Wednesday: Before the Storm
Well...it seems that my fanfics are growing at an exponential rate, lol. I guess I had way too much time on my hands this week, because this got a little TL;DR. I hope people still enjoy it.
As always, suggestions and concrit are greatly appreciated!
OMG can't wait for Icecrown! ♥
Title: Before the Storm
Pairing: Thrall/Jaina, maybe some Varian/Jaina
Written for: 7dayschallenge, Wednesday
Before the Storm
Wednesday: Wednes Dei or Mercurii, associated with Woden (Mercury), god of material possessions and enjoyments. In some traditions, Woden was also linked to music and singing. In Northern Europe, he led the "Wild Hunt," a band of ghost riders bringing omens of change or destruction (thunder). In Japan, 水曜日, associated with the water element.
He looks tense. Jaina studied the lines etched on Varian's face: jagged marks marring an otherwise handsome countenance. She followed his gaze to the arena floor, her stomach sinking as she watched the alliance champion Jacob Alerius drop his sword at the feet of the hulking yeti, pained not by the sight of the man being flung against the wall but by the way it reflected in Varian's eyes. He winced, and she looked away, creating a glass of water and placing it on the ledge in front of him.
"Our champions will stand victorious," He lifted his stare to the conjured beverage, straightening his shoulders as if suddenly aware of her presence. It was clear that he was trying to explain away his tension, directing her from his own haggard appearance, a look that told of hardships beyond her comprehension, to the bloodied face of the gladiator at the ring's center. "This...all of this is a waste of time. We should move our champions against the Lich King before the sun sets. Spending time idly..."
"We have to assemble the best among us if we wish to succeed, my Lord." She kept her voice low, her forced smile wavering as his tortured eyes met hers. "It's like Tirion said this morning."
"My Alliance will never fight beside heathens."
Shaking her head slightly, she bit her bottom lip, quelling the urge to argue as she recalled the agony that had stained his features. She fell silent; the air around them became stifling in spite of the bitter cold, like a bottomless pool drowning them in uneasy reticence.
On the arena floor, the warrior barely managed to subdue Icehowl before collapsing in a mangled heap. Three guards in cobalt tabards rushed to the center of the ring and collected his body, carrying him to a medical station outside the coliseum's door.
A voice on the other side of the stadium broke the respectful silence that had fallen across the bleachers. "Weak, all of them, weak!" Garrosh roared in Orcish, leaning over the railing and mocking the fallen soldier. "This is what happens when you trust Alliance scum with duties meant for the orcs, Tirion!"
Jaina's eyes fell instinctively on Garrosh's seated companion, and his gaze locked with hers, meeting her so quickly that their movements seemed to be synchronized. His face expressed unspoken apology, but also a kind of pain that made her chest ache, and as she glanced down once more at the bloodied arena she remembered something Thrall had mentioned about his life among the humans. She squeezed her eyes shut. It was all she could do to hold back the tears prickling beneath her lashes.
If only they knew how alike they really are.
"Bring out the warriors of the Horde! Lok Narash!"
"That sound." Varian growled, slamming his water down onto the wooden plank, causing it to slosh over the rim of the glass and splatter on the floor. "That monstrous sound."
"Orcish...?" She hesitated, extending her hand to take the glass from his grip before he had the chance to shatter it. "You mean Orcish, my Lord?"
"If you call it that, I suppose. It sounds like the screams of a rabid animal." Venom drenched his words, the glare on his face expressing unadulterated hatred. She felt him watching her from the corner of his eye, and she struggled to wipe the expression from her face, though his snarl indicated that she had only been marginally successful.
"It's..." She weighed her response carefully, breathing deeply to maintain an unemotional facade. "It's just a language, my Lord. It's neither good nor bad. It all depends on who is speaking."
"Yes, I imagine it's different when Thrall speaks, isn't it, Lady Proudmoore?"
His hostile tone left no room for either denial or agreement. It was not meant as a suggestion but as an accusation, and his sudden suspicion sent chills washing over Jaina's body. She sank into her seat, looking everywhere but straight ahead of her, straining to find her voice.
"He...speaks Common with me. My Orcish is sub par at best."
"That's how it should be."
Under different circumstances, Jaina would have been angry. Listening to her king's prejudice jarred her already troubled mind. Everywhere she looked, she could only see omens of impending doom, not at the hands of the Lich King, but because of their own bigotry. But when she studied his face, tracing lines etched by misfortune and anguish, it was regret, not anger, that stuck in the back of her throat.
Lifting her gaze, she glanced first at Varian, and then to Thrall at the opposite side of the stadium. The tension hanging in the air overwhelmed her; the amalgamation of frustration and fear wrapped her in a clammy embrace that had nothing to do with the weather. They were taking one last breath before the plunge, and she wondered how many of them knew how to swim.
"I am going to watch the jousting." Her knees buckled slightly as she rose to her feet. She grasped the back of her chair to steady herself before making her way into the aisle and towards the exit. Her guards made to follow her, but she waved her hand, dismissing them back to their seats. "I won't be long."
Varian barely acknowledged her, keeping his eyes fixed on the fighting ring. An orc emerged from the waiting area, bowing his head not to Thrall but to Garrosh as he brandished the Orgrimmar banner. Jaina rested her hand against the wooden railing, casting one last look across the stadium before turning away, wandering down the stairs and out onto the coliseum wall.
As she stepped out from the covered entryway onto the ledge surrounding the stadium, a rush of icy air crashed against her exposed skin, leaving her body feeling raw. While she had become accustomed to the cold through her work with frost magic, this ice felt different, colder. It was as if all life had been drawn from it, creating a limitless chill like dark matter or the space between atoms: something opposed to existence rather than part of it. Overhead, the sky churned like a cauldron, the rumble of hooves from the jousters fading into the thunder of the restless heavens. She felt as if she were standing in a rift, a tear in the fabric of the universe, a gap in which the unnatural threatened to consume the natural and subjugate it to its own lifelessness.
Pressing her back against the stadium wall, she pretended to focus on two riders on raptors as they cantered around the ring. But the ice numbed her mind, and the jousting became merely a place to look to avoid staring at the Citadel that loomed beyond the peaks surrounding their camp. She felt just as she had that day, standing at the gates of Stratholme and listening to the people's distant cries. It seemed like the fighting between Alliance and Horde was in her power to stop, but there was still one barrier between her and her moral convictions: a wall of loyalties and sympathy that stayed her hand. If only she could stand up to Varian like she had her father. But this time, just as they had with Arthas, her emotions got the best of her.
And look how that turned out. She scolded herself, pacing behind the Argent guards and back to the stadium door.
As she passed the Sunreaver entrance, a familiar voice stopped her in her tracks. “I apologize for his outburst, Lady Proudmoore. I commanded him to behave.”
Whirling around, a small smile spread across her lips, her heart leaping slightly as she raised her eyes to meet his. They studied each other for a moment, Jaina clasping her hands behind her back, struggling to forget the months that had passed since she had seen him in light of the public nature of their meeting. Two guards emerged from the door behind him, and she squared her shoulders, nodding cordially. "There is no need to apologize, Warchief. The misconduct has been two sided."
"I only hope that those who are chosen to fight will cooperate." He approached her, pausing for a moment before moving to stand by her side, clearly trying to find a balance between the closeness of an acquaintance and that of a lover. She maintained a dignified stance, fighting the urge to embrace him as his warmth filled the space between them. "I fear that narrow-mindedness will be our downfall."
She shook her head, following his gaze as it rose to the jagged Citadel spire. "There are many on both sides who are willing to work for peace. It is only a few in power who hold them back. No soldier wants to waste his whole life at war."
"There is..." His voice fell to a whisper, a gentle rumble nearly lost in the pounding of thunder and hooves. He guided her onto the open ledge, and she exhaled as she heard the guards falling back, unaware of the tension she had been holding in her chest until it started to unwind. When they rounded the corner, she closed the distance between them, brushing his bracer with her fingers.
"There is political unrest in Orgrimmar."
Her fingers froze, eyes widening as she scanned his face. "Your people adore you, Warchief."
"Some are unsatisfied."
Closing her eyes, she felt the cold creeping over her once more, this time seeping into the pit of her stomach and churning like the Frozen Sea. "I'm sorry...Thrall. If anything happens..."
"I do not regret my actions. I've always done what I felt was best for them, and I would not take it back." When she reopened her eyes, she found him studying a squad of jousters. They looked up at him, halting and bowing their heads. But there was one orc among their ranks who kept his stare level, his features twisting into a sneer. Jaina felt his eyes scanning her, piercing through her, mentally tearing her apart. Her body turned rigid under the scrutiny, her hand falling from Thrall's wrist.
"I am not afraid for myself. But your name has come up, Jaina..."
She wrenched her eyes from the gawking orc, turning to Thrall and trying to push the onlookers from her mind. She lifted her hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, burying shaky fingers in displaced tresses. Her breath came in short, labored gasps. She managed a weak smile, praying he wouldn't realize that it was forced.
"Please don't be afraid for me," Jaina responded after a pause. She glanced down at the wooden floor, her head pounding as she tried to process all that she had heard. Guilt swelled in her throat, causing her speech to waver, and it was all she could do to hold back the quivers that inched into her voice. "But I'm sorry...for you. I'm sorry for what I have done."
There was another awkward pause, but this time it was Thrall who broke the silence, stepping to the side to create distance between them. "The only thing I regret is putting you in danger." Jaina immediately felt bereft of his warmth. The air between them was a lifeless void; the cold stung her skin, causing her to cross her arms and recoil into her own embrace. "If anything happens to you," he frowned, bringing his hand to his forehead and closing his eyes, "It will be my fault."
"I'm not a child, you know. I've always known the risks." She reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze as she removed it from his face and eased it to his side. Feeling his arm stiffen, she massaged her thumb across his palm, refusing to release her grip until she felt him relax. "Do you think I have regrets? I would never take it back. I've done what I felt was best for my people, as well. You should understand that, Thrall. If we digress, how can we ask anyone to stand against these prejudices?"
"She's right."
Freezing at the sound of another voice, Jaina felt her cheeks become pallid as the blood drained from her face. She grasped Thrall's hand tighter, knowing that at this point there was no excuse to mask what had just occurred. They kept their eyes fixed on the jousting ring, neither of them daring to turn around.
"If you cannot stand by your convictions, you certainly cannot ask your people to do so."
Her initial shock dissipated and recognition took its place. Glancing over her shoulder, she nodded respectfully to the older man, the smile on her lips reflecting her relief. "Lord Fordring."
He returned the nod, remaining with his hand pressed to the coliseum door. "Another elimination round will be beginning shortly." His voice retained its usual formality, but his eyes softened as he glanced between them. "Your presence has been requested, Lady Proudmoore."
"Thank you, Lord Fordring." Releasing her hold on Thrall's arm, she offered the orc one last reluctant smile before wandering towards the Silver Covenant side of the stadium.
But before they parted, Tirion stopped them, studying their faces with an intense gaze. "You will always be welcome among the ranks of the Argent Crusade. If all else fails."
Jaina's smile turned somewhat uneasy, but as she saw another flicker of concern cross Thrall's face, she forced her own features to remain bright. "Thank you, Highlord Fordring. We appreciate it."
As she ascended the stairs and returned to her seat, the reality of Tirion's offer started to sink in. Living in Kalimdor had put distance between her and the Stormwind bureaucracy, and she had come to think of herself as her own ruler. But as she approached her seat, Varian lifted his eyes to meet her. He watched her for a moment before glancing pointedly across the stadium at Thrall and his guards emerging from the opposite stairwell. His eyes smoldered with a mix of accusation, anger, and hurt, and as she sat down beside him, Jaina knew for the first time that he saw her as a traitor.
But if peace were treachery, she would rather die than back down.
______________________________
It took a moment for Jaina to realize why Thrall was studying her with such troubled eyes. Following his stare to her borrowed chest plate and cobalt tabard, she shook her head, trying to tell him that it was only a disguise. But he continued to frown, leading her past the guards and into his temporary chamber.
"Bring us some mead." When they reached the back of the tent, he dismissed his attendant, waiting until he had turned his back before offering Jaina a seat across from his makeshift throne. In front of her, a slab balanced between mammoth tusks formed a table. She removed her helm and chest plate and laid them on the stone surface, reclining on a heap of furs.
Lifting her eyes to meet his, she smiled slightly, extending her hand to caress his cheek. "I wore it to get inside." She felt the tension ease beneath her touch, sliding forward until her waist pressed against the edge of the table. "I decided that standing up for peace between the Alliance and the Horde did not mean giving them more to gossip about."
His eyes slid closed, relief replacing the nervousness that had lined his features. "I thought..."
"I know. I'm sorry to have worried you, Thrall. Leaving my people is not the answer. I will not break from the Alliance unless it becomes absolutely necessary. You must know how I feel."
"I do. I do not want to see you take such a drastic step."
They remained with their gazes fixed on one another, Jaina tracing her thumb across Thrall's cheekbone while he watched the candlelight flickering in her eyes. Every time one leaned forward, the other withdrew, a hint of shyness sparking unexplainable hesitation. Finally, Jaina tilted her head, removing her hand and replacing it with a soft kiss.
"I've....missed you." Her voice fell to a whisper: a murmur nearly lost in the howl of the wind blowing against the tent.
Flushing under the kiss, he moved his hand to cup her cheek, guiding her mouth to meet his. His fingers spread out across ivory skin, his palm exuding a kind of earthy heat that wrenched her from Icecrown's frigidity and to a more welcome place, resting in his arms on a smoldering desert night. She closed her eyes, getting lost in the closeness, sighing as his tusks grazed her lips. The kiss was awkward at best, but it carried a familiarity that silenced her thoughts of the impending battle. For a moment, there was only Thrall and Jaina. No political upheaval, no Scourge, only the softness of furs against her exposed midriff and the feel of his teeth teasing her lip.
The flutter of the tent flap brought them back to the present moment. They separated, each sliding into their respective seats, averting their eyes as the attendant placed two stone goblets of mead between them. Steam danced above the rims, rising with ghostlike grace in the deep contrast of the lamp light. Jaina waited for him to take a drink before picking up her own mug and bringing it to her lips. The rich aroma wrapped her in a different kind of heat: one that painted the room with a bronze glow, a heady warmth that intensified as the liquid slid down her throat.
Thrall waited until he heard the tent close again before he continued. "I was impressed by what I saw in the ring today." Resuming some measure of formality, he sat taller in his chair, his words taking on the hackneyed quality of a conversation between two leaders. "If we can coordinate our troops, we have a chance of winning."
Jaina resisted as he guided the exchange towards political rhetoric. She already spent much of her time with Varian tiptoeing around her concerns for the sake of decorum, and at this stage, with the shadow of Arthas looming in the back of her mind, she needed someone with whom she could discuss the truth. "I'm...concerned, Thrall. Very concerned." Her voice trembled as she stared down at her reflection in the mead, shocked by the haggard face that met her.
Thrall paused for a moment, taking another swig from the goblet before setting it down beside her discarded helm. Watching as she studied her reflection, his face softened, and he abandoned his reserved voice for a gentler tone. "We will not lose, Jaina." He smiled palely, but neither his expression nor his words were very convincing. He inched his hand across the table, stopping when his fingers brushed hers.
"I'm...I'm leading them into the fight." Uncurling her fist from the stem of the goblet, she allowed him to move his hand on top of hers.
"I know."
Exhaling, she withdrew her hand, picking up the drink and taking another long sip. Her arm felt heavier as she placed the mug back onto the table; her lips, once drawn into a tight frown, started to go numb. "I'm not scared." She heard her voice falter, flushing as her words and her mind started to diverge. "I'm not."
"You'll be fine, Jaina. You are strong." She tried to shake her head, but he stopped her, returning his fingers to her cheek. A flush crossed her face as she felt his hand snaking into her hair, her skin reddening under his touch. "You have always been strong when leading your people. Why should this be any different?"
"I...I have barely..." Her protest died on her lips, her eyes sliding closed. She leaned into his touch, the rest of her body frozen in place, limbs becoming heavier and her will to move lessening as the warmth lulled her into a daze. The shadows, once cold and lifeless, enveloped her like an embrace, creeping over her, untangling the tension in her chest. The heat in the pit of her stomach swelled, bathing her skin with a giddy glow. "Thank you, Thrall. I...hope so."
As Jaina took a drink, they descended into thoughtful silence. She turned her eyes to the candle beside Thrall's throne, watching as pearls of wax trickled down its stem, forming piles like snowcapped mountains on the sconce. Taking another sip, she tried to set down the goblet, moving slower this time to ensure that the base connected with the tabletop before loosening her grip. She felt his hand quiver slightly against her cheek, and she sighed, turning and planting a light kiss on his palm.
From outside the tent, a chorus of voices pierced the silence, culminating in a unified refrain. The orcish tune throbbed with passion, the song strangely beautiful to Jaina in spite of its foreign sound. She struggled to follow the words. "Something about...blood?" She asked, trying to let him know that she was listening. "Someone who didn't drink it."
His eyes widened, and he studied her for a long moment, as if trying to assess whether she was interested or being polite. Finally, he nodded, dropping his hand from her cheek and picking up his drink. "It is a lok'vadnod: a song written to honor my father."
"Your father...?"
"He was chieftain of the Frostwolf clan. He fought to bring our people back to our traditional beliefs."
"Like you?"
"I...never knew him." The pain in Thrall's voice was unmistakable, even by a mind muddled with alcohol. Jaina bit her lip, aware of what remained unspoken. Even though his parents had fallen to other orcs, after their death, it was the humans who had separated him from his clan. The cycle of suffering between their people seemed endless. She wanted to end the conflicts and the pain, but how could she ask those who had lost so much to forget? And yet, Thrall had given her a chance. Even though her people had enslaved him, he had given her a chance.
Yet sorrow persisted in his eyes as he dropped his gaze to the table. Drawing in a shaky breath, she rose to her feet, gripping the edge of his chair as she gestured for him to sit beside her. After a moment of hesitation, he left his throne and circled around to meet her, allowing her to draw him into a bold embrace. She rested her head on his shoulder, sliding clumsy hands up his back and into his hair.
"Do you know any songs?" There was much she wanted to say, but her words refused to cooperate with her mind. They tumbled out in a slur of spontaneous utterances and half formed questions, their only worth their ability to distract from more unsettling issues. "I never even realized that orcs sing. I mean..." She flushed, her heart stopping as she heard the prejudice in her own words. "It's beautiful. I would like to hear more."
"I'm not much of a singer." He turned his head to stare at the dying candle, but she persisted, massaging the back of his neck with her thumb.
"Please?"
After a pause, he sat down on the pile of animal skins. Jaina followed, falling a little too quickly into the seat beside him. He closed his eyes, taking a few audible breaths before beginning.
The first few lines came as a husky whisper, but as he continued, his voice rose in strength, the rough tones of orcish weaving a melody of overwhelming intensity. Jaina almost forgot to breathe, caught up not only in the exotic texture of sounds but also in the passion she sensed behind them. She shut her eyes and drifted into the darkness, following each line as it drew her into the past, to the grasslands of Hillsbrad and into the dank cellars of Durnholde Keep, through hopelessness but then to inspiration. Somehow her struggles with the foreign language melted away, and every word came alive.
When the song ended, she opened her eyes, only to find that the candle had burned to its base and the room around them was now as dark as it had been with eyes closed. She stared into the shadows, finding the glimmer of his gaze and meeting him with a loving smile she knew he would never see. She swallowed, finally finding her voice. "Taretha?" She wanted more than anything to express even a small part of the passion she had felt, but her tongue was heavy and her words fell maladroitly from her lips. She cast a pointed glare towards the table where she knew her empty goblet rested, hoping he realized how much the song had touched her.
"She showed me that peace between humans and orcs is possible. Without her help, I'm not sure I would be..." Jaina felt his arm encircle her waist, allowing him to draw her closer, resting her head in the crook of his neck. "I'm not sure I would be here."
"You loved-?" She caught herself before she finished her sentence; even in her drunken stupor, embarrassment burned on her face. She was suddenly thankful for the darkness, though she was certain that he could feel the heat against his shoulder.
Thrall's soft chuckle eased the solemnity in the air, but Jaina's blush persisted, even more embarrassed now that she realized he knew what she had wanted to ask. "She was my sister. I often wish you could have met her."
"I...I wish..." The glimmer of jealousy she had tried to conceal died instantly, replaced by an overwhelming wave of sympathy. She sighed, pressing her lips lightly against his neck. "I'm grateful for her. All she did..."
She felt him nod in response, shutting her eyes and fading into the warmth around her. As she surrendered to the fog creeping into her mind, she felt him swallow, only vaguely aware of his suppressed tears as she slipped into the darkness, lost in the heat swathing her limp body.
______________________________
Jaina blinked, staring up at the red canvas ceiling with bleary eyes. Turning her head to the side, she felt the oily caress of animal skin against her cheek, lifting up on her elbows as realization diminished any lingering tiredness. A line of light fell from the tent's entrance and across the floor, motes of dust quivering in the slash it made through the air. Her stomach plummeted. It was already morning.
Glancing down, she found her robes neatly arranged, a fur blanket resting across her clothed waist. On the other side of the table, a similar blanket hung on the arm of Thrall's throne, rumpled after a night of sleep. Her cheeks burned as she filled in the parts of the preceding encounter that had been forgotten, even more embarrassed by his chivalry than she would have been had she awoken in some state of undress.
After sitting up and running her fingers through her hair, she rose to her feet, careful not to knock over the empty goblets on the table as she hurried across the empty room and out the door.
Outside, the world was cloaked in white. Sometime during the night, a fresh snow had fallen over the Argent Tournament grounds, covering the tent marquees like frosting on a cake and stretching like fog in every direction: undisturbed except for trails of footprints leading to the coliseum. She followed a set of large holes in the ice, shivering as the wet edges tickled her ankles.
As the cold morning air washed over her body, she felt an icy trickle slide down her chest. Bringing her hand to her breast, she reached into her robe and found a gold chain hanging against her skin, following it to a tiny moon shaped pendant. Tracing the outline with her fingers, she recalled a line of a song from the night before, her heart pounding under her hand as reality sank in. Taretha's necklace.
Jaina suddenly forgot the snow, breaking from the path and hurrying towards the stadium door, flying up the stairs and into the main ring of the coliseum. Lingering in the aisle behind her seat, she found Thrall in the box across from her and pressed her hand to her chest, clasping the pendant and staring with apologetic eyes. But he responded with a nod, waiting until she released her grip and let it fall in front of her dress before looking away. She continued to watch him as she moved to her seat, forgetting her location for a moment as a smile spread across her lips.
"I hope you know that fraternization is treason, Lady Proudmoore. Even you are not beneath the law."
She stopped as she felt Varian's gaze scrutinizing her from the side. His tone sent chills down her spine, but as she turned to him, his eyes communicated something different: sorrow. Any will to resist him quickly died and conflicting emotions seized control of her. Trying to mask her troubled thoughts, she kept her attention fixed on the stadium floor, taking a deep breath and shrugging away her tremors. "I do not know what you mean, my Lord."
"I'm not going to ask where you were this morning, Jaina. I...don't want to know."
His words were casual, sincere. He was not speaking to her as a ruler, but as someone who had trusted her and now felt betrayed. She sighed, refusing to look at him as she hugged her arms to her chest.
After lifting her eyes to meet Thrall's once more, she found the strength to speak. "I'm sorry for what happened to you, my Lord. I wish I could undo the past, but I cannot. Revenge will do nothing to ease the painful memories."
"So I suppose you are asking our people to forget?"
"I am asking them to cooperate."
"You are out of line, Lady Proudmoore."
"I won't back down from my convictions, my Lord."
She clutched the necklace in a fist against her chest, the melody from the night before still lingering in her mind. "Peace between orcs and humans is possible," She whispered, more to herself than to Varian, her eyes traveling from the humans and night elves at her side to the orcs and trolls seated directly across from them. She tried to smile, but it died on her lips as she struggled to believe her own words. "If only we let it happen."
The rumble of thunder filled the silence that swelled between them.
X posted to: 7dayschallenge, wow_ladies, blizzardfanfics, wowfics, worldofwarcraft
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As always, suggestions and concrit are greatly appreciated!
OMG can't wait for Icecrown! ♥
Title: Before the Storm
Pairing: Thrall/Jaina, maybe some Varian/Jaina
Written for: 7dayschallenge, Wednesday
Before the Storm
Wednesday: Wednes Dei or Mercurii, associated with Woden (Mercury), god of material possessions and enjoyments. In some traditions, Woden was also linked to music and singing. In Northern Europe, he led the "Wild Hunt," a band of ghost riders bringing omens of change or destruction (thunder). In Japan, 水曜日, associated with the water element.
He looks tense. Jaina studied the lines etched on Varian's face: jagged marks marring an otherwise handsome countenance. She followed his gaze to the arena floor, her stomach sinking as she watched the alliance champion Jacob Alerius drop his sword at the feet of the hulking yeti, pained not by the sight of the man being flung against the wall but by the way it reflected in Varian's eyes. He winced, and she looked away, creating a glass of water and placing it on the ledge in front of him.
"Our champions will stand victorious," He lifted his stare to the conjured beverage, straightening his shoulders as if suddenly aware of her presence. It was clear that he was trying to explain away his tension, directing her from his own haggard appearance, a look that told of hardships beyond her comprehension, to the bloodied face of the gladiator at the ring's center. "This...all of this is a waste of time. We should move our champions against the Lich King before the sun sets. Spending time idly..."
"We have to assemble the best among us if we wish to succeed, my Lord." She kept her voice low, her forced smile wavering as his tortured eyes met hers. "It's like Tirion said this morning."
"My Alliance will never fight beside heathens."
Shaking her head slightly, she bit her bottom lip, quelling the urge to argue as she recalled the agony that had stained his features. She fell silent; the air around them became stifling in spite of the bitter cold, like a bottomless pool drowning them in uneasy reticence.
On the arena floor, the warrior barely managed to subdue Icehowl before collapsing in a mangled heap. Three guards in cobalt tabards rushed to the center of the ring and collected his body, carrying him to a medical station outside the coliseum's door.
A voice on the other side of the stadium broke the respectful silence that had fallen across the bleachers. "Weak, all of them, weak!" Garrosh roared in Orcish, leaning over the railing and mocking the fallen soldier. "This is what happens when you trust Alliance scum with duties meant for the orcs, Tirion!"
Jaina's eyes fell instinctively on Garrosh's seated companion, and his gaze locked with hers, meeting her so quickly that their movements seemed to be synchronized. His face expressed unspoken apology, but also a kind of pain that made her chest ache, and as she glanced down once more at the bloodied arena she remembered something Thrall had mentioned about his life among the humans. She squeezed her eyes shut. It was all she could do to hold back the tears prickling beneath her lashes.
If only they knew how alike they really are.
"Bring out the warriors of the Horde! Lok Narash!"
"That sound." Varian growled, slamming his water down onto the wooden plank, causing it to slosh over the rim of the glass and splatter on the floor. "That monstrous sound."
"Orcish...?" She hesitated, extending her hand to take the glass from his grip before he had the chance to shatter it. "You mean Orcish, my Lord?"
"If you call it that, I suppose. It sounds like the screams of a rabid animal." Venom drenched his words, the glare on his face expressing unadulterated hatred. She felt him watching her from the corner of his eye, and she struggled to wipe the expression from her face, though his snarl indicated that she had only been marginally successful.
"It's..." She weighed her response carefully, breathing deeply to maintain an unemotional facade. "It's just a language, my Lord. It's neither good nor bad. It all depends on who is speaking."
"Yes, I imagine it's different when Thrall speaks, isn't it, Lady Proudmoore?"
His hostile tone left no room for either denial or agreement. It was not meant as a suggestion but as an accusation, and his sudden suspicion sent chills washing over Jaina's body. She sank into her seat, looking everywhere but straight ahead of her, straining to find her voice.
"He...speaks Common with me. My Orcish is sub par at best."
"That's how it should be."
Under different circumstances, Jaina would have been angry. Listening to her king's prejudice jarred her already troubled mind. Everywhere she looked, she could only see omens of impending doom, not at the hands of the Lich King, but because of their own bigotry. But when she studied his face, tracing lines etched by misfortune and anguish, it was regret, not anger, that stuck in the back of her throat.
Lifting her gaze, she glanced first at Varian, and then to Thrall at the opposite side of the stadium. The tension hanging in the air overwhelmed her; the amalgamation of frustration and fear wrapped her in a clammy embrace that had nothing to do with the weather. They were taking one last breath before the plunge, and she wondered how many of them knew how to swim.
"I am going to watch the jousting." Her knees buckled slightly as she rose to her feet. She grasped the back of her chair to steady herself before making her way into the aisle and towards the exit. Her guards made to follow her, but she waved her hand, dismissing them back to their seats. "I won't be long."
Varian barely acknowledged her, keeping his eyes fixed on the fighting ring. An orc emerged from the waiting area, bowing his head not to Thrall but to Garrosh as he brandished the Orgrimmar banner. Jaina rested her hand against the wooden railing, casting one last look across the stadium before turning away, wandering down the stairs and out onto the coliseum wall.
As she stepped out from the covered entryway onto the ledge surrounding the stadium, a rush of icy air crashed against her exposed skin, leaving her body feeling raw. While she had become accustomed to the cold through her work with frost magic, this ice felt different, colder. It was as if all life had been drawn from it, creating a limitless chill like dark matter or the space between atoms: something opposed to existence rather than part of it. Overhead, the sky churned like a cauldron, the rumble of hooves from the jousters fading into the thunder of the restless heavens. She felt as if she were standing in a rift, a tear in the fabric of the universe, a gap in which the unnatural threatened to consume the natural and subjugate it to its own lifelessness.
Pressing her back against the stadium wall, she pretended to focus on two riders on raptors as they cantered around the ring. But the ice numbed her mind, and the jousting became merely a place to look to avoid staring at the Citadel that loomed beyond the peaks surrounding their camp. She felt just as she had that day, standing at the gates of Stratholme and listening to the people's distant cries. It seemed like the fighting between Alliance and Horde was in her power to stop, but there was still one barrier between her and her moral convictions: a wall of loyalties and sympathy that stayed her hand. If only she could stand up to Varian like she had her father. But this time, just as they had with Arthas, her emotions got the best of her.
And look how that turned out. She scolded herself, pacing behind the Argent guards and back to the stadium door.
As she passed the Sunreaver entrance, a familiar voice stopped her in her tracks. “I apologize for his outburst, Lady Proudmoore. I commanded him to behave.”
Whirling around, a small smile spread across her lips, her heart leaping slightly as she raised her eyes to meet his. They studied each other for a moment, Jaina clasping her hands behind her back, struggling to forget the months that had passed since she had seen him in light of the public nature of their meeting. Two guards emerged from the door behind him, and she squared her shoulders, nodding cordially. "There is no need to apologize, Warchief. The misconduct has been two sided."
"I only hope that those who are chosen to fight will cooperate." He approached her, pausing for a moment before moving to stand by her side, clearly trying to find a balance between the closeness of an acquaintance and that of a lover. She maintained a dignified stance, fighting the urge to embrace him as his warmth filled the space between them. "I fear that narrow-mindedness will be our downfall."
She shook her head, following his gaze as it rose to the jagged Citadel spire. "There are many on both sides who are willing to work for peace. It is only a few in power who hold them back. No soldier wants to waste his whole life at war."
"There is..." His voice fell to a whisper, a gentle rumble nearly lost in the pounding of thunder and hooves. He guided her onto the open ledge, and she exhaled as she heard the guards falling back, unaware of the tension she had been holding in her chest until it started to unwind. When they rounded the corner, she closed the distance between them, brushing his bracer with her fingers.
"There is political unrest in Orgrimmar."
Her fingers froze, eyes widening as she scanned his face. "Your people adore you, Warchief."
"Some are unsatisfied."
Closing her eyes, she felt the cold creeping over her once more, this time seeping into the pit of her stomach and churning like the Frozen Sea. "I'm sorry...Thrall. If anything happens..."
"I do not regret my actions. I've always done what I felt was best for them, and I would not take it back." When she reopened her eyes, she found him studying a squad of jousters. They looked up at him, halting and bowing their heads. But there was one orc among their ranks who kept his stare level, his features twisting into a sneer. Jaina felt his eyes scanning her, piercing through her, mentally tearing her apart. Her body turned rigid under the scrutiny, her hand falling from Thrall's wrist.
"I am not afraid for myself. But your name has come up, Jaina..."
She wrenched her eyes from the gawking orc, turning to Thrall and trying to push the onlookers from her mind. She lifted her hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, burying shaky fingers in displaced tresses. Her breath came in short, labored gasps. She managed a weak smile, praying he wouldn't realize that it was forced.
"Please don't be afraid for me," Jaina responded after a pause. She glanced down at the wooden floor, her head pounding as she tried to process all that she had heard. Guilt swelled in her throat, causing her speech to waver, and it was all she could do to hold back the quivers that inched into her voice. "But I'm sorry...for you. I'm sorry for what I have done."
There was another awkward pause, but this time it was Thrall who broke the silence, stepping to the side to create distance between them. "The only thing I regret is putting you in danger." Jaina immediately felt bereft of his warmth. The air between them was a lifeless void; the cold stung her skin, causing her to cross her arms and recoil into her own embrace. "If anything happens to you," he frowned, bringing his hand to his forehead and closing his eyes, "It will be my fault."
"I'm not a child, you know. I've always known the risks." She reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze as she removed it from his face and eased it to his side. Feeling his arm stiffen, she massaged her thumb across his palm, refusing to release her grip until she felt him relax. "Do you think I have regrets? I would never take it back. I've done what I felt was best for my people, as well. You should understand that, Thrall. If we digress, how can we ask anyone to stand against these prejudices?"
"She's right."
Freezing at the sound of another voice, Jaina felt her cheeks become pallid as the blood drained from her face. She grasped Thrall's hand tighter, knowing that at this point there was no excuse to mask what had just occurred. They kept their eyes fixed on the jousting ring, neither of them daring to turn around.
"If you cannot stand by your convictions, you certainly cannot ask your people to do so."
Her initial shock dissipated and recognition took its place. Glancing over her shoulder, she nodded respectfully to the older man, the smile on her lips reflecting her relief. "Lord Fordring."
He returned the nod, remaining with his hand pressed to the coliseum door. "Another elimination round will be beginning shortly." His voice retained its usual formality, but his eyes softened as he glanced between them. "Your presence has been requested, Lady Proudmoore."
"Thank you, Lord Fordring." Releasing her hold on Thrall's arm, she offered the orc one last reluctant smile before wandering towards the Silver Covenant side of the stadium.
But before they parted, Tirion stopped them, studying their faces with an intense gaze. "You will always be welcome among the ranks of the Argent Crusade. If all else fails."
Jaina's smile turned somewhat uneasy, but as she saw another flicker of concern cross Thrall's face, she forced her own features to remain bright. "Thank you, Highlord Fordring. We appreciate it."
As she ascended the stairs and returned to her seat, the reality of Tirion's offer started to sink in. Living in Kalimdor had put distance between her and the Stormwind bureaucracy, and she had come to think of herself as her own ruler. But as she approached her seat, Varian lifted his eyes to meet her. He watched her for a moment before glancing pointedly across the stadium at Thrall and his guards emerging from the opposite stairwell. His eyes smoldered with a mix of accusation, anger, and hurt, and as she sat down beside him, Jaina knew for the first time that he saw her as a traitor.
But if peace were treachery, she would rather die than back down.
______________________________
It took a moment for Jaina to realize why Thrall was studying her with such troubled eyes. Following his stare to her borrowed chest plate and cobalt tabard, she shook her head, trying to tell him that it was only a disguise. But he continued to frown, leading her past the guards and into his temporary chamber.
"Bring us some mead." When they reached the back of the tent, he dismissed his attendant, waiting until he had turned his back before offering Jaina a seat across from his makeshift throne. In front of her, a slab balanced between mammoth tusks formed a table. She removed her helm and chest plate and laid them on the stone surface, reclining on a heap of furs.
Lifting her eyes to meet his, she smiled slightly, extending her hand to caress his cheek. "I wore it to get inside." She felt the tension ease beneath her touch, sliding forward until her waist pressed against the edge of the table. "I decided that standing up for peace between the Alliance and the Horde did not mean giving them more to gossip about."
His eyes slid closed, relief replacing the nervousness that had lined his features. "I thought..."
"I know. I'm sorry to have worried you, Thrall. Leaving my people is not the answer. I will not break from the Alliance unless it becomes absolutely necessary. You must know how I feel."
"I do. I do not want to see you take such a drastic step."
They remained with their gazes fixed on one another, Jaina tracing her thumb across Thrall's cheekbone while he watched the candlelight flickering in her eyes. Every time one leaned forward, the other withdrew, a hint of shyness sparking unexplainable hesitation. Finally, Jaina tilted her head, removing her hand and replacing it with a soft kiss.
"I've....missed you." Her voice fell to a whisper: a murmur nearly lost in the howl of the wind blowing against the tent.
Flushing under the kiss, he moved his hand to cup her cheek, guiding her mouth to meet his. His fingers spread out across ivory skin, his palm exuding a kind of earthy heat that wrenched her from Icecrown's frigidity and to a more welcome place, resting in his arms on a smoldering desert night. She closed her eyes, getting lost in the closeness, sighing as his tusks grazed her lips. The kiss was awkward at best, but it carried a familiarity that silenced her thoughts of the impending battle. For a moment, there was only Thrall and Jaina. No political upheaval, no Scourge, only the softness of furs against her exposed midriff and the feel of his teeth teasing her lip.
The flutter of the tent flap brought them back to the present moment. They separated, each sliding into their respective seats, averting their eyes as the attendant placed two stone goblets of mead between them. Steam danced above the rims, rising with ghostlike grace in the deep contrast of the lamp light. Jaina waited for him to take a drink before picking up her own mug and bringing it to her lips. The rich aroma wrapped her in a different kind of heat: one that painted the room with a bronze glow, a heady warmth that intensified as the liquid slid down her throat.
Thrall waited until he heard the tent close again before he continued. "I was impressed by what I saw in the ring today." Resuming some measure of formality, he sat taller in his chair, his words taking on the hackneyed quality of a conversation between two leaders. "If we can coordinate our troops, we have a chance of winning."
Jaina resisted as he guided the exchange towards political rhetoric. She already spent much of her time with Varian tiptoeing around her concerns for the sake of decorum, and at this stage, with the shadow of Arthas looming in the back of her mind, she needed someone with whom she could discuss the truth. "I'm...concerned, Thrall. Very concerned." Her voice trembled as she stared down at her reflection in the mead, shocked by the haggard face that met her.
Thrall paused for a moment, taking another swig from the goblet before setting it down beside her discarded helm. Watching as she studied her reflection, his face softened, and he abandoned his reserved voice for a gentler tone. "We will not lose, Jaina." He smiled palely, but neither his expression nor his words were very convincing. He inched his hand across the table, stopping when his fingers brushed hers.
"I'm...I'm leading them into the fight." Uncurling her fist from the stem of the goblet, she allowed him to move his hand on top of hers.
"I know."
Exhaling, she withdrew her hand, picking up the drink and taking another long sip. Her arm felt heavier as she placed the mug back onto the table; her lips, once drawn into a tight frown, started to go numb. "I'm not scared." She heard her voice falter, flushing as her words and her mind started to diverge. "I'm not."
"You'll be fine, Jaina. You are strong." She tried to shake her head, but he stopped her, returning his fingers to her cheek. A flush crossed her face as she felt his hand snaking into her hair, her skin reddening under his touch. "You have always been strong when leading your people. Why should this be any different?"
"I...I have barely..." Her protest died on her lips, her eyes sliding closed. She leaned into his touch, the rest of her body frozen in place, limbs becoming heavier and her will to move lessening as the warmth lulled her into a daze. The shadows, once cold and lifeless, enveloped her like an embrace, creeping over her, untangling the tension in her chest. The heat in the pit of her stomach swelled, bathing her skin with a giddy glow. "Thank you, Thrall. I...hope so."
As Jaina took a drink, they descended into thoughtful silence. She turned her eyes to the candle beside Thrall's throne, watching as pearls of wax trickled down its stem, forming piles like snowcapped mountains on the sconce. Taking another sip, she tried to set down the goblet, moving slower this time to ensure that the base connected with the tabletop before loosening her grip. She felt his hand quiver slightly against her cheek, and she sighed, turning and planting a light kiss on his palm.
From outside the tent, a chorus of voices pierced the silence, culminating in a unified refrain. The orcish tune throbbed with passion, the song strangely beautiful to Jaina in spite of its foreign sound. She struggled to follow the words. "Something about...blood?" She asked, trying to let him know that she was listening. "Someone who didn't drink it."
His eyes widened, and he studied her for a long moment, as if trying to assess whether she was interested or being polite. Finally, he nodded, dropping his hand from her cheek and picking up his drink. "It is a lok'vadnod: a song written to honor my father."
"Your father...?"
"He was chieftain of the Frostwolf clan. He fought to bring our people back to our traditional beliefs."
"Like you?"
"I...never knew him." The pain in Thrall's voice was unmistakable, even by a mind muddled with alcohol. Jaina bit her lip, aware of what remained unspoken. Even though his parents had fallen to other orcs, after their death, it was the humans who had separated him from his clan. The cycle of suffering between their people seemed endless. She wanted to end the conflicts and the pain, but how could she ask those who had lost so much to forget? And yet, Thrall had given her a chance. Even though her people had enslaved him, he had given her a chance.
Yet sorrow persisted in his eyes as he dropped his gaze to the table. Drawing in a shaky breath, she rose to her feet, gripping the edge of his chair as she gestured for him to sit beside her. After a moment of hesitation, he left his throne and circled around to meet her, allowing her to draw him into a bold embrace. She rested her head on his shoulder, sliding clumsy hands up his back and into his hair.
"Do you know any songs?" There was much she wanted to say, but her words refused to cooperate with her mind. They tumbled out in a slur of spontaneous utterances and half formed questions, their only worth their ability to distract from more unsettling issues. "I never even realized that orcs sing. I mean..." She flushed, her heart stopping as she heard the prejudice in her own words. "It's beautiful. I would like to hear more."
"I'm not much of a singer." He turned his head to stare at the dying candle, but she persisted, massaging the back of his neck with her thumb.
"Please?"
After a pause, he sat down on the pile of animal skins. Jaina followed, falling a little too quickly into the seat beside him. He closed his eyes, taking a few audible breaths before beginning.
The first few lines came as a husky whisper, but as he continued, his voice rose in strength, the rough tones of orcish weaving a melody of overwhelming intensity. Jaina almost forgot to breathe, caught up not only in the exotic texture of sounds but also in the passion she sensed behind them. She shut her eyes and drifted into the darkness, following each line as it drew her into the past, to the grasslands of Hillsbrad and into the dank cellars of Durnholde Keep, through hopelessness but then to inspiration. Somehow her struggles with the foreign language melted away, and every word came alive.
When the song ended, she opened her eyes, only to find that the candle had burned to its base and the room around them was now as dark as it had been with eyes closed. She stared into the shadows, finding the glimmer of his gaze and meeting him with a loving smile she knew he would never see. She swallowed, finally finding her voice. "Taretha?" She wanted more than anything to express even a small part of the passion she had felt, but her tongue was heavy and her words fell maladroitly from her lips. She cast a pointed glare towards the table where she knew her empty goblet rested, hoping he realized how much the song had touched her.
"She showed me that peace between humans and orcs is possible. Without her help, I'm not sure I would be..." Jaina felt his arm encircle her waist, allowing him to draw her closer, resting her head in the crook of his neck. "I'm not sure I would be here."
"You loved-?" She caught herself before she finished her sentence; even in her drunken stupor, embarrassment burned on her face. She was suddenly thankful for the darkness, though she was certain that he could feel the heat against his shoulder.
Thrall's soft chuckle eased the solemnity in the air, but Jaina's blush persisted, even more embarrassed now that she realized he knew what she had wanted to ask. "She was my sister. I often wish you could have met her."
"I...I wish..." The glimmer of jealousy she had tried to conceal died instantly, replaced by an overwhelming wave of sympathy. She sighed, pressing her lips lightly against his neck. "I'm grateful for her. All she did..."
She felt him nod in response, shutting her eyes and fading into the warmth around her. As she surrendered to the fog creeping into her mind, she felt him swallow, only vaguely aware of his suppressed tears as she slipped into the darkness, lost in the heat swathing her limp body.
______________________________
Jaina blinked, staring up at the red canvas ceiling with bleary eyes. Turning her head to the side, she felt the oily caress of animal skin against her cheek, lifting up on her elbows as realization diminished any lingering tiredness. A line of light fell from the tent's entrance and across the floor, motes of dust quivering in the slash it made through the air. Her stomach plummeted. It was already morning.
Glancing down, she found her robes neatly arranged, a fur blanket resting across her clothed waist. On the other side of the table, a similar blanket hung on the arm of Thrall's throne, rumpled after a night of sleep. Her cheeks burned as she filled in the parts of the preceding encounter that had been forgotten, even more embarrassed by his chivalry than she would have been had she awoken in some state of undress.
After sitting up and running her fingers through her hair, she rose to her feet, careful not to knock over the empty goblets on the table as she hurried across the empty room and out the door.
Outside, the world was cloaked in white. Sometime during the night, a fresh snow had fallen over the Argent Tournament grounds, covering the tent marquees like frosting on a cake and stretching like fog in every direction: undisturbed except for trails of footprints leading to the coliseum. She followed a set of large holes in the ice, shivering as the wet edges tickled her ankles.
As the cold morning air washed over her body, she felt an icy trickle slide down her chest. Bringing her hand to her breast, she reached into her robe and found a gold chain hanging against her skin, following it to a tiny moon shaped pendant. Tracing the outline with her fingers, she recalled a line of a song from the night before, her heart pounding under her hand as reality sank in. Taretha's necklace.
Jaina suddenly forgot the snow, breaking from the path and hurrying towards the stadium door, flying up the stairs and into the main ring of the coliseum. Lingering in the aisle behind her seat, she found Thrall in the box across from her and pressed her hand to her chest, clasping the pendant and staring with apologetic eyes. But he responded with a nod, waiting until she released her grip and let it fall in front of her dress before looking away. She continued to watch him as she moved to her seat, forgetting her location for a moment as a smile spread across her lips.
"I hope you know that fraternization is treason, Lady Proudmoore. Even you are not beneath the law."
She stopped as she felt Varian's gaze scrutinizing her from the side. His tone sent chills down her spine, but as she turned to him, his eyes communicated something different: sorrow. Any will to resist him quickly died and conflicting emotions seized control of her. Trying to mask her troubled thoughts, she kept her attention fixed on the stadium floor, taking a deep breath and shrugging away her tremors. "I do not know what you mean, my Lord."
"I'm not going to ask where you were this morning, Jaina. I...don't want to know."
His words were casual, sincere. He was not speaking to her as a ruler, but as someone who had trusted her and now felt betrayed. She sighed, refusing to look at him as she hugged her arms to her chest.
After lifting her eyes to meet Thrall's once more, she found the strength to speak. "I'm sorry for what happened to you, my Lord. I wish I could undo the past, but I cannot. Revenge will do nothing to ease the painful memories."
"So I suppose you are asking our people to forget?"
"I am asking them to cooperate."
"You are out of line, Lady Proudmoore."
"I won't back down from my convictions, my Lord."
She clutched the necklace in a fist against her chest, the melody from the night before still lingering in her mind. "Peace between orcs and humans is possible," She whispered, more to herself than to Varian, her eyes traveling from the humans and night elves at her side to the orcs and trolls seated directly across from them. She tried to smile, but it died on her lips as she struggled to believe her own words. "If only we let it happen."
The rumble of thunder filled the silence that swelled between them.
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