Jaina Proudmoore: Tides of War

by Christie Golden

  3

  “I recognize that dirty cloak,” the image of Prince Anduin Wrynn said, grinning.

  Lady Jaina Proudmoore returned the smile. She and her “nephew,” firmly related by affection if not blood, were conversing by means of an enchanted mirror Jaina kept carefully hidden behind a bookcase. When the proper spell was recited, the reflection of each respective room would vanish, and what had been a simple mirror would become instead a window. It was a variation on the spell that allowed magi to transport themselves and others from one site to another.

  Anduin had once shown up unexpectedly when Jaina was returning from one of her secret visits with then-warchief Thrall. Clever lad that he was, the prince had figured out what she had been up to, and now they shared a secret.

  “Never could fool you,” Jaina said. “How goes your time among the draenei?” She could guess some of what he would tell her without waiting to hear the answer. Anduin had grown—not just physically. Even in the mirror, which rendered him in a palette of blues, she could see that his jaw was more determined, and his eyes were calmer and wiser.

  “It’s been truly amazing, Aunt Jaina,” he said. “There is so much going on in the world that I want to be part of right now, but I know I have to stay here. I’m learning something new almost every single day. It kills me that I can’t help, but—”

  “It is the destiny of others to buy us a future for you to grow up in, Anduin,” Jaina said. “It is your destiny to do precisely that—and do so well. Keep studying. Keep learning. You’re right. You’re exactly where you need to be.”

  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and suddenly looked very young again. “I know,” he said, sighing. “I do know that. It’s just… hard, sometimes.”

  “There will come a time when you will long for these simpler, quieter days,” Jaina said. Briefly her mind went back to her own youth. Loved by her father and brother, safe with her governess and tutors, Jaina had been filled with the joy of learning and the duties of a young lady, despite the military nature of her family. She had chafed against such things then, but now they seemed sweet and delicate as a flower’s petals.

  Anduin rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. “Give Thrall my best,” he said.

  “I’m sure that’s hardly prudent,” Jaina replied, but she smiled as she said it. She lifted the cloak’s hood over her golden hair. “Be well, Anduin. It’s good to hear how you are doing.”

  “I will, Aunt Jaina. You be careful.” His image vanished. Jaina, who had been tying the hood down tight, paused in mid-motion. You be careful. He was, indeed, growing up.

  As she had so many times before, she set out alone, taking care, as Anduin had asked, that she was not observed by anyone. She paddled the dinghy to the southwest, navigating the small islands of the area known as Tidefury Cove. The occasional muckshell clacked at her in annoyance, but otherwise the waterways were undisturbed.

  Jaina pulled up to the meeting place, surprised to see that Thrall wasn’t present. She felt slightly uneasy. So much had changed. He had given leadership of the Horde to Garrosh. The world had cracked open like an egg, never to be the same again. And a great evil that had burned with hate and madness had rampaged across Azeroth to, finally, be defeated.

  The wind shifted, caressing her face and blowing the hood off despite the fact that she had tied it securely beneath her chin. Her cloak billowed back from her slender frame, and suddenly Jaina smiled. The wind was warm and smelled of apple blossoms, and before she quite realized what happened, it had lifted her out of the dinghy like a large, gentle hand. She did not struggle; she knew she was perfectly safe. Cradling her, the wind deposited her on the shore with the same care it had displayed when picking her up. Not a drop of muddy water had touched so much as the toe of her boot.

  He stepped out from his place of concealment behind a rock, and Jaina realized she still hadn’t grown used to his new appearance. Instead of armor, Thrall, son of Durotan, wore simple robes. Red prayer beads encircled his throat. His large head with black hair was covered by a plain hood. The robes revealed part of his powerful green chest, and his arms were bare. He was indeed a shaman now, not a warchief. Only the Doomhammer, strapped to his back, was familiar to her.

  He held out his hands, and Jaina took them.

  “Lady Proudmoore,” he said, his blue eyes warm with welcome. “Long has it been since we met so.”

  “Long indeed, Thrall,” she said in agreement. “Perhaps too long.”

  “I am Go’el,” he said, reminding her gently. Slightly chagrined, she nodded.

  “My apologies. Go’el it shall be.” She looked around. “Where is Eitrigg?”

  “He is with the warchief,” Go’el said. “While I now am leader of the Earthen Ring, I serve humbly. I do not think of myself as greater than any other member.”

  A hint of an amused smile quirked her mouth. “Many would consider you much more than a simple shaman,” she said. “I among them. Or are the tales that you allied with four Dragon Aspects to help bring down Deathwing just stories?”

  “It was an honor, and a humbling one, to so serve,” Go’el said. Coming from anyone else, the words would have been simple politeness. Jaina knew them to be true. “I merely held the space for the Earth-Warder. It was all of us, working together—dragons and brave representatives of every race of this world. The credit for slaying the great monster goes to many.”

  Her eyes searched his. “You are content with all your decisions, then.”

  “I am,” he said. “If I had not left to join the Earthen Ring, I would not have been prepared to undertake the task that was asked of me.”

  She thought of Anduin and his training, which was taking him far away from family and loved ones. “There is so much going on in the world that I want to be part of right now, but I know I have to stay here. I’m learning something new almost every single day.”

  And she had told him he was exactly where he needed to be. Now Go’el was saying the same thing. Part of her agreed with him. Surely the world was much better off without the ravages and terrorizing of Deathwing and the Twilight Cult! And yet…

  “Nothing is free, Go’el,” she said. “Your knowledge and skills were bought at a cost. The… orc you left behind in your place had done much harm in your absence. If I have heard about what is going on in Orgrimmar and Ashenvale, surely you must have!”

  His mien, which had been deeply peaceful, now looked troubled. “I have heard, of course.”

  “And… you do nothing?”

  “I have another path,” Go’el said. “You have seen the results of that path. A threat that—”

  “Go’el, I hear this, but now that task is over. Garrosh is stirring up trouble between the Alliance and the Horde—trouble that didn’t exist until he started it. I can understand if you don’t wish to undermine him publicly, but—perhaps you and I can work together. Form a summit of sorts. Ask Baine to join us; I know he has no love for what Garrosh is striving for. I could speak with Varian. As of late, he seems to be more reachable. Everyone respects you, even in the Alliance, Go’el. You have earned that respect because of your actions. Garrosh has earned nothing but mistrust and hatred because of his.”

  She indicated her cloak, which Go’el had blown about with the wind he had sent to bear her to shore. “You can control the winds as a shaman. But the winds of war are blowing, and if we do not stop Garrosh now, many innocents will pay the price for our hesitation.”

  “I know what Garrosh has done,” Go’el said. “But I also know what the Alliance has done. There are innocents, yes, but even you cannot place the blame for the current tensions squarely at Garrosh’s feet. Not all the attacks have been initiated by the Horde. It does not seem to me that the Alliance is working particularly hard to find peace either.”

  His voice was still calm but held a warning note. Jaina winced—not at the tone of voice, but at the truth of what was said. “I know,” she said heavily. She dropped down despondently on a rock
jutting up from the soil. “There are times when I feel as if my words fall on deaf ears. The only one who seems to be truly interested in forging a lasting peace is Anduin Wrynn—and he’s just fourteen.”

  “That is not too young to care about his world.”

  “But it is too young to do anything about it,” Jaina said. “It seems as if I am struggling through mud simply to be heard, let alone actually listened to. It’s… difficult to try to be a diplomat and work for real, solid results when the other side won’t acknowledge reason anymore. I feel like a crow cawing in the field. I wonder if it’s just wasted breath.”

  She was surprised at the frankness and weariness in the words. Where had they come from? Jaina realized that she truly had no one to talk to, to express doubts to anymore. Anduin looked up to her as a role model, so she couldn’t explain how disheartened she felt at times, and Varian and the other Alliance leaders were—most of them—firmly on the opposite side of any argument she made. Only Thrall—Go’el—seemed to understand, and even he appeared at the moment to be denying how much his decision to appoint Garrosh as warchief of the Horde could cost.

  Jaina gazed down at her hands, the words pouring out of her, uncensored. “The world’s changed so much, Go’el. Everything’s changed. Everyone’s changed.”

  “Everyone and everything does change, Jaina,” Go’el said quietly. “It’s the nature of things to grow, to become something they were not. The seed becomes the tree, the bud the fruit, the—”

  “I know that,” Jaina snapped. “But you know what doesn’t change? Hatred. Hatred and the hunger for power. People get an idea or a plan that works in their favor, and they dig in and won’t let it go. They won’t see what’s right in front of them if it contradicts what they want. And the words of reason, of peace, just don’t seem to be effective against that anymore.”

  Go’el raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you are right,” he said noncommittally. “We must all choose our own paths. Maybe there is something else you should focus on.”

  She gave him a stunned look. “This world has already been torn apart. Do you truly think I should stop trying to prevent its inhabitants from tearing themselves apart?”

  Jaina stopped just short of adding, “Like you have done.” It wasn’t fair. Go’el had hardly been idle. He had indeed been doing much for Azeroth, but still… It was petty of her, but she felt as if he had let her down. She folded her stained cloak about her frame in what she realized was a defensive gesture. Sighing, she deliberately loosened her tight shoulders. Go’el sat quietly beside her on the boulder.

  “You must do what you think is best, Jaina,” he said. A slight wind stirred the braids in his beard. He looked off into the distance as he spoke. “I cannot tell you what that is or else I would be just like these others whom you find so frustrating.”

  He was right. There had been a time when Jaina had easily discerned what the best thing to do was in a given situation. Even if it was bitterly hard to do it. Choosing not to stand with her own father as he fought the Horde had been such a defining moment for her. So had been walking away from Arthas when he instigated what became known later as the Culling of Stratholme. But now—

  “It’s all so uncertain, Go’el. More than it ever has been, I think.”

  He nodded. “It is indeed.”

  She turned to look at him searchingly. He had changed, in more ways than one. Not just his clothing, or his name, or his demeanor, but—

  “So,” she said, “the last time we met, it was to celebrate a happy occasion. How is life with Aggra treating you?”

  His blue eyes warmed. “Well indeed,” he said. “She honors me by accepting me.”

  “I think you honor her,” Jaina said. “Tell me about her. I didn’t really have much of a chance to talk to her.”

  Go’el gave her a speculative glance, as though wondering why she wished to know, then shrugged slightly.

  “She is of course a Mag’har, born and raised in Draenor. That is why her skin is brown; she and her people were never tainted by any sort of exposure to demon blood. Azeroth is new to her, but she loves it passionately. She is a shaman, like me, and devotes herself entirely to healing this world. And,” he added quietly, “healing me.”

  “Did you… need healing?” Jaina asked.

  “We all do, whether we see it or not,” Go’el replied. “We bear the wounds of simply living in this life even if we never have a physical scar. A mate who can see one for who one is, truly and completely—ah, that is a gift, Jaina Proudmoore. A gift that restores and renews one daily, and which must be tended carefully. It is a gift that has made me whole—made me understand my purpose and place in the world.”

  Gently, he laid a large green hand on her shoulder. “I would wish such a gift and such insights for you, my dear friend. I would see you happy, your life complete, your purpose clear.”

  “My life is complete. And I know my purpose.”

  He smiled around his tusks. “As I said, only you know what is right for you. But I will say this with certainty: whatever journey you are on, whatever your path may lead to, I, at least, have found it to be sweeter by far with a life companion at my side.”

  Jaina thought with a trace of uncharacteristic bitterness of Kael’thas Sunstrider and Arthas Menethil. Both had once been so bright and beautiful. Both had loved her. One she had respected and admired; the other she had loved deeply in return. Both had fallen to the call of dark powers and the weaker parts of their natures. She smiled without humor.

  “I do not think I am very wise at choosing life companions,” she said. She forced down the frustration and unhappiness and uncertainty, and reached to place her small, pale hand on his. “I’m better when it comes to friends.”

  They sat together for a long, long time.

  4

  It began to rain as Jaina paddled back to Theramore after her meeting with Thrall. Though it made her cold and uncomfortable for the moment, she welcomed the inconvenience, as few tended to venture out in such inclement weather. She tied up the little dinghy to the dock, slipping a little on the wet wood, and under cover of the steady downpour, made her way to the magically concealed secret entrance to the tower, unnoticed. Shortly she was in her cozy parlor. Shivering, Jaina lit the fire with a murmured incantation and a flick of a finger, dried her clothes the same way, and put away the cloak.

  She brewed some tea and selected a few cookies, set them down on a small table, and settled in by the fire, thinking about what Thrall had said. He seemed so… content. Calm. But how could he be? In a very real sense, he had turned his back on his people and, in handing the reins to Garrosh, had practically guaranteed that war would become inevitable. If only Anduin were older, he would be a valuable ally. But youth was so fleeting; Jaina felt guilty for momentarily wishing Anduin would miss a single day of it.

  And Thrall—Go’el (it would take her some time to get used to the new name)—was married now. What would this mean for the Horde? Might he want his son or daughter to rule after him? Would he take up the mantle of the Horde again if this Aggra gave him a child?

  “Save any cookies for me, Lady?” The voice was female, youthful, a little squeaky.

  Jaina smiled without turning around. She had been so engrossed in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard the distinctive humming sound of a teleportation spell. “Kinndy, you can always make your own.”

  Her apprentice laughed cheerfully, hopping into a chair opposite Jaina beside the blazing fire and reaching for a cup of tea and one of the aforementioned cookies. “But mine are only apprentice cookies. Yours are master cookies. They’re ever so much better.”

  “You’ll figure out chocolate bits any day now,” Jaina said, keeping her face deadpan. “Though your apple bars are coming along quite nicely.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” said Kinndy Sparkshine. She was perky even for a gnome, with a shock of bright pink hair pulled back in pigtails that made her look much younger than her twenty-two years—just a teenager by
her people’s reckoning of age. It would be easy to dismiss her as a chipper little thing with as much substance as the spun-candy confection her hair resembled, but those who looked into her wide blue eyes would see a sharp intelligence there that contradicted the innocent face. Jaina had taken her on as an apprentice several months ago. She hadn’t really had much of a choice.

  Rhonin, who had led the Kirin Tor through the Nexus War and still guided them, had requested Jaina’s presence shortly after the Cataclysm had struck. He was more somber than she had ever seen him as he met her in the Purple Parlor, a special place accessible, as far as she knew, only by portal. After pouring them each a drink of sparkling Dalaran wine, he sat beside her and regarded her intently.

  “Rhonin,” Jaina had asked quietly, not even taking a sip of the delicious beverage, “what is it? What has happened?”

  “Well, let’s see,” he replied. “Deathwing is loose; Darkshore has fallen into the sea—”

  “I mean with you.”

  He smiled faintly at his own dark humor. “Nothing is wrong with me, Jaina. Merely—well, I have a concern that I’d like to share with you.”

  She frowned, a small crease appearing between her brows, and put the glass down. “Me? Why me? I’m not one of the Council of Six. I’m not even a member of the Kirin Tor anymore.” Once, she had been, working closely with her master, Antonidas. But after the Third War, when the scattered members of the Kirin Tor had reformed, it hadn’t felt the same to her.

  “And this is precisely why it’s you I must speak with,” he said. “Jaina, we’ve all endured so much. We’ve been so busy—well, fighting and planning and doing battle—that we’ve fallen behind on another, perhaps even more important, duty.”

  Jaina gave him a bemused smile. “Defeating Malygos and recovering from a world shaken like a rat in a mastiff’s mouth seem pretty important to me.”

  He nodded. “They are. But so is training the next generation.”