Warcraft: Assassin - Part 10
Hi again. This one was more or less done a little while ago, but I had to rewrite a scene that I dragged my heels over, then my beta was busy with Very Important Things that are far more important than beta-reading, so this is the day when it is presently available to the public. Obviously, I didn't finish it last month, but I think if I push myself I can finish Assassin this month. Enjoy!
Title: Assassin
Part: 10/?
Word Count: 6831
Includes: Angst, sap, adorableness. A story told in flashbacks, there will be one-sided crushes and meaningful stares.
Pairings: Technically, none.
Summary: The founding of Durotar, and lessons in history from the mouth of one who has been a part of it: Garona Halforcen.
Previous: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
“I'm sorry,” Thrall said, feeling no more adequate in his regret than he had before. “I don't know what to say.”
“Speaking to Gul’dan again was a reminder that no matter how happy I was and how much I wanted to forget, I was not home, I was not safe,” Garona replied. “It was a reminder that Medivh was still a traitor to his people, still working with demons. I never made the connection though, not then, and not until it was too late.”
“Yes, about Sargeras,” Thrall said. “Jaina told me the whole story, of how his mother defeated the Avatar of Sargeras, but the demon merely waited for a vulnerable moment to make his move.”
“Yes,” Garona said, her voice sad. “Medivh rarely, if ever, spoke of her. He... resented her, or so I believed, because she left him with his father and never warned him or told him what he would become. That was true, but it wasn't the only reason. Sargeras hated her and feared her. She could have caused everything to fall apart, and she did.”
“What happened?” Thrall urged. “Tell me.”
“I had been living in Karazhan for two and a half years,” Garona began. “I spoke to Gul'dan infrequently, and I knew that the war was reaching a standstill. The Horde could take and hold territory so long as it wasn't actually a military asset. They were too used to being able to bowl over a target, and that no one would go back around them to take it back, or reinforce the fortress so well that they were throwing themselves on the walls to die. The human villages will remember the time well, I believe some still bear the scars, while others were never rebuilt. None of that mattered to Gul'dan. He had one goal, one intention.”
“Stormwind,” Thrall growled. “He needed it to fall, and sooner rather than later.”
“Yes,” Garona agreed. “It put a strain on Medivh. He was... more distant, distracted. Khadgar didn't really notice, he was distracted too. I remember the tower feeling very lonely. It was Spring when it happened.”
“When what happened?” Thrall asked, looking her over. Garona looked up, meeting his gaze.
“Everything fell to pieces.”
~ * ~
Garona appreciated all of Azeroth's seasons. She had come to like cold winters and hot summers, cool autumns and warm springs. Rain or wind, snow or sun, there was something that felt good, healthy, and whole about the land that Draenor had long lacked. It felt ungrateful to dislike or resent the weather, as she was at the moment.
It had been raining on and off for the past week. Early Spring tended to be a somewhat miserable time of year, when the clouds couldn't quite decide if they wanted snow or rain, and the wind whipped the great tower of Karazhan with relish. The sky was as grey and as grim as Garona's mood. Khadgar had spent much of the week in his room and Medivh in his own chambers, though she had managed to convince the former to join her in the library. She almost wished she hadn't.
With all of that wind, we could sail across to the other continent and find out if the weather isn't so piss-awful there, Garona thought sourly as Khadgar sighed again. “What's wrong?” Garona demanded. “You've been making so much noise it's impossible to even think!”
“I'm sorry,” Khadgar said, and closed the book he was trying to read with a snap, pushing it away from him before grinding the palms of his hands into his eyes. “I'm just in a rather bad mood.”
“I wouldn't have guessed,” Garona snapped, and then took a breath to calm herself. “What happened?”
“I don't know,” Khadgar admitted, still rubbing at his eyes. “It could just be the weather, or... we haven't been given a lesson or an assignment in a week.”
Garona reached over, tugging his hands back from his eyes, and kept her fingers wrapped around his wrists. “He's busy, Guardian business. You've seen the letters, haven't you?”
“Of course, I usually answer them,” Khadgar replied, looking down at her hands for a moment, a blush creeping along his neck. “He hasn't let me read any of them in at least as long.”
She thought back to the last report she'd given and the grim cast to Medivh's expression. “He's busy and things are serious. We're adults, we can keep ourselves occupied.”
“But I'm bored,” Khadgar mumbled, and Garona shifted her grip, taking him by the hands and pulling him into a standing position. “What are you doing?”
“We're going to find something for you to do, before I find something for you to do,” Garona said. “And you won't like what I have to suggest.”
“I wonder about that,” Khadgar muttered, but refused to elaborate further. Garona released one hand so she could open doors and lead him down to to the common areas of the tower, where the servants worked in silence, sweeping and cleaning.
“Is there another opera coming soon?” Garona asked one of the maids as she passed by, and the maid started, surprised to see them.
“No, Mistress Garona,” she replied. “The mistress of servants, her that guards our virtue and gives us orders, told us t' start cleanin' everythin', top t' bottom. Is there somethin' you need, Mistress?”
“No, no,” Garona said, glancing over at Khadgar. “We were just curious. Weren't we?”
Khadgar remained silent, made a pained noise when she kicked him, and added, “Yes, curious.”
“Mmm,” the maid said, glancing between them. “The mistress is free if you happen t' have more questions.”
“Thank you,” Garona said, and tugged Khadgar along with her. “They're doing the spring cleaning a month early.”
“Yes, it's usually High Spring, isn't it,” Khadgar said. “I wonder if Moroes knows why?”
“I fear Moroes does not know, Master, Mistress,” said the butler from behind them, causing both Garona and Khadgar to jerk and turn around. “Though we have all of the staff on shift today, even some of the villagers. Master Medivh wishes for his tower to be clean.”
“Do you have any idea why?” Garona asked. If anyone will know...
“Not... exactly,” Moroes said, hesitating. “He did say he was expecting someone soon.”
“Someone? A new student?” Khadgar asked. “Or a messenger?”
“I believe, Master Khadgar, he said we would have a guest.”
Garona opened her mouth to ask a question when she heard a crack splitting the air violently, like a piece of wood or a bone snapping. She was not alone; several of the maids shrieked at the sound, dropping baskets and bundles of clothes to clap their hands over their ears.
What's going on?! Garona wondered, even as she considered pulling Khadgar through the shadows with her to get them both somewhere safer. She settled for pulling him behind one of the grand ballroom pillars, with a wall at their backs.
From one moment to the next, a figure appeared in the centre of the ballroom. They were clad in long, white robes, trimmed in gold along the wide sleeves, the collar, and the hem that brushed the newly cleaned floors. Around their shoulders was a huge, grey, hooded cloak, and after a moment, hands came up to tug the hood back. The new arrival was a woman, her hair long and auburn, and as she looked around, her ageless green eyes found them with little effort. She flicked her gaze between them, and while there was some resemblance between them, there was nothing of Medivh's warmth within her features.
“My... lady. Welcome,” Moroes stuttered, and Garona was taken aback, having never seen the butler so ruffled. “What brings you--”
“Moroes,” the woman said, fixing her gaze on the butler. “Where is Medivh?”
“Why, in his quarters, but--”
“I suggest that you and your fellow servants leave Karazhan immediately,” the woman said, cutting him off with a sharp gesture. “Out of Deadwind Pass, if you can manage it.”
“What's going on?” Khadgar demanded, finding his voice first. “Who are you, how did you get past the wards?”
Only a Guardian can break these wards, Garona recalled, and she felt her eyes grow wide. “You're Aegwynn. Aren't you?”
The woman - the immortal Guardian Aegwynn, friend of the Dragonflights - ignored Khadgar and looked to Garona, pursing her lips. “I see. He's quite shameless, isn't he?”
“We're his students and his guests,” Khadgar persisted, though she paid little attention to him. “There's no shame in taking apprentices, and he's always behaved entirely appropriately towards both of--”
“You have no idea of the truth of the situation,” Aegwynn said dismissively. “Be silent, child, and leave with the servants. You are out of your depth and these affairs concern you not.”
“You sound just like the Council at their most cryptic,” Khadgar accused, and this of all things caused her to glance at him sharply. “Why not just tell us what's going on?”
“I am nothing like--” She caught herself. “Very well, come, but be wary and prepare to protect yourself and your fellow... guest.” Her lip curled in a sneer and she drew her cloak around her in a great swirl, walking towards the wall.
Aegwynn spoke in an archaic tongue, holding both hands out, flat to the wall. Garona felt her skin prickle as power surged around them. The wall peeled back, and Garona realized the whole thing was an illusion, revealing plain, grey stone and the passage Medivh had brought her through when she'd arrived as a guest.
“Keep up if you care to,” Aegwynn said, and marched through the doorway. Khadgar gaped wordlessly, but Garona hurried to follow her. The Guardian strode along the hallway, holding one hand out in front of her. On her middle finger she wore a silver ring, set with a huge green stone that flickered and glowed like a torch in front of her, and before long, she came to the entrance to the upper floors of Karazhan. A second surge of magic, like the first, caused the entrance to explode outwards, filling the hallway with debris.
“Garona, what's going on?” Khadgar asked, quiet and urgent. “This shouldn't be happening.”
“It's not technically our business,” Garona muttered, even as she stepped over the stones. Aegwynn was opening the library doors, searching each one for her target, and Garona watched her warily. “We should get our things and clear out.”
“Why would I do that?” Khadgar demanded, not bothering to keep his voice down. “Yes, that's the most powerful mage in existence, and yes she can do what she wants but Medivh is our teacher! What right does she have to barge into his tower and start destroying things?”
Because he's a traitor to humanity, Garona thought desperately. Because he's been working with Gul'dan and will see to the destruction of everything you hold dear. Because now this place means everything to me, and Medivh, and--
“No right at all,” said the Master of Karazhan from behind them, and they started first. “Students, get out of the way.”
“What's going on?” Khadgar demanded. “Why is Guardian Aegwynn here? Why-”
Garona tugged at his arm urgently, trying to pull him to the side. “This is how it must be,” she said, anguish swelling in her throat. “Step aside.”
“You know?!” Khadgar said, turning in her grip. “You've been keeping secrets?”
“I had to,” Garona began. “I--”
“Medivh Aran,” Aegwynn said, her voice booming around them. “Guardian of Tirisfal, son of Nielas Aran, you have been charged by the Six with crimes against God and man. You will submit to me immediately and quietly, or you will be dealt with in the appropriate manner.”
“Ah, yes. Of course.” Medivh smiled slowly. “Figured it all out, have they, Mother? All of my schemes, all of my ploys?” Aegwynn regarded him coldly. “It's your fault, you realize. So arrogant, so sure. So certain that you'd stopped me. Dragon friend. Aegwynn the Immortal.”
“The body is still sealed,” Aegwynn replied simply, and cupped one of her hands. Fire gathered within it, casting her face into flickering relief. “I swear that I will lie dead before I allow you to walk this world once again... demon.”
“Demon?” Khadgar asked. “But there are no demons, not since...” His eyes widened in horror, looking from Aegwynn to Medivh. “It can't be...”
“I warned you, didn't I, that there was more to this world than was categorized by your precious council,” Medivh said. In the flickering light of Aegwynn's spell, his expression changed. His beard seemed to grow longer, copper and tangled, and his hair wild. His eyes shone with an unholy flame, and he exhaled, a thin plume of smoke surrounding him like a halo. “Die.”
With that, Medivh lunged at her, wreathed in fire. From one moment to the next, he summoned his staff, a huge length of white oak topped with a raven's figure that seemed to screech at them, its eyes burning red. Aegwynn hurled a ball of fire at him and summoned a silver-bladed sword, parrying his strike easily, the blade leaving a white-red afterimage as it swung through the air. Medivh grinned fiercely, smoke trailing from his nostrils. Aegwynn, by contrast, was grim with tension, her mouth set in a thin line. Only the faintest hints of anger and disgust around the corners of her eyes, age illuminated by magic, gave hint to depths of her emotional state.
At the point where their weapons met, purple energy crackled and sparked before exploding, hurling them back from one another. Medivh hurtled towards a smouldering bookcase and Aegwynn into one of the tables that split in half from the force of it, though neither mage seemed to be hurt. Aegwynn raised her arms, and swirling blades of ice formed in the air, spun in a circle, and flung themselves at Medivh. He raised a hand and summoned a giant, fiery shield that absorbed most of the bolts, but one scored a cut along his arm. His blood welled and dripped, hissing as it fell, burning into the floor like the acid rains of Draenor.
“We... we have to stop them,” Khadgar managed, staring at the destruction, tongues of flickering flame reflected in his eyes. Every line of his face spoke of anguish and loss. “The Old Man... the Lady... they're destroying everything.”
Aegwynn's expression allowed for the faintest hint of emotion, smirking, but quickly lost even that simplest of muscle twitches as Medivh's shield exploded, sending fire everywhere. Chunks of burning magic struck the bookshelves, blowing apart some of the shelves. Khadgar wrapped his arms around Garona tightly and she felt his magic sing around her, while her forehead was pressed into his shoulder as he clung to her, as much out of comfort as protection.
“Yes,” she said, voice rough with pain. “This may be the only way. He... he's a demon. I didn't think, I didn't realize--”
As she looked up, Garona's eyes widened, and she tugged at Khadgar urgently. When he refused to move, she elbowed him hard, and dragged him behind one of the broken tables. No sooner were they safe when the bookshelf under which they were hiding collapsed, spilling its contents all over the floor. Several of the books immediately caught fire. Aegwynn let loose a circle of frost, and each of the burning books hissed, sparked, and exploded into a cloud of pages, though the fires stopped.
“You knew, though. You knew something was wrong,” Khadgar said, coughing from the smoke, but he held tight to the idea, like a dog with a bone. “Why didn't you say anything?”
“Tell you he was a traitor, you mean?” Garona asked. “You knew I was a spy. Did you not think why he knew so quickly?”
While the former Guardian was distracted, the present one filled his hands with arcane darts and hurled them at Aegwynn, the darts tearing through her robes and pinning her to one of the shelves. She yanked at her sleeve and snarled at him wordlessly. He smiled darkly as he conjured fire, brighter and hotter than before and hurled it at her. From one moment to the next, Aegwynn was there and then she was gone, and the wall buckled, melting, then crumbled down, spilling the last of the books and shelves onto the floor in a great, messy heap.
Khadgar coughed into his hand. “No! I just thought... what did you tell him?”
“All of the history, all of the things I knew,” Garona replied, and grabbed his arm. “We need to move.”
Garona tugged at Khadgar again, and with a little prompting, they moved through into the next library, slipping and tripping over more destroyed books, searching for better shelter. She hurried to one of the tables and tipped it over, creating a barricade, and after a moment, Khadgar was with her, piling up chairs and quickly enchanting them to protect them against fire and frost. No sooner had they hunkered down than Medivh went flying through the opening, crashing into one of the bookshelves. Aegwynn quickly followed, harried by the wooden raven from atop Medivh's staff. She turned hurriedly, and cleaved the wooden bird in two and it fell to the ground, inert as common wood.
Khadgar cried out, and Aegwynn turned back to see Medivh flinging a huge shard of ice at her, seeking to impale her. She met it with fire, and it exploded into pieces, sending icy blades everywhere, tearing into books and embedding in shelves, only to melt as flames flickered around Aegwynn, her lips drawn back in a snarl of anger. She made a series of sharp gestures in the air, and the flames that surrounded her formed into the shape of a flying, winged beast. It screeched and dove at Medivh, and he created a nearly identical beast, thinner and with more delicate wings, and it spit purple, arcane sparks flickering. Aegwynn eyed it with distaste.
“Dragons,” Khadgar breathed. “Look at that detail.”
“It'll get us killed if it's the wrong kind of detail,” Garona muttered.
The dragons circled and dove at one another, clawing and scrabbling while both mages stared at each other, catching their breaths. For a moment, there was quiet. Paper smouldered and burned, loosened and damaged bookshelves fell and clattered to the floor, but all either mage did was stare. Garona's hand went to the sheath hidden beneath her sleeve. Her heart clenched painfully at the idea.
She caught Medivh staring at her, and even as his lips worked silently, she felt her heart leap to her throat and even behind the barricade, she threw herself flat, then peeked around the side. Medivh's dragon was growing fainter and thinner, glowing. Aegwynn's dragon soared in, getting its fiery jaws around the other dragon's slender neck. Medivh grinned, and his dragon exploded into arcane fragments, destroying Aegwynn's dragon and causing her to stagger back.
“What will Gul'dan do now?” Khadgar asked urgently. “With Medivh on his side?”
“If he was willing to help directly, the orcs wouldn't still be stuck at Stormwind,” Garona said, shaking her head. Khadgar's expression hardened.
“It won't fall, no matter what you or anyone else wants,” Khadgar said, and ducked as one of the globes went flying overhead, splitting open against the wall, spilling out a small amount of sawdust.
In the air, an after-image of the dragon burned, fading from slender and blue to a skeleton that seemed to scream silently before fading. Medivh began to laugh, but stopped abruptly to dodge away from a ball of raw, arcane magic that impacted against the wall, shattering it. He ducked through the opening, waving away the stone dust as he hurried away from her. Aegwynn, her face twisted in anger and hate, pursued him, throwing another arcane orb at him, and another. Her sword cut through the air, sending a sharp, thin blade of arcane energy flying to him, striking him in the chest and driving him to her knees. Garona scrabbled through the hole to see what was about to happen, and Khadgar followed her. By the time they arrived, she was standing over him, the glory of her robes a ruin, but her eyes ablaze with anger.
“I don't want it to fall, I had no other choice,” Garona hissed. “I just want the orcs to live, the hunters and the farmers and the slaves that suffered on Draenor.”
Khadgar's eyes lit up, despite the haze of magic and smoke. “If you truly feel that way, there could be a way to--”
“Enough!” Aegwynn cried, pointing her sword at Medivh's throat. He was on one knee, coughing and panting. Much of his humanity had been burned away, but enough remained that he was vulnerable to the ancient former-Guardian. His hand, white-knuckled from the effort, gripped at his staff as he looked up at her with burning hate. Aegwynn continued, pronouncing each word as the sentence it was, a judgement from on high. “Submit and you will not die here. You will be sealed away and the demon extracted.”
“I fear I do not have ten thousand years to languish underground while you work your magic,” Medivh said, and Khadgar and Garona glanced at each other.
“Why is he referencing an elven folktale?” Khadgar murmured. “There's surely no truth in it.”
“You say that about every folktale,” Garona hissed back, watching avidly. The demon seemed to smile at her. She felt a frisson of fear down her spine, and she clutched at Khadgar's arm.
She has him by the throat, so why--
The room around them lit up, flickering with unholy flames and the anguished ghosts of the damned. It reminded Garona of the Twisting Nether, the place she passed through to get to Azeroth and the place she skimmed in and out of as she walked through shadows. Khadgar threw up a free hand to guard his face, but Aegwynn remained still.
“I will not go down so easily,” Medivh hissed. “Through me, this kingdom, this world shall fall... but you will not be here to see it.” He pointed a finger towards Garona and Khadgar.
We have to move, we have to get out of here! Garona thought frantically, and felt her mind blank under her teacher's fearful assault. Nothing came to mind, nothing helpful, nothing but raw terror. As Medivh's mouth opened to speak the final words, Aegwynn released her sword and pointed at them.
“Go!” she cried, and Garona felt as though she had been grabbed by a huge hand and thrown bodily out one of the great windows. The spell smashed through the huge glass panes and they flew through the air into the sheeting rain. Lightning struck all around Garona as the air boomed with thunder. Khadgar's arm was still under her hand, and she saw that he flew with her. Almost swallowed by all of the other sound came a mad, terrible cackle.
“Got you.”
The top of the tower exploded into a shower of glass, stone, and magic. For a moment, Garona thought that the demon meant that he could still reach them, but even as the magic rippled from the tower with the force of a heavy stone striking a smooth lake surface, she saw that she was wrong. Even as arcane force ripped into the village buildings, tearing off roofs and shattering walls and fences, the majority of the spell struck not at her or Khadgar, now being well out of the range of the full force of its impact, but at Aegwynn herself, who took the brunt of it.
Over the booming thunder, Aegwynn screamed and disappeared.
“No... no...” Khadgar whispered as they floated gently downwards, the spell cradling them and protecting them from the force that was killing Tower's Shadow Village and all of its people.
If that's what's happening out here, what about those still in the tower? Attumen and Moroes, the little maids... we had guests too, and they knew nothing... Garona blinked hard, even as they fell to rest gently in the middle of the town's square.
“We have to look for survivors,” Garona said. Khadgar had already opened his mouth to speak different words.
“We have to get out of here,” Khadgar was saying. “The Council must know... the Guardian corrupted, and Lady Aegwynn...” He bit back a choked noise. “If there's anyone left to stop him after that.”
“Someone might still be alive!” Garona insisted. “We can't be the only ones. We can't...”
They stared at each other for a long time, chests heaving, soaked and dripping, eyes wide with fear. Movement at the edge of their vision broke them from their stand off, and they both looked over.
“Da... Da, where are you..?” they heard faintly, and Garona hurried over, pulling aside splintered boards to find Duncan Senturus struggling, filthy, but alive and glowing faintly. Not far from him was his father's body, impaled by a jagged piece of wood.
“He's gone to his ancestors,” Garona said, lifting him up and slinging him over a shoulder. “Khadgar--”
“We need to go,” Khadgar insisted. His expression was grim and haggard, as though he had not slept in many weeks. “This whole area is contaminated now. If we stay to look for survivors, we'll all die. Well. Duncan and I will. You seem fine.”
“I'll die if I have to try to walk to Stormwind,” Garona said. And then die when I get there, because the humans will only see green skin. The feeling evoked an absurd bitterness considering the situation. “What do I have to do?”
“Hold him, and stay close,” Khadgar instructed. Taking a breath that nearly ended in him choking on dust, he traced glittering purple runes in the air, muttering to himself. In her arms, Duncan revived enough to start to struggle.
“What… what happened? What’s going on?” he muttered, and Garona held him tightly.
“It’s over now, I promise,” Garona said with assurance she didn’t feel. “We need to go.”
“But… why would he do this?” he wondered sadly. “We never did anything wrong.”
No one ever really deserves to be hurt, Garona thought as he slumped again. Please don't die, little human. Be a survivor. One of the only survivors.
Garona sidled in as close as possible as Khadgar finished the spell. The teleportation was not a gentle one. It was rough and sudden, and despite knowing it was coming, Garona's stomach twisted violently. She dug her fingers into Duncan's back and Khadgar's arm, though the latter seemed not to feel it. There was a sensation of falling from a great height, and when next Garona could see, Khadgar was collapsing to his knees, and she was trying to hold him upright while struggling under Duncan's heavy weight.
He's fainted, Garona thought frantically as she clutched at Khadgar one-handed. I have to figure out where we are, how to find a human healer without having them report me to the warriors, and-
“You know, Nielas always told my father he should have the Keep warded against magic, but my grandfather always felt that true battles were fought with swords and fists, not spells,” spoke a voice. It was youthful, human-sounding, and male. His tone was conversational, but as Garona looked around to see where she was, she could only both curse and praise Khadgar's accuracy.
She stood before a great throne made from a seemingly impossible amount of gold, gleaming in the light of a dozen torches, padded with fine blue silk with gold trim. It was as different from Blackhand’s black iron and skull-adorned monstrosity as could be. A man sat on the throne, dressed in blue and gold, his hair gleaming in the same light. His eyes were blue, and fixed on Garona so sharply that she felt pinned in place. Taking a breath, she wrenched her gaze to the man at his left. He was tall and broad-shouldered, resplendent in gleaming silver armour, a sword belted at his side. Even at a young age, his brown hair was thinning back and his expression sour. To the enthroned man's left was a woman, her hair chestnut brown and her eyes sharp and green. She was clothed in white garb too long to be a proper tunic, but too short to be a dress, and her grey trousers were visible beneath. She too bore a weapon, a mace, gleaming silver. While the man bore a rearing horse as his heraldry, her arms bore a creature that Garona had only seen on Draenor until this time, and it looked far fiercer than anything Zuluhed and his ilk had tamed.
That's a dragon, she thought numbly.
“I doubt these ones are part of any invading army, Llane,” the standing man said, looking over the three of them. “Unless they intend to throw children at us in an assassination attempt.”
“I wouldn't be entirely sure of that, Anduin,” the woman said before the seated man could speak. “You, girl, what are you doing here? How did you come to be with two humans? Who told you that you could stand before the King?”
“Easy, Mara,” Llane said, and he smiled. The expression was warm, friendly and welcoming, even as cunning sparkled behind his eyes. “Young lady - though, by my measure you're not much younger than any of us are, save perhaps our own dear Archbishop - turn your companion's face towards me. Not the boy, the other one.”
Garona was forced to lay Duncan on the floor so she could better hold up Khadgar, who stirred at the movement.
“What.. oh. Here we are,” Khadgar mumbled, and Garona wanted to shake him, though out of relief or anger she found hard to decide.
“We certainly are, you great fool,” Garona hissed, but did as she was told.
“Hm, he's growing a bit more of a beard than the last time I saw him,” Llane commented. “Magister Khadgar, last seen on the way to Treewind Pass and the Tower of Karazhan.”
“Majesty,” Khadgar managed before his eyes rolled back in his head and he fainted. Garona lowered him to the floor, and stood to face the humans alone.
“Did the Lady Aegwynn not say she was on her way to Karazhan as well, though far more recently?” Mara asked Llane, and he nodded slightly.
“I... I regret to inform you that Lady Aegwynn is dead,” Garona said slowly, drawing all eyes to her. “And that is not... the worst of the news I have for you.”
Llane sat forward, and as he had been warm previously, he hardened, like the golden gleam on a suit of armour that was pure steel.
“Tell me everything.”
~ * ~
Garona lay in a bed that was not hers, in a city that was not her home, staring into a darkness that did not welcome her, and wished that she could sleep. For the past three days she felt as though she had been drifting from one thing to another. The good news, at least, was that Khadgar and Duncan were under the care of the healers of Stormwind, though in this case, those healers were called 'priests', and they served the Light she had learned of in Karazhan. Duncan had woken quickly, though he was sullen and quiet, and Khadgar drifted in and out.
That had left Garona to the interrogations. The king, Llane, had been polite, but intent, demanding much from Garona, and she had told him all that she knew, of the orcs and their intentions, though she was nearly three years out of date. Her head had ached by the time she was excused to rest, and even then, she could not sleep.
What will become of us? Garona wondered. She shifted her hand and grasped at the pendant Khadgar had given her. Karazhan was my home. I won't go back to Gul'dan, I can't. I could go to Dalaran with Khadgar, but will they accept me there? Will they accept me anywhere? I--
The door opened, and Garona released the pendant and put a hand on the knife she kept under her pillow. Instead of tired, she was alert, angry though not afraid. She fixed her eyes on the shape illuminated in the doorway: they were short and thin, with a spiky mop of hair, and they seemed to be desperately trying to remain quiet, though as they walked their footsteps creaked along the floor.
Not broad enough to match the pictures of dwarves, Garona thought. A gnome? But gnomes live far away usually, unless they brought one here. Azeroth does welcome anyone, but their last immigration bump was eighty years ago according to the census records.
She let the intruder draw closer, and her hand gripped the hilt of her blade tightly, body tense to fight back against an assassination attempt, clumsy as this might be. Closer... closer...
The answer came readily enough: it was a boy, a human boy, dressed in too-large pajamas and with bare feet. His hair was dark brown and messy from sleep. He leaned in close, as if expecting to find her sleeping. When she stared back at him, he jumped back, startled, and fell backwards.
“You shouldn't sneak into people's rooms at night,” Garona said, trying to keep her voice gentle, though she wanted to snarl at him. He's only a child, he doesn't deserve that. She forced herself to release her blade, and pushed herself up into a sitting position. “Why are you here? Who are you?”
“'m Varian,” said the boy. “Papa said there was an orc here, I wanted to see.”
I'm not an orc, Garona thought, irritated. Why don't humans notice that not all green skin is equal? “Which one is your father?”
“The right and honourable King Llane Wrynn, first of his name, ruler of Stormwind, Elwynn, Redridge, Duskwood, Westfall, and auxiliaries,” Varian said promptly, and Garona stared at him. He scuffed his foot against the floor. “I had to learn it.”
“You're the Crown Prince,” Garona noted, staring at the child. “The king tells you things?”
“No, he overheard Llane and I talking while he was supposed to be sleeping,” said a voice at the doorway, and Garona and Varian both looked towards it. This was a human woman, dressed in a long, trailing nightgown. Her hair was darker than Varian's, and her face was round and slightly soft. “My son, you have left your half of the bed cold.”
“You told,” Varian said accusingly, not to the woman, but to the figure half-hidden behind her.
“She noticed,” the figure said, his voice as youthful as Varian's, and full of indignity. “I said she would!”
“Boys,” the woman said. “You're keeping our guest awake.” She held out a hand, and Varian stomped across the floor grumpily. “Your pardon, please sleep well.”
The woman withdrew, and the door closed. After a moment, Garona found her trousers, pulled them on, hid the knife in her tunic, and hurried to follow. Varian and the other boy were arguing, swatting at each other around the woman with their free hands, while the woman seemed to bear it stoically, as though she had seen it all too often in the past. Garona walked along behind them, her footsteps silent, swallowed easily by shadows, and the floor was warm, heated from something beneath the floorboards.
“Is this your son? Are you the queen?” Garona asked, and all three of them started at the sound of her voice. “I wasn't getting to sleep anyway.”
“I am, yes,” the woman said. “My name is Adalia, and this is Bolvar, Lady Mara's son. He and Varian are quite good friends, usually.”
“Not any more,” Varian grumped, and Bolvar flailed at him. Varian flailed back.
“Boys, please,” Adalia said wearily. “Don't get yourselves worked up before bed.”
“If you sleep, you might get better at sneaking into other people's rooms,” Garona noted, and both boys peered at her. She could see better now that Bolvar had Lady Mara's green eyes, and Varian dark brown ones. He takes after his mother, it seems, at least in looks. “If you behave for your mother, I'll answer one of your questions before bed.”
“You've been answering them all day,” Adalia murmured. “Thank you for that.”
“It's the least i can do since I'm a-” Garona paused, and looked at Varian and Bolvar before continuing, “a guest.”
“A guest indeed,” Adalia said. Garona trailed behind as Adalia brought both boys to a large, ornate room with toys scattered here and there, and slim books on low, wide shelves. The sight of them felt like a stab in the heart as she thought of all that had been destroyed. Adalia led them through the room and into an adjoining one. This room had a large, low bed with a canopy around three sides, though the curtains were drawn back and the blankets and sheets wrinkled and rumpled.
“Go to the bathroom, then wash your hands and faces,” Adalia instructed, and both boys scrambled off to obey, footsteps dull thuds against the thick carpets. “I wish that it had not been tragedy that brought them together,” she noted with a sad smile. “The only home Bolvar has known was destroyed in the war, and I fear that is the story of many children now. It's difficult to be grateful that he is here and such good friends with Varian when he has lost so much.”
“Where was he from?” Garona asked, listening to the faint sounds of laughter and splashing.
“Northshire Abbey,” Adalia replied. “He and his mother lived there from his birth until relatively recently. Llane sheltered there when the war first started, but was called back when the King was killed. It was a sad day, though I rejoiced to meet Llane.”
Garona glanced at the queen, and then towards the door, trying to gather her thoughts to ask the very rude question that had sprung to mind.
“They are brothers in spirit, but not blood,” Adalia said. “I've had to answer that question many times since Lady Mara's arrival. Some people found it suspicious that Llane and I had no more children after Varian, but there are any number of witnesses that saw that that Mara was pregnant the day she came to the Abbey. There was, as they say, no time for anything else.”
“I'm sure your husband honours you,” Garona said, cheeks flushed at being so transparent. “Fools will always gossip.”
“I know whom my husband honours at all times,” Adalia noted. “The Wrynns are good kings.”
“I know, and I'm sorry, about the previous one,” Garona said, glancing quickly towards the door. “I did not assassinate him, nor did any of the others. It was an ambush. Hunting tactics, and we didn't understand how human leadership functions. I know, now, but the others... it's hard to say if they even care.”
“We aren't unfamiliar with conflict,” Adalia said as she fetched a chair, and Garona helped her drag it close to the bedside. “You don't train knights for peace. You train them for combat, for war. You don't use an army to repel a raid. We have... waited, I think. Azeroth has its enemies, all the human nations do, but this... we know trolls and goblins. We know of the dwarves and the gnomes. The elves, the gnolls, the kobolds, the murlocs, even the dragons, though they have not been seen in a long, long time. We did not live completely peaceful lives, but we had stability. We understood our place in the world. Now, all is changing. There is uncertainty.”
“I don't know what's going to happen either,” Garona confessed, and Adalia raised an eyebrow. “It's always been my task to gather information, to bring it from the people who have it to the people who need it. Now I have a great deal of information about your people and this world, and it's not what the orcs want. They want to know how to kill you, not that you fight your enemies with a ferocity that rivals theirs. They want to know your weak points, not that you know what they are and have learned to protect them. They want you dead, not to know that more than anything else, you want to live.”
Adalia was quiet for a moment, then smiled. “I believe that I can live with disappointing our enemies in such a case. You said you've told the orcs about us... what will you tell them now?”
“Nothing,” Garona replied, a hint of anger in her voice. “They will never find me here, never guess that I came to Stormwind. I hope they think I died in Karazhan, in the explosion, with so many others. I won't help them destroy you. I promise.”
“Thank you,” Adalia replied, and touched lightly over her heart. “That promise means much to Llane and I both, as it will mean much to the people of Azeroth.”
Garona nodded, and saw the boys hurrying back out, presenting themselves before the queen for the inspection of ears, to wipe damp hands, and to tuck both boys into bed. As big as the bed was, as small as they were, they seemed lost amid the white and blue.
“Do all close friends share a bed?” Garona murmured, and Adalia smiled.
“They will grow out of it, or they will not, and it makes them happy,” she replied. “Now, our guest has agreed to answer one question. One of you may ask.”
There was a brief moment of whispering between the boys, and finally, Varian spoke.
“How did you get here?” he asked.
“That's a vague question,” Garona said. “Do you mean, how did I get to Stormwind, or how did the orcs get to Azeroth?”
“Both!” Varian exclaimed, and Bolvar nodded. Adalia and Garona exchanged a long look.
“Alright,” Garona said. “I'll tell you.”
[ Chapter 11]
Title: Assassin
Part: 10/?
Word Count: 6831
Includes: Angst, sap, adorableness. A story told in flashbacks, there will be one-sided crushes and meaningful stares.
Pairings: Technically, none.
Summary: The founding of Durotar, and lessons in history from the mouth of one who has been a part of it: Garona Halforcen.
Previous: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
“I'm sorry,” Thrall said, feeling no more adequate in his regret than he had before. “I don't know what to say.”
“Speaking to Gul’dan again was a reminder that no matter how happy I was and how much I wanted to forget, I was not home, I was not safe,” Garona replied. “It was a reminder that Medivh was still a traitor to his people, still working with demons. I never made the connection though, not then, and not until it was too late.”
“Yes, about Sargeras,” Thrall said. “Jaina told me the whole story, of how his mother defeated the Avatar of Sargeras, but the demon merely waited for a vulnerable moment to make his move.”
“Yes,” Garona said, her voice sad. “Medivh rarely, if ever, spoke of her. He... resented her, or so I believed, because she left him with his father and never warned him or told him what he would become. That was true, but it wasn't the only reason. Sargeras hated her and feared her. She could have caused everything to fall apart, and she did.”
“What happened?” Thrall urged. “Tell me.”
“I had been living in Karazhan for two and a half years,” Garona began. “I spoke to Gul'dan infrequently, and I knew that the war was reaching a standstill. The Horde could take and hold territory so long as it wasn't actually a military asset. They were too used to being able to bowl over a target, and that no one would go back around them to take it back, or reinforce the fortress so well that they were throwing themselves on the walls to die. The human villages will remember the time well, I believe some still bear the scars, while others were never rebuilt. None of that mattered to Gul'dan. He had one goal, one intention.”
“Stormwind,” Thrall growled. “He needed it to fall, and sooner rather than later.”
“Yes,” Garona agreed. “It put a strain on Medivh. He was... more distant, distracted. Khadgar didn't really notice, he was distracted too. I remember the tower feeling very lonely. It was Spring when it happened.”
“When what happened?” Thrall asked, looking her over. Garona looked up, meeting his gaze.
“Everything fell to pieces.”
~ * ~
Garona appreciated all of Azeroth's seasons. She had come to like cold winters and hot summers, cool autumns and warm springs. Rain or wind, snow or sun, there was something that felt good, healthy, and whole about the land that Draenor had long lacked. It felt ungrateful to dislike or resent the weather, as she was at the moment.
It had been raining on and off for the past week. Early Spring tended to be a somewhat miserable time of year, when the clouds couldn't quite decide if they wanted snow or rain, and the wind whipped the great tower of Karazhan with relish. The sky was as grey and as grim as Garona's mood. Khadgar had spent much of the week in his room and Medivh in his own chambers, though she had managed to convince the former to join her in the library. She almost wished she hadn't.
With all of that wind, we could sail across to the other continent and find out if the weather isn't so piss-awful there, Garona thought sourly as Khadgar sighed again. “What's wrong?” Garona demanded. “You've been making so much noise it's impossible to even think!”
“I'm sorry,” Khadgar said, and closed the book he was trying to read with a snap, pushing it away from him before grinding the palms of his hands into his eyes. “I'm just in a rather bad mood.”
“I wouldn't have guessed,” Garona snapped, and then took a breath to calm herself. “What happened?”
“I don't know,” Khadgar admitted, still rubbing at his eyes. “It could just be the weather, or... we haven't been given a lesson or an assignment in a week.”
Garona reached over, tugging his hands back from his eyes, and kept her fingers wrapped around his wrists. “He's busy, Guardian business. You've seen the letters, haven't you?”
“Of course, I usually answer them,” Khadgar replied, looking down at her hands for a moment, a blush creeping along his neck. “He hasn't let me read any of them in at least as long.”
She thought back to the last report she'd given and the grim cast to Medivh's expression. “He's busy and things are serious. We're adults, we can keep ourselves occupied.”
“But I'm bored,” Khadgar mumbled, and Garona shifted her grip, taking him by the hands and pulling him into a standing position. “What are you doing?”
“We're going to find something for you to do, before I find something for you to do,” Garona said. “And you won't like what I have to suggest.”
“I wonder about that,” Khadgar muttered, but refused to elaborate further. Garona released one hand so she could open doors and lead him down to to the common areas of the tower, where the servants worked in silence, sweeping and cleaning.
“Is there another opera coming soon?” Garona asked one of the maids as she passed by, and the maid started, surprised to see them.
“No, Mistress Garona,” she replied. “The mistress of servants, her that guards our virtue and gives us orders, told us t' start cleanin' everythin', top t' bottom. Is there somethin' you need, Mistress?”
“No, no,” Garona said, glancing over at Khadgar. “We were just curious. Weren't we?”
Khadgar remained silent, made a pained noise when she kicked him, and added, “Yes, curious.”
“Mmm,” the maid said, glancing between them. “The mistress is free if you happen t' have more questions.”
“Thank you,” Garona said, and tugged Khadgar along with her. “They're doing the spring cleaning a month early.”
“Yes, it's usually High Spring, isn't it,” Khadgar said. “I wonder if Moroes knows why?”
“I fear Moroes does not know, Master, Mistress,” said the butler from behind them, causing both Garona and Khadgar to jerk and turn around. “Though we have all of the staff on shift today, even some of the villagers. Master Medivh wishes for his tower to be clean.”
“Do you have any idea why?” Garona asked. If anyone will know...
“Not... exactly,” Moroes said, hesitating. “He did say he was expecting someone soon.”
“Someone? A new student?” Khadgar asked. “Or a messenger?”
“I believe, Master Khadgar, he said we would have a guest.”
Garona opened her mouth to ask a question when she heard a crack splitting the air violently, like a piece of wood or a bone snapping. She was not alone; several of the maids shrieked at the sound, dropping baskets and bundles of clothes to clap their hands over their ears.
What's going on?! Garona wondered, even as she considered pulling Khadgar through the shadows with her to get them both somewhere safer. She settled for pulling him behind one of the grand ballroom pillars, with a wall at their backs.
From one moment to the next, a figure appeared in the centre of the ballroom. They were clad in long, white robes, trimmed in gold along the wide sleeves, the collar, and the hem that brushed the newly cleaned floors. Around their shoulders was a huge, grey, hooded cloak, and after a moment, hands came up to tug the hood back. The new arrival was a woman, her hair long and auburn, and as she looked around, her ageless green eyes found them with little effort. She flicked her gaze between them, and while there was some resemblance between them, there was nothing of Medivh's warmth within her features.
“My... lady. Welcome,” Moroes stuttered, and Garona was taken aback, having never seen the butler so ruffled. “What brings you--”
“Moroes,” the woman said, fixing her gaze on the butler. “Where is Medivh?”
“Why, in his quarters, but--”
“I suggest that you and your fellow servants leave Karazhan immediately,” the woman said, cutting him off with a sharp gesture. “Out of Deadwind Pass, if you can manage it.”
“What's going on?” Khadgar demanded, finding his voice first. “Who are you, how did you get past the wards?”
Only a Guardian can break these wards, Garona recalled, and she felt her eyes grow wide. “You're Aegwynn. Aren't you?”
The woman - the immortal Guardian Aegwynn, friend of the Dragonflights - ignored Khadgar and looked to Garona, pursing her lips. “I see. He's quite shameless, isn't he?”
“We're his students and his guests,” Khadgar persisted, though she paid little attention to him. “There's no shame in taking apprentices, and he's always behaved entirely appropriately towards both of--”
“You have no idea of the truth of the situation,” Aegwynn said dismissively. “Be silent, child, and leave with the servants. You are out of your depth and these affairs concern you not.”
“You sound just like the Council at their most cryptic,” Khadgar accused, and this of all things caused her to glance at him sharply. “Why not just tell us what's going on?”
“I am nothing like--” She caught herself. “Very well, come, but be wary and prepare to protect yourself and your fellow... guest.” Her lip curled in a sneer and she drew her cloak around her in a great swirl, walking towards the wall.
Aegwynn spoke in an archaic tongue, holding both hands out, flat to the wall. Garona felt her skin prickle as power surged around them. The wall peeled back, and Garona realized the whole thing was an illusion, revealing plain, grey stone and the passage Medivh had brought her through when she'd arrived as a guest.
“Keep up if you care to,” Aegwynn said, and marched through the doorway. Khadgar gaped wordlessly, but Garona hurried to follow her. The Guardian strode along the hallway, holding one hand out in front of her. On her middle finger she wore a silver ring, set with a huge green stone that flickered and glowed like a torch in front of her, and before long, she came to the entrance to the upper floors of Karazhan. A second surge of magic, like the first, caused the entrance to explode outwards, filling the hallway with debris.
“Garona, what's going on?” Khadgar asked, quiet and urgent. “This shouldn't be happening.”
“It's not technically our business,” Garona muttered, even as she stepped over the stones. Aegwynn was opening the library doors, searching each one for her target, and Garona watched her warily. “We should get our things and clear out.”
“Why would I do that?” Khadgar demanded, not bothering to keep his voice down. “Yes, that's the most powerful mage in existence, and yes she can do what she wants but Medivh is our teacher! What right does she have to barge into his tower and start destroying things?”
Because he's a traitor to humanity, Garona thought desperately. Because he's been working with Gul'dan and will see to the destruction of everything you hold dear. Because now this place means everything to me, and Medivh, and--
“No right at all,” said the Master of Karazhan from behind them, and they started first. “Students, get out of the way.”
“What's going on?” Khadgar demanded. “Why is Guardian Aegwynn here? Why-”
Garona tugged at his arm urgently, trying to pull him to the side. “This is how it must be,” she said, anguish swelling in her throat. “Step aside.”
“You know?!” Khadgar said, turning in her grip. “You've been keeping secrets?”
“I had to,” Garona began. “I--”
“Medivh Aran,” Aegwynn said, her voice booming around them. “Guardian of Tirisfal, son of Nielas Aran, you have been charged by the Six with crimes against God and man. You will submit to me immediately and quietly, or you will be dealt with in the appropriate manner.”
“Ah, yes. Of course.” Medivh smiled slowly. “Figured it all out, have they, Mother? All of my schemes, all of my ploys?” Aegwynn regarded him coldly. “It's your fault, you realize. So arrogant, so sure. So certain that you'd stopped me. Dragon friend. Aegwynn the Immortal.”
“The body is still sealed,” Aegwynn replied simply, and cupped one of her hands. Fire gathered within it, casting her face into flickering relief. “I swear that I will lie dead before I allow you to walk this world once again... demon.”
“Demon?” Khadgar asked. “But there are no demons, not since...” His eyes widened in horror, looking from Aegwynn to Medivh. “It can't be...”
“I warned you, didn't I, that there was more to this world than was categorized by your precious council,” Medivh said. In the flickering light of Aegwynn's spell, his expression changed. His beard seemed to grow longer, copper and tangled, and his hair wild. His eyes shone with an unholy flame, and he exhaled, a thin plume of smoke surrounding him like a halo. “Die.”
With that, Medivh lunged at her, wreathed in fire. From one moment to the next, he summoned his staff, a huge length of white oak topped with a raven's figure that seemed to screech at them, its eyes burning red. Aegwynn hurled a ball of fire at him and summoned a silver-bladed sword, parrying his strike easily, the blade leaving a white-red afterimage as it swung through the air. Medivh grinned fiercely, smoke trailing from his nostrils. Aegwynn, by contrast, was grim with tension, her mouth set in a thin line. Only the faintest hints of anger and disgust around the corners of her eyes, age illuminated by magic, gave hint to depths of her emotional state.
At the point where their weapons met, purple energy crackled and sparked before exploding, hurling them back from one another. Medivh hurtled towards a smouldering bookcase and Aegwynn into one of the tables that split in half from the force of it, though neither mage seemed to be hurt. Aegwynn raised her arms, and swirling blades of ice formed in the air, spun in a circle, and flung themselves at Medivh. He raised a hand and summoned a giant, fiery shield that absorbed most of the bolts, but one scored a cut along his arm. His blood welled and dripped, hissing as it fell, burning into the floor like the acid rains of Draenor.
“We... we have to stop them,” Khadgar managed, staring at the destruction, tongues of flickering flame reflected in his eyes. Every line of his face spoke of anguish and loss. “The Old Man... the Lady... they're destroying everything.”
Aegwynn's expression allowed for the faintest hint of emotion, smirking, but quickly lost even that simplest of muscle twitches as Medivh's shield exploded, sending fire everywhere. Chunks of burning magic struck the bookshelves, blowing apart some of the shelves. Khadgar wrapped his arms around Garona tightly and she felt his magic sing around her, while her forehead was pressed into his shoulder as he clung to her, as much out of comfort as protection.
“Yes,” she said, voice rough with pain. “This may be the only way. He... he's a demon. I didn't think, I didn't realize--”
As she looked up, Garona's eyes widened, and she tugged at Khadgar urgently. When he refused to move, she elbowed him hard, and dragged him behind one of the broken tables. No sooner were they safe when the bookshelf under which they were hiding collapsed, spilling its contents all over the floor. Several of the books immediately caught fire. Aegwynn let loose a circle of frost, and each of the burning books hissed, sparked, and exploded into a cloud of pages, though the fires stopped.
“You knew, though. You knew something was wrong,” Khadgar said, coughing from the smoke, but he held tight to the idea, like a dog with a bone. “Why didn't you say anything?”
“Tell you he was a traitor, you mean?” Garona asked. “You knew I was a spy. Did you not think why he knew so quickly?”
While the former Guardian was distracted, the present one filled his hands with arcane darts and hurled them at Aegwynn, the darts tearing through her robes and pinning her to one of the shelves. She yanked at her sleeve and snarled at him wordlessly. He smiled darkly as he conjured fire, brighter and hotter than before and hurled it at her. From one moment to the next, Aegwynn was there and then she was gone, and the wall buckled, melting, then crumbled down, spilling the last of the books and shelves onto the floor in a great, messy heap.
Khadgar coughed into his hand. “No! I just thought... what did you tell him?”
“All of the history, all of the things I knew,” Garona replied, and grabbed his arm. “We need to move.”
Garona tugged at Khadgar again, and with a little prompting, they moved through into the next library, slipping and tripping over more destroyed books, searching for better shelter. She hurried to one of the tables and tipped it over, creating a barricade, and after a moment, Khadgar was with her, piling up chairs and quickly enchanting them to protect them against fire and frost. No sooner had they hunkered down than Medivh went flying through the opening, crashing into one of the bookshelves. Aegwynn quickly followed, harried by the wooden raven from atop Medivh's staff. She turned hurriedly, and cleaved the wooden bird in two and it fell to the ground, inert as common wood.
Khadgar cried out, and Aegwynn turned back to see Medivh flinging a huge shard of ice at her, seeking to impale her. She met it with fire, and it exploded into pieces, sending icy blades everywhere, tearing into books and embedding in shelves, only to melt as flames flickered around Aegwynn, her lips drawn back in a snarl of anger. She made a series of sharp gestures in the air, and the flames that surrounded her formed into the shape of a flying, winged beast. It screeched and dove at Medivh, and he created a nearly identical beast, thinner and with more delicate wings, and it spit purple, arcane sparks flickering. Aegwynn eyed it with distaste.
“Dragons,” Khadgar breathed. “Look at that detail.”
“It'll get us killed if it's the wrong kind of detail,” Garona muttered.
The dragons circled and dove at one another, clawing and scrabbling while both mages stared at each other, catching their breaths. For a moment, there was quiet. Paper smouldered and burned, loosened and damaged bookshelves fell and clattered to the floor, but all either mage did was stare. Garona's hand went to the sheath hidden beneath her sleeve. Her heart clenched painfully at the idea.
She caught Medivh staring at her, and even as his lips worked silently, she felt her heart leap to her throat and even behind the barricade, she threw herself flat, then peeked around the side. Medivh's dragon was growing fainter and thinner, glowing. Aegwynn's dragon soared in, getting its fiery jaws around the other dragon's slender neck. Medivh grinned, and his dragon exploded into arcane fragments, destroying Aegwynn's dragon and causing her to stagger back.
“What will Gul'dan do now?” Khadgar asked urgently. “With Medivh on his side?”
“If he was willing to help directly, the orcs wouldn't still be stuck at Stormwind,” Garona said, shaking her head. Khadgar's expression hardened.
“It won't fall, no matter what you or anyone else wants,” Khadgar said, and ducked as one of the globes went flying overhead, splitting open against the wall, spilling out a small amount of sawdust.
In the air, an after-image of the dragon burned, fading from slender and blue to a skeleton that seemed to scream silently before fading. Medivh began to laugh, but stopped abruptly to dodge away from a ball of raw, arcane magic that impacted against the wall, shattering it. He ducked through the opening, waving away the stone dust as he hurried away from her. Aegwynn, her face twisted in anger and hate, pursued him, throwing another arcane orb at him, and another. Her sword cut through the air, sending a sharp, thin blade of arcane energy flying to him, striking him in the chest and driving him to her knees. Garona scrabbled through the hole to see what was about to happen, and Khadgar followed her. By the time they arrived, she was standing over him, the glory of her robes a ruin, but her eyes ablaze with anger.
“I don't want it to fall, I had no other choice,” Garona hissed. “I just want the orcs to live, the hunters and the farmers and the slaves that suffered on Draenor.”
Khadgar's eyes lit up, despite the haze of magic and smoke. “If you truly feel that way, there could be a way to--”
“Enough!” Aegwynn cried, pointing her sword at Medivh's throat. He was on one knee, coughing and panting. Much of his humanity had been burned away, but enough remained that he was vulnerable to the ancient former-Guardian. His hand, white-knuckled from the effort, gripped at his staff as he looked up at her with burning hate. Aegwynn continued, pronouncing each word as the sentence it was, a judgement from on high. “Submit and you will not die here. You will be sealed away and the demon extracted.”
“I fear I do not have ten thousand years to languish underground while you work your magic,” Medivh said, and Khadgar and Garona glanced at each other.
“Why is he referencing an elven folktale?” Khadgar murmured. “There's surely no truth in it.”
“You say that about every folktale,” Garona hissed back, watching avidly. The demon seemed to smile at her. She felt a frisson of fear down her spine, and she clutched at Khadgar's arm.
She has him by the throat, so why--
The room around them lit up, flickering with unholy flames and the anguished ghosts of the damned. It reminded Garona of the Twisting Nether, the place she passed through to get to Azeroth and the place she skimmed in and out of as she walked through shadows. Khadgar threw up a free hand to guard his face, but Aegwynn remained still.
“I will not go down so easily,” Medivh hissed. “Through me, this kingdom, this world shall fall... but you will not be here to see it.” He pointed a finger towards Garona and Khadgar.
We have to move, we have to get out of here! Garona thought frantically, and felt her mind blank under her teacher's fearful assault. Nothing came to mind, nothing helpful, nothing but raw terror. As Medivh's mouth opened to speak the final words, Aegwynn released her sword and pointed at them.
“Go!” she cried, and Garona felt as though she had been grabbed by a huge hand and thrown bodily out one of the great windows. The spell smashed through the huge glass panes and they flew through the air into the sheeting rain. Lightning struck all around Garona as the air boomed with thunder. Khadgar's arm was still under her hand, and she saw that he flew with her. Almost swallowed by all of the other sound came a mad, terrible cackle.
“Got you.”
The top of the tower exploded into a shower of glass, stone, and magic. For a moment, Garona thought that the demon meant that he could still reach them, but even as the magic rippled from the tower with the force of a heavy stone striking a smooth lake surface, she saw that she was wrong. Even as arcane force ripped into the village buildings, tearing off roofs and shattering walls and fences, the majority of the spell struck not at her or Khadgar, now being well out of the range of the full force of its impact, but at Aegwynn herself, who took the brunt of it.
Over the booming thunder, Aegwynn screamed and disappeared.
“No... no...” Khadgar whispered as they floated gently downwards, the spell cradling them and protecting them from the force that was killing Tower's Shadow Village and all of its people.
If that's what's happening out here, what about those still in the tower? Attumen and Moroes, the little maids... we had guests too, and they knew nothing... Garona blinked hard, even as they fell to rest gently in the middle of the town's square.
“We have to look for survivors,” Garona said. Khadgar had already opened his mouth to speak different words.
“We have to get out of here,” Khadgar was saying. “The Council must know... the Guardian corrupted, and Lady Aegwynn...” He bit back a choked noise. “If there's anyone left to stop him after that.”
“Someone might still be alive!” Garona insisted. “We can't be the only ones. We can't...”
They stared at each other for a long time, chests heaving, soaked and dripping, eyes wide with fear. Movement at the edge of their vision broke them from their stand off, and they both looked over.
“Da... Da, where are you..?” they heard faintly, and Garona hurried over, pulling aside splintered boards to find Duncan Senturus struggling, filthy, but alive and glowing faintly. Not far from him was his father's body, impaled by a jagged piece of wood.
“He's gone to his ancestors,” Garona said, lifting him up and slinging him over a shoulder. “Khadgar--”
“We need to go,” Khadgar insisted. His expression was grim and haggard, as though he had not slept in many weeks. “This whole area is contaminated now. If we stay to look for survivors, we'll all die. Well. Duncan and I will. You seem fine.”
“I'll die if I have to try to walk to Stormwind,” Garona said. And then die when I get there, because the humans will only see green skin. The feeling evoked an absurd bitterness considering the situation. “What do I have to do?”
“Hold him, and stay close,” Khadgar instructed. Taking a breath that nearly ended in him choking on dust, he traced glittering purple runes in the air, muttering to himself. In her arms, Duncan revived enough to start to struggle.
“What… what happened? What’s going on?” he muttered, and Garona held him tightly.
“It’s over now, I promise,” Garona said with assurance she didn’t feel. “We need to go.”
“But… why would he do this?” he wondered sadly. “We never did anything wrong.”
No one ever really deserves to be hurt, Garona thought as he slumped again. Please don't die, little human. Be a survivor. One of the only survivors.
Garona sidled in as close as possible as Khadgar finished the spell. The teleportation was not a gentle one. It was rough and sudden, and despite knowing it was coming, Garona's stomach twisted violently. She dug her fingers into Duncan's back and Khadgar's arm, though the latter seemed not to feel it. There was a sensation of falling from a great height, and when next Garona could see, Khadgar was collapsing to his knees, and she was trying to hold him upright while struggling under Duncan's heavy weight.
He's fainted, Garona thought frantically as she clutched at Khadgar one-handed. I have to figure out where we are, how to find a human healer without having them report me to the warriors, and-
“You know, Nielas always told my father he should have the Keep warded against magic, but my grandfather always felt that true battles were fought with swords and fists, not spells,” spoke a voice. It was youthful, human-sounding, and male. His tone was conversational, but as Garona looked around to see where she was, she could only both curse and praise Khadgar's accuracy.
She stood before a great throne made from a seemingly impossible amount of gold, gleaming in the light of a dozen torches, padded with fine blue silk with gold trim. It was as different from Blackhand’s black iron and skull-adorned monstrosity as could be. A man sat on the throne, dressed in blue and gold, his hair gleaming in the same light. His eyes were blue, and fixed on Garona so sharply that she felt pinned in place. Taking a breath, she wrenched her gaze to the man at his left. He was tall and broad-shouldered, resplendent in gleaming silver armour, a sword belted at his side. Even at a young age, his brown hair was thinning back and his expression sour. To the enthroned man's left was a woman, her hair chestnut brown and her eyes sharp and green. She was clothed in white garb too long to be a proper tunic, but too short to be a dress, and her grey trousers were visible beneath. She too bore a weapon, a mace, gleaming silver. While the man bore a rearing horse as his heraldry, her arms bore a creature that Garona had only seen on Draenor until this time, and it looked far fiercer than anything Zuluhed and his ilk had tamed.
That's a dragon, she thought numbly.
“I doubt these ones are part of any invading army, Llane,” the standing man said, looking over the three of them. “Unless they intend to throw children at us in an assassination attempt.”
“I wouldn't be entirely sure of that, Anduin,” the woman said before the seated man could speak. “You, girl, what are you doing here? How did you come to be with two humans? Who told you that you could stand before the King?”
“Easy, Mara,” Llane said, and he smiled. The expression was warm, friendly and welcoming, even as cunning sparkled behind his eyes. “Young lady - though, by my measure you're not much younger than any of us are, save perhaps our own dear Archbishop - turn your companion's face towards me. Not the boy, the other one.”
Garona was forced to lay Duncan on the floor so she could better hold up Khadgar, who stirred at the movement.
“What.. oh. Here we are,” Khadgar mumbled, and Garona wanted to shake him, though out of relief or anger she found hard to decide.
“We certainly are, you great fool,” Garona hissed, but did as she was told.
“Hm, he's growing a bit more of a beard than the last time I saw him,” Llane commented. “Magister Khadgar, last seen on the way to Treewind Pass and the Tower of Karazhan.”
“Majesty,” Khadgar managed before his eyes rolled back in his head and he fainted. Garona lowered him to the floor, and stood to face the humans alone.
“Did the Lady Aegwynn not say she was on her way to Karazhan as well, though far more recently?” Mara asked Llane, and he nodded slightly.
“I... I regret to inform you that Lady Aegwynn is dead,” Garona said slowly, drawing all eyes to her. “And that is not... the worst of the news I have for you.”
Llane sat forward, and as he had been warm previously, he hardened, like the golden gleam on a suit of armour that was pure steel.
“Tell me everything.”
~ * ~
Garona lay in a bed that was not hers, in a city that was not her home, staring into a darkness that did not welcome her, and wished that she could sleep. For the past three days she felt as though she had been drifting from one thing to another. The good news, at least, was that Khadgar and Duncan were under the care of the healers of Stormwind, though in this case, those healers were called 'priests', and they served the Light she had learned of in Karazhan. Duncan had woken quickly, though he was sullen and quiet, and Khadgar drifted in and out.
That had left Garona to the interrogations. The king, Llane, had been polite, but intent, demanding much from Garona, and she had told him all that she knew, of the orcs and their intentions, though she was nearly three years out of date. Her head had ached by the time she was excused to rest, and even then, she could not sleep.
What will become of us? Garona wondered. She shifted her hand and grasped at the pendant Khadgar had given her. Karazhan was my home. I won't go back to Gul'dan, I can't. I could go to Dalaran with Khadgar, but will they accept me there? Will they accept me anywhere? I--
The door opened, and Garona released the pendant and put a hand on the knife she kept under her pillow. Instead of tired, she was alert, angry though not afraid. She fixed her eyes on the shape illuminated in the doorway: they were short and thin, with a spiky mop of hair, and they seemed to be desperately trying to remain quiet, though as they walked their footsteps creaked along the floor.
Not broad enough to match the pictures of dwarves, Garona thought. A gnome? But gnomes live far away usually, unless they brought one here. Azeroth does welcome anyone, but their last immigration bump was eighty years ago according to the census records.
She let the intruder draw closer, and her hand gripped the hilt of her blade tightly, body tense to fight back against an assassination attempt, clumsy as this might be. Closer... closer...
The answer came readily enough: it was a boy, a human boy, dressed in too-large pajamas and with bare feet. His hair was dark brown and messy from sleep. He leaned in close, as if expecting to find her sleeping. When she stared back at him, he jumped back, startled, and fell backwards.
“You shouldn't sneak into people's rooms at night,” Garona said, trying to keep her voice gentle, though she wanted to snarl at him. He's only a child, he doesn't deserve that. She forced herself to release her blade, and pushed herself up into a sitting position. “Why are you here? Who are you?”
“'m Varian,” said the boy. “Papa said there was an orc here, I wanted to see.”
I'm not an orc, Garona thought, irritated. Why don't humans notice that not all green skin is equal? “Which one is your father?”
“The right and honourable King Llane Wrynn, first of his name, ruler of Stormwind, Elwynn, Redridge, Duskwood, Westfall, and auxiliaries,” Varian said promptly, and Garona stared at him. He scuffed his foot against the floor. “I had to learn it.”
“You're the Crown Prince,” Garona noted, staring at the child. “The king tells you things?”
“No, he overheard Llane and I talking while he was supposed to be sleeping,” said a voice at the doorway, and Garona and Varian both looked towards it. This was a human woman, dressed in a long, trailing nightgown. Her hair was darker than Varian's, and her face was round and slightly soft. “My son, you have left your half of the bed cold.”
“You told,” Varian said accusingly, not to the woman, but to the figure half-hidden behind her.
“She noticed,” the figure said, his voice as youthful as Varian's, and full of indignity. “I said she would!”
“Boys,” the woman said. “You're keeping our guest awake.” She held out a hand, and Varian stomped across the floor grumpily. “Your pardon, please sleep well.”
The woman withdrew, and the door closed. After a moment, Garona found her trousers, pulled them on, hid the knife in her tunic, and hurried to follow. Varian and the other boy were arguing, swatting at each other around the woman with their free hands, while the woman seemed to bear it stoically, as though she had seen it all too often in the past. Garona walked along behind them, her footsteps silent, swallowed easily by shadows, and the floor was warm, heated from something beneath the floorboards.
“Is this your son? Are you the queen?” Garona asked, and all three of them started at the sound of her voice. “I wasn't getting to sleep anyway.”
“I am, yes,” the woman said. “My name is Adalia, and this is Bolvar, Lady Mara's son. He and Varian are quite good friends, usually.”
“Not any more,” Varian grumped, and Bolvar flailed at him. Varian flailed back.
“Boys, please,” Adalia said wearily. “Don't get yourselves worked up before bed.”
“If you sleep, you might get better at sneaking into other people's rooms,” Garona noted, and both boys peered at her. She could see better now that Bolvar had Lady Mara's green eyes, and Varian dark brown ones. He takes after his mother, it seems, at least in looks. “If you behave for your mother, I'll answer one of your questions before bed.”
“You've been answering them all day,” Adalia murmured. “Thank you for that.”
“It's the least i can do since I'm a-” Garona paused, and looked at Varian and Bolvar before continuing, “a guest.”
“A guest indeed,” Adalia said. Garona trailed behind as Adalia brought both boys to a large, ornate room with toys scattered here and there, and slim books on low, wide shelves. The sight of them felt like a stab in the heart as she thought of all that had been destroyed. Adalia led them through the room and into an adjoining one. This room had a large, low bed with a canopy around three sides, though the curtains were drawn back and the blankets and sheets wrinkled and rumpled.
“Go to the bathroom, then wash your hands and faces,” Adalia instructed, and both boys scrambled off to obey, footsteps dull thuds against the thick carpets. “I wish that it had not been tragedy that brought them together,” she noted with a sad smile. “The only home Bolvar has known was destroyed in the war, and I fear that is the story of many children now. It's difficult to be grateful that he is here and such good friends with Varian when he has lost so much.”
“Where was he from?” Garona asked, listening to the faint sounds of laughter and splashing.
“Northshire Abbey,” Adalia replied. “He and his mother lived there from his birth until relatively recently. Llane sheltered there when the war first started, but was called back when the King was killed. It was a sad day, though I rejoiced to meet Llane.”
Garona glanced at the queen, and then towards the door, trying to gather her thoughts to ask the very rude question that had sprung to mind.
“They are brothers in spirit, but not blood,” Adalia said. “I've had to answer that question many times since Lady Mara's arrival. Some people found it suspicious that Llane and I had no more children after Varian, but there are any number of witnesses that saw that that Mara was pregnant the day she came to the Abbey. There was, as they say, no time for anything else.”
“I'm sure your husband honours you,” Garona said, cheeks flushed at being so transparent. “Fools will always gossip.”
“I know whom my husband honours at all times,” Adalia noted. “The Wrynns are good kings.”
“I know, and I'm sorry, about the previous one,” Garona said, glancing quickly towards the door. “I did not assassinate him, nor did any of the others. It was an ambush. Hunting tactics, and we didn't understand how human leadership functions. I know, now, but the others... it's hard to say if they even care.”
“We aren't unfamiliar with conflict,” Adalia said as she fetched a chair, and Garona helped her drag it close to the bedside. “You don't train knights for peace. You train them for combat, for war. You don't use an army to repel a raid. We have... waited, I think. Azeroth has its enemies, all the human nations do, but this... we know trolls and goblins. We know of the dwarves and the gnomes. The elves, the gnolls, the kobolds, the murlocs, even the dragons, though they have not been seen in a long, long time. We did not live completely peaceful lives, but we had stability. We understood our place in the world. Now, all is changing. There is uncertainty.”
“I don't know what's going to happen either,” Garona confessed, and Adalia raised an eyebrow. “It's always been my task to gather information, to bring it from the people who have it to the people who need it. Now I have a great deal of information about your people and this world, and it's not what the orcs want. They want to know how to kill you, not that you fight your enemies with a ferocity that rivals theirs. They want to know your weak points, not that you know what they are and have learned to protect them. They want you dead, not to know that more than anything else, you want to live.”
Adalia was quiet for a moment, then smiled. “I believe that I can live with disappointing our enemies in such a case. You said you've told the orcs about us... what will you tell them now?”
“Nothing,” Garona replied, a hint of anger in her voice. “They will never find me here, never guess that I came to Stormwind. I hope they think I died in Karazhan, in the explosion, with so many others. I won't help them destroy you. I promise.”
“Thank you,” Adalia replied, and touched lightly over her heart. “That promise means much to Llane and I both, as it will mean much to the people of Azeroth.”
Garona nodded, and saw the boys hurrying back out, presenting themselves before the queen for the inspection of ears, to wipe damp hands, and to tuck both boys into bed. As big as the bed was, as small as they were, they seemed lost amid the white and blue.
“Do all close friends share a bed?” Garona murmured, and Adalia smiled.
“They will grow out of it, or they will not, and it makes them happy,” she replied. “Now, our guest has agreed to answer one question. One of you may ask.”
There was a brief moment of whispering between the boys, and finally, Varian spoke.
“How did you get here?” he asked.
“That's a vague question,” Garona said. “Do you mean, how did I get to Stormwind, or how did the orcs get to Azeroth?”
“Both!” Varian exclaimed, and Bolvar nodded. Adalia and Garona exchanged a long look.
“Alright,” Garona said. “I'll tell you.”
[ Chapter 11]