Reunions

Fentulk's springy step faltered quickly as he led Joanne down the path to his parent's home. People were staring at her and whispering. Some he recognized as neighbors and waved to them. Though curious to see him after such a long absence, they only half-heartedly returned his gesture but did not approach. He hoped Geyah would convey to the Mag'har that she'd welcomed Joanne and their wary glares would disappear.

"I am not welcome," Joanne whispered sadly. "My presence has ruined your homecoming." Fentulk squeezed her hand.

"Nah. You just got here," he reassured her. "Give'em time. I don't much feel like talkin' to nobody but my family anyway. This lot'll have to wait."

Joanne was not so sure time would be enough. She would have to prove herself to these people, and she had no idea how she was to go about that.

The path they walked curved down the hillside on which the council hall stood, and crossed a footbridge over a merrily gurgling stream. In spite of the tension she felt all around her, real or imagined, Joanne could not ignore the tranquility of Garadar. Though there were guards in the towers and at each gate, and a training ground boasted dozens of Orcs sparring with wooden weapons, the village did not seem to be overtly on a war footing. Garadar was simply peopled by Orcs carrying on with their lives.

It was at the training ground that Fentulk stopped and grinned. Stepping up to the barrier enclosing the pitch, he raised his voice and barked in Orcish, "Oy! Kashka! Got a minute?"

Joanne scanned the Orcs until she found an Orc woman of mature years trading swords blow for blow with a much younger Orc woman. Blocking and shoving her opponent back a step, the elder Orcess turned and looked, annoyance at the interruption clear upon her face. So shocked was she in seeing Fentulk standing there, she received an unexpected blow across the back from the younger Orc.

Rather than scold the woman, Kashka praised her. "Good. Take advantage of your opponent's distraction. Now pair up with Gorlin over there and continue." Leaving her student to her lessons, Kashka strode across the pitch and hopped over the barrier.

Her eyes scanned her son up and down, then she scowled. "Too busy with your adventures to write, were you?"

Sighing, Fentulk shook his head. "Sorry, ma. Mail don't go easy through the Portal. You know that."

"Hmph," she snorted. "Could've hauled your own ass through it easy enough. Twelve years, boy. Twelve years."

"Sorry," he muttered even more quietly.

"Twelve years," Kashka breathed once more, then she threw her arms about her son's neck. Fentulk tried very hard not to break down in tears as he embraced her in return. He also tried not to wince at her strong grip. The injuries he'd suffered hadn't been entirely healed, and he was sore all over.

Kashka held him close and fought her own emotional battle. It wouldn't do to lose control in front of those young warriors. Stepping back, she looked Fentulk over again, and caught his discomfort.

"What's wrong with you?" she snapped. "Too grown up for a hug from your ma?"

"No," he grimaced. "Too hurt for a hug from my ma."

"Why? What hap-...," she began, then noticed the meek woman standing in her son's shadow. Narrowing her eyes, she asked, "Who's this, then?"

Nervously, but not so nervous as the woman beside him, Fentulk urged her forward. "This is Joanne. She's, uh... a friend."

Kashka's eyes flicked between them. Maybe she hadn't seen her son for over a decade, but she knew a bald-faced lie when she heard one. "Is she."

To her surprise, Fentulk turned to Joanne and spoke a different language to the woman, who offered Kashka a weak smile.

"She does not speak Orcish," Kashka growled indignantly.

"You can teach her," Fentulk said. "We all can. She'll learn."

"You speak her tongue," his mother retorted accusingly.

Trying hard not to roll his eyes or sigh, both of which he'd learned at a young age would earn him a slap for sassing, Fentulk said, "I worked on a neutral ship. Had to deal with Alliance passengers all the time. Had to learn it. 'S'why I know it."

His mother folded her arms over her chest impatiently as Fentulk whispered his translation to the human. When she had his attention again, she asked, "Aren't the Orcs of Azeroth at war with the Humans there?"

Fentulk nodded. "Yeah. One of the reasons why we came here. That... and I just... I wanted to come home, ma." A wave of pain crossed his face, and he looked close to tears. Kashka's arms slowly lowered.

She seemed to see him for the first time. Looking closely, she realized how near collapse he was. Exhaustion and despair had nearly claimed him, and were writ upon his face in dark circles under his eyes and the telling absence of hair. While her son was riddled with faults inherited from his sentimental father, he had never wept in front of her. That seemed about to change at any moment.

Raising her hand to his cheek, she gently urged him to look at her. "What did they do to you, Fen?" she whispered.

Fentulk pressed his cheek into her hand and closed his eyes for a moment. "They hurt me, ma. But it's done now. I'm here, and I ain't never goin' back there."

Curling her lip, Kashka snarled, "The Humans, you mean. They hurt you. And you stand here with one of them..."

"Ma," Fentulk cut her off, holding up a hand that shook slightly. "Joanne helped me. And I been helpin' her. She came all this way... all this way with me." His shoulders sagged and he bowed his head. "Don't expect you to... accept'er right off, but... at least try, all right? Please?"

Kashka's eyes narrowed. "She's your mate, isn't she?" she hissed.

Glancing away uncomfortably, he muttered, "Not yet."

"Well, there's hope left, then," she snapped.

"Ma," Fentulk said evenly, and this time his eyes held a spark of defiance. "It don't matter to me what you think of her. Hate'er all yuh want for not bein'... your kinda woman. I don't love an Orc woman; I love this one. I'm gonna ask'er to be my mate soon as things settle down for us and we can rest. Ain't nothin' you can say about it. If that means... I gotta... find someplace else tonight... for me and her..."

His firm expression was breaking along with his voice, as though he barely had the strength left to stand against her in anything but this. Kashka took a shuddering breath. "No, son," she said quietly. "I haven't seen you in years and I... I'm out of sorts. You go on down to the house... with your... lady." Her gaze fell upon Joanne; though the woman didn't understand what was being said, she knew tone of voice well enough to be close to tears. She turned to Fentulk and whispered something in his ear that made him blanch.

They exchanged a few whispered words, and Kashka grew impatient. "What are you two on about?" she growled.

Brow furrowed angrily, Fentulk turned on his mother again. "She don't think you like her," he snarled, and Kashka was taken aback. He'd never spoken harshly to her; she had to admit it was refreshing to see some backbone in the boy where she was concerned. "She don't think you think she's good enough for me."

Kashka snorted. "She's not. No one will ever be good enough for my son." Yet if Fentulk cared so much for this little bit of a thing that he would defy and raise his voice to his own mother, there must be something about her he valued. Relenting a little, the Orc woman shrugged. "But if you love her, then... well... I suppose she'll have to do."

Fentulk fought to suppress a relieved sigh. It was likely all he'd ever get from his mother, but it was more than enough. "Thank you, ma. Where's da?"

"Fishing," Kashka replied, grateful for the change of subject. "That is what he does most of the time." Frowning thoughtfully, she mused, "I think it is to get away from me."

Smiling and shaking his head, Fentulk said, "Nah. He just likes to fish."

Shrugging and hiding her own smile, Kashka said, "Go see your da. Show him your lady. If he says she can stay, she can stay. And I imagine you'll be wanting your own place soon."

"She ain't my mate, ma," Fentulk reminded her, his cheeks darkening.

Darting her gaze to the woman, Kashka caught a look given to her son that could mean only one thing. Narrowing her eyes at Fentulk, she snapped, "Why is she not?"

"I ain't asked her," he replied awkwardly, taken off guard.

His mother puffed up indignantly. "What's wrong with you, boy? You love her?"

"I do," he nodded, slightly bewildered by her sudden change.

"Well, she clearly loves you." Kashka gave him a most impatient look. "Don't be a fool. Ask her."

"You... you think so?" Fentulk asked hesitantly.

Rolling her eyes, Kashka snapped, "Oh my goodness, you've gone blind. Open your eyes."

"I didn't wanna assume nothin'," he explained, though inside he felt a surge. Could it be true? Had the hints he thought he saw been real? "It's been a hard... a hard time. I took her from everything she knew. She couldn't go back. I didn't want her to think she owed me... that, you know?"

Kashka nodded. "I understand. Perhaps better than you do. I don't think she looks at it as owing you. She just loves you. It's all over her face, with every look she gives you." Sighing, his mother shook her head. "I've always wanted to see such a gaze fall upon you. I never imagined it would come from someone who isn't one of us."

"That kinda thing don't matter, ma," he said quietly. "Not to me, and not to her."

"Give me time, Fentulk," Kashka said. "Until it no longer matters to me, either." She held his gaze for a few moments longer than was comfortable for her, then straightened smartly. "Get on home, now. Tell your da I expect bluefin for supper and I'll not accept anything less if he's going to spend all his waking hours casting a line."

"I'll do that, ma," Fentulk assured her with a grin.

"Fen," she said, and her chin quivered slightly with the effort to hold herself steady, "welcome home."

He nodded, and led Joanne back to the path. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw his mother step over the barrier back onto the pitch, rubbing her eyes as though she'd gotten dust in them.

They continued alongside the stream until it ended at a large dwelling consisting of two large, two-story domes with big round openings on the second level of each one. Like the smaller huts at the Mag'har Post, there were broadly painted symbols in deep magenta on the outer walls. The doorway of the right-hand dome was open, and Joanne could see straight through a similar doorway on the opposite wall. Fentulk's steps had quickened on reaching his home, and he led her straight into the right-hand dome.

In the center of the hut was a stone hearth similar to what was in the council hall only smaller, and the round room was wide open. Above the hearth, a hole was cut in the ceiling to let out the smoke of cooking fires. A table stood against one wall along with a few small stools. Fentulk halted just inside the doorway and looked about him, drinking it in.

Nothing at all had changed. Down to the barrels of various foodstuffs, the bags of flour, the racks of drying fish, his da's traps and snares hanging on one wall like a monument to his younger days of hunting for the good of the village...

How Fentulk had longed to use one of his da's old traps as a boy! None of his own, acquired or built by his own hand, could hope to compare.

"Fentulk?" Joanne ventured timidly. The place was empty, but not unlived in. Though the things within were familiar, many were less sophisticated than what she'd seen at the tower. Cooking utensils were carved from wood or shaped from bone; bowls and cups were made from fire-glazed clay and painted in earthen colors; cookware was fashioned from hammered iron. Every item was made by, and used by, loving hands, rather than cast in a mold like a thousand others exactly like it. They were part of the lives of those who lived here. It was clear to her that this was a home, in ways the tower could never have been. She wanted very badly to feel that it was her home as well. Perhaps in time, it would be.

Shaking himself, Fentulk smiled. "Sleepin' room's in here," he said, nodding toward a doorway leading to the other domed hut connected to the kitchen. The main floor was covered by rugs of once-bright colors, now faded by age and foot traffic. A thick pallet of bedding lay along one wall; clearly where his parents had taken to sleeping nowadays.

"Up here," he directed, and Joanne's gaze rose to the platform that formed a second level. Supports of rough-hewn wood held up the flooring, and a ladder provided access. Eager as a young boy, Fentulk scaled the ladder as he'd done so often in his youth. Memories assailed him, seeing his old bedding, clearly kept fresh and clean by his hopeful mother all these years against the day he'd inevitably see the error of his adventuring ways and come home.

He only remained lost in fond recollection a short time when he realized there was no place but here for Joanne to sleep. In moments she'd ascended the ladder and stood at his side, staring down at the bed and likely coming to the same conclusion.

"I'll, uh... I'll take da's hammock out back," he said awkwardly, letting his pack slide from his nerveless hand onto the floor. "You'll be all right here, I expect."

Laying a hand on his arm, Joanne said quietly, "I do not mind sharing with you, Fentulk. I would not dream of keeping you from your own bed."

Meeting her eyes searchingly, he said, "You sure?"

A slight smile curved her mouth. "Quite sure."

"You, uh... you don't have to," he insisted.

"I would feel... more comfortable, I think," she replied. "This is a strange place to me, with people I do not know. You are familiar and... I trust you."

He took the pack from her hands and laid it next to his own. "All right, then. Let's go find da."

Helping her down the ladder, he tried not to think about spending the night in his own bed with the woman he loved. Though he knew better than to imagine any invitation would be extended, and he honestly didn't think he had it in him if one was, just the thought of holding her in his arms eased a great deal of his tension. Taking her hand, he led her back to the kitchen, then through the rear doorway.

Behind the house, a dozen paces brought them to the edge of a steep slope. His family's home was built hard by the stream, and to their left the water rushed over the edge in a gushing waterfall. He picked his way down the old path that knew his feet so well, and aimed for the white-haired Orc sitting cross-legged on the bank, holding a fishing pole and watching the bobber undulating on the surface.

At his approach, the elder hunter glanced over, but if he was overjoyed to see his son again, he didn't show it. He returned his gaze to the stream, a half smile curving the side of his mouth Fentulk couldn't see.

Without a word, the younger Orc sat on the bank beside Tagdish, and offered a hand to the woman with him, helping her to sit on his other side. Then Fentulk also fixed his eyes on the bobber.

Before long, the feathered cork bobber dipped sharply underwater and came back up. Tagdish's eyebrows raised slightly. He waited for two more pulls before reeling in his line in a leisurely fashion. At the end of the line, a mudfish wriggled and squirmed. Tagdish made no comment and uttered no complaint for the poor quality of his catch; he simply unhooked the fish and tossed it back into the stream.

Fentulk chuckled quietly. Nothing had changed at all.

"Yer home now," Tagdish said conversationally.

"Aye," Fentulk replied, nodding. "Home for good."

Nodding with his eyes still fixed on the sun-glistened water, Tagdish commented, "Got a mate, I see."

"Not yet," his son said with no little embarrassment. He'd inherited his father's reticence; the subject of mates, either seeking or living with one, had never been a topic they explored. Kashka saw to Fentulk's 'education' on such matters. Tagdish taught him how to hunt far less mysterious prey.

"Better get to it," Tagdish said. "Ain't gettin' any younger."

A smile curved Fentulk's lips. "Ain't that old, da."

Tagdish snorted. "Not talkin' 'bout you, boy. Wanna see some grandkids. So you get to it."

"Gotta ask'er first," Fentulk said, barely suppressing his amusement, or his blush. His father gave him a sideways glance.

"Whatcha waitin' on?"

Shifting uncomfortably, Fentulk shrugged. "The right moment."

"When you think that's gonna come?" Tagdish asked mildly.

"Wanna take'er up to one'uh them islands," Fentulk replied.

"Ah," Tagdish nodded. "That'll be a good time."

"Yeah," Fentulk agreed. "'S'what I was thinkin'."

"You pack some food and bring some comforts," Tagdish advised. "Blankets and pilluhs and such."

Chuckling a bit, Fentulk asked, "Think I'll need all that?"

"If it's anything like when I took your ma up there the first time," Tagdish recalled, "you'll need alluh that. Or you'll wish, all yer life, that you'd brought it."

"Little rough on yuh, da?" Fentulk grinned.

Tagdish smiled. "Was a younger man then. Didn't much care. Yer ma reminds me of it every once in awhile, though." Glancing at his son and winking, he added, "All she's gotta say is 'roots in my back,' and I know what she's talkin' 'bout."

Leaning back on his hands, Fentulk found his gaze rising to those islands. "You make me on one'uh them?" he asked quietly, half to himself.

"Might've done," Tagdish nodded. "Might'a gone there a lot of times. See that one up there?" he asked, pointing to a fair-sized island off in the distance. "That's mine. You pick yer own."

"Always kinda liked the one with the bones," Fentulk mused, pointing to a free-hanging chunk of earth. The lower part of compacted soil had the bones of some long-dead animal poking out here and there. It might have been an ancestor of the clefthoof; it was difficult to tell.

"That's a good one," Tagdish said appreciatively. "Got a tree. Awful pretty. Grass is soft."

"Yeah, it is," Fentulk agreed. His father glanced at him.

"You ain't taken nobody else up there, have you?"

"No," Fentulk replied. "Ain't taken nobody to any of'em."

"That's good," Tagdish nodded. "You should only take one, and make her a good one. If she followed you all the way here from that other world, I'm thinkin' she's a good one."

"She is, da," Fentulk said confidently, his chest swelling with surety.

Noting his son's tone, Tagdish nodded. "S'all I need to know."