Page 37 of The Fall of the Orc

Gerrard was not listening to this rubbish, he was not, he was going to kill Olarr, he was. “You were so beautiful,” Olarr’s gasping voice continued, over another wrenching sob in his throat. “You were as a pure doomed son of the goddess, your light dying before my eyes. I could see this in your face and your scent, and I thought — ach. I thought mayhap this was the goddess’ gift, the goddess’ last hope. You were the strongest human warrior I had ever met, and you wished for death — so ach, I thought mayhap you could gain this against Slagvor. And if you could not kill him, mayhap you could yet weaken him, for all our gain. And” — another sob heaved from his throat — “when you hunted me again, after I spared you, I first thought — I thought this was a sign. I wassureof this.”

The water was still streaking from his eyes, almost making it seem like truth, almost — but Gerrard knew better now, didn’t he? And he should just be killing the cruel devious bastard, should be swinging his blade back, slicing off these lies once and for all…

“But then we fought, and spoke,” Olarr choked, speaking faster now, “and the light came back to your eyes. You heard my words, you knew my clan, you showed yourself quick and clever. You told me the truth of how you sought your death from me, you begged me with your beautiful eyes, and then” — he drew in a dragging breath — “then you kissed me. You hungered for me. Your taste and your scent and your touch were as naught I had ever,everknown. And then you welcomed my own touch, in return. You took me into your beauty, granted this so freely to me, without fear or shame.”

Gerrard shouldn’t still be tolerating this, listening to this, wanting to hear this — and damn him but Olarr was still saying it, still with that wetness pouring from his eyes. “And amidst this, I was already lost, ach?” he croaked. “Already fallen at your feet. And that first day when I took you, I only turned you away from me because I could not bear to see the pain or loathing in your eyes. And if I could not see this, then I could — I could keep doing this, even when I knew I had no right to this. I could drink of your beauty and bravery, if only for a moment. I could make youmine.”

Mine. The word too familiar, too horribly, viciously painful, but Olarr was rapidly nodding, even as it scraped his neck against Gerrard’s sword. “And I did make you mine,” he continued, his voice breaking. “Against all my well-thought plans, all my cunning. I granted the goddess’ son my scent, and my seed. And amidst this, I entwined my fate with yours, from that first day. You would never face Slagvor, without him knowing my treason. Without him knowing you weremine.”

That damnable word scraped even harder this time, enough to finally jerk Gerrard to life again, to cough a bitter, mocking laugh from his throat. “Oh, hownobleof you, orc,” he snarled. “You’d still decided to train me up as your puppet — yourweapon— but in exchange for a bit of extra danger, now you’d get a warm body to fuck along the way, too. And if I did somehow manage to defeat Slagvor — if you’d have come up with a good enough story to tell me afterwards — maybe you’d have even gotten to keep at it too, yeah? Keep lying to me? Coming to see me whenever you felt like having an easy fuck?”

Olarr’s eyes squeezed shut again, his face contorting in the moonlight, and Gerrard laughed again, not a laugh in the slightest. “You were probably still even fucking around the whole time, too,” he gritted out. “Soconvenient, that I couldn’t smell it on you, right? But you knew that was what I wanted from you, so youliedto me, just like all the other —”

He caught himself there, clamping his fool mouth shut far too late, because what the hell was he saying, why was he giving this prickanythingright now — and Olarr’s eyes were blinking open, his head shaking again, his raw red skin slicing itself harder against Gerrard’s sharpened steel.

“No, Aulis,” he said, almost pleaded, his eyes glimmering too bright in the moonlight. “No. I did not. I would not. I knew what a gift your fealty was, and ach, I longed for this too. I should have raged and wept to find other scents upon you. I ken I should have gladly rushed off and killed any others you had touched, and then you should have never spoken to me again. As you should have done, long before.”

He was speaking too rapidly, blinking too hard, his breaths sharp and shallow from his mouth. “But you kept welcoming me,” he continued, even faster. “You kept meeting me. You kept granting me such beauty, such joy. You were so generous, so alive, and you returned my failings with such kindness. Such… goodness. You trusted my word. You told me your truths, and made me laugh as I had not done in many, many summers. You were so free with your warmth and your forgiveness. You were as light itself, Aulis. As the goddess’ own favoured son, in my arms.”

Olarr’s still-streaming eyes had snapped up to the moon, to where it was still shining down from above, washing his blood-streaked skin rust and silver. “And the longer this went,” he gasped, “the deeper I fell, and the more I wished to forego this fool plan I had made. I wished to forget I had ever thought of this, or risked such great harm upon one I loved so deeply. I wished to only care for you, and cherish you, and keep you safe.”

Gerrard attempted a scoff, a furious shake of his head, but Olarr was still gazing at the moon, the water still streaking down his cheeks. “But by granting you my scent,” he rasped, “I had already brought great danger upon you, ach? I had marked you for Slagvor, for my enemies. And together with this” — he drew in a great, shaky breath — “I had granted you a Bautul’s strength. I had fed you full of it, again and again. Even more than we knew, ach?”

There was a strange, heavy foreboding in his words, and Gerrard twitched, waiting, as Olarr kept blinking at the moon, heaving for air. “There are old, foolish tales,” he said, hitching, “of the human men who lie with orcs. Of… their power. Their… skill. Oft well beyond that of the men around them.”

Gerrard kept staring, listening, his heart now erratically thumping, and Olarr’s eyes squeezed shut. “In the tales, these men became… swifter,” he croaked. “Stronger. More hearty and hale. Some grew taller, or gained more seed in their loins. Others gained… great gifts. Some even learnt to see in the darkness, near as well as any orc.”

And — wait. Fuckingwait. Because right now, this very moment, Gerrard was standing here in the darkness, moving about easily and confidently, without a lamp, with only the moonlight above. But there were rocks and trees all around, and the occasional cloud passing over the moon, but it hadn’t seemed to matter… had it? Just like it hadn’t mattered most other times these past weeks, all those times they’d travelled and spoken and fought in the dark? Fuck, all the times Gerrard had gone out alone in the dark himself, skulking about the outpost, running his damned obstacle course?

“I carried not a thought of this, at first,” Olarr said, speaking faster now, “for I pay little heed to tales, and I had never before witnessed such a change in a human man or woman. But” — he drew in a shaky breath — “I have known no other orc who has lain with one man thus, as we have, over many moons, ach? And our Bautul women do not oft fight or spar against us, so this is not so easy to see upon them — and with a woman, I ken the seed’s strength oft goes first to… the sons. With a man, there is no son, and thus —”

He waved a shaky hand at Gerrard, at his belly, oh hell, ohfuck. “And thus,” Olarr continued, his mouth twisting, “I had made — a trueweaponof you, warrior. Far beyond what I had ever dreamt.”

Those impossible words hovered there, clanging back and forth between them, echoing with Gerrard’s thundering heartbeat. That wasn’t possible. It wasn’t. Was it…

“And one day,” Olarr said, on a heavy breath, “Grimarr came to me. He told me he had sent two of his closest orcs to spy upon us, and they had seen how I had sought you out, and trained you, and strengthened you, for my vengeance upon Slagvor. He… applauded me, and my cunning plan, and swore to help me when the time was right. And once I had followed this, I raged at him, and we fought, until he swore to leave this be, and keep you secret. And —”

His voice choked off again, his shoulders visibly slumping, the misery drawing down his mouth. “And this was when I stayed away from you,” he said. “For those twenty-three days. I saw what I had done, and I wished to keep you away from me. To keep you safe. But I could yet —feelyou, Aulis. I could scent your pain and your grief, and I could scarce eat or sleep for missing you. So when I came to you again, I swore to the goddess I would —”

Gerrard’s whole body was frozen, waiting, as Olarr hauled in another breath. “I swore I would do all within my power to protect you,” he rasped. “So ach, I then — I trained you. I pushed you to become even swifter and stronger, to learn to fight Bautul orcs, to become as strong a warrior as any Bautul I have ever met. For if Slagvor — or any other — yet learnt of you, I wished you to be ready. I wished you to have all the safety — all the hope — I could grant you. I wished you tolive.”

Gerrard’s heartbeat was still thudding in his ears, his breath strangled in his throat. He didn’t want to hear this rubbish, didn’t want to believe it, couldn’t possibly believe Olarr had unintentionally made him into some kind of — of — preposterous overpoweredorc-man. And even if these unthinkable claims were somehow true, Olarr had still never — he’dnever—

“But,” Gerrard finally said, and suddenly he just felt cold, and wretched, and so, so tired. “But you could have just —toldme, Olarr.”

His own eyes were leaking again, because that was the crux of it, the worst of it — and he gulped down a breath, shook his head. “You had so many chances, you lying prick,” he continued, blank and bitter. “Fuck, I even asked you, and you gave me such rubbish back. I knew you were keeping secrets from me, I knew your plans around Slagvor didn’t add up. I knew I shouldn’t trust you. Iknew, Olarr.”

Olarr’s empty eyes were back on Gerrard’s face, and now he was nodding, the movement scraping his raw throat harder against Gerrard’s still-pressing blade. “Ach,” he whispered. “I… I wished to speak this truth to you, again and again and again. But” — his throat audibly swallowed — “I also hoped and prayed, with all my strength, that this would never come to pass, ach? And the more I had come to know you, the more I saw your deep care for those around you, and what you would give for them. And I thought — I feared —”

He was dragging for breath, gulping it down as though he was starving, his eyes still pure misery on Gerrard’s face. “I feared you would yet do this,” he choked. “I feared if you knew you were a match for Slagvor, you would rush forth, and call him to a duel, and seek to defeat him. I feared you would do this” — his voice cracked — “for your men, and for my kin. For…me.”

For him. Gerrard’s bark of a laugh scraped painfully through the air, but the sword in his hand was suddenly shaking, jostling on its own against Olarr’s raw neck. Olarr hadn’t told him, because he’d thought Gerrard would be — imprudent. Reckless. He’d thought Gerrard would throw himself on his sword, throw away his life and his goals and his future, for —

Gerrard was shaking his head again, whipping it back and forth. No, no, no, Olarr was wrong, he was so wrong, he had no idea what Gerrard would have done, and…

Fuck. He would have done it. Fuck Olarr and his cunning, fuck the whole cursed world, Gerrard would have done it. If he’d known Olarr had thought he even had achanceof defeating Slagvor, he would have done it. He still would. He… hewas.

His sword was still trembling against Olarr’s neck, now flashing fresh bright pain across Olarr’s eyes — but Olarr still hadn’t moved, hadn’t even tried. As if he hadn’t even noticed the thick stream of blood now seeping down his front, staining his silver skin even darker than before. And Gerrard had done that, he’d put that there, and he’d even done it — onpurpose. Just like — like —

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