Twelve
Drek'Thar tossed and turned in his sleep. Visions plucked at him, pinched and teased and tormented him. Half - glimpsed, uncertain, unclear; visions both of peace and prosperity and disaster and ruination playing out simultaneously in the theater of his mind.
He could see in this vision. He stood, and yet there was nothing beneath his feet. All around him were stars and inky black sky, above and below. Images of the Spirits of Earth, Air, Fire, Water—all angry, all unhappy, all raging at him. They reached out to him, pleading, and yet when he turned to them, heart open and trying to understand, rebuffed him with fury so profound he staggered. If they had been children, they would have wept.
Water crashed around him, whipped by Air manifesting as wind. Storms, strong and powerful, catching up ships and snapping them like child's toys. Cairne and Grom's boys were on such a ship… no, no, it was Thrall… then it did not matter who was on the ship, for it had been smashed to sodden kindling.
Fire was next, its sparks diving at Drek'Thar like birds protecting a nest. He was powerless under the onslaught, crying out as his clothing caught and burned. He beat at it frantically, but the flame refused to be extinguished.
Just as it seemed that Drek'Thar would succumb to Fire's attack, it ceased. He was whole and sound. Drek'Thar breathed heavily, trembling. The moments stretched out. Nothing happened, yet the vision continued.
And that was when he felt the rumbling beneath his feet. And he knew, somehow, that Air and Water and Fire had already voiced their pain. And while they might yet again, this trembling of a sobbing Earth beneath his feet was, Drek'Thar knew, yet to come. And he sensed it would be terrible. Images flashed through his mind—a place of snow, a place of forests -
He shouted and bolted upright, blinking eyes that once again, mercifully, saw only darkness. His reaching hands met those of Palkar, as they always did.
"What is it, Greatfather?" asked the younger ore. His voice was clear, strong, untroubled by all that haunted Drek'Thar.
Drek'Thar opened his mouth to answer, but suddenly his thoughts were as dark as his eyes. He had dreamed—something. Something important. Something he needed to share—
"I… I don't know," he whispered. "Something terrible is about to happen, Palkar. But… I don't know what. I don't know!"
He shook with frustrated, fearful sobs.
The tears that streamed down his face were warm.
Anduin developed a routine as the days unfolded. Mornings were spent training with the seemingly inexhaustible and eternally chipper Aerin. When they were not sparring, she and Anduin went for rides out in the countryside. While rams would never be his favorite mounts, Anduin loved the chance to get outside; the clear air made him feel almost giddy, and the snowy land was so very different from the temperate clime of Stormwind. He grew to become very fond of Aerin. He could trust her to not pull a punch, physically or verbally, and found that very refreshing. Once, he asked about Moira. "Och, that's a convoluted business, that," she said.
"Sounds straightforward to me. She got kidnapped, was enchanted, and broke Magni's heart."
"I'll certainly agree that he misses her," Aerin said, "but he was no the best daddy tae her either."
Anduin was stunned. He'd always imagined the bluff dwarf as the perfect father. Surely he would appreciate someone for who they were, not who he wanted them to be.
"Not cruel, or anything, mind. But… well, Her Highness was the wrong gender. Magni always wanted a son tae rule after him. Felt that a female just wouldna do th'job right."
"Jaina Proudmoore is a wonderful leader of her people," Anduin said.
"Aye, and it wasn't long after Moira disappeared that His Majesty put me an' a few others in his elite guard," Aerin said. "I think he finally understood that he'd been a bit unfair. 'Tis my hope that one day, father an' daughter will have a chance tae make things right."
Anduin hoped so, too. It would seem that father - child difficulties were not limited to humans.
As they rode together, he got to know the people of the neighboring areas of Kharanos and Steelgrill's Depot. Once they even rode as far as Thelsamar in Loch Modan, where they broke for lunch and Anduin, exhausted, fell asleep by the loch and awoke two hours later to an exquisitely painful sunburn.
"Och, ye humans, not smart enough tae come in out o' the sun," quipped Aerin.
"How come you aren't burned?" asked Anduin crossly. Ninety percent of the time he saw her, Aerin was in full armor, and the rest of the time she lived underground. What skin was now revealed was even paler than his own.
"I went and napped in the shade o' yon rock outcropping," she said.
He gaped at her. "Why didn't you suggest that to me?"
"Thought ye'd figure it out for yerself. Ye will in the future, won't ye?" She smiled placidly at him, and although he was in terrible pain and the color of a crab when it was boiled, he found he could not be angry at her. He hissed as he put his shirt back on; the fine runecloth fabric, soft as a feather, was agony. Aerin was right. He would never let himself drift off on a sunny day without making damned sure he was well protected by the shade.
He returned to his quarters to find a letter waiting for him. It was in Magni Bronzebeard's own bold handwriting:
Anduin—
Come to the High Seat as soon as you return. Bring Aerin, too.
He'd hoped to ask High Priest Rohan for some help with his sunburn, but Magni's summons clearly brooked no delay. He showed the letter to Aerin, whose eyes widened. She nodded, and as one they turned and hastened to the High Seat. Despite the pain of his sunburn, Anduin broke into a trot. Worn' flooded him. Had something happened to his father? Had war finally broken out between the Horde and the Alliance?
Magni was there, leaning over a table. Two other dwarves, their garb travel stained, were on either side of him. A third dwarf looked on eagerly. Anduin recognized him as High Explorer Muninn Magellas, the head of the Explorers' League, a dashing dwarf with red hair and beard who liked to sport goggles most of the time. On the table were three stone tablets. Anduin skidded to a halt, exchanging a quick, confused glance with Aerin, who shrugged, clearly just as confused as he.
"Ah, Anduin, lad, come here, come here! Ye'll want tae see this!" Magni waved him forwvard, his eyes alight with excitement. Relief filled Anduin, leaving him feeling momentarily drained, and then he felt a twinge of annoyance.
'Your message sounded urgent, Your M—Uncle Magni," he said, moving forwvard, feeling the sunburn with renewed awareness.
"Och, not urgent, but most intriguing! Come take a look for yerself!"
One of the dwarwes nodded and stepped out of the way so Anduin could stand beside Magni and Magellas. He looked at the tablets, realizing now that there were not three, but only one, which had been broken into pieces.
There was writing on each part of the shattered tablet. Anduin knew several languages, but this was unfamiliar to him.
"Me brother Brann sent this tae me," Magni said. He pulled off one of his gloves and ran bare, powerful fingers over the texts with a startlingly light touch. "He was intrigued and thought I might be as well." He glanced at Anduin. "And as soon as I saw these, I sent for ye. I imagine ye've no idea what ye're looking at."
Anduin laughed a little and shook his head. "I've never seen this before."
"I'm not sure anyone has, at least not in a long, long time. This writing… it is of the earthen."
Anduin's skin erupted in gooseflesh and he stared at the broken pieces with new respect. The earthen were creations of the titans, long, long ago. And it was from the earthen that the current dwarwes were descended. The stone in front of him was unspeakably old, perhaps as old as ten thousand years—maybe even older. He, too, reached a trembling hand to touch it, lightly, as Magni had, with profound respect.