Fremde panted as she leaned against the rock, feeling heavy beyond words.

She was tired. So… SOOO tired.

She and all the rest of her group had been firing arrows and crossbow bolts at the enemies below them, all day.

They must have killed… Thousands and thousands of humans.

And yet they had been just a tiny part of it all, as a battle beyond any she had ever imagined played out below her.

At the beginning of the day, two armies, both well over five hundred thousand strong, had begun a battle that even now, as the sun was on it's way down, had no clear victor.

It had losers though. Countless losers.

So, so, so many dead on both sides…

You could pinpoint where both sides had pushed, surged, and buckled, by looking at the countless dead who littered the field.

Hundreds of thousands.

Over a million souls had come to determine the fate of the world today… And yet everyone just kept on fighting, with no clear winner in sight.

It was… So eerie.

She had grown used to the sounds of cannon blasts, to spells, to all the explosive cacophonies that were supposed to accompany battles.

And yet now, in the greatest fight, she had ever seen, there were almost none left.

The mana on both sides was practically GONE, with neither side being able to conjure up major magical assaults anymore.

Here and there was a distant flash along the lines, but that was about it.

Both sides had run dry.

Same for their cannons and guns.

As the battle started, the sounds of igniting gunpowder had echoed all throughout the day.

But they had all run-out hours ago.

Now it was all up to the foot soldiers.

Tired and wounded as they were, it was the foot soldiers of the Horde and the Alliance that were the only troops with any fighting capacity left.

They would fight until there was a victor.

And there WOULD be a victor, sooner rather than later.

Both sides had run out of reserves by this point.

There were no troops left to rally a counter push if one side or another broke through the ranks.

Maybe that was what drove them all, despite the blood, the shit, the bodies that covered the floor, and the absolutely dead tiredness that came from fighting a battle for an entire day.

This was it. The final sprint.

If the Horde won, they would be able to throw the Alliance back and end the Second War and retake control over northern Azeroth. There would not be a second push into Lordaeron, they did not have the capacity for a second invasion, but it was something at least.

If the Alliance won… They would be able to push them back all the way to the Dark Portal.

She tried not to think about that, instead, hearing screams beyond count, she instead looked down over the battlefield for any possible breakthroughs.

She immediately pinpointed one spot in the far distance where gold and purple were clearly visible.

Young Hellscream was still alight with energy it would seem. She saw the lines buckle… No… Break.

She felt a strong surge of energy, and actually, despite it all, she forced herself up.

"Look!" She pointed with an arm that felt like it was rammed by daggers as she did.

"Hellscream is breaking through!"

No one cheered, but the mood of her dead tired squad of ranged warriors was suddenly alert and awake.

Everyone suddenly eyed the breakthrough, hungrily, like ravenous wolves eyeing a wounded lamb.

This was it! It was about to end FINALLY! They were about to win! They were-

"DOOOOOOMHAMMMMEER!"

The roar, that somehow shot up and sounded clear and strong above the storm of swords, the clash of armies, and the screams of living and dying men were followed as out from the alliance lines, surged a group of warriors.

And in front of them… A tall and mighty man in gold and blue, with a huge blade.

Orgrim, who was there right there by the spot in the line the men came through, did not hesitate to meet him.

The orc ROARED, as he stepped forward to meet the challenge, raising his hammer in salute to the man.

And what followed…

It was dance. A battle of steel and skill of arms that made any Fremde had ever seen dull and lifeless by comparison.

The battle was not decided in one blow though, as Orgrim's bout with Blackhand had been. Instead, both parties suffered big and smaller injuries all throughout the fight, not caring about what happened around them as their mighty honor guards clashed and killed each other.

She didn't know who the man was, but truly he was a warrior without peers.

The first great injury came as the blade danced forward, and cut Orgrim's left arm, cutting a deep rend even through the black-plated armguard.

Orgrim roared but repaid in kind as the Doomhammer, which for whatever reason had lost it's glow, buried itself into the man's shield, smashing both it and the arm beneath into pieces.

From then on, both fought with but one arm functioning, as they both began to take more and more injuries, small and large.

Blood oozed out of half a dozen wounds when Orgrim finally ended it.

The Doomhammer and the great blade hit each other one more time… and the blade snapped in half.

What came next happened so fast that she didn't see it as it happened.

All she saw was that as the Doomhammer buried itself in the man's skull, the remains of the blade were now buried to the hilt in Orgrim's leg.

The man fell, and Orgrim staggered backward in pain, but he did not fall.

Instead, despite the pain, he ROARED.

"LOTHAR IS DEAD!" He shouted in the human tongue.

Lothar. That man had been Anduin Lothar. The Alliance leader. The Lion of Azeroth.

For that one, single moment as Orgrim ripped out the broken sword and pulled out a red healing potion to restore himself, she thought "This was it."

The Alliance's morale would break, and their lines would shatter at the news of their great leader's death.

And that is doubtlessly what would have happened… If not for the man who ran out of the lines then.

A man in blue, whose helmet had been lost somewhere. He looked as ugly as any Human she had ever seen with a long face and lanky features.

Had she had another bolt, she would have taken him in the skull as he ran against the wounded and weakened Orgrim. But she didn't.

And so, as that final battlefield EXPLODED in light, she screamed and cursed as the stars in front of her eyes danced, and slowly, slowly her sight returned.

And as it did, she heard something.

Chanting.

For Lothar! For Lothar! FOR LOTHAR!

As her sight finally returned she was greeted by a horrible sight. The most terrible thing she had ever seen.

Orgrim was unconscious, beneath the feet of the lanky youth. And all around… The army in red, this section blinded for a moment on top of it all, began to break, while the army in blue suddenly found some final bit of strength, to make one surge forward.

And all the while, they roared that battle cry that would be remembered in stories and songs for generations to come.

"FOR LOTHAR!"

I


"Well… You know what came after that. We lost the battle. Our lines finally broke and it became a shattered retreat south, easy to kill or capture."

Thrall considered that.

"I… Had not known that it was such a close thing."

Fremde smiled.

"Aye… Had we held together just a bit longer, mayhaps Hellscream's push-through would have led to a domino effect of the lines breaking as he was able to flank them unchallenged? Or if I and my squad had just kept some bolts and arrows, we would easily have been able to pick off Turalyon as he charged given our close vantage point. Or maybe if Anduin and Doomhammer had not met in the chaos at the end, we would have triumphed regardless. In any case… It does not matter. We lost. The day was done when Orgrim was captured."

"Yes… What happened afterward? Were you amongst the ones who helped Orgrim escape his capture?"

The old woman smiled.

"Yes actually… It was in the aftermath of that, that Orgrim gave me and my agents our final mission. To prepare for the Horde's return."

Her eyes became distant for a moment.

"They are all gone now though… But their sacrifice… The knowledge they left behind in me, shall help the Horde rise anew."

Thrall nodded.

He had gotten a pretty good idea of what he had asked for. But there did remain one, final decision he had to make.

"Tell me, Warlord… What do you want to do now? Nazgrel tells me you have other ambitions than ruling a province."

The old woman perked up noticeably.

"Yes… I… Would like to ask you for a position in your closer circle. In our new government. We do not have a name for the kind of position I seek… But it would be the equivalent of the various titles the humans use for those in charge of developing infrastructure, and the land itself."

Thrall nodded, understanding immediately what she meant.

"Yes… You would excel in such a task… In that case… I must deny this request."

Fremde froze immediately like she'd been hit by a sword in the chest.

"For now at least." Thrall continued calmly.

"You, like all my other older soldiers, participated in the slaughters of the first and second wars. And just like all the rest… You shall redeem yourself, on the battlefield, by helping me save this world against the shadows and flame."

Fremde immediately relaxed and groaned.

"...I hope you're not asking me to lead assaults Warchief… I'm… Not exactly as fit as I once was."

"Nah… As it happens, I was planning on putting you in charge of my artillery. As well as my personal advisor for the coming war. I need more advisors with your kind of wit and experience. Beyond redemption… You Can think of it as a… Trial run of our relationship after the war."

The old woman laughed.

"Yeah… You're Durotan's son alright… Fine then Warchief. I shall remain your humble Warlord for the time being. And we shall meet our destiny at Hyjal."

"Hyjal?"

"The demon's ultimate goal. That is where the great battle for the era shall take place. Where our fates shall be sealed or our futures secured."