Doomhammer - Part 2
I once again give thanks to sodzilla for doing a fantastic betaing job. Thank you so much.
Title: Doomhammer
Part: 2 of ?
Word Count: 3837 (this part)
Warnings: Violence, angst, death. Story told in flashbacks. Some het.
Pairings: Mentioned Durotan/Draka, Grom/Grootha.
Summary: The story of Orgrim Doomhammer, from Draenor to the dank dungeons of Lordaeron's castle.
Previous Parts: 1
Wet spring gave way to cool summer, and there were no more visits. His rations remained doubled, and he learned in time from the overheard conversations that his day guard Sebastian Valonforth had an older brother, was newly married, liked cheese and hated the damp. His wife worried about him being a prison guard, and the weather, and how their son would fare with the orcs still in the hills.
Well enough, Doomhammer thought wearily from his corner of his cell. He'll fare well enough, because the Horde wouldn't be foolish enough to--
"Princess!"
His head came up. Calia walked quickly through the corridor. He shifted so that he could see her better, noting the distress on her face. His eyes narrowed.
She's been crying. Something must have happened, Doomhammer observed.
Sebastian echoed the silent question, and Calia waved him off. "I'm here to speak to our prisoner."
"Without your father?" Sebastian said. "Is that a good idea--"
"I'll be fine. He won't harm me," Calia said, a hint of steel in her voice. "And Father is busy with Lord Prestor besides."
"The noble from Alterac?" Sebastian commented, and rapped sharply against Doomhammer's cell door. He stood, and shuffled to the door. "No trouble for the Princess. You hear me, orc?"
"None," Doomhammer said, his urge to bridle at the human's tone tempered by the expression on Calia's face.
"It was bad business, Alterac," Sebastian continued, prompting Doomhammer along the corridor. "Treason and all that, selling out to the orcs like cowards--"
"It's over now," Calia said, putting a halt to it. Sebastian opened the door to the interrogation room, and made a noise of protest when she dismissed him. "As I said, he won't hurt me. Please stand guard."
Doomhammer watched as doubt warred with loyalty, before Sebastian saluted and left the room. The rulers of Lordaeron are strong enough to command, even as young as Calia is. Gul'dan would never have been able to control the likes of her. He sat in his chair, and watched her arrange her skirts to sit properly. "What happened? You're upset."
"I'd like to know more about the time after you came through the Portal, before the war truly began," Calia replied. Their eyes met, and the war of their wills was barely fought before he lost.
"After my father's death, I left the Thunderlord clan, and lived with Durotan and the Shadow Wolves," Doomhammer explained. "Meanwhile, Gul'dan grew powerful. He used everything he could to further his own ambitions, and that included the Spook."
"Garona," Calia murmured, considering. "And this was when you began to establish settlements in Azeroth?"
Doomhammer pulled a face. "Yes."
~ * ~
"What do you think?" Durotan asked, hefting his axe. Orgrim looked at him, and then the village. From the Swamp of Sorrows had come the mud that they had been fashioned into clay, and built numerous rounded buildings, though in many places, the water would seep in. Makeshift drainage had been constructed to attempt to keep the village's land dry. There were dozens of buildings, including a great, ugly, misshapen heap of a Chieftain's hut. It was practically home.
"It's named Stonard," Orgrim snorted. "What's the next one going to be named, Rockard?"
"I didn't pick the names," Durotan said stiffly. "And I'm not naming the next village. Blackhand has moved on ahead to found the next one. Knowing him, it will sink back into the swamp."
"No doubt," Orgrim agreed. He looked up at the sky. It was raining again, but the orcs reveled in it. The rain here didn't burn, and didn't hiss when it struck the plant life that thrived in such wet conditions. There was plenty of water here, and while the orcs shied away from the coastline, the shallow water within the Swamp was safe enough. If we were to live here, it wouldn't be so bad. "The scouts have come back. There's another human village not far from here."
"We'll have to be on the lookout, then," Durotan said wearily. "Gul'dan claims they're worthy fighters, but..."
"Not in the villages," Orgrim agreed. "The Draenei at least had their element-magic. These humans are pathetic. Maybe if we're to move west and north, but not here."
"West and north would bring us under the gaze of the Ivory Tower," Durotan muttered. "The human traitor claims that land as his domain."
"We'd not need to go near Karazhan, just through the pass," Orgrim pointed out. "That's another's concern. How is Draka? Her injuries..."
"Draka is well enough," Durotan said, his expression shifting. "The necrolytes think that she will recover. The shock..."
"I'm sorry," Orgrim said, and meant it. "If I'd known, I'd never have suggested she scout the ruined temple."
"I know," Durotan replied. "None of us knew, it was so early. There will be other children. For now, she's been told to rest and recover. One of them suggested that she shouldn't fight again until her fertile time is over."
"And what did she have to say to that?"
Durotan gave him a toothy grin, dispelling his frustration and distress. "She bit him."
Orgrim barked out a sharp laugh. "I expect nothing less of her. Do we know what's past Deadwind Pass?"
"Human farmlands and some of their great cities," Durotan said. "But that's information from Karazhan's master, and not our own scouts. No one's gone that far. Not yet."
"Maybe we should send one of ours then," Orgrim commented. "We could suggest it to Deadeye the next time the chieftains meet."
"Blackhand will snort and scowl. He wants to be the one to fight the first real humans on this world." Durotan shook his head. "How he's managed to actually fulfill his ambitions, I'll never know. I didn't think Stonefist could absorb Great Sands and Thunderfury, but he did it."
"Maybe he has hidden depths, like the Devouring Sea," Orgrim suggested, and their eyes met. They laughed, and Orgrim looked around. "I will give Gul'dan this. This place is what he promised."
"True, but there is still something that concerns me," Durotan said, his voice lowering. "Have you been through the Portal lately?"
"No," Orgrim said, frowning. "Why?"
"The last time the Spook came to deliver word from Draenor, she mentioned that some of the area on this side around the Portal is changing," Durotan said carefully, and Orgrim stiffened. "The plant life is dying off."
"That could just be because of all the people walking down from it," Orgrim growled. While Garona had never acted as overtly as she had the day Telkar had died, Orgrim still found her very existence uncomfortable. Fortunately, she only appeared as Gul'dan's herald, since none usually spoke or touched her. "And she could be lying."
"Orgrim--"
"Enough, Durotan," he replied stiffly. "I must go."
The swamps were dark and beautiful, and for the moment, he wanted nothing more than to lose himself within them.
~ * ~
"She was right," Calia said softly. "Lord Khadgar built Nethergarde to observe the energy that was leaking through the Portal from Draenor into Azeroth... the Black Morass is no more, and there's a visible line where the damage stopped."
"It may surprise you, but a lot of us just didn't want to think about Draenor," Doomhammer replied wearily. "At the time, many of the warriors were less interested in fighting and more interested in creating homes for their families and finding food for them. Most of those that had come through weren't looking for any great conquest, despite what Gul'dan believed."
"Gul'dan believed that they all wanted what he wanted, or didn't care," Calia observed, and Doomhammer nodded.
"They wanted to find a place where they wouldn't starve," he continued. "Even Garona could not stem the tides of dissent. Blackhand controlled the warriors that did want to fight for the most part. When they moved past Deadwind Pass, into Darkshire, they encountered the first of the human knights. Gul'dan hadn't been lying when he said there were worthy enemies for us to fight. Blackhand's warriors lost, badly. There were victories, and I'm sure that you humans know of them. We slew one of your chieftains... the king of Stormwind. He was caught in ambush that I recall."
"King Adamant," Calia recalled. "Lord Lothar told us about it."
Doomhammer nodded. "We thought it would be the end of it. We expected the men of power to scrabble over the power to leave and we could take everything. We were wrong."
"Succession is usually well in hand as long as the king has an heir, or two." Calia looked down at her hands. "Though you only need one as long as nothing happens to the first."
"While having sons and daughters is important to us, it is not birthright that determines the leader of a clan. Personal strength is important, and a chieftain will choose their successor if they have the chance."
"I suppose the same was true with humans, long ago," Calia mused. "After all, every Tiran merchant has a little pirate in them, and every Arathi lord a little highland berserker."
"And Lordaeron?" Doomhammer asked, curious. Calia smiled at him.
"The Menethil line spent five hundred years conquering their neighbours and expanding their lands until we were forced to stop," she replied.
"You were defeated?" Doomhammer asked, giving her a curious look.
"No," the Princess of Lordaeron said. "Our neighbours had us sign truces in exchange for trade agreements and other political considerations." She spread her hands. "It was to our advantage, from what I understand, to sign. Certainly, what we share with the elves and the dwarves is wonderful, not to mention our agreements with Dalaran, Kul Tiras and Stromgarde."
"Your people are bold, Princess," Doomhammer remarked, chuckling and shaking his head. "You will make a fine Queen."
"Our succession is by preference patrilinear," Calia said, bowing her head. "My brother will rule Lordaeron when he's old enough."
"Foolish," Doomhammer rumbled. "To place such faith in an untested child."
Calia sighed softly. "You said that Chieftains are chosen for their personal strength. How was it done for the Horde?"
"Incorrectly," Doomhammer growled.
~ * ~
"My fellow warriors," Gul'dan called over the loud, angry crowd. "I know that you are disappointed."
"Disappointed?" cried one of the Laughing Skull warriors. "We have fought these puny humans and we have lost! Their knights have crushed us!"
"Crushed us, you mean," Deadeye said with a low growl. "As if you cowards have even seen the human warriors in combat."
"Are you claiming we have never fought the humans?" the Laughing Skull warrior snarled, his hand going to his axe. "Perhaps your one eye is going blind!"
"Hiding in the forest and running while we engage them doesn't count as fighting, Mok'thar," Deadeye said with contempt. "Jorin would make a better fighter--"
"Enough!" Blackhand said sharply, and both orcs turned to stare at him. Blackhand's posture and tone were aggressive and quelling, and were it not for the fact that Orgrim was watching, he might have missed the surreptitious glance in Gul'dan's direction. His mood soured further. "Gul'dan is speaking, you will all listen."
Gul'dan smiled coldly, and nodded to him once. "Thank you, Blackhand." Garona crouched behind him in the shadows, seemingly unbeknownst to him, but the gleam of the firelight was enough for Orgrim to catch her rolling her eyes. He forced his gaze back to Gul'dan, not wanting to have even this moment of camaraderie with the Spook. "It is times like these I can truly see why we have failed to take Stormwind."
"And why would that be, Chieftain?" Draka asked sharply. Gul'dan and Draka had quickly come to despise each other, which only made Orgrim like his friend's chosen mate more. Draka had proven her combat prowess again and again by defending the orc villages from human knights, along with her battle sisters, which made her opinions impossible for even the warlock to ignore.
"That reason would be, Shadow Wolf," Gul'dan began, "that unlike the humans, we do not stand united. We have many, many chieftains here, all good men, but that is not enough. We must fight with a single, driven purpose, to crush the humans out of hand."
"We need a leader," one of the Dragonmaw muttered, and Orgrim's eyes widened. This was Zuluhed. He wore his hair in an elaborate weave of draconic bones and teeth. He had come from Shadowmoon Valley, unabashedly wearing the trappings of shamans, those who had been forbidden from their reverence of the spirits and elements. It appeared that Zuluhed did not care, and the strength of personality that he wielded discouraged comment. At his side hung an object, something like a draconian eye, set in gold. Staring at it for long periods of time made one become lost in its sightless gaze, and Orgrim shook himself, paying attention to Zuluhed's next words. "Someone who can unite all the orcs. A War Chief."
"Someone meaning you?" commented one of the Bonechewers sourly. "I don't think--"
"It should be a great leader of men," Gul'dan interjected smoothly. "And this is not something that is decided easily, and without consulting the rest of the Horde, including those who remain on Draenor. We will call together the chieftains and find a suitable person to lead."
"A suitable man you mean," Draka muttered, but quietly, because Durotan looked intrigued. "What is it, my mate?"
"Think of it, love," Durotan murmured in reply. "A united orc race? No more clan wars, and everything will be like the gatherings at Oshu'gun."
"That's very optimistic of you," Orgrim commented. "Do you think it will work?"
"I think we can try," Durotan said. "I think it's worth it."
"That's good to hear," Gul'dan broke in, and Orgrim gave him a hard look. As he watched, he saw Garona melt out of the shadows, to kneel at his side. Her eyes fell first to Durotan, and then to Orgrim. He clenched his jaw.
"I bring word from Karazhan," Garona said, making no mention of her presence earlier. "He has more information about the troop movements."
"Tell me," Gul'dan commanded. "Come." He turned, making his way back to his tent, and Garona followed obediently without a look back.
"I don't know which one of them bothers me more," Orgrim growled. The rest of the gathering separated, and Durotan offered Orgrim a measuring look.
"I would say Gul'dan should bother you more," the Shadow Wolf chieftain remarked quietly. "All things considered."
Orgrim shot him a dirty look. "So, you're supporting this Warchief idea?"
"It's not exactly what Father wanted, but it's close," Durotan said with a sigh. He dug his hand into the ground below them, picking at the soil. "This land is so rich. This is worth more than whatever gold or other wealth that Gul'dan has promised us. If we could work together..."
"But he wants to conquer the humans," Orgrim argued. "This new Warchief won't want to spend the rest of his life farming."
"That depends on who the Warchief is, doesn't it?" Durotan said quietly and stood. Orgrim watched as his friend walked away, and exchanged a look with Draka.
"If he becomes Warchief and he tries it, they'll kill him," Orgrim said quietly. "They want blood. The humans have defied us for too long."
"He's a dreamer, my mate," Draka replied. "If we can win, this will be over, and then we can make a home for ourselves, and our children."
"Are you--"
"Not right now, but it will happen. In the mean time, I must prevent Durotan from committing political suicide." She stood as well, and he marveled at her confidence. Some moons brought heavy bleeding, causing Durotan to worry and Draka great pain, but she remained unbowed. Once she left, Orgrim watched over the great fire, waving off the youth usually in charge of such things.
If it were another time, if we were another people, Durotan would be the greatest leader of all, but... He shook his head. Draka is right, in this state, a bid for Warchief from the wrong person would be as effective as throwing yourself down on your own axe.
The distant sound of Blackhand's roughly barked orders reminded him of the look the chieftain had given Gul'dan. Gul'dan will want Blackhand to lead, because he is a tool, and Gul'dan's tools are... His expression twisted with hate, and the next log that hit the fire threw up sparks. And yet, if we do not do what Gul'dan wants, we die. Like my father did.
Within the fires, he could see Durotan's face, twisted with agony and slick with his own blood, Garona standing over him. He closed his eyes, banishing the premonition. No, I can't allow that, but Durotan will never believe me. This dream of unity is too precious to him. I am only a warrior now, clanless. I can attend the meetings at the chieftains' suffrage, but I cannot stop Blackhand. The only thing I can do is protect Durotan from my father's fate. He bowed his head. I must support Blackhand, and to Durotan... it will be betrayal. He hunched forward. Spirits help me. I am so sorry, my friend.
~ * ~
"It was Blackhand, in the end. Stormwind's soldiers drove us back to the Dark Portal, and we called the other chieftains, Ner'zhul, Grom, Fenris, Tagar and Kargath, to the meeting," Doomhammer said, naming those chieftains Calia might recognize. "When the time came, while some of the chieftains either put in their own bid or supported Durotan, I supported Blackhand, and so did the majority. I believe Durotan understood what I did, but he was... distant. We did not spend long evenings discussing the future and staring into the fire after that."
"I'm sorry," Calia said softly. "It is never easy to arrange yourself against those you care about most."
"No," Doomhammer replied. "Blackhand claimed the great, dark mountain as his own, naming both it and his new clan Blackrock. It was the Blackrock clan that would dominate the wars. He took in warriors from all clans, for all reasons. He could not refuse me. Blackhand's clan had always required the support of the clanless to give it strength against the great, old clans like Bleeding Hollow or Warsong. I don't know if Durotan ever understood that."
"You were a sleeper agent," Calia commented, and Doomhammer glanced up at her. "You were lying in wait for the right time, and if Blackhand was a worthy leader, despite your fears, you would need to do nothing. If not..." She raised her hand, making a simple, striking motion.
"You are far too young to be so clever," he muttered, and was surprised to see her sharp, intelligent expression twist into something far more bitter.
"Old enough to be married off," she replied sharply. "But too young to have my opinion matter."
I must let her speak, Orgrim decided. If she wants to talk about what brought her here now...
"Father has entrusted me with so much, but not this simple control of my own life, and it isn't fair. I wouldn't choose irresponsibly, but I hardly know him." She clenched her fists, and Doomhammer took one of her hands, and uncurled her fingers.
"Who?" he asked simply, and pressed her hand flat to the table, and then did it to the other.
"Lord Daval Prestor," Calia replied, taking a deep, calming breath. "Father and the others are looking for another leader of Alterac. After Alterac's betrayal, their leader was arrested and sentenced to house arrest pending an investigation. Much of Alterac was ruined when we took the war there... it's still in a state of unrest and destruction."
Doomhammer nodded slowly. His bargain with Perenolde had been as much because the human had been a coward and sought an out to a war he felt his allies could not win. Calia knows this, but she does not accuse me of anything. He offered her a slight smile as encouragement, and while she did not smile back, she did nod.
"Some believe we should allow Perenolde's son, Aliden, to rule, and others believe that we should simply parcel it up and give it to the most worthy. There were arguments until Lord Prestor arrived. His claim comes from being an uninvolved member of the royal family that has supported the Alliance in the past. My task was to find out more about his activities, look through records and manifestos, but now... now Father seems perfectly content to believe anything he says, and so do the rest of the Alliance."
Odd. Terenas is usually more cautious, Doomhammer thought as Calia's expression shifted from reasonable calm to angry and hurt.
"As a sign of good faith, I'm to be married to him. I don't like him, Orgrim," she said urgently. "I don't like how he smiles at people like he knows all their secrets. I don't like how he makes everyone, even Admiral Proudmoore, even Lord Graymane all dance to his tune. I'm not even sure what his tune is, but I fear he means no good. Under his influence, Father has banished the representatives of the Kirin Tor and Quel'thalas to the outer estates and won't let them in. We need Dalaran. We need all of the Alliance nations, not just the ones filled with stubborn, frustrating human men."
I hate him, Doomhammer realized abruptly. Not because he's left me in this dungeon while my people are scattered about Lordaeron, lost and alone. Not because his Alliance defeated my Horde. But because his daughter would rather rant to me than be ignored by men who should listen to her because her insight is invaluable. Shaking himself to attentiveness, he met her eyes. "Princess. How long do you have?"
"Less than a year, I think. Father seemed eager, but Lord Prestor believes I'm too young yet." She shivered a little. "I'm afraid. He's going to take me away from everything... from Arthas, from Lordaeron, from..." She met his eyes. "From you. If Father's plan is to succeed, we need to know everything. Sometimes, I wonder if Father's forgotten it."
"Princess..."
"He wants you to lead the Horde again." His eyes widened, and she continued. "It wouldn't be to our advantage to commit forces to hunting down the rest of the orcs, not when we have so much rebuilding to do. If someone... you... could lead the orcs, and take them out of Lordaeron... take them somewhere, anywhere... both sides would gain. There could be peace after so much war. We wouldn't feel like a sword is hanging over our heads, waiting to drop."
"A bold plan," Doomhammer rumbled finally. "But you haven't recruited me for anything yet, Princess."
"No, but that will come in time," she replied, and their eyes met. There was quiet strength behind the look, and determination. "You're not a foolish man, Orgrim Doomhammer. You know what's best for your people."
"If I knew that, why would I be here?" he asked, a touch of his own bitterness in his voice.
"Perhaps the Light granted you the will to lead your people through peace as well as war," Calia argued.
"I don't believe in the Light," Doomhammer said flatly. "It's a human religion."
"As we are taught, the Light is for everyone," Calia replied evenly. "You may not believe in the Light, but It believes in you."
"Princess--"
"I must go, they will be looking for me." She stood, and moved to the door. She unlocked it adeptly, and he had little time to think about her words before the guards came to take him away.
The will to lead my people... and what manner of leader am I?
Part 3
Title: Doomhammer
Part: 2 of ?
Word Count: 3837 (this part)
Warnings: Violence, angst, death. Story told in flashbacks. Some het.
Pairings: Mentioned Durotan/Draka, Grom/Grootha.
Summary: The story of Orgrim Doomhammer, from Draenor to the dank dungeons of Lordaeron's castle.
Previous Parts: 1
Wet spring gave way to cool summer, and there were no more visits. His rations remained doubled, and he learned in time from the overheard conversations that his day guard Sebastian Valonforth had an older brother, was newly married, liked cheese and hated the damp. His wife worried about him being a prison guard, and the weather, and how their son would fare with the orcs still in the hills.
Well enough, Doomhammer thought wearily from his corner of his cell. He'll fare well enough, because the Horde wouldn't be foolish enough to--
"Princess!"
His head came up. Calia walked quickly through the corridor. He shifted so that he could see her better, noting the distress on her face. His eyes narrowed.
She's been crying. Something must have happened, Doomhammer observed.
Sebastian echoed the silent question, and Calia waved him off. "I'm here to speak to our prisoner."
"Without your father?" Sebastian said. "Is that a good idea--"
"I'll be fine. He won't harm me," Calia said, a hint of steel in her voice. "And Father is busy with Lord Prestor besides."
"The noble from Alterac?" Sebastian commented, and rapped sharply against Doomhammer's cell door. He stood, and shuffled to the door. "No trouble for the Princess. You hear me, orc?"
"None," Doomhammer said, his urge to bridle at the human's tone tempered by the expression on Calia's face.
"It was bad business, Alterac," Sebastian continued, prompting Doomhammer along the corridor. "Treason and all that, selling out to the orcs like cowards--"
"It's over now," Calia said, putting a halt to it. Sebastian opened the door to the interrogation room, and made a noise of protest when she dismissed him. "As I said, he won't hurt me. Please stand guard."
Doomhammer watched as doubt warred with loyalty, before Sebastian saluted and left the room. The rulers of Lordaeron are strong enough to command, even as young as Calia is. Gul'dan would never have been able to control the likes of her. He sat in his chair, and watched her arrange her skirts to sit properly. "What happened? You're upset."
"I'd like to know more about the time after you came through the Portal, before the war truly began," Calia replied. Their eyes met, and the war of their wills was barely fought before he lost.
"After my father's death, I left the Thunderlord clan, and lived with Durotan and the Shadow Wolves," Doomhammer explained. "Meanwhile, Gul'dan grew powerful. He used everything he could to further his own ambitions, and that included the Spook."
"Garona," Calia murmured, considering. "And this was when you began to establish settlements in Azeroth?"
Doomhammer pulled a face. "Yes."
~ * ~
"What do you think?" Durotan asked, hefting his axe. Orgrim looked at him, and then the village. From the Swamp of Sorrows had come the mud that they had been fashioned into clay, and built numerous rounded buildings, though in many places, the water would seep in. Makeshift drainage had been constructed to attempt to keep the village's land dry. There were dozens of buildings, including a great, ugly, misshapen heap of a Chieftain's hut. It was practically home.
"It's named Stonard," Orgrim snorted. "What's the next one going to be named, Rockard?"
"I didn't pick the names," Durotan said stiffly. "And I'm not naming the next village. Blackhand has moved on ahead to found the next one. Knowing him, it will sink back into the swamp."
"No doubt," Orgrim agreed. He looked up at the sky. It was raining again, but the orcs reveled in it. The rain here didn't burn, and didn't hiss when it struck the plant life that thrived in such wet conditions. There was plenty of water here, and while the orcs shied away from the coastline, the shallow water within the Swamp was safe enough. If we were to live here, it wouldn't be so bad. "The scouts have come back. There's another human village not far from here."
"We'll have to be on the lookout, then," Durotan said wearily. "Gul'dan claims they're worthy fighters, but..."
"Not in the villages," Orgrim agreed. "The Draenei at least had their element-magic. These humans are pathetic. Maybe if we're to move west and north, but not here."
"West and north would bring us under the gaze of the Ivory Tower," Durotan muttered. "The human traitor claims that land as his domain."
"We'd not need to go near Karazhan, just through the pass," Orgrim pointed out. "That's another's concern. How is Draka? Her injuries..."
"Draka is well enough," Durotan said, his expression shifting. "The necrolytes think that she will recover. The shock..."
"I'm sorry," Orgrim said, and meant it. "If I'd known, I'd never have suggested she scout the ruined temple."
"I know," Durotan replied. "None of us knew, it was so early. There will be other children. For now, she's been told to rest and recover. One of them suggested that she shouldn't fight again until her fertile time is over."
"And what did she have to say to that?"
Durotan gave him a toothy grin, dispelling his frustration and distress. "She bit him."
Orgrim barked out a sharp laugh. "I expect nothing less of her. Do we know what's past Deadwind Pass?"
"Human farmlands and some of their great cities," Durotan said. "But that's information from Karazhan's master, and not our own scouts. No one's gone that far. Not yet."
"Maybe we should send one of ours then," Orgrim commented. "We could suggest it to Deadeye the next time the chieftains meet."
"Blackhand will snort and scowl. He wants to be the one to fight the first real humans on this world." Durotan shook his head. "How he's managed to actually fulfill his ambitions, I'll never know. I didn't think Stonefist could absorb Great Sands and Thunderfury, but he did it."
"Maybe he has hidden depths, like the Devouring Sea," Orgrim suggested, and their eyes met. They laughed, and Orgrim looked around. "I will give Gul'dan this. This place is what he promised."
"True, but there is still something that concerns me," Durotan said, his voice lowering. "Have you been through the Portal lately?"
"No," Orgrim said, frowning. "Why?"
"The last time the Spook came to deliver word from Draenor, she mentioned that some of the area on this side around the Portal is changing," Durotan said carefully, and Orgrim stiffened. "The plant life is dying off."
"That could just be because of all the people walking down from it," Orgrim growled. While Garona had never acted as overtly as she had the day Telkar had died, Orgrim still found her very existence uncomfortable. Fortunately, she only appeared as Gul'dan's herald, since none usually spoke or touched her. "And she could be lying."
"Orgrim--"
"Enough, Durotan," he replied stiffly. "I must go."
The swamps were dark and beautiful, and for the moment, he wanted nothing more than to lose himself within them.
~ * ~
"She was right," Calia said softly. "Lord Khadgar built Nethergarde to observe the energy that was leaking through the Portal from Draenor into Azeroth... the Black Morass is no more, and there's a visible line where the damage stopped."
"It may surprise you, but a lot of us just didn't want to think about Draenor," Doomhammer replied wearily. "At the time, many of the warriors were less interested in fighting and more interested in creating homes for their families and finding food for them. Most of those that had come through weren't looking for any great conquest, despite what Gul'dan believed."
"Gul'dan believed that they all wanted what he wanted, or didn't care," Calia observed, and Doomhammer nodded.
"They wanted to find a place where they wouldn't starve," he continued. "Even Garona could not stem the tides of dissent. Blackhand controlled the warriors that did want to fight for the most part. When they moved past Deadwind Pass, into Darkshire, they encountered the first of the human knights. Gul'dan hadn't been lying when he said there were worthy enemies for us to fight. Blackhand's warriors lost, badly. There were victories, and I'm sure that you humans know of them. We slew one of your chieftains... the king of Stormwind. He was caught in ambush that I recall."
"King Adamant," Calia recalled. "Lord Lothar told us about it."
Doomhammer nodded. "We thought it would be the end of it. We expected the men of power to scrabble over the power to leave and we could take everything. We were wrong."
"Succession is usually well in hand as long as the king has an heir, or two." Calia looked down at her hands. "Though you only need one as long as nothing happens to the first."
"While having sons and daughters is important to us, it is not birthright that determines the leader of a clan. Personal strength is important, and a chieftain will choose their successor if they have the chance."
"I suppose the same was true with humans, long ago," Calia mused. "After all, every Tiran merchant has a little pirate in them, and every Arathi lord a little highland berserker."
"And Lordaeron?" Doomhammer asked, curious. Calia smiled at him.
"The Menethil line spent five hundred years conquering their neighbours and expanding their lands until we were forced to stop," she replied.
"You were defeated?" Doomhammer asked, giving her a curious look.
"No," the Princess of Lordaeron said. "Our neighbours had us sign truces in exchange for trade agreements and other political considerations." She spread her hands. "It was to our advantage, from what I understand, to sign. Certainly, what we share with the elves and the dwarves is wonderful, not to mention our agreements with Dalaran, Kul Tiras and Stromgarde."
"Your people are bold, Princess," Doomhammer remarked, chuckling and shaking his head. "You will make a fine Queen."
"Our succession is by preference patrilinear," Calia said, bowing her head. "My brother will rule Lordaeron when he's old enough."
"Foolish," Doomhammer rumbled. "To place such faith in an untested child."
Calia sighed softly. "You said that Chieftains are chosen for their personal strength. How was it done for the Horde?"
"Incorrectly," Doomhammer growled.
~ * ~
"My fellow warriors," Gul'dan called over the loud, angry crowd. "I know that you are disappointed."
"Disappointed?" cried one of the Laughing Skull warriors. "We have fought these puny humans and we have lost! Their knights have crushed us!"
"Crushed us, you mean," Deadeye said with a low growl. "As if you cowards have even seen the human warriors in combat."
"Are you claiming we have never fought the humans?" the Laughing Skull warrior snarled, his hand going to his axe. "Perhaps your one eye is going blind!"
"Hiding in the forest and running while we engage them doesn't count as fighting, Mok'thar," Deadeye said with contempt. "Jorin would make a better fighter--"
"Enough!" Blackhand said sharply, and both orcs turned to stare at him. Blackhand's posture and tone were aggressive and quelling, and were it not for the fact that Orgrim was watching, he might have missed the surreptitious glance in Gul'dan's direction. His mood soured further. "Gul'dan is speaking, you will all listen."
Gul'dan smiled coldly, and nodded to him once. "Thank you, Blackhand." Garona crouched behind him in the shadows, seemingly unbeknownst to him, but the gleam of the firelight was enough for Orgrim to catch her rolling her eyes. He forced his gaze back to Gul'dan, not wanting to have even this moment of camaraderie with the Spook. "It is times like these I can truly see why we have failed to take Stormwind."
"And why would that be, Chieftain?" Draka asked sharply. Gul'dan and Draka had quickly come to despise each other, which only made Orgrim like his friend's chosen mate more. Draka had proven her combat prowess again and again by defending the orc villages from human knights, along with her battle sisters, which made her opinions impossible for even the warlock to ignore.
"That reason would be, Shadow Wolf," Gul'dan began, "that unlike the humans, we do not stand united. We have many, many chieftains here, all good men, but that is not enough. We must fight with a single, driven purpose, to crush the humans out of hand."
"We need a leader," one of the Dragonmaw muttered, and Orgrim's eyes widened. This was Zuluhed. He wore his hair in an elaborate weave of draconic bones and teeth. He had come from Shadowmoon Valley, unabashedly wearing the trappings of shamans, those who had been forbidden from their reverence of the spirits and elements. It appeared that Zuluhed did not care, and the strength of personality that he wielded discouraged comment. At his side hung an object, something like a draconian eye, set in gold. Staring at it for long periods of time made one become lost in its sightless gaze, and Orgrim shook himself, paying attention to Zuluhed's next words. "Someone who can unite all the orcs. A War Chief."
"Someone meaning you?" commented one of the Bonechewers sourly. "I don't think--"
"It should be a great leader of men," Gul'dan interjected smoothly. "And this is not something that is decided easily, and without consulting the rest of the Horde, including those who remain on Draenor. We will call together the chieftains and find a suitable person to lead."
"A suitable man you mean," Draka muttered, but quietly, because Durotan looked intrigued. "What is it, my mate?"
"Think of it, love," Durotan murmured in reply. "A united orc race? No more clan wars, and everything will be like the gatherings at Oshu'gun."
"That's very optimistic of you," Orgrim commented. "Do you think it will work?"
"I think we can try," Durotan said. "I think it's worth it."
"That's good to hear," Gul'dan broke in, and Orgrim gave him a hard look. As he watched, he saw Garona melt out of the shadows, to kneel at his side. Her eyes fell first to Durotan, and then to Orgrim. He clenched his jaw.
"I bring word from Karazhan," Garona said, making no mention of her presence earlier. "He has more information about the troop movements."
"Tell me," Gul'dan commanded. "Come." He turned, making his way back to his tent, and Garona followed obediently without a look back.
"I don't know which one of them bothers me more," Orgrim growled. The rest of the gathering separated, and Durotan offered Orgrim a measuring look.
"I would say Gul'dan should bother you more," the Shadow Wolf chieftain remarked quietly. "All things considered."
Orgrim shot him a dirty look. "So, you're supporting this Warchief idea?"
"It's not exactly what Father wanted, but it's close," Durotan said with a sigh. He dug his hand into the ground below them, picking at the soil. "This land is so rich. This is worth more than whatever gold or other wealth that Gul'dan has promised us. If we could work together..."
"But he wants to conquer the humans," Orgrim argued. "This new Warchief won't want to spend the rest of his life farming."
"That depends on who the Warchief is, doesn't it?" Durotan said quietly and stood. Orgrim watched as his friend walked away, and exchanged a look with Draka.
"If he becomes Warchief and he tries it, they'll kill him," Orgrim said quietly. "They want blood. The humans have defied us for too long."
"He's a dreamer, my mate," Draka replied. "If we can win, this will be over, and then we can make a home for ourselves, and our children."
"Are you--"
"Not right now, but it will happen. In the mean time, I must prevent Durotan from committing political suicide." She stood as well, and he marveled at her confidence. Some moons brought heavy bleeding, causing Durotan to worry and Draka great pain, but she remained unbowed. Once she left, Orgrim watched over the great fire, waving off the youth usually in charge of such things.
If it were another time, if we were another people, Durotan would be the greatest leader of all, but... He shook his head. Draka is right, in this state, a bid for Warchief from the wrong person would be as effective as throwing yourself down on your own axe.
The distant sound of Blackhand's roughly barked orders reminded him of the look the chieftain had given Gul'dan. Gul'dan will want Blackhand to lead, because he is a tool, and Gul'dan's tools are... His expression twisted with hate, and the next log that hit the fire threw up sparks. And yet, if we do not do what Gul'dan wants, we die. Like my father did.
Within the fires, he could see Durotan's face, twisted with agony and slick with his own blood, Garona standing over him. He closed his eyes, banishing the premonition. No, I can't allow that, but Durotan will never believe me. This dream of unity is too precious to him. I am only a warrior now, clanless. I can attend the meetings at the chieftains' suffrage, but I cannot stop Blackhand. The only thing I can do is protect Durotan from my father's fate. He bowed his head. I must support Blackhand, and to Durotan... it will be betrayal. He hunched forward. Spirits help me. I am so sorry, my friend.
~ * ~
"It was Blackhand, in the end. Stormwind's soldiers drove us back to the Dark Portal, and we called the other chieftains, Ner'zhul, Grom, Fenris, Tagar and Kargath, to the meeting," Doomhammer said, naming those chieftains Calia might recognize. "When the time came, while some of the chieftains either put in their own bid or supported Durotan, I supported Blackhand, and so did the majority. I believe Durotan understood what I did, but he was... distant. We did not spend long evenings discussing the future and staring into the fire after that."
"I'm sorry," Calia said softly. "It is never easy to arrange yourself against those you care about most."
"No," Doomhammer replied. "Blackhand claimed the great, dark mountain as his own, naming both it and his new clan Blackrock. It was the Blackrock clan that would dominate the wars. He took in warriors from all clans, for all reasons. He could not refuse me. Blackhand's clan had always required the support of the clanless to give it strength against the great, old clans like Bleeding Hollow or Warsong. I don't know if Durotan ever understood that."
"You were a sleeper agent," Calia commented, and Doomhammer glanced up at her. "You were lying in wait for the right time, and if Blackhand was a worthy leader, despite your fears, you would need to do nothing. If not..." She raised her hand, making a simple, striking motion.
"You are far too young to be so clever," he muttered, and was surprised to see her sharp, intelligent expression twist into something far more bitter.
"Old enough to be married off," she replied sharply. "But too young to have my opinion matter."
I must let her speak, Orgrim decided. If she wants to talk about what brought her here now...
"Father has entrusted me with so much, but not this simple control of my own life, and it isn't fair. I wouldn't choose irresponsibly, but I hardly know him." She clenched her fists, and Doomhammer took one of her hands, and uncurled her fingers.
"Who?" he asked simply, and pressed her hand flat to the table, and then did it to the other.
"Lord Daval Prestor," Calia replied, taking a deep, calming breath. "Father and the others are looking for another leader of Alterac. After Alterac's betrayal, their leader was arrested and sentenced to house arrest pending an investigation. Much of Alterac was ruined when we took the war there... it's still in a state of unrest and destruction."
Doomhammer nodded slowly. His bargain with Perenolde had been as much because the human had been a coward and sought an out to a war he felt his allies could not win. Calia knows this, but she does not accuse me of anything. He offered her a slight smile as encouragement, and while she did not smile back, she did nod.
"Some believe we should allow Perenolde's son, Aliden, to rule, and others believe that we should simply parcel it up and give it to the most worthy. There were arguments until Lord Prestor arrived. His claim comes from being an uninvolved member of the royal family that has supported the Alliance in the past. My task was to find out more about his activities, look through records and manifestos, but now... now Father seems perfectly content to believe anything he says, and so do the rest of the Alliance."
Odd. Terenas is usually more cautious, Doomhammer thought as Calia's expression shifted from reasonable calm to angry and hurt.
"As a sign of good faith, I'm to be married to him. I don't like him, Orgrim," she said urgently. "I don't like how he smiles at people like he knows all their secrets. I don't like how he makes everyone, even Admiral Proudmoore, even Lord Graymane all dance to his tune. I'm not even sure what his tune is, but I fear he means no good. Under his influence, Father has banished the representatives of the Kirin Tor and Quel'thalas to the outer estates and won't let them in. We need Dalaran. We need all of the Alliance nations, not just the ones filled with stubborn, frustrating human men."
I hate him, Doomhammer realized abruptly. Not because he's left me in this dungeon while my people are scattered about Lordaeron, lost and alone. Not because his Alliance defeated my Horde. But because his daughter would rather rant to me than be ignored by men who should listen to her because her insight is invaluable. Shaking himself to attentiveness, he met her eyes. "Princess. How long do you have?"
"Less than a year, I think. Father seemed eager, but Lord Prestor believes I'm too young yet." She shivered a little. "I'm afraid. He's going to take me away from everything... from Arthas, from Lordaeron, from..." She met his eyes. "From you. If Father's plan is to succeed, we need to know everything. Sometimes, I wonder if Father's forgotten it."
"Princess..."
"He wants you to lead the Horde again." His eyes widened, and she continued. "It wouldn't be to our advantage to commit forces to hunting down the rest of the orcs, not when we have so much rebuilding to do. If someone... you... could lead the orcs, and take them out of Lordaeron... take them somewhere, anywhere... both sides would gain. There could be peace after so much war. We wouldn't feel like a sword is hanging over our heads, waiting to drop."
"A bold plan," Doomhammer rumbled finally. "But you haven't recruited me for anything yet, Princess."
"No, but that will come in time," she replied, and their eyes met. There was quiet strength behind the look, and determination. "You're not a foolish man, Orgrim Doomhammer. You know what's best for your people."
"If I knew that, why would I be here?" he asked, a touch of his own bitterness in his voice.
"Perhaps the Light granted you the will to lead your people through peace as well as war," Calia argued.
"I don't believe in the Light," Doomhammer said flatly. "It's a human religion."
"As we are taught, the Light is for everyone," Calia replied evenly. "You may not believe in the Light, but It believes in you."
"Princess--"
"I must go, they will be looking for me." She stood, and moved to the door. She unlocked it adeptly, and he had little time to think about her words before the guards came to take him away.
The will to lead my people... and what manner of leader am I?
Part 3