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“Look, here’s how this is going to go.” The human stabbed his sword in Uric’s direction as if he were pointing at him with his finger, and sure, Uric liked the sword well enough, it was a fine and hefty blade that still bore the stains from its last battle. But this was a matter of pride.
He crossed his arms in front of his broad chest and bared sharpened teeth at the man. “Keep swinging that toothpick and I’ll shove it through your throat, human.” There, that was nice and friendly enough, wasn’t it?
The man bared his teeth in turn, he narrowed his eyes at him in barely contained impatience. Impatience, but not disgust, he noted not for the first time. Unlike other humans, he had never shown disgust for orcs in general or for the arrangement their betters had ordered them into. He had only ever been angry with Uric for being Uric. Or he was a very good actor, that was possible, too.
“How it’s going to go,” he started again.
Uric scoffed, and made a show of letting his eyes and his attention wander.
There wasn’t a lot to see, just the castle’s inner courtyard, a number of horses and haughty humans who thought dressing up in gleaming metal to protect their soft, vulnerable bodies made them warriors. Knights, a few of them called themselves and went by fancy names as if these could cover up that they didn’t know how to fight in real battles. His human was a knight, too, but he was also a real warrior. That was one of the very few good things Uric could say about his husband-to-be.
The human shoved his sword back into the sheath, his movements jerky and angry. He looked nicer when he was angry, less human-frail. His dark face was eternally frozen in a scowl – or that was all Uric had seen of him anyway – but now he looked like he wanted to tear out his throat. Angry really was a good look for him.
“If you don’t want to talk, I won’t waste any more time. There are still marauding troll bands in the Weaven Marsh. Come along or don’t, it’s your choice.”
Uric raked the claw-like sharp nails of his right hand over the back of his left palm while he watched the human stalk away. Thin rivulets of black blood welled up on his green skin, but even imagining he was digging his claws into one of the human’s troll enemies didn’t give him any satisfaction right now. He snorted in frustration.
A lot depended on them making nice, both for his clan and the human’s kingdom.
To say that orcs and humans were natural enemies would be too much, it was more that a lot of the time humans had the things orcs liked to take – for free – and they were very killable, and the humans made a big fuss about both. Humans were annoying like that.
Every now and then humans and orcs tried not to be enemies. And that’s where he and his human came in.
The human had already reached his stallion and was just giving last instructions to a stable boy.
Uric grunted in disgust, and stomped towards him.
“Wait!” he barked.
That got him a pointed look from horseback. “Changed your mind about sulking?”
“Quiet, human.”
The man closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over his face. He had been told he was thirty years of age, only two years older than Uric himself. Unlike Uric, he didn’t bear any scars yet on his face, unless one was hidden beneath the neatly braided goatee he wore. He still managed to look very old and worn right now. Uric suspected he was doing it on purpose to send a message, but he was determined not to care.
“I have a name, orc.” He narrowed his glaring eyes, lips pressed together, nostrils flaring. “I know you don’t like me.” Despite the glare, his voice was softer than Uric had heard him ever before; he was always rushing around giving orders to stem the latest crisis and if he wasn’t giving orders, he was acting like he was giving orders anyway. Now he looked tired and sad. It was the most orcish Uric had seen him. “You don’t have to like me. I know it’s not the marriage either of us wanted. But it’s not about us.”
Two weeks. Two weeks since they had met in front of chieftain and king, and two more weeks till they would be wed. Two weeks, and he still had to be reminded that he couldn’t be selfish.
The orc, a striking figure tall and proud, with battle-scarred green skin stretching over powerful muscles and pointy ears proudly displaying earrings earned in many battles, felt suddenly very small. He bared his teeth, just to show he wasn’t bothered, and turned away with a scoff.
He went to the Weaven Marsh anyway.
But he didn’t call the human by his name.
Two weeks to the day; today they should have been decked out in silly human finery to be gawked at by silly human nobles while they spoke vows to gods Uric didn’t care to honor.
Instead, he sat on a bedroll in a tent, water dripping down onto his head from a leak in the canvas and the cold dampness of his bedroll soaking his ass.
“This is the wettest, most miserable place I’ve ever seen,” he grunted as he yanked an arrow head out of his shoulder.
The human was kneeling in front of a bucket of swampy water. He was done wiping off the grime, and was now dunking the long, thin braids he wore his hair in into the bucket.
“They do call it a marsh.”
Uric looked down at his hand, which now sported a golden band along with new cuts and bruises.
As soon as they sent word that the marauding troll bands were more of an invading army than plunderers, the king had responded by sending a priest.
If we die fighting side by side as husbands we’ll have done our duty as well as if we’d lived, his human had said and shrugged as if he didn’t care. He was a terrible liar. That was another thing Uric liked about him.
The human had shed his armor, fresh white bandages stood out stark on his dark skin, but they were already bleeding red again.
Uric scowled and turned his face away. He didn’t like to see him like this.
There were more sounds of splashing water, rummaging around, hisses of pain as the human put on his heavy leather armor again. They couldn’t afford to sleep out of armor, the next attack could happen at any moment.
“I have to speak to the troops,” he said. He sounded weary, strained like someone trying too hard to hide he was in pain. He couldn’t stand, only crouch in the small tent, but he still looked a little imposing as he gave him a long, pointed look. “The soldiers are going to ask me how much longer till reinforcements arrive.”
Uric lowered his eyes. “Soon.”
It was the same answer he gave every day, the only one he had.
The human left the tent to speak to the fighting men and women again, and Uric curled up on his bedroll, pretending not to care or worry.
He still didn’t call him by his name.
Two weeks of fighting had turned into two months.
Uric stormed into the healer’s tent, making a beeline right for the cot at the far end, separated by a thin sheet from the other sickbeds. Nobody needed to see how badly the commander was injured, or that he was here at all if it could be helped.
Too bad Uric didn’t give a damn about discretion.
“I swear, if the trolls don’t kill you I will!”
That earned him a laugh from the man on the cot – he looked too small on it, his laugh was too weak and wheezy.
Uric didn’t like it.
“I’m not kidding, I’ll kill you!”
Now he was smiling, the infuriating human. “I’m sure you will.”
“That’s not funny, Elos!”
They both went still for a moment, and then the human’s smile widened. “So you do know my name,” he mused.
He snorted and crouched by his side, tucking himself into the narrow space between the cot and a trunk. He stared down at his hands. “Of course I know your name. Stupid human.”
They both sat there, silent and awkward. Uric rubbed at the golden band on his finger. It had dulled with grime and blood, he never found the time to polish it. He looked up, taking in the sight of the human wearing an orcish bonding necklace, carved bones to signify vows Elos didn’t understand. There had been no time to explain anything.
Elos’s hand left the cocoon of blankets he was wrapped up in and found Uric’s.
Their eyes met. This time, neither of them looked away.
“You never told me why you’re here,” Elos said.
Uric scoffed. “Because you can’t be trusted not to get yourself killed!”
“No.” His hand tightened on Uric’s. “Why you agreed to the marriage. I know you didn’t want to.”
He shrugged and looked away. He’d hoped Elos wouldn’t ask, but of course, that luck could only last so long. “Somebody had to.”
Elos gave him a long, thoughtful look that burned into him, and left Uric feeling uncomfortably… soft. He didn’t like it.
“It’s alright. You don’t have to tell me.” He fell silent. “I’m just glad you’re here.”
Uric gave another discomfited shrug. He looked down at his knees. “Me, too.”
The human’s hand moved from his hands to his face, he cupped his cheek and ran the pad of his thumb over the pointy tip of Uric’s ear. Then he tried to move, to sit up, but immediately fell back onto the cot with a stifled yell, followed by breathless laughter. “I was going to kiss you, but…”
Uric didn’t give him the chance to give voice to any but before he claimed his first kiss.
Two years of war now.
It was the day of the battle, of the decisive battle of this forsaken war, the one only one army would survive with enough troops to fight another.
It was just a slaughter now, neat lines and formations long abandoned to scatter into countless small, faster-moving targets to counter the overwhelming strength of the trolls.
Uric swung his battle axe from horseback – he used to hate horses, but he’d long since grown used to them.
A little bit of his attention remained always on Elos; as usual he was commanding from right in the middle of the fight. It drove his lieutenants to despair, but Uric agreed it was the only proper way to lead. It was how he had won the respect of the orcish reinforcements, long ago when the war had just started and such things still mattered. Uric liked his daring, but it didn’t mean he would let Elos go into battle without anyone to watch his back, nor that he would trust anyone else to do the job right.
As he watched his human, his eyes shone with pride, and love.
This one was his.
They were back in the courtyard, but tonight there were no horses being readied, no knights loitering after practice. Like the entire castle, the courtyard had been decked out festively for the victory ball. You could hear the music all the way down here.
“Look, here’s how this is going to go,” Elos said as he tugged off the heavy gloves that came with the ornamented plate armor he wore today, and buried a hand in Uric’s hair. He yanked him close, and kissed him, laughing when Uric growled, and bit down on his bottom lip with sharp orcish teeth.
Uric pulled back enough to meet his eyes, and smirked, showing off far more of these sharp orcish teeth than most humans were comfortable with. Not that Elos would mind, he was intimately familiar with them biting every part of his body. “What’s that, human? Still giving me orders?”
Elos shrugged. He smirked right back. “You don’t have to listen. If you’d rather stay for the next round of speeches…”
They exchanged a long look, thrilling in the knowledge they would both be in tremendous trouble if they got caught. Uric didn’t plan on getting caught, and Elos was sneaky.
“Somebody’s got to help you escape. You look like a turtle. Dunked in glitter.”
He looked kind of nice, actually; his silver plate armor was polished to a high sheen and it sparkled in the torchlight. He looked very regal.
Uric still liked it better when he was wearing nothing at all. If he got his way, Elos would be wearing nothing at all very soon.
“Then you’ll just have to help me escape,” the human pointed out, and had the cheek to look as pleased as if Uric hadn’t just insulted him.
He snorted, and moved away, muttering all the way under his breath about troublesome annoying humans.
A human hand snaked around his wrist and yanked him back. “Before you go storming the gates… I have a plan.”
There was the same glint to Elos’s eyes which was normally reserved for a brilliant move on the battlefield. It sent a pleasant shiver down Uric’s spine. He really better get them to privacy soon, or Uric might decide he didn’t give a damn how much trouble they’d be in.
He grinned, and licked a fang. “Let’s hear it, human.”