Warcraft: Official Movie Novelization

The words were unkind, and Llane opened his mouth to chide the Guardian, to ask him for an apology so they could focus on the dire situation at hand, but it was too late.

Lothar exploded, bellowing in incoherent rage, lunging for Medivh. Llane, Karos, all those assembled surged forward trying to break them apart. Medivh stepped back, his hands raised, defensive magic roiling in the palms of his hands, but he restrained himself—unlike Anduin—and did not loose the spell.

“Stop!” Llane commanded, shouting at the top of his voice. “Anduin—”

“You killed him!” Five men had the Lion of Azeroth now, and even they seemed to be having a hard time holding Lothar back as he struggled against them. His eyes were locked on Medivh, who maintained his composure despite Lothar’s almost rabid behavior. “My friend, are you?” Lothar snarled. “My good, old friend…”

Llane looked over at Medivh, who regarded him sadly. It killed him, but the king knew what he had to do.

“Varis,” Llane said, reluctance coloring his words, “Take Commander Lothar to a cell and let him calm down.” He swallowed hard. How had it come to this?

Varis hesitated, and Llane understood why all too well. This was Anduin Lothar. The Lion of Azeroth. Varis’s commander, who led by example and inspired respect. And yet, it seemed even heroes had breaking points.

Llane’s heart ached for his friend. But although he loved Anduin like a brother, the safety of the kingdom, always, had to come before Llane’s personal affections. Reluctantly, Llane said, “You are no use to us like this.” Lothar, to his credit, left under his own power, although the look he shot the Guardian of Azeroth was pure venom.

Medivh stepped beside the table, looking down at the map. He lifted the figurines that represented three legions and placed them in front of the small model of the Great Gate.

“We’ll save the kingdom, my lord,” Medivh reassured him. “You and I.”

Only a few days earlier, Lothar mused with a bitter humor, he had visited the Guardian Novitiate in a cell. Now, he was on the wrong side of the bars. How the world turns, he thought.

What had happened? Yes, of course he was still aching and hollow over the loss of his boy. Any father would be. And there was more to his pain. Guilt ate at him, and it had been that guilt that Medivh had played upon, goading Anduin to attack him. But in the name of the Light, why? Medivh was his friend—or he had thought so, anyway. And how had Llane not seen what the Guardian was doing?

He buried his face in his hands, wanting everything to go back to before he had ever met Khadgar, when Medivh was a part of his past and Callan a part of his present, when everything was normal. No, Lothar corrected himself. Not everything. He did not want to lose Garona.

He heard the key turn in the lock and the door swing open. Hoping against hope that Llane had changed his mind, Lothar looked up. But it was Garona who stood there, as if he had summoned her with his thoughts.

In the midst of all the white-hot pain and fear and despair of this moment, there was a place of calm warmth inside him as their eyes met.

“Why are you here?” he asked her.

She was an orc, to the point, and focused on fighting. “The king. He goes to fight the Horde. With your Guardian’s help, Durotan will kill Gul’dan.”

His stomach clenched. “Don’t trust him.” Garona frowned at him. “I have told you. Orcs do not lie.”

“Not Durotan.” Lothar rose and went to the bars of his cell as she strode toward him. “Don’t trust Medivh.” She looked at him, confused. There were a thousand things he wanted to say, to warn her about, but Varis waited at the door. He would not have long with her.

She did not need explanations. “I will try to protect your king,” was all she said.

Impulsively, he said, “Don’t go with them.”

“Why?” She stepped closer as he moved to the bars and gripped them. She placed her hand over his; warm, strong, comforting. She, who knew so much of pain, somehow understood gentleness better than anyone he had ever known.

He thought of last night, of her hands on him, and reached his own hand through the bar to caress her cheek.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he said, softly. Two decades since Callan’s birth. Since Cally’s death. And for the first time, her sweet, gentle face was not the one foremost in his thoughts—or his heart. It was stupid, it was reckless, it was unbelievable—and it was undeniably real.

Emotions flitted over her face. She reached to her slender throat, snapping the leather thong that encircled it. She held the pendant for a moment, then took his hand. He felt the tusk of her mother, warm from having nestled against her heart, settle in his palm. Garona folded his fingers tightly over the most precious thing she had to give.

“Come back alive,” Lothar whispered. He squeezed her hand tightly. I couldn’t bear it if this war takes you, too.