Anduin bit his lip hard and thought of the exquisite mace, likely invaluable, that Magni had so readily gifted him with, and thought he maybe had at least an inkling of how the late king regarded him.
The elderly dwarf cleared his throat. "Well, er… thank ye fer coming." When those assembled blinked askance at him, Rohan stepped up smoothly.
"Please… all are welcome tae come t' the High Seat and share yer stories about Magni. We'll have some refreshments fer ye."
Gentle murmurings could be heard as the honored guests moved down the stairs, away from the contorted, gem - encrusted figure that was so much more than diamond, and yet nothing more than diamond.
He didn't realize he was staring until a gentle hand closed on his shoulder. "Prince Anduin, come along," Jaina said kindly.
'Yes, come, Son," said Varian. "Our presence is required for some time yet."
Mutely, Anduin nodded, dragging his gaze away and praying quietly to the Light that Muradin or Brann would be found soon, and come to Ironforge, and chase away at least some of this awful solemnity that lay like a shroud upon the city. Although he suspected that the dwarves would never quite get over the shockingly strange, unforeseen, and violent end their beloved leader had met.
"Well, that is the last of it," Thrall said. He set down the quill and regarded the parchment solemnly. This was the last official business he would conduct for some time—signing the approval to begin work on repairing Orgrimmar. Again. It seemed to Thrall that the city had only just begun to recover from the War Against the Nightmare when another blow had been dealt it. Gazlowe had dropped his price a second time, and Thrall was quite moved by the gesture, even though it was still almost ludicrously high. Too, the goblin had agreed to be paid in increments instead of in advance, and had indicated he'd be willing to adjust the fee if he didn't need to also provide certain supplies. Thrall felt a small, somewhat petty twinge of satisfaction leaving such annoying details as budgets, construction, and supplies to Garrosh. Such "boring" things were of necessity part of being a good leader, and Garrosh needed to learn that.
Nodding, he left the scrolls for Garrosh and rose. He would be making this journey alone. By his orders, no Kor'kron would accompany him. Their duty was now to defend Garrosh Hellscream, the acting warchief of the Horde. They would not be needed to guard a lone shaman journeying to another world to seek knowledge. His leave - taking was not being announced with fanfare or spectacle. For one thing, such frivolities were too expensive. For another, he did not wish to make this any kind of an "event." He was simply going away for a time, and he had no desire to make his departure anything of consequence for the average Horde citizen. While he made no secret of it—that would be as counterproductive in his mind as trumpeting it—he wished it to be perceived as a minor event.
He had sent word ahead to Cairne, of course, informing his old friend of his decision and reasoning behind it, and requesting that Cairne advise Garrosh when needed. He had as of yet received no response, which surprised him. Cairne usually was quite prompt in such matters. He supposed that the tauren leader, too, had his hands full with the aftermath of Northrend.
"Farewell for now, my old friend," Thrall said to Eitrigg. "See that the boy does the little things as well as the large."
"I shall, Warchief," Eitrigg said. "Do not tarry in our homeland overlong. Garrosh will do his best, but he is not you."
Thrall embraced his friend, clapping him on the back, then picked up the small sack that was all he planned to carry with him on the journey. With little notice even being taken of him, the warchief of the Horde walked out of Grommash Hold into the still - hot night air, heading for the flight tower.
"You are making a grave mistake," came a deep, rumbling voice in the darkness.
Surprised at the words, though recognizing their speaker, Thrall checked his brisk stride and turned to Cairne Bloodhoof. Cairne stood beneath the towering dead tree that bore the skull of a demon and his once - impregnable armor. The tauren high chieftain was straight and tall, his arms folded across his broad chest, his tail swishing slightly. His face showed disapproval.
"Cairne! It is good to see you. I had hoped to hear from you prior to my departure," Thrall said.
"I do not think you will be glad, for I do not believe you are going to like what I have to say'," the tauren said.
"I have ever listened to what you have to say," Thrall replied, adding, "which is why I requested you advise Garrosh in my absence. Speak."
"When the courier arrived with your letter," Cairne said, "I thought I had indeed, at long last, finally become senile and was dreaming fever dreams as poor Drek'Thar does. To see, in your own writing, that you wished to appoint Garrosh Hellscream as leader of the Horde!"
The voice had begun quiet, but stern. Cairne was slow to anger, but it was clear he had had some time to think on this matter and it disturbed him greatly. His voice deepened and grew louder as he spoke. Thrall glanced about quietly; so public a place was not where he would have wished to have this particular conversation.
"Let us discuss this in private," Thrall began. "My quarters and ears are open to you at all—"
"No," replied Cairne, and stamped a powerful hoof for emphasis. Thrall glanced at him, surprised. "I am here, in the shadow of what was once your greatest enemy, for a reason. I remember Grom Hellscream. I remember his passion, and his violence, and his waywardness. I remember the harm he once did. He may have died a hero's death by slaying Mannoroth; I am the first to acknowledge that. But by all accounts, even your own, he took many lives, and gloried in the doing. He had a thirst for blood, for violence, and he quenched that thirst with the blood of innocents. You were right to tell Garrosh of his father's heroism. It is true. But also true were the less savory things Grom Hellscream did, and his son needs to know these things as well. I stand here to ask you to remember these things, too, the dark and the bright, and to acknowledge that Garrosh is his father's son."
"Garrosh never had the taint of demonic blood that Grom had," Thrall said quietly. "He is headstrong, yes, but the people love him. He—"
"They love him because they only see the glory!" Cairne snapped. "They do not see the foolishness." He softened somewhat. "I, too, saw the glory. I saw tactics and wisdom, and perhaps with nurturing and guidance those are the seeds that will take root in Garrosh's soul. But he finds it far too easy to act without thinking, to ignore that inner wisdom. There are things about him I respect and admire, Thrall. Mistake me not. But he is not fit to lead the Horde, any more than Grom was. Not without you to check him when he overreaches, and especially not now, when things are yet so tenuous with the Alliance. Do you know that many secretly whisper that now would be a fine time to strike at Ironforge, with Magni turned to diamond and no leader yet visible?"
Thrall did know it. He'd known that the whispers would begin the moment he had learned the news. It was why he had moved quickly to send formal representatives to what amounted to a funeral service, and why he had chosen a sin'dorei and a tauren whom he knew to be moderate individuals.
"Of course I know this," Thrall sighed. "Cairne—it won't be for very long."
"That does not matter'. The child does not have the temperament to be the leader you are. Or should I say, you were? For the Thrall I knew, who befriended the tauren and helped them so greatly, would not have blithely handed over the Horde he restored to a young pup still wet behind the ears!"
Thrall's jaw tightened, and he felt anger growing within him. Cairne had set his great hoof squarely on Thrall's own worries. Worries that he could not shake. Yet he knew there was literally no other choice. No one else could take on the responsibility. It had to be Garrosh.