Warcraft: Unity: Stormcaller - 7/8+Epilogue
It's almost upon us, the breaking of the storm!
Title: Unity: Stormcaller
Part: 7/8+Epilogue
Word Count: 5459
Includes: Spoilers for the Bonus Orc Campaign, character death, violence, strong language.
Pairings: Implied Thrall/Jaina, Jaina/OMC.
Summary: During the Late Winter of the 27th year after the opening of the Dark Portal, something dark and sinister calls terrible storms to lash the coast of Kalimdor, its source seemingly Jaina's old home: Kul Tiras. Vowing to do what is right, rather than take an easier path, Jaina returns home to speak to her estranged family and protect her family, her allies, and her own people from the Stormcaller.
Previous: Unity Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11
Stormcaller Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6
Brackenwall Village was something of a miserable, uninspired mud hole. It had a loose fence made of logs that were more than half-tree, a barely upraised mound made of stone, mud, and rotting plant life, and a single cave.
There were dozens of ogres milling around the village. Here and there, she saw activity: one ogre was punching a crocolisk, not quite dead from the hunt, into submission, each blow bringing with it cracks of bone. One great ogre was stirring a huge cookpot that bubbled a somewhat sickly green, and bringing up bone and organs with each movement. Two ogres were tending to a mass of children, too many to be their own.
I wonder if those are mothers or… Jaina peered a little closer through the misting rain. No, fathers. The ogre punching the crocolisk is female, you can tell from the markings. Interesting. When she had more time, she would take notes regarding ogre society and traditions. But first…
“‘ey!” cried one of the ogres, pointing at Jaina. “Raiders!”
Jaina spun the staff in her hands, and lashed out at the nearest ogre. The head of the staff struck the ogre with a meaty smack, and he bellowed in pain, holding the back of his head. Jaina smiled with grim satisfaction. A handful of lessons with Chen would never make her a monk, but she had learned that ogres did not respect peaceable gestures, nor soothing words. They respected pain and strength, though she had no interest in harming them, merely in thumping them until they listened.
“I am not a raider,” Jaina said, making her voice sound as loud and angry as she could, though her grasp of orcish was far from perfect. “I want to speak to your chieftain. Where are they?”
“Here I am, Lady Proudmoore,” called a voice -- voices -- and the words were soft, melodious, and in perfect Common. She deflated a fraction, and turned towards the speaker. As ogres went, this one was not immense, but still both taller and wider than she was, and a soft shade of blue. The ogre had a pair of heads, one monocular, the other binocular, and both heads were smiling. “My name is Draz’Zilb, and I am the leader of this mound.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Jaina said, planting her staff, and sighed as it sunk an inch into mud. She lifted it gently, tapping aside the muck. “May we speak?”
“Of course, please come to my residence,” Draz’Zilb said, and gestured expansively. Jaina followed him towards the cave, and was surprised to find that, as ogre residences went, it was quite clean: there was no filth inside, and there were a handful of stone tablets, meticulously etched with ogre writing, propped against one wall. Next to the tablets was a small stack of scrolls, and a frame held a piece of hide, well-scraped and thinly stretched.
“Are those spellbooks of a sort?” Jaina asked, curious, as she set her staff down near the entrance. Draz’Zilb sat down, and even sitting, he seemed to fill much of the empty space.
“Books are hard to come by in a marsh, Lady Proudmoore, and harder still for those of my size,” the ogre replied. “But they are my own thoughts and works.”
“Interesting, I wouldn’t mind seeing them,” Jaina said, and moved to sit across from him. “Do you know why I’m here?”
“The raid two nights ago,” Draz’Zilb said promptly, and gestured with both hands. “Humans in silver and white raided our supplies while we slept, under the cover of fog and darkness, of which this place had no short supply. We discovered it and reported it to the courier, Logrosh. We are understandably frustrated and upset.”
Jaina swallowed the lump in her throat, and it was hard to say if it was a lump of anger or despair. She suspected both at once. “Silver and white, not turquoise and green? You’re sure?”
“Very sure, Lady Proudmoore,” the ogre replied, watching her closely with all three eyes. “It was one of the few things that stood out, aside from one of the names.”
“Which name?” Jaina asked, focusing on his faces. “Who was there?”
“We heard the name ‘Reethe’,” Draz’Zilb replied. She felt cold as recognition shivered across her spine. “Is it a name you know?”
“Yes, it is,” Jaina said. “I’m sorry this has happened. It won’t happen again. Is there something you can do to secure your supplies, meanwhile?”
“Yes, I believe we can,” the ogre said after a moment’s thought. “What do you intend to do?”
“I will seek out Paval Reethe and discipline him,” Jaina replied. “And then I’m going to have a word with his superior. I promise you, this will not happen again.” Jaina stood, brushing her robes with shaking hands. Anger. Cold. Not fear. “And I’d like to propose an exchange involving your tablets.”
“Oh?” Draz’Zilb said, raising three eyebrows. “What exchange?”
“I’d like to copy and translate your works,” Jaina replied. Focusing on academia will prevent me from causing it to hail. “In return, I’ll give you a book that’s large enough for you to use and it will be protected from all but the most extreme of elements.”
“I would like that very much,” the ogre said, nodding thoughtfully. “Thank you, we did not expect to be believed… and truthfully, the others did not want to speak of it at all. They were embarrassed by it. Humans are… small. Fragile. Easily crushed. Or so they believe.”
“You don’t believe that?” Jaina asked, blinking away frost. Draz’zilb smiled slightly.
“Individual humans are small, yes, and perhaps easily crushed… but humans do not stay individuals. They do not stay fragile. Crush one, or even a dozen, and a thousand more will come with knights on horses with lances, with ballistas to shoot great bolts, and with mages.” His eyes twinkled. “And we do not do well against mages, for the most part.”
“Somehow, I suspect you would be a challenge if we chose to be enemies, but we do not. Thank you for trusting me, Draz’zilb. It was good to meet with you.” Jaina offered him her hand, and he took it, shaking it very gently.
“Thank you for believing, Lady Proudmoore,” the ogre replied. “I will prepare tablets for your return.”
Jaina nodded and stepped back, teleporting back to her office in an instant. Any good humour fled, and she set her mouth in a grim line. She turned, taking two steps towards her desk, and stabbed her finger at the glowing rune. “Captain Vimes, are you available?”
There was a brief pause as the spell sought out the intended recipient. Vimes, leader of Theramore’s armed forces, had an office in Theramore’s Keep, keeping him close to the soldiers, scouts, and sailors he commanded. Jaina waited impatiently until he replied:
“Yes, Lady Proudmoore?” The older man had a different accent from hers, sharper and slightly more nasal, and she could call up an image of him in her mind: dark skinned, with a broad, flat nose and widely flaring nostrils. His hair was chin length and a dark silver. He was broadly built, steady and capable; though few would trust someone of Kezanite descent, she was more than willing. She wished fervently that she had better news, and not even hearing his voice could keep the frustration from hers.
“I need you to retrieve Paval Reethe and keep him in your office until I arrive,” Jaina said tersely. “And if he has any goods about him, anything like supplies, seize them. They’re stolen.”
“Reethe’s a troublemaker, alright,” Vimes growled. “He’s been lax for months, and now this. I must say, don’t think much of Lordaeron’s commanders if these are the kinds of guards they had on the Camps.”
That’s right, Jaina thought. Though that explains… “Trust me, all things considered, Reethe is a saint compared to his old superior. Just find him, if you please, Garran.”
“Right you are, Lady Proudmoore,” Vimes replied. “He’ll be in my office soon enough.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Jaina let the rune go, and watched it fade. She stared at her desk a few moments longer. Anger churned at her, cold and terrible. Is it possible he didn't know? Is it possible Reethe lied well enough to trick him?
Theramore had hundreds of soldiers, and thousands of civilians. Everyone she could convince had come with her, from Lordaeron, from Gilneas, from Dalaran and Kul Tiras. Even, some rare folk like Vimes, from Azeroth. Reasonably, their commanders didn't have their eyes on their soldiers at every moment of every day. That's why commanders had subordinates, lieutenants and sergeants and squad leaders. Vimes didn't have direct supervision over Reethe's activities, but another man did: Lieutenant Jonathan Taylor.
There's a chance he was aware, that Reethe made his excuses and Jonathan was too busy to pursue it, but... Jaina pursed her lips. I have a hard time believing that. Reethe could have been acting under another lieutenant's orders, but... if his men were being coopted, that's all the more reason why Jonathan should have said something. I need to speak to him.
She walked to the door of her office, opened it, and paused to look left and right. Well, so much for the easy option. Jaina went right, past Ariana's office with a quick wave, and then went downstairs. Jaina's tower had many floors, the upper ones reserved for her own use, but the lower ones for various other purposes: storehouses of spare weapons, armour, and supplies for emergencies, offices and meeting rooms for strategizing, a receiving chamber for guests, and a more public library available to any who cared to come into the tower.
He's not likely to be here... but there are other options, Jaina thought sourly, and stepped out of her tower and into a soft, misting rain. In most places, miserable, wet weather would be a basis for wanting to stay indoors rather than bustling activity, but Theramore was not most places. Like her home nation of Kul Tiras, the weather was wet nearly as often as it was dry, and mist, rain, and fog were common. Equipment was altered to be proof against wet weather, and soldiers and sailors alike trained in all but the worst environmental conditions.
Jaina made her way from her tower to Theramore Keep, looking around as she walked. Here and there she saw guards, clad in silver and white, bearing the golden anchor of Theramore and the Proudmoore family. Some watched vigilantly as people travelled from place to place, observing for thieves or injury, while others gathered in groups of two or three, speaking quietly.
Some soldiers, she also noted, waved at her in greeting though they did not look from their duty, and others merely eyed her speculatively. She shivered. They could just be busy talking. It doesn't mean anything. Don't be paranoid, she chided herself, and looked towards the Keep. Standing outside in the practice yards, mere metres from where her father had died, where her family's blood had been spilled, was Jonathan.
Her lover was sparring with one of the other men, while a half-dozen more were drilling and practicing with weapons. Over the strikes of metal against metal, and not quite muffled by the rain and fog, she could hear a scattering of words.
One of them was "orc", and then some laughter.
Jaina's eyes narrowed, and she quickened her pace. She had reached the entrance to the inner courtyard when Jonathan's partner drew back and pointed. He turned and smiled at her, raising a hand in greeting.
"Lady Proudmoore!" he called cheerfully. "Come to see your forces hard at work?"
"Lieutenant Taylor," Jaina replied, meeting his warmth with cold. "I'd like to have a word." She glances around. "Is this everyone?"
"'Cept Reethe," noted one of the women, taking the opportunity to stretch. "Got called in by the Captain. Think he's in trouble. Again." She snorted.
"Your loyalty has been noted, Agatha," Jonathan said, and Jaina made cold observation of it. "What can I help you with?"
"In private, inside," Jaina indicated. Raising an eyebrow, Jonathan nodded, and indicated to his men to pair up once more and keep drilling. Jaina walked towards the Keep's doors briskly, leaving Jonathan to follow behind her. Just as they entered the Keep, Jonathan reached for her hand. She pushed his hand away and turned on him. "Don't."
"Having another bad day?" Jonathan asked, his voice gentle. "Don't take it out on me, love."
"Do you know where Paval Reethe was two nights ago?" Jaina demanded. "It would have been late, during night watch."
"Not off hand, but I'm sure you'll tell me," Jonathan replied. "Why?"
“He participated in a raid on Brackenwall Village,” Jaina said. She noted Jonathan’s carefully blank expression and added, “The ogre settlement halfway between the mainland and the border with the Barrens.”
“I’ve never been there, but wouldn’t it be… a filthy hole?” Jonathan’s lips curled in a sneer, and Jaina frowned at him.
“No, it wouldn’t be,” Jaina replied shortly. “And even if it was, it wouldn’t excuse stealing from them. It’s their home and we are sharing this Marsh with them. They are allies to the Horde as well, and should the Horde care to take action, I would be forced to explain why I can’t control my own soldiers.”
“If the Horde has a problem with it, maybe they shouldn’t have let them build in your territory,” Jonathan pointed out, moving a little closer to her. Jaina held her ground, giving him a hard look. “I know that you view the Horde as allies, but you’re letting them push you into a corner. The whole Marsh is ours, not just Theramore. Anyone else is an invader.”
“I was aware of the presence of ogres during the second and third stages of the treaty,” Jaina said, her fingers clenching. “And so long as the ogres in Dustwallow don’t expand significantly beyond the two mounds they’re already living in, they are welcome here.”
“Yes, but what choice did you have but to make them welcome?” Jonathan asked, studying her expression even as Jaina clenched her jaw. “They were squatting on the land, up in their filth and their muck. I’m not saying Reethe was right… but how can you blame him for what he’s done?”
No, that’s exactly what you’re saying, Jaina thought furiously. I don’t think I like what you’re implying at all. She opened her mouth to say so, but paused, a shiver of suspicion down her spine. He’s claiming he had nothing to do with it, but how many times had he defended this kind of behaviour before? And if this is coming from the one negotiating with the Tiran survivors and Theran soldiers…
“I knew you’d see things my way,” Jonathan said, and there was a gleam of triumph in his eyes. He leaned in to kiss her, intent on claiming his victory. Jaina put her arms around him and permitted the kiss, and felt him grin as she pulled at his tunic, pressing cool fingers to bare skin. She traced a pattern that was almost, but not quite, entirely random before releasing him.
“I need to speak to Captain Vimes,” she murmured, lowering her eyes a little. “Reethe still needs to be punished, he did break the rules. I need to be seen as abiding by the treaties.”
“Of course,” Jonathan said. “Just don’t be too hard on him. He only thought he was doing what was right and fair.”
As am I, Jaina thought as she murmured noncommittally in reply. As am I.
~ * ~
“Got him,” Rylai said, peering at the map. Jaina looked it over, spotting the pulsing purple rune just over Northwatch Hold. Her expression soured. “That’s not good, is it?”
“No,” Jaina replied. “It’s not.” Jaina drew back from the table and began to pace. Rylai watched her closely with eyes a nearly-identical shade of blue. She had known Rylai Crestfall for many years, since Rylai had come to Dalaran at sixteen from Jaina’s native Kul Tiras and caused teachers that had known Jaina for years immense amounts of confusion. They shared the same paleness of skin, the same golden-blonde hair, and the same affinity for frost magic, though Rylai was not as talented as Jaina with summoning and teleportation, and Jaina less talented with the sheer, raw destructive power of cold.
Rylai helped me build the wards here, and objected when I insisted on binding them to myself. Strenuously. Jaina fingered the beads strung about her left wrist, out of sight under the wide sleeves of her robes. It must be me. It must fall to me. I won’t see others pulled down if it all goes poorly, and yet…
“What are you going to do?” Rylai asked after a moment. “If you’re right…”
“I’ll spy on him under an invisibility spell until he incriminates himself,” Jaina said, committing the coordinates of the glowing mark to memory. “I’ll record it so he can’t deny it later. If I’m wrong, then I’ll apologize and seek elsewhere for the source of this. If I’m not…”
“You should take us with you,” Rylai insisted, not for the first time. “Me, I’ll be your decoy again, or Tervosh. He can help you subdue the dissenters if they get violent, or if they threaten you openly.”
“I don’t intend to be caught,” Jaina pointed out. “I’ll record the meeting and confront Jonathan when he returns to Theramore. I appreciate your concern, but it’s not--”
“You don’t have to do this alone,” Rylai interrupted. “This isn’t like those other times. This isn’t just personal, it affects us all.”
“It’s my mistake I let things go this far,” Jaina replied quietly. “It’s hard to see people’s faults when you’re this close to them. I should have--”
“It’s not your fault.” Rylai came around the table to grip Jaina’s hands tightly, meeting warmth with cold. As someone who had studied to use magic instead of being born with it, Rylai never lost control of her magic with her temper the way Jaina did, and it was one of the ways in which they were different. She met Jaina’s gaze and held it. “Tell me you know it’s not your fault.”
The very notion sat poorly on Jaina’s tongue. “You sound like Tervosh,” she said instead. “You worry too much.”
“Don’t distract me,” Rylai insisted, though Jaina saw the faintest hints of a smile tug at her lips.
She’s already thinking of her partner, Jaina thought, not without fondness, and a familiar ache that had been with her sporadically throughout her life. “I am not responsible for Jonathan’s actions,” Jaina said. “Only he is.”
“That’s not the same thing and you know it,” Rylai said, and kissed Jaina’s forehead before releasing her hands. “Be careful, please.”
“Am I ever not careful?” Jaina asked lightly. Rylai frowned at her.
“All the time.”
Jaina smiled at her winningly, and wrapped an invisibility spell around her. She felt the world shift, warp, and fog around her, though she could still see the smudge of Rylai’s face, floating above a white that lost its nuance of green and gold. Safely hidden, she began to cast the teleportation spell with only the faintest hint of magic.
“All I want to do is observe and gather evidence,” Jaina said, her voice floating out from behind the spell. “I’ll be fine.”
“But we worry about you,” Rylai said, her voice swallowed up by the end of the spell, and Jaina was shrouded in silence as well as fog.
Northwatch Hold had been built into the cliffs of the Barrens, halfway between Durotar and Theramore. It was meant as a compromise of sorts: with the orcs unable or unwilling to field great fleets, Jaina had promised Thrall ships to protect him in case of other attacks, and more, since it was likely that those attacks would come from humans or elves rather than anything else, the presence of human sailors would assure them. Ratchet, a goblin port, was nestled between Durotan and the Barrens, available and willing to offer protection and forces for a price.
And no one has quite forgotten the bargain I made with the goblins to protect the Horde, Jaina thought as she forced herself to focus on the world around her. Even those assigned to Northwatch.
The Hold itself was a huge fortress built from grey stone and constructed as close to the cliffside as it could be. Magic had gone into the land to protect it against erosion -- the real reason most people didn’t build fortresses on cliffs -- just as it had gone into the stone to prevent it from molding or chipping. Attacks from cannon fire would still break its walls, but weakness would not come from within. There’s a metaphor in that, Jaina thought, and watched the guards.
There were standard patrols along the stone-cobbled roads leading in and out of the Hold, and Jaina hid off to the side, watching them pass back and forth. They’ll definitely know I’m there if they bump into me, and they’ll see anything I touch that I can’t bring under the spell with me, but this isn’t my first castoff. I won’t be caught.
So, Jaina waited, watching for the perfect moment when neither guard would be looking at her or the door inside, and hastened towards it. She was near-silent under her spell, her movements muffled but not quite inaudible. It was difficult to grip things as the world wavered and resolved around her, but here too she had practice. She opened the door and slipped inside, closing it behind her.
Many of the soldiers of Northwatch Hold were off-shift, and spending their time socializing or resting. Only the evening shift soldiers, those who patrolled the grounds or the walls, were outside, making things ideal for a meeting.
It was hard to focus on exactly who was there, though the arcane mark she’d placed on Jonathan to track him burned brightly, even through the haze and fog. Jaina retrieved a crystal from her sleeve and thumbed it on. It, at least, would be able to hear everything clearly even if she couldn’t. She would have to focus on specific voices, and again, the arcane mark would help.
Had Jonathan been a mage, he would have been able to remove it. Had her teachers seen her, marking a non-mage without his knowledge or consent, they might have lectured her. This was not nearly as harmless as merely spying on the Six during meetings, it constituted a violation of privacy guaranteed to those who were not mages.
The safety of Theramore and the treaties with the Horde come first, she thought grimly. Before his privacy, before rules written in a city that no longer exists. I will not allow violence and death to touch my people and my allies because I’m too pent up in the letter of the law to act.
Jaina waited quietly, listening. She kept part of her focus on the spell that kept her safe, while the rest was on the conversation.
“The ogres sent word to Theramore that they were raided,” Jonathan began, and the air seemed to buzz with disapproval. “Reethe’s been fingered, so he’s being punished. They don’t seem to have recognized anyone else.”
“And the supplies?” someone asked.
“Taken,” Jonathan replied. More disapproval. “But we’ve got a half-dozen more discontent over the decision. Plenty of people don’t care much for filthy sub-humans, all we have to do is convince them to move. We’ll drive the ogres out of our land.”
It’s no more ours than theirs! Jaina thought. We’re just as much invaders as they. I picked one of the least occupied parts of Kalimdor that I could still work with, how much more do you want?
“What does the Lady have to say about that?” asked another voice, and Jaina thought she could detect concern, though it was hard to tell around the warping of their voice. “Will she agree?”
“I’m talking her around,” Jonathan replied, and Jaina was outraged at the smoothness of it, the ease with which he lied. “In a month’s time, I’ll have her bring in the Tirans, and we can start the fight with the orcs properly. She has to see how mistaken she was. Naive and childish.”
Rage flowed through Jaina, and it was all she could do to hold her spell steady, to cling to her calm and her skill. The next thing she heard chilled her to the bone.
“She’s no Lady of mine, and she’s a damned traitor,” said a new speaker. “Traipsin’ about, as if she hadn’t thrown the Admiral to the orcs, her own flesh’n blood! She’s no better than the orcs.”
“We don’t need her!” cried another, even as there were buzzing words half-obscuring it, and Jaina was forced only to concentrate on the dominant voice. “If she wants them orcs so bad, I say we strip her of all her damned airs and throw her to ‘em. See how much she trusts ‘em then.”
“I know what you want, and trust me, I want it too,” Jonathan said, and Jaina felt the words squeeze her heart like a fist. “But her humiliation and justice for the Grand Admiral will come after we have everything in place, not before. She needs to be vulnerable, stripped of all of her power and influence. It’s closer than she can imagine.”
The meeting became less formal then, and Jaina let the crystal record, even as she closed herself off from the words. Where did they all come from? How is this possible? He was supposed to be helping me--
She shoved her knuckles into her mouth and bit down, muffling the noise of despair she made. Jonathan Taylor was a professional liar. There was nothing coincidental about this, nothing sincere about his words or his manner. Every conversation they’d ever had had been tainted now by this knowledge, this… certainty.
He never loved me at all, Jaina thought with despair. He never intended to help. He just wanted to push me towards this… this ruin. This violation of all I’ve held dear. He wanted my trust so he could betray it. He wanted my heart so he could break it. I’ve never met someone so cold before, so cruel. Not even Arthas, not even Kael, and certainly not--
Jonathan was moving now, leaving Northwatch Keep, to go...
To go back to Theramore, to smile and me and lie to me. Jaina’s resolve hardened, crystallized. He’s done. Not one more word from his lying tongue. She activated a second teleport spell, and with the soldiers all unknowing, she returned to Theramore.
~ * ~
“Tracking shows us that we have another ten minutes before Jonathan comes ashore,” Rylai noted unhappily. “Are you sure we can’t just--” At the look on Jaina’s face, she hastily added, “I was only kidding.”
The moment she had returned to Theramore, she had assembled her trusted advisors and staff. Rylai and Tervosh, Tesoran and Ariana, Vimes and Logrosh, all listened to the words spoken by Jonathan and those of the Northwatch soldiers.
“We’ll need to find someone to replace the commander at Northwatch Hold,” Vimes said gruffly. “Sooner rather than later, but I don’t know if we have anyone ready. It’s not an easy posting.”
“Do what you can,” Jaina murmured. Her fingers were clenched, pressed into the side of the table. “There’s no telling how far this… poison has spread.”
“Do you want a warning sent to Orgrimmar?” Logrosh asked, putting a soft growl into the city’s name. Ariana wrapped her hand around his, squeezing it in comfort. “Though you can send word yourself directly, can’t you?”
“No,” Jaina replied. “No, no messages, sent or otherwise. This is our problem, we need to deal with it. If we involve the Horde, they will be forced to act… in ways that will make coming back from it all that much harder.”
“The response to the assault on Tiragarde,” Tesoran noted. “They were within their rights to do so, but…”
“It could be what they wanted all along,” Tervosh pointed out, and Jaina looked up at him sharply. Tervosh was of Dalaran, truly of Dalaran, heart and soul. The magical, fallen city had been his home until Jaina had convinced him to come with her, and now Theramore was all he had. “Not the Horde, the dissenters. We let Thrall come down hard on them, and now they feel as though we’ll let the Horde do whatever it wants.”
“I had no choice, you know that,” Jaina said. “They wanted to kill farmers and villagers in retaliation for my father’s death. On Winter Veil. Unacceptable.”
“Of course we understand,” Rylai said, even as Tervosh opened his mouth. “The trouble is, how many saw it as yet another case of you being unwilling to defend humans for the sake of the orcs?”
“I will not fight the Horde,” Jaina whispered. “I will not let him start a war. He used me, Ryl. If there was a valid point behind any of this, any reasonable concerns that should be brought up, those points and concerns were rendered moot by the fact that he used me. Or, he tried to.”
“How much further will you go?” Tervosh asked, his voice quiet. Jaina looked at him, startled. “How many steps are a step too far?”
“I won’t have every person who disagrees with me executed, if that’s what you’re asking,” Jaina said slowly, and her gaze drifted to Ariana and Logrosh’s entwined fingers. “But people deliberately stirring up trouble must be stopped, it must be made clear… they are manipulators. Jonathan isn’t doing this out of concern. He’s doing it because he wants revenge.”
“What about you?” Tervosh asked, and Jaina’s gaze fixed on him. “Is this about revenge? Is this about being right? Is this--”
“It’s about finally being able to stop someone!” Jaina snapped. “I couldn’t stop Arthas and look at what he’s done! What he’s still doing! I couldn’t stop my father, and look at all the trouble that’s caused. I can stop Jonathan, and I will.”
“No matter the cost?”
“I--”
“You need to set down rules, Jaina,” Tervosh said, keeping his voice soft, and so reasonable that she didn’t know if she hated him or loved him for it. “Write policy. I know you don’t want to write too many laws to restrict your people. I know you hate convoluted social protocol. We can be as straightforward about this as you need to, but you must set precedent here. It’s not going to go away with Jonathan, even if you do stop him.”
Jaina’s lips tightened. “Officers inciting dissent are fully responsible for their actions and will bear the consequences for them. Soldiers acting on the strict orders of officers and doing no more than what they are told are not criminals. If soldiers are found to be acting above and beyond their orders, twisting them to incite dissent and to act against the treaties made with the Kaldorei and the Horde, they will also be punished.”
“People might claim they were just following orders then,” Tervosh warned. “Who knows how many people will try to squeeze out of being punished by claiming that?”
“We expect and demand that our forces obey orders!” Jaina cried. “You might be ordered to do something you think is foolish or dangerous or terrible, only to learn that your commanding officer had the right idea all along. We do much with asking for volunteers for dangerous duties, but sometimes we expect to be obeyed without argument. Some will determine that their commanding officers are acting inappropriately on their own, others may fear retaliation. Doing the right thing can’t be a punishment for people.”
“Are they doing the right thing if they’re fearful of only their own pain, or that of their immediate families?” Logrosh demanded, and she met the orc’s gaze coldly, glaring at him until he looked away.
“I have seen how petty commanding officers can be if they don’t get their way. I watched Arthas dissolve the Silver Hand because Uther dared argue with him and he had the authority to at least force him to back down. I will not punish people for being mortal, for not being perfect figurines on pedestals. People can form their own opinions on the matter privately. This is law.”
“Then you must write it down and bring it into practice before you confront Jonathan,” Ariana said softly. “Tervosh is right, we must be clear. It also means that dissenters can’t claim others have committed crimes when they haven’t.”
“Crimes of cowardice, corruption, or… miscegenation,” Vimes noted, not quite looking at Jaina or Ariana. “Nonsense, of course, but it’s easier to disobey your commanding officers when you believe they’re wrong first.”
As if we don’t know what is said of us, Jaina thought angrily, but nodded. “It’s significantly easier, as a matter of fact,” Jaina replied. “Are we all in agreement?”
There was a round of nods before Tervosh spoke up again. “And what is the punishment for this high treason?”
Jaina gave him a flat look. “There is only one response to treason and we both know what it is. I will see this through, no matter what.”
Tervosh met her gaze steadily and nodded. “As you say, Lady Proudmoore.”
[ Chapter 8
Title: Unity: Stormcaller
Part: 7/8+Epilogue
Word Count: 5459
Includes: Spoilers for the Bonus Orc Campaign, character death, violence, strong language.
Pairings: Implied Thrall/Jaina, Jaina/OMC.
Summary: During the Late Winter of the 27th year after the opening of the Dark Portal, something dark and sinister calls terrible storms to lash the coast of Kalimdor, its source seemingly Jaina's old home: Kul Tiras. Vowing to do what is right, rather than take an easier path, Jaina returns home to speak to her estranged family and protect her family, her allies, and her own people from the Stormcaller.
Previous: Unity Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11
Stormcaller Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6
Brackenwall Village was something of a miserable, uninspired mud hole. It had a loose fence made of logs that were more than half-tree, a barely upraised mound made of stone, mud, and rotting plant life, and a single cave.
There were dozens of ogres milling around the village. Here and there, she saw activity: one ogre was punching a crocolisk, not quite dead from the hunt, into submission, each blow bringing with it cracks of bone. One great ogre was stirring a huge cookpot that bubbled a somewhat sickly green, and bringing up bone and organs with each movement. Two ogres were tending to a mass of children, too many to be their own.
I wonder if those are mothers or… Jaina peered a little closer through the misting rain. No, fathers. The ogre punching the crocolisk is female, you can tell from the markings. Interesting. When she had more time, she would take notes regarding ogre society and traditions. But first…
“‘ey!” cried one of the ogres, pointing at Jaina. “Raiders!”
Jaina spun the staff in her hands, and lashed out at the nearest ogre. The head of the staff struck the ogre with a meaty smack, and he bellowed in pain, holding the back of his head. Jaina smiled with grim satisfaction. A handful of lessons with Chen would never make her a monk, but she had learned that ogres did not respect peaceable gestures, nor soothing words. They respected pain and strength, though she had no interest in harming them, merely in thumping them until they listened.
“I am not a raider,” Jaina said, making her voice sound as loud and angry as she could, though her grasp of orcish was far from perfect. “I want to speak to your chieftain. Where are they?”
“Here I am, Lady Proudmoore,” called a voice -- voices -- and the words were soft, melodious, and in perfect Common. She deflated a fraction, and turned towards the speaker. As ogres went, this one was not immense, but still both taller and wider than she was, and a soft shade of blue. The ogre had a pair of heads, one monocular, the other binocular, and both heads were smiling. “My name is Draz’Zilb, and I am the leader of this mound.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Jaina said, planting her staff, and sighed as it sunk an inch into mud. She lifted it gently, tapping aside the muck. “May we speak?”
“Of course, please come to my residence,” Draz’Zilb said, and gestured expansively. Jaina followed him towards the cave, and was surprised to find that, as ogre residences went, it was quite clean: there was no filth inside, and there were a handful of stone tablets, meticulously etched with ogre writing, propped against one wall. Next to the tablets was a small stack of scrolls, and a frame held a piece of hide, well-scraped and thinly stretched.
“Are those spellbooks of a sort?” Jaina asked, curious, as she set her staff down near the entrance. Draz’Zilb sat down, and even sitting, he seemed to fill much of the empty space.
“Books are hard to come by in a marsh, Lady Proudmoore, and harder still for those of my size,” the ogre replied. “But they are my own thoughts and works.”
“Interesting, I wouldn’t mind seeing them,” Jaina said, and moved to sit across from him. “Do you know why I’m here?”
“The raid two nights ago,” Draz’Zilb said promptly, and gestured with both hands. “Humans in silver and white raided our supplies while we slept, under the cover of fog and darkness, of which this place had no short supply. We discovered it and reported it to the courier, Logrosh. We are understandably frustrated and upset.”
Jaina swallowed the lump in her throat, and it was hard to say if it was a lump of anger or despair. She suspected both at once. “Silver and white, not turquoise and green? You’re sure?”
“Very sure, Lady Proudmoore,” the ogre replied, watching her closely with all three eyes. “It was one of the few things that stood out, aside from one of the names.”
“Which name?” Jaina asked, focusing on his faces. “Who was there?”
“We heard the name ‘Reethe’,” Draz’Zilb replied. She felt cold as recognition shivered across her spine. “Is it a name you know?”
“Yes, it is,” Jaina said. “I’m sorry this has happened. It won’t happen again. Is there something you can do to secure your supplies, meanwhile?”
“Yes, I believe we can,” the ogre said after a moment’s thought. “What do you intend to do?”
“I will seek out Paval Reethe and discipline him,” Jaina replied. “And then I’m going to have a word with his superior. I promise you, this will not happen again.” Jaina stood, brushing her robes with shaking hands. Anger. Cold. Not fear. “And I’d like to propose an exchange involving your tablets.”
“Oh?” Draz’Zilb said, raising three eyebrows. “What exchange?”
“I’d like to copy and translate your works,” Jaina replied. Focusing on academia will prevent me from causing it to hail. “In return, I’ll give you a book that’s large enough for you to use and it will be protected from all but the most extreme of elements.”
“I would like that very much,” the ogre said, nodding thoughtfully. “Thank you, we did not expect to be believed… and truthfully, the others did not want to speak of it at all. They were embarrassed by it. Humans are… small. Fragile. Easily crushed. Or so they believe.”
“You don’t believe that?” Jaina asked, blinking away frost. Draz’zilb smiled slightly.
“Individual humans are small, yes, and perhaps easily crushed… but humans do not stay individuals. They do not stay fragile. Crush one, or even a dozen, and a thousand more will come with knights on horses with lances, with ballistas to shoot great bolts, and with mages.” His eyes twinkled. “And we do not do well against mages, for the most part.”
“Somehow, I suspect you would be a challenge if we chose to be enemies, but we do not. Thank you for trusting me, Draz’zilb. It was good to meet with you.” Jaina offered him her hand, and he took it, shaking it very gently.
“Thank you for believing, Lady Proudmoore,” the ogre replied. “I will prepare tablets for your return.”
Jaina nodded and stepped back, teleporting back to her office in an instant. Any good humour fled, and she set her mouth in a grim line. She turned, taking two steps towards her desk, and stabbed her finger at the glowing rune. “Captain Vimes, are you available?”
There was a brief pause as the spell sought out the intended recipient. Vimes, leader of Theramore’s armed forces, had an office in Theramore’s Keep, keeping him close to the soldiers, scouts, and sailors he commanded. Jaina waited impatiently until he replied:
“Yes, Lady Proudmoore?” The older man had a different accent from hers, sharper and slightly more nasal, and she could call up an image of him in her mind: dark skinned, with a broad, flat nose and widely flaring nostrils. His hair was chin length and a dark silver. He was broadly built, steady and capable; though few would trust someone of Kezanite descent, she was more than willing. She wished fervently that she had better news, and not even hearing his voice could keep the frustration from hers.
“I need you to retrieve Paval Reethe and keep him in your office until I arrive,” Jaina said tersely. “And if he has any goods about him, anything like supplies, seize them. They’re stolen.”
“Reethe’s a troublemaker, alright,” Vimes growled. “He’s been lax for months, and now this. I must say, don’t think much of Lordaeron’s commanders if these are the kinds of guards they had on the Camps.”
That’s right, Jaina thought. Though that explains… “Trust me, all things considered, Reethe is a saint compared to his old superior. Just find him, if you please, Garran.”
“Right you are, Lady Proudmoore,” Vimes replied. “He’ll be in my office soon enough.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Jaina let the rune go, and watched it fade. She stared at her desk a few moments longer. Anger churned at her, cold and terrible. Is it possible he didn't know? Is it possible Reethe lied well enough to trick him?
Theramore had hundreds of soldiers, and thousands of civilians. Everyone she could convince had come with her, from Lordaeron, from Gilneas, from Dalaran and Kul Tiras. Even, some rare folk like Vimes, from Azeroth. Reasonably, their commanders didn't have their eyes on their soldiers at every moment of every day. That's why commanders had subordinates, lieutenants and sergeants and squad leaders. Vimes didn't have direct supervision over Reethe's activities, but another man did: Lieutenant Jonathan Taylor.
There's a chance he was aware, that Reethe made his excuses and Jonathan was too busy to pursue it, but... Jaina pursed her lips. I have a hard time believing that. Reethe could have been acting under another lieutenant's orders, but... if his men were being coopted, that's all the more reason why Jonathan should have said something. I need to speak to him.
She walked to the door of her office, opened it, and paused to look left and right. Well, so much for the easy option. Jaina went right, past Ariana's office with a quick wave, and then went downstairs. Jaina's tower had many floors, the upper ones reserved for her own use, but the lower ones for various other purposes: storehouses of spare weapons, armour, and supplies for emergencies, offices and meeting rooms for strategizing, a receiving chamber for guests, and a more public library available to any who cared to come into the tower.
He's not likely to be here... but there are other options, Jaina thought sourly, and stepped out of her tower and into a soft, misting rain. In most places, miserable, wet weather would be a basis for wanting to stay indoors rather than bustling activity, but Theramore was not most places. Like her home nation of Kul Tiras, the weather was wet nearly as often as it was dry, and mist, rain, and fog were common. Equipment was altered to be proof against wet weather, and soldiers and sailors alike trained in all but the worst environmental conditions.
Jaina made her way from her tower to Theramore Keep, looking around as she walked. Here and there she saw guards, clad in silver and white, bearing the golden anchor of Theramore and the Proudmoore family. Some watched vigilantly as people travelled from place to place, observing for thieves or injury, while others gathered in groups of two or three, speaking quietly.
Some soldiers, she also noted, waved at her in greeting though they did not look from their duty, and others merely eyed her speculatively. She shivered. They could just be busy talking. It doesn't mean anything. Don't be paranoid, she chided herself, and looked towards the Keep. Standing outside in the practice yards, mere metres from where her father had died, where her family's blood had been spilled, was Jonathan.
Her lover was sparring with one of the other men, while a half-dozen more were drilling and practicing with weapons. Over the strikes of metal against metal, and not quite muffled by the rain and fog, she could hear a scattering of words.
One of them was "orc", and then some laughter.
Jaina's eyes narrowed, and she quickened her pace. She had reached the entrance to the inner courtyard when Jonathan's partner drew back and pointed. He turned and smiled at her, raising a hand in greeting.
"Lady Proudmoore!" he called cheerfully. "Come to see your forces hard at work?"
"Lieutenant Taylor," Jaina replied, meeting his warmth with cold. "I'd like to have a word." She glances around. "Is this everyone?"
"'Cept Reethe," noted one of the women, taking the opportunity to stretch. "Got called in by the Captain. Think he's in trouble. Again." She snorted.
"Your loyalty has been noted, Agatha," Jonathan said, and Jaina made cold observation of it. "What can I help you with?"
"In private, inside," Jaina indicated. Raising an eyebrow, Jonathan nodded, and indicated to his men to pair up once more and keep drilling. Jaina walked towards the Keep's doors briskly, leaving Jonathan to follow behind her. Just as they entered the Keep, Jonathan reached for her hand. She pushed his hand away and turned on him. "Don't."
"Having another bad day?" Jonathan asked, his voice gentle. "Don't take it out on me, love."
"Do you know where Paval Reethe was two nights ago?" Jaina demanded. "It would have been late, during night watch."
"Not off hand, but I'm sure you'll tell me," Jonathan replied. "Why?"
“He participated in a raid on Brackenwall Village,” Jaina said. She noted Jonathan’s carefully blank expression and added, “The ogre settlement halfway between the mainland and the border with the Barrens.”
“I’ve never been there, but wouldn’t it be… a filthy hole?” Jonathan’s lips curled in a sneer, and Jaina frowned at him.
“No, it wouldn’t be,” Jaina replied shortly. “And even if it was, it wouldn’t excuse stealing from them. It’s their home and we are sharing this Marsh with them. They are allies to the Horde as well, and should the Horde care to take action, I would be forced to explain why I can’t control my own soldiers.”
“If the Horde has a problem with it, maybe they shouldn’t have let them build in your territory,” Jonathan pointed out, moving a little closer to her. Jaina held her ground, giving him a hard look. “I know that you view the Horde as allies, but you’re letting them push you into a corner. The whole Marsh is ours, not just Theramore. Anyone else is an invader.”
“I was aware of the presence of ogres during the second and third stages of the treaty,” Jaina said, her fingers clenching. “And so long as the ogres in Dustwallow don’t expand significantly beyond the two mounds they’re already living in, they are welcome here.”
“Yes, but what choice did you have but to make them welcome?” Jonathan asked, studying her expression even as Jaina clenched her jaw. “They were squatting on the land, up in their filth and their muck. I’m not saying Reethe was right… but how can you blame him for what he’s done?”
No, that’s exactly what you’re saying, Jaina thought furiously. I don’t think I like what you’re implying at all. She opened her mouth to say so, but paused, a shiver of suspicion down her spine. He’s claiming he had nothing to do with it, but how many times had he defended this kind of behaviour before? And if this is coming from the one negotiating with the Tiran survivors and Theran soldiers…
“I knew you’d see things my way,” Jonathan said, and there was a gleam of triumph in his eyes. He leaned in to kiss her, intent on claiming his victory. Jaina put her arms around him and permitted the kiss, and felt him grin as she pulled at his tunic, pressing cool fingers to bare skin. She traced a pattern that was almost, but not quite, entirely random before releasing him.
“I need to speak to Captain Vimes,” she murmured, lowering her eyes a little. “Reethe still needs to be punished, he did break the rules. I need to be seen as abiding by the treaties.”
“Of course,” Jonathan said. “Just don’t be too hard on him. He only thought he was doing what was right and fair.”
As am I, Jaina thought as she murmured noncommittally in reply. As am I.
~ * ~
“Got him,” Rylai said, peering at the map. Jaina looked it over, spotting the pulsing purple rune just over Northwatch Hold. Her expression soured. “That’s not good, is it?”
“No,” Jaina replied. “It’s not.” Jaina drew back from the table and began to pace. Rylai watched her closely with eyes a nearly-identical shade of blue. She had known Rylai Crestfall for many years, since Rylai had come to Dalaran at sixteen from Jaina’s native Kul Tiras and caused teachers that had known Jaina for years immense amounts of confusion. They shared the same paleness of skin, the same golden-blonde hair, and the same affinity for frost magic, though Rylai was not as talented as Jaina with summoning and teleportation, and Jaina less talented with the sheer, raw destructive power of cold.
Rylai helped me build the wards here, and objected when I insisted on binding them to myself. Strenuously. Jaina fingered the beads strung about her left wrist, out of sight under the wide sleeves of her robes. It must be me. It must fall to me. I won’t see others pulled down if it all goes poorly, and yet…
“What are you going to do?” Rylai asked after a moment. “If you’re right…”
“I’ll spy on him under an invisibility spell until he incriminates himself,” Jaina said, committing the coordinates of the glowing mark to memory. “I’ll record it so he can’t deny it later. If I’m wrong, then I’ll apologize and seek elsewhere for the source of this. If I’m not…”
“You should take us with you,” Rylai insisted, not for the first time. “Me, I’ll be your decoy again, or Tervosh. He can help you subdue the dissenters if they get violent, or if they threaten you openly.”
“I don’t intend to be caught,” Jaina pointed out. “I’ll record the meeting and confront Jonathan when he returns to Theramore. I appreciate your concern, but it’s not--”
“You don’t have to do this alone,” Rylai interrupted. “This isn’t like those other times. This isn’t just personal, it affects us all.”
“It’s my mistake I let things go this far,” Jaina replied quietly. “It’s hard to see people’s faults when you’re this close to them. I should have--”
“It’s not your fault.” Rylai came around the table to grip Jaina’s hands tightly, meeting warmth with cold. As someone who had studied to use magic instead of being born with it, Rylai never lost control of her magic with her temper the way Jaina did, and it was one of the ways in which they were different. She met Jaina’s gaze and held it. “Tell me you know it’s not your fault.”
The very notion sat poorly on Jaina’s tongue. “You sound like Tervosh,” she said instead. “You worry too much.”
“Don’t distract me,” Rylai insisted, though Jaina saw the faintest hints of a smile tug at her lips.
She’s already thinking of her partner, Jaina thought, not without fondness, and a familiar ache that had been with her sporadically throughout her life. “I am not responsible for Jonathan’s actions,” Jaina said. “Only he is.”
“That’s not the same thing and you know it,” Rylai said, and kissed Jaina’s forehead before releasing her hands. “Be careful, please.”
“Am I ever not careful?” Jaina asked lightly. Rylai frowned at her.
“All the time.”
Jaina smiled at her winningly, and wrapped an invisibility spell around her. She felt the world shift, warp, and fog around her, though she could still see the smudge of Rylai’s face, floating above a white that lost its nuance of green and gold. Safely hidden, she began to cast the teleportation spell with only the faintest hint of magic.
“All I want to do is observe and gather evidence,” Jaina said, her voice floating out from behind the spell. “I’ll be fine.”
“But we worry about you,” Rylai said, her voice swallowed up by the end of the spell, and Jaina was shrouded in silence as well as fog.
Northwatch Hold had been built into the cliffs of the Barrens, halfway between Durotar and Theramore. It was meant as a compromise of sorts: with the orcs unable or unwilling to field great fleets, Jaina had promised Thrall ships to protect him in case of other attacks, and more, since it was likely that those attacks would come from humans or elves rather than anything else, the presence of human sailors would assure them. Ratchet, a goblin port, was nestled between Durotan and the Barrens, available and willing to offer protection and forces for a price.
And no one has quite forgotten the bargain I made with the goblins to protect the Horde, Jaina thought as she forced herself to focus on the world around her. Even those assigned to Northwatch.
The Hold itself was a huge fortress built from grey stone and constructed as close to the cliffside as it could be. Magic had gone into the land to protect it against erosion -- the real reason most people didn’t build fortresses on cliffs -- just as it had gone into the stone to prevent it from molding or chipping. Attacks from cannon fire would still break its walls, but weakness would not come from within. There’s a metaphor in that, Jaina thought, and watched the guards.
There were standard patrols along the stone-cobbled roads leading in and out of the Hold, and Jaina hid off to the side, watching them pass back and forth. They’ll definitely know I’m there if they bump into me, and they’ll see anything I touch that I can’t bring under the spell with me, but this isn’t my first castoff. I won’t be caught.
So, Jaina waited, watching for the perfect moment when neither guard would be looking at her or the door inside, and hastened towards it. She was near-silent under her spell, her movements muffled but not quite inaudible. It was difficult to grip things as the world wavered and resolved around her, but here too she had practice. She opened the door and slipped inside, closing it behind her.
Many of the soldiers of Northwatch Hold were off-shift, and spending their time socializing or resting. Only the evening shift soldiers, those who patrolled the grounds or the walls, were outside, making things ideal for a meeting.
It was hard to focus on exactly who was there, though the arcane mark she’d placed on Jonathan to track him burned brightly, even through the haze and fog. Jaina retrieved a crystal from her sleeve and thumbed it on. It, at least, would be able to hear everything clearly even if she couldn’t. She would have to focus on specific voices, and again, the arcane mark would help.
Had Jonathan been a mage, he would have been able to remove it. Had her teachers seen her, marking a non-mage without his knowledge or consent, they might have lectured her. This was not nearly as harmless as merely spying on the Six during meetings, it constituted a violation of privacy guaranteed to those who were not mages.
The safety of Theramore and the treaties with the Horde come first, she thought grimly. Before his privacy, before rules written in a city that no longer exists. I will not allow violence and death to touch my people and my allies because I’m too pent up in the letter of the law to act.
Jaina waited quietly, listening. She kept part of her focus on the spell that kept her safe, while the rest was on the conversation.
“The ogres sent word to Theramore that they were raided,” Jonathan began, and the air seemed to buzz with disapproval. “Reethe’s been fingered, so he’s being punished. They don’t seem to have recognized anyone else.”
“And the supplies?” someone asked.
“Taken,” Jonathan replied. More disapproval. “But we’ve got a half-dozen more discontent over the decision. Plenty of people don’t care much for filthy sub-humans, all we have to do is convince them to move. We’ll drive the ogres out of our land.”
It’s no more ours than theirs! Jaina thought. We’re just as much invaders as they. I picked one of the least occupied parts of Kalimdor that I could still work with, how much more do you want?
“What does the Lady have to say about that?” asked another voice, and Jaina thought she could detect concern, though it was hard to tell around the warping of their voice. “Will she agree?”
“I’m talking her around,” Jonathan replied, and Jaina was outraged at the smoothness of it, the ease with which he lied. “In a month’s time, I’ll have her bring in the Tirans, and we can start the fight with the orcs properly. She has to see how mistaken she was. Naive and childish.”
Rage flowed through Jaina, and it was all she could do to hold her spell steady, to cling to her calm and her skill. The next thing she heard chilled her to the bone.
“She’s no Lady of mine, and she’s a damned traitor,” said a new speaker. “Traipsin’ about, as if she hadn’t thrown the Admiral to the orcs, her own flesh’n blood! She’s no better than the orcs.”
“We don’t need her!” cried another, even as there were buzzing words half-obscuring it, and Jaina was forced only to concentrate on the dominant voice. “If she wants them orcs so bad, I say we strip her of all her damned airs and throw her to ‘em. See how much she trusts ‘em then.”
“I know what you want, and trust me, I want it too,” Jonathan said, and Jaina felt the words squeeze her heart like a fist. “But her humiliation and justice for the Grand Admiral will come after we have everything in place, not before. She needs to be vulnerable, stripped of all of her power and influence. It’s closer than she can imagine.”
The meeting became less formal then, and Jaina let the crystal record, even as she closed herself off from the words. Where did they all come from? How is this possible? He was supposed to be helping me--
She shoved her knuckles into her mouth and bit down, muffling the noise of despair she made. Jonathan Taylor was a professional liar. There was nothing coincidental about this, nothing sincere about his words or his manner. Every conversation they’d ever had had been tainted now by this knowledge, this… certainty.
He never loved me at all, Jaina thought with despair. He never intended to help. He just wanted to push me towards this… this ruin. This violation of all I’ve held dear. He wanted my trust so he could betray it. He wanted my heart so he could break it. I’ve never met someone so cold before, so cruel. Not even Arthas, not even Kael, and certainly not--
Jonathan was moving now, leaving Northwatch Keep, to go...
To go back to Theramore, to smile and me and lie to me. Jaina’s resolve hardened, crystallized. He’s done. Not one more word from his lying tongue. She activated a second teleport spell, and with the soldiers all unknowing, she returned to Theramore.
~ * ~
“Tracking shows us that we have another ten minutes before Jonathan comes ashore,” Rylai noted unhappily. “Are you sure we can’t just--” At the look on Jaina’s face, she hastily added, “I was only kidding.”
The moment she had returned to Theramore, she had assembled her trusted advisors and staff. Rylai and Tervosh, Tesoran and Ariana, Vimes and Logrosh, all listened to the words spoken by Jonathan and those of the Northwatch soldiers.
“We’ll need to find someone to replace the commander at Northwatch Hold,” Vimes said gruffly. “Sooner rather than later, but I don’t know if we have anyone ready. It’s not an easy posting.”
“Do what you can,” Jaina murmured. Her fingers were clenched, pressed into the side of the table. “There’s no telling how far this… poison has spread.”
“Do you want a warning sent to Orgrimmar?” Logrosh asked, putting a soft growl into the city’s name. Ariana wrapped her hand around his, squeezing it in comfort. “Though you can send word yourself directly, can’t you?”
“No,” Jaina replied. “No, no messages, sent or otherwise. This is our problem, we need to deal with it. If we involve the Horde, they will be forced to act… in ways that will make coming back from it all that much harder.”
“The response to the assault on Tiragarde,” Tesoran noted. “They were within their rights to do so, but…”
“It could be what they wanted all along,” Tervosh pointed out, and Jaina looked up at him sharply. Tervosh was of Dalaran, truly of Dalaran, heart and soul. The magical, fallen city had been his home until Jaina had convinced him to come with her, and now Theramore was all he had. “Not the Horde, the dissenters. We let Thrall come down hard on them, and now they feel as though we’ll let the Horde do whatever it wants.”
“I had no choice, you know that,” Jaina said. “They wanted to kill farmers and villagers in retaliation for my father’s death. On Winter Veil. Unacceptable.”
“Of course we understand,” Rylai said, even as Tervosh opened his mouth. “The trouble is, how many saw it as yet another case of you being unwilling to defend humans for the sake of the orcs?”
“I will not fight the Horde,” Jaina whispered. “I will not let him start a war. He used me, Ryl. If there was a valid point behind any of this, any reasonable concerns that should be brought up, those points and concerns were rendered moot by the fact that he used me. Or, he tried to.”
“How much further will you go?” Tervosh asked, his voice quiet. Jaina looked at him, startled. “How many steps are a step too far?”
“I won’t have every person who disagrees with me executed, if that’s what you’re asking,” Jaina said slowly, and her gaze drifted to Ariana and Logrosh’s entwined fingers. “But people deliberately stirring up trouble must be stopped, it must be made clear… they are manipulators. Jonathan isn’t doing this out of concern. He’s doing it because he wants revenge.”
“What about you?” Tervosh asked, and Jaina’s gaze fixed on him. “Is this about revenge? Is this about being right? Is this--”
“It’s about finally being able to stop someone!” Jaina snapped. “I couldn’t stop Arthas and look at what he’s done! What he’s still doing! I couldn’t stop my father, and look at all the trouble that’s caused. I can stop Jonathan, and I will.”
“No matter the cost?”
“I--”
“You need to set down rules, Jaina,” Tervosh said, keeping his voice soft, and so reasonable that she didn’t know if she hated him or loved him for it. “Write policy. I know you don’t want to write too many laws to restrict your people. I know you hate convoluted social protocol. We can be as straightforward about this as you need to, but you must set precedent here. It’s not going to go away with Jonathan, even if you do stop him.”
Jaina’s lips tightened. “Officers inciting dissent are fully responsible for their actions and will bear the consequences for them. Soldiers acting on the strict orders of officers and doing no more than what they are told are not criminals. If soldiers are found to be acting above and beyond their orders, twisting them to incite dissent and to act against the treaties made with the Kaldorei and the Horde, they will also be punished.”
“People might claim they were just following orders then,” Tervosh warned. “Who knows how many people will try to squeeze out of being punished by claiming that?”
“We expect and demand that our forces obey orders!” Jaina cried. “You might be ordered to do something you think is foolish or dangerous or terrible, only to learn that your commanding officer had the right idea all along. We do much with asking for volunteers for dangerous duties, but sometimes we expect to be obeyed without argument. Some will determine that their commanding officers are acting inappropriately on their own, others may fear retaliation. Doing the right thing can’t be a punishment for people.”
“Are they doing the right thing if they’re fearful of only their own pain, or that of their immediate families?” Logrosh demanded, and she met the orc’s gaze coldly, glaring at him until he looked away.
“I have seen how petty commanding officers can be if they don’t get their way. I watched Arthas dissolve the Silver Hand because Uther dared argue with him and he had the authority to at least force him to back down. I will not punish people for being mortal, for not being perfect figurines on pedestals. People can form their own opinions on the matter privately. This is law.”
“Then you must write it down and bring it into practice before you confront Jonathan,” Ariana said softly. “Tervosh is right, we must be clear. It also means that dissenters can’t claim others have committed crimes when they haven’t.”
“Crimes of cowardice, corruption, or… miscegenation,” Vimes noted, not quite looking at Jaina or Ariana. “Nonsense, of course, but it’s easier to disobey your commanding officers when you believe they’re wrong first.”
As if we don’t know what is said of us, Jaina thought angrily, but nodded. “It’s significantly easier, as a matter of fact,” Jaina replied. “Are we all in agreement?”
There was a round of nods before Tervosh spoke up again. “And what is the punishment for this high treason?”
Jaina gave him a flat look. “There is only one response to treason and we both know what it is. I will see this through, no matter what.”
Tervosh met her gaze steadily and nodded. “As you say, Lady Proudmoore.”
[ Chapter 8