Part 7
Morgor was standing against the railing alone when Groll approached him. The Zeppelin named Cloudkisser, bound for Vengeance Landing, skimmed far above the water, though the sparkling path of the sun seemed to race along with them. Fresh sea air breezed past them, smelling of salt, coldness, and brine. The wind was chill, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the achingly brilliant sun.
"What could bring you to say such a thing to me, old friend?" Groll leaned against a railing pylon and addressed the man who was undoubtedly the closest friend he'd ever had.
Morgor straightened up and scowled. "She's pregnant, Groll."
Groll felt the Cloudkisser slow nearly to a halt beneath him as his world was destroyed in three simple words. Everything slowed down, the stiff breeze even seemed to still, gasping for air along with him. Then suddenly the world contracted again, and the Zeppelin was back on its course, the breeze snapping his braids once more.
"How can that happen? Don't women have ways to prevent that? I thought all women…" he trailed off into silence as Morgor shook his head.
"They can prevent it if they plan on having sex. They can stop their egg from taking root if they act within the first two days after sex without precautions. They can choose to take an abortive after that.
"But she won't do that, she can't. I eavesdropped on her and the alchemist. Those few priests who are on the higher path can take contraception until the child takes root. After that, they are forbidden to take an abortive under any circumstance. Even, apparently, circumstances such as these," Morgor told him grimly. "I don't know what happened between you, Groll. And I hesitate to think this of you, because you have been a friend longer than I have memory of. But somehow, I doubt she consented to being impregnated."
Morgor's eyes met his, and Groll felt a terrible misery settle into him. "It was… she looked at me with so much desire," he murmured, hearing how hollow it sounded.
"She's an elf, man. For an elf, that's the beginning of courtship. She's not an orc- you can't jump every elf that looks at your pecks, Groll," Morgor's voice was angry, cutting, decisive. "She didn't try to stop you at all?"
Groll swallowed hard. "She did, I just…. I wasn't thinking."
Morgor shook his head. "I don't know you, man. I don't know you at all. If you were anyone else who did that to any woman, I'd kill you where you stand. I dishonor us both by not doing it to you now." His face showed disbelief. He turned and began to walk away. Then he stopped and looked back, "And congratulations, the alchemist said it's a boy." He whirled and headed for the back of the Zeppelin, where the others were lounging in companionable, sleepy silence.
Her words from the night before rang through his head; 'I've been celibate for 15 years now, until a certain orc took advantage of me in a pool of water.' She had wanted him, he realized, she just hadn't been ready. He hadn't misread the cues, not really. She wanted him, and subsequent interactions between them had gone on to prove it. But she hadn't been prepared. She didn't expect to be having sex, and he hadn't courted her. He'd just taken her, ignoring her feeble resistance. It struck him in that moment that it was most likely that her 'feeble' resistance had been the best she could manage, in her starved condition.
Deities, he thought viciously to himself, what have I done?
He had ruined her life, ruined his own life, and endangered his friends by getting them involved, too. And now his son's life was in danger as well.
His son. He looked out across the water. A son, he thought, I'm going to have a son. His mind strayed back for a moment to his relationship to the father he'd lost long years ago, having outlived him by generations thanks to the taint of demon blood that ran through him. A father. A son. He realized suddenly, with sharp clarity, that he'd had a good father. What kind of father would he be? And what would happen to his half-breed son?
He walked slowly towards the back of the Zeppelin, his mind churning. He stopped when he could see her, sitting in the bright sun with a blanket over her lap. He stared at her, his red eyes sweeping her as she talked with Modaire and Morgor. Somehow, she looked different to him, though nothing had really changed—and everything had. She was infinitely more beautiful, yet strange, foreign, exotic.
Inside her belly, his son was just beginning life.
As Groll watched, Modaire got up and went below decks, presumably to talk with Gormalla. Groll moved to step forward when he saw Morgor sit up and lean towards Shantille. Their postures both immediately changed, and Groll felt tension run through his body. As he watched, Morgor spoke, and Shantille reacted immediately. Sitting up, she reached out to Morgor and laid her hand on his arm.
Her head shook adamantly, and Morgor pulled back, as if rejecting what she was saying. Whatever it was, Groll could see earnestness in every line of her body, and he realized that he knew what she had been asked. Morgor had asked if she'd been raped, Groll knew it in the center of his being. And at last his guilt dissolved, draining away. She denied it; she didn't feel she had been raped. She was not in love with a rapist, and although he knew himself to be evil still, knowing she would not love a rapist eased some of the turmoil inside him.
Groll clomped forward, letting his armor clang uncharacteristically firmly against the wooden deck, indirectly announcing his arrival. As he approached, Morgor stood up, then Shantille. Groll stood looking at Morgor for a moment.
Morgor nodded, "She explained. I still think you're a bloody fool, though." For orcs, it was an apology- better than Groll deserved. Then Morgor reached out to him in a handshake. Groll choked up slightly as he realized- it was the left hand.
Deeply moved, he grasped his sworn-brother's forearm with his own left hand, "Live and die well, brother."
Obviously, Morgor was also deeply moved to be returned to the friendship they'd shared for so long, briefly sundered by the events of the last few days. "Long live my brother," he said. For a moment, they held the pose, each of them relishing the knowledge that their friendship was, and would remain, intact.
Then Groll turned to Shantille, moving closer to her. His red eyes stared directly into hers, but he spoke to Morgor, "Marry us, Mo," he said, using the short form of his closest friend's name. "Right here, right now."
He felt Morgor's eyes turn to Shantille, and both men waited for her response. Her eyes searched his for a moment, seeming to seek to look into his very soul. Finally, he could breathe again when she nodded.
And that was it; they were married there, in the cold, brilliant sunshine, on the deck of the Cloudkisser as it zinged across the water. However unofficial it might be without paperwork or witnesses, it was all that Groll needed. His wife, his son, and the support of his best friend- it was all he needed. He would make it work out, he would find a way, whatever it took, whatever sacrifices had to be made.
It was a secret marriage, known only to the three of them. It didn't matter to Groll, though. He couldn't tell the world. He couldn't shout it from the rooftops. But his wife knew. His best friend knew. His son would have a father. Whatever the future held for them all, he'd make things as right for all of them as he could. There were obscure places where a man and a woman could live in peace and raise a child.
Continuing to avoid the skysailors, Groll and Shantille walked quietly along the deck of the ship. "I didn't expect that," Shantille murmured, softly, for his ears only.
"I know, I'm sorry I sprang it on you. Mo's one of my oldest and dearest friends, though, he won't say anything. As a shaman, he has the legal credentials to marry us."
"Oh, I know that, Groll. I'm not concerned about that at all. I'm just amazed. And I'm very happy, but I don't know what we're going to do." She stopped at the banister and looked out towards the rapidly approaching land.
"We'll work it out, Shantille, I don't know how, I don't know where, but we'll do it," he said, fiercely, adamantly. He lowered his voice, noticing one of the goblins glance their way. "This isn't the first time that a forbidden marriage has occurred, and others have worked it out. We will, too." She smiled at him and nodded.
Then, her face sobering, she said, "There's something else you need to—"
"Groll!" Morgor's shout cut across their conversation, ending it with abruptly, unceremoniously. "We're docking shortly," Morgor, Gormalla, and Modaire drew closer to them, Morgor lowering his voice to a more conversational level as they did so. "Do you want to stay in Vengeance Landing, or move on immediately from there?"
Groll considered for a time, wanting desperately to stay, to make love to his wife in the inn before they left for the wild and untamed Northern lands. He wanted time to experience the subtle alteration in their status before they had to return to the very cold, bitter reality of the seriousness of their situation. He wanted to feel his arms around her, feel her around him.
He closed his eyes, squeezing the thoughts away. No. They had to end this. There would be no getting on with life until this issue was resolved. And resolve it, he would. Whoever or whatever was behind this, it was time for it to be exposed and his wife freed. He lifted his massive shoulders and flexed them, twisting his head to stretch his neck. It was an unconscious gesture he used when he was gearing up for a fight.
Then he said, "We'll stay a night. I think it's important to inform the local authorities. If the trolls are getting so bold they'll even venture to the old, highly populated lands of Azeroth, that's cause for concern here, as well." Yes, he would inform them before they left to settle this matter. But the first order of business was to see to it that his wife and son were safe.
When they landed at Vengeance Landing, Groll called Morgor to go with him, and they went to speak with High Executor Anselm. As they walked together, Groll said to Morgor, "I think it's best that Shantille stay here. She'll be safest here, surrounded by soldiers and walls."
Morgor pondered for a moment, "I don't think she'll agree to that, Groll. She's got a stake in this thing, too."
Groll grunted in near-laughter, then, "No, Mo, I know she won't agree to it. So I'm not going to tell her that she's staying."
"I don't think this is a good idea, Groll, if nothing else, because—" Groll was shaking his head.
"It has to be done, Mo. She's got to stay here, and I'm not going to argue with her about it. She doesn't need the added stress in her condition." Groll ignored it as Morgor's eyebrows rose, and he shook his head.
"It's your funeral, man," Mo said cryptically.
Groll scowled. "She's my wife, Mo, and I know what's best for her."
"I think you're not telling her because you're scared. Has she refused to do anything you asked of her in a well-reasoned way?" Morgor frowned as they approached the High Executor, his voice falling slightly, "If you're so sure this is the right thing, you shouldn't be afraid of the confrontation of asking her to stay."
"I'm not asking her to stay, Mo. She's staying." Groll's voice carried a stern finality that Morgor recognized far too well.
"Well, as I say, it's your funeral, man."
Their conversation ended abruptly as they reached Anselm. Groll filled in the circumstances for him rapidly, answering what questions he could and deflecting the remainder of the conversation onto Morgor. As Morgor and the High Executor talked, Groll left to get Shantille. He asked Morgor in an aside to inform the others of his decision, and Morgor nodded, his face stoic.
Groll took Shantille inside with him, asking Modaire and Gormalla to find some provisions. When they entered the cold, dank stone inn, he got a single room, giving the usual excuse that he would be body guarding her, and that the others would be in soon to get their own rooms. They went up the wooden stairs to the room, their feet echoing hollowly on the old boards.
Pulling her to him the moment they crossed the threshold of the cold stone room and shut the door, Groll kissed her, and then leaned his face against her hair, tangling one tusk in it. "You smell so good, so very good." He lifted his head to look at her. "I want you to remember something, kitten." Red eyes, green eyes, staring into one another. "I love you so much."
She smiled at him, a tremulous, tender smile. "I know you do, Groll. But hearing you say it makes it feel so much more real."
He pressed her head against his chest gently. How he wanted to throw her on the bed and be inside her in that moment! He agonized, not wanting to go, but determined to protect her, even if it meant he wouldn't get to be inside her again for weeks, possibly longer. But it was his duty as father and husband to protect. And this, he felt, was the best way to do it.
He reached over and opened one of her packs. He started taking things out of it, knowing full well that it was the wrong pack. "Where's that purple dress, kitten?"
She laughed and pointed at another of her packs. "In that one, orc, and be careful when you're pawing through my stuff!"
He found it and laid it out, "I'd love to see you in this later tonight." He grinned wickedly at her. It was true, he would love to… but he wouldn't get to, of course.
"That was supposed to be a surprise," she said.
He grinned at her, "I saw it when you were packing up to leave Orgrimmar. It was a nice surprise then, it'll be even nicer when it's on you."
She nodded, saying only, "I think that can be arranged."
Groll left the room then, "I'm going to see if we have all the provisions we need."
As he left, clomping down the cold flagstones, then down the hollow-sounding wooden stairs, the sounds felt final to him. A sense of impending doom swept him for a moment, and he shook his head. Trying to ease the feeling, he comforted himself with the belief that it was simply his over-active imagination. Emerging into the cold light of the Howling Fjord, he felt the odd sensation fall away. Yes, he thought, my imagination is overactive.
He joined his companions, preparing to mount up. Anselm hailed him, stopping them before they could head out. "I done spoke to Overlord Garrosh, an' he told me to send a garrison with you. I've one formin' up now to go wit' you." When Groll made as if to protest, the man continued, his jaw drooping alarmingly, and rather sloppily, in his dead face, "It's not a request or an offer, Hellhammer, it's an order." The use of Groll's last name reminded him that he was a soldier of the Horde, bound by duty to obey the orders of the commander of the Horde in Northrend.
Sighing as Anselm rode away again, Groll told the others, "Let's hope they form up quickly. We need to get on our way as fast as possible."
Modaire, his face lined with concern, asked Groll, "Do you really think that trying to fool her is a good id—"
His words were cut off by the slamming of the front door of the inn as it banged open with enough force to make a dead guard standing beside it start in surprise. "Careful there, miss. That door'll need repair iff'n you're not cautious wit' it."
"You're going to leave me here?" Her face looked like the low rumble of thunder before a rainshower, "The innkeep informed me, when I asked what rooms the others will be in, that only my room was commissioned, and the others were preparing to depart. Are you seriously leaving, just like that?" His elf was angry. She was, he realized, very, very angry. Her eyes blazed nearly white, seeming to almost vanish into her face, they had become so pale with her anger.
Groll looked helplessly at Morgor, who started backing his worg away. "Oh no, this wasn't my bright idea. Don't look at me."
When he looked at Gormalla, she simply shrugged and crossed her arms, grinning as if at a private joke.
Modaire shook his head, "Not my bad idea, either." His hawkstrider was also creeping backwards, leaving Groll to face his irate wife on his own.
Groll dismounted, slapping the worg on the rump to send him away until needed again. As if it, too, sensed disaster, it bounded away. Groll suddenly felt very alone, and extraordinarily frustrated. "It isn't like that. It's the best thing for you. You'll be safe here."
"Safe? I'll be safe?" Her voice rose on the last word, almost to a shriek. "I'm a priest, my job, my work, my life is in the field, healing people!"
"I know that," Groll said, "but you're in too much danger right now, you need to stay here. What if something happens to me? To us," he waved a hand to indicate the rest of their party, "you'll be defenseless. You're being hunted—"
He didn't get to finish what he was saying. Her voice actually managed to raise an octave, while still avoiding screeching. "Defenseless? You think I'm defenseless? Helpless, am I now?" He couldn't help but admire the way her bosom was heaving, her breasts jiggling slightly over the top of the bodice of her robe. "Oh, I'll show you defenseless, orc."
He wasn't prepared for it when the first shock of magic slammed into him. It hit him with a nearly physical force, slamming into him once, twice, three times, and then four. He swore later that he felt his teeth rattle in his jaw, the magic blasts struck him so hard. Then there was a familiar 'ping' sound as her protective magic shield snapped up around her, glowing in the cold air.
He growled, what was he to do? He wasn't going to hit her. He wasn't going to attack her. She couldn't be serious with this…
She gathered up more Power, her hands seeming to draw it up in the air. Power glowed as Holy magic swept through the air towards her, her hair once more blowing in the breeze created by the gathering magic. He actually yelped out loud as the magic, suddenly released from her, sliced through the air and burned into him with a deadly intent. It began to dawn on him that she might just be angry enough that he should defend himself. But still he hesitated until he felt the magic burning him, Holy fire eating at his hide, burning into his muscles. Another yelp escaped him as it seemed to pulse again, burning white-hot and agonizing, "Stop!" he shouted.
To no avail. This time, she drew shadows to herself, instantly, and released them. Seeing the shadow magic clawing through the air to land on him, wriggling grotesquely into him, his choice was made. He rushed across the short clearing between them, letting the singing in his blood propel him faster than he could go himself. Slamming into her, he felt her magical shield drink the damage, though the impact clearly stunned her for a moment. He drew back, realizing he couldn't hurt her even if he had really, deep down, wanted to—which he didn't.
Somehow, the knowledge infuriated him, and the singing in his blood became a roaring in his ears. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to break down that barrier, and to punish her for the pain he was feeling in every inch of his body. To punish her for using that dark, filthy, horrific magic. The magic that he felt her cast again on him.
In a frenzy, he began to batter at her protection. He felt it about to fall, and redoubled his efforts, hacking at the shield, determined to bring it down. He felt his energy starting to ebb as the brutal magic she'd cast on him did its work. He felt a grim satisfaction, too, though… soon he would break down the barrier that kept him from showing her that he was far more powerful than she…
Then he heard it. The light 'ping' of the shield being renewed. Infuriated, he slammed against the ground again, this time stopping her mid-cast as she was gathering to assault him with more holy fire magic. The same nasty fire had about rimed his body again, but she was stunned for a second, unable to cast it. He let himself feel the thrill of victory, assaulting the barrier that protected her again.
Then she stood up out of the stoop the stun had created in her posture, and he looked into eyes still white with rage, a face set with determination… a face totally devoid of fear. She released another volley of magic at him. Once, and he staggered. Twice and he staggered again, backwards. Three times, and he stumbled. Four times, and he sank to one knee. But he wasn't beaten yet. Close. He felt the pain, the fatigue, the burning of his muscles, but he wasn't done yet, and she was nearly out of reserve power. The shield would fade soon, and then he would prove to her…
She lifted a strange device and snapped it against the flesh of her forearm. Immediately, he felt her reserve Power surge. Mana injector, he thought bleakly. "I yield, I yield," he said, still angry, but realizing that one more volley of magic could possibly kill him. And looking into her eyes in that moment, he wasn't certain she wouldn't do it. "You can come with us."
"Damned right, I can come with you. I will do whatever the sam hell I please!" she shouted. Clearly, his yielding did not appease her anger, though she didn't cast on him again.
"You're right," he said meekly, agony screaming through every muscle in his body.
"And, since you thought it would be a good idea to help me unpack, ensuring I would be stuck here longer," she snapped, "you'll damned well go help me pack it back up!" He blinked at her, surprised by the commanding, demanding tone in her voice.
But he got up and followed her into the inn, ignoring the shouts and laughter that followed him. Slowly, painfully, he clomped up the stairs behind her, watching the sway of her hips as he did so. Recognizing as he did so, the incongruence of the fact that he both felt like he was dying, but still wanted nothing more than to be, once more, inside of the woman in front of him.
She slammed the door behind him, and then started stalking towards him. Her finger stabbing at his chest, as if the hard armor wasn't even there, she snapped, each word punctuated by a pointing, stabbing finger, "How dare you? How dare you try to trick me into staying behind?"
"I'm sorry!" he protested, shocked at the stranger before him, "I genuinely thought it would be best!"
Her voice rising to nearly shrill, she said, "You told me you wouldn't leave me! Do you think you're the boss here? Do you think you're the boss of me? That I'll do whatever you say, without question?" She stabbed at him again with her finger, and this time when he backed away, he fell over the pack behind him, landing hard on the floor, his body forcing itself between two of her packs.
She followed him down, though. Mounting him, her knees on the packs that snuggled against his sides, she sat down on him, abruptly and roughly. Pain flashed through him, and he yelped yet again. He was surprised then when she began to cast again, and said, "I said I was sorry! I won't try to trick you again." Instead of the pain he expected, though, he felt his pain subside significantly. He still felt the weakness and trembling in his muscles, but the pain was mostly gone.
Somehow, it didn't feel much better to be pain-free, yet weak and lying on the ground beneath his wife. That was, until she reached down and pulled his codpiece aside, unlacing breeches and underclothing. Immediately, his penis responded to the slight waft of cool air, and the knowledge that an immensely beautiful woman was currently straddling it. It betrayed him by rising swiftly and even eagerly, as it always did around her.
"You think you're in charge here, Groll? You think you're the powerful one?" Her eyes still blazed whitely, and he swallowed as he looked at her. Although she was straddling him in a very, very sexual position, he really wasn't sure what she would do. How could he be sure of anything about her anymore?
She reached into one of her packs and pulled out an hourglass. "Daddy gave me this. I have never found a use for it before. But now we're gonna use it, Groll. We're gonna use it, and you're going to remember it."
She reached down, then, and pulled her robe up. Pulling her panties aside, she slid down onto him in a single, rough stroke. He gasped and arched against her. She began to ride him then, the skin of her butt and thighs slapping against his hide as she rode him rather roughly, using his breastplate for leverage. Her eyes never left his while she plunged up and down on his penis. He sucked in a breath, feeling her heat, her wetness, and her movement all driving him towards release.
Suddenly, though, she stopped. She picked up the small hourglass, and held it up in front of him. "Three minutes. This is a three-minute timer, Groll.
"I'll make a deal with you. You last three minutes without cumming, and I'll stay here."
He blinked blankly at her, "What?"
"Three minutes, Groll. You're powerful, you can control yourself for three minutes, can't you?"
He grinned. Her eyes had changed from the white of rage to nearly blue, challenging him, daring him. "Okay," he said.
She flipped the timer then, and began to ride him again. Groll turned his mind deliberately to counting numbers, taking his focus off of her moist heat on his penis. That was, until she cast a Heal on him. It moved across him, easing his muscles and restoring him. But more than that, it carried the intensity of her lust. He was awash in sensuality as her vaginal walls moved on his penis, and her magic touched him everywhere. It licked across his chest, danced across his belly, and even tenderly caressed his scrotum.
He gasped as she then began to add a rocking motion to her thrusts. Her hips rocked forward and backwards as she went up and down, as if to take in more and more of him with each movement.
She leaned forward, her eyes now deep aqua. "Cum in me, Groll. I want to feel your cock throb as you cum inside me. I want to feel you fill me to overflowing. I want you to fill my pussy with your cum."
He'd never heard her talk that way. He'd never thought of her talking that way. He couldn't believe she was talking that way. But one thing was for sure; it was more than he could take. Growling, he grabbed her hips, hindered slightly by the packs, and thrust up into her. He felt his scrotum tighten, and then he released into her, the feeling both desperately good, and almost painful.
She leaned forward, looking him straight in the eyes for a moment. She looked pleased, her eyes half-shut with desire. "I win," she said, and looked towards the hourglass. Sand still ran through it, and when he looked back at her, she said, "I'm going. If you were so powerful, you could have stopped yourself from doing what I wanted you to do…" her voice trailed off with a smirk.
"What if I wanted to do what you wanted? What if I came because I knew you'd like it?"
She grinned then, "Well, Groll, I would say that still shows genuine power. You wanted to please me, so you did what I wanted you to. And you even risked your male dignity not to continue the fight outside, knowing it would injure me for you to keep going. I would say that you're not as in charge as you think you are."
Then her face became stern, almost cold, "Don't you ever try to leave me like that again, Groll. Whatever possessed you to try that to begin with?"
He sighed, "You're a woman, you don't need to be out fighting while you're—"
"Are you kidding me? There are plenty of women out there, some of them are even warriors." His penis still a willing captive inside her, she sat up, her arms crossed, and scowling. "You think I'm weak because I'm a woman?"
"No, but—"
"I'll tell you what, how about you stay here, and let the women warriors outside go fight your battles? How would that feel?"
"I'm not pregnant," he said.
The pronouncement hung in the air between them for a moment, her eyes wide and surprised.
"How did you know? I tried to tell you, but we kept being interrupted."
"Morgor told me. He heard you talking to the alchemist about it. I'm sorry I didn't let you prepare yourself." It seemed a lifetime ago, those few days ago when he'd first taken her against the rock in the pond in the Barrens. "We'll figure it out, Shantille. But that's why it's so important for you to stay here while we go deal with this. I want my wife and son safe." She nodded adamantly when he asked her if she wanted their child, and he was flooded with relief.
"There's a flaw in that logic though, Groll, I'm sorry. I would venture to say, in fact, that I'd be safer with you rather than here alone by a significant margin." Her gaze was thoughtful and direct.
"What? It's perfect sense for you to be here, where there are soldiers and walls," he scowled, why couldn't she see the logic in it?
"Except that at least once, and most likely twice now, the trolls have used a portal right into my room," she said, and he felt like he'd been hit in the chest by a charging mammoth. It sank into him suddenly, harshly… she was correct. Her greatest safety lay in having people who could reach her swiftly, people who were closer- and more invested in her well-being- than the innkeep or guards would be here.
Stymied, unable to come up with a response to her logic, he nodded. "You're right, you should come with us."
She nodded, and slipped off of him. He said as he stood, "Besides, you won our wager." He grinned at her.
She reached out and closed the flap of his underclothing and laced his breeches. When he started to protest that he was going to clean himself first, she stopped him with a finger against his broad lips, "You'll wear that today, in case you think to forget." He knew what she meant, as if now it was her turn to mark him as hers. He would walk outside with the fluids from their lovemaking drying on him, known only to her and to him. He would ride with the knowledge constantly in his mind… driving him wild with lust. He thought idly for a moment that usually sex satisfied him for a day or so. With this particular woman, though, it made him want more and more.
By that time, she was at the door. Turning around, she looked at him, her deep green eyes betraying her amusement and taking the bite out of her words, "And bring those with you!" The door snapped shut behind her, timbers groaning in their stone braces.
He scowled properly, and picked up the packs, rapidly repacking them. Then he left the room, disgruntled that he'd already paid for the room, knowing it wouldn't be refunded. Especially since it was his own stupid fault. But what nagged at him was that he'd let his lust for her, his feelings for her, interfere with the fact that he should have considered the portals and realized she wouldn't be safe.
Emerging from the inn, he saw the phalanx of Horde soldiers waiting. One of them, an orc, shouted, "Behold the mighty Groll Hellhammer, felled by a wee slip of an elf woman!" The garrison cheered, then laughed. Groll gave them a sweeping bow, and then after he laced Shantille's bags to her mount, leaped on his worg.
Trotting up beside Morgor and Modaire, he grimaced at them. "Good move, oh mighty one," Morgor snorted.
"Indeed," Modaire added. "May I advise you, old friend, that next time before you try to trick a woman, you get the garrison first!"
Morgor and Modaire laughed, and from behind them, Shantille and Gormalla joined in. Groll just sighed, though admittedly, he rather thought Modaire had a good point.
The garrison left Vengeance Landing on running mounts, the Executor commanding it very clear that they wouldn't fly, as not all of the soldiers were competent winter flyers. Groll was glad, as Shantille couldn't fly while pregnant- that was one thing that midwives all seemed to agree upon. Flying while pregnant was unwise for various reasons, even low altitude flying. He felt rather guilty, in fact, given how often she'd already flown while pregnant. It would have been difficult to explain their reticence about flying, and he was glad to have the necessity removed so neatly.
So as they left Vengeance Landing, Groll felt almost a sense of expansive hope and well being. It seemed fate or some deity was smiling upon them, that fortune had kissed them. The sense of doom he'd felt earlier was replaced by a buoyant and comfortable mood. The air was cold and damp, and the day seemed dark and still and close… yet even this couldn't dampen his mood.
His wife was with him, carrying his son, protected and loved and wanted within her womb. It was the right place for them to be. If he'd been honest with himself, he'd have admitted that most of his good mood was because it hadn't been the best thing after all to leave her behind. But he ignored that, and simply basked in the comfortable feeling, even enjoying the jibing of his friends and the soldiers about getting his ass kicked by a scrawny little fingerwaggling, magic-user elf.
They had ridden for only a couple of hours before the first stop because Shantille needed to relieve herself. The Commander of the garrison, a Forsaken named Twinse, casually assigned one of the female blood elf paladins to escort her, and the two moved off into the brush. Before long, they returned, and the ride resumed. But it had begun an odd reaction amongst the garrison that troubled Groll. He couldn't, however, place why that was.
They began to argue. It started simply enough, a small fight broke out. Just a verbal argument. The two soldiers were reprimanded and then moved away from each other. Not must after that, however, another fight broke out. This time, blows were exchanged, and the two were dragged apart, each trying still to get back to the other to complete the fight.
Tempers flaring, the garrison struggled on through the rest of that afternoon, until twilight fell. Twinse invited Groll to join him, and began to ask him probing questions about the events of the past few days. The longer they spoke, the more anxious and unnerved the man seemed to get, despite Groll's attempts to remind him that the fights had indeed all been won so far. Furthermore, the longer they rode, the less decisive the man seemed to become. By evening, most of the solders were unconsciously looking towards Groll and Morgor for direction, accepting their "suggestions" as if they were direct orders.
Finally, when he was able to, Groll pulled Morgor aside. "Is it just me, or is something very, very strange going on here?" Groll asked Morgor.
"You've noticed it, too, huh? It's having the effect of making Shantille's frequent bathroom trips less noticeable, but it's definitely extraordinary. I asked one of the mages, and even Shantille. No one seems to sense any magic at work here, which makes it all the stranger." Morgor looked seriously worried. "And Twinse's hold on the group is deteriorating rapidly. I even find myself wondering how he ever got command of a garrison at all."
Groll nodded. "There's definitely something going on here, and I don't like it," he said. Morgor simply nodded in grim agreement.
The garrison rode into the evening, until at last, Morgor made the decision for them, that they should stop and make camp. At the suggestion of one of the scouts, they made camp below a small rise, where the most dangerous wildlife around were rams grazing, cow-eyed, on what sparse, frozen grass they could dig out of the snow.
