Worth Fighting For

Fentulk did his best to give Joanne an encouraging look and nod confidently when she left with Kashka that morning, but once her form disappeared around a bend in the path up the hill, he'd nearly collapsed with worry.

"Da," he lamented, rubbing his eyes furiously, "what if she fails?"

His father paused in his task of selecting the lures he would employ in the day's fishing and glanced out the door thoughtfully. "Son, I don't pretend to know nothin' 'bout what the women get up to in their rites. 'S'their business, ain't it? 'Bout all I know is, some'uh them tests they do... failin' and succeedin' ain't measured the way men look at things."

"Don't know what yer talkin' 'bout, da," Fentulk grumbled. "It's a test. She passes, or she fails. What if she fails, eh? They gonna do what ma said? They gonna send her away?"

Tagdish shrugged. "Like as not. 'S the way'uh things."

"Well," his son growled angrily, "she ain't goin' alone."

"That's what yer ma's afraid of," the elder Orc said calmly, going back to rummaging his tackle box. "'Fraid you'll bugger off again. Only this time, yuh won't come back."

Faltering somewhat, Fentulk frowned. All the time he was in Azeroth, there was always at the back of his mind the intention of returning home. It was the fuel that kept him going over the last several weeks, seeing his home and family again. Was his love for Joanne, his need for her, his commitment to her, so great that he would turn his back on his people? He didn't know the answer to that.

"Whatchou mean, da?" he asked. "Long as... as I ain't banished, I can come back, can't I?"

Tagdish shrugged. "Ain't about that, I reckon. She don't think you'll be able to. Where yuh gonna go with Joanne, eh? To the Alliance? Could be. Maybe they'd take yuh. Maybe not. Maybe kill yuh on sight. Gotta say this for'em; they's color blind. Don't matter if yer a greenskin or a brownskin. They look at yuh and see Orc. And figger they'll get a reward for bringin' in yer head." Glancing significantly at his son, he added, "Been known to do that, some of'em. Leastways, it's what we figgered, findin' headless corpses here and there."

Swallowing hard, Fentulk bowed his head. "Guess it don't matter, then. Dyin' out there, or dyin' here, inside, cause she's... she's gone."

"Aye," Tagdish nodded. "'S'a shit choice, ain't it?"

"Yeah," Fentulk agreed.

"She worth it?" Tagdish asked, looking up from his lures.

Nodding firmly, Fentulk replied, "She is. Worth cuttin' my own heart out and handin' it to her." Then he snorted and half smiled. "Feels like I already done that."

"Mmm," Tagdish mused, "'At's how it feels. Don't think women know what they take from a man." Grunting a laugh, he began arranging his selections on the table by color. "Some fellas I know'll say they take his balls. Ain't so. Got mine right where I left'em."

"Where's'at, da?" Fentulk asked with a chuckle.

"Cheeky bastard," his father chided good-naturedly. "Man finds only one who makes him whole. And part of that is the woman gettin' made whole by him. By my reckonin', just wantin' a particular woman ain't enough. She gotta want you too. And not just for sex." He narrowed his eyes at his son, and Fentulk ducked his head. "Don't tell yer ma this, but I ain't mad at yuh fer that. Yuh done what any man would... any woman come to that... what's been away from home and feelin' alone and such. That kinda thing happens, and it ain't nobody's fault."

"I wish it hadn't," Fentulk muttered. "Shoulda... shoulda been patient, you know? If I'd known someone like Joanne was just... so near..." He glanced up at his father. Tagdish was grinning.

"Boy, yuh didn't even know you was ready to look 'til that woman woke yer ass up," he chuckled. "Would yuh've left that ship if she hadn't bedded yuh?"

Sighing, Fentulk shook his head. "No. Does that make me a bastard?"

"I don't think so," his father shrugged. "Yer ma may have a different thought on the matter, but we ain't talkin' to her right now. What I think is that you found somethin' missin', and maybe yuh wouldn't've seen it if she hadn't pointed it out to yuh. Women got their ways, specially when they don't know they're usin'em." He winked and grinned.

Smiling a little, Fentulk asked, "How come you never talked to me about this kinda thing, da?"

Tagdish chuckled. "Think I could get a word in with yer ma around?"

"Reckon not," his son laughed.

"She didn't steer yuh wrong or I woulda had words with'er," Tagdish assured him.

Fentulk sighed and looked out the door. It was still early; he had a whole day ahead of him to accomplish what he'd wanted to do for awhile now. While nothing seemed to have changed in Garadar, he had been gone for twelve years. Some things might have.

"Da, we still do our offerin' to the ancestors at the Throne?"

"Aye," Tagdish nodded. "You be careful going over there, though. You see any fightin', you stay out of it."

Frowning, Fentulk looked curiously at his father. "Fightin'? Why would there be fightin' at the Throne of the Elements?"

Tagdish gave his son a surprised look. "Ain't you heard? When'd you leave Azeroth, boy?"

"Been here a couple days... maybe three," he replied. "Can't remember. Why?"

"Horde dropped a bomb on some place called Ther'more or somethin'. A mana bomb, they say," Tagdish explained, and shook his head. "Bigger'n the one that flattened that whole section o' Terokkar and made it look like the Bone Wastes."

Fentulk nearly fell backwards off his stool. "Theramore?" he gasped. "A mana bomb? What... how? When was this?"

"Maybe right when you was comin' through the Portal," Tagdish mused. "Ain't been long. But them shaman at the Throne... you know they're mostly from Azeroth. Horde and Alliance both. Usually set aside their grievances and whatnot. After word got out 'bout the bomb, though, there was fireworks aplenty across the lake."

"Fuck," Fentulk muttered, and once again his gaze shifted out the door. He'd wanted to make his offering there, as was tradition. Before the Sundering of the world, before the Orcs became corrupted, they gathered at Oshu'gun to commune with the ancestors. Because that place was no longer available to them, they went to the Throne. It was always a peaceful place, even when several shaman were gathered there in conference.

"I got no choice, da," Fentulk said. "I asked the ancestors for someone like Joanne. I begged them a few times to help me, and... even if... even if I ain't gonna see'er again, I gotta thank'em."

Tagdish nodded and patted his son's arm. "Just mind yerself. Don't need to tell yuh, I'm sure, but... be careful. It ain't our fight. We got plenty of our own problems without gettin' in the middle of shit goin' down on another world." Thinking about it for a moment, he added, "Never told yer ma about it. Didn't want her worryin' 'bout yuh over there. Knew you was on a neutral ship, but... sometimes war don't let you stay that way. Glad yer home, son."

Rising from his seat, Tagdish stretched. He picked up his tackle box and pole, gave his son a nod, and left through the back doorway.

Fentulk could barely believe it. Who better than Garrosh would know about the devastation of a mana bomb? How could he condone such an act? How could he have ordered it, for surely he must have? Fentulk shook his head. He hadn't thought he knew the Warchief well when they were in Garadar together; he knew him less now that Garrosh was beyond the reach of his people.

He felt a bit nauseous, imagining how things might have been different had any of the people who helped him and Joanne on their journey been aware of what Garrosh had done.

Shaking himself, Fentulk rummaged around the kitchen for the things he'd need. To begin with, he needed a small leather pouch, a glass vial and a metal bowl. These were easily found; his parents threw nothing away. Never know when you'll need exactly that thing, his father always said.

Containers in hand, Fentulk first went to the hearth and used tongs to remove a glowing coal from the breakfast fire. Then he scooped some dusty earth from the threshhold of the front doorway. Going out the back way, he went to the banks of the stream where it reached the edge of the rise on which his parents' house rested and climbed on the rocks. Here he gathered water in the vial as it leaped over the falls.

The last item he'd pondered for a good while, but could think of no better source than his own pet. With some concentration, he was able to detect Moke outside the village, likely hunting up his own breakfast. Smiling, Fentulk called for him and began walking up the path.

After a few minutes, his windroc swooped down toward him, landing on his outstretched arm. Fentulk stroked the bird's head.

Through symbollic imagery, he conveyed to Moke his need for one of the bird's feathers. At first, Moke glared at him indignantly and gave the distinct impression that pecking Fentulk's eyes out would be the likely response to any attempt at removing his plumage. Expecting no less, Fentulk added an image of the Throne of the Elements. His pet hadn't been there in a long while, but he knew the place and what it meant. Animals seemed to have a much greater affinity for the elemental spirits than people did.

When put in those terms, Moke consented to having a long feather plucked from his tail. Though it likely only stung for a second, the windroc still nipped Fentulk's wrist hard enough to draw blood before lifting off once more and flying off somewhere to preen and hide the loss.

Chuckling at the vanity of his pet, Fentulk took his offerings to the dock and borrowed a small rowboat to make the crossing. Skysong Lake was deep and wide; it would take nearly a day to walk around it to the Throne. Most people either flew there on wyverns or took a boat. He could have asked his da for the use of the family wyvern, but offerings to the ancestors were not made in the way most convenient to you. It didn't even occur to him to ask.

Fentulk's thoughts wandered as he rowed. Now that he was truly home, he knew he should be more relaxed. Perhaps if he'd come alone, he might be. As long as Joanne's fate, so intertwined with his own, remained uncertain, he would continue to fret. He didn't want to leave Garadar again, he confessed. These were his people; this was his home. Yet how could he call it home if the one who completed him wasn't here?

Very few shaman were communing with the elemental spirits when Fentulk arrived, for which he was grateful. A couple of Tauren and a Night Elf, none of whom seemed to be at odds with one another, clustered together in a focal grouping at one end of the small island. He breathed a sigh of relief and left them alone.

A low table made from a slab of stone had been erected for use as an altar many years ago, and bore the stains of his forefathers' offerings. Some chose to slay beasts upon it, while others favored more benign gifts. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, for his thoughts were still upon Joanne and what might be happening to her, Fentulk knelt before the altar and took out the things he'd gathered.

In the center, he placed the still-warm coal in the metal bowl. To the left of the bowl, the pouch with earth from his family's home. To the right, the vial with the liveliest water that flowed past. Above and encompassing the other three, he lay the long tail feather from his windroc.

"I am Fentulk, son of Tagdish, son of Kagdush, son of Sraruk, son of Nakor, son of Lorkus," he murmured, closing his eyes. "Honorable sons of the Redwalker Clan. Humbly do I call, gratefully do I offer thanks. I bring water from our falls, dancing with life. I bring the dust of our threshhold, that has seen many generations of our family cross. I bring the heat of our hearth, where our folk have gathered in love since time beyond memory. And I bring a feather from my windroc, who flies free in the land of his birth, as I do now. A boon was asked for, and a great gift given. Whether given for a lifetime or a... a moment, I...," he faltered, his voice choking off. Bowing his head and swallowing the sudden wave of grief, he continued, "I'm... glad to have... to have known her... even for a moment."

Roughly rubbing his eyes, Fentulk struggled to compose himself. He was startled to hear a voice, not spoken by one of the shaman at the Throne, but in his own mind.

Fentulk, son of Tagdish, man of peace. You have proven yourself worthy of the clan Redwalker.

Blinking, Fentulk looked around, as though expecting to see the spirit of his ancestor, but there was no one near.

"Was I bein' tested?" he asked.

That you were. You have been tested many times on your journey. All that plagued the Orcs of Draenor generations ago – bloodlust, power, desire, vengeance, hatred, selfishness – you have faced and overcome. These things do not rule you, so they cannot destroy you.

Fentulk didn't know what to say. He'd heard that sometimes the ancestors spoke when entreated, but he'd never heard one himself. He bowed his head in awed reverence. "Always tried to... to be a good man."

So you were. Even when facing hardships and temptations, you remained Fentulk as he has always been – a worthy Orc, a brave Redwalker, an honorable man. One deserving of all he seeks.

Though his ancestor's words filled him with pride, it was brief. His thoughts were consumed with Joanne and her fate. Swallowing, Fentulk said cautiously, "I seek Joanne. I love'er. Can't... can't live without her. But I need my folk, my family, my clan..." He fought against his raw emotions. His exhaustion and weakness from the journey had not been resolved by one night's sleep, and his worry over Joanne made it difficult to remain stoic now. "I don't know what to do. If she fails..."

Fear nothing, Fentulk. Fear... nothing...

The voice faded into nothing, leaving Fentulk feeling alone and unanswered.

Joanne stood in front of the elders with her empty hands clasped before her. She held her head up high, determined to face her fate with some measure of dignity. Her eyes strayed past them, over their heads, to Garadar on the hill. She tried not to think about Fentulk.

Several women put their heads together and conversed in low tones. It would not have mattered if they shouted; Joanne could not understand their tongue. She blinked back tears as Kashka approached with Greatmother Geyah at her side. Joanne could not bring herself to look them in the eyes, yet one brief glance at Kashka's firmed lips and furrowed brow told her Fentulk's mother was offended by Joanne's failure. The realization that she'd disappointed the formidable woman stung worse than any rebuke.

"She returns empty-handed," Magu sneered. "Girls half her age are more successful."

Out of respect for Joanne's feelings, Geyah chose not to translate the elder's words.

"I remember your trial," Agunta chuckled. "You stirred up such a maelstrom with your clumsiness, you were forced to slay half the herd to secure the foal."

Magu shrugged unconcernedly. "I got the foal. That cannot be denied."

"You know that is not the purpose of the trial," Geyah reminded her reproachfully. Magu folded her arms defiantly over her chest and turned her back on the Greatmother. Narrowing her eyes, Geyah declared, "Magu, your voice will no longer be heard in this."

The old woman merely glanced hatefully over her shoulder, snorted, and looked away again.

Sighing, Geyah gestured to Agunta. "You may proceed, eldest of the Redwalker."

Agunta nodded and approached Joanne. Standing in front of the nervous woman, she glanced at Geyah to make sure the elder shaman was prepared.

"We will hear your words," Geyah translated as Agunta spoke. Joanne met the elder's eyes. "What were your instructions, child?"

Though she held herself rigid and seemingly proud, the woman was clearly close to tears. Joanne swallowed and licked her parched lips, then took a deep breath. "I was told to fetch a talbuk foal."

"That is correct," Agunta nodded. "Yet you return without. Explain."

For a moment, Joanne could almost hear once more the slamming of the cell door in the tower. With every clang of the metal door, she feared her next visit would find Fentulk closer to death, or already there. Though it was cruel, what the men were doing to torment him, she almost looked forward to being called forth and brought into the cell, if only for the great relief she felt in seeing that he remained alive and within reach.

The remembered sound now seemed to tell her she was already beyond hope of ever seeing him again.

Shaking herself, she replied huskily, "It is not my way... to tear a child from the arms of its mother. That... the child was an animal... made no difference. It... it cried. It's mother... so peaceful... was enraged. I could not... I just could not." Bowing her head, Joanne bit her lip to keep it from trembling.

Geyah repeated her words for the elders, who conferred once more. Kashka, maintaining as indifferent a manner as she could, still managed to appear hostile and angry though she felt neither of these things. Agunta exchanged a look with Fentulk's mother and nodded.

"What consequences did you believe would result from failure in this task?" Agunta asked through Geyah. A whimper escaped the woman and she covered her mouth with her hand.

Joanne took several moments to compose herself, for her grief was already upon her. "I... am to be... cast out," she replied shakily, "lest I bring shame upon... upon Fentulk."

Agunta's face remained passive as she said, "If you believed this would be the result, why did you set the foal free?"

"It is not... my way," Joanne whispered, "to commit such a terrible wrong against another. Not even... my love for Fentulk is great enough to... to alter that simple truth." Drawing a shuddering breath, she raised her eyes to meet Kashka's. "I hope he can forgive me. I would not shame him in the eyes of his people. He deserves better than that."

When Kashka heard Geyah speak Joanne's words, she turned away quickly to hide her expression. My son is no fool, she thought fiercely, blinking back tears. He chose well.

"Agunta, what say you?" Kashka asked stiffly, her jaw clenched.

The eldest Redwalker nodded. "I am satisfied," she said. "She maintained her honor as befits a Redwalker. It would stain our honor to demand she abandon her own for the sake of our people. That she embraced it and held it close, in defiance of what she believed would be the outcome of her choice, speaks of strength as well as honor. She has my support."

Several others of the elder women assembled nodded in agreement. Though not all Redwalker, they had no quarrel with Joanne's performance in the trial. The only one among them who openly disagreed was Magu, but because her vote had been removed by the Greatmother herself, she knew better than to break her silence and speak.

Geyah now turned to the distraught Joanne and lifted her chin with a gentle hand. "Joanne, do not despair, for you have fulfilled the trial. The Redwalker Clan embraces you as one of their own."

Blinking in confusion, Joanne's eyes darted from one elder to another. "I am... I am... I may stay? With Fentulk, I may stay?" she gasped breathlessly, hardly daring to succumb to joy.

"Yes," Geyah smiled. "You have been found worthy of the Redwalker Clan, the Mag'har, and undoubtedly," she said, glancing at Kashka, "of Fentulk."

"Tell her," Kashka said brusquely, swallowing awkwardly to hide how unexpectedly pleased she was by the outcome of the trial. "Tell her what is next."

Geyah nodded and took Joanne's hand. "Now you will be marked as Redwalker. Come, child, and prepare yourself."

Still bewildered by her unexpected success, Joanne followed in a haze as the procession made its way back to the council hall. A great weight seemed to lift from her shoulders and her stomach. She would see Fentulk again. This time when she went to him, nothing could part her from him.

Unsure what to think of the ancestor's words, Fentulk gathered his things and rowed the boat back across the lake. He wanted to believe the cryptic words meant that no matter what task was set before Joanne, she would master it. To think otherwise would show his lack of faith in her. Had she not already surprised him several times?

Remembering how she shielded Brogor, an Orc she didn't know who simply needed help, brought an admiring smile to his face. Recalling her fire as she scolded the Draenei made him swell with pride. She was a good woman, a strong woman, and most definitely a worthy one. How could his folk not embrace her?

They couldn't. That must be what his ancestor was telling him. They would test her, see her worth, and name her Redwalker. Might they also apply the tattoos? His body shivered with longing, hoping they would. It would mean she was accepted by all the Mag'har. None would question her presence in Garadar, and none would challenge his desire to have her as a mate.

The boat bumped against the shore, interrupting Fentulk's fond thoughts. He tied off the boat and climbed onto the dock. A growling voice startled him.

"Yer back."

Recognition soared through Fentulk. Grinning widely, he said, "Rugak! I thought you left for Mok'Nathal long ago!" As he advanced to clasp his old friend's hand, Fentulk faltered and slowed. His brow furrowed. "Rugak?"

"'S'it true?" Rugak snarled. "What they're all sayin'? You brought a human back for a mate?"

The breath rushed out of Fentulk's lungs. He'd never seen such hostility on his childhood friend's face. Never seen such hatred.

"Aye," Fentulk said warily. "I did."

Rugak growled, "Traitorous filth." Curling his lip with disgust, he pulled back his fist and punched Fentulk in the face.