Warcraft: Assassin - Part 1
Behold, Garona's backstory in living colour. The present-day of this fic is set after the Battle of Hyjal, but before Daelin Proudmoore's invasion of Kalimdor. I sincerely hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it. There is going to be some creative reinterpretation of Garona's backstory, and flat-out rewriting other parts of the canon.
Title: Assassin
Part: 1/?
Word Count: 4889
Includes: Angst, sap, adorableness. A story told in flashbacks, there will be one-sided crushes and meaningful stares. For this part, and several other parts, trigger warning: child abuse, mentioned rape, character death.
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.
Companion Fic To: Doomhammer
The sun shone down over Thrall, Warchief of the Horde, son of Durotan and Draka, and it was good. He tilted his face towards the sun, letting it warm him. Kalimdor seemed, in many ways, to be hotter than the land he'd come from, that of Lordaeron. This specific portion of Kalimdor was dry and a bit dusty, but the red-brown dirt was not sick. Far from it, it felt rich and untapped under Thrall's thick fingers, and the colour of it dulled the bright green of his skin to a near-brown. He smiled, and dusted his hands off.
"We be breakin' ground soon, mon?"
Thrall turned, and smiled broadly at Vol'jin. His friend and leader of the Darkspear tribe of trolls was barefoot: all of his people were, and his two-toed feet were covered in dust. Along his back were a brace of potions, prepared during last night's evening camp. After spending two weeks camping here, testing the soil, looking for water and consulting with the spirits, Vol'jin had thought it best to be prepared for any kind of emergency that might crop up. Thrall shook his head at his pessimism. The day felt auspicious. "Soon, yes. We're missing someone."
Vol'jin nodded, the stiff bristles of his bright red mohawk moving with the motion before he turned, looking over their group. Thousands of orcs and trolls waited, milling eagerly, looking towards their leaders in anticipation, but they were not alone: the tauren, their tall, broad allies, stood easily on the hot ground, speaking in low, melodious tones, nearly drowned out by the fast-talking goblins, who were only similar to the orcs superficially: along with longer ears and noses, they were short and discussed the possibility of building and explosions. Thrall's gaze fell to a specific group of orcs that were fussing over an old, blind orc, sitting where others were standing. He held his walking stick tightly with one hand, and his companion, an elderly and much-battered white wolf curled at his side.
"We should start soon," rumbled Cairne. "Or we will lose the blessing of the Earthmother. Now is the time."
"I know," Thrall said simply. "It's just that she said she'd be here. She knows how important this is."
Cairne chuckled. "Of course she does. She will also understand, then, if you must start without her."
Thrall nodded, though he couldn't help but feel a touch of disappointment. He turned to address his people, calling on the spirits to carry his words to them. "My friends. We have been through so much. We have, both individually and collectively, escaped from slavery and oppression. We have thrown off the despair, the hopelessness of our former lives and embraced new ones. Together, we have faced the Sea Witch, the centaur, the demons of the past. With each victory, we have grown stronger as a people… as a family. We have fought together at Hyjal--"
There was a soft gasp as blue runes formed in the air, spinning lazily. Thrall grinned broadly. The runes heralded the arrival of a slim, blonde woman, clad in white and purple robes. "Thrall, I'm so sorry I'm late--" She stopped abruptly, and Thrall's grin widened as the wave of heat hit her, stunning her mid-apology.
"It's quite alright, Jaina, we're still talking." He gestured, offering his hand to her. Jaina smiled back as she took it and squeezed it briefly, then took a place of honour to his right. He gathered his thoughts and continued. "We have fought at Hyjal, shoulder to shoulder with the humans and the elves, the dwarves and the gnomes. We faced the worst that the Burning Legion had to offer us and we stood fast, and thanks to those that have fallen, and those who still stand, we won. We were victorious. It is through these victories that we have earned the right to say that we are free. We are free of the burdens of the past. Today is a new day."
Those assembled clapped and cheered, some shouting battle cries, while others pumped fists in the air, or jumped up and down. The reactions weren't entirely universal, though. Some had distant looks in their eyes, as if thinking of something else. Others were watching Jaina closely, even as she warded herself against the heat. As Thrall looked over the crowd, he felt a chill. The spirits were warning him of something, of something hidden but not dangerous. He gripped the Doomhammer, and glanced at Jaina. The human archmage seemed to have few concerns other than the heat.
I need to move this along, Thrall decided. Before the blessing of the spirits is lost. He raised his weapon high. "And I will name this land after my honoured father, Chieftain Durotan of the Frostwolves. I feel that he would be happy to see his people here, on this threshold of a new life. I will call this land… Durotar!"
There was a roar of joy as he struck the ground with the Doomhammer, throwing up dust and breaking it a little. From here, the first digging would be done, the first foundations laid. The goblins already had plans to dig for water and the spirits had agreed to this disturbance, this shifting of elements, to benefit all the people of the Horde. Jaina clapped and cheered, as did Vol'jin and Cairne. The warning from the spirits faded, and Thrall relaxed.
"Congratulations, Thrall," Jaina said happily. "Durotar will make a wonderful home for your people."
"Why don't you tell them that?" Thrall asked, his voice gently teasing. When Jaina blinked at him, he turned to the crowd again. "Our guest would like to make a speech!"
The crowd roared, and Thrall put a hand on Jaina's back, nudging her forward even as she protested, meeting her look of annoyance and slight panic with a grin. "I didn't have anything written, Thrall, I--"
"They don't know that," Thrall murmured, and called on the spirits so that people -- his people -- could better hear her words. The feeling returned, crawling along Thrall's neck and shoulders, as if focusing on the fact that he was touching Jaina. I wonder what's wrong, Thrall thought. Jaina managed to find her voice and Thrall chose to listen to her words instead of worrying about what -- or who -- was watching.
~ * ~
Thrall's back ached. His feet hurt. His fingers felt numb. His knees and thighs were screaming at him, and yet… he felt utterly elated. He had been tired before, after battle, after the hike through the Barrens to Ashenvale. Both of those events had been important, and this pain he felt was as a result of another worthwhile task: building his city.
No one was idle while Orgrimmar was being built. While Jaina had returned to Theramore and her own building project, Thrall was needed here, amongst his people, calling on the spirits to help them build, helping the other shamans. Often, Drek'thar would guide the younger shamans, scolding them and insisting on their full attention on the importance of this task.
At first, it had felt like there were nothing but disasters. Someone would hurt themselves, something would get dropped. It took time for Thrall to realize these were not, in fact, disasters, but normal things that happened during any major -- or minor -- project. Each day, or sometimes more than once, that crawling sensation would return. He would ask the spirits for help, and what they told him was in some ways both confusing and contradictory: the person watching him was dangerous but not a threat to him. It was someone whom he had seen before, but not as they were now. It was someone who hid from him, and yet wanted to speak to him. When he had asked what to do, they simply told him to open himself to possibilities.
Very well, I will do so, Thrall thought. Normally, Thrall kept his campfire close to the others, wanting to be a part of his people and not feel like a remote, unapproachable Warchief. Tonight, he built his campfire far away from the others, just barely within sight of the main encampment. The spirits were quiet, and he sighed, throwing a little more wood into the fire.
As sparks flared up, he caught sight of someone. For a brief moment, he could see an orcish woman's face, her eyes slightly rounder than the female orcs he had come to know, a red marking down one cheek against dull green skin. Her clothing was dark, not quite black but a particularly dark shade of brown, and there were no studs or pieces of metal to catch the light. She wore weapons: two blades as long as her forearms in twin sheathes at her sides, and her manner of sitting suggested more, hidden underneath her clothing. She seemed at once both bulky and lithe. She felt muted, as if the spirits were reluctant to approach her, and even when she spoke, her voice was low, quiet and slightly rough, as if unused to speaking. "You are Thrall, son of Durotan. Present Warchief of the Horde."
"I am," Thrall said. "You've been watching me."
"I have been watching you for a long time," the woman replied. Thrall gestured for her to sit and, after a moment's hesitation, she did. The fire allowed Thrall to study her features in more detail and he found that while her eyes were grey, like Orgrim's, his departed friend's gaze had never been so luminous.
"I see," Thrall said. "Be welcome at my fire." The woman stared at him, as if the simple, traditional greeting was unfathomable to her. Thrall did not allow his pleasant expression to slip. "Please, tell me why you're here."
"I have information for you," the woman said. "I was present for your speech to the… Horde. You are wrong."
"What do you--"
"You believe the orcs have left behind their past and they have not. You cannot escape the sins of the past, no matter how much you try. They will always chase after you, like parasites on the back of an animal. Mannoroth may be gone, Archimonde slain, but there are still threats that remain. The Shadow Council remains. You must see the danger--"
"I know," Thrall said, and sighed. For a second time, the woman stared at him. "I appreciate the words of warning, but I am not… overly naive. I want to leave behind the mistakes of the past. I want to start a new life here, and we will. We will take this opportunity, as we turn the dirt and build our homes to rebuild our lives. The past will be part of us always, but so too will the future. We need to keep that in perspective."
The woman was silent. The fire crackled. Thrall waited, letting the spirits, once so vague, now speak to him at length. "I can tell you who they are. They can be killed."
"I know who they are, to a point," Thrall said gently. "The spirits speak to me. They warn me of their schemes and I can, for the most part, head them off at the proverbial pass."
"What else do the spirits tell you?"
"They tell me that I have spoken to you before. They tell me that you hid your true nature from myself, and others, including those that adopted you as their own." Thrall looked into her eyes, his own gaze earnest. "Akia of the Frostwolves."
The woman's flinch was almost too faint to see. "So," she said stiffly. "You figured it out."
"I did," Thrall said. "I wish you hadn't lied. The spirits know who you really are, Garona Halforcen."
"Well, then there is nothing left," the woman -- Akia, Garona -- said and moved to stand, shadows pooling around her.
"Wait," Thrall said, raising a hand. "What was your goal here?"
"The spirits do not tell you?" Garona asked, a hint of bitterness in her tone. "I would think that they know everything."
"I would prefer to hear it from you," Thrall said. "Please, sit down."
"I came here seeking to warn you of a threat that you already knew of," Garona said. "I came here to see if power had changed you."
"Has it?"
"Yes and no." Garona stared into the fire. "You have learned to think beyond yourself and grown in power and confidence since we last spoke personally, before your crusade to save the orcs. You have weathered hardship, pain, loss… death." At her words, Thrall felt a stab of pain: Grom, Orgrim and Tari, three people he had loved, three people who had loved him… three people who had died along the path to Durotar. "However, you are still idealistic, foolish, and overly-trusting." Her lips moved, the barest twitch of a smile. "You still take in strays, Farseer."
"Why warn me, if you feel like that?" Thrall asked. "Unless you see something in my many flaws that you feel is worth protecting?"
"You don't want my protection."
"What if I do?" Thrall pressed. "What if I want to know why Garona Halforcen has spent several years watching and waiting? What if I want to know why you've protected me from the shadows?"
"You--"
"I've noticed. It was vague, at first, but the occasions became more frequent over time. Of what interest am I to you?" Within the crackling flames of the fire, Thrall saw a small elemental and smiled. He reached in, letting the elemental heat wash over him, licking without biting. The fire elemental crackled and popped at his attention.
"I could have killed you just then," Garona noted, though her voice was soft. Not muted or subdued, as it was before, but quiet, as if not wanting to frighten the elemental away. "You took your eyes off of me."
"You won't kill me," Thrall said, his eyes still on the elemental. "It's not what you want."
"Then what do I want?"
"You want to belong." Thrall didn't need to look to know that Garona was shocked. "You want a place and you don't know how to find it. That's why you offered me information, as a bribe, or proof of your usefulness. What you have is not useful for that, so you don't know what to do next."
"Did the spirits tell you that, too?"
"No," Thrall said, and looked up at her. "I guessed, or rather, I know, but I want to know even more than that."
Garona stood. "If you want to know… I will return. Build a fire like this, and I will return."
Thrall nodded, smiling. "Wonderful, I look forward--" His fireside was empty. He sighed. "--to it."
Snowsong wiggled her way out of his bedroll and nuzzled at his side. Thrall withdrew a hand from the fire to pet her. "Well, that was very… odd." The frostwolf whined in agreement, and let her head rest against his knee. He ran his fingers over her fur, thinking hard. I'm going to have any number of awfully lonely nights… but I suspect this will be worth it. Snowsong, sensing his thoughts, gave him a rather sardonic look in reply, reminding him that he would not be alone at all. He sighed again.
~ * ~
Despite what Garona had told him, Thrall remained close to his people for the next two weeks. It was not out of dislike or mistrust, but instead because he himself needed their support. Progress was slowing as it took time to gather more materials, and people began to come to Thrall with problems or disputes regarding the placement of certain buildings.
I'm only a Warchief and a shaman, Thrall thought. I'm not a city planner or an architect. He sighed. I wonder if Jaina is having this much difficulty with Theramore. Thrall felt hot, sticky and dirty, and with a feeling of frustration, wandered off towards the ocean. The Great Sea lapped at the shores of Durotar, and he couldn't help but mistrust it. His experience with sailing -- first, last and, he hoped, only -- had not been pleasant, and the ocean, as cool and tempting as it looked, set his teeth on edge, and a feeling of apprehension grew as he approached it, a crawling sensation--
Thrall knelt at the water's edge, letting the waves push against his knees. "Garona."
"Orcs hate to sail," Garona said, walking towards the water's edge, her feet leaving only the faintest of imprints in the red sand. She stood a little ways away from him. "Mostly because the ocean was trying to kill them."
"That sounds like paranoia," Thrall said, and edged towards the water. "It was Grom's idea to sail."
"Grommash Hellscream was always a hot-headed idiot," Garona noted, and Thrall frowned. "The Devouring Sea was aptly named."
"…things are named after what they are," Thrall said, recalling an old childhood saying. "What gave it its power?"
"A combination of things." Garona walked the water's edge, her black boots getting neither wet nor dirty. "There were sea monsters, creatures that resembled the mountain gronn, but were capable of breathing in the water and lived in the darkest of sea caves. The ogres would hunt them, sometimes, on their huge fishing vessels. There were other creatures as well, massive sea serpents, some were claimed to be as long as the world itself. The ocean itself was rarely ever as calm and stable as this by the shores." She gestured in the direction of the Maelstrom. "Imagine the Darkspear's former home, but all the time. Few dared tame the seas. The Warsong had an island stronghold at some point or another, and then… there were the Stormreavers."
"Gul'dan's clan," Thrall said.
"Yes." Garona bent down and let the water lap into her hand, cupping it for a moment. "This world is so rich, the water so clean and pure. On Draenor, this would have destroyed my hand, burned it. If you lived in the wrong place, the sky rained acid. The water drew blood. Gul'dan and the Stormreavers earned their name by destroying a storm that would have destroyed an orc settlement. It was said to have rained for weeks, but even then, the acid rains were less dangerous than the storm."
"They say?" Thrall asked quietly. Water elementals were lapping onto the shore, eager for his attention. Garona frowned.
"I would not have experienced it personally. I was not yet… born."
"But you know quite a bit about Draenor," Thrall observed, holding his cupped hands out to the elementals.
"Before the Dark Portal opened, I had traveled all over the orc lands. I delivered messages and gathered intelligence."
"Was it something you enjoyed doing?" Thrall asked, glancing over at her. She let the water run out of her hands.
"In a sense. Draenor was dangerous. It wasn't only the rains, it was the creatures, the plants… the people. Everything was another fight for survival."
"Orcs prefer to live hard lives," Thrall said. "To work hard and reap greater rewards."
Garona snorted. "Spoken like someone who's never failed to survive that so-called preferred hard life."
Thrall opened his mouth to object, and stopped. The people who spoke of such a life… Orgrim, and Grom. They were warriors and chieftains. Perhaps they didn't know… "You could tell me about it."
"You said that before."
"I meant it before."
"Very well." Garona gestured, indicating a pair of boulders. Thrall nodded, and gently informed the elementals that he would be moving, and if they would be so kind as to follow. Thrall's feet sank into the sand, leaving large footprints behind, and Garona's light step kept an easy pace. She moved to sit on top of one of the boulders, and Thrall sat next to her. "Where would you like me to begin?"
"The beginning, if you don't mind," Thrall said. Garona looked out over the ocean.
"Very well," she said again. "My first memories are relatively dim. From what I understand, this is common with children, though I remember more than most. Those memories are precious, a gift. I will start there. My mother's name was Zaratha. She was a priestess of the Light, and a prisoner of Gul'dan."
Thrall frowned. "I thought your mother was human?"
"No, she was not," Garona replied. "She was an Eredar. You have seen them before, Archimonde was one."
"How is that possible?" Thrall asked. "They are demons."
"To some, so are orcs," Garona observed darkly, and began.
~ * ~
"Tell me about it," Garona insisted, curling up on her bed. If she moved just the right way, the splinters on the roughhewn bench wouldn't poke into her, and she tucked the ragged blanket around her. Her mother gazed down at her. Her eyes were white, and even as she smiled, her gaze was sad.
"Once, long ago, the mothers and fathers of my people lived on Erdun. It was a moon that orbited around the planet Argus. Argus had a surface of swirling gas that stretched farther than anyone could ever travel through." Her mother shifted, and Garona settled her head more carefully against her lap. She could see the curve of her mother's tail off to the side, moving slightly as if keeping rhythm. "On Erdun, we depended on magic for much of our lives. Everything that could be done was done with magic, and our leaders were all powerful mages. A trinity, Velen, Archimonde and Kil'jaeden."
Garona felt her mother tremble as she spoke the names, and curled in closer, hugging her. Her mother's pale blue fingers stroked at her hair. "It came to pass that demons spoke to our people. They are dark and terrible creatures, akia, the corrupters of minds and souls. They… corrupted two of our leaders, tempted them with power. There were already very powerful, but they became greedy… The Light granted Velen a vision, showing him the corruption of his brothers. There was a war… a terrible, terrible war. Many joined Archimonde and Kil'jaeden, coveting this power for themselves. Finally, Archimonde and Kil'jaeden learned how to harness the power of Argus into a weapon… and that ended the rebellion. So many died, or were forcibly corrupted. A tiny number were able to escape, only a few thousand. We escaped on a great, magical vessel that was capable of creating portals to other worlds. We ran. We ran for such a long time, flitting from world to world… we were afraid. Kil'jaeden had vowed to chase Velen, to find him and wreak his vengeance upon him."
"Why did he hate him so much?" Garona asked. Her mother shook her head.
"Once, Velen and Kil'jaeden cared for each other very deeply, beloved in each others' sight. Kil'jaeden wanted Velen to join them, and Velen refused. That love turned to bitter hate. We still fear Kil'jaeden's wrath." She sighed. "We came to this world about two hundred years ago. The great ship was… failing. We could not repair it, there was nothing… we did not have as much power as we had on Erdun. We too had drawn power from Argus. We did whatever we could to survive, but we came across the Draenei, suffering and hiding from the orcs. We did what we could to help them, but I…"
"Mama…"
"I was captured by Gul'dan and brought here. You were born not all that long afterwards. Within a year. After you were born, we came to live in this cell."
Garona shivered. "He's a monster."
"Yes."
"Am I a monster?"
"Oh… my akia…" Her mother lift her into her lap and held her tightly. "No, no. It's not your fault. It will never be your fault." She kissed the top of Garona's head. "The Light blesses you and keeps you safe."
Garona began to cry, clinging to her mother. "It's dark. It's so dark."
"Let the Light guide you and you will never be in darkness, my daughter." Garona clung to her mother's ragged, thin robes, and Zaratha rocked her until she fell asleep.
When Garona woke, it was because her mother was shaking her lightly, the look on her face urgent and frightened. "Mama?"
"Akia, you need to get up and come with me right away. Hurry now."
Garona nodded and hopped off of the bench. She turned to grab the blanket, and her mother stopped her, shaking her head once. Her mother took her hand and moved to the door of their cell. She pushed the door open, looked both ways and then hurried out the door. Her mother's hooves clicked rapidly as she ran, and Garona struggled to keep up.
Why is Mama scared? Where are we going? She knew better than to speak the questions aloud. The halls of this place, this temple… there were too many shadows. Mama said to let the Light guide me--
"Zaratha."
Garona's mother made a noise, one of fear and anger. Striding out of the shadows was an orc, clad in robes so dark a purple as to be nearly black, inscribed with runes. Looking at them made Garona feel sick and she clung to her mother in fear.
"Gul'dan," Zaratha said, her voice heavy with loathing but laced with fear.
"Did you think you could escape?" Gul'dan demanded, his voice harsh and grating against Garona's ears after listening to her mother for so long. "Did you think I would not know of your foolish, fruitless schemes?"
"I won't let you take her from me!" Zaratha cried. "I won't let you make her like you!"
Garona cried out in fear. I don't want to be a monster!
"You don't have a choice," Gul'dan said, laughing. "Doesn't your so-called Light have some kind of policy against protecting mutant freaks?"
"She is your daughter too!" Zaratha put a hand on her Garona's head, whispering a plea to the Light to protect her daughter. "Doesn't that mean anything to--" Zaratha's voice cut off with a terrible, sick cry as she fell and the scent of her burning flesh filled Garona's nose.
"Mama! Mama!"
Gul'dan lunged forward, grabbing Garona's wrist and hauling her to him. "She's dead, and her Light is just a story," he said. "Come along."
Garona twisted in his grip, taking one last look at her mother's body before she was pulled away, and the darkness seemed to consume it.
"Where is your Light now, Eredar?" Gul'dan demanded of the darkness. "Where is your Light now?"
~ * ~
"I'm sorry," Thrall said, feeling woefully inadequate. Garona's gaze hadn't left the ocean.
"You would be the first," she replied quietly. "Gul'dan wasn't. For the first time since my birth I was permitted to walk around, to explore the Black Temple of Karabor, and all I wanted to do was lose myself in the shadows. There was no light in that place. No joy. No hope."
Thrall closed his eyes and remembered Durnholde. "How did you survive?"
"Gul'dan may have determined he was going to use me, but he had no concept of what to do with me. He left me to my own devices and I… hid. I would steal food, blankets… books. I'm sure you've noticed that orcs rarely write anything down."
"I have," Thrall admitted. "Though the Frostwolves showed me that orcs did have a written language."
"There are two reasons why they tend not to write much. The first is simple practicality. On Draenor, there was no paper. The process of paper-making is… magic, in its own way. There simply weren't enough resources to make wood-pulp paper, so they used other things. There was reed-paper, which doesn't last as long, or more often, markings were written on thin-scraped hide. Most of the time, the hide was from animals."
"Most of the time?" Thrall asked, with just a hint of alarm. Garona barked out a laugh.
"Some didn't treat the draenei like they were people. Or even other orcs."
"Draenei?"
"Ah, yes, part of our not-so-proud heritage." Garona smirked. When Thrall frowned at her, she elaborated. "The draenei, along with the ogres, gronn, arakkoa and dragons, were the other races of Draenor. At some point or another, the orcs were at war with all of them. Sometimes, like with the ogres, the orcs could strike bargains. Ogres even began to lead clans of orcs and ogres together, but for the most part… the orcs were particularly engaged with the draenei. Where there were orcs there were almost always draenei, so they competed for land and resources. The orcs had almost entirely wiped the draenei out by the time my mother was captured."
"Drek'thar and Orgrim never mentioned this."
"They might not have thought to do so. It was simply a way of life, to defend themselves. The draenei raided orc settlements. Sometimes they'd strip a farm of everything and then burn down the homes. Sometimes the orcs would do the same in return."
"It seems very… violent."
"That's your hard life," Garona said flatly. "That's your resilience through adversity. Durotar isn't sick. Kalimdor isn't sick. This? The heat and the dust? Are merely discomforting. The battle to get here with the quillboar and the centaur? Those things are closer to what it was like… but here, there's plenty of other fertile land. If one side loses, they can go elsewhere. On Draenor, losing a fight over your land means you could starve."
"We'll still starve if we can't make our home here," Thrall said. "We've given everything we can, and there's no going back. We make ourselves here or the land will break us. We aren't just a clan, or a family. We're a Horde. We have a lot more people to support… and a lot more people to work at it, to bring their expertise together to create a home. A legacy."
"So you do," Garona said and slipped from her perch. "It just means you're going to have to fight for it."
Thrall sighed as Garona slipped away, like smoke on the wind. "But we have fought for it." The elemental in his lap burbled at him. "Haven't we?"
Part 2
Title: Assassin
Part: 1/?
Word Count: 4889
Includes: Angst, sap, adorableness. A story told in flashbacks, there will be one-sided crushes and meaningful stares. For this part, and several other parts, trigger warning: child abuse, mentioned rape, character death.
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.
Companion Fic To: Doomhammer
The sun shone down over Thrall, Warchief of the Horde, son of Durotan and Draka, and it was good. He tilted his face towards the sun, letting it warm him. Kalimdor seemed, in many ways, to be hotter than the land he'd come from, that of Lordaeron. This specific portion of Kalimdor was dry and a bit dusty, but the red-brown dirt was not sick. Far from it, it felt rich and untapped under Thrall's thick fingers, and the colour of it dulled the bright green of his skin to a near-brown. He smiled, and dusted his hands off.
"We be breakin' ground soon, mon?"
Thrall turned, and smiled broadly at Vol'jin. His friend and leader of the Darkspear tribe of trolls was barefoot: all of his people were, and his two-toed feet were covered in dust. Along his back were a brace of potions, prepared during last night's evening camp. After spending two weeks camping here, testing the soil, looking for water and consulting with the spirits, Vol'jin had thought it best to be prepared for any kind of emergency that might crop up. Thrall shook his head at his pessimism. The day felt auspicious. "Soon, yes. We're missing someone."
Vol'jin nodded, the stiff bristles of his bright red mohawk moving with the motion before he turned, looking over their group. Thousands of orcs and trolls waited, milling eagerly, looking towards their leaders in anticipation, but they were not alone: the tauren, their tall, broad allies, stood easily on the hot ground, speaking in low, melodious tones, nearly drowned out by the fast-talking goblins, who were only similar to the orcs superficially: along with longer ears and noses, they were short and discussed the possibility of building and explosions. Thrall's gaze fell to a specific group of orcs that were fussing over an old, blind orc, sitting where others were standing. He held his walking stick tightly with one hand, and his companion, an elderly and much-battered white wolf curled at his side.
"We should start soon," rumbled Cairne. "Or we will lose the blessing of the Earthmother. Now is the time."
"I know," Thrall said simply. "It's just that she said she'd be here. She knows how important this is."
Cairne chuckled. "Of course she does. She will also understand, then, if you must start without her."
Thrall nodded, though he couldn't help but feel a touch of disappointment. He turned to address his people, calling on the spirits to carry his words to them. "My friends. We have been through so much. We have, both individually and collectively, escaped from slavery and oppression. We have thrown off the despair, the hopelessness of our former lives and embraced new ones. Together, we have faced the Sea Witch, the centaur, the demons of the past. With each victory, we have grown stronger as a people… as a family. We have fought together at Hyjal--"
There was a soft gasp as blue runes formed in the air, spinning lazily. Thrall grinned broadly. The runes heralded the arrival of a slim, blonde woman, clad in white and purple robes. "Thrall, I'm so sorry I'm late--" She stopped abruptly, and Thrall's grin widened as the wave of heat hit her, stunning her mid-apology.
"It's quite alright, Jaina, we're still talking." He gestured, offering his hand to her. Jaina smiled back as she took it and squeezed it briefly, then took a place of honour to his right. He gathered his thoughts and continued. "We have fought at Hyjal, shoulder to shoulder with the humans and the elves, the dwarves and the gnomes. We faced the worst that the Burning Legion had to offer us and we stood fast, and thanks to those that have fallen, and those who still stand, we won. We were victorious. It is through these victories that we have earned the right to say that we are free. We are free of the burdens of the past. Today is a new day."
Those assembled clapped and cheered, some shouting battle cries, while others pumped fists in the air, or jumped up and down. The reactions weren't entirely universal, though. Some had distant looks in their eyes, as if thinking of something else. Others were watching Jaina closely, even as she warded herself against the heat. As Thrall looked over the crowd, he felt a chill. The spirits were warning him of something, of something hidden but not dangerous. He gripped the Doomhammer, and glanced at Jaina. The human archmage seemed to have few concerns other than the heat.
I need to move this along, Thrall decided. Before the blessing of the spirits is lost. He raised his weapon high. "And I will name this land after my honoured father, Chieftain Durotan of the Frostwolves. I feel that he would be happy to see his people here, on this threshold of a new life. I will call this land… Durotar!"
There was a roar of joy as he struck the ground with the Doomhammer, throwing up dust and breaking it a little. From here, the first digging would be done, the first foundations laid. The goblins already had plans to dig for water and the spirits had agreed to this disturbance, this shifting of elements, to benefit all the people of the Horde. Jaina clapped and cheered, as did Vol'jin and Cairne. The warning from the spirits faded, and Thrall relaxed.
"Congratulations, Thrall," Jaina said happily. "Durotar will make a wonderful home for your people."
"Why don't you tell them that?" Thrall asked, his voice gently teasing. When Jaina blinked at him, he turned to the crowd again. "Our guest would like to make a speech!"
The crowd roared, and Thrall put a hand on Jaina's back, nudging her forward even as she protested, meeting her look of annoyance and slight panic with a grin. "I didn't have anything written, Thrall, I--"
"They don't know that," Thrall murmured, and called on the spirits so that people -- his people -- could better hear her words. The feeling returned, crawling along Thrall's neck and shoulders, as if focusing on the fact that he was touching Jaina. I wonder what's wrong, Thrall thought. Jaina managed to find her voice and Thrall chose to listen to her words instead of worrying about what -- or who -- was watching.
~ * ~
Thrall's back ached. His feet hurt. His fingers felt numb. His knees and thighs were screaming at him, and yet… he felt utterly elated. He had been tired before, after battle, after the hike through the Barrens to Ashenvale. Both of those events had been important, and this pain he felt was as a result of another worthwhile task: building his city.
No one was idle while Orgrimmar was being built. While Jaina had returned to Theramore and her own building project, Thrall was needed here, amongst his people, calling on the spirits to help them build, helping the other shamans. Often, Drek'thar would guide the younger shamans, scolding them and insisting on their full attention on the importance of this task.
At first, it had felt like there were nothing but disasters. Someone would hurt themselves, something would get dropped. It took time for Thrall to realize these were not, in fact, disasters, but normal things that happened during any major -- or minor -- project. Each day, or sometimes more than once, that crawling sensation would return. He would ask the spirits for help, and what they told him was in some ways both confusing and contradictory: the person watching him was dangerous but not a threat to him. It was someone whom he had seen before, but not as they were now. It was someone who hid from him, and yet wanted to speak to him. When he had asked what to do, they simply told him to open himself to possibilities.
Very well, I will do so, Thrall thought. Normally, Thrall kept his campfire close to the others, wanting to be a part of his people and not feel like a remote, unapproachable Warchief. Tonight, he built his campfire far away from the others, just barely within sight of the main encampment. The spirits were quiet, and he sighed, throwing a little more wood into the fire.
As sparks flared up, he caught sight of someone. For a brief moment, he could see an orcish woman's face, her eyes slightly rounder than the female orcs he had come to know, a red marking down one cheek against dull green skin. Her clothing was dark, not quite black but a particularly dark shade of brown, and there were no studs or pieces of metal to catch the light. She wore weapons: two blades as long as her forearms in twin sheathes at her sides, and her manner of sitting suggested more, hidden underneath her clothing. She seemed at once both bulky and lithe. She felt muted, as if the spirits were reluctant to approach her, and even when she spoke, her voice was low, quiet and slightly rough, as if unused to speaking. "You are Thrall, son of Durotan. Present Warchief of the Horde."
"I am," Thrall said. "You've been watching me."
"I have been watching you for a long time," the woman replied. Thrall gestured for her to sit and, after a moment's hesitation, she did. The fire allowed Thrall to study her features in more detail and he found that while her eyes were grey, like Orgrim's, his departed friend's gaze had never been so luminous.
"I see," Thrall said. "Be welcome at my fire." The woman stared at him, as if the simple, traditional greeting was unfathomable to her. Thrall did not allow his pleasant expression to slip. "Please, tell me why you're here."
"I have information for you," the woman said. "I was present for your speech to the… Horde. You are wrong."
"What do you--"
"You believe the orcs have left behind their past and they have not. You cannot escape the sins of the past, no matter how much you try. They will always chase after you, like parasites on the back of an animal. Mannoroth may be gone, Archimonde slain, but there are still threats that remain. The Shadow Council remains. You must see the danger--"
"I know," Thrall said, and sighed. For a second time, the woman stared at him. "I appreciate the words of warning, but I am not… overly naive. I want to leave behind the mistakes of the past. I want to start a new life here, and we will. We will take this opportunity, as we turn the dirt and build our homes to rebuild our lives. The past will be part of us always, but so too will the future. We need to keep that in perspective."
The woman was silent. The fire crackled. Thrall waited, letting the spirits, once so vague, now speak to him at length. "I can tell you who they are. They can be killed."
"I know who they are, to a point," Thrall said gently. "The spirits speak to me. They warn me of their schemes and I can, for the most part, head them off at the proverbial pass."
"What else do the spirits tell you?"
"They tell me that I have spoken to you before. They tell me that you hid your true nature from myself, and others, including those that adopted you as their own." Thrall looked into her eyes, his own gaze earnest. "Akia of the Frostwolves."
The woman's flinch was almost too faint to see. "So," she said stiffly. "You figured it out."
"I did," Thrall said. "I wish you hadn't lied. The spirits know who you really are, Garona Halforcen."
"Well, then there is nothing left," the woman -- Akia, Garona -- said and moved to stand, shadows pooling around her.
"Wait," Thrall said, raising a hand. "What was your goal here?"
"The spirits do not tell you?" Garona asked, a hint of bitterness in her tone. "I would think that they know everything."
"I would prefer to hear it from you," Thrall said. "Please, sit down."
"I came here seeking to warn you of a threat that you already knew of," Garona said. "I came here to see if power had changed you."
"Has it?"
"Yes and no." Garona stared into the fire. "You have learned to think beyond yourself and grown in power and confidence since we last spoke personally, before your crusade to save the orcs. You have weathered hardship, pain, loss… death." At her words, Thrall felt a stab of pain: Grom, Orgrim and Tari, three people he had loved, three people who had loved him… three people who had died along the path to Durotar. "However, you are still idealistic, foolish, and overly-trusting." Her lips moved, the barest twitch of a smile. "You still take in strays, Farseer."
"Why warn me, if you feel like that?" Thrall asked. "Unless you see something in my many flaws that you feel is worth protecting?"
"You don't want my protection."
"What if I do?" Thrall pressed. "What if I want to know why Garona Halforcen has spent several years watching and waiting? What if I want to know why you've protected me from the shadows?"
"You--"
"I've noticed. It was vague, at first, but the occasions became more frequent over time. Of what interest am I to you?" Within the crackling flames of the fire, Thrall saw a small elemental and smiled. He reached in, letting the elemental heat wash over him, licking without biting. The fire elemental crackled and popped at his attention.
"I could have killed you just then," Garona noted, though her voice was soft. Not muted or subdued, as it was before, but quiet, as if not wanting to frighten the elemental away. "You took your eyes off of me."
"You won't kill me," Thrall said, his eyes still on the elemental. "It's not what you want."
"Then what do I want?"
"You want to belong." Thrall didn't need to look to know that Garona was shocked. "You want a place and you don't know how to find it. That's why you offered me information, as a bribe, or proof of your usefulness. What you have is not useful for that, so you don't know what to do next."
"Did the spirits tell you that, too?"
"No," Thrall said, and looked up at her. "I guessed, or rather, I know, but I want to know even more than that."
Garona stood. "If you want to know… I will return. Build a fire like this, and I will return."
Thrall nodded, smiling. "Wonderful, I look forward--" His fireside was empty. He sighed. "--to it."
Snowsong wiggled her way out of his bedroll and nuzzled at his side. Thrall withdrew a hand from the fire to pet her. "Well, that was very… odd." The frostwolf whined in agreement, and let her head rest against his knee. He ran his fingers over her fur, thinking hard. I'm going to have any number of awfully lonely nights… but I suspect this will be worth it. Snowsong, sensing his thoughts, gave him a rather sardonic look in reply, reminding him that he would not be alone at all. He sighed again.
~ * ~
Despite what Garona had told him, Thrall remained close to his people for the next two weeks. It was not out of dislike or mistrust, but instead because he himself needed their support. Progress was slowing as it took time to gather more materials, and people began to come to Thrall with problems or disputes regarding the placement of certain buildings.
I'm only a Warchief and a shaman, Thrall thought. I'm not a city planner or an architect. He sighed. I wonder if Jaina is having this much difficulty with Theramore. Thrall felt hot, sticky and dirty, and with a feeling of frustration, wandered off towards the ocean. The Great Sea lapped at the shores of Durotar, and he couldn't help but mistrust it. His experience with sailing -- first, last and, he hoped, only -- had not been pleasant, and the ocean, as cool and tempting as it looked, set his teeth on edge, and a feeling of apprehension grew as he approached it, a crawling sensation--
Thrall knelt at the water's edge, letting the waves push against his knees. "Garona."
"Orcs hate to sail," Garona said, walking towards the water's edge, her feet leaving only the faintest of imprints in the red sand. She stood a little ways away from him. "Mostly because the ocean was trying to kill them."
"That sounds like paranoia," Thrall said, and edged towards the water. "It was Grom's idea to sail."
"Grommash Hellscream was always a hot-headed idiot," Garona noted, and Thrall frowned. "The Devouring Sea was aptly named."
"…things are named after what they are," Thrall said, recalling an old childhood saying. "What gave it its power?"
"A combination of things." Garona walked the water's edge, her black boots getting neither wet nor dirty. "There were sea monsters, creatures that resembled the mountain gronn, but were capable of breathing in the water and lived in the darkest of sea caves. The ogres would hunt them, sometimes, on their huge fishing vessels. There were other creatures as well, massive sea serpents, some were claimed to be as long as the world itself. The ocean itself was rarely ever as calm and stable as this by the shores." She gestured in the direction of the Maelstrom. "Imagine the Darkspear's former home, but all the time. Few dared tame the seas. The Warsong had an island stronghold at some point or another, and then… there were the Stormreavers."
"Gul'dan's clan," Thrall said.
"Yes." Garona bent down and let the water lap into her hand, cupping it for a moment. "This world is so rich, the water so clean and pure. On Draenor, this would have destroyed my hand, burned it. If you lived in the wrong place, the sky rained acid. The water drew blood. Gul'dan and the Stormreavers earned their name by destroying a storm that would have destroyed an orc settlement. It was said to have rained for weeks, but even then, the acid rains were less dangerous than the storm."
"They say?" Thrall asked quietly. Water elementals were lapping onto the shore, eager for his attention. Garona frowned.
"I would not have experienced it personally. I was not yet… born."
"But you know quite a bit about Draenor," Thrall observed, holding his cupped hands out to the elementals.
"Before the Dark Portal opened, I had traveled all over the orc lands. I delivered messages and gathered intelligence."
"Was it something you enjoyed doing?" Thrall asked, glancing over at her. She let the water run out of her hands.
"In a sense. Draenor was dangerous. It wasn't only the rains, it was the creatures, the plants… the people. Everything was another fight for survival."
"Orcs prefer to live hard lives," Thrall said. "To work hard and reap greater rewards."
Garona snorted. "Spoken like someone who's never failed to survive that so-called preferred hard life."
Thrall opened his mouth to object, and stopped. The people who spoke of such a life… Orgrim, and Grom. They were warriors and chieftains. Perhaps they didn't know… "You could tell me about it."
"You said that before."
"I meant it before."
"Very well." Garona gestured, indicating a pair of boulders. Thrall nodded, and gently informed the elementals that he would be moving, and if they would be so kind as to follow. Thrall's feet sank into the sand, leaving large footprints behind, and Garona's light step kept an easy pace. She moved to sit on top of one of the boulders, and Thrall sat next to her. "Where would you like me to begin?"
"The beginning, if you don't mind," Thrall said. Garona looked out over the ocean.
"Very well," she said again. "My first memories are relatively dim. From what I understand, this is common with children, though I remember more than most. Those memories are precious, a gift. I will start there. My mother's name was Zaratha. She was a priestess of the Light, and a prisoner of Gul'dan."
Thrall frowned. "I thought your mother was human?"
"No, she was not," Garona replied. "She was an Eredar. You have seen them before, Archimonde was one."
"How is that possible?" Thrall asked. "They are demons."
"To some, so are orcs," Garona observed darkly, and began.
~ * ~
"Tell me about it," Garona insisted, curling up on her bed. If she moved just the right way, the splinters on the roughhewn bench wouldn't poke into her, and she tucked the ragged blanket around her. Her mother gazed down at her. Her eyes were white, and even as she smiled, her gaze was sad.
"Once, long ago, the mothers and fathers of my people lived on Erdun. It was a moon that orbited around the planet Argus. Argus had a surface of swirling gas that stretched farther than anyone could ever travel through." Her mother shifted, and Garona settled her head more carefully against her lap. She could see the curve of her mother's tail off to the side, moving slightly as if keeping rhythm. "On Erdun, we depended on magic for much of our lives. Everything that could be done was done with magic, and our leaders were all powerful mages. A trinity, Velen, Archimonde and Kil'jaeden."
Garona felt her mother tremble as she spoke the names, and curled in closer, hugging her. Her mother's pale blue fingers stroked at her hair. "It came to pass that demons spoke to our people. They are dark and terrible creatures, akia, the corrupters of minds and souls. They… corrupted two of our leaders, tempted them with power. There were already very powerful, but they became greedy… The Light granted Velen a vision, showing him the corruption of his brothers. There was a war… a terrible, terrible war. Many joined Archimonde and Kil'jaeden, coveting this power for themselves. Finally, Archimonde and Kil'jaeden learned how to harness the power of Argus into a weapon… and that ended the rebellion. So many died, or were forcibly corrupted. A tiny number were able to escape, only a few thousand. We escaped on a great, magical vessel that was capable of creating portals to other worlds. We ran. We ran for such a long time, flitting from world to world… we were afraid. Kil'jaeden had vowed to chase Velen, to find him and wreak his vengeance upon him."
"Why did he hate him so much?" Garona asked. Her mother shook her head.
"Once, Velen and Kil'jaeden cared for each other very deeply, beloved in each others' sight. Kil'jaeden wanted Velen to join them, and Velen refused. That love turned to bitter hate. We still fear Kil'jaeden's wrath." She sighed. "We came to this world about two hundred years ago. The great ship was… failing. We could not repair it, there was nothing… we did not have as much power as we had on Erdun. We too had drawn power from Argus. We did whatever we could to survive, but we came across the Draenei, suffering and hiding from the orcs. We did what we could to help them, but I…"
"Mama…"
"I was captured by Gul'dan and brought here. You were born not all that long afterwards. Within a year. After you were born, we came to live in this cell."
Garona shivered. "He's a monster."
"Yes."
"Am I a monster?"
"Oh… my akia…" Her mother lift her into her lap and held her tightly. "No, no. It's not your fault. It will never be your fault." She kissed the top of Garona's head. "The Light blesses you and keeps you safe."
Garona began to cry, clinging to her mother. "It's dark. It's so dark."
"Let the Light guide you and you will never be in darkness, my daughter." Garona clung to her mother's ragged, thin robes, and Zaratha rocked her until she fell asleep.
When Garona woke, it was because her mother was shaking her lightly, the look on her face urgent and frightened. "Mama?"
"Akia, you need to get up and come with me right away. Hurry now."
Garona nodded and hopped off of the bench. She turned to grab the blanket, and her mother stopped her, shaking her head once. Her mother took her hand and moved to the door of their cell. She pushed the door open, looked both ways and then hurried out the door. Her mother's hooves clicked rapidly as she ran, and Garona struggled to keep up.
Why is Mama scared? Where are we going? She knew better than to speak the questions aloud. The halls of this place, this temple… there were too many shadows. Mama said to let the Light guide me--
"Zaratha."
Garona's mother made a noise, one of fear and anger. Striding out of the shadows was an orc, clad in robes so dark a purple as to be nearly black, inscribed with runes. Looking at them made Garona feel sick and she clung to her mother in fear.
"Gul'dan," Zaratha said, her voice heavy with loathing but laced with fear.
"Did you think you could escape?" Gul'dan demanded, his voice harsh and grating against Garona's ears after listening to her mother for so long. "Did you think I would not know of your foolish, fruitless schemes?"
"I won't let you take her from me!" Zaratha cried. "I won't let you make her like you!"
Garona cried out in fear. I don't want to be a monster!
"You don't have a choice," Gul'dan said, laughing. "Doesn't your so-called Light have some kind of policy against protecting mutant freaks?"
"She is your daughter too!" Zaratha put a hand on her Garona's head, whispering a plea to the Light to protect her daughter. "Doesn't that mean anything to--" Zaratha's voice cut off with a terrible, sick cry as she fell and the scent of her burning flesh filled Garona's nose.
"Mama! Mama!"
Gul'dan lunged forward, grabbing Garona's wrist and hauling her to him. "She's dead, and her Light is just a story," he said. "Come along."
Garona twisted in his grip, taking one last look at her mother's body before she was pulled away, and the darkness seemed to consume it.
"Where is your Light now, Eredar?" Gul'dan demanded of the darkness. "Where is your Light now?"
~ * ~
"I'm sorry," Thrall said, feeling woefully inadequate. Garona's gaze hadn't left the ocean.
"You would be the first," she replied quietly. "Gul'dan wasn't. For the first time since my birth I was permitted to walk around, to explore the Black Temple of Karabor, and all I wanted to do was lose myself in the shadows. There was no light in that place. No joy. No hope."
Thrall closed his eyes and remembered Durnholde. "How did you survive?"
"Gul'dan may have determined he was going to use me, but he had no concept of what to do with me. He left me to my own devices and I… hid. I would steal food, blankets… books. I'm sure you've noticed that orcs rarely write anything down."
"I have," Thrall admitted. "Though the Frostwolves showed me that orcs did have a written language."
"There are two reasons why they tend not to write much. The first is simple practicality. On Draenor, there was no paper. The process of paper-making is… magic, in its own way. There simply weren't enough resources to make wood-pulp paper, so they used other things. There was reed-paper, which doesn't last as long, or more often, markings were written on thin-scraped hide. Most of the time, the hide was from animals."
"Most of the time?" Thrall asked, with just a hint of alarm. Garona barked out a laugh.
"Some didn't treat the draenei like they were people. Or even other orcs."
"Draenei?"
"Ah, yes, part of our not-so-proud heritage." Garona smirked. When Thrall frowned at her, she elaborated. "The draenei, along with the ogres, gronn, arakkoa and dragons, were the other races of Draenor. At some point or another, the orcs were at war with all of them. Sometimes, like with the ogres, the orcs could strike bargains. Ogres even began to lead clans of orcs and ogres together, but for the most part… the orcs were particularly engaged with the draenei. Where there were orcs there were almost always draenei, so they competed for land and resources. The orcs had almost entirely wiped the draenei out by the time my mother was captured."
"Drek'thar and Orgrim never mentioned this."
"They might not have thought to do so. It was simply a way of life, to defend themselves. The draenei raided orc settlements. Sometimes they'd strip a farm of everything and then burn down the homes. Sometimes the orcs would do the same in return."
"It seems very… violent."
"That's your hard life," Garona said flatly. "That's your resilience through adversity. Durotar isn't sick. Kalimdor isn't sick. This? The heat and the dust? Are merely discomforting. The battle to get here with the quillboar and the centaur? Those things are closer to what it was like… but here, there's plenty of other fertile land. If one side loses, they can go elsewhere. On Draenor, losing a fight over your land means you could starve."
"We'll still starve if we can't make our home here," Thrall said. "We've given everything we can, and there's no going back. We make ourselves here or the land will break us. We aren't just a clan, or a family. We're a Horde. We have a lot more people to support… and a lot more people to work at it, to bring their expertise together to create a home. A legacy."
"So you do," Garona said and slipped from her perch. "It just means you're going to have to fight for it."
Thrall sighed as Garona slipped away, like smoke on the wind. "But we have fought for it." The elemental in his lap burbled at him. "Haven't we?"
Part 2