Both, each in his own way, were fugitives. Jaina had made the promise to keep them safe and support them however she could, though the plans as to how exactly she would do that had not yet been formed.
Now voices were growing hoarse from speaking, and heads, including Jaina’s own, were starting to nod. But she felt good about what they had done here. Baine had told her that those who had accompanied him would be expecting his return, and if it did not happen, they would likely assume treachery. Jaina had understood; she would have assumed the same. She opened a portal to the site he requested, and he stepped through, leaving Anduin and Jaina alone.
“That was …” Anduin struggled for words. “I feel so bad for him.”
“I do, too … and for all those poor tauren in Thunder Bluff and Bloodhoof Village and all the other sites that came under attack. And Thrall … I don’t know what he’s going to do when he gets the news.” It would crack the orc’s noble heart, she knew. And indirectly, it was all because of his decision to appoint Garrosh as leader in his absence. Thrall would be devastated.
She sighed and shook it off, turning to Anduin and giving him the affectionate hug she’d not given him upon his arrival. “I’m so very glad you’re safe!”
“Thanks, Aunt Jaina,” he said, returning the hug and then pulling back. “My father … can I talk to him?”
“Of course,” Jaina said. “Come with me.”
The walls of Jaina’s small, cozy room were, not surprisingly, lined with books. She stepped up to one shelf and touched three of them in a particular order. Anduin gaped as the bookshelf slid aside to reveal what looked like a simple oval mirror hanging on the wall. He closed his mouth as he caught a glimpse of his own reflection; he looked rather idiotic staring with his jaw open.
Jaina didn’t appear to notice. She murmured an incantation and waved her hands, and the reflection of Anduin, Jaina, and the room disappeared. In its place was a swirling blue mist.
“I hope he is nearby,” Jaina said, frowning a little. “Varian?”
A long, tense moment passed, then the blue mist seemed to take on a shape. A topknot of brown hair, features in a lighter shade of blue, a scar crossing the face—
“Anduin!” cried Varian Wrynn.
Jaina could not help but smile, despite the direness of the situation, at the love and relief in Varian’s voice and expression.
Anduin was grinning. “Hello, Father.”
“I’ve heard rumors. … How did—of course, the hearthstone,” said Varian, answering his own question. “Jaina—I owe you a tremendous debt of thanks. You may have saved Anduin’s life.”
“It was his own cleverness that made him remember to use it,” Jaina demurred. “I just gave him the tool.”
“Anduin … did that witch of a dwarf hurt you?” Varian’s dark brows drew together. “If she did, I will—”
“No, no,” Anduin hastened to assure his father. “And I don’t think she would. I’m too necessary to her. Let me tell you what happened.”
He filled his father in on all that had transpired, quickly, concisely, and accurately. They were almost the exact same words he had used earlier to Baine and Jaina. Not for the first time Jaina found herself admiring the cool head on the young man’s shoulders, especially given the fact that he—along with Jaina herself—was operating on very little sleep and under extremely tense circumstances.
“So you see, her claim is legitimate,” Anduin finished.
“Not that of empress,” Varian retorted.
“Well, no. But princess, yes, and queen, once she’s had a formal coronation. She doesn’t have to be doing this … trapping everyone like this.”
“No,” the king replied. “No. She doesn’t.” His eyes flickered to Jaina. “Jaina, I’m not about to tip my hand to Moira and let it be known that Anduin escaped successfully. Let her stew for a bit. That means I have a favor to ask.”
“Of course he can stay here with me,” Jaina replied before he could even voice the question. “No one’s seen him yet, and the few who will are completely trustworthy. Whenever you’re ready for him to come home, just let us know.”
Anduin nodded. He had been expecting such a decision, but Jaina saw a flicker of disappointment cross his face. She didn’t blame him for it. Anyone in his position would have wanted to go home and be done with all this.
“Thank you,” said Varian. “And of course I’ll continue to publicly appear as baffled as she wants me to be.”
“As will I. We’ll let Moira think she’s succeeded in hiding her coup. And in the meantime—”
“Don’t worry.” Varian smiled coldly. “I’ve got a plan.”
And with that, his face vanished. Jaina blinked at the abrupt dismissal.
“He looked angry,” Anduin said quietly.
“Well, I’m sure he is. I was angry when I heard about all this, too, and the danger you were in. And he’s your father.”
Anduin sighed. “I wish there were something more I could do to help the people of Ironforge, or the tauren.”
Jaina resisted the urge to ruffle his hair. He wasn’t a child anymore, and although he was probably too courteous to protest, she suspected he wouldn’t like it. She contented herself with giving him a reassuring smile.
“Anduin, believe me when I say that, somehow, I’m certain you’ll find a way.”
* * *
Anduin was surprised but pleased when he learned that Baine Bloodhoof had actually requested his presence at the next night’s meeting with Jaina. Although the sitting room where they had spoken last night seemed a strange place for such weighty negotiations, Anduin didn’t object when Jaina suggested it again. And neither did Baine, although it was obvious that nothing in the room was ever intended for one of his bulk. Anduin wondered if somehow Baine, too, sensed the comfort of the room, even though it was so far removed from what Anduin understood to be the tauren lifestyle. But here friends had often gathered to ward off the chill of a cold rainy day with lively conversation, hot tea, and cookies. Maybe some of that good cheer lingered and was perceived by Baine.
It was an odd way to conduct negotiations, Anduin thought, remembering the summit at Theramore long ago. No formal declarations, no weapons to lay down, no guards. Just three people.
He decided he liked it.
Baine and Jaina were already there when Anduin came to join them. To Anduin, the tauren seemed a little calmer, but sadder, than he had last night. Anduin greeted Baine politely and sincerely, bowing the correct distance to an equal. Baine made his own gesture of respect, touching his heart and then his forehead. Anduin smiled. It began as an awkward smile, but as he regarded Baine, it softened into an easy, sincere one.
Baine, Jaina, and Anduin again sat on the floor. Anduin’s back was to the fire, and the heat beating against him was comfortable. Jaina brought in a tray of tea, placing it in the center between all of them. This time, Anduin noticed, she had an oversized mug for their guest.
Baine noticed it, too, and made a small, gentle, snorting sound. “Thank you, Lady Jaina,” he said. “I see the details do not escape you. Thrall does well to put his trust in you, I believe.”
“Thank you, Baine,” Jaina said. “Thrall’s trust means a great deal to me. I would never jeopardize it—or yours.”
Baine took a swallow from the mug, which, even though large, still looked small in his great hands. He stared into the cup for a moment. “There are some among the Forsaken who read tea leaves,” he said. “Do you know such an art, Lady Jaina?”
Jaina shook her bright head. “No, I do not,” she said. “Although I’m told that used tea leaves make a fine compost.”
It was a weak joke, but they all smiled. “It is just as well. I do not need to have an oracle tell me what my future holds. I have been thinking, praying for direction from the Earth Mother. Asking her to guide my heart. It is full of pain and anger now, and I do not know if it is altogether wise.”
“What does it tell you?” Jaina asked quietly.
>
He looked up at her with calm brown eyes. “My father was stolen from me by treachery. My heart cries out for vengeance for that despicable action.” His voice was steady, almost a monotone, but even so, Anduin found himself instinctively shrinking from it. Baine was not anyone he would ever want charging at him demanding vengeance.
“My heart says: They took from you, take from them. Take the Grimtotem who entered a peaceful city of their own kind in the dark of night, and who slew by smothering or stabbing victims too deep in slumber to fight back. Take their matriarch who placed poison on a blade instead of sacredly anointing it. Take the arrogant fool who dared fight my father and who could only win by stooping to—”
Baine was beginning to raise his voice, and the calmness in his eyes was slowly being replaced by anger. His hands tightened into fists the size of Anduin’s head, and his tail began to lash. Abruptly he halted in midsentence and took a deep breath.
“As you see, my heart is not wise at this moment. I am in agreement with it on one thing. I must retake my people’s territory—Thunder Bluff, Bloodhoof Village, Sun Rock Retreat, Camp Mojache, any other village or outpost where they have made incursions and spilled innocent blood.”
Anduin found himself nodding. He agreed completely, for many reasons. The Grimtotem shouldn’t be rewarded for such violence and cruelty, Baine would be a better leader than this Magatha, and besides, any hope of peace with the Alliance would only be made with this brave young tauren at the head of his people.
“I think you should as well,” Jaina said, but Anduin caught the note of caution in her voice. He knew she was wondering what exactly he intended to do—and what would be asked of her. She must be willing to help in some way, or else she would never have permitted Baine to come speak with her in the first place. He held his tongue and let Baine continue.
“But there is something I cannot, I must not do. Even though my heart drives me to it. I cannot do this thing because I know my father would not wish me to, and I must honor his wishes—what he fought for, what he did with his life—rather than my own emotions.” Baine heaved an enormous sigh. “Much as I long to … I cannot attack Garrosh Hellscream.”
Jaina relaxed almost imperceptibly.
“Garrosh was appointed by my warchief, Thrall. My father swore loyalty to Thrall, as did I. My father believed in his heart Garrosh was responsible for the attack against the Sentinels in Ashenvale and also an attack on a peaceful gathering of druids. He therefore issued the mak’gora against Garrosh, for the good of the Horde, and even stood by his challenge when Garrosh changed the rules and made it a battle to the death. In that situation, I believe what he did was right. His motives were not anger, or hatred, or vengeance.”
Baine’s voice broke, ever so slightly. “His motives were love of the Horde, and a desire to see it safe. He was willing to risk his life for it—and it was with his life that he paid.”
Anduin found the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. “But no one would deny you your right to vengeance, especially if you can prove that Garrosh let Magatha poison his blade! And the attack on the druids—”
Jaina wasn’t happy with his outburst, and Baine appeared startled. He swung his large head around to face Anduin for a moment.
“Yes. But what you do not understand—and even you might not, Jaina—is that my father issued the challenge of the mak’gora. The outcome determines the matter once and for all. The Earth Mother has spoken.”
“But if Garrosh cheated—”
“We have evidence that Magatha poisoned the blade. None that Garrosh consented. There was no doubt in my father’s heart. There is doubt in mine. If I challenge him without absolute faith that I am right, I then ignore the ancient tradition of my people. I say, I do not like these laws, so I will not obey them. I deny the Earth Mother. What does that make me, young Anduin?”
Anduin nodded his fair head slowly. “You can’t say it’s a fair way to determine right or wrong one day, and then say it’s unfair the next because you don’t like the outcome.”
Baine snorted gently in approval. “You do understand, then. Good. My father challenged Garrosh to try to heal the Horde. Yet if I do so, I will be ripping it apart. I would be destroying the tauren way of life, everything for which they have striven, in a misguided effort to protect that very thing. That is not what Cairne Bloodhoof gave his life for his son to do. And so … I shall not do it.”
Anduin felt a chill run down his spine. He knew what many humans and, indeed, other races in the Alliance thought about the tauren, about the Horde. He’d heard it muttered often enough—sometimes shouted. Monsters, the Horde were called. And the tauren, little more than beasts. And yet Anduin knew that in all his admittedly short time in this world, he had never been witness to such integrity under strain.
He also knew that Baine was not entirely at peace with his decision. He knew what was right, but he did not want to do it. Anduin realized, without understanding how that realization came, that Baine … didn’t think he could.
Baine didn’t believe he could be the tauren his father was, and underneath the words that were clearly bought with such anguished thought and pain was a fear that, somehow he would fail.
Anduin knew what it was like to live in the shadow of a powerful father. It was obvious to anyone with eyes and ears that Baine and Cairne had been very close. Anduin felt a shameful wave of envy at the realization; he was not close with Varian now, although he once had been and longed to be again. How would he feel if his father had been so brutally taken away from him? How had Varian felt when his own father had been murdered? Had Varian not had the wisdom of Anduin’s namesake, Anduin Lothar, to guide him, what would he have done?
Would either Wrynn have been able to feel the hurt—for assuredly Baine was not pretending it did not exist—and still choose the path that best served his people rather than his personal needs?
“I’ll be right back,” Anduin said suddenly. He rose and bowed, then, feeling the curious glances behind him, raced to the room Jaina had been letting him use. Under the bed was the pack he had brought with him when he had used the hearthstone to escape Ironforge and the gilded cage Moira had wrought for him. He grabbed the pack and hurried back to Jaina and Baine. Jaina had the little furrow between her brows that told Anduin she was slightly annoyed with him. He sat down again and reached inside the bag, pulling out something carefully wrapped in cloth.
“Baine … I don’t know. … Maybe this is a little forward of me, and I don’t really know if you care what I think, but … I want you to know I understand why you’re choosing this path. And I think it’s the right one.”
Baine narrowed his eyes speculatively but did not interrupt.
“But … it feels to me …” Anduin groped for words, heat rising in his face. He was guided by an impulse he did not fully understand, and he hoped he wouldn’t end up regretting it. He took a deep breath.
“It feels to me like you yourself don’t believe the path you’ve chosen is the right one. That you’re worried that … you might not be able to walk it. That you won’t be the best leader of your people, like your father was.”
“Anduin—” Jaina’s voice was sharp, a warning.
Baine held up a hand. “No, Lady Jaina. Let him finish.” His brown eyes bore intensely into Anduin’s blue ones.
“But … I believe in you. I believe that Cairne Bloodhoof would be very proud of what you’ve said here tonight. You’re like me—we were born to become rulers of our people. We didn’t ask for it, and anyone who thinks our lives are fun or easy … they don’t know anything about what it means to be us. To be the sons of leaders, and to have to think about leading ourselves. Somebody believed in me once, and gave me this.”
He unwrapped the item that was lying in his lap. Fearbreaker caught the light of the fire and glimmered brightly. Anduin caressed the ancient weapon as he spoke. His hand ached to close around it, but he resisted the urge.
“King Magni Bron
zebeard gave this to me the night before—before the ritual that killed him. It’s an ancient weapon. Its name is Fearbreaker. We were talking about duties, and sometimes the things everyone expects of us aren’t what we’re really meant to be doing.” He looked up at Baine. “I think the tauren will be as angry and as hungry for vengeance as you are. Some aren’t going to be happy that you’re not out for blood. But you know you’re on the right path—for you, and for them, too. They just won’t see it now. But they will, one day.”
He lifted Fearbreaker, holding it carefully in two hands. Magni’s words floated back to him: It’s known th’ taste o’ blood, and in certain hands, has been known tae also stanch blood. Here, take it. Hold it in yer hand. Let’s see if it likes ye.
He didn’t want to let it go. If ever a thing was meant fer someone, that weapon was meant fer ye, Magni had said with certainty.
But Anduin wasn’t so sure. Maybe it was meant for him for only a short time. There was only one way to find out.
He lifted the weapon and handed it to Baine. “Take it. Hold it. Let’s—let’s see if it likes you.”
Baine was puzzled, but obeyed. The mace was too large for Anduin, and yet it looked small in Baine’s huge hands. Baine regarded the weapon for a long moment. Then he took a long, deep inhalation and sighed, letting the breath go, letting his body relax a little. Anduin smiled softly at Baine’s reaction to the weapon.
And sure enough, a few seconds later, Fearbreaker began to glow, ever so slightly.
“It does like you,” Anduin said quietly. He felt a sense of loss. He had never even had the chance to wield the weapon before it had wanted to be passed on. But at the same time he had no regrets about what he had done. In some way that Anduin didn’t quite understand—and perhaps never would—the weapon had chosen Baine, just as it had chosen him.
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