kinkfest | Warcraft (Thrall/Jaina) (Reply)

Title: Sword's Edge Diplomacy
Author: Kelriia Frettlar (

springkink Nov 2nd - World of Warcraft, Thrall/Jaina Proudmoore: Diplomatic relations taken literally - "Enemies make you stronger, allies make you weaker."
Warnings: ~*~SPOILERS~*~ For the Wrath of the Lich King "Wrathgate" questline. Spoilers for the WoW Comic, which you should get used to if you get the new expansion. Racism/Varian's characterization, which while I dislike it, is IN CHARACTER for the quest line. Orc/human. Het. Angst. Threats of violence. Thrall playing hardball.
Pairings: Thrall/Jaina
Summary: Jaina gets arrested for interfering with Varian's plans.
~ * ~

"Arrest her."

Varian's voice was murderous and Jaina was thankful, even as hands closed around her wrists, that she hadn't been too late. Lateness had been one of the things she'd apologized for constantly, though Arthas had always smiled and asked her how she could be late all the time when she could teleport from place to place. That thought hurt, and she shied away from it, and back to more immediate matters.

As long as Thrall is alright... she thought fervently, and meeting the King of Stormwind's eyes, he could see it in the lines of her small, slender frame, and the expression on her face that she was neither remorseful, nor surprised.

"You're a traitor, Jaina," Varian told her flatly. "For what, an orc and a dead elf? I thought what I'd heard about your father's death were rumours... lies. Now I think they only told me half of it."

"I have a treaty with the Horde," Jaina said quietly. "I honour it. I did not make it lightly, and I will not break it for trifles."

"Bolvar's death, a trifle?!" he shouted, and he lunged forward, dearly wanting to shake the calm out of her.

"No, Highlord Fordragon's demise was tragic," Jaina replied quietly, as if there was no threat to her life at all. "So was Saurfang the Younger's, and dozens of Alliance and Horde forces, forces that fought and died together, because they were betrayed by some of their allies. You must remember what that's like. Would you blame Lordaeron and Kul Tiras for Alterac's betrayal?"

"You don't understand," Varian snarled, backing away from her to pace. "You don't know what they did to me!"

"...do you know what we did to them?" The question was soft, almost inaudible; it stopped Varian in mid-stride and he stared at her. "What happened to you was unfortunate, and tragic. I did all I could to help you when we met in Theramore, but you must understand that you are not the only person who has been treated cruelly. The orcs were--"

"Oh, the Camps," Varian said. "They burned my home to the ground, murdered thousands, and you want me to feel upset about the sufferance we gave them after the war, when we should have slaughtered them down to the last puling whelp?"

"Yes," Jaina replied simply. "I do."

The insult that Varian threw at her was elven, and disgusting. Jaina's head rocked back as if he had struck her, but she held her chin high.

"Take her away," Varian said harshly. "She will be executed at sunset."

~ * ~

"Lady Proudmoore will be fine," Sylvanas said, the echo in her peculiar voice unsettling rather than comforting. "She will reason with the King, and return to Stormwind."

"I don't trust it," Thrall muttered, submitting himself to the attentions of healers. The Battle for Undercity had taken a toll. Fortunately, Varimathras had not been as strong as he believed, not once the element of surprise was ultimately gone. Who was his master? Sylvanas believes it was Arthas, but he was weakened by the plague too, so who would benefit the most from the fall of Alliance, Horde and Scourge?

"There is little we can do," Sylvanas reassured him, "but wait."

We were so quick to fight when it came to freeing your precious city, Thrall thought sourly. To stand against Putress and the dreadlord when they were a threat, but now that it comes to rescue our ally -- my ally -- we can do nothing. What is it about our enemy that gives us such strength of arms, and our allies that drains it away?

Sylvanas had already turned away, eager to return the Forsaken to their city to rebuild and plot terrible vengeance against further traitors. The members of the Royal Apothecary Society that had not betrayed them were jealously guarded, now holding all the remaining secrets of plague brewing. Thrall was more than willing to see her go. The defection of the RAS was a stinging, harsh blow, rocking the foundations of everything he'd carefully crafted.

Of course, King Varian believes that what I have constructed is nothing but a den of honourless, murdering-- A thought struck him, and it slowly crystalized into a plan.

"Sylvanas." The simple statement of the Dark Lady's name brought her attention to him. "We are going to Stormwind."

"What?!" Sylvanas cried, and Thrall made an effort not to wince. His elite, his advisors, everyone within earshot in Grommash Hold stopped to stare at him. "You don't even know--"

"I do," Thrall said. "The spirits have told me. I will not abandon my allies to injustice, just as I didn't abandon the Darkspear, or the Tauren, or you. I will not abandon Jaina Proudmoore to the fate Varian Wrynn has in store for her. He believes us to be ruthless animals. We are... or we will be." His blue eyes, ones that both his people and Jaina's found to be human, fell to one of his elite. "Tell Neeru Fireblade his presence is requested in my audience chamber." -- a fancy term for the round, main part of the Hold that also held all of his advisors -- "Naz'grel, prepare the wolf riders, and Sylvanas." He gave her a long, measuring look. "Banshees."

~ * ~

Sunset.

Jaina stood on the execution platform, one that had seen quite a bit of use since Varian's triumphant return to Stormwind. As the wind whistled around her, throwing her hair into her face, she thought, idly, that she should have had an advocate. Though, a trial would have been pointless. She would not deny what she had done, because to deny it would be to deny Thrall, and she would not denounce the Horde. Not to her father, not to Varian, not to any person, living or dead, on all of Azeroth.

Most people did not go to their deaths quietly. They screamed, they railed, they begged. Not so with Jaina. She would not let them see how frightened she was for the people who remained loyal to her. How much she wanted the chance to fight in Northrend, to stop Arthas and his horrible plans. To see true peace between the orcs and the humans, to rekindle friendship between what remained of the elves and her people... there was so much left to do, and no longer any time to do it.

The desire to remain strong in the face of the enemy was all that kept her back straight, and her head up.

A wolf howled, and she frowned slightly. Bold, to be hunting now. There must be guards everywhere.

"Step this way, my lady," said the executioner. Jaina didn't know who he was, and didn't recognize the voice under the hood, but it seemed far too elegant for a man paid to pull a lever. His hand rested over hers, and nudged her forward. Her arms shifted, and sure enough, the ropes were loose.

"Who..." she whispered in an undertone.

"Best you don't know," the executioner replied. "Simply someone who sees this is wrong, my lady."

She would have to place the voice later. After she ran. The executioner led her to the rope, and spoke loudly. "Would anyone speak for her?"

This was tradition. Sometimes, in the spirit of last minute evidence or rescues, someone would raise an objection. This happened rarely, though with the way romance novelists in Dalaran would have their readers believe, it happened all the time, the bandit with the heart of gold would sweep away his lady and--

"I object!" cried someone from the crowd. There was a lull, and Jaina looked to the speaker. He simply seemed like a guard. No one she recognized, though his eyes had a very unusual gleam.

"I do too!" cried another voice. A woman, this time. She seemed plain, and slightly worn. A peasant, perhaps? But why--

"What is the meaning of this?!" Varian demanded. This was also part of both tradition and flight-of-fancy. Fictional ancestors of the Wrynn line had uttered this, often because they were corrupt and cruel, though many of those books had disappeared from regular circulation after Stormwind's destruction. Dangerous to speak ill of even the fictional dead.

"You claim that Jaina Proudmoore is a traitor," boomed a voice. Jaina's heart leapt to her throat. "I say that she is not."

"Orc," Varian sneered. "Funny, I seem to recall that she's being executed for protecting you, which does make her a traitor."

"Human," Thrall returned, with a coldness he normally reserved for the battlefield. "She is my ally, not yours. She has not betrayed me, nor has she ever."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this," Varian cried. He looked to the executioner. "Do it."

"Be ready to run..." the executioner muttered. "There are a few believable ways to botch this."

Jaina made a tiny gesture with her finger in acknowledgement. Thrall, however, had something to say to that.

"Don't," Thrall warned. "My forces are poised to attack this city, and burn it again. Furthermore, my allies have infiltrated your ranks... can you tell who is friend, and who is foe? I don't think that you can... not in time."

The guard next to Varian put a firm, and restraining, hand on his. Varian could have killed the man, but banshee possession was no one's fault but the Forsaken. His eyes filled with hate. "You're a monster, just as I said."

"I am," Thrall replied, startling both Jaina and Varian. "A horrible monster who threatens your kingdom, and will only go away when you give me what I want."

I think I remember that very line from 'The Ballad of Ulric the Wanderer', Jaina thought, dazed. The executioner, 'frightened', turned to Varian.

"We... we should do what he says," the man said, his voice nearly impossible to understand through the thickness of his lowlands accent. Jaina would concede the point to him, he was good at hiding. "My lord, the children... the Prince..."

"Take her, then," Varian said, finally. "Know that this makes you and all of your people our eternal enemies. The fate of Alterac will seem kind comparatively."

"You're welcome to come to Kalimdor to try," Thrall said, holding out one arm as Jaina was freed, and hopped quickly off the platform to join him, "can you teleport us to Orgrimmar?"

"Yes," Jaina replied quietly. "Thrall, I..."

"Hush," he told her gently. "There are hounds at the gate, Varian. Would you ignore them?" To Jaina, he said, "On the signal."

Varian's gaze left Thrall for just a moment, and there was a loud cry of wolves. The sound was chilling, and a part of Varian trembled with fear, remembering it from long ago, from childhood.

When he looked back, the Horde was gone, and the guard that had held him was prostrating himself in apology.

~ * ~

"Is there anything else you would require of me, Warchief Thrall?" Sylvanas asked, her tone as humble and polite as it had been when she had asked Thrall to save her city.

"No, return to Undercity with your people," Thrall said. Sylvanas nodded once, and turned to collect her people. Jaina took in the sight of the two banshees that accompanied her without immediate comment, knowing that Sylvanas herself was powerful enough to control an enemy with a glance. "Jaina, are you harmed in any way?"

"No," she replied softly. "They will hate you now more than ever, and what you said wasn't true."

"It's what he already believed," Thrall replied, tired now after his audaciousness. He gestured for a chair to be brought so that Jaina could sit; it would give him an excuse to remain seated. "I tire of having to prove to people that the Horde is not composed of monsters, particularly after all that's happened."

Jaina ignored the chair being offered to her, and instead moved to sit on the arm of Thrall's great throne. It surprised him, and allowed her to look him directly in the eye. "You wouldn't have burned Stormwind. You wouldn't have killed innocent people. It's not who you are."

He smiled, and with it, remembered how Blackmoore had always told him never to use the human gesture. It had never bothered Jaina. "No, I wouldn't have. If he hadn't relented, I have some very fearsome imps at my disposal as well."

"Thank you for rescuing me," Jaina murmured after a few moments. "Even if it was something out of a tale."

"That's how I knew I had until sunset," Thrall commented, and at her startled look, said, "History and tactics weren't the only things I was able to read in Durnholde."

"Thrall, those books are--" Jaina began, and stopped as he touched her cheek lightly.

"Terrible, I know. You apologize for many, many things, Jaina Proudmoore. You don't need to apologize for badly written romance novels too."

Jaina flushed, and said nothing. Now that she was here, and within arm's reach, Thrall couldn't seem to find the courage he'd had when he had been goading the King of Stormwind. He simply let her rest against his chest. If his arm moving to encircle her bothered her, she didn't say it.

Perhaps, she was weak against the movements of her allies as well.

End