Are you prepared? I sure as hell am. IT’S GO TIME!
As the sky began to turn a blazing yellow in the west, a smell of roasted meat rose from the streets of Theramore. Inns opened their doors wide for everyone, and wherever there could safely be a bonfire in the streets and on the marketplaces, one was started to roast the many hogs gifted from the Warchief. Bread, fruit and drink was served to whoever could pay just a little coin, inviting even the poorest of the city to for eat their fill as well.
While the city began the celebration, three groups of people prepared to leave it.
Jaina entered her throne room followed by several men and women of her Elite guard, as well as Aegwynn, Tandred, emissary Southstone and his aide. The guards’ armors were polished until one could see a reflection in the metal, and those not wearing plate were dressed in white robes with golden hems. Jaina herself had opted to at least exchange her leather skirt for one made of silk instead. The rest of the more orcish clothes she chose to keep, as well as the braid and trinkets in her hair. As per human wedding tradition, a few flowers had been added to the primal jewelry.
The draenei representatives, and Tyrande with her entourage, already waited in the throne room. If Tyrande was nervous, she gave no sign of it. The others, however, kept casting sideways glances at each other, fidgeting with their robes. Just as Jaina entered, the female mage of the draenei was whispering to one of the shamans, rubbing one of the tendrils hanging from behind her ear between two fingers. She immediately cut herself off and smiled anxiously in greeting along with the others. Jaina knew why, and nodded at her, hoping the silent support would help. The much taller, blue skinned woman smiled a little wider for a brief moment.
Jaina turned to sweep her gaze over all of them. There were more people who needed to be calmed, in these final doubtful seconds before they went right into the enemy’s stronghold as guests. She was pretty sure that she, Aegwynn and possibly Southstone were the only ones who weren’t fearful on some level. And even she was anxious about how well or bad the evening would turn out.
“Good evening,” Jaina said, smiling as soothingly as she could. “Remember that we will be appearing inside of Grommash Hold. There will be guards all around, but let me remind you that they are loyal to Thrall and of the Earthen Ring. There is nothing to fear.”
“Of course not,” Tyrande calmly replied. Her followers looked at her and carefully, their shoulders sunk a little as she seemed confident.
“Is everyone ready, then?” Jaina asked.
She gave them a few moments to collect themselves enough to nod, and then raised her hands. Teleporting so many at once took great effort, but she had mentally prepared herself as well as she could. Focusing with all her might she swept out her will to encompass everyone in the room, and then zero in her mind on the mental image of Grommash Hold. The world tingled and fell away, then swept up again in a wholly different shape.
Again Jaina felt very glad that she had change skirt, as while Theramore had been bathed in the evening cool, Orgrimmar was still as hot as the middle of the day. The braziers illuminating the inside of the hold did the temperature no favors, either. The fire cast wild shadows over the walls, from the armored orcs standing silent along the walls. Some were Kor’kron Elites, but many were shamans of all the Horde races that were able to commune with the spirits.
Jaina didn’t hear any of the draenei or night elves recoil, but she wouldn’t have blamed them. It was an intimidating first sight.
The guests from the Alliance had appeared on one side of the throne hall, and on the opposite side there were already representatives of the Horde factions waiting. Consciously, Thrall had had the tauren stand closest to where Jaina’s groups would appear – and the Forsaken the furthest away. The smell was still very noticeable, even though it mixed with soothing scents of burning incense. Thrall had not been joking about that.
Thrall himself stood before his throne, watching the entire hall as intensely as everyone else. The air felt heavy to breathe, until he spoke.
“Welcome to Orgrimmar.”
His voice rung out, calm and reassuring. Jaina’s own shoulders fell, and though nobody replied verbally, some shuffling was heard from all over the hall as guards and guests alike moved to stand a little more at ease. It was a matter of pride, now, to at least appear unaffected by the proximity of people usually considered enemies.
Nodding briefly to the guests she had brought, Jaina started forwards together with her companions. The others stayed behind, waiting for their time.
Thrall met her gaze as she approached, tense hope flaring in his blue eyes. He offered her his hand as she stepped up the stairs to where he stood, and she squeezed the huge finger she grasped. Even though he had sounded collected before, she knew it was a well practiced act. This was far from over.
Her guards, Tandred and the others moved aside, to furs laid out on the floor to the right beneath the stairs. There they sat down, and the guards took off their helmets to place them on the furs. On the left side of the stairs, Saurfang, Geyah, Hellscream and other prominent already sat, watching everything in silence.
Or in Garrosh’s case, glaring rather than watching.
Jaina stepped up beside Thrall and turned to face the hall.
“Darkspear tribe,” Thrall said. He spoke Orcish first, then said the same thing in Common. “I and my mate thank you for celebrating with us tonight.”
Bone trinkets and sea shell jewelry rattled as the trolls gathered on the other side of the hall stepped forwards, led by Vol’jin.
It might have seemed like a very small issue to some, but the order of greetings had caused Thrall and Jaina severe headaches during their discussions about how to go about the celebration. Some group would inevitably have to step forwards last, and the threat of resentment for that slight was great. Even if the visitors themselves were understanding, others among their people would doubtlessly grumble about it.
And on the other side of things, who should be greeted first? That group would be seen as the host and hostess’ greatest ally, as they received that honor. They could not begin with the trolls, tauren, Forsaken and blood elves in a row, then greet the night elves and draenei, either, or the other way around. That would be favoring Horde or Alliance.
At the same time, greeting everyone at once was disrespectful in its own way, as that would make it seem like no group deserved recognition for being there.
In the end, Thrall and Jaina had settled on an order that had enough significance to hopefully be acceptable to all. The trolls first, then tauren, night elves, Forsaken, blood elves and finally draenei – the order in which the groups had become allies of the orcs and Theramore during the third war and beyond. It was not perfect and it could be argued against since some were no friends of one side or the other, but it seemed like the most natural option.
In the end, also, the draenei’s request during the previous day gave a decent reason on its own that they were greeted last. It was a request best fulfilled when everyone else was seated and watching.
Vol’jin responded to Thrall’s greeting in Orcish while the trolls behind him bowed, but left it at that. Even so, he did incline his head to Jaina briefly, as a gesture of goodwill in place of speaking Common. She returned it. It was no secret to her that Vol’jin had severe doubts about this whole thing, but there was very little she could do right now to mend that. That would only come in time. She hoped that it would come to all of them in time.
The trolls went to sit down, and the tauren stepped forwards instead. Cairne, unlike Vol’jin, offered a warm smile as he spoke in his deep, rumbling voice.
“May this celebration mark the start of a more peaceful time,” he said. “It takes great bravery to do what you have done, and harder work to end battles than to start new ones.”
He paused there, and let Jaina and Thrall thank him. More words hung in the air between them, more things he wanted to say were written all over his face. But that too would have to wait for another time. The tauren moved away, hooves ringing softly against the floor.
The steps of the night elves, on the other hand, despite many of them being barefoot, seemed to ring through the air.
“It has been a long time since we all met, Warchief,” Tyrande said, smiling a bit wryly. “I am glad that you accepted our request to celebrate with you.”
“And I am glad that you offered it, High Priestess,” Thrall replied. He didn’t for a moment let his tension show, even though he felt a strong urge to throw Vol’jin a warning glare. “It is proof of good will I admit did not dare hope for.”
The words were pregnant, and many a breath was held as Tyrande slowly nodded.
“Let us not speak or think of such things,” she said, her smile new and more genuine than before. “This is a wedding celebration. Both of you have my deepest well wishes.”
“Thank you, High Priestess,” Jaina said, as Thrall nodded agreement. “Your support is a welcome, precious thing.”
And still, both of them noticed that the night elves avoided looking at most of the other groups there as they walked over to their places and sat down.
Jaina clenched her teeth, as next Thrall asked Lady Sylvanas and her followers forwards. The stench rose over the incense as the undead moved forwards, but Jaina willed herself to keep her face calm. She had been face to face with Sylvanas just the other day, and then been so upset that she could hardly think straight.
As she offered a brisk congratulation, Sylvanas’ lips pursed into something resembling a smile. She looked as if she could not be bothered to remember how to smile genuinely, or rather did not care for it. Her expression did not change as she turned swept away, smelling of decaying leaves and old, murky chambers, her guards clattering after her.
The blood elves were just a little less curtly – Lor’themar Theron did weave an elegant little speech, but when it came down to it, it said very little. At that point, also, Jaina was struggling not to chew on the inside of her cheek, and she heard Thrall shift his weight ever so slightly.
The blood elves finally stepped aside.
The draenei moved forwards.
All of them elegantly bowed, but it was one of the male shamans who spoke.
“Lady Proudmoore. Warchief.”
There was no question of which greeting carried the most weight. Jaina bowed her head, but she remained silent for Thrall.
“That you are here is a gesture of hope,” he said, his voice warm and calm. However, Jaina felt his fingertips brush against her back momentarily. He was struggling not to go to pieces, and she could offer no support. “I truly thank you for bridging this gap, this distance, to be here tonight.”
“It was you and your wife who showed that it could be bridged,” the shaman said. The draenei all straightened. “Prophet Velen was very moved by what transpired a week ago, and what you have done since.”
He paused. Thrall hardly breathed.
“If you would allow it, honored Warchief, we request you let a magical link be momentarily established.” The shaman motioned towards the female draenei in a blue, richly embroidered mage’s robe. “We are mere messengers.”
Murmurs rose all over the room.
Jaina could not stop herself from glancing at Thrall. Though he watched the draenei with a composed face, she saw his lips twitch – it was the only sign of emotions he allowed to show right then.
“I see that as a generous offer and welcome it,” he said.
“We thank you for your faith, honored Warchief.” With those words, the shaman stepped back.
The mage stepped forwards instead, delicately putting her fingertips together and bowing her horned head above them as she murmured in a low voice. The rune floating above her forehead flared up as light danced between her palms, and with a soft cry she flung her hands upwards. The light leapt from her fingers to the ground, forming a glowing circle.
It was eerily reminiscent of what the undead mage had done two days ago, moments before the Lich King attacked. Alike, yet it could not have been more different.
From the light rose a figure, swatted in a pale, beautiful robe. Graceful tendrils framed his thick, pure white beard which in turn mirrored the color of the pure rune floating above his forehead. A long, elegant tail curled out along the hem of his robe and the edge of the magical circle surrounding his cloven hooves.
Jaina looked up, and so did Thrall. And higher up yet. Complete silence fell over the hall.
Prophet Velen was tall enough to be imposing, but there was a sense of peace about him which invoked only calm.
“Warchief. Lady Proudmoore,” he said, inclining his head slightly.
Jaina bowed her head in greeting back, but she remained silent still. This was Thrall’s, and the entire orc race’s, moment. She happened to see Saurfang from the corner of her eye. The Overlord sat stock still, his eyes a breath wider than usual.
“Prophet,” Thrall said, bowing his head. “I am honored that you grace Orgrimmar with your presence, even through a fragile bond like this.”
Not even he could keep a sliver of emotion in his voice, however slight. “Honored” was a mere shadow of the wonder this gesture truly was. It was not a promise of peace, of forgiving. The crimes of the past were too great still. But it was a sign that there was a possibility, beautiful and real, and that was more than anybody could have dared hoping for.
“I fear it would have been too divisive still of me to take part in this celebration in person,” Velen said. He smiled, the knowing twitch in the corner of his lips saying that he was aware Thrall and most everyone else caught the promise in that simple word, ‘still.’ “But, I am glad that I could offer my best wishes to you on this day, and I wish you all a joyful evening.” He swept his gaze across the hall as he spoke, but as he continued, he looked straight at Thrall again. “We shall speak at length at a later date, Warchief.”
“I welcome that, honored Prophet,” Thrall said, bowing his head once again.
His glowing eyes slipping shut, Velen returned the gesture. And with that, his image faded away as the magic circle dissolved.
Intense, whispered conversations erupted from all corners of the hall, completely ignoring the draenei bowing and heading over to sit down. They ceased only momentarily as Thrall and Jaina stepped down from the stair to stand on the wolf skin laid out directly aligned with the throne. Thrall raised his voice, calling immediate silence.
“I am not even going to pretend hoping that there will be no disagreements with these many factions represented here tonight. So when the inevitable happens and you start arguing with somebody, do the civilized thing and take it to the Ring of Valor. That’s the training arena, for those of you who visit for the first time.”
He said it with enough lightheartedness that it earned a few laughs, even though some were more nervous than the others. That set the bar for what level of nonsense would be tolerated.
Smiling still, Thrall sat down together with Jaina. With that, the celebration finally got started.
While everyone began to settle down and food was served, a troll and a human in dark armor were let inside of the throne room after speaking with the guards. The two of them moved along the wall, earning a few glances but as the guards let them pass they were largely ignored. Over where the humans were seated, however, emissary Southstone caught sight of the two and followed them with his gaze as they moved closer.
As they reached the back of the humans’ assembly, the troll muttered something to the smaller man, who answered in a low voice. They nodded to each other, then the troll continued towards his own people, where he joined the guards standing behind them. The human, on the other hand, stepped forwards and sank down on the empty space beside Thomas.
He took off his helmet and placed it on the floor, running a hand through his sand blond hair and smiling faintly.
“Sorry I’m late,” Collins whispered.
“I was getting worried,” Thomas said in a low voice.
Collins smiled a little wider and made a small motion towards the trolls.
“I had a friend keeping me company,” he said. “There was nothing to worry about.”
Though he nodded and was about to leave it at that for the time being, Thomas paused when he noticed that something was off with Collins’ leather armor. At his sides and from the look of it also on his back, the material was darker than the rest. This was also the case with most of the protective gear on his arms and shoulders. That had not been so before, as far as Thomas remembered.
“What happened with your armor?” he asked.
In a flash, Collins’ face was blank and strict.
“I fell in the lake,” he said, his voice neutral.
“Fell in the lake?”
“Yessir.”
Thomas opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again.
“It’s fine,” Collins said. “I dried pretty quickly in the sun.”
For a moment Thomas closed his eyes, then he just shook his head and motioned for Collins to help himself from the big plates of bread and meat. At a better time, there could be questions. Maybe, if the paladin decided that he actually wanted to know.
Thrall waited for a while before he started to carefully relax, making sure that the dinner was getting going in a civilized manner. The placing of each group ensured that insults flung at an opposing side should be heard across the entire room – for better or worse – but at least for now, it remained peaceful. At first, the conversations remained within each group itself, but it didn’t take long before those of the same main world faction turned to their nearby allies.
This gently broke when a draenei turned to a tauren sitting within speaking distance and politely addressed him. The horned head turned and big, calm eyes watched the draenei for a moment. Then the tauren spoke.
They were far too far away for Thrall to hear a single word, but the curious expressions of both men spoke enough. Either the tauren knew Common or the draenei Orcish; either way, they did not seem to have any troubles communicating. Very soon, the people sitting closest to them noticed what was going on and leant in to either listen or take part in the conversation.
It continued in the same vein – no voice rose over another in anger.
Thrall heard Jaina breathe out, and when he glanced at her she met his gaze and smiled in relief. He nodded, smiling back although both of them knew that this hardly guaranteed that the rest of the night would run along as smoothly. But it was a very good beginning.
Allowing himself to feel a little bit more at ease, Thrall raised his goblet of wine and tapped it against Jaina’s as she held up her own. Still, both of them only drank a little bit, with no intention of emptying more than one goblet.
As the dinner continued without incident, Thrall finally sighed inwardly, sent a silent prayer to the spirits, then looked up and signaled at the guards at the door. One of them saluted and slipped out.
He couldn’t hold it off any longer, and it filled him with a vague sense of dread. Which, in turn, made him feel guilty. He couldn’t help it, though.
“I truly hope that it wasn’t a bad idea to let Vol’jin busy himself with the entertainment,” he muttered to Jaina.
She lowered the slice of meat she had been taking bites from and swallowed.
“Do you really think he has planned something?” she asked, frowning.
“No, no, nothing like that.” Thrall glanced at the door. The guard had returned, and outside a group of trolls were lining up in the torchlight. “But I don’t put it past him to have some mischief in mind.”
Jaina started to say something else, but a deep, dry note flowing through the air cut her off. The discussions all over the room died down and people looked around towards the door. A troll woman dressed in a white robe entered, walking slowly while playing a long, wooden flute. White and pink flowers had been braided into her teal hair, and though she walked carefully there was a faint sound of clattering beads for every step she took.
Four men of her kind followed her, each of them carrying a small drum under one arm. Halfway into the room they took a synchronized turn and sat down in two pairs on the floor, setting the drums between their knees.
The woman continued to the middle of the floor, where she stopped moving but kept playing. Each note was long, soft, the sound like that of the wind blowing through the hollows in a mountain and bearing little resemblance to the crisp sound of a metal flute.
One of the drummers began a slow rhythm, weaving it into the flute’s music.
Another troll man stepped into the room, shirtless but wearing pants as well as a sweeping loincloth. Each one of his steps and little motions corresponded to the sound of the drum as he moved. He sidestepped, circled outwards but always kept his eyes on the woman and always moved towards her albeit slowly. The rhythm changed, the others joined in to build up a slow crescendo. The man reached the end of his half circle motion, walking straight towards the woman with cautious movements, always following the drums. She kept playing, ignoring him even as he slowed and kneeled in front of her.
One last slow note from her flute and the drums stilled. She lowered her instrument and looked down at the man before her. The silence invited clapping, but the expectant tension did not.
Another beat began, low at first but rising as the woman reached up and pulled a single pink flower from her hair. The moment she dropped it into the man’s outstretched hands, all four drummers slapped down on the drums with a powerful thump. More than one person in the audience gave a start.
To the sound of the drums, ten more trolls of both sexes marched in while the first couple remained still as statutes – only one motion or step for each beat of the drums. It was not quite walking and not quite dancing, but somewhere in between. The men were all dressed like the first male dancer, except their clothes were a little darker brown. The women wore slanted grey skirts and just well enough matching cloth over their chests to keep them from being immodest.
The woman in the robe flicked her whole arm, and the flute spun backwards through the air only to be caught by one of the approaching men. He in turn threw it further back without looking, to a woman at the end of the line who tossed it to one of the drummers.
Sharp teeth gleaming in the light of the torches, the first woman shook off her robe to the sound of rattling beads.
Suspicious of Vol’jin as he still felt, Thrall tensed the moment the robe began to fall – but the lead female dancer wore just the same clothes as her sisters, only in a lighter hue. Strings of beads clashed and clattered around her neck, arms, waist, the sound melding into the rhythm of the drums.
She made a few slow, lazy motions with her arms, while her male counterpart ducked around her and kicked the robe aside – all gracefully, to the beat. The others spread out, the women mimicking the motions she made.
They paused, a moment of silence as the first male dancer handed the pink flower to one of the other women.
The beads around the woman’s waist clattered, no others, and she winked at Vol’jin.
Another clatter, and this one did not end. It rose and fell in waves, matching not only that one woman’s movements, but all the trolls’.
An entrancing chaos followed.
The women stayed in one place, their arms enough to transfix the audience with their graceful, slithering motions. Their bodies moved as if no part was linked to another – when their hips swung, everything above that hardly moved at all and vice versa. All alluring smiles and gazes blazing over the audience.
And meanwhile, the men were all over the place. Far from elegant, but there was a certain majesty about the way their gangly arms and legs swept about. They sidestepped, leaped, spun – and somehow, no matter how radically different their dances were, the men’s movements matched the women’s. Throughout all this, that one pink flower wandered from hand to hand, sometimes thrown and sometimes carefully passed on, always through skill or wonder avoiding to get ruffled.
The mind boggled for the first few moments of watching the dancing, until one managed to see how it all remained aligned to the sound of the drums. A low sweeping kick along the floor corresponded with a twist of an arm, a swing of the hips matched a leap.
That first man remained close to the first woman, moving around her in wider or smaller circles. The two of them stayed in the front center, their hands touching occasionally as he whirled past close enough.
All of a sudden he moved back, closer to the other dancers, and the flower finally found its way back to his hand. Again he spun outwards, towards a certain part of the audience–
With a flick of his wrist he sent the flower flying through the air, and it would have landed in Tyrande’s lap had she not snatched it between two fingers as it came towards her. She turned her silvery eyes at the troll with a long eyebrow rising.
He bowed at her, smirking, and backed into the whirling crowd of dancers.
Vol’jin caught the look Thrall threw his way, and innocently waved his hands. The Warchief was about to growl in exasperation, when he felt Jaina’s fingers tapping his arm. As he looked at her she nodded towards the night elves, lips twitching.
Under the hesitant looks of her guards, and ignoring the snickers from all over the room, Tyrande turned the flower over in her hands a few times. Then she shrugged and, with a smile that bordered on a tiny smirk, stuck the flower behind her right ear.
This would have been a perfectly graceful handling of the situation, if the trolls had just let it die right there. Instead, the male main dancer leaped forwards again and threw a kiss at the High Priestess with very pronounced wink, before returning to the dance without a hint of losing his rhythm.
Large parts of the audience dissolved into laughter and thankfully, after a moment of looking caught between amusement and annoyance, so did Tyrande.
She might have been pacified thanks to a glance to the side, and the sight of the Warchief leaning forwards with his face in one hand. Beside him, Jaina could not hold back her laughter, although she contained it to soft chuckles.
Vol’jin, though mainly concerned with laughing at the night elves, cast a look at the two leaders. Seeing Jaina shake with her mirth, the aging troll actually grinned wider despite himself. Although uncertain about whether or not he felt disappointed (childish as he could admit that was) at Tyrande’s reaction, he found himself feeling pleased at seeing the human mate of the Warchief take the joke so well.
It was strange. It had been exceptionally silly, but it helped. After that, everyone seemed to be far too amused to even think about being tense. As the evening wore on – with far more restrained troll singing and dancing – no arguments broke the peace. The drinking was kept at a reasonable level, aided by the servants alternatively bringing fruit juice and wine.
Well into the night Thrall finally declared the celebration to be over, and he and Jaina thanked everyone for being there. Tactfully, both of them didn’t bring up the lack of fighting – the lack of that spoke for itself. One by one, the visiting groups left – whether to sleeping quarters provided inside Orgrimmar, or teleporting to Theramore.
It was a miracle, in no small way.
Even if the official celebration was over, Orgrimmar kept going. One could not expect a city like that, especially full of goblins and trolls, to let a good party end before daybreak. Standing by the window together with Thrall in his chambers, Jaina listened to the sounds of laughing and music from below. The moons shone down over the cliff sides, but the city was alive with bonfires and dancing bodies.
She expected Theramore was very much the same in that moment, defiantly joyful about something so strange as a human noble marrying the Horde Warchief.
Neither one of them spoke. There was too much relief for that. Too great the euphoria.
Jaina leaned against Thrall and he drew her in, their warmth mingling and merging.
It was a miracle.
They stood together for a moment longer, before Jaina reached out and closed the shutters, closing out the cold moonlight and the dancing illumination from below. The rest of the night was theirs alone.
