I’ll keep all your advice in mind for the final draft, Rig 
Still waiting for my beta, she’ll probably get back to me over the weekend, then I can really consider posting this beastie.
If you meant Athos the musketeer in relation to that yaoi joke, it brings to mind the anime about The Three Musketeers… in a roundabout way. See, in that one Aramis was an absolute bishie, to the point of being described as “a man that looks like a woman” by other characters (God it was TEN YEARS since I watched this!). Absolute cliché uke material of course, despite being badass.
At least until very late in the series, when Aramis got wounded and d’Artagnan opened his shirt to bandage the damage and… oops. Not “a man that looks like a woman” at all XD
There will be shirtless trolls too… just not at the same time as shirtless Thrall.
…
I’m going to stop pondering that sentence now.
Anyway, time for chapter one! 
I have to purify myself by confession. This fic grew from a single line/scene getting stuck in my head, that demanded a story surrounding it. That, honored members of the jury, was to have Jaina tell Thrall “There is no man like you, not in any race”. :kissy:
Actually, almost everything I write starts out like that XD I get an idea for a certain line or scene and then the rest of a story just comes together to fill in the blanks. Some start in the end, I believe Stephen King starts with a rhetoric question (“What would happen if a mother and daughter were trapped in a car by a rabid dog?”), and there was that detective story author who said “I just saw that tent by the river and thought, hmm, anything could happen there and nobody would ever know”.
The Weiila Writer is a creature of erratic behavior.
Anyway, we move on to the first real chapter, and one very a-romantic romance. These are busy people with half a world and more depending on them, after all!
Prepare to be floored, Warchief! Because the “help meee” Jaina is in another castle.
Although the sun shone down in full force upon Durotar, the salt-scented wind on top of the butte could be pretty sharp. It pushed at Jaina’s blue cloak, not so much that it fluttered but gently pressed against her. Thrall had spotted her long before his zeppelin came close to the cliff formation rising from the landscape – a white and blue dot against the orange of the land. Standing there, watching the dirigible come closer and closer.
A rare feeling for him, that somebody waited for him to arrive – normally people came to him and not vice versa.
Seeing her from such a distance did beg the question however, how long she had been waiting and why. Normally when they met, he saw nothing on top of the butte until coming much closer. After all their “secret” conferences through the years, Jaina knew well how long it took for him to make it to the meeting point. If she teleported there so much more earlier than she had to, there must be some pressing subject she needed to discuss with him.
It would not be the first time he wished the zeppelin could move a little quicker. Finally it moved over the butte, and he pulled the levers to make it hold its position in the air.
Jaina gazed up at him, patiently waiting as he threw down the rope ladder and climbed down to her. Before he even left the deck Thrall had taken note of the dark rings around her eyes, and he was only half a breath away from letting go of the ladder and simply drop the last couple, three feet. Only the shaman’s self-control held him back from acting like a worried fool. A few more seconds would not change whatever problem weighed down on Jaina.
“Good morning, Go’el,” she said the moment his feet touched the ground.
Thrall turned around, concern cracking momentarily in a smile. No trace of exhaust could be heard in Jaina’s voice, and hearing her speak his real name had ever since the first time had a certain – alarming – way of making him momentarily lose sight of any troubling issues.
“The same to you, Jaina,” he replied.
She smiled a little.
For some time after the debacle with the Burning Blade and the demon Zmodlor, he had travelled to their meetings together with a couple of Kor’kron Elites. Moments like these, however, were the reason he ceased bringing guards – speaking as friends and not leaders became impossible with a grim audience. To add, he felt foolish standing there with two fully armed guard, in front of the much smaller, lonely Jaina. Not only did it look silly – on the other side of the shield was the fact that if she wanted to kill them, she could easily do so with her magic. The zeppelin flew far out of range for any harmful spells cast from the ground below. What use did those guards have, aside from making the meetings far more awkward than they had to be?
Had the Elites been there, he could not have looked at her and spoken as he did now, turning serious. As Warchief there were things he could not allow himself to do – showing concern for a human, even one honored by his people, was one such thing. But here, alone with Jaina, the Warchief of the Horde was only a part of him.
“What is the matter?” he asked. “I see you’re concerned about something.”
It was like a hunter giving away his position to the gazelle he had been tracking. Jaina bit her lower lip, glancing aside as her body tensed. When Thrall stepped closer in alarm, however, she looked up and shook her head.
“I’m a little overworked, that’s all,” she said. Only a strained smile could have made this lie more obvious.
Thrall frowned, something that tended to have a very immediate effect on people. It worked this time as well. Jaina cleared her throat and tried to relax.
“Very well,” she said. “I’ve been… there’s a lot going on right now, that’s all. This guerrilla war situation is just a few steps short of complete war.”
They had both said the same thing before, over and over, sometimes with different words but the same meaning. Thrall slowly nodded, scowl dissipating. Still waiting for her to admit what the real problem was, but he could see that she would eventually tell him when she was ready.
“As ever,” he said, then touched her shoulder, smiling faintly – at least, an orcish version of ‘faintly’. “But let me remind you that ever since the Dark Portal opened, there have been fewer reports on attacks on the Crossroads.”
“What are they attacking instead?” Jaina tiredly asked, shaking her head. “They’re just relocating their hunt for quick glory, aren’t they?”
Thrall hummed, smile dying. He could not deny that she was right, but had hoped to at least put her mind a little at ease. Something was obviously weighing heavily on her, something she hesitated to speak up about.
“That’s right…” she said, sighing.
She reached for a pocket in her cloak and pulled out a letter, heavy with Theramore’s seal in wax.
“Would you have this delivered to the high elf captain Thalo’thas Brightsun?” she said.
The name was familiar, but with all the things going on right then it took a moment before Thrall remembered this particular incident, especially since it was quite a while ago. He pursed his mouth and took the letter.
“The Northwatch attacks?” he asked, to be sure.
Jaina nodded, her eyes haggard.
“Full apology of the attack that destroyed his ship.” She rubbed her forehead. “At this point I don’t care if he truly drove those warriors to beat up the guards at Northwatch. All but one in his crew got killed. My soldiers thought it was another pirate ship, but-”
Once more she sighed and looked up, pointing at the letter. When she spoke again, her tone became businesslike.
“I offer him a new ship as amends. We’re going to need better wood for that than can be found in Dustwallow. Would it be possible to buy enough from your side at a humane price?”
“I can pull a few threads.”
He would gladly have given her the materials if asked, but ships were expensive even to a city state and good wood still fetched a hefty price. The need for it was not so acute as during the founding of the new nations, but the constant fights with opposing sides and the beasts of the lands kept up repair work at all times. There was also the growing farming communities in the Barrens. Further expansion into Ashenvale could solve Orgrimmar’s need for wood, but that was one of the things that Thrall tried to dissuade rather than persuade. The night elves would rightfully see that, and increasing damage to the ancient forest, as a declaration of war. Jaina was as fully aware of this as he was. She would never ask for that much.
While Jaina gratefully nodded at his reply, Thrall pocketed the letter and looked her over again.
“Have you been sleeping well?” he asked.
“If I had a solution to a problem for every time someone asked me that lately…”
The weak attempt at a joke faltered with her voice and she bit her lower lip.
“No,” she finally admitted, looking away briefly. “I think too much.”
He touched her shoulder again, and she laid her much smaller hand on top of his. It was a familiar gesture, but this time her fingers curled up in a fist.
“Is there anything in particular?” Thrall asked.
“Lately…” she started, but faltered again.
Frowning, he leant a little closer. This wasn’t like her. Had the pressure of everything finally pushed her to her limits?
“If there’s anything I can do to help, just ask,” he said.
At that her lips twitched in a strange little smile. A wild look flashed past, but then she composed herself and straightened up.
“Jaina?”
“Yes, I’m sorry,” she said. “There’s a lot on my mind.”
She glanced to the side again, but then looked him in the eye.
“You’re right about the things in Outland giving us a breather, and some of us a little more,” she said, and this time she smiled warmly.
He returned the smile, unable not to. It went beyond words for him, to have met his grandmother, to finally find a living relative, somebody who could tell him more about his parents than anyone else. Somebody who could tell him that he had a real name. As happy as that he could not remember ever feeling before, and he was eternally grateful to the Outland scouts who had brought her message to him.
And then to tell Jaina, see her face lit up as he shared this story with her.
[i] “Do you want me to call you Go’el from now on?”
“If you wish, then yes.”
“Hmm… you’ll forgive me if I slip up a few times, I hope.” [/i]
But now her smile faded, and so did his as she fell back into the serious look.
“I fear that the hotheads will see to that the fighting keeps going on there and flows back out again, however,” she said.
Thrall grimly nodded. One could already see it happening, in never ending vendettas heard in the arguments reported from both Orgrimmar and beyond. Things along the lines of “I just got word from my brother and he saw five humans and a couple of dwarves walking through our territory, just within sight of Falcon Watch! Let’s go teach ‘em a lesson!”. Then some humans would get furious about this and send messages to their friends on the other side of the Portal, and the friends would either join the battles in Outland or seek out a nearby target in Azeroth, and so on and so forth forever.
Thinking about things like this, Thrall often wondered if the Burning Legion still thought that they had to do anything at all about the state of the world. The inhabitants were really good at creating chaos themselves.
He shook off the thoughts and looked at Jaina, silently asking her to continue. It wasn’t the first time they discussed this, and it wouldn’t be the last either. Sometimes, it helped them find possible solutions to some of the problems they faced, but most of the time it was just an act of venting frustration to an equal. Jaina only ruled Theramore, but she always seemed to end up taking on a fair share of responsibility for the Alliance’s antics on Kalimdor – if not practically, then emotionally. Was it, after all, too much for her to bear? Considering what he believed her capable of handling, this seemed unlikely – yet what else could have driven her to this harried state?
Her lips were almost as white as her dress, and he frowned deeper when noticing this. The hesitance to explain what was on her mind implied only something very grim indeed. Had something happened that she was scared to tell him? The Alliance?
A thousand unpleasant possibilities ran through his head, anything between war and Jaina being under pressure from threats or blackmail. Nothing but something so serious would drive her to a state like this. A presumptive growl risked to form in Thrall’s throat, but he held it back – for the moment when he knew why it might be needed.
“What is it?” he asked, brushing his thumb against her shoulder reassuringly.
He saw her other fist clench at her side.
“I’m going to say something outrageous,” she said in a strange voice. “Will you promise not to laugh?”
“Of course,” he said, eyebrows rising in surprise.
“Thank you.”
Jaina breathed in deeply. Sweat glued a few strands of hair to her forehead, and he suspected that it was not only because of the sun.
“Since things are a little more peaceful here for the moment,” she said. “I think, perhaps this is the greatest chance we’ll have in a while to reinforce the fact that Orgrimmar and Theramore aren’t enemies.”
“Certainly,” he said, still surprised as he could not see what was outrageous about another official meeting between the two of them.
The last time they met in Ratchet and signed the non-aggression pact, it had stopped the fighting in the Barrens and Dustwallow for at least a little while. Not perfect, and not as restraining as either of them would wish, but better than nothing.
The spirits whispered, but he could not make out a single word. Only a sense of wonder.
Jaina took in another breath.
“I would- I suggest,” she said and cleared her throat before continuing, “I have a suggestion that could make fighting between our nations completely needless.”
He blinked.
“What would that be?” he asked.
“To, that is to say, if they were no longer two nations, but one.”
She stared at him.
He stared back, lost on her logic.
Then he did a double take, realized what she was actually saying, and stared at her again. Laughing at her was the absolutely last thing on his mind.
For the first time in his life, the Warchief of the Horde was utterly lost for words.
“Jaina…” he finally managed.
Her head tipped sharply towards the ground.
“It’s asking a lot of you, I realize that,” she said, speaking painfully quick. “Geographically-wise Theramore is inconvenient but we are the most important trading port to the Eastern Kingdoms. But I’ll understand if you don’t want to throw away that possibility to strengthen ties to some clan.”
He grasped her other shoulder, shaking his head to make her stop talking. But although she looked up at him, the wild spark was back in her eyes and she did not fall silent. In the torrent of words, she flailed for whatever she had planned to say and now apparently had lost, and he could not catch his breath enough to pull his thoughts together. Nobody had ever so completely managed to knock him off balance with just a few words.
“I told you it was outrageous, it’s just that, I’ve been thinking it over, don’t think anything else. It would be dangerous for both of us but it could at least put an end to the risk of it coming to war between us. It’s a political gamble, you know some consider Theramore to be the theoretical capital of the Alliance although Stormwind doesn’t agree, what it would mean for the factions-”
The wild look spun over itself, growing more pained for every word falling out between her lips. Jaina stared up at him, suddenly silent – but she took in another breath, and realizing that she was just a second away from apologizing for being a fool, Thrall managed to unlock his tongue.
“Asking a lot of me?” he said, much sharper than he had intended. “How can you say that?”
She jumped as if stung. Inwardly wincing, he shook his head and held up a hand.
“Don’t misunderstand,” he said. “I see your reasoning. But…”
At the last word, Jaina’s eyebrows crashed downwards and her mouth scrunched up in a bitter non-smile. Thrall quickly went on.
“… is that reasoning not truly the knowledge that my army could be standing on your doorstep at some point? Your people are scared, there’s no denying it.”
The look in her widening eyes burned into him, but he clenched his teeth and went on.
“Don’t you think I have pondered the same?” he asked. “But considering the danger my forces pose to Theramore, do you think I could demand of you to do such a thing?”
He shook his head, fists curling at his sides as he looked away.
Certainly, the Alliance would return an invasion of Theramore with full force, seeing as it was the one human stronghold in Kalimdor, but that did not change the fact that shortsighted members of the Horde liked to shake their weapons at the walls. Theramore [i]would[/i] be the first to fall if the factions ever pitted against each other in full-scale war again.
Both of them were fully, and agonizingly aware of this.
It struck him only too late what he admitted in his second to last question, and in his mind he cursed himself.
For a moment they stood in silence. The wind played in their hair and the hems of Jaina’s robe and dress, easy and uncaring about what was going on upon the butte. Far below them life in Razor Hill went on as usual, as oblivious as the wind. The orcs and trolls living in the town were so used to seeing Thrall’s zeppelin that they probably only took passing note of it these days.
Their chins would have hit the ground if they even suspected what the discussion on the butte was about.
“You,” Jaina finally started, “you think that I would sell myself for peace?”
He met her gaze again, painful though it was.
“I believe you are prepared to do anything you need to,” he said.
“I’ll take that as a compliment for my personal strength,” she replied, rubbing her cheek.
“It is.”
“In return I can compliment your chivalry,” she said with some cold creeping into her voice. “Misplaced as it is.”
The tone alone would have earned a growl if Jaina had been anybody else, because no one spoke to the Warchief like that. But this was Jaina, and therefore Thrall watched her warily instead of demanding an explanation.
“Misplaced?” he said, not snarling.
Nodding, she reached out and brushed her fingers against his arm. Often when she did so in the past he wished that she would not do such small, tender things because it was so difficult shaking off the memory afterwards, when he had to focus on other matters. And her doing such things allowed him to touch her shoulders, and knowing that was fine with her he could not keep himself from doing it. Now, he wished she would cease more than ever, wondering if this would end in an argument that would kill all possibility of further meetings and little touches.
No, never. She meant too much to him, he could not allow that to happen.
“You misunderstand my reasoning,” Jaina said. “True, it would protect my people from the Horde. It would not kill our people’s distrust for each other, not at once, but they could no longer demand preparation for war. But…”
She frowned, then more glared rebelliously at him than watched him.
“… all that is on a political level, not a personal one.”
It took a moment before Thrall reacted, because her words sent a wave of emotions crashing through him. Disbelief was the first to hit, giving way to a senseless stitch of anger at how she insisted to try deluding herself and convince him against the obvious, when he had spent so long trying to reason with his own fruitless feelings. But that passed quickly, killed off by the honest look in her eyes. Wonder made it out last.
This did not mean that he was won over. Disbelief still held a tenuous but real grip of him, even as he struggled with a hot, feathery tightening in his chest.
Shaking his head, he raised his hand in front of her face. The fist, when he clenched it, was almost as big as her entire head.
He had grown up among humans – he could understand their ideals of beauty, even if he, like all other orcs, would be hard-pressed to actually find any random human woman attractive.
Any [i]random[/i] woman. Even though he found Jaina pleasant to look at – even with her pale face, too light hair, too wide eyes, spindly little hands, and all that was just a shell over the too precious spirit that was Jaina Proudmoore and-
He had to wrestle his thoughts away from where they were heading. Even with all his shamanistic and warrior training to keep his mind under control, right then and there he found it to be a difficult endeavor. He could not allow himself to feel any of this.
Bottom line, he was fully aware how monstrous his kind were in compare to her kind.
“Jaina, the fact that you are able to see past our differences for friendship’s sake has always meant a lot to me,” he said. As he went on, he used one finger to draw an invisible line across his chest to underline how wide it was. “But are you convinced that you would not be revolted by these differences in appearance if it came to that?” He finished by touching one of the tusks rising up between his lips. All those things that were considered attractive in the eyes of his own people but-
“Now you’re insulting both of us,” Jaina said. Stepping closer, she reached up past his still raised hand and touched his cheek.
That was new.
“There is no man like you, not in any race,” she softly said. “I don’t know what else I can say to convince you.”
Thrall watched her face. Slowly he lowered his hand, brushing the thumb along Jaina’s arm and finally curling his fingers around her waist – covering a considerable portion of her back. There was no hint of a wince at any point as he did so. Instead she smiled, flat, white teeth showing between her lips.
“I thought I heard you say that you had wanted to bring this up yourself,” she said.
He nodded slowly, and it stroke her pink fingertips against his green skin. Of course he had contemplated it, deeply so, but for the reasons he had told her he could not have voiced those thoughts. Even if he had, and she agreed, how could he have lived with himself – ever wondering if the risk of war had not pressured her to leap for a solution that revolted her? He had already had her father killed, what more damnation could he bring her?
But this was all her idea, freely given.
For as long as he could remember, he had loved Tari. That Jaina reminded him of her may have made it easier for him to become her friend in the first place, but it was long since their friendship needed that clutch.
He still loved Tari, always would, but she was gone. Never had he blamed her for choosing the safety of her family over fleeing with him to save herself, only never forgiving himself for failing to protect her. Now Jaina looked up at him, waiting, another person completely. Other choices, no less painful, but made and faced with bravery and strength few others would be able to pride themselves with. Beyond her strength, what the two of them had shared ever since the last war – hours of discussions and shared worries, arguments, exchanged insights.
Not Tari – not equal to her, not worth less, not worth more. So different that comparing them was unfair to Jaina. She meant far more than a mere reminder of another woman.
He had thought about all this many times, because as leaders there were certain expectations of both Jaina and him. Completely valid expectations, but he had not made a move to meet them because he could not think of anyone more worthy. Some would certainly call it tragic, yet it was the simple truth that he knew no woman amongst his own people who measured up to Jaina. Not in any quality.
And she was known among them as a human who had chosen an orc over her own father.
Not only that ([i]all[/i] that) – she had the sheer gall to throw all conventions out the window and propose to the Warchief.
The spirits seldom spoke clearly.
Now they said [i]Yes[/i].
Or perhaps, it was not so much the spirits’ voices, as his own. Difficult to tell, and perhaps it was not so important who spoke the loudest, in the end. Thrall breathed in deeply.
“Well then,” he said, sounding worlds calmer than he felt. “We better discuss how to go about this in detail.”
He knew that Jaina held true to the philosophy that mages with strong emotions were dangerous to themselves and all those around them. Therefore, she prided herself with keeping her feelings in check.
But now her face lit up from within, and her arms were around his neck before he realized it. She leaped to reach, leaving her feet hanging above the ground and he instinctively pressed both hands to her back to hold her up – somehow remembering to be careful not to crush her against his armor.
This was definitely new.
“Oh, pardon me,” she said with complete dishonesty and laughter trickling into her voice.
“I forgive you,” Thrall replied in turn.
Jaina let herself slide back to the ground, but she remained standing closer than she ever had before, hands pressed to his breastplate and his arms at her back. Her eyes twinkled. He could not recall ever seeing her like this, almost like a girl, but not quite. No, not a girl, but a woman who had steeled herself so long that a crack in her shell of worries and stress simply blossomed.
Not girly. Mischievous might be the word, joyously so, and the darnest thing he’d seen in his life.
“Please, do tell me how many rules I broke,” she said.
In all honesty it would be easier to say which rules she had [i]not[/i] broken, but they were beyond the point where that mattered.
“It’s not unheard of women asking,” Thrall said. He left it unsaid that nobody had ever heard of any Warchief being proposed to as opposed to choosing his wife. “Although, it is customary to go on a courtship hunt together.” Grinning, he nodded his head towards the north. “But I believe we can regard that as done with after what happened on mount Hyjal.”
“No, no, no…”
Jaina made half a motion as if to move away. Thrall’s muscles immediately tightened to keep her where she was, even though he did realize that she meant to deliver a joke. She looked up at him with an entirely earnest expression.
“We should not disregard every convention there is. Which dragons do you want killed?” she asked, just as seriously.
For a moment he stared at her. Then he threw his head back and laughed like he hadn’t done in far too long. She laughed too, leaning her head against his chest.
Still smiling they sat down to discuss the more practical implications this arrangement would entail. As much hope for peace their decision may hold, it might just as well spell political suicide for at least Jaina. Thrall’s position allowed him a whole lot more freedom than her – few would loudly dare to challenge his sanity, and through that, right to rule. Jaina, on the other hand, would surely face protests from large part of the Alliance.
The risk had to be considered, that even her own people might rise up against Jaina because of this.
“I don’t believe they would do that,” she said in comment to her own thoughts on that matter, but her tone was grave. “They probably won’t like it, and it will take time for them to adjust to the thought, but they should remember what happened in the war. And when my father…”
She trailed off, staring at her lap. Thrall sighed and nodded in understanding. It would have had come to that subject eventually. That his troops obediently had done as little harm to Theramore itself as they could, did not change the end of the battle. Inevitable as it had been.
They had both done what they had to do, but it would always hang as a shadow between them.
And yet, if Proudmoore had been alive, he would have had the final say in the matter of who Jaina married.
She shook her head and looked up.
“Let’s not go there,” she said. “The important thing is that my people remember Hyjal, not to mention the fact that your people cleared out Onyxia for us.”
That the subject of her father got steered clear of was definitely a relief for both of them. For now at least, on an unspoken agreement they chose to ignore the existence of her brother Tandred and what he may have to say on the matter.
“Yes, but what of the rest of the Alliance?” Thrall said. “Some will question Theramore’s place in it because of this.”
Jaina grimly nodded. The other kingdoms would not take lightly upon the crucial port town – invaluable for the trade and being the one human stronghold on Kalimdor – making such a turncoat move in the political game.
“I believe that we might get Tyrande’s support on this, if not her blessing,” Jaina said.
“A personal kind of support, perhaps, but I cannot hope for a political one. Not with the struggle for Warsong Gulch.” Thrall rubbed his forehead, growling. “The Outriders are so wrapped up in their private war with the Sentinels that they won’t let it go no matter how many times I summon their leaders to shout at them.”
He despised speaking of it, but that, like the underground slavery and the Burning Blade, remained poisonous weeds right under his nose, which he had not yet managed to rip out completely. Many times in the past, Jaina had heard him vent his frustration about it – she was one of the extremely few who ever got to see that side of him.
Now she nodded.
“Yes, but it is something,” she said. “As for the draenei, they are still building their new lives on Azeroth. But, maybe eventually…”
“Indeed. That would be a blessing.”
The draenei’s shamanistic knowledge would be invaluable, just as their connection to the Naaru and willingness to fight against the Burning Legion. Yet, nobody could ask of them to put aside their bitterness and horrid memories of what the orcs had done to them on Draenor. The fact that some of their shamans joined forces with orcs, trolls and taurens of the Earthen Ring offered some hope, but…
Thrall shook off those thoughts and looked at Jaina.
“Perhaps it would be wise of you to play on my reason for that initial refusal,” he said. The look on her face was that of confusion. True, they had strayed far from that subject, and she did not at once manage to leap back to it. He hurried to make himself clear. “Let the Alliance think you chose between this or war.”
“Play a martyr for peace?” Jaina asked, frowning.
“Not to your own people, of course, but hint at it in your messages to the Eastern Kingdoms.” He held up a hand when it looked like she would shake her head. “No, it is better that way. Few of them think highly of me as is, it would not harm you.”
After a moment she nodded, although not looking too pleased. But she had to realize, too, that if the rest of the Alliance thought that this was an act of convenience or need for social stability, they might have an easier time accepting it. Better to be thought a sacrificial lamb than a prostitute. The mere thought of that made his hands curl into fists.
Over an hour later Thrall had to break it off, knowing that he could not stay away from his seat of power for too long. Jaina agreed, but she was as anxious to keep discussing the matters as he was. They had barely scraped the surface of all the things that would have to be dealt with, and [i]how[/i] to deal with them. But at least, although Jaina did not have suggested answers to all of his and her own questions, she had enough ideas to prove how much thought she had already poured into the whole project.
They parted, but with a promise to meet the next day and continue the private conference.
Only once Jaina was back in her own rooms in Theramore, and her head had begun to cool off from the madness – indeed, wild hope, chilling fears, joy and a thousand other emotions spinning through her head, only one step from insanity – only then did she remember that she had forgot to ask one important question, and it froze the grin on her face.
Something so small but so important to the culture she grew up in – even stricter than normal for her, a woman of such a fine family line. Something so small, so ridiculous even, but not dismissible and it had haunted her only in its current form in peaceful times. There had been no time for it before, not when her life took plunges – [i]I will be a mage, a scholar dedicated to study and magic[/i] to [i]We may not be alive tomorrow[/i] and onwards through [i]We are alive and building a new home[/i].
She stared out of one of the window of her chambers, without really seeing anything. Unwittingly, one of her hands went to her stomach.
Only after the chaos she found herself the owner of her own throne, and with that, being a person who was expected to eventually produce an heir who could sit on that throne later on.
Before that, she had only been haunted by regret and bitterness, and the memory of sweet whispers, of fingertips and warmth that had turned colder than ice. Both of them young and foolish, knowing they were as good as betrothed – it would only be a few words away, the match was suitable even in a politician’s eye – but duty called him, and magic her. And then he turned into the greatest evil to walk Azeroth, baring Archimonde and his ilk.
Bitterness and regret being mere personal torture, but with her current position the problem became a tangible… inconvenience to say the least. Before she may have pushed it aside and felt that she would face it the day she had a suitable suitor.
And how long ago was it, young lady, that you could bear thinking of anyone but him touching you?
But knowing Thrall, her gut feeling said that it wouldn’t matter at all to him – oh, and his concern about their physical differences almost made her laugh now, if she only had not been so busy working up more anxiety for the cauldron of worries. Back on the butte it made her angry at first, but for shame, Warchief…
‘You’re telling me with a straight face that you don’t think I’m ugly?’ That’s what you wanted to know, wasn’t it?
Bulky, green, towering, covered with scars, intimidating at the slightest tightening of blue eyes, black hair so heavy and thick you might make rope from a handful of strands? Yes. Hideous? No. It was not seeing through appearances to find the beauty within. It was only a question of getting used to the physical differences.
To anyone else she may have found some way to slink out of this small but infinitely annoying predicament her younger self had brought her into, but… she would not, could not lie to Thrall.
He probably wouldn’t care. But then again, she had no idea how orcs valued virginity.
Damn it all.
Jaina did something she had not done for years, and bit on a nail. There was that problem, and the issues relating to it, that she was in no state of mind to ponder right now.
[i]You can’t bear thinking of anybody else touching you but it still scares you to think of it and that was what he really meant and you know it.
He would rather treat you like a leper than lay a finger on you if he thought you didn’t want him to.
There is an unknown number of half-orcs living in this world. Not all of them were conceived through atrocities. But what lives do they live? [/i]
Jaina strode quickly through the room and sat down by her writing table. Gritting her teeth she pulled up an empty sheet of paper in front of her. To list all the issues Thrall and she had discussed today might help her sort out her thoughts, something she sorely needed.
I’ve searched through lore and I’m stumped on what Jaina’s title as Thrall’s wife would be. He’ll be adding “lord of Theramore” (they’re going to looove that :D) to his already long list of titles, but all I can think of working for Jaina is “wife of the Warchief”, which is fine but a little clunky. Fits the culture though, I suppose.
There’s that female goblin in Tanaris (why do I remember this kind of stuff?) who collects pirate hats and without success tries to figure out a female equivalent to Warchief, so I suppose there isn’t one. But I’m open for suggestions.
Next up: [STRIKE]Every man on and off the planet have their mind in the gutter[/STRIKE]
[STRIKE]Revenge of the pretty-boy[/STRIKE]
[STRIKE]You know he always wanted to be a creepy ass[/STRIKE]
We recieve word that no less than 100% of long-eared blonds with green eyes and nifty red robes oppose this match. OH SNAP. (Though one has to sympathise a little - first she choses Arthas over him,* and now an orc. Ouch.)
I have absolutely no intention of turning this into a merry game of “kidnap the bride” though. Or “kidnap the bridegroom”. Though it might be fun to see some try and fry.
*Arthas: ::when Arthas and Kael’thas meet:: Are you still upset that I stole Jaina from you, Kael?
Kael’thas: You’ve taken everything I’ve ever cared for, Arthas. Vengeance is all I have left.
Also removed a couple or three ellipses.
There may not be Hell, but I’m ever thrust to a convention with people doing yaoi with the characters I read in my childhood, I’ll have totally asked for it. I bet Athos was into S/M. Anyway, shirtless Thrall & Troll please.
And then things broke. A lot.