A small flicker detached itself and dove down Thrall's throat. He cried out, feeling it burn as it settled into him and seemed to wrap around his heart. It scorched, painfully, but he knew this was no actual, literal flame. He clapped a hand to his chest, over his heart, and fell forward, leaning on his other hand.
Aggra was there, her touch cool and comforting on his shoulder. "Go'el, did he harm you?"
Thrall shook his head. The pain was receding. "No," he said. "Not… not physically."
Her eyes searched his, then she regarded Incineratus. The great Elemental Fun was already moving off, having dismissed Thrall. She reached in her bag for a flask of water, but he placed a hand on her arm and shook his "No," he rasped. "Incineratus… gifted me with the fire of passion, to do what I need to do."
Slowly Aggra nodded. "As you learned last night, that fire burns within you already. But this is a great gift indeed. Very few have felt the brush of Incineratus's fire."
He knew by what she did not say that she herself had not been so honored. He felt compelled to add, "I do not think the gift was for me. It was for the elements in Azeroth, that I might be better able to help them."
"I have asked for such, to help the kindlings here," she said quietly. "I was not deemed worthy."
He grasped her hand. "You are skilled, Aggra. And it could be that the fire that burns within you already is enough."
Startled, she lifted her eyes to his. He expected her to tug her hand away and make a sharp retort. Instead, Aggra let her hand remain in his, brown fingers entwined with green, for a long moment before squeezing gently and moving away.
"There are two more," she said, once again controlled and brusque in her demeanor. "While you have a great gift, perhaps Gordawg and Aborius will be able to help you more than Incineratus and Kalandrios could. Give you a little clarity on what you saw, perhaps. I find myself that sometimes their mysteries irritate more than they enlighten."
He was surprised at her irreverence but found himself forced to agree with it. Sometimes Fire and Air were both a little bit flighty.
The metaphysical fire had died down to an ember in his heart now, but he could still feel it. He moved on to Aborius, moving in a circle around the Throne of the Elements, and knelt before the Fury of Water.
She turned around at once. Thrall had not even mentally voiced his plea before he felt the patter of a gentle spray of water across his upturned face. He licked his lips; it was sweet and clean, the freshest water he had ever Go'el, your pain and confusion are as my own. Many come here with concerns, but few feel them as strongly as you do. Would that I could aid you, in this world that houses the droplets that are of me and yet not of me.
Your heart is already afire with the passion to help, to heal. To put right a world sorely troubled. I cannot give you such a gift as Incineratus did, but I will tell you, do not be ashamed of your feelings. Water shall give you the balance you seek; it shall replenish and restore. Do not be afraid of anything you feel in this journey to save your world. Neither be afraid of the wound within your own soul, which you must heal.
Thrall was confused. I? I have no wound, great Fury, save the pain at the torment my world is in.
He felt a brush of compassionate humor. One faces one's burdens when one is ready, not before. But I say again unto you, Go'el, son of Durotan, son of Garad—when the time comes that you are ready to heal your wound, do not be afraid to dive deep.
Water was running down his face now. Again Thrall opened his mouth to taste the sweet liquid, but instead found it to be warm and salty. Tears. He was weeping, openly, and for a moment Aborius allowed Thrall to feel the element's own empathy for him.
He sobbed, unashamed, knowing that what he felt was good and true. Tears were part of the gift that loving Taretha Foxton had given him, as had been so poignantly revealed to him last night. Even more than wanting to liberate his people from the camps, even more than wanting them to have a land where they would be safe and happy, Thrall realized that he wanted the world in which he had been born to be whole. Only then would the other things follow. Only when Azeroth had recovered from this strange, angry hurting that was causing it to shake and quiver and weep, only then could the Horde, or, indeed, the Alliance, truly grow and thrive. This was why he had felt called to come to Outland. This was why he had left the Horde behind, the Horde he had loved and helped create. It truly had been the only choice.
He got to his feet, shaking, dragging an arm across his eyes, and turned to the final Fury.
Gordawg was perhaps the most imposing of the Furies, even more so than the fiery Incineratus. The Fun of Earth was like a mountain come to life, and as Thrall approached, the earth beneath him trembled.
Gordawg seemed to take no notice of Thrall, instead striding away from him as the orc hastened to follow. Thrall reached out imploringly with his thoughts. Finally Gordawg came to a halt so abruptly that Thrall almost ran into him.
Massively, slowly, he turned and gazed down at the ore, so small in comparison.
What you wish of Gordawg?
I come from a land called Azeroth. The elemental spirits there are troubled. They voice their pain in wildfires, floods, earthquakes.
Gordawg peered down at him, his glowing eyes narrowing.
Why so pained?
I do not know, Fury. I ask them, but their replies are chaotic. All I know is that they suffer. Your fellow Furies have been unable to help me solve this mystery so that I can aid the elements of Azeroth.
Gordawg nodded, as if he had been expecting this.
Gordawg want to help. But other land far away. Cannot help without knowing land.
Thrall was not surprised. It was the same reason the other Furies had given for being unable to help: it was not their world, and they did not know it.
A thought came to him. Gordawg, there is a portal between Azeroth and what remains of Draenor. Once, it was closed so that the destruction of Draenor would not pass to my world. Now, the illness of my world could pass to yours, if I do not stop it. Can you do nothing to help me? And in helping me, perhaps protect Outland?
Gordawg hears what you say. Gordawg understands the need. And yet Gordawg says again—of this world, Gordawg knows. The great being knelt, scooped up a handful of earth, and popped it into his maw before Thrall's startled gaze. I taste. I can tell where this earth has been, what its secrets are.
Thrall's eyes widened as an idea came to him. Could it be so simple?
He always carried with him a small transportable altar—a feather to represent Air, a small chalice for Water, flint and tinder for Fire…
… and a small rock for Earth. Now he fumbled in his pouch with fingers gone shaky with hope and fear commingled. Finally his hand emerged, holding the small rock in his palm.
It was an actual piece of an element of Azeroth; the other items—flint and tinder, a chalice, a feather—were only symbols. But this was the element it represented.
Gordawg… here is a stone from my world. If you can glean anything from it, I ask you, please tell me.
Gordawg stared. The rock was small. He bent over, extending his giant hand, and Thrall dropped the stone into it.
Not much for Gordawg to taste, he grumbled. But Gordawg try. Gordawg wish to help.
The stone was but a tiny speck on his hand, and Thrall watched it vanish into the massive gullet. He glanced over at Aggra, who spread her hands and shrugged. She was as confused as he.