Christie Golden: Thrall: Twilight of the Aspects

“You do not listen well, Go’el. I repeated rumors. I did not say I believed them. Nor did I say anything against either female other than they did not know how to criticize an orc. If anything, they have shown me that humans are capable of inspiring respect. But they are not orcs, Thrall, and you are not a human, and you do not know how to handle being challenged by a female of your own race. Or perhaps by anyone .”

“I cannot believe I am hearing this!”

“I cannot, either, because until this moment, you have not listened!” Both their voices were rising, and Thrall knew that the little shelters offered no barriers to others’ ability to hear their argument. Still Aggra pressed on.

“You have been able to hide behind the mantle of warchief. And that is why you are finding it so hard to free yourself of it now.” She pressed her face even closer to his and hissed, “You bear the name of a slave, because you are a thrall to the Horde. A slave to what you think is duty. And you use that duty as a shield—a barrier between you and the dark places, between you and guilt, and fear, and second-guessing. And truly belonging to yourself—or to anyone else. You always plan ahead, and you do not take time to think about how far you have come, the amazing gift that your life has been. You strategize for tomorrow, but what about now? This moment … the little things …?”

She softened, her eyes growing kind instead of angry, and with surprising gentleness reached for his hand. “What about this strong hand in yours?”

Irritated, Thrall yanked his hand away. He had had enough of this. First from the Earthen Ring, now from Aggra, who was supposed to stand by him and support him. He turned his back on her, heading for the entranceway.

Aggra’s words followed him.

“You do not know who you are without the Horde, Go’el,” she said. As always, she used the name his parents had given him—a name he himself had never used, given to him by a family he had never known. Suddenly, although she had used it a thousand times before, this time the name made him angry.

“I am not Go’el!” he growled. “How many times must I tell you to not call me that?”

She didn’t flinch. “You see?” she said, and her voice was sad. “If you do not know who you are, how can you know what to do?”

He did not reply.

“This meeting,” said Alexstrasza the Life-Binder, the great red Dragon Aspect, “will likely not be pleasant.”

Korialstrasz chuckled. “My beloved has a gift for understatement.”

Both the red dragons, the Great Aspect and Korialstrasz—her one remaining consort—had opted for more elven, less draconic forms as they spoke in the Ruby Sanctum. Each dragonflight had such a refuge, a place out of time and space that was a magical dimension unto itself. How each sanctum appeared was reflective of each flight. The Ruby Sanctum had once looked almost like the high elven lands did before the coming of the Scourge. The leaves of the trees were a warm crimson hue, the hills soft and rolling. The only way in or out of this special place was through a portal, guarded now more closely than ever after a recent attack by the black dragonflight and a single enemy calling itself a member of the twilight dragonflight. The sanctum had been badly damaged, but was beginning to recover.

They were alone, yet surrounded by their children. Hundreds of eggs were gathered here: the children of her body and her mate’s as well as the children of others. Not all red dragons chose the Ruby Sanctum in which to lay their eggs. The whole world was home to them, indeed home to all the flights. But this was the heart, the sanctuary, a safe place and one uniquely theirs.

“Most of the blues are distraught that Malygos was slain, and I cannot say I blame them, even given the situation,” Alexstrasza continued.

Malygos, the Dragon Aspect of Magic and the patriarch of the blue flight, had led a life fraught with tragedy. For millennia he had been mad, driven insane by Deathwing. Not so long ago, he had finally recovered from that dreadful condition, to the great joy of not just his own flight but all the flights save the hate-filled black dragonflight. The relief and happiness of his recovery lasted a poignantly short period of time. The other flights soon learned that, once he had regained his mind, he had put it to work analyzing the role of magic in Azeroth—and had reached a horrifying conclusion. Malygos had decided that arcane magic was running amok in the world—and that the mortal races were to be held accountable for its abuse.

And so he had started a war.

Malygos had diverted the magical powers that coursed beneath Azeroth to his own seat of power, the Nexus. The consequences had been violent, dangerous, and deadly. The world’s crust had splintered, and the resulting unstable rifts had torn the very fabric of the magical dimension known as the Twisting Nether. Malygos’s misguided attempts to “correct” the perceived misuse of arcane magic had to be halted … whatever the cost.

Dragon had fought against dragon in the bitter Nexus War, and it had been the Life-Binder herself who had reached the agonizing decision that Malygos—not long recovered from millennia of insanity—had to be destroyed.

Alexstrasza had taken her flight and allied with the magi of the Kirin Tor. With all that was at stake, the remaining flights had agreed to join the reds in their bitter task. The alliance of dragons became known as the Wyrmrest Accord. Together they had been able to defeat and slay Malygos, and the war had come to an end. Now the blue dragonflight was deep in grief, and without a leader.

And this meeting of the Wyrmrest Accord, which Alexstrasza was preparing to attend at Wyrmrest Temple, would be the first such since the fall of the blue Dragon Aspect. Since the end of that conflict, the Accord was even more precious to the flights—precious, and tenuous.

“I honestly do not believe they are ready as a flight to talk—or at least, to talk sense,” Korialstrasz said.

She caressed his chin, smiling, her eyes warm with affection. “That is the tongue that has made you so very popular at recent gatherings, my love.”

Korialstrasz shrugged a bit sheepishly, leaning affectionately into her hand. “I cannot deny it. I have never been the most popular of your consorts among our kind, and now that I am the only one, I fear I ruffle scales more often than not. But I must speak of things as I see them. It is my duty; it is how I can best serve.”

“And it is one reason I love you so,” Alexstrasza said. “But truly, it does not endear you to the other flights. This bias against the blues—it was Malygos who made the decision, not the entire flight. You cannot hold that against them. Surely they have suffered enough without the rest of the flights suspecting treachery from them at every turn simply because of the color of their scales.”

He hesitated. “I—you know that I am fond of Kalecgos,” he said. “And there are others who seem to be able to look at the situation with a clear head. But most of them cannot see past their loss—and their need to blame someone for it. And we are the flight they feel has most wronged them.”

A frown marred the perfection of her brow for a moment, and her musical voice sharpened. “While I appreciate your bluntness, it is just as well that my whole flight does not think the way my consort does.”

“You have the kindest heart in Azeroth. But sometimes a kind heart blinds one—”

“You think I do not see clearly? I? I led my flight against a fellow Aspect, in order to save beings whose lives are but a blink of an eye to us. You enjoy milling among the mortals, Korialstrasz, but do not think that means you are the only one who can see clearly.”