Christie Golden: The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm

Not for the first time, Cairne counted his blessings that the Earth Mother and his lifemate, Tamaala, had given him such a gift in his son. Although Tamaala had left to walk with the spirits many years ago, she lived on in their son. Baine was such a comfort to his father. He had his mother's spirituality, perception, and great heart, and his father's calmness and — Cairne was forced to admit — stubbornness. Cairne had not had to think twice about leaving Mulgore in his son's capable hands. He wondered how Thrall bore it, with no mate and no progeny. Even Grom had had a son, for the Earth Mother's sake. Perhaps now that the war had ended, Thrall might turn his thoughts to such things as a mate and an heir.

"How did our favorite shaman conduct herself in my absence?"

"Well enough," Baine replied. They were speaking of Magatha. "I watched her closely. It would have been an opportune time to stir up trouble, but there was none."

Cairne grunted. "There maybe. Young Garrosh Hellscream is a hothead, and I saw her slip out to speak with him."

"I have heard he is a magnificent warrior," Baine said slowly, "but…" and here he grinned, "also a hothead."

The two Bloodhoof grinned at each other. Cairne clapped his hand on Baine's shoulder and squeezed hard. Baine swiftly covered his father's hand with his own.

Just ahead, Thunder Bluff rose majestically into the late afternoon sky.

"Welcome home, Father. Welcome home."

The day was cool and slightly overcast, and as Jaina Proudmoore walked up the blue and gold carpeted steps of Stormwind's magnificent cathedral, it began to rain. Part of the steps was blocked off, in need of repair after the War Against the Nightmare, and the rain made them slick. She did not bother to put up her hood to cover her bright golden hair, letting the droplets fall gently on her head and face. It was as if the sky itself was weeping at the thought of the ceremony about to be enacted within.

Two young priestesses flanking the door smiled and dropped curtseys. "Lady Jaina," the human girl on the right said, stammering a little, a blush visible even on her dark skin. "We were not told to expect you — do you wish to sit with His Majesty? I am sure that he will be pleased to have your company."

Jaina gave the girl her most disarming smile. "Thank you, no. I'm happy to sit with everyone else."

"Then here," said the dwarf priestess, extending an unlit candle. "Please take this, me lady, and sit wherever ye'd like. We're right glad tae have ye."

Her smile was genuine, if restrained, due to the solemnity of the moment. Jaina took the candle, stepped inside, and dropped a handful of gold coins into the offering plate next to the priestesses.

She breathed deeply; thanks to the dampness in the air, the smell of incense was even stronger here than usual, and it was darker inside than she remembered it being in the Cathedral of Light. The candles smoked as they burned, and Jaina glanced down the rows of pews searching for a space to sit, wondering if she should have rejected the young priestess's offer so quickly. Ah, there was a spot. She moved down the aisle and nodded at the elderly gnome couple who scooted aside to make room for her. From here she had an excellent view, and smiled as she watched the familiar figures of King Varian Wrynn and his son, Anduin, file in as unobtrusively as possible from a separate room.

Although Varian could never be considered "unobtrusive." It was not for nothing that, upon spotting him half - drowned and unconscious over a year ago, the orc Rehgar Earthfury had decided he would make a fine gladiator. With no memory of his past, Varian had adapted well to the brutal lifestyle. Unbeknownst to him at that time, he had actually been split into two separate entities — Varian, under the thumb of the dragon Onyxia, and Lo'Gosh, a fearsome and powerful gladiator. Varian held all of the original man's manners, knowledge, and etiquette; Lo'Gosh, a Taur - ahe word that meant "ghost wolf and honored a ferocious creature of legend, all of the original Varian's battle skill. Varian was elegant; Lo'Gosh was violent. Varian was sophisticated; Lo'Gosh was brutal.

The two halves were eventually reunited, but imperfectly. Sometimes it seemed that Lo'Gosh had the upper hand in the tall, powerfully built body. More than ever, King Varian Wrynn, dark brown hair pulled back in a topknot and a wicked scar slicing across his once - handsome face, dominated a room.

Anduin was a sharp contrast to his father. He was pale, fair - haired, and slender, and slightly taller than the last time Jaina had seen him. While nowhere near his father's imposing size — and Jaina guessed he would take after his willowy mother and never be quite the large man that Varian was — he was a youth now and not a child. He exchanged smiles and nods with Brother Sarno and young Thomas as he and his father moved to take their seats. Perhaps feeling her gaze, he frowned slightly, looked around — and met her eyes. He was schooled enough in the formalities that princes should abide by that he didn't crack a grin, but his eyes brightened and he gave her a slight nod.

All eyes turned from the king and his son to Archbishop Benedictus, who had entered and was moving slowly to the altar. Of average height and solid, stocky build, the man looked more like a farmer than a holy man. He never seemed to quite fit his splendid robes of gold and white, looking slightly ill at ease. But once he began to speak, his voice, calm and clear, earning throughout the cathedral, it was obvious that the Light had chosen him.

"Dear friends of the Light, you are all welcome here, in this beautiful cathedral that turns none away who come with open hearts and humble spirits. This place has seen many occasions of joy, and many of sorrow. Today we assemble to honor the fallen, to remember them, and mourn them, and respect their sacrifices for our Alliance and for Azeroth."

Jaina looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. This was one reason she had not wanted to be in a highly visible part of the cathedral. Her romance with Arthas Menethil had not been forgotten — not when he was prince, certainly not when he was the Lich King, and not now that he had been defeated. It was because of him that this sad ceremony was even necessary. A few heads turned her way, recognizing her, and giving her sympathetic glances.

Not a day went by that Jaina did not think of him, wondering if there was anything she could have done, anything she could have said, to have turned the once - bright paladin from his dark path. Her feelings had been turned against her during the War Against the Nightmare, trapping her in a dream in which she had indeed prevented him from becoming the Lich King… by becoming the Lich Queen herself in his stead….

She shivered, forcing thoughts of that horrible dream away, and turned her attention back to the archbishop. "… the frozen lands far to the north," Benedictus was saving. "They faced a terrible foe with an army that no one ever truly thought we would be able to defeat. And yet, thanks to the blessing of the Light and the simple courage of these men and women — humans, dwarves, night elves, gnomes, draenei; yes, and even the members of the Horde as well — we are safe in our homeland again. The numbers are staggering, and more reports come in every day. To give you an idea of the estimated losses, each worshipper here today has been given a candle. Each candle represents not one, not ten… but one hundred

Alliance lives lost in the Northrend campaign."

Jaina felt the breath go out of her and she stared at the unlit candle, clasped in a hand that suddenly started shaking. She looked around… there had to be at least two hundred people in the cathedral, and she knew that others were gathering outside, wanting to participate in the remembrance ceremony even though the cathedral was filled to capacity. Twenty, thirty — perhaps forty or fifty thousand people… dead. She closed her eyes for a moment and turned back to the archbishop, painfully aware that the gnome couple next to her was staring at her and whispering something.