A/N: So, this is the final oneshot (that mutated into a twoshot) concerning Thrall and Jaina. It takes place on the fictious eve of the Horde celebrating their victory over the armada of Kul Tiras (the Founding of Durotar bonus campaign). Next up will finally be the actual epilogue to Age of Mortals. Please, if you find any errors, send me a message. I don't have a beta and I am honestly sick and tired of rereading this fic.

Chapter 1

As he stood by the window, Thrall could faintly hear the victory revels, but he felt no desire to re-join the festivities. He had stayed only long enough to placate his warriors and not rouse suspicion to the turmoil inside of him. The roast meat had turned to ash in his mouth and the beer soured when a brash warsinger had song the defeat of Grand Admiral Daelin Proudmoore in rousing words. As the Horde roared its approval all around him, he had gritted his teeth and risen to his feet and saluted, briefly meeting the eye of every officers and persons of rank at the high table.

Pride and satisfaction had stared back at him, mixed with smugness and honest blood thirst. Only the blind eyes of Drek'thar held something akin to apprehension, and they had shared a silent exchange before he had resumed his seat, and the festivities had roared to new heights.

He had played his role, and prayed to the Elements that he had played it well. He was proud of them, of his people and all that they had accomplished.

Thrall let out a sigh and turned from the window.

He was damn proud of them, but he could not rejoice. In a morbid way, it seemed the Grand Admiral had come all the way across the ocean just to slap him in the face and point out how fragile the supposed peace was.

This was the beginning of war, not the end.

Thrall regarded his armor on its stand with a grim expression. The Grand Admiral might have forced his hand, but had that hateful man's actions not just hastened the inevitable? Was there really any hope for lasting peace? Was this new continent even big enough for them?

The Warchief slammed a hand down on the windowsill in a surge of anger. A year, one bloody short year, before it all came crashing down like a house of rotten cards.

No more! Die he might, but this would have to be resolved. This hatred must be destroyed, root and seed all.

He had delayed for far too long.

He had to – Thrall spun around suddenly, and lightning bloomed in his hand. Then he cursed and clenched his fist, strangling the lightning in its infancy. Before his eyes, the room filled with a soft glow and an oh-so-familiar spiritual presence.

"Jaina." He whispered her name as the light coalesced into the beloved figure.

She was dressed in state, as he had rarely seen her, a tight bodice hugged her torso and accentuated her already shapely body in a way that made his breath tangle up, and layered skirts brushed the floor. The fabric was shiny and heavy and of a deep, rippling blue, like the summer sea. Clasps set with black pearls held her golden hair in place and around her neck and wrists were silver meshwork set with dark stones.

Her face, however, was a stark contrast to her elegant dress and somber ornaments – her cheeks were ruddy, her facepaint smeared and her blue eyes flamed with a frantic gleam, which bewildered him more than her sudden appearance. And her spirit – it howled around her like a razorwind off the Barrens.

Beneath his shirt, the communion crystal burned.

"What is wrong?" he asked imploringly, holding out his hand.

The Sorceress stared at him, jaw quivering and her hands furling and unfurling. Thrall honestly believed he had never seen her so worked up, and they had been through hell and high water together.

"How could you do that!?" she suddenly cried and her voice stung with accusations.

"HOW COULD YOU JUST LEAVE?" Her voice rose suddenly, and though the walls of Grommash Hold were thick, Thrall was suddenly keenly aware of the presence of his elite guard right outside his door.

"Jaina, please, be quiet," he hissed, gesturing at the door.

"DON'T TELL ME –" Something in his urgency got through to her, and with a visible effort she swallowed her last, angry words, and just glared at him, her chest heaving in the tight confines of the bodice. He glared back, his own temper reacting to her presence and loud accusations. This woman, this woman, she affected him like none other.

"Leave you?" he said, on purpose misinterpreting her words. "Jaina, I will never leave you."

She shook her head.

"You left me," she whispered, her voice now as low and cold as it before had been loud and heated. "You left me next to my father's dead body, to face my people as they came screaming murder!" Her eyes were like brittle glass now, but in way it was Thrall's heart that shattered when she came up to him and quietly laid a hand on his chest and whispered.

"You are just as much a murderer as I am."

He froze. He had entertained the thought himself, used it as one of the many failings he flogged himself with when despairing about the state of his realm.

But to hear it from her mouth. It was unbearable.

Lightning fast, he grabbed both of the Sorceress' wrists and held her hands still. She froze, staring at him with rage in her blue eyes.

"Jaina, never. Say. That. Again!" he growled, intoning each word.

"Your father's death was a terrible ordeal that should never have happened." He paused, making sure he had her attention. "But I will not tolerate being accused of a murder that doesn't exist." She made a thin, pleading sound, struggling vainly against his grasp.

"I will not tolerate that you accuse yourself," he went on.

She went rigid, her eyes widening almost comically. He had her, then.

"Jaina, your father brought his own death upon him, and you know that. I did not murder your father, and neither did you. He caused his own downfall."

Silence followed. Jaina still stared at him, but the fire was gone from her eyes. Slowly, Thrall let go of her wrists, and indicated a wooden stool next to the window. The Sorceress fell onto the round seat like her legs had gone numb. Her face was pale and she carefully rubbed her wrists.

Giving her a moment to compose herself, Thrall muttered: "What the hell is going on, Jaina?"

When she finally spoke, her tone was flat and matter-of-factly. "Tonight, they send my father out to sea on a flaming barge. Meant to carry him straight into the Light. I lighted the fire, and I felt like it was me on fire…" She trailed off. After a moment, she took a deep breath.

"I know it wasn't murder. I know there was no other outcome than death. But murder would be easier to face than what will come of this. When the soldiers rushed in, I wanted to scream my guilt at them, I wanted to let them know how much I detested him, that it was his own damn fault. Instead, I had to step back while they cursed and swore revenge, while they cursed you! I had to put up with their consolations and pitying looks. Poor, wayward daughter, having lost her father just as he came to her rescue.

And I have to play the part. Keep my silence and grieve pretty tears."

She swallowed.

"There is no one I can talk to. No one. If anyone catches on to even a hint of my involvement in the invasion, I will lose my position. If they know of me telling you about the goblin shipyard, I will probably be burned at the stake. My father's forces will seize control of the island in an instant, and then they will come for you like a swarm of righteous hornets."

Her sarcasm was blithering.

"As long as my father's armada remains at Theramore, I have to watch my tongue even in my sleep. That damn Brightbeacon's already grasping for power, and he and my father are cut from the same cloth, believe me. To him, I am just a girl misbehaving, to be put in place, preferably with marriage. To him."

"Let him try!" Thrall burst out.

Jaina smiled at him, thinly, but it was a smile.

"It just went crashing down on me," she whispered. "I helped kill my own father, bastard as he was; my home is in ruins, my people hurt and I have a gaggle of self-righteous fools squabbling for power. Why couldn't we just be left alone!" she went on, exasperated. "You would think vanquishing an arch-demon merited a little goodwill!"

She shook her head viciously, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Why couldn't he just leave me alone!" she moaned. Her entire frame was trembling.

Thrall was there, reaching out and puller her close. With an incoherent sound, the Sorceress pressed her face against his chest, her hands grasping at his shirt. Enveloping her in his embrace, Thrall just held her, as she broke against him. After what seemed an eternity, the weeping subsided, but still she clung to him, her soft, pliant body pressing into all the hollows of his existence.

"Jaina..." he murmured, his body responding to her presence in ways that he could not stop, any less that he could stop breathing.

They had made love before, in broken intervals, like planets out of orbit, and yet he felt like a despoiler when his needy flesh touched her fresh grief.

"It's ... as good as it gets," she whispered. "Please, let's forget just for this night?" She looked up at him imploringly, and Thrall nodded. Yes, at least for one night, let there be relief.

He ran his fingers lightly down her cheek. "Together," he agreed.

He loved this woman more than his own life. Perhaps even more than his people.

TBC