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Trolls can until their fifties, though I do not say this aloud. I don’t want to seem like I am volunteering myself as an option for his mate. Not only would that be presumptuous, but it is also not what I mean, and I cannot count myself as one who can have children anyway. Rognar’s birth was a hard one, and the healer told me that I would never conceive again, a secret I kept from Guruk, as I knew that it would enrage him. I did not want to give him another reason to treat me poorly.

Wodred just shakes his head again, “I feel too old to be a father. Besides, as General of the Northern Horde, I have brought up my share of trainees and have felt both fatherly pride and exasperation with them. I do not feel that I am missing anything.”

I do not say anything more on the subject, not only because to press would be rude, but I do feel that it is a shame that Wodred will never be a father. He would be a good one. Stern when he needed to be, yes, but patient and kind most of the time. He would use his rare smiles for his children, I know it, and they would feel like they were the most special orclings in the world. He would be an even better grandfather, I wager. But if he does not want children, that is his choice.

If he does not want children, that means that he could want you, whispers that rebellious voice in my mind, but I hush it.

At that moment, there’s another outburst behind us, Dame Zera exploding at Gunag. I cannot hear the specifics, but I hear Wodred sigh.

“Gunag is one of those trainees who fills me both with pride and despair,” Wodred comments so quietly that I can barely make out his words. He doesn’t want Gunag to overhear us. “He is too brash, too arrogant. I know that it comes from his background, but he will need to grow up if he hopes to win a stubborn and proud female like Dame Zera.”

I have heard some of Gunag’s background. He is the child of an outcast orc who Claimed his elven mate, only to be abandoned by her. His father died of the wasting sickness that comes to those separated from their bonded. Gunag became an orphan who despised the elves and everything to do with their culture. He is talented as Axe of the King and a prized warrior, but it is true that he doesn’t know how to win a female, especially one like Dame Zera, who has her own past and stories to tell.

“They are actually a good match in some ways,” I tell Wodred, careful to keep my own voice low. “They are both stubborn, love their positions, and are loyal to a fault. But Gunag needs to stop needling her. It only drives her far from him.”

“He is angry that she refuses him,” Wodred says, still quiet. “He has been rejected enough in his life that he resents it. I think he also resents that she is his fated mate in the way of the elves, a reminder of the side of him that he has spurned. Still, he wants her and cannot stop. There is a madness in wanting what you cannot have.”

The orc general sounds like he knows from experience, but I do not press him for his story. I have never heard of Wodred taking a female, even as a bed companion, but that does not mean that he has not or that he has not had an affair of the heart go badly. It’s none of my business.

Ahead of us, a happy cry splits the air, pulling our focus. I look up and see a group of elfborn orclings running up to us.

“Uncle Wodred!”

“Uncle!”

“He’s here!”

Wodred draws his warbeast to a halt, so as not to trample the little ones who have surrounded us.

“Oh ho, what’s this?” Wodred asks, one of his rare smiles crinkling the lines at the corners of his eyes, “What are you lot doing at the edge of the village?”

“Mama told us we could wait for you!” one of the orclings exclaims. She looks to be maybe six or seven summers. She smiles with a gape-toothed grin and reaches for the nose of Wodred’s warbeast. My heart stops for a second, remembering the snapping teeth of Guruk’s warbeast, but Wodred’s just placidly allows the little one to stroke his nose, a long-suffering look in its wolven eyes.

“How did your mama know we would come today?” asks Wodred, sounding amused.

“She did not,” one of the other older orclings says, this one maybe ten. “We’ve been waiting after chores for the last two days. Mama said you’d be arriving any day now, and we didn’t want to miss your coming.”

“Well, we are thankful for such a warm welcome,” Wodred tells the orclings, who all beam with pride.

“You’ll be staying the night, won’t you, Uncle Wodred?” asks yet another orcling. Wodred was not lying when he said that his sister had a brood.

“We will,” Wodred answers. “We will also need to resupply. You all can help us, can you not?”

The orclings start chattering excitedly all at once, promising their help and asking questions. It’s impossible to separate who said what.

“All right, all right,” Wodred says, still sounding warmer and more jovial than I have ever heard him. “Now stand back. I need to help Lady Melelea down.”

The orclings stop chattering at that, seemingly noticing me sitting in front of Wodred for the first time. Wodred dismounts and reaches up to grasp my waist and help me down. My skin tingles under my dress when he touches me, an awareness that I’m unsure is welcome or not. I thought to never take notice of another male again, but this male is Wodred. Kind, honorable Wodred. He has never hurt me, never failed me. It confuses me and weakens my resolve to stay aloof.

When I am on the ground, the littlest orcling, the gap-toothed one, rushes forward with wide eyes.

“Are you really the king’s mother?” she asks, awe and reverence in her sweet little voice.

I smile at her and crouch down so that I am at her level. “That is true. I am Melelea. What is your name, little one?”

“I’m Kiva. I am the youngest right now, but Mama will have another baby soon and I will be a big sister then,” she announces proudly. Then she says, with the guileless certainty of a child, “Mama says that the king is good because you were his mother and that we should all be thankful to you. Is that true?”

My heart squeezes at her words. I sometimes think that Rognar became who he is in spite of me. That without my weakness, I could have protected him more. I could have taken him from Guruk and we could have lived in peace somewhere else, where my husband’s fury and pain could never touch us. I am almost certain that Rognar became the orc that he is because of Wodred more than me.

When I don’t respond right away, Wodred interrupts, “Of course it is true, Kiva. You know better than to question your mother’s knowledge.”

Kiva giggles at her uncle’s words, then reaches out a small green hand, her claws sheathed to grab mine. “Come! Mama will want to meet you!”

Sending Wodred a look of bemusement, I let Kiva lead me forward. All his nieces and nephews surround us as we walk forward, chattering and introducing themselves, though it is hard to keep names straight with the voices saying them. Wodred follows behind, leading his warbeast, a steady, calming presence at my back. I turn back to see Gunag and Dame Zera have dismounted as well, leading their own mounts forward into the village.

I suppose it’s time to meet Wodred’s family.