"Who are you to countermand my orders?" Garrosh demanded, nudging his war wolf forward. The enormous orc now pressed his great girth into her space, coming up alongside her and glowering at her.
Sylvanas did not move or shy away. "I was once like you, Garrosh," she answered, her voice quiet and steady, loud enough only for the warchief to hear. "Those who served me were tools. Arrows in my quiver." She reached up and slowly brought down her hood, then directed her dark gaze at him. Her eyes were alive, their oversized jet-black pupils livid with rage, red embers glowing deep within.
At that moment, nobody dared look Sylvanas Windrunner in the eye. Nobody but Garrosh Hellscream.
What he saw was a great black void, an infinite darkness. There was fear in those eyes, but also something else. Something that terrified even the great warchief. His wolf began to edge away instinctively.
"Garrosh Hellscream. I've walked the realms of the dead. I have seen the infinite dark. Nothing you say. Or do. Could possibly frighten me."
The army of undead that surrounded and protected the Dark Lady was still hers, body and soul. But they were no longer arrows in her quiver, not anymore. They were a bulwark against the infinite. They were to be used wisely, and no fool orc would squander them while she still walked the world of the living.
The warchief sheathed his axe onto his back, his mount sidling away from hers. After a long moment, he finally tore his gaze from those eyes.
"Very well, Dark Lady," he conceded loud enough for all to hear. "We will take Gilneas… your way."
He spurred his mount onward and ambled through the mud toward his own troops. But I will be watching you, he told himself.
The eyes of Hellscream are upon you more than any other.