Warcraft: Official Movie Novelization

And how will the great Durotan name his son, if I do not travel with him?

“What will I call our son?” she asked him, 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. “Go’el,” he said, and it was at that moment that she knew he did not believe he would return. He caressed her chin with one finger. Then he turned to Blackhand, striding out of the tent, and out of her life. But never out of her heart.

Blackhand looked at her for a moment, his expression unreadable, then he followed. The great spear Thunderstrike, which had belonged to Durotan, and Garad, and to Durkosh before them, fell from where the Frostwolf chieftain had placed it to land on the hard-packed earth.

Slowly, Medivh opened his eyes, blinking. He remembered the battles. One he had shared with Lothar and Llane, fighting alongside them as he had before, in earlier times. He recalled the orcs, and the wall of lightning.

But there had been another, a battle in which his friends could have no part. Before he could help them, Medivh had been forced to struggle against the hooded figure that seemed to him to be formed out of the thunderheads themselves; a figure whose eyes glowed green.

He forced the image away. He had not succumbed. He had stood with his friends. He realized he was back in Karazhan, but could not remember traveling here. He turned his head, and saw her.

“You.”

Warmth filled him and he smiled at Garona. She sighed a little, relieved at seeing him awake. His eyes took her in. So strong. So beautiful, and so proud, despite everything she had seen, everything that had been done to her. “Where’s the old man?”

“He asked me to watch you,” she replied.

“He did?” Thank you, Moroes. The pleasure ebbed somewhat. He asked, almost afraid to know the answer, “And the king?”

“He is alive,” she reassured him.

Thank the Light. But her next words dimmed his pleasure.

“Lothar’s son is dead.”

Not Callan. Medivh closed his eyes and sighed, pained. He had not known the boy well. Lothar had always kept his son at a distance, not only from himself, but from others. It had been Taria’s kindness that had found Callan a place in the king’s guard, not Lothar.

“I do not think Durotan knew about the ambush.” Garona spoke intensely.

Medivh wondered where this was going. “I agree.”

“I argued for the meeting,” Garona continued. Her dark eyes were pools of regret. “Lothar will hate me.”

As Medivh himself well knew, six years could change a man. He did not know if, in truth, Lothar would hate the orc woman sitting beside him, and so did not tell her no.

“That upsets you,” he said instead.

“He is a great warrior,” she continued. Her cheeks darkened slightly. “He defends his people well.”

Ah, thought Medivh. Anduin. It made sense. He examined his feelings for a moment, then made a decision. “A good mate for an orc,” he said, carefully.

Garona frowned and shook her head. “I am no orc. I am no human either. I am cursed. I am Garona.”

The self-loathing and hopelessness in her voice made him ache. He regarded her for a long moment, then reached a decision.

“When I was younger,” Medivh began, letting the words come as they would, “I used to feel apart from my kin.” Part of the Kirin Tor, but not really—their project, their pet. Separated from his blood family, creating a “family” in the company of two devil-may-care companions. And the aftermath of their adventures…

“I traveled far and wide, looking for wisdom. How to feel a connection with all the souls I was charged with protecting.” Garona listened with her whole body, eyes wide, nostrils flaring as she breathed. Orcish concentration, he thought, and a bittersweet ache such as he had not felt for years gripped his heart.

“On my travels I met a strong and noble people, among them a female, who accepted me for what I was. Who loved me.”

Part of him did not want to continue. This was his burden, his great joy and secret; his and his alone. Except, it wasn’t. It couldn’t—shouldn’t—be. He paused before continuing, meeting her gaze steadily.

“It was not a life I was fated to have, but it taught me something. If love is what you need,” he said, softly, his voice trembling with intensity, “you must be willing to travel to the ends of the world to find it. Beyond, even.”

Garona looked down for a moment, emotions warring on her face, usually so closed. “You left your mate?”

“Go find Lothar,” he said, sharply. He looked away. Even now, even with her, this, he could not share. There was so much he wanted to tell her, but now was not the time. Maybe afterward. If there was an afterward.

“I must stay and watch you.” Honor. Loyalty. Things he had loved so much about…

Medivh squeezed her shoulder. “That is Moroes’s job,” he said.