This is set pre-Cataclysm, so no worgens, goblins or Warchief Garrosh.
The Sentinels kept raiding the northern borders of the Barrens… Adventurers had even been seen near the Crossroads… Northwatch was eerily calm and silent, surely they were planning something… An entire grunt battalion had been lost at the hands of a Sentinel Elite Squad which had pushed as far as Sen'Jin village unnoticed…
Thrall delicately pinched the bridge of his nose in a very human-like manner as he sighed under the pressure of all these news. This move usually intrigued or irritated the person he was talking to. Luckily, he was alone right now, save for his elite guards, who were used to see him do this strange and unfamiliar gesture.
Open war with the Alliance was out of the question, even though they seemed to prod and taunt more and more with each day that went by. The Horde was already weakened by the coup in Undercity and the war with the Scourge. Even if both factions could, at least for a time, fight alongside each other in Northrend, it was another story on the rest of Kalimdor.
The Warchief sighed and rubbed his forehead. The sun had long since set on Durotar, but he couldn't bring himself to abandon the stack of paperwork that awaited his attention.
He leaned against the back of his throne, where he was sitting. Even now that he was allowing himself a few minutes of rest, his head was flooded with thoughts of the ongoing issues he had to face. As the threat of the black dragons came to his mind, his thoughts drifted to Theramore, and more precisely to Jaina. They had not talked in quite a long time, and he somehow missed the friendly conversations they always had when they did meet. He wondered how she was, and felt a hint of worry cross his mind, for the last time she had shared her concerns with him, the matter was rather serious.
He still remembered the anxious look on her face as she told him what was ailing her. He remembered how his skin had crawled and how lost she had seemed, for the first time since he knew her.
"I received an ultimatum from Stormwind."
They were both standing on the hill overlooking Razor Hill, where they always met. She was sitting on the very edge of the cliff, her legs dangling towards the ground below. He sat beside her, and listened as she shared her concerns with one of her dearest friend.
"And what are they asking for?" Thrall asked.
She sighed, at the same time blowing a stray lock of golden hair out of her eyes. Her hair blazed in crimson and orange as the sun slowly disappeared to the East.
"They ask that I disrupt any contact I have with the Horde," she answered.
Her eyes, which had been staring far ahead for the whole time, quickly shifted to him before returning to their original target.
"With you," she added.
She allowed, perhaps involuntarily, a flash of pain to cross her eyes. They stayed silent a long time before he spoke again. They both knew of the question that hung heavily in the air, and Thrall finally took a deep breath and spoke.
"And… will you obey?" He asked.
"I…"
She bit her lower lip, so hard he feared it may bleed.
"I don't know."
"But what will happen if you refuse?" He said quietly.
Her eyes slammed shut and she rubbed her forehead. She leaned forward, dangerously close to slipping off the cliff. Yet, Thrall made no move to hold her back. He knew she wouldn't fall.
"I don't even want to think about it," she muttered grimly.
His thoughts were interrupted by a crackling sound right before him. He straightened in his throne as his guards strained, eyes set on the middle of the room, where nothing was yet to be seen.
Suddenly a yell was heard and a staggering, small form stumbled out of a half-formed portal. Thrall stood as his guards drew their weapons, everyone recognizing the frail, delicate frame of a human woman. But the Warchief soon recognized the intruder's long, golden hair and blue cloak, despite her hooded face, and raised his hand.
"Hold!" He shouted as he almost ran to support the small silhouette.
The trespasser literally fell into his arms, and it took her a moment to look up. The Warchief couldn't help but recoil when her face was exposed to him.
"Jaina…!" He called. "What happened?"
The guards exchanged interrogating looks. Their Warchied usually was calm and impassive, yet there he was, kneeling next to the human sorceress, with a look of sincere concern on his face. They were all intrigued, yet none of them dared to step forward to see what was disturbing him in such a way.
"It's nothing Thrall, it's not important," she answered. "I…"
Her knees almost gave out, contradicting the words that she had just spoken, and she had to grab her friend's shoulder with both hands. Her hood slipped, revealing to her face to the rest of the people present in the room. A few guards could not contain a gasp. She had a long and deep gash spreading from her temple to the middle of her cheek, and the injury bled an awful lot, covering the right side of her face and neck with blood. A part of her hair was soaked with the red liquid, and even though her face remained listless, the pain she felt could be seen in her eyes.
"What happened, Jaina?" Thrall asked, laying her down on the floor. "Tell me!"
His voice was a deep growl, and anyone who looked at him guessed that whoever work this was, they would pay dearly.
Jaina averted her eyes, opened her mouth to speak, closed it, and then opened it again.
"Stormwind," she whispered.
"… What about it?" He asked.
His eyes then widened in realization and disbelief.
"They didn't…" he started.
Jaina nodded. She sat up, pushing the Warchief's hands away as he was about to push her back down on the furs that littered the floor.
"I need to go back," she said, determination shining in her eyes. "I wanted to teleport inside my tower, but it seems that, in my state of panic, I… made a false move."
She stood, staggered, and started to cast her spell. Yet she was interrupted by Thrall grabbing her wrist.
"You're in no state to cast such a spell," he said in a low, rumbling voice. "Teleporting many people demands much strength."
For a short moment her stone mask was replaced by confusion, but she quickly regained her composure.
"I'm alone," she answered.
"No, you are not, friend," the Warchied answered. "We're coming with you."
His eyes swept over all of the guards gathered in Grommash Hold.
"Aren't we, brothers?" He asked.
After a second of hesitation, they all raised a hand to their chest and saluted.
"Yes, Warchief!"
A smile briefly stretched Jaina's lips. Even though she knew this action could only be alleged as an act of treason to Stormwind, they were the ones slaughtering her people right now, and she wouldn't stand idle.
"Then there is no time to waste," she said, putting as much strength as she could muster in her voice.
A Horde mage was quickly fetched, and the troll's brows only briefly furrowed at the unusual request. A portal was soon opened, and the twenty Kor'Kron Elites stepped through it to join the Theramore soldier in their desperate battle against members of their own race. Placing a soothing hand on Jaina's shoulder, the Warchief followed his Elite Guards, and the portal closed behind the two leaders.
When they stepped into Theramore they were greeted with screams of pain and victory. The sight was sickening. Humans of both cities ripped their own brothers' flesh in a foolish battle, ignoring their common ancestors and history. Yet the Orcs could not stand idle for too long, as their arrival had not gone unnoticed. Many eyes turned toward them, and the Theramore soldiers, seeing their Lady stand beside the Warchief, quickly understood that the Orcs, for once, were not there to slaughter them, but to aid them. Stormwind soldiers sneered, their eyes narrowing upon noticing Thrall's hand on Jaina's shoulder. The Kor'Kron soon rushed into the battle, their mighty war cries echoing eerily within the stone fortifications.
"LOK'TAR OGAR!"
Thrall drew Doomhammer from his belt, and, with a last look toward Jaina, who smiled reassuringly at him, he also jumped into the battle. He swung his hammer toward a man that came to his right and broke his ribcage with a single, powerful blow. He broke another's skull, and turned around to face any opponent that would dare approach him.
He did not enjoy killing, nor did he believe it could bring some kind of honor or recognition. Yet somehow this felt right. This felt fair.
Because they had hurt Jaina.
As he swung his hammer for the countless time, he allowed his eyes to wander and search the battlefield for her. He easily found her. She was bravely standing her ground despite her weakened state. She had teleported to the inn's roof and shot fireballs at any Stormwind soldier in range. He smiled.
There was still a chance for all to be alright again.
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