“I have always been able to listen when others do not agree. Look at the meetings I have with Jaina! She doesn’t always agree with me, and she does not curb her tongue.”
Aggra snorted. “A human female. What does she know about telling harsh things to an orc? Jaina Proudmoore is no threat, no challenge to you.” She frowned, looking thoughtful. “Neither was your Taretha.”
“Of course she was no challenge. She was my friend!” Thrall was starting to become angrier now that she had dragged Taretha Foxton into this strange fight she seemed determined to have with him. A human girl, Taretha had befriended him when she was a mere child; as an adult, she had found a way to help him escape his life as a gladiator, a slave of the human Lord Aedelas Blackmoore. She had paid for that deed with her life. “Few in this world have sacrificed as much for me, and she was a human!”
“Perhaps that is your problem, Go’el, and a problem others have with you. The most important females in your life have been human.”
His eyes narrowed. “You will hold your tongue.”
“Ah, and yet again you show me the truth of what I say: you will not hear disagreement. You would silence me rather than listen to me!”
There was truth in the statement, and it stung. With difficulty, Thrall took a deep breath and tried to rein in his anger.
“Then tell me: What do you mean?”
“I have only been in Azeroth a short while, and already I have heard the rumors. They outrage me to my core, and surely they should outrage you as well. Gossip pairs you and Jaina, or even you and Taretha, depending on the brew on tap, it seems.” Her voice dripped anger and disgust—at him or at the rumors, Thrall wasn’t sure and didn’t care.
“You tread on dangerous ground, Aggra,” he growled. “Jaina Proudmoore is a strong, brave, intelligent woman who has risked her life to help me. Taretha Foxton was the same—only she lost her life. I will not stand by and hear your bigoted slurs against them simply because they were not born orcs!”
He had advanced on her now, his face only inches from hers. She did not flinch, merely raised an eyebrow.
“You do not listen well, Go’el. I repeated rumors. I did not say I believed them. Nor did I say anything against either female other than they did not know how to criticize an orc. If anything, they have shown me that humans are capable of inspiring respect. But they are not orcs, Thrall, and you are not a human, and you do not know how to handle being challenged by a female of your own race. Or perhaps by anyone.”
“I cannot believe I am hearing this!”
“I cannot, either, because until this moment, you have not listened!” Both their voices were rising, and Thrall knew that the little shelters offered no barriers to others’ ability to hear their argument. Still Aggra pressed on.
“You have been able to hide behind the mantle of warchief. And that is why you are finding it so hard to free yourself of it now.” She pressed her face even closer to his and hissed, “You bear the name of a slave, because you are a thrall to the Horde. A slave to what you think is duty. And you use that duty as a shield—a barrier between you and the dark places, between you and guilt, and fear, and second-guessing.
And truly belonging to yourself—or to anyone else. You always plan ahead, and you do not take time to think about how far you have come, the amazing gift that your life has been. You strategize for tomorrow, but what about now? This moment…the little things…?”
She softened, her eyes growing kind instead of angry, and with surprising gentleness reached for his hand. “What about this strong hand in yours?”