A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing guys! A quick note, maybe I sort of gave the wrong impression that Thrall and Jaina were being intimate. I'd just like to clarify they have not reached that level of feelings for one another. Sorry for the confusion!
~8~8~
"A tourney sounds wonderful, missus." Sarrah commented off handedly in her ever chipper demeanor.
The loyal servants head tilted up to look over the regents stored for their priests and mages in the battle to come against the dark magic of the Legion and to heal their wounded warriors struck in the inevitable bloody frays approaching with each passing day they denied the Legion to lay claim to their world. Every so often she would point her finger to the wooden crates and mouth silent words before dipping back down to primly dictate a few numbers upon the leather backed ledger in her grip.
All around them the sounds of hammers banging upon wooden stakes, rang sonorously through the air. Voices of deep human timbres and rough orc tongues yelled out orders in a cheery rough housing manner to have the rings set up for the games. A festive nature ruled the air and wreathed the very atmosphere with a jovial gaiety for both orcs and humans alike.
Sharpening stones scraped upon blades in their teeth grating tones, and the hammer of the blacksmiths clanged out upon the anvils as solider repaired weapons and dented pieces of armor to participate in the games of strength.
The hearty scent of cooking bear and stag meat drifted in a tantalizing aroma through the air that tempted the soldiers of both camps who'd lived on mostly tough dried rations of rock hard tack bread, water, and dried venison that had broken more than one tooth and tusk alike.
Grease that dripped into the gluttonous flames below the huge slabs of cooking meat sizzled and hissed sonorously like a pit full of angry vipers while fire erratically whooshed upon from huge globs of fat dropping into its eager grip.
The noise and activity of the encampment seemed to all meld together in one great orchestrated cacophony of excitement for the upcoming games and sub sequential feast to follow. Such work, as predicted, took their minds off the encroaching invasion of the Legion.
Drowning happily in their merry work, no longer did they shrink in the every approaching shadow that sought to crush their world to rubble and ruin. By their audacity of having games they practically spat into the eye of the foe creeping ever closer to subdue their world in nothingness and sorrow.
Scribbling a few last numbers in a thick faded blue ledger, the loyal maid placed her quill in the book to keep her place as she perched her head up to look at Jaina. A hint of worry wrinkled her tanned brow in trepidation. Her eyes narrowed incredulously. "Do you think those orcs will garner enough control over themselves at the sight of blood at these games?" She inquired warily.
Many humans looked at orcs as they did wolves. They were not to be trusted in the slightest, extremely dangerous, and the scent of fresh spilt blood in their noses could drive them absolutely more rabid than they already were.
Orcs revealed in the blood of their foes and honored the blood of their fallen kin. Life, for the savage people, seemed to gorily revolve around anything that would shed the crimson essence of life. They even smeared the blood of the fallen upon their bodies in tribute or insult to their foes and friends alike.
True, the festivities would be of brute brawn and skill with blades and war cunning, but the more the arch mage delved into orcish culture with Thrall guiding her through the bellicose way of life, the more she found intriguing in their dealings with blood shed and the arts of slaughter.
Days that she parleyed with the orcish people, she found an entirely irrepressible new layer under the proposed barbarity the Alliance claimed was all the orcs knew in their primal minds. There was so much more under their brutish rituals and way of life. They cared, they loved, they sought to protect kith and kin, and their rituals dated back to time immemorial.
Theirs was a rich, proud culture behind the dark marsh green skin other humans never saw past.
The sorceress sagely shook her honey tresses to assure the worrisome maid in a nonchalant manner. A ghost of a small crossed her lush lips, hoping it would bolster the fretful Sarrah. "They will not lose control as you put it, Sarrah. Orcs respect their Warchief above all else and if Thrall doesn't desire them to create a field of blood they will stay their blows." She shrugged and resumed her work at her desk. "Besides, what good is gloating of your battle prowess if your foe is dead?"
There was no denying orcs were passionate about blood shed, but just as their human counterparts they had the need to gloat and preen and display their skill without finishing the kill so that the defeated would be branded with that mark of defeat.
"Careful, milady." Sarrah warn in a slight snort, more due to the dust in the magical regents wafting through the incense infused air than anything else. The dimness in the tent slightly adumbrated her features, but their was no hiding the female intuition glimmering in her doe eyes.
Taking up her Gryphon quill, a small, knowing grin deceivingly crossed her lips as she tapped the feather to the side of her nose slyly. "If some of the soldiers were around to hear you talk such they might say you were favoring the orcs for these games."
Jaina merely scoffed in abject ridicule at the remark. A disapproving frown marbled upon her face as she marked a few notes upon the parchment before her. Her bright cobalt eyes sat riveted on the task displayed at her attention, hoping a bright ruby blush wouldn't rise upon her rapidly heating cheeks.
"It's unnatural for you to speak nonsense, Sarrah." She reprimanded her oldest friend gently with a faint hint of irksomeness. "Of course I shall plant the banner of my favor with my men. The soldiers of Lorderan are strong, hearty warriors that beat back the fel cursed orcs once before."
"I suppose it would be counter productive to be casting your favors against your own kind." A subtly emphasis fell upon the last word though it was spoken nonchalantly so as though she was merely stating a well known fact.
At that, the arch mage did not return a retort, but placed her head lower to her oaken desk to finish perusing over the jotted reports upon her make-do table.
With a staunch will only a mage of her caliber could possess, the arch mage set her cobalt eyes upon the yellowing oilskin parchment. Fortifying her strength, her eyes sat riveted to read the scrawled messages seemingly without a hint of gathering any of the loyal servant sly implications.
Her only hope was that Sarrah would not see the no doubt fierce flush of ruddy scarlet mounted upon her cheeks like a banked fire. Such a flagrant gesture would show herself perceptively guilty of the words that had not been spoken but were clearly laid before her.
~8~8~
The day had been a rousing success, Thrall knew with a satisfied half smile as he watched the last opponents square off in the sparring ring. One human with a gray steel banded shield and blood flecked spiked mace circled tactfully about an orc from Hellscreams clan who wielded no more than two twin axes with bone hafts and onyx slate blades.
The competitors were evenly matched as far as he could surmise while watching the spectacle from his side of the encampment. He rested on thick, sable, freshly washed worg furs befitting an orcish chieftain of his bloodied caliber.
One knee was drawn up so that his muscled arm rested upon it while the other one rested flat and tingled from having fallen asleep.
A large tankard of frothing mead rested by his side for easy reach while Dan'ruk attended his needs. Normally, he abhorred anyone waiting on him, but he was Warchief and such a rank required to look the part on more special occasions such as displaying battle prowess against a worthy foe.
On the other side of the trampled field sprinkled with, sweat, tears, and more than a few drops of blood, the sorceress sat in a chair that had been hauled form her command tent. She sat rigid to attention in a way that made one think she was talking to you and only you when she addressed a winner or gave a condoling nod to a loser of a battle.
Her honey gold hair shifted free of whatever bind she had pulled it back from her face, but she left it free to dangle over one eye as she gazed intently on the fight.
A part of the far seer couldn't help but note that if he hadn't been paying so much attention to the arch mage a field away, he would have probably made a calculated assessment as to who would win. He truly did desire to concentrate, but it was nigh impossible with her sitting so far and yet so close away, her pink lips curved up ever so slightly as though taunting him to race over and kiss her again.
Oh to feel those lips on his; was there any greater prize in all Azeroth?
For a moment Jaina flicked her cobalt depths from the fight over to him as though she could feel his searing gaze stapled upon her. A flush mottled under his green marshy skin at being caught in his staring. It had not been the first day either had caught the other sneaking long, coveted glances over the trampled terrain.
Heat scorched his rough cheeks as the sorceress offered a small up tilt of her lips and dipped her head nearly unnoticeably back to the fight as a silent reminder to keep watching the combatant and not one another like love struck younglings at an Elders day dance.
With a small grunt, Thrall snatched up his tankard and gulped down the fortifying brew in one go all in the same smooth motion. Anything to get his eyes yanked away from the delicate arch-mage was a grateful welcome.
The foe were panting heavily by the time Thrall used the back of his hand to wipe the smear of slightly amber foam away from his thick lips. Brooklets of dark mead dribbled down his coarse beard, but he gave it no mind in order to focus on the battle raging in the epicenter of the encampment.
A feral growl erupted from the battling orcs lips as he charged with both axes swinging wildly to push the human back and gain ground. Blue armor rushed forward to the racing orc till their bodies crashed in a myriad of steely sparks of plate against axes. Clashes of battle rose high into the air as the two combatants gave it their all to impress their sides.
Swing after parry after lunge exerted from the sweating foe who stared daggers at one another as though their very eyes could deal damage upon their fierce opponent.
Placing the tips of her spell clever finger under her chin, Jaina knew imperatively the orc had the human beat as she watched the last moment of the mock bout.
In her sharp vision the arch mage saw the cunning glint in the wild orcs eyes, the plans that darted in his piggish ebony depths foretelling his ancient wit in the arts of warfare.
In a seemingly last ditch effort, the grunt feinted with a wide left swing that looked to forgo the tip of the shield and aim for the humans temple.
Expectedly, the foot man brought his shield low and up to lock his shield with the axe. At that point, it would be mere child's play to use his mace and deliver a horrific blow to the exposed ribs, successfully knocking the wind out of the orc and making him reel backwards.
However the right axe changed its defensive position from the orcs chest to swing the flat of the weapon against the human's skull like a paddle.
In a true battle scenario, the blow would have shorn the foot soldiers head nearly in two, but with a great warning from their indomitable Warchief, the blow landed with enough force simply to make the solider reel out of the ring with a spinning head, there for ending the match.
Mighty cheers and bloody shouts of victory rose up like thunder from the orcs gathered about. Boo's and a few misbegotten insults and talk of potions to enhance battle prowess were spewed from the humans who sneered and scowled at their country parts. The same was vice versa for the others that had previously lost and won on either side.
As the two combatants strode off the fields, one cockily with a swagger in his slightly limping gait, while the other staggered away with a hand lightly dabbing at the bright crimson bump rising upon his head to go see the attending priest, a stocky dwarf stamped up in the middle of the ring.
Gallo Aleeye was said to have the cleanest record for officiating games of strength. Jaina elected him with high praise for his astute honesty and keen eyes for cheaters who'd do anything to be triumphant in the eyes of all present.
Thrall had automatically trusted her decision knowing Jaina would never allow some one to jeopardize and strain an already taut relationship between the Horde and the Alliance.
The crotchety, red bearded dwarf rocked back thoughtfully upon his heels as he sagely stroked his waist length beard in heavy contemplation.
Under his thick beard of ruddy scarlet, Jaina had bestowed him an amulet to allow both orcs and humans to comprehend his gruff words.
Clearing his garbled, eternally gruff throat, he gazed sternly at the armor clad populace awaiting his announcement. "Lady Proudmoore and yer Warchief picked me to officiate, so I did the most honest job I be knowing how to do." He began in a grousing grumble, known in his kind. "A right many oh you folks won't be liken it, but as far is I kin tell, we gots ourselves a tie."
"A tie!" The echoed words rose from Horde and Alliance lips almost like a collective groan.
Such things were always precarious. One wrong person slighted in breaking the tie and the day would have been for naught.
Pulling on his leather cuirass the dwarven rifleman turned officiator scanned the crowd with a hard diamonded glare that brooked no argument. "Now, who'll be the folk representing the Horde and the Alliance?"
Roars thundered out from the mass of Horde and Alliance like the winds of a fierce tempest buffeting the land. Names were thrown out then replaced, cries of who was better sang through the air, and even a few orcs and humans drew their blades to prove their muscles then and there.
"Thrall and Jaina." A faceless voice in the crowd cried out in one strong voice that seemed to muffle all else and rise high above the fray of raucous shouts and lewd curses.
Immediately a dead silence fell over the gathering like a shroud of death had layered upon them. No one spoke, no one moved. Even the birds in the trees waiting for bits of food from the bountiful feast to come had stopped their childish squawking and gluttonous chirps.
"Thrall and Jaina." Another yelled catching on to the ingenious idea.
"Yeah, let them bout it out to see whose better."
"Five gold says the Warchief turns the pink-skin into a smear on the forest floor!"
"Ten gold says the Lady Proudmoore encases the orc in a block of ice and puts him on display in her war tent!"
Before either of them knew it their people had goaded them into the erected arena of trodden grass. Cheers echoed for the favored leader, fists punched into the gloomy air and weapons raised to see the tie breaker.
Who would be victorious; Thrall or Jaina?
The Warchief cast the arch-mage a glance of insecurity at their sudden precarious position. Neither had wanted to spar and display their prowess, but now, for a rare time their peoples seemed to be in one union.
Orcs roared their agreement with humans, side by side, despite their difference. Even some humans, mumbled doubts of Jaina's abilities, while a scant spattering of orcs gazed at their Warchief in suspicion that perchance the human's magic's were more…skilled in her hands than the elements in his own.
"Do we have a choice?" Jaina murmured under her breath as she smiled proudly to her forces.
Thrall raised his fist high into the air, coaxing a barbaric roar and the pounding of weapons slamming against shields in a war beat from his bellicose people. "We always have a choice, but do we really blow such a golden opportunity to unify our people?"
He had a point to his words, Jaina knew as much as she loathed to admit it. Humans and orcs were excitedly bantering together in broke common and orcish.
Humans where accepting hared earned gold's and silvers from orcs and vise versa for those going against the grain with their bets. Such a battle was drawing them together, far more than the entire afternoon and evening of bouts.
The arch-mage allowed a shallow sigh to insipidly cross the threshold of her pink mouth as she relented the desire to remain aloof from the fighting. With a quick flick of her hand she bound her honey gold hair back in its leather cord to keep from hampering her vision. A part of her always hated coming to blows.
"You have an excellent point, Warchief." Mischief flashed in the cerulean depths akin to a beacon of battle fervor and magic being drawn up. Smiling faintly she inclined her head ever so slightly to the orc. "Shall we proceeded?"
"Of course, Lady Proudmoore." Thrall conceded with a faint twitch of a grin upon his tusked features.
Confidence practically radiated from the Far Seer as he strode to his end of the ring. Black and gold battle plate glinted in the sparse rays that cascaded down upon them, making him look more of a war lord than usual. The wide tusked grin beaming upon his face and a strong stride bespoke absolute victory, and mayhap a bit of gloating over such a hearty challenge.
However fear nagged him like a demon ravenously gnashing at his soul. He had been trained by the best humans Blackmoore had in his manor. As a gladiator his prowess was unrivaled by orc or human alike.
Running a thick, battle hardened hand through his jet black tresses; he wondered would he perhaps go too far. The thrill of batted always stayed with him, even from those long years ago.
To see a human crumple under his final skull shattering blow or felling an ogre three times his size never left his mind and race of blood firing his veins. The heat of battle still flooded his body at the very thought of those days under Blackmoore's manor.
For years he had not fought for the display and amusement of others, but the feeling came rushing back in a tidal wave through his wise senses.
The fresh scents of blood wafting through his nostrils, the cheers of the crowd roaring his name, the heat of his blood like boiling water scalding his very veins till the only thing left in him was a fiery inferno of the kill.
Once both were at their respective ends of the sparring ring, Aleeye stepped into the center once more to commence with a few words. Tugging at his crimson beard, he addressed the pair in his coarse timbre, but looked at the crowd. "Same rules as always. First one forced out of the ring or knocked unconscious is the loser. No potions, no throwing grit and sand, no underhanded trickery. Blades or magic, at yer fancy but nothing more."
With that, the ever disgruntled stoic dwarf shuffled away from the ring to his position just outside the low rope fringing the grass.
After silence had quickly settled over the mass that watched, the rifleman fired off one shot from his well kept fire-arm to allow the match to begin. The sound of the blunderbuss resounded through the forest seemed to be the only sound upon the entire world as the match commenced.
A roar erupted from Thrall's snarling lips as he wasted no time loping towards the arch-mage. Each step was like a giant's stride, zoning in closer, closer, ever close.
In his dead run, he beckoned the spirits to his call, to aid him in the fight. Totems seemingly made of the dark wood surrounding them popped up like mystical flowers from the verdant land. Each glowed and hummed with energy waiting to be used at their singular purpose.
Jaina stepped back from her spot an inch, taken by surprise at the sudden ferocity of the intelligent, gentle orc she knew. Rage and blood gathered in his indigo eyes akin to carnelian storm clouds; much like his men when they were deep in the battle and swathed with the dark blood of their vile foes.
There before her was no Thrall, son of Durotan she recognized. This was a different Thrall altogether, one that seemed to predate the tactile Warchief and Far Seer she had come to know and perhaps...love.
His mace glowed a faint, misty blue tint as he grew ever nearer like some green meteor hurtling towards her.
All around her, the soldiers of Lorderan screamed warnings for her to move from the blow. Some clasped the sides of their heads, their finger digging nervously against their skulls while curses tumbling lowly from a few mouths as others frantically beseeched their deities she would snap out of whatever trance had enchanted her and make a move.
What was she doing? Was she frozen in terror, by the orc racing with a demons speed towards her slender frame garbed in nothing but modest cloth?
Seeing here there, calm and collected even only inches from her, Thrall did not register her intention before it was far too late. Air whooshed where his mace swung through the air in hopes to simply knock her out of the ring.
Perhaps that was her plan, to let him win, Thrall considered only for a confused moment before Jaina moved into action.
Even as the mace swished through the atmosphere, only air and magic met the Far Seer's blow. The Warchief nearly stumbled as the sorceress simply blinked out the way of the blow leaving nothingness to halt his inertia.
Taken off guard by the move he should have seen coming, Thrall cried out in surprise as his momentum sent him sprawling forward. To much weight was behind the swing, and not enough to keep his balance. He felt himself lurch forward, but could not grind his plate boots into the earth hard enough to stop his movement.
With a great thump upon the earth, the orc landed hard upon his stomach in a cloud of dust and clods of rich earth, merely inches away from the ring line. Oh his ribs would hurt in the morning for taking such a blow, he noted as coughs racked his lungs from the dust fillings his nose and mouth.
Behind him, his ears distinctly picked up a slight giggle that told him, she had known that was going to happen.
A slight, determined smile etched upon his tusked lips as he sought to find his feet. Well, if that's how she wanted to play…
Leaping to his feet, the shaman twisted around all in one smooth motion preparing to send a bolt of electricity in her direction. There was not much force behind it, only enough to send her flying out of the ring.
His eyes went wide as he saw the bright blue of an ice bolt sailing towards him before his lips could even move to entreat the spirits for lightening.
A grunt tumbled form his lips as he keeled back from the blow. His free hand clutched desperately at his chest, but the spell had only hit him in the area, that was not its direct target.
Fronds of ice trailed down his legs, and clenched over his muscles in a vice that halted his movements into nothing but an infuriatingly slow walk. It was a though frost had grown over every nerve and joint like moss to hamper his movements.
With such a spell upon his person she could easily pick him off without having to even move!
"Clever." Thrall murmured under his breath. Wiping the edge of his mouth slowly, he gave a brief nod to her cunning before to display a bit of magic of his own.
With a supplication to the spirits of earth, he watched the surprise bloom over her face as roots sprang from the ground where his totem once stood.
Gnarled roots and vines shot up like a geyser from the very earth. Magical undergrowth coiled firmly about her legs and feet halt any moment at all. The claws of Azeroth itself rose to keep her in its clutches.
The crowd cheered wildly at both their leader's prowess. Raucous voices rang through the forest, making the very leaves tremble with their applauding and lauding of their favored commander.
Knowing she was rooted to the very earth, Thrall did not mind in the least his every step was agonizingly slow. Ice and frost melted with every step as though spring was blooming around him. With each crunch of his boots, he could feel the thaw in his lower extremities and the hold of ice loosing its grip.
Her spell was weakening whilst his stayed strong in keeping her pinned.
The ice had nearly worn off as he was finally face to face with the darkly frowning sorceress.
A large, victorious grin stamped upon his features as he crossed his muscles engorged arms and stared down at the glowering woman. "You're clever, Jaina. You nearly made me fall out the ring." He chuckled good naturedly in his deep bass akin to a rumble of thunder. "Now if you don't mind I'll just haul you up and carry you out of the ring."
"Why Warchief." Jaina allowed a sly smile to play upon her lovely face as her voice took on an almost ethereal quality. A spry laugh tittered over the wind almost like a specter long forgotten. "Which one of me are you going to carry?"
"Me?" Another ethereal voice asked to his side in the same amusement.
"Or me?"
"How about me?"
A confused look furrowed darkly over his marsh green brow as he turned away from the smile Proudmoore caught in the roots. His mouth slowly gaped open, for all around him, three other Jaina's stared smiling at him.
Around them the crowd of Alliance talked in low excitement to one another at the expert display of magic. "Orcs done for sure now, I've only seen the Lady Proudmoore use that same spell a handful of times and when she does, woe betide her foe."
"Impressive." Thrall admitted as he slowly twirled in a circle trying to keep on the move despite he was surrounded. He brandished his mace expertly, his muscles easing and tensing beneath his teal flesh. "But which one is the real Jaina?"
They all shrugged good naturedly, speaking as one like some echo. "To bad you won't find out until you submit."
All about him, each of the mirror images began to summon a spell to their hand fire, ice and arcane licked at their grips as they prepared to bombard the Warchief and make him stumble away.
As their magic's flew, instantly, the Far Seer raised one hand to the firmament as though trying to catch a rain drop. Abruptly a shield of rock seemed to plummet from the sky. Each blocked a power that was flung at him though the rock burst into a puff of pebbles and grit.
"Earth shield." Thrall explained to the stunned sorceress copies around him. It was now their turn to stare in amazement. Thrusting out his hand, he pointed to the image that had used ice, Jaina's favored school of magic to study. "And this is what the elder shamans call Purge."
Immediately the other Jaina's began to fade as though they were mist begin evaporated by a summer sun. Each grew fainter and fainter till they where nothing but smoke upon the air, leaving only the true Jaina who was behind the Far Seer.
Twisting about quickly, Thrall sought to grab her by the cords of her cloak and in turn send her flying out of the ring. All it would take was one pull and the match would draw to its end.
Another spell dashed from her lips in frenzied alarm hoping to pin him in place by a quick spell of ice to grow over his boots and legs.
This time, however, Thrall saw the move coming before the words had fully left her mouth.
In a blink of an eye, his wind totem absorbed her spell leaving Thrall free of the magic about to be chained upon him.
A cunning smirk fell about his tusked lips as the arch mage blinked rapidly in surprise. "Surely you don't think me so unobservant to your wiles, Lady Proudmoore?" He taunted slightly, unable to resist the jab.
His thick fingers curled of the clasp to her cloak as he pulled her forward. For all her strength in magic, she did not have the power to escape his hold with mere strength. All he had to do was simply carry her to the edge of the ring and deposit her on the outside.
She returned his smirk with a wide, wicked smile beaming over her lovely sweat pricked features. "Unfortunately for you, Thrall, I never underestimate my opponents." Jaina rebuffed.
Before Thrall could move the arch-mage swung out her staff in a some what clumsy last attempt to be free of his clutches. The metal sang through the air as though whistling its last dirge of trying to be triumphant.
Instinctively Thrall threw a hand up to block the blow, and in turn allowing Jaina to slip free of her cloak.
With a cry to the elements he sent up another air totem to absorb any spell she had prepare to toss in his direction.
Her clever escape, while commendable did not take away the fact she could not blink again, yet, and she had scrambled only a step away. Her dodging was a last ditch effort for the inevitable.
However, even with the spell absorption totem down, a spell did not come blurting from her mouth. No, ice, fire, or arcane did not fly towards his person. Her powerful magic's did not sing through the air as she summoned her craft.
Instead, she grasped her staff like a pole arm and thrust the crystal, knife like violet shards towards Thrall's throat.
The Warchief, totally taken aback by the maneuver, of weapons instead of her vaunted magic, stepped back to avoid the fine needle point of the mystical crystals.
Perhaps he should have paid attention to his footing on the battle field as well. A cry of alarm erupted in a gasp from his throat as the earth fell from under him.
A collective gasp from the orc distilled into the shaded land of the dark forest as they looked upon their Warchief out of the ring, the Lady Proudmoore towering over his body, with her staff point directed at his throat.
Her brow arch in mock curiosity as the shaman sucked in huge amount of air and blinked at her in shock. "Hmm, perhaps you need to begin observing more than my wiles, would you agree son of Durotan?" She jested. A thin smile crossed her lips, as she stepped aside to allow Thrall to rise.
Planting her staff by her side, she reclined slightly upon it for support after their strenuous battle. A few rebellious strands had fallen out of their binding, but she blew them away with a breath.
The Warchief towered before the small sorceress who had to tilt her head up to face him. Air heaved greedily through his massive march green body like forge bellows at work. Cold, cobalt blue eyes clashed with her ice sapphire depths as they stared at one another for long minuets.
The crowd, both human and orc alike, looked on breathlessly. Even the indomitable Aleeye did not move to the ring to declare the winner. It didn't matter; all knew who won in a brilliant display of weapons and magic.
After a time the hard thin line of his lips uplifted to a wide smile. Laughter rumbled from his chest like peals of faraway thunder. Taking Jaina's hand gently in his grip he lifted her fist high into the air. It was her moment; she was the winner in more than one sense.
Roars of the crowds made the leaves above tremble at the sportsman like gesture. Though few orcs grumbled at the win, most were far to caught up in applauding the expert display of combat witness.
While they may not have liked the human sorceress that was no deny her prowess. She had defeated Thrall honorably, Warchief to Warchief in orcish eyes.
~8~8~
The bonfires merrily lit about the defenders encampment had fallen to subdued red-orange embers flaring sporadically every now and again upon the charred wood, as the feast dribbled off to a halt.
Engorged figures of humans and orcs lounged in satisfied oblivion side by side with their bellies stuffed on roasted meat and strong mead tapped from the finest kegs.
Humans laid keeled over on the rough wooden benches with bits of greasy meat still in their grips, and orcs lay sprawled senselessly out in every direction from the prickly undergrowth to the food and plate littered tables still clutching the heady dwarven stouts that accompanied the evening meal.
The night fell over them in a shroud of contented repose that allowed them a restful slumber with the crickets of Ashenvale serenading in the night with the mournful songs of the owls and the whippoorwills crooning in tune.
Food and fighting, nothing would bring people together faster.
"I'd say today was a glorious success." Thrall planted a tender kiss upon Jaina's lips. His fingers played with the ends of her flaxen tresses as he allowed her to engulf his tactile sensibilites.
The pair snuggled comfortably in the dimness of Jaina's tent, invisible to the callous eyes of the judging, cruel world as they shared a quiet moment together in one another arms.
The arch mage returned the kiss with a deep passion before untangling their lips. She rested her head upon the soft, off gray woolen shirt over his slowly rising chest.
He was so warm after the hard carapace of black and gold plate was shed; like a fire was forever guttering inside his soul.
A small sliver of guilt, being with him in such a manner, and seeing him in that sense rose, but it died away quicker than it had come.
On past nights when their display of affection was still new and albeit exotic, she rested in bed staring up at the dark blue fabric of her tent. Guilt stole her repose of slumber away at the thoughts of doing something behind everyone's back. Theirs was an alliance of dire necessity and yet they had become so much more.
Over time, however, the guilt sulked about her thoughts less and less, love banishing it back to its small corner where it rarely dared to poke its head out when she was at her strongest. Tonight, however, her tenacity and indomitable fortitude was lacking.
Shaking the thought away, Jaina allowed a small smile in the darkness of her tent. "I agree. Never would I thought orcs and humans would be of one accord so fervently to see us square off."
"Not only that, my peoples respect for you has blossomed ten fold. They have forgone calling you pink-skin, to Warchief Proudmoore, an honorable title for a strong leader. It is rare they refer to any chieftain by such a title not of orcish blood." Thrall chuckled deeply bringing a larger smile to her pink lips.
Shifting his burly arms he nestled her in a more comfortable position upon his chest for both of them. He adored having her close, to smell the scent of her body and hair, and feel her strange, soft creamy flesh with his roughened finger pads smoothing along her porcelin skin.
Often times he held her so close, he wondered how something to delicate and precious could ever survive with out the natural weapons of tusks and primal instincts. Their protruding noses in lieu of flat wide nostril looked to him a huge inconvenience, and her stature had to make him astounded their race flourished and survived at all during the years, much less thrived.
Orc males appreciated brawn and strength in their females, large tusks and murder billowing in their eyes. They wanted hearty warrior women to birth strapping sons and daughters for battle and carnage.
True, she was extremely odd compared to a fierce orcish female, but not ugly or repulsive to him.
They sat slightly upright upon the soft worg furs, his body leaning upon one of the tent poles that held her private sanctuary aloft.
It had been an exciting and tiring day for both leaders. Only when the feast was well underway and their people elbow deep in hearty stag and warm mead did Thrall have the time to pull Jaina away and truly show her how much he wanted to congratulate her for winning the challenge.
Ever since that evening of their brawl he desired to meet those lips to his own.
Lauding her prowess in combat whispered from his lips in every breathless exchange where they parted for air. He praised her with ever tender owning of her lips, wanting her to know how much he had loved seeing that side of her come out.
Despite all the human quality instilled in him as a young orc, to have a woman such as she locked in combat with him sent his blood racing with a fire that made the fervor of battle pale in comparison. Some primal nature of his orcish heritage never washed away, Thrall noted with a hint of amusement and satisfaction as he buried his face into her honey gold locks.
"My men where impressed by your combat." The sorceress admitted in a tired yawn. "I over heard some admitting to their fellows that they were glad you were on our side."
A hum of approval rumbled from Thrall's throat. Wrapping an arm around her thin form, his large thumb made small circled patterns upon her back. "I never thought I'd see the day humans and orcs got along so well."
"If only it would last." Jaina sighed in melancholy.
There was no use thinking such camaraderie would remain. It was a boon this night, but in the morning the grumbling would arise again and the hostilely would seem loom over them like a shadow of death. Though they had proven they could come together for a common goal, it wouldn't last.
"True." Thrall concurred with a morose acceptance and a faint motion of his head. A small smile of optimism found its way to his lips as he nuzzled against her. "But before I found you tonight, I received word from one of the elven sentinels. Tyrande and Stormrage have concocted a plan, they'd like to run it by us first thing dawn tomorrow."
While both Thrall and Jaina were in the talks, it was the millennia ancient elves of the timeless land who knew the connection with nature and had dealt with the force of the Legion before. Their ways to combat the menace where far more accurate than anything the sorceress or Warchief could concoct or enact.
"Another boon today." the arch mage managed another smile, though there was still not much to grin about.
Thrall held her tighter his head inclining to find her own. His voice was low and husky as Jaina tilted her head up to meet his lips in another sweet kiss.
Their mouths barely brushed one another's; the warmth of their breath mingling in the cool night air that heralded mist upon the morrow. "For what little hours are left in this day, let us revel in the success before wading through the turmoil." The Warchief suggested gently. Knock a lock of her wheat colored hair away from her face with his calloused hand; he smiled tenderly upon the sorceress. "Shall we worry about tomorrow at dawn and not till then?"
Jaina, optimistically filled with sense that something was finally going right in their desperate agenda to push back the threat clawing over their world, whole heartedly agreed by smashing her lips fiercely against his own.
Worries could wait on the morrow. Tonight, she wanted him and him alone to drive everything else away.