And Never Tell Anyone About the Other Woman
A light rain falling outside their cozy hollow the following morning was no incentive to emerge and continue on their way. Fentulk watched the rain with a slight smile on his face. His first task upon reaching his home, he vowed, was to make an appropriate offering to the ancestors for this wonderful gift.
He realized as he gazed down at her sleeping face, resting upon his shoulder, that he couldn't imagine a more perfect woman for him. It wasn't something he felt he could do justice to with mere words. Simply put, Joanne was a treasure worth fighting for.
Fighting would likely ensue once they reached Hammerfall. The Orcs he'd met on this side of the ocean could be rigidly warlike or willing to negotiate; it all depended on which Warchief they favored. There were many who remembered being freed by Thrall, not only from imprisonment by humans, but the demonic taint that drove so many of their people through the Dark Portal to conquer Azeroth. Thrall, Orgrim Doomhammer, and Grom Hellscream, every inch saviors of the Orcs in this world.
With two dead and the third fighting to save Azeroth from a fate not unlike that which befell Draenor, that left the Horde in the hands of Garrosh Hellscream, son of Grom. Untouched by the Burning Legion he might be, but Garrosh had his own demons to face, and he was not like his father. The folk of the Horde were only just beginning to realize that.
Fentulk hadn't paid much mind to politics during his brief visits to Orgrimmar. Most of his time here had been spent aboard ship, as far from factional concerns as he could get. He well remembered Thrall stepping down to join the Earthen Ring in their efforts to prevent further damage to Azeroth in Deathwing's wake, though, and still frowned over who was selected to replace him.
Thrall, who had befriended Jaina Proudmore and worked with the human mage to keep at least a modicum of peace in Kalimdor, would likely have been sympathetic to Fentulk's feelings for Joanne. Garrosh, the hero of Northrend, a soldier first and a man second, wouldn't be. So it would depend entirely on which Warchief held the strongest support on this side of the world, whether Joanne would be left alone, or taken from him and... He didn't even want to think about what they might do.
"It is so peaceful here," Joanne murmured sleepily, and Fentulk brushed his lips lightly on her forehead.
"Ain't gonna lie to yuh," he murmured, breathing in her scent. "Might get a bit dicey at Hammerfall. Best you stick close to me. It'll likely be a lot of talk in Orcish. Lot of loud talk."
She smiled wanly, trying to put on a brave face. Fentulk's heart surged for a moment; she might believe she was hiding her weakness from him, but he knew she was strong. Would he have loved her this much if she wasn't? Likely not. He'd wanted a strong woman, one to challenge him. He was an Orc, after all. Orc women were not to be trifled with. His own mother held his father by the privates, in a manner of speaking, and the man dared not cross her on certain matters. Perhaps Joanne wasn't quite so fierce, but... was that required? Did Fentulk want to be constantly at odds, or did he want peace? He knew the answer to that, especially now, as bone tired as he was. Could he have found it with an Orc woman, though? Was it entirely a matter of race?
The thought was a troubling one, after the last few days where such questions seemed to be at the forefront of everyone else's thoughts. Perhaps he'd examine it another time; right now, the sun was rising.
Sighing reluctantly, he helped her up and together they squeezed through the narrow crack. The rain had already stopped, leaving a sparkling dew on the grass as the sun began its ascent over the mountains. Orienting himself with Moke's assistance, Fentulk led the way northeast along the dirt road.
The warmth and comfort Joanne had felt in Fentulk's arms last night seemed to drain from her like water through a sieve as she stared at the wooden walls of Hammerfall. Though still a fair distance off, it loomed like a patient beast, awaiting the arrival of its meal. Swallowing the fear and walking with some measure of dignity were very difficult, regardless that she accompanied such a large and imposing Orc.
Joanne really had little to compare him to. The Orcs brought into the tower were green; Fentulk was the first brown-skinned Orc she'd ever seen. While Fentulk was indeed tall, he wasn't as muscular as the green ones. He was quite a bit leaner, even when he was first brought in, before they began to starve him. Still, he had a quiet strength about him that inspired reassurance.
As they drew closer, there seemed to be movement on the battlements. Fentulk noted the flurry and imposed himself between Joanne and the fortress. There was no question in his mind on the matter; if they began firing arrows, he'd shield her with his body, but he would not raise his gun against his own people unless they gave him no other choice.
Several guards trotted up to them as they approached, swords and battleaxes at the ready. Fentulk unslung the Field Marshall's rifle from his back and held it up for the Orcs to see.
"Stop where you are!" one called gruffly. A green-skinned Orc with far broader shoulders than Fentulk's approached. "What've we got here, eh?" he barked in Orcish as he halted a few feet from the bedraggled pair.
Swallowing and clearing his throat, Fentulk said, "We're... meetin' a friend here. Please. We won't be no trouble, I swear it."
The Orc leader frowned as he looked Joanne over. The woman cringed beside Fentulk, hanging onto his arm and chewing on her lip to keep from crying. It was obvious she had no idea what was being said.
"What's she for?" the Orc growled.
Startled, Fentulk hesitated. He wasn't quite sure what was being asked. "She... ain't for... whattayou mean?"
"She a spy, a slave, a fuck toy, what?" the Orc asked bluntly. "Gotta admit, she don't look like a spy."
"She ain't a spy or... any of that," Fentulk said with embarrassment. "She's a friend. We... I was captured by the Alliance and she helped me escape. They weren't so good to her, neither, so she came with me."
The Orc's brow furrowed angrily. "You got any idea what this place is, brown-skin? What it was?" Fentulk shook his head, confused. "I'll tell yuh. This used to be one'uh them internment camps folks like her jammed us into. Lost my wife and son here. So don't you think for one fucking second that I'm gonna let you march one'uh her kind through my gates! If she comes in, it's to the good doctor she goes. I'm sure he'd find a use for her." Spitting on the ground, he gestured to one of the guards, who saluted and ran back into the fortress.
Fentulk had no idea who this doctor was, but he had a feeling they weren't introducing him to Joanne out of kindness.
"All right," he said reasonably, "we won't come in. That's fine. But can you check if my friend's come yet? Orc woman named Kora. She'll be flying over from Revantusk some time today."
"Oh, now I gotta go run messages for yuh, eh?" the Orc snarled sarcastically.
"I didn't mean..."
"By the Light, no...," Joanne sobbed, and sought to put herself behind Fentulk and out of sight.
Looking past the Orc, Fentulk's eyes widened. The guard was returning with a Forsaken man, his stride a slouching limp. The undead man's face was the pallid color of his kind, eyes glowing orangish yellow. Wisps of dun-colored hair sprouted from his head and fell in all directions, and his lower jaw appeared to be reinforced with steel. His clothes were ragged, exposing the bone of his skinless elbows and knees. Even the ends of his boots were cut off to let his claw-like boney toes stick out.
Ahead of his arrival, a putrid stench seemed to drift lazily on the morning breeze and envelope them.
The Orc leader chuckled snidely at her reaction.
"What do you require, Commander Gor'mul?" Doctor Gregory Victor rasped.
"Might have a little gift for you," Gor'mul replied, nodding toward Fentulk. The Forsaken man raised an eyebrow. "Not him. Her. Cowering behind him like the dog she is."
"Take that back!" Fentulk suddenly roared, raising his fists and advancing on the commander.
By the look of him, Fentulk had seemed not to have any fight left. Pleasantly surprised, Gor'mul grinned. "Come'n get some, brown-skin."
As the two Orcs rounded on each other, a guard from the walls suddenly shouted, "Warband approaching!"
"We'll finish this inside," Gor'mul growled, then directed Fentulk, Joanne and Doctor Victor through the gates. Half a dozen guards joined the few who'd come out with Gor'mul to greet the visitors. They were more than a match for the half dozen Trolls roaring up the road.
Though they were safely behind the walls, and the defense was obviously too disciplined to falter against the assault from the Witherbark tribe, Joanne felt almost no relief. The undead man kept looking at her, hungrily she was sure.
"What is happening?" she whispered to Fentulk, though she suspected the Orcs here knew as little of her language as she did of theirs.
"Don't know," Fentulk replied in an undertone. "That one there, Gor'mul, is bein'... difficult."
"And... the... him?" she said hesitantly, pointing at Doctor Victor.
"Won't let him near yuh, I promise," he replied firmly.
Joanne wasn't entirely reassured.
"Now," Gor'mul said, turning to Fentulk and rolling up his sleeves, "you got a little somethin' to say to me?"
Fentulk straightened to his full height, which was a few inches more than Gor'mul had. One arm firmly and defiantly around Joanne's shoulders, he snarled, "Don't want no trouble. She ain't done nothin' to the Horde but feed'em and heal'em in that place. You got a problem with the Alliance, you take it up with them and leave her alone."
"I don't want human filth dirtying up my base or leaving its stain on the place where Doomhammer fell!" Gor'mul roared, advancing with his chest thrust out. Fentulk maneuvered Joanne behind him, but kept a hold of her hand, as he matched the oncoming threat with a puffed torso of his own. Taking a step forward, Fentulk made sure he hit Gor'mul's chest first.
"Yer forgettin' who's Warchief, Gor'mul!" Fentulk barked.
"Is it you now?" the commander snarled. "Think cause you got the same color skin, you run the Horde? That how it is back in Orgrimmar these days? Ain't bad enough, losin' Thrall to that sorry excuse, now we gotta be fuckin' nice to anybody that looks like him?"
Satisfied, Fentulk backed down, a slight smirk on his face. "That's what I thought."
Gor'mul narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What?"
"Warchief's still Thrall here, ain't he?" Fentulk replied quietly.
The commander ground his jaw and fumed. His tightly drawn skin twitched around his eyes. "What're you playin' at?"
Fentulk leaned forward and said, "Thrall was the better man. We both know it. You think he'd reward you for turnin' this woman over to the Forsaken? You think he'd promote you for cuttin' her throat? She ain't raised a sword against us. Any of us. She helped me get outta there. Seems to me a human woman helped Thrall get outta his prison too. You gonna dishonor her name by murdering this one?"
Gor'mul flinched and looked away. It was galling in the extreme, but this Orc was right. Maybe it was against the commander's personal wishes and deepest desires, but it was also against what Thrall would have counseled. In the end, that's where Hammerfall stood.
"All right," Gor'mul growled in defeat. "When's this friend'uh yours..."
"Fentulk, darling!"
Turning, the commander saw an Orc woman descending the stairs from the flight master's deck, a radiant smile on her face. He raised an eyebrow; she certainly was a handsome woman. Her dark red hair was pulled back and braided in a long tail that reached below her buttocks. Her mage's robes bespoke wealth as well as skill in their fine making.
He missed entirely Fentulk's instinctive flinch upon hearing the woman's voice.
"Kora," Fentulk said with relief in spite of everything. He was moments from leaving this place, this world. He didn't even mind when she took hold of his shoulders and kissed the air on either side of his face. "This is Joanne," he said, stepping aside.
The Orc woman smiled sweetly at Fentulk, then looked at Joanne.
"We are so grateful...," the woman began, then faltered as a sneer curled Kora's lip.
"Oh, Fentulk, I must say," Kora said breathily, and in Common to ensure Joanne understood every word, "though humans all look rather alike to me, there is no denying that this little one bears a striking resemblance to your other whore, whom I met in Orgrimmar not three days ago."
References to Diary of a Mad Gamer Chick:
Kora encounters Karie in Orgrimmar in chapter 31