Warcraft: Assassin - Part 14
This is the final chapter, save for the Epilogue, and I'm extremely fond of this chapter. I hope you will be too!
Title: Assassin
Part: 14/14+Epilogue
Word Count: 5026
Includes: Thrall being a huge, adorable puppy, excessive foreshadowing.
Pairings: Technically, none.
Summary: The founding of Durotar, and lessons in history from the mouth of one who has been a part of it: Garona Halforcen.
Previous: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13
It took three days for all to fall into place. For Calia’s plans to bear fruit. She had managed to assign a window of minimal guards to the dungeons. Garona had obtained all of the keys she needed, including the key to the prison armory, where items seized from the prisoners were kept. She had made sure Doomhammer’s armour was there, and boots. He was no good to her if he lost toes to frostbite. She had found a path for him to take.
She had moved swiftly, knocking out each guard and dragging them aside. She had found a door that would take Doomhammer to the lower city, and if he were clever, he would remain unseen until long after the humans found him missing. Relying on Doomhammer to be smart about anything is a risk. She had to risk it. She had committed to it.
She approached his cell. For a moment, she watched his restless, uneasy slumber, then unlocked the door silently and pushed it open slightly. Wake up, fool, she hissed mentally as he ignored it. She ground her teeth together, and put her hand on the door, opening it further, and focused all her will on not being so quiet. The door creaked, and he woke with a start.
Orgrim Doomhammer, once member of the Thunderlord Clan, once warrior of the Blackrock Clan, once Warchief of the Horde, looked around, surprised and worried. “Calia?” he whispered, and Garona nearly struck her own forehead with her palm.
And if I weren’t here to rescue you, you’d have gotten her killed just now, Garona thought sourly. She said nothing, and watched his uncertainty, the way he shifted with the shackles on. He needs more. She put the key to his bonds on the floor and slid it through the crack of the open door, contrasting it within the light. She was careful to keep on the other side of the door, observing as he stared at his freedom stupidly, then all but fell on the key.
It took time for him to unlock his shackles, and Garona cursed his fumbling hesitation. I don’t see how you won a princess’ affections, she told him silently. Finally, freed, he kicked aside his shackles and rose, stretching. He looked around his cell, and Garona all but rolled her eyes.
What now, you great idiot? she demanded. In response, Doomhammer picked up a flask -- empty, fancy -- and a cloak, though from his expression, he wanted the blanket and cloak both. Kindly stop being a whirlwind of cheap drama and go, before you are caught.
He wrapped the cloak around him, and hurried out of his cell. Garona kept ahead of him in the shadows, guiding him to the armoury, and watched anxiously as he dressed, frowning at his weakness: his movements had been slow and stiff, his stride clipped even outside of his chains, and as he'd lifted the heavy pieces of the Doomplate, his arms shook from the effort. I suppose that he hasn’t had any time to exercise in a prison. Will he survive the journey? He had better, he can’t die after the effort I’ve put forth to keep him alive.
She nudged the next door open, catching his attention, and he threw his cloak back on, and she was pleased to see how it concealed his form. If he kept his head down, he would make it out of Lordaeron, but she would need to make sure of it. She led him, step by step, to the door to his freedom.
Go, hurry, Garona thought insistently. Doomhammer hesitated at the door, and then placed his hand over his heart. I don’t care what idiot sentimental thing you’re doing, I will kick you out into the street if I must!
As though prompted by her silent anger, Doomhammer looked around and she froze in place. When he seemed satisfied, he stepped into the street, and she closed the door behind them both. She shadowed him as long as she could, assuring herself that he was free, and then returned to the dungeon to observe the oncoming storm.
It was with no small amount of satisfaction that she watched Calia Menethil, confused, elated, and afraid, clutch at the blanket Doomhammer had left behind, and then hurry off to report his disappearance to the guards.
~ * ~
“And he never knew, and you never told him,” Thrall said, shaking his head in disbelief. “And the human princess… I wouldn’t have needed to attack Durnholde if I’d known there was someone looking out for the orcs in the capital.”
“Things may have been very different if she had remained her father’s heir, or they may not have been,” Garona warned. “The orcs needed you regardless. No amount of politicking could have roused them from the Lethargy. In any case, things would have been much worse if you’d been contending with plagued grain and lurking necromancers.”
“True,” Thrall said, and sighed. “Orgrim never said… I assumed he hated humans. He avoided speaking of them as often as possible, and he saw them as enemies, but unless Calia was wrong, and he didn’t love her in return…”
“She was sure that he did, and she didn’t seem deluded, just young,” Garona replied. “Doomhammer likely hated humans, plural, but not a specific human, singular. You can dislike groups but like individuals. It’s not as though you can ask him now.”
“I could understand that,” Thrall said. “It’s hard not to despise humans as a whole, not after Durnholde and seeing the camps. So many of the guards were cruel people, those who had lost much and decided to take it out on those who couldn’t fight back. Regardless of what Terenas or Calia wanted, those people would have happily seen us enslaved forever, and Blackmoore…” Thrall looked away. “I loved Tari a great deal. Losing her was… almost the end of me. She deserved better! Sergeant was a good man, considering what he was tasked to. Even the Foxtons weren’t so bad, though they were so meek.”
“You’ve taken to Jaina Proudmoore, as well, unless you’re inviting her to everything out of courtesy?” Garona noted, raising her eyebrows. Rather than smile, as he often did when the human sorceress was mentioned, Thrall frowned.
“Before we knew each other, it was hard to see her,” Thrall confessed. “She was like a ghost of someone who’d forgotten me. When we were enemies, knowing that she was just ahead, that I was chasing her and trying to beat her to the Oracle, it made me edgy. I couldn’t think clearly. If I had been, perhaps…”
“Hellscream is the person who is an even bigger idiot than Doomhammer,” Garona noted, and held up a hand when he opened his mouth to object. “I know you sent him to Ashenvale. I watched you do it, but he made his own fate. What made you change your mind about Jaina?”
“All those times she turned me into an oversized icicle,” Thrall said ruefully, and now he smiled in memory. “Jaina and Tari may have some superficial similarities, but they're very different people. Jaina is… stubborn, determined. Ambitious. I never had the chance to find out what Tari wanted from life, but with Jaina I’ve never been able to forget. She opens her mouth and all kinds of technical information spills out. I don’t understand most of it.”
“She may explain it to you if you ask,” Garona noted. “It’s good that you admire her, but do you think clearly now?”
“I do,” Thrall said firmly. “I trust Jaina completely, and I believe she trusts me. We were forced to work together at first, and now we choose to. She’s a good ally and friend.”
“She is, from what I’ve seen of the two of you,” Garona said. “And I'm sure you've noticed me watching.”
“I did,” Thrall said. “It took time to realize who you were, and then I wasn’t concerned. The spirits knew you weren’t a danger to me.”
“It’s funny that you trusted me, of all people, more swiftly than you trusted Jaina,” Garona said dryly, and Thrall grinned at her.
“I remember the day we first met in truth,” he said, and Garona looked away. “Will you tell me about it from your perspective? I only know my own.”
“Alright,” Garona said. “I also remember the day I became Akia very well.”
~ * ~
If she ever saw snow again, it would be too soon.
Garona stumbled through the land of icy white, using her arms to protect her face from the driving wind. The shadows between were cold, and often drove wind between the untucked places in her armour, but it was not a wet cold, the way this storm was. Alterac was no supernatural force, its misery entirely natural, which was of little comfort as she made her meandering way through the mountains.
If I ever see him again, I’m going to kick Shomni Slewfoot in the behind so hard he’ll have to breathe his own gases! Garona snarled, and a noise escaped her lips, carried by the wind. It was hard to concentrate on anything but walking in a more or less straight line, never mind her aura of silence. She had found, over the years, she was better at controlling it.
It’s not as if anyone can hear me swear here, Garona thought, and let loose a string of curses in a puff of air. I must be insane, surely it’s a lie or a rumour.
It was hope that had brought her to the icy wilds of Alterac in the depths of winter, hope and a rumour that orcs had been seen this far north, not safe in the camps, thank you, and not the Warsong, wild and wandering and evading the Silver Hand’s best patrols.
Durotan and Draka were not far from Alterac when they died, this might be where the clan is, Garona thought, gritting her teeth against more curses. If they’ve survived, Doomhammer might have known of it. They might be able to help.
It had been eighteen years since she had found the Shadow Wolf chieftain’s body and that of his mate. Fourteen, since she had freed Doomhammer from Lordaeron. No progress had been made towards freeing the orcs, and now the mages of Dalaran were sniffing about, sending apprentices and seeking permission to test. I don’t know if they can figure out the secret behind the Lethargy, but the orcs shouldn’t be test subjects along with prisoners and slaves. Doomhammer needs to do something if he intends to save his people.
It was possible that she had been wrong, that, granted freedom, Orgrim Doomhammer would flee and hide in the forests of Lordaeron like a coward. That he would hide in a warmer climate -- there had been a rumour of another orc warrior spotted near Hearthglen, but no one had claimed it was Doomhammer, so it was some other, random nobody that had escaped from the camps.
Stupid, useless Doomhammer, Garona thought, and let loose another string of curses as one of her feet broke through the crust of snow, throwing her forward. She sucked in a breath to begin again, and found herself silenced with but a word.
“Hello?” called a voice in Common. It was male, deep, and came from a nearby copse of trees. “Are you alright?”
Garona froze. Could that be the Silver Hand? Why would they send a paladin up here, in this mess?
The voice cursed softly, and to her surprise, the next words came in Orcish. “Sorry, I forgot. Are you lost? Do you need help?” The words were a tad clumsy, more uncertain than his use of the human tongue.
Who is this?! Garona wondered frantically, struggling to stand as a crashing noise brought the speaker into view, and suddenly, she could think of nothing.
The speaker was an orc, large and bright green, the colour of his skin contrasting sharply with his clothing. He was bundled up in blue-trimmed white leather, from the trousers tucked into massive leather boots to the tips of his mittens. In one hand, he carried a hunting spear, using it to keep his balance as he crunched along on huge, wide netted feet.
“W-w-what are you wearing?” Garona chattered, cursing her weakness. Not so well dressed, her trousers were soaked clean through, and while she was usually more resistant to cold, Alterac had frozen her to the bone, ignoring her natural defenses. “On your f-f-f-feet?”
“These?” the orc asked, and smiled. Garona felt her stomach turn to water. She recognized that smile, and it was like seeing a ghost. “They’re snowshoes. You’re not of the clan.” He crunched forward, and offered her a hand up. She stared at the gloved fingers briefly, and then placed one cold hand in his. He hefted her easily, demonstrating muscle hidden by a thick coat, and set her on the tips of his snowshoes to allow her to balance.
“Clan… which clan?” Garona chattered. “Warsong?”
The orc laughed. “Oh, no. This is Frostwolf land.”
Frostwolves… Garona thought, the last pieces clicking into place. “Who are you?”
“My name is Thrall,” he replied. Garona made a soft noise. “It’s a human word, never mind what it means. Who are you?”
There’s no possibility that he doesn’t know it means slave, Garona thought, even as memory niggled at her. She had been chasing rumours for so long, it was hard to remember them all. “I am… Akia.”
“Akia of which clan?” Thrall asked, his voice teasing. “Not the Warsong, surely.”
“I have no clan,” Garona said bluntly. “You are young, Thrall of the Frostwolves, so you may not know what halforcen are, but I am one.”
Abruptly, as though a veil had fallen over him, Thrall’s warm smile disappeared. “No. I know what halforcen are, and where they come from. Why are you here?”
“I had heard there were orcs in the mountains,” Garona said. “I… I…” She sneezed, and she felt herself flush with sheer embarrassment. I’ve never been sick when it wasn’t from infection! What is this?!
At once, Thrall’s sadness and anger were gone, and he took her elbow, steadying her. “Well, you’ve found them, Akia Halforcen,” he said gently. “You should come with me back to the village. You’ll freeze out here on your own. I have an idea.”
Garona nodded slowly, and Thrall guided her around him, until she was standing behind him, still on his snowshoes. He guided her arms around his waist. She wanted to run, to flee far away from this warm-hearted stranger with a familiar face, but let him secure her.
“I’ll walk, and you walk with me,” Thrall said. “It will be tricky, but I have my spear for balance… I’ll bring in no prey tonight, but surely rescuing a stranger in need is much more important than that. It wasn’t so long ago I was in your position. I only came to know the home of my parents when I was nearly grown. They… died, before I could know them.”
Do you always spill your secrets so easily to a complete stranger? Garona wondered, though she made a noise to indicate her assent. “Who were they? Your parents?”
“I am told that they were the chieftain of this clan and his wife,” Thrall said, using the human word, then corrected, “Mate. Durotan and Draka of the Frostwolves.”
“Thrall, son of Durotan,” Garona murmured unthinkingly. Thrall pulled off a mitten and put two fingers to his lips, whistling sharply. Garona noted that there were scars over his knuckles, healed and rebroken and healed again, and her eyes widened.
“Now that we’re both introduced… Snowsong! Come along!” A vision in white crashed through the underbrush, and Thrall bent to greet a large, white wolf, her tail waving happily. “Here, let her smell you.”
Freeing an arm from Thrall’s waist, she let the wolf sniff her fingers, and then she sneezed. “Is that bad?”
“No, she just thinks you smell odd,” Thrall said, straightening and replacing the mitten. “It’s because she’s not of the clan,” Thrall told the wolf. “Be nice, this is Akia. Akia, this is Snowsong, my spirit companion.”
“...you have a spirit companion?” Garona asked in disbelief. Thrall secured her arm and began to walk in a wide circle, taking them towards the village. “And you speak to her?”
“Yes, all of us do,” Thrall said, and the cadence of his voice changed to that of a storyteller. “Once, long before I was born, the Frostwolves were sent into exile by an evil warlock named Gul’dan.” He paused, and his voice changed again. “A warlock is a kind of mage, but they--”
“I know what a warlock is, and I know of Gul’dan,” Garona interrupted, and then flushed. “Sorry.”
“I get distracted easily, Drek’thar always says so,” Thrall said, and Garona’s heart lept.
Drek’thar lives! she thought wonderingly, nearly missing Thrall’s next words. Incredible!
“--was a long journey, but Drek’thar led them north. The elemental spirits of Azeroth spoke to him, guiding them until they reached Alterac Valley. It was cold here, like it is now, and they feared they would freeze. Drek’thar begged the spirits for a miracle, for some sign to show that they were meant to survive, and the spirits sent the frost wolves. Each one took a member of the clan under paw, and the bond between orc and wolf was complete. Now, with each child that is born, there is a frostwolf just waiting for them. Snowsong and I met only two years ago, but it’s as though we’ve known each other forever. I love her, and she loves me.” Snowsong sneezed on him and hurried ahead. “Well, mostly.”
Garona nearly laughed. “The spirits forsook the orcs a long time ago. Their leaders were fools and monsters.”
“Perhaps that was on Draenor, the ancient land of our people, but not here. Here, the spirits are happy to speak to us, or at least, to Drek’thar and his apprentices,” Thrall replied. “I’m one of them, actually.”
“You’re a shaman?!” Garona exclaimed, and nearly overset the pair of them. Thrall made soothing noises, and balanced with his spear.
“Yes, I am… is that a problem?” Thrall asked, and resumed his slow, plodding pace. The wind still blew, but Thrall’s body protected her from much of the cold. “I was told there were shamans on Draenor, once.”
“There were, but the spirits abandoned the orcs because of the warlocks,” Garona said. “From what I understand. Your people believed that they were better off without them.”
“Our people,” Thrall said, and Garona blinked.
“What?”
“Our people,” Thrall repeated. Garona shook her head.
“I’m halforcen--”
“If you are any part orcen, that’s still orc,” Thrall said, halting her with warmth and earnestness. “Which makes them your people too. Our people have shamans once more.”
Garona fell silent, and Thrall did not press her, instead walking with a steady rhythm, pausing every dozen steps to knock snow from his snowshoes, and Garona moved with him. His words rolled around in her mind.
Durotan’s son lived, and he is a shaman. The Shadow Wolves are now Frostwolves, and they have a village. He bears a human name, the name of slave, and he did not grow up knowing of his people. He speaks as humans do, and learned Orcish later. Drek’thar is his teacher. He has a wolf. She glanced down, peering at Snowsong, who raced ahead and then returned, whining in impatience. A wolf as young as he is.
She felt Thrall stop, and peered around him. “What is it?”
“This is the village,” Thrall said, and Garona blinked. There was a fall of rocks, covered in snow, veiled in trees. She could see nothing past them.
“Are you certain?” Garona asked. “It seems… very small.”
“It’s hidden,” Thrall said. “I wouldn’t have known it was here if I hadn’t been told to look for it. You’ll need to move.”
Garona nodded, and stepped off of his snowshoes, and sank to her knees in snow. She winced, but noticed Thrall was taking his snowshoes off, and he sank to his calves. It’s going to irritate me that he’s so much taller than I am, I just know it, she thought ruefully. Thrall tossed his snowshoes past the rocks, and then turned to her.
“Up you go,” Thrall said, and offered his hand. Garona nodded, and let him boost her up to the rocks, and she was carefully as she hopped over to collect the snowshoes and stand clear. The snow here was far more shallow, as though it had been packed down firmly and persistently. Thrall heaved himself over the rocks, and smiled. “Thank you.” He nodded forward, and Garona turned. She gasped softly.
Invisible from where they’d been just moments before, Frostwolf Village was vast, filling Alterac Valley. She could see huts, well-guarded from the wind and snow by trees, clustered together in threes and fours. To the left, she could see a great hut, made from hides and wood, standing apart from the others.
“That’s where Drek’thar lives,” Thrall confided, taking the snowshoes from her. Snowsong sprinted past them, running into the village, barking loudly. A half-dozen barks answered hers, and one rather annoyed bark-whine. “That’s Wise Ear, Drek’thar’s companion. She’s old, like Drek’thar, and just as grumpy.” He kept his voice down.
“Why are you whispering?” Garona asked, voice equally soft.
“Because if he hears me, he’ll hit me with his stick.” Thrall grinned sheepishly. “He thinks I need to respect my elders.”
“I always respect elders with sticks,” Garona said as they began to walk towards the village. Thrall chuckled. “Where are we going?”
“My own hut. I live alone, but near to Drek’thar, so he can yell for me, and Palkar doesn’t need to run far to find me,” Thrall replied. “Palkar is Drek’thar’s assistant. He does chores. Well, Palkar and Stormpaw. They’re only eleven winters old.”
“So young,” Garona murmured. “Aren’t you going to ask them if I can stay?”
“I’ll ask the spirits what they think, but I want you to stay, Akia,” Thrall said earnestly. “You shouldn’t have to be clanless, and the Frostwolves are friendly with strangers. Sometimes they have visitors, like my father’s old friend, Orgrim Doomhammer. I suppose you know of him too?”
Well, now I know that Doomhammer didn’t die in a ditch somewhere, Garona thought uneasily. “Yes, is he here now?”
“No, he’s visiting with the Warsong, he hates the winter here,” Thrall said, and shrugged. “It’s cold, but it’s cozy, I promise. You just need to dress for it. Come! I’ll show you where I live.”
Thrall broke into a run, and Garona remained still for a moment, watching him. He’s like an eager puppy himself, she thought. He’s going to get himself killed. The thought was sobering. Durotan’s son, innocent as a child, just letting anyone into his home. If I worked for Gul’dan… She reached back, touching numb fingers to her snow-crusted hair. No, not again. Never again. I lost Durotan, I betrayed Llane… I couldn’t save my mother. I won’t lose this child. I won’t lose Thrall.
“Akia?” Thrall called. Garona looked up, and she melted a little. Thrall’s eyes were bright blue, the same shade as the Frostwolf blue, and as eager as a pup. “Are you coming?”
“I am,” Garona replied, and began to walk, wincing as her clothes crunched and crackled. “I’m coming.”
~ * ~
“I’m not a pup,” Thrall grumbled. “I’m an adult.”
“Of course you are,” Garona said dryly. “And a fierce warrior besides.”
Thrall glared at her, and then smiled as she remained unintimidated. “So you stayed.”
“I considered leaving once I had a change of clothes, but I’d already made up my mind,” Garona said, looking down at her hands. “You had Doomhammer as a mentor, Drek’thar, Hellscream, Snowsong… but I thought that, if I couldn’t teach you, I could watch your back.”
“Drek’thar is too old for guard duty,” Thrall agreed. “Orgrim died before Durnholde, Grom in Ashenvale. Snowsong is wonderful, but not one of my people.” She looked up at him, and he smiled. “Our people.”
“You’re sentimental,” Garona said, though there was little bite to it. “When did you figure it out? Who little Akia of the Frostwolves was?”
“It took time,” Thrall said. “The spirits were adamant that you stay. I would watch you, sometimes. They way you interacted with others. It was little things. I think if you’d have left, I might never have known. Then, when you disappeared after Hyjal, I was certain.”
“After Hyjal, things were going to change,” Garona replied softly. “You weren’t leading an army of misfits any more, you were going to be guiding a people. You weren’t content with clans and villages, you wanted a city. Everyone was of your clan, of your people. That was going to make you enemies.”
“I’ve already heard the grumblings,” Thrall said, and his back straightened. “I don’t regret it. I don’t think clans are worthless, as some claim, but it isn’t only the great clans deserve attention. The Horde should be one great clan, one great family, to all--” He stopped as Garona shook her head. “You don’t approve.”
“Of course I approve,” Garona said. “You welcomed me when no one else did. You welcome others, other halforcen, people whose clans abandoned them, people who can’t even remember their clan names. They can say ‘I am of the Horde’, and it is a thing of pride, not of convenience. That’s why you need to be protected. It’s just common sense.”
You care, Thrall thought warmly. You deny it but you do. “Thinking back, what do you regret?”
Garona was quiet for a moment. “I regret I didn’t try to run as a child. Your parents would have helped me, sheltered me. They were kind, even when they were a little suspicious of me. I don’t regret killing Telkar Doomhammer. He was an idiot and a blowhard, and he had no doubts about beating and killing a child. I do regret that I helped Gul’dan. He was not all-powerful, but I helped give the impression he was. None of the other assassins were as talented as I was. I regret that I never helped Medivh more. I know he’s free now, but if I had just done more…” She sighed, and shook her head. “I regret killing Llane, but more, I regret that I ever believed what Gul’dan told me.”
Thrall reached out, offering a hand. Garona looked at it, and put her hand in his. He squeezed it gently. “He did all he could to convince you that he was trustworthy. That your recollections, your judgements, were wrong.”
“He did,” Garona said. “It’s possible Gul’dan was right, that the humans would never have let the orcs live in peace, not after all we’d done… but that was when Blackhand and Gul’dan were leading the Horde. Not Doomhammer. He could have led them better. There could have been peace.”
“Do you regret letting Orgrim live?” Thrall asked, and watched her expression closely. Emotion flickered over her face as she considered. He didn’t hurry her, instead dropping his other hand down. Snowsong licked over his knuckles, the ones scarred from his years in the arena, and nuzzled his palm as he turned his hand over.
“No,” Garona said finally. “I will never like him, alive or dead, and I still resent him for everything he’s done, but you needed him as a mentor and a friend. I was wrong that he would lead your -- our -- people to freedom, but I was right that he was needed. That’s how the world is, sometimes. There are people that one can hate but who are still necessary for it to function.”
“That’s wise,” Thrall said, nodding. “We never stop learning. Do you still wish for a place within the Horde? That’s how all of this began. I’ve learned more than I ever hoped for, but I still don’t have an answer to that question.”
“What do you mean?” Garona asked sharply. Thrall smiled encouragingly.
“I’m not a naive child,” Thrall said gently. “I’m not a pup as green as new trees. I know that things won’t be as simple and easy as ‘we’ve defeated the demons, and now we live happily ever after’.” Thrall caught her gaze, and she stared at him, grey eyes to blue. “If we can get on top of situations, though, of the grumbling and the Shadow Council agents you see in every shadow, we can grow as a people. That bright future you want is right there, right around the corner. We just have to work for it.”
Garona opened her mouth, and Thrall watched her. He could see the denial on her face, but finally she sighed. “I want to believe that. I will never be publicly accepted. Not by the orcs, not by your human allies.”
“You can disguise yourself. Eitrigg is already proposing that I have an elite bodyguard. I’ve seen the helmets. They’ll hide you for now, and I’ll introduce you to the others. The orcs might not accept you at first, but Cairne remembers Akia, and so does Vol’jin. They can help convince the others. I want you with me to help protect the Horde.”
“It’s a good thing Eitrigg is suggesting such, I’m not a warrior, I’m an assassin,” Garona said, though she couldn’t look away. “They will protect you from the enemies that come at you from the front and sides, I will protect you from the shadows.”
“That sounds like you want to be my spymaster, then,” Thrall said lightly. She eyed him and he chuckled. “You wanted to serve the Horde.”
“You’re trickier than you let on,” Garona grumbled. “I’ll warn you, I’ve never been agreeable in my life. Anyone will tell you.”
“I think I can manage without you being perfectly agreeable,” Thrall said, and looked up. Garona followed his gaze as the wind picked up, throwing dust into the air. “The Razor Winds are coming.”
“The walls aren’t complete yet, are they?” Garona asked. Thrall stood, and shook his head. The wind tugged at his warrior braids, and Garona’s single, thick one, worn in a style he now knew she’d picked up from her time living amongst humans in Stormwind.
“No, but we can get them finished if we hurry,” Thrall said. He offered Garona his hand, and this time she ignored it, rising stiffly on her own. He hid a chuckle. “I’m expecting a message too. We can read it together.”
“And you can send a better messenger than a warrior,” Garona pointed out. “Let’s go.”
Thrall inhaled carefully, taking in wind and not dust. The winds of change blow strongly. Something comes.
[ Epilogue]
Title: Assassin
Part: 14/14+Epilogue
Word Count: 5026
Includes: Thrall being a huge, adorable puppy, excessive foreshadowing.
Pairings: Technically, none.
Summary: The founding of Durotar, and lessons in history from the mouth of one who has been a part of it: Garona Halforcen.
Previous: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13
It took three days for all to fall into place. For Calia’s plans to bear fruit. She had managed to assign a window of minimal guards to the dungeons. Garona had obtained all of the keys she needed, including the key to the prison armory, where items seized from the prisoners were kept. She had made sure Doomhammer’s armour was there, and boots. He was no good to her if he lost toes to frostbite. She had found a path for him to take.
She had moved swiftly, knocking out each guard and dragging them aside. She had found a door that would take Doomhammer to the lower city, and if he were clever, he would remain unseen until long after the humans found him missing. Relying on Doomhammer to be smart about anything is a risk. She had to risk it. She had committed to it.
She approached his cell. For a moment, she watched his restless, uneasy slumber, then unlocked the door silently and pushed it open slightly. Wake up, fool, she hissed mentally as he ignored it. She ground her teeth together, and put her hand on the door, opening it further, and focused all her will on not being so quiet. The door creaked, and he woke with a start.
Orgrim Doomhammer, once member of the Thunderlord Clan, once warrior of the Blackrock Clan, once Warchief of the Horde, looked around, surprised and worried. “Calia?” he whispered, and Garona nearly struck her own forehead with her palm.
And if I weren’t here to rescue you, you’d have gotten her killed just now, Garona thought sourly. She said nothing, and watched his uncertainty, the way he shifted with the shackles on. He needs more. She put the key to his bonds on the floor and slid it through the crack of the open door, contrasting it within the light. She was careful to keep on the other side of the door, observing as he stared at his freedom stupidly, then all but fell on the key.
It took time for him to unlock his shackles, and Garona cursed his fumbling hesitation. I don’t see how you won a princess’ affections, she told him silently. Finally, freed, he kicked aside his shackles and rose, stretching. He looked around his cell, and Garona all but rolled her eyes.
What now, you great idiot? she demanded. In response, Doomhammer picked up a flask -- empty, fancy -- and a cloak, though from his expression, he wanted the blanket and cloak both. Kindly stop being a whirlwind of cheap drama and go, before you are caught.
He wrapped the cloak around him, and hurried out of his cell. Garona kept ahead of him in the shadows, guiding him to the armoury, and watched anxiously as he dressed, frowning at his weakness: his movements had been slow and stiff, his stride clipped even outside of his chains, and as he'd lifted the heavy pieces of the Doomplate, his arms shook from the effort. I suppose that he hasn’t had any time to exercise in a prison. Will he survive the journey? He had better, he can’t die after the effort I’ve put forth to keep him alive.
She nudged the next door open, catching his attention, and he threw his cloak back on, and she was pleased to see how it concealed his form. If he kept his head down, he would make it out of Lordaeron, but she would need to make sure of it. She led him, step by step, to the door to his freedom.
Go, hurry, Garona thought insistently. Doomhammer hesitated at the door, and then placed his hand over his heart. I don’t care what idiot sentimental thing you’re doing, I will kick you out into the street if I must!
As though prompted by her silent anger, Doomhammer looked around and she froze in place. When he seemed satisfied, he stepped into the street, and she closed the door behind them both. She shadowed him as long as she could, assuring herself that he was free, and then returned to the dungeon to observe the oncoming storm.
It was with no small amount of satisfaction that she watched Calia Menethil, confused, elated, and afraid, clutch at the blanket Doomhammer had left behind, and then hurry off to report his disappearance to the guards.
~ * ~
“And he never knew, and you never told him,” Thrall said, shaking his head in disbelief. “And the human princess… I wouldn’t have needed to attack Durnholde if I’d known there was someone looking out for the orcs in the capital.”
“Things may have been very different if she had remained her father’s heir, or they may not have been,” Garona warned. “The orcs needed you regardless. No amount of politicking could have roused them from the Lethargy. In any case, things would have been much worse if you’d been contending with plagued grain and lurking necromancers.”
“True,” Thrall said, and sighed. “Orgrim never said… I assumed he hated humans. He avoided speaking of them as often as possible, and he saw them as enemies, but unless Calia was wrong, and he didn’t love her in return…”
“She was sure that he did, and she didn’t seem deluded, just young,” Garona replied. “Doomhammer likely hated humans, plural, but not a specific human, singular. You can dislike groups but like individuals. It’s not as though you can ask him now.”
“I could understand that,” Thrall said. “It’s hard not to despise humans as a whole, not after Durnholde and seeing the camps. So many of the guards were cruel people, those who had lost much and decided to take it out on those who couldn’t fight back. Regardless of what Terenas or Calia wanted, those people would have happily seen us enslaved forever, and Blackmoore…” Thrall looked away. “I loved Tari a great deal. Losing her was… almost the end of me. She deserved better! Sergeant was a good man, considering what he was tasked to. Even the Foxtons weren’t so bad, though they were so meek.”
“You’ve taken to Jaina Proudmoore, as well, unless you’re inviting her to everything out of courtesy?” Garona noted, raising her eyebrows. Rather than smile, as he often did when the human sorceress was mentioned, Thrall frowned.
“Before we knew each other, it was hard to see her,” Thrall confessed. “She was like a ghost of someone who’d forgotten me. When we were enemies, knowing that she was just ahead, that I was chasing her and trying to beat her to the Oracle, it made me edgy. I couldn’t think clearly. If I had been, perhaps…”
“Hellscream is the person who is an even bigger idiot than Doomhammer,” Garona noted, and held up a hand when he opened his mouth to object. “I know you sent him to Ashenvale. I watched you do it, but he made his own fate. What made you change your mind about Jaina?”
“All those times she turned me into an oversized icicle,” Thrall said ruefully, and now he smiled in memory. “Jaina and Tari may have some superficial similarities, but they're very different people. Jaina is… stubborn, determined. Ambitious. I never had the chance to find out what Tari wanted from life, but with Jaina I’ve never been able to forget. She opens her mouth and all kinds of technical information spills out. I don’t understand most of it.”
“She may explain it to you if you ask,” Garona noted. “It’s good that you admire her, but do you think clearly now?”
“I do,” Thrall said firmly. “I trust Jaina completely, and I believe she trusts me. We were forced to work together at first, and now we choose to. She’s a good ally and friend.”
“She is, from what I’ve seen of the two of you,” Garona said. “And I'm sure you've noticed me watching.”
“I did,” Thrall said. “It took time to realize who you were, and then I wasn’t concerned. The spirits knew you weren’t a danger to me.”
“It’s funny that you trusted me, of all people, more swiftly than you trusted Jaina,” Garona said dryly, and Thrall grinned at her.
“I remember the day we first met in truth,” he said, and Garona looked away. “Will you tell me about it from your perspective? I only know my own.”
“Alright,” Garona said. “I also remember the day I became Akia very well.”
~ * ~
If she ever saw snow again, it would be too soon.
Garona stumbled through the land of icy white, using her arms to protect her face from the driving wind. The shadows between were cold, and often drove wind between the untucked places in her armour, but it was not a wet cold, the way this storm was. Alterac was no supernatural force, its misery entirely natural, which was of little comfort as she made her meandering way through the mountains.
If I ever see him again, I’m going to kick Shomni Slewfoot in the behind so hard he’ll have to breathe his own gases! Garona snarled, and a noise escaped her lips, carried by the wind. It was hard to concentrate on anything but walking in a more or less straight line, never mind her aura of silence. She had found, over the years, she was better at controlling it.
It’s not as if anyone can hear me swear here, Garona thought, and let loose a string of curses in a puff of air. I must be insane, surely it’s a lie or a rumour.
It was hope that had brought her to the icy wilds of Alterac in the depths of winter, hope and a rumour that orcs had been seen this far north, not safe in the camps, thank you, and not the Warsong, wild and wandering and evading the Silver Hand’s best patrols.
Durotan and Draka were not far from Alterac when they died, this might be where the clan is, Garona thought, gritting her teeth against more curses. If they’ve survived, Doomhammer might have known of it. They might be able to help.
It had been eighteen years since she had found the Shadow Wolf chieftain’s body and that of his mate. Fourteen, since she had freed Doomhammer from Lordaeron. No progress had been made towards freeing the orcs, and now the mages of Dalaran were sniffing about, sending apprentices and seeking permission to test. I don’t know if they can figure out the secret behind the Lethargy, but the orcs shouldn’t be test subjects along with prisoners and slaves. Doomhammer needs to do something if he intends to save his people.
It was possible that she had been wrong, that, granted freedom, Orgrim Doomhammer would flee and hide in the forests of Lordaeron like a coward. That he would hide in a warmer climate -- there had been a rumour of another orc warrior spotted near Hearthglen, but no one had claimed it was Doomhammer, so it was some other, random nobody that had escaped from the camps.
Stupid, useless Doomhammer, Garona thought, and let loose another string of curses as one of her feet broke through the crust of snow, throwing her forward. She sucked in a breath to begin again, and found herself silenced with but a word.
“Hello?” called a voice in Common. It was male, deep, and came from a nearby copse of trees. “Are you alright?”
Garona froze. Could that be the Silver Hand? Why would they send a paladin up here, in this mess?
The voice cursed softly, and to her surprise, the next words came in Orcish. “Sorry, I forgot. Are you lost? Do you need help?” The words were a tad clumsy, more uncertain than his use of the human tongue.
Who is this?! Garona wondered frantically, struggling to stand as a crashing noise brought the speaker into view, and suddenly, she could think of nothing.
The speaker was an orc, large and bright green, the colour of his skin contrasting sharply with his clothing. He was bundled up in blue-trimmed white leather, from the trousers tucked into massive leather boots to the tips of his mittens. In one hand, he carried a hunting spear, using it to keep his balance as he crunched along on huge, wide netted feet.
“W-w-what are you wearing?” Garona chattered, cursing her weakness. Not so well dressed, her trousers were soaked clean through, and while she was usually more resistant to cold, Alterac had frozen her to the bone, ignoring her natural defenses. “On your f-f-f-feet?”
“These?” the orc asked, and smiled. Garona felt her stomach turn to water. She recognized that smile, and it was like seeing a ghost. “They’re snowshoes. You’re not of the clan.” He crunched forward, and offered her a hand up. She stared at the gloved fingers briefly, and then placed one cold hand in his. He hefted her easily, demonstrating muscle hidden by a thick coat, and set her on the tips of his snowshoes to allow her to balance.
“Clan… which clan?” Garona chattered. “Warsong?”
The orc laughed. “Oh, no. This is Frostwolf land.”
Frostwolves… Garona thought, the last pieces clicking into place. “Who are you?”
“My name is Thrall,” he replied. Garona made a soft noise. “It’s a human word, never mind what it means. Who are you?”
There’s no possibility that he doesn’t know it means slave, Garona thought, even as memory niggled at her. She had been chasing rumours for so long, it was hard to remember them all. “I am… Akia.”
“Akia of which clan?” Thrall asked, his voice teasing. “Not the Warsong, surely.”
“I have no clan,” Garona said bluntly. “You are young, Thrall of the Frostwolves, so you may not know what halforcen are, but I am one.”
Abruptly, as though a veil had fallen over him, Thrall’s warm smile disappeared. “No. I know what halforcen are, and where they come from. Why are you here?”
“I had heard there were orcs in the mountains,” Garona said. “I… I…” She sneezed, and she felt herself flush with sheer embarrassment. I’ve never been sick when it wasn’t from infection! What is this?!
At once, Thrall’s sadness and anger were gone, and he took her elbow, steadying her. “Well, you’ve found them, Akia Halforcen,” he said gently. “You should come with me back to the village. You’ll freeze out here on your own. I have an idea.”
Garona nodded slowly, and Thrall guided her around him, until she was standing behind him, still on his snowshoes. He guided her arms around his waist. She wanted to run, to flee far away from this warm-hearted stranger with a familiar face, but let him secure her.
“I’ll walk, and you walk with me,” Thrall said. “It will be tricky, but I have my spear for balance… I’ll bring in no prey tonight, but surely rescuing a stranger in need is much more important than that. It wasn’t so long ago I was in your position. I only came to know the home of my parents when I was nearly grown. They… died, before I could know them.”
Do you always spill your secrets so easily to a complete stranger? Garona wondered, though she made a noise to indicate her assent. “Who were they? Your parents?”
“I am told that they were the chieftain of this clan and his wife,” Thrall said, using the human word, then corrected, “Mate. Durotan and Draka of the Frostwolves.”
“Thrall, son of Durotan,” Garona murmured unthinkingly. Thrall pulled off a mitten and put two fingers to his lips, whistling sharply. Garona noted that there were scars over his knuckles, healed and rebroken and healed again, and her eyes widened.
“Now that we’re both introduced… Snowsong! Come along!” A vision in white crashed through the underbrush, and Thrall bent to greet a large, white wolf, her tail waving happily. “Here, let her smell you.”
Freeing an arm from Thrall’s waist, she let the wolf sniff her fingers, and then she sneezed. “Is that bad?”
“No, she just thinks you smell odd,” Thrall said, straightening and replacing the mitten. “It’s because she’s not of the clan,” Thrall told the wolf. “Be nice, this is Akia. Akia, this is Snowsong, my spirit companion.”
“...you have a spirit companion?” Garona asked in disbelief. Thrall secured her arm and began to walk in a wide circle, taking them towards the village. “And you speak to her?”
“Yes, all of us do,” Thrall said, and the cadence of his voice changed to that of a storyteller. “Once, long before I was born, the Frostwolves were sent into exile by an evil warlock named Gul’dan.” He paused, and his voice changed again. “A warlock is a kind of mage, but they--”
“I know what a warlock is, and I know of Gul’dan,” Garona interrupted, and then flushed. “Sorry.”
“I get distracted easily, Drek’thar always says so,” Thrall said, and Garona’s heart lept.
Drek’thar lives! she thought wonderingly, nearly missing Thrall’s next words. Incredible!
“--was a long journey, but Drek’thar led them north. The elemental spirits of Azeroth spoke to him, guiding them until they reached Alterac Valley. It was cold here, like it is now, and they feared they would freeze. Drek’thar begged the spirits for a miracle, for some sign to show that they were meant to survive, and the spirits sent the frost wolves. Each one took a member of the clan under paw, and the bond between orc and wolf was complete. Now, with each child that is born, there is a frostwolf just waiting for them. Snowsong and I met only two years ago, but it’s as though we’ve known each other forever. I love her, and she loves me.” Snowsong sneezed on him and hurried ahead. “Well, mostly.”
Garona nearly laughed. “The spirits forsook the orcs a long time ago. Their leaders were fools and monsters.”
“Perhaps that was on Draenor, the ancient land of our people, but not here. Here, the spirits are happy to speak to us, or at least, to Drek’thar and his apprentices,” Thrall replied. “I’m one of them, actually.”
“You’re a shaman?!” Garona exclaimed, and nearly overset the pair of them. Thrall made soothing noises, and balanced with his spear.
“Yes, I am… is that a problem?” Thrall asked, and resumed his slow, plodding pace. The wind still blew, but Thrall’s body protected her from much of the cold. “I was told there were shamans on Draenor, once.”
“There were, but the spirits abandoned the orcs because of the warlocks,” Garona said. “From what I understand. Your people believed that they were better off without them.”
“Our people,” Thrall said, and Garona blinked.
“What?”
“Our people,” Thrall repeated. Garona shook her head.
“I’m halforcen--”
“If you are any part orcen, that’s still orc,” Thrall said, halting her with warmth and earnestness. “Which makes them your people too. Our people have shamans once more.”
Garona fell silent, and Thrall did not press her, instead walking with a steady rhythm, pausing every dozen steps to knock snow from his snowshoes, and Garona moved with him. His words rolled around in her mind.
Durotan’s son lived, and he is a shaman. The Shadow Wolves are now Frostwolves, and they have a village. He bears a human name, the name of slave, and he did not grow up knowing of his people. He speaks as humans do, and learned Orcish later. Drek’thar is his teacher. He has a wolf. She glanced down, peering at Snowsong, who raced ahead and then returned, whining in impatience. A wolf as young as he is.
She felt Thrall stop, and peered around him. “What is it?”
“This is the village,” Thrall said, and Garona blinked. There was a fall of rocks, covered in snow, veiled in trees. She could see nothing past them.
“Are you certain?” Garona asked. “It seems… very small.”
“It’s hidden,” Thrall said. “I wouldn’t have known it was here if I hadn’t been told to look for it. You’ll need to move.”
Garona nodded, and stepped off of his snowshoes, and sank to her knees in snow. She winced, but noticed Thrall was taking his snowshoes off, and he sank to his calves. It’s going to irritate me that he’s so much taller than I am, I just know it, she thought ruefully. Thrall tossed his snowshoes past the rocks, and then turned to her.
“Up you go,” Thrall said, and offered his hand. Garona nodded, and let him boost her up to the rocks, and she was carefully as she hopped over to collect the snowshoes and stand clear. The snow here was far more shallow, as though it had been packed down firmly and persistently. Thrall heaved himself over the rocks, and smiled. “Thank you.” He nodded forward, and Garona turned. She gasped softly.
Invisible from where they’d been just moments before, Frostwolf Village was vast, filling Alterac Valley. She could see huts, well-guarded from the wind and snow by trees, clustered together in threes and fours. To the left, she could see a great hut, made from hides and wood, standing apart from the others.
“That’s where Drek’thar lives,” Thrall confided, taking the snowshoes from her. Snowsong sprinted past them, running into the village, barking loudly. A half-dozen barks answered hers, and one rather annoyed bark-whine. “That’s Wise Ear, Drek’thar’s companion. She’s old, like Drek’thar, and just as grumpy.” He kept his voice down.
“Why are you whispering?” Garona asked, voice equally soft.
“Because if he hears me, he’ll hit me with his stick.” Thrall grinned sheepishly. “He thinks I need to respect my elders.”
“I always respect elders with sticks,” Garona said as they began to walk towards the village. Thrall chuckled. “Where are we going?”
“My own hut. I live alone, but near to Drek’thar, so he can yell for me, and Palkar doesn’t need to run far to find me,” Thrall replied. “Palkar is Drek’thar’s assistant. He does chores. Well, Palkar and Stormpaw. They’re only eleven winters old.”
“So young,” Garona murmured. “Aren’t you going to ask them if I can stay?”
“I’ll ask the spirits what they think, but I want you to stay, Akia,” Thrall said earnestly. “You shouldn’t have to be clanless, and the Frostwolves are friendly with strangers. Sometimes they have visitors, like my father’s old friend, Orgrim Doomhammer. I suppose you know of him too?”
Well, now I know that Doomhammer didn’t die in a ditch somewhere, Garona thought uneasily. “Yes, is he here now?”
“No, he’s visiting with the Warsong, he hates the winter here,” Thrall said, and shrugged. “It’s cold, but it’s cozy, I promise. You just need to dress for it. Come! I’ll show you where I live.”
Thrall broke into a run, and Garona remained still for a moment, watching him. He’s like an eager puppy himself, she thought. He’s going to get himself killed. The thought was sobering. Durotan’s son, innocent as a child, just letting anyone into his home. If I worked for Gul’dan… She reached back, touching numb fingers to her snow-crusted hair. No, not again. Never again. I lost Durotan, I betrayed Llane… I couldn’t save my mother. I won’t lose this child. I won’t lose Thrall.
“Akia?” Thrall called. Garona looked up, and she melted a little. Thrall’s eyes were bright blue, the same shade as the Frostwolf blue, and as eager as a pup. “Are you coming?”
“I am,” Garona replied, and began to walk, wincing as her clothes crunched and crackled. “I’m coming.”
~ * ~
“I’m not a pup,” Thrall grumbled. “I’m an adult.”
“Of course you are,” Garona said dryly. “And a fierce warrior besides.”
Thrall glared at her, and then smiled as she remained unintimidated. “So you stayed.”
“I considered leaving once I had a change of clothes, but I’d already made up my mind,” Garona said, looking down at her hands. “You had Doomhammer as a mentor, Drek’thar, Hellscream, Snowsong… but I thought that, if I couldn’t teach you, I could watch your back.”
“Drek’thar is too old for guard duty,” Thrall agreed. “Orgrim died before Durnholde, Grom in Ashenvale. Snowsong is wonderful, but not one of my people.” She looked up at him, and he smiled. “Our people.”
“You’re sentimental,” Garona said, though there was little bite to it. “When did you figure it out? Who little Akia of the Frostwolves was?”
“It took time,” Thrall said. “The spirits were adamant that you stay. I would watch you, sometimes. They way you interacted with others. It was little things. I think if you’d have left, I might never have known. Then, when you disappeared after Hyjal, I was certain.”
“After Hyjal, things were going to change,” Garona replied softly. “You weren’t leading an army of misfits any more, you were going to be guiding a people. You weren’t content with clans and villages, you wanted a city. Everyone was of your clan, of your people. That was going to make you enemies.”
“I’ve already heard the grumblings,” Thrall said, and his back straightened. “I don’t regret it. I don’t think clans are worthless, as some claim, but it isn’t only the great clans deserve attention. The Horde should be one great clan, one great family, to all--” He stopped as Garona shook her head. “You don’t approve.”
“Of course I approve,” Garona said. “You welcomed me when no one else did. You welcome others, other halforcen, people whose clans abandoned them, people who can’t even remember their clan names. They can say ‘I am of the Horde’, and it is a thing of pride, not of convenience. That’s why you need to be protected. It’s just common sense.”
You care, Thrall thought warmly. You deny it but you do. “Thinking back, what do you regret?”
Garona was quiet for a moment. “I regret I didn’t try to run as a child. Your parents would have helped me, sheltered me. They were kind, even when they were a little suspicious of me. I don’t regret killing Telkar Doomhammer. He was an idiot and a blowhard, and he had no doubts about beating and killing a child. I do regret that I helped Gul’dan. He was not all-powerful, but I helped give the impression he was. None of the other assassins were as talented as I was. I regret that I never helped Medivh more. I know he’s free now, but if I had just done more…” She sighed, and shook her head. “I regret killing Llane, but more, I regret that I ever believed what Gul’dan told me.”
Thrall reached out, offering a hand. Garona looked at it, and put her hand in his. He squeezed it gently. “He did all he could to convince you that he was trustworthy. That your recollections, your judgements, were wrong.”
“He did,” Garona said. “It’s possible Gul’dan was right, that the humans would never have let the orcs live in peace, not after all we’d done… but that was when Blackhand and Gul’dan were leading the Horde. Not Doomhammer. He could have led them better. There could have been peace.”
“Do you regret letting Orgrim live?” Thrall asked, and watched her expression closely. Emotion flickered over her face as she considered. He didn’t hurry her, instead dropping his other hand down. Snowsong licked over his knuckles, the ones scarred from his years in the arena, and nuzzled his palm as he turned his hand over.
“No,” Garona said finally. “I will never like him, alive or dead, and I still resent him for everything he’s done, but you needed him as a mentor and a friend. I was wrong that he would lead your -- our -- people to freedom, but I was right that he was needed. That’s how the world is, sometimes. There are people that one can hate but who are still necessary for it to function.”
“That’s wise,” Thrall said, nodding. “We never stop learning. Do you still wish for a place within the Horde? That’s how all of this began. I’ve learned more than I ever hoped for, but I still don’t have an answer to that question.”
“What do you mean?” Garona asked sharply. Thrall smiled encouragingly.
“I’m not a naive child,” Thrall said gently. “I’m not a pup as green as new trees. I know that things won’t be as simple and easy as ‘we’ve defeated the demons, and now we live happily ever after’.” Thrall caught her gaze, and she stared at him, grey eyes to blue. “If we can get on top of situations, though, of the grumbling and the Shadow Council agents you see in every shadow, we can grow as a people. That bright future you want is right there, right around the corner. We just have to work for it.”
Garona opened her mouth, and Thrall watched her. He could see the denial on her face, but finally she sighed. “I want to believe that. I will never be publicly accepted. Not by the orcs, not by your human allies.”
“You can disguise yourself. Eitrigg is already proposing that I have an elite bodyguard. I’ve seen the helmets. They’ll hide you for now, and I’ll introduce you to the others. The orcs might not accept you at first, but Cairne remembers Akia, and so does Vol’jin. They can help convince the others. I want you with me to help protect the Horde.”
“It’s a good thing Eitrigg is suggesting such, I’m not a warrior, I’m an assassin,” Garona said, though she couldn’t look away. “They will protect you from the enemies that come at you from the front and sides, I will protect you from the shadows.”
“That sounds like you want to be my spymaster, then,” Thrall said lightly. She eyed him and he chuckled. “You wanted to serve the Horde.”
“You’re trickier than you let on,” Garona grumbled. “I’ll warn you, I’ve never been agreeable in my life. Anyone will tell you.”
“I think I can manage without you being perfectly agreeable,” Thrall said, and looked up. Garona followed his gaze as the wind picked up, throwing dust into the air. “The Razor Winds are coming.”
“The walls aren’t complete yet, are they?” Garona asked. Thrall stood, and shook his head. The wind tugged at his warrior braids, and Garona’s single, thick one, worn in a style he now knew she’d picked up from her time living amongst humans in Stormwind.
“No, but we can get them finished if we hurry,” Thrall said. He offered Garona his hand, and this time she ignored it, rising stiffly on her own. He hid a chuckle. “I’m expecting a message too. We can read it together.”
“And you can send a better messenger than a warrior,” Garona pointed out. “Let’s go.”
Thrall inhaled carefully, taking in wind and not dust. The winds of change blow strongly. Something comes.
[ Epilogue]