Author's note: Once again, thanks to my betas. You rock, gals! And of course, bucketfuls of thanks to all the readers and reviewers. Thank you for your patience! This is a dialogue-heavy chapter, but the next few ones will have… interesting things. Mwhehehe…
Chapter 9, Making preparations
A cool, soothing wind rustled the boughs and bushes throughout Darnassus. In the eternal night, tall shadows moved along the paved paths of the city, their long ears swaying with every strong step. Wisps and softly glowing insects fluttered through the air and brought flits of light where the lampposts did not provide any, but most of the inhabitants did not need the extra sources of illumination to see through the dusk.
The wind caused the elegant vines dangling around the windows of the High Priestess' chambers to brush against the smooth wall in a familiar whisper, but the woman inside was deaf to the calming sounds.
Tyrande Whisperwind read the letter before her with a frown creasing her normally serene brow. Well, less than ten years ago serenity had been the norm. Nowadays she frowned a lot more often than she would prefer.
The line only grew deeper as she looked up, hearing familiar, hard footsteps from the corridor outside of her chamber. Within a few moments, a sentinel politely knocked on the door and announced that the Archdruid wished to see the High Priestess.
Fandral marched inside as soon as the sentinel moved to let him pass, speaking only a quick greeting while the door closed behind him. His golden eyes all but blazed with anger. It was not an unusual sight, but the scowl was worse than normal.
"I have just received word from the Silverwing Sentinels–"
"Another battle, I know," Tyrande calmly cut him off, raising the letter. "The Warchief sent urgent word through Lady Proudmoore just now."
It gave him some pause, but he quickly caught himself and folded his arms, unwilling to let this go that easily. She had not expected him to, and, in all honesty, fully understood him for once.
"That is quite convenient, I must say," he said, glaring at the paper in her hand.
Tyrande sighed. Again she had to agree, but only to a point.
"I firmly believe he wrote this just as soon as he found out about what happened," she said. She could only be relieved that the letter had reached her before the Sentinel messenger found Fandral.
Had she heard this tale from the new Archdruid, in his rage, she knew she would have been hard pressed to still trust in Thrall and Jaina both. But she wanted to believe that something good could come from this new situation the two of them had forged, that it could lead to an end of the bloodshed. So far, the discussions about Ashenvale had not erupted into arguments. They might never get a better chance at peace, and she dreaded losing faith.
However, she had not heard it from Fandral first. And there was a portion of the letter that let her hope remain alive, no matter what the new Archdruid or anybody else might have to say about the recent skirmish.
She didn't comment on the fact that the Sentinel messenger should have reported directly to her, first. That was a troubling headache she would have to look into when the Archdruid left.
"Even so," Fandral began, folding his arms across his bare chest, "this only proves what I've been trying to tell you. This is a mere stunt by the orcs, and we should worry about Lady Proudmoore being seduced into it. Theramore is an important city to us as well."
"I understand your concern," Tyrande calmly replied. She would have smiled, but kept her voice and face carefully neutral. "There is something here, however, that might soothe those worries, even in your soul."
If he caught the mild jab, he did not show it. He merely scowled in the same way, watching her with a silent question as she raised the letter and read Thrall's words aloud.
"Hear me out. 'In light of these issues, I suggest that we both call our troops back from Warsong Gulch, and leave it to the Cenarion Circle to safeguard, to ensure peace and that nobody tries to take advantage of the situation.'" She gingerly lowered the letter and studied Fandral's frozen expression. "I find this suggestion agreeable. Does the Circle have the troops to spare?"
Fandral managed to swallow his first disbelief and launched into just what she had expected of him.
"That is an outrage!" he snapped, pointing at the letter. "That area has belonged to our people since long before, I imagine, the orcs even knew how to make fire. We have no reason to withdraw."
"You must understand his position as well, Fandral," Tyrande said, sharper than before. She waved the paper at him. "The Warchief is a politician as much as you and I, and he neither could, nor would do as he pleases with his people. As I understand it, he half expects the Warsong orcs to rebel if he simply has them dragged away."
"How is that our concern?" Fandral demanded.
"It is our concern because then they would do as they please in our forests, and both the Warchief and we would have to waste resources chasing after them. If we withdraw the Sentinels, and let the Cenarion Circle take control of the area, then the orcs may grumble but at least see that the gulch is neutral territory."
In the pause, she could tell that he tried to think of some more reason why this was unacceptable. But, like her, in the end he had to be surprised – and in a positive way. Although he would rather die than admit that, of course. Had it been his idea, on the other hand…
Finally, Fandral pursed his mouth and nodded.
"Very well. If he can make the orcs leave, I will see to it that the Circle sends druids there at once," he said. His eyebrows lowered. "Though as I understand, getting them to leave might not be so easy even for the great Warchief. They did not obey his orders not to fight."
"He says that he will have it done," Tyrande said, but neglected to reveal the name mentioned in the letter. No reason to give Fandral even more verbal arrows for his quiver by letting him know whose son the Warchief intended to summon in order to deal with the Warsong clan.
She set the letter down on her desk and gave Fandral another calm look.
"In light of this gracious offer by the Warchief," she said, "I believe it would be only polite of us to lower our demands of the Horde withdrawal from Ashenvale. At least for the time being."
Fandral was not one to sputter. If he had been, he would have done so for a very long time. As it was, however, he merely blinked, eyes narrowing to two golden threads of light.
"I fear," he finally said after a moment, voice forcibly controlled, "that the orcs will see that as a sign of weakness and fall over it like a pack of hungry sabers."
"It is a possibility," Tyrande conceded, then turned her head to gaze out the window. "I will not bring it up until we have seen the orcs withdraw from the Gulch. You have to agree that the Warchief is making a grand effort to show his good will."
"If it is heartfelt."
"I believe so, and I thank Elune that the Warchief is willing to discuss this in the first place."
Her tone had a note of finality to it which could not be ignored. After a polite bow and wish for good rest, Fandral left. Once again alone, Tyrande allowed herself a relieved sigh and slumped back in a chair. Only for a short while, though. Soon, she was back up and preparing to inform her people of this new twist. She had to make it all known – the clash in the Gulch, as well as the offer – before rumors spread and inflamed the already disbelieving citizens of the new world tree.
The morning contained one of the most painful discussions in Tandred's life, and that included his and Jaina's long talk the day before. Even though he had promised her to try to avoid Sir Arthur Dunhave, he knew full well that it would be seen as an outrage if he did not address Stormwind about this whole matter. And so, he gritted his teeth and called upon the emissary himself.
Dunhave came to see the Admiral in the guest chamber Jaina had ordered prepared for her brother. Two soldiers of his escort flanked him, and two Kul Tiras soldiers waited together with Tandred. It was one of those discussions that should not be kept behind locked doors without witnesses.
"I would prefer to not waste time with diplomatic small talk," Tandred said in an even voice as both sides faced each other, standing in the middle of the room just a few steps apart. Tandred had pondered long and hard how to express himself, but he still expected some blows he would not be prepared for. All he could do was try to remain calm. "We are in a strange situation."
Dunhave slowly nodded understanding.
"Indeed, and I'm afraid that I was not quite expecting to meet with you, Lord Admiral, when I was sent here," he said. "I will do my best to represent Stormwind, despite this fact."
"Yes, I understand that, and if there is something we cannot discuss properly, we will save that for a later time. Now…" Tandred cleared his throat. "I will ask frankly, what is Stormwind's opinion of all this?"
It took no longer than a moment for Dunhave to formulate his answer, and when he spoke he allowed a hint of concern to show through in his voice and expression. Tandred clenched his jaw further.
"In all honesty, we suspect some kind of trickery," the emissary said. "I assure you, my superiors and I find your sister's will to avoid another war with the orcs commendable, and I told her as much when I met with her."
Tandred wished he could have seen a hint of mockery in the words, but he could not. It was the compliance to sacrifice herself for the sake of peace that they commended. He too had thought her a human offering, and then she told him that she willingly let the Warchief embrace her…
He had not been sleeping well.
"Marrying for peace is certainly not unheard of," Dunhave continued, "but you must understand, Admiral, it is difficult to believe that Lady Proudmoore would agree to this arrangement willingly."
There was an unspoken question there. Tandred had known it would come, and weighed his options carefully.
"I thought as much too, when I came here yesterday," he admitted. "My sister assured me that it had been a decision based on mutual agreement, however."
"I certainly do not accuse Lady Proudmoore of lying to anybody," Dunhave slowly said, "but does anybody except for her and the orcish Warchief know how that agreement came to take place? What arguments were used?"
He didn't know. Light, he didn't know. Jaina had looked at him so calmly and spoken well to soothe his fears about her being forced, but what had she actually said about the Warchief's words on the matter? No, she had said that she made the proposal in the first place – but she had not told him what had driven her to it. What had she been told, what had she been asked to consider before she made the suggestion of marriage? He couldn't keep his imagination from painting a picture of her standing in the huge shadow of the Warchief, staring up with that tight, forcefully blank face.
"That, I do not know," he admitted, shaking his head.
"Admiral," Dunhave said, taking in a deep breath. "We have all heard the story of King Bronzebeard's daughter, and her enchanted love for the Dark Iron Emperor. Do you not find it strange that King Bronzebeard would not suspect that the same has befallen Lady Proudmoore? But instead, he has decided to remain neutral in the matter."
In this case however, Tandred held more faith.
"I do not know the exact nature of the spell Princess Moira is under," he said, "but I have been told that reports say she acted a lot more violently and spoke with more fervor than she was known to before. As far as I know, spells that control another person can never work without altering the victim's character. I saw no sign of such things when I spoke with my sister at length yesterday."
"Ah, that is a relief, then. We can perhaps cease to worry about that kind of persuasion."
That kind.
"I was told that you met with the Warchief yesterday, here in Theramore," Tandred said. It was not his intention to change the subject. He simply desperately needed to know more about the whole situation, to gain certainty. "I have not met him personally. What is your opinion of him?"
At these words, Dunhave actually winced. Within a second, however, he had schooled his face back into the calm, slightly concerned mask.
"Surprisingly eloquent, I admit," he said. "I could not make a complaint about the way that he presented himself, though it came as a shock to see him here. Since I was not told he would be here, of course."
"Of course," Tandred echoed.
"I must ask you, Admiral, for the sake of the Alliance, what is Kul Tiras' stance in all this?"
The direct question was spoken with no more urgency than anything that had come before, and still it took Tandred by surprise. He had expected a lot more wrangling before such a direct statement was asked for. For a moment he wished that he could have allowed himself to nervously wet his lips, but he could not afford such a show of weakness.
"It's a difficult situation for me personally," he carefully answered, "and by that stretch, for Kul Tiras as a whole."
"Of course, Admiral," Dunhave said, with a hint of sympathy that could very well be heartfelt. "Anybody would understand that." He paused and pursed his lips. "If I may be so bold, my Lord, judging by your questioning me about my thoughts on the orcish Warchief… do you intend to meet with him?"
Tandred could feel even his own guards stare at him from the shadows of their helmets. Cold sweat stung his neck, but he kept his face as calm as he could.
"It is not something I would gladly do," he said, shaking his head mostly to steady himself. "However, considering the political circumstances, I will eventually have to deal with that. As for Kul Tiras' stance on what has occurred," he continued, speaking with a firmer tone, "I must discuss the matter with my advisors."
Dunhave had opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again when Tandred went on. Now, he slowly nodded, his face unreadable.
"I commend your bravery, Admiral," he said in a neutral tone. "Whatever happens, Stormwind will surely be willing to give you aid should you ask for it."
With those words, the political correctness didn't exactly shatter, but a very distinct crack appeared in it. Oh yes, Stormwind would definitely be willing to aid in the liberation of Theramore.
"I thank you graciously for your offer and your time, emissary," Tandred said, without a single twitch of his face showing either support or denouncement.
In all honesty, he didn't know whether to welcome the offer for help or toss it aside.
When the men of Stormwind had left, and Tandred's own guards had silently retreated to their own quarters as well, the Lord Admiral went to see his sister. As he was let into her chambers, she stood up from her desk, one hand still resting on a heap of reports she had been reading from. Tandred met her questioning gaze and spoke, swallowing the dread he felt but couldn't admit, not even to her.
"I don't know enough about all this, Jaina."
A short while later, Emissary Southstone stepped through a portal to Orgrimmar.
After the intense day with the arrival of the Stormwind emissary, the meeting with Lord Lor'themar, the news of the skirmish in Warsong Gulch, and Jaina's report about her brother's sudden appearance, the following day, at first, seemed pretty dull in compare. Thrall found this to be a great relief, and accepted the breather with silent eagerness – though he kept expecting something to happen, and thus could never completely relax.
There was the reply from Tyrande, announcing that she accepted his suggestion and would arrange to have the Sentinels move out of the Gulch at the same time as the Warsong orcs. That too was a relief, but he still had to worry about actually making them leave. He held no false ideas about them grumbling but finally accepting the order – they might go if he commanded it, but with seething minds. But they might just as well flat out refuse, and that would be worse than anything else. Hence his message sent to Garrosh. Faced with both orders from the Warchief and him who was technically their chieftain, the bitter taste should be easier to bear for the Warsong orcs.
Of course, Thrall doubted that Garrosh would be very fond of the idea, either. So far, he had heard nothing from the young Hellscream. He could only wait.
The day was teetering towards noon when the message from Jaina arrived.
Following a report delivered by a troll outrunner, a Kor'kron Elite stepped up towards the throne, stopping in front of the stairs leading up to it. The warrior's heavy war glaive clanged against his chest armor as he saluted.
"Emissary Southstone of Theramore wishes to deliver a message from your mate, Warchief," he said.
Thrall nodded, squaring his jaw. Jaina had told him, just this morning, that she would send an official message if she was successful in what they had discussed last night.
"One moment," Thrall said. He turned his head and nodded to Vol'jin, who raised his fleshy eyebrows as their gazes met. However, the old troll understood the signal and walked up closer to the throne.
At Thrall's signal, another orc crossed the floor and walked past the waiting Elite, to join Vol'jin on the Warchief's other side. Highlord Saurfang exchanged glances with Vol'jin, his face un-obscured as he had taken off his helmet.
"Very well, let him in," Thrall said.
The Elite saluted again and crossed the floor of the throne room with fair ease. Orcs and trolls were still working at arranging torches and decorating the walls for the celebration, but at least things had calmed down since the first couple of days after the wedding. It was not so crowded as it had been, even if more messengers than usual scurried about to the shamans and other advisors. Now, however, it all stilled as interest piqued about just what this official business might be about.
"What now, Warchief?" Saurfang muttered from the toothy corner of his mouth.
"There's something Jaina and I have discussed that should be spoken of openly," Thrall muttered back. "I will appreciate advice from both of you."
He watched as the emissary left his small escort behind in the first room, and walked across the floor just behind the Elite.
Vol'jin said nothing, but Thrall suspected the old witch doctor still was not sure what to think of the paladin turned emissary. It was, after all, a Darkspear troll who had turned the human's worldview around – and, in the end, had to pay for some irresponsible choices.
"Emissary Southstone, Warchief," the Elite rumbled. He saluted, and stepped aside.
Likewise, Thomas saluted by touching a fist to his chest instead of a stretched hand to his forehead.
"Honored Warchief," he said in Orcish. His accent was grating, but it showed that he honestly tried.
"Greetings, emissary," Thrall replied, then switched to Common. "What is it that you wish to tell us?"
Thomas lowered his hand, face kept under control. The only sign of his feelings were his tight lips. Standing alone before the orcish Warchief had to be bad enough for a man born and raised in Stormwind, but with the heavily armored Saurfang and a coldly glaring Vol'jin also standing there, one had to give Thomas credit for not tossing his gaze around nervously.
"I bear words from your mate, Warchief," he said, using the orcish term as easy as "wife," which should have come more naturally to him. "Yesterday, her brother, Lord Admiral Tandred Proudmoore arrived in Theramore–" he ignored the murmurs this caused. "– without any ill intent."
Most murmurs turned to scoffs. Both Vol'jin and Saurfang squared their jaws.
"On your mate's suggestion, Warchief, should you find it agreeable, the Lord Admiral has agreed to pay you a formal visit here in Orgrimmar," Thomas continued, and he must have practiced saying that a few times judging by his neutral face.
The scoffs were nothing to the momentary hush. It did not, however, last very long before the disbelieving growls started.
"I see," Thrall said, raising his hand as he sharply spoke. A tense silence settled over the room as he looked at the troll and orc at his sides, changing back to Orcish. "What is your opinion about this?"
"What is the purpose?" Saurfang wondered, looking torn between disbelief and confusion. "A show of good will from the Admiral?"
"If so, he be havin' some gall ta make such an offer while Tiragarde Keep still stands," Vol'jin said. He scowled, adding in a lower voice, "Especially with what we know about dat fleet now."
Thrall grimly nodded. What Vol'jin spoke of was another grave matter he would have to bring up with Jaina, and if possible with her brother as well. But the situation between Durotar and Kul Tiras was brittle to use a generous term, and it would have to wait – at least until Tandred Proudmoore at least had been somewhat convinced that his sister hadn't been forced or enchanted to wed the leader of the Horde.
"Jaina and I both wish to eliminate all the old threats of war," Thrall said. "She has spoken to her brother about this in hopes that it would be another step forward."
The Darkspear's thick lips curled around one of his long, decorated tusks. It was not quite a sneer, more of a silent sigh. He could tell that the Warchief had his idea set about this, even if he did invite to discussion.
As far as Thrall could tell, Vol'jin still had not made peace with what he thought of the recent events.
"We could always summon Rexxar to take your place again, Warchief," Vol'jin dryly said. "Dat very possibly saved your life back den." He raised a gnarled, three-fingered hand and shook his head when Saurfang opened his mouth, still watching Thrall. "But, I admit, it ain't like dat time. Da old Admiral tried ta lure you outside."
"My thoughts exactly," Saurfang agreed. He rubbed his chin, armored glove clanking lightly as his fingers collided against each other. "How have the Admiral and your mate reasoned he will arrive here, however? With his own soldiers as guards?"
"Jaina said that she would accompany him, and bring a few of her Elite Guards as escort," Thrall said. "There are a few Kul Tiras soldiers in Theramore now, but she would not let them come with her and the Admiral."
Vol'jin let out a snort, and actually half smirked.
"So he be agreein' to walk into an enemy city with only his sister and her soldiers, who already stood by and let da last Admiral die." Thrall kept his face impassive, and just watched the leader of the Darkspears as the troll continued. "If he's got foul tricks planned, he must be suicidal."
"The spirits give me no warning," Thrall mildly said.
"No, Warchief," Vol'jin said, straightening slightly and looking Thrall in the eyes. "I don't like humans, and I don't trust dem, but I don't think you a fool."
"I appreciate that, friend."
A smile tugged at the Warchief's lips, answered by a wry one on Vol'jin's as he nodded. The troll was not ecstatic about this twist, but left the choice to the spirits, as Thrall himself largely did. They would know if this really was a trap.
"And what is your opinion?" Thrall asked, turning to Saurfang.
The much older orc looked between the Warchief, Vol'jin and the impassive, waiting Thomas, then back to Thrall. Finally, his lips stretched just the slightest bit and he touched an armored fist to his chest.
"I will have our most reliable soldiers ensure your mate and her brother's safety, Warchief."
"Very well, I am counting on you," Thrall said, and though he didn't show it he allowed himself to relish the relief of his advisors' support. Lately, there had been outrageous and seemingly sudden decisions racking up at an alarming rate, and he could not avoid wondering when somebody would step up and question his sanity.
Still he only gave Saurfang a faint smile in return, then turned back to the emissary. Thomas must have understood part of the discussion if not all. The hint of relief in his eyes said as much, although he managed to keep his face mostly neutral.
"My advisors and I accept the Lord Admiral's offer," Thrall said, returning to Common again. "He is welcome in Orgrimmar, together with my mate. I would suggest the meeting take place as soon as possible, perhaps tomorrow morning."
"I will bring your message to Lady Proudmoore and the Lord Admiral at once, honored Warchief," Thomas replied, saluting again before he took a couple of step backwards and then turned around to walk out, accompanied by the Kor'kron Elite that had brought him in.
Vol'jin returned to the discussion he had been called from, and Saurfang left to make the required preparations. If it could be prepared well enough. The danger was apparent – this would be Jaina's first official, announced visit to Orgrimmar, and to add up her brother would be with her. The orcs still remembered the last Lord Admiral clearly, and Tiragarde Keep in the south never gave them a chance to forget.
A strange feeling settled over the throne room, a mix of disbelief, curiosity and tension. What did this mean?
Thrall himself wasn't sure if he could completely tell what it meant. Tandred Proudmoore's decision meant far more than just a show of good will. It sent a signal not only to the Horde, but to the Alliance as well – in a way, it was even more scandalous than Theramore's alliance through marriage. The people of Theramore had made friends with the orcs before. The title "Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras," however, stood for an invasion that had taken place far too few years ago.
Thrall murmured a prayer to the spirits, and they whispered back in soothing voices. That eased his mind somewhat. Surely there would be some that would want to disrupt the event, but that was Saurfang's responsibility to prevent and Thrall knew well the Highlord's ability to plan ahead and act accordingly.
Still, the visit would cause reactions that went far beyond the actual meeting. Jaina and especially her brother did not simply take a risk with their personal security, in this. Their allies – and their enemies – would have a lot to say about this gesture.