Dazed, with my heart still beating wildly, I pushed myself up from the damp, pulsing ground. My moment of euphoria was soon overshadowed by a tight, agonising ball of apprehension, as I considered my predicament. 

The fog covering my mind was no more. But with the knowledge of all which had past, rose the disheartening possibility that all was lost. 

Something was gnawing at the perimeter of my conscience, and I didn't know whether it was guilt or denial. 

I had planned for the worst as best I could, but if my notes were undiscovered, then I was doomed to remain in my raven form. "Please, Sarah," I thought, "Please have read the book I left for you."

A grinding, whirring noise broke through the air, growing steadily louder - an engine. I looked up, and through the clouds and rain, the nose of a Horde zeppelin pierced the sky. From the insignia on the masts, I could tell it was no ordinary zeppelin. 

The Phoenix of Silvermoon symbolised it was transporting someone of high importance. As the enormous hull swept overhead, I figured it was flying south. Perhaps to Grom'gol in Stranglethorn - the only other zeppelin base after Undercity.

South was the direction I thought I now needed to go, but I was still feeling weak from my experience in the crater. So, I decided to make a bold move and hitch a ride. 

The craft had almost cleared the crater, so I took flight and chased after it. As I closed in, the turbulence from the propellers buffeted me. I climbed to the top of the gondola. With careful negotiation, I was able to land on the deck without too much difficulty.

Deckhands merely glanced at me as they went about their duties; I was of no interest to them, I was, after all,  just a raven.  

I alighted the roof of the gondola, allowing me a better view of my transportation. The crew, primarily Blood Elves, and a couple of Orcs, busied themselves ensuring cargo was strapped securely. A Goblin was in charge of steering the craft  - his long-drawn-out diction shouting orders to the crew members.

Six Silvermoon Guardians appeared from below deck and stood silently abreast the cabin entrance. Voices drifted up from below, muffled at first but becoming more distinct as three individuals ascended the stairs.

From the stately burnished armour and the regal gait of the first individual to emerge, it was not hard to guess his identity. His long platinum hair, tied in a high-knot, rode the breeze as he paused to survey the ship and its crew. 

Two men, dressed equally splendidly, followed him onto the deck. This confirmed my conjecture; one was Grand Magister Rommath, a highly respected and very skilled Magus, the other - Ranger-General Halduron Brightwing, Commander of Quel'Thalas' military forces. Inwardly, I smiled - I had hitched a lift on the private zeppelin of the Regent Lord of Quel'thalas, Lor'themar Theron. 

Lor'themar strolled around the deck with his companions, muttering quietly amongst themselves, oblivious of my avian scrutiny. 

Occasionally, a deckhand, carrying out their duty,  would dodge the three men,  apologising profusely for getting in their way. A nod and dismissive wave from the Regent Lord advised them no harm was done. 

It was not long before the men returned to the top of the cabin stairwell. There, they paused and looked south, the direction the zeppelin was travelling.

"It will be a stately affair," Rommath said, standing with his arms crossed.

The Regent Lord nodded soberly, a deep affirmative grunt being his response. 

My curiosity once more intervened and I inched forward on top of the cabin roof to hear their conversation better. 

"It will also be a historic occasion in that both Horde and Alliance will unite to show their respect to the man," Halduron added.

Lor'themar turned to face his companions. I noted how little he had changed in the years since I'd first met him. Considering all that happened to him since the Second War, it was quite astounding how young he still looked. 

His eyepatch served a constant reminder of the battle which almost razed the city of Silvermoon and her nearby hamlets, extinguishing a high number of the populace.  

Now he stood, every bit the refined leader of the renamed High Elven nation - Blood Elves, the Sin'dorei.  

It was a role which he had not favoured accepting, yet he had admirably commanded the responsibility, shouldering the burden and trials which came with the post. He had been duly awarded the respect of his people. 

Toying with his goatee, Lor'themar took a deep breath before speaking with his advisers. "In life, he was a great man. He will be sorely missed by thousands, if not more. He has been instrumental in so many diplomatic missions between Horde and Alliance. His vision for a unified Azeroth was always - optimistic."

"And admirable?" Rommath inquired.

The Regent Lord's lips twitched then curved in a winsome smile. "More - courageous, I would say," he replied. 

I felt a shiver run down my spine for all they had not mentioned a name.  

"And you are sure the Alliance will not break this amnesty?" Halduron voiced quietly.

The look on Lor'themar's face was stern. "Amnesty?" He scoffed. "It was not I who ordered we turn our backs on them at the Broken Shore." 

His voice had an edge to it. There was a bitterness underneath and I could hazard a guess what lay at its root. 

He sighed heavily as if resigning himself to the way things had turned out - inevitable. After a moment, he continued.  "I believe they will keep their word, yes. This is too important and tragic to allow old feuds to flare and disrupt proceedings. We shall, however, leave immediately after the funeral rites are concluded."

The other two expressed their agreement with nods and grunts before all three disappeared below deck again. 

Ambassadors of the Horde would not normally attend an Alliance funeral regardless of rank or notoriety of the deceased. So I was truly intrigued as to whose funeral they were attending.

This revelation negated my initial assumption that the destination was Stranglethorn. From the conversation I had just overheard, the Regent Lord was attending the funeral in the only place such a stately affair would be held.

Stormwind.