Author's Note: Varok Saurfang, Lor'themar Theron, etc. are trademark Blizzard Entertainment, used without permission or profit.

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Varok Saurfang pulled off his neck guard and sat down heavily on the steps leading up to the throne in Grommash Hold. He rubbed his shoulder and winced. Landed on it wrong, he thought. Of course, there was no real right way to crash land a wyvern onto a demon-saturated beach.

Eitrigg had said nothing when he finally made his way back to Dalaran after stealing one of the Legion's flying discs. Instead, his old friend had simply sighed in what he could only assume was relief and shook his head at him, leaving him be. Really, Saurfang was secretly a bit relieved they were not going to have that conversation, at least not yet. Slaying the demons on the Broken Shore had been cathartic and he did not want to dwell on whether it was the right decision or not.

The old orc kept rubbing his shoulder and closed his eyes for a moment when he heard a light knock on the edge of the hold's entrance. He opened his eyes to see the outline of a blood elf against the blaring sun shining into the building. As the figure stepped forward, he slowly recognized him.

"Ah, Regent Lord, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Eitrigg asked me to talk to you."

Saurfang growled slightly. "He can't come speak with me himself?"

The elf shrugged slightly. "He does not believe that you will listen to him. Seems he was right."

The orc glowered. "I appreciate your concern, Theron, but I do not need to be counseled like some petulant child."

The blood elf walked over to a chair in the corner and, without being invited, sat down on it, looking at him. "You went on what was tantamount to a suicide mission. I guess it is a testament to your prowess that it was not one for you. It would have been for most anyone else," he said bluntly. When Saurfang still glowered at him, he said. "Do not be so angry at your comrade. He saw one of his closest friends burned alive days ago. He was probably terrified of hearing the same of you."

Varok finally frowned at that and looked down slightly. He . . . had not considered that, he had to admit to himself. Tirion had saved Eitrigg's life and the orc considered him as a brother, Varok knew. Now he had lost his family all over again.

The elf did not seem content to stop laying on the guilt. "What's worse, you brought a promising young warrior with you on your suicide mission."

"It was her decision. She asked to accompany me."

"Of course she did. She's a Darkspear," he said. "I'm sure you could walk outside of here now and ask any one of them to accompany you and they would eagerly accept." The elf grimaced. "I know the need for revenge is great . . ."

"It was about honor, not simple revenge."

". . . But Vol'jin would not have wanted us to encourage such behavior of his own people," Lor'themar continued, airily brushing past the interruption. "He sacrificed a great deal to keep the Horde alive. Thank the Light that he was perceptive enough to realize when the battle was lost out there. We do not need to be squandering what he managed to save." He paused slightly. "I heard that she made it back to Dalaran, at least."

Saurfang let his expression relax slightly until he shifted and a fresh pain shot through his shoulder. "Too many of our people died out there," the orc muttered. "So many young warriors and we gained nothing from it. What purpose did it serve?" He looked at the elf, who seemed to be simply regarding him and letting him speak, and sighed. "With all due respect, Regent Lord, you can't understand. As an orc . . . I should have died out there, not some young whelp who had barely bloodied his blade before. Who had never felt the joy of a child at his knee." His own words were like a sword in his heart, and he grimaced. "I have lived a long life. I deserve an honorable death in battle."

To his surprise, Lor'themar spoke. "You think I've never thought of it?" the elf said quietly, almost too quiet to hear.

Saurfang looked back up, and Lor'themar continued. "I thought about it every day for years. When they were burning the bodies to keep them from being raised again, and when I saw the grief when parents learned what happened to their little children, the ones we tried to send away to safety." At that point, the elf's voice cracked slightly, but he quickly gathered himself. When he spoke again, it was steady. "I wanted nothing more than to go out into the forest and slay every walking corpse I could until I got what I thought I deserved for my mistake."

Saurfang started to speak, but Lor'themar slowly continued. "But I never did. I know the burden you face. You have the protection of most of Durotar in your hands. That is why you must not pursue such an action again without reason," he said firmly, but the slight arrogance from his voice was gone now, replaced with emotional fatigue. "Someone has to look out for the orcs' best interests and protection. I would not rely on . . . our new Warchief for such things."