Unity - Chapter 10
Title: Unity
Part: 10 of ? (At this point, between 17-20 if I remain ridiculously chatty)
Word Count: 7578 (of this part)
Warnings: Implied sex, actual sex, orc/human, mentioned death and suicide, angst. Angst, violence, drama and some tooth-aching sweetness.
Pairings: Mentioned Thrall/Others, primarily Thrall/Jaina. Mentioned past Arthas/Jaina and past one-sided Kael/Jaina. For this part, mentioned Malfurion/Tyrande.
Summary: Thrall and Jaina arrive in Ashenvale for a very urgent meeting.
Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
Ashenvale had not changed since Thrall had seen it last, even in the Autumn. It was beautiful and verdant, with huge trees that blotted out the twilight sky, and as they came up the road that led from Mor'shan to the Warsong lumber yard, Thrall could sense that the spirits were strong here. Even the Kor'Kron could feel it, and they murmured to one another, somewhere between apprehensive and annoyed.
"This must have been what Grom felt," Thrall commented, and behind him, a warm presence stirred.
"I don't think I feel anything but tired," Jaina murmured sleepily. "Where are we?"
"Within the borders of Ashenvale, and on the road to Astranaar," Thrall replied. He smiled to himself as Jaina shifted and in a moment was gone. A dozen yards ahead, she was examining plant life, yawning and stretching.
"Some of us have to ride," Garona commented sourly, and Thrall chuckled. The human sorceress detested riding, and after being told that she couldn't use anything but a minimum of magic within Ashenvale's sacred borders, arrangements had been made. She and Snowsong got along reasonably well, and there were no unbonded frostwolves, which meant that Thrall had the burden of carrying her.
Not that it was any real kind of burden, Thrall thought. And Snowsong doesn't mind. He leaned forward slightly to scratch his companion's ears, and she made a soft, pleased noise in reply. "Don't get too far ahead, Jaina."
"I just needed to stretch," she called back, and remounted when her escort caught up. Jaina's own forces, this time consisting of two High Elves and two humans, exchanged looks expressing rueful disbelief. They all rode horses that had been chosen to be steady around odd mounts, such as the worgs, and the nightsabers that would soon join them. "I'm sure I'll need it before the conference."
Tyrande Whisperwind, High Priestess of Elune and the leader of the Sentinels, had sent Thrall and Jaina separate messages, asking them to meet with her in Astranaar on the twilight of the full moon, and arrangements had been made to travel together. Thrall did not maintain a great deal of contact with these peculiar allies: the Night Elves had chosen to retreat into their forests once again when Illidan went to Outland, and they conducted trade with the Kaldorei very carefully, mostly relating to the lumber camps that the Warsong had established in Ashenvale.
In exchange for the wood the orcs needed to build, they had agreed to send shamans to the site where Cenarius had died, and the lands that had been tainted by fel energy. They were tasked with the burden of cleansing the area, something that promised to take years, but in the mean time, the orcs could collect wood from the damaged area. There were those that complained about the restriction, but a look to Mannoroth's likeness in Orgrimmar was all the true reminder they needed to see that it was dangerous to allow lust of any kind to overcome reason.
"Do you know what she wants to talk to us about?" Thrall asked quietly.
Jaina shook her head slightly. "I honestly don't know, but she seemed terse in her message. I don't believe there have been any major incidents."
"I managed to take care of that unfortunate incident in Stonetalon," Thrall rumbled. "I am not quite certain what was wrong with that woman..."
"Nor am I, and it saddens me that the Blood Elves would resort to such abject cruelty. I'm sure it must have been an isolated incident." Jaina's voice was insistent, and Thrall frowned. The two High Elves that accompanied them exchanged looks.
It is a difficult thing to have such a rift between two groups of the same people, Thrall thought, remembering the bloodthirsty look in Grom's eyes, that loss of control and reason before they'd captured him to remove the demonic influence from his body.
"Halt," they heard from ahead of them, and from the deep shadows of the forest, appeared a small group of Night Elves, and the speaker was Shandris Feathermoon. Thrall nodded to her, and she nodded back. "Come this way." She looked over the human group, and her eyes narrowed. "Refrain from using magic."
"We will, we don't want to offend our hosts," Jaina said, and Shandris nodded to her as well. Gesturing, the Sentinels moved into place around the group, and Shandris herself led them back towards Astranaar.
Closer to the city, Thrall could see Ancients roaming the woods, moving through the clearings, and the soft, tittering laughter of the dryads. They smiled at him and waved, and he waved back a little, causing them to giggle more.
"They're certainly friendly," Jaina murmured, and Thrall made a soft noise of agreement. He felt Jaina slide a little closer.
"Are you still secure?" Thrall asked, a touch of concern to his voice. "You're not uncomfortable?"
"No, I'm fine," Jaina replied. Thrall nodded, and when he looked out into the forest, the dryads had all disappeared.
~ * ~
Since the Battle of Hyjal, Nordrassil had been unlivable, and those that had survived had come to Ashenvale. The ancient forests had originally been a more southern territory, and the home of the Sentinels, the silent, twilight guardians of the Kaldorei. Now, however, it housed most of what remained of the no-longer-immortal race, and Astranaar had expanded to accommodate them. The edges of the city were sprawling, though for Thrall, it still seem mostly forested, though there were more clearings, and many of the trees were very large.
Shandris spoke briefly to the guards that patrolled the borders, and they let them pass, though Thrall noticed the way their eyes lingered over him and his companions. Jaina's arms squeezed him slightly, and he allowed himself to relax.
They're suspicious. I don't blame them, but we've been invited here. There will be no place for conflict, and there will be no violence, Thrall thought, his expression grave.
"There's something wrong," Jaina whispered, and Thrall glanced over his shoulder at her. "It's the looks on their faces. There's bad news, and they know something. I've seen it before. When..." She fell abruptly silent.
"When?" Thrall prompted gently.
"The night Derek died. It was the look on the faces of the sailors who came back to tell my father."
Thrall squeezed his eyes shut. "Jaina, I--"
"Greetings." Thrall looked over, and bowed his slightly in respect, and felt more than saw Jaina do the same. Tyrande Whisperwind, High Priestess of Elune and leader of the Sentinels, wore armour and bore a large, curved bow, and it was slung across her back, though not unstrung. She was prepared at any moment to defend her people, and it showed in the muscular lines of her body.
Though, one doesn't need to be particularly athletic to defend one's people, Thrall thought, thinking of the slender and more delicate human woman that sat behind him. Not, though, that Jaina couldn't outwalk me at any given opportunity, so perhaps that's not entirely fair--
"Please, come with me," Tyrande said. She turned, going back the way she'd come and Thrall clucked to Snowsong. Tyrande's martial step was rapid and precise, and she expected others to fall in behind her, or to be left in her dust.
"It's a shame relations between the orcs and Night Elves are so poor," Jaina murmured. "I think Grom would have liked her."
"Or they would have killed each other," Thrall agreed, watching the rigid lines of her back, and noted that under her armour she wore white wrappings of some kind. Odd...
Astranaar became more of a city once they got closer. There were dozens and dozens of buildings, many of them low, open pavilions, and it took time for Thrall to realize that these sprawling structures were homes. Light curtains ruffled in the night breeze, and while he was beginning to feel the effects of a long day riding, the 'day' was just starting for the Night Elves, and he could see people going about their business, making purchases, taking walks, visiting their friends... all as the moons shone above them. Many of them stopped to stare, and Thrall came to another realization: this was the main street of the city, and they were all but on parade.
"It's beautiful," Jaina murmured. Thrall nodded briefly. As they moved further into the centre of the city, here were more buildings, though these seemed to be immense, hollowed out trees, strung with lights until what had seemed to be a decoration took off en masse, a huge streak of light moving past them to the delight of some of the children.
Speaking of children... Thrall thought, there are so few. He began to count them, and by the time they reached the large pavilion at the centre of Astranaar, he'd seen twenty, to several hundred adults.
"If Night Elves are anything like High Elves, they don't have children as often because they're so long lived," Jaina whispered, as if sensing his thoughts. "And each child is precious."
"Children are always precious," Thrall replied, though he smiled. "Regardless of how many of them are created."
"Truer words have never been spoken," Tyrande interjected softly. "Welcome to my home."
Thrall dismounted, and offered Jaina his hand. She took it and dismounted as well, whispering praise to Snowsong. The Frostwolf gave her bonded a look that could almost be smug.
It's cupboard love, Thrall thought at his companion. You only love her because she flatters you.
Snowsong sneezed on him in reply, and Thrall began to wonder if everyone could read his mind. Tyrande led them inside. Night Elven furnishings were sparse, and most of what was here was simple, each piece carved out of a single piece of blue-purple wood. There were also no doors, he noticed, and only gauzy curtains dividing one room from another.
"We prefer open air and sky to doors," Tyrande explained, and gestured to them to sit, having stopped in what Thrall could presume was an audience chamber, though it was vastly different from his own, as well as Jaina's. He greeted visitors and diplomats in a large, round room where at least two of his advisors were usually working, and Jaina, he knew from experience, used the bottom floor of her tower as a receiving chamber, and took visitors to her office. This room was framed by hangings. The Sentinel crest hung on the back wall, and on each side there were two smaller crests, one of a silver tree with a thousand branches, the other what could have been a representation of a whirlwind with two moons watching from above.
"Nordrassil and the Whisperwind family crest," Tyrande said, answering the obvious question. "My family has had a tradition of serving the temple of Elune for many, many generations." She sat down on a low bench. There was no desk, so it felt oddly intimate to sit across from her.
"It's lovely," Jaina said. "Tyrande... this place is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, but I have to ask... why have you asked us to come here?"
"Lady Proudmoore, Warchief Thrall..." Tyrande began formally. "I need your help." She took a moment to compose herself. "Malfurion has fallen into a coma."
~ * ~
Jaina broke the silence first. "Tyrande, I'm so sorry... what happened?"
Tyrande sighed. "As you may know, after Hyjal, we have done what we can to bring our people together. The incident with the Wardens and Maiev only further exacerbated the situation, and many of our people held a very real fear that our lives were at an end. Malfurion worked tirelessly to help repair the damage that the Scourge and the demons did to the forests, and monitored the situation in Hyjal closely. He believed that, in time, we would be able to live there once more, even if the World Tree would not grant us immortality again. There were those that... disagreed."
"Disagreed?" Thrall asked, frowning.
"Indeed, Warchief. First among the dissenters was Fandral Staghelm. He is one of the powerful druids within the Cenarion Circle, and has spent extended amounts of time restoring Darkshore from the naga attacks that we experienced. He felt that it was unfair for us to lose our immortality when the Well was not truly gone, and there was no proof that the Burning Legion's threat was truly gone... particularly since Kalimdor now hosts mages once again." Tyrande gave Jaina an apologetic look, even as Thrall made a low, growling noise in the back of his throat. He felt something against his hand, and glanced down to see Jaina's fingers curling around his. He took her hand and held it gently.
"I understand why your people would feel that way, Priestess," Jaina replied evenly. "So what does this Staghelm want? My understanding was that immortality was the price your people paid for Nordrassil's help."
"It was," Tyrande said simply. "He deludes himself, and I'm not certain as to why. He disagreed, openly at times, with Malfurion, and there are those who agreed with him. We have grown too used to immortality, to the luxury and burden of time. It is also easy for those who may sleep away centuries to misunderstand the consequence of an endless life."
Tyrande was old, Thrall observed. To his not particularly experienced eyes, the Kaldorei had looked ageless and perfect. Where an orc may begin to grow weak and feeble after five decades or more, here was a woman over ten thousand years old, and she looked, at first, no older than Jaina. It took time and experience to see the age behind her eyes, and the toll it had taken on her mind.
I have lost more people in the past decade than I care to think about, Thrall thought. Taretha... Grom... Orgrim... if I were to live a thousand years, there would be more, or ten thousand... it would weigh me down. Tyrande met his gaze, and nodded once.
"He can disagree all he wants, but he can't do anything about it..." Jaina observed. "Can he?"
"Up until this time, no," Tyrande conceded. "Malfurion also curbed his influence amongst the younger druids, being a hero of two great wars." She smiled, gently. "Now, Staghelm has been reclusive, and I believe he has done something very foolish. There has been no word from him for quite some time... since, in fact, the very time that Malfurion fell into his coma."
"You suspect foul play," Thrall rumbled, and Tyrande nodded.
"I have prayed to Elune for guidance in these matters, but I have received no enlightenment. I have asked healers from Moonglade to wake him, and there was nothing they could do. At... some risk, I obtained the great Horn of Cenarius, and I blew it." Thrall realized, with some surprise, that Tyrande was actually injured and the odd weave of the cloth under her armour was not clothing at all, but bandages. "I will mend, I chose to focus my energies on Malfurion rather than healing."
Thrall opened his mouth to offer to heal her, but a single, feathered eyebrow raised to halt him.
"So, his coma is deeper than the one he was in before..." Jaina murmured. "May I see him?"
"Jaina, it would take weeks to ride there," Thrall began. "We couldn't--"
"Do you remember the way there through your magic?" Tyrande asked, silencing Thrall effectively, and even Jaina looked startled.
"Of course I do... but I don't--"
"I will give you permission to use your magic here, and there," Tyrande said, the simple statement vibrating tension through her. "There are many considerations that you have made for my people, and I will make one for yours. "Let us go, quickly. If there is anything you can do..."
This is far more urgent than I believed, Thrall thought, and he intended to exchange a brief glance with Jaina, but the human sorceress was moving to embrace the elven priestess. For a moment, Tyrande's seemingly serene demeanour crumbled, and the priestess' expression contained both fear and grief.
"I can take us now," Jaina said. "Do you have any preparations you need to make?"
"No," Tyrande said simply. "Shandris knows of my intent, and what I would ask of you. If she finds us gone, she will know that you've agreed."
"I want to look in on Malfurion as well," Thrall said, and Tyrande nodded to him, giving him a brief smile now that she had regained her composure. "Perhaps the elements have more insight."
"Perhaps," Tyrande agreed. Jaina began to cast, and runes swirled around them, teleporting them away.
~ * ~
I had expected the denizens to be displeased, but not so... quickly, Thrall thought. He stood very still, watching the long, clawed hands before him, careful of so much as twitching. The being before him appeared to be some combination of elf and stag, and Thrall recognized it as one of the Keepers of the Grove, the sacred guardians of Moonglade-- And the sons of the demigod Cenarius.
Two dryads, far less friendly than the ones on their journey to Astranaar, had spears pointed directly at Jaina, who kept her hands out in the open. Tyrande was not similarly guarded, but the immense Keeper that towered over her seemed more intimidating than all of them put together.
"What is the meaning of this foul intrusion?" the great Keeper demanded. "Priestess Tyrande?"
"Jaina Proudmoore and Thrall are my allies," Tyrande replied, her tone respectful. "I have asked them to bring me here, despite the danger, because they believe they have more insight about..." She did not speak the name, but instead gestured.
The Keeper made an odd sound, and both claws and spears withdrew. "We will discuss this, Tyrande. This is still a grave insult."
"I am desperate," Tyrande whispered. "Remulos, please. He will not wake. You know it as well as I. Something has happened and--"
"He would not take kindly to the presence of mages," the Keeper, Remulos, grumbled.
"He accepted Jaina's help in the past, and I believe he would accept it now if he could," she urged. "Please, let me see my husband."
"I wasn't aware you were married," Jaina murmured. "But, congratulations."
"I officiated the ceremony during the turning of the leaves," Remulos rumbled. "It was a joyous occasion."
"So recently," Jaina said. "But when did he--"
"Three nights later," Tyrande said, and her eyes closed briefly. "Come, the Stormrage Barrow Dens are in the south." She began to walk.
Thrall and Jaina exchanged another, brief, look, and followed. Tyrande moved briskly, and her armour gleamed in the twilight glade. Everything here seemed to be cast in an odd light, and Jaina looked pale, her garb that was normally blue and white washed out to gray. The path out of Nighthaven was guarded by a number of Wardens who watched them, their eyes blazing with hate at the insult that was a mage's presence. Thrall, very deliberately, met their eyes and put an arm around her.
"They won't harm me," Jaina murmured. "They are very frightening with their moonglaives and their armour, but I have a very quick hand with a polymorph spell."
"They have no right to hate you, you didn't do any harm," Thrall said, his voice firm, and almost overly-loud. "You fought the Burning Legion as they did."
"Think about what you're saying," Jaina said, her voice softer, but sad. "They have lived with a hatred and fear of arcane magic for ten thousand years. One battle won't end that. You would know. The Shady Rest Inn."
Thrall's arm tightened around her briefly. "Yes, I know. I would still be extremely upset if you got shot by an angry Warden."
"So would I," Jaina replied, and the dryness of her tone cause him to chuckle, and let her go. Jaina moved quickly to catch up with Tyrande, speaking to her softly, while Thrall let his senses extend outward. The spirits were strong here, and prowling amongst the shadows was a cat-spirit.
Greetings, spirit of Moonglade, Thrall thought, bowing his head. We mean no offense, we're attempting to help one of the druids--
As long as you don't cause trouble, I don't care, the cat-spirit replied, and as Thrall observed, it sat down and began to wash.
The cat-spirit is lazy, called another spirit, and Thrall had to crane his neck to see the bird-spirit that flew over head. We greet you, Thrall, son of Durotan. Cause no trouble and you shall find none.
The bird-spirit is a nosy poppinjay, and I will eat him, the cat-spirit replied.
As if you could catch me, the bird-spirit replied, and flew past him. The cat-spirit stood, and began to chase the bird-spirit, both of them blurring out of sight.
The spirits here are... odd... Thrall decided, and moved to catch up with the two women.
The Stormrage Barrow Dens, as they were known, were guarded by two Wardens, one tauren and one Kaldorei. Thrall observed as they both argued with Tyrande and pointed at Jaina, who stood and waited with grace and aplomb. The tauren broke off to offer Thrall a salute, and he nodded back. The tauren Warden also did not join back into the argument, and Thrall frowned, very slightly.
Hopefully he sees how illogical this is, Thrall said, and moved to stand behind Jaina.
"They will cause absolutely no harm to Malfurion or any of the druids," Tyrande said firmly. "You waste our time. Jaina, Thrall, if you would please follow me."
"Of course, Tyrande," Jaina said in reply, and followed the High Priestess inside the Barrow Den, leaving the Kaldorei Warden to fume. Thrall quickly followed, and wondered, suddenly, why the tauren seemed to wink at him.
Perhaps there was something in his eye, Thrall said. The Barrow Dens were nearly stifling: as spiritually rich as the Moonglade had been, this place was barren, and the difference was palpable seconds after entering it. Jaina moved on ahead with interest, and he watched Tyrande tense. She feels it too. "Why is--"
"The Barrow Dens are warded from Nightmares," Tyrande said quietly, emphasizing the word.
"What kind of nightmares can you protect this place from by warding it from the spirits?" Thrall asked.
"Not nightmares, Nightmares," Tyrande corrected. "They are--"
Thrall felt a surge of spiritual energy, and he heard a sound, almost like a horse running, and through one of the walls came a being that for a moment, appeared to be something like a horse that was so green it seemed black, and two bright, burning green eyes stared at him, and then he was looking into the jeering, vicious face of Aedelas Blackmoore.
"You want her so badly? You can have her!" he cried, and a head fell at his feet, but this time it was not Taretha's staring blue eyes that met his. It was Jaina's empty gaze, and he felt--
There was a high-pitched scream, and Blackmoore disappeared. Jaina's eyes flashed with anger, even as frost dripped from her fingertips. Thrall swallowed, trying to dispel the nightmare image-- Oh. Oh.
"I see, Nightmare," Thrall said, swallowing again.
"You can understand why we want to keep them out," Tyrande said gently, commenting on neither of their reactions. "He's down this way."
"Let's get moving," Jaina said sharply, and Thrall agreed. They moved further down into the Barrow Dens, and Tyrande touched her hand lightly to the roughly-hewn walls, and the steps spiraled down, taking Thrall further from the surface and spirits both. As they reached the first landing, Thrall could see rooms, bored out of the sides of the walls, and within them were two or three sleeping figures, carefully tucked into wooden beds, narrow enough that the sleeper would not have the room to turn over or shift.
Though, they probably wouldn't move at all, Thrall reflected. These were druids, their bodies inert in the physical world while their minds and spirits roamed the Emerald Dream, sleeping to fulfill the promise that the Kaldorei had made with the great dragon, Ysera the Dreamer. Could I make such a sacrifice? Could I spend so long away from my people, only to save them?
"I don't think I could sleep my life away, waiting for my day to come," Jaina commented. "It would be so boring."
"The life of a druid is not the one for me," Tyrande admitted. "But Malfurion has assured me that the Emerald Dream is anything but boring, and that there was a time when the sleeping world might be as dangerous as the waking one."
"That seems unusual, but the Spirit World is not as safe as some would assume," Thrall commented as Tyrande led them further in. "Did he mention how long it's been like that?"
"Time is meaningless within the Dream, from what he told me, though he seemed to believe it was a relatively recent change," Tyrande replied. "You're concerned by it."
"I'm concerned by anything that comes out of a wall and threatens my life," Jaina replied, her tone so tart Thrall had to chuckle, dispelling the last of the uneasy feeling he'd had. "This place seems very large to have so few."
"The prisons are down below," Tyrande replied, her tone grave. "The prisoners are kept sealed away from Elune and the surface world, with the theory being that to escape, they'll have to fight their way through the Wardens and the druids."
"Having been imprisoned, it would seem that if a prisoner was angry enough, they might kill a few druids on the way out," Thrall commented, though for a moment, there was a sense of sick anger. "How long are they imprisoned?"
"Some of them years, others decades or centuries. Our sentences tend to be longer because the prisoners are immortal," Tyrande said. "Some few are imprisoned permanently, because they have contingencies against being killed, so they must be watched at all times so they no longer walk free and endanger the lives of the Kaldorei. Those sentences are never given lightly."
"Wasn't Illidan given one of those sentences?" Jaina asked quietly, and Tyrande looked away.
"Illidan was sentenced to an indefinite period of time in jail, on the ground that if he understood what he had done, he would be freed." She let her hand rest on one of the walls. "I freed him before that time."
"Ten thousand years is a very, very long time for someone to stew on the question 'and now what did you learn?'" Thrall replied, and was surprised at the soft growl in his own voice, and the anger at being within what was ostensibly a jail. Jaina let a hand rest on his arm.
"It was too dangerous to leave him to his own devices, and too risky to see what would happen to the demon he was containing to have him executed, so it was to be indefinite confinement." Thrall expected sadness or regret, but there was only iron determination. "I believe that while he has not necessarily truly understood what it is that he did, he has a new sense of responsibility."
"Did you contact him?" Jaina wanted to know. "If there was something demonic in what has happened to Malfurion, wouldn't Illidan be the best person to ask?"
"I have no way of contacting him," Tyrande replied quietly. "I believe he would come if I asked it of him, but I cannot even find him. He went back to Outland, and while there were rumours that he was in Northrend, he is gone again."
Jaina shivered slightly, and it was Thrall's turn to offer her a touch of comfort. "I can understand why that would be difficult. I'm sorry, Tyrande."
"Think nothing of it," the High Priestess replied. "Malfurion's chamber is this way." She moved carefully through the Barrow Den, and Thrall followed. Jaina's fingers entwined with his, and he smiled at her briefly.
Tyrande led them to a room that held only one bed, and Malfurion Stormrage, Archdruid of the Cenarion Circle, lay on the narrow wooden bed, though there was nothing about his slumber that was peaceful. The venerable Kaldorei's brow was wrinkled in a frown, and he murmured in his sleep, his lips trembling just so as a stray syllable escaped them.
Thrall moved to kneel by the Kaldorei Archdruid, and put a hand on his shoulder. He closed his eyes, and immediately opened them into the Spirit World. Malfurion's body was not quite empty, a thread that sprouted from the middle of his chest, though it was oddly vinelike, and it disappeared into a haze of green. Carefully, Thrall took a step out of his body, and reached out to touch the haze of green.
Perhaps I can find Malfurion's spirit and--
There was a sensation of slamming, and then darkness.
~ * ~
"Thrall?"
This is not your place, shaman. Leave. Green. It was green everywhere, in a thousand verdant shades, some bright but many dark. Too many. So many shadows, and the voice came from everywhere.
I'm looking for--
This is not your place. Do not make me repeat myself once more.
"Thrall, wake up, please..."
I didn't mean to intrude, and I sincerely apologize, but I'm looking for Malfurion Stormrage, and--
Malfurion Stormrage vowed himself to me, and he will not break his vow. I require his assistance, and I will not allow mortals to take him from me. A hint of something, huge and green, hidden amongst the shadows, and then a woman, a female Kaldorei, with skin that was pale, but hinted at the shadows made by leaves in a forest, layers upon layers, each hiding something. Her eyes were closed. Go, now, and disturb us no more. Know that there is danger within the Emerald Dream and Malfurion must fight it. It is his duty to me.
"Jaina, I'm sorry. I didn't think--"
Wouldn't it be better to let us help you instead of claiming him? The woman took a step towards him, unerring despite her seeming lack of sight. We could--
Malfurion will not wake until the Nightmare is over, the woman replied. Go, now. Trouble us no more.
He made a noise of frustration. How can you make that decision for someone else? He has a wife and a duty to his people, and he has been asleep for centuries, surely you can spare him--
The Kaldorei's eyes opened, and within them, there was oblivion.
Thrall sat up abruptly, and immediately felt pain. Jaina was swearing, and his eyebrows raised as he fought to orient himself once again. His body felt heavy and restraining, as if he had fitted himself into it poorly, somehow. That only happens when I spirit walk and I fail to return correctly. "Jaina, I don't think it's physically possible to do that with a duck, a cactus and a copy of Theron's Passion."
"You have a hard head," Jaina managed, rubbing her head, and then threw herself at him, hugging him tightly. "I thought you wouldn't wake up. We waited for hours..."
Thrall let his arms rest around her, stroking her hair. "It seemed like moments, but the Dream has no sense of time." He looked over at Tyrande, who was holding Malfurion's limp hand. She tucked it against her husband's side, and nodded to him.
"What did you find out?" Tyrande asked, a hint of desperate hope in her voice. "You got much farther than anyone else, they found nothing within Malfurion--"
"I encountered something when I attempted to follow the trail that connects his spirit to his body," Thrall began, sorting through what he had seen, and what he had not seen. "There was a female there. She appeared to be an elf, but... I believe that was merely a form."
"Describe her, please," Tyrande murmured, and listened as Thrall did so. Her expression went from grave to barely restrained rage. "Ysera."
"The leader of the Green Dragonflight?" Thrall asked, and Jaina sat back, having calmed herself enough to surreptitiously wipe the tears away from her eyes. "Why would she--"
"Before the exile of the Highbourne, the Well of Eternity that Illidan recreated stood open to everything. Once Dath'remar was exiled for using its power to destroy a portion of Ashenvale, Malfurion realized that this would simply happen again if we didn't rein in its power somehow, so he contacted three of the great Dragon Aspects that watched over our world. They were reclusive after the decimation of their flights, but three of them still came to us. Nozdormu, the Timeless, Alexstrasza, the Life-Binder, and Ysera, the Dreamer." Tyrande set her lips in a grim line. "To us they entrusted an acorn of the great Dream Tree that bound each of the planes of this world together, and we placed it within the Well. It fed on the Well's magic and formed Nordrassil. The dragons each gave us a blessing and a duty. From Alexstrasza, we were granted immortality, but the responsibility of being the eternal guardians against the Burning Legion. From Nozdormu, we gained timelessness within our memories and in return we were to remember the mistakes of the past, and from my understanding, we have another duty, but those chosen for it never speak of it, if they are seen again at all, and Ysera..." She touched Malfurion's cheek. "All the druids had to slumber within the Emerald Dream, patrolling its dreamways and serving her. Most druids were to spend only some time there, but to Malfurion, she entrusted the position of eternal guardian, and he told us to only wake him in times of dire need. It seems she could not even wait before reclaiming him." She shook her head. "At least Malfurion will be timeless within the Dream. He will not age, and require no feeding, and no tending. This is true of all druids who slumber, but none have slept as long as he has..."
"She said that he would sleep until the Nightmare is over," Thrall said, frowning. "I have no idea what that means."
"Nor do I, but it must be urgent," Tyrande replied with a sigh. "I apologize, that was mostly a waste of time."
"That's fine, as long as Thrall wasn't permanently hurt, there's no reason for me to find this Ysera and give her a piece of my mind," Jaina said, and Thrall noted her expression with both amusement and apprehension.
I believe she means it, Thrall thought. "We should speak to Remulos again, I'm sure he'll want to know what's happened."
"Indeed," Tyrande agreed, and stood, only to be struck in the chest by a flying, feathery ball. "What is..."
The owl that had struck her tumbled back, dazed, and then began to hoot urgently. Tyrande held out her arms, cradling it for a moment while she carefully took the message from it. Her eyes moved rapidly, and then a curse fell from her lips, and Thrall wondered if the railing of the Barrow Den resisted disintegrating simply through sheer force of will.
"What is it?" Jaina asked.
"Fandral Staghelm has returned to Ashenvale with fantastic news," Tyrande said, gritting the words out through teeth clenched in anger. "He has created a new World Tree."
Thrall and Jaina exchanged looks of alarm, and Jaina's hands raised automatically to cast a teleportation spell.
~ * ~
They arrived within Tyrande's receiving chamber in Astranaar, and immediately, Tyrande began to run. Jaina followed closely on her heels, and Thrall brought up the rear. The owl that had brought them the message had brought another to Remulos, explaining their discovery and rapid departure.
I hope that Tyrande will not do anything rash, Thrall thought. I hope that she will not do anything she will regret.
Outside, many Kaldorei had gathered in a circle around a tall, green-haired male Night Elf that was clad in garments woven together from feathers and leaves, giving the impression of a creature of the forest. Despite the fact that he did not sport an impressive rack of horns, he was still identifiable as a druid by the feathered mantle he wore about his shoulders, though he lacked a chestpiece of any kind to keep it in place. At his side stood another male Night Elf, who was more soberly dressed, and seemed to be attentive to him, a grave expression behind the elaborate deep-blue mustache he sported.
"We no longer have to fear growing old," the Kaldorei was saying, his voice fervent with sincerity. "We will use the powers granted by this new World Tree, our beloved Teldrassil, to protect us all. There is nothing to fear from Nordrassil's death--"
Tyrande slapped him. Thrall blinked, because it was odd: she had been standing next to him, fists clenched in rage, and then she'd been gone. She was a nightsaber on the hunt, intent on her prey as she cut through the crowd, anger marring her expression as a storm cloud mars the face of the moon.
"Are you completely mad?" Tyrande demanded as Staghelm rubbed his cheek, his silver eyes going wide with surprise, and the pink-purple of his skin became darker from the force of the blow. "The reason we were granted immortality was so that we could protect the World Tree, which in turn guarded the Well of Eternity. When we were still Azshara's subjects we were immortal because of that, but its price was opening our world up to the demons. You have stolen a sacred artifact from the Aspects. Do you expect them to help you now? Do you expect them to bless your... your shrub so that we can be immortal again because you fear death? We all face death, each day we live, but if we live with wisdom and restraint, we may yet live to see many tomorrows."
"You lick the claws of creatures that do nothing to help us," Staghelm sneered. "The creation of Nordrassil was centuries ago, and you expect us to revere them still for that. They are useless and weak. The strangers you have brought here have said as much: one was captured, and some of the others are absent or mad. Depending on the Aspects and their so-called blessings is foolhardy."
"I have not once proposed that we depend on the dragons, Fandral," Tyrande hissed. "I propose that you face reality, and deal with mortality, as I have, as we all must."
"You consign us to death!" Staghelm replied, his voice loud, letting it carry over the crowd. "You admit defeat."
"You damn us with the unknown!" Tyrande shouted. "There is a monster within the Emerald Dream and it does not sleep. Anything from there could be infected by it. If you had slept and done your duty--"
"I would have abandoned our people the way Archdruid Stormrage has?" Staghelm supplied, and Thrall put two hands on Tyrande's arm, holding her back.
I cannot even guarantee I would manage it with one, Thrall thought. "Tyrande..."
"You would have us surrender to death, as you surrendered to the green-skinned mongrels that murdered Cenarius," Staghelm said, and Thrall was sorely tempted to let her arm go.
"It was an accident," Jaina broke in. "A terrible, tragic accident, but an accident nonetheless. You can't possibly use that as your platform--"
"I'm sorry, is someone speaking? I don't hear it when those that endanger our world with their foul arcane magic are speakbaaa."
"I don't believe this is helping the situation," Thrall observed dryly, letting the sight of Fandral Staghelm wandering around as a bewildered sheep calm him. Tyrande lowered her arm, and nodded slightly to Thrall when he let go of her. "Let it not be said that you do not have the strength of arm to lead your people."
"Thank you," Tyrande said cordially, and looked around to the crowd. "You must listen to me. We face at this time a crisis, much as we once did. We had a hard choice to make. We understood the danger of arcane magic as recklessly uncontrolled as it was, in the hands of those who would do anything they could to make their lives easier. We had convenience, and safety, and certainty, but we also had the danger that Dath'remar the Sun Strider would bring us by insisting that he could control the Well's power. We had to give up all of the luxury we once had because that luxury almost cost us this entire world. Nordrassil will recover, in time. Hyjal's forests will be livable once again. We simply must wait, and if it does not happen in our time, it will happen in our children's time--"
"I see no reason to wait on petty idealism," Staghelm said, and Thrall raised an eyebrow. It would seem that the polymorph spell would not hold a druid, not in the animal forms they had mastered, and before them stood a large, feathered creature with wing-arms that ended in claws, a large, gaping beak and twin stag horns that sprouted from its head, though it spoke with the Archdruid's voice. "If you wish to hide in the forests and concede more of our homeland to strangers who bear the same magics that you claim to hate, then so be it. Those who would seek the power of the new World Tree should come with me."
He spun on feathered and clawed heel and marched away, and with a murmured apology, the blue-haired druid followed, and with a sense of unease, Thrall watched some from the crowd follow. Some, but not all. Thrall could feel the tension vibrating off of Tyrande as she watched him go.
"I didn't think a moonkin was capable of a heel-turn," Thrall commented dryly. "It lacks a certain level of... intimidation." Tyrande laughed briefly, and he saw her relax.
"What do we do now?" Jaina asked softly, watching the crowd. There was no hostility, only curiosity, apprehension and confusion. Thrall moved a little to stand beside her anyway. "This could mean a civil war for your people, Tyrande."
"No," Tyrande said simply, raising her chin. "Dath'remar the Sun Strider once led the remainder of the Highbourne to your eastern lands, and Staghelm leads them west. He may have his joy of this... Teldrassil, but I will never set foot on that foolish, ill-considered thing. I thank you, both of you, for your assistance. We know what we must do now. We must protect against whatever will be coming from the Emerald Dream through that abomination, and I can only hope that Fandral will some day learn his lesson. I believe the rest of the week will be consigned to more restful talks."
"Thank you for your hospitality," Thrall replied honestly. "We wouldn't think to refuse."
"Absolutely not," Jaina murmured. "Though all of this talk about Dath'remar reminds me of something Kael once told me."
"And that is?" Tyrande asked, lifting a soft, feathered eyebrow in query.
"That you should never regret casting a spell, because if you regret it, it means you didn't take the time to think about the consequences of your actions, and whom it would hurt. It means that you shouldn't be casting spells in the first place." Jaina smiled. "I don't think I regret the spells I have cast."
"I knew there was a reason I liked Prince Kael'thas," Tyrande said, and chuckled softly. "I hope that he has survived."
"So do I," Jaina murmured softly, her gaze distant. "So do I."
~ * ~
"Jaina," Thrall whispered, and the human sorceress stirred briefly against his side. He smiled at her in the darkness, hoping that the sliver of moonslight would catch the shine of his teeth.
"Mm, Thrall," she murmured in reply. "Is something the matter?"
"No," he admitted. "I just wanted to talk."
"I like listening to you," Jaina replied, shifting to kiss his bare shoulder, and the thin material of her sleeping robe made him shiver just slightly, the feeling moving down his legs, and straight to his groin. "I'm listening right now."
"I wanted to talk about us," Thrall said, taking one of her hands, and bringing it to his cheek. Her fingers were cool and soft, and he let the feeling lend strength to his words. "I wanted to ask if you were interested in having sex with me."
He felt her pause, and consider. "I would, yes," she replied, and snapped her fingers. A single, tiny light, no bigger than a firefly illuminated them, though there were still deep shadows that pooled around them. She looked him in the eye, thoughtful. "May I assume that you're interested as well?"
"I am," Thrall replied, a low rumble to his chest, and he let one hand rest on her waist. "I wanted to make sure that we were both prepared for this. It's something that can't be undone, like creating a World Tree, or a Sunwell."
"If we cause such disasters when we're together, I'd be concerned," Jaina replied, smiling, and rolled on top of him. His eyes widened slightly, and he cupped the curve of her behind as she straddled him. "How is this, is this comfortable?"
"Somewhat," Thrall admitted. "I've had sex in such a position before. Orc women are often very... feisty. I am also somewhat heavy."
"I thought you might be," Jaina replied. "Well-built men often are." She shifted against him. "Hm."
"You're thinking," Thrall commented. He moved his hand to stroke up her back. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking I don't want to do this here, not when anyone could hear us, in the middle of the night," Jaina said, and Thrall nodded. "I'd like this to happen somewhere more private."
"I am in acquaintance with those who make even a locked and sealed room a public domain," Thrall said dryly. "Still, I see your point, and I'd like time to prepare." He reached up to touch her cheek. "To make this special."
"Then we can wait until then," Jaina replied, and shifted off of him to curl against his side again. "We can wait as long as we need to." She let her fingers run along his chest lightly, and the shiver returned.
"Hopefully, not too long," he said, looking pointedly at the tented material of the thin sleeping trousers he wore. "As you can see, I look forward to the prospect."
Jaina laughed softly, and took both of his cheeks in her hands, and kissed him deeply, the pink of her tongue flicking against his lips. A groan escaped him, and the light winked out, plunging the room back into darkness, punctuated by soft noises.
Chapter 11
Part: 10 of ? (At this point, between 17-20 if I remain ridiculously chatty)
Word Count: 7578 (of this part)
Warnings: Implied sex, actual sex, orc/human, mentioned death and suicide, angst. Angst, violence, drama and some tooth-aching sweetness.
Pairings: Mentioned Thrall/Others, primarily Thrall/Jaina. Mentioned past Arthas/Jaina and past one-sided Kael/Jaina. For this part, mentioned Malfurion/Tyrande.
Summary: Thrall and Jaina arrive in Ashenvale for a very urgent meeting.
Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
Ashenvale had not changed since Thrall had seen it last, even in the Autumn. It was beautiful and verdant, with huge trees that blotted out the twilight sky, and as they came up the road that led from Mor'shan to the Warsong lumber yard, Thrall could sense that the spirits were strong here. Even the Kor'Kron could feel it, and they murmured to one another, somewhere between apprehensive and annoyed.
"This must have been what Grom felt," Thrall commented, and behind him, a warm presence stirred.
"I don't think I feel anything but tired," Jaina murmured sleepily. "Where are we?"
"Within the borders of Ashenvale, and on the road to Astranaar," Thrall replied. He smiled to himself as Jaina shifted and in a moment was gone. A dozen yards ahead, she was examining plant life, yawning and stretching.
"Some of us have to ride," Garona commented sourly, and Thrall chuckled. The human sorceress detested riding, and after being told that she couldn't use anything but a minimum of magic within Ashenvale's sacred borders, arrangements had been made. She and Snowsong got along reasonably well, and there were no unbonded frostwolves, which meant that Thrall had the burden of carrying her.
Not that it was any real kind of burden, Thrall thought. And Snowsong doesn't mind. He leaned forward slightly to scratch his companion's ears, and she made a soft, pleased noise in reply. "Don't get too far ahead, Jaina."
"I just needed to stretch," she called back, and remounted when her escort caught up. Jaina's own forces, this time consisting of two High Elves and two humans, exchanged looks expressing rueful disbelief. They all rode horses that had been chosen to be steady around odd mounts, such as the worgs, and the nightsabers that would soon join them. "I'm sure I'll need it before the conference."
Tyrande Whisperwind, High Priestess of Elune and the leader of the Sentinels, had sent Thrall and Jaina separate messages, asking them to meet with her in Astranaar on the twilight of the full moon, and arrangements had been made to travel together. Thrall did not maintain a great deal of contact with these peculiar allies: the Night Elves had chosen to retreat into their forests once again when Illidan went to Outland, and they conducted trade with the Kaldorei very carefully, mostly relating to the lumber camps that the Warsong had established in Ashenvale.
In exchange for the wood the orcs needed to build, they had agreed to send shamans to the site where Cenarius had died, and the lands that had been tainted by fel energy. They were tasked with the burden of cleansing the area, something that promised to take years, but in the mean time, the orcs could collect wood from the damaged area. There were those that complained about the restriction, but a look to Mannoroth's likeness in Orgrimmar was all the true reminder they needed to see that it was dangerous to allow lust of any kind to overcome reason.
"Do you know what she wants to talk to us about?" Thrall asked quietly.
Jaina shook her head slightly. "I honestly don't know, but she seemed terse in her message. I don't believe there have been any major incidents."
"I managed to take care of that unfortunate incident in Stonetalon," Thrall rumbled. "I am not quite certain what was wrong with that woman..."
"Nor am I, and it saddens me that the Blood Elves would resort to such abject cruelty. I'm sure it must have been an isolated incident." Jaina's voice was insistent, and Thrall frowned. The two High Elves that accompanied them exchanged looks.
It is a difficult thing to have such a rift between two groups of the same people, Thrall thought, remembering the bloodthirsty look in Grom's eyes, that loss of control and reason before they'd captured him to remove the demonic influence from his body.
"Halt," they heard from ahead of them, and from the deep shadows of the forest, appeared a small group of Night Elves, and the speaker was Shandris Feathermoon. Thrall nodded to her, and she nodded back. "Come this way." She looked over the human group, and her eyes narrowed. "Refrain from using magic."
"We will, we don't want to offend our hosts," Jaina said, and Shandris nodded to her as well. Gesturing, the Sentinels moved into place around the group, and Shandris herself led them back towards Astranaar.
Closer to the city, Thrall could see Ancients roaming the woods, moving through the clearings, and the soft, tittering laughter of the dryads. They smiled at him and waved, and he waved back a little, causing them to giggle more.
"They're certainly friendly," Jaina murmured, and Thrall made a soft noise of agreement. He felt Jaina slide a little closer.
"Are you still secure?" Thrall asked, a touch of concern to his voice. "You're not uncomfortable?"
"No, I'm fine," Jaina replied. Thrall nodded, and when he looked out into the forest, the dryads had all disappeared.
~ * ~
Since the Battle of Hyjal, Nordrassil had been unlivable, and those that had survived had come to Ashenvale. The ancient forests had originally been a more southern territory, and the home of the Sentinels, the silent, twilight guardians of the Kaldorei. Now, however, it housed most of what remained of the no-longer-immortal race, and Astranaar had expanded to accommodate them. The edges of the city were sprawling, though for Thrall, it still seem mostly forested, though there were more clearings, and many of the trees were very large.
Shandris spoke briefly to the guards that patrolled the borders, and they let them pass, though Thrall noticed the way their eyes lingered over him and his companions. Jaina's arms squeezed him slightly, and he allowed himself to relax.
They're suspicious. I don't blame them, but we've been invited here. There will be no place for conflict, and there will be no violence, Thrall thought, his expression grave.
"There's something wrong," Jaina whispered, and Thrall glanced over his shoulder at her. "It's the looks on their faces. There's bad news, and they know something. I've seen it before. When..." She fell abruptly silent.
"When?" Thrall prompted gently.
"The night Derek died. It was the look on the faces of the sailors who came back to tell my father."
Thrall squeezed his eyes shut. "Jaina, I--"
"Greetings." Thrall looked over, and bowed his slightly in respect, and felt more than saw Jaina do the same. Tyrande Whisperwind, High Priestess of Elune and leader of the Sentinels, wore armour and bore a large, curved bow, and it was slung across her back, though not unstrung. She was prepared at any moment to defend her people, and it showed in the muscular lines of her body.
Though, one doesn't need to be particularly athletic to defend one's people, Thrall thought, thinking of the slender and more delicate human woman that sat behind him. Not, though, that Jaina couldn't outwalk me at any given opportunity, so perhaps that's not entirely fair--
"Please, come with me," Tyrande said. She turned, going back the way she'd come and Thrall clucked to Snowsong. Tyrande's martial step was rapid and precise, and she expected others to fall in behind her, or to be left in her dust.
"It's a shame relations between the orcs and Night Elves are so poor," Jaina murmured. "I think Grom would have liked her."
"Or they would have killed each other," Thrall agreed, watching the rigid lines of her back, and noted that under her armour she wore white wrappings of some kind. Odd...
Astranaar became more of a city once they got closer. There were dozens and dozens of buildings, many of them low, open pavilions, and it took time for Thrall to realize that these sprawling structures were homes. Light curtains ruffled in the night breeze, and while he was beginning to feel the effects of a long day riding, the 'day' was just starting for the Night Elves, and he could see people going about their business, making purchases, taking walks, visiting their friends... all as the moons shone above them. Many of them stopped to stare, and Thrall came to another realization: this was the main street of the city, and they were all but on parade.
"It's beautiful," Jaina murmured. Thrall nodded briefly. As they moved further into the centre of the city, here were more buildings, though these seemed to be immense, hollowed out trees, strung with lights until what had seemed to be a decoration took off en masse, a huge streak of light moving past them to the delight of some of the children.
Speaking of children... Thrall thought, there are so few. He began to count them, and by the time they reached the large pavilion at the centre of Astranaar, he'd seen twenty, to several hundred adults.
"If Night Elves are anything like High Elves, they don't have children as often because they're so long lived," Jaina whispered, as if sensing his thoughts. "And each child is precious."
"Children are always precious," Thrall replied, though he smiled. "Regardless of how many of them are created."
"Truer words have never been spoken," Tyrande interjected softly. "Welcome to my home."
Thrall dismounted, and offered Jaina his hand. She took it and dismounted as well, whispering praise to Snowsong. The Frostwolf gave her bonded a look that could almost be smug.
It's cupboard love, Thrall thought at his companion. You only love her because she flatters you.
Snowsong sneezed on him in reply, and Thrall began to wonder if everyone could read his mind. Tyrande led them inside. Night Elven furnishings were sparse, and most of what was here was simple, each piece carved out of a single piece of blue-purple wood. There were also no doors, he noticed, and only gauzy curtains dividing one room from another.
"We prefer open air and sky to doors," Tyrande explained, and gestured to them to sit, having stopped in what Thrall could presume was an audience chamber, though it was vastly different from his own, as well as Jaina's. He greeted visitors and diplomats in a large, round room where at least two of his advisors were usually working, and Jaina, he knew from experience, used the bottom floor of her tower as a receiving chamber, and took visitors to her office. This room was framed by hangings. The Sentinel crest hung on the back wall, and on each side there were two smaller crests, one of a silver tree with a thousand branches, the other what could have been a representation of a whirlwind with two moons watching from above.
"Nordrassil and the Whisperwind family crest," Tyrande said, answering the obvious question. "My family has had a tradition of serving the temple of Elune for many, many generations." She sat down on a low bench. There was no desk, so it felt oddly intimate to sit across from her.
"It's lovely," Jaina said. "Tyrande... this place is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, but I have to ask... why have you asked us to come here?"
"Lady Proudmoore, Warchief Thrall..." Tyrande began formally. "I need your help." She took a moment to compose herself. "Malfurion has fallen into a coma."
~ * ~
Jaina broke the silence first. "Tyrande, I'm so sorry... what happened?"
Tyrande sighed. "As you may know, after Hyjal, we have done what we can to bring our people together. The incident with the Wardens and Maiev only further exacerbated the situation, and many of our people held a very real fear that our lives were at an end. Malfurion worked tirelessly to help repair the damage that the Scourge and the demons did to the forests, and monitored the situation in Hyjal closely. He believed that, in time, we would be able to live there once more, even if the World Tree would not grant us immortality again. There were those that... disagreed."
"Disagreed?" Thrall asked, frowning.
"Indeed, Warchief. First among the dissenters was Fandral Staghelm. He is one of the powerful druids within the Cenarion Circle, and has spent extended amounts of time restoring Darkshore from the naga attacks that we experienced. He felt that it was unfair for us to lose our immortality when the Well was not truly gone, and there was no proof that the Burning Legion's threat was truly gone... particularly since Kalimdor now hosts mages once again." Tyrande gave Jaina an apologetic look, even as Thrall made a low, growling noise in the back of his throat. He felt something against his hand, and glanced down to see Jaina's fingers curling around his. He took her hand and held it gently.
"I understand why your people would feel that way, Priestess," Jaina replied evenly. "So what does this Staghelm want? My understanding was that immortality was the price your people paid for Nordrassil's help."
"It was," Tyrande said simply. "He deludes himself, and I'm not certain as to why. He disagreed, openly at times, with Malfurion, and there are those who agreed with him. We have grown too used to immortality, to the luxury and burden of time. It is also easy for those who may sleep away centuries to misunderstand the consequence of an endless life."
Tyrande was old, Thrall observed. To his not particularly experienced eyes, the Kaldorei had looked ageless and perfect. Where an orc may begin to grow weak and feeble after five decades or more, here was a woman over ten thousand years old, and she looked, at first, no older than Jaina. It took time and experience to see the age behind her eyes, and the toll it had taken on her mind.
I have lost more people in the past decade than I care to think about, Thrall thought. Taretha... Grom... Orgrim... if I were to live a thousand years, there would be more, or ten thousand... it would weigh me down. Tyrande met his gaze, and nodded once.
"He can disagree all he wants, but he can't do anything about it..." Jaina observed. "Can he?"
"Up until this time, no," Tyrande conceded. "Malfurion also curbed his influence amongst the younger druids, being a hero of two great wars." She smiled, gently. "Now, Staghelm has been reclusive, and I believe he has done something very foolish. There has been no word from him for quite some time... since, in fact, the very time that Malfurion fell into his coma."
"You suspect foul play," Thrall rumbled, and Tyrande nodded.
"I have prayed to Elune for guidance in these matters, but I have received no enlightenment. I have asked healers from Moonglade to wake him, and there was nothing they could do. At... some risk, I obtained the great Horn of Cenarius, and I blew it." Thrall realized, with some surprise, that Tyrande was actually injured and the odd weave of the cloth under her armour was not clothing at all, but bandages. "I will mend, I chose to focus my energies on Malfurion rather than healing."
Thrall opened his mouth to offer to heal her, but a single, feathered eyebrow raised to halt him.
"So, his coma is deeper than the one he was in before..." Jaina murmured. "May I see him?"
"Jaina, it would take weeks to ride there," Thrall began. "We couldn't--"
"Do you remember the way there through your magic?" Tyrande asked, silencing Thrall effectively, and even Jaina looked startled.
"Of course I do... but I don't--"
"I will give you permission to use your magic here, and there," Tyrande said, the simple statement vibrating tension through her. "There are many considerations that you have made for my people, and I will make one for yours. "Let us go, quickly. If there is anything you can do..."
This is far more urgent than I believed, Thrall thought, and he intended to exchange a brief glance with Jaina, but the human sorceress was moving to embrace the elven priestess. For a moment, Tyrande's seemingly serene demeanour crumbled, and the priestess' expression contained both fear and grief.
"I can take us now," Jaina said. "Do you have any preparations you need to make?"
"No," Tyrande said simply. "Shandris knows of my intent, and what I would ask of you. If she finds us gone, she will know that you've agreed."
"I want to look in on Malfurion as well," Thrall said, and Tyrande nodded to him, giving him a brief smile now that she had regained her composure. "Perhaps the elements have more insight."
"Perhaps," Tyrande agreed. Jaina began to cast, and runes swirled around them, teleporting them away.
~ * ~
I had expected the denizens to be displeased, but not so... quickly, Thrall thought. He stood very still, watching the long, clawed hands before him, careful of so much as twitching. The being before him appeared to be some combination of elf and stag, and Thrall recognized it as one of the Keepers of the Grove, the sacred guardians of Moonglade-- And the sons of the demigod Cenarius.
Two dryads, far less friendly than the ones on their journey to Astranaar, had spears pointed directly at Jaina, who kept her hands out in the open. Tyrande was not similarly guarded, but the immense Keeper that towered over her seemed more intimidating than all of them put together.
"What is the meaning of this foul intrusion?" the great Keeper demanded. "Priestess Tyrande?"
"Jaina Proudmoore and Thrall are my allies," Tyrande replied, her tone respectful. "I have asked them to bring me here, despite the danger, because they believe they have more insight about..." She did not speak the name, but instead gestured.
The Keeper made an odd sound, and both claws and spears withdrew. "We will discuss this, Tyrande. This is still a grave insult."
"I am desperate," Tyrande whispered. "Remulos, please. He will not wake. You know it as well as I. Something has happened and--"
"He would not take kindly to the presence of mages," the Keeper, Remulos, grumbled.
"He accepted Jaina's help in the past, and I believe he would accept it now if he could," she urged. "Please, let me see my husband."
"I wasn't aware you were married," Jaina murmured. "But, congratulations."
"I officiated the ceremony during the turning of the leaves," Remulos rumbled. "It was a joyous occasion."
"So recently," Jaina said. "But when did he--"
"Three nights later," Tyrande said, and her eyes closed briefly. "Come, the Stormrage Barrow Dens are in the south." She began to walk.
Thrall and Jaina exchanged another, brief, look, and followed. Tyrande moved briskly, and her armour gleamed in the twilight glade. Everything here seemed to be cast in an odd light, and Jaina looked pale, her garb that was normally blue and white washed out to gray. The path out of Nighthaven was guarded by a number of Wardens who watched them, their eyes blazing with hate at the insult that was a mage's presence. Thrall, very deliberately, met their eyes and put an arm around her.
"They won't harm me," Jaina murmured. "They are very frightening with their moonglaives and their armour, but I have a very quick hand with a polymorph spell."
"They have no right to hate you, you didn't do any harm," Thrall said, his voice firm, and almost overly-loud. "You fought the Burning Legion as they did."
"Think about what you're saying," Jaina said, her voice softer, but sad. "They have lived with a hatred and fear of arcane magic for ten thousand years. One battle won't end that. You would know. The Shady Rest Inn."
Thrall's arm tightened around her briefly. "Yes, I know. I would still be extremely upset if you got shot by an angry Warden."
"So would I," Jaina replied, and the dryness of her tone cause him to chuckle, and let her go. Jaina moved quickly to catch up with Tyrande, speaking to her softly, while Thrall let his senses extend outward. The spirits were strong here, and prowling amongst the shadows was a cat-spirit.
Greetings, spirit of Moonglade, Thrall thought, bowing his head. We mean no offense, we're attempting to help one of the druids--
As long as you don't cause trouble, I don't care, the cat-spirit replied, and as Thrall observed, it sat down and began to wash.
The cat-spirit is lazy, called another spirit, and Thrall had to crane his neck to see the bird-spirit that flew over head. We greet you, Thrall, son of Durotan. Cause no trouble and you shall find none.
The bird-spirit is a nosy poppinjay, and I will eat him, the cat-spirit replied.
As if you could catch me, the bird-spirit replied, and flew past him. The cat-spirit stood, and began to chase the bird-spirit, both of them blurring out of sight.
The spirits here are... odd... Thrall decided, and moved to catch up with the two women.
The Stormrage Barrow Dens, as they were known, were guarded by two Wardens, one tauren and one Kaldorei. Thrall observed as they both argued with Tyrande and pointed at Jaina, who stood and waited with grace and aplomb. The tauren broke off to offer Thrall a salute, and he nodded back. The tauren Warden also did not join back into the argument, and Thrall frowned, very slightly.
Hopefully he sees how illogical this is, Thrall said, and moved to stand behind Jaina.
"They will cause absolutely no harm to Malfurion or any of the druids," Tyrande said firmly. "You waste our time. Jaina, Thrall, if you would please follow me."
"Of course, Tyrande," Jaina said in reply, and followed the High Priestess inside the Barrow Den, leaving the Kaldorei Warden to fume. Thrall quickly followed, and wondered, suddenly, why the tauren seemed to wink at him.
Perhaps there was something in his eye, Thrall said. The Barrow Dens were nearly stifling: as spiritually rich as the Moonglade had been, this place was barren, and the difference was palpable seconds after entering it. Jaina moved on ahead with interest, and he watched Tyrande tense. She feels it too. "Why is--"
"The Barrow Dens are warded from Nightmares," Tyrande said quietly, emphasizing the word.
"What kind of nightmares can you protect this place from by warding it from the spirits?" Thrall asked.
"Not nightmares, Nightmares," Tyrande corrected. "They are--"
Thrall felt a surge of spiritual energy, and he heard a sound, almost like a horse running, and through one of the walls came a being that for a moment, appeared to be something like a horse that was so green it seemed black, and two bright, burning green eyes stared at him, and then he was looking into the jeering, vicious face of Aedelas Blackmoore.
"You want her so badly? You can have her!" he cried, and a head fell at his feet, but this time it was not Taretha's staring blue eyes that met his. It was Jaina's empty gaze, and he felt--
There was a high-pitched scream, and Blackmoore disappeared. Jaina's eyes flashed with anger, even as frost dripped from her fingertips. Thrall swallowed, trying to dispel the nightmare image-- Oh. Oh.
"I see, Nightmare," Thrall said, swallowing again.
"You can understand why we want to keep them out," Tyrande said gently, commenting on neither of their reactions. "He's down this way."
"Let's get moving," Jaina said sharply, and Thrall agreed. They moved further down into the Barrow Dens, and Tyrande touched her hand lightly to the roughly-hewn walls, and the steps spiraled down, taking Thrall further from the surface and spirits both. As they reached the first landing, Thrall could see rooms, bored out of the sides of the walls, and within them were two or three sleeping figures, carefully tucked into wooden beds, narrow enough that the sleeper would not have the room to turn over or shift.
Though, they probably wouldn't move at all, Thrall reflected. These were druids, their bodies inert in the physical world while their minds and spirits roamed the Emerald Dream, sleeping to fulfill the promise that the Kaldorei had made with the great dragon, Ysera the Dreamer. Could I make such a sacrifice? Could I spend so long away from my people, only to save them?
"I don't think I could sleep my life away, waiting for my day to come," Jaina commented. "It would be so boring."
"The life of a druid is not the one for me," Tyrande admitted. "But Malfurion has assured me that the Emerald Dream is anything but boring, and that there was a time when the sleeping world might be as dangerous as the waking one."
"That seems unusual, but the Spirit World is not as safe as some would assume," Thrall commented as Tyrande led them further in. "Did he mention how long it's been like that?"
"Time is meaningless within the Dream, from what he told me, though he seemed to believe it was a relatively recent change," Tyrande replied. "You're concerned by it."
"I'm concerned by anything that comes out of a wall and threatens my life," Jaina replied, her tone so tart Thrall had to chuckle, dispelling the last of the uneasy feeling he'd had. "This place seems very large to have so few."
"The prisons are down below," Tyrande replied, her tone grave. "The prisoners are kept sealed away from Elune and the surface world, with the theory being that to escape, they'll have to fight their way through the Wardens and the druids."
"Having been imprisoned, it would seem that if a prisoner was angry enough, they might kill a few druids on the way out," Thrall commented, though for a moment, there was a sense of sick anger. "How long are they imprisoned?"
"Some of them years, others decades or centuries. Our sentences tend to be longer because the prisoners are immortal," Tyrande said. "Some few are imprisoned permanently, because they have contingencies against being killed, so they must be watched at all times so they no longer walk free and endanger the lives of the Kaldorei. Those sentences are never given lightly."
"Wasn't Illidan given one of those sentences?" Jaina asked quietly, and Tyrande looked away.
"Illidan was sentenced to an indefinite period of time in jail, on the ground that if he understood what he had done, he would be freed." She let her hand rest on one of the walls. "I freed him before that time."
"Ten thousand years is a very, very long time for someone to stew on the question 'and now what did you learn?'" Thrall replied, and was surprised at the soft growl in his own voice, and the anger at being within what was ostensibly a jail. Jaina let a hand rest on his arm.
"It was too dangerous to leave him to his own devices, and too risky to see what would happen to the demon he was containing to have him executed, so it was to be indefinite confinement." Thrall expected sadness or regret, but there was only iron determination. "I believe that while he has not necessarily truly understood what it is that he did, he has a new sense of responsibility."
"Did you contact him?" Jaina wanted to know. "If there was something demonic in what has happened to Malfurion, wouldn't Illidan be the best person to ask?"
"I have no way of contacting him," Tyrande replied quietly. "I believe he would come if I asked it of him, but I cannot even find him. He went back to Outland, and while there were rumours that he was in Northrend, he is gone again."
Jaina shivered slightly, and it was Thrall's turn to offer her a touch of comfort. "I can understand why that would be difficult. I'm sorry, Tyrande."
"Think nothing of it," the High Priestess replied. "Malfurion's chamber is this way." She moved carefully through the Barrow Den, and Thrall followed. Jaina's fingers entwined with his, and he smiled at her briefly.
Tyrande led them to a room that held only one bed, and Malfurion Stormrage, Archdruid of the Cenarion Circle, lay on the narrow wooden bed, though there was nothing about his slumber that was peaceful. The venerable Kaldorei's brow was wrinkled in a frown, and he murmured in his sleep, his lips trembling just so as a stray syllable escaped them.
Thrall moved to kneel by the Kaldorei Archdruid, and put a hand on his shoulder. He closed his eyes, and immediately opened them into the Spirit World. Malfurion's body was not quite empty, a thread that sprouted from the middle of his chest, though it was oddly vinelike, and it disappeared into a haze of green. Carefully, Thrall took a step out of his body, and reached out to touch the haze of green.
Perhaps I can find Malfurion's spirit and--
There was a sensation of slamming, and then darkness.
~ * ~
"Thrall?"
This is not your place, shaman. Leave. Green. It was green everywhere, in a thousand verdant shades, some bright but many dark. Too many. So many shadows, and the voice came from everywhere.
I'm looking for--
This is not your place. Do not make me repeat myself once more.
"Thrall, wake up, please..."
I didn't mean to intrude, and I sincerely apologize, but I'm looking for Malfurion Stormrage, and--
Malfurion Stormrage vowed himself to me, and he will not break his vow. I require his assistance, and I will not allow mortals to take him from me. A hint of something, huge and green, hidden amongst the shadows, and then a woman, a female Kaldorei, with skin that was pale, but hinted at the shadows made by leaves in a forest, layers upon layers, each hiding something. Her eyes were closed. Go, now, and disturb us no more. Know that there is danger within the Emerald Dream and Malfurion must fight it. It is his duty to me.
"Jaina, I'm sorry. I didn't think--"
Wouldn't it be better to let us help you instead of claiming him? The woman took a step towards him, unerring despite her seeming lack of sight. We could--
Malfurion will not wake until the Nightmare is over, the woman replied. Go, now. Trouble us no more.
He made a noise of frustration. How can you make that decision for someone else? He has a wife and a duty to his people, and he has been asleep for centuries, surely you can spare him--
The Kaldorei's eyes opened, and within them, there was oblivion.
Thrall sat up abruptly, and immediately felt pain. Jaina was swearing, and his eyebrows raised as he fought to orient himself once again. His body felt heavy and restraining, as if he had fitted himself into it poorly, somehow. That only happens when I spirit walk and I fail to return correctly. "Jaina, I don't think it's physically possible to do that with a duck, a cactus and a copy of Theron's Passion."
"You have a hard head," Jaina managed, rubbing her head, and then threw herself at him, hugging him tightly. "I thought you wouldn't wake up. We waited for hours..."
Thrall let his arms rest around her, stroking her hair. "It seemed like moments, but the Dream has no sense of time." He looked over at Tyrande, who was holding Malfurion's limp hand. She tucked it against her husband's side, and nodded to him.
"What did you find out?" Tyrande asked, a hint of desperate hope in her voice. "You got much farther than anyone else, they found nothing within Malfurion--"
"I encountered something when I attempted to follow the trail that connects his spirit to his body," Thrall began, sorting through what he had seen, and what he had not seen. "There was a female there. She appeared to be an elf, but... I believe that was merely a form."
"Describe her, please," Tyrande murmured, and listened as Thrall did so. Her expression went from grave to barely restrained rage. "Ysera."
"The leader of the Green Dragonflight?" Thrall asked, and Jaina sat back, having calmed herself enough to surreptitiously wipe the tears away from her eyes. "Why would she--"
"Before the exile of the Highbourne, the Well of Eternity that Illidan recreated stood open to everything. Once Dath'remar was exiled for using its power to destroy a portion of Ashenvale, Malfurion realized that this would simply happen again if we didn't rein in its power somehow, so he contacted three of the great Dragon Aspects that watched over our world. They were reclusive after the decimation of their flights, but three of them still came to us. Nozdormu, the Timeless, Alexstrasza, the Life-Binder, and Ysera, the Dreamer." Tyrande set her lips in a grim line. "To us they entrusted an acorn of the great Dream Tree that bound each of the planes of this world together, and we placed it within the Well. It fed on the Well's magic and formed Nordrassil. The dragons each gave us a blessing and a duty. From Alexstrasza, we were granted immortality, but the responsibility of being the eternal guardians against the Burning Legion. From Nozdormu, we gained timelessness within our memories and in return we were to remember the mistakes of the past, and from my understanding, we have another duty, but those chosen for it never speak of it, if they are seen again at all, and Ysera..." She touched Malfurion's cheek. "All the druids had to slumber within the Emerald Dream, patrolling its dreamways and serving her. Most druids were to spend only some time there, but to Malfurion, she entrusted the position of eternal guardian, and he told us to only wake him in times of dire need. It seems she could not even wait before reclaiming him." She shook her head. "At least Malfurion will be timeless within the Dream. He will not age, and require no feeding, and no tending. This is true of all druids who slumber, but none have slept as long as he has..."
"She said that he would sleep until the Nightmare is over," Thrall said, frowning. "I have no idea what that means."
"Nor do I, but it must be urgent," Tyrande replied with a sigh. "I apologize, that was mostly a waste of time."
"That's fine, as long as Thrall wasn't permanently hurt, there's no reason for me to find this Ysera and give her a piece of my mind," Jaina said, and Thrall noted her expression with both amusement and apprehension.
I believe she means it, Thrall thought. "We should speak to Remulos again, I'm sure he'll want to know what's happened."
"Indeed," Tyrande agreed, and stood, only to be struck in the chest by a flying, feathery ball. "What is..."
The owl that had struck her tumbled back, dazed, and then began to hoot urgently. Tyrande held out her arms, cradling it for a moment while she carefully took the message from it. Her eyes moved rapidly, and then a curse fell from her lips, and Thrall wondered if the railing of the Barrow Den resisted disintegrating simply through sheer force of will.
"What is it?" Jaina asked.
"Fandral Staghelm has returned to Ashenvale with fantastic news," Tyrande said, gritting the words out through teeth clenched in anger. "He has created a new World Tree."
Thrall and Jaina exchanged looks of alarm, and Jaina's hands raised automatically to cast a teleportation spell.
~ * ~
They arrived within Tyrande's receiving chamber in Astranaar, and immediately, Tyrande began to run. Jaina followed closely on her heels, and Thrall brought up the rear. The owl that had brought them the message had brought another to Remulos, explaining their discovery and rapid departure.
I hope that Tyrande will not do anything rash, Thrall thought. I hope that she will not do anything she will regret.
Outside, many Kaldorei had gathered in a circle around a tall, green-haired male Night Elf that was clad in garments woven together from feathers and leaves, giving the impression of a creature of the forest. Despite the fact that he did not sport an impressive rack of horns, he was still identifiable as a druid by the feathered mantle he wore about his shoulders, though he lacked a chestpiece of any kind to keep it in place. At his side stood another male Night Elf, who was more soberly dressed, and seemed to be attentive to him, a grave expression behind the elaborate deep-blue mustache he sported.
"We no longer have to fear growing old," the Kaldorei was saying, his voice fervent with sincerity. "We will use the powers granted by this new World Tree, our beloved Teldrassil, to protect us all. There is nothing to fear from Nordrassil's death--"
Tyrande slapped him. Thrall blinked, because it was odd: she had been standing next to him, fists clenched in rage, and then she'd been gone. She was a nightsaber on the hunt, intent on her prey as she cut through the crowd, anger marring her expression as a storm cloud mars the face of the moon.
"Are you completely mad?" Tyrande demanded as Staghelm rubbed his cheek, his silver eyes going wide with surprise, and the pink-purple of his skin became darker from the force of the blow. "The reason we were granted immortality was so that we could protect the World Tree, which in turn guarded the Well of Eternity. When we were still Azshara's subjects we were immortal because of that, but its price was opening our world up to the demons. You have stolen a sacred artifact from the Aspects. Do you expect them to help you now? Do you expect them to bless your... your shrub so that we can be immortal again because you fear death? We all face death, each day we live, but if we live with wisdom and restraint, we may yet live to see many tomorrows."
"You lick the claws of creatures that do nothing to help us," Staghelm sneered. "The creation of Nordrassil was centuries ago, and you expect us to revere them still for that. They are useless and weak. The strangers you have brought here have said as much: one was captured, and some of the others are absent or mad. Depending on the Aspects and their so-called blessings is foolhardy."
"I have not once proposed that we depend on the dragons, Fandral," Tyrande hissed. "I propose that you face reality, and deal with mortality, as I have, as we all must."
"You consign us to death!" Staghelm replied, his voice loud, letting it carry over the crowd. "You admit defeat."
"You damn us with the unknown!" Tyrande shouted. "There is a monster within the Emerald Dream and it does not sleep. Anything from there could be infected by it. If you had slept and done your duty--"
"I would have abandoned our people the way Archdruid Stormrage has?" Staghelm supplied, and Thrall put two hands on Tyrande's arm, holding her back.
I cannot even guarantee I would manage it with one, Thrall thought. "Tyrande..."
"You would have us surrender to death, as you surrendered to the green-skinned mongrels that murdered Cenarius," Staghelm said, and Thrall was sorely tempted to let her arm go.
"It was an accident," Jaina broke in. "A terrible, tragic accident, but an accident nonetheless. You can't possibly use that as your platform--"
"I'm sorry, is someone speaking? I don't hear it when those that endanger our world with their foul arcane magic are speakbaaa."
"I don't believe this is helping the situation," Thrall observed dryly, letting the sight of Fandral Staghelm wandering around as a bewildered sheep calm him. Tyrande lowered her arm, and nodded slightly to Thrall when he let go of her. "Let it not be said that you do not have the strength of arm to lead your people."
"Thank you," Tyrande said cordially, and looked around to the crowd. "You must listen to me. We face at this time a crisis, much as we once did. We had a hard choice to make. We understood the danger of arcane magic as recklessly uncontrolled as it was, in the hands of those who would do anything they could to make their lives easier. We had convenience, and safety, and certainty, but we also had the danger that Dath'remar the Sun Strider would bring us by insisting that he could control the Well's power. We had to give up all of the luxury we once had because that luxury almost cost us this entire world. Nordrassil will recover, in time. Hyjal's forests will be livable once again. We simply must wait, and if it does not happen in our time, it will happen in our children's time--"
"I see no reason to wait on petty idealism," Staghelm said, and Thrall raised an eyebrow. It would seem that the polymorph spell would not hold a druid, not in the animal forms they had mastered, and before them stood a large, feathered creature with wing-arms that ended in claws, a large, gaping beak and twin stag horns that sprouted from its head, though it spoke with the Archdruid's voice. "If you wish to hide in the forests and concede more of our homeland to strangers who bear the same magics that you claim to hate, then so be it. Those who would seek the power of the new World Tree should come with me."
He spun on feathered and clawed heel and marched away, and with a murmured apology, the blue-haired druid followed, and with a sense of unease, Thrall watched some from the crowd follow. Some, but not all. Thrall could feel the tension vibrating off of Tyrande as she watched him go.
"I didn't think a moonkin was capable of a heel-turn," Thrall commented dryly. "It lacks a certain level of... intimidation." Tyrande laughed briefly, and he saw her relax.
"What do we do now?" Jaina asked softly, watching the crowd. There was no hostility, only curiosity, apprehension and confusion. Thrall moved a little to stand beside her anyway. "This could mean a civil war for your people, Tyrande."
"No," Tyrande said simply, raising her chin. "Dath'remar the Sun Strider once led the remainder of the Highbourne to your eastern lands, and Staghelm leads them west. He may have his joy of this... Teldrassil, but I will never set foot on that foolish, ill-considered thing. I thank you, both of you, for your assistance. We know what we must do now. We must protect against whatever will be coming from the Emerald Dream through that abomination, and I can only hope that Fandral will some day learn his lesson. I believe the rest of the week will be consigned to more restful talks."
"Thank you for your hospitality," Thrall replied honestly. "We wouldn't think to refuse."
"Absolutely not," Jaina murmured. "Though all of this talk about Dath'remar reminds me of something Kael once told me."
"And that is?" Tyrande asked, lifting a soft, feathered eyebrow in query.
"That you should never regret casting a spell, because if you regret it, it means you didn't take the time to think about the consequences of your actions, and whom it would hurt. It means that you shouldn't be casting spells in the first place." Jaina smiled. "I don't think I regret the spells I have cast."
"I knew there was a reason I liked Prince Kael'thas," Tyrande said, and chuckled softly. "I hope that he has survived."
"So do I," Jaina murmured softly, her gaze distant. "So do I."
~ * ~
"Jaina," Thrall whispered, and the human sorceress stirred briefly against his side. He smiled at her in the darkness, hoping that the sliver of moonslight would catch the shine of his teeth.
"Mm, Thrall," she murmured in reply. "Is something the matter?"
"No," he admitted. "I just wanted to talk."
"I like listening to you," Jaina replied, shifting to kiss his bare shoulder, and the thin material of her sleeping robe made him shiver just slightly, the feeling moving down his legs, and straight to his groin. "I'm listening right now."
"I wanted to talk about us," Thrall said, taking one of her hands, and bringing it to his cheek. Her fingers were cool and soft, and he let the feeling lend strength to his words. "I wanted to ask if you were interested in having sex with me."
He felt her pause, and consider. "I would, yes," she replied, and snapped her fingers. A single, tiny light, no bigger than a firefly illuminated them, though there were still deep shadows that pooled around them. She looked him in the eye, thoughtful. "May I assume that you're interested as well?"
"I am," Thrall replied, a low rumble to his chest, and he let one hand rest on her waist. "I wanted to make sure that we were both prepared for this. It's something that can't be undone, like creating a World Tree, or a Sunwell."
"If we cause such disasters when we're together, I'd be concerned," Jaina replied, smiling, and rolled on top of him. His eyes widened slightly, and he cupped the curve of her behind as she straddled him. "How is this, is this comfortable?"
"Somewhat," Thrall admitted. "I've had sex in such a position before. Orc women are often very... feisty. I am also somewhat heavy."
"I thought you might be," Jaina replied. "Well-built men often are." She shifted against him. "Hm."
"You're thinking," Thrall commented. He moved his hand to stroke up her back. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking I don't want to do this here, not when anyone could hear us, in the middle of the night," Jaina said, and Thrall nodded. "I'd like this to happen somewhere more private."
"I am in acquaintance with those who make even a locked and sealed room a public domain," Thrall said dryly. "Still, I see your point, and I'd like time to prepare." He reached up to touch her cheek. "To make this special."
"Then we can wait until then," Jaina replied, and shifted off of him to curl against his side again. "We can wait as long as we need to." She let her fingers run along his chest lightly, and the shiver returned.
"Hopefully, not too long," he said, looking pointedly at the tented material of the thin sleeping trousers he wore. "As you can see, I look forward to the prospect."
Jaina laughed softly, and took both of his cheeks in her hands, and kissed him deeply, the pink of her tongue flicking against his lips. A groan escaped him, and the light winked out, plunging the room back into darkness, punctuated by soft noises.
Chapter 11