You return to the Cleft, your journey swift and unimpeded. You walk in silence, Neeru clasping your shoulder once before leading you away from the arena after Thrall had dismissed you. As you walk the people of the city still watch you but they see your proud faces and speak among themselves as you go.
Your father leads you back to your tent, calling for the Burning Blade to assemble and dismissing the Kor'kron guards with a sneer, commanding them to leave or face attack.
When the hangings fall back across the entrance your father turns to you and smiles, then bids you sit as he goes to a corner of the family dwelling and kneels on the rugs, sorting through several items you know relate to his work as a warlock in rituals and prognostications. From the bottom of the pile, the oldest items no doubt, he pulls a long wrapped package, stands and takes it to his desk, taking an athame and quickly cutting away the leather thongs, peeling at the wrappings.
From your seat you can't see what's on the desk but you see your father's fingers pick over it, his claws rapping at something metal.
"When Grond the Breaker fell against the Evergrowth his body made the plains and ridges of Gorgrond. It was a wondrous land, much like to Durotar now I think about it, though absent the constant battles between the Genesaur and Gronn… It was an untamed country and our people carved out homes it in. The Frostwolves and the Thunderlords went north, the Shadowmoon and Bleeding Hollow south, and we went west with the Warsong. None of the clans had their names then, we were merely the Children of Grond, cowering in the steps of titans and terrors."
He pauses, lost in thought.
"Your grandfather gave this to me when he became a warlock." your father says, "It has passed through our line for centuries and I've not held it in thirty years…" his fingers continue to tap, "I had already taken the Burning Wish by the time I was your age so I carried it as dutifully as I was able, though just as he did I set it down."
Your father looks over to you, gesturing with a hand, "When you returned here I had cause to wonder who might take this blade up after me. You went against me in several things and I had thought maybe to pass it on to one of the Blademasters… I don't find it easy to admit I'm wrong but you've surprised me and I find myself proud of you. Perhaps such a thing shouldn't be so surprising, but in the last few months I've thought more on it and I think I've found a hand to wield this, to hold my legacy."
He takes up the blade and sends it flying through the air toward you and as if without thinking your hand reaches out to grasp the hilt.
"I only saw the Warchief's strategy after he'd already stolen a march on us, you were the one to turn his ambush back on him. You have honoured your clan, you acted when I could not, you proved your worthiness, both to wield this blade, and to lead this clan in time."
The blade is of black iron, the ore from which the Blackrock clan take their name. The sword is magnificent, untarnished from the many years of use, its edge keen and bright runes glowing with an inner fire all along the blade. There are holes in the blade, each with a metal ring through and they ring clearly as you handle the sword while a lanyard of dark leather hangs from the pommel.
"Let Orgrim keep his Doomhammer, here is the Fireblade, forged from the black spine of Grond himself."
The blade of your family rests in your hand and you look up at your father, your heart soaring.
"Don't break it."
And the moment is sundered and a grin breaks out on your face as you struggle to contain the laughter. You father joins you, coming to sit beside you as you laugh together. No words of thanks or acknowledgement are necessary between the two of you and you merely sit next to your father, luxuriating in the bond of family.
You think for a moment of igniting the blade as you had Baneshadow's sword but you hold off, turning to your father, "I've felt… empty lately." you say, "As if the Spirits have abandoned me."
The confession is difficult, especially when you remember the years of coldness from your father, but his gift manages to push through the awkwardness and he grasps your shoulder, "Such feelings are not uncommon in the wake of battle. You saw many things, some great, some terrible, and you've been through peril besides. In time the feeling will pass."
"What if I can't ever speak to the Spirits again?"
"Foolishness!" you father laughs, "Do not be concerned over such things, you aren't even a warlock. When the Furies of Draenor abandoned our people the shaman of the Horde turned as one to the Fel, yes there were a few who didn't bother but if it wasn't all it was almost all. Now many have turned back to the ways of Shamanism, consider Drek'thar, I remember when he followed Gul'dan around for a month and posted himself among the Blackrock warlocks Gul'dan taught first, it was pathetic! Now Drek'thar is the most respected shaman of the Horde and everyone forgets what he did when he was a warlock."
You nod, thinking over his words.
"But now we must consider the future." your father continues. "While I'm minded to ignore the Warchief's proclamation and keep you by my side, I won't dishonour your sacrifice. Thrall will not rule forever. One day another will take his place and in time you will return to us. Consider this not as an exile but as an adventure."
"I did it for the clan and the Horde." you reply, "Thrall would have destroyed us and it would have led to evil."
"That is true." your father reassures you quickly, "I've a few missions in mind for you but they can wait. You must be away within a few days, a week at most, longer will arouse suspicion and debate and you've given us a strong weapon to protect ourselves in future. For now we will appear before the clan and I'll introduce you. I'll send demons forth to our agents across the world and declare your name so all will know your standing in my eyes."
He smiles and stands, helping you up as you stand also, your injuries still sore but the pain alleviated by the pride in your father's burning eyes.
"Come then, Grok'mash Fireblade, heir to the Burning Blade."
