Your Majesty

[moonshadows]

“Your Majesty. Lady Proudmoore.” Crisp, formal bow.

He scowls. “Who are you?”

She looks pleased. “Ryxl!”

“My name is Ryxl Ironheart. Warchief Thrall has sent me as an emissary to you for the duration of these games as a gesture of peace, and a surety of good behavior.”

He scowls deeper. “Mine?!”

Lips peel back in a grin of malicious pleasure. “No, Majesty. Overlord Garrosh’s.”

“Jaina. You know this orc?”

She nods, giving me a warm smile. “Thrall sent her to Theramore as an emissary years ago, to help ease the tension between our two peoples.”

“You trust her?”

The smile fades a little. “The only orc I trust more is Thrall.”

He grunts. “Well, Jaina’s convinced you’re trustworthy, but I’m not. So convince me. Why should I trust you?”

I spread my hands. “Trust must be earned, Majesty. Words alone cannot confer it, actions must prove it. But until you have seen my actions and can judge me by them, you have my oath that I will remain unarmed in your presence – and the Warchief has commanded me to be completely honest, no matter what question you put to me.”

He looks impressed despite himself – and he didn’t miss the fact that I am unarmed now. “Well spoken. Who taught you common?”

“Warchief Thrall.”

“What do you think of these games?”

“I think Highlord Fordring is correct, a small elite force has a better chance than an untrained mob.”

“Why did you smile when I asked you if you were to be surety of my good behavior?”

Smile again. “Overlord Garrosh is an unblooded pup whose balls dropped late. His desire to prove his worth is going to get him into trouble sooner or later, and watching him choke on humility is going to feel good after having to listen to him mouth off about how much better suited to the title of Warchief he thinks he is.”

He laughs. “That’s more truth than I ever thought I’d hear out of an orc’s mouth. Very well, have a seat. Tell me, why did Thrall pick you to send?”

I sit. “My common is excellent. My skill in diplomacy is great enough that the Warchief hopes some lasting good might come of this. And, of course, my rank is high enough that I make an excellent hostage.”

He raises one eyebrow. “And you admit this? What if you just gave me the idea to take you hostage?”

Shrug. “Surely you suspected, Majesty. And the idea must have occurred to you already – only a fool would have not seen the implication in sending an unarmed emissary to a hostile faction.”

“Why are you willing to let yourself be used this way?”  He actually sounds interested in the answer.

Somehow, I don’t think he’d understand if I quoted the Blood Oath at him.

“I love my Horde and I love my Warchief.” I carefully do not look at Jaina. “If  my words and actions can make things better for my people, I will gladly buy peace at the cost of temporary humiliation.”

“You expect me to believe your Warchief wants peace?”

Jaina is ready to protest. I meet his eyes. “He is willing to risk the life of his champion and one of his closest friends, Majesty, on the strength of his conviction that you are an honorable man and want what’s best for your people.”

“So tell me why the best interests of my people don’t lie in wiping your people off the map.”

“Before or after eliminating the Scourge threat, Majesty?”

He seems somehow affronted that I didn’t make that a sarcastic comment. “….after.”

“And are we assuming a recovery period, Majesty, or leaping straight from one campaign to the next?”

Now he’s thinking.

“If we assume no pause, you would have the advantage of war-ready troops, arms, armor, and ships. You might be able to sail down the coast of Kalimdor to Durotar, but there aren’t many good harbors. You’d have to make a potentially messy landing, or gain the use of Theramore’s harbors.” He looks at Jaina, who glares frostily back. “On the other hand, your troops would also be fatigued and under-strength, and you might face the prospect of famine if there isn’t enough manpower to tend the crops. There is also the possibility that the Horde forces would fall on your fleet from behind.”

He’s frowning now.

“If we assume a pause of a year or so to allow your troops to rest and ensure a food supply, Majesty, we’d be dealing with the problem of motivation. How many troops are going to want to march off to war again after surviving the last one? How will you convince them to leave their families again to face an enemy that is not life-hating undead? You still face the problem of landing, and an enemy that has also had a year to prepare for war.”

“And you savages are always ready for war, aren’t you?” Spite, anger.

Shrug. “Even orcs born after the camps value their freedom, Majesty. We have all heard stories of enslavement of the body by humans, and of the soul by demons. We were a warrior culture before we came to this world, and the years have not been so good to us that we have had the luxury of putting that culture aside.”

“And you say you want peace.” Contempt heavy in his voice.

“We are willing to fight and die so that the whole may survive. That doesn’t mean we wouldn’t prefer being part of the whole and not dying.”

“Would you die for your Warchief?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you want to live?”

“Of course I do, Majesty. But given the choice between my life and his, I value his life over mine.”

He grunts. “No doubt a human life is valued below yours, right? How many humans did you kill in the Second War?”

“None, Majesty.”

Scowl. “I thought your Warchief ordered you to answer honestly.”

Jaina covers her face briefly with her hand.

“He did, Majesty, and I did. I spent the first sixteen years of my life in the jungles of Stranglethorn. I didn’t see a human for the first time until the Third War had already ended.”

He peers at me, noticing my youth. Smirks. Opens his mouth…

“No, Majesty.”

…looks confused and affronted. “No, what?”

“No, I have never had sexual relations with Warchief Thrall, son of Durotan.”

“Why not?” Anger that I’m so calm – and that he didn’t get to call me Thrall’s whore. Jaina looks mortified.

“It is customary for humans to be faithful to their mates, is it not? To refrain from sexual activity before the formal joining with their intended mate?”

Dark look. “And for a respectable period of time after their death, yes.”

“My condolences on the loss of your mate, Majesty.”

“Thank you,” he says reflexively, then stops as my words reach his brain. “…are you telling me that Thrall is saving himself for marriage?!?”

Meet his eyes, do not look at Jaina, give her time to get her blush under control. “Yes, Majesty.”

He looks like he wants to laugh. “Next, you’re going to tell me he doesn’t hate humans,” he scoffs. This conversation is not being kind to Jaina.

“His first friend was a human.” Rememer the clipped words, the heat of surpressed fury. “She was killed by the man who found him as an infant and raised him as a slave. If you’re asking whether the Warchief hates humans, Majesty, I would have to say it depends on the human.”

He grunts. “And you didn’t see a human until after the Third War ended. What did you think when nyou finally saw one?”

Small grin, no teeth. “My first thought was, ‘where are their tusks?’.”

One eyebrow goes up as Jaina covers a smile. “Tusks?”

Shrug. “Until then, all I’d seen were trolls and orcs. Humans were a lot easier to get used to than tauren, actually.”

Scowl. “I suppose you’re going to tell me that you don’t hate humans.”

“Depends on the human, Majesty.”

“Name one human you hate, then.”

Blackmoore. Arthas. “Does it have to be one that’s still living?”

Scowl. “Yes.”

“Champion Derik of Stormwind.”

He looks taken aback. Guess he was expecting his name. ”Why him?”

My turn to scowl. “He mistreats his squire and his horse, and has no respect for his fellow Champions – unless they’re human men.” Grimace. “Even thrashing him on the practice field brings no satisfaction, he just dismisses his defeat as ‘going easy’ on me because I’m female. The stablemaster is ready to have his hide if he permanently damages his horse, his squire is almost constantly in tears, and the Kaldorei Champions would have had his-“ pause, rephrase “-pride on a stick by now if not for the Argents making sure no one kills anyone else.”

Thoughtful frown. “How do the other human Champions feel about him?”

“The females won’t go near him except in pairs, and the males mutter about arranging an ‘accident’ for him. Nothing deadly, just humiliating.”

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention,” he says absently. “I’ll see if I can’t have a word with him-“ tone implies his mailed fist will do the speaking “-about upholding the honor of Stormwind.” Stops. Scowls at me. “What are you gaping at?”

Eyebrows still raised. “My Warchief was correct in his conviction, you are an honorable man.”

Anger now. “You doubted my honor?”

Jaina speaks up, trying not to smile at my deadpan expression. “Varian, you just spent the last ten minutes trying to pick a fight with her.”

Don’t smile at his expression. Don’t smile. I am the instrument of my Warchief’s desire. Don’t smile.

“I was just…testing her mettle. Taking her measure.”

Deadpan. “Making sure I wasn’t Garrosh with tits.”

That startles a laugh out of him.

==================================

 

"Where do you think you're going, orc?" He scowls, hands on his hips, blocking the door to the Alliance pavilion.

"I am the surety of Garrosh's good behavior, Majesty. Your hostage. Did you want me to return to the Horde pavilion and perhaps report to my Warchief?"

No, he doesn't, and we both know it.

"So I am supposed to let you in, where you can spy on me?"

Shrug. "Keep me confined to a room. Yours, if you like, so you can keep an eye on me."

His face darkens. "So you can start rumors that I have taken advantage of you? I don't think so."

Toothy grin. "I am your hostage. You may do that, too, if you wish."

Affronted anger. "Why would I even want to, you green-skinned monster?"

King or not, he is still a man and this is a familiar field of battle. "Curiosity. Lust. The knowledge that you can symbolically impose your dominance on the Horde through me."

"And let you have my seed so that you can scandalize the Alliance with my half-breed bastard?"

Grin wider. "I'm barren." Pause while that sinks in. "Think about it. I am in no position to make demands from you in exchange for the use of my body. I will gain no favor from your people or mine for your attentions. How often does a king encounter a situation where he can satisfy himself with no strings attached?" Shrug. "It's up to you, of course, but in the meantime you did want to interrogate me further, didn't you?"

That puts him back on familiar ground. "Is that the price of your information, then?"

"Of course not. The Warchief commanded me to be completely honest."

He glowers.

"There is one more thing, Majesty."

"And what's that?"

"You hate orcs. Now you have one in your power to whom you can be as rough as you like."

I can see his resolve wavering.

"And you won't fight back? You expect me to believe that you would let me -" he uses an orcish word for violent coupling that may or may not have consent "- you and you will not run to your Warchief with the tale?"

"I give you my word, your Majesty. On the soul of my mother and the raptor that ate her, no one will learn of this from me - not even Warchief Thrall. Not even my mate."

"I didn't know you had one." He's taken aback.

"I don't. Not unless the Lich King falls and I can somehow reclaim his body and soul from the Scourge."

Understanding, and a little sympathy, flickers in his eyes. "That's why you're doing all this. That's your ulterior motive. You think that if I-"

"Take out your aggression?"

"- on you, I'll be more inclined to go along with Tirion's plan and not murder the lot of you along with the Scourge."

"Don't you want to be able to look at Warchief Thrall and know that you had his Champion beneath you, begging for..."

A fierce, wolfish grin appears on his face. "You don't strike me as the type to beg."

I grin back. "Consider it a challenge, then."

His decision has been made, I can see that in the hard set of his eyes. "I won't be gentle," he warns. "You were right; I will be taking my frustrations out on you."

His malice is deflected by my tusks as I lick them. "I bite."

"Inside, orc," he orders.

Obediently, I follow him.

==================================

The room is as sparse and impersonal as any here at the Tournament, barely more than a bed and a small chest. The sheet has been used to tie my hands together behind my back and is wrapped around my head, blindfolding me but leaving my mouth uncovered. Thus hobbled, having already stripped at his command, I am bent over the bed by the unseen king of Stormwind. The sounds of him divesting himself of armor would excite me if I weren't already burning for something inside me. One firm hand on my hip, and I bite back a whimper of need. He takes my warrior's tail in the other hand as though making sure I can't writhe in his grip and sink my teeth into him. His cock shoved roughly into me is like lightning shooting up my spine, lighting a fire in my belly, and my half-choked-back moan sounds counterpoint to his low grunt. For several moments he stays there, buried to the hilt in me, and my core clenches around his shaft as though trying to milk him already. Then, slowly, he pulls back until my disappointed muscles close around empty air.

"Is this what you want?" He laughs, teasing my folds with the tip of his manhood.

In response, I shove backwards and he inhales sharply as he slides back inside and I once again stroke his shaft.

"That's it," he growls, releasing my hair to place both hands on my hips. "You asked for it."

"Do your worst," I taunt, bucking backwards again. The next thrust is sheer, delicious brutality. "Harder!"

He jerks my hair back again as he stabs me with his cock, the other hand coming up to crush one nipple between rough fingers. My gasp of pleasure spurs him to take my other breast in his other hand, kneading the flesh with cruel fingers as he brutally pounds into me. I can hear him growling deep in his throat over my pleased grunts, and we get down to the business of fucking. It's not long before his breath puffs hot against my ear. I bite my lip, afraid that if he knew what I wanted, he would withhold it. A moment later I am rewarded with his teeth on the back of my neck.

"Feel like begging yet?" he taunts, voice warm with his dominance over me.

I lick my lips and bare my teeth in a defiant grin. "Do you?"

A deliberate tightening, sustained as the inertia of his rhythm has him thrust in, pull back, and thrust again. My climax hovers, and I force it back. His breath catches, fingers relaxing of their own accord for a bare moment, and I buck again, forcing his cock as deep as it will go, feeling his balls hot on the backs of my thighs. The gasp and sudden stillness tell me that I have succeeded in making King Varian Wrynn blow his load. Hopefully his long period of abstinence means he will recover quickly so that I can get what I need; my favorite voodoo fetish is back in my room. Teeth on the back of my neck, biting hard enough to almost break the skin, challenge my victory even as my pulse races in anticipation.

"I'm not done," he growls in a deadly voice, fingers digging into my breasts again. His hands move to my shoulders and he pushes me further onto the bed. I can feel him follow until he is mounting me like the wolf-god he was named for in the arena. "I'm going to fuck you until you bleed," he growls in rough orcish, and I grin.

"About time you got serious," I gasp as his fingers dig like claws into my shoulders.

This time, I don't fight my climax when the pounding of his cock brings me to the edge and over. My scream of pleasure draws a satisfied grunt out of him, and he continues relentlessly. That's fine; I'm still hungry. When the edge looms before me a second time, he suddenly stops and I don't quite bite back a cry of longing.

"Beg for it," he murmurs, breath hot on my ear.

"Make me," I retort, and buck back against him until by sheer chance I hit the right spot and tighten convulsively around his thick shaft as my second climax takes me.

Fingernails rake from shoulders to back, then those hard hands are again on my breasts, hauling me to my knees as the warrior-king shifts angle and resumes his brutal thrusting. Each motion is fierce, precise, the former gladiator approaching this as a battle to be won - which, of course, it is. He's focused on his own pleasure now, riding me selfishly and heartlessly as though he could make me founder beneath him. Too bad the angle is as good for me as it is for him; my third orgasm rushes at me and from the shift in his breathing, it looks like a race to see who will finish first.

"Beg," he growls into my ear.

"Bite me," I taunt him.

Teeth close on my ear, then release and find purchase on the flesh of my shoulder. Fingers twist both nipples, and with a final, tight jerk, we throw our heads back simultaneously and my raptor-scream soars above his deep cry. When the crashing wave passes, I find myself face-down on the bed with Varian's hot, sweat-slick body pressing me into the mattress.

"Three to two," he pants. "I win, orc."

My laugh is a gasping wheeze. "You were keeping count, human? I claim victory by first blood."

He growls. "Tie."