quill flying across the page and a message quickly being put to paper.

Your Grace,

In dark times, goodly men and women wish for light to illuminate the path. They huddle in despair, their wills and hearts crushed by the weight of disaster and ruin. In rare cases, such feelings are banished when one comes along to lift up the downtrodden and inspire them to dare to believe that hope may still exist.

Your words, your declarations are exactly such an illuminating power. Through them, within them, is the hope that such a black day may be set behind us, that we may grasp at fleeting victory and cast down those who would bring about the sorrows we have suffered. I am certain that you have inspired many with your words.

Although my home is now Stormwind, my ancestors hail from your lands and my blood stirs to hear said what you have proclaimed. I am but one woman, and my influence is but a paltry thing compared to the power of a nation or your own might, but know that in spirit I support your words and encourage you to speak more of them, for these times call for such words and the actions implied within them.

Know that House LaFevre firmly supports your efforts, and will contribute what we are able to donate to aid in the elimination of a threat that would doom us all, champion and artisan alike. Our shipping concerns will always be available to you and yours, be it for the movement of supplies or men. Consider this small act, however insignificant it may be, as a gift from myself. The future of all good men and women depends upon what we do next, what we all do together.

May the Light bless you and your cause, and may you and your men return to the embrace of your homeland one day, victorious over the darkness that looms.

Respectfully,

Britany LaFevre

House LaFevre

Upon completion of the letter Britany set her quill aside, allowing the ink to dry before carefully folding the letter before her. She poured wax on it, setting her signet ring against the cooling substance to seal the missive before looking up to her manservant. James stepped forward, taking the letter in hand and bowing.

“Please see to it that Her Grace receives this James,” Britany said softly. “It is a small gesture I am sure, but we must bolster the morale of our allies as best we can.”

“At once Lady LaFerve,” James said, quickly turning and slipping from the room.

Britany watched him go before turning to look out the window, her thoughts returning to the losses the alliance had suffered. There was little she could do directly, and it was galling. She would have to make more sacrifices, gain more power. In time, she would have a part to play.

If any of them had any time left.