Aaaalrighty then. Aaaare you ready to ruuumble?
A short while later they entered through a portal just like Greatmother Geyah had done. A small troop of Mag’har, led by Garrosh Hellscream, shown the way by Kor’kron Elites trying very hard not to exchange glances along the way.
People lined the streets, muttering amongst each other. Many frowned in worry, some snickered, others made playful, nervous bets about where this was going. The reactions all came from taking one single look at the expression on Garrosh’s face.
Thrall saw it too, vaguely as soon as the warriors entered Grommash Hold and walked towards him. His good mood evaporated like sweet smoke.
The sound of armor clanging was almost deafening, until the Kor’krons hurriedly stepped away to get out of the line of fire. They had to restrain themselves, though, feeling like they ought to stand between the throne and the visitors. That would have sent a rude message to the Mag’har, however, and the guards weren’t so bold as to risk that without being ordered to.
The air seemed to crackle as the Warchief met the glare of his honor brother’s son.
“If you have a great concern,” Thrall said, but there was a dangerous note in his voice, “I welcome you speaking without restraint.”
Garrosh’s face only moved as much as he had to, in order to take in a deep breath. Many hands in the hall twitched, instinctively wanting to fly up and cover their owners’ ears. Looking at Garrosh’s expression, nobody could doubt what would come next.
To say that the young Hellscream simply “spoke” would be a gross understatement.
“Has everyone gone mad?!”
As he struggled against the wish to rub his ears to fight the ringing in them, Thrall inwardly sighed.
This, oh this would be difficult.
He came to think so over and over again during the following discussion in one of the council rooms, together with Saurfang, Drek’Thar and Vol’jin. Out of view from everyone else, the troll was the first to toss pride out the window and pointedly cover his ears the second time Garrosh’s temper grew stronger than his judgment of volume.
In all honesty, it was not so much a “discussion” as a barely controlled shouting match.
“And did growing up among humans strip you of all respect for our ancient traditions, Warchief?” Garrosh snarled, slamming his fist into the table in the center of the room. The piece of furniture shook, but at least did not crack down the middle. “I thought the recount of your mating ceremony must be a joke, and now I’m told that–”
“If you cannot speak at a civilized volume, Hellscream, I refuse to take part in this meeting at all,” Drek’Thar icily said, folding his arms. “I would prefer to not lose my sense of hearing as well.”
“And I will not stand for you insulting me,” Thrall snarled, his last shreds of self-control shattering. “If you cannot bring up anything constructive, there’s no reason for us to waste time here.”
Garrosh snarled, but after staring back into Thrall’s eyes for a moment he grunted and folded his arms.
“Greatmother Geyah said she couldn’t find any fault with your human,” he said slowly, obviously loath to admit it. The way he said ‘human,’ though, was laced with barely subdued disdain.
Thrall, who had braced himself for a direct insult aimed at Jaina, and felt unsure if he would be able to keep from punching Garrosh in the face, very carefully relaxed the tiniest bit. He wondered if his grandmother had spoken with Garrosh to mind himself. If so, it finally seemed to have some effect.
“No, she didn’t,” Thrall replied in a guarded tone.
Vol’jin and Saurfang exchanged glances, only now finding out that the two women had met.
For another moment Garrosh glared at Thrall, fingers rapping loudly against his gauntlet. His lips twitched as if he was about to speak but stopped himself. Then, finally he grumbled his question.
“But why a human? There must be many among our people who oppose the match.”
“As many as among her people.” Thrall continued to regard Garrosh with a guarded mindset. “Her brother was convinced I had forced her into it.”
A look of confusion passed over Garrosh’s angry features, confusion that somebody could think a woman would have to be coerced to be the Warchief’s mate. He saw only the great honor it entailed to be offered such a role in life. Thrall wasn’t sure what to feel about the look on the younger orc’s face.
“These politics seem to be more complicated than they need to be,” Garrosh finally said.
“Starting a fight is easy,” Thrall said. “Ending it is more difficult.”
Garrosh shrugged his mighty shoulders. Judging by the look of him, he probably didn’t see how it could be more complicated than simply killing all the enemies. For a moment Thrall closed his eyes against the bristle of annoyance. He moved his thoughts to the image of Jaina’s hair spread over the pillow, gleaming in the light of the flickering oil lamp. The look in her eyes as she reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, the way she smiled when he touched her face.
The frustration ran off him and he looked up again.
“On that matter, I would like to tell you why I called you here,” Thrall said, although he honestly wondered if he really wanted to ruin Garrosh’s hard-won composure.
For a moment the Mag’har looked like he would protest, but let it rest. The inflamed subject was dropped for now – only to be replaced by another.
“You have heard reports about the battles in Warsong Gulch, I assume,” Thrall said, and Garrosh nodded. “I have been discussing the matter with the night elven leader and we agree that we should both withdraw–“ watching the look on Garrosh’s face change, the Warchief clenched his teeth. In the background, Vol’jin pressed his hands over his long ears again, and Drek’Thar wisely raised his hands for the same reason. Saurfang’s pride kept him from doing the same, regrettably. Thrall had the same handicap. “… our troops until we can come to a–”
He gave up and paused, rolling his eyes upwards in exasperation at Garrosh’s reaction.
“WHAT?”
And then it was no longer a discussion at all.
The other three in the room stood by, exasperated and helpless. It would be a poor Warchief who needed support against one single opponent, all of them knew that. So Saurfang, Vol’jin and Drek’Thar could really only watch and listen as Thrall and Garrosh shouted at each other.
“My father would roll in his grave!” Garrosh roared. The irony in him now honoring his father’s memory, when he had been ashamed of him mere months ago, flew past in the rage. “To give an inch–!”
“The fighting has made the gulch useless!” Thrall shouted back. “Nobody gets anything from it, neither side has buckled since they began struggling!”
“Then we should increase troops until it’s ours! Withdrawing is an insult to all orcs!”
“Even if we won, the elves would keep raiding the gulch. We can’t spare the troops to safeguard it!”
“So you say we run and let them have it?”
“The Cenarion Circle are–”
“This is an offense to all–!”
“This is not Draenor!” Thrall’s armored fingertip met Garrosh’s chest piece with a hard clank. “Are you questioning my–”
A knock on the door cut him off.
“What?” Thrall and Garrosh both snarled, whirling towards the disruption.
A female Kor’kron Elite cautiously poked her head in, obviously not happy about putting herself in this particular line of fire.
“Warchief…” she started, then cleared her throat and stared straight ahead. “A messenger from the Undercity wishes to speak with you. He says that it’s very important.”
Thrall hesitated for a moment. He felt no desire to back out of the argument before it was won, but the rational part of him knew that it would take a long time to convince Garrosh. With their tempers flaring, it would only take longer. It might simply be for the best to give both of them a chance to cool off.
“Very well,” he said and cast a cold glance at Garrosh, who glared back. “We will continue speaking of this later.”
Garrosh simply grunted.
It felt like a relief to leave the council chamber and return to the throne room. Then again, Thrall was darkly aware that Sylvanas would not call anything “very important” unless it truly was. On the other hand, he figured, it could not be more frustrating and painful than arguing with Grom’s son.
And just like countless others, the Warchief would soon realize that thinking such things was to invite disaster with open arms.
‘-‘
The whole day, Jaina had felt as if a weight had dropped from her shoulders. Only now in retrospect, she realized how much the anxiety had slowly built up within her. Had it gone on longer, it might have turned to fear. She was more relieved than she could say, to have abolished it.
Rather annoying, on the other hand, was the way she could swear Aegwynn glanced at her more than once, with a fond, yet shrewd expression. The sorceress had certainly caught the absentminded smile on Jaina’s lips when they met that morning, before the much younger woman managed to wipe it off.
As she listened to reports and petitions in the throne room now, Jaina found her thoughts shamelessly wandering for brief moments. Her control over her own mind never slipped for long, thankfully, and so she didn’t miss much.
When a guard announced that Messenger Ta’sih of Orgrimmar had arrived, however, Jaina snapped to full attention.
The female troll mage, when she walked in, didn’t have the same relaxed swagger in her step as when she had walked in the first time a couple of days ago, with the letter from Cairne Bloodhoof.
“Welcome back.” Jaina frowned and slightly tilted her head as she noticed the uneasy look on the troll’s face. “Is something the matter?”
“Ah well, mah Lady…” Ta’sih said, saluting and bowing her head. “Ah bear no lettah today. Da Warchief told me ta ask ye ta come ta Grommash Hold.”
“I see,” Jaina said. She tried not to let her frown deepen. It was probably not simple politeness from Thrall to not simply use their runestones to summon her. The look on the troll’s face was worrisome, too. “What is the reason for this?”
The troll straightened up, pursing her lips.
“Lady Sylvanas wants ta speak with both of ya,” she said.
Jaina blinked, and she heard the guards by the door gasp. Aegwynn narrowed her eyes, scowling. Shaking her head quickly, Ta’sih raised both hands.
“Da Warchief said, he dun wanna force ya, mah Lady, he’da nevah do dat.”
“I know he wouldn’t,” Jaina said, without thinking.
She nervously wet her lips. Facing Sylvanas was not something she had looked forwards to, although she had known it would have to happen at some point. Still, no matter what Thrall said about this being a free choice, he had to know as well as Jaina did that there could be no backing out.
Nodding, she looked to Aegwynn, knowing the guards watched her uneasily. She could sympathize with them quite well.
“You can handle matters here for a little while, then,” Jaina said, and the chamberlain grimly nodded.
Jaina squared her jaw and turned to the guards by the door.
“Call Emissary Southstone and five Elite Guards,” she said. “The emissary may bring his own personal escort.”
Thrall would not have sent her a summons this way if he didn’t mean for it to be a formal meeting. With Sir Dunhave and Lord Lor’themar, neither of them had been prepared beforehand. This was different.
It didn’t take long for the guards to arrive to the throne room, soon followed by emissary Southstone. Tension mounted in the air as the Elites saluted with stiff motions. Even Thomas, who normally would look thrilled over a chance to visit Orgrimmar, nervously picked at his silver grey robes. Beside him, his aide Simon Nebula shifted weight from foot to foot – having his own personal reasons to dread facing anything that had to do with Forsaken. The only one who seemed fairly unconcerned was the other, blond man by Thomas’ side, wearing leather armor emblazoned with Theramore’s golden anchor. He stared straight ahead, face impassive. But then, Jaina remembered that Thomas had mentioned that his friend turned guardian, Collins, was a master at hiding his emotions.
She realized that she thought about all this because she didn’t really want to think about meeting Lady Sylvanas.
“Are we expected to arrive in Grommash Hold?” she asked Ta’sih, just to make sure before she teleported a small troop right in.
“Yes, mah Lady,” the troll replied with a stiff nod.
Taking in a deep breath, Jaina raised her hand and focused.
“Then, everyone, we’re going,” she said.
“Yes, my Lady,” eight voices replied, with various levels of success at hiding their apprehension.
The throne room of Theramore flashed away, only to be replaced with another. Jaina’s eyes darted to meet Thrall’s gaze. It was easy enough, as she and the others had appeared just beneath the steps to his throne. He scowled, but it eased when he saw her.
“Warchief,” Ta’sih nervously said and saluted before stepping away as soon as he nodded.
“Welcome back,” Thrall said.
He held out his hand, palm up, in a silent gesture. Jaina caught on and walked up the stairs alone, laying her hand in his for a moment before stepping up beside him. As the Warchief indicated at them to do so, the other humans moved to the side.
The various members of the Horde gathered in the hall, from messengers to guards, watched the humans intently. The atmosphere felt less hostile than it had done when Tandred visited. Instead, the tension had an almost just as unpleasantly smug note, expectant of how the Dark Lady would press the humans.
“She won’t be here in person,” Thrall murmured, and his thumb brushed Jaina’s hand before releasing her.
Jaina allowed herself a small, silent breath of relief. In a diplomatic sense, she shouldn’t feel relieved at not having to meet with such an important person, but she couldn’t help it – nor could she blame herself.
“Emissary,” Thrall said in a louder, neutral voice.
“Yes, Warchief,” a hoarse voice replied.
A Forsaken mage stepped forwards from the sidelines, moving to stand a few feet away from the foot of the stair. He bowed, before straightening as much as his back allowed. Jaina clenched her teeth under the amused glare from the yellow, glowing eyes. She was grateful for Thrall’s steadying presence.
“I will be bringing forth Lady Sylvanas image,” the Forsaken man announced. This surely brought the same relief to Thomas and the others, as Jaina had just felt when Thrall eased her tension. presence,
The mage raised his hands. Just as when Lord Lor’themar had made his appearance through a magical illusion, light leapt from his skeletal hands and formed a circle on the floor. From it rose a half transparent, pale blood elf wearing dark leather armor and a bow slung over her shoulders. Unlike her Forsaken, Sylvanas’ eyes glowed red, merciless.
“Warchief. Lady Proudmoore,” she said, her voice raspy and icy. She sounded bored.
The hairs on Jaina’s neck rose, but she bowed her head in greeting – glad to for a moment look away.
“Lady Sylvanas,” she said, her voice as neutral as she could make it.
“You had something you wanted to tell us?” Thrall said, nodding briefly.
“In a way, yes.” Sylvanas paused. “The truth is, I am not the one having something to tell the two of you.”
Jaina frowned, and she heard Thrall shift his weight beside her.
“What is the meaning of this, then?” he asked, and there was a dangerous tone in his voice. He was apparently not amused by the Dark Lady’s little game, whatever it was, and Jaina fully agreed.
“Believe me, I am not thrilled to be used as a mediator between you and this particular… person,” Sylvanas said.
Her lips twitched – either in a smirk or a purse of her mouth. Impossible to tell.
“But,” she went on, “the fact of the matter is that the Lich King wishes to speak with you.”
PARTY TIME! 
… yeah, hate me.
Do you know how the story goes on and till when?
