Reunification-6 (Patreon)

Seeing the men – and women – he wanted to talk to, Jack sidled up to the table with his drink and slipped into one of two spare seats. The old Hanging Barrel was busier than usual, what with the soldiers still hanging about with coin to spend, but there was plenty of space for the guildmasters to have their table. "So, what'd'you think about this whole 'commons' thing the king promised?" He asked as Julie gave him a side-eyed glare; the seamstress was a cold vindictive bitch, but at least she was a competent cold vindictive bitch.

Cameron, the Forgemaster of the Ironmonger's Guild, grunted and took a draft of his ale – the good stuff, from before the witches got at the harvest by the smell of it. "Figure it'll stop stupid shit like closing off trade."

"If the rebels winning didn't make sure of that, we'd be rebelling again." Julie sniffed snootily.

Madeleine, on the other hand, looked dourly at her drink, her pretty little lips pressed together into a pout. "King Greymane didn't lose." She said, making it once again obvious that neither her little crush on the prince nor her royal sentiment hadt faded.

One'd think the tinkers would be all for the rebellion, what with their little wonder witch leading the charge, but nope. Dainty little Madeleine and her spanner, they wanted royal booty.

"Eh, didn't win either." Jack waved off the argument before it could start up. "Pretty nice to not have to rebuild the whole damn city, 'course. Wouldn't've minded the coin... but who'd bloody pay for it? Lordaeron like they did for Stormwind?" He scoffed. VanCleef got screwed by the Alliance, no bleeding question, but it weren't much of a surprise to Jack. Building a city weren't cheap.

Just getting the wall built cost enough to make his eyes boggle, and he'd been in the business for four decades now. No way the king had the coin to pay for the city to get rebuilt.

Quaffing his drink, and grimacing at the rosy aftertaste – bloody witches – Jack continued. "Figure Armstrong's gonna get a seat, he an' his daughter got being mayor on lock an' all. But wha'bout you lot? Guild got an' offer, but Jones is squabbling over it with Merry."

"So long as it ain't you, I can work with them." Julie smirked. Just 'cause he had the gall to court her daughter she hated him; worth it though. More than worth it.

"Got told I gotta sit in. James won't." Cameron snorted and shook his head. "Sort out an election with the membership by next year, I figure. Best way to get someone who wants the job."

Well, that'd be a way to stop Jones getting it, wouldn't it? Might be worth it, Merry could talk to people without spitting in their faces, unlike Jones. Not that Jones weren't effective with his methods, but if this was meant to be a fancy council for the king, probably not the best idea...

"Yeah, maybe. Gotta keep a lid on it, lest they try to take the guilds out from under us though." Jack mused. Appointment for life were right out, that was his spot. And his kid’s, if he had any say in it.

As the others started showing up, bringing in more gossip, they slowly drifted away from their own plans towards who else they'd heard were joining. Some were obvious, like Morgan in Keel and Jody over at Emberstone, but bleeding Anderson? Bleeding paper mongers weren't even a tenth of a guild. Guildmasters, Mayors, couple of the better merchants, an' that should be it.

Just 'cause someone made some fancy invention didn't mean they had any idea of how to run things. Stupid newspaper wouldn't be more than a passing fad, anyway.

-oOoOo-

Coming back, seeing those she had left behind and so nearly failed with her hare-brained scheme, hurt more than she had thought possible. It was all she could do to repeat the same speech she had given at Hillsbrad Fields, to say the same words without breaking into tears knowing that Marris should have been amongst them... others would have to answer the people's questions, prepare the defences, and see the refugee soldiers settled.

She had something more important to do, now that her foremost duty was done. Stepping off the podium she snatched up her daughter's hand and pulled her away from her friend and fellow princess.

Around her, the cheers of relief and celebration didn't fade in the slightest. The joy of reconnecting with those thought lost, of hope being renewed, taking Southshore with a fervour just as it had the fields, Azurelode, and Highhill.

"You did well." Just barely, Mia Greymane's words reached her as she walked past. A gentle hand resting on her shoulder for a single moment. "Go. I will handle matters in your stead; they will understand."

Nodding to her mentor, unable to voice a reply, Calia marched towards the grove of fruit trees grown in the last bitter winter winter. In her heart she couldn't help but feel envy towards those celebrating once more; there would be no joyous reunions for her. Only ones of pain and sorrow.

And even then, she could not experience them in solitude. Half a dozen of her fledgling Queen's Guard followed her, as did the two most powerful members of her expedition.

Her safety, the hope and allegiance of her people, was paramount to them. Even above and beyond her happiness; Gilneas offered aid, but it would not be free. How foolish had she been to think they could be bought with things she did not even control.

Swallowing thickly she entered the graveyard, pushing down her niggling worries – Why her? Why had Father left her so unprepared? Why had she been so stupid? Why had she not listened? Why did they love her anyway? – as Mia had taught her and putting on a facade as she approached her husband, her dear Marris', grave. His headstone still unworn by time, stark grey amongst the lush green grass and so many others that had fallen.

"Mom?" Lianne asked softly, tugging at her hand. "Why...?"

"We're visiting your father." Calia managed to say as she knelt, tears starting to fall against her will. "He's... he's resting forever, here."

Her daughter, her little princess, looked back and forth between her and the headstone – the name on the headstone – and showed just how much she'd grown. "Dad. Dad..." She started crying, clinging to Calia's side. "I want him back! Give him back!"

She understood now what death meant. That Marris would never come back. That, save for her brother, they were alone; there would be no grandfather to spoil her, no uncle to give her gifts, no father to read her to sleep.

The Scourge, the undead, had destroyed her kingdom. Stolen her family from her and threatened to end what little remained; and yet Calia could scarcely decide if she hated the orcs, those who had cut down her husband before her very eyes – left him bleeding and cold for the crime of seeking to protect her from their brutality – or those that defiled the legacy of her family more.

Pressing her head to the cold stone she cried; she wanted her family back.

Her adoring brother.

Father and his wise words.

Marris and his warm embrace.

Mother and her compassion and understanding when she had done them wrong.

Children, so many children they would never feel alone. To be cared for and loved and protected from the evils of the world.

But what she wanted would never be; she was... she was a Menethil, and so long as the merest chance her daughter might sit upon the throne of their family once more, she would do all that she could to see it done.

No matter her hatred of the orcs, they were long gone while the undead remained. Should they remain far, far from her people she would let them – until the day the Scourge, the undead that threatened what little she had left, was gone, she would put them out of mind.

Her duty, Father's memory, demanded it of her.

"Send him on, Arevin." She croaked out through a too-tight throat. "Let him rest forevermore."

The witch pressed a hand to the ground, a single flower within, and all around his grave – all across the graveyard – a field of white lilies slowly rose, flowered, and opened their innocent blossoms to the world. "I'm sorry we weren't here sooner." Gwyneth Arevin said softly. "Find rest in the kingdom of the Light, brave warrior. You won't be forgotten."

"'Till our dying day, Queen Menethil." Her Queen's Guard answered, their mailed fists lightly thumping against their chest plates.

It wasn't enough of a tribute. But the undead... the monsters... they wouldn't have him.

-oOoOo-

Finishing up his surveying, Gulliman glowered over Southshore and bundled away his strings and plumb bobs. Place was on a horrid slope with hills all around, and just far enough from the river to make it a pain. Making the place suitable for a princess to live was going to be a chore and a half to be sure, and damn Jack for nominating him for this shit.

"There's a lot to be done around here." He grumbled at the waiting 'council'. "Port's still good, meant for basing a whole fleet an' all. But there's not so much good space for expanding the town – and there's nothing to make it worthy of being a city."

Watchtowers at the local guard post were a ruin thanks to the orcs, and they weren't suited to carrying cannon anyway. Getting a wall up would be more than the princess could afford even if she passed off all of Azurelode to the Crown for a decade, and it weren't like she had much else going for her, or could even afford to do it.

"Figure we can start with the earthworks and an aqueduct, make life easier for everyone and make 'em feel safe first." He continued before anyone could start asking stupid questions. "Get the royal residence done up at the same time, o'course. That won't be too hard."

The Lordainian Princess folded her hands in front of her. "It is more important that there is enough space for my people than that I live in luxury."

Gulliman snorted, she might say that, but she'd not been sleeping rough like some of them on this trek.

"A sewer system wouldn't go amiss. Building that has to come before..." Witch Arevin waved her hand idly. "Everything else, unless you want to tear it all up and start again. You've designated some space for parkland too, have–"

"Miss," he cut her off sharply, "where d'you think we got the coin for a sewer from? The canals back in the capital cost a fortune to build."

She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Those are not a sewer, they're cesspits." For a few moments they stared at one another, neither willing to back down – he knew his work, and sewers were miserable work – but she caved first. "At least spare my fruit grove, I put effort into that thing and it's good for people to have green space." She sighed. "Not to mention the food aspect of it."

Looking to Queen Mia he saw her nod lightly. "Alright, fence up the grove and leave some space. What next, dig up a pond and fill it from the aqueduct so they've got some water to keep ducks in too?" He joked.

Joke or not, he instantly regretted saying it as she very clearly mulled it over and nodded. "Wouldn't be a terrible idea, but it's hardly a priority."

"Yes, the priority," the princess tried to take back control of the conversation, "is seeing my people fed and sheltered. Foreman, are the foodstores sufficient for the town's increased population? They were raided heavily overwinter."

"Not too bad, but could be better." He shrugged. "Don't know about farming, fishing, and such, but the town's silos are good. Got repaired well enough. Storehouses down by the docks are worse off, got left alone to rot..."

Lot to be done to make this place worth living in, but it'd get done. They built the king's bloody wall, they could build some earthworks and a house fit for a foreign princess; weren't like she'd need much. Fit some taps and she'd probably think they were treating her like real royalty and not a minor lordling.

-oOoOo-

Despite getting to go out on an adventure, a real one to go to help a princess – one she'd even helped rescue before! – take up the leadership of her kingdom, Vivi found herself... disappointed with what was happening. Gwen kept disappearing off into the distance, going flying for days at a time as they headed northward, and nothing was happening!

No broken down wagons with the owners pleading for help recovering their supplies from ravenous beasts, no gnolls harassing poor farmers that needed to be culled, no marauding bandits that needed to be dealt with. Nothing!

All there was were hills, trees, hills, the occasional, river, and yet more hills. All green and wild but just... empty. It. Was. Boring.

Magroth was probably finding lost villages to save, hunting down evil undead, and rescuing damsels while making his way north into Lordaeron. Maybe he found some hidden bastion of the Silver Hand and made contact with them, offering salvation for the brave heroes protecting the innocent...

Vivi let out a bored sigh. She knew life wasn't a storybook, even if Gwen made it seem that way sometimes, but she could dream. Compared to fighting in the war, against the Scourge, sparring with the soldiers just wasn't interesting anymore. It was just too easy, and it had only gotten easier after they left Calia and Que– Mia Greymane behind, heading further north without them. The 'Queen's Guards' had at least tried to put up a fight.

Hours of boring riding passed by, only the gossip of Hannah with the other soldiers holding any of Vivi's attention at all. Speculation on what the Lordainians would think of them making peace with orcs, or whether they even could make peace with orcs.

She trusted Gwen and knew they could, but it was nowhere near as fun as she thought it was going to be.

Looking up at the sky, staring at the clouds, she was the first to spot Gwen returning – and barely even that, as she came hurtling over the treetops and transformed mid-air.

Vivi jumped out of her saddle, catching her, and bracing to land. Her heart was beating quickly in her chest, what had made Gwen so rushed? Made her change so quickly she didn't even have seconds to waste? What was out there that they needed to fight and deal with – Tarren Mill couldn't be far ahead now, was the town under attack?!

"Hi." Gwen said with a wide grin, one arm wrapping around Vivi's neck. "Thanks for catching me."

She leaned up and kissed her, soft and supple lips pressing against Vivi's own and making her heart beat from a different kind of excitement. Feeling Gwen nestle into the crook of her neck as she kept carrying her felt nice.

"What's the emergency?" She squeake– asked as she beat down the heat in her cheeks.

"Nothing. Just wanted to surprise you." Gwen smiled mischievously into her neck. Tightening her one-armed hug, and kissing Vivi's neck thoroughly, Gwen held herself close for a moment before letting go and dropping to the ground. "I missed you too, of course. Do I need more of a reason?"

"To fall from the sky? Yeah, most folks'd think so." Hannah supplied, getting some of the other soldiers to laugh. "Unless you meant to literally fall for her... but I figure you did that plenty already."

Light and elements and keepers and foxes, Gwen's blushing pout was so cute Vivi wanted to pin her down then and there.

Stop. Focus, Vivi. "I thought there was something big happening." She grumbled mewlishly.

Gwen kept up her pout for a few seconds before starting to smile, still red as an apple. "Well, I did find the orcs..." She offered, snatching everyone's attention back from their jokes and snickering. Sometimes Gwen being so shameless about her affection was embarrassing. "Way, way further north than I expected, but I found them. A good ways past Tarren Mill, which is..." She tilted her head to the side, her ponytail swaying back and forth behind her hips with the motion. "An hour’s flight? So a day's ride, the orcs are probably a week past that for us, two if the passes are bad."

"Well at least we'll have a warm bed tonight." Hannah said, to fervent agreement from the others. "So long, of course, that you don't keep us awake all night."

And... there started the snickering again, leaving Vivi wondering if her ears could feel any hotter. "C'mon." She grabbed Gwen's wrist and started walking. "They won't stop until we're gone."

"Don't come back until you're satisfied!" Hannah shouted after them, then started laughing.

Soldiers.

For some reason, soldiers had two settings around Gwen: Willing to poke fun at their relationship, because she wouldn't punish them for it, and absolutely terrified of the magic she pulled out of nowhere. There was no in-between anymore.

Vivi rather preferred the latter. At least then they were properly awed by how amazing and powerful her adorable little witch was.

"I also found something – someone – I forgot about, and got the chance to check up on her." Gwen said after they got further away. "Not important right now, but I'm glad I remembered. We should talk to Lorna before we do anything about Anveena, though; or maybe even Kael'Thas..." She trailed off.

"Who?" Vivi didn't recognise the name. "And why's she important?"

Once again, Vivi felt deeply like Gwen was making a mess of the whole 'the world isn't a storybook' thing, because in what world did dragons turning fonts of magical power into a young woman, who then manages to accidentally seduce another, entirely different species of dragon, make any sense?! The evil and traitorous elven necromancer out to kidnap her to steal the power of the Sunwell didn't help much either.

-oOoOo-

Palkar followed the wind into the outer passes, the snow light with the warmth of the summer sun and the grasses green enough to allow the proud mountain rams to graze upon the slopes. But though he was tempted to hunt one of the noble beasts of his home and take the meat home to the clan, his purpose here was different this day; Drek'Thar had left him behind, like so many others in the clan, while he went to advise their Warchief.

It was up to them to ensure there was a clan when he returned, to ensure that they did not falln to the evils that had come to this world. It was not a hard task, the valley spirits were kind, and though a shambling corpse had found them... it had been half-frozen and entirely alone.

The work of the winter wind was mighty, and cause for many celebrations. No spirit did more to protect their home than that which howled with the voice of a mighty blizzard.

So when a soft and cold breeze, one of the winter wind's lesser kin, had whispered in his ear and called for him to follow, he had without question. No matter that breezes were fickle things, often prone to mischief, to not heed its call would make him a failure of a shaman; though, as the hours passed and the breeze simply did not stop, he wondered what purpose it had.

Speaking of the joy of returning home, of new friends, great curiosity, of growing gales and mighty storms, of a raging whirlwind and a dark horizon... a tall tale from a breeze. Towers of smoke and homes of stone were concerning, that spoke of humans.

And his clan had little desire to–

Rounding a boulder, Palkar saw the very thing he wished to never see again – the pink skin of a human adorned with thick cloth. He fell behind the rock once more he hid, straining his ears against the laughter of the wind.

Had they seen him? Footsteps crunched upon the grasses, heading into the passes. No, they had not.

But should they travel deeper, following the passes into the valley... the winter wind would not come to protect them in the summer. They would not be hidden by the ice and snow of their home, just as they would not be harmed by its chill for those months babes first stepped beyond their mother's wombs.

To kill them, though with the numbers – two, six, eight... ten, ten and a beast – they sported he feared he could not. Return to the clan for aid? But he was trapped, if he led them back they would have to be killed lest they spread the secret of the valley to the other humans. And should they be killed... others would come, seeking answers, seeking their kin. Perhaps he could bring down a pass, make an accident even the humans would not question.

But if one survived? No, he must lead them astray. In his mind he looked for one of the scout dens, made for this purpose. A 'lone' orc living in the mountains should any find one... he would leave a mark signalling what happened,  and the clan would be safe.

With their captive, the humans would leave the mountains satisfied.

Opening his eyes Palkar looked directly into the face of an amber-eyed human girl, her brown hair falling behind her in a great tail. She was within arms reach–

"Throm-Ka, Frostwolf." The girl said with a smile.

She knew of them. And, a moment later, he realised that not only did she know of them, she knew their tongue. "What do you want, human?" He gritted out, his nerves fraying further as he felt the wind wrap itself around her, playing with her great tail-mane and whisper of friendship and companionship.

The winds had betrayed him.

Her expression changed, a slight frown as she continued in the human tongue. Words that made no sense to Palkar washed over him too quickly for him to tell one from another. He had learned some of the human tongue from Drek'Thar, yet not enough. And even that little... was different from what this human spoke; faster, sharper, different sounds and words tied to ones that almost sounded like words he knew.

"I don't understand you." He growled, eyes flicking back and forth and seeing that he had been surrounded. Red hair and light on her feet, black and with a wolf beside her. Soldiers with guns and spears made up the rest.

Friend.

Once again, the wind whispered its betrayal. Could he lead them away now? Do as he had planned without them cutting him down, could he trust that the wind would not lead them to the clan?

The girl sighed and shook her head. "Frostwolf," she pointed at him, "Gilnean. Renard's." She pointed at herself – and then, to his immense confusion, she changed before his very eyes. One moment there was a human girl, small yet with a dangerous air wrapped in the winds, and the next... there was a wolf that was not a wolf.

Sitting back on her hind legs the... girl raised a paw towards him and held it out, her head tilted to the side.

Palkar knew of the Spirit Wolf, to call upon the clan's spirits to fight alongside the shamans of the clan. He knew of Ghost Wolf, to slumber and take up the form of the wolf to travel through a dream and find that which is hidden.

He did not know of any that could take on the form of a wolf. Or a not-wolf; the differences subtle enough that he had to look to pick them out, but they were there. Though as large as the wolf by the human's side, her build was slimmer, sleeker, and with a far larger tail; lithe, not powerful.

Slowly, gently, he took the not-wolf's paw into his hand and she grinned.

The wind had brought a... human not-wolf to him. To them. Around the red-haired one the spirits curled also, the wind and flame that brought forth warmth into the air. "This is a matter for the elders." He said slowly.

-oOoOo-

Hannah hadn't any problem with the witch turning into a bird, she hadn't any problem with the witch turning into a ruddy fox, she hadn't even had any problem with the orc they'd found. That was the whole bloody point of coming up here after all, finding a bunch of orcs and their wolves to give to the nobbiest girl of them all; a princess that wanted a wolf.

Getting asked by the queen, even if it was just Lorna – hard to see her as a queen after teaching her to muck out Donovan's stables properly – had seemed like a shoe-in. More employment, getting to train wolves, the perfect deal.

Standing outside the Frostwolf clan's home fort, in a valley that was chilly despite the sun being high in the sky, and surrounded by wolves the size of large horses and their orcish masters who could easily gut the lot of them if Gwyneth and her nobby girl didn't stop them... that she had a problem with.

Even Lyall wasn't enjoying the situation much, and she wasn't one to be scared of anything. Hannah was glad she was keeping close; these... frostwolves could snap her in half.

All of them, if she were being frank. And the only thing stopping it from happening was the old green-skinned orc woman in front of them reading a letter penned by the light-damned king to try and make peace, truce, and all else the nobs did with each other, but not orcs!

Worst of all, she'd been reading it for the last half hour or more! Was she even literate or was she just making a show of staring at the writing?!

Hannah, despite knowing full well her witch was strong, was not happy with their situation. Should've refused. Should've said no, it was a stupid plan, and just gotten a normal wolf for the princess to have.

"You've read it over three times now. Are you satisfied?" Gwyneth said, some impatience creeping into her voice as she crossed her arms at the orcs that vastly outnumbered them. "Or, if you've got questions, you can ask and I'll do my best to answer them. I was given this task and a decent amount of leeway to work with."

At last, Elder Rokhstrom lowered the letter. "You wish to make peace." She said, narrowing her eyes, which were practically lost in the green skin of her face, at Gwyneth. "And recognise our clan's claim on our valley. What worth does this have, what does the Frostwolf Clan gain from human words?" She snorted. "Why would you humans offer them, what do you gain from this?"

"Peace, for one." Gwyneth retorted quickly. "As for what you gain, it is recognition. Official and documented rulership over Alterac Valley such that, should someone else dispute your claim, saying that you do not belong, Gilneas would lend its word to yours."

"But no blades." Elder Galvangar grunted in half-broken Arathorian.

Gwyneth shrugged and waved a hand dismissively at him. "It's not an alliance, unless you want to be dragged into our wars on your word of honour? Such a pact goes both ways."

Elder Rokhstrom snorted and shook her head. "Your battles are not ours, human."

"Gilnean or Witch, Frostwolf. I will not call you 'orc' and associate you with the Burning Blade or Shadow Council."

There was a hiss of disapproval, of hatred, and more than one orc reached for their weapons. Hannah did the same – for all the good it might do.

But Elder Rokhstrom raised a hand and bared her teeth. "Very well, Gilnean. Your point is made. You make an offer... what do you wish for in return? What does the Gilnean want from the Frostwolf Clan?"

"You have seen my other form already, that of the Silver Tongue, the Great Fox, Lord Renard. But though he is the Wild God of Gilneas, it is not the fox that is the symbol of our ruling house; that, the symbol of the Greymanes is a wolf." Gwyneth explained calmly. "To stand as a symbol of our peace, our truce, that humans and orcs can interact without war, we would wish for frostwolves. Pups to be raised by those who know how, to bond with–"

"You would ask us for our very soul!" A younger orc barked angrily. "No! Elder, you must say no!"

She turned and glared at the interruption, but otherwise did not seem to disagree. "Our wolves are not pets like yours, Gilnean." As the elder looked at Lyall Hannah bristled; she'd raised her wolf herself, hand-reared and cared for like it was her own child.

How dare this– this orc claim that her companion was a light-damned pet! Lyall felt her anger and growled, fear put aside for fury.

"And it is not even your choice to make, Frostwolf." Gwyneth snapped back, spinning about and walking confidently away from the elder – and straight towards a pack of wolves and their pups. "After all, it is the choice of the wolf to bond, not the orc. The orc may merely seek, to prove themselves; it is a gift, not a right, is it not?"

Holding out her hand the mother frost wolf sniffed at it slowly, watching Gwyneth's face closely but not aggressively.

"I would take you to Lord Renard, brother of Goldrinn." She said to the wolf. The air moved with her words, the grass growing and twining with itself. "The Great Wolf, the Ghost Wolf, he who embodies the savagery and ferocity of those who defend their pack. He lies dormant until his time comes again... but his brother yet lives." Her hand brushed along the wolf's muzzle, scratching at her ears briefly before dropping to her knees at doing the same to a curious pup. "I would take you to see him, to see the greatest spirits of this world. In exchange, would you grant the chance to prove themselves to those of my home?"

There was no answer from the wolf save to allow her to continue to touch the pups, who very clearly were enjoying the attention.

"It seems we have our answer, Galvangar." Elder Rokhstrom said with a huff. "Which of us shall go?"

The old white-beard looked to his fellow elder. "You better talking." He paused, mulling something over. "Better for clan. Be safe. Two... Both? Meet spirit."

"Then so be it." Elder Rokhstrom said, then started barking orders in the grunting orcish language; they'd gone through a lot of people trying to find anyone that spoke it, but no one did. No one Gwyneth trusted at least. "Palkar will escort you to the pass out of the mountains. Make camp in the foothills for one week and we shall join you."

Gwyneth rose to her feet and nodded her head. "To peace between our peoples, Elder Rokhstrom."

She snorted and turned away. "We had peace before you arrived. Now we have worries."