A/N: Right. Okay. I actually wrote this about a year ago and had thought about adding more, but upon rediscovering it lost in my folders I decided I kind of like it how it is. Maybe I'll add a second part to it. Maybe not. I'm open to opinions ;P
...
the hardest part of loving you
Is that you were never mine
...
She knew the instant emerged from her tent into the vicious chill of Northrend's night, cheeks stained with tears and chest heaving with every uneven breath, that this was a bad idea. She knew with each soft footfall that crunched against the freshly fallen snow, with each uneven breath that forced itself free of her lungs. She knew- and yet Jaina Proudmoore couldn't bring herself to care even in the slightest.
Her heart weighed heavily in the cavity of her chest, lungs constricted with the threat of another wave of sobs, and the wind caught the loose strands of her golden hair to blow them forward into her downcast face as she pressed on. The vivid memories of her nightmare played back in her mind- she could practically smell the smoke that clouded the air, could hear the echoing screams and the sound of her own voice, "I'm sorry, Arthas, I can't watch you do this,",and she could so clearly picture the look of pure disbelief on his face as she turned away and abandoned him to his fate.
Jaina shook her head then, a vain attempt to shake away the remaining remnants of the dream, but of course it worked no better than it had in the last decade.
It felt like both an eternity and only mere seconds had passed before the blonde found herself halting abruptly before a simple tent, the crimson banner of the Horde billowing in the icy wind. Lifting her chin, Jaina met the gaze of a stony-faced orc gripping tightly onto a deadly looking waraxe. It took far longer than she cared to admit to find her voice, and even then it wavered far more than she would have liked. "I request an audience with your Warchief."
The guard narrowed his eyes as his gaze roamed over her, no doubt taking in her less than suitable appearance. In all of the frenzied panic that had followed, she hadn't even thought to try and make herself presentable, and so she stood before him with tangled tresses and little more than underclothes- in all the time she'd spent in Northrend, she'd never been as thankful for the fur cloak that it was utterly impossible to go anywhere without, lest she risk freezing to death. Shifting her weight nervously from one foot to the other, she drew it in closer around herself.
"The Warchief isn't accepting...visitors at this hour," the orc eventually said, and the way he sneered the word visitor made it abundantly clear just what sort of visit he thought this to be. Jaina was no stranger to the rumors and accusations that had long since surrounded her friendship with Thrall. The history between the humans and orcs was long and bitter and bloodstained. But in spite of it all, the pair had formed an unlikely friendship, no doubt aided by the way that they had been unexpected thrust into each other's lives at a time of great peril. They had fought alongside each other to fight back the forces Burning Legion- but perhaps more than that, they had stood beside each other a time in their lives when both had needed someone to be there, had offered support where none was due, and had formed a bond that not even the endless disputes between the warring Horde and Alliance could shatter- but, oh, how they tried.
Swallowing hard, Jaina forced herself to hold her ground and keep her own expression firm. "I wish only to speak with him," she pressed. "I'm certain if you just told him that I was here-"
"You have no business speaking to him, girl, nor being here," the guard growled quickly, a dangerous warning flashing in his eyes, his grip tightening on weapon he wielded. "Go on back to where you belong."
A wave of genuine surprise moved through her at the brashness with which she had been addressed, her chapped lips parting as her brows raised. No matter the efforts, no matter the situation, Jaina had learned that some people would simply never let go of their hate. Some people would never find a way to look beyond the transgressions of the past and instead work towards securing a future. Peace between the Horde and Alliance was still a long way off.
But before she could so much as think on how to reply, the entrance of the tent opened just enough to reveal a familiar face, his own azure eyes flitting between the human girl and the orc that stood sternly before her. The Warchief murmured something quick and low in Orcish, and although Jaina didn't understand a word of it, it must have been effective, for within seconds the guard was throwing her one final glare before storming off.
And then...silence. It filled the air around them, thick and heavy, stretching on for far too long. Jaina shifted uncomfortably, reaching up to run a hand through her matted tresses, absently wiping at the long-dried tears upon her cheeks. When at last the quiet had grown suffocating, she sucked in a greedy breath and blurted the first thing to come to mind. "Light, I must look a mess," she muttered, the words chased away by a humorless laugh.
Thrall's own expression remained impassive as always, perfectly collected save perhaps the faint traces of exhaustion that showed in the corners of his mouth and the dark bruises under his eyes and the slump of his shoulders. Even still, he was every bit as beautiful as he was in all of her memories, all of the precious stolen moments that she had held close to her heart and tucked away in the back of her mind for so many years. They'd become fewer and fewer over the years, each of them pulled in opposite directions by their own people, their own destiny. But neither space nor distance nor the brink of war could ever alter the way she felt about him, the way she had been denying that she felt about him for so long she couldn't even remember how long it had been.
The mage gave a startled jolt as she was drawn back into the moment by the sound of the orc's deep voice reverberating in the air around them. "Nonsense," he replied lowly. "You look as lovely as ever, Lady Proudmoore." The title was too formal, but she bit her tongue as she watched his gaze shifting from side to side as if to ensure that they were truly alone now. Only when he was certain did he extend a hand to her, slowly, hesitantly, enveloping her own small fingers in his massive grasp. "You'll catch your death out here dressed like that at this time of night," he scolded, but there was a distinct lack of true apprehension- more like admiration tainted with poorly concealed concern.
Without allowing another second to escape them, Thrall tugged her into his tent, allowing the flap to fall back into place before any more of the frigid air could seep inside- or they ran the risk of any patrolling guards or restless souls passing by. Jaina's gaze shifted around the small enclosure; it was simple and nearly empty, his armor laid out carefully in one corner and his bedroll in the other, the great and unmistakable Doomhammer resting beside it, never far from reach even in this supposed sanctuary of peace. Just as her own staff was never too far, because one could never afford to be too careful. Even in a supposed sanctuary of peace.
It wasn't until Thrall had released his hold upon her hand that she even remembered he had been holding it in the first place, and she felt overly aware of its absence when it was gone. "Why are you here, Jaina?" The words were soft, not demanding in the slightest, just tinged with curiosity and tiredness, the sort of tiredness that not even sleep would be enough to amend.
Lifting a hand to push a few matted tresses of golden hair away from her face, she let a soft sigh fall from her lips. "I had a nightmare," she murmured softly. Only when she had spoken the words aloud did she realize the ridiculousness of it all; she'd had nightmares before, of course, and hadn't always had to run to Thrall for solace. Perhaps it was just the proximity to him, or the fact that in all the days that they'd been here on the tournament grounds she had barely been granted a moment to speak with him. It was getting harder to ignore the growing tightness in her chest that accompanied the fear that they were growing more and more distant with each passing day. It was getting harder to convince herself that their friendship- relationship- whatever- could overcome anything thrown their way. They were prisoners of circumstance, trapped in a war between their obligations and their hearts.
The orc hesitated for a few short moments that felt far longer than they truly were, before retreating to his makeshift bed. There was no mistaking the look that he gave her, the silent invitation that was held in his gentle blue eyes, and within seconds she was inching her way towards him, plopping down at his side with as much grace as she could muster. Her knees drawn up to her chest, she rested her chin stop them and stared off idly at the blank wall of the tent- but really, she was staring through it, past it, to the distant peaks of of Icecrown Citadel as they jutted up violently against the sky, threatening to tear it right open and destroy it along with everything else the Scourge touched.
Thrall must have sensed this, for a moment later his hand had come to rest against her back, thumb tracing small circles that she could feel even through the heaviness of the cloak that was draped over her. "I know this whole ordeal has been hard for you," he murmured quietly, slowly, like he was carefully considering each word that he spoke.
Jaina lifted one of her shoulders in a feeble shrug. "I keep telling myself that it isn't Arthas anymore," she replied softly. "I- I know that it isn't. But that knowledge doesn't seem to make it any easier to watch everyone strutting around preparing to kill him."
The orc let out a heavy breath of his own. He understood, sort of, what it was like to lose someone that he loved. He recalled the way that his heart had shattered within his chest at the loss of Taretha. The years had lessened the pain, but there would forever be a dull ache in the place that she had once been. Still, he was sure that it could hardly compare to what Jaina herself was being forced to endure- she had finally found her closure, finally found a way to lay to rest her memories and her love, and now it had quite literally come back from the grave to haunt her.
"This will all be over soon," he said eventually, if just to say something at all. "And then we can go home."
Jaina didn't bother to respond at all, just allowed herself to collapse into the orc's side. Home was such a strange concept to the mage. Kul Tiras had been her home, for a time, and so had Dalaran, and she had seen both of them fall into destruction and take a piece of her heart with them. Theramore was her home now, and she had given all she had to see it rise and grow and succeed, but there was some small part of her that was almost afraid to get attached. Because she knew all too well how easy it was to have the things that she loved ripped from her grasp, and she knew all too well that she could only lose so much before she lost herself right along with it.
Thrall shifted so that he could drape an arm around her shoulder; even after all this time he was always surprised by just how small she was next to him. Still, it had been a long while since he had felt her warmth against him- longer than he cared to think of, as their own duties and responsibilities had kept them apart- and there was a certain calmness in simply being allowed to sit beside her, to feel her body shuddering into him with each uneven breath, to feel the silken strands of her hair between his fingers as he played with them idly. From the moment they'd met, there had always been an easiness that existed between them, a soothing sort of comfort that they found in one another's presence, and it had never mattered if they were talking about nothing or debating over something, or if they were side by side on the battlefield or tangled up in each other's embrace. He was simply happy to be near her.
"Thrall?" She spoke abruptly, shifting all at once, twisting her body around so that she could peer up at him through her lashes. He watched her silently, urging her on without so much as a breath. She lowered her gaze then, the faintest of blushes tinting her alabaster skin, but she found one of his large hands with both of her own, tracing the lines along his palms with delicate touches. "I am glad that you are here with me," she said then, nodding as if to confirm her own words. "I don't think- I know that I would not be able to make it through this, any of this, without you. You've been there for me time and time again, and I- I just need you to understand-"
Her stammering words were quickly silenced when Thrall caught her chin in his free hand, using his gentle hold to tilt her head back just enough to close the distance between them in a sudden kiss. "I understand," he mumbled- perhaps growled- against her mouth. "I love you too, Jaina Proudmoore."
And then they were upon each other once more. Although Jaina felt her body tense at first, she was quick to relax into the breathless familiarity of it all. Her hands came to rest against the muscles of his chest as she returned the kiss, careful to avoid his protruding tusks. Thrall slipped an arm around her slender waist, pulling her in against him until no space remained, until the pair was sent tumbling back and all that she could do to stifle her gasp of surprise was to kiss him again.
It was easy to lose themselves to the moment, then, to each kiss and touch and echoing heartbeat. In a matter of minutes, Thrall had rolled them over so that she was pinned beneath his weight, and from where he hovered over her as he straddled her narrow hips, he was able to peel back her cloak and trail his fingers down her sides, over each ridge of her ribcage, hooking under the hem of her shirt to inch it back over her stomach. At some point, he managed to lose his own shirt as well, and when he bent down to press their mouths together in another fit of the passion they both tried so fierce to restrain and deny, he felt their bare skin brushing against each other to chase off the winter's chill.
Jaina withdrew only when she had little choice but to breathe, and Thrall pulled away enough to meet her stare, twin fires of the brightest blue, blazing before one another. She gazed back at him all wide eyes and parted lips, gazed back at him like he was all that she could ever want or need, and in that single moment he probably was.
"I love you, Thrall," she whispered softly, sweetly, blinking up at him as her hands traced the scars that scattered across his flesh. "I love you so much. I can't stand this any longer-"
The orc brought his massive hand to rest against her cheek, thumb tracing lightly over over the prominent bone, over her plush lips. "Hush now, Jaina," he said lowly, gently. "We have always found ways to make it work thus far, and we will continue to do so. But for this moment…" Letting his words trail off, he opted instead to let his hands speak for them as he trailed his calloused fingertips over her body, retracing each and every curve and contour that he had come to memorize over the years.
Jaina reveled in the feeling of his touches, his kisses and, eventually, the way that he filled her so entirely she could hardly bear the euphoria that ignited within her. She clutched to him, nails drawing lines down his back as her gasps formed into tangible clouds of frigid air. And she tried to tell herself that he was right, that they had always made it work and would always continue to do so. But a piece of her heart could not ignore the feeling that perhaps that was not enough. That perhaps, what she truly wanted- a life that was not spent sneaking around behind closed doors and ignoring each other when anyone dared to look too close- was not something he could ever give to her.