While she waited, Jaina had another visit she needed to pay. She slipped off through a side door and into the Royal Gallery.
It, and the art it housed, had suffered from the attack of the great black dragon. Some of the statues had been shattered, and several works of art shaken from the walls. Anything damaged beyond repair had been removed, but other paintings, carvings, and sculptures remained here, awaiting attention.
Jaina stood still, as if she, too, were carved of stone. So painful were the emotions racing through her that she wished she was. Then her knees buckled and she found herself sprawled before a huge statue. It depicted a proud man, with long hair flowing beneath a sweeping hat.
His mustache was neatly trimmed, and his carved gaze was fastened on something in the distance. One hand, now missing two stone fingers, was on the hilt of his sword. The other grasped his belt. A crack ran through the statue, starting at the booted right foot and zigzagging upward to end in the center of his chest. Jaina reached out with a trembling hand and touched the stone boot.
“Was it only five years ago that I chose my path?” she whispered. “I chose to ally with strangers, with the enemy, with orcs, instead of you, Papa. Instead of my own blood. I called you intolerant. Said that peace was the way. You said you would always hate them, that you would never stop fighting them. And I told you they were people. They deserved a chance. And now you are dead. My city is dead.”
Tears slipped down her face. In a detached part of her brain, she observed that they were light purple and glowing—liquid arcane energy. As they splashed onto the stone base upon which the statue stood, the tears evaporated in violet mist.
“Papa… forgive me. Forgive me for letting the Horde grow so strong. Forgive me for giving them the chance to slaughter so many of our people.” She lifted her eyes up again, seeing the implacable statue through a haze of purple-white. “You were right, Papa. You were right! I should have listened! Now, now that it’s too late, I see that. It took… this… for me to understand.”
She dragged a sleeve across her streaming eyes. “But it’s not too late for me to avenge you. To avenge K-Kinndy, and Pained, and Tervosh, and Rhonin, Aubrey and all the generals—to avenge everyone who fell last night in Theramore. They’ll pay. The Horde will pay. I’ll destroy Garrosh; you’ll see. With my own hands, if I can. I’ll destroy him, and every one of those cursed green-skinned butchers. I promise you, Papa. I won’t betray you again. I won’t let them kill any more of our people, ever. I promise, I promise…”
Jaina had taken a few moments to compose herself before returning to await her summons. That newfound composure was shattered when, after being announced and ushered into Varian’s private chambers, she was greeted not by the tall, dark-haired former gladiator but by a slender, towheaded boy.
“Aunt Jaina!” said Anduin, relief on his face as he hurried toward her. “You’re alive!”
He hugged her tightly. Jaina was stiff in the embrace. He sensed it at once and pulled back. His eyes went wide as he fully took in her arcane-altered appearance.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, more sharply than she had intended.
“I was worried about you,” he said. “When word reached us about what happened in Theramore… I wanted to be here. I knew that if you had survived, you’d come to Stormwind.”
She stared at him, mute. What could she possibly say? How could she speak to this child, who was so naive, about the true horror of what she had witnessed? He was so innocent, so ignorant of the real nature of their enemy. As naive and ignorant as I was, once…
“Jaina! Thank the Light!” She turned, relieved, to address the warrior king who strode into the room. Varian had long nursed a personal hatred of the orcs. Anduin was too young to understand, but he would, one day. Varian, she knew, would understand now—now, when it counted the most.
He was dressed informally and looked exhausted and harried, but there was relief and pleasure on his face. It too turned to surprise at her appearance.
Irritated, Jaina snapped, “The only reason I survived was because Archmage Rhonin pushed me through a portal to safety. I was affected at least somewhat by the blast.”
Varian raised an eyebrow at the bluntness of her statement, but he nodded, accepting the explanation and not dwelling on it. “You’ll be glad to know you weren’t the only survivor,” he said. “Vereesa Windrunner and Shandris Feathermoon and their scouting parties are also alive. They were far enough away from the center of the blast. They’ve returned to their respective homes and are talking to their people about war.”
Jaina didn’t want to think about the widowed Vereesa and her two fatherless children. “I am glad to hear that,” she said, “all of it. Oh, Varian, I owe you an apology. You’ve been right all along. I kept telling you that we could somehow reach the Horde, find some way to peace. But we can’t. This proves that we can’t, and you knew it even when I was too blinded by hope to see it. We need to retaliate against the Horde. Now. They’ll all go back to Orgrimmar. Garrosh won’t be able to resist a celebration of his brave victory over the Alliance.”
Anduin flinched slightly at the bitterness in her voice. She pressed on, the words rushing out of her. “The streets will run with ale, and the whole army will be assembled. There will be no better time to strike.”
Varian tried to speak. “Jaina—”
She barreled on, starting to pace and gesturing with her hands. “We’ll get the kaldorei to send their ships along with ours. We’ll take them completely by surprise. We’ll kill the orcs and raze their city. Make sure that they don’t ever recover from this blow. We’ll—”
“Jaina.” Varian’s deep voice was level as he caught hold of her wrists and gently halted her nearly frantic pacing. “I need you to be calm right now.”
She turned her face up to his, questioning. How could he speak of calmness?
“I’m sure you don’t know this, but the Horde has built up a very effective blockade around the entire continent. The kaldorei couldn’t come help us even if they wanted to. I’m not saying we don’t strike back. We will. But we’ve got to do so intelligently. Have a strategy. Figure out first how to break the blockade and then regain Northwatch.”
“Don’t you know what they did to it?” Jaina snapped.
“I know,” Varian said, “but it’s still a strategic foothold that we’ve got to get back before we can make a move. We’ve got to rebuild the fleet. We lost a lot of good people at Theramore; it’s going to take time to call back others from their posts to fill their positions. We need to do this right, or we’re just throwing more lives away.”
Jaina was shaking her head. “No. We’ve got no time for that.”
“We don’t have time to not do it,” Varian said. He kept his voice measured and calm. For some reason, it irritated Jaina. “We’re looking at war that could stretch out over two continents. Maybe even into Northrend. If I am to enter into a world war, where there are no boundaries, I’m going to do so wisely. If we rush in now, we do the Horde’s work for them.”
Jaina looked over at Anduin. He stood silently, his face pale and his blue eyes sad. He made no effort to interrupt his father and his friend in their discussion about a worldwide war. She returned her attention to Varian.
“I have something that can help,” she said. “A very great weapon has come into my keeping. It will destroy Orgrimmar just as surely as the Horde destroyed Theramore. But we will need to act now, when the armies are foolishly gathered together in Orgrimmar. If we don’t, the moment will be lost!”