“I know,” Anduin replied. Oddly, he wasn’t frightened. “But there were.”
“Indeed.” Garrosh took a deep breath and continued. “I was not afraid of some cowardly attempt on my life. I was never scared of Vol’jin.”
“Then why did you not challenge him to a mak’gora?” Anduin shot back, recovering. “Why do something underhanded, something that goes against your own traditions, if you weren’t afraid he’d beat you in a fair fight? That’s the game cowards play. That’s the game Magatha played.”
“I thought you honorable, but you strike below the belt, whelp.”
“I speak the truth, Garrosh. That’s what’s upsetting you, isn’t it? It’s not what others think about you. It’s what you think about yourself.”
Anduin expected another burst of fury, but this time Garrosh turned his rage inward. Only his eyes revealed his anger.
“I have never forgotten my people’s traditions,” he said, in a voice so soft Anduin had to strain to hear it. “I repeat what I said to Vol’jin. Were I free, I would indeed stop at nothing to ensure a proud and glorious future for the orcs—and anyone with the courage to stand with us.”
“What if the Alliance stood with you?”
“What?”
“What if the Alliance stood with you? Is it truly the orcs’ pride and glory that concerns you, or your own?” The words were not planned; they flowed out almost as if of their own accord. Even as Anduin spoke them, he realized their absurdity. And yet, something inside him whispered, No, not absurd, not impossible. There can be peace. No one need give up such a future. Unity, working together for the good of all—what else could inspire such true pride, bring such lasting glory?
Wasn’t it this, and not killing, that made a hero?
Garrosh stared at him in utter shock, his mouth slightly open in disbelief.
Anduin’s breathing was shallow as the moment stretched out between them. He did not dare speak again, for fear of breaking the spell.
Finally, Garrosh spoke.
“Get out.”
The disappointment made every bone in the prince’s body ache, as if they sung a dirge.
“You lie, Garrosh Hellscream,” Anduin said softly, sorrowfully. “There is something you’ll stop at. You’ll stop at peace.”
And without another word, Anduin rose, ascended the ramp, and knocked on the door. It was opened for him in silence, and he left, feeling Garrosh’s gaze boring into his back.
Jaina was alone in her tent at Violet Rise, washing up for dinner. Located far to the northwest of the Temple of the White Tiger, Violet Rise was the base of operations of the Kirin Tor Offensive. Presently it also played host to Varian and Anduin, as well as several powerful magi, Vereesa, Kalecgos, and herself. She changed into a less formal robe and splashed water from a basin on her face. She almost felt like humming. Vol’jin’s testimony had been damning. She had never interacted with the troll, and Light knew their kind had ever been dangerous to humans and other Alliance members even before there had been a Horde. It was amusing, in a way, to hear him talk about the variety of races under the Horde banner when one took into account the trolls’ lengthy history of racial superiority. Nonetheless, she all but cheered at his words spoken in court.
“Jaina?”
“Kalec!” she said. “Come in.”
He lifted the flap but didn’t enter. Her good mood ebbed as she saw his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Care to go for a walk with me?”
It was raining—it seemed it was always raining here—but Jaina said, “Of course.” She stepped out of the tent slipping on a cloak as she did so, and he let the flap drop closed. Their hands met and clasped. Jaina told Nelphi, an eager young apprentice who helped out all the magi on Violet Rise, they would be gone for a little while, but not to delay supper if everyone else was ready.
They walked across the wide, paved square where the other magi were going about their business in the drizzle. Still hand in hand and in silence, they descended the great staircase, once trod by mogu feet, leading toward the water, picking their way across broken pieces of the trail. As they turned left through Shadewood Thicket, Jaina realized that Kalec was taking her down to the small patch of beach at the bottom of a winding path. The arcane guardians set here to keep watch paid them no mind, trundling about on their programmed duties of surveillance. Jaina focused on stepping safely across the rain-slicked, ancient paving stones, growing more certain that she would not enjoy the conversation they were about to have.
As she set foot on the narrow beach, Jaina could not help but be reminded of walking along a similar patch of sand, Dreadmurk Shore, outside of the walled city that was no more. She recalled seeing the blue dragon in flight, searching for a place to land, and remembered how she had broken into a run to meet him.
His face had lit up when he saw her. They had spoken of those who had come to aid her against the Horde. Jaina had expressed concern for the generals’ personalization of the battle to come.
She recalled what she had said to him then: “If anyone should be bitter and hateful, it should be me. Yet I hear the things some of them call the Horde—insulting, cruel terms—and I feel so much regret . . . My father didn’t just want to win. He hated the orcs. He wanted to crush them. Wipe them off the face of Azeroth. And so do some of these generals.”
Anduin had been right. People did change. Now, she was one of those whom she had once mentally chided.
It had been then that Kalec had first hesitantly expressed that he wished to be more than a friend to her. He had promised to help her defend her home. “I do not do this for the Alliance, or for Theramore. I do this for Theramore’s lady.” And he had pressed a kiss into her palm.
They had grown closer when Kalec struggled against losing himself while under the influence of the artifact that had revealed the true story behind the creation of the Dragon Aspects. But the events of the recent months had again put distance between them, and he had only recently come to Pandaria. Now he regarded her, with love, but also with unhappiness, and she felt a chill that had nothing to do with the crisp air coming off the sea.
For a moment, she simply took in the sight of Alliance vessels in the water, and the beautiful, violet light of the topmost part of the tower. It hovered a good distance away from the levitation platform below. Sigils in the shape of the Kirin Tor’s eye surrounded it, and to Jaina it looked almost like a lighthouse, a beacon in the storm.
Black humor made her chuckle. “First a swamp, then the rain. One of these days, we’ll have to find a really nice beach.”
When he did not respond with a quip of his own, she felt cold inside. She inhaled a deep breath and turned to him, taking both his hands in hers. “What is it?” she asked, though she was afraid she already knew.
For answer, he gathered her in his arms and held her tightly, resting his cheek on her white hair. She slipped her arms around his waist and breathed in his scent, listening to his heartbeat. Too soon, he gently disengaged and looked down at her.
“This war has taken so much from you,” Kalec said. “And I don’t just mean physical things.” He smoothed a lock of hair that had fallen across her eyes, letting the single streak that was all that remained of her golden tresses trail through his fingers. “You’ve grown so . . .”
“Hard? Bitter?” She had to struggle not to let her tone of voice match the words.
He nodded sadly. “Yes. It’s as if the process of wounding doesn’t ever stop for you.”
“Shall I list what’s happened?” She spoke sharply, but didn’t regret it. “You’ve been there for some of it!”
“But not all. You didn’t ask me to come with you to Pandaria.”
She looked down. “No. But that doesn’t mean I don’t—”