Lok'amon
Author: jmi/Sekhmire Eveningsblade
Series: World of Warcraft
Rating: M eventually (for adult themes, adult content, violence, & death)
Pairings: Thrall/Jaina Proudmore
Feedback: Is greatly appreciated
Summary: Something/someone is threatening the tentative peace between the remaining human kingdoms of Azeroth at the time when the Dark Portal is allowing the Horde to venture back to their ruined home world.
Distribution: Please ask first.
Author's Notes: Influenced heavily by events in "Cycle of Hatred" but may deviate from cannon.
Disclaimer: All locations and non-player characters are copyright Blizzard Entertainment. The character members of Darkspear Revival (Kirin Tor) are the creations of their players. The following is written for no monetary compensation or intention for profit. Aka'Magosh.
Sounds of cries and shouts echoed through the canyons of Orgrimmar as the sun began to set on what had been a crisp autumn day. For once, however, it was not a call to arms or the announcement of some great calamity befalling their world. Tonight was a celebration. The South Fury River had flowed strong and hard throughout the summer's punishing heat and the earth had blessed the residents of Durotar with the most plentiful harvest they had experienced since settling in the desolate peninsula. That made this year's Harvest Festival all the more joyous for the Orcs and Trolls that were the constant inhabitants of Durotar.
As the young Warchief of this now party minded Horde gazed out from a hidden balcony high atop Grommash Hold, Thrall couldn't help but smile a bit as he watched his people dancing around a bonfire set up in a nook near the Hold. Taurens had come in droves, bringing the fruits of their own grasslands. Sharp blue eyes even noted here and there in the throng of bodies that the more reclusive and aloof members of the Forsaken and the Blood Elves were taking part in the celebration.
"I will say, your Orcs know how to throw quite a party, Warchief," a melodious voice sounded behind him. Thrall startled, his hand flexing as it reached for his absent hammer. He groaned when he saw the source, muttering to himself that the Ambassador Dawnsinger had surely cast some kind of enchantment on her feet to keep from making any kind of sound when she walked. "Yes," he nodded and watched the lithe Blood Elf move right up to the edge with him and stare appraisingly over the crowd. "They have cause to this year, Ambassador. The spirits have listened to our calls and granted us abundant food and another year of freedom."
"It's such a curiosity how you measure time in individual years," the Blood Elf laughed softly and offered the Warchief a full mug she seemed to produce from no where. "Tell me, why is it though that you are secluded up here and not celebrating down there with your people?" Thrall accepted and downed the drink so not to offend the Ambassador's generosity but found himself caught off guard by the question. "What do you mean?" he finally managed in response.
"Well," the Blood Elf smiled and leaned against the railing. "...I know for a fact there were several members of your personal guard that were hoping you would attend." Glowing eyes searched the crowd for a moment then pointed. "There... I see one of them. Ginta, I think her name is. I never thought Orc women to be ones for girl chat, but she and a few others were commenting abou..." She turned to face the Thrall and paused to admire the completely pole-axed look forming on the Orc's face. "Why, my honored, Warchief, can it be you don't realize just how popular you are with your own people? Surely one of those finely cut females has caught your eye if only in passing?"
The simple seeming question took Thrall completely aback with its implications. He stared down at the group the Elf had indicated and recognized them immediately. Most were members of the Warsong Clan. The Ginta that Dawnsinger had pointed out was a recently arrived member of his own Frostwolf Clan that felt her skills with a hammer were better served protecting their Chief than trying to master spirit calling for which she had no real gift. This one he watched for a while. Like most of his clan, Ginta had green skin and thick black hair that fell wildly around her face. She was stout, powerful, everything that a male Orc should desire in a mate. In fact, Thrall knew of many other Orcs of his own age, either born or raised in human internment camps, that now had mates and younglings. So why then did he feel no attraction for Ginta, or any of the other females scattered about the dancing mob? That wasn't right he realized with a grind of his sharp teeth. He kept finding his eyes drawn back to a Blood Elf lingering at the edge of the dancing. A silver furred Tauren was doing his best to coax the Elf into the party but the dark haired woman was being coyly resistant. Thrall watched the scene unfold, oblivious to the amused Elf still at his side. What was it about her? The slender, lean form was wrong to him in the same way the muscled form of Ginta had been; however this Blood Elf's delicate features continued to pull at his gaze. Finally the Tauren succeeded in his pleadings and he and the Elf vanished into the dancers.
"A copper for your thoughts..." Again that soft, tinkling voice woke Thrall from his pondering. The Ambassador smiled and for a moment Thrall wondered if she weren't somehow reading his troubled mind. "Excuse me, Ambassador," he bowed to the Elf. "There are things I still need to attend to." The Elf watched Thrall escape with a bemused smile as she swirled the contents of her still full mug with an elegant nail. "I hope you're pleased, Master," she whispered and glanced up to see a shadow move overhead.
The Warchief didn't linger long enough to overhear Dawnsinger's response before heading towards his quarters, mind swimming with these new uncertain questions. As he entered the surprisingly simple room he eyed Orgrim's hammer and armor arranged reverently against one wall. Would this have been something he could have discussed with the elder Warchief? No, Thrall shook his head and sighed. He knew that he would have been far to embarrassed to have broached this subject with Orgrim or Drek'Thar or spirits forbid Grom. That left the young Orc with only one other confidant that he had shared more with than almost any other living being. He ground his teeth together as he stared for many long minutes at the carved rune resting on a small table before he finally gathered it in his large hand and concentrated.
"Jaina..."
to be continued