Reunification - 7 (Patreon)

Decided I didn't like Rokhstrom's section and rewrote it. Next chapter is going to be late in the day as a result.

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"Don't wear her out, ya hear." Robin ordered, leaning on the new fence as a James-led Hazel plodded in a steady circle. Getting the new machine from his niece had been nice, a fancy thing with a proper steel frame and more moving parts than he could count, but... it worked. At least when someone didn't start slacking off. "Oi, Todd, stop watching and keep shovelling."

"Ayep, boss." Todd tossed another pitchfork full of wheat into the grinding maws of the thresher.

Bite after bite ate up the stalks, tearing them apart faster than a team of a dozen men could, then spit them out onto a shaking sieve. He didn't quite get how it got them all to move along down to the end, but the holes were small enough for the grains to fall through – simple winnowing that. The odd half-screw that blew air somehow even made it a windy day so the chaff got tossed out the side; good for animal feed. Then there was all the straw, chewed up and spat out, falling out the end.

Robin couldn't help but frown at the sight. It weren't bad, and he appreciated the gift, but... he had good folks he had to keep working. Little ones who relied on the work he offered to eat and stay warm; most of their pas would be on threshing duty, barely keeping up with the harvest as it came in.

Now, one horse, led by one lad, and one other feeding it... were doing the work of dozens of grown men and half a dozen kids all at once. He'd trebled the boys bringing in the harvest and still it was keeping up.

They'd be done within a few days, not a few weeks like normal. And he had to figure out how to keep his folks employed through the rest of the harvest season – barley weren't ready yet, and the veg still needed plucking from the ground and all, but grains were the hardest and longest work. Were being the important bit; they weren't anymore.

"Makes a man wonder what it'd do to his hand, it does." Todd said as he tossed another load in. "You think it'd enjoy the taste o' blood?"

Robin clicked his tongue. "Don't even think about it. Probably eat you whole and we'd have a right mess to clean up. Don' think Gwyneth'd enjoy learning her work got someone killed, neither." Though maybe he didn't know her so well anymore. Been too long since he saw her, well before this whole rebellion thing happened.

Since before Tom died.

Thank the Light and Raven both that his wife and daughters got out okay. Tom... Tom wouldn't have lived with himself if they'd gone and he hadn't.

His frown deepening, Robin started meandering between memories of his dead brother and what he might do to keep everyone from running out of work to do. Orchards were a lot of work come picking season, or he could put land under plough... not that there was much good land left that weren't already. Not for miles out around Keel. Tom wouldn't have wanted his own farm, but Markus would... and then he could pass the farm to little Daniel since his girls weren't gonna be farmers.

'Course, couldn't have Markus go too far. They were kin and there weren't enough of them around to go wandering the world.

Would Rosa want to go to Dalaran? But the place was gone now. Back to the wall with the rest of the mages? Emmaline weren't so keen on leaving anymore, at least, scared like she was. But she were a witch like her ma' and cousin, not a farmer.

Round and round Hazel went, much like his thoughts, until a raven honked irritably from beside him. Startling he fell back on his bum – much to Todd's amusement atop the machine.

"Spooked by yer own wife payin' ya a visit!" He chortled.

"That ain't funny, Cele." Robin grumbled good-naturedly at the bird, glad to see her turn back into the woman he loved. "Give a man a fit doing that, you will." Learning she could turn into a bird was more witchy weirdness, but he didn't mind it much. Meant she came home more often.

"It isn't my fault you were brooding when I returned." She sniffed, a smile playing at her lips showing the derision to be the lie it was. She held out a hand to help him up. "Dark thoughts for bright days."

Chuckling, Robin shook his head and took it. "Just thinking o' what Gwyneth gave us. Gonna make changes, lot of 'em, and I want to see everyone do well from it."

For some reason, the mention of their clever niece made his wife scowl. "Yes, changes." She huffed, reaching into her pouch and pulling out a rumpled sheaf of papers. "So many changes, and many of them madness. See for yourself."

It weren't the first newspaper he'd seen. Some had started showing up in Keel lately, the big one about the coronation and the king's speech, but seeing the big emblazoned Gilnean Herald across the top still impressed him. Writing didn't need to be neat nor pretty, but they managed it.

Still, it was the stories that were important. And it didn't take long to see the one that riled his wife up.

King proposes peace treaty with noble orcish clan!

As all good Gilneans know the vile orcish hordes waged horrid war across the continents more than a decade ago, laying to waste the Kingdom of Stormwind in the First War and beggaring the Kingdom of Lordaeron in the Second War. Even the nearby city of Dalaran was sacked by their foul clans and their allies.

Yet, our noble and peace-seeking King Liam has learned of an orcish clan that took part in neither of these wars! Indeed, according to those close to the king he has been informed that they faced exile – even assassination! – for failing to follow in the savage and evil footsteps of their kin. With the dangers of the undead lingering beyond our borders, and other threats lingering upon the horizon, King Liam has asked those of his noble House of Lords and honourable House of Commons whether Gilneas should seek peace with these orcs.

"As the Northgate Charter decrees, the Crown cannot make this decision alone. It is the prerogative of the Gilnean People to decide whether this is a path worth pursuing, but I believe we all know the value of peace."

- King Liam Greymane

Some vocal detractors sought to undermine the king's message, pointing to the undeclared war upon both the worgen and undead beyond the Greymane Wall, but others backed up his position.

Lord Landel of Aven-Cross had this to say:

"When one considers the orcs, they must consider that they are not all alike. No more than we are like the treacherous Alteraci; if there can be bad humans, and we all know they are plentiful beyond our borders, there must be some good orcs. It simply stands to reason."

- Lord Armund Landel

In the end the vote was a close one in the House of Lords. Of the five hundred members of the peerage two-hundred and sixty-seven voted for the king's proposal, while two hundred and thirty-four voted against. In the House of Commons, the result was reversed – though more starkly.

"Yeah, I see it." Robin sighed, skimming over the rest of the paper which dealt with all the 'benefits' trade with the orcs would bring. Rare ores from Alterac, furs and pelts from mountain beasts, captive markets for Gilnean steel to make up for the loss of Lordaeron.

It all went over his head. Life was simpler when orcs were monsters and not people, changing that was... strange. It'd be like thinking gnolls, baby-eating savages that they were, deserved thoughts of kindness.

"I voted against. I even sought the aid of the church, but Rowan denied me –  that fool cares more for tolerance and reconciliation than good sense." Celestine grumbled, her brow creasing deeply as she scowled at the absent archbishop. "What was going through that girl's mind when she put them up to this... the orcs are practically demons."

Robin slung his arm over her shoulder and pulled her close. "Can't say they're not." He offered placatingly. He didn't hate them like she did, didn't lose any family to them the way she did to make it hurt. "But done's done. They ain't coming here – an' if they do, you'll put 'em to rights. Right?"

She smiled at the thought, probably something vicious. "Right. Yes. Now, husband, it has been a long few days... would you mind having a bath drawn for me?"

Well, there were plenty of people to throw at that. Not like he needed them for the harvest... and there were those thoughts again, though they were mixed with the idea of a clean and happy wife too. That were never a bad thing.

-oOoOo-

Steel met steel, a blow barely blocked as it swept dangerously close to Vivi's head and cast severed strands of her hair to the wind. With a hiss she pushed away, her muscles straining, and forced the old orc away as she regained her distance; where every movement from the knights she’d fought against whispered in the wind, revealing their every movement to her, here there was nothing.

Galvangar's footsteps were silent atop the grasses of the hill, his movements crisp and empty of the intent she was so used to. Watching as he readied his blade before him again, she still couldn't feel the wind stir, no sign, no touch, just... threat. A feeling of death staring her in the eye.

And it made her feel more alive than ever.

"I told you, faster." Galvangar rumbled lowly, his tusked mouth mauling the words, with none of the grace with which he wielded his sword. "Move like wind. Walk on air, not earth. Feel it. Trust it. Know it. Only then can one walk with wind." To prove his point he blurred, a haze washing over him and leaving nothing more than a shimmering distortion as he surged forward and thrust for her neck once more.

Though her heart beat in her chest at the thrill, Vivi kept her breathing steady; even and controlled. He had surprised her, but that wouldn't happen again – he knew the wind, felt it, listened to it. Just like she did, like Gwen had taught her; it had made her strong, but that wasn't all she could do. The energy that pulsed with every breath, with every beat of her heart, the very life she lived, she drew it out and filled her veins with it. To lighten her steps, to strengthen her arms, to loosen her body, and to fuel her movements.

Her sword caught his, but she did not simply parry. Following the flow of his sword she danced aside, all the weight that bore down upon her from his strike running through her body; from her blade, through her arms and chest, down to her legs.

Pirouetting atop one leg she kicked with the other, landing a counter-strike upon his chest that knocked him back.

He didn't stumble, holding his balance as he fell back, but it was an opening. Feet scarcely touching the ground, she swept towards him, her blade singing with the air it cut and catching the dew that parted around it – and paused inches from his side, the sheath of water falling away as she aborted the strike that would see him bleeding.

"Point to me." She said calmly, her face placid as she took in her first victory over the old Blademaster.

It lasted for all of a few seconds; as Gwen and the others started to clap her face split open in a broad grin that made the elation and thrill she felt apparent to all.

Galvanger looked to the blade at his side, one hand held to the orange bruise forming on his chest, and grunted. "Your victory, Red-Mist." He didn't grin, but there was clear satisfaction from a good fight in his voice and on his face. "Well fought."

From behind, Gwen's arms wrapped around her in a hug. Her fiancee's warm body pressed into her and made her feel even more giddy. "You're amazing, Vivi. I couldn't even see you move."

"Almost. A moment, half-sight." Galvangar offered, his lips curling downward for a moment before he shrugged. "Almost."

"That is high praise from a blademaster. Were you of the clan, there would be an apprenticeship from one of the elders." Rokhstrom nodded her head at her from where she sat beside the wolves. "Our differences aside, it is good to see others that heed the elements of this world. Each day I think this less of a trick." Her head tilted alongside the wolves. "Riders; horses and men. Humans."

Gwen buried her head into Vivi's hair, breathing deep as she tightened her hug – leaving Vivi with a desire to burn off the rest of her energy another way – and hummed. "That's them. Seems like Darius' is already set for playing diplomat, he's with them."

As Gwen let go and pulled away, Vivi felt a flare of disappointment but pushed it aside. Seeing Lord Crowley would be good; even if Howard said he was fine with what happened, she still felt bad for him. Lorna hadn't just messed with Gwen, she'd done it to her own father! Getting the role of chief diplomat was the least he deserved for saving the kingdom from bloody Genn Greymane and his stupidity. If it wasn't for him... she didn't know what would've happened all that well, but it would've been bad!

He was the one who actually listened to Gwen, after all. And maybe he could make Lorna apologise for what she did; Gwen wasn't going to, and slapping her hadn't done much.

With the arrival of their escort imminent, they quickly packed up what little made up their camp. It was stupid and silly, they didn't need anyone to keep them safe as they brought the orcs to the Blackwald and Tal'Doren to meet the Great Fox; they'd avoided all the towns in Hillsbrad and would be doing so here too. It was just easier.

If they ever needed anything from a village in the way of supplies, Hannah and the others could be sent to get it for them, but the wolves were good enough at hunting it really hadn't been necessary so far. Not that eating bear was particularly nice as meals went.

But the raven had asked them to wait, so they waited.

"Good afternoon, Gwyneth." Lord Crowley called out as he rode up on his horse, his eyes roving over them and noting the cloaked figures of Rokhstrom and Galvangar. "I presume these are our guests. Might you introduce us?"

"Good afternoon, Darius." Gwen nodded to him, then gestured between the orcs and Lord Crowley. "Elder Rokhstrom, Galvangar, this is Lord Darius Crowley; father of Queen Lorna Greymane and my liege. Lord Crowley, these are Elder Rokhstrom, Shaman of the Frostwolves, and Galvangar, Blademaster of the Frostwolves. With them are Mother Shornfang, Father Frozen-Fur, and their pups."

Hearing their names, Shornfang and Frozen-Fur both stood, each of equal height to Darius' horse; the dappled mare backing up and rearing her head as the predators made themselves known.

Had Gwen not moved up to calm her, rubbing at her neck and murmuring softly in the Old Tongue that made her sound so magical, the horse might have tried to throw Darius from her back and run; as it was, the other riders with him had trouble keeping their mounts steady, too.

At the sight, the orcs lowered their hoods. Galvangar then crossed his arms and grunted disdainfully, which earned him an elbow to the ribs from Rokhstrom, but the Elder was the one to speak. "Well met, Lord of Crowley." She said with her hands held folded before her. "We welcome you on our journey to visit the Great Fox and your words of peace."

"Well met indeed." Lord Crowley replied, nodding his head. "However, I must inform you that Their Majesties have bid that you be brought to speak with them in the capital." Vivi frowned as he spoke, that was not the plan. "Both the House of Lords and the Commons wish to determine the exact nature of our peace, and what might be made of it."

Galvanger huffed loudly, but before he could say anything beyond a single barked orcish word, Gwen spoke over him.

"Has His Majesty rescinded the authority he granted me to negotiate with the orcs?" She asked dryly, cocking her head at Lord Crowley and shooting a rather unimpressed stare his way. "The capital is the worst place for a discussion of peace – I find it stifling, our honoured guests will find it choking. Further, I did inform him in my letters that I had agreed to bring them to visit Lord Renard in his home, and had already received permission to do so. Please inform the king to make changes while we make that journey, such as preparing a country manor for negotiations, if he wishes for any chance of success."

Still frowning, Vivi stepped up beside Gwen in solidarity. "And tell Lorna that Gwen's doing her a favour. If she wanted it done her way she can do it herself, not treat her like a toy."

"Vivi!" Gwen blurted, turning to her in shock. "She didn't."

"She did." Using Gwen as an assassin because Liam asked her to. Toying with her and abusing their friendship to make her relationship with Liam work; they were supposed to be on the same side. "You should speak with your daughter, Lord Crowley."

Humming noncommittally, Lord Crowley kept his gaze even. "Such matters are best dealt with in private, Vivianne."

She snorted; that just meant they didn't get dealt with. Like what happened with Isobel, always done in private and never spoken of or thought about by anyone after it was over.

"As to your journey, I shall accompany you if I may." He continued, offering no hint of his real opinion of what Gwen had decided. "Word will be sent to Their Majesties explaining the circumstances, but I am tasked with the escort of our honoured guests during their stay in Gilneas." After a moment he allowed a slight, controlled, smirk. "And meeting the Lord of the Blackwald would offer me a chance to thank him for saving my daughter with his arrival at the Wall."

-oOoOo-

"Having trouble there, Rokh?" Galvangar rumbled in amusement as she cursed fiercely, having stumbled over yet another accursed root. The very forest itself seemed intent on testing her patience and nerves as they travelled. "Don't let your old bones break if you fall. Shornfang won't enjoy carrying you home." He chuckled and rubbed at the wolf's ruff.

After shooting a glare at her companion, Rokhstrom refocused her attention on the ground beneath her feet. She had not much enjoyed their journey through the human lands: Not in the foothills of their mountain home where they skulked through the wilderness like thieves in the night to avoid attention, nor behind the great gates of their hosts where curiosity won out over fear, and certainly not here, where all that lived made plain their lack of welcome.

Thorny vines stretched and flexed around them, dangling in their path and daring them to deviate from the road the witch laid out before them. She walked with the blessing of this forest's spirits, bending them to her will and whims without hesitation.

If she was not so on edge, facing endless worries – they were not trusted, made to hide themselves as they travelled, moving quickly and with purpose; an ill omen for peace – she might question them on their bonds with the spirits. Learn of the traditions of this world, of the elements and their furies from one who might know of them. It is what Elder Drek'Thar would do to aid them all.

But no matter that they were never threatened, she could not bring herself to do so. The one who had found their home, shattered their sanctuary's bounds and made plain that the clan was no longer safe, left her with too many worries to speak freely. Too many concerns that would not be settled so easily.

"The depths of the Blackwald prove more than worthy of their reputation." The Crowley Lord said nearby, his one-eyed gaze evaluating as he plucked a thorn that had scored his unsuited coat. "It is little wonder the secret of this place remained hidden for so long – without our escort we would surely become lost." He smiled wryly. "Lest, of course, we came from above."

"Don't you start!" Gwyneth huffed from the front where she waved aside another tangled mat of brambles. "I got enough of that already, Lorna turning up here irritated a lot of the traditionalist witches. It's not my fault Tal'Doren is obvious from above."

Rokhstrom cared little for their byplay, nor their belief of this forest’s secrets. It made them unwelcome, but it was not so wild as that. "This place is no Tangleheart, nor does it compare to the Tanann." She said firmly, remembering her years upon Draenor and the true wilds of that world. "It may keep its secrets if it desires. We have no need of them; we come only to learn of the Great Wolf from the Great Fox's lips."

Looking back over her shoulder, the witch held an odd expression upon her face. "I'd hope not." She shivered theatrically. "Azeroth has its own problems and doesn't need mind-controlling parasite plants added to the mix."

Staring at the girl, Rokhstrom's eyes narrowed. She had sought out the Frostwolves, known of their home's general location in order to find them, yet shown no indication or belief that she had been told such by a member of their clan. And now she spoke of their world's dangers as if she knew of them, yet the way the other humans shifted with unease and scepticism showed that the witch was alone in bearing that knowledge. Once again, a new ember of concern sparked within her heart. There was too much here she did not understand.

"Are there really plants that can do that?" Vivianne, the almost-blademaster girl, asked with none of the scepticism the other humans carried.

"Yes." Galvangar returned immediately, with the menace and hatred only one who had lived in Gorgrond could offer. "If were here, call fire. Much fire." He grinned savagely, his hand lingering on his blade. "Good it not."

Despite this place welcoming her so openly, making clear that the spirits of this place favoured her, the witch at their head nodded her agreement. "Very good they're not. And, on that note – we're here."

One last barrier of leaves and plants was driven aside, revealing a glade of gleaming blue grasses that stretched out to a tree that could rival any that Rokhstrom had ever seen. Its canopy stretched high above, dancing with the spirits of the wind who played with its leaves, and casting great shadows in a tapestry that claimed rulership over all beneath its boughs.

That it was the source of the unnatural scene before her was unquestionable. A coven of foxes slumbered in the sun, resting idly and peacefully even as a warren of rabbits nourished themselves upon the bounty of the glade. A herd of deer raised their heads at the sight of Shornfang and Frozen-Fur, yet they quickly returned to grazing.

Fearless. Calm. An enforced peace that came only at the will of one that could demand obedience without question. Looking at the tree Rokhstrom could feel the source of their ill-welcome, the scarce tolerance it afforded to their presence. And the one that had bid it grant them even that.

The Fox, his back and tail covered in a resplendent red coat, shining like freshly drawn blood, while his belly glistened white like soft snow on a sunny day. Even lounging in the roots of the tree, splayed out at rest, Rokhstrom could not deny that his presence held weight equal to that of the sons of Grond – or even that of the furies who resided upon the Throne of the Elements.

Yet he was marred. Sickly green and pulsating with a malice she knew from those dark days before the exile, a wound crept up his leg, reaching for his chest, only to be held at bay by the spirits of the forest. A curse like few she had ever seen.

"Ah, I was wondering when you'd get here." Lord Renard, one worthy of the titles he was granted, said with an amused grin. "Took you long enough, little blessing! I was growing bored, stuck here sleeping and dozing with no one to tell me any stories – you, Crowley, father of a queen! You who led a rebellion against your king! You must have a tale to tell, no?" His head lolled to the side, grin widening beyond what should be possible even upon a muzzle. "Perhaps a tale of your war with our mutual guest's kin? I've a craving for such a tale, of daring, of valour! My brother's cry of 'Wise-Ear! Wise-Ear! Vengeance for Wise-Ear!' left me in quite the mood."

Visibly perturbed by the attention, the Crowley Lord was slow to reply. "I suppose–"

"Oh, of course, how silly of me." The Silver Tongue leapt from his spot, dashing forward and lingering before Rokhstrom – her hand reached for her totem, the Earth within heeding her call and reading to rise to her defence – but he paused, nose pressed to hers. "These ones would know of the wolf himself. Wise-Ear, Wise-Ear, oh tell me of Wise-Ear! What a wolf he must have been, to move my brother so!"

"We will all tell you stories, if that is your will, Lord Renard." Gwyneth offered softly, interceding between them. "Would you wish to hear of my Vivi's daring rescue of her brother alongside his wife?"

Shrinking down, the fox wound itself between the witch's legs, chuckling lightly. "I would. I have been ever so bored, Gwyneth! Ever so bored." He lifted his wounded leg from where he had kept it curled to his chest. "Why, it's as if I've been tree-bound since a little escapade of mine. And no one even remembers it!"

"You have my thanks, Great Fox." The Crowley Lord said, dropping to one knee in the grass. "For saving my daughter. For defeating the demon. For protecting us all. I shall tell every story I know if that would please you, from my time in the war to my battles against the king."

Rokhstrom removed her hand from her totem slowly. Mercurial, mischievous, dangerous. This one was not unlike the greater spirits of the Wind, and to be treated like such. "This shaman greets the great spirit of this place." She said respectfully, inclining her head to offer submission but not weakness. "The Frostwolves offer thanks for their welcome and chance to hear of the Great Wolf of this world."

Tilting his head, the Fox looked up at her from where he was enjoying the praise of the Crowley Lord. "Bah. Goldrinn." He sniffed. "I suppose he's relevant now that he's awake again."

A moment later he had returned to his full size, blurring away in a flurry of red and white to lounge upon the roots of the tree once more. "Too formal, you are. Like the oversized deer and his father. Ice and snow in your veins, worries and fear in your heart; but what of your companion? Fellow child of a lost world. Fire and blood in his veins, steel in his heart."

"Blademasters, Burning Blade. One and same." Galvangar grunted, his face turning sour. "Until clan forgot and changed." He spat to the side, uncaring of the disrespect it offered; ready to die rather than speak of his old clan kindly.

Mercurial like the wind, the fox laughed at his actions, quickly earning the old orc's ire.

"Come, Shornfang, Frozen-Fur. Come greet the ancestor." She said, walking forward with surety of purpose. This was a realm she knew, that she understood; one of great powers that could not be commanded, only placated and beseeched for aid.  She settled down cross-legged before the fox, the ice in her heart leaving her unflinching under his predatory eyes. "You asked to know of Wise-Ear, the wolf of Elder Drek'Thar of the Frostwolf Clan. But his story does not begin with him alone. No, he is born of the line of Stormfang, the wolf of Greatmother Geyah, the shame of Durotan..."

She spoke first of Stormfang and Geyah, of Durotan's rage and what that meant for the last chieftain of the Frostwolves. How he had worn the fallen wolf's hood to remind himself of the price of control.

Then of how Wise-Ear, young and wilful, had struck out into the cold of winter to save the young and blind Drek'Thar from the fate of those impaired and unable to contribute. How he had dragged the boy to Mother Kashur and fought any who dared to remove him, claiming the orc for his own.

How Wise-Ear had been the eyes of one who could not see, until one blind could see more than any other in the clan. Their journeys through narrow passes and secret vales, winding roads and dense forests, to find the valley in which they had made their home. She spoke of his children, who protected the valley and the beasts within, maintaining the balance between predator and prey just as he had taught them.

Through it all the Great Fox listened in silence, heeding every word she spoke and basking in the story she wove. And, at last, she shed tears into Shorngang's fure. For Drek'Thar had taken Wise-Ear across the ocean to aid Thrall, the son of their chieftain and their warchief, and, by the Great Fox's words... the old wolf would never return.