Warcraft Fic: Unity - Chapter 19
And here it is! I will be posting chapters over the course of the week, probably every three days or so to give people time to read and not feel overwhelmed. Also, because I enjoy watching you squirm. Ehehe.
Title: Unity
Part: 19 of 22+Epilogue
Word Count: 5636
Includes: Non-lethal violence, extremely large amounts of exposition, and interrupted hanky panky.
Pairings: Thrall/Jaina
Summary: Winter returns to Orgrimmar, bringing with it new challenges and new dangers.
Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Sidestory: Linguistics
13 14 15 16 17 18
Sidestory: Defiance - 1 2 3 4 5 Epilogue
Thrall stood in the Ring of Valour, and took in a deep breath. It wasn't easy to admit that he still got a little thrill out of being in the arena, albeit under vastly different circumstances: instead of being a half-grown child, he was an adult. Instead of a slave, he was a Warchief, not simply a leader of his own people, but of many. They were watching now, the visiting tauren and resident trolls, even other guests.
He turned slightly to smile at Jaina, who smiled back, though the expression was slightly strained. He resolved to spend time with her after the matches, so she could run her fingers over his tired, sore, sweaty muscles and assure herself that he was fine. Jaina never saw much point to these demonstrations. She preferred the similar and yet different violence inherent in organized sports such as rugby and football, and the occasional log roll.
Garona was standing just behind Jaina to her left, keeping one practiced eye on the matches, and the other on Jaina herself. Varok Saurfang sat with the lady of Theramore, discussing the latest claimants that brought them to this particular situation.
“Krenna is assigned a relatively minor post and has been overlooked for promotion several times. Her superiors report that she is violent, aggressive, and unreasonable in her demands of her soldiers, and that giving her a higher position risks both their lives and the integrity of the treaties with your people and the Kaldorei,” Varok was saying. “While Krenna feels that her superiors are cowardly, and disinterested in defending orc interests or encouraging excellence in their soldiers so that they remain in power.”
Jaina nodded slightly. “One of the ways to say you disagree with someone is to claim they're being unreasonable,” she replied. “But this...”
“It is the old way, brought up in a new light,” Varok said. “Orcs could challenge their leaders at any time, though doing so often came with its own risks. A Chieftain could answer their own challenges or appoint a champion. Strength of arms was said to be a sign of wisdom, that the spirits were with the correct party.”
“...just because someone could beat me in a fistfight doesn't make them smarter or wiser than I am,” Jaina pointed out. “Though admittedly, just being able to punch someone making an idiot assertion could be more satisfying than endless rounds of debate.”
Varok chuckled. “Be that as it may, humans still have tournaments to show off their prowess, and challenges can be issued there as well, can they not?”
“Well, yes,” Jaina conceded. “And some of those tournaments are very useful, and I suppose they can put paid to festering grudges, but they still prove nothing. Only that someone is better with a lance than someone else.”
“Sometimes, that's all you want to prove,” Varok pointed out. “Sometimes it's not about greater philosophy, it's about strength of arm. When you come from a land where daily life is a struggle against the land itself where only the strong survive, you want to ensure that your leaders are all the strongest they can be, and that the weak no longer burden the strong.”
Thrall's ears twitched as he heard Garona's derisive snort, and he turned, moving towards where they sat.
“In any case,” Thrall said, smiling up at Jaina, “the challenges are not fatal. When a grievance is brought before me, combat is one of the many ways that it can be resolved. Krenna has asked for evaluation by combat to prove that she's worthy of being promoted, despite what her superiors believe. If she puts in a good showing, she will have proven that she is strong. If she doesn't, then she will have to put aside her complaints for at least another full year.”
“I see,” Jaina said, though emotion played across her face. Thrall put his hand on the low, wooden wall, and she brushed her fingers across his. Varok politely declined to comment on the gesture. “Good luck... here. If we're going to insist on tournaments to prove things, many knights wear tokens of those they hope to impress.”
“I would be honoured to take a token of yours,” Thrall said, and Jaina smiled. “I've seen such tokens, usually a handkerchief, or another piece of cloth in the lady's colours.”
“Unfortunately, I don't usually carry one,” Jaina said. “Here...” Flicking her sleeve, Jaina opened the chamber of her gun, and slipped out one of the enchanted bullets, handing it to him. “It's not precisely visible, but it's a token.”
“It suits you perfectly,” Thrall said, and slipped the bullet into his pocket as Jaina closed the chamber and the gun disappeared up her sleeve once more. “Win or lose, I'll be fine.”
“I know that you will,” Jaina said. Their eyes met, and Thrall felt warmth flood his chest. His fingers brushed hers again, and then he returned to the middle of the arena. Krenna's challenge wasn't the first Thrall had fought today, but hers was the most serious, and indeed the most important.
Krenna is the old Horde's ideas in the new organization, Thrall thought. Someone who grew up with the idea that humans were the enemy, that orcs were superior, and that might makes right. I want her to see we can embrace new ideas and old ones together. Thrall looked to Lor'tar, who nodded back.
“Sergeant Krenna challenges Warchief Thrall,” the Warsong herald called out. “Krenna claims that she is strong enough to become the leader of Windshear Fortress. She demands that her skills be recognized by Warchief Thrall in trial by combat. Her victory represents immediate promotion to General.”
There were equal parts cheers and boos from the crowd. Some, Thrall knew, wanted someone like Krenna to have more power. Her attitude, her aggression, would make way for similar attitudes. Others, however, wanted absolutely nothing to do with that kind of old attitude. As Krenna strode into the arena, dressed only in a harness and leather pants, bare feet bringing up dust with each confident step, another woman, this one fully dressed, watched worriedly.
I wonder who that might be? Thrall wondered, curious. He let his gaze linger on her while Lor'tar explained the rules of the challenge. Even worried, her features were softer than Krenna's, but similar in other ways. Not a lover then, a relative? A sister? Distantly, he could hear Jaina asking Varok who he was looking at.
“That would seem to be Gorgonna, Krenna's sister. She has military training but she isn't formally assigned anywhere,” Varok said. “I haven't spoken to her at length, but--”
Thrall's focus returned to the matter at hand: Krenna agreed to abide by the rules of the challenge, and Thrall voiced his support. Lor'tar declared that the challenge had begun, and moved out of the Ring. Thrall and Krenna circled each other.
Thrall had fought many opponents in the past. Some, like Garona, betrayed little emotion, and struck fast, testing blows. Others, like Sergeant, had struck first, but methodically, teaching Thrall how to dodge, parry, or meet his blows. Still others, like Jaina, when they could be convinced to duel, fought with smiles on their faces, the expression a challenge, as if inviting him to try. In these instances, he was the aggressor, though he still advanced with intelligence and a swiftness that belied his size.
Krenna was unlike those opponents, because her goal was to come in with a rush, striking hard and fast to put him down with a single blow, as she did now, coming at him with a cry. Thrall preferred these matches to be kept clean, with no permanent damage done, but from the tightness of her fists and the way her eyes blazed, Krenna did not share that desire.
She seeks to injure me badly, sloppy, Thrall thought, dodging her blow and bringing his palm up to strike at her elbow. The blow was jarring and she cried out in surprise as the strike numbed her arm. She shook it a moment, eyes blazing with anger. In response, Thrall smiled at her. She snarled and rushed at him again. This time, when she struck at him, knuckles pale from the strength of her clenched fists, she did not leave herself vulnerable to that particular tactic. Instead, as she moved, Thrall slid his foot along the ground, causing Krenna to stumble as she found his foot where she'd thought there was nothing but smooth ground.
It's a trick, it's just a trick, Thrall thought, grabbing her as she stumbled and slammed her down, knocking the wind from her lungs as she landed hard. The follow up to such a move, the foot stomp, he held back from, instead watching her struggle for breath. He offered his hand, and she slapped it away, growling as she rolled herself to the side and to her feet. Old gladiator tricks. Thumb gouges, paralyzing strikes. Make it look good for the crowd.
As Krenna caught her breath, she stared at him, caught between anger at his mercy and surprise at his relentlessness. Thrall let his gaze roam over her as her chest heaved and her fingers trembled briefly before tightening again. Thrall felt his lips tug down, stern and disapproving now where he had once been warm and welcoming.
It’s time to end this, Thrall decided as he moved, driving forward with blows that were precise and aimed, slower but heavy. He could feel the spirits whisper around him. Snippets of information came to him, weaving in and out as Krenna dodged and spun. A girl, big for her age but still small against fully grown warriors, as beaten down and worn as they had been, biting and punching and kicking to get to the pitiful offerings the humans made. Thrall growled softly at the image. He had been in the Camps only briefly. Krenna, it seemed, had grown up there.
Well, grown up in the sense that she's an adult, Thrall thought and caught Krenna's arm as she came in, bellowing incoherently. He hefted and flipped her over his back, slamming her into the hard-packed dirt. Her roar became a pained whine as she flopped and lay still. The spirits settled around him, their approval silent but apparent. Part of her never left.
“The spirits have chosen Warchief Thrall as victor!” Lor'tar called, striking his drum three times. “Lok'tar ogar! For the Horde!”
“Sergeant Krenna, you fought well,” Thrall said formally. “The spirits have brought me victory in this matter. Do you accept their judgement?”
Krenna lay silent on the ground, trying to catch her breath. Thrall moved over to her, offering her his hand. Resentment smouldered in her gaze, and she pushed his hand away again before forcing herself to rise. Angrily, she battered away at the red dust on her trousers, remaining silent.
Thrall bit back a frown. “Sergeant? I need your reply.”
“Yes, Warchief.” Each syllable was spat out, and punctuated by another slap at the dust. “I accept judgement.”
“You truly did fight well,” Thrall said, keeping his voice pitched low and as conciliatory as possible. “I saw how you learned to fight this way. The spirits showed me a vision of your childhood and--”
Krenna snarled at the back of her throat, and as one, the Kor'kron snapped to attention, and Thrall could feel Garona poised to strike. Instead of lunging for him, Krenna turned on her heel and stormed out of the arena, kicking up more dust to coat her brief clothing.
I'm lucky she decided to leave and not bite, Thrall thought ruefully, and gestured for the Kor'kron to stand down. I should remember that just because I'm used to some people accepting help, not everyone does.
“That was the last challenge!” Lor'tar called out, striking his drum three times. “Honour to the Warchief! Honour to the combatants! Honour to the Horde!”
Thrall let the roar of the spectators wash over him and turned towards where Jaina was sitting. He took the bullet she'd gifted him from his pocket and kissed it, smiling broadly at her. Her smile in return was brittle and she glanced just off to the side. Thrall turned and noted that Gorgonna was still hovering on the edge of the arena. He turned towards her and nodded, then approached her.
“Warchief Thrall,” the young orc woman said with a brief smile. “You fought well.”
“Thank you,” Thrall replied. “You're Gorgonna, correct? Krenna's sister?”
“I am, yes,” Gorgonna replied. “It is as a sister that I say, I'm very glad that you won. A promotion would not suit Krenna at all. It will sting her pride, but another year and perhaps she'll realize that. I hope in that time she'll become more patient.”
Thrall blinked in surprise, and then nodded. “The spirits spoke to me during the duel, but I want to hear what you have to say. Will you walk with me?”
“I will, Warchief, and thank you.” Gorgonna smiled at him briefly. Thrall nodded to her, and hurried to where Jaina and Varok were sitting.
“I'm going to have a chat with Gorgonna, I'll meet with you as soon as I'm done, Jaina.” Thrall smiled up at her. “If you don't mind?”
“No, no. Go ahead,” Jaina said. “I know the way.”
“Thank you.” With another smile and a nod, he turned away, back towards Gorgonna. Exiting the arena proper, there was plenty of space left behind by the spectators to walk side by side with the woman, even as the slightly cooler Winter air prickled along the sweat on his skin. “In your own time.”
“My parents died during the war. My sister was just ten years old, I was only six,” Gorgonna began, letting her gaze sweep over the vacant seats of the arena. “We were kept in the camp near Lordamere Lake. That place was mostly women and children. You... likely remember it.”
“I do,” Thrall said, anger coming to the fore. “Were you hurt?”
“I was too young, even for such tastes,” Gorgonna said. “Krenna, I couldn't say, but I do remember the first time Krenna fought someone. It wasn't uncommon for the guards to short us once or twice a week on food. No one was happy about it, and those with sense knew to go early before the food ran out and we were told we were too greedy, too ungrateful. I'd always been told that orcs gathered in circles around communal cauldrons, but humans insisted on lines, so we lined up. Krenna was holding my hand, and someone pushed me. I fell and I cried. I did a lot of crying back then.”
“Children cry, it's what they do,” Thrall said. “I seem to recall crying over the littlest things as I was growing up. I was inconsolable after my adopted father accidentally stepped on my pinecone knights.”
Gorgonna peered up at him and nodded. “I can see it, you have a bit of crybaby left in you.” Thrall opened his mouth to object and she laughed, and he couldn't help but laugh with her. “I didn't see who pushed me, but Krenna obviously did because she flew at him, kicking and punching. I think she startled him more than she hurt him, but she pulled me up beside her and told me to stay close.”
“I saw that,” Thrall said. “In the vision, her fighting people.”
“She did that regularly. She was determined to take care of me, to keep me strong. As we grew up, as the children grew up around us, she had to fight more of them. The adults were mostly less trouble. The guards should have put a stop to it, but they thought it funny, I think, or at least entertaining.”
“Humans of a certain stripe are more than happy to watch us fight ourselves, so they can feel superior about having beaten us,” Thrall growled. “Never mind that they're afraid it won't work out as well the second time. Not every human, but humans also don't wear signs of their tolerance and compassion.”
“Though some may give you a better opportunity to find out than others,” Gorgonna murmured, and Thrall smiled. “As I grew up, the fights became less about survival and more because Krenna was big and strong. She could push people down and take the best of what the humans offered us... the greatest fish in a small pond. She still believes that, that she can take what she wants instead of earning it. I wonder if she resents orcs as much as she does humans, that her enemies are those who withhold what she wants from her and not those who pose a danger to the world.”
“It can be hard to work your mind out of that attitude,” Thrall replied. “She was trying to protect you back then, but now...”
“She isn't protecting anyone but herself,” Gorgonna finished, her tone wistful. “It's not as if I'm not grateful for how she protected me, but we aren't in the camps any more. The humans here aren't the ones who watched her fight. Her command aren't those who pushed me down.”
“No, and that's why I couldn't allow her to win,” Thrall said. “As Warchief, it's my first duty to keep the people of Orgrimmar safe, and that includes finding good commanding officers who will keep the peace between humans and orcs, as well as elves and orcs. We can't erase our past, and some wounds will never heal, but we can keep from opening new ones until we are nothing but bleeding sores.”
“I agree entirely, Warchief,” Gorgonna said, her smile full of gratitude. “Revenge achieves nothing, and resentment is poison.”
“I'm glad to hear it, and if you asked for a promotion, I don't doubt it would be granted,” Thrall replied. “I fear Krenna will be more angry than wise as a result of this.”
“I wouldn't ask for one,” Gorgonna replied. “I'm a warrior, but I chose a more distant posting. I have no desire to rule from a fortress.”
“What led you to that decision?” Thrall asked curiously. “It seems as though you would be a wise commander.”
“I... don't want to fight wars against the living,” Gorgonna admitted. “If the demons return, or when we go to fight the Scourge, I will take up arms without question, but I don't wish to be involved with border disputes. We should be better than that.”
“We should be, but as a very wise woman has said, the price of peace is constant vigilance,” Thrall said. “What is it you do, in that case?”
“I'm presently assigned to Sun Rock Retreat, in Stonetalon Mountains,” Gorgonna replied. “I help protect the retirees from harpy attacks.”
“Oh, a friend of mine lives in Stonetalon!” Thrall exclaimed, his voice warm. “Her name is Seereth, and she helps monitor the situation in Stonetalon. She's a shaman, and a few years ago, Jaina helped me set up scrying pools between Orgrimmar and Stonetalon to help improve communication.”
“Stonetalon is a very nice area, and the means to speak instantly to people across the land has been extremely helpful,” Gorgonna agreed. “Many Kaldorei still patrol the area and live there. I think they would be more hostile if it weren't obvious who was living there and why. The retirees are certainly grateful for the mountain air. Some of them still pick up a bow to help fight the harpies, but they can go and rest if they need to. It won't do any good to tell them what they can't do, just to support them when they're done with what they can do.”
“I know that in the days of old, the very elderly were difficult to support. Some even supported them going on journeys to die fighting something dangerous and terrible, but... no.” Thrall shook his head. “If I've learned anything, it's that the oldest of us have accumulated the most wisdom and that letting them go out to die simply because they can only lift an axe one time out of three isn't good enough.”
“If it was a time of scarcity, I could understand it,” Gorgonna said. “A grandfather seeing his granddaughter starving might hand her his food and go out to walk, but here? Now? In these lands of prosperity and hope? It would be disgusting, counter to all you've promised us.”
“I'm glad you remembered my promises,” Thrall said. “Humans call it triage. Pouring support into those who have the best chance to survive, even at the expense of other lives. It's not a good decision but sometimes it's the only one they can make, but triage is an emergency measure. There is no emergency here. We have farmers that have bountiful harvests, and if I choose to buy food and goods on behalf of those who can't support themselves, then everyone benefits. An elder I save could have stories of the old clans, or remember a weaving technique thought lost, or simply just be. Every life is worth something.”
“Every life,” Gorgonna agreed. “Our... allies believe this too, don't they? Lady Proudmoore?”
“Oh, yes,” Thrall replied, his tone warming. “Jaina and I have had many discussions about support systems for our respective people. Humans tend not to have formalized traditions for it, but in times of strife, the elderly have been left without proper support. She mentions that while Tirans don't always live long lives, the Dalarani have extensive programs to support any non-mage as long as they might live, which has led to her own ideas, which she's passed on to me.”
“I'm grateful for her wisdom, then,” Gorgonna noted. “As are you.”
“Yes, always,” Thrall agreed. “She is an incredible ally, a good friend, and a stalwart companion. I won't say that it hasn't been difficult, and we don't always agree, but it's never about anything that might damage our alliance. She doesn't entirely approve of this.” He gestured towards the arena. “But she accepts it.”
“She gave you a token of some kind, didn't she?” Gorgonna said. “Why was that?”
“Humans have tournaments too, and sometimes they air grievances through them,” Thrall said. “Jaina finds that to be foolish too, but she gave me one of her bullets because she doesn't carry her colours around. Not conveniently, at any rate.”
“A bullet seems like an odd token, especially for a mage,” Gorgonna said. “May I see it?”
“Certainly.” Thrall slipped the enchanted bullet from his pocket again and let it rest in her palm, the runes brightening briefly before becoming all but invisible. “Proudmoores are taught how to use guns by their goblin allies. They come in different sizes and shapes. Jaina prefers a hidden weapon, one that fits just in the palm of her hand. She enchants the bullets for different effects, though most of them are designed to stun rather than kill. She also has bullets blessed by members of the Church of the Light to more effectively fight the undead or demons. I'm not sure how she switches them in and out. Really, it's part of the magic.”
“And she gave you one,” Gorgonna mused. “There are rumours... they're true, aren't they?”
“That we're lovers?” Thrall asked. “Yes. The rumours that her actions, and mine, during the invasion of Theramore were because we were lovers are false. It cost Jaina much to side with the Horde, and it means that those who died to Daelin Proudmoore's invasion will never know revenge, but revenge will avail us nothing. All we can do now is trust in one another, be united in our purpose to make Kalimdor a home for all who live here, human or orc, tauren or Kaldorei, quillboar and furbolg. We stand united against the demon, the undead, and the warmonger.”
Gorgonna reached out and touched the bullet lightly, though she did not attempt to take it. “I think you're both very lucky to have such a powerful relationship. I hope that I can be as happy some day.”
“Your first goal should be to have a happy life, I think, rather than a relationship,” Thrall urged. “Good things will come after that, but a good life is the greatest goal we can strive for.” He considered briefly. “You said that you had no trouble fighting the undead, correct?”
“Yes, Warchief, that's so,” Gorgonna replied, taking on a pensive look. “What are you thinking?”
“It's not uncommon for the Argent Dawn to recruit from Orgrimmar,” Thrall said, tucking the bullet away again, though he let his hand rest on it. “They live hard lives in the plagued lands of Lordaeron, but they're always accepting recruits, regardless of race. If you wish for more than caring for retirees, you could go there.”
“Oh!” Gorgonna said. “I hadn't thought of that, I might look into it. Ships sail to their port, don't they?”
“It's a fair distance away, yes, but you could make it. The goblins also run airship routes between Kalimdor and the Eastern Kingdoms, though I haven't taken one. Sailing was bad enough.” Thrall shuddered. “But they say every journey begins with a great sacrifice.”
“Including one's lunch, I understand.” Gorgonna smiled, and put her fist to her chest in a salute. “Thank you, Warchief. I value our talk.”
“As do I, Gorgonna.” Thrall saluted her back, his fist making a meaty noise as it struck his bare chest. “The next time we speak, I look forward to seeing the colours you wear.”
So dismissed, Gorgonna turned to leave, picking her way across the arena. Thrall smiled to himself, and turned. Jaina sat alone in the arena, her expression drawn with concern. Thrall blinked and hurried over to her. “Jaina! I thought you were going to wait for me elsewhere. How long have you been waiting?”
“You spent some time talking to her, I was a little worried you'd forgotten about me,” Jaina said lightly, smiling as Thrall offered his arm.
“I would never, could never, forget about you,” Thrall said, leading her to his room. “We were mostly talking about her sister Krenna and her own future plans. I've suggested that she might like to join the Argent Dawn.”
“Not that I object, but why?” Jaina asked, startled. “Wouldn't you want to keep her around?”
“I would, she is wise and compassionate,” Thrall answered, and squeezed her arm lightly. “But she doesn't want to involve herself in the conflicts between allies, and I think she would do well under the Dawn's wing. If only Eitrigg had returned. He hasn't checked in, I'm concerned.”
“I can send a message to the Argent Dawn's mages if you like, but it may simply be there isn't time.” Jaina squeezed his arm in return. “We both know how the Scourge can advance swiftly and without warning.”
“Of course,” Thrall murmured, and leaned in to nuzzle at her neck. “We should try to contact them when we can, just to make sure everything is going well. I don't want to send warriors to a place that's already been overrun.”
“Mm,” Jaina replied, closing her eyes. Her hand moved from his arm to around his waist, tugging at him. “We should keep people safe, though I'll be sad if we lose the Argent Dawn. Think of all the good they can do.”
Thrall lifted Jaina into his arms easily, cupping her behind as her legs tightened around his waist. He carried her to his bed between kisses and set her down on the edge of it. He knelt down on the floor, giving her the advantage of height. “I admire their ability to work together as a cohesive group under such severe pressure.”
Jaina leaned in, nibbling softly at his jawline. He groaned, fumbling with the fastenings of her robe. “We managed it, but we had a defined goal that had a short timer,” Jaina moaned between nibbles, and shrugged her robes from her shoulders. “It may be years or even a decade before they can grow their own food.”
“I was just discussing Durotar's own food production,” Thrall murmured, nuzzling between Jaina's breasts as one hand stroked a line down her chest with the backs of his fingers. “We do keep supplies against emergencies, it's possible we could cut into that a little, but it would leave us short against a drought.” His hand moved down to stroke over her stomach. “Though we have the opportunity to--”
“Thrall.” His hand froze, hovering briefly over her stomach before withdrawing it. He sat back a little, looking up at her. She held up her wrist. Wrapped around it was a series of runed beads, a decoration she'd worn as long as he'd known her. Four of the beads were glowing, pulsing with arcane purple and frost blue.
“What is it, what's wrong?” Thrall asked urgently. “Are you alright?”
“Something's set off my wards,” Jaina said. The playfulness in her voice was gone as she started at them. “These are all third tier wards, I'm not sure what happened. Those should only go off if there's a major magical incursion.”
“Then we should find out what it is.” Thrall nodded to her, and reached down. “Let me just hand you your robes--”
As his fingertips touched the ground, there was a great sound, like the beat of a drum. His eyes widened as he pressed his hands to the floor. He felt the beat again, and again, like the slow thrumming of the heart of the planet. His heart slowed to meet it, and he felt emotion rush through him. Anger, fear, hate. The spirits swirled around him, crying out in panic.
They are coming! They are coming and there's nothing we can do!
Thrall jerked his hands from the floor, his heart racing now that it was freed, and his breath coming in ragged pants.
“Thrall, what is it?” Jaina asked urgently. She reached for him and he leaned into her touch. Her arms wrapped around him, drawing him in close. “Tell me what's wrong.”
“The spirits... something is coming, something terrible,” Thrall mumbled. “Something that's come before and cannot be stopped.”
“Could this... no.” Thrall felt Jaina shake her head, and he squeezed her briefly. “This never happens.”
“What doesn't?” he asked, letting the feeling of hands stroking through his hair comfort and calm him.
“My wards are purely arcane in nature, and while they can fend off ghosts or the undead, the spirits themselves can pass through them harmlessly,” Jaina said. “I had no intention of disturbing their natural function.”
“And I'm as blind to the inner workings of the arcane as you are to the spirits,” Thrall said, shifting to rest his head against her thigh. “Our powers don't overlap, except for now.”
“Except now,” Jaina agreed. “We need to get dressed and deal with this, before someone--” Jaina's last words were drowned out by the sound of pounding on the door.
“Warchief! Warchief Thrall!” cried a voice and Thrall took a deep breath, forcing himself away from Jaina so that he could retrieve her fallen robe - and feel the steadily thrumming heartbeat - and pushed himself to stand. He pushed opened the door, keeping his body in a position to block Jaina from sight until she dressed.
“Ak'zeloth,” Thrall said, looking over the youthful warlock, and then at his companion. “And... Rehgar, is it?”
“Correct, Warchief,” said the older orc. “Rehgar Earthfury, though I am of no relation to Muln. I am... a warlock no longer, but like this young one, I felt what just occurred and I believe we have insight into what we just felt.”
“I'm not that young,” Ak'zeloth muttered, and rolled his eyes, running a hand over the thin scar along his face. Thrall recalled the day he'd received it clearly, and it had been to save lives. “May we speak, Warchief?”
“We may, just a moment,” Thrall said. “Jaina, are you prepared for company?”
“I am always prepared for company,” Jaina replied. “The question is if they are prepared for me.”
“Hello, Lady Proudmoore,” Ak'zeloth called, and Rehgar blinked as the implication hit him at full force.
"Hello, Ak'zeloth," Jaina replied, tugging her robe back into place. "How are you and Sergra doing?"
The young warlock ducked his head, but smiled. "We're hoping for good news soon. The spirits speak to her, and..."
"That's excellent news," Thrall said warmly. "Come, let us go to the council chamber."
Rehgar and Ak'zeloth stepped back and Jaina came to stand next to Thrall. He smiled down at her, even as his sense of unease grew. Jaina took his arm and he led the way, letting his visitors trail behind. He heard Rehgar inhale suddenly, and he stood a little straighter.
It's not as if people aren't aware of our relationship, Thrall thought. I haven't shouted it from the heavens, but neither have I kept it completely secret. It's impossible to do so with orcish sense of smell.
The council chamber was empty when they arrived, and Thrall escorted Jaina to Eitrigg's seat in absentia, and sat next to her. Az'keloth took his own seat, and Rehgar found a place to sit down. Thrall noted Garona slipping into the room in uniform and nodded to her slightly.
Ak'zeloth gulped at the sight of Garona, but nodded and continued. “Both Rehgar and I felt something very recently. A surge of fel energy, similar to summoning a demon, on a very grand scale. Rehgar said in addition to the surge, he also heard the spirits speak to him and convey a sense of danger.”
“I felt the same thing,” Thrall said. “The spirits spoke of a returning danger, and I felt a great deal of negative emotion.”
“You said it was a surge of fel energy?” Jaina said sharply, and Ak'zeloth nodded. “That would explain why my wards went off. I wanted to be prepared in the event of... another...” Jaina's eyes went wide. “No, it can't be. It's impossible.”
“What is it, Jaina?” Thrall asked urgently. “What's wrong?”
“I'll have to get readings, communicate with Nethergarde, compare it to the measurements left by Archmage Khadgar but--” Jaina stood and leaned forward. On the great, round table that dominated the council chamber there was an expertly done carving of Azeroth and its continents, used more as a symbol of what they had sworn to protect than a strategic map. Jaina's finger stabbed down, pointing at the most southern part of the eastern continent. “It's possible that somehow, the Dark Portal has once again opened.”
[ Chapter 20]
Title: Unity
Part: 19 of 22+Epilogue
Word Count: 5636
Includes: Non-lethal violence, extremely large amounts of exposition, and interrupted hanky panky.
Pairings: Thrall/Jaina
Summary: Winter returns to Orgrimmar, bringing with it new challenges and new dangers.
Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Sidestory: Linguistics
13 14 15 16 17 18
Sidestory: Defiance - 1 2 3 4 5 Epilogue
Thrall stood in the Ring of Valour, and took in a deep breath. It wasn't easy to admit that he still got a little thrill out of being in the arena, albeit under vastly different circumstances: instead of being a half-grown child, he was an adult. Instead of a slave, he was a Warchief, not simply a leader of his own people, but of many. They were watching now, the visiting tauren and resident trolls, even other guests.
He turned slightly to smile at Jaina, who smiled back, though the expression was slightly strained. He resolved to spend time with her after the matches, so she could run her fingers over his tired, sore, sweaty muscles and assure herself that he was fine. Jaina never saw much point to these demonstrations. She preferred the similar and yet different violence inherent in organized sports such as rugby and football, and the occasional log roll.
Garona was standing just behind Jaina to her left, keeping one practiced eye on the matches, and the other on Jaina herself. Varok Saurfang sat with the lady of Theramore, discussing the latest claimants that brought them to this particular situation.
“Krenna is assigned a relatively minor post and has been overlooked for promotion several times. Her superiors report that she is violent, aggressive, and unreasonable in her demands of her soldiers, and that giving her a higher position risks both their lives and the integrity of the treaties with your people and the Kaldorei,” Varok was saying. “While Krenna feels that her superiors are cowardly, and disinterested in defending orc interests or encouraging excellence in their soldiers so that they remain in power.”
Jaina nodded slightly. “One of the ways to say you disagree with someone is to claim they're being unreasonable,” she replied. “But this...”
“It is the old way, brought up in a new light,” Varok said. “Orcs could challenge their leaders at any time, though doing so often came with its own risks. A Chieftain could answer their own challenges or appoint a champion. Strength of arms was said to be a sign of wisdom, that the spirits were with the correct party.”
“...just because someone could beat me in a fistfight doesn't make them smarter or wiser than I am,” Jaina pointed out. “Though admittedly, just being able to punch someone making an idiot assertion could be more satisfying than endless rounds of debate.”
Varok chuckled. “Be that as it may, humans still have tournaments to show off their prowess, and challenges can be issued there as well, can they not?”
“Well, yes,” Jaina conceded. “And some of those tournaments are very useful, and I suppose they can put paid to festering grudges, but they still prove nothing. Only that someone is better with a lance than someone else.”
“Sometimes, that's all you want to prove,” Varok pointed out. “Sometimes it's not about greater philosophy, it's about strength of arm. When you come from a land where daily life is a struggle against the land itself where only the strong survive, you want to ensure that your leaders are all the strongest they can be, and that the weak no longer burden the strong.”
Thrall's ears twitched as he heard Garona's derisive snort, and he turned, moving towards where they sat.
“In any case,” Thrall said, smiling up at Jaina, “the challenges are not fatal. When a grievance is brought before me, combat is one of the many ways that it can be resolved. Krenna has asked for evaluation by combat to prove that she's worthy of being promoted, despite what her superiors believe. If she puts in a good showing, she will have proven that she is strong. If she doesn't, then she will have to put aside her complaints for at least another full year.”
“I see,” Jaina said, though emotion played across her face. Thrall put his hand on the low, wooden wall, and she brushed her fingers across his. Varok politely declined to comment on the gesture. “Good luck... here. If we're going to insist on tournaments to prove things, many knights wear tokens of those they hope to impress.”
“I would be honoured to take a token of yours,” Thrall said, and Jaina smiled. “I've seen such tokens, usually a handkerchief, or another piece of cloth in the lady's colours.”
“Unfortunately, I don't usually carry one,” Jaina said. “Here...” Flicking her sleeve, Jaina opened the chamber of her gun, and slipped out one of the enchanted bullets, handing it to him. “It's not precisely visible, but it's a token.”
“It suits you perfectly,” Thrall said, and slipped the bullet into his pocket as Jaina closed the chamber and the gun disappeared up her sleeve once more. “Win or lose, I'll be fine.”
“I know that you will,” Jaina said. Their eyes met, and Thrall felt warmth flood his chest. His fingers brushed hers again, and then he returned to the middle of the arena. Krenna's challenge wasn't the first Thrall had fought today, but hers was the most serious, and indeed the most important.
Krenna is the old Horde's ideas in the new organization, Thrall thought. Someone who grew up with the idea that humans were the enemy, that orcs were superior, and that might makes right. I want her to see we can embrace new ideas and old ones together. Thrall looked to Lor'tar, who nodded back.
“Sergeant Krenna challenges Warchief Thrall,” the Warsong herald called out. “Krenna claims that she is strong enough to become the leader of Windshear Fortress. She demands that her skills be recognized by Warchief Thrall in trial by combat. Her victory represents immediate promotion to General.”
There were equal parts cheers and boos from the crowd. Some, Thrall knew, wanted someone like Krenna to have more power. Her attitude, her aggression, would make way for similar attitudes. Others, however, wanted absolutely nothing to do with that kind of old attitude. As Krenna strode into the arena, dressed only in a harness and leather pants, bare feet bringing up dust with each confident step, another woman, this one fully dressed, watched worriedly.
I wonder who that might be? Thrall wondered, curious. He let his gaze linger on her while Lor'tar explained the rules of the challenge. Even worried, her features were softer than Krenna's, but similar in other ways. Not a lover then, a relative? A sister? Distantly, he could hear Jaina asking Varok who he was looking at.
“That would seem to be Gorgonna, Krenna's sister. She has military training but she isn't formally assigned anywhere,” Varok said. “I haven't spoken to her at length, but--”
Thrall's focus returned to the matter at hand: Krenna agreed to abide by the rules of the challenge, and Thrall voiced his support. Lor'tar declared that the challenge had begun, and moved out of the Ring. Thrall and Krenna circled each other.
Thrall had fought many opponents in the past. Some, like Garona, betrayed little emotion, and struck fast, testing blows. Others, like Sergeant, had struck first, but methodically, teaching Thrall how to dodge, parry, or meet his blows. Still others, like Jaina, when they could be convinced to duel, fought with smiles on their faces, the expression a challenge, as if inviting him to try. In these instances, he was the aggressor, though he still advanced with intelligence and a swiftness that belied his size.
Krenna was unlike those opponents, because her goal was to come in with a rush, striking hard and fast to put him down with a single blow, as she did now, coming at him with a cry. Thrall preferred these matches to be kept clean, with no permanent damage done, but from the tightness of her fists and the way her eyes blazed, Krenna did not share that desire.
She seeks to injure me badly, sloppy, Thrall thought, dodging her blow and bringing his palm up to strike at her elbow. The blow was jarring and she cried out in surprise as the strike numbed her arm. She shook it a moment, eyes blazing with anger. In response, Thrall smiled at her. She snarled and rushed at him again. This time, when she struck at him, knuckles pale from the strength of her clenched fists, she did not leave herself vulnerable to that particular tactic. Instead, as she moved, Thrall slid his foot along the ground, causing Krenna to stumble as she found his foot where she'd thought there was nothing but smooth ground.
It's a trick, it's just a trick, Thrall thought, grabbing her as she stumbled and slammed her down, knocking the wind from her lungs as she landed hard. The follow up to such a move, the foot stomp, he held back from, instead watching her struggle for breath. He offered his hand, and she slapped it away, growling as she rolled herself to the side and to her feet. Old gladiator tricks. Thumb gouges, paralyzing strikes. Make it look good for the crowd.
As Krenna caught her breath, she stared at him, caught between anger at his mercy and surprise at his relentlessness. Thrall let his gaze roam over her as her chest heaved and her fingers trembled briefly before tightening again. Thrall felt his lips tug down, stern and disapproving now where he had once been warm and welcoming.
It’s time to end this, Thrall decided as he moved, driving forward with blows that were precise and aimed, slower but heavy. He could feel the spirits whisper around him. Snippets of information came to him, weaving in and out as Krenna dodged and spun. A girl, big for her age but still small against fully grown warriors, as beaten down and worn as they had been, biting and punching and kicking to get to the pitiful offerings the humans made. Thrall growled softly at the image. He had been in the Camps only briefly. Krenna, it seemed, had grown up there.
Well, grown up in the sense that she's an adult, Thrall thought and caught Krenna's arm as she came in, bellowing incoherently. He hefted and flipped her over his back, slamming her into the hard-packed dirt. Her roar became a pained whine as she flopped and lay still. The spirits settled around him, their approval silent but apparent. Part of her never left.
“The spirits have chosen Warchief Thrall as victor!” Lor'tar called, striking his drum three times. “Lok'tar ogar! For the Horde!”
“Sergeant Krenna, you fought well,” Thrall said formally. “The spirits have brought me victory in this matter. Do you accept their judgement?”
Krenna lay silent on the ground, trying to catch her breath. Thrall moved over to her, offering her his hand. Resentment smouldered in her gaze, and she pushed his hand away again before forcing herself to rise. Angrily, she battered away at the red dust on her trousers, remaining silent.
Thrall bit back a frown. “Sergeant? I need your reply.”
“Yes, Warchief.” Each syllable was spat out, and punctuated by another slap at the dust. “I accept judgement.”
“You truly did fight well,” Thrall said, keeping his voice pitched low and as conciliatory as possible. “I saw how you learned to fight this way. The spirits showed me a vision of your childhood and--”
Krenna snarled at the back of her throat, and as one, the Kor'kron snapped to attention, and Thrall could feel Garona poised to strike. Instead of lunging for him, Krenna turned on her heel and stormed out of the arena, kicking up more dust to coat her brief clothing.
I'm lucky she decided to leave and not bite, Thrall thought ruefully, and gestured for the Kor'kron to stand down. I should remember that just because I'm used to some people accepting help, not everyone does.
“That was the last challenge!” Lor'tar called out, striking his drum three times. “Honour to the Warchief! Honour to the combatants! Honour to the Horde!”
Thrall let the roar of the spectators wash over him and turned towards where Jaina was sitting. He took the bullet she'd gifted him from his pocket and kissed it, smiling broadly at her. Her smile in return was brittle and she glanced just off to the side. Thrall turned and noted that Gorgonna was still hovering on the edge of the arena. He turned towards her and nodded, then approached her.
“Warchief Thrall,” the young orc woman said with a brief smile. “You fought well.”
“Thank you,” Thrall replied. “You're Gorgonna, correct? Krenna's sister?”
“I am, yes,” Gorgonna replied. “It is as a sister that I say, I'm very glad that you won. A promotion would not suit Krenna at all. It will sting her pride, but another year and perhaps she'll realize that. I hope in that time she'll become more patient.”
Thrall blinked in surprise, and then nodded. “The spirits spoke to me during the duel, but I want to hear what you have to say. Will you walk with me?”
“I will, Warchief, and thank you.” Gorgonna smiled at him briefly. Thrall nodded to her, and hurried to where Jaina and Varok were sitting.
“I'm going to have a chat with Gorgonna, I'll meet with you as soon as I'm done, Jaina.” Thrall smiled up at her. “If you don't mind?”
“No, no. Go ahead,” Jaina said. “I know the way.”
“Thank you.” With another smile and a nod, he turned away, back towards Gorgonna. Exiting the arena proper, there was plenty of space left behind by the spectators to walk side by side with the woman, even as the slightly cooler Winter air prickled along the sweat on his skin. “In your own time.”
“My parents died during the war. My sister was just ten years old, I was only six,” Gorgonna began, letting her gaze sweep over the vacant seats of the arena. “We were kept in the camp near Lordamere Lake. That place was mostly women and children. You... likely remember it.”
“I do,” Thrall said, anger coming to the fore. “Were you hurt?”
“I was too young, even for such tastes,” Gorgonna said. “Krenna, I couldn't say, but I do remember the first time Krenna fought someone. It wasn't uncommon for the guards to short us once or twice a week on food. No one was happy about it, and those with sense knew to go early before the food ran out and we were told we were too greedy, too ungrateful. I'd always been told that orcs gathered in circles around communal cauldrons, but humans insisted on lines, so we lined up. Krenna was holding my hand, and someone pushed me. I fell and I cried. I did a lot of crying back then.”
“Children cry, it's what they do,” Thrall said. “I seem to recall crying over the littlest things as I was growing up. I was inconsolable after my adopted father accidentally stepped on my pinecone knights.”
Gorgonna peered up at him and nodded. “I can see it, you have a bit of crybaby left in you.” Thrall opened his mouth to object and she laughed, and he couldn't help but laugh with her. “I didn't see who pushed me, but Krenna obviously did because she flew at him, kicking and punching. I think she startled him more than she hurt him, but she pulled me up beside her and told me to stay close.”
“I saw that,” Thrall said. “In the vision, her fighting people.”
“She did that regularly. She was determined to take care of me, to keep me strong. As we grew up, as the children grew up around us, she had to fight more of them. The adults were mostly less trouble. The guards should have put a stop to it, but they thought it funny, I think, or at least entertaining.”
“Humans of a certain stripe are more than happy to watch us fight ourselves, so they can feel superior about having beaten us,” Thrall growled. “Never mind that they're afraid it won't work out as well the second time. Not every human, but humans also don't wear signs of their tolerance and compassion.”
“Though some may give you a better opportunity to find out than others,” Gorgonna murmured, and Thrall smiled. “As I grew up, the fights became less about survival and more because Krenna was big and strong. She could push people down and take the best of what the humans offered us... the greatest fish in a small pond. She still believes that, that she can take what she wants instead of earning it. I wonder if she resents orcs as much as she does humans, that her enemies are those who withhold what she wants from her and not those who pose a danger to the world.”
“It can be hard to work your mind out of that attitude,” Thrall replied. “She was trying to protect you back then, but now...”
“She isn't protecting anyone but herself,” Gorgonna finished, her tone wistful. “It's not as if I'm not grateful for how she protected me, but we aren't in the camps any more. The humans here aren't the ones who watched her fight. Her command aren't those who pushed me down.”
“No, and that's why I couldn't allow her to win,” Thrall said. “As Warchief, it's my first duty to keep the people of Orgrimmar safe, and that includes finding good commanding officers who will keep the peace between humans and orcs, as well as elves and orcs. We can't erase our past, and some wounds will never heal, but we can keep from opening new ones until we are nothing but bleeding sores.”
“I agree entirely, Warchief,” Gorgonna said, her smile full of gratitude. “Revenge achieves nothing, and resentment is poison.”
“I'm glad to hear it, and if you asked for a promotion, I don't doubt it would be granted,” Thrall replied. “I fear Krenna will be more angry than wise as a result of this.”
“I wouldn't ask for one,” Gorgonna replied. “I'm a warrior, but I chose a more distant posting. I have no desire to rule from a fortress.”
“What led you to that decision?” Thrall asked curiously. “It seems as though you would be a wise commander.”
“I... don't want to fight wars against the living,” Gorgonna admitted. “If the demons return, or when we go to fight the Scourge, I will take up arms without question, but I don't wish to be involved with border disputes. We should be better than that.”
“We should be, but as a very wise woman has said, the price of peace is constant vigilance,” Thrall said. “What is it you do, in that case?”
“I'm presently assigned to Sun Rock Retreat, in Stonetalon Mountains,” Gorgonna replied. “I help protect the retirees from harpy attacks.”
“Oh, a friend of mine lives in Stonetalon!” Thrall exclaimed, his voice warm. “Her name is Seereth, and she helps monitor the situation in Stonetalon. She's a shaman, and a few years ago, Jaina helped me set up scrying pools between Orgrimmar and Stonetalon to help improve communication.”
“Stonetalon is a very nice area, and the means to speak instantly to people across the land has been extremely helpful,” Gorgonna agreed. “Many Kaldorei still patrol the area and live there. I think they would be more hostile if it weren't obvious who was living there and why. The retirees are certainly grateful for the mountain air. Some of them still pick up a bow to help fight the harpies, but they can go and rest if they need to. It won't do any good to tell them what they can't do, just to support them when they're done with what they can do.”
“I know that in the days of old, the very elderly were difficult to support. Some even supported them going on journeys to die fighting something dangerous and terrible, but... no.” Thrall shook his head. “If I've learned anything, it's that the oldest of us have accumulated the most wisdom and that letting them go out to die simply because they can only lift an axe one time out of three isn't good enough.”
“If it was a time of scarcity, I could understand it,” Gorgonna said. “A grandfather seeing his granddaughter starving might hand her his food and go out to walk, but here? Now? In these lands of prosperity and hope? It would be disgusting, counter to all you've promised us.”
“I'm glad you remembered my promises,” Thrall said. “Humans call it triage. Pouring support into those who have the best chance to survive, even at the expense of other lives. It's not a good decision but sometimes it's the only one they can make, but triage is an emergency measure. There is no emergency here. We have farmers that have bountiful harvests, and if I choose to buy food and goods on behalf of those who can't support themselves, then everyone benefits. An elder I save could have stories of the old clans, or remember a weaving technique thought lost, or simply just be. Every life is worth something.”
“Every life,” Gorgonna agreed. “Our... allies believe this too, don't they? Lady Proudmoore?”
“Oh, yes,” Thrall replied, his tone warming. “Jaina and I have had many discussions about support systems for our respective people. Humans tend not to have formalized traditions for it, but in times of strife, the elderly have been left without proper support. She mentions that while Tirans don't always live long lives, the Dalarani have extensive programs to support any non-mage as long as they might live, which has led to her own ideas, which she's passed on to me.”
“I'm grateful for her wisdom, then,” Gorgonna noted. “As are you.”
“Yes, always,” Thrall agreed. “She is an incredible ally, a good friend, and a stalwart companion. I won't say that it hasn't been difficult, and we don't always agree, but it's never about anything that might damage our alliance. She doesn't entirely approve of this.” He gestured towards the arena. “But she accepts it.”
“She gave you a token of some kind, didn't she?” Gorgonna said. “Why was that?”
“Humans have tournaments too, and sometimes they air grievances through them,” Thrall said. “Jaina finds that to be foolish too, but she gave me one of her bullets because she doesn't carry her colours around. Not conveniently, at any rate.”
“A bullet seems like an odd token, especially for a mage,” Gorgonna said. “May I see it?”
“Certainly.” Thrall slipped the enchanted bullet from his pocket again and let it rest in her palm, the runes brightening briefly before becoming all but invisible. “Proudmoores are taught how to use guns by their goblin allies. They come in different sizes and shapes. Jaina prefers a hidden weapon, one that fits just in the palm of her hand. She enchants the bullets for different effects, though most of them are designed to stun rather than kill. She also has bullets blessed by members of the Church of the Light to more effectively fight the undead or demons. I'm not sure how she switches them in and out. Really, it's part of the magic.”
“And she gave you one,” Gorgonna mused. “There are rumours... they're true, aren't they?”
“That we're lovers?” Thrall asked. “Yes. The rumours that her actions, and mine, during the invasion of Theramore were because we were lovers are false. It cost Jaina much to side with the Horde, and it means that those who died to Daelin Proudmoore's invasion will never know revenge, but revenge will avail us nothing. All we can do now is trust in one another, be united in our purpose to make Kalimdor a home for all who live here, human or orc, tauren or Kaldorei, quillboar and furbolg. We stand united against the demon, the undead, and the warmonger.”
Gorgonna reached out and touched the bullet lightly, though she did not attempt to take it. “I think you're both very lucky to have such a powerful relationship. I hope that I can be as happy some day.”
“Your first goal should be to have a happy life, I think, rather than a relationship,” Thrall urged. “Good things will come after that, but a good life is the greatest goal we can strive for.” He considered briefly. “You said that you had no trouble fighting the undead, correct?”
“Yes, Warchief, that's so,” Gorgonna replied, taking on a pensive look. “What are you thinking?”
“It's not uncommon for the Argent Dawn to recruit from Orgrimmar,” Thrall said, tucking the bullet away again, though he let his hand rest on it. “They live hard lives in the plagued lands of Lordaeron, but they're always accepting recruits, regardless of race. If you wish for more than caring for retirees, you could go there.”
“Oh!” Gorgonna said. “I hadn't thought of that, I might look into it. Ships sail to their port, don't they?”
“It's a fair distance away, yes, but you could make it. The goblins also run airship routes between Kalimdor and the Eastern Kingdoms, though I haven't taken one. Sailing was bad enough.” Thrall shuddered. “But they say every journey begins with a great sacrifice.”
“Including one's lunch, I understand.” Gorgonna smiled, and put her fist to her chest in a salute. “Thank you, Warchief. I value our talk.”
“As do I, Gorgonna.” Thrall saluted her back, his fist making a meaty noise as it struck his bare chest. “The next time we speak, I look forward to seeing the colours you wear.”
So dismissed, Gorgonna turned to leave, picking her way across the arena. Thrall smiled to himself, and turned. Jaina sat alone in the arena, her expression drawn with concern. Thrall blinked and hurried over to her. “Jaina! I thought you were going to wait for me elsewhere. How long have you been waiting?”
“You spent some time talking to her, I was a little worried you'd forgotten about me,” Jaina said lightly, smiling as Thrall offered his arm.
“I would never, could never, forget about you,” Thrall said, leading her to his room. “We were mostly talking about her sister Krenna and her own future plans. I've suggested that she might like to join the Argent Dawn.”
“Not that I object, but why?” Jaina asked, startled. “Wouldn't you want to keep her around?”
“I would, she is wise and compassionate,” Thrall answered, and squeezed her arm lightly. “But she doesn't want to involve herself in the conflicts between allies, and I think she would do well under the Dawn's wing. If only Eitrigg had returned. He hasn't checked in, I'm concerned.”
“I can send a message to the Argent Dawn's mages if you like, but it may simply be there isn't time.” Jaina squeezed his arm in return. “We both know how the Scourge can advance swiftly and without warning.”
“Of course,” Thrall murmured, and leaned in to nuzzle at her neck. “We should try to contact them when we can, just to make sure everything is going well. I don't want to send warriors to a place that's already been overrun.”
“Mm,” Jaina replied, closing her eyes. Her hand moved from his arm to around his waist, tugging at him. “We should keep people safe, though I'll be sad if we lose the Argent Dawn. Think of all the good they can do.”
Thrall lifted Jaina into his arms easily, cupping her behind as her legs tightened around his waist. He carried her to his bed between kisses and set her down on the edge of it. He knelt down on the floor, giving her the advantage of height. “I admire their ability to work together as a cohesive group under such severe pressure.”
Jaina leaned in, nibbling softly at his jawline. He groaned, fumbling with the fastenings of her robe. “We managed it, but we had a defined goal that had a short timer,” Jaina moaned between nibbles, and shrugged her robes from her shoulders. “It may be years or even a decade before they can grow their own food.”
“I was just discussing Durotar's own food production,” Thrall murmured, nuzzling between Jaina's breasts as one hand stroked a line down her chest with the backs of his fingers. “We do keep supplies against emergencies, it's possible we could cut into that a little, but it would leave us short against a drought.” His hand moved down to stroke over her stomach. “Though we have the opportunity to--”
“Thrall.” His hand froze, hovering briefly over her stomach before withdrawing it. He sat back a little, looking up at her. She held up her wrist. Wrapped around it was a series of runed beads, a decoration she'd worn as long as he'd known her. Four of the beads were glowing, pulsing with arcane purple and frost blue.
“What is it, what's wrong?” Thrall asked urgently. “Are you alright?”
“Something's set off my wards,” Jaina said. The playfulness in her voice was gone as she started at them. “These are all third tier wards, I'm not sure what happened. Those should only go off if there's a major magical incursion.”
“Then we should find out what it is.” Thrall nodded to her, and reached down. “Let me just hand you your robes--”
As his fingertips touched the ground, there was a great sound, like the beat of a drum. His eyes widened as he pressed his hands to the floor. He felt the beat again, and again, like the slow thrumming of the heart of the planet. His heart slowed to meet it, and he felt emotion rush through him. Anger, fear, hate. The spirits swirled around him, crying out in panic.
They are coming! They are coming and there's nothing we can do!
Thrall jerked his hands from the floor, his heart racing now that it was freed, and his breath coming in ragged pants.
“Thrall, what is it?” Jaina asked urgently. She reached for him and he leaned into her touch. Her arms wrapped around him, drawing him in close. “Tell me what's wrong.”
“The spirits... something is coming, something terrible,” Thrall mumbled. “Something that's come before and cannot be stopped.”
“Could this... no.” Thrall felt Jaina shake her head, and he squeezed her briefly. “This never happens.”
“What doesn't?” he asked, letting the feeling of hands stroking through his hair comfort and calm him.
“My wards are purely arcane in nature, and while they can fend off ghosts or the undead, the spirits themselves can pass through them harmlessly,” Jaina said. “I had no intention of disturbing their natural function.”
“And I'm as blind to the inner workings of the arcane as you are to the spirits,” Thrall said, shifting to rest his head against her thigh. “Our powers don't overlap, except for now.”
“Except now,” Jaina agreed. “We need to get dressed and deal with this, before someone--” Jaina's last words were drowned out by the sound of pounding on the door.
“Warchief! Warchief Thrall!” cried a voice and Thrall took a deep breath, forcing himself away from Jaina so that he could retrieve her fallen robe - and feel the steadily thrumming heartbeat - and pushed himself to stand. He pushed opened the door, keeping his body in a position to block Jaina from sight until she dressed.
“Ak'zeloth,” Thrall said, looking over the youthful warlock, and then at his companion. “And... Rehgar, is it?”
“Correct, Warchief,” said the older orc. “Rehgar Earthfury, though I am of no relation to Muln. I am... a warlock no longer, but like this young one, I felt what just occurred and I believe we have insight into what we just felt.”
“I'm not that young,” Ak'zeloth muttered, and rolled his eyes, running a hand over the thin scar along his face. Thrall recalled the day he'd received it clearly, and it had been to save lives. “May we speak, Warchief?”
“We may, just a moment,” Thrall said. “Jaina, are you prepared for company?”
“I am always prepared for company,” Jaina replied. “The question is if they are prepared for me.”
“Hello, Lady Proudmoore,” Ak'zeloth called, and Rehgar blinked as the implication hit him at full force.
"Hello, Ak'zeloth," Jaina replied, tugging her robe back into place. "How are you and Sergra doing?"
The young warlock ducked his head, but smiled. "We're hoping for good news soon. The spirits speak to her, and..."
"That's excellent news," Thrall said warmly. "Come, let us go to the council chamber."
Rehgar and Ak'zeloth stepped back and Jaina came to stand next to Thrall. He smiled down at her, even as his sense of unease grew. Jaina took his arm and he led the way, letting his visitors trail behind. He heard Rehgar inhale suddenly, and he stood a little straighter.
It's not as if people aren't aware of our relationship, Thrall thought. I haven't shouted it from the heavens, but neither have I kept it completely secret. It's impossible to do so with orcish sense of smell.
The council chamber was empty when they arrived, and Thrall escorted Jaina to Eitrigg's seat in absentia, and sat next to her. Az'keloth took his own seat, and Rehgar found a place to sit down. Thrall noted Garona slipping into the room in uniform and nodded to her slightly.
Ak'zeloth gulped at the sight of Garona, but nodded and continued. “Both Rehgar and I felt something very recently. A surge of fel energy, similar to summoning a demon, on a very grand scale. Rehgar said in addition to the surge, he also heard the spirits speak to him and convey a sense of danger.”
“I felt the same thing,” Thrall said. “The spirits spoke of a returning danger, and I felt a great deal of negative emotion.”
“You said it was a surge of fel energy?” Jaina said sharply, and Ak'zeloth nodded. “That would explain why my wards went off. I wanted to be prepared in the event of... another...” Jaina's eyes went wide. “No, it can't be. It's impossible.”
“What is it, Jaina?” Thrall asked urgently. “What's wrong?”
“I'll have to get readings, communicate with Nethergarde, compare it to the measurements left by Archmage Khadgar but--” Jaina stood and leaned forward. On the great, round table that dominated the council chamber there was an expertly done carving of Azeroth and its continents, used more as a symbol of what they had sworn to protect than a strategic map. Jaina's finger stabbed down, pointing at the most southern part of the eastern continent. “It's possible that somehow, the Dark Portal has once again opened.”
[ Chapter 20]