Warcraft: Assassin - Part 2
And here's the next part! Sadly, this is all I have written in advance, so other updates will come slowly. Enjoy!
Title: Assassin
Part: 2/?
Word Count: 4541
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.
Previous: 1
The sun was setting over the coast, spreading red light over the ocean's surface. Thrall had found this sight alarming, but Jaina had assured him that it was at dawn that you needed to worry. At dusk, this was a good sign. Thrall sat back on a piece of driftwood, watching Jaina walk along the beach. Where he was cautious of the water, Jaina seemed utterly fearless, the water coming up to her ankles as the tide came in. Each step was taken deliberately to press into the sand so that the tide could catch there, and other things, little creatures.
Fascinating, Thrall thought as he watched her. "Jaina?"
"Yes?" the human sorceress said as she walked slowly and carefully, her hands tugging her robes up so that her calves were exposed, dusted with wet sand. Thrall's eyes were drawn to them, noting how the shoreline of Dustwallow Marsh was grey, while Durotar's was red. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts again.
"What were humans like before the orcs came?"
Jaina's steps paused. "Well… you have to keep in mind that I was born after the First War started, but… you know, I'm not sure what you mean."
"When Drek'thar and Orgrim used to tell me stories, they never mentioned that before the invasion, the orcs had been at war with people on Draenor. With the draenei."
"I've heard of the draenei," Jaina said, startling Thrall. "Some of them wandered through during the periods of time the Dark Portal was open. There was relatively limited interaction, and they took up homes in the Swamp of Sorrows and left everyone alone. Archmage Khadgar's treatise of Nethergarde has more details. I'd… have to get another copy. Somehow. If there's anything left of the world."
"I'm sorry, Jaina," Thrall said gently. "It was thoughtless of me."
"No, it's fine." Jaina took a deep breath. "How much do you know about human history?"
"I've read histories about Lordaeron, about their great victories over the dwarves, the elves... and of course, the orcs." Thrall smiled a little. "It was a very specific point of view, and I've come to learn that history is written by the victor, and it's possible that it's biased. I believe that you'll give me a fairer evaluation."
Jaina smiled back. "Thank you, and I'll certainly try to give you one." Jaina toed at the sand. "It varied from nation to nation. The face of the Eastern Kingdoms have changed so much. The borders were redrawn dozens of times. Human history has recordings that date back roughly six thousand years, from the first oral legends of Thoradin of Arathor and the troll wars. Humans and elves united to fight off the trolls, and it was for this reason that elves taught humans how to use magic. Humans and elves didn't always get along, though. There was professional rivalry and a certain amount of… being patronizing towards a younger, lesser race. Not all elves were like this, of course. There was conflict with the dwarves near Khaz Modan, not to mention their own history of civil war. Even the gnomes have had problems."
"But not the humans?" Thrall asked curiously. Jaina laughed softly.
"Depending on your perspective, we were the worst. Almost every human nation on Azeroth was founded because someone felt like they couldn't live under the house and rules of another, and of course, this tended to be met by an… insistence that they return. There were also internal conflicts, expansionism… Lordaeron went through a period of about five hundred years where they gobbled up every spare piece of land not strictly controlled by another nation… and then started in on the ones that were. There's a reason why there are elven lodges, dwarves ports and mountain-keeps and two other nations completely encompassed by Lordaeron."
"That sounds… ambitious," Thrall ventured. "But they were defeated, weren't they?"
"Not as such," Jaina replied, toeing at the sand. "As the story goes, the other nations got together and essentially bribed Queen Calilia to sue for peace. Lordaeron lost very little in the bargain, and it created a number of trade agreements that… until the Scourge came… were still being honoured. That was two or three generations ago."
Thrall's head swam. "So, the Menethils…"
"That was their line, yes, there were other kings before them." Jaina looked out towards the ocean, her expression one of pain. "The righteous conquest of kings is in their blood, even if King Terenas himself wasn't a soldier. His battlefield was political. He… will be missed."
"What of your own people?" Thrall asked, hoping to improve her mood. "Of Kul Tiras?"
Jaina smiled. "Kul Tiras was founded by pirates. The Proudmoore line has… meandered somewhat, but stayed firm since the founding. I think our laws help. Once the islands were settled, we did do a fair bit of coastal raiding… as Lordaeron is on land, we are by sea."
"Pirates?" Thrall asked, disbelievingly. "You're not…"
"I wanted to be Dread Pirate Jaina when I was young," she replied, her smile growing a little wider. "Of course, due to other talents I became a mage… but there's always a little pirate in a Proudmoore."
"I can hardly believe--" The gun in Jaina's hand made Thrall's eyes widen and he threw himself back, off of the driftwood. The journey was short and he grunted as his back hit the sand. Why didn't the spirits warn me?!
"Thrall, it was just a demonstration," Jaina chided. "Now you know I can still surprise you."
"I've no doubt of that," Thrall said ruefully, and looked up at the human woman who offered her hand. Her grip was firm as she helped him up. "You know, Grom once described you as weak."
"Did he?" Jaina said, and kept a hold of his hand, urging him to walk down the beach with her. Thrall followed. "I hope you've learned better by now."
"…I learned better shortly after I saw how your forces had reinforced Stonetalon pass," Thrall said ruefully. "Perhaps I can believe you're descended from pirates."
"Thank you." Her voice was light with amusement. "Going back to what this person told you… it bothers you that the orcs were at war with the draenei."
"It does," Thrall confessed. "I want my people to move past a history of bloodshed, but… what if there isn't anything else?"
"Why can't there be?" Jaina asked, startling Thrall again. She squeezed his hand. "My family had a lot of pirates in it… but they also had merchants, naval officers, marines… my grandfather was a tailor. He made beautiful women's dresses and caught my grandmother's eye. I don't think I've ever seen her wear a dress, she found them inconvenient when climbing in rigging. Terenas Menethil wasn't about to go out and conquer other nations, but he was respected. Adamant Wrynn won the throne of Azeroth by beating out a fellow noble, but started putting into place useful policies that would help heal Stormwind's problems, things that were carried on by his son Llane. History is important, history can repeat itself, but that doesn't mean we're ruled by it. Otherwise humans would still live in caves. You believe in your people, Thrall. I've seen it. Yes, your people had a violent history. War will always be important to you. That doesn't mean that you can't find ways to live that are peaceful. That doesn't mean you can't have friends and allies."
Thrall smiled. "We've come a long way since the Oracle."
"Ashenvale and Hyjal," Jaina replied, smiling back. "And we still have a long way to go."
"Thank you, Jaina," Thrall said, squeezing her hand gently. "You do still surprise me, or at least… help me gain perspective."
"I always will," Jaina promised. "Now… take off your boots, we're going wading."
"We're what?" Thrall said, his eyes widening with alarm. Jaina grinned.
"Wading. The water isn't going to play in itself."
"Jaina, it's nightfall. It's cold."
"Coward," Jaina teased. She dropped his hand and headed towards the water. Thrall screwed up his face -- and his courage -- and stripped his boots off.
"I am not." He rolled up his trousers and walked with determination in after her, getting first his feet wet, then his ankles. Teasingly, Jaina danced just out of range, tugging her robes higher. "You keep running away."
"All the better to surprise you," Jaina said, and with a quick gesture, she scooped up water and threw it into his face. The water tasted of salt and caused Thrall to sputter and make a face. He gave her a hard look, reached down and threw a handful back, and was rewarded with laughter and another handful of water in the face.
The moons rose, observing the Warchief of the Horde and the Lady Archmage splashing each other like children, laughter ringing out over the ocean.
~ * ~
"One… two… three! Heave!" cried one of the goblins. Thrall's shoulder muscles bunched as he lifted, helping three other orcs raise a section of wall. It went up with relatively little effort, and swiftly two of the trolls lashed the wall in place. Thrall smiled, and nodded to those who offered him water.
The meetings with Jaina had inspired him to throw himself into this work, to building a city that his people would be proud of, and the progress became easier. Consulting with others, like Gazlowe, had helped resolve the building conflicts, and each day he found something that his friends could help him with. Vol'jin had introduced him to Shandel'zare and Jes'rimmon, trusted members of the Darkspear that he could afford to spare, as Cairne did with Nara, a young, bright druid with great insight into the surrounding area.
Chieftains of old would consult with their advisors for certain courses of action, Thrall thought, ducking into the completed part of Grommash Hold. The builders had insisted that Thrall's personal chambers be finished first, though 'finished' was overstating it somewhat: Thrall had moved his bedroll inside, offering his tent back to those who still needed to camp, and there was a wash bucket, already filled with water and a bit of soap. He stripped down, thanking the spirits for clean water and began to wash. If I am to lead my people -- all of my people -- I need to know what it is that they want and what they need. He reached for his sponge to dip it into the water and frowned when he found it missing.
"Blackhand had advisors. Gul'dan, and the other chieftains. He did what Gul'dan wanted. He was a puppet and a fool."
Thrall resisted the urge to twist, and instead sat calmly as he felt the brush of a wet sponge against his shoulders. "I'm naked."
"You are."
"Couldn't you knock?"
"You knew I was here."
"That's not the point." Thrall sighed. "I became distracted last time. You were telling me how you survived."
"I survived by hiding and stealing." Garona ran the sponge down Thrall's back. "The shadows were my only refuge. Of course, Gul'dan caught me. He found out I had been stealing books and teaching myself how to read."
"Did he punish you?"
"No," Garona replied. "He began to teach me. He was not patient. He did not suffer failure well. Occasionally he would remark on my ability to pick things up, but for the most part…"
"It's like throwing strips of beef to a starving animal," Thrall said quietly. "Just enough to keep them going, not enough to nourish them. Just enough that you always want more."
Garona's hand stilled for a moment. "Yes. Blackmoore?"
"Blackmoore," Thrall confirmed, his voice a low snarl. "He did something similar to me."
Garona brushed the sponge down his back. "They were of a kind, I think." She pauses. "I had almost gotten used to it when things changed."
"What happened?"
"Draenor had four seasons, all rather hopefully named. Awakening, Growing, Reaping and Resting, corresponding to Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter here. During the height of the Growing season, orcs would travel from all over to come to Oshu'gun, the Spirit Mountain. In times of war, Oshu'gun was strictly neutral and a place where people could negotiate trade agreements between clans, find mates, see old friends, show off their skills or just compete. This gathering was performed even in the worst times because…" She worked down his back, bumping a little over the scars. "Because we were called there. Oshu'gun was the home of our ancestors. We wanted to go back there to visit them. It meant something to us. Something more than fighting. Even Gul'dan would not violate the sanctity of it, and even he felt the need to return there once a year. He decided that he wouldn't leave me while everyone else was traveling, so he took me with him."
"That sounds like something worth remembering."
"It's something I'll never forget."
~ * ~
It's as if the whole world is here.
Garona peeked around Gul'dan's legs as his robes flapped in the breeze. She gazed down at the crowd of orcs, and in truth, it was more people than she'd ever seen before: thousands upon thousands of orcs gathered around the base of Oshu'gun. Flags and standards moved in the occasional wind, but far more often they were carried by representatives of each clan.
Gul'dan stood at the head of his clan, staring down from atop a small hill. Already, many clans were camped out and greetings were exchanged between friends that had been long out of one another's company.
"We set up camp there," Gul'dan said, indicating a specific spot, empty in a way that seemed to indicate the mountain itself was waiting for them. Several of the Stormreaver peons immediately began to set up the camp, building the Chieftain's tent with great speed before Garona's very eyes. No matter how large that tent would be, though, it was overshadowed by the great, crystal mountain. It shimmered invitingly in the sun's light.
"It's so big," Garona murmured unbidden.
Gul'dan grunted, and nodded in agreement. "The Blade's Edge Mountain range or the Hand of Gul'dan may come close to its height, but neither share its significance. This is where the ancestors reside."
"Everyone's ancestors?" Garona asked her eyes wide. "Where do they all fit?"
"The ancestors live here without form or substance until they are called upon," Gul'dan said with a frown. "There is enough room for all the orcs that have ever been and ever will be."
"All the… oh." Garona bowed her head.
"Go, look around," Gul'dan commanded. "But do not be seen. Return by sundown."
"Yes, Gul'dan," Garona replied. She scrambled off, moving into the shadows of the piles of furs. One of the clans, the Quickdraw, prided themselves on their hunting prowess and traded their excess goods for roots and herbs collected by the other clans. She pressed her back against the clefthoof and talbuk furs, careful not to shift them. On hands and knees she crawled past them, waiting until eyes were averted to move on. In some places, the shadows were longer than others. These were easier to hide in, to hide her hands and face. Her hair was short, bound back in little pigtails, and while Gul'dan had wanted to shave her head bald, he had lost track of the idea.
Warriors can be bald. You are not one.
Garona's eyes narrowed as she slid between two barrels of ale. The scent was sharp, like nothing she could remember from Karabor. People moved differently here as well: in Karabor, many walked with slumped shoulders, oppressed by the darkness of the temple, even as it hid her from their gaze. Here, under the sun's baleful glare, men and women alike stood straight-backed and proud, milling around as they smiled and laughed. Sometimes, they would touch, embracing each other when they met. Other times, they would clasp arms, squeezing briefly before letting go.
No one does that in Karabor, Garona thought, trying to imagine Gul'dan gripping the arm of Teron Gorefiend as a friendly greeting and failed. The warlocks and warriors that lived in Karabor walked by each other in sullen silence, avoiding each others' gaze. They didn't want to talk, or touch. Here, it seemed, things were different.
Garona followed people around, listening as they spoke. In many cases, it seemed as if some of those here had not seen the people they were greeting in many cycles of the great, blue moon, so they were making up for lost time. She heard forms of address. Brother. Sister. Mate. Mother. Father.
A great warrior, clad in black metal armour, hugged his son close, despite the fact his son was nearly a warrior grown himself. She heard the words spoke over and over again. Father. Papa. Popo. Dad. Daddy. Dada. Da. It was spoken by men and women both, some old, some young. This was always met with joy, with pride.
Is that what I'm supposed to do? She remembered her mother's last words, and the way Gul'dan always frowned when he saw her. Is that what he's waiting for? She hid in the shadows, pondering. Around her, the crowds changed, dividing up as the great meal began.
Here and there were great bonfires, built high and surrounded by large stones and piles of furs. Men sat around them, talking animatedly about various topics -- hunting, fishing, mating, the weather, the herds -- while women brought them drinks and more food, smiling and showing off their tusks and the curves of their hips. Some of the men smiled back, including one with his hair tied in long braids. His companion nudged at him teasingly. Garona's eyes fell to him, and they widened with shock.
This warrior was young, but his face was kind and gentle, unlike anything she'd ever seen before. He wore bone and wood ornaments carved in the shape of wolves. There was something about his eyes that drew her in, like warm arms. She moved in closer to get a better look. She could follow his gaze to a pair of orcs, one male and one female, smiling at each other hugely.
"There you are," Gul'dan muttered. "What did I tell you?"
"They're smiling," Garona said, and the wind seemed to pick up her voice and carry it. The conversations seemed to die abruptly as everyone turned to stare at her, and then past her at Gul'dan.
"They're smiling because they're being foolish," Gul'dan said sharply. "Do not act so foolishly when you are grown."
Here's my chance, Garona thought. "But, Fa--"
Immediately, Gul'dan reacted, striking her across the cheek to silence her. Garona's eyes began to sting with tears, and she desperately gripped at her control, remembering her mother's warnings about crying. Her hand came to her cheek, covering the mark.
"Come, Garona," Gul'dan barked. He turned, gesturing for her to follow and she did. When she was only a handful of steps from the tent, Gul'dan grabbed her by the shoulder and shoved her inside. She made another tiny, startled noise and scrambled to hurry. This didn't seem to satisfy Gul'dan, and he shoved her to the ground. "Never!"
"Wh-what?"
"Never speak that word of me!" He lunged at her and grabbed her, shaking her hard. Her teeth closed as her head snapped back. "Do not ever use that word! I am not your father! I am Gul'dan, or Master. You are not worthy of having a father. You're a monster, a freak."
"But Mother said--"
Gul'dan slapped her. "Your mother is dead, and she was a fool. She died defending someone so worthless as you. You were her burden!"
Garona whimpered, and the tears came more readily. This only enraged Gul'dan as he brought his hand back to strike her again.
~ * ~
"I'm sorry," Thrall said softly. Garona's voice had remained steady throughout, her hands gentle. The water felt colder.
"I was permitted to go out the next day, after I'd recovered, but I didn't enjoy it," Garona said. "There were tournaments, mating displays... but it didn't matter. I felt as though I'd been betrayed, in a way. Those people had all been happy. They made me believe I could be happy. Especially..." The sponge stopped.
"Especially?"
"Durotan. He was the one with the kind eyes." Garona continued. "I would meet him again, several times. I would watch him more."
"It wasn't their fault that Gul'dan acted that way," Thrall said. Garona sighed.
"I know, Thrall--"
Thrall twisted around to look at her. "It wasn't yours either," Thrall insisted. "Gul'dan was wrong. You aren't--"
The sponge lay to the side of Thrall's bath, and Garona was gone. Thrall sighed, groaned at the feeling in his back, and retrieved the sponge to finish bathing.
~ * ~
Vol'jin's fire was swelteringly hot, and Thrall's body prickled with heat and sweat. He wore nothing but the briefest of loin cloths and his hair had been slicked back and oiled by several of the troll women, then braided tightly. They'd chuckled over its texture and length, tugging teasingly at his beard until Thrall flushed. Then they'd left as swiftly as they'd come like a flock of birds.
"Thank you for joinin' me," Vol'jin said, collecting up a jar of herbs. He sprinkled them onto the fire, and the smoke changed colour. Thrall let his gaze fall on the fire, neither concentrating nor thinking of anything in particular. He inhaled deeply.
"You're welcome, I'm always happy to participate in the rituals of my people." He smiled at Vol'jin and the witch doctor smiled back. "There was... something I wanted to ask of you, though."
"I'm always happy to be listenin' to my Warchief," Vol'jin replied, and let the heavily scented smoke enter his lungs. His wiry chest swelled, showing off the paint marks and tattoos that whorled around his pectorals. Vol'jin too wore little more than a loincloth, and his red hair was stiff and bristling, ornamented with beads made of glass, shells and bones.
Thrall did his best to keep his mind open, but his worries swirled in like mist on the wind. "I wanted to ask you about your father."
"Sen'jin," Vol'jin murmured, the easy, open expression on his face becoming closed and sad. "He woulda liked Durotar, I think."
"I believe that too, but I meant on a... more personal level." Thrall sighed. "I never knew my parents. I'm often told that they would be proud of me."
"You be doubtin' that?"
"Not exactly, but... I've met someone whose... father... didn't love her. He treated her poorly, as poorly as Blackmoore treated me, but it was worse for her in many ways. I never believed Blackmoore was my father. He never mocked the sacrifices that my parents made. I remember..." Thrall's expression crinkled with grief. "Tari's parents loved her, even though they were often afraid. What if not everyone's parents does?"
"They don't," Vol'jin said. "Thrall, th' truth of the matter is, parents are people too. Some people be hateful. Some people be cruel. Some parents hurt their children. Some don't. Dependin' on where you be and who you ask, most people don't."
"Did your father?"
"Sometimes. I was spanked for doin' stupid things. Sometimes, we got hit if we spoke poorly of the Sea Witch. Darkspear parents were afraid. Sometimes, people hit their kids when they be afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"Afraid of lots of things. The Sea Witch. Afraid of change. Afraid of what they see in their kids that be a reflection of themselves."
"...a reflection of themselves?" Thrall's skin crawled, thinking of Blackmoore.
"Sure." Vol'jin met his gaze over the fire. "Kids pick up things from their parents. Kids learn before they can talk. Before they can walk. When they still be whelps. They learn faces and voices, they learn what words to speak. My Da, he be pickin' up heavy things an' swearin'. I do it, when I'm just a whelp, an' I get hit. My Da, he says, 'don't be sayin' that, it's rude'. I says, 'but you be sayin' it all the time, why can't I?'." Vol'jin chuckled. "He hit me again. But he be watchin' his back before he be pickin' things up."
"He set an example," Thrall said. "But... how do you escape that?"
"By rejectin' it," Vol'jin said. "When you be growin' up, your parents be teachin' you things. My Da, he hit me so I don't be swearin' where someone can hear me, but he teach me lots of other things. He teach me to brew a potion, to hunt. To watch for the way the weather changes. To talk to the loa and share a fire. I didn't have to be a witch doctor. I coulda been a hunter. I coulda joined the Sea Witch. She took trolls as priests, too. My Da taught me to fear her, but also to hate her. I coulda decided my Da was weak, that I could do more with the Sea Witch."
"But you didn't," Thrall said. "Why?"
"Because when you be growin' up, there be a lot more than jus' your parents teachin' you things. You get friends, you get teachers. You get life. It teaches you too. You get to look around and say, 'what do I believe?'. Your friend, her Da hate her. He treat her bad. But her Da isn't the only one who be teachin' her, I think."
"No, she spoke of her mother," Thrall said. "She was a good woman, and taught her other things. She also said... she learned from observing others. Though she felt that those teachers had betrayed her, because her own life was so different. I told her that it wasn't their fault, but it wasn't hers either... and she disappeared again."
"It be true, though. It be common to be disciplinin' your kids, but it takes a special kind of person to be truly cruel. To be abusin' their kids."
"A special kind of broken," Thrall growled softly, and Vol'jin nodded.
"Some people be not right in the head. They be hurtin' their kids. Not teachin' them nothing except fear and hate. They be tellin' the kids it be their fault when it be nothin' of the sort. They be more dangerous than the Sea Witch. No one be expectin' you to agree with her."
"Blackmoore was that kind of broken," Thrall said. "He was... hateful. Cruel. He blamed everyone around him for his own failings. He... made me want to please him. I thought that if I could he wouldn't be so cruel. Then came the day that he nearly let me die in the arena. When he didn't call for my death, I thought that he realized what he was doing, but he only spared me so that he could beat me and allow others to do so because I'd failed to meet his expectations. It was then that I realized that monster was impossible to please."
"You tried sacrificin' to the Sea Witch, and realized that she never be happy, no matter what. She always be hungry."
"Yes," Thrall said, and his eyes widened suddenly. The world around him was wavering. He saw ghosts waving at him from the shadows, the omnipresence of the spirits. "Oh..."
"It be workin'," Vol'jin said, chuckling. "You asked if my Da be proud of me. I be believin' the answer be yes. I believe he be proud of you, too. As for your parents, I be hearin' the stories of Drek'thar and the other Frostwolves. I be thinkin' your parents not be broken. I be thinkin' your parents be spankin' you for puttin' oatmeal in your sister's hair--"
"That was one time--"
"But they not be hittin' you if you be winnin' seven bouts instead of eight. They be not hatin' you. The loa be knowin' for sure, if you still have questions."
"No, I have other questions," Thrall murmured.
"What those be?"
"...what are loa?"
[Part 3]
Title: Assassin
Part: 2/?
Word Count: 4541
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.
Previous: 1
The sun was setting over the coast, spreading red light over the ocean's surface. Thrall had found this sight alarming, but Jaina had assured him that it was at dawn that you needed to worry. At dusk, this was a good sign. Thrall sat back on a piece of driftwood, watching Jaina walk along the beach. Where he was cautious of the water, Jaina seemed utterly fearless, the water coming up to her ankles as the tide came in. Each step was taken deliberately to press into the sand so that the tide could catch there, and other things, little creatures.
Fascinating, Thrall thought as he watched her. "Jaina?"
"Yes?" the human sorceress said as she walked slowly and carefully, her hands tugging her robes up so that her calves were exposed, dusted with wet sand. Thrall's eyes were drawn to them, noting how the shoreline of Dustwallow Marsh was grey, while Durotar's was red. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts again.
"What were humans like before the orcs came?"
Jaina's steps paused. "Well… you have to keep in mind that I was born after the First War started, but… you know, I'm not sure what you mean."
"When Drek'thar and Orgrim used to tell me stories, they never mentioned that before the invasion, the orcs had been at war with people on Draenor. With the draenei."
"I've heard of the draenei," Jaina said, startling Thrall. "Some of them wandered through during the periods of time the Dark Portal was open. There was relatively limited interaction, and they took up homes in the Swamp of Sorrows and left everyone alone. Archmage Khadgar's treatise of Nethergarde has more details. I'd… have to get another copy. Somehow. If there's anything left of the world."
"I'm sorry, Jaina," Thrall said gently. "It was thoughtless of me."
"No, it's fine." Jaina took a deep breath. "How much do you know about human history?"
"I've read histories about Lordaeron, about their great victories over the dwarves, the elves... and of course, the orcs." Thrall smiled a little. "It was a very specific point of view, and I've come to learn that history is written by the victor, and it's possible that it's biased. I believe that you'll give me a fairer evaluation."
Jaina smiled back. "Thank you, and I'll certainly try to give you one." Jaina toed at the sand. "It varied from nation to nation. The face of the Eastern Kingdoms have changed so much. The borders were redrawn dozens of times. Human history has recordings that date back roughly six thousand years, from the first oral legends of Thoradin of Arathor and the troll wars. Humans and elves united to fight off the trolls, and it was for this reason that elves taught humans how to use magic. Humans and elves didn't always get along, though. There was professional rivalry and a certain amount of… being patronizing towards a younger, lesser race. Not all elves were like this, of course. There was conflict with the dwarves near Khaz Modan, not to mention their own history of civil war. Even the gnomes have had problems."
"But not the humans?" Thrall asked curiously. Jaina laughed softly.
"Depending on your perspective, we were the worst. Almost every human nation on Azeroth was founded because someone felt like they couldn't live under the house and rules of another, and of course, this tended to be met by an… insistence that they return. There were also internal conflicts, expansionism… Lordaeron went through a period of about five hundred years where they gobbled up every spare piece of land not strictly controlled by another nation… and then started in on the ones that were. There's a reason why there are elven lodges, dwarves ports and mountain-keeps and two other nations completely encompassed by Lordaeron."
"That sounds… ambitious," Thrall ventured. "But they were defeated, weren't they?"
"Not as such," Jaina replied, toeing at the sand. "As the story goes, the other nations got together and essentially bribed Queen Calilia to sue for peace. Lordaeron lost very little in the bargain, and it created a number of trade agreements that… until the Scourge came… were still being honoured. That was two or three generations ago."
Thrall's head swam. "So, the Menethils…"
"That was their line, yes, there were other kings before them." Jaina looked out towards the ocean, her expression one of pain. "The righteous conquest of kings is in their blood, even if King Terenas himself wasn't a soldier. His battlefield was political. He… will be missed."
"What of your own people?" Thrall asked, hoping to improve her mood. "Of Kul Tiras?"
Jaina smiled. "Kul Tiras was founded by pirates. The Proudmoore line has… meandered somewhat, but stayed firm since the founding. I think our laws help. Once the islands were settled, we did do a fair bit of coastal raiding… as Lordaeron is on land, we are by sea."
"Pirates?" Thrall asked, disbelievingly. "You're not…"
"I wanted to be Dread Pirate Jaina when I was young," she replied, her smile growing a little wider. "Of course, due to other talents I became a mage… but there's always a little pirate in a Proudmoore."
"I can hardly believe--" The gun in Jaina's hand made Thrall's eyes widen and he threw himself back, off of the driftwood. The journey was short and he grunted as his back hit the sand. Why didn't the spirits warn me?!
"Thrall, it was just a demonstration," Jaina chided. "Now you know I can still surprise you."
"I've no doubt of that," Thrall said ruefully, and looked up at the human woman who offered her hand. Her grip was firm as she helped him up. "You know, Grom once described you as weak."
"Did he?" Jaina said, and kept a hold of his hand, urging him to walk down the beach with her. Thrall followed. "I hope you've learned better by now."
"…I learned better shortly after I saw how your forces had reinforced Stonetalon pass," Thrall said ruefully. "Perhaps I can believe you're descended from pirates."
"Thank you." Her voice was light with amusement. "Going back to what this person told you… it bothers you that the orcs were at war with the draenei."
"It does," Thrall confessed. "I want my people to move past a history of bloodshed, but… what if there isn't anything else?"
"Why can't there be?" Jaina asked, startling Thrall again. She squeezed his hand. "My family had a lot of pirates in it… but they also had merchants, naval officers, marines… my grandfather was a tailor. He made beautiful women's dresses and caught my grandmother's eye. I don't think I've ever seen her wear a dress, she found them inconvenient when climbing in rigging. Terenas Menethil wasn't about to go out and conquer other nations, but he was respected. Adamant Wrynn won the throne of Azeroth by beating out a fellow noble, but started putting into place useful policies that would help heal Stormwind's problems, things that were carried on by his son Llane. History is important, history can repeat itself, but that doesn't mean we're ruled by it. Otherwise humans would still live in caves. You believe in your people, Thrall. I've seen it. Yes, your people had a violent history. War will always be important to you. That doesn't mean that you can't find ways to live that are peaceful. That doesn't mean you can't have friends and allies."
Thrall smiled. "We've come a long way since the Oracle."
"Ashenvale and Hyjal," Jaina replied, smiling back. "And we still have a long way to go."
"Thank you, Jaina," Thrall said, squeezing her hand gently. "You do still surprise me, or at least… help me gain perspective."
"I always will," Jaina promised. "Now… take off your boots, we're going wading."
"We're what?" Thrall said, his eyes widening with alarm. Jaina grinned.
"Wading. The water isn't going to play in itself."
"Jaina, it's nightfall. It's cold."
"Coward," Jaina teased. She dropped his hand and headed towards the water. Thrall screwed up his face -- and his courage -- and stripped his boots off.
"I am not." He rolled up his trousers and walked with determination in after her, getting first his feet wet, then his ankles. Teasingly, Jaina danced just out of range, tugging her robes higher. "You keep running away."
"All the better to surprise you," Jaina said, and with a quick gesture, she scooped up water and threw it into his face. The water tasted of salt and caused Thrall to sputter and make a face. He gave her a hard look, reached down and threw a handful back, and was rewarded with laughter and another handful of water in the face.
The moons rose, observing the Warchief of the Horde and the Lady Archmage splashing each other like children, laughter ringing out over the ocean.
~ * ~
"One… two… three! Heave!" cried one of the goblins. Thrall's shoulder muscles bunched as he lifted, helping three other orcs raise a section of wall. It went up with relatively little effort, and swiftly two of the trolls lashed the wall in place. Thrall smiled, and nodded to those who offered him water.
The meetings with Jaina had inspired him to throw himself into this work, to building a city that his people would be proud of, and the progress became easier. Consulting with others, like Gazlowe, had helped resolve the building conflicts, and each day he found something that his friends could help him with. Vol'jin had introduced him to Shandel'zare and Jes'rimmon, trusted members of the Darkspear that he could afford to spare, as Cairne did with Nara, a young, bright druid with great insight into the surrounding area.
Chieftains of old would consult with their advisors for certain courses of action, Thrall thought, ducking into the completed part of Grommash Hold. The builders had insisted that Thrall's personal chambers be finished first, though 'finished' was overstating it somewhat: Thrall had moved his bedroll inside, offering his tent back to those who still needed to camp, and there was a wash bucket, already filled with water and a bit of soap. He stripped down, thanking the spirits for clean water and began to wash. If I am to lead my people -- all of my people -- I need to know what it is that they want and what they need. He reached for his sponge to dip it into the water and frowned when he found it missing.
"Blackhand had advisors. Gul'dan, and the other chieftains. He did what Gul'dan wanted. He was a puppet and a fool."
Thrall resisted the urge to twist, and instead sat calmly as he felt the brush of a wet sponge against his shoulders. "I'm naked."
"You are."
"Couldn't you knock?"
"You knew I was here."
"That's not the point." Thrall sighed. "I became distracted last time. You were telling me how you survived."
"I survived by hiding and stealing." Garona ran the sponge down Thrall's back. "The shadows were my only refuge. Of course, Gul'dan caught me. He found out I had been stealing books and teaching myself how to read."
"Did he punish you?"
"No," Garona replied. "He began to teach me. He was not patient. He did not suffer failure well. Occasionally he would remark on my ability to pick things up, but for the most part…"
"It's like throwing strips of beef to a starving animal," Thrall said quietly. "Just enough to keep them going, not enough to nourish them. Just enough that you always want more."
Garona's hand stilled for a moment. "Yes. Blackmoore?"
"Blackmoore," Thrall confirmed, his voice a low snarl. "He did something similar to me."
Garona brushed the sponge down his back. "They were of a kind, I think." She pauses. "I had almost gotten used to it when things changed."
"What happened?"
"Draenor had four seasons, all rather hopefully named. Awakening, Growing, Reaping and Resting, corresponding to Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter here. During the height of the Growing season, orcs would travel from all over to come to Oshu'gun, the Spirit Mountain. In times of war, Oshu'gun was strictly neutral and a place where people could negotiate trade agreements between clans, find mates, see old friends, show off their skills or just compete. This gathering was performed even in the worst times because…" She worked down his back, bumping a little over the scars. "Because we were called there. Oshu'gun was the home of our ancestors. We wanted to go back there to visit them. It meant something to us. Something more than fighting. Even Gul'dan would not violate the sanctity of it, and even he felt the need to return there once a year. He decided that he wouldn't leave me while everyone else was traveling, so he took me with him."
"That sounds like something worth remembering."
"It's something I'll never forget."
~ * ~
It's as if the whole world is here.
Garona peeked around Gul'dan's legs as his robes flapped in the breeze. She gazed down at the crowd of orcs, and in truth, it was more people than she'd ever seen before: thousands upon thousands of orcs gathered around the base of Oshu'gun. Flags and standards moved in the occasional wind, but far more often they were carried by representatives of each clan.
Gul'dan stood at the head of his clan, staring down from atop a small hill. Already, many clans were camped out and greetings were exchanged between friends that had been long out of one another's company.
"We set up camp there," Gul'dan said, indicating a specific spot, empty in a way that seemed to indicate the mountain itself was waiting for them. Several of the Stormreaver peons immediately began to set up the camp, building the Chieftain's tent with great speed before Garona's very eyes. No matter how large that tent would be, though, it was overshadowed by the great, crystal mountain. It shimmered invitingly in the sun's light.
"It's so big," Garona murmured unbidden.
Gul'dan grunted, and nodded in agreement. "The Blade's Edge Mountain range or the Hand of Gul'dan may come close to its height, but neither share its significance. This is where the ancestors reside."
"Everyone's ancestors?" Garona asked her eyes wide. "Where do they all fit?"
"The ancestors live here without form or substance until they are called upon," Gul'dan said with a frown. "There is enough room for all the orcs that have ever been and ever will be."
"All the… oh." Garona bowed her head.
"Go, look around," Gul'dan commanded. "But do not be seen. Return by sundown."
"Yes, Gul'dan," Garona replied. She scrambled off, moving into the shadows of the piles of furs. One of the clans, the Quickdraw, prided themselves on their hunting prowess and traded their excess goods for roots and herbs collected by the other clans. She pressed her back against the clefthoof and talbuk furs, careful not to shift them. On hands and knees she crawled past them, waiting until eyes were averted to move on. In some places, the shadows were longer than others. These were easier to hide in, to hide her hands and face. Her hair was short, bound back in little pigtails, and while Gul'dan had wanted to shave her head bald, he had lost track of the idea.
Warriors can be bald. You are not one.
Garona's eyes narrowed as she slid between two barrels of ale. The scent was sharp, like nothing she could remember from Karabor. People moved differently here as well: in Karabor, many walked with slumped shoulders, oppressed by the darkness of the temple, even as it hid her from their gaze. Here, under the sun's baleful glare, men and women alike stood straight-backed and proud, milling around as they smiled and laughed. Sometimes, they would touch, embracing each other when they met. Other times, they would clasp arms, squeezing briefly before letting go.
No one does that in Karabor, Garona thought, trying to imagine Gul'dan gripping the arm of Teron Gorefiend as a friendly greeting and failed. The warlocks and warriors that lived in Karabor walked by each other in sullen silence, avoiding each others' gaze. They didn't want to talk, or touch. Here, it seemed, things were different.
Garona followed people around, listening as they spoke. In many cases, it seemed as if some of those here had not seen the people they were greeting in many cycles of the great, blue moon, so they were making up for lost time. She heard forms of address. Brother. Sister. Mate. Mother. Father.
A great warrior, clad in black metal armour, hugged his son close, despite the fact his son was nearly a warrior grown himself. She heard the words spoke over and over again. Father. Papa. Popo. Dad. Daddy. Dada. Da. It was spoken by men and women both, some old, some young. This was always met with joy, with pride.
Is that what I'm supposed to do? She remembered her mother's last words, and the way Gul'dan always frowned when he saw her. Is that what he's waiting for? She hid in the shadows, pondering. Around her, the crowds changed, dividing up as the great meal began.
Here and there were great bonfires, built high and surrounded by large stones and piles of furs. Men sat around them, talking animatedly about various topics -- hunting, fishing, mating, the weather, the herds -- while women brought them drinks and more food, smiling and showing off their tusks and the curves of their hips. Some of the men smiled back, including one with his hair tied in long braids. His companion nudged at him teasingly. Garona's eyes fell to him, and they widened with shock.
This warrior was young, but his face was kind and gentle, unlike anything she'd ever seen before. He wore bone and wood ornaments carved in the shape of wolves. There was something about his eyes that drew her in, like warm arms. She moved in closer to get a better look. She could follow his gaze to a pair of orcs, one male and one female, smiling at each other hugely.
"There you are," Gul'dan muttered. "What did I tell you?"
"They're smiling," Garona said, and the wind seemed to pick up her voice and carry it. The conversations seemed to die abruptly as everyone turned to stare at her, and then past her at Gul'dan.
"They're smiling because they're being foolish," Gul'dan said sharply. "Do not act so foolishly when you are grown."
Here's my chance, Garona thought. "But, Fa--"
Immediately, Gul'dan reacted, striking her across the cheek to silence her. Garona's eyes began to sting with tears, and she desperately gripped at her control, remembering her mother's warnings about crying. Her hand came to her cheek, covering the mark.
"Come, Garona," Gul'dan barked. He turned, gesturing for her to follow and she did. When she was only a handful of steps from the tent, Gul'dan grabbed her by the shoulder and shoved her inside. She made another tiny, startled noise and scrambled to hurry. This didn't seem to satisfy Gul'dan, and he shoved her to the ground. "Never!"
"Wh-what?"
"Never speak that word of me!" He lunged at her and grabbed her, shaking her hard. Her teeth closed as her head snapped back. "Do not ever use that word! I am not your father! I am Gul'dan, or Master. You are not worthy of having a father. You're a monster, a freak."
"But Mother said--"
Gul'dan slapped her. "Your mother is dead, and she was a fool. She died defending someone so worthless as you. You were her burden!"
Garona whimpered, and the tears came more readily. This only enraged Gul'dan as he brought his hand back to strike her again.
~ * ~
"I'm sorry," Thrall said softly. Garona's voice had remained steady throughout, her hands gentle. The water felt colder.
"I was permitted to go out the next day, after I'd recovered, but I didn't enjoy it," Garona said. "There were tournaments, mating displays... but it didn't matter. I felt as though I'd been betrayed, in a way. Those people had all been happy. They made me believe I could be happy. Especially..." The sponge stopped.
"Especially?"
"Durotan. He was the one with the kind eyes." Garona continued. "I would meet him again, several times. I would watch him more."
"It wasn't their fault that Gul'dan acted that way," Thrall said. Garona sighed.
"I know, Thrall--"
Thrall twisted around to look at her. "It wasn't yours either," Thrall insisted. "Gul'dan was wrong. You aren't--"
The sponge lay to the side of Thrall's bath, and Garona was gone. Thrall sighed, groaned at the feeling in his back, and retrieved the sponge to finish bathing.
~ * ~
Vol'jin's fire was swelteringly hot, and Thrall's body prickled with heat and sweat. He wore nothing but the briefest of loin cloths and his hair had been slicked back and oiled by several of the troll women, then braided tightly. They'd chuckled over its texture and length, tugging teasingly at his beard until Thrall flushed. Then they'd left as swiftly as they'd come like a flock of birds.
"Thank you for joinin' me," Vol'jin said, collecting up a jar of herbs. He sprinkled them onto the fire, and the smoke changed colour. Thrall let his gaze fall on the fire, neither concentrating nor thinking of anything in particular. He inhaled deeply.
"You're welcome, I'm always happy to participate in the rituals of my people." He smiled at Vol'jin and the witch doctor smiled back. "There was... something I wanted to ask of you, though."
"I'm always happy to be listenin' to my Warchief," Vol'jin replied, and let the heavily scented smoke enter his lungs. His wiry chest swelled, showing off the paint marks and tattoos that whorled around his pectorals. Vol'jin too wore little more than a loincloth, and his red hair was stiff and bristling, ornamented with beads made of glass, shells and bones.
Thrall did his best to keep his mind open, but his worries swirled in like mist on the wind. "I wanted to ask you about your father."
"Sen'jin," Vol'jin murmured, the easy, open expression on his face becoming closed and sad. "He woulda liked Durotar, I think."
"I believe that too, but I meant on a... more personal level." Thrall sighed. "I never knew my parents. I'm often told that they would be proud of me."
"You be doubtin' that?"
"Not exactly, but... I've met someone whose... father... didn't love her. He treated her poorly, as poorly as Blackmoore treated me, but it was worse for her in many ways. I never believed Blackmoore was my father. He never mocked the sacrifices that my parents made. I remember..." Thrall's expression crinkled with grief. "Tari's parents loved her, even though they were often afraid. What if not everyone's parents does?"
"They don't," Vol'jin said. "Thrall, th' truth of the matter is, parents are people too. Some people be hateful. Some people be cruel. Some parents hurt their children. Some don't. Dependin' on where you be and who you ask, most people don't."
"Did your father?"
"Sometimes. I was spanked for doin' stupid things. Sometimes, we got hit if we spoke poorly of the Sea Witch. Darkspear parents were afraid. Sometimes, people hit their kids when they be afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"Afraid of lots of things. The Sea Witch. Afraid of change. Afraid of what they see in their kids that be a reflection of themselves."
"...a reflection of themselves?" Thrall's skin crawled, thinking of Blackmoore.
"Sure." Vol'jin met his gaze over the fire. "Kids pick up things from their parents. Kids learn before they can talk. Before they can walk. When they still be whelps. They learn faces and voices, they learn what words to speak. My Da, he be pickin' up heavy things an' swearin'. I do it, when I'm just a whelp, an' I get hit. My Da, he says, 'don't be sayin' that, it's rude'. I says, 'but you be sayin' it all the time, why can't I?'." Vol'jin chuckled. "He hit me again. But he be watchin' his back before he be pickin' things up."
"He set an example," Thrall said. "But... how do you escape that?"
"By rejectin' it," Vol'jin said. "When you be growin' up, your parents be teachin' you things. My Da, he hit me so I don't be swearin' where someone can hear me, but he teach me lots of other things. He teach me to brew a potion, to hunt. To watch for the way the weather changes. To talk to the loa and share a fire. I didn't have to be a witch doctor. I coulda been a hunter. I coulda joined the Sea Witch. She took trolls as priests, too. My Da taught me to fear her, but also to hate her. I coulda decided my Da was weak, that I could do more with the Sea Witch."
"But you didn't," Thrall said. "Why?"
"Because when you be growin' up, there be a lot more than jus' your parents teachin' you things. You get friends, you get teachers. You get life. It teaches you too. You get to look around and say, 'what do I believe?'. Your friend, her Da hate her. He treat her bad. But her Da isn't the only one who be teachin' her, I think."
"No, she spoke of her mother," Thrall said. "She was a good woman, and taught her other things. She also said... she learned from observing others. Though she felt that those teachers had betrayed her, because her own life was so different. I told her that it wasn't their fault, but it wasn't hers either... and she disappeared again."
"It be true, though. It be common to be disciplinin' your kids, but it takes a special kind of person to be truly cruel. To be abusin' their kids."
"A special kind of broken," Thrall growled softly, and Vol'jin nodded.
"Some people be not right in the head. They be hurtin' their kids. Not teachin' them nothing except fear and hate. They be tellin' the kids it be their fault when it be nothin' of the sort. They be more dangerous than the Sea Witch. No one be expectin' you to agree with her."
"Blackmoore was that kind of broken," Thrall said. "He was... hateful. Cruel. He blamed everyone around him for his own failings. He... made me want to please him. I thought that if I could he wouldn't be so cruel. Then came the day that he nearly let me die in the arena. When he didn't call for my death, I thought that he realized what he was doing, but he only spared me so that he could beat me and allow others to do so because I'd failed to meet his expectations. It was then that I realized that monster was impossible to please."
"You tried sacrificin' to the Sea Witch, and realized that she never be happy, no matter what. She always be hungry."
"Yes," Thrall said, and his eyes widened suddenly. The world around him was wavering. He saw ghosts waving at him from the shadows, the omnipresence of the spirits. "Oh..."
"It be workin'," Vol'jin said, chuckling. "You asked if my Da be proud of me. I be believin' the answer be yes. I believe he be proud of you, too. As for your parents, I be hearin' the stories of Drek'thar and the other Frostwolves. I be thinkin' your parents not be broken. I be thinkin' your parents be spankin' you for puttin' oatmeal in your sister's hair--"
"That was one time--"
"But they not be hittin' you if you be winnin' seven bouts instead of eight. They be not hatin' you. The loa be knowin' for sure, if you still have questions."
"No, I have other questions," Thrall murmured.
"What those be?"
"...what are loa?"
[Part 3]