Hey Guys! Sorry for the really big wait for this chapter! I had most of it finished a long time ago but then WHAM, BAM, GAHHH, school and... and... CALCULUS! Well exams are really really really really really soon, so everyone wish me well, and one day I'll be writing the stories for the video games you play. Yay! Maybe I can get a job at Blizzard? Nah, there's not enough silly people there.
Suddenly I recall punchcards involving the gnome king and nightelf underwear... Okay, maybe they're silly enough!
Oh! By the way, I just uploaded new art! Including a lovely picture of Puma!
I Blame the Stork. He's Convenient
Naxramas
There was blood on her hands. It was on her blades, and her white plate. It was in her hair, and on her face. Before her lay the dismembered body parts of dozens of helpless humans. Their faces- or what was left of them- displayed various states of panic and terror. There was a literal pool of blood around her, and spilled brains caked one of her legs. Her foot was planted in the skull of a small child.
It's not real. It's just an image. Just an illusion.
She could taste blood in her mouth, and had the distinct notion she'd been drinking it from one of the corpses. Still, she could not be sure. She was clenching her jaws so tightly, and she might have bitten part of her tongue off. It could be the blood from such a wound that she tasted. Still, the connections that her mind was forming between herself and this scene she saw were not at all comforting.
How she longed for Nathanos… For him to hold her and ease her helpless confusion.
Ketala had a small piece of the Lich King encased inside her mind. It was a trade off for having been able to defeat him at an earlier time. Now she wasn't so certain that it had been worth her success. Everywhere she went, the specter of the lich king haunted her with disgusting images and confusing notions. She could not trust a single one of her senses. She was alone, in a fog of illusion and suggestion. How was she supposed to exist in such a state?
Nathanos… Oh Nathanos…. Please find me…
She heard the snarl of an onrushing abomination and she turned to plunge her blade into his gut without thinking. Her blade buried deep into his intestines, but it was not an abomination that she impaled. As she turned to face her opponent, she realized it was a young man she had stabbed. He shuddered and fell backwards, clutching at his waist and trying to hold in his own intestines. Blood spurted forward from his wounds and oozed from his mouth. Her eyes went wide and she took a step towards him, her fingertips glowing with holy energy.
She was too late. She had eviscerated him, and he expired long before she could reach him. Ketala shivered and sank to her knees, her eyes fixed on the boy. He was only a teenager. He was anorexic from malnourishment, and there was a look of pain and terror on his face. His brown hair was disheveled, and his eyes stared out glassily at nothing. His blood joined the pool at her feet.
She had killed an innocent. A boy who might have been approaching her to ask a simple question. A boy who might have been running towards some loved one she could not see through the illusion. Holy energy seethed through her frame, but she could not force the illusions to recede.
The worst part is, Ketala had no idea whether she had slaughtered a boy. She might have just killed an abomination. It was not knowing that haunted her. It was not knowing whether or not she had slaughtered a whole room of children. It was not knowing whether she was awake or asleep. The worst part was not knowing where she was, or what she was doing, or what she had been doing, or what was real, or what was fake, or what exactly the undead had planned for her. The worst part was not knowing anything, and feeling guilty for everything unknown. The worst part was going crazy.
I was wrong. I can't do this. I chose wrong.
Kel'Thuzad… Guardian… Parent… Daddy! Daddy, save me! Please save me! Oh god, someone please save me! Please end my torment! Please show me a path out of his hell!
She woke up screaming. The name on her lips was neither Kel'Thuzad's nor Nathanos's. It was "Ner'zhul".
Naxramas
Kel'Thuzad was laughing. It was not a pleasant laughter. There was mirth in it- Kel'Thuzad was one of the only liches that could feel mirth- but there was also a haughty chill. Still, despite her situation, despite the uncertain future, it made Ketala happy to hear him laugh. It was his laughter. Not the Lich King's. It was one of the only things he had left. It was a rich laughter, and filled with true amusement.
Ketala kept her gaze on him, but her thought did not remain in place. Her thoughts turned inward, to the gentle warmth of her own body heat. Her body heat. Blood flowed through her veins. New life permeated her dead frame. There, within her chest, she could feel the tentative beating of her own heart.
Whenever Nathanos's heart began to beat, it would do so until the moment was over, and then slowly go dormant again. Ketala's heart, on the other hand, had never stopped beating since its reawakening. It was still moving, as if instinctively knowing that something was required of it… and despite the fact that Ketala was long dead, its hesitant beating did, indeed, serve a vital purpose.
Kel'Thuzad finally looked back down at Ketala, his teeth bared in a skeletal grin. Her heartbeat did not waver. She was unafraid. Still his little Ketala.
Her heartbeat had been something of a puzzle for Ketal'Thuzad in Ketala's first few months in Naxramas. It seemed to beat without reason, without purpose, and without need. It defied her death and her place. What's more, Ketala had nurtured it. She had been eating whenever she could find food. She kept herself fairly warm, and took pains to protect her torso whenever she was fighting.
Many times, the lich had considered silencing the wretched organ. However, Ketala's behavior was so bizarre that he had decided to tolerate Ketala's half life, and had instead waited for clues as to what purpose it served.
And now he knew.
The lich reached forward. His long, skeletal fingers wrapped gently around her waist. The curve of his thumb rested flat against her stomach. His cold aura chilled her lukewarm flesh.
Her unborn child kicked out at his hand in distress. It knew that it needed every scrap of warmth it could find.
"How very curious," the lich murmured. "So curious, in fact, that we are actually considering letting you keep it. And yet…" he lifted a hand to her face, and cupped her cheek. "…I wonder why you kept this from your master for so long…?"
Ketala answered without missing a beat: "Defiance. Lack of discipline. Lack of trust. Anger. Foreboding."
"So much like Sylvanis you are," he said with a soft chuckle.
"I am nothing like Sylvanis, Kel'Thuzad," she replied evenly. "My driving forces may be similar, but my actions contrast hers sharply."
He smiled and stroked gently through her air. "You should be more open with your master. Perhaps then he will be more lenient."
Ketala's eyes widened at the implications of his words. Her hands shot up just in time to catch the full blow of Kel'Thuzads underhanded attack. His claw-like fingers stabbed two inches into her abdomen and then halted, held at bay by her iron grip on his wrist. A grin spread over the lich's face, and he leered at her.
"Your loyalties are very split, sweet Ketala," he noted.
Ketala grimaced, trying to ignore the mental screaming of her child. "The sooner Arthas understands that I serve him as a human warrior serves a tyrannical king, the better. I am bound to his service, but I will never emulate his will."
Kel'Thuzad merely smiled, his claws twisting gently in her waist. "But you will, Ketala. One day, you will become just like me. You will emulate his will, and bow to his strength, despite everything you will lose in the process. You will kneel, and submit, and give in. And you will enjoy your rebirth as one of the damned.
"And that is what frightens you, Ketala. The end result of your inevitable fate. That is what haunts you every waking moment. One day, you will lose, and you will willingly sacrifice everything you are to him."
Ketala stared at him quietly a long, long moment. "Yes," she murmured after a long time. And then, quite suddenly and with great conviction, she hissed, "But I am sick of inevitables." She jerked backwards, ignoring her agony as Kel'Thuzads claws ripped through more flesh. She gave him a look so profoundly fierce that it made him smile, and then dropped to her knees and clutched her waist. Immediately she poured healing energy into herself and her child, quickly mending the damage that the lich had done.
Ketala's frustration and helplessness were so beautiful. Inch by inch, her tormented mind neared the precipice of madness. Her doubt consumed her. The spectre in her mind mislead and confused her. She was not holding out well-"
"You've hurt him," she suddenly whispered. Her voice was quiet and surprised. The lich looked down at her, noting the expression of sadness that moved over her face. "His thoughts… They frayed… Fragmented and broken… His life force… You've damaged it…"
He tilted his head to the side, and she looked at him with such an expression of pain and betrayal that he felt it as a brutal stab; even as he delighted that she was falling further from glory.
"You've hurt him… Something I cannot heal," she said quietly.
"Oh? Shall I finish what I began?" he asked with a skeletal grin.
"His name is Vaiden."
"Ketala…"
"He has my eyes. He would have been like me, but controllable… malleable…"
"Another variable. Another stumbling block."
"He was the closest thing you'd ever have to a grandchild."
"Ketala!" she looked directly at him, surprised by the edge to his voice. His eyes burned a dark, deep blue, and they bored into her like blades. "It is no longer enough. It's too late."
"But you love me," she whispered, her lower jaw quivering. "You love me."
"More that you know, Ketala," he admitted quietly. "More than my own existence. But you overestimate love's power. It is not enough. His power over me is greater. I am… sorry." And with that, he simply turned and floated away.
Ketala stared, her entire body starting to ache. Her lungs and heart seized up. Her throat contracted and released, over and over again. Her child cried mentally. Her whole body quivered once. And then she began to tremble and shiver.
Above all else, love was supposed to be infallible. It was sacred, all-powerful, and undefeatable. The greatest good. How could Arthas's will be more powerful than everything she had ever believed in?
It was a moment of the greatest disillusioning.
Two Years Later
DUNNN DUNNN DUNNN!
Theramore
The Grand Admiral Daelin Proudmoore looked over the Dancing Heron with a practiced eye. There was little he did not miss, from the frayed edges of the sails to the mold growing beneath the stairs, to the slight buckling of the floorboards at the edges of the deck. He scowled in disgust and turned a critical eye on the captain of the ship.
"Captain… what exactly have you done by way of maintenance for this ship? At least tell me that someone has been cleaning the head? Or is thatthe smell I detect at the bow?" The man turned a ruddy color and opened his mouth to protest. "Yes. I know you double as a trading ship. The smell I perceive is so powerful that it is entirely suppressing the scent of dead tuna."
"This is my vessel, Admiral-"
"This is a ship of Theramore Isle. You insult our reputation, our standards, and our skill with the abuse you have done onto this carrack. In addition, this vessel does not belong to you, but to the Lady Proudmoore and her fleets. You are merely 'borrowing' it. Such were the terms when you paid for the ship. I will be commandeering it, and you will be refunded half of what you originally paid for it." He turned, ignoring the look of outrage on the man's face, and quietly walked towards the docks.
"Admiral, this is outrageous! This is my ship, I-"
Daelin turned around and eyed the man coldly. The captain immediately silenced under his icy gaze, and then lowered his gaze to the deck of his ship. Satisfied, the Admiral continued his descent to the docks, his personal guards following him down. This month had been a good one. Once the Admiral had backed up his threats about commandeering misused vessels, there had been fewer and fewer ships suffering from disrepair.
Sailors were generally very mindful of their crafts in the first place, and so abused vessels generally belonged to people who had no idea how to properly run a ship. In a few years, such commandeering would become unnecessary- it was only used now in order to weed out inappropriate captains and to protect Theramore's versatile fleet from damage. Wood was a valuable commodity in the Dustwallow Marsh. No vessel could be allowed to rot.
No vessel could be allowed to rot…
The admiral glanced at his reflection in the bay water. The marsh water was surprisingly clear. He could even make out the pallor of his cheeks. The spells that his daughter had placed upon his clothing had kept him from decaying. It was a great boon to him that he remained so intact. As long as he looked human, his men could forget that he was undead. It made it easier for them to obey him. Easier for them to trust him.
He closed his eyes for a moment and then set his shoulders and focused on Theramore tower. He would deliver his report to his daughter early. It was almost noon. Perhaps he could sit down and have a nice luncheon with her. Despite the fact that he did not eat and had almost no sense of taste, Daelin treasured time with Jaina. The sorceress's mindset was so completely and entirely different from his own that the two could not help from clashing-especially about orcs. It was the little things like luncheons that held their tiny family together.
Ravenholdt
Kang found Puma at the pond. It was her favorite spot on the grounds, and she spent as much of her free time there as she could. She did not particularly like water. Indeed, it appeared that Puma's favorite part of the pond was the mud. Once, when Simone had been out walking through the brush, Puma had coated herself with mud and laid down alongside her rotten log. When the night elf groundskeeper had walked past, Puma had jumped out and scared the woman half to death (as well as stabbed her several times). Simone had taken the hint, and never again considered developing the pond into a flower bed.
Puma was currently sitting in the mud and reading a brand new book he had just given her. He winced slightly but said nothing. He had known that the book would be fated to an early and very dirty demise. Reading had been another thing that had taken Puma ages to learn. Fahrad had been so dismissive of the girl's mental state that Kang hadn't seen any reason to inform the Grand Master Rogue of Puma's literacy. After all, a few secrets gave her an edge, and decreased her chances of being manipulated… and Kang had grown to like his protégé.
The undead girl recognized Kang's soft footsteps, and so she did not look up as he approached. She was too busy laboring through the thousands of words on the pages before her. The book was a collection of nursery rhymes and bed time stories. Although the book had seemed a trivial and affectionate thing to give, it served a very practical purpose. Puma was a complete sociopath, with no ability to differentiate right and wrong. The stories within her book were loaded with simple moral examples. They were easy for Puma to process, and were instrumental in teaching her how to behave properly. They gave her a whirlwind tutorial on how to operate in the real world.
"Puma?" he asked softly. She gave no response. "Puma, Fahrad has decided that you will be sent out on your first mission." After a moment, the girl looked up at him, her meek and terrified face veiled by her unruly hair. He snorted. "Puma, calm." She shifted slightly, her posture straightening a bit, and focused entirely on him. "He wants you to look the part of a human. He'll explain more once you've been cleaned up."
No response.
"Puma, get up, you need a bath." The first part of that command was simple enough. After a moment of contemplation, she stood. Slowly, and with unnatural grace, she walked along her rotten log. She walked to her boots and picked them up. She wiped off her feet on the long grass around the pond. Only after all of this was done did she turn to Kang, and follow him docilely back to the manor. The old orc sighed, once against questioning the wisdom of Fahrad's plans. He truly hoped that whoever Fahrad was pairing Puma up with had the insight necessarily to deal with her.
Theramore
Daelin had chosen to serve as Jaina's Admiral for many reasons. The first and foremost of these reasons was that he was undead. He had recently made a strong impression upon Theramore's people, and had led them to many naval victories. For this reason, they tolerated him and benefited from his wealth of experience. As an undead, he could not really return to Kul'Tiras and reclaim his title as king. In addition, Stormwind was not likely to welcome him. The next most prominent reason was that Jaina had proved herself to be an apt leader. He was proud of her- despite her association with orcs- and had learned to accept the fact that his daughter was a proud and independent creature with a reasonably good head on her shoulders. She was worth serving. The Admiral might have tried taking the position of leader as Theramore, but doing something of that nature would be foolhardy. Jaina had proven herself to be much more commanding in her control of Theramore than the last time he had seized control, and her people adored her.
She had stood up to him on more than one occasion, and had forced herself past his slightly anti-feminist mindset.
However, Daelin was still Jaina's father. When he came to her quarters, he felt no inclination to knock, and simply opened the door to her rooms. He did not have to worry that the sorceress would be indecent. Jaina's rooms were extensive, and she always dressed in her bedchamber.
Jaina was at once side of her room, looking down at what served as her kitchen table. The table was miraculously free of magical devices and parchments. In fact, Jaina's rooms were starting to look more orderly than they normally did. He attributed this change to whatever factor was also improving her skin pigmentation and her physical aptitude. When he had entered and the door closed behind him, the sorceress immediately spun around to look at him. Her eyes widened and she lowered her hand… and placed it on the shoulder of a small creature beside her.
The Admiral blinked, looking at the creature, and he frowned. It was humanoid, and yet very small. It was a child. The little one had creamy, pale olive skin and a feathery burst of fluffy black hair. Her tiny face was feline, with broad, healthy planes. Her eyes were wide and alert, and colored neon cyan. The child's lips were small but full. Her nose was tiny, but not regressive, and her ears tapered to points. Tiny teeth pressed through her gums, along with two minute tusks. Her neck was slender and supple and her torso was oddly deep and compact. She displayed only some of the baby fat normally found in toddlers. For example: her little arms were skinny, and lean muscle was just visible beneath the surface. The little one was stooped over a piece of paper. She had a crayon in one of her fists, and was scribbling intently all over the sheet. The tip of her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth. The expression of intense concentration on her face was weirdly… familiar.
"What… is… that…?" the Admiral grit out with measured distaste. Jaina took in a slow, deep breath, and tightened her hold on the child.
"This is Thrall's child," she answered quietly. Daelin snorted.
"Are you his nursemaid now? Next you will be his servant! I do not understand you Jaina- you push farther and father into dangerous, repugnant waters!"
The child recoiled and hid half behind Jaina's leg. The yelling had confused and upset her, and so she turned her face half into the sorceress's robes and gave a distressed cry of, "Mamma!"
The Admiral Daelin Proudmoore froze mid facial expression and mid thought. His eyes darted to the small child- to its face- to its cyan eyes.
"Her name is Kallah," Jaina said softly. "We were just about to have lunch. Would you like to join us?"
The Admiral lifted his eyes to Jaina's face, his lips parted. Dumbfounded beyond normal speech functions, he could merely ask, "Lunch?"
"Yes. A bit of marinated Marlin, a salad, some tea… The maid just brought it up." The woman turned, heading a few feet over to Kallah's drawing table and instructing the little girl to clean up her mess. The Admiral came up behind her, and she turned to face his darkened visage with calm poise. "Yelling will not change what has happened, and will not make me ashamed. If you are going to talk, do so calmly."
"CALMLY?" he hissed, on the verge of exploding. And then, before he started sounding like a parrot, he continued. "How could you degrade yourself so utterly… and yet be unashamed? Why? Why- How-?" Words were beginning to fail him. "Why an orc?"
Jaina just sat down beside Kallah and began pouring tea. "It was not something I did lightly. Thrall and I have been friends for quite some time."
The Admiral rushed up to her, grabbing the armrests of her chair and glaring at her, his face flushed (It couldn't rightly be red- he had no warmth or bloodflow) with anger. "This is an orc we are talking about, Jaina! An ORC!"
"Black hair, blue eyes, noble and honorable disposition?" she asked, leaning back in her chair.
"By the Light, Jaina, you act as if this were a human you were enamored with! A paladin!"
The sorceress's eyes narrowed, and she returned the steely-eyed glare of her father. "A paladin? You insult him, father. The last paladin I was enamored with betrayed his entire species and joined the Scourge. His invasion was responsible for your reanimation and my kidnapping. And, if you remember, said orc was the one who rescued me from that kidnapping."
"One good deed is not the grounds for such an abominable relationship!"
"It is not simply one good deed, Admiral!" If he had not been so angry, her formality would have stung him deeply. "There are reasons why I trust the orc Warchief so completely! Namely because I know him, and am friends with him personally!"
"Yes, and it appears there are other "reasons" as well! Do you want to be called the whore of an orc by the leaders in Stormwind?" Jaina's cyan eyes narrowed.
"Silence your tongue, Daelin Proudmoore. I know full well what the ambassadors from Stormwind think of me, and you know full well that I am nothing of the sort. Peace with the orcs can only benefit us- even you have come to accept that."
"He is a pig, Jaina. Humans do not mate with pigs."
At this the Lady Proudmoore kicked her chair backwards and stood up to her full diminutive height, staring at her father with rage. "How dare you? This from the man who has slept with every woman within a hundred miles of Kul'Tiras!"
He backhanded her full across the face. She did not look at him in shock; she didn't even miss a beat. Instead she turned around and slapped him right back, earthen energy streaming through her arm and putting far more force behind the blow than she could otherwise muster. The man staggered backwards, grabbing at his cheek, and looked at her in evident surprise.
"How dare you insinuate such things? I call Thrall my friend because I respect him. He is noble, just, honest, and acts with good conscience in all matters. He is intelligent, proud, honorable, and selfless! I have seen Thrall lead charges to save battalions of human warriors. He seeks a life for his people untainted by evil and demonic magics! He seeks a peace between our people, undefiled by righteous hatred and blind zeal! He is a brilliant tactician, a charismatic speaker, an idealist, altruistic, and above all else, open minded! He is quite arguably one of the greatest leaders to ever live, and has never once perceived humans as anything other than equals! And don't you DARE insinuate there is anything even remotely bestial about the relationship between us!"
She advanced a step on the Admiral, her eyes blazing with inner strength and fury. It was one of the few times when Jaina Proudmoore looked completely and entirely imposing, and the person on the receiving end of her anger was usually looking for some place to run.
"When humans were invading his borders and attacking his people at every turn, he took me in and patiently looked over an endless sheaf of treaties and other legal documents, helping me find the loopholes to hold this peace together! When you took over my fleets and used them to attack Orgrimmar, he abided by my single request that he harm none of my people- DESPITE the fact that you were forcing those people to attack him!
"When my fleets were busy blockading undead in northern Azeroth, he sent down Troll schooners to help keep my waters free of pirates! THAT is what a good and honorable person does! And what have you done to prove your worth? You invaded my kingdom, usurped my rule, took over my fleets, and used them to launch attacks at my closest friend, all while ignoring and yelling at me for making decisions you did not understand! Cease patronizing me! Do not blame me for seeing something in him that you are far too blind to perceive!"
She whirled and pointed a finger at the little olive-skinned girl (who was staring at her mother in surprise, a fork half way to her mouth, with her eyes as big as dinner plates).
"That is your granddaughter! My daughter. HIS daughter! Her very existence is kept the most closely guarded secret, but out of practicality- not shame! I love her. I adore her. And she is your granddaughter. If you harm a single hair upon her head, I will have you guillotined and blown apart by holy energies. IS THAT CLEAR?"
The Admiral could only stare at her. His rage had no coherent form, and his face displayed astonishment at the sheer force of Jaina's response. Tendrils of icy magic could be seen whirling around her frame. She had projected herself with such great conviction that he could not immediately foster an argument- only stare as she seated herself and began distributing part of her lunch to Kallah.
The little girl was so distressed she dropped her food and rushed to her mother's lap, clinging to her and shivering. Kallah's voice… It was just like Jaina's when she was a little girl. High and slightly bubbly. Just a baby's voice. But also stubborn and inquisitive with every little word. A thousand confused emotions suddenly dug their greedy talons into the undead admiral's heart. He shuddered, and then whirled around and stormed out of the room. He could not tell whether his daughter was insane, mislead, manipulated or otherwise. His mind was raging in all directions…
And the foreign concept of doubt was rearing its ugly head.
Jaina watched him go, wondering what he would do. Admiral Daelin Proudmoore was one of the single most vociferous anti-horde racists on the entire planet, and she was not certain she could rely on family loyalties to protect her or Kallah from him. Yet she had not lied, nor had she stopped him from leaving. In a way, she desperately wanted to be able to trust him. He was the only family she had.
Well, save for Khalla. She reassured her daughter and then sat the tiny child back on her chair.
Two Years Earlier, Silithus
Orc War Camp
It was strange to see Thrall suited up in Orgrim's black full plate and yet lacking the deceased warchief's favored weapon. A great mace was slung over Thrall's back, but it hardly measured up to the Doomhammer's glory. It occurred to Jaina that if even she was keenly reminded of the hammer's loss, Thrall must have been reminded of its absence every waking moment.
Not for the first time, Jaina Proudmoore wished she could give the magnificent weapon back without incident. Unfortunatly, doing so would be like spitting in the orc chieftain's face. Thrall had given her the Doomhammer. He had given her the symbol of the orcish horde, and he had done so for a very calculated reason.
Thrall had come to Jaina's aid against the Lich King. When Arthas had invaded Theramore, the undead prince had taken Jaina captive. Thrall had immediately sent his people to Northrend The orc had joined with humans and undead in a full out attack on Icecrown. The warchief had rescued her in mind, spirit, and body, and for the first time since Hyjal, the moral races had stood united.
Only… Things went wrong. The orcs did not see the conflict in Northrend as an immediately pressing issue. While they suffered in Silithus, Blackrock, and the Barrens, it appeared that they were in Icecrown fighting undead for a primarily human war. Stormwind had been sluggish to take up arms alongside orcs. Infighting started to occur.
Thrall had been forced to pull out. He had given Jaina his prized warhammer as a promise that his people would one day return to Northrend to complete what they had started. Jaina could not give the weapon back. It was a symbol of the very biracial alliance she so fought for. It was also some of the only proof she had that the orcs would honor their alliance with Theramore.
Thrall noticed Lady Proudmoore's musing and glanced at her inquisitively. "What are you thinking about?"
Jaina blinked and shook her head. "Nothing of immediate importance," she answered. The orc lifted a brow and then smiled, gesturing out his tent door at the barren desert beyond.
"It is strange to say it… But I am glad for Silithus."
The sorceress nodded and looked out across the crystalline wasteland.
"It's giving our people some practice at playing nice. In addition, the Cenarion Circle is intimately involved, and Stormwind is just as eager to fight as Orggrimar."
Thrall nodded. "It's also nice that we have a teleportation specialized archmage with us. We'd never be able to coordinate this war and manage affairs at home without her."
"Oh, that's all I have to do? Well, in that case, I'll call off the griffon strike scheduled for today."
The orc rolled his eyes. "No of course not, Jaina. You're also here to conjure food and water."
The woman laughed and came up beside her orcish counterpart. The orc was leaning over the table, his palms flat against its surface He was looking over several maps of Silithus and trying to coordinate troop placement. Thrall was a better ground tactician than Jaina, but not by much. The sorceress shifted several pawns around the map, and the orc nodded at her silent reasoning.
"Alright… As soon as our troops are in place, we'll be as ready as we'll ever get."
She nodded and looked at him. "Despite all our preparations, things will get ugly long before they get better."
"We're in for the long haul this time, Lady Proudmoore, he affirmed, turning his head to look at her. "This will not be as it was in Northrend."
The small human smiled. "I never expected it would be, Warchief."
He nodded.
There was an awkward silence. It sprung seemingly out of nowhere, and gave both leaders ample time to realize how very close they were to one another.
… He… he could smell her vividly, as if his olfactory organs had been waiting anxiously for any hint of her delicate scent. A whiff of dust and lilacs assaulted his sensibilities, and he stiffened slightly.
Jaina blushed and lowered her eyes, equally aware of his proximity. She attempted to break the silence by inquiring, "Are those the scouting reports concerning the Twilight Hammer?" and reaching forward for a ream of papers. He moved to grab the same parchments in order that he might pass them to her, and so her hand ended up atop his.
Both leaders tensed considerably.
It wasn't proper. It wasn't practical. They were in the middle of his tent, where at any time a scout might rush in to deliver the latest report. Still, Thrall shuddered inwardly. She was so very close to him. Too close. His mind was shooting out in all directions, and his common sense was suddenly melting out from underneath him. Her hand was soft against his. Her breathe caused his skin to prickle, and her smell flooded his senses. He could almost taste her.
Since that day, several long months ago- since the very moment she first kissed him, a terrible pining had grown within him. Her proximity had been having a steadily worsening effect on him. While Vo'jin and Cairne were around, it was easy enough to ignore, but at the moment it was on the verge of driving him mad. It was like an omnipresent itch that could not be scratched- an insatiable hunger- an annoyance that could never be placated.
And yet, he had to ignore it. Befriending the Lady Proudmoore had put a great enough strain on their positions. If the two were to become any closer, Jaina might just be branded as a traitor to the Alliance, and the peace they had slaved over would be obliterated. He had to ignore it…but this obsession with her presence was killing him.
"Thrall… This isn't working…" the orc blinked and focused on what the sorceress was saying. He took in a deep breath and nodded, moving to stand up straight and pull his hand from under hers. The Lady's fingers suddenly tightened around his and he halted, his gaze immediately locking with hers. Jaina looked at him a long moment and then her gaze fell to his hand. Slowly, delicately, she rubbed her fingers over the side of his hand between his thumb and the tip of his forefinger.
Thrall's eyes closed and he lowered his head slightly. His fingers twitched lightly under her touch, and an expression both of relaxation and pleasure touched his face.
"Jaina…" he murmured. He could say nothing more. The integral ache for her presence had overwhelmed him. He certainly could not reprimand or remind her, could not insist that they remain separate- not when he so evidently enjoyed her touch.
She carefully turned his hand over, and caressed over his roughened palm and fingers. "I know," she said after a long time. "It's improper and impractical. It will cause political scandals. Humans will mistrust me. Orcs will second guess you. Peace will be at risk." His dark blue eyes opened to slits and he looked at her quietly. "But the fact remains that you are very strongly attracted to me." Thrall's eyes widened at this blunt assertion, and he looked at Jaina in surprise. She laughed and shook her head. "Don't give me that look. If you could do so, you would currently be purring. You had the same expression on your face as Snowsong does when she's getting her tummy rubbed."
His surprised expression changed to amusement, and his fingers quickly closed around the sorceress's. With a tenderness unheard of in his species, he brushed his fingers over the human's tiny palm and fingers. An electric thrill shot up her spine, and she shuddered.
"And… the fact remains…"she said faintly, "That I am very strongly attracted to you."
Half of his mind knew that he was being foolish. It knew that he was making the temptation worse, and it thoroughly chewed him out for his reckless and unacceptable behavior. On the other hand, half of his mind was doing back flips, utterly ecstatic at her reaction to his caress. And her words…
She found him attractive? It was logical that she would have to find him attractive- after all, she had once kissed him. But as Jaina had said herself, humans found orcs to be "Green, muscle-bound, porcine, primitive, brutish-looking, loud, stinky, and hairy." True, Jaina had immediately announced that she did not find him to be ugly… And that respect often played a large role in how people saw one another… But still… Thrall and Jaina could not be any more diametrically opposed when it came to their physical attributes. It was hard to see how she could find him attractive.
He neglected to think about the inverse, the fact that he found her appealing. To orcs, humans werenaked monkeys with huge noses, squashed little mouth, entirely unimpressive and impractical physiques, and the pigmentation of cave fish. And yet Thrall found Jaina beautiful.
The Lady Proudmoore shivered under Thrall's continuing caresses, despite the orc warchief's smug expression. "And of course, we are forced to be in constant contact with one another in order to coordinate peace," she managed.
"Indeed," the orc agreed, his voice deep and resonant. "It would appear that we have a conundrum." He increased the range of his attentions, stroking over her wrist and lightly down the length of her forearm, further and further with each caress. "Does the lady have any suggestions on how we might deal with this perplexing issue?"
"Well, it would appear that despite our best efforts to the contrary," she began, and she lifted a hand and gently stroked down his arm, from the edge of his shoulder pauldrons to his hand, "we are actually making more of a scene trying not to fall in love."
He quivered and gently rubbed over her elbow with his thumb. The gesture was very tender and sensual in nature, and the sorceress took in a quick breath. "Thrall, if you continue doing that, I am going to kiss you."
The orc halted immediately and looked up at her, confusion and indecision written on his face. It was extremely painful to stop… to stand there so close to her and refuse everything his body was telling him. It was worse because he had no heart-felt reason why he should deny his instincts. He was not angry at her. He did not hate her. He did not have any reason-
No, he loved her…He loved her, and only his concern and his sense of honor were keeping him from sweeping her off her feet and pressing his mouth full force to her own. Only because he was Thrall- and Thrall was noble and intelligent- did he hold himself back.
Jaina swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment, before looking up at him. She extracted her arm from his grip, and then lifted her hands to his face and cupped his cheeks. "I love you. That fact will never be found acceptable by my people, nor will denying it keep all sorts of insane rumors from spreading. I love you. The sound of your voice gives me a strange breed of peace. Your touch gives me strength. The scholar in you appeals to the scholar in me. I want very little more, at the moment, than for you to hold me. And if we decide that this extra risk is too much to burden our war for peace with… Then it will eat at me forever."
The orc stared at her for a long, long moment, his brows furrowing and mouth tightening. After a pause, he closed his eyes, breathed in deeply, murmured in orcish, "Spirits help me…" and then promptly hoisted her into the air. She kissed him first- a deep, fierce, passionate kiss. With all caution scattered to the winds, he kissed her back.
She tasted like peppermint. His hands rubbed over her back and sides while the bulk of his arms held her crushingly against him. Her mouth explored his, her fingers stroking over his throat and through his hair.
Present, Silithus Desert
Ahn'Qiraj
"And he hypothesized that, in fact, light could not look from anything alongside it because no material being could ever travel at the speed of light!"
"Was he right?"
"Who knows? Have you ever gone the speed of light? Predicting that something's impossible when it would be almost impossible to do if it weren't impossible is a great idea. The odds that you're going to be disproved any time soon are exceptionally low. In fact, your prediction discourages other from trying to disprove you!"
The Ranger listened to his two companions speak. He didn't bother trying to tell the necromancer to be quiet. It would only upset him and cause him to yell. Instead he leaned against the wall of the ruins and kept his keen eyes trained on the outside environment. If any enemies approached them, they would be ready.
He was somewhat pleased to note that the necromancer was learning to talk in a quieter tone of voice. Now, even when he was excited, he wasn't nearly as loud as he had been in the past.
"I do suppose you're right," Ras mused, stroking his chin. "It makes one wonder what great assumptions people hold about the universe might also be wrong."
"The world is round." Ras blinked, and eyed the old man.
"What?" the necromancer asked indignantly. "My goodness, you lived in Dalaran! The city is located right on Lordamere lake! Haven't you ever noticed that when a ship reaches the horizon, it appears to sink down below it?"
The ex lich mused and realized that the old man was quite right.
The necromancer was halfway into a rant about horizons when Nathanos, their ranger, stiffened. "Ras, we need silence." Ras grimaced, realizing he was going to miss all of the difficult to understand evidence that the necromancer had to offer that proved the roundness of the world. Still, there was only one way to get the old man to be quiet once he had started on a rant. Energy spurted forward from Ras's fingertips, and alighted gently upon the old man. Immediately the necromancer came under the effect of a powerful silence spell. Somehow blissfully ignorant of the fact that he was mute, the old man continued to talk silently. Not for the first time, Ras wished he could read lips. Once you got past the eccentricity and total lack of sanity, the necromancer was fairly interesting to listen to.
Nathanos watched silently as two giant insects moved through the ruins below them. He remained poised and silent until they had moved entirely out of reach, and then went out to scout the area. He returned several moments later, convinced that all potential enemies had moved out of earshot. Ras lifted his silence spell, hoping to catch the tail end of the necromancer's rant. Nathanos merely settled down again, and went back to watching.
Such was life in the ruins of Ahn'Quiraj. Or, more specifically, the life of a bunch of insect assassinating misfits in the ruins of Ahn'Quiraj.
Yarg!