Lost Lion

Disclaimer! I don't own Wow. Blizz does, and your soul too.

Volume 3: Chapter 2

***Stormwind City – Stormwind Keep ***

My body tensed, and my eyes snapped open as I braced myself for battle. To my mild confusion, I found myself in darkness with only the sound of the wind as my sole companion. Blinking, it took me a few moments to remember where I was and recall my conversation with Mara yesterday. My eyes flicked over to the window to see the first signs of dawn beginning to show. In the distance, the pitch-black night slowly yielded to the rising sun.

"Shit…" I muttered to myself as I ran a hand through my grown, unruly hair.

I was to meet the king today after Mara's declaration—well, the King and the House of Nobles. My guess was that the king wanted to hear my report on exactly what transpired. My actions were probably going to be scrutinized by the other nobles. Even with my father's assurance, it would only take one asshole making a scathing review of my actions for things to go south for me.

Running a hand over my face, I let out a groan. This wasn't Westeros; why did I need to be caught up in political bullshittery? Well, there was no helping it. I laid back down to let my senses adjust and my mind rest up for the long day ahead. As I stared into the darkness, my mind went back to one thought.

Grom killed me.

I was dead.

How would I even start to process that? On one hand, it wasn't my first time dying, but the way I died before had been a complete surprise. After being pushed into a new life, I just didn't have time to really think about it—or rather, I just didn't want to. It was made easier by the fact that I couldn't recollect the details. With Grom, however, I remembered every moment leading up to my death, especially the feel of his axe biting into my chest and separating my ribs. I could even remember the touch of Gorehowl's sharp edge pushing against my spine.

If it wasn't for Mara finally learning how to 'rez', I'd be dead. Dead like the original Callan had been. The Bronzes would have been happy about that, I would imagine, though curiously, I saw no sign of them. I guess they could have been hidden among the orc soldiers; the Bronzes were good at disguise magic like that. The only bright spot was that there had been no sightings of the Infinites either.

Sure, they protected me, but I knew the end results of their meddling if they succeeded, the End Times, was a desolate hellscape. Not exactly a ringing endorsement for guys I wanted to be on the side of… Well, shit. What was there to be done? I could either have an existential crisis or just move the fuck on. After slapping my cheeks hard so that I could feel the pain, confirming that I was indeed alive and awake, I made my choice.

"Fuck it," I told myself while nodding. It was time to leave this entire situation—to borrow an Earth saying—in my rearview now. Time to tackle the next thing in front of me. As for the dragons, well, that was a future me problem. Good luck, future me!

Nodding to myself proudly as I resolved my internal musing, I was pulled out of my introspection upon hearing movement outside of my group was going out of their way to make as little noise as possible, but I had been hanging out with Silvermoon Rangers. Those silently stepping elves were so quiet that they caused more than a few jump scares among the rank and file.

Sylvanas was the worst offender; she could be right by someone with a knife to their throat and they wouldn't even know it! For my part, not wanting to suffer that fate, I had to learn how to spot her real quick. Well, it was either that or put a collar with a bell around her neck, but there was no way in hell Sylvanas would be letting me collar her. Liadrin, though an elf, had dinosaur feet and thus was not a problem for me to hear.

As I expected, there was a quick, soft knock at the door.

"Come in," I answered firmly.

The door latch was pressed, and with a soft click, it opened to reveal not only Mara but three other ladies who I hadn't seen in quite some time.

"Laura, Delilah, and Allyson?" Wow, the last time I saw them was when I left for Stormwind months ago.I was amazed by their appearance; they looked like they had gone through quite a lot of changes.

I gave them a blatant once-over, noting that all three of them wore a modified version of a cleric robe. Not only was it fancier in white and gold, but the caveman side of my brain couldn't help but notice it was sexier too. For one, there was a boob window now. Not like what the girl mages (or conjurers) liked to flaunt, but an actual diamond-shaped boob window. Their arms were also exposed up to their shoulders, and the robes themselves no longer hid but instead emphasized their figures.

Secondly, they carried themselves differently now, with more authority in their posture. Though Delilah, being an Abbess from Northshire, always had that stern governess thing going for her, the others seemed more confident They carried themselves like soldiers—no, warriors now. Yes, they carried themselves like veterans, and their stance showed that they were ready to switch from healing to combat at the drop of a hat. Looked like absorbing the Brotherhood of the Horse did wonders for them.

"He's gawking at us as if he had never seen us before," Delilah chided, being the first to break the silence as she marched over to me with her longstride. Before I knew it, her hands were on my head, and I felt her Light energy pour into my body, seeping in through every pore.

Grinning, I let my own reserves of Light swell and touch the Light she had been scanning me with. The Abbess gasped in surprise and backed away, startled.

"Like I told Mara yesterday." I grinned at the woman who blinked in confusion. "I'm fine."

"Callan," Allyson greeted me, and that was when I noticed that she was carrying a food tray in her arms.

The youngest of the four women was different from before. Gone was her long black hair; instead, Allyson had cut it off to her shoulders. Her hazel eyes no longer held the naive, playful innocence I was used to. Instead, there was a cool confidence. She was the definition of dark-haired beauty, and I would bet my entire year's salary that men had been pursuing her like dogs in heat.

Allyson moved to the table by my bedside and placed the tray down before she made to stand by my side. It felt like she was waiting for something, and I noticed the last of the ladies, Laura, beckoning someone in the hall to come in. A moment later, a large wooden tub was rolled in by some of the keep's servants, but the tub wasn't the only thing. Another servant had a tray with various scented oils in finely crafted jars being carried in.

Finally, a large trunk that could fit a man was rolled in and left by my bed. That was the last item before the servants excused themselves, leaving me alone with the clerics. I took this time to spot the difference in Laura—and boy, what a difference it was. Before, she had still been somewhat awkward in the way she carried herself, but that was gone now. It wasn't quite like the authority that Delilah had as an Abbess, but the feeling she gave off would only allow the bravest to approach her.

If Allyson was a dark-haired beauty, then Laura would just straight-up be labeled as an exotic beauty. Unlike the pale skins of the other three, Laura was a few shades darker, giving her an allure that made people do a double take when she passed by. Her hair, while not straight like the others, had a slight wave to it that went all the way down her back. And her face was one of nobility—not arrogant nobility, but the kind that made you know she was of high standing. In a word from my old world, she now carried herself like an ice queen.

Said ice queen was not giving me a frosty stare, but a warm look. I felt touched by that, knowing that no matter how high she'd risen, she was still acting the same as always with me. The only one missing was Victoria, but she was with the Queen where she belonged.

"So what's in the box?" I asked curiously, watching as Laura went over to the box and opened it. The contents were armor—Stormwind armor, but not the one I had been using. It was different, more specially designed. I think I'd seen it somewhere before, though I couldn't quite place where.

"This was fitted for your father initially, but since you will be attending the royal court, he had it resized to fit you," Delilah answered my silent thoughts. "He wanted you to look your best, and given the state of your last armor..."

And just like that, the warm feeling in the room dissipated at the reminder of my death. Allyson gripped the hem of her robe while Laura balled her fist. The Abbess did none of those things, simply pursing her lips. Like Mara, her expression looked like she'd put on a mask with not a single muscle twitching.

Sighing, I raised my arm and clapped my hands loudly, shocking them out of their dark thoughts. "Again, still alive and fine. Right?"

Allyson, the youngest and thus more emotional, wanted to talk more about it. "But—"

"No buts!" I wasn't having any of that emotional talk. "I'm alive, and as I taught you all before, the Light works in mysterious ways. It came to us when we most needed it. Yes, I was killed, but Mara brought me back. Pretty soon, you all will be able to do it too; I can feel it."

I gave all the other three girls a confident look before I moved my eyes over to Mara and tilted my head in a bow to her.

"Now let me break fast before and then I'll get ready for my audience with the king," I said. "Sounds like a plan?"

The girls exchanged mysterious looks with one another before Delilah stepped forward. "Yes, but you would not be doing it alone."

I tilted my head a bit, needing clarification. "Uh...what do you mean by that?"

Abbess Delilah gestured to herself and then to the rest of my battle clerics. "We will be helping you bathe and clean up for the royal audience."

Huh?

"We will also be here while you eat in case there are any complications, seeing as how you took an orc war axe to the chest," the blonde woman finished.

I mentally winced at the way she put it, but then I parsed the rest of what she said. "But...I'm fine?"

Delilah now looked at me like I was a simpleton. Usually, when I was teaching her, she was submissive and deferential.

"Callan." She made eye contact with me. "You were...killed. Mara revived you, yes, but unlike your own example of resurrection, you did not immediately rise."

I saw Mara flinch at the Abbess's statement and shot the redheaded beauty a reassuring look before returning my attention to Delilah.

"Furthermore," the authoritative woman pressed on. "You now have a permanent scar where the orc's axe struck. As much as I trust in the Light, what if everything was not healed back to the way it should be? We are not all blessed with your abilities in the Light; there could be...complications."

I had to mentally concede some of her points. The magical healers of Azeroth had a higher understanding of the human body than those from the medieval times of Earth and understood the relationship between the body's organs. If Mara was even a few inches off in stitching me back together with the Light, then things would be very bad for me later on in life.

However, the Light was not the Void; it didn't cobble flesh together haphazardly. As I understand it, it would mend a person back to their original state. Even after explaining this to them, the Clerics of Northshire insisted on confirming my statement with experimentation and data collection. For a religious order, they were surprisingly heavy believers in the scientific method.

"Finally, not only did you spend three weeks in a coma, but you've only recently woken up," Delilah explained slowly. "While I agree with Mara that you seem healthy enough, there are times when it could be the body tricking itself. We are here to make sure you do not exert yourself before your audience with the court; the last thing we need is for the next Lion of Azeroth to collapse in front of everyone."

I see—wait... what was that last bit?

Delilah did not give me a moment to ask for clarification as she pressed on. "Also, keep in mind, Callan, that we are all Clerics. We have seen people from all walks of life in various states of illness and undress. We have had to clean those who could not clean themselves and feed those unable to feed themselves. Seeing people in a state of undress is nothing to us."

Oh.

Well, I guess that made sense. I always knew the Clerics and Priests acted like doctors, but I never really gave it that much thought. They must have seen people in a worse state than I was in. Heck, to them, I was just another patient. I couldn't help but let a small smile grace my face. Twenty years in this world, and I was still discovering new things.

Nodding, I opened my mouth to agree with her. "You're—"

"Besides," Delilah continued, and this time there was a mysterious smile on her face. "According to Victoria, you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed about."

"!"

I always wondered how anime characters could turn to stone. Well, now I just found out because that's exactly what was happening to me. My entire body, upon registering the Abbess's words, refused to move, even though I was sending mental commands to do so. It wasn't until the shock wore off that I dared to let my eyes roam to the clerics and saw their expressions. Surprisingly, it was not one of anger or disappointment; it wasn't even amusement.

The best way I could put words to it was...enigmatic.

With that, no more words were spoken as Allyson led me over to the wooden tub and, with a soft tug at my clothes, let me know what she wanted. I wanted to ask them what they knew about me and Victoria, but the looks that they were giving me… screw it. I was just gonna roll with it.

I quickly tossed my shirt, dropped my trousers, and stepped into the tub in all my naked glory.

True to their words, there was no giggling or anything. Everything was purely professional as Laura and Allyson helped me wash my body. Meanwhile, Mara was taking out the armor and placing them on the bed. The way she was handling it told me that she had a lot of experience in such martial matters.

"Lean back, Callan. Your hair has grown unruly," Delilah said as Laura lathered me up, paying special attention to my scar. Judging by the frown on her face, she was not happy about it. "Callan."

At the Abbess's clipped tone, I leaned my head back and saw Allyson come over to put a hot towel over my face, leaving just enough lift for me to breathe.

"I would like to cut it shorter. I think it will look better on you than longer hair," Delilah mused beside me. "But it's up to you."

I shrugged. I always left it to whoever was cutting my hair to do what was needed. "Dealer's choice. You choose."

"Then I'll make it short. Though you inherit your father's look, your features do better with a more close crop," she told me. "We'll use an alchemic beeswax mixture to help it hold its shape after."

With that, the sound of metal scissors could be heard as I felt my hair being cut from my head. Her hand expertly ran through my hair, measuring the length before cutting it. Over and over she went as two pairs of hands scrubbed me down with a coarse towel. I admit, the whole thing was embarrassing and as weird as it felt, I ended up in the most relaxed state I had ever been in this life.

"Callan." A soft voice spoke above me, and I belatedly realized I had dozed off. Even the towel was gone from my face.

"Sorry," I said embarrassingly as I stood up and was greeted by Laura, whose eyes flitted from my head to toe before offering me a body towel. Again, her expression gave away nothing of her thought.

"Come, break your fast, and then we'll help you don your armor," the Abbess directed.

While eating, Allyson took a hand mirror and showed me my new look. It was pretty damn good, I had to admit; the crew cut worked for me. She even applied that wax to my hair, keeping the little spikes pushed back. Eventually, I finished and was offered fancy new clothes to wear under the armor. It was Mara who came to my side with my new breastplate in her hands.

"Extend your arms, please," Mara asked softly. Following her direction, I stood like the Vitruvian Man from Da Vinci's painting.

While Mara was snapping the breastplate onto me, Allyson and Laura began to put on my thigh armor. Delilah did not assist them, but instead stood back to look at me critically. Slowly, piece by piece, the new armor was put on me. It was heavier than my last one, and the plate felt thicker. It was clearly made for my father, but the smith worked their magic to make it a snug fit for me.

Maybe I would eventually grow into it? I was still young; heck, this probably wasn't even my final form!

The last part was the pauldrons. Setting them on my shoulders, there was a massive Lion's head on my left while the right was a smooth slate. With that done, I moved my body and felt nothing jamming against each other or preventing me from any martial movement. Balling and unballing my fingers to make sure I could maintain a grip, I was finally able to take a moment to enjoy the armor's aesthetic.

"Here." Allyson pushed in front of me a full-length mirror.

Once more, the armor looked familiar, but I couldn't remember from where. Its colors leaned more toward the blue spectrum. Not a dark blue; it was more of a lighter shade. There were gold trimmings on it, less than my last armor, but somehow, it made this armor seem classier. Finally, there was a tiny lion head emblem right below my neck that was fused into the collar on my breastplate.

I looked around for the helmet and saw that there was none. Maybe it wasn't resized in time or something. It was only after I finished admiring my new armor that I noticed that the ladies were stepping out from behind a changing screen, now wearing different clothes than before. They were still white in color, but it was a more modest white. More importantly, they still had the small boob window.

"Shall we leave now, my lord?" Delilah said in a respectful tone.

Guess it was time. "Yes, we shall, my lady."

Delilah pursed her lips in an effort to suppress her smile before walking out the door. It occurred to me as I was leaving that Victoria was never brought up. I mean, if they talked, wouldn't that have been a major thing to discuss, yet there was no follow-up.

Maybe I misheard the whole thing?

Shaking my head, I followed my clerics out into the hallway and was greeted by a dozen or so guards lining the hall. Were they there for my protection or this was the standard complement? I didn't quite know, but now wasn't the time to ask about it. Moving through the path laid out before me by the grayish-white stone wall, I was led to an exit where a large beautiful garden with a breathtaking view overlooking the city greeted me. Once again, I noticed that there were a lot of guards out here too. When I was here the last time, there wasn't this much security.

Several of the guardsmen turned in my direction at my appearance and gave me a tight nod. It was a universal gesture even in my old life, one that meant that they acknowledged me. I returned the gesture, a subtle incline of my head, and though I couldn't see their expression because of the helm, their body language showed that they were pleased by my reciprocation.

We went past the garden and entered another narrow hallway. A couple short minutes later, we exited from the east wing. The main hallway was packed with guards who had their backs to the walls so that no one could sneak up on them. There was a guard every six feet lining the walls with their greatswords held in a resting position. I could feel their eyes on me, following my every movement. I was soon stopped just before the entrance to the throne room.

"We must depart first, Callan," Mara said before she turned to me and gave me a once-over. "But if you wish to seek us out, know that we will be with the Northshire contingent."

Northshire contingent? What did she mean by that? However, I was left answerless as the four clerics went into a side room that a royal guard was, well, guarding and disappeared. The herald was a large, burly-looking man with dark cropped hair and a finely groomed mustache. His eyes flitted to me, and he inclined his head in my direction before a smaller herald whispered in his ear.

"The king is ready for you, my lord," the herald informed me. "Do you need a moment to compose yourself?"

"No," I said as I adjusted the new armor a bit more. It wasn't quite as comfortable as I'd like, but I would probably grow used to it in time. "I'm ready."

After receiving my answer, the herald walked into the opening to the throne room and shouted loudly.

"As commanded by his majesty, King Llane Wrynn, first of his name, and with the attendance of the House of Noble Lords along with the Ambassadors from the northern kingdoms, I announce the presence of Lord Commander Callan Lothar of Brightwood, defender of the realm of humanity, and the Light of Stromgarde!"

The who and the what?

Before I could absorb what the herald just said, loud fanfare trumpets sounded, and the herald beckoned for me to come forward. Inhaling deeply, I walked up the steps and, for the second time in my current life, entered the throne room of Stormwind. At the ceiling level were holes at the edge that allowed sunlight to spread through and illuminate the room—and quite brightly at that. It allowed me to really take in my surroundings and observe all the people gathered here.

Unlike the first time where it was just me and the royal family, the room was now almost packed to capacity. The king was on his elevated throne with the royal scepter in his right hand while gripping the Great Royal Sword of Stormwind in his left. He was dressed in armored royal finery but without the lion helmet. Standing next to him on his right was my father who was looking at me with naked pride in his eyes. A few steps down on the dais to let the king remain higher than them was Abbot Winston and Aegwynn whose eyes scanned the room like a hawk.

On the right side of the room were two rows of nobles seated in fine wooden chairs with the back row slightly raised. By each seat was a banner that identified each noble house of Stormwind. I recognized House Ebonlocke who was seated next to House Erlgadin. Two seats down was Varian's future wife's house, House Ellerian, and I think that was House Tremaind next to them. There were more, but those were names I couldn't remember offhand.

I noted that most of them were in the company of children and women. It took me a second to realize that it was probably their direct family seated beside them. That meant that behind them sat someone from their house, probably their majordomo or seneschal. Maybe even their personal guard if I were to guess.

After the nobles were my cleric girls, looking like highborn ladies themselves with the way they were sitting and holding themselves up. Finally, at the end cap, were the Conjurer Order of Stormwind, a bunch of blue-robed middle-aged men and women with large pointy hats. They were dressed like how stereotypical wizards were portrayed in my old life. Though the women were more modest there, the female conjurers—like their sorceress counterparts—had...large–err, mana pools, and liked to put them on display.

Tearing my eyes away from the sight, I turned my attention to the last group. These people were not sitting like the nobles but instead standing behind the chairs. My guess was that they were servants of the nobles in attendance. After cataloging the last group on this side of the room, I turned my attention to the people seated on the opposite side of the room.

I expected the House of Nobles to be here, but the presence of the diplomats from Lordaeron—the continent—was indeed a surprise. When did they get here? Why didn't my father tell me? Then again, we did cut our talks short. Maybe that was one of the things he was supposed to tell me? But then Mara should have informed me last night, shouldn't she?

'Well…no use crying over spilled milk now. Let's see who they brought,' I thought as my eyes began to scan the Lordearonians.

Seated closest to the king was a contingent of high elves, the leader seemed to be a blond-haired male elf magister who inclined his head toward me. Next to the elven contingent was someone dressed in Lordaeron-white finery with his own group of clean-cut servants. The man seated next to him, dressed in a green outfit, had a more casual atmosphere and was dressed more for comfort than look, but I guess Kul Tiras was just more lax. Next to him was a diplomat of Stromgarde; unlike the previous diplomat, this one was a woman. Said woman's eyes had been locked on me since the moment I entered.

Sweeping my eyes past her, I saw the next three groups: Alterac, Gilneas, and the Wildhammers. Alterac also sent a female diplomat, while Gilneas sent a hard-looking man who was looking at me with a weird expression. The Wildhammer dwarf was the most relaxed of them all; he nodded in my direction before taking a swig from his cup, which I could only presume contained our finest ale.

Finally, at their end were two groups, one of whom flew a purple banner with a violet eye. Dalaran, too, sent a blond elf. Not Kael'thas, clearly, but one I felt like I should know. My eyes might have lingered too long on him since he raised a brow in my direction before I moved on to the last group: priests from the Church of the Light. I did a double-take when I recognized the leader of their procession, having been identified by Alonsus during my trip to Quel'thalas.

'That's Benedictus!' I thought in mild wariness. This was the man who would, in the future, betray the Alliance for 'Powah', though I was pretty sure the Old Gods had a hand in it.

I took stock of all of this before I made my way to the throne and knelt before the king.

"I, Callan Lothar, have heard his majesty's summon and stand ready to serve in whatever way you need, sire," I said in my most formal tone.

"Rise, Callan Lothar, and face us," the king commanded. I obeyed as I stood at attention, keeping my eyes solely on the king and waited for him to speak.

"Do you know why you are here today, Callan?" The king's tone became softer as he asked the question.

"No, sire," I answered.

"We have heard of what transpired in Stromgarde from your men—" the king began. "—from the people of Stromgarde and even your father's relief force. Now, we would like to hear the entire story from you."

I blinked at his statement as my mind fired off questions. Sylvanas, Liadrin, and every one of my command staff were there with me from start to finish. What could I say that they haven't? Then I remembered that I shouldn't spend so much time contemplating in front of the king and swallowed hard.

"What would you like to know, Your Majesty?" I asked.

At my question, the king's eyes moved from me to the Lordaeron side of the room before returning back to me.

"Truthfully, it is not what I want to know, but what our esteemed guests from the Alliance wish to learn," the king said in a kind tone. "You see, the delegations from the northern kingdoms have questions about some of the decisions you had made during the siege."

This time, I knew it was not rude of me to take my focus from the king so I moved my gaze to the Lordaeron delegations.

"I will allow each kingdom delegate to take turns to ask a question," the king's voice shifted my focus back to him as he continued to look at the diplomats. "Once again, I must remind everyone that Callan has just awakened, and his health is still uncertain. Take care not to overburden him with your questions, my lords."

King Llane's tone was as mild as could be, but there was a steely warning in it that everyone could pick up. That was when I felt the added pressure in the room from the Stormwind side as I saw the House of Nobles giving the Lordaeron contingents cool looks.

Suddenly, it all snapped into place for me.

The king was protecting me. Left to my own devices, the delegates from Lordaeron would grill me without a care for my state. The House of Nobles was here to back the king up and serve as a warning to not go overboard. We were allies, yes, but that didn't mean that they could run roughshod over us. It was one thing if Stormwind had received one-sided help from the northern kingdoms, but now that the Horde army was on the northern mainland, we were all equals now. We needed to stand together or get wiped out by the Horde. The power dynamics had changed.

I turned to see some of the delegates, mostly from Gilneas, looking unhappy at the warning, but everyone nodded to the king in acquiescence.

"Now," King Llane began as he leaned back on his throne. "Seeing as how you brought us all the unexpected help of the High Elves of Quel'Thalas, I think they should be the ones to ask you a question first."

The elven magister in question stood up and bowed to the king. He was tall, as all elves were, but not as muscular as the male rangers I had seen. His hair was blonde, as was the case with most male elves, but he showed none of the famed elven prideful arrogance that another magister might.

"Greetings, Heir of Thoradin, I am Magister Dar'Khan Drathir," the elf introduced himself. "First and foremost, I would like to thank you for taking care of Lady Liadrin and ensuring her survival. Though we are not friends, she was a companion of mine for a while."

Hmm... that name... oh~~~ shit!

"With that said," Dar'khan, future traitor of Quel'thalas, turned to look at the Dalaran delegation. "I was ordered by Prince Kael'thas to cede our question quota to the Kirin Tor representative."

With that, the elf gestured to the Kirin Tor delegation and sat down. He pretty much gave up his turn so none of the other diplomats could really complain.

"My thanks, Magister Drathir," the Kirin Tor elf bowed in his direction before turning to me. "Hail and well met, Sir Callan Lothar. It is an honor to meet you. On behalf of the Kirin Tor, I, Archmage Krasus, would like to ask you the details of what exactly transpired during the second week of the Siege of Stromgarde."

Wait… back the fuck up. Did he say... Krasus?! As in Alexstrasza's fuck buddy, THAT Krasus?!

That was when my eyes made contact with him in an effort to see if he was indeed the red dragon LARPing as an elf, Krasus. That was a mistake, as the moment I recognized that he was indeed Krasus, the disguised dragon's eyes widened fractionally, and I knew that he knew that I knew.

Just fucking great…

*** Arathi Highlands – Ruins of Stromgarde Keep***

'Where did it all go so wrong?' Ner'zhul wondered as he walked toward Hellscream's Hold, the largest of the human buildings.

They had taken the humans' stronghold but at the cost of their mightiest warrior. Grom was dead, and with it, the only deterrent to Doomhammer's ambitions. Worse, his spies had reported that large swathes of land by the portal were dying. He didn't know why, but he suspected that it had something to do with his traitorous apprentice, Gul'dan.

While Ner'zhul would not say he feared the warlock, he was not stupid enough to think that Gul'dan was weak either. His magicks was powerful; everyone knew that. But they worked by perverting life, the opposite of shamanism. As destructive as the elemental spirits under his command were, they still allowed room for growth. They did not drain the soil of life, dry up riverbeds, or deform the wildlife. Whatever changes the elementals made were all organic in nature.

Ner'zhul reached the gates and was respectfully let in by the warriors. The only bright spot from Grom's death was how his position among the Warsong had risen once again. Any disrespect shown by the former Warchief was washed away with his death. After all, Grom died in a day to a foe that Ner'zhul and his forces had battled with for over a month's time.

Upon entering the Warsong's newest stronghold, he saw that the clan had carved their motif into its very walls. Fur banners and wooden spears decorated the walls, and outside—directing the peons—was the second in command of the dead Warchief, Gargok. A capable warrior, but a chieftain he was not, much less a Warchief.

"Great Shaman, you honor us with your presence," the large orc greeted him respectfully. "What brings you here today? Did my warriors fail in bringing back your Shadowmoon brethren?"

"No." Ner'zhul shook his head. "My clan remnants have been returned to me, and they will be punished, but that is not why I'm here today.

A stilled silence pervaded the atmosphere as many of the Warsong's warriors stopped what they were doing to watch this old argument play out.

"Fenris." Gargok sneered. "He dares to give orders to my clan? When will he understand that this is MY clan now, and the Horde, by right of succession, belongs to me?"

Ner'zhul paused, deciding to approach the situation delicately. "Fenris was named his second in front of all the clan chieftains. He was meant to lead if anything happened to Hellscream."

"The Warchief would have never wanted us subservient to Fenris and his Thunderlord clans." Gargok's words were met with grunts of approval from the warriors around them. "What's more, I have reason to believe Fenris plans on attacking my clan soon."

Ner'zhul almost physically recoiled from that accusation. "He wouldn't dare!"

"My scouts reported that he had stopped his assault on the human position and instead entrenched himself before their very walls." Grom's former lieutenant growled in disgust. "He has also been calling the smaller clans to him. It looks like he intends to protect his back before he attacks us. He would find that even with our leader dead, he is not worthy."

Ner'zhul paled as he realized that orcs might soon be killing one another if he did nothing to defuse this situation. The Horde respected the strong, that much was certain, but he'd be damned if he handed the Horde over to Doomhammer and Gul'dan. Fenris was a great warrior and well respected by most. He was the obvi—

Suddenly, the face of an orc came unbidden to his mind. The orc in his mind was respected by all clans and held in high regard even by Grom and Blackhand. He could have even led the Horde had he vied for it, but he held no such ambitions. An orc who was not hungry for power yet commanded the respect of all warriors, such that even Gargok would agree.

"Stay your hand, Warchief." Ner'zhul saw the orc smile at being addressed as such. "I will go to assess Fenris's standing and tell him it would be foolish to try to force the Warsong under his banner."

The new Warsong chieftain looked further pleased by the shaman's words. As he left, Ner'zhul's mind immediately debated on who would best be the one to, in secret, send a missive to Durotan of the Frostwolf clan.

TBC…

AN:

First of all thanks to Icura for doing what he does best and edit this chapter!

Secondly, a great heartfelt thanks to all of the patron supporters, your backing is gratefully appreciated and all I can say is thank you from the bottom of my heart!

Now onto this chapter. First of all, for those of you who thought I was introducing DC elements, I definitely wasn't. It was how K'ara appeared to Callan in a manner he could perceive her in his dream state. Supergirl real name is Kara-Zor-El key word being "Kara". So I did what I did and I'd do it again! Fite me! Poor Callan, grilled by his students and the now he is to be grilled by the Lordearonians. Also the whole thing with Krasus was a call back to War of the Ancient where Krasus was able to recognized Deathwing madness, who in turn recognized Krasus recognized. Who then recognized that Deathwing recognized that he recognized...and why does everything smell like copper now? :P Hope you guys enjoy the chapter!

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Finally, as always, C+C and discussions are always welcomed!