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I pause, letting the weight of it, the weariness, settle on stooped shoulders. Seeing the shadow of it, the recognition, in even the proudest, most pugnacious faces.
"But I stand before you today to say...it doesn't have to be this way. The cycle of revenge and retribution, the legacy of anguish and enmity...it can end. Here, now, with us. If we're brave enough, bold enough to choose a different path. A higher road."
Mutters and murmurs, some considering, some incredulous. I feel Grok's presence at my back, solid and steady, silently willing me strength, resolve. I square my shoulders, forging ahead.
"I know it seems impossible," I acknowledge, my voice ringing with empathy, with shared strain and sorrow. "Gods know, not so long ago, I would have scoffed at the very notion of peace between our peoples. Of anything but unending antagonism and strife."
My lips curve in a faint, rueful smile. "But then...then I met someone who challenged everything I thought I knew. Who showed me, in a thousand small ways that honor and heart know no boundaries of race. That courage and compassion can bloom in even the most unlikely soil, the most hostile conditions."
I turn my head, my gaze finding Grok's like a lodestone, an invisible tether. The love, the pride that blazes back at me sets my skin tingling, my soul alight.
"Grok Bloodclaw taught me that an ogre can be noble, valiant...even gentle and generous in spirit," I declare, the words ringing with conviction, with utter certainty. "In coming to know him, to love him...I learned that we are not so different as we've been led to believe. That the walls we've built between us are born of fear, not fact."
I turn back to the crowd, holding out a hand in supplication, in offering. "And if Grok and I, a human warrior and an ogre warlord, can find common ground...can build a bond that transcends every barrier, every border...then why not all of us? Why not our peoples, given a chance to lay down our arms and forge something new?"
"Because it's folly!" The bellow shatters the spellbound silence, harsh and grating as a rusty blade across bone. "Madness and moonshine, to think we could ever treat with humans as equals!"
I whirl towards the speaker, my heart plummeting as I recognize the towering, glowering figure shouldering his way through the ogre delegation. Krag, the warlord of the Bloodthirst clan, one of Grok's most vocal opponents besides the Skullcleavers.
"Grok Bloodclaw has gone soft," Krag spits, his eyes glinting with malice and menace as they rest on my mate, my love. "Soft and stupid in the head, bewitched by a human whore into betraying his own kind!"
Snarls of agreement from some of the ogres, even as others shift uneasily, caught between old allegiances and the allure of a new approach. On the human side, hands fly to hilts, eyes narrowing in offense and outrage on my behalf.
But I hold up a staying hand, keeping my own eyes locked on Krag. "I am no whore," I say coldly, each word precise as a dagger's point. "And Grok is no fool. He is a visionary, with the courage to imagine a different destiny for Agaroth. One not defined by division and destruction."
Krag sneers, baring his tusks. "A destiny of defeat and degradation, more like," he scoffs. "Of ogres tamed and tethered, collared like curs by our inferiors."
He jabs a clawed finger at Grok, at me. "I name you traitors," he roars, spittle flying. "Oathbreakers and weaklings, unworthy of leadership! And I challenge you, here and now, for the right to rule!"
Gasps and growls, a susurrus of shock and speculation. I feel Grok tense behind me, a rumble building in his great barrel of a chest.
But even as he steps forward, squaring his shoulders for a fight...I thrust out an arm, stopping him in his tracks.
"No," I say firmly, never breaking Krag's baleful glare. "I accept your challenge, Krag of the Bloodthirst clan. And I will face you myself, in the ancient rite of single combat."
Grok makes a strangled noise, his hand landing heavy on my shoulder. "Lily, no! I won't let you?—"
"You don't have a choice," I murmur, not unkindly, as I turn to face him. Reaching up, I cradle his beloved, agonized face in my hands, my thumbs stroking soothingly over his clenched jaw.
"This is my fight, Grok. My chance to prove, with blood and blade, how far I'll go for our dream. For our future."
My lips quirk, tender and teasing. "Besides, if I let you fight for me, it will only convince them that I'm the weak one. The human puppet-master pulling your strings."
I lean up on my toes, bringing our brows together as I breathe him in, letting his scent, his strength, settle my racing pulse.
"I can do this, my heart. I need to do this. For us, and for everything we're striving to build."
I hold his gaze, willing him to understand, to accept. To trust in me, in my strength and my devotion, the way I have always trusted in his.
A long, fraught moment, the world narrowed to the desperate dance of breath between us. And then, slowly, so slowly...Grok nods. Just once, sharp and pained, but an assent nonetheless.
"Alright," he rasps, the word sounding as if it's been dragged over razors. "Alright, Lily. Gods, you stubborn, brave wench."
He bows his head, pressing his lips fierce and fast to my brow, a benediction and a plea. "Show them," he commands hoarsely. "Show them all what I already know—that you are a warrior without parallel, in any race or realm."
Tears prick my eyes, gratitude and adoration a tight knot in my throat. But I swallow them back, lifting my chin as I turn once more to face the assembly. To face Krag, still glowering in anticipation.
"In three days time, by the ancient laws that bind all in Agaroth," I announce, my voice clear as a clarion, "I will meet you in the ring of equals, Krag of the Bloodthirst. And I will show you, and all gathered here...the mettle of my blade and belief."
