Lost Lion
Disclaimer! I don't own Wow. Blizz does, and your soul too.
Volume 2: Epilogue
*** Arathi Highland – Stromgarde Keep ***
For the longest time, Anduin Lothar had the hardest time being in his son's presence. The boy's features reminded him so much of his beloved deceased wife, Cally Lothar. However, now, in the stillness of death, Lothar was able to make out features that were unique to his family line. The shape of the brow, the nose, and even the color of the eyes were like his own. Callan really was the best of Cally and him combined, but back then, he had been too blind to see it.
It wasn't until very recently that Lothar had reconciled with his son and saw that the boy was a gift that Cally had left behind for him. He had been looking forward to getting to know his son better once he had returned, but it was too late now. There was still a battle going on around him; however, the Highlord of Stormwind simply did not care. All of his attention was now solely on the lifeless boy in his arms, cradling him as if he was the greatest treasure in the seven kingdoms.
Callan's lifeless eyes were looking in his direction, and Lothar found himself unable to look away. The weight of his failures had never weighed so heavily on him as much as it did today. His son had died because Lothar had been too late in getting to him. He had let the boy sail off to the north when he should have fought his king on it. The price for that was the loss of the last piece of his wife in this world.
Through all of this, Lothar slowly became aware that there was a loud sound as if someone was screaming. The scream was one filled with anguish, and the Champion of Stormwind could relate, for that was how he felt. It wasn't until Gavinrad was in front of him and had struck him hard across the face that the screaming stopped. That was when he realized that it was he himself who had been screaming like a madman.
"Lord Lothar!" Gavinrad all but screamed in his face. The man's eyes, reddened with grief, flickered down to the body in his commander's arm. "The people of Stromgarde have gone through; we must return to Stormwind now!"
Lothar heard the words but chose instead to look down at the boy in his arms.
"My lord," Gavinrad's tone came out softer this time. "We must leave now. Callan's bones deserve to be at rest in his country…"
Something in his lieutenant's words sparked something in him. That was right. He had to return with Callan; he had to lay him to rest next to his wife. The purpose gave him strength as he stood up, cradling the boy gently. He then looked to the portal that Medivh had crafted. Staring at the portal, he knew that he should be walking toward it, but it was as if he had forgotten how.
"This way, my lord."
The Knight Champion placed a gauntlet on his shoulder and patiently led him to the portal. Never had Anduin been more grateful to the knight for his assistance. Soon, the massive portal leading to Stormwind was only a few feet away from him, and a moment later, he stepped into it and felt the familiar ripple, returning to his—Callan's home.
The first sight that greeted him was the withered form of his best friend, Medivh. No longer was he strong and healthy; in fact, he looked practically skeletal, but there was a quiet strength to him. Before Callan attacked him, there was always a weariness to his friend despite how healthy he looked, but now, it was the complete opposite. Medivh's flesh was weak, yet his spirit was much stronger, like never before.
The former Guardian's eyes weren't the only ones to greet him upon his return. There was also an army numbering over twenty thousand waiting in front of Stormwind City in case the Horde pursued the people of Stromgarde. These were the very people whom the Clerics of Northshire were helping to sort and give succor to.
The withered form of his friend staggered forward while holding onto his staff like a lifeline. He was immediately attended to by his apprentice, Khadgar. However, his friend merely waved off his young apprentice before he greeted Lothar, only to see who was in his arms.
"Is—is that..." Medivh asked in exhausted despair. Even Khadgar, who did not know Callan well, looked saddened.
The reminder made Lothar look down at his son, yet the only thing he could do was fall to his knees. However, even as far gone as he was, he kept a tight grip on his son. He had not protected his son in life, but he would do so in death.
Another hand was suddenly on his shoulders, one that was not hard but lighter.
"I am sorry we were too late for your son, Lothar," Aegwynn consoled. There was a mute sadness to her expression. "If only we had been there sooner."
"Out of my way! I must see Lord Callan!" an almost melodious voice said angrily.
"Let her come." Gavinrad's voice could be heard ordering someone.
A moment later, Lothar saw his first elf, a girl whose hair was a different shade of red than Mara's and sporting eyes that were also a different green. The elf was clothed in clerical robes that had seen better days, though there was an ill-fitting breastplate over it. Without another word, the elf held out her hand and Light poured forth from her and into Callan.
Lothar's eyes widened and looked down to see his son's flesh being mended.
"What are you doing?" Gavinrad asked in awe as he bore witness.
Lothar was not well-versed in the Light; he could not even feel it like how his son described it, but by the density of the glow alone, he was certain that what the elf woman was doing was incredible. Slowly, Anduin and everyone around him watched as the elf cleric re-knitted Callan's bones, the wounds slowly sealing back up.
Once it was closed, however, the redheaded elf all but collapsed.
"My lady!" Gavinrad caught the elf before she could hit the ground. The elf expression was one of anguish.
Lothar's eyes went back to his son and found that, though his body was healed, he was still motionless. His chest showed no sign that he was breathing. Anduin looked back up to the elven cleric, only to see her shed tears of grief and wear an expression of shame.
'Ah...' Lothar thought. His son was beyond even the Light's ability to bring back, it seemed. His eyes began to blur as he wanted to rage at any and all of the gods that Callan spoke of to ask them why a father must bury his son after burying his wife.
"You did well, sister," another female voice spoke. It was one he knew belonged to Callan's first apprentice, Lady Mara Fordragon. "Now, let me try."
Through blurred vision, Lothar suddenly saw a golden light in front of him once more. He quickly blinked his eyes to clear his vision, and upon doing so, there was Mara Fordragon in her newly created armor. It was the finalized version, combining the craftsmanship from the Brotherhood's best smiths and sanctified by the Clerics of Northshire. It made her look like a holy warrior whose body was encased in golden light. She was communicating silently with the elf. In the end, Abbess Delilah, Callan's third apprentice, appeared at the female elf's side and gently took her from Gavinrad.
The High Cleric looked at Lothar and then down to Callan.
"I cannot call upon the Light as effortlessly as Callan could," Mara stated. Whether the statement was for him or the audience, it was not clear. The red-haired cleric then slowly and respectfully knelt down before Callan's body. "The Light also does not favor me as it does him."
She then laid both of her hands on Callan's chest where an ugly puckered scar could be seen from the elf's healing.
"But in terms of Faith—" Mara's form suddenly glowed brighter. "I am confident that I am his equal!"
This time, Lothar felt it. What 'it' was, he could not be sure, but the skin on his arms suddenly had goosebumps, and a moment later, he was blinded. Everywhere he looked, there was nothing but gold as he heard Mara start to recite some kind of prayer. Another voice joined in on the prayers; it took him a moment to realize that it was the elf, and then the voice of the Abbess could be heard before Gavinrad followed suit.
As if by some unprompted signal, those in the courtyard began reciting along with the High Clerics. Only, the sheer volume was much too loud to have come only from the army of Stormwind. Could it be that even the people of Stromgarde were offering prayers for his son? Did he mean that much to them?
Lothar had forgotten the prayers he had been taught as a boy. He believed more in the strength of his arms than the Light. At least, the arcane power of the conjurers could be proven, but not so the Light. Not until Callan. Though he never considered himself a believer, he still beseeched the Light.
Mara's prayer reached a crescendo. As the last word was spoken, a dense golden light encompassed Callan's body before it fired off into the sky.
*** The Bulwark - Lordaeron ***
Alexandros Mograine, Knight Captain of Lordaeron and a minor noble of Tirisfal, looked out at the orcish host assembled before him through the wooden barricades. He had been fortunate enough to set up a sizable number of said barricades, thanks to the efforts of Lord Aedelas Blackmoore of Durnholde Keep. This led the knight to find himself reassessing the man, realizing that he had unfairly judged him for the actions of his father.
He had been taught by the priests to look past his prejudices, and after fighting alongside Lord Blackmoore for a few weeks, Alexandros concluded that the son bore no responsibility for his father's crimes. If not for Lord Blackmoore's efforts, pushing his people to form Callan's Bulwark, the orcs would have overrun the Hillsbrad Foothills by now. Lord Blackmoore had emptied his fortress to buy Lordaeron enough time until their messengers could reach the other garrisons.
Day by day, the people of Lordaeron answered the call and bolstered the Bulwark forces. Thankfully, for reasons unknown, the orcs delayed their attack, allowing the defenders to withstand the initial assault. The defense consisted of two parts: first, the barricade crafted by Lord Blackmoore, were positioned at an optimal range for the archers to fire accurately at the orc attackers, slowing the orc's advance. Second, thanks in part to Callan's strategy, Alexandros was able to create a fortified position around the mouth of Thoradin's Gate, augmenting it enough to withstand the assaults. The orcs, unable to breach their defenses in the first few days, were forced to retreat, leaving their dead behind. Alexandros ordered the corpses to be burned in a giant funeral pyre.
During that first week, Alexandros noticed signs of a massive storm in the distance, an ill omen for the dirt wall fortifications of Callan. The storm threatened to weaken the defenses and hinder the defenders, but miraculously, it never arrived, seemingly breaking apart on its own.
Perhaps the Light heard their prayers and smiled upon them that day.
The assault renewed the very next day as more orc reinforcements arrived. Alexandros and his outnumbered men barely held on, and once more, with horrendous losses on both sides, they forced the orcs to pull back. It occurred to him then that while the orcs' numbers were great, they seemed to be trickling in, just as his own reinforcements were trickling in. If he had a large enough force, they might act as a deterrent to the orcs. Yes, they would be bottled up, but at least, Lordaeron would be safe.
That was when an odd occurrence happened during the second week.
It was something Alexandros hoped to never experience again: the presence of something so evil, so sinister, that it made him physically shiver. Even the prayers to the Light did not ward off the evil presence. His men at the time seemed much more affected, while the orcs seemed empowered by it. Blackmoore suspected foul magic, but unfortunately, they had no priest to dispel such darkness.
Then, as if by a miracle, the sinister atmosphere disappeared. The best way Alexandros could describe it was as if something started a massive fire and just as quickly snuffed out the flame. To lend further credence to his theory of a miracle, there was a feeling of holiness that permeated the air afterward. The defenders of the Bulwark were visibly comforted by it, though Blackmoore had a queer theory that Lord Callan had something to do with it.
Alexandros doubted it. Though the heir of Thoradin was powerful, to have his power echoed through the distance of days? If the man was capable of that, there would have been no need for him to break his forces apart. He could have just smote the orcs like a god. No, something different had happened. Though Lord Callan may have a part in it, Alexandros doubted it was done by him alone.
After those two weeks of oddity, nothing strange happened besides the battle for the wall. While Alexandros and even Aedelas had been in multiple battles against bandits and troll raiders, they had never fought against such numbers. The knight knew that it was the mistakes he made that cost many men their lives. By the end of the fourth week, after their deaths reached fifteen thousand, with twice that wounded, some permanently, Alexandros knew the mantle of leadership ill-suited him. Perhaps if King Thoras or Lord Uther had been there, they would have fared better.
Once again, the only silver lining was that the orcs seemed to suffer an equal amount of losses. The knight of Lordaeron dreaded to think of what would have happened if his mishmash forces had to face the orcs on even ground. It was likely that they would have been overwhelmed and broken already.
Now, in the present, his forces numbered nearly a hundred thousand, but Alexandros did not feel happy. His scouts on the wall had reported that more orcs had joined their ranks, making their forces well over a hundred thousand. Their roughest estimate put the orcs at a hundred and thirty thousand, maybe more.
"They are coming soon, aren't they, Knight Captain Mograine?" Aedelas Blackmoore asked wearily. He was clad in Lordaeron footman plate armor, though of obviously higher quality. Dents could be seen on the armor, and signs of blood were visible from the orcs he had killed.
"Aye, Lord Blackmoore, they are indeed," Alexandros answered with quiet resolve. "More of our people's blood will be spilled this day."
"Damn these foul beasts." Blackmoore spat on the ground, and there were more than a few soldiers within earshot who agreed with his sentiment.
"Catapults!" a spotter on the wall shouted down, and many other soldiers repeated what he said.
"Light be damned!" Blackmoore cursed at the news.
Thoradin's Wall was a hard place to defend, mainly because they were defending from the wrong side. The wall was made to keep enemies out of the Arathi Highlands; it was not made for defending against those coming from the inside. All of the stairs leading up to the wall and possible ways to go around them were on the Arathi side of the wall. Lady Lana had recognized that fact before she left to gather Gilnean reinforcements.
With that weakness pointed out, Alexandros had Blackmoore send people to destroy all the stone steps leading up to the wall along its length. The destruction was not total, but there was a sizable gap where even jumping to reach the next step was impossible. Then, for added measure, wooden barricades were created and put in front of the broken steps with pockets of defenders in case the orcs attempted to climb the wall. They couldn't prevent the orcs from scaling the walls, but they could at least prevent them from doing so in large groups that would be unmanageable.
"People of Lordaeron!" Alexandros raised his warhammer high. He had to dispel his men's unease. "Do not be afraid! Think of your fathers, mothers, sons, and daughters! They who would be at the mercy of these foul greenskins should we fail here! Take strength from those to your right and your left! They are your brothers and sisters; trust in them as you know that they can trust in you!"
Alexandros immediately felt the air of fear begin to lessen. Still, he needed something more, something that would dispel it altogether. Then he nearly cursed himself for being so stupid to forget that his people's greatest strength was their unwavering faith.
They were not like the Gilneans who believed only in strength of arms and industry. Nor were they like the people of Dalaran who dealt in disturbing magical arts. They were not quick to kill their fellow man like Alterac and Stromgarde either, nor did they believe in some sort of abstract power of the sea like Kul Tiras. No, Lordaeron kept faith with the Light. That faith had helped them during the Troll Wars and supported their kingdom's growth to surpass all others. It was in that Light that he would believe in now.
"My brothers and sisters of Lordaeron." Alexandros suddenly felt a power fill him as he had his epiphany. "As a wise man once told me, if we believe in the Light, then there is nothing we cannot achieve. With it, we can do the impossible and even see the invisible things hidden from us!"
At this point, all eyes were on him, but there was no sensation of fear. Alexandros felt it, the Light's grace.
"Together, we will touch the untouchable, and against these greenskins, break the unbreakable!" Alexandros roared. "We are the people of Lordaeron, and we will draw the line here!"
Alexandros expected people to cheer along with him, but only deathly silence followed. Did he fail? A quick scan of the crowd showed that they were all looking at him with reverent awe. Even Blackmoore was giving him an awestruck look.
"Ser Mograine..." Aedelas addressed him in disbelief. "You... Your faith is showing."
"My faith?" Alexandros Mograine parroted. As if not believing the man's words, Alexandros looked down to find that, indeed, his hands were encased in a golden hue. Though he was devout in the Light, he never thought he would be able to call upon it like Callan or those priests. Yet, here it was, his faith shining for all to see.
"I—"
"Milord! Army in the distance!" A shout from the wall cut off the knight. "They're flying Gilnean flags!"
Alexandros widened his eyes as he turned quickly to Blackmoore, who had a similar expression on his face. In truth, Alexandros had given up on Gilneas showing up in any significant number after all this time. Without needing to say anything to Blackmoore, command was automatically transferred to the Lord of Durnholde Keep as Alexandros prepared to greet the Gilnean army.
Alexandros quickly tried to make himself presentable, then did a double take when he realized the golden hue around his hand had faded. Though his faith no longer shone, he knew that the Light was still in him, ready to be called upon. Its righteousness filled his pores with a confidence that he had not felt in what seemed like ages. After passing through a dense cluster of Lordaeron troops held in reserve, he caught his first glimpse of the Gilnean army.
Unlike the unorganized cluster of Lordaeron troops that had flowed to the Bulwark, the Gilnean forces marching on the road showcased quiet discipline. At their lead was a familiar figure to Alexandros; after all, he had marched at her side before. However, she was not the leader. No, that honor went to a man with rust-colored hair who was around Alexandros' own age.
Past the man was a thousand cavalry unit heavily armored in brown and black plate mail. Gilnean knights, Alexandros realized. A hardy lot famed for their tenacity. By their side was the light cavalry that Lady Lana had led before, only numbering two thousand. They all wore the same gear that he was familiar with: explosive hand devices on one hip and long, thin rapiers on the other.
However, beyond them was a contraption that Alexandros had never seen before. A dozen of these strange contraptions were in carts, being pulled by the Gilnean light cavalry. The contraptions looked like tipped-over barrels about three feet in length, made of black cast iron. Around the tilted barrel were boxes of little balls that appeared to be made of iron. Alexandros had no idea of their purpose and quickly dismissed them as he looked at what he really needed.
Behind them, numbering well over ten thousand, were the Gilnean infantry. They were not as tough as their knights, but they were not weak either. What they were, however, was much better trained than the militia and peasant levies that had been cobbled together to make up the numbers. The leader of the group, upon spotting him, rode ahead to meet him. Alexandros met the man halfway on foot, his horse long since put away as it served little in a defensive battle.
"Hail and well met!" the man bellowed as he pounded his chest over his heart in greeting. "Are you Knight Captain Alexandros Mograine?"
"Aye, hail and well met, Lord…?" Alexandros left the question hanging.
"Ah, my apologies." The man gave an embarrassed smile. "I am Darius Crowley, Lord of Pyrewood. Of course, you know my baby cousin."
At that, Lady Lana inclined her head in acknowledgment.
"Now, Lana here, painted quite a dire picture of your situation." Darius's eyes looked past the knight and at the host already assembled. "And it looks like that is true. Show me where I can put these bombards and where my men can best assist."
Before Alexandros could reply, the horn sounded, signaling a Horde attack. Everyone's attention was pulled to the front as the cries of the orcs reached even beyond the wall. Still, for the first time in weeks, with the large Gilneas army with them, they had achieved parity with the orcs in numbers.
They will have to hold against the Horde no matter the cost. For the Alliance!
*** Cavern of Time – Somewhen ***
"Where could our father be?" Andormu, one of the timekeepers for the bronze flight, frowned. "The timeline has never been in more greater danger than it is now. The ripples through time are getting worse."
"How bad is it?" Chromie asked. She had finally recovered from the encounter with the Infinite dragon months ago. The wounds inflicted on her had a chronomantic corrosive effect and remained open longer than normal.
"His every action is sending time quakes throughout all the timelines," Andormu said in a grave tone. "Already, many of the lesser timelines are lost, swept up in the chaotic current."
Soridormi, prime consort of Nozdormu, let her senses reach out to touch time once more, and once again, she was nearly drowned in its chaotic current. Their mortal champions had failed, and due to the time storm, she had fallen out of communication with the other Bronze dragons. Even if they die, she wouldn't be able to know. Not only that, but without the Aspect of Time's guidance, they were all going to perish if they stayed here. Forced into such a corner, there was only one action she could take.
"Recall all of our brothers and sisters back," Soridormi told the two. "There's only one place where we can weather this chronomantic storm."
Chromie and Andormu eyed each other and blinked as they realized what she meant.
"You mean—!" Andormu began before she saw the prime consort nod.
"The Bronze Dragonshrine," Soridormi confirmed. "It's the place built by the great Titan Aman'thul that allowed us to exist outside of time on Azeroth. It is there where we will be safest until we can form a new plan."
"So we have failed..." Chromie closed her eyes sadly.
Andormu, too, shook his head wearily.
"Yes." Soridormi nodded. "When the storm ebbs, we will venture forth once more. We have not been defeated. But... for now, we need to take shelter."
With that, the call went out to all the Bronze dragons to gather at the Cavern of Time. Those who didn't answer the call were presumed to have died. So, for the first time since the War of the Ancients, hundreds of Bronze dragons filled the Cavern of Time.
"Brothers and sisters!" Soridormi was in her dragon form, addressing Nozdormu's children. "As you know, the true timeline is collapsing. I have bought us as much time as possible by linking us to Draenor. However, that will not last for long."
There were worried looks among some of the other bronzes, but they kept silent in respect for their leader.
"That is why, before that happens, we will be moving our entire flight to the Bronze Dragonshrine in Northrend. We will plan our counteroffensive there," the prime consort explained.
"So we are abandoning the true timeline?" a bronze asked in shocked surprise.
"For now," Soridormi said sadly. "Until Nozdormu shows up, we can do nothing but ready ourselves for all-out war with the Infinite flight!"
There was nothing else the other bronze dragons could say. If they didn't want to be swallowed up by the time storm, then they had no choice but to abandon the true timeline.
"Now, my children, let us go!" Soridormi then cast a premade spell that teleported every dragon in the room to the Dragonshrine.
When the spell was finished, Soridormi expected to see the familiar hourglass of time and the guardians she had left to guard it. What she did not expect to see was Nozdormu in his aspect form, facing off against an equally large Infinite dragon. An Infinite dragon that felt intensely familiar to her.
"By the Titans—!" Chromie said, stunned in shock.
Soridormi agreed. Hundreds of Bronze and Infinite Dragons surrounded the two larger dragons but made no move to attack.
"What's going on?!" Chromie asked, turning to her superior.
"Sister, look, the Infinites—their scales!" Andormu said in disbelief.
At first glance, the Infinites still looked the same, but eventually, she saw what Andormu was talking about. Past the dusky aura, there were patches of bronze-colored scales on their bodies. Even the large dragon that was facing off against the Aspect of Time had a bronze underbelly, merely covered up by a black aura.
"Sori?" Chromie's diminutive voice asked again. She could feel the eyes of those who accompanied her looking to her for answers.
"I-I don't know," Soridormi replied truthfully. That was when the large Infinite dragon shifted his eyes away from Nozdormu and to her. To her surprise, his expression softened upon seeing her.
"It is good to see you again—" a horrifyingly familiar voice came from the large Infinite dragon. Soridormi didn't want to believe it yet, but the way he addressed her next confirmed it. "—my love."
"You're a corrupted Nozdormu..." Soridormi saw the actual Nozdormu look ashamed at her revelation but did not turn his attention away from his corrupted counterpart. However, her mind took it a step further. "But that means..."
The enemy, Soridormi realized, had been themselves all this time.
End Vol 2.
AN: And so it was finished!
Thank you to Icura who had stuck together with me and help edit this bad boy. Who will be continuing to assist me in the upcoming vol 3!
Super special shout out to my supporters. Every month more join which allow me to concentrate and polish this story to the best. To you all I say once again, you have my heartfelt gratitude and shall see you all in Volume 3!
Well, that it for this volume! It has been a long road but we have finished it. Thanks to everyone for sticking with it and leaving reviews and comments! The discussion got spicy at time and not all agree with my decisions, I probably lost people too, but gain new ones in the journey. For those that have followed along and those that still stand with me, I thank you!
Now as for this chapter, really this entire volume! We done! Now we get to see what has happened to the rest of the world, how fares Thoradin Wall, and of course the battle of time itself :P I know that many expected Liadrin to be the one to rez, but Mara came first and she was no slouch when it came to the Light. Only a few were able to guess so glad I was able to hid her well enough! Also yes you did not see wrong, that was indeed Mograine and Blackmoore bonding in battle. As for what happens next and now? Well, feel free to speculate! I shall see you in two weeks with Volume 3! Mmmm I wonder if I should title these volumes or nah!
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Finally, as always, C+C and discussions are always welcomed!
