A dark zephyr whispered through the thick boughs in the ever twilight shaded realm of Ashenvale. Each faint wail of the breeze wretchedly brought the stench of evil upon its wafting winds. The wind itself advised, in its lofty crying timbre, to forgo all hope; to lie down and wait for the heel of death to mercifully end their pitiful mortal lives with inevitable wave of doom.

What little sky could be seen through the adumbrate canopy was a leaden gray slab of forlorn firmament churning over the whole of Kalimdor akin to a shroud of despondency. Clouds, pregnant with a vile rain, swirled angrily above in the coming of the Legion.

It wouldn't be long, Stormrage knew, more, far powerful demons would soon arrive upon their sacred land and seek to rip the last hope for all of Azeroth asunder.

His intense teal tresses swayed against his unreadable features as the dire wind played through his long locks of jade.

Nature itself cried out to him. The hawk shrieked it warning from above as it flew ungainly upon the perilous winds. Beasts of the earth roared and purred their anxiousness, their hairs upon end and hackles raised to slash and bite the repugnant foe slithering through their timeless glades. Even the life in the dark, fathomless seas bellowed their unrest as though the waters carried gossip of what transpired upon the land and how if those that stood to barricade the way lost, their icy waters would dry to less than sand and grit.

His gnarled, claw like fingers curled tightly over the ancient wood of his staff as his jaw slightly twitched though his face was kept in an assiduous veil of millennia patience and wisdom.

Below the craggy plateau he stood upon, the land of Ashenvale and beyond could be seen for miles. The world spread out like a carpet of greens and brows rolled before him; rich and lush and thriving. Even high, high in the foggy distance upon the summit of mount Hyjal the outline of the world tree, their very life line to the world, the object that instilled their immortality could be seen at such a distance in a dull pinkish glow of morn.

Trees of all shapes and creeds sprawled out bucolically before him. Mist from the night still wreathed their heavy boughs making it almost seem akin to a mystical sea never before discovered. Who knew what ancient mysteries still pervaded their lands?

The sky was alit in the gray of morn with tinges of dusky pink and vibrant purples streaking upon the very cusp of the world in banner of glory.

Home. The pleasant, yet melancholic thought of that one simple word brought a ghost of a smile to his bearded lips. Home the very thing that warmed all men's hearts, and yet it was that which was most precious to them that was constantly in jeopardy.

"Malfurion." Tyrande's ever calm voice announced serenely in the early hours of the morn. Her steps were quieter than an ants stride upon the earth as she neared to stand beside him. Closing her solid amethyst eyes, and breathing deeply, she gratefully took in the smells of early dawn, and the cool air that burned her lungs. Taking in the gorgeous view of misty bluish gray fog hovering below in the wide gulches and shaded glades below the outcropping, she spoke lowly to her husband as though words would disrupt the tranquil if not ominous dawn. "Lady Proudmoore and Warchief Thrall have arrived."

An extremely tired sigh whispered from the arch druid's lips as his raven feather bedecked shoulders drooped downward slightly. For an elf that had spent thousands upon thousands of years in the Emerald Dream, he felt more exhausted than ever before. Having the Legion return dredged up old memories that assailed his convictions and stoic heart. They brought back thoughts of his brother, and the choices they had made thousands upon thousands of years prior.

"My deepest thanks for leading them here, beloved." He replied intimately before, his clawed hand resting upon her slender shoulder before shifting his features into staunch neutrality.

Turning about to face the pair, his angular face showed nothing of the tiredness in the lines at the edge of his eyes and the worry he felt brewing down in his immortal heart at the choices he would inflict upon an entire people. But it had to be done. For the sake of all.

The sky was still a faint charcoal gray, but well enough especially for a night elf to see as the arch druid planted his oak wood stag headed staff firmly into a jagged crevice in the rock and addressed the strange pink and green being before him. The blue tassels upon the weapon fluttered and snapped in the wind as though demanding their silence. "As we have told you we have beaten this enemy before at a great cost to the most aged foundations of the earth and our peoples. It took the very breaking of the world to keep the sordid clutches of the Legion away from this our home. No price for safety will ever be cheaply paid. It must be earned through blood and steel and magic and life."

Slowly, the druid hefted his staff and pointed it behind him into the gray morning distance. His sable, crow like eyes searched the two before him to measure their reactions. "Do you see that gray, towering mass far on the horizon?" He asked sternly though calm in the same instance.

Both the mage and the shaman nodded laconically, their brows knit in furtive confusion.

"A mountain?" Jaina queried curiously, as her eyes narrowed like that would enhance her vision.

Tyrande chuckled and shook her thick mane of turquoise sagely. "Far from it. What you see so far, miles and miles away, is a tree shrouded in legend itself."

"A tree?" Thrall's tone was laced thickly with incredulity, his mouth twisted into a look of disbelief, confusion, and dubiousness. He stroked his coarse, bearded chin in wise contemplation. "How can one tree be seen at such a distance? The massiveness of it must be astounding."

"More than astounding." Malfurion revealed in his rich, ancient timbre, dominating the very air he spoke. "It is what our people call Norrdrasil, the world tree." Abruptly the druid turned away from the pair and back to stare over the precipice upon moss strewn rock which they stood. Dark eyes, and perhaps, not just his own, sat riveted to the indistinguishable mass towering into the growing daylight like a beacon to the evil that sought to destroy the roots of the world.

Pride welled within him at the sight, but also sadness like seeing an old dying friend fighting tenaciously for each breath.

"It is more than just a tree…far more." He spoke at length as though correcting to children. "Its growth and magic dates back to before your great grandsire or your seventh great grandsires and even further before they were even thoughts." Knelling down the arch druid let his long fingers taper over the rough, porous grain on the rock and softness of the moss and lichen as though caressing the earth. "The roots bind all the earth, through land and sea. Its powers are those only the makers could scarcely harness. Through its predecessor the moon well and now this edifice of might and magic of the very world of Azeroth, we were bestowed immortality."

Another sigh crossing his dark bearded lips was spirited away by the newly gusting wind, whispering the warning of the Legion's master drawing ever closer. His cloak swished and rustled about his dark leather boots as he rose stiffly and turned to them all in the same motion.

Sadness and loss flashed in his completely lilac hued eyes as he stared from the orc to the human morosely. His heavy brow revealed the wrinkles of worry, the lines upon his face dictating his fear. For the first time he showed the vulnerability in his thick hide. "No victory over the Legion comes at a small toll, and for our sacrifice, if all goes to plan, we shall loose our very immortality." His eyes seemed to glimmer with perhaps regret of something utterly precious for a moment before they hardened determinedly. "And yet this is our sum of what we shall endure. Your peoples shall carry a hefty burden as well. The Legion is nigh unstoppable. To prepare our plans we must have time, we must have fresh bodies to damn the flow of devils that seek to stop our last efforts and bring the world to wrack and ruin."

"Which is where we come in?" Jaina concluded lowly. A bit of her prickled at the thought of being no more than a meat shield for a plan the eldest of druids proclaimed only had a slight chance of success.

Pulling her cloaks hood down, she stepped forward closer to the elves. Her fierce cobalt depths were ablaze with injustice as her gaze bored viciously into Malfurion. "You expect us to stack upon one another like a wall of worthless carcasses to delay their advance while you consult with trees and roots and pray to your moon woman that all goes accordingly?"

"I will have no disrespect to Elune, human!" Tyrande snapped angrily, her bow out and drawn taunt instantly.

Thrall growled protectively over the sight of Jaina being aimed down by the silver and ivory bow, though he knew she could handle her own just fine. His bruises dappled upon his flesh under his armor still testified to that.

Seeing her in the line of fire brought out feral possessiveness in him, he had nary known in any time. There was a owning there he felt for her and a rising anger that heated his blood at anyone attempting or implying to do her harm. To him it seemed as though his mate was being harmed, and that itself brought the barbaric orc out with blades brandished and mouth frothing.

Unsheathing his mace he rolled it in his hands warningly, ready to toss it at the high priestess. "Jaina has a point, you must admit." He reasoned in a low dangerous timbre. "If your deity is so great why has she not pushed their threat back to the nether?"

Tyrande did not deem reply, but it was obvious a lance of pain crossed her snarling aquiline features. Perhaps she too had contemplated the same those nights in whatever temple they held to beseech her Elune.

"Are…is the Legion that powerful?" Jaina questioned, in attempts to diffuse the situation she had unintentionally provoked. She had nothing against the priestess deity, but seeing how highly the elven folk valued her by their constant supplication to the Blue Lady and the First Child, their Elune appeared deaf to their desperate pleas.

Having a deity that hadn't aided much the first time such travesty occurred and when they still found themselves in such a situation again and still no divine aid, left her feeling bereft of consideration for the so called 'Mother Moon'.

Malfurion nodded ever so slightly, trying to hurdle over his wife's fervency toward their patron deity. "Their might is great. Rest assured, if you both decided to aid in fending off the Legion, your camps will not hold them back forever. As crude as it may sound, you provide little more than a temporary barricade." At that he paused for a moment to stare at them solemnly. He held his hands out to them, a night elven gesture deemed as begging or need of aid or alms. "And now you have a choice laid at your feet. Help, or hide and hope that you can survive after the world is drained dry…" The arch druid finished with a cryptic grimace as the cold wind tousled his cloak and hair towards the hazy might of the world tree.

~8~8~

"We can't possibly do this, Thrall." Jaina shook her head as she paced at a blinding speed back and forth in his command tent.

Scrolls and maps and inventory supply charts were laid out before them upon the littered table in some messy pile of nothing that would help. Alliance charters mingled indiscriminately with Horde plans, supplies and reports all tossed together in one disastrous wreck.

With what the elves had in store, everything had to be changes, plans adjusted, and even military schemes replayed.

She threw her hands up in exasperation. "They want us to be…be…meat shields! Fodder for the field. Using our blood to make the foe slip!"

"What choice do we have?" Thrall broached sullenly, his thick brow clouded with trouble and insecurity. He too did not deem to fling his people at an undefeatable enemy. There was a difference between foolishness and cowardice in the ways of battle; even orcs understood that.

Taking a long draught of the pale ale in his huge tankard he fought for time to list his thoughts in a proper concise manner. "If we fail we lose our lives. Should the miraculous chance we succeed many still lose their lives. And if we choose no path at all."

"We lose our world." The arch mage finished quietly in a tone of despair.

Halting her frenzied pacing she turned to the grisly Far Seer. "Thrall, my people have already been through so much." Her eyes looked away as she ran her spell clever finger through her honey gold tresses. "They have endured their homes being wrought to rubble, their children and spouses and friends and families slain or transformed into grotesque monstrosities of mindless, walking dead. No man in my camp does not have a tale that would not made your stomach plummet. They were tired when I rallied them after tragedy struck their very lives. They were fatigued when we ventured into the haunts of the mountains. They were exhausted when I they walked into this forest. And now I must ask them to give more?"

Thrall turned his to the sloshing ale in his wooden tankard. He had not truly considered that and what toll such a journey had taken on the already weakened humans. When the Oracle came to him, it was in a dream rife with battle and a burning sky raining meteors of brimstone. The orcs were simply trying to survive and avoid human capture in the Arathai Highlands. They did not endure some tragedy that rocked their very race.

Now, looking back on all those things, Thrall could not help but see Jaina in a new light of exalted admiration. He was dubious he could do the same in her position, much less take them as far as they had.

She shook her head all the while not realizing her tears streaked down her pale cheek at the unfairness of it all. "No. They cannot give anymore. I cannot give anymore."

"Jaina." Thrall began to address the sorceress, but his words dribbled off pathetically. What could he say? Certainly he could not begrudge her weariness or deny her men's fatigue.

She didn't appear to hear him lost the morass of despondency. Her eyes where far away and wild as though she could imagine the carnage if they fought. She pictured their corpses splayed upon the blood soaked grass, bodies cloven in two, demons dragging back stalwart friends to devour and torture for their vile games, and the screams rising up like mist evaporated by the summers sun. And she would be forced to watch as the battle raged endlessly, and truly without any sort of victory assured to them.

"I never wanted to be a leader Thrall." She dabbed at her eyes, feeling foolish for shedding tears. "All I ever wanted to do was study. I am no Warchief, no general, no warrior….What- what if I fail this perilous task balancing through sheer destruction and having enough men to let sail back home?"

"You will not fail." Thrall assured in his deep, rumbling timbre. Before Jaina could blink his burly, muscle toned arms were wrapped about her slender form. His bulk pressed against her comfortingly, as he pressed her close. "You won't fail." He echoed tenderly, his azure eyes were soft and warm. Slowly, his thick hand stroked her flaxen mane comfortingly. "If you fall then surely I will as well. You are the strongest person I know. I could not do what you have done."

Did he truly think that? Jaina stared deeply into his startling blue hued depths. There was something else there now than simply the exotic curiosity of kissing a human and exploring what such a different species had to offer. In his eyes she saw…love. Yes, she knew it was love for it mirrored what she saw in herself.

She rewarded the Far Seers bolstering, up lifting, words with a small kiss upon his lips. "Thank you, Thrall. Some times I feel so overwhelmed I lose my head. You are correct this is the only choice."

While she didn't like it, truly, it was the only viable option. A sigh crossed her lips as she moved to disentangle herself from his grip, but Thrall held on a trifle longer, not wanting to let go so soon.

"I…I'll always be here for you Jaina when you think the weight is too much." The Warchief replied suddenly as though he possessed no control of his on tongue for one instance.

In that moment, the arch mage knew he had spoken with his heart and not his brilliant mind. Tears glimmered unshed in her cobalt orbs at such a touching promise. Lifting her hand she gently stroked the side of his rough cheek tenderly. "You have no idea how much that means to me."

For a moment they simply stood there, enjoying one another so close; Thrall having her so near to his great thumping heart, whilst the sorceress dictated the feel of his marsh green flesh to memory.

Untangling from his warm grip, the arch mage breathed in a huge gulp of air as though new life had been flushed through her. Disparity could be seen no where upon her, determination flashed in her indigo orbs, holding testament to her sheer will to keep the foe at bay.

"Now, we must make plans as best we can and prepare to make camp." She stated strongly. "Soon we march to the base of mount Hyjal, and the survivors of Lorderan shall be the first in the defense."

~8~8~

A/N: If you have never played the Warcraft 3 PC game. In the last campaign, Jaina is the first line of defense. While I thought that was fun, we will probably not go all up in the campaign. That would take forever!