Obligatory disclaimer: Do I own World of Warcraft? No. I don't own anything nice, so there's no need to sue me.

Ga'vik penned a note to his superiors. In the absence of a reasonable explanation for his actions, he opted for brevity. He decided to mention the human – there was no way he could keep that a secret, now – but left most of the story to the imagination. The Horde would hear about her brush with the druids, but Ga'vik hoped that time and distance would obscure the details.

Captain:

Attacked by silithids and Qiraji in Tanaris. All dead but me. Human also witnessed attacks. We are in Cenarion Hold now. Silithus having similar situation. May not stay here long. Will update when I know more.

Ga'vik

He and Lujin spent a few days loitering around the Hold, glowering menacingly at any overly-friendly druids to deter conversation. Tiadonaolos seemed to take the hint and avoided him, for the most part. Bruim was harder to shake, and would appear intermittently to see how he was doing, remind him not to take his bad mood out on the locals, and demand that he join her for a meal at the inn. He consented to the last, but sipped his drink moodily and kept his head down.

"Are you always such a sulky calf?" She prodded him with one hoof under the table, and he peeled back his lips to show her a wide array of sharp, gleaming reasons not to kick him again.

"I'll have you know I'm considered a Grand Master of Congeniality, among my tribe," he slurred a little, and realized perhaps he'd had a bit too much to drink.

"And which tribe might that be?" she asked immediately, clearly not having had enough to drink.

"Fuck you," he mumbled, and she snorted explosively. She looked more smug than insulted.

"Commander Mar'alith has been asking Tiadonaolos questions about you. Seems to think he knows you from somewhere. Seems odd that he would recognize a no-name peon like you, doesn't it?" She was looking at him keenly with her brown cow eyes, and Ga'vik groaned inwardly. Things were just simpler if that whole thing wasn't brought into it. If only he were a no-name peon.

"I'm a friend of Eikahe's, aren't I," he replied evasively, knowing he was not in the bast shape for a debate. "You know, and… he's a druid. Was a druid."

Bruim wrinkled her muzzle doubtfully, tipping her head from one side to the other, studying him. She was clearly intent on pursuing the topic, but Ga'vik was saved the effort of further half-hearted equivocations by the sudden appearance of a very flustered Tiadonaolos.

He spoke rapidly in Darnassian to Bruim, and Ga'vik understood without needing a translation.

Gadgetzan had fallen.

They met with Commander Mar'alith the next morning. He had requested an audience with the troll, and Bruim and Tiadonaolos had dragged Ga'vik out of bed at an early hour, under protest. All three of them stood before the Commander now. He still had the same strained, distracted expression as he had had before, but when he spoke in careful Taur-ahe, it was clear his mind was on the matter at hand.

"Gadgetzan was burned to the ground, but there were a few survivors. The Qiraji grow bolder by the day. They are no longer relying on subterfuge, it would seem, but are quite confident of their strength and numbers." The Commander paused, gazing out a window toward the east. "We have had no further communications with Valor's Rest, either, since your arrival." He turned smartly to face the two druids and the troll.

"Valor's Rest?" Bruim gasped, her wide hairy nostrils flaring in shock, and her ears going flat. "You don't think…?"

"I hope not, but I do think." The Commander spoke stiffly, his hard look quelling any further questions from the tauren.

Ga'vik shifted uneasily, relieved he had sent a note to his superiors at last. This was progressing faster than he had anticipated.

"Ga'vik," the commanding night elf spoke sharply, causing the troll to hunch his shoulders reflexively. "I know you may have the ear of some of the higher members of the Horde council. No, don't even try to deny it. The family resemblance is striking, even to an elf. Your eyes are quite… distinctive. An unusual colour, I understand, for trolls outside of Zandalar. We won't get into it now. I am only asking that you bring help, and bring it soon. We are going to need an army." He looked at the troll with such intensity that Ga'vik flinched his eyes away.

"Sir, I may have the eyes of someone you know, but not, I'm afraid, the ear."

The Commander only scoffed at this. "If there is anything I have learned about the trolls, it is that the ties of family and tribe are not so easily broken. Whatever it is you have done to end up in this," here, the Commander broke off to look out the window, "backwater, you were clearly on a mission. I present you with the means to both complete that mission, and possibly, to save all our lives. If you do not think your own word is enough, I have a letter for you to deliver." He produced a roll of parchment with, Ga'vik thought, a somewhat unnecessary flourish. The roll was sealed with the stamp of the Cenarion Circle.

Ga'vik considered the parchment thoughtfully, clicking his teeth. Although the Commander was clearly a superior, he was not technically Ga'vik's superior, and therefore was not technically able to give him orders.

"Commander Mar'alith," he began slowly, "what will become of any civilians in the Hold?"

The Commander's dour face twitched with surprise, and then irritation. He flicked a hand as if to dismiss the question.

"We will need everyone to aid in the defence. There are not many civilians in Silithus, troll."

Ga'vik scowled reflexively, strongly reminded of another conversation he'd had, years ago.

Even a kitten at the teat will fight to defend itself, hissing and showing its tiny teeth, his brother had told him once, in one of his many "This is the Way of the World" lectures. They had been standing side-by-side at that time, equals in their battle-gear, bloodlust, and nearly in rank. They had been supervising from atop a bluff overlooking a small dwarf settlement, watching as tiny dwarf-lings and grey, hunched dwarf elders alike were dragged from their homes and killed in the streets. The warriors of the settlement had already been slaughtered in battle, earlier that day.

The kitten hisses in fear, but has no hope of real defence. It can be tamed… Ga'vik had paused, wincing as a thin wail reached them. It sounded remarkably like the cry of a troll child. His brother had only laughed, do you want to make pets of them?

The troll shook himself back to the present, and pressed his point.

"The human with the slave-collar," he stated, knowing he did not need to elaborate further.

"We do not know if she is a civilian," the Commander replied tersely, "and the collar seems to imply otherwise."

"Can you remove it, then, sir, so she can fight?" Ga'vik straightened and cocked his head back to look down his tusks at the tall night elf, feeling the balance of power shifting in his favour.

"No," said Mar'alith, carefully, eyeing the troll as if for the first time.

"She's not likely to be of much use to you, then, is she, sir?"

"The goblins…"

"Which ones? From Gadgetzan? I hardly think they are likely to be hurrying toward the Hold at this very moment, proofs and documentation clutched in their sticky little fingers," Ga'vik bared his teeth at the last, relishing the sensation of nearing the end of a successful hunt, and added, "sir."

The Commander said nothing, his amber eyes blank but his lips pulled in a tight frown. Bruim was murmuring to Tiadonaolos, apparently translating the finer points of the discussion, as both druids watched the troll in astonishment.

"More likely," Ga'vik continued, "they are fleeing the south of Kalimdor like fucking rats from a sinking ship, with all of their loa-damned gold, weapons, and supplies. In fact, Commander, I rather think your ties to the Horde might be of somewhat more use to you during these trying times, don't you agree?"

Ga'vik watched as the Commander's face tightened, then relaxed in resignation. No, I'm not just some no-name peon, the troll thought, nor am I a simple fucking messenger, but we can both get what we want, here.

They eyed each other for several moments, and this time Ga'vik held the night elf's gaze steadily, letting the family resemblance show clearly.

"I can hardly spare anyone to see her to safety," Commander Mar'alith said, at last. "I could put her on a hippogryph to Rut'theran Village…"

"You can spare Tiadonaolos," Ga'vik cut in, moving his tongue carefully around the excess elven vowels, "After all, he would have remained in Valor's Rest, if not for me."

The Commander harrumphed and looked at Ga'vik's companions. Tiadonaolos and Bruim looked bashfully at their feet, clearly wanting to avoid any appearance of being aligned with the insolent troll.

"Obviously," the Commander started again, "you will be winging your way as swiftly as possible toward Orgrimmar, my letter in hand, your rapier wit directed toward obtaining as much assistance for the Hold as is possible."

"Obviously," Ga'vik agreed.

"And you will take Bruim Mistrunner with you, as my envoy," Mar'alith added, his tone laced with finality.

Ga'vik sucked on his tusks thoughtfully - Where was the trust? - but he held his tongue. He had already won this battle, and he did not feel the need to press his advantage any further. He was not his brother. "That seems reasonable, sir."

With one final glance at the two deferential druids, the Commander turned back to the window with a crisp wave of dismissal. His expression was of one who had already moved on to more important matters in his mind.