What They Don't See

Couple: Jaina x Thrall

Disclaimer: I do not own Warcraft/Wow. That's for Blizzard.

AN : I am doing five themes for each chapter and I am also throwing in a few ocs here and there but nothing major. All of the ocs are from my time in Wrymrest Accord.


xX Introduction Xx

As far as Jaina remembered it –what if she wasn't remembering everything?- Thrall had been far more frightening from stories she had heard of him, ("He's a green monster!!" "Aren't all orcs green monsters though?" Is he really a monster?) though he seemed large compared to her small very human frame-always tiny since the day she was born-, Jaina couldn't help but think that he wasn't. Looking into his calm blue eyes, (always thinking, taking note of everything around) the sorceress knew that he was merciful, for a killer, a true murderous deathdealer did not have eyes that kind. As she reached a hand out to him, (Don't think on how large his hand is to yours, Jaina!) her hand being held in a precarious grasp of his large green fingers, she couldn't help but smile.

Thrall, upon seeing that smile, (Taretha's smile? No, Jaina's) felt some sort of relief –the kind that swallows him up nightly knowing that he has made it through another black night- and knew at that moment, (Was it that moment, exactly, Thrall?) that he had found a friend for life in her deep blue eyes ("She reminds me of the ocean." "Why is that?"), a friend for who he knew he could understand.

"I am Thrall, Warchief of the Horde." His deep grounding voice-he was stone, warm hearth stone-halted the moment between them, (how long, Jaina?) an eternity in a second. Jaina's golden hair ("You used to say I reminded you of Taretha,") bobbed in acknowledgement before the warchief, in his steely blue gaze ("The sky, Thrall.") and spoke.

"Jaina Proudmoore." Thrall knew that she was no match for Taretha-a woman long dead- simply because of her words. ("You were not afraid.")

xX Multi-tasking Xx

Her fingers were diligent (unlike the Warchief's large green ones, covered with black nails as if stained with the corruption of death) and honestly, Thrall-for who else could it be?- could imagine those fingers moving through his hair-something no orc-ess could get him to think (They were brittled hands not as deft as hers seemed)- toying with the blackened strands as she sung to him ("It's always tavern songs." "It's all I know, Thrall"), a tune of merriment. (Sometimes he'd wonder at night if he was replacing Taretha with Jaina or the other way around.)

He could see her move –Did she ever stop and sit still?- always going, doing things on her little stick legs, ("It's called the Gingerbread man" "Donut man would be nicer. You can catch him.") a painted drawing in motion before all the colors-all of them- would run out (Washed by the rain of Dunwallow) because that was Jaina-strong, never still Jaina. (Were you afraid to stop? Would the past catch up to you if you took a moment to breath?)

Especially now, as he watched her-one of his secret favorite activites now- in the form of a spectral wolf, (The wolf had come to him first.) as Jaina prepped up her base for the battle of Mt. Hyjal. (Was this going to be the last one? Were the humans going to betray them?) Her fingers moved over scrolls of maps and battle plans, writing, moving –Don't be afraid to stop…- with her long pretty cornsilk hair falling over one delicate shoulder. ("I always have to make sure not to crush you.") and he wondered, as she barked orders, much like the commander she was, ("Antonidas had to be badgered into letting me learn magic, you know." "Antonidas made a good choice.") whether or not he should make his presence known, reaching over for a scratching behind his ears, his favorite spot instead of his spying, ("Thrall, that is the last time you get to sneak in here as a wolf!" "You look nice when you blush." "OUT!") in assurance as he padded softly away that she would not grant such a selfish desire in her multi-tasking.(Especially since it was an unneeded orc thought.)

xX Teamwork Xx

Thrall had no idea-really, none at all-that Jaina and himself would make a good fighting duo as the hordes of undead, (Why was it always undead?) rushed onwards, surging, ("They remind me of a waterfall when they do that.") at soldiers and them till it seemed that they were the only ones there-invisible, intangible people- as he used the doomhammer, lightning striking up from it here and there-Jaina's elementals made sure to dodge that- as her spells, always cast as fast as she could, helped keep the undead from coming near them.(Her fingertips were always cold after she used her frost spells, always waiting for you to warm them up as they rest against her cloth body) Thrall's elementals attacked in sync with hers at killing the frozen bodies, eradicating another line. The sorceress seemed to have broken out of the spell to see that their camp was too overrun, holding onto Thrall as she loudly yelled to him throughout the dark rage. (Her voice seemed to had awakened him, causing him to look up at her, thinking Taretha for a moment, easily shaking his head as he reminded himself, 'Jaina, pretty and strong, Jaina.')

"We need to go to the last base!!" He glanced around them, nodding. Their people, a majority of them were dying against the undead. They had put enough of a fight up to slow them. Her fingers grabbed his hand, engulfed, gripping his fingers as she whispered the incantation for a moment-It was only later that she was able to do it wordlessly-and they disappeared and then reappeared with a popping sound in Tyranade's camp, landing askew-Jaina ending up landing on a bush with Thrall noisily throwing up over her shoulder as he had landed ontop of her. After his initial portal sickness, he noticed the woman underneath him and ended up flopping over the otherside-the puke a reminder that he needed to try all sorts of travel more often-before weakly standing up and helping the tangled sorceress out of the tree. ("I was only enjoying being under you." "I think you were just enjoying being crushed against something.")

They really were an excellent team.

xX Hero Xx

Sometimes, when she napped-It was always in lazy warm afternoons- Jaina dreamt of her days as a student, first in the Violet Citadel as a mage, and then even more as Antonidas's pupil, (though the man was strict in his teaching) and this time, she dreamt of a harsh question that Antonidas had first asked of her. (Sometimes she ached to hear his harsh words again or that question one more time from his lips.)

"Jaina, what makes a hero?" She answered like her father taught her-always obediently listening to his words about the orcs and evil-with words of good and praise and for the light being mixed. Antonidas-dear, sweetly strict archmage-only shook his long hair-something she had nearly been jealous of- at her answer in her sweet voice, almost raspy undertones when she had truly been rather young. His face fell-an avalanche of age and words that no longer held meaning to his skin-until she felt that she had really failed him-lost him forever to the hopes that would never be realized again.

It took awhile for his words to sink in during her time in the citadel, even more during her travels before she could find what a hero truly was. (His face always gleamed dark. A prince of the wrong kind.) Looking beside her, (would he always be there?) Jaina felt something akin to a kind-hearted smile on her face-the one he would tell her years later that he missed the most during their arguments-and knew that despite Antonidas's frail words-the strength and corrosion of dusted facades in them-the only person who was a true hero, standing in armor given from a friend, a hammer taken from the fallen, was standing beside her at this important battle-decisive victory, beautiful ceasefire-loudly proclaiming their win.

(Not all heroes are born human, Thrall.)

xX Eyes Xx

She looked surprised-something Thrall rarely saw in her-("You seem always calm, Jaina,") after they were doing the clean up-more corpses dead than people alive-at Mount Hyjal, the forest mourning, spirits crying in a funeral for those dead. (It had to be done though, he argued often to himself afterwards in guilt and all she could do was press her forehead against his and want to cry for him.) In her hands were stones-smooth flat stones, myraid in their colors- as she looked up to him.

"What are you doing with those stones?" The Warchief tilted his head, his helmet off onto his white wolf, (an appendage to him like his armor, something she rarely saw him not near) as he watched stick figure Jaina-her clothes so dirty and stained in blood, sleep deprived eyes- smile and blush for once. ("I had never seen a rose bloom but I think that is what it looked like….Yes! Like that!") The sorceress shook her wild steelbloom hair-the strongest flower, always growing in the harshest of places-before straightening up, a rod of power for her spine, and showing him an open palm of them, spreading them out delicately- almost as precious as if she was picking up tiny kittens and showing them off, a child to a friend.

"It's an old hobby of mine. Anywhere I go, I collect stones of certain colors." Her voice, another remarkable thing, went from her definitive calm to a sound of a shy soft kitten's meowing-another reminder to Thrall that this woman was more fragile than her spirit deemed her. "They remind me of my loved ones." In her hand, five stones, shimmering brightly to him, as she pointed at each one. "I'm adding one more today instead of just collecting four."

"Who are they?" She smiles softly, another pang of something hitting him-he would not be able to identify what it was until later by himself in Grommash Hold when a big decision had to be made for he knew it was the beginning of something at that point-before pointing at a dark blue stone, almost black, slightly rougher looking than the others but still smooth none the less. "My father, Daelin Proudmoore."

There was a heaviness to those words, her lips chewing on her bottom lip-showing her worry, her thoughts all too easily. Something Arthas had always mentioned when she tried to lie- and then she all too quickly, as if dismissing her heavy worry, moved to a dark green stone. "Tandred, my brother." Her fingers traced to one of the last three-his eyes following the tips as if he was hungry for them to touch his skin instead, something he would never be prepared for- to a red stone, almost a clay red, "The high-elf prince, Kael'thus, he's an old friend."

Her mouth moved quickly, as if to tell him immediately of her relation before she took a deep breath and went to a sea green stone-hands shaking terribly, he wondered if she had a frost spell on her tips-before her finger touched it. "Arthas……an…an ol-"Thrall smiled at her, (something that took her breath away, time and time again, for an orc smile was almost from ear to ear) and shook his head, a gratefulness escaping her mind as she moved to the light blue, almost sky blue stone. "You."

("So why the sky blue stone?" "Because it matched your eyes, Thrall!")


AN : So, How do you like it? It's a twenty chapter theme story, starting from Hyjal and continuing through a little past the present timeline in Wow. I'm hoping they're in character and everything. The writing styles may differ from every chapter as this is basically an excersize for me to work on different styles that I like. I really like this writing so you might see this type more often but reviews would be welcomed if you choose to send them.