I am nervous about posting this for good reason. I wrote this story all at once and I wasn't sure how I liked this ending—this is how it should be, and it can't be any other way, but I don't know how well it will be received. So, I guess, this is the story, and I'm sorry if you don't like it.

Providence

Part Three

Chapter One

Hanzar awoke, sweating and startled. His heart raced. Where was his raid? He found he couldn't see, and the rough leather of the commander's voice was no longer ringing in his ears. Moving to his feet he felt an incredible pain shoot through his leg and he howled, falling to the ground. He blinked a few times and realized that it wasn't his vision at all that hindered him—it was merely that the tree cover blocked out the moon's light. Adjusting to the dark he glanced down at the source of his problem: an immense gash in his leg, deep enough he could make out the bone beneath layers of mauled muscle.

Struggling to pull out his bag of bandages, he quickly filled the wound with cloth and bound it with silk, biting his lip to stop from crying out with pain. He looked to see that the point of one of his tusks had broken, and only when he had bound the wound and lay back on the ground did he stop to wonder what had happened to him.

They had been making good progress—the raid of forty was still mostly in-tact when they reached Raynewood. Then they had seen movement along the path to the west: the clash had been incredible. The raid was overwhelmed by the Alliance, and Hanzar had been chased into the woods by a man on his horse and two dwarves. There they had attempted to gang up on him. The troll had covered a good portion of himself with his shield while he slammed his sword into the human's head. He had fallen over, eyes still wide, blood gushing from his skull. One dwarf had embedded his mace into Hanzar's leg before he fell to a blow by an undead warrior who had appeared out of nowhere. The second dwarf had taken on the skeleton, but not before Hanzar, dizzy from blood loss, had fallen and rolled down the hill into a grove off the main road.

Now, when he crawled up the incline, he saw bodies everywhere. Horde and Alliance alike, they were mauled and bloody, and he nearly vomited from the smell. Hanzar had never seen anything like it before. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him that stirred his insides: was she there?

He managed to his foot, somehow dragging it behind him as he hopped on one leg. He looked over the bodies, stopping at every blue-haired night elf he saw, and none of them were as distinct as she—though for some, as he went, it was hard to tell through the blood and gore. Bodies trailed off the road for a distance, and he wondered just how many had been there. There were far more Horde than Alliance, he noted with chagrin, and kept on, doubting anyone would see a limping troll off the side of the road.

When the next day came, Hanzar again wondered where he was or how he'd gotten there. He didn't remember falling asleep the night before, and found himself sprawled uncomfortably on the side of a hill. With a fierce jolt of pain he found himself unable to stand, and instead managed to crawl his way down the incline to a small glade. He felt a tinge of mortality; he was fevering madly and his wound had begun to look quite bad. Holding in a cry of agony he removed the bandage and applied another, thanking his foresight in learning the trade.

When the afternoon wore on he heard footsteps and, still holding a shred of self-preservation, he hid behind a thick bunch of flora, peering through the bushes. He saw nothing but the conversation seemed to have halted, then began to move away. With little to lose the troll decided to follow it, and gripping a tree, he managed himself to one foot. He limped away from the road and towards the voices, which continued moving as he followed them.

After some minutes, when they had moved a good deal into the deep forest, the sounds stopped and he managed to get closer. An immense sigh of release escaped his lips when he heard Orcish from the other side of the trees.

He was about to peer into the glade when the Orcish stopped, and he heard the familiar Common. Perplexed, he lay down and looked through the wall of moss blocking the glade.

Though he could only see one of their backs, he saw two elves and a human sitting in the glade. They looked completely care-free, now talking amongst themselves in Common. He definitely picked up some of the words, for he had been somewhat studying the language the past few months. The human warrior looked vaguely familiar, but their voices had all commingled and he couldn't pick out an individual one to focus on. His head had begun to swim and he knew despite his efforts, he was losing blood too fast for him to survive.

Deciding he would rather go out fighting, he used a nearby tree to get to his feet once more. He made enough noise that the chatter stopped, and the human asked, "What was that noise?"

Hanzar pushed himself into the small glade, sword drawn and shield out. Immediately the two elves jumped to their feet, one a little slower than the other, and the human was soon to follow. However, when they saw him, the human's eyes went wide. Momentarily stunned by the quick movement, the troll swayed on his one good foot; then, looking around, he wondered why they weren't attacking him.

Then he saw her.

Her glowing eyes were narrowed, and her dark lips were slightly open in shock. She had one weapon on her but it wasn't drawn; and looking down, he knew why.

Her belly was swollen in a way he knew could be nothing other than—

His thought process stopped halfway and he fell to the ground.

--

Garoul watched in complete horror as a troll stumbled through the trees, leg completely drenched with blood that had coagulated in a large bandage, and the rest of his body splattered with the same; he was covered with bruises, cuts and gashes, and she knew him right away.

When he toppled over, she had been unable to control the way she carefully kneeled in front of him and drew his head onto her lap. Reich sheathed his sword and hovered over them, while Adelian stood confused some feet away.

"It's... it's him, isn't it?" Garoul slowly nodded her head. She could never have imagined anything like this—not even in the most bizarre of her dreams. "Oh, Gari..." The human knew there was absolutely nothing he could say.

The night elf leaned over Hanzar, lightly touching his forehead. "He's fevering. Bring me that skin of water," she commanded, her demeanor immediately changing. Both her friends knew this side of her and rushed to do her bidding. When she was holding the cool water she tore off a piece of her blue cloth shirt and poured the water onto it, pressing it to his forehead, where his sweat kept it there. Immediately she tore the legs of his pants so no stray fabric got in her way; passing off the troll's head to her backpack, she maneuvered her larger self to where she could elevate his foot on her knee.

"Do you have those bandages still, Reich?" she asked, and he immediately responded, "Yes." He dropped the bag beside her and took a step back, neither he nor the druid wanting to get too close. She was always volatile if the topic of the troll came up, and they didn't know what to expect.

Garoul carefully removed the newly-applied, but still bloody bandage, and tossed it to the ground. "Adelian!" The elf immediately came up beside her, kneeling, looking to her with wide eyes for a command. "I want you to put some of this back together."

The druid only nodded and did as she requested. He put his hands over the leg and a soft, green glow began to emanate from them. Before their eyes the muscle began to reform, reattach and regrow—it was mostly healed, and the skin had begun to stitch when the elf gasped, his spell faltering, and leaned back. Garoul only nodded her head and applied a new bandage to mop up the slight blood that trickled and taped it to cover the bare muscle. She looked over the rest of his wounds and bound the few that looked dangerous, and merely rubbed water over the rest.

When she was done, Reich thought the troll looked much better than before. His elf friend changed the cool cloth on his forehead and left him at the far side of the camp when she went to refill the water skin from the creek they had just passed nearby.

While she was gone, Reich and Adelian looked at each other. "Is... this him? Is this the one?" Reich only nodded his head. "Oh..." He trailed off. "What should we do?"

The human only shook his head. "Nothing we can do. I'm amazed he found us here. He must have been in the battle yesterday. The wound didn't look fresh." He sighed and sat down by his own bag, putting his face in his hands. "I didn't want to deal with this again, not when I thought everything was going all right."

Adelian nodded his head and replied, "Me neither. But maybe... maybe this will be good."

"How can this possibly be a good thing?" Reich demanded, suddenly furious. He rose to his feet. "We've spent nearly four months repairing the damage he did. If I had known any of this was going to happen, I would have killed him when I first saw him in Booty Bay." He shook his head. "I don't want to find her in a pool of her own blood again, Adel." The druid could only sigh.

"Well, if we let them work it out, I think it will be all right."

"You're always the optimist."