So, I'm back. With more angst and some fluff.
Wow, it took me over a month to finish this, but well, long chapter is long…
This story has a beta now. I want to thank crazytreehuggingelf for putting up with me late at night, helping me come up with other ways to hurt our beloved mage and generally making this fanfic awesome.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed or favorited.
And hello, dear Guest Reviewer ^^ To answer your question (since I can't PM you): this story is an alternate route to the movie.
Have fun reading.
Chapter warnings: Angst, violence.
III - Fight Or Flight
When they stepped out of the forest and into broad daylight, a lot of heads turned their way. It wasn't often that the warchief of the Horde marched into camp with an unconscious smallteeth thrown over his shoulder, so interested stares were bound to follow them as they passed by.
It was clear to anyone who had ever encountered a warlock in their life that this little creature possessed an immoderate amount of magic, even though it smelled different on him than what they were used to. There was always a lingering stench about fel magic, similar to a rotting cadaver, foul and infectious. The smallteeth's power felt… more pristine, if Durotan had to place it.
The chieftain watched with growing concern as they neared Gul'dan's tent, the bigger part of the orcs now trailing behind them, mumbling amongst each other and exchanging knowing looks. It had spread like a wildfire, the news of the Frostwolf's rebellion against their leader and his claim that the smallteeth were capable of using the fel as well. There was no mistaking that this was the rumored caster and they all wanted to witness it for themselves, the power he was said to wield.
The Warsong clan in particular appeared to be captivated by the unfolding events and when one of them stepped a little too close for his liking, Durotan growled deep in his throat, making her glare daggers at him before she stepped back into line. Once they came to a halt in front of the huge tent, he chose to stand behind Blackhand, keeping an observing eye on the spectators. The last thing he needed now was for them to act up.
A quiet groan caught Durotan's attention and he looked ahead, thanking the elements when he realized that the smallteeth wasn't dead. The creature was slowly coming around, his eyes opening gradually as he tried but failed to raise his head, still out of it. Before he could regain full consciousness, he was grabbed by his leg and yanked down roughly.
Khadgar felt the world spin around him and he might have thrown up if it weren't for the giant hand clasping around his mouth in the next moment, silencing him. If the situation hadn't been so dire, he would have laughed. It was plain ridiculous to think that he was able to cast in his current state... He couldn't even support his own weight properly, his buckling legs not obeying his command to keep him upright, as he tried to recall what had happened.
The last thing he remembered was that he had been released, so how did he end up pressed against a firm body for the second time that day? He couldn't tell for sure, but he knew that he was hurting. Not only his head, but also where the orc's heavy armor dug painfully into his back and ribs, eliciting another groan from him. Khadgar grabbed weakly onto the oversized appendage, his whole hand barely closing about one finger.
Slowly, he was able to discern his surroundings. The first thing that filtered through the blurry mess that was his vision was a strange symbol, maybe an unknown rune, red as blood and impending over him, like a portent, foreboding and promising; or an epiphany, a dark god of war, descending on earth to bring suffering and torment upon humanity.
In his dazed condition, the image seemed to pulse with a heartbeat, burning into his very memory, making Khadgar feel sick, anxious and even more vulnerable than he already was. Blinking repeatedly, he managed to clear his sight further, other objects finally emerging from the haze of spinning colors.
The symbol - not an epiphany, he could see that now - was emblazoned on the upper part of a huge tent, its entrance flanked by two grim-looking orcs. Behind him, Khadgar could make out different noises, like the clatter of armor and the bustling chatter of deep voices. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he realized exactly where he was. He had seen that tent before, but from a safe look-out far above the camp.
When something moved behind the worn skin that covered the tent's entrance, a sickly green glow coming through the tears, Khadgar's blood ran cold in his veins. Only seconds later, the curtain was pushed aside, revealing an aged orc. He was holding a gnarled staff in his hand, though he didn't need it to assist his walking. His steps were firm as his piercing gaze swept over the assembled crowd, breaking off each and every conversation until an eerie silence settled over them.
Khadgar swallowed hard as the creature approached slowly. If he thought the other orcs were intimidating, he had no words to describe their leader. Gul'dan was plain terrifying, Garona's depiction not doing him justice. The former Kirin Tor prayed that he wouldn't end up as another piece of decoration on those horrifying spikes that protruded from the beast's back. The moment the warlock laid his eyes upon him, he knew that he was doomed.
His stare bore into his very soul, practically rooting him to the spot. It was as if the creature knew his darkest secrets and deepest fears and would use them against him without reservation. Even worse, the orc himself was a nightmare come true. A personified nightmare. Khadgar's breathing sped up, a small whimper escaping his throat when Gul'dan came to a halt in front of him.
The orc's lips split in an ugly grin as he regarded the smallteeth. It was pathetic, the way the creature's far too small hands clung to the brawny fingers that clamped his mouth shut, not even trying to pry them away with their meager strength. No, their only purpose was to keep their owner geared to something as he stared at him, undisguised terror clearly visible in these widely blown eyes.
Taking another moment to bask in the displayed emotion, Gul'dan finally tore his gaze away from the heavily breathing and sweating figure. "Why do you present me this smallteeth, Blackhand?" he hissed, rather annoyed that he had been interrupted, and fixed the member of the Blackrock clan with his glowing eyes.
The warchief straightened at the intense stare, causing his prey to shift and whimper delightfully in his grasp. "He belonged to him," Blackhand answered, tightening his grip around the very breakable jaw and the writhing stopped almost instantly. "To the caster that sicked the fel on us."
"Is that so?" Gul'dan mumbled, more to himself than anyone else, throwing a glance at Blackhand and the peculiarly silent Frostwolf. He hadn't expected them to actually snare the warlock in question. Now distinctly more interested, the crooked orc focused on their newest prisoner, his lips twitching around his fangs as he inspected the unimposing creature that only seemed to shrink further under the undesired attention. This could actually be fun.
"Well then, let's see what their fel is like," Gul'dan sneered, directing a condescending look at Durotan. "Release him," he ordered Blackhand, who complied without objection.
Khadgar didn't understand what was going on when the fingers were lifted unexpectedly from his mouth and he was spun around, a rough hand shoving him away. Stumbling a few steps, he barely kept himself from falling to the ground, his legs almost giving out on him. Even though his head was still swimming a little, his gaze locked on the large group of orcs that nearly surrounded him, and his posture became guarded.
Sweat trickled down his back as he stared at them like a cornered prey would at its predator, fearing that the slightest movement - even a twitch - would be enough to set them into motion. Khadgar was sure they could smell his dread and hear his heart pound in his chest while he wracked his brain, trying to answer the questions that swirled around in his head.
No matter how hard he thought, he couldn't come up with an explanation of why he wasn't dead, why he hadn't been killed on the spot. What did they want from him? It was hard to focus, his headache throbbing persistently behind his eyes. Was it some kind of morbid game they liked to play, pretending to release him only to knock him out at the very next second? He could tell by the way his neck ached that he must have received a hit at one point, leaving him to deal with a nasty concussion.
It was Gul'dan who finally broke the moment. "Attack."
Khadgar's head whipped around at the sharp command, though a wave of dizziness made him regret it instantly as he staggered, trying to regain his balance. He was vaguely aware that hell broke loose around him. There were excited shouts and the sound of scraping metal when the orcs pulled out their weapons and suddenly charged at him.
Taken by surprise, Khadgar stumbled backwards, barely dodging the sharp axe that was swung at his head with the intent to kill. His first impulse was to teleport as far away as possible, but the set-up time he needed for the complex spell simply wasn't there. So he did the only reasonable thing: cast his Ice Barrier.
The incantation was embedded so deep in his mind that he didn't even have to think as the words fell from his lips, the magic contained in his body flaring to life, and he was engulfed by blue swirls, effectively blocking any attack that was directed at him.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Khadgar used his temporary immunity to take a look around, searching for a way out. He needed a plan, and he needed it now. His barrier was going to last only a minute, probably even less if the angered warriors proceeded to attack it with such ferocity.
Realizing that he was completely surrounded, every possible escape route blocked by rows upon rows of battle-ready orcs, Khadgar felt his spirits drop. There was no way he could take on an entire army on his own. His best chance was to simply outrun them, hoping that he would somehow make it through the camp. He couldn't quite believe that he even considered such an absurd plan - in his drained state no less - but it was the only one he had.
Glancing at Gul'dan, Khadgar prayed that he wouldn't interfere. The warlock posed the greatest threat since he could easily launch a spell at him without so much as moving from his spot. But for now, he was just regarding him with a sinister stare, like he was waiting for something specific to happen, and Khadgar shuddered involuntarily.
A cracking sound alerted the mage to the fact that his barrier was starting to fail and as he turned to look, it collapsed completely. Shoving down his panic, he backed off, amassing all his power and unleashing it only a second later in the mightiest Frost Nova he had ever generated, freezing each and every orc around him in place.
Feeling momentarily dazed from releasing so much magic at once, he swayed dangerously, his hand reaching up to his temple as his headache returned with new vigour. He needed to hurry. He had about eight seconds before the ice would melt, enabling the orcs to advance again. Shaking his head to get rid of the light dizziness, Khadgar gathered all his courage and ran towards his enemies. Just before getting within their reach, he Blinked.
There was an unpleasant tug at his organs when his body was moved forward in a rush and he teleported past them successfully, not breaking his sprint. It took the beasts a few precious seconds to locate him afterwards, but when they did, they roared in anger.
Khadgar felt an instant boost of confidence, having put some distance between himself and them, though the joy was only short-lived when the world suddenly tilted sideways and he found himself on the ground in the next moment. The urge to vomit hit him full force and he fought it with everything he had. Behind him, the Frost Nova shattered with a piercing clink and heavy footsteps thundered over the ground, closing in on him.
His breath hitched in his throat, coming out in ragged gasps, as he tried to scramble to his feet. He knew what they were capable of, had seen the anguish on their victims' faces, the look of utter defeat and horror mere seconds before their deaths. And Khadgar knew, without a doubt, that he would end up just the same. Broken and maimed beyond recognition, carelessly discarded to rot away.
In his disoriented panic, he came up with a spell he had been practicing ever since leaving Dalaran and he raised his arm, blurting the incantation out in a desperate attempt to keep his attackers at bay. He didn't waste time watching as something formed out of thin air next to him, taking the shape of his body. He stopped, though, when the replica gave a pained groan and dropped to the ground.
Khadgar was shocked as he stared at his Mirror Image that sat pitifully on its rear, supporting its upper body with weak arms instead of hurling blasts at the orcs. It was no wonder that he felt so miserable if this was how he looked like. His double's face was alarmingly pale, the slightly unfocused eyes sunken in and limbs shaking with exhaustion. When it tried to stand up, its legs gave out and it collapsed again.
Their eyes met for a split second, then his copy bent over and threw up, almost causing Khadgar to follow suit. It coughed two times and inhaled shakily, only to topple over in the next moment, not showing any signs of getting back up. As fast as it had appeared, it faded into nothing, leaving Khadgar to himself. Well, he could have figured something like this would happen...
Out of the corner of his vision, he saw something move towards him and he jerked, backing away before he even realized what it was. Jolted into awareness, he turned on his heels instantly and bolted for the camp, berating himself for spacing out so frivolously and allowing the orcs to catch up to him. It was bad enough that he had wasted time and mana with the useless spell, but his slip of concentration had nearly cost him his life.
It wasn't until he reached the first tent that the chink in his plan finally dawned on him. He wasn't dealing with his pursuers alone, but also with the other orcs in the camp, some of them now blocking his path as they observed the situation with curious eyes. Changing his direction, Khadgar made a stab at another route, only to find one of the creatures stand in his way. Pulling up short, he looked around again, considering his next step.
Deciding that he fared best with one opponent, Khadgar accumulated his power in his hand, feeding the magic with ancient words, before thrusting his palm at the beast in front of him, turning him into a sheep. Even though being forced to cast this frequently left him slightly out of breath, he pushed forward again. When he ran past the morphed orc, it baaed accusingly at him, but wandered off in another direction.
When Khadgar rounded the tent, a battle hammer was swung at him, but it was already too late to react. The blow was strong enough to send him flying backwards, the following impact knocking the wind out of him. Clutching his stomach, he rolled on his side and curled up, groaning and whimpering from the pain. He didn't even attempt to stand up, knowing that he wouldn't make it in time.
A pair of bare feet stepped into his field of vision and he looked up. The orc lifted his weapon, ready to strike, and brought it down in a swift motion, forcing Khadgar to resort to his ultimate defence. He closed his eyes, raising his arms and turning his head away, just before his whole body was encased in an Ice Block, the battle hammer bouncing off without leaving a single scratch on the smooth surface.
Within the ice, it was as if the world had stopped turning. No sound made it through the solid layers, the tight space only filled by the constant rush of blood in Khadgar's ears. He had only managed to take a hurried gasp before his air supply had been cut off, his lungs screaming for oxygen. Where his exposed skin made direct contact with the ice, it burned like fire, worsening with every passing second.
But he endured, knowing - no, dreading - what awaited him once the spell wore off. His whole endeavor had been nothing more than an act of pure desperation, a short delay of the inevitable. He had maneuvered himself into this precarious situation and there was no way to escape anymore.
For some reason, he thought back to his time with the Kirin Tor, where he had accidentally trapped himself in an Ice Block and the resulting hypothermia had bestowed the nastiest cold of his life upon him. Well, at least he wouldn't have to worry about that now.
Eventually, his icy prison dispersed, rapidly, and Khadgar found himself in a puddle of freezing water that soaked his clothes quickly as he lay there, gasping for air. Before he could react, his forearm was seized in a bruising hold and he was pushed onto his back, the orc pinning him to the ground with one knee. Coming to terms with his fate, he closed his eyes, expecting a short, violent pain and then nothingness...
"I don't see him using anything resembling the fel," Gul'dan remarked dryly, having watched the smallteeth's struggle for dear life the entire time. Though he hadn't shown them what they wanted, the warlock had felt him tap into a foreign source of magic whenever he had casted, piquing his interest. "Enough!" he yelled over the ruckus, causing the warrior to halt mid-swing, "Bring him here."
Khadgar's eyes flew open when the pressure on his chest suddenly disappeared and he was pulled to his feet. His legs felt numb from the cold and strained under his weight, his body almost going into shock after being rightened so abruptly. Stumbling alongside the orc, he grabbed weakly onto the beast's forearm as he was dragged back to the tent.
Unceremoniously, he was shoved into the dirt at Gul'dan's feet.
Shivering violently, he pushed himself up with quite some difficulty and sat on his heels. Frustrated, he bit down on his lower lip, locking his gaze with the warlock. If he was going to die anyway, he could as well try to land at least one hit. Channeling his power to his hand, he thrust his arm at the leader of the Horde, runes dancing around his fingertips, and shouted with all the vigour he had left: "Rui gen-"
Gul'dan beat him to it, the dangerous eyes flaring up a sickly green, and a shot of pure fel raced towards him, crawling into his mouth and cutting the incantation short. Khadgar's hands shot to his throat, feeling the tainted magic bulge and stretch it unnaturally far as the spell carved its way down, burning like acid.
He fell forward, planting a hand on the ground, retching and coughing up spit. Taking in big gulps of air, he looked back up, eyes wide and teary. He opened his mouth, intending to ask the orc what he just did, but instead, his throat seized up, strangling him momentarily. He caught his breath and tried again, only for his airways to constrict painfully. Raw panic overpowered every rational thought when he realized that he couldn't speak and his body stilled completely, paralyzed.
Shaking his head, Gul'dan waved the crowd off dismissively. "Take him away," he ordered, turning around to head back into his tent, only stopping once he was level with Blackhand to give him a stern look over. "Have a moment to spare?" he inquired, though it wasn't really a question.
Still trying to process what just happened, Khadgar was completely unresponsive when strong hands closed around his upper arms and hauled him away. The gears in his head were turning agonizingly slowly, but his thoughts were racing. His breathing sped up, bordering on hyperventilation, when it finally clicked. He couldn't speak. He couldn't speak!
Flinging himself against the hold on his arms, he screamed with all might, not a single sound falling from his lips. The only thing he achieved was for his throat to tighten again, cutting his breathing short. Whatever Gul'dan had done, the light-forsaken spell had taken away his voice and with it, his ability to cast, leaving him as helpless as an ordinary citizen, and he had already learned what awaited them.
Craning his neck back, the adrenalin in his blood dulling the pain that accompanied the motion, Khadgar confirmed that they were dragging him towards one of the wooden cages and his eyes widened in terror. Shaking his head in denial, he struggled with newfound determination, trying to yank free. But it was all in vain.
He was tossed inside carelessly, the door shutting behind him before Khadgar even had the chance to sit up. After several uncoordinated and failed attempts, he managed to scramble to his feet, throwing himself against the already locked door, prompting the orc in front of it to turn around and fix him with a stern look.
When his arm was grabbed roughly and pulled through the bars, Khadgar fought against the relentless hold that threatened to dislocate his shoulder, his face and upper body pressed painfully against the wood. The orc snapped at him in his foreign language, adding a mean twist to his grip and Khadgar cried out, mute.
In the next moment, he was pushed away with enough force to send him reeling. Unable to keep his balance, he landed on his ass and hastened to the far end of the empty cage. Covering his mouth to stifle his sobs - not that he needed to, but it was plain instinct - he fought back his tears, unwilling to spill them, as the whole extent of his predicament finally sank in.
This, this, was worse than getting killed. If there was another orc that could speak Common, like Garona, it was safe to assume that he would be interrogated and tortured at some point. The thought made him sick. And even if he was spared from that, it was foolish to hope for anything but a hard time.
Fighting his ascending hysteria, he concentrated on getting his breathing back under control, taking deep and long gasps. In and out… As he calmed down slowly, he became aware of just how exhausted he was, like his body had been drained of all energy, and his trembling intensified.
The hypothermia was really getting to him, his soaked clothes not helping his case. Clutching his arms to his chest and pulling his legs up in a feeble attempt to preserve what little warmth he had left, Khadgar pressed into the corner furthest away from the guard, shaking like a leaf. Night was already falling and he knew that it would get awfully cold once the sun went down completely.
Blowing on his numb fingers through chattering teeth, Khadgar rubbed his hands together, wondering how he ought to survive until tomorrow. Undressing wasn't an option, his body had already cooled down too much, and he couldn't dry his clothes either. The many layers felt heavy on his body, weighing him down and sticking uncomfortably to his itching skin.
Gradually, darkness descended around him and campfires were lit in front of the tents, tinting his surroundings in a warm and light glow, making Khadgar feel even colder as he watched the orcs sit idly around them. Letting his gaze wander, his attention settled on the other cages that weren't far away from his own. Inside, he could see the prisoners huddle together, some of them returning his stare with hopeful expressions on their faces.
Averting his eyes, Khadgar let his head hang low, resting his forehead on top of his knees while his arms encircled his legs. Without his voice, there was little he could do except hope that someone would come to his rescue.
What wouldn't he give to have Lothar - strong and reliable Lothar - by his side. The warrior would surely know what to do in this kind of situation, probably having already busted out of the cage by now. But as it stood, Khadgar was alone, freezing and shivering and helpless.
When he felt a soft touch on his upper arm, he almost jumped out of his skin, his lips parting to let out a surprised yelp that got cut off painfully. Scrambling away as fast as his half-frozen limbs allowed, he turned only when he was a fair distance away from whoever had sneaked up on him. Chest heaving with quick gasps, his gaze locked on the unmistakable form of an orc.
The creature had squatted down to be on eye level with him, possibly to appear less threatening, though Khadgar didn't feel any more at ease because of it. He shied further away and his trembling intensified, fear complementing the cold. The orc gave a good-natured hum and stretched out his arm.
"Here, this will warm you up," Durotan whispered, preferring not to attract the guard's attention, and held out a bowl of steaming hot soup to the shivering smallteeth. The Frostwolf knew from experience how dangerous and even life-threatening an unattended hypothermia could get, so he wanted to provide at least some assistance.
Khadgar didn't move an inch closer to the bulky orc, examining him from afar. He wasn't sure if this was the same one that had pulled him off his horse since he found it difficult to tell them apart. Choosing to stay alert, he eyed the offered food skeptically, trying to figure out the true intentions behind this kind gesture. Not really trusting the beast, he refused to take it. For all he knew, it could be poisoned.
After some time, Durotan grunted in understanding. He already imagined that the smallteeth would be wary of him. Careful not to spill anything, the chieftain placed the bowl on the ground where the other would be able to seize it easily with those small arms of his.
There weren't many people whom he would willingly hand the next item to, but the caster had gained his respect by showing remarkable skill and bravery while facing a hopeless situation. When he reached behind his back, the little creature tensed up, ducking his head under the collar of his clothes. It must provide a pretty good cover, Durotan thought. It was probably thanks to those many layers of clothing that Blackhand's attack hadn't killed him.
Khadgar was somewhat astonished to see the orc drop a pile of what appeared to be white fur on the dry soil and slide it through the wooden bars. Upon closer inspection, the bewildered mage recognized it as a cloak, crafted from the skin of a giant wolf. The upper part of the animal's skull was still present, fangs bared dangerously and lifeless eyes staring at him.
Durotan pulled back his lips at the questioning look that was directed at him, revealing his teeth in what was supposed to be a reassuring smile, though it seemed to frighten the smallteeth anew. "You earned this, little warlock," he stated, knowing that the other wouldn't understand, even if he wanted. When he got up, the creature flinched nervously and the chieftain sighed deeply, turning around to head back to his tent without taking further notice of the prisoner.
Khadgar granted himself a moment to get his pulse back under control, his heart hammering almost painfully in his chest after having skipped a few beats when the orc had displayed his sharp fangs. Leaning forwards on dangerously buckling arms, he made sure that the other wasn't coming back; only then did he let his gaze drop down to the things that were left behind, his thoughts lingering on the cloak in particular.
He had forgotten it momentarily, but now he was even more aware of just how cold he was. Glancing at the guard, Khadgar made sure that his interaction with the orc hadn't been noticed, and was relieved that the creature wasn't the slightest bit interested in what he was doing. Stretching his hand towards the fur, he snatched it up and crawled back into the corner. Sitting down on his heels, Khadgar spread the skin over his legs.
Snapping his brooch open, he shrugged out of his drenched cloak, which proved to be harder than expected, and let it fall to the ground. His belt came next, then his jerkin and doublet. The clothes stuck together persistently and it was almost impossible to get them over his head, but he succeeded after a few tries and let them join his mantle.
His tunic came last and Khadgar grit his teeth as he peeled the linen off his skin that glowed an angry red after being subjected to the freezing cold for so long. It was almost painful and he resisted the urge to scratch at it. Piling his clothes up, he paid attention to cover his small pouch that the orcs had overlooked. Unfortunately, it contained nothing more than a few coins and some herbs, but it gave him a sense of security, no matter how false it might have been. His bag was still fastened to his horse's saddle, out of reach.
Choosing to keep his pants on, Khadgar went about his shoes. Unlacing them with numb fingers and shivering hands that refused to obey his command was challenging, but he managed, struggling out of the fusty leather, and placed them aside. He picked up the cloak and threw it over his shoulders, a much-welcomed warmth embracing him instantly.
When he put the way too big hood on his still damp hair, it slid over his eyes, robbing him of his sight for a short moment and he pushed it back up. The fur felt surprisingly cozy on his bare skin and smelled nicely of smoke, leather, earth and a scent he recognized from when a giant hand had covered his mouth.
Wrapping up and snuggling into the incredibly soft and fluffy skin, Khadgar inhaled deeply, finding a strange comfort in the unique smell. Maybe he was just imagining things, but he could have sworn that his body was already heating up, the shivering lessening with every passing second.
Lifting his head, Khadgar gazed after the orc that had long ago disappeared from his sight, wondering what in the Name of Light just happened.
Please note that Mirror Image used to be a level 50 spell.