I thought wench was the traditional word for these settings. Weii could probably look up a thesaurus anyway.
Thanks for the suggestion guys, but I had already figured out “harlot” on my own. 
I just thought that it was cute that Word was so politically correct.
Despite being dead to the board for quite a while, I’ve still got a pulse. I’ve just been insanely busy with finishing my education. Trainee period GO… well, last week GO. Then it’s ten weeks of final project thing and I’m good to go, woo!
And I’m sorry for being scarce for everyone else too. Hope you’re holding up okay down in Greece, Rig.
Aaanyway…
The shock of that gave everyone in the corridor a chance to notice that the door was open and that they were getting glares. The female Kor’kron turned away from Thrall’s stern look, her movements tense with rage and her fists opening and clenching. After a moment, the Theramore guard took a step back.
Rather awkwardly, those who had gotten in between the fight backed off too, glancing between the fighters and the people in the door.
Jaina barely noticed it, and later it would make her lips twitch – right then she only vaguely registered Thomas’ mumble.
“Thank you for your help, Lady Ta’sih,” he said, glancing up at the troll mage.
Ta’sih raised her furry eyebrows at the title. Then she smiled, although a little stiffly still. At that point however, Thomas had already looked away, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t see the way she studied him.
The air hung tense between and within the three groups. Somebody had to place or take the blame.
In the end it was Tandred who acted first, crossing his arms and taking in a deep breath.
“It warms my heart that you would defend my sister’s honor,” he said, “but I must ask you to not speak that way about my brother-in-law.”
For a moment, Jaina was certain that she must have misheard. But if she had, then everyone else must have heard wrong too, judging by the expressions on the others’ faces. Even Thrall looked taken aback.
The Warchief caught himself quickly, though, and turned to his guards.
“For the sake of avoiding this kind of thing, you two should return to Orgrimmar,” he said. “I will return shortly.”
“Warchief–” the male Kor’kron started, hesitantly. He fell silent under Thrall’s even gaze.
“I doubt that there is anything here that could harm me,” Thrall said.
The female Kor’kron turned her head briefly towards him, then quickly away again. She did not attempt to speak again. The muting spell could still in effect, but her silence weighed heavier than that.
Thrall nodded to Ta’sih, who caught the hint and raised her hands to summon another portal. As it shimmered into existence, the two Kor’krons stepped towards it, their armor clanging and clattering.
Satisfied with that, Tandred started to close the door. Just before it shut, the offending Theramore guard muttered a hasty, stuttered apology in a hoarse voice. It went unanswered but for a nod from Tandred.
He let go of the door and turned around to face the other three in the room.
“Let’s… let’s not talk about what I said,” Tandred said, his voice probably as calm as he could make it. He glanced at Jaina, then away and back again when her shock finally let up enough to allow her a faint, but warm and grateful smile.
“As you wish, Admiral,” Thrall tactfully said.
“Thank you.” Tandred turned around fully and decisively returned them all to the more important subject at hand. “What were you saying when we were interrupted, Jaina?”
She turned serious, as did Thrall and Aegwynn.
“Yes. Now…” Jaina took in a deep breath. “Everyone there heard what he said about Arthas and me,” she said. “The way I reacted, too…” She had to pause to subdue her own unease, watching Thrall slowly nod understanding. “He gave us an argumentative weapon to use. I don’t really want to lie about what happened in the past, but if we add a new shock about Arthas to the news about Ner’zhul…” She looked at Aegwynn. “Like you said before, the view of him as a hero is already broken. And so, if I claim that he was never so noble as people thought, it will be hard for anybody to claim that he was simply corrupted by an orc.”
“Both a corrupt orc and a human, indeed,” Thrall said. As Jaina nodded, he thoughtfully looked at her. “You can claim that Arthas hurt you, and the people who were in Grommash Hold will doubtlessly believe it. But how would you make that known?”
“I will have to, somehow…” she trailed off, rubbing her temple.
Her mouth ran dry at the thought of standing there, looking down at the people of Theramore and ask them for their sympathy, for a horrible fate she had not suffered. She briefly wondered if it would have felt better or worse if it had been actually true. Then she felt foolish for even considering that, when it only could have been far, far worse.
“No,” Aegwynn said. She got the others’ attention immediately, and smiled as she took one of Jaina’s cold hands between her old, wrinkled ones. “It’s not a disgraced woman’s duty to reveal her agony. That will only create pity, and we want outrage.”
She smiled a bit wider.
“That duty falls upon those who should defend the disgraced woman’s honor.”
‘-‘
The cloud-veiled sunlight of the late afternoon didn’t warm Theramore much, but the wind carried from the ocean was not chilly. The people gathered before the citadel didn’t need to worry about freezing. It was probably the last thing on their minds anyway. It had been a sudden call by the town criers to come to the citadel, but the abruptness also held a spicy note of something important happening. Rumors were already spreading about Lady Proudmoore having been asked to speak with Lady Sylvanas. The people had already been gravelly shocked a few days ago at the unexpected wedding. What might it be this time? Nobody seemed to know either, neither town criers nor city guards had been able to share any information no matter how many times they were asked.
The air was abuzz with excitement, tinged with both worry and burning curiosity.
“Citizens.”
The voice snapped off all ongoing, whispered or loud conversations as all eyes turned towards the balcony high above the ground. Up there, an armored man flanked by two Theramore guards stepped forwards so that everyone below should be able to see him. Many a new, curious whisper started when people took in his blond hair and the green and golden Kul Tiras tabard he wore.
“For those of you who do not know me, I am Lord Admiral Tandred Proudmoore, brother of Lady Jaina Proudmoore.” Just like during the sudden wedding ceremony a few days ago and Jaina’s speech to the people of Theramore afterwards, a spell amplified Tandred’s voice to make him audible to everyone below.
He looked and sounded admirably calm, considering the task set before him.
“There are things that my sister feels you need to be made aware of. The reason that I am addressing you in her stead, is that she suffered such a heavy blow today that she is unable to do this herself.”
The curious air was instantly snuffed out. A fearful murmur rose as the audience stared up at Tandred.
“She is well, physically,” Tandred hurriedly continued. “It was not that kind of blow. Today, my sister and her husband were forced to face the Lich King, through a magical link.” The last few words were almost drowned out in the gasps and outcries of shock from below. Tandred continued, a bit louder. “Though he attempted to attack them, they both fought back until his link was broken. However, two things were revealed during this. The first one is that the Lich King is former Prince Arthas of Lordaeron, combined with a second spirit. The other thing–”
He grasped the stone railing of the balcony with one hand, his entire body tense. The new wave of murmurs, born from the mention of Prince Arthas, settled somewhat. Breathless. Anxious.
“The Lich King sought to bring my sister off balance,” Tandred started again through clenched teeth. “To accomplish this, he revealed the most heinous thing, a painful secret she has borne silently for years. For her sake it should have remained that way, but Prince Arthas saw fit to revel in his crime, in front of my sister’s husband and everyone else who was there.”
The murmur was rising again, with a mix of confusion and fearful outrage. Some did not yet understand, and some did but didn’t want to believe that their Lady Proudmoore could have been treated so horrifically.
“I know now that Prince Arthas,” Tandred said, his voice icy and hard, “was no better than a drunkard felon, with no respect for a Lady’s virtue.”
He had prepared them well. The crowd near exploded.
There were cries, and shouts, and roars of fury, not only from the civilians but also from the shocked city guards, none of which had known either. The same noises came from inside the citadel too, from the open windows where more guards, as well as servants, messengers, ambassadors and many others were also listening.
Tandred let it go on for a few seconds before he raised his hand.
“Order! There is more,” he called.
He had to repeat himself more than once, in a rising voice, before he was heeded. Even then, it took a while longer before the rage began to settle to where the seething people seemed prepared to hear anything else.
“That was only part of what was made known earlier today,” Tandred said. He made a motion to his right and then moved sideways as if to make room. He sounded calm again, though that was surely thanks to him mentally preparing himself for saying this. “The rest of it, you should hear from my sister’s husband.”
A hush fell over the unruly crowd, jaws falling open at the sight of the bulky creature stepping up beside Admiral Proudmoore. His heavy footsteps seemed to ring through the air, with or without the sound enhancing spell.
“Citizens of Theramore.”
Warchief Thrall paused, and the silence stretched as before their eyes, he worked his jaw.
“I would have wanted to speak to you of better things, the first time I stood here. Yet our enemies did not allow that. Seeing the Lich King himself was shocking enough, but what he revealed just to torture…” He fell silent, and his huge right hand rose, clenching into a fist. As he continued, his voice fell to a growl. “I am too furious to say anything invigorating to you all. Only this. I swear that he will pay dearly, along with the filthy second half of the Lich King.”
People were exchanging glances and whispering amongst themselves again. But they listened when Thrall continued.
“I will admit I knew about it, because just a few days ago Lady Proudmoore told me the truth herself, in the strictest of confidences.” He softened his tone towards the end, to imply that she had shared this information so that he might act accordingly about it. When he went on, though, his voice hardened again. “It was not a secret he had any right to tell.”
The whispers started again. It was a boiling cauldron of low voices, hissed opinions and questions stirred into a brew where it was impossible to read anything specific. The general tone, though, was definitely upset, but – and this was right in that moment the most important thing – not at the orc standing on the balcony. Shocked as everyone already was from Tandred’s speech, seeing their Horde Lordship standing there unannounced was not as alarming as it might have otherwise been. At least for now, they accepted him. And this was the first time, creating a solid ground from where future acceptance of this orc as their Lady Proudmoore’s husband could grow stronger.
In the next few minutes, he had to risk that groundwork.
“Bear with me now, because I will tell you all a tale that will not at once seem relevant,” he said.
Then, he told the people much of the same story as he had told Tandred earlier, about the orcs’ fall to the Legion. Within the crowd, occasionally there would be somebody making a comment or starting to say something loud. Almost every time this happened, somebody else would hush at them.
The people listened. Confused, but rapt.
“And Ner’zhul, it seems,” Thrall finally said after finishing the tale, “is the second half of the Lich King, returned to attempt to damn us all again.” He raised his hand when the brief, breathless silence just started to erupt again. “We faced a common enemy together once, you and my people. I only ask that you remember that too, as you consider all that you have learnt today. We faced that demon and his Scourge, and we were victorious.”
He took a step back. Before the eyes of the muttering crowd, he briefly nodded to Tandred.
“Admiral.”
Tandred nodded back.
“Warchief.”
It was a tiny thing, really. But the people were reeling from all the things that suddenly had been thrown at them, trying to sort out what it all meant, where to even start trying to understand it. In that confusion, the final image was of the Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras and the Warchief of the Horde being cordial to each other – in the face of much more sinister things than factional hatred.
There had been shock and fear, and those things still lingered. But the Warchief’s last words were those of good, strong hope, and so was the sight of that simple little exchange between him and Tandred. It was as if a sigh of relief went through the crowd. There were no cheers when Thrall walked out of sight and into the citadel, it was not the time for that, but the tone of the rising conversations was not at all condemning.
Jaina waited inside the room adjacent to the balcony, together with Aegwynn. She very pointedly had avoided looking at the also present guards throughout the speeches, but she could feel their gazes on her. At least by a fraction, she managed to relax when Thrall met her gaze. They did not speak, however, considering the things that had been said out there. Anything they wanted to say would have sounded very odd after all of that, in front of an audience. Jaina merely reached out and put her hand in Thrall’s when he offered it.
Tandred joined them a moment later. Looking unusually serious, Aegwynn raised her hands and dissolved the spell that had amplified the speakers’ voices out on the balcony.
“I will speak with you later, then,” Tandred said as soon as Aegwynn motioned that it was safe to talk and not be heard by the entire city.
Jaina managed a small smile and a murmured “thank you,” to which he briefly smiled back before heading towards the door. Later, she would tell him how grateful she was, as well as impressed by his rhetoric skills. She would have expected nothing less from Thrall, but she had not been sure if Tandred would be comfortable in the speaker’s seat. However, he had performed amazingly well. At that moment, though, she was grateful for his tactful leaving.
The closing of the door behind Tandred still left Aegwynn and the guards, though. Jaina looked up at Thrall, with all her might fighting down a sigh.
“There are things in Orgrimmar I must attend to,” Thrall murmured. His tone and his gaze said everything about how he felt about it. How they both felt about it. Yet, it was true, painful as it was.
Jaina nodded, unable to keep the motion from being a little stiff. She had to struggle against a wish to lead him back to her chambers and lock the world outside. It would be too selfish of both of them, especially when he had already stayed away from the Horde’s outrage for longer than he should have.
His thumb longingly stroke her knuckles.
“I know,” Jaina said in a low voice, squeezing the edge of his hand. “I’ll see you later on.”
She was about to say “in the evening,” but didn’t as it might be wishful thinking. Who knew how long the awaiting issues might take?
The door opened, and Messenger Ta’sih literally sneaked inside, her bare feet making nary a sound. She watched Thrall for a sign, and only spoke enough to call forth a portal once he nodded at her.
Jaina briefly met his gaze one last time, then glanced the other way when he walked through the portal and disappeared. Her hand tingled from the ghost feel of his.
‘-‘
The following hours were torture. Never in her life had Jaina experienced time dragging on so horribly. She paced in her bedroom, glancing at the magical rune on the desk every other second. Had the day played out differently, she would have had something to do. Certainly, there were a lot of things she could have done, like seeing upset petitioners about everything that had happened.
However, now she had to play the distraught woman who didn’t wish to see anybody for the rest of the day. Very often she had dreamily thought about a few hours of free time, but enjoying it now was impossible. She couldn’t concentrate enough to read reports, much less to do some leisure reading, or think of anything else to do. Not even teleporting to the beach where she normally let loose her anger at rocks and drift wood seemed appealing.
Frustration and boredom ate away at her. All she could think of and do was to wait, and that drove her insane with irritation. In any other situation, she would at least have a chance to take action on her own. Only being able to wait for Thrall to get away and call for her was an utterly aggravating experience.
It was a circumstance forced onto her, and the fact that she had still had a large hand in it herself didn’t offer any comfort.
When the rune flared up, she almost stumbled over a chair when she dove for it. She snatched the stone up and had to force herself to pause to gather her wits before continuing. Teleporting in such a frenzied state of mind was never a good idea.Okay, finally got around to reading it.
The female Kor’kron turned away from Thrall’s stern look, her movements tense with rage and her fists opening and clenching
Maybe lose the “and” before “her fists…”? It’d scan better.
“I doubt that there is anything here that could harm me,”
I’M MEAN AND GREEN, PUNY CREATURES. Running with the spirits probably does no harm either.
The muting spell could still in effect, but her silence weighed heavier than that.
may have still been in effect?
So, Jaina and co. are pulling an inverse Fair Helen? Will they be marching out or is it a general call-to-arms speech cum damage control? One has to wonder though how good an idea is it for Jaina to play the “poor me” angle (it’s a blow to her image as a leader – think of the polls! Would people believe an undead leader anyway?).
The door opened, and Messenger Ta’sih literally sneaked inside, her bare feet making nary a sound.
“without a sound” obviates “literally”.
Teleporting in such a frenzied state of mind was never a good idea.
I like how teleporting is somehow the equivalent of driving here.
Anyway, good to hear from you, Weiila. Is that the trainee spot in your city’s archives? It is to be expected that important level-ups require some grinding, but at least you’ll squeeze some extra MP out of the deal.
I’m doing fine down here; the country isn’t doing that well. I’m waiting for replies to see where will I do my Master’s (curiously, I didn’t find any programs for Master of the Universe, which disappointed me a bit) and doing book/publishing stuff meanwhile. I’m also putting off cataloguing my library (previous index got lost between computers) and playing Baldur’s Gate 2 on and off. And stuff.
… oops.
I’m trying to get another chapter churned out today, and then I realized that I never got around posting the end of the last one here. New material coming up soonish, but for now…
After taking in a couple of deep breaths, she closed her eyes and focused, holding the rune tightly between her hands. The world spun around her in a flood of tingles, but she stood firm being so used to the spell.
She opened her eyes as soon as she felt and breathed the warm air of Orgrimmar. Doing so, she found that it had been doubly wise to compose herself before teleporting, for as it turned out, Thrall was not alone in his chambers.
Standing straight and stiff, her heavy helmet under her arm, was a female Kor’kron Elite. Her gaze instantly darted to Jaina, who in turn sought Thrall and turned her face towards him.
“Good evening,” Thrall said, his voice calm as he absently dropped his own rune on his writing table. Jaina noticed his fingers twitch as he stepped closer, though.
She nodded back, just as distractedly dropping her rune in a pocket.
“This is Harka,” Thrall continued as he stopped beside Jaina, motioning towards the Kor’kron. “She was in Theramore earlier today.”
The one who had gotten into an argument with the human guard, then.
“I see,” Jaina said. She paused, uncertain what to say next. However, the female orc quickly brought her own issue forwards.
“I wanted to apologize to you as well, Lady,” Harka said, steadily watching Jaina. “When that man accused the Warchief of something like that, I couldn’t control myself.”
Jaina relaxed slightly, shaking her head.
“No,” she said. “I believe there is far more reason for me to be angry at my guard, not you.”
Harka’s hand clenched to a fist, then forcefully relaxed.
“And, Lady, especially after–” she started, but cut herself off, looking disturbed.
Jaina shook her head again, lifting her hand towards Thrall. His slight scowl eased and he smiled down at her.
“Such an accusation is mere nonsense,” Jaina said, firmly. “The Warchief has always been very considerate of me, as with everything else.”
A spark of relief flared in Harka’s eyes before she managed to subdue it. Jaina kept her face impassive, because sadly it did not surprise her that much. She and Thrall had, after all, early on concluded that it was better for her own people to think that the marriage was a sacrifice for the cause of peace on her part. That his people would suspect the same was only to be expected, even if in Thrall’s case that harmed his reputation.
“Of course, Lady,” Harka said, taking a bow. “I thank you for your time.”
“It was my pleasure,” Jaina replied.
Bowing her head once more to Thrall, Harka turned around and briskly walked towards the door. Her boots beat a steady staccato, which to Jaina’s ears only seemed to become louder and louder for each step.
Ten paces left to the door. Nine. Eight…
It was ridiculous, because it was not a long way to go, but the orc woman never seemed to reach the door. Drawing out the moments it would take before they would finally, [i]finally[/i] be alone.
Five paces.
Four. Three. Two…
Harka reached the exit of the chamber and stopped. She stretched out her hand and grasped the handle, drawing the door open and absently nodding to the two Kor’kron guards standing outside. Then she walked through, turning halfway in mid-step to draw the door shut behind her.
The thud of the wood closing up the opening in the wall had hardly hit the air before Jaina spun on her heels towards Thrall, half diving and half torn into his – lamentably armored – embrace. He bent down and without a sign of strain hoisted her up into his arms. For a moment she winced and shifted uncomfortably when some blunt edges of his armor bit into her body, but she soon found a semblance of balance. That was all secondary, however, as she wrapped her arms around Thrall’s neck and pressed her forehead to his when he leaned in.
For a little while, neither of them spoke. Jaina’s breath came unsteadily, in shaky gasps. By contrast, Thrall breathed deeply, turning his head to press his nose against her cheek. One of his tusks pushed against her jaw line, all the dents and imperfections fully felt and so wonderfully personal, so much him. Like his earthy scent which filled her nostrils for every steadying breath, the familiarity soothing her, just like he seemed to enjoy the scent of her right then. Closing her eyes she stroke his face, feeling the warm skin beneath her fingertips, playing with the black, coarse threads of his beard.
Thrall moved the arm that supported Jaina’s back so that he could hold up his hand. She opened her eyes to look, seeing him hold the tips of his thumb and pointing finger a mere breath apart.
“I was this close to ordering her to run out,” he said.
Jaina blinked, then laughed softly and pressed her hand against his cheek.
“I wouldn’t have blamed you at all if you did,” she murmured.
A warm hum left his mouth, but he fell silent when her hand drifted down to his neck. At first he did not move, but then he tilted his chin up to let her see. There was no mark left after the chain that the Lich King had chafed Thrall’s spirit wolf – and by extension the Warchief himself – with just a few hours ago.
He was alive. Light, he was alive, when for a few horrifying moments she had thought that he might lose. She had to suppress a sudden shudder, an echo of the terror at how close it had been. Ducking in she nuzzled his throat, pressing a kiss to it. Thrall softly grunted and shifted his grip again, holding her closer if such a thing could be possible.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, rubbing his gloved thumb against her back. “After using a shield like that…” He trailed off. Nothing else really needed to be said about that.
“I drank a lot of water,” Jaina said, then admitted, “but I’ll probably have a headache tomorrow.” She straightened, smiling slightly and shaking her head. “It’s nothing.” It really wasn’t. “How about you?”
“I’ve had time to recover, even if it was draining.”
For a moment it seemed as if he would leave it at that unless prodded, but then he suddenly made a motion towards his neck, curling his pointing finger to draw an invisible line over his no longer marked skin.
“I truly did not like that at all,” he said in a quiet voice.
Jaina’s chest tightened at this simple admission and all that it carried within. How blind of her to let that drown amongst the universal shock and her own pain – what a collar and chain around his neck must have sent tearing through Thrall’s memories.
She reached around and hugged him tightly again, perhaps childishly hoping to chase some of that phantom pain away with the warmth of her arms.
It was disquieting to say the least, how the Lich King managed, with such ease, to strike their most sensitive nerves.
“But you didn’t let it bring you off balance,” she murmured. Wishing she could think of something more encouraging to say.
Thrall gently squeezed her against his chest.
“I had to,” he said.
There was no reply she could think of to that truth, so she simply hummed. That had been why she managed to hold the protective wall up for so long, too.
They both stayed true to the unspoken agreement not to speak of what the whole day had meant for the bigger picture, for the politics and their people. Right then, both of them needed so desperately to be allowed to care only for each other’s well being.
A growl from Thrall’s stomach, heard despite the mighty armor he wore, broke the heavy silence. Their eyes met. Jaina’s lips twitched involuntarily, but in the next moment Thrall smiled and they both relaxed.
“Did you have dinner yet?” he asked.
“No.” She shook her head. Food had seemed a very distant issue for a long time. She still couldn’t claim to have a great appetite. “I would be fine with just a bit of fruit, myself.”
He nodded understanding and shifted, slowly letting her slip down out of his grip until she stood on the floor.
“I anticipated as much,” he said and gestured towards the furs on the floor, where they had sat and ate together a few times before.
Jaina glanced that way. She hadn’t even noticed that there was a big plate with cold meat, bread and fruit already waiting, preoccupied with other matters as she had been.
“I’ll be right there,” Thrall said, brushing his hand over her shoulder. That said, he moved towards the scaffold where he let Doomhammer’s armor rest when not wearing it.
Following his unspoken urging, Jaina went to sit down on one of the soft furs, but she didn’t touch any of the food. Instead she waited for him, watching as he relived himself from one piece of armor after another with skilled fingers.
It was not a long wait. Soon enough he crossed the floor again and sat down beside her. Strange, really, she reflected – that it did not make her as impatient though it took much longer than Harka’s excruciatingly drawn out walk.
Even so, it felt as if she could finally breathe easy when she could lean against him and he draped his arm across her back. He didn’t have to move much to reach the plate of food, retrieving a generous slice of bread and a heavy branch of grapes. With a small, playful smile he let the branch slide down to dangle from his little finger. Jaina took it as he offered it like that, chuckling softly. When she looked up at him, though, his expression was more serious.
“I don’t know if you want to avoid that subject,” Thrall said, his warm hand gently squeezing her side. “But I’ll keep wondering if seeing Arthas was more shocking to you than you want to admit.”
There were times, Jaina knew from past experience and now discovered once again, when Thrall’s perceptiveness was almost too great. Yet, she also knew just as well that certain things needed to be faced and fought through before they could be laid to rest.
Still…
“I’ll recover,” she assured him. She met his gaze and let her face and shoulders relax, smiling faintly. She gathered the bunch of grapes in one hand, stretching her other arm around Thrall’s back. She could hardly reach across it. “I will want to talk about it, but not right now. I don’t want him in our bedroom.”
That made Thrall chuckle, but there was a warm undertone to it and a glint in his eye which told her that he recognized her choice of words in that bizarre final sentence. It was the first time that either of them referred to his chambers as something they shared. In retrospect, it seemed to have taken longer than it should, but at the same time, it took the time it needed.
Jaina closed her eyes and rested her temple against Thrall’s side, breathing deeply. The day had been painful, and frightening, and if she could have one wish granted, it would be that this healing, much needed evening would be as long as the previous hours had felt.The thud of the wood closing up the opening in the wall had hardly hit the air before Jaina spun on her heels towards Thrall, half diving and half torn into his – lamentably armored – embrace. He bent down and without a sign of strain hoisted her up into his arms. For a moment she winced and shifted uncomfortably when some blunt edges of his armor bit into her body, but she soon found a semblance of balance. That was all secondary, however, as she wrapped her arms around Thrall’s neck and pressed her forehead to his when he leaned in.
Getting sappy after a long day? edit: Though I was listening to this at the time.
How blind of her to let that drown amongst the universal shock and her own pain – what a collar and chain around his neck must have sent tearing through Thrall’s memories.
You could emphasize that part perhaps through hints when it happens. By the way there are playthroughs of Warcraft Adventures online.
You know, I thought you had ended this one, perhaps because you were so focused on it for a time. I think the main fault of the story, all in all, is that it seems ever expanding, without many cuts (or off-camera time) so it can breathe.
Haha, and I get a bit exasperated because my reviewers just want more focus on the cuddling. I’ve even gotten complaints at the lack of the phrase “I love you”.
There’s been a lot going on this spring with my education and job etc, so that’s why I’ve preferred working on the shorter stuff if anything at all.
It’s almost done, and the next chapter is a little bit of a breather hopefully, before we get to the celebration and then move on to the epilogues. 
-I love you when you are repelling demonic hordes, darling.
-Oh, honeycakes, you know how I feel about the word “horde”.
:thud:
This is a very wordy chapter, so let’s start it off with some of that famed cuddling to make all the chatter go down in the most de~lightful way!
Waking up was not a welcome sensation. It meant awareness. That in itself was not a bad thing, not when it brought the scent and warmth of Thrall’s skin. Unfortunately, the next piece of awareness was that of it being morning, with the ever impending time to part.
Jaina reluctantly stirred.
Thrall’s thumb brushed her forehead, stroking away some stray strands of hair. She wasn’t surprised to realize that he had probably been awake for some time. Wondering how long he had been just lying there waiting for her to wake up made her smile, eyes still closed, and roll over on her side to press against the warm wall that was his chest.
His hand whispered over her shoulder and to her back, staying there and holding her close.
“Morning,” Jaina mumbled, opening one eye and only seeing a shadowed expanse of green skin.
Thrall hummed in the negative.
“It’s still early,” he murmured. Pressing her forehead to his throat lightly, she could feel the words vibrating inside. “Far too early to rise.”
She turned her head a bit, enough to take note of the light filtering in through the shutters of the windows. It was crisp and clear, signifying that indeed it was early. But, that wasn’t normally a reason not to get out of bed once they were awake.
It was an excellent idea of Thrall’s to linger a little longer, though, so protesting against it was the last thing on Jaina’s mind. A sudden small gust of wind found its way through the shutters of the closest window and disturbed the warm air of the chamber. Not much, but it tickled the bare skin of Jaina’s shoulders and upper back. With a soft grunt she pulled at the blanket and dragged it higher up over herself and Thrall’s arm.
“I agree,” she said, sinking back against him and closing her eyes again. “I’m sure everybody expects us to be a little late today, considering everything that happened yesterday.” She grunted again, an unusual hint of rebelliousness in her voice. “And if not, then let them wait anyway.”
She didn’t want to get out of bed, she didn’t want to go out and be a politician and be proper and pretend to be struggling against her pain for some of the revelations yesterday. There were enough real things that had happened during the last day that had almost torn her apart. One of them being the excruciating wait for when the two of them could finally be together, to heal in peace. She was far from sure that there had even been enough time to heal yet.
Thrall’s hands were around her then, hauling her upwards over the mattress as he moved back a little to look her in the eye, smiling softly. It brought her out of the cocoon of the blanket, but she could forgive him for that. His warm fingers and palms made up for it, though they dotted her skin with goose bumps for entirely different reasons than the sliver of wind.
“I wish we could afford to be selfish more often,” he said.
There was an undeniable wistfulness in his words, but also that determination to not let the much needed respite from last night end just yet. Jaina nodded slowly, her eyes hooded as she reached out to tuck a long strand of black hair behind his ear. Last evening when he’d pulled the leather cords and metallic bracelets holding his braids free, they had laughed about him letting his hair down.
Her fingers lingered, tracing his pointed ear. Thrall released a slow, soft sigh and his eyes slid shut. Jaina stroke her fingertips down the ear and followed his jaw line, then pressed her hand against it, level with his squat, pierced nose and protruding fangs and tusks.
She thought about how beautiful it was to see him relaxed, free of the almost ever present lines – whether it be from determination, concern, or anger – on his forehead. Yes, she too wished that they could be selfish, that she could see him like this more often and know that he was at ease.
When she reached forwards he drew her closer, so that she could drape one arm over his neck. His blue eyes opened just as she pressed her lips to his brow.
Even if they could not be selfish as often as both of them wished, they had at the core of it already been as selfish as they could possibly be. This whole situation should have been impossible. It should have been hopeless. And still, she would come to his chambers again in the evening. They would celebrate together tomorrow, in broad daylight.
There were a thousand things that could go wrong at any given moment, many things had already gone wrong or threatened to end in disaster. But right then, just for once, Jaina didn’t care. She didn’t even have to make herself brave enough to face all the current and possible future issues, because she wasn’t worried – the sober, ever present concern that was like a second nature to her dissipated with the simple and at the same time astounding fact of where they both were. They had this warm little moment in time. It would not be the last.
One of Thrall’s hands left her back, and a moment later the back of his fingers brushed against her cheek. Then there was a slight push, hardly more than the caress. Light as it was Jaina moved with it, tipping herself until she slumped onto her back. Thrall propped himself up on one arm, reaching the other to place that hand on the mattress by her opposite shoulder.
“It strikes me,” he said, “that many people will drink a lot tomorrow, and consequently suffer hangovers the next day. So much, perhaps, that we can sleep in again.”
Jaina smiled wide.
“Your wisdom is truly one of your most outstanding attributes,” she said, using the same jocularly overly dignified tone as he.
For a moment they watched each other, lips twitching. Then Thrall’s expression softened and he shifted, moving his weight to the other arm until he leaned over her. His long hair slipped over his shoulders and fell down like a pair of curtains against the world.
Jaina reached up with both her hands, burying her fingers in the base of those black cascades of hair, drawing little circles with her fingertips that caused the thick locks to ripple.
She felt a stitch of that anxiety from just a few days ago, when he looked at her like that. It was dulled, though, as they had already passed the hindering worry. It was there, but not enough to make her anxious. It would fade completely soon. Being together was simply still a very new act, and all the little issues and compromises had not yet been explored.
There was a thrill in that as well.
“I’ve been trying to remember why I protested so much when you first suggested this alliance,” Thrall said, with an unusually impish glint in his eye.
Jaina tilted her head, spreading her hair further over the pillow.
“Why would you try to do that?” she asked, lips twitching again. As she spoke, she moved her leg until she could brush it against his.
Thrall’s shrug upset his position and his hair alike.
“It seems so strange to me now,” he said.
“Yes, it was rather silly of you, wasn’t it?” Jaina knew she smiled wider than she ought to in order to look dignified, but what did it matter?
“Very,” Thrall said, grinning as he leant down and pressed his forehead against hers. They both left it unsaid that there had been so many problems born from his protests being deflated.
No matter what had happened after, even the Lich King’s assault, had been worth it.
‘-‘
The sun was still low in the east when they finally rose. They parted with a promise to meet early in the evening, since there were some things they needed to go through for the celebration.
When Jaina returned to Theramore, she quickly dressed properly and then took off towards the throne room to begin her own final preparations for the next day.
Everything was going smoothly by every report. Two ships had sailed to Ratchet yesterday to collect the pigs that the Warchief had promised the people of Theramore for the celebration for the wedding. A mage had now teleported from the ships straight to Theramore to announce that everything was in order.
Down in the city the final touches were put on the ribbons and garlands decorating almost every nock and cranny. The shocking revelations yesterday might have put a lid on the festive spirits – but then again, those spirits were muddled with shock and confusion from the very beginning. Now, there was at least new confidence that the Warchief did care deeply about their Lady Proudmoore, and that by extension offered a promise of protection for the entire city state.
Such matters kept Jaina busy until it began to near lunchtime, when it was brought to her attention that the delegation from the Exodar had arrived and were ready to meet with her. After instructing that they should be shown to the audience chamber, Jaina hurried there herself.
Polite greetings were exchanged, before she bade them to sit with her around the large table.
The six draenei were uneasy. Strange, actually, how they did little things that were easy to read, even when they were beings from an alien culture. Tails swished back and forth down the sides of their chairs, and more than once one of the men and women reached up to rub a facial tendril between clawed thumb and pointing finger. They hardly touched the light food that had been served after they sat down.
The sun that shone in through the windows glittered on the plate armor three of them wore. They were vindicators, but two of the others were shamans and the last one, one of the females, wore a blue mage’s robe.
Jaina couldn’t blame them from being nervous. Even if they had volunteered and surely had their reasons for daring to do so, visiting Orgrimmar was still an intimidating thing. If she was honest with herself, she personally preferred simply appearing in Thrall’s chambers. Also, when it came down to it, she had not seen much of the city itself either.
“You are all admirably brave for taking up this task,” Jaina said, smiling in a way she hoped was reassuring enough. As if anything could be reassuring enough with such a situation looming before them. “Prophet Velen must have great faith in you, as well.”
That did at least make them smile.
“Most of us have aided the communal defense of Shattrath City,” one of the male vindicators said, then nodded towards the shamans, “or worked closely with the Earthen Ring for some time.”
He paused and exchanged glances with the others, as if silently asking if he had to be the one to say it aloud. The mage took that burden off his shoulders.
“Even so,” she said, her accent deepening slightly as she tensed further, “I am sure you understand that it is an intimidating thing.”
“I assure you that you will be perfectly safe in Orgrimmar,” Jaina said. “You have my and my husband’s word on that.”
“We are grateful for that, Lady Proudmoore,” the vindicator said, but his smile was still a little tight.
Jaina could tell that there was little she could do to calm them apart from official promises. She couldn’t sit down together with them and talk about what it meant at length. Actually, she probably could not properly grasp what it meant. Even if they had made alliances of convenience with Horde in Outland, they would walk right into the capital of the people who unleashed genocide upon the draenei. Not to mention that there [i]were[/i] certainly people in Orgrimmar, and any Horde settlement, who wanted nothing but to slit their throats.
Who wanted to slit her throat too, when it came down to it. And they weren’t about to become any happier, either.
She pushed those disturbing thoughts away.
“If you have any questions, you can direct them to myself or to Emissary Southstone,” she said. “He is Theramore’s envoy to Orgrimmar, and he has experience meeting peacefully with orcs even alone and in their territory. I am certain that he can help ease any concern you have for tomorrow evening.”
“Ah, there is one thing…” the mage started. She paused and glanced at the others in silent question. Glowing eyes turned back and forth, all six of them trading looks until finally one after another they nodded.
The mage cleared her throat.
“We have of course heard about the horrifying incident with the Lich King yesterday,” she started.
Jaina pursed her mouth, but she was more surprised than disturbed that this subject was suddenly brought up.
“Yes?” she said, not unkindly.
“The Prophet heard about it too, of course, as we spoke about this issue before we all left the Exodar,” the mage continued. She folded her hands on the table. “In light of that, it is perhaps audacious to make this request, however…”
Jaina listened, and her eyebrows rose steadily as the brief, yet incredibly heavy, request was spoken. She did not dare glance at the guards in the room, but she expected more than one jaw hung loose.
Finally, she slowly nodded, feeling her heart flutter in her chest. She felt light headed. It was an amazing thing. She needed a moment to gather her wits.
“I will speak with the Warchief about it,” she said, fighting to keep her smile small. “Even considering what occurred yesterday, I doubt that he will turn such an offer down. I can say with full certainty that he fully understands this graciousness you are extending and values it with the awe it deserves.”
The mage’s shoulders fell in relief, and she nodded, smiling. One of the shamans leaned forwards.
“A lot of people will be upset,” she said, but though her tone was sad, she smiled briefly. “However, this is a wedding celebration, and it is hope for peace. We have…” she paused. “I won’t lie, Lady Proudmoore, we all have terrifying memories from Draenor. But all of us here have seen orcs trying to make amends.”
Jaina slowly nodded, her high spirits dampened somewhat from the mention of what the orcs had wrought upon not only one but two worlds, under demonic influence.
“A lot of people are already upset by what happened a few days ago in Ratchet,” she said.
… next I have to write nelves. GODDAMMIT D:
Heh, if this fic was a game, it would have covered half a dozen of genres already. I think you need a chapter on captaining the ship that will transport the pigs to cover all bases (and of course an anatomy of the pigs for the obligatory literary reference).
It was an excellent idea of Thrall’s to linger a little longer, though,
Doctor, rephrase stat!
[strike]Also,[/strike] when it came down to it, she had not seen much of the city itself either.
Rephrased and fixed, Sir salutes
Aaaand chapter done. Effing finally.
One of the shamans opened his mouth to speak, when there was a knock on the door. As Jaina looked at her and nodded, the guard by the door opened it. A servant stepped inside and bowed.
“The High Priestess Tyrande has arrived with her escort, my Lady.”
Jaina nodded and turned to the draenei.
“Would you mind if they were also invited in here?” she asked. It would be beneficial to have the two groups meet early on since they would go together to Orgrimmar. Still, she wanted to be polite.
The draenei were only eager to see the night elves as well, and a few minutes later Tyrande entered followed by a few sentinels and a couple of druids. The female warriors were all in armor while the druids were dressed in more relaxed robes, but like the draenei they had all left their weaponry before coming to the chamber. They brought with them a faint scent of leaves and sap.
Tyrande herself wore her soft white dress adorned with smooth teal jewels. Still, the way she moved was ever reminiscent of that warrior queen riding atop a white tiger, who Jaina had met during those insane, painful months years ago when the desperate alliance of orcs, humans and night elves were made.
Although tall for a human woman, Jaina still had to look up to meet Tyrande’s gaze. The glowing, silvery eyes seemed alike those of the draenei, but at the same time the shine was very different.
“Welcome to Theramore, High Priestess,” Jaina said and bowed her head in greeting.
Tyrande nodded back.
“Elune be with you, Lady Proudmoore. I am very happy to see you again, dear friend.” Her tone was calm, and if she felt some concern about the next day she did not give it away.
Being in full armor, the sentinels chose to remain standing when Jaina bade the night elves to sit.
“Do you have any questions for tomorrow?” Jaina asked while new plates of sweet bread and fruit were served around the table.
“Is the decision still that we will teleport to just outside the Warchief’s Grommash Hold, then spend the evening inside?” Tyrande asked. Then, when Jaina nodded, she continued. “Good. There has been some disappointment that we will not see more of the city.”
A sardonic glint flashed in her eyes. That disappointment had certainly not originated from people hoping for a better look on Orgrimmar for peaceful purposes.
“I am content with and respect the Warchief’s decision on this matter,” Tyrande finished.
Jaina nodded. It was something that was non-negotiable, but she felt glad to have Tyrande state her understanding out loud.
“I wish to assure you that security will be tight,” Jaina said, looking also at the draenei. “The Warchief’s own Kor’kron Elite will guard the Hold, and he has asked tauren of the Cenarion Circle and Horde shamans of the Earthen Ring to stand by as well. He hopes that this will help you all feel more comfortable.”
“The Warchief is very considerate, I must say,” Tyrande said with a smile. She exchanged a nostalgic glance with Jaina while the draenei murmured agreement.
Jaina nodded, then hesitated for a moment. She wasn’t quite sure how to properly convey this message, but it needed to be spoken. Even though it seemed both silly and worrisome.
“I have understood that Vol’jin of the Darkspears volunteered to see to the entertainment in Grommash Hold tomorrow,” she said. “The Warchief assured me that he had given strict orders about not doing anything, ah, too extravagant. The trolls are well aware of how important this celebration is, too, and they would not do anything that would harm the situation. Still, the Warchief would like to apologize in advance if there’s any little mischief.”
Thrall’s exact words had been “though he tries not to show it, I’ve never seen Vol’jin so enthusiastic about something like this and it’s making me nervous.” It was enough to make Jaina feel wary as well.
Tyrande’s lips twitched just the faintest bit.
“I appreciate your and the Warchief’s concern,” she said. “We will have to be prepared for some joking, then.” She turned briefly towards her entourage. The Sentinels and the druids didn’t look very amused at all, but one after another they stiffly nodded.
The draenei mostly looked politely confused. Unfortunately, explaining the issue of insistent troll and night elf romance rumors, would not be politically correct. If they didn’t know of it now, they surely would sooner or later anyway.
“We are both very sincere about wanting this celebration to be peaceful,” Jaina added.
This time, Tyrande smiled.
“As it should be,” she replied. “It is a wedding celebration.”
They concluded the meeting shortly after that, as both the draenei and the night elves wished to rest for the coming day. Also, they surely also wished to keep mentally preparing themselves for visiting Orgrimmar, but nobody admitted that.
Jaina was glad to finish the meeting, and it was with a feeling of lingering relief since both groups, while nervous, had been positive about the whole thing.
There were still a few things she needed to do as well.
“Call for Emissary Southstone, and his guard Reed,” she told a servant as she headed back to the throne room.
She had time to work through a few more simple messages and orders pertaining to the celebration before the two men arrived and were let in.
Emissary Southstone was a tall man, as suited a paladin. The man standing beside him looked very small in compare, about one head shorter, and with a much thinner build. His sandy blond hair laid in thick locks around his head, giving him a bit of a boyish appearance.
Even wearing leather armor, he certainly did not look like the rogue he was.
“You wished to see us, Lady Proudmoore?” Thomas said as both of them saluted.
“Yes,” Jaina said. “I wish to ask you to spare your bodyguard for tomorrow morning.”
Thomas glanced to the side, but Collins Reed only saluted again, his face unreadable.
“With Emissary Southstone’s permission, I will do my outmost to complete any task you ask of me, Lady Proudmoore,” the rogue said.
“I would never be so bold as to refuse such a simple request, my Lady,” Thomas agreed, looking back at Jaina. He could not hide the flicker of curiosity and confusion in his gaze, unlike his friend.
Jaina nodded. She felt a little bit cruel, suspecting neither of them felt they could have protested, even had she told them the issue beforehand. It was a quite unsettling job she had in store for Collins. However, she knew of none in the Theramore espionage force who could be better trusted to handle themselves peacefully should a bad situation occur, nor had the language skills to talk themselves out of something should it be needed. If all else failed, the man also had his background in a neutral faction to fall back on.
“While the celebration of the marriage is tomorrow evening, we will finalize the Warchief’s and my wedding in orcish fashion in the morning,” Jaina said, and they nodded understanding. “It is mainly for the orcs, and it will take place in Orgrimmar’s Valley of Spirits. Officially, I will be the only human there as it is a heavily symbolic thing for the orcs.”
This was what she had alluded to when Tandred asked her whether the Warchief’s marriage was not important enough to require more ceremony than the actual wedding had involved – when she told him that they would complete what Drek’Thar had said in Ratchet, that she had proven worthy to be part of the Frostwolf clan. She wondered how long she ought to wait before telling him everything the ceremony to finalize her mating with Thrall would entail. He would probably be a bit disturbed.
“The Warchief has prepared for tight security, but just as another sign of the cooperation between our nations it would be suitable to have at least one of Theramore’s defenders aiding the Horde sentries. There will be handpicked guards of the Shadows of Orgrimmar watching over the perimeter, and I wish that you take part in their mission.”
Thomas suddenly looked uneasy, but Collins calmly nodded.
“I am honored for your trust, my Lady,” the rogue said.
“I will call for you tomorrow morning, then,” Jaina said with a nod. “The Shadows commander will assign you a position before the ceremony begins.”
“As you wish, my Lady.”
She dismissed them, and they left the audience chamber.
Walking down the corridor outside, Thomas gave his friend a worried look.
“Collins–”
“A bit of trust, please,” Collins interrupted him, smiling wryly at the Emissary.
“You know I trust you, but I don’t trust everyone who will take one look at you and decide you’d make funny sounds if they tossed you against the cliffs.”
Collins snorted and shook his head.
“There’s no way they won’t have somebody watching my every step,” he said, then patted Thomas’ arm. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring daggers with paralyzing drugs to be on the safe side. Besides…” he grinned wickedly. “Most of the Shadows are trolls. We like trolls, don’t we, Tommy?”
Thomas’ ears turned beet red. Coughing, he looked the other way. Therefore he didn’t see his friend’s grin falter, but return immediately as Thomas looked back.
“Stop teasing me about Lady Ta’sih, it’s getting annoying,” Thomas said.
“Sorry, sorry. I promise I’ll stop,” Collins said and waved his hands in a pacifying gesture. Even so, Thomas did see his lips curl when he called the troll mage ‘Lady.’ Knowing well how seldom his rogue friend showed any emotion involuntarily, the paladin wasn’t sure what to make of Collins’ reaction. Deep down in his gut he felt a stitch of disquiet he could not place.
Back in the audience chamber, Jaina was about to ask if there were any messengers or emissaries asking for her to meet with them, when a guard entered and saluted. Once she bade him speak, he lowered his hand.
“Lord Admiral Proudmoore has returned from Kul Tiras and wishes to see you in private, my Lady,” the man said. “He waits in his rooms.”
Jaina blinked in surprise, but then nodded.
“Very well, then I will see him immediately. Inform anybody waiting for an audience that I will return shortly.”
It was not far from the audience chamber to the rooms that Tandred had been given, but curiosity forced Jaina to struggle against a wish to run or simply teleport there. But she had to mind herself and give a composed impression, and so she walked, followed by a pair of Elites. The guards stopped outside as the ones by Tandred’s door immediately let her in.
Tandred was standing by one of the windows, gazing outside, but turned around when the door opened. He came to meet her halfway across the floor, his greeting smile absent and marred by a small but concerned frown. The door closed.
“I didn’t even know that you had gone to Kul Tiras,” Jaina said, the question apparent in her tone. She did not like that look on his face.
“It was a sudden decision, and you were very busy as it were. Still, I’m sorry,” Tandred said. He rubbed his chin, rustling his short beard. “I received word via a mage that Mish- Captain Waycrest had returned to port, and, you know there were many things I wished to discuss with her and my advisors.”
Normally Jaina would have smiled at him almost calling the Captain by her first name, but she was still uncertain where this was going.
“And what were the results?” she asked.
“We could not reach any solid ones, not on such short notice. They had not gotten used to the news.” Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t think they were at all pleased with the decisions I’ve already made. But, I did tell them everything I could, as well as I could. I would like you to make an official visit and confirm things, later.”
“Of course,” Jaina said. She watched him, the pain in his gaze that he tried to keep down. It must have been a struggle for him to wrangle with his advisors and fear that even Mishan Waycrest would think him mad. She wanted to ask him if the Captain had told him anything between four eyes later on, but didn’t feel it was appropriate.
“But,” he said, and straightened up with a new look of determination. “It took a lot of arguing, but we did decide on one thing.”
“What then?” Jaina asked. She couldn’t help the guarded note in her voice, unsure as she felt.
“I’ll have to discuss how to go about it with your husband,” Tandred said, and he pursed his lips in a grim smile. “But I have a wedding gift for you and him, and his people.”
Now did this chapter get anything except transition and foreshadowing done?
Well it did hint at Collins’ hopeless Orgrimmar-sized man-crush on Thomas, so hey.
Tyrande herself wore her soft white dress
This dress must really suffer in the forest. How much mana would a Clean Clothes take?
I like how the elves speak in a soothing way. But then again I think Lord Admiral Proudmoore sounds impressive because I hear these things in the voice of the ridiculous Warcraft 2 VA.
So cruel to split a pair like Thomas and Collins. Tsk tsk, miss writer.
Gaaaah this took foreverrrr. Why is it taking so long, Rig, WHYYY?
… I mean apart from my senseless unwillingness to finish things.
And it’s still just a third or so of the chapter.
Drums sounded in the early morning throughout Orgrimmar, calling all orcs to take part in the ceremony in the Valley of Spirits. It sounded well in advance so that people had time to gather there before the event itself started. The city was already coming alive then, and people filled the sloping roads leading up to the lake.
Orcs of all ages congregated along the water’s shore, but there were also people of other Horde races among them – though in particular trolls and Tauren. Very few Forsaken and blood elves were present. The non-orcs were more noticeable, however, as they moved into and onto the troll huts built on the lake if they could, to get a better view. No orc even attempted to stand anywhere but along the shore though, even if they had to stand in multiple rows.
As the sun fully rose above the cliffs, the sound of a horn reverberated between the stone walls surrounding half the lake. People closest to the road down to the north of the city quickly moved aside to make way for Drek’Thar, aided to find his way by a marginally younger far seer. The two of them led a group of several shamans and far seers of the Frostwolf clan.
Drek’Thar stepped into the water and the others followed, creating a half-circle around him as he turned towards the city. His aide joined the others, leaving the old, blind orc to stand tall and waiting, as all of them did. Only the wind, the cries of the birds above and hushed conversations could be heard, despite the great amount of people gathered. They were all waiting.
Drums sounded again, but a different, expectant beat this time, and drawing closer. Kor’kron Elites and yet more shamans crested the road’s downwards slope to become visible to the crowd, riding grand wolf mounts at a brisk, even pace. The spectators moved further aside, letting the guards line up, creating a safe pathway towards the lake.
Then, the Warchief and his mate came riding the same way, followed by additional guards.
The ornaments on Thrall’s armor gleamed in the rising sun, and he rode a great, pale grey Frostwolf Howler. Beside him, the pure white Snowsong kept an even pace with the other wolf, carrying Jaina on her back.
The fact that Thrall was not riding on his own wolf mount was a bit jarring. However, Snowsong was the only wolf that both he and Jaina trusted to carry her without a fuss, since there had been little time to train another wolf to accept a human rider. While not used to carrying humans, Snowsong at least knew Jaina and therefore accepted the whole thing cordially.
Jaina kept her head high, and, she hoped, her face calm without a hint about the trepidation she felt. There was so much that could go wrong today. At least, she knew Thrall was just as tense as she. They had to just take one moment at a time and hope for the best.
She didn’t feel completely comfortable in her current clothing either. She wasn’t used to wearing leather. While modeled to look reminiscent of her choice of wear, there were no sleeves and the skirt felt very heavy to her. It also forced her to sit in a sideways saddle, as the alternative had been to have it split at the sides – which either would have meant she showed her bare legs to half of Orgrimmar or had to wear pants beneath, something that would have made the clothes stifling. Even in the soothing warmth of the morning, she already felt hot.
Thrall had it easy – though she didn’t doubt that Orgrim’s armor was heavy, at least he was used to wearing it and orcs much preferred heat.
Still, she had to look calm and proud. There was no alternative to that. Even though the braid her hair was set in, and the metal rings and leather cords holding it together, made her head feel heavy.
Reaching the shore, both she and Thrall dismounted and stepped into the lake. The water playfully lapped around their feet for every step, feeling pleasantly tempered. It reached halfway up to Jaina’s knees by the time she stopped in front of Drek’Thar. Thrall continued forwards another couple of steps and turned around, to stand facing her beside his old teacher.
Drek’Thar made an imposing sight even when standing beside the taller Thrall. There was weight in his posture despite his grey hair and aged face. The fold over his blind eyes strangely served not to make him seem weaker, but actually stronger. Everything about his calm, serious expression and posture underlined what strength existed in him, who had risen and garnered such respect among his people despite his blindness.
A flighty thought flew through Jaina’s mind, wondering if Thrall had begun wearing his hair in two thick braids falling down his broad chest just like Drek’Thar, in respect for the old orc.
She pushed such thoughts aside and moved her feet apart, reaching back to pull her mage’s staff from her back. The large green gem set at its tip briefly flared up at her touch, until she silently commanded it to cease. With a splash and hard clack of wood against stone she planted the staff on the rock beneath her. Then, she knocked a fist to her chest in an orcish salute.
“I am Jaina Proudmoore,” she called out. “I offer my hands, my weapons and all the strength in my body to the Frostwolf clan.”
They had agreed that it was better to hold the whole ceremony in Common, rather than to have her try to learn all the Orcish words and risk butchering them in such a weighty moment. And in a touch of tact, they had also agreed to remove the invocation of her ancestors’ blessings. Indirectly calling upon Daelin Proudmoore’s approval seemed more than a little out of place.
She couldn’t define what it made her feel, standing there in orc clothing, speaking such strange phrases, before Thrall and Drek’Thar with as good as every orc in Orgrimmar watching. The words were odd in her mouth, and yet at the same time they lifted her, offering an exhilarating rush of rebellious power. On one level this, as much as their wedding, was her and Thrall’s personal mutiny against the voices crying out for war between their factions.
It had an unavoidable political level too. The warmth and pride in Thrall’s eyes, though, assured her that he felt the same about this moment.
Her offering her loyalty to the Frostwolf clan did of course create new complications. There was the question of the battles in Alterac Valley, and this technically put her on one side of that conflict. However, the agreement for Warsong Gulch offered hope for the situation in the Eastern Kingdoms too. It would be dealt with later on.
“You have proven your might and loyalty to all of us, Lady Proudmoore,” Drek’Thar said, his powerful voice echoing between the cliffs. “With the blessings of the spirits, as leader of the Frostwolf clan, I accept your fealty. May your power merge with the strength of the entire clan, and aid us in crushing any enemy who would dare to threaten us.”
He offered his strong, old hand and silently for now, Thrall did the same.
“You do me honor, chieftain,” Jaina said. She handed her staff to one of the shamans standing by. “From this day on, call upon me should you ever need my strength.”
With that, she placed one hand in Thrall’s, and one in Drek’Thar’s.
An infant orc would have been carried into the water by her parents and presented to the clan, then accepted by the chieftain and blessed by the elder shaman. But, though this was a symbolic act of rebirth for Jaina, she was not an infant and equating her with one would be jarring.
She leaned backwards, holding Thrall and Drek’Thar’s hands until they were the only things keeping her from falling. They continued, lowering her into the clear, sun warmed water of the shallow lake.
The water closed over her face and Jaina closed her eyes, holding her breath for the few seconds that passed before Thrall started to straighten again. Jaina quickly squeezed Drek’Thar’s finger to signal to him to move as well. Even if she had pinched her lips shut as hard as she could, as soon as she drew breath again she tasted the light metallic tang of the water, brought on by its resting place on Durotar’s orange rock ground.
Water filled her ears for the first moments as she was lifted up again, turning the cheers of the crowd into a hollow, rumbling echo. She tried not to think about that many probably sneered and snickered at the audacious little human looking like a drowned rat. But as she let go of Drek’Thar’s hand and Thrall offered her his other one, his lips moved in a whisper and a gust of wind poured around Jaina, helping to at least start drying her. The heat of the day would quickly do the rest.
“Your devotion cannot be questioned,” Thrall said. “As we have in the past, let us stand together and defend what we have built up ever since we fought back Archimonde’s legions.”
“I will fight by your side whenever you face an enemy, Warchief.” Jaina couldn’t help purse her mouth in a brief, grim smile, and Thrall squeezed her hand in response. The memory of the Lich King flew by like a cold shadow. Jaina pushed it aside with all her might. “Let us keep bridging the tears between our people.”
The shaman holding Jaina’s staff handed it back to her, and she slipped it back into the holders of her back piece.
The cheers rose up again as together, she and Thrall walked back to their wolves and climbed back into the saddles. They waited for a little while, though, as Drek’Thar mounted a well-trained frost wolf and joined them. Then the three of them started down towards Grommash Hold, surrounded by Kor’krons.
Already one could hear the sounds of laughter and music from the city below. Whether or not people agreed that this whole thing was a good idea, the general agreement seemed to be that it was a good reason as any to drink and have fun.
By the time the long line of people got back to Grommash Hold, Jaina’s clothes were almost completely dry. The leather took the longest, though, still clinging to her even as the procession reached the entrance to the fortress. It restricted her movements somewhat, but luckily she didn’t have to move that much.
There was so much to think about that Jaina almost forgot, but it struck her just as she dismounted Snowsong and caught sight of an orc in dark leather armor speaking with one of the Kor’krons by the entrance to Grommash Hold. She could not speak with Thrall about it right away, though, as they were surrounded by people and worry about a single person would be out of place. She pushed it aside for the time being.
The shamans and far seers, as well as orc commanders, led by overlord Saurfang, came down the sloping road. The latter rode on wolf mounts, while the former rushed along in the form of mighty spirit wolves. Other far seers as well as Thrall’s advisors such as Eitrigg stepped forwards at this point as well. All of them gathered outside of the Hold, and followed Thrall, Jaina and Drek’Thar as they headed inside.
Vol’jin was not present, with the excuse that this was an orcish part of the celebration, and he still had to make sure everything would be perfect for the entertainment for the evening. Jaina could tell that Thrall was growing increasingly worried about that, and it was contagious. But it was yet another thing they had to keep ahead of themselves, and hope that Vol’jin had enough sense to keep his people under control.
The throne room had been cleaned up well from the Lich King’s assault, so well that no trace of the cuts in the floor remained. The great fur carpet presenting a huge map of Kalimdor had been removed, not only to be repaired but also as an act of tact towards the people who would visit later in the day. It might otherwise invoke the idea that from his throne, Thrall always surveyed land to be conquered. Fresh, thick wolf and bear skins had been laid out along the edge of the floor instead, for the guests to sit on.
On the walls hung new banners for the occasion – blue ones emblazoned with the Frostwolf clan’s white wolf’s head in a circle, and, looking rather alien in this environment, white ones with Theramore’s golden anchor.
Inside what was usually a large meeting chamber, a feast had been prepared to be served in honor of the Warchief’s mate being sworn into his clan – though a light one by orc standards, considering it was so early in the morning. Greatmother Geyah and a few Mag’har orcs were already waiting in there, Thrall’s grandmother having been teleported to and from the Valley to at least spare her frail body that trip.
As they sat down at the head of the table, Jaina finally had time to whisper to Thrall.
“Whatever happened to Reeds?”
She had not seen the rogue since the two of them arrived in Orgrimmar and she went with Thrall to prepare for the ceremony. Collins, on the other hand, had headed off together with an orc and troll rogue of the Shadows of Orgrimmar.
Thrall blinked at the question, proving that his mind must be as abuzz as her own. It visibly took him half a second to remember who she meant. Jaina had really only wondered where the man had gone, but Thrall muttered to one of the orcs walking around offering bread from a large basket. The tall woman nodded and wandered off, whispering to one of the guards by the door.
A little while later another servant returned from a round near the door and announced in a low voice that Emissary Southstone’s body guard was with the Shadows. Just knowing that was enough for Jaina, and she took the issue off her mental list of things to keep in mind.
The meal went well, though Garrosh Hellscream’s less than pleased expression was a dark cloud. He kept his peace, however, possibly because he was seated between Geyah and Saurfang. Or perhaps Thrall had shared the idea he had grumbled about to Jaina earlier, that he was tempted to have Garrosh drugged just enough to keep him sitting straight but too far gone to speak, if need be.
Well, if you consider how it started and how many stages it has gone through, it is normal that you wouldn’t have the urge to complete it as soon as a shorter work. I know you’ve had it outlined since the beginning, but if you compare the introduction to that part about Kael’thas to the politicking to the engagement and marriage ceremonies and the battle with Arthas, they are significantly different. So perhaps because you cover a lot of different ground, you might be viewing it as a series of shorter works and not as a single work that won’t feel complete until “THE END”.
Orcs of all ages congregated along the water’s shore, but there were also people of other Horde races among them – [STRIKE]though[/STRIKE] in particular trolls and Tauren. Very few Forsaken and blood elves were present. The non-orcs were more noticeable, however, as they moved into and onto the troll huts built on the lake if they could, to get a better view. No orc [STRIKE]even[/STRIKE] attempted to stand anywhere but along the shore[STRIKE] though[/STRIKE], even if they had to stand in multiple rows.
Two many thoughs and howevers 
aided to find his way by a marginally younger far seer
Ha!
Drums sounded again, but a different, expectant beat this time
You could remove “but”.
Drek’Thar made an imposing sight even when standing beside the taller Thrall. There was weight in his posture despite his grey hair and aged face. The fold over his blind eyes strangely served not to make him seem weaker, but [STRIKE]actually[/STRIKE] stronger. Everything about his calm, serious expression and posture underlined what strength existed in him, who had risen and garnered such respect among his people despite his blindness.
Your writing seems slightly unsure in the beginning, but I’m very pleased with the way it assumes the tone the occasion calls for from this paragraph on.
The memory of the Lich King flew by like a cold shadow.
Evokes LOTR a bit more than it should, doesn’t it?
It visibly took him half a second to remember who she meant
Whom, no?
The meal went well, though Garrosh Hellscream’s less than pleased expression was a dark cloud.
Heh, “the meal went well” doesn’t jibe with the tone of the fic. OTOH, it was the last paragraph. Just change it to something like “Garrosh Hellscream’s less than pleased expression was the sole dark cloud upon the meal”.
Yeah, I didn’t at all plan for it to become this long, even though I had mapped out all the parts I wanted to put through the plot. The meat of it just kept growing and growing. Besides, it’s been going for over two years, it’s little wonder my style has evolved.
Fixing team go!
Two years? I would have never thought that, but now that you mention it…
At least I won’t feel bad when I forget something that has occurred:P
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.
Saturday night update?
Again Jaina felt very glad that she had change skirt,
Not even he could keep a sliver of emotion in his voice, however slight.
From his voice?
Considering my state of mind while I finished up the last pieces here (telling myself I’d finish before midnight come hell or high water despite having worked late), I’m amazed those are the only mistakes you found. Thanks as always
I read it after returning home, so I wouldn’t trust me there either.
You are welcome of course.