Illustration by Genjiro

CAPTURED BY THE ORC

Chapter 27: Endings and Beginnings

 

Disappointment flashed across Kane’s face and he pressed his lips together. “I’ll be outside. Make it quick.” 

 

The moment Kane closed the door, Samson grabbed the door of Dalthu’s cell and shook. It didn’t budge. 

 

“Little Tiger—”

 

Samson held up his hand, cutting Dalthu off. “I might be able to get the keys off Kane,” he muttered. “But they’ll be suspicious if the door was opened like that. I could smash the lock after, make it look like you broke out, but after that—”

 

“Little Tiger—”

 

“I can wrap up some rations from our kitchen. Maybe steal a horse? No, too risky. I can leave tracks behind the tavern, lead everyone that way—”

 

“Samson—”

 

“Shut up.” Samson glared at the orc. “What were you thinking coming here? And alone? Make yourself useful and help me figure out how to get you out of here.”

 

“I’m not leaving.”

 

Samson’s stomach clenched. “If you stay, they’ll kill you.”

 

“Then that is my fate.” 

 

“Don’t be stupid!”

 

“I made a promise.”

 

“That promise is going to get you killed!” 

 

Dalthu didn’t respond. 

 

An awful realization dawned on Samson. “You came here to die.”

 

“I came to see you,” Dalthu reached his good hand through the bars and brushed Samson’s cheek, “one last time.”

 

The orc’s hand against his skin was dry and warm and Samson fought the urge to nuzzle deeper into that warmth. 

 

“I will never forget the horror I felt that day. When I finally made it to the evacuation point and you weren’t there, I was like a madman, I looked everywhere for you. I ran back out, scouring the village, hoping to find you, but also terrified. The thought that you were lying somewhere hurt or—worse—is a nightmare I’ll never recover from.”

 

Dalthu’s words tumbled out of him as if he was terrified he wouldn’t have enough time to say them all.

 

“When I discovered that you had been taken . . . I was overcome with rage. Bitterness. Desperation. I wanted to tear the world apart,” Dalthu growled, reliving the moment, before going completely still. “Then it struck me. All these terrible feelings . . . your family must have felt them too. When I took you away.”

 

The orc’s hand trembled as he pushed forward.

 

“Miburr shatratog dobat . . . ‘pride is the mask of weakness.’ I thought my people knew best. That I knew best. I believed you would understand what I did and why. That over time you would grow to love me like all the other mates had grown to love their partners. I trusted the ways of my people. No,” Dalthu shook his head, correcting himself, “it was easier not to question and, in my blindness, I believed that I was making the best choices for us.”

 

Dalthu sucked in a shaky breath and locked eyes with Samson.

 

“I was wrong. I was making the best choices for myself. I see now—my pride destroyed something precious, and Samson, I can’t forgive myself. Every day is agony knowing that I hurt the one I love. Love and remorse gnaw at my soul. Each memory of your smile is linked with a memory of your tears, and your cries echo in my chest along with your laughter. You, the source of my joy, are also the source of sorrow. It haunts me, Samson. And I only have myself to blame.”

 

Dalthu’s confession hung in the air, and the ground under Samson shifted. He gripped the cell bars. It was too much. Too many emotions . . . too many thoughts were crashing over him, making it hard to stand.

 

Is this even the same Dalthu? 

 

“I knew that by coming here I would likely lose my life, and I know that it may be too late, that you may never find it in yourself to forgive me. But, fool that I am, I can’t help but hope,” the orc rasped. “Hope for one more chance. A chance to mend what is broken. And for that chance, Samson, I would risk everything.”

 

Forgiveness.

 

That was the word. The word for this terrible yet joyful, powerful yet vulnerable moment. The word for what Samson was feeling. He couldn’t help it any longer. A tear escaped and rolled down his cheek. 

 

It won’t erase the past, but . . . perhaps . . . 

 

Dalthu gently brushed the rogue tear away and something fluttered deep in Samson’s body. 

 

Are both father and child trying to comfort me? 

 

“Life? Limb?” Dalthu plowed ahead with his speech, holding up his stump. “Take my other hand if it would grant me one more day by your side.” 

 

“Stop.” 

 

“Death would be—”

 

“STOP.” 

 

Dalthu’s mouth snapped shut. 

 

“You really are an idiot,” Samson sniffed, smacking Dalthu’s arm away. “You are still just selfishly doing whatever you want. Death?! What good are you dead?!” 

 

“I—”

 

“How are you supposed to win me back as a corpse? Do you think that’s what we want?” 

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Dalthu repeated quickly. “What should I . . .”  Dalthu blinked. The orc’s brain had caught up with what Samson had said. Then, slowly, Dalthu echoed, “‘We?’”

 

Ready to meet your daddy, little one?

 

Another flutter. 

 

Samson lifted his tunic.

 

The moment hung like it was suspended in water. Dalthu’s eyes fixed on the gentle swell of Samson’s belly. “You . . . you’re . . .”

 

Samson nodded. 

 

“We’re going to be a family?” 

 

Samson nodded again.

 

Dalthu dropped to his knees. “H–how, no, when—” his voice cracked with the effort of holding back his emotions. Trembling, the orc reached toward Samson through the bars. “Please . . . may I . . . ?”

 

Samson placed the orc’s large hand on his stomach just in time for another round of flutters. 

 

The dam finally broke. Dalthu’s face scrunched up as he wept. He pulled Samson close and, through the gaol bars, placed gentle kisses all over his belly. 

 

“I wish I could say that you’re the first to know,” Samson said, “but Hazel noticed the mark and found out. Right before she tried to kill me.”

 

Dalthu stopped cooing at Samson’s stomach. “Kill you?”

 

“Her revenge for Baronk.”

 

“But, why—how would she know about the attack—” Dalthu’s eyes narrowed. “Ragnuk.” 

 

Samson nodded. “Hazel convinced Ragnuk to make a deal with the mercenaries. He’d let them in, and they would allow him to seize control of the horde.”

 

“I’m sure it didn’t take much to convince the toad.” Dalthu scowled. “We found his body away from the fighting. It was mutilated almost beyond recognition. I guess he’d served her purpose.”

 

“Then she went and found me.” Samson crossed his arms, remembering that dreadful moment. “She planned to use the chaos of the attack and kill me in front of you. If it weren’t for Kane . . .”

 

Dalthu was silent for a moment. “Thank you,” he said, finally. “Thank you for surviving. Thank you for protecting our child.” 

 

The orc pressed his face against Samson’s belly, murmuring “thank you” over and over again. Dalthu’s warm breath tickled Samson’s skin. It felt good. 

 

Too good. 

 

A familiar sensation was growing between his legs. Samson shifted and something hard poked against him. He looked down.

 

“Um . . . Dalthu?” 

 

“Yes, my love?”

 

“Is that . . . are you—” 

 

The corner of Dalthu’s mouth twitched. “Can you blame me? I’m finally touching my mate again.”

 

“My brother is right outside,” Samson hissed. He could only imagine Kane’s expression if he walked in right now.

 

“I doubt his impression of me could get any worse. Plus,” the orc looked pointedly at Samson’s groin, “I don’t think you are in a position to judge, Little Tiger.”

 

Samson’s cheeks burst into flame. “Don’t—don’t look—”

 

Dalthu chuckled. “Why? It’s perfectly natural.”

 

“This is—I’m not—”

 

“I know.” Dalthu smiled. “I’m just grateful.”

 

“If you’re really grateful then you should show it,” Samson grumbled. 

 

“What should I do? Tell me.”

 

“You should kiss my feet and—”

 

Samson had been about to add that the orc should help devise an escape plan, but Dalthu was already bowing down. He peppered the top of Samson’s foot with kisses. Gentle, thorough kisses that traveled up to Samson’s ankle. Then higher and higher, until Dalthu’s soft lips pressed once again against his bare stomach. Samson couldn’t stop a hum of pleasure.

 

“Shhh, your brother is right outside.” Dalthu’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.

 

Cocky son of a—well, two can play at that game.

 

Samson leaned in and pressed his leg against the orc’s erection, eliciting a yelp of surprise from Dalthu. Samson giggled. “Now who’s being too loud?” 

 

“S–sorry.”

 

Samson pulled his leg away and Dalthu whimpered. “Are you really?” He slid his foot up against the orc’s cock, this time allowing Dalthu to grind into it. A shiver of satisfaction ran through Samson as he watched Dalthu’s hips jerk. 

 

Seeing Dalthu like this . . . desperately holding onto me . . . I could get used to this.

 

“Look at you. Humping my leg like a dog. You really are a pervert, aren’t you?”

 

Dalthu’s face flushed a lovely pink and he bit his lip. The orc’s cock was now visibly straining against his pants.

 

Desire, hot and urgent, curled through Samson’s body. There was no liquor this time. No crazy potion, either. He grabbed Dalthu’s face, squishing the orc’s green cheeks together. “Do you think a few pecks are enough to win me over?” 

 

Wide-eyed, Dalthu shook his head and Samson swooped down.

 

The situation was absurd. They had been apart longer than they had been together, yet Samson’s lips met Dalthu’s as if they had always belonged together. Their hearts danced along with their tongues, joining body and soul, and they clung to each other as the world blurred and faded to nothing . . . missing the sounds of footsteps approaching. 

 

***

 

It was fortunate that the door of the gaol creaked. It was unfortunate that it only creaked at the end of its arc. Samson and Dalthu jerked out of their reverie moments too late. The mercenary, Breman, stood in the doorway, his expression a mixture of disgust and rage.

 

“I fuckin’ knew it—” 

 

Shit.

 

Samson’s eyes flicked to the open door behind the mercenary. “Kane?” 

 

“A damn orc lover.”

 

“Kane!”

 

“Your brother ain’t coming,” Breman spat, holding up the key to the gaol—the key that had previously been in Kane’s possession. 

 

“What did you—”

 

“He’s fine,” Breman stalked toward them, pulling out a short sword. “He’ll wake up after it’s all over.”

 

Samson spread his arms out against the bars. Behind him, he heard the frantic jangle of chains and Dalthu’s voice commanding him to move out of the way. Samson ignored him. “I’m not going to let you do this.”

 

A flicker of disbelief crossed Breman’s scarred features. Then, a manic grin stretched his lips. He threw his head back and laughed. “What is it about orcs, hm? Do their pricks taste like wine? What is it about them that turns all of you into whores? Hm? Or is it madness brought on by motherhood?”

 

Samson flinched. “What are you talking about?”

 

Breman pointed his sword at Samson’s belly. “You think you’re the first orc bitch I’ve come across? I knew it when I saw that cursed mark on your stomach. I told Kane—tried to tell him. The only way to free you is to cut it out.” 

 

Behind him, Samson heard Dalthu’s breath catch. A flurry of metallic clangs followed as Dalthu pulled violently against his chains. Samson stepped to the side. Breman’s sword followed him.

 

I just need to keep him talking. Buy time. Keep his attention away from Dalthu.

 

Samson prayed his brother would come to quickly. He took another step to the side. “It’s just a tattoo. If you do anything to me, you won’t be able to escape punishment.”

 

The mercenary laughed pleasantly. “I’ll just say the monster got out and killed you, and I arrived too late to save you. No one will blame me for taking care of a bloodthirsty monster.”

 

“And what about my brother? Do you think Kane will believe your lies?”

 

The mercenary had a faraway look. “He’ll . . . understand. This is the only way. The only way to save your soul. The only way. She—He’ll believe me.”

 

A peal of cruel, mocking laughter floated out from the gaol cell. “‘She?’ Wait, is all this because your girlfriend left you for an orc?” 

 

Breman spun toward the cell. “Shut up.”

 

Dalthu leaned against the far wall, an infuriating smirk plastered on his face. ”I get it now. She couldn’t put up with your thumb prick after she got a taste of real meat, is that it?” 

 

“I said shut up.” The mercenary’s face was purple with rage.

 

“Probably like throwing a grain of rice down a gopher hole afterward, eh?” Dalthu made a crude gesture with his hands.

 

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” White spittle flew as Breman shook the bars of the gaol cell. “You animals took my wife! Seduced her! Made her think I was the villain! Turned her into a whore! My wife!” 

 

“Your wife didn’t need to be seduced. She was happy to be rid of you,” Dalthu sneered. 

 

Breman’s eyes bulged. “I’m goin’ to kill you.” He fumbled the key into the cell lock and opened the door.

 

Now! 

 

Samson lunged. He jumped on Breman’s back and wrapped his arm around the mercenary’s neck. 

 

The short sword and key clattered to the ground as Breman tried to shake Samson loose. He twisted violently, grabbing Samson’s arm and trying to pry it away, but Samson held on with the tenacity of a wild animal. The two men struggled, a tangle of limbs in the dimly lit gaol.

 

With a surge of power, Breman threw Samson forward. Samson hit the ground hard, the air knocked from his lungs. 

 

“Stay down,” Breman hissed. “I’ll take care of you soon.” He picked up his sword and headed back toward the cell.

 

No.

 

Samson grabbed Breman’s leg and bit down hard. There was a strangled cry before his head snapped sideways and his world went white. The mercenary had backhanded him, and the sheer power of the blow had lifted him off his feet and sent him sprawling across the prison floor.

 

Samson’s ears rang and he struggled to regain his bearings, ignoring the pain that radiated through his skull.

 

Breman limped over to him and snarled, “Enough! Since you want to die so badly, I’ll let you be with your precious monster. You and your half-breed whelp.” He raised his sword.

 

“GRAAHHHHH!”

 

The deafening shout was accompanied by the sharp crack of splintering wood. Samson saw the mercenary’s eyes widen just before he was sent flying by a green blur.

 

“Samson?” Beautiful golden eyes hovered above him. The orc knelt beside him, inspecting Samson’s injuries with careful intensity. “Are you okay?”

 

No, he wasn’t. Everything hurt. Samson groaned as he sat up. 

 

“Easy,” Dalthu said, his voice a low rumble filled with concern. Dust and sweat covered Dalthu’s body. Remnants of the crude chains that had bound him dangled from his neck. Debris littered the ground and the far wall of the cell lay in ruins, with chunks torn apart by raw strength.

 

“I’ll survive.” Samson felt a chastising kick in his belly. “Both of us.”

 

Dalthu’s gaze softened, and he brushed a hand against Samson’s stomach. “Such strong warriors. You put me to shame.”

 

“Says the one who just tore out a wall,” Samson replied, forcing a grin despite the ache in his head. 

 

“I’ve grown weak. I should have been at your side sooner.” Dalthu’s hand slipped lower and grazed the inside of Samson’s thigh.

 

Samson swallowed. He couldn’t speak, lost in the depths of Dalthu's eyes. A moment passed in silence as they merely looked at each other, their breaths entwined in the cool air. Samson's heart was pounding, and it wasn’t from pain.

 

"But you're here now." His voice was a mere whisper as he reached out to grasp Dalthu's dust-covered hand, his fingers brushing against the rough skin. He saw the flash of desire in Dalthu's expression before it shifted into a tender smile.

 

“Afar Angathfark,” Dalthu murmured, pulling him closer. “By the forge of my soul, I will always be here for you.”

 

Samson leaned in. Their lips met, tentatively at first, but quickly deepening into a kiss that spoke of relief and—the door creaked open.

 

Samson cursed. 

 

What now?!

 

Kane slumped against the doorframe. His eyes were glazed, and a cut on his forehead seeped blood that trickled down his temple. He wore an expression of bewildered exhaustion rather than aggression, and he curled his fingers weakly around the handle of his sword.

 

Kane's gaze flitted from the demolished wall of the gaol to Breman’s crumpled body and then to Samson, whose lips were still tingling from the kiss. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before he finally found his voice.

 

"I–I’m here to save you," he stammered.

 

The breath Samson was holding released into laughter. He got to his feet and limped over to his dazed brother, pulling him into a tight hug. “My hero.”

 

Kane cleared his throat. “So, you and, um . . . that mons—”

 

“Dalthu”

 

“Right, okay, Dalthu . . . you two . . . you’re both, um . . .”

 

"Together?” Samson stepped back and looked his younger brother in the eye. 

 

Kane coughed. 

 

“Yes. Yes, we are."

 

Before Kane had a chance to process this, an inhuman noise, half-growl and half-scream, echoed off the cell walls. Breman staggered to his feet fully, swaying slightly as if drunk on rage. Eyes wide and unseeing, his expression was not that of a sane man but of a rabid creature. “Kill . . . I’m going to KILL YOU!” 

 

Kane unsheathed his sword and took a defensive stance. “Samson, get behind me.” 

 

Breman laughed, a sound sharp and fractured like shattered glass. “You’re protectin’ him? Do you even know what he is?”

 

“I won’t let you hurt my brother, Breman.”

 

“That isn’t your brother. That . . . thing is an abomination.” 

 

“I’m warning you—”

 

“Nay, I’m warnin’ you. I told you, didn’t I? I told ya what he’s carryin’ inside?!” Breman slid a knife out from his boot, saliva dripping from his lips in excitement. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it quick. I’ll show you—”

 

The mercenary was so fixated on Samson that he momentarily turned his back on Dalthu. A soft rustle was the only warning, but it was enough. Before Dalthu could get his hands around Breman, the wily mercenary spun, slashing wildly at the orc.

 

Dalthu dodged the erratic blows, dancing out of range until he was backed into the corner of the gaol.

 

“Dathu!”

 

Kane put his arm out, stopping Samson from running to the orc’s aid. “Breman, stop,” he shouted. “You don’t have to do this!”

 

“You’re a fool, Kane.” The veins in Breman’s temples throbbed visibly. He didn’t take his eyes off Dalthu. “All monsters need to be destroyed. It’s the only way to keep our families safe.”

 

“You’re crazy!” Samson fought against Kane’s arm, but his brother held him firmly back. “He killed his wife, Kane.”

 

“Nay, I saved her. I can save your brother, too, Kane. We’ll cut the evil out of him together.”

 

Dalthu’s eyes, normally a warm, molten gold, now flared with the fire of protective fury. He glared at Kane. “I won’t let anyone hurt my family.”

 

“Even if that person is kin.” 

 

The unspoken threat was heard clear as day. Kane stared at Dalthu, then turned to Samson. "Breman’s right,” he said, softly. “Monsters need to die.”

 

Samson’s stomach dropped. “What?”

 

A maniacal laugh bubbled out of the mercenary. “Yes! I knew you’d see,” he crowed in triumph. “Come! Let’s send the demons back to hell!” 

 

Kane’s face tightened and he stepped forward. 

 

Samson grabbed his brother, panic rising like bile in his throat. “No, no, you don’t mean that. Please, listen—”

 

With a pained smile, Kane pushed Samson away and rushed across the room with his sword raised.

 

It was over in a moment. Breman’s laughter died and he sucked in a gulp of air in surprise before crumpling to the ground. 

 

A stunned silence fell over the group.

 

"Kane . . . what—”

 

"Forgive me," Kane muttered, staring at Breman’s lifeless form. “He would never have let you go, Samson. I had to . . .”

 

The younger brother’s face suddenly seemed so much older. Samson ran to Kane and pulled him into a tight hug. “Thank you.”

 

Dalthu stepped forward. “I’m sorry,” he rumbled. “If I had been faster, I would have spared you that choice.”

 

Kane sniffed and shook his head before refocusing on the next task at hand. “The village will be waking up soon. How are we going to explain this?”

 

Dalthu didn’t hesitate. “Tell them I did it.”

 

Samson opened his mouth to object, but Kane got there first.

 

“He was stabbed in the back. How could you have gotten a sword?”

 

“And how did you escape?" Samson chimed in. "Kane is supposed to be the only one with a key to the gaol.”

 

Dalthu crossed his arms but didn't answer.

 

Kane sighed and glanced at Breman's lifeless body before turning back to Samson and Dalthu. His expression was resigned. "I'll say—"

 

"You'll say that I did it," Samson interrupted firmly. "That I knocked you out, stole your key and sword, stabbed Breman, and fled with the orc."

 

Dalthu and Kane answered simultaneously. “No.”

 

“They’ll call you a criminal—”

 

“Mother will cry—”

 

Samson patted his younger brother’s shoulder. “She’s already losing one son. I won’t let her lose both.”

 

Understanding spread across Kane’s face. “Can’t I convince you to stay?”

 

“I’ve outgrown this place.” Samson smiled cheerfully. It was true. He’d seen so much . . . been through so much. He placed a hand on his stomach. The village was no longer somewhere he could stay.

 

Kane nodded sadly and pulled Samson into an embrace. When they broke apart, Kane turned to Dalthu. “I’m leaving my brother in your care,” he proclaimed. “Make sure he eats well and doesn’t overwork himself, and if you hurt him, I swear—”

 

“I won’t,” Dalthu said. “Never again.”

 

Kane hesitated slightly before extending a hand towards the orc. Dalthu took Kane’s smaller hand in his large one.

 

"I suppose we're family now," Kane said with a wry smile.

 

"Yes . . . family," Dalthu echoed and squeezed Kane's hand gently before letting go. 

 

Kane crossed to the exit and opened the door cautiously. “All clear,” he murmured. “Once you’re in the woods, run like hell. I’ll delay everyone as long as possible.”

 

Samson took a steadying breath.

 

This is it. It’s time.

 

Samson strode up and ruffled Kane’s curly hair. “I’ll find a way to let you know when we’re settled,” he said. “Who knows, by that time, you may be an uncle.”

 

Kane chuckled, then stopped. “Uncle?”

 

Dalthu lifted Samson gently into his arms. “Ready?”

 

Samson smiled and nodded.

 

***

 

The first light painted the sky in soft lavender hues as Samson and Dalthu made their escape. The snow crunched lively under Dalthu’s feet as he ran through the woods, each powerful stride sending plumes of white swirling into the air. Cradled in the orc’s strong arms, Samson enjoyed the warmth of Dalthu’s body against the biting cold of the morning. 

 

“So, which way should we go?” Dalthu asked.

 

Samson huffed a laugh. “Really? You came all this way, but don’t remember the way back? Should we stop and ask for directions?” He leaned over Dalthu's arm and shouted out to a pair of mourning doves, “Hey! Which way are the orcs?” The startled birds took flight at the sudden noise.

 

Dalthu’s deep chuckle reverberated against Samson as he snuggled back into the orc’s chest. “I know the way to the orc village, but . . . is that where you want to go?”

 

Oh.

 

Samson realized what Dalthu was asking. It was true that they had left the world of humanity behind, but was staying with the orcs the only option? Samson placed a hand on his stomach. If they returned to the orcs, his child would face the same challenges as Dalthu—the same violent traditions and expectations.

 

But can we make it on our own?

 

After a moment, Samson gazed up at Dalthu. “Could you build me a new bathhouse?”

 

Dalthu didn’t hesitate. “I will build you a castle if you wish.”

 

“Just a bathhouse, thanks.” 

 

“Will I be allowed in this one?”

 

A smile tugged at the corners of Samson's mouth. “If you behave.”

 

“I will become the first orc saint in history,” Dalthu declared solemnly.

 

Samson couldn’t help but laugh. "Yes, I think a new bathhouse and a small cottage . . . for us and—oh Luthic, I suppose we’ll have to think of some names."

 

“I believe Grubnub is a family name—ouch.”

 

“Serious suggestions only please, Saint Dalthu.” 

 

The corner of Dalthu’s mouth twitched. “You know,” he mused, “there is no word for peace in orcish . . . but, there is a word for when two different voices join in harmony.”

 

“What word is that?”

 

“Yoru.” 

 

A flutter of joy filled Samson's stomach, banishing all doubts and fears. He took Dalthu’s hand and squeezed. “Let’s find a new way home.”

 

Dalthu’s golden eyes sparkled as he smiled tenderly down at his mate. “Lead the way, Little Tiger.” 

 

And so, carrying new life and new hope, Samson and Dalthu journeyed into the unknown, determined to forge a fresh path. Of course, new roads always come with challenges: surviving the wilds, building a new home, not to mention becoming first-time parents. They would struggle and, yes, occasionally stumble. But, life is always full of uncertainties. What mattered most was that this was their chosen life: a life together.

 

The End