The Reason For The Season
Rating: K+
Genre: Humor
"What is the meaning of this?!" Sergeant Grimjaw's voice was demanding and pierced the still air at the Frostwall Garrison. He had exited the barracks, fully prepared to deal with another day of work, when his senses were assaulted with garish lights in every imaginable color, wreaths and a lot more trees than had been in the garrison when he went to bed yesterday. Seriously, did it even exist that many trees in Frostfire Ridge?
No one volunteered any information, so he started the trek up to Town Hall; Zog would have some answers, he knew. Grimjaw passed the two guards guarding the entrance and nodded absentmindedly at them. Two steps later, he stopped abruptly and turned back to actually look at them.
"What the hell are you two wearing?"
The orc seemed slightly embarrassed and started picking at the fuzzy green sweater he was wearing. The troll, wearing an equally green and fuzzy hat, grinned and replied; not seeming the least uncomfortable.
"We were told ta wear dis. So just followin' orders, Sarge."
"Whose orders?" The sergeant narrowed his eyes. He had his suspicions, of course and didn't wait for the axe-thrower's reply before storming off in to the Town Hall.
The large circular room did not seem much better off than the rest of the garrison, as it too was decorated with strings of colorful baubles and leafy wreaths. As the Warmaster caught the eyes of his visitor, Grimjaw could swear his cheeks colored pink, but he recovered too quickly for anyone to really notice.
"Sergeant? Is something the matter?" Zog spoke with his usual authority, no trace of any lingering uncomfortableness. The sergeant realized he'd only ever come in here before to give warnings on approaching invasions.
"Yes, something is the matter! When I went to bed yesterday, everything was normal and today it looks like Metzen the reindeer threw up all over the place! There is even a mistletoe hanging above your head for Thrall's sake!"
This time, the Warmaster did blush as he glanced up at the offending twig. Grimjaw rolled his eyes and interrupted the other orc's stuttered explanation.
"Where is the Commander? I can only assume he is behind this ridiculousness," he snarled.
Zog seemed to catch himself at this insubordination. "Watch your accusations Sergeant," he said coldly before continuing: "The Commander is in Tanaan Jungle and we are not expecting him back anytime soon. Someone else arranged the decorations."
Grimjaw felt properly chastised, it would do no good to forget his rank. Besides, while the troll had some unorthodox ideas, he was wholly competent. When the words of the Warmaster's last statement hit him, he looked up.
"But… Then, who?"
The sergeant had barely finished the question when someone walked in, arms so full of decorations he could not discern the person's identity until they dropped their heavy burden on one of the tables. The undead priestess brushed the pine needles off her robe and made her way over to the two orcs, her smile attentive.
"It is close to finished, Warmaster. Yala is preparing the last of the meat pies as we speak," Ulna reported to Zog. "I'm so happy you agreed to my idea!"
"You're behind this?" Grimjaw felt confused and slightly gleeful that the one responsible was lower rank – no need to hold back. "Don't you have better things to do?"
The Forsaken turned here eyeless stare on him, her body tensing at his words. She balled her tiny fists and widened her stance.
"Did you know that they don't celebrate the Feast of Winter Veil here on Draenor?" she asked him.
In fact, the Sergeant didn't know that, but he could easily have figured it out if he'd thought about it – which he hadn't. Winter Veil had originated from the Tauren as a celebration of the World's rebirth, and as there were no Tauren in Draenor – logical thinking would conclude that the natives of Draenor did not celebrate it.
"I spoke to Orac yesterday – you know, one of the children in Wor'Gol. He and his friends had never heard of this tradition, and the more I told them, the more excited they became. And then I thought – why not show them instead?" she spread her arms at this last statement, indicating the colorful garlands and ribbons.
Grimjaw still did not see the need to turn the garrison into a garish mismatch of baubles. "But…" he started, but was interrupted by Zog.
"These children are living in a war, Sergeant. A war we are waging on their land. They deserve whatever happiness and fun they can have."
And suddenly Grimjaw understood. Shame temporarily clutched his heart with cold fingers as he remembered that they were actually guests here on Draenor – something he'd forgotten in the past year they'd been stationed here. Children were precious – to every race – and should never have to experience pain or grief.
"How can I help?" he looked at Ulna, who started to grin.
"You can help me wrap the presents! I'm very good at it, but Morketh kept complaining that the colors clash. As if he would know anything about that."
The orc started to follow the priestess out of the Town Hall, but stopped before exiting to let Garona enter. Suddenly gripped with evil mirth, he turned back to Zog with a smirk that was somewhat obscured by his helmet.
"Warmaster, maybe you should be less obvious with the whole mistletoe-thing."
The orc's horrified glare was rewarding enough to endure the punishment that surely would follow his gleeful insubordination.
A/N: Happy Holidays! :]