In this story, Azeroth exists on Earth Prime, where the Stormwind Kingdom and the rest of the world are at peace with each other. Justice League are the world's protectors along with Medivh as it's Guardian. Suddenly, Earth Prime faces a fearsome ra...
Durotan and Fenris told Draka about what happened at the meeting and that it fell apart. She said nothing, but kept shaking her head. No. No. This could not be. Orgrim could not... would never betray them. But he had.
"You and the baby must leave. Now!" Durotan said when he had finished. He reached for the infant, lifting him tenderly, even in this moment of crisis.
Suddenly, Blackhand appeared and grabbed Durotan by his scalp and hauled him backward. The baby, cupped in his father's palm, squalled.
"You are a traitor, Durotan!" Blackhand bellowed.
Everything in Draka and Fenris urged them to attack, but instead kept their eyes on Durotan.
"No. One who values what we once were. Like you use to." Durotan spoke calmly, and from a deep place of certainty.
"That time is past." He said angrily. Then more softly, "We are but fuel for the Fel now." The Warchief's face held not fury or hatred, but only detached melancholy.
"We are more than that. You are more than that. There is still hope, Blackhand. We do not have to take another step down this path." Fenris said.
"He's right. There is still hope. Our children." Draka said.
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Blackhand looked at them, his eyes narrowing, then down at Durotan. For a long, tense moment, the four stood, while the child cried. Then, growling, Blackhand released her mate, shoving him away. Durotan went at once to Draka, giving their child to her. She clasped the infant close. There was still no anger in Blackhand's voice when he spoke, but even so, Draka's heart ached with despair.
"Do not make me take more innocent lives, young chieftain." Blackhand said.
She held the baby tighter still, her eyes darting from Blackhand to Durotan. He straightened, steadying himself.
"If I submit..."
Draka's hand shot out and gripped her mate's arm, her nails digging into his flesh. He kept his gaze on the Warchief. He continued, "... will you leave my people be?"
Blackhand did not answer. Draka and Fenris knew that he could not. He was the Warchief, he answered to Gul'dan. Blackhand knew it, too. He merely opened the tent flap, and waited.
Durotan then turned his eyes to his mate and brother.
"What would I call our son?" She chagrined but unashamed that her voice broke. Durotan lowered his gaze to his son, and for a moment, his composure slipped as he caressed the tiny head with unspeakable tenderness.
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