Originally written July 3, 2012.
A chance meeting the night before has left me in thought. I have made no attempt to disguise my discomfort in Stormwind as I vault between one continent and the other. The city bares many of my reservations and insecurities, to the point that I find myself remaining in the city longer than necessary, if even to better acquaint myself. I want to know and overcome each in time.
Lord Corran Ravencrest and I are nearly two decades apart, but what divides us further is more than age. It is common for us to bristle or even posture while in each other's company, our personal philosophies differ so sharply that it is difficult to find similarity. We are both knights, once part of the same order, but our lives urged us on different paths. Perhaps in different lives, we may have been closer, perhaps compatriots fighting beneath the same banner with less barbed words for one another. But as it stands, we are apart. I will weave no illusion and claim that this separation does not concern me.
It is more clear to me that his life was shaped by the Second War – and by my younger age and experience, the Third War was mine. The simplicity of this realization shepherds many mysteries into place, the greatest of which is a loss Lord Ravencrest and I deeply share: Lordaeron. It was a blessing that our meeting occurred at its memorial, it is likely our words would have been far less cordial if we simply passed one another on the street.
I see now why Taldrus respects him. It bothered me for some time that my betrothed could follow the orders of a man I so often wholly disagreed with. I wondered if Taldrus was somehow clutched in a trap, forced to obey orders as far as to not even speak ill of them in private. I see now that Taldrus has glimpsed the honorable man within the Marshal, as I glimpsed him the night before. Still, it does not altogether beg acceptance or full forgiveness; there are still so many other things I question, along with whether I will come to know the full truth of an otherwise private man.
His life was shaped by the Second War and witnessing the full war machine of the Horde. He told me that it was terrible to behold, far worse than the Scourge. He stated that he would fight the Scourge numerous times in place of fighting the unleashed Horde. I do not doubt the brevity of his words or experience, what he says is likely true. It is the fear that keeps him awake at night.
My life was shaped by the Third War. The greatest human kingdom of Azeroth fell after the betrayal of its own prince, and the Scourge overran the Alliance and Horde. The Scourge were indiscriminate, the Lich King himself was first an orc, then a human, choosing to kill both factions without pause. It was slaughter, and the helplessness against such a blindside, the overwhelming tide of destruction and hate is the memory that inspires my own sleepless nights.
Neither of us are wrong with our focus and fears. We live in the same time, shared some of the same days, but fight different enemies. Our fear is ultimately tied to survival of people, nations, races, lives. Different face, same fear.
He asked whether the Templars will join the Alliance. My answer was not what he sought, but seemed to likewise surprised him. I did not tell him that his offer was not the first invitation, or the only faction to extend a hand. We are not confidants, therefore there are many things neither of us will never know about the other. That privacy is one of many.
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