By Hikako

Med'an shifted slightly from one foot to another, oblivious to the way he silently announced he was not comfortable in the armor. Silver-gray and lined with gold he looked more like a soldier of the First War or an early paladin of Lordaeron, but it wasn't the weight of armor or the image that came with that was most uncomfortable for the young mixed-breed.

It was that it fit almost entirely too well for Med'an.

To the assembled nobles and foreign dignitaries that stood on either side of him Med'an was an oddity, a mixture of orc, human, and draenei features. Standing in a grand suit of armor made the young man feel even more of a spectacle, as if they would not be looking at him without it.

The truth was, even if he blended in almost seamlessly with the background, those who had gathered in King Varian's throne room would still openingly gawk at him. Who he truly was, which several months ago was the question on everyone's mind, had spread through Azeroth, Lordaeron, and even Kalimdor like wildfire. The son of the famed assassin Garona Halforcen was standing in the middle of the very throne room that his mother had commited the most heinous crime in history short of Arthas himself. The armor suddenly felt much, much heavier and heaviest of all was the small silver crown that adorned his forehead.

In another district in the city the Cathedral's large brass bells began ringing and the crowd of commoners began to cheer at the top of their lungs, and Med'an knew he couldn't run away now.

Striding forward with a confidence he did not feel, Med'an approached the Lion's Throne, where King Varian stood awaiting his presentation of himself. If the armor and crown had been heavy than the stare of Wrynn was staggering, and Med'an was surprised to find no anger or disgust upon that face that the orcs of Durotar only whispered about. The young king actually seemed pleased or happy, or as close to those as Varian could get.

After an seemingly eternity Med'an was no more than two feet from Varian and he kneeled like a knight of ages past in front of him. Drawing a deep breath Med'an spoke the words he had been rehearsing all morning.

"Hail, Varian Wrynn," Med'an began, "Lion of Azeroth, Defender of the Light, and King of Stormwind, Westfall, and the Redridge Mountains. I, a humble servant of the crown, pledge myself to the security and stability of your kingdom. Should ever I fall in battle, it will be with the glory of Stormwind upon my lips."

Though they sounded close, Med'an couldn't shake the feeling that they were not adequate for this day.

"Rise, Knight of Azeroth." Varian commanded, bound by tradition the words couldn't be changed despite Med'an not being a knight of anything. From behind him Varian produced a large warhammer that glowed faintly blue beneath its cold steel "This hammer, wielded by my father, held back the servants of Sargeras, the Horde. Now I pass it onto you." Lowering it the King slowly held it out to Med'an. "May the Light bless you as you become a weapon for righteousness and as you carry the pride of Stormwind."

As Med'an put his hand on it and prepared to take it, but Varian held firm to it. In a soft voice, a private sentiment for only the two of them, Varian spoke.

"And may our father watch over you with pride as well."

Despite everything else, Med'an couldn't help but feel a great swell of joy rise in his chest as he saw the pride and love in his brother's eyes. "All hail, Med'an Wrynn, Prince of Stormwind."

The ensueing shout was deafening.