Page 15 of The Fall of the Orc

“Thepoint, warrior,” the orc whispered, “is that you have already won. I have already fallen, and you have taken…all.”

What? Gerrard froze in the orc’s arms, his heart juddering erratically in his chest, as those bizarre, impossible words echoed through his skull.I have already fallen, and you have taken… all.

It was a… confession. An admission of defeat. Of… of…

Gerrard couldn’t seem to breathe, suddenly, not amidst the thick, thudding stillness, or the swarm of protests surging his thoughts.You don’t know that, orc, he should have said.You barely even know me. Two reckless, risky tumbles in the woods, and now you’re making confessions? Admitting… admitting…

“I wished for what you gave me, warrior,” the orc’s voice croaked, even quieter, against Gerrard’s neck. “I wish for all you might ever give me, ach? I have never —never— before tasted aught such as this, between us.”

Oh. Gerrard’s breath was still locked in his throat, but he was shivering, now, because the orc was —kissinghim. Kissing at that same place he’d bitten, as his hands slid around Gerrard’s bare back, drew him closer. Drew him into the danger, the chaos, the mess, all the many, many reasons not to do this, everything Gerrard had just shouted at him. Their work. Their lives. Slagvor. Treason. Death.

But Gerrard… wasn’t fighting it. Wasn’t pushing away. Was even tilting his head to give the orc more room, as he felt his eyes fluttering closed, his shoulders sagging lower, his own hand snaking around to settle against the hollow of the orc’s spine. Almost as if in… capitulation. In…agreement.

Damn this orc.Damnthis orc.

“Fucking reckless,” he groused, hoarse, into the orc’s chest. “Gonna get us bothkilled.”

The orc’s breath shuddered out, together with a low, unsteady little growl. Sounding much like laughter, or like relief — but he just kept on kissing, again and again. Almost desperate, now, as if he couldn’t bear to stop tasting Gerrard, couldn’t stand to let him go.

I have already fallen, and you have taken… all.

“What’s your name?” Gerrard’s voice finally rasped into the silence, in lieu of all the much better, much wiser things he ought to have said. “Titan the Man-Tamer, maybe? Or Dreadnought the Doomed?”

And damn, the way the orc laughed again, soft and almost affectionate, his big body vibrating all over, his breath warm against Gerrard’s skin. “I am Olarr,” he murmured. “Olarr, of Clan Bautul. And you” — his voice shifted even lower — “are Lieutenant Gerrard, ach?”

Right. Of course the orc had already known that, he’d had that advantage over Gerrard, too, and Gerrard made a face the orc couldn’t see. “AulisGerrard,” he said, maybe just to be contrary, maybe. “Though only my mother ever called me Aulis, so…”

The orc’s lips kissed him again, even softer than before. “Aulis,” he repeated, slow, like he was turning it over, turning it into an intimate, lingering caress. “It suits you, warrior.”

Gerrard swallowed, and only halfheartedly attempted to dredge up some argument, or some reasonable explanation for why he’d given the orc that, too. Given —Olarrthat. Olarr. Olarr, of Clan Bautul.

“Yours sounds like a good proper orc name, right?” his cursed voice asked instead, a little stilted. “From your father’s side?”

He’d heard of a few orcs carrying human names, no doubt a considerable source of shame among them — and he was vaguely surprised by the feel of another low chuckle into his neck. “Ach, but my father’s first choice would have beenAthalbriktr, after his own father,” the orc — Olarr — replied. “But my mother would not hear of this, so in the end, they settled upon Olarr instead.”

Gerrard blinked, because for all he knew, most orcs’ human mothers didn’t stick around long enough to name their orc sons, let alone argue with their fathers over it. But that might have been wistfulness in Olarr’s sigh, in the hitch of his breath. “My mother was a wise woman,” he continued. “At least, until the day she ran into a pitched battle to save a runaway orcling. I ken it was not the men who killed her” — another chuckle, dull and distant this time — “but our own Bautul kin.”

Oh. It took Gerrard’s overwhelmed brain a moment to digest all that, his eyes blinking blankly into the moonlight. Olarr had known his mother. Olarr had been raised by his mother, and had clearly grieved her death — by friendly fire, of all things, yet another all-too-frequent outcome of this useless war. And in truth, why hadn’t Gerrard guessed at any of this until now? The orc’s common-tongue was excellent, and he obviously had an — affinity for humans. Along with an irrational tendency to rescue them on battlefields…

“Your father still alive, then?” Gerrard asked, his voice a croak. “Fighting alongside you, maybe?”

Olarr shook his head against Gerrard’s shoulder, and Gerrard distantly noted that he was resting its full weight there now, the shaggy hair tickling his skin. “My father died many summers past,” came Olarr’s reply, very steady. “In yet another battle.”

Gerrard didn’t miss the clear implication in that — it had been men, men like him, who had killed Olarr’s father. And Olarr was still standing here like this in a creek, compromised and alone with a human, with his head on the human’s shoulder.

I have already fallen, and you have taken… all.

Gerrard shoved that thought away, even as he felt his own hand stroking a little against the orc’s bare back, his fingers spreading wide. “My parents are both gone, too,” he said, offered, his voice hollow. “Ma when I was maybe ten, of lung sickness. Pa was a sailor, but didn’t even get to die in battle. Ship foundered and they all drowned. They wouldn’t give the death payout to a kid, so a year or two later, I joined the army myself.”

He huffed a bitter little laugh as he spoke, because that particular injustice still rankled, all these years later — he hadn’t been old enough to get his own father’s rightful inheritance, but he’d been old enough to sign up, to walk straight toward his own death without the slightest administrative obstruction. And he could feel Olarr’s head abruptly lifting now, could feel the weight of his gaze on his face.

“They would not even hold this in trust for you?” he demanded, his voice harder than Gerrard might have expected. “Their own warrior’s orphanedson?”

Gerrard shrugged, shook his head, and blinked at the sound of Olarr’s growl, surprisingly harsh. “You humans,” Olarr hissed. “Throwing away your priceless sons fornaught. I hope you have now addressed this cruelty, at least? It cannot yet be thus, amongst you?”

Gerrard couldn’t help another bitter little laugh, betraying the army’s absolute and ongoing failures in this, and calling to mind his own constant efforts to make sure the death paperwork was filed properly, and that next of kin were found. And that someone, somewhere, followed up with the children at some point, and made sure they were getting at least part of what they deserved.

“And you cannot address this yourself?” came Olarr’s next question, even more disconcerting than the last. “You are a lieutenant, are you not?”

---