Unity - Chapter 11
As promised, the next two chapters. A sincere thank you to sodzilla for always being there to listen to me fuss, and of course, the people who read. Porn, however, is next chapter, to be posted tomorrow.
Title: Unity
Part: 11 of 18-21
Word Count: 4240 (of this part)
Warnings: Implied sex, actual sex, orc/human, mentioned death and suicide, angst. Angst, violence, drama and some tooth-aching sweetness.
Pairings: Mentioned Thrall/Others, primarily Thrall/Jaina. Mentioned past Arthas/Jaina and past one-sided Kael/Jaina. For this part, past Durotan/Draka. Not a lot to warn for, it's just mostly sappy like nuts.
Summary: Lover's Day approaches, and Thrall plans to make his day with Jaina perfect.
Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
Candles. Incense. Music? Perhaps the gnomes have some kind of device, or the goblins...
"Warchief."
If it's built by the goblins, it might explode, but if it's built by the gnomes, it might actually turn us both into chickens, which would be awkward and break the mood.
"Warchief Thrall."
So no music. It feels as if I'm missing something. Jaina said she had what she would need, and I'm curious to know what this spell is--
"Warchief Thrall, the Burning Legion is invading again."
"Mm." Food? Should there be food? We could have dinner first. Fish? She has fish regularly, so she might be tired of it. Pork? There should be more than enough for the winter, and it's just one meal. Winter Veil has passed again so--
"Warchief Thrall, Grommash Hold is on fire."
She was beautiful in the candlelight, it's a shame she was called back to Theramore, but we weren't ready anyway--
"Mannoroth's statue has come alive and is destroying the Valley of Wisdom."
--but I want to be ready now--
"Jaina Proudmoore is here."
Thrall sat up abruptly. "What? When did she..."
Laughter. His eyes narrowed, and met the amused faces of his council. Garona crosses her arms over her chest, black on black, having returned from an assignment recently enough to be still wearing her assassin's garb. "I realize bureaucracy is less interesting than running across the table and cutting off Vol'jin's head--"
"Why does it have to be my head, mon?" the troll witch doctor protested.
"--but you still need to pay attention." Thrall opened his mouth, and she quirked a smile. "And no, Lady Proudmoore is not here, yet."
"That was mean," Thrall told her pointedly. He glared at each of his advisors, who seemed to be in varying states of embarrassment or amusement, and nodded to her. "Continue."
The remainder of the meeting finished swiftly, and Thrall made it a point of being involved with each aspect, glaring over at a still-amused Garona. Once everyone was dismissed, Thrall stood, and moved to return to his quarters. He pointedly ignored Garona, who stood in front of him deliberately.
"You can be angry with me all you like, but you do need to do more than just daydream about Jaina Proudmoore," she told him flatly. "You have a job."
"I don't do it that often," Thrall protested, and she moved to walk beside him.
"More and more lately," Garona pointed out. "There were two meetings while I was gone, and you got nothing done in either of them, because you couldn't focus."
"In regards to the last two meetings, at the first everyone had a hangover, and the second was interrupted because Grommash Hold actually was on fire," Thrall pointed out. "The spirits can get my attention, even if you can't."
"This is why you don't let the goblins set up your fireworks displays," Garona grumbled. "Nevertheless, you've still been distracted. You should just get it over with already."
"Everyone else seems to believe we're already sleeping together," the Warchief grumbled.
"Everyone else isn't your personal bodyguard," his Spymistress replied tartly. "And trust me, I'd know."
"That's not comforting," Thrall growled, and then sighed. "I want it to be perfect. Special. Memorable. Is that so much to ask?"
Garona's expression shifted, just slightly, before it went back to sardonic. "Bad sex is memorable too, you know."
"Is it impossible for you to be helpful?" Thrall demanded.
"Yes," Garona told him. "I have to change. Goodbye, now. Don't get lost on the way to your quarters."
Thrall resisted the urge to say something rude as she walked off with a swagger to her step. Obnoxious, nosy, know-it-all, half-o-- He hit the wall suddenly. Tea. I need the tea. He turned, and walked back towards where the healers took up residence within Grommash Hold. He did not have a personal physician the way Jaina did -- he felt that meditation and consultation with the spirits was often enough -- but he did know them, and had studied under them when he could.
"Thrall!" barked a voice, and a slight shiver of fear ran down his back. He turned, and offered his former teacher a bow, despite the fact that Drek'thar of the Frostwolf Clan would not be able to see the gesture. "Come here."
"Of course," he said, and despite the fact it had been nearly six years since the elder shaman had taught him, he could feel the sting of Drek'thar's cane. "How can I help you?"
"You can have tea with an old, blind man, for once," Drek'thar said, and Thrall resisted the urge to sigh. "Sit with me."
"Of course," Thrall said again, and went where his mentor led. It was not as though he didn't love Drek'thar. The shaman had given him his parents, his heritage, and in many ways, his people. Without Drek'thar's help, he never would have learned to speak to the spirits so that they would listen and reply; he would not have learned the gifts of healing, of elemental manipulation, and he had refined the combat skills that he had learned from the arena. It's just that he's old, and cranky, and stubborn as the rock faces of Azshara, and even more frustrating to deal with than Garona.
Drek'thar turned, and led Thrall to his room. He was not quite unerring, and Thrall took his arm to lead him inside. His frostwolf raised her head slightly, yipped briefly, and lay her head back down. Along her flank were scars from a battle that had nearly proven fatal to her.
She's old, Thrall thought, a brief hint of sadness to it, and he glanced at his mentor, who muttered as his hands moved over shelves. They both are.
"Old and blind, but not senile," Drek'thar said sharply. "Help me with these."
"Yes, Teacher," Thrall replied, and took both mugs from him. The tea was fragrant, and reminded him of what had brought him to the healers in the first place, but he sat. Drek'thar taught me patience, because he has none, or so it seems. He watched as the elder orc sat, grumbling about his bones, and offered him a mug. When you're young, it's easy to see the impatience only, and not the test that comes with it. Drek'thar took it, and sipped.
"So, what brings you to the healers?" Drek'thar asked. "Are you ill?"
Thrall took a long gulp of his tea before answering. "No, I needed something from them. A tea."
The old orc's expression shifted from annoyed to amused, but pleased. "Ah, you're finally going to do it, then. Excellent. Jaina Proudmoore is a fine woman, would that she were an orc."
Thrall winced. "Does everyone know?"
"I believe those at the outpost near the Mirage Flats don't know," Drek'thar replied, though he chuckled. "She has courted you well, don't feel ashamed. It will make for a fine mating."
"I don't believe that everyone will take quite your stance on it, but thank--" Thrall paused, and then frowned. "She courted me? I believe you're mistaken."
"No, no. It's just as Draka courted your father, Durotan." Drek'thar smiled reminiscently, and Thrall was grateful that his teacher could not see the expression on his face.
"She... did? My understanding was that men courted women, but they chose--"
"You have spent too much time with humans, and it surprises me that Eitrigg had not taught you differently," Drek'thar said sharply. "Be silent, and listen."
Thrall smiled. "Yes, Teacher."
"Hmph." Drek'thar sipped his tea, and the reminiscent smile returned. "While it's true that it is common for males to court females, many females find their mates in advance, and do things to get their chosen target to notice them. We are not like humans, to enjoy that which is soft and pretty. A mate is useless if she cannot fight off a worg that hunts orc children as it would a clefthoof calf. A mate is useless if she cannot bear her husband's spear with equal skill to defend her home while her mate hunts. A mate is useless if she has no spirit and no fire."
"There is fire in our blood," Thrall murmured, and hastily drank before his teacher decided to strike him for interrupting.
"Just so," Drek'thar rumbled. "So, a female presents herself as appealing to a male whom she also feels to be appealing. One that is a strong hunter, one that is not too stubborn, but not too weak willed. One that is well-endowed." This last was accompanied by a grin in Thrall's direction that caused his cheeks to heat. "Sometimes, the male is not quite clever enough to know a good thing when he sees it."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Thrall protested. "I--"
Drek'thar struck him with his cane so fast it could have been lightning. Thrall swore under his breath, using a colourful oath that he'd once heard Jaina use.
"We're not talking about you, we're talking about your parents. So shut up, boy," Drek'thar replied tartly. Thrall scowled at him, but held his tongue. "Now, Durotan was the son of Garad, the chieftain of the Shadow Wolf clan, and the Frostwolf parent-clan. He was an accomplished warrior, though he believed in the spirits quite strongly for one that had not been touched by them. He had friends outside of his clan... Hellscream, and Doomhammer, though Hellscream was a reckless, skinny whelp when Durotan first met him, and he became a reckless, skinny warrior in time."
Thrall smiled involuntarily at the memory of Grom's recklessness, that had been both exhilarating and infinitely frustrating to deal with.
"Durotan's head was filled with many things, and unfortunately, none of them was the immediate need to find a mate. Fortunately, someone else had the foresight to know that he would need a mate. Your mother. Your mother had, in her youth, been weak and sickly. She was born during the worst season, and under a poor star. Her family feared for her life, and for the health of the clan, so she was taken outside the village to see what would happen to her. When she finally returned, it was as a woman, as beautiful as she was dangerous. She was an accomplished hunter, working with a finesse that those who had been born strong lacked. She saw your father, and admired him. Durotan was wise, even in his youth, and clear-seeing. He believed in the mission to someday cleanse Draenor, though we never saw that goal come to pass."
Drek'thar bowed his head, and Thrall reached forward to touch his shoulder. "I'm sorry, perhaps someday--"
"It is best that Draenor and Azeroth's connection was severed, and that the pain and humiliation of being the pawns of demons left there," Drek'thar said, though his voice was sad rather than harsh. "In any case, Draka knew what she wanted, so she set out to get his attention, but males are often stupid, and take time to come into their own minds." Thrall frowned, and Drek'thar raised his cane warningly. "Don't frown at me. It's the truth, and you're no less guilty than I am, or anyone else is. Durotan didn't quite notice right away what Draka was interested in, and by the time he did, there was a second female who wanted his attention. Her name was Jeneka, and she was of a different clan. Howling Storm, as a matter of fact."
"I've never heard of that clan," Thrall commented. "Did something happen?"
"They were absorbed by the Blackrock clan when it formed," Drek'thar said. "As was the Great Sands clan, and half a dozen others, along with many warriors from existing clans, including Orgrim Doomhammer. In any case, Jeneka of Howling Storm saw Durotan during the gathering at the base of Oshu'gun in Nagrand, and decided that she, too, wanted the son of a Chieftain as a prize. Draka was displeased by this."
"Oshu'gun? Nagrand?" Thrall murmured, and ducked away from the next blow. "I know, you're telling a story."
"Hmph," Drek'thar said. "Jeneka was both more blatant about it, and resorted to more underhanded tactics. She learned that Draka had once been weak, and began to spread this news throughout the gathering, until all lips buzzed with the news that a weak girl-child coveted the son of a Chieftain. Jeneka intended for Durotan to laugh at her, and instead, he was surprised by the fact that not one, but two women that desired to become his mate. Durotan, foolish male that he was, tried to resolve the issue peacefully. Draka took a more direct approach. She challenged Jeneka for Durotan, and by the setting of the Red Son, Jeneka was face down in the mud, and Draka was victorious."
"My mother... wrestled in the mud... for my father..." Thrall said numbly, trying to reconcile this story with what he'd heard about his parents from Doomhammer and Grom, and couldn't quite manage it. "What did my father say?"
"I believe his exact words before Draka dragged him off were 'Um. Ah. Oh'." Drek'thar gave him a yellowed, toothy grin. "Never underestimate the determination of females when there is something they want. They can be like the tide. You can fight it, but you will only be tired when you are dragged by it."
Perhaps an apt metaphor for Jaina, since she was trained in sea magic as part of her heritage, but... Thrall frowned. "What if my father simply didn't love one of them? Or either of them? Wouldn't she have taken him against his will? How would that be fair--"
"If Durotan had truly been disinterested in either of them, he would have refused the condition of victory," Drek'thar said gently. "I understand that aspects of orc mating frighten you, but there are rules that are unspoken because they are taught, from mother to daughter, and from father to son, over generations. Unfortunately, because of the circumstances of your birth and your childhood, that chain was broken. Durotan would have explained it all to you in time, but instead, you learn piecemeal from those who know these things by instinct, the way we learned to walk, to run and hunt."
Thrall sat quietly, turning the mug in his hands. The spirits were quiet, and there was only the sound of breathing. It was in this silence Thrall finally found his centre, and asked the question he'd turned over in his mind. "What if I hurt her? Not just... physically. She has been hurt before by the actions of foolish and careless men. If I followed in their footsteps..."
"You must fight them for her," Drek'thar said simply. "Fight them for her hand and her honour."
"Arthas Menethil is the Lich King, and Kael'thas Sunstrider is in Outland," Thrall said, a hint of frustration in his voice. "I wouldn't even say that it would flatter Jaina or impress her to fight for her hand, she has been fought over before, and it angered her. I will never treat her like a thing."
"Females are not fought over because we believe them to be objects," Drek'thar said sternly. "It does them a disservice to believe that. Females are fought over to show that we are determined to fulfill our duties to them. That we will not flee in the face of the enemy, that we will not give into despair when things are difficult or balk at that which is challenging. We fight for a female to let them know that they are worth fighting for. That they are of value to us, and not simply replaced like an axe or a saddle. Do not go to Northrend to fight Arthas Menethil, fight his memory. Fight that which she remembers about him that hurt her. Do not fight Kael'thas Sunstrider in Outland, but instead fight the concept that you may have love or friendship, but not both. I know that concerns you, and it concerns her too."
Thrall stared at Drek'thar wordlessly, and his teacher stood, complaining about his old bones. The words resonated, deep within him. He sat, turning the words over in his mind the way he would examine a magical working -- with Jaina, at his side, wise in areas he would never be -- and was startled when Drek'thar threw something to him, though he caught it by instinct.
"The tea," Drek'thar said quietly. "You will need it."
"Thank you," Thrall said sincerely. "You have given me a great deal to think about, and a gift. You told me a story about my parents."
"It was nothing," Drek'thar grumbled, though the words contradicted the glow of pride in his teacher's face. "But for this story, you must do something for me."
"What is it?" Thrall asked, turning the sealed, stone jar over in his hands.
"I wish to hold Durotan's grandson in my arms, so I'm expecting you to have one," Drek'thar said. "I have been present for many births, but this one, I believe, will be special."
Not this again, Thrall thought, and suppressed a groan. "As soon as I'm to be a father, I will let you know."
"I'll hold you to that," Drek'thar said. "No, go away. I believe you have a female to woo."
"Goodbye, Teacher," Thrall said with a hint of annoyance, and stood. He left the cup with Drek'thar, whose chuckles followed him out of the room. Everyone is so impatient. I'll get to it when I can.
~ * ~
"There's a what?" Thrall asked, incredulous. He gestured, and the half-dozen candles he'd arranged winked out, preserving much of the wax.
"There's a hurricane, I'm so sorry," Jaina replied through the crystal. "I don't understand it at all, it's Late Winter, there shouldn't be hurricanes this late. The weather's been so strange lately. I'm working with Tesoran, Tervosh and Rylai to protect the walls, and hopefully we can wait this out."
Thrall sighed softly. "Be careful, please. The weather doesn't like to be toyed with."
"I know better than to change the weather, but if I can protect Theramore from it, we shouldn't take too much damage. I'm sorry, Thrall, I wanted to..."
"I know, please be safe. Spirits watch over you," Thrall said.
"Light bless."
"Theramore isn't the only place being hit by bad weather," Garona said as Thrall set the communication rune down.
"I could have been busy," he pointed out.
"You're still wearing pants, you weren't that busy," Garona replied dismissively. "That hurricane isn't just hitting Theramore, it's hitting along the entire coast of Dustwallow. We're getting high winds. It's harder to hear them inside the city, and these aren't the Razor Winds. Those come in the Summer."
"It could be something to do with the spirits, and I may as well make use of this." He gestured to the meal that had been set out. "Help yourself."
"I'm sure it will be overly-sweet for me," Garona grumbled, but sat down, and Thrall closed his eyes. Almost immediately, he could feel the distress of the spirits.
"Something is amiss," he murmured. Spirits, I honour you. Please, grant me-- His head rang with the urgency of the air and water spirits. They wailed, and he realized suddenly that they were fleeing from something. What's wrong?
It calls to us, but we don't want to obey, the spirits cried, and he could feel them clinging to him as lightning clings to the underside of a stormcloud. Save us, save us!
First, you must calm yourselves, Thrall said, offering them stability and certainty. Can you tell me what it is that's calling to you?
The Stone calls to us, it beckons the tides, and we flee, even as others of our kind are drawn to it, forced to do Her bidding. Thrall frowned. They must obey, but we ran to where it is safe, we hide on our haven's shores...
Can you tell me where this is? Thrall asked, and in return was given a vision of an island and fragmented images of ships and high cliffs lashed by rain and lightning. His heart sank. Go inland, but gently. Your fear harms those that live here and work the land, those who respect it and do not harm it even as it blesses them with a home and food to eat. Go, and I will do what I can.
The spirits thanked him, and he felt them depart, though the wind still howled over Grommash Hold. "It will take time for the spirits to pass over us, but I think I know where to go. I will need to speak to Jaina, I think. Something is wrong..."
"You're not going anywhere," Garona commented, and he was surprised to find her kneeling at his side. "Look at yourself. You're soaking wet."
"When did that happen?" he asked, looking down at himself. Garona was right, he was soaked to the bone, and he shivered slightly.
"About four hours ago, when you went into the trance," she replied, and he gave her an alarmed look. "A long time to watch you mutter and twitch."
"Four hours?!" Thrall exclaimed. "I spoke to them in moments--"
"Look at the hour candles," Garona said. "Jaina used the rune to say that the hurricane had mostly subsided, they must have taken whatever you said to heart. She said there's a lot of rain and snow, but they'll survive."
"You spoke to Jaina?" Thrall rumbled. She chuckled.
"No, I made Eitrigg do it," she replied. "Whatever it is that the spirits want can wait until you're dry. Think how embarrassing it would be if the Warchief of the Horde, on the most notable occasion of him getting laid, had the sniffles."
"I've had--" Thrall growled, and moved to stand. His legs were stiff, and his clothes clung to him. I need a soak in a tub of hot water, and then dry clothes. She's right, damn her. "I hate you sometimes."
"No, you don't," Garona said cheerfully, offering her arm. "You adore me."
~ * ~
"What do you think?" Thrall asked, shifting his arms around Jaina while the human sorceress sat perched on his lap, looking pensive.
"It must be Crestfall island," Jaina said finally. "I can't think of another place would have that particular description, but... the spirits didn't say more about what this stone is?"
"They said the stone beckoned the tides, and that it called to them, though they managed to flee. They also spoke of a 'she' that was calling to them, using it," Thrall replied, letting his head rest against her arm, and she smiled, stroking his hair lightly.
"There are some artifacts that might allow a magic user to bind elementals to them, our study of them in Dalaran was quite extensive," Jaina murmured. "While most mages don't wind up using or being interested in them, others make it their specific point of study. I remember that Kael'thas and I were discussing an essay on--" Her eyes widened. "Stone of the Tides."
"Stone of the Tides?" Thrall repeated, glancing up at her. She nodded, and cupped his cheek in one hand.
"There was a series of essays that one of the Archmages, Ansirem Runeweaver if I recall correctly, wrote about the ancient troll empires. One of the things he discussed was a troll artifact that would appear and disappear throughout troll history. It was legendary for allowing its Champion to control water and the tides... it hasn't been seen in quite some time. If that's what's doing this... I'm not sure how we can stop it, until the Champion fades."
"Fades?" Thrall asked, letting his hand rest at the small of her back.
"All Champions of the Tides are drawn back to the sea, and they take the Stone with them," she replied, a certain level of sadness to her voice. "That end seems to come faster or slower depending on how much they're required to use the Stone in service of the Emperor."
"Is there still an Emperor?" Thrall asked. "The Darkspear have shamans and witch doctors, but..."
"No, the Gurubashi and the Amani empires both fell," Jaina said simply. "What's left is a shadow of what it once was. If you get the chance, you should study them. They're fascinating, really."
"It surprises me that you're so well-versed in troll history," Thrall commented. "Particularly, before..."
"One of the things you must learn about mages is that we're like cats," Jaina said, leaning against his chest. "Curious about everything, sticking our noses into dark corners and kicking up dust. I'll admit, my fascination with trolls originally came from my friendship with Kael. Trolls and elves are intertwined by history, though elves have a much more personal view of it. Some of my research was not well-received." She smiled, though it was wistful. "Kael at least was willing to listen to me, though how much of it he believed..."
Fight their memories, Drek'thar's voice reminded him.
"I'm always willing to listen, even to unpopular theories," Thrall said gently, stroking her hair. She shifted, nuzzling against his chest.
"I know you are, that's why..." She smiled. "That's why I'm so happy when I'm with you," she finished. "I should take care of this. My brother needs to know about this."
"You didn't want to go home," Thrall murmured, and Jaina's head shake shifted against his chest.
"No, I didn't, but I need to. This isn't just personal any more, this is urgent enough to affect large portions of Kalimdor, particularly along the coast." She pressed a kiss against his chest. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Are you going alone?" Thrall asked, gently tilting her head upwards.
"Oh, no, I plan to bring Tervosh with me," Jaina replied instantly, and he chuckled. He leaned down, and kissed her. She scooted closer, and wrapped her arms around his neck for a long, clinging kiss. When it broke, she smiled at him. "I'll be back."
"I never doubted that," Thrall said sincerely. "It was for luck."
"Thank you," Jaina murmured. "Be well."
"I will be," Thrall said sincerely. "Once you've taken care of the weather problem, things will be very peaceful."
Sidestory: Stormcaller
Chapter 12
Title: Unity
Part: 11 of 18-21
Word Count: 4240 (of this part)
Warnings: Implied sex, actual sex, orc/human, mentioned death and suicide, angst. Angst, violence, drama and some tooth-aching sweetness.
Pairings: Mentioned Thrall/Others, primarily Thrall/Jaina. Mentioned past Arthas/Jaina and past one-sided Kael/Jaina. For this part, past Durotan/Draka. Not a lot to warn for, it's just mostly sappy like nuts.
Summary: Lover's Day approaches, and Thrall plans to make his day with Jaina perfect.
Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
Candles. Incense. Music? Perhaps the gnomes have some kind of device, or the goblins...
"Warchief."
If it's built by the goblins, it might explode, but if it's built by the gnomes, it might actually turn us both into chickens, which would be awkward and break the mood.
"Warchief Thrall."
So no music. It feels as if I'm missing something. Jaina said she had what she would need, and I'm curious to know what this spell is--
"Warchief Thrall, the Burning Legion is invading again."
"Mm." Food? Should there be food? We could have dinner first. Fish? She has fish regularly, so she might be tired of it. Pork? There should be more than enough for the winter, and it's just one meal. Winter Veil has passed again so--
"Warchief Thrall, Grommash Hold is on fire."
She was beautiful in the candlelight, it's a shame she was called back to Theramore, but we weren't ready anyway--
"Mannoroth's statue has come alive and is destroying the Valley of Wisdom."
--but I want to be ready now--
"Jaina Proudmoore is here."
Thrall sat up abruptly. "What? When did she..."
Laughter. His eyes narrowed, and met the amused faces of his council. Garona crosses her arms over her chest, black on black, having returned from an assignment recently enough to be still wearing her assassin's garb. "I realize bureaucracy is less interesting than running across the table and cutting off Vol'jin's head--"
"Why does it have to be my head, mon?" the troll witch doctor protested.
"--but you still need to pay attention." Thrall opened his mouth, and she quirked a smile. "And no, Lady Proudmoore is not here, yet."
"That was mean," Thrall told her pointedly. He glared at each of his advisors, who seemed to be in varying states of embarrassment or amusement, and nodded to her. "Continue."
The remainder of the meeting finished swiftly, and Thrall made it a point of being involved with each aspect, glaring over at a still-amused Garona. Once everyone was dismissed, Thrall stood, and moved to return to his quarters. He pointedly ignored Garona, who stood in front of him deliberately.
"You can be angry with me all you like, but you do need to do more than just daydream about Jaina Proudmoore," she told him flatly. "You have a job."
"I don't do it that often," Thrall protested, and she moved to walk beside him.
"More and more lately," Garona pointed out. "There were two meetings while I was gone, and you got nothing done in either of them, because you couldn't focus."
"In regards to the last two meetings, at the first everyone had a hangover, and the second was interrupted because Grommash Hold actually was on fire," Thrall pointed out. "The spirits can get my attention, even if you can't."
"This is why you don't let the goblins set up your fireworks displays," Garona grumbled. "Nevertheless, you've still been distracted. You should just get it over with already."
"Everyone else seems to believe we're already sleeping together," the Warchief grumbled.
"Everyone else isn't your personal bodyguard," his Spymistress replied tartly. "And trust me, I'd know."
"That's not comforting," Thrall growled, and then sighed. "I want it to be perfect. Special. Memorable. Is that so much to ask?"
Garona's expression shifted, just slightly, before it went back to sardonic. "Bad sex is memorable too, you know."
"Is it impossible for you to be helpful?" Thrall demanded.
"Yes," Garona told him. "I have to change. Goodbye, now. Don't get lost on the way to your quarters."
Thrall resisted the urge to say something rude as she walked off with a swagger to her step. Obnoxious, nosy, know-it-all, half-o-- He hit the wall suddenly. Tea. I need the tea. He turned, and walked back towards where the healers took up residence within Grommash Hold. He did not have a personal physician the way Jaina did -- he felt that meditation and consultation with the spirits was often enough -- but he did know them, and had studied under them when he could.
"Thrall!" barked a voice, and a slight shiver of fear ran down his back. He turned, and offered his former teacher a bow, despite the fact that Drek'thar of the Frostwolf Clan would not be able to see the gesture. "Come here."
"Of course," he said, and despite the fact it had been nearly six years since the elder shaman had taught him, he could feel the sting of Drek'thar's cane. "How can I help you?"
"You can have tea with an old, blind man, for once," Drek'thar said, and Thrall resisted the urge to sigh. "Sit with me."
"Of course," Thrall said again, and went where his mentor led. It was not as though he didn't love Drek'thar. The shaman had given him his parents, his heritage, and in many ways, his people. Without Drek'thar's help, he never would have learned to speak to the spirits so that they would listen and reply; he would not have learned the gifts of healing, of elemental manipulation, and he had refined the combat skills that he had learned from the arena. It's just that he's old, and cranky, and stubborn as the rock faces of Azshara, and even more frustrating to deal with than Garona.
Drek'thar turned, and led Thrall to his room. He was not quite unerring, and Thrall took his arm to lead him inside. His frostwolf raised her head slightly, yipped briefly, and lay her head back down. Along her flank were scars from a battle that had nearly proven fatal to her.
She's old, Thrall thought, a brief hint of sadness to it, and he glanced at his mentor, who muttered as his hands moved over shelves. They both are.
"Old and blind, but not senile," Drek'thar said sharply. "Help me with these."
"Yes, Teacher," Thrall replied, and took both mugs from him. The tea was fragrant, and reminded him of what had brought him to the healers in the first place, but he sat. Drek'thar taught me patience, because he has none, or so it seems. He watched as the elder orc sat, grumbling about his bones, and offered him a mug. When you're young, it's easy to see the impatience only, and not the test that comes with it. Drek'thar took it, and sipped.
"So, what brings you to the healers?" Drek'thar asked. "Are you ill?"
Thrall took a long gulp of his tea before answering. "No, I needed something from them. A tea."
The old orc's expression shifted from annoyed to amused, but pleased. "Ah, you're finally going to do it, then. Excellent. Jaina Proudmoore is a fine woman, would that she were an orc."
Thrall winced. "Does everyone know?"
"I believe those at the outpost near the Mirage Flats don't know," Drek'thar replied, though he chuckled. "She has courted you well, don't feel ashamed. It will make for a fine mating."
"I don't believe that everyone will take quite your stance on it, but thank--" Thrall paused, and then frowned. "She courted me? I believe you're mistaken."
"No, no. It's just as Draka courted your father, Durotan." Drek'thar smiled reminiscently, and Thrall was grateful that his teacher could not see the expression on his face.
"She... did? My understanding was that men courted women, but they chose--"
"You have spent too much time with humans, and it surprises me that Eitrigg had not taught you differently," Drek'thar said sharply. "Be silent, and listen."
Thrall smiled. "Yes, Teacher."
"Hmph." Drek'thar sipped his tea, and the reminiscent smile returned. "While it's true that it is common for males to court females, many females find their mates in advance, and do things to get their chosen target to notice them. We are not like humans, to enjoy that which is soft and pretty. A mate is useless if she cannot fight off a worg that hunts orc children as it would a clefthoof calf. A mate is useless if she cannot bear her husband's spear with equal skill to defend her home while her mate hunts. A mate is useless if she has no spirit and no fire."
"There is fire in our blood," Thrall murmured, and hastily drank before his teacher decided to strike him for interrupting.
"Just so," Drek'thar rumbled. "So, a female presents herself as appealing to a male whom she also feels to be appealing. One that is a strong hunter, one that is not too stubborn, but not too weak willed. One that is well-endowed." This last was accompanied by a grin in Thrall's direction that caused his cheeks to heat. "Sometimes, the male is not quite clever enough to know a good thing when he sees it."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Thrall protested. "I--"
Drek'thar struck him with his cane so fast it could have been lightning. Thrall swore under his breath, using a colourful oath that he'd once heard Jaina use.
"We're not talking about you, we're talking about your parents. So shut up, boy," Drek'thar replied tartly. Thrall scowled at him, but held his tongue. "Now, Durotan was the son of Garad, the chieftain of the Shadow Wolf clan, and the Frostwolf parent-clan. He was an accomplished warrior, though he believed in the spirits quite strongly for one that had not been touched by them. He had friends outside of his clan... Hellscream, and Doomhammer, though Hellscream was a reckless, skinny whelp when Durotan first met him, and he became a reckless, skinny warrior in time."
Thrall smiled involuntarily at the memory of Grom's recklessness, that had been both exhilarating and infinitely frustrating to deal with.
"Durotan's head was filled with many things, and unfortunately, none of them was the immediate need to find a mate. Fortunately, someone else had the foresight to know that he would need a mate. Your mother. Your mother had, in her youth, been weak and sickly. She was born during the worst season, and under a poor star. Her family feared for her life, and for the health of the clan, so she was taken outside the village to see what would happen to her. When she finally returned, it was as a woman, as beautiful as she was dangerous. She was an accomplished hunter, working with a finesse that those who had been born strong lacked. She saw your father, and admired him. Durotan was wise, even in his youth, and clear-seeing. He believed in the mission to someday cleanse Draenor, though we never saw that goal come to pass."
Drek'thar bowed his head, and Thrall reached forward to touch his shoulder. "I'm sorry, perhaps someday--"
"It is best that Draenor and Azeroth's connection was severed, and that the pain and humiliation of being the pawns of demons left there," Drek'thar said, though his voice was sad rather than harsh. "In any case, Draka knew what she wanted, so she set out to get his attention, but males are often stupid, and take time to come into their own minds." Thrall frowned, and Drek'thar raised his cane warningly. "Don't frown at me. It's the truth, and you're no less guilty than I am, or anyone else is. Durotan didn't quite notice right away what Draka was interested in, and by the time he did, there was a second female who wanted his attention. Her name was Jeneka, and she was of a different clan. Howling Storm, as a matter of fact."
"I've never heard of that clan," Thrall commented. "Did something happen?"
"They were absorbed by the Blackrock clan when it formed," Drek'thar said. "As was the Great Sands clan, and half a dozen others, along with many warriors from existing clans, including Orgrim Doomhammer. In any case, Jeneka of Howling Storm saw Durotan during the gathering at the base of Oshu'gun in Nagrand, and decided that she, too, wanted the son of a Chieftain as a prize. Draka was displeased by this."
"Oshu'gun? Nagrand?" Thrall murmured, and ducked away from the next blow. "I know, you're telling a story."
"Hmph," Drek'thar said. "Jeneka was both more blatant about it, and resorted to more underhanded tactics. She learned that Draka had once been weak, and began to spread this news throughout the gathering, until all lips buzzed with the news that a weak girl-child coveted the son of a Chieftain. Jeneka intended for Durotan to laugh at her, and instead, he was surprised by the fact that not one, but two women that desired to become his mate. Durotan, foolish male that he was, tried to resolve the issue peacefully. Draka took a more direct approach. She challenged Jeneka for Durotan, and by the setting of the Red Son, Jeneka was face down in the mud, and Draka was victorious."
"My mother... wrestled in the mud... for my father..." Thrall said numbly, trying to reconcile this story with what he'd heard about his parents from Doomhammer and Grom, and couldn't quite manage it. "What did my father say?"
"I believe his exact words before Draka dragged him off were 'Um. Ah. Oh'." Drek'thar gave him a yellowed, toothy grin. "Never underestimate the determination of females when there is something they want. They can be like the tide. You can fight it, but you will only be tired when you are dragged by it."
Perhaps an apt metaphor for Jaina, since she was trained in sea magic as part of her heritage, but... Thrall frowned. "What if my father simply didn't love one of them? Or either of them? Wouldn't she have taken him against his will? How would that be fair--"
"If Durotan had truly been disinterested in either of them, he would have refused the condition of victory," Drek'thar said gently. "I understand that aspects of orc mating frighten you, but there are rules that are unspoken because they are taught, from mother to daughter, and from father to son, over generations. Unfortunately, because of the circumstances of your birth and your childhood, that chain was broken. Durotan would have explained it all to you in time, but instead, you learn piecemeal from those who know these things by instinct, the way we learned to walk, to run and hunt."
Thrall sat quietly, turning the mug in his hands. The spirits were quiet, and there was only the sound of breathing. It was in this silence Thrall finally found his centre, and asked the question he'd turned over in his mind. "What if I hurt her? Not just... physically. She has been hurt before by the actions of foolish and careless men. If I followed in their footsteps..."
"You must fight them for her," Drek'thar said simply. "Fight them for her hand and her honour."
"Arthas Menethil is the Lich King, and Kael'thas Sunstrider is in Outland," Thrall said, a hint of frustration in his voice. "I wouldn't even say that it would flatter Jaina or impress her to fight for her hand, she has been fought over before, and it angered her. I will never treat her like a thing."
"Females are not fought over because we believe them to be objects," Drek'thar said sternly. "It does them a disservice to believe that. Females are fought over to show that we are determined to fulfill our duties to them. That we will not flee in the face of the enemy, that we will not give into despair when things are difficult or balk at that which is challenging. We fight for a female to let them know that they are worth fighting for. That they are of value to us, and not simply replaced like an axe or a saddle. Do not go to Northrend to fight Arthas Menethil, fight his memory. Fight that which she remembers about him that hurt her. Do not fight Kael'thas Sunstrider in Outland, but instead fight the concept that you may have love or friendship, but not both. I know that concerns you, and it concerns her too."
Thrall stared at Drek'thar wordlessly, and his teacher stood, complaining about his old bones. The words resonated, deep within him. He sat, turning the words over in his mind the way he would examine a magical working -- with Jaina, at his side, wise in areas he would never be -- and was startled when Drek'thar threw something to him, though he caught it by instinct.
"The tea," Drek'thar said quietly. "You will need it."
"Thank you," Thrall said sincerely. "You have given me a great deal to think about, and a gift. You told me a story about my parents."
"It was nothing," Drek'thar grumbled, though the words contradicted the glow of pride in his teacher's face. "But for this story, you must do something for me."
"What is it?" Thrall asked, turning the sealed, stone jar over in his hands.
"I wish to hold Durotan's grandson in my arms, so I'm expecting you to have one," Drek'thar said. "I have been present for many births, but this one, I believe, will be special."
Not this again, Thrall thought, and suppressed a groan. "As soon as I'm to be a father, I will let you know."
"I'll hold you to that," Drek'thar said. "No, go away. I believe you have a female to woo."
"Goodbye, Teacher," Thrall said with a hint of annoyance, and stood. He left the cup with Drek'thar, whose chuckles followed him out of the room. Everyone is so impatient. I'll get to it when I can.
~ * ~
"There's a what?" Thrall asked, incredulous. He gestured, and the half-dozen candles he'd arranged winked out, preserving much of the wax.
"There's a hurricane, I'm so sorry," Jaina replied through the crystal. "I don't understand it at all, it's Late Winter, there shouldn't be hurricanes this late. The weather's been so strange lately. I'm working with Tesoran, Tervosh and Rylai to protect the walls, and hopefully we can wait this out."
Thrall sighed softly. "Be careful, please. The weather doesn't like to be toyed with."
"I know better than to change the weather, but if I can protect Theramore from it, we shouldn't take too much damage. I'm sorry, Thrall, I wanted to..."
"I know, please be safe. Spirits watch over you," Thrall said.
"Light bless."
"Theramore isn't the only place being hit by bad weather," Garona said as Thrall set the communication rune down.
"I could have been busy," he pointed out.
"You're still wearing pants, you weren't that busy," Garona replied dismissively. "That hurricane isn't just hitting Theramore, it's hitting along the entire coast of Dustwallow. We're getting high winds. It's harder to hear them inside the city, and these aren't the Razor Winds. Those come in the Summer."
"It could be something to do with the spirits, and I may as well make use of this." He gestured to the meal that had been set out. "Help yourself."
"I'm sure it will be overly-sweet for me," Garona grumbled, but sat down, and Thrall closed his eyes. Almost immediately, he could feel the distress of the spirits.
"Something is amiss," he murmured. Spirits, I honour you. Please, grant me-- His head rang with the urgency of the air and water spirits. They wailed, and he realized suddenly that they were fleeing from something. What's wrong?
It calls to us, but we don't want to obey, the spirits cried, and he could feel them clinging to him as lightning clings to the underside of a stormcloud. Save us, save us!
First, you must calm yourselves, Thrall said, offering them stability and certainty. Can you tell me what it is that's calling to you?
The Stone calls to us, it beckons the tides, and we flee, even as others of our kind are drawn to it, forced to do Her bidding. Thrall frowned. They must obey, but we ran to where it is safe, we hide on our haven's shores...
Can you tell me where this is? Thrall asked, and in return was given a vision of an island and fragmented images of ships and high cliffs lashed by rain and lightning. His heart sank. Go inland, but gently. Your fear harms those that live here and work the land, those who respect it and do not harm it even as it blesses them with a home and food to eat. Go, and I will do what I can.
The spirits thanked him, and he felt them depart, though the wind still howled over Grommash Hold. "It will take time for the spirits to pass over us, but I think I know where to go. I will need to speak to Jaina, I think. Something is wrong..."
"You're not going anywhere," Garona commented, and he was surprised to find her kneeling at his side. "Look at yourself. You're soaking wet."
"When did that happen?" he asked, looking down at himself. Garona was right, he was soaked to the bone, and he shivered slightly.
"About four hours ago, when you went into the trance," she replied, and he gave her an alarmed look. "A long time to watch you mutter and twitch."
"Four hours?!" Thrall exclaimed. "I spoke to them in moments--"
"Look at the hour candles," Garona said. "Jaina used the rune to say that the hurricane had mostly subsided, they must have taken whatever you said to heart. She said there's a lot of rain and snow, but they'll survive."
"You spoke to Jaina?" Thrall rumbled. She chuckled.
"No, I made Eitrigg do it," she replied. "Whatever it is that the spirits want can wait until you're dry. Think how embarrassing it would be if the Warchief of the Horde, on the most notable occasion of him getting laid, had the sniffles."
"I've had--" Thrall growled, and moved to stand. His legs were stiff, and his clothes clung to him. I need a soak in a tub of hot water, and then dry clothes. She's right, damn her. "I hate you sometimes."
"No, you don't," Garona said cheerfully, offering her arm. "You adore me."
~ * ~
"What do you think?" Thrall asked, shifting his arms around Jaina while the human sorceress sat perched on his lap, looking pensive.
"It must be Crestfall island," Jaina said finally. "I can't think of another place would have that particular description, but... the spirits didn't say more about what this stone is?"
"They said the stone beckoned the tides, and that it called to them, though they managed to flee. They also spoke of a 'she' that was calling to them, using it," Thrall replied, letting his head rest against her arm, and she smiled, stroking his hair lightly.
"There are some artifacts that might allow a magic user to bind elementals to them, our study of them in Dalaran was quite extensive," Jaina murmured. "While most mages don't wind up using or being interested in them, others make it their specific point of study. I remember that Kael'thas and I were discussing an essay on--" Her eyes widened. "Stone of the Tides."
"Stone of the Tides?" Thrall repeated, glancing up at her. She nodded, and cupped his cheek in one hand.
"There was a series of essays that one of the Archmages, Ansirem Runeweaver if I recall correctly, wrote about the ancient troll empires. One of the things he discussed was a troll artifact that would appear and disappear throughout troll history. It was legendary for allowing its Champion to control water and the tides... it hasn't been seen in quite some time. If that's what's doing this... I'm not sure how we can stop it, until the Champion fades."
"Fades?" Thrall asked, letting his hand rest at the small of her back.
"All Champions of the Tides are drawn back to the sea, and they take the Stone with them," she replied, a certain level of sadness to her voice. "That end seems to come faster or slower depending on how much they're required to use the Stone in service of the Emperor."
"Is there still an Emperor?" Thrall asked. "The Darkspear have shamans and witch doctors, but..."
"No, the Gurubashi and the Amani empires both fell," Jaina said simply. "What's left is a shadow of what it once was. If you get the chance, you should study them. They're fascinating, really."
"It surprises me that you're so well-versed in troll history," Thrall commented. "Particularly, before..."
"One of the things you must learn about mages is that we're like cats," Jaina said, leaning against his chest. "Curious about everything, sticking our noses into dark corners and kicking up dust. I'll admit, my fascination with trolls originally came from my friendship with Kael. Trolls and elves are intertwined by history, though elves have a much more personal view of it. Some of my research was not well-received." She smiled, though it was wistful. "Kael at least was willing to listen to me, though how much of it he believed..."
Fight their memories, Drek'thar's voice reminded him.
"I'm always willing to listen, even to unpopular theories," Thrall said gently, stroking her hair. She shifted, nuzzling against his chest.
"I know you are, that's why..." She smiled. "That's why I'm so happy when I'm with you," she finished. "I should take care of this. My brother needs to know about this."
"You didn't want to go home," Thrall murmured, and Jaina's head shake shifted against his chest.
"No, I didn't, but I need to. This isn't just personal any more, this is urgent enough to affect large portions of Kalimdor, particularly along the coast." She pressed a kiss against his chest. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Are you going alone?" Thrall asked, gently tilting her head upwards.
"Oh, no, I plan to bring Tervosh with me," Jaina replied instantly, and he chuckled. He leaned down, and kissed her. She scooted closer, and wrapped her arms around his neck for a long, clinging kiss. When it broke, she smiled at him. "I'll be back."
"I never doubted that," Thrall said sincerely. "It was for luck."
"Thank you," Jaina murmured. "Be well."
"I will be," Thrall said sincerely. "Once you've taken care of the weather problem, things will be very peaceful."
Sidestory: Stormcaller
Chapter 12