Beta: Miral Romanov

If There Be Ashes

"We dragon aspects have fulfilled our great purpose, and our ancient power is expended. But though our day draws to an end, life endures… and new generations will be born."

Her beloved Go'el had never looked so happy as he had after Alexstrasza had spoken those words, sombre as they were, and placed her hand gently on Aggra's abdomen. Even now, hours after they'd left the Dragon Aspects on the sheer cliff overlooking the Maelstrom, the remembrance of it still made delight burn in her throat. Alone in their chambers in Orgrimmar, Thrall having been stolen away by the more tedious aspects of politics, Aggra sat down on his side of the bed and hugged her stomach, a pleased smile on her face. She already knew they were having a son, thanks to the visions of their two future children she'd been graced with in Vash'jir, when she and another hero of Azeroth had worked together to free Go'el from his own rage and repentance.

The remembrance of her visions made her smile give way to a frown almost at once. Seeing her own children hadn't been the only images she'd been blessed with whilst braving the elementals. Even now, after Deathwing was long dead and the rest of the days that made up the Cataclysm were a blur of bloodshed and fire, the other image was burned as clear as day in her mind— that of a sweet-faced, golden-haired human woman.

They explicitly, in a silent agreement, did not discuss what Aggra had seen when his soul was turned inside-out for all of Azeroth to witness— Thrall wished for the past to be left in the past, and Aggra wanted anything but to remind Thrall of the many hardships he'd been put through. In this case, Aggra was loath to ask Thrall about the woman.

Even despite the fact that the very same woman had shown up at their wedding.

Aggra hadn't noticed her at first, too caught up in the relief of rescuing her beloved, Go'el's sweet words and the elation that they were joined at last. It wasn't until the woman stepped forward, along with Tyrande and Malfurion, to offer them her gentle-voiced congratulations, that Aggra finally noticed her. Her shock had probably been prevalent on her face, though if either Go'el or the mage had noticed, they hadn't said a thing. After she had graciously conjured a portal for the others to use and disappeared herself, Aggra had mustered up the courage to turn to her new husband — who, she couldn't help but noticed with a lump in her throat, was watching the portal the woman had disappeared through with a forcibly neutral expression on his face — and ask quietly, "Go'el?"

"Yes, my love?" he replied, tearing his eyes away from the portal to address her.

"Who was that woman? The human mage?"

His stony expression returned. "It was Lady Jaina Proudmoore of Theramore."

"How do you know her?" Aggra asked.

"It is unimportant," he responded, a hint of steel in his voice, so she'd ceased her questions at once.

Now, Aggra laid her thrumming head down on their bed, hugging Go'el's pillow for comfort and breathing in the traces of his scent that remained. She know she oughtn't feel jealous or upset over the lady mage— she'd seen inside Go'el's heart, knew full well that he loved her more than he loved anything. But it was clear to her that 'Lady Jaina Proudmoore of Theramore' still occupied a portion of Thrall's thoughts — perhaps even his heart — and whatever happened between them, Thrall would rather she not know about it.

The door opening with a loud creak startled Aggra, making her sit up hastily, still holding onto the pillow. Thrall ducked his head in, looking thoroughly worn out. When he spotted her sitting on the bed, he attempted a tired smile, but it soon gave way to a concerned frown when she merely watched him through wide eyes.

"What is it, my love?" he asked, taking a moment to raise his prayer beads over his head and set it down on the mantle before joining her on the bed.

Aggra hesitated, picking at a loose thread on the pillow. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and almost fearful. "Go'el, how do you know that woman?"

"What woman?" Thrall frowned.

"The human mage, Lady Proudmoore."

Thrall was clearly taken aback by her question, blinking at her for a moment, before his eyes became guarded as they had at their wedding. "Why do you ask?" he said, in the same steely tone.

Aggra opened her mouth to tell him about her vision, but at the last second she decided against it, fearing that the mention of that day would give him even more reason not to answer. "I would like to know," she said finally, the answer sounding weak even to her own ears. "You would not tell me when I asked last."

"I said it was unimportant," Thrall answered stonily.

"I do not believe you," Aggra said bluntly, doing her best not to flinch at Thrall's slight glare. "Who is she, Go'el? Why won't you tell me?"

After turning away from her and staring hard at the crackling fire in the stone fireplace, Thrall said finally, "She is a business associate. Nothing more." Aggra didn't believe him, and Thrall seemed to sense it, because he added, "I am not lying to you, my love. And I don't wish to quarrel on the night of such a victory."

Aggra nodded in agreement, lowering her eyes to her lap. "Very well, Go'el."

The same night, they doused the fire and made love by moonlight, and it was almost enough for Aggra to forget her husband's deflections. But not quite.

A couple of months later, after the birth of their son Durak, Aggra witnessed a change in Thrall's behaviour after news of Hellscream laying siege to an Alliance port in Dustwallow. At one point he abruptly and suddenly stormed through the Front Gate and returned looking stressed but relieved, and when Aggra questioned him about it he said nothing but, "I'm paying the price for my own foolishness," and wouldn't elaborate any further.

The next night, Aggra was sitting by the hearth rocking Durak's crib, only to jump in alarm when she heard a muffled crashing sound like shattering glass. Hauling herself upright and straightening out her nightgown, she beckoned a chambermaid to watch Durak and went off in search of the noise.

It didn't take long to find the source— in the War Room, a room usually reserved for meetings. Inside she found all of the decorative weapons and heirlooms scattered over the floor, some broken into pieces, and she was just in time to see her own husband grab one of the last remaining intact objects — a clay pot full of moonwell water — and hurl it across the room with a bestial roar. Aggra jumped as it shattered into dusty shards, adding to the debris on the floor, and before he could seize something else she said, "Go'el?" He whirled around, and she could see his black braids were so coated with dust that they looked pale grey. "What are you doing?"

His expression sobered back to stony indifference, straightening up into a pose that would have been almost condescending had he not been utterly surrounded by dust and debris. "I'm sorry you had to witness this, my love," he said in an angry but shameful tone. "Go back to our chambers; I'll join you in a moment."

"I will do no such thing," she said indignantly, but her anger soon faded as Thrall stopped looking at her to instead glare at his feet. Her tone softened, and she said, "What is this, Go'el? Where were you yesterday?"

"I—" he began, but frowned when he found himself lost for words. When he managed to gather his thoughts, his expression was more shameful than when she'd caught him earlier. "I made a mistake— a grave one. One that I can never repair."

"What is it, Go'el?" Aggra asked earnestly, stepping over shards to reach Thrall so she could place a hand on his shoulder.

He opened his mouth but closed it shortly thereafter, looking more vulnerable than she'd ever seen him. "Garrosh," he bit out, and it seemed like it took a considerable amount of effort to say just that.

Aggra frowned. "Hellscream?"

Thrall's expression grew angry again, and he slammed his fist down on the circular table so hard a needle-thin crack split across the tabletop. "The fool is blinded by his own hatred for the Alliance," he snarled, and Aggra knew from the look in his eyes that he wasn't seeing her anymore, but something else. "His latest siege has destroyed any chance of—" He paused for a moment, blinking, before continuing quietly, "— any chance of diplomacy with the Alliance."

Still not quite certain why that would provoke Thrall to throw what was admittedly a violent tantrum, Aggra said tactfully, "Theramore was a minor port, Go'el… perhaps in time we could still—" She paused as well, the name of the small city in Dustwallow sparking something in her gut.

"Who was that woman? The human mage?"

"Lady Jaina Proudmoore of Theramore," she said aloud, and Thrall's eyes swivelled downward in clear shame. Heart thudding in shock and utter pity for the sweet-looking mage, Aggra breathed, "Oh, Go'el…"

"I've done her a grave injustice I can never fix," he whispered, looking so broken she couldn't help but hurry over to him, slippers crunching quietly on the debris of the destroyed relics, and drawing him into her hold. His body almost dwarfed hers, but his bulky arms wrapped around her anyway and he pressed his face into her chest. "She was momentarily crazed by arcane and she attempted to flood Orgrimmar with a tidal wave." Aggra gasped, and Thrall added, "The Aspect Kalecgos was the one to stop her."

Nobody could ever accuse Aggra of being spiteful or envious, for after a moment of silence she asked worriedly, "Is she all right?"

"She is alive," he mumbled into her midsection, not quite answering her question but not quite avoiding it either.

After Go'el admission, he stopped wearing a stony mask of indifference— apparently confessing his guilt to her had lessened his burden. It hadn't entirely gotten rid of it, however, as he spent many nights working late to fortify Orgrimmar's defences.

Meanwhile Aggra's curiosity over the poor woman was gnawing at her, occupying her thoughts more often than she'd like. At one point she felt so terrible for Lady Proudmoore that she was almost ready to march into Stormwind just to ask for her counsel, but she knew Go'el would be furious, and odds were that Lady Jaina Proudmoore wouldn't want to meet with her. In any case, she was certain that if she didn't resolve her own curiosity she'd explode. Asking Go'el clearly was out of the question; she'd finally learned her lesson that he wasn't going to reveal anything more than he already had. So instead she had decided she would ask the ones that had informed her of the lady mage in the first place: the elements.

Once night fell, she left Durak in the care of the chambermaid again and stepped outside into the humid night. The streets were empty and silent save for the loud, boisterous chatter of the goblins from the Slums, so it was easy for Aggra to sweep past two sleepy grunts and out onto the bridge overlooking the Southfury River. Pushing the hood of her cloak backward from her head, she gripped the spiked railings tightly and let her eyes slide shut as she called out to the elements. The wind picked up around her as though acknowledging her, and she whispered as quietly as she could, "Show me the life of Lady Jaina Proudmoore of Theramore."

In her vision, she could see a teenage Jaina darting behind several trees, sneaking past a bored-looking stable boy and into the stables. Jaina stood on tiptoes to peer over each stable, slumping slightly in disappointment when she saw they were all empty. Quickly, she checked her reflection in a water basin, pinning her hair up and taking it down three times, and fidgeted with her skirts to the point where it was surprising that her dress didn't fall apart at the seams.

She shrieked out in alarm when another blonde teenager bearing a toothy grin snuck up behind her and grabbed her shoulders with a loud yell. Whirling around, she smacked him on his blue and gold chestplate and hissed, "Don't do that!" Snickering despite her order, he grabbed her by the waist and hauled her into his hold, twirling her around and causing her to laugh. After kissing thoroughly against a beam for almost a full minute, she pulled away and giggled, "What took you so long, Arthas?"

The vision fizzled away as quickly as it had come as Aggra's own shock took over her concentration. Arthas, as in Arthas Menethil, the Lordaeron prince who grew to be the Lich King? Hurriedly, she squeezed her eyes shut again and asked urgently, "Show me the mage and Go'el."

A fully-grown Jaina Proudmoore stood in a chamber with a fierce expression on her face and her battalion at the ready, as Thrall and Cairne Bloodhoof entered.

"Orcs," she bit out, upper lip curling in disgust. "I knew that we were being followed. Defend yourselves!"

Before any of them could so much as ready their weapons, a voice rang out in the chamber. "Stop! There will be no violence in this place."

Thrall, despite the situation, took his eyes off the mage and gaped. "That voice. You're no oracle! You're the prophet!"

"Very perceptive, son of Durotan," said the voice. "I am the prophet. And, now, that I've lured you all here, I will tell you what destiny holds."

"What the hell is going on here?" demanded Thrall angrily.

"Thrall, this is Jaina Proudmoore, leader of the survivors of Lordaeron."

Jaina Proudmoore raised her head slightly from the introduction, shoulders stiffening, and Thrall scowled, "Survivors? What are you talking about?"

"The invasion of the Burning Legion has begun!" said the prophet. "Lordaeron has already fallen, and now the demons come to invade Kalimdor! Only together, united against the shadow, will be able to save this world from the flame."

Jaina scoffed, as did Thrall and Cairne, but she was the one who snarled out, "Unite with them? Are you mad?"

"Have you heard nothing that I've said?" said the prophet impatiently. "The Legion comes to undo history and end all life! Thrall, your friend Hellscream has already fallen under the demons' influence. Soon he and your whole race will be lost forever!"

Thrall's expression turned to horror. "No… I'll die before I let that happen!"

"Then you must rescue him immediately! He is the key to the destiny I promise you. However, you will need help."

An expression of incredulity clear on her face, Jaina exclaimed hurriedly, "Wait! This is insane! You can't possibly expect me to—"

The prophet cut her off with a cool remark of, "Destiny is at hand, young sorceress. The time to choose has come. For the fate of all who live, humanity must join forces with the Horde."

Jaina and Thrall stared at each other, orcish blue eyes meeting identically blue, human ones, and both relaxed ever so slightly, both giving a curt nod.

The vision changed from a damp chamber to the beautiful, late-day summit of Mount Hyjal. The sun was bright and the flora was vibrant, despite the waves of demons marching across the land towards the encampments, on which stood a mix of Horde and Alliance races posed for battle. Thrall and Jaina were standing metres from each other, Thrall searing demon flesh with beams of elemental fire, Jaina wielding a glowing blue staff and sending frostbolts hurtling towards demons that dared to get too close. In the distance, Archimonde's shouts promising destruction echoed faintly towards their position, but they both tuned it out, daring to stop concentrating for a split second to cast glances at each other.

Eventually, when the waves of demons died down and they had all mounted horses and set a course toward the World Tree to intercept the Defiler, Thrall turned to Jaina with a sombre expression on his face. Her blonde hair was fluttering backward from the wind, there were streaks of demon blood and ashes on her cheeks and her eyes were fierce as she watched the figure that was Archimonde grow nearer. "Lady Proudmoore?"

"Yes, Warchief Thrall?" she said, turning to him.

He hesitated in the face of her gaze, which made her drop her indifferent mask of politeness into something wary. "I… am certain in the past, we both expected never to ally with the likes of each other. However, I want you to know that I value the friendship we have developed, and I am honoured to fight alongside you today."

A dark tint coloured his green cheeks after his speech, and a similar one dusted Jaina's pale ones. The corners of her mouth quirked up in a sweet smile, and she answered with warmth in her voice, "I am as well, Thrall." He looked thrilled, even as she turned away to face Archimonde again. "And should the impossible happen and we both survive… who says it should end?"

"What, our friendship or this alliance?" Thrall said abruptly, before looking disgruntled at what he'd just blurted out without thinking.

Jaina merely smiled wider. "Both."

Once again, Aggra's emotions cracked through her concentration, and she leaned heavily against the railing to keep from falling. Go'el had looked enraptured by her. She'd known Jaina Proudmoore had been something significant to Go'el, but could it be he'd actually fallen in love with the human? This time, when she asked the elements for more, she swore in her mind she would see through it to the end.

Jaina fidgeted in the humid air of Grommash Hold, uncomfortable and awkward in this potentially hostile territory. She'd never be able to get used to the hot climate that was Durotar. Upon her arrival she'd been stopped by two angry-faced orc grunts who snapped at her that the Warchief had left the city for Outland earlier that day and would be back shortly (she'd needed a translator to come along with her, as Orcish was decidedly not her forte) Standing in the shady but still hot Hold, Jaina was certain that there was absolutely no difference in temperature between standing in the shade and standing in the sun. How the grunts put up with it all day was beyond her.

Just as she was considering conjuring up a nice frost orb to cool herself off, several loud, simultaneous exclamations of, "Throm'ka!" caught her attention and made her turn around. Thrall was coming towards her with a gigantic smile on his face, practically jogging through the Gates of Orgrimmar and ignoring the grunts standing at attention behind him.

"Dismissed," he said abruptly to them, and as soon as they were alone he beamed at her. "Jaina!"

"Thrall?" she answered, matching his smile but allowing confusion to bleed into her voice at his unnatural cheerfulness. "Is everything all right?"

"More than!" he exclaimed, eyes alight. "I just returned from the Mag'har settlement in Nagrand. Jaina, I have a grandmother!"

Her face split into a smile almost as bright as his, and she breathed out, "Thrall, that's wonderful!"

"It is," he rumbled happily, drawing her into a hug. They both melted into it, but neither of them noticed. "She told me something, Jaina."

"Who?" Jaina mumbled into his shoulder.

He chuckled softly and pulled away, keeping his large hand on the small of her back. "My grandmother. She told me what my name was. My true name. It's Go'el, Jaina."

"Go'el," she repeated, trying it on her tongue.

Thrall beamed, if possible, even harder. "It means 'to redeem'."

"I like it," she decided. "Shall I call you Go'el from now on?"

"If you wish," he responded. "Now what is it you needed, Jaina…?"

Grommash Hold faded into the War Room, with all of its heirlooms and relics intact. Thin beams of sunlight were streaming through the tiny windows, casting a glow on the two sombre-faced people hunched over a map of old Dustwallow.

"… I know you're not ordering them, Go'el," Jaina said earnestly, tired lines underneath her eyes. "But we need to do something about the incursions in Dustwallow. Every day they get closer to Theramore."

"I was unaware these were even happening," Thrall frowned. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She shrugged a delicate shoulder, eyes staying fixed on the map. "I could handle them."

Annoyance was clear on Thrall's face as he turned his whole body to face her. "You should have told me," he growled, looking ready to go into an angry rant. "Gods, Jaina, these groups of soldiers are obviously awry— what would have happened if they stormed Theramore unexpectedly? You could have been injured, or even killed! Is your pride really worth your life, Jaina?"

"Why are you so angry?" Jaina frowned, blinking confusedly at him. "They're minor uprisings, Go'el— we've handled worse."

"That's not the point," he snapped at her.

"What is, then?" Jaina said.

He opened his mouth but shut it abruptly, and at first Jaina wasn't sure if the dark tint on his face was because of the general reddish lighting of Orgrimmar or because he was blushing. She got her answer a split second later when she was suddenly scooped forward, Thrall's firm mouth being carefully pressed against her own. She stumbled backward in shock, and he hurriedly pulled away, already mumbling apologies, but once she got her thoughts together Jaina wove her fingers into his black braids and rose on tiptoes to kiss him again. He let out a relieved noise he'd probably deny later on and tightened his grip on her tiny waist, pressing her closer; she let one hand trail over his angular jaw, thumb rasping over the rough stubble on his cheek and parted her mouth to lick his bottom lip.

He let out a quiet growl at the motion, one hand pressing onto the triangle of bare skin her robes revealed, the other curling over her bottom and hoisting her up — it was so easy, she was so fucking tiny in comparison to him — before placing her gently onto the circular table. Jaina hitched a leg over his hip, Orgrim Doomhammer's sharp armour biting into her skin, but Thrall's hand sliding up her inner thigh soothed the pain and brought on a different kind of pain. She pressed herself against him for relief, both of them letting out startled moans at the feeling, pulling away and staring at each other in astonishment. Clanking footsteps outside the door made them spring apart, Jaina hastily jumping off the table and smoothing out her robes.

A troll guard poked his head inside the War Room and said, "Beggin' your pardon, 'chief, but Hellscream be here teh see ya."

Thrall nodded curtly, afraid to speak just in case his voice cracked and betrayed his earlier actions. When the troll finally left, they both let out quiet sighs of relief, gravitating towards each other again. Jaina pressed her face against his armoured chest, letting him hold her in silence for a few moments before breaking it with a despondent, "This would never work, would it?"

He was quiet for a long time, rebelliously tracing circles on the skin of her back. "No," he admitted finally. "Not with the way things are."

She let out a breathy laugh that played over his arm. "Do you really think uniting the Alliance and the Horde would make things easier?"

He sighed. "Perhaps not."

With his answer, Jaina leaned away from Thrall and stepped back to a professional distance. "Then we should forget this ever happened," she said, sounding like she had to force out the words.

"On the contrary." He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Taking her tiny hand with his large one, he pressed her open palm against his breastplate directly over his heart and said, "You shall always remain in my heart, Jaina. Whether you are mine to love or whether we bear children with other people."

Her breath hitched at the mention of 'love'. "As you will be," she breathed, and he was equal parts saddened and honoured to see that calm, collected, focused Jaina had tears shining in her eyes.

"I am privileged," he admitted quietly.

Garrosh Hellscream chose that moment to storm into the Hold, looking as annoyed as ever. As Garrosh sent a glare in Jaina's direction, she mumbled, "I should go."

"Until next time, Lady Proudmoore," he said quickly, as though grasping for some kind of sign that she would return while still maintaining their new mutual professionalism.

She sent him a sad smile, before vanishing in a flash of pale blue-white light.

Now dressed in almost threadbare linen robes instead of Orgrim Doomhammer's armour, red prayer beads draping his neck, Thrall reached his hands out towards the smiling mage on the windy beach. "Lady Proudmoore," he greeted, formally but warmly. "Long has it been since we met so."

"Long indeed, Thrall," she said in agreement. "Perhaps too long."

"I am Go'el," he reminded her, but his tone was gentle.

"My apologies. Go'el it shall be." She looked around. "Where is Eitrigg?"

"He is with the warchief," he said. "While I now am leader of the Earthen Ring, I serve humbly. I do not think of myself as greater than any other member."

She smiled slightly. "Many would consider you much more than a simple shaman. I among them. Or are the tales that you allied with four Dragon Aspects to help bring down Deathwing just stories?"

"It was an honour, and a humbling one, to so serve," he answered. "I merely held the space for the Earth-Warder. It was all of us, working together—dragons and brave representatives of every race of this world. The credit for slaying the great monster goes to many."

Her smile faded, remembering what her love Kalecgos had told her after Deathwing's destruction, off Thrall's life-mate Aggralan being with child. "Congratulations," she said, wincing at how forced it sounded.

Knowing exactly what she was talking about without having to ask, he answered back just as stoically, "Thank you."

"You must be overjoyed at the news," she replied quietly.

Thrall lost his monotone mask, letting vulnerability shine through. "Jaina, I—"

"No, Go'el," she said abruptly, turning to him with a firm look on her face. "We agreed long ago we would never work. I am with Kalecgos now, and you are married with a child on the way. Do not let what we once had taint your happiness."

He nodded, looking almost chastened by her words. She wasn't entirely certain if he was quipping or serious when he added, "Does he treat you well?"

She smiled regardless. "He does. And you, do you treat dear Aggralan as you should?"

"I daresay I do," he grinned back, rapport established again.

Jaina drifted through the ruined remains of her city, except it wasn't really Jaina in a way. Her hair was now the colour of moonlight save for a small strip of remaining gold that coloured her bangs, and the look on her face as she positively strolled through the destruction was utterly blank. The air, still thick with the remnants of the mana bomb that had cratered the Isle, sizzled and crackled and blew her gossamer locks back. Upon examining the scene with idle interest, she leaned over a blue-haired female warrior frozen in a battle stance, gasping as her attempt to brush some wayward strands of hair from her face made the strands shatter at her light touch. Swallowing, she stumbled away from the warrior and back into the chaos.

She frowned at the sight of a tiny gnome body lying sprawled on the shape, pink hair stained crimson. Apparently she recognised it, because horror dawned on her face and she fell to her knees, reaching out a shaking hand to turn her body over only to have it dissipate into violet dust under her fingers.

The mage tossed back her head and screamed, tears streaming down her face, hair whipping back, air around her crackling madly.

When Thrall roused from his uneasy slumber, as his slumbers had been since the very start of the Cataclysm, he was astonished to find his wife absent from their bed and a chambermaid in the next room watching over his infant son. Hurriedly pulling on a cloth dressing gown, he hurled himself from their chambers and out into the humid night air in search of her. It didn't take long to find her collapsed into a weak heap on the bridge arched the Southfury River, sobbing uncontrollably into the stone.

"Aggra!" he shouted, sprinting towards her and dropping to his knees next to her. She threw herself into his lap at once but didn't cease her weeping, to the point where it was clear to him she could barely breathe from crying so hard. "What ails you, my heart?" he asked in terror, searching her desperately for injuries.

"I—" She gulped in a breath of air, finding the strength to lift her arm and gesture towards the river before gripping onto his arm for dear life. "I asked the elements t-to show me the mage… I saw everything…"

Horror crossed his face, and he had to fight the urge to scramble away from her when he realised exactly who she meant. "Oh Aggra…" he breathed. "Why?"

"Y-you loved her, Go'el…" she whimpered into his midsection. "She lost her city… her people…"

"You feel for her, my love." His voice was thick with sadness and pride, pulling her properly into his lap so he could hold her tightly. "She will recover," he said firmly, stroking her back. "It may take years, but she will. And perhaps… perhaps she may even grow to forgive me," he added quietly.

Aggra thought back to the memory of Thrall and Jaina both swearing they would remain in each other's heart even if they took different mates, and she opened her mouth to bring it up but thought better of it— the memory had been meant to be private. In any case, she let her husband — whose first love had been a human who had shared his vision of peace — hold her in the hot night air, and tried to convince herself that the mage would one day be as sweet and forgiving as she once had been.

A/N: This is my first Warcraft fic :) As you can see, I was pretty generous to Aggra despite the fact that I'm no fan of her :p Some things might not necessarily be canon. I researched like crazy and did my absolute best, but some minor details might have gotten past me, so forgive me if I made some mistakes. Some scenes have been taken/rewritten from the book 'Jaina Proudmoore: Tides of War', © Christie Golden- totally worth a read. Thanks for reading!