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The song has virtually nothing to do with the story except for giving me a good title, and the first two lines of the song, which are appropriate. I got this idea while talking to DoomHamster about a mostly different topic. Very, very mild spoiler warning for something we're going to learn in the Icecrown instances, but barely so that you'd notice, and references the conversation Garrosh and Saurfang have in Northrend. If you do not play Horde, you can find a copy of that conversation here.
~ * ~
Half A Week Before The Winter
~Half a week before the winter
The chill bites before it comes~
- Vanessa Carleton
Late Autumn, Year 26
Durotar, Kalimdor
Tharg Hookfist was dead.
The spirits around Thrall told him little. They mourned too heavily for the loss of life. He nodded, quietly, to the members of the Shattered Hand that had accompanied him. As one, they collected the body and took it away to examine.
"Let's get out of here, you've no place in the Drag," said a voice behind him, and Thrall didn't bother to turn.
"Someone is murdering people in my own city, Garona," Thrall replied quietly, placing his hand next to the spill of blood. "This isn't honourable death in combat, this is a waste. We're coming up to the first winter, we can't afford to lose so many. Is there any sign of the Tirans behind this?"
"None, they have confined themselves to Tiragarde Keep," the half-orc assassin replied evenly. "Will you be contacting Jaina Proudmoore?"
"I..." Thrall hesitated, and if he closed his eyes, he could see the human sorceress leaning over the corpse of her father, and even over the busy sounds of Orgrimmar he could hear her anguish, though she hadn't cried. Not then. He inhaled, taking in the coppery scent of spilled blood, the smell of cooking pork, and wafts of smoke. "No."
"If the humans are responsible..." Garona began.
"I said, no," Thrall replied evenly, knowing that Garona would criticize him for his weakness later. "She has every right to be left alone."
"As you say, Warchief."
~ * ~
"Warchief."
Thrall set the book down that he was reading. Despite Eitrigg's words, he often found it frustrating that his people wrote so little down. Reading human literature was both interesting and frustrating, since the small, seemingly-fragile race wrote with an arrogance of cultural superiority that was virtually invisible to them, but open for anyone else to see. "Overlord."
High Overlord Varok Saurfang offered him a one-fisted salute, and Thrall returned it. Shifting the book to his knee, the younger orc gestured for him to continue. "Has there been any word about the... incidents?"
"None," Thrall said, his tone betraying no small amount of frustration. "And there have been more, we keep discovering more bodies."
"I'm sorry to hear it." He tone was quiet, and carefully neutral. "Reports from Razor Hill and Sen'Jin Village are favourable, they report good weather and excellent first harvests."
"We'll need it for our first winter here, we have no idea what kind of weather Durotar will have. It seems as if it will be mild, but that's relative." Thrall cursed mentally. We've gone from talking about murder to the weather...
"If this place is anything like Draenor, it will be cold, but unlikely to have snow. There might be a great deal of rain, and cold winds. Perhaps the tauren will have more insight?"
"Perhaps." Glancing over at the hour-candles, he frowned. "Would you like to join me for mid-meal? We can discuss the weather." At his hesitation, Thrall added, "it will be some of the finest product of the season."
"I'm afraid I've got other things that need taking care of, Warchief," Saurfang replied, his tone carefully neutral. "Sup well."
Thrall dismissed him, and waited before sighing in frustration. Garona stepped forward, her face concealed by the helm of the Kor'Kron Elite.
"Warchief."
"What don't I understand?" Thrall asked softly. "What aren't they telling me?"
"Thrall..." Garona said, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "There are things--"
"I want to know." Thrall brushed his fingers over the raised printing on the cover of the human book. "I want to understand my own people."
Garona sighed. "Fine. Let's have lunch."
~ * ~
The squealing reminded him of screaming children.
The cooking pork reminded him of burning bodies.
It was everywhere, and there was nothing to dull the memories. No lethargy, no bloodlust, no battles. Just emptiness and the painful clarity undulled by time.
How could we have done this? How could we have been so wrong? Fingers found the hilt of an axe with perfect adeptness. It felt good, and right. Spilling blood would make it right again. I'm sorry, my son.
~ * ~
"What you have to understand is that things were different on Draenor," Garona began. "You grew up in Durnholde, and I know you hated Blackmoore. You have that right. All of the children of the Camps have the right to hate humans for that."
"They aren't all bad," Thrall reminded her, and Garona actually laughed, and shook her head.
"This is why no one can speak to you of this. You're too good," Garona said. Thrall frowned at her, and she continued. "We were not a good people, Thrall. That much you need to understand. What we did was horrible. Unacceptable. There were no innocents."
"That seems unlikely," Thrall said. "I'm aware of the orcs that drank demon blood, but not all--"
"Please, shut up," Garona said. "This is hard, don't make it harder. We did things to the draenei that were horrible. We hunted them like animals and ran them into the ground. We slaughtered them, their children, their old, their women. We burned their villages, and salted their land. We did things to our own children that would sicken you. We forced..." She bowed her head. "The worst part is that we believed that we were doing the right thing. No matter what we did, our behavior was right. We were monsters, just like the humans and draenei believed. We painted ourselves in the blood of our enemies and it was good." She paused, and took a swallow of sweet water. "After the Dark Portal closed, and the lethargy took most, it was hard to remember. Every day blurred into another. You had to fight to keep your focus. Most didn't bother. The lethargy was a way out. Why feel guilty about what can't touch you, what you can't remember?"
"Did you?" Thrall asked quietly. "Did you just wallow in it?"
"No," Garona conceded. "My guilt was specific and focused, and I was never a warrior. My own sins are different."
"So, why is this different?" Thrall asked. "Or is it?"
"I can't speak for everyone, but the difference is very simple: Grom's death cleansed us of our greatest sin. It cleansed us of the demon blood we consumed. It makes us weaker... and emptier. His sacrifice made us greater as a people, but weaker as individuals. The memories of what we did have started to return. For some it's too much. It's what the old ones are experiencing now. They haven't been murdered, Thrall. They've taken their own lives."
"The old ones..." Thrall said quietly. "Naz'grel? Eitrigg?"
"Eitrigg is strong minded enough that he wouldn't do such a thing. Naz'grel was actually fairly young when the conflict started, and still too hotblooded about the humans to care."
"But there are so many others," Thrall said. "Saurfang says-- Saurfang!"
"One of the oldest, and the best," Garona said simply. "Thrall..."
"Is he in danger?" Thrall demanded. "Will he kill himself?"
"It's hard to say," Garona began, "but the trigger..."
"What is it?" He stood, already preparing to go. Garona glanced down at the meal she had not touched, and Thrall hardly at all.
"The smell. The sounds and the smells. Our senses are sharper than most humans, so..."
"Garona," Thrall growled warningly.
"Roasting pork."
~ * ~
The spirits were only too willing to lead him to the Overlord. Orgrimmar was nestled north in the mountains, protected by all sides. The forests of northern Kalimdor had long thinned, but there were still a handful of places where there were woodlands, and that was to where Thrall was pulled.
Investigation had proven that Saurfang had left not long after his meeting with Thrall, and had headed north. The Kor'Kron spread out around Thrall in a pattern, and Garona had ventured reluctantly from his side to track the old orc warrior.
Let us have come for him fast enough, Thrall thought, fear edged with desperation. We've lost far too many already.
The journey was tense and silent, with only brief orders being barked. Thrall called to the spirits of the forest, but was met with near silence. Yes, someone was there. No, they would not bring him out.
"Warchief, I have his trail," Garona said, startling several of the guard, and causing them to draw weapons with an angry, warning growl.
"Follow her," Thrall said quicky. "We need to find him."
Garona nodded once, and disappeared back into the forest, leaving the rest of the elite to follow. Thrall felt a chill that had nothing to do with air. He could smell something, fire. Whistling to Snowsong, his wolf companion went into a loping run. Thrall let his senses guide him, and he came to a clearing shortly.
There sat his quarry, in front of a fire. A haunch of one of the local deer, that the tauren had identified as 'antelope' sizzled and dripped juice into it. Thrall could see blood -- red blood, without a trace of black -- splayed on the side of the axe that lay discarded.
"Varok," Thrall said, the relief in his voice palpable.
"Warchief," Saurfang replied genially. "Venison?"
Thrall tried not to laugh in relief, and sat by the fire. "Don't mind if I do."
"It is a warrior's meal," Saurfang continued. "A proper one, caught with your own hands, killed with your own weapon."
"Is it a warrior's meal if you let that weapon rust with the blood of your foe?" Garona asked sourly, flicking out a dagger to slice a thin strip off of the still-roasting meat. "Warchief, don't run away from your escort."
"If too many more come, we're going to need more meat," Saurfang observed. "Good of you to join me."
"Why did you never tell me?" Thrall asked quietly.
"It isn't something we can share, only feel," Saurfang replied. "How did you know?"
"She explained it to me," Thrall said, indicating Garona, who was slipping back into the woods. "So why didn't you--"
"I have a promise to keep," Saurfang said. "If I lie dead, I will not be able to do so."
"A promise?" Thrall asked. "To whom?"
"I promised my son I will see him again. He was too young to leave Draenor with the rest of the army." Saurfang took his axe in his free hand, and thumbed over the hilt. "I will see him again."
A promise to a child... Thrall thought, and sat silently as he watched the fire burn.
~ * ~
"I need you to deliver a message," Thrall said. Garona gave him a sardonic look.
"It's been quite some time since I've delivered a message. I suggest you keep it short if you don't want the meaning to be lost when the blood splashes over it."
"Garona," Thrall said warningly.
"Do you prefer throat, chest, or through a hand to serve as a warning to others?" she continued.
"You haven't lost your sense of humour," Thrall grumbled. "I want you to take this letter to Jaina. Give it to her. Don't hurt her."
"I realize that we half-orcs all look alike, but I'm not Rexxar," Garona snorted, taking the letter deftly. "It's not my job to deliver your love letters."
"Garona."
"You're finally going to talk to her again?" she continued, ignoring his tone.
"That's my intent," Thrall said. "I thought she might want to..."
"Talk?" Garona suggested. "Cry on your shoulder?"
"Blame me for her father's death," Thrall growled. "Go."
She was, of course, already gone.
~ * ~
Thrall possessed the best strategic mind that Aedelas Blackmoore could afford. He had been instructed in strategy and tactics by excellent tutors who'd been well paid to keep quiet about what he was. So, Thrall knew how long it would take for a courier, afoot assuming she had not taken a worg on her way out, to go from Orgrimmar to Theramore and back again.
It didn't stop him from pacing back and forth, waiting, wondering what Jaina's answer would be.
On the third day, he heard soft chiming, a sound that he remembered clearly from the battle for Hyjal. Quickly, he moved into the main receiving chamber.
"Kor'Kron, hold!" Thrall said. "Jaina, you got my message."
The human sorceress was worn, and to Thrall's eyes, it was as if she had not slept well since her father's death nearly a season ago. Immediately, he reached out to her, and offered his arm. Without hesitation, she took it.
"I couldn't stay away," she said, her voice soft and slightly hoarse. "It's not... another emergency, is it?"
"No," Thrall said. "Come with me, we'll discuss it in private."
Jaina nodded, and followed as he led her into his own chambers. He sat her down carefully in one of the large chairs, better suited to heavy orcs than delicate humans, and met her red-rimmed eyes.
"How are you?" he asked, and she looked startled, then sad.
"It's been hard, and with Winter coming..." She bowed her head. "It's just not a good time."
"I want you to know that any time you needed to talk, I'm here," Thrall said, taking both of her hands. "I'll listen. I don't want you to suffer in silence because you don't think anyone will listen."
"Thrall, I..." She reached into her sleeve, and brought out a stone token, carved with a rune. "This is for you."
The orc Warchief took it, and looked curiously at the human sorceress. "What is it?"
"It's a... it's a communication token," she said. "If you concentrate on me, you'll be able to speak to me. I have one, and I'll be able to speak to you. There won't be a wait, and there will be no more misunderstandings."
"Did you make this after you got the letter?" Thrall asked, tucking the token into his armor.
"Before," Jaina admitted. "I wanted to talk to you, but there was just... never a good time."
"There's time now," Thrall said. "We have a great deal of time. Unburden yourself."
Jaina nodded, once, and began. Outside nipped the chill of winter, but within Grommash Hold, it was warm.
End