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After what felt like the longest walk in his life, Grog finally stood outside his father's tent. The cloth structure seemed to give of the same intimidating air that the throne room did, and Grog felt a sense of dread creeping up his spine. He was really not looking forward to this, but if he put it off any longer, things might just get worse.

"I know you're out there, so you might as well enter." A deep voice said. "No sense in dawdling around outside my tent."

Taking a deep breath in an effort to calm his nerves, he stepped through the flap and into the captain's quarters. His father sat in a high backed chair, something that seemed fitting, yet at the same time out of place.

"Have a seat." He said, pointing to a smaller stool that was sitting in front of his chair. When Grog had done so, the older man let out a sigh.

"Look, son. I know what you did, and you know what you did, so lets cut to the chase. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Grog shrugged involuntarily, but truth be told, he didn't really know what to say. He had expected to be dead by now. "I should probably apologize, not that it's going to do anyone any good." He said flatly. "But truth be told, I'm not really sorry that the Commander is dead. He was an ass, he made my life miserable, and he only was interested seeing how many people I could kill, even at the risk of his own men." He took another deep breath. "I do regret killing those other two guys though. They were innocent in all this."

His father looked at him curiously. "So what do you plan on doing about all this?"

"To be honest, I've been preparing for my inevitable death for treason, and to have my name wiped from court records. I did take out three people and eat two of them, after all. Not exactly the kind of guy you want connected to the royal family, hm?"

His father frowned. "While its true that, under normal circumstances, your head would have been on the floor as soon as you entered my tent, this hardly qualifies as 'normal'. I am interested in why your berzerk tendencies only manifested recently, and not at all as a young man. In short, I've decided to cut you a break, provided you get your head looked at by a professional."

"I'm grateful, Pa. But aren't you worried that the others will think you're carrying a bias toward me, since I am your firstborn son and all?"

Now it was his father's turn to shrug. "Quite possibly, but I've been in contact with a few of the court's higher members, and this was actually their decision. The have no bias, as I conveniently neglected to give them any personal information about a soldier I was having some issues with."

Grog rubbed his temples. This was hardly the first time his father had manipulated people like that, but it was probably for the better. The less everyone knew, the better.

"Now then, I want you to get packed, because you're going into the neighboring village to see a specialist in the mind tomorrow."

Grog's eyes widened. "That's enemy territory! You can't be serious." The last thing he needed was to be put into more bloodshed.

"You really know nothing about this battle." His father stood up, grumbling. "This is what I get for not handling things myself, I suppose." He took out a stack of books, and some parchment, unfurling it and using the books to hold it open. "Now listen good. These people are hardly the enemy. For once, this isn't a simple war just to obtain riches. The monarch of this kingdom is oppressive, violent, and most of all, greedy. When it comes to wars, he starts them just for the bloodshed, with no purpose but to slaughter and pillage. He has no desire to expand his kingdom, just to devastate all the other ones. In short, he's an asshole."

"Alright, so where to we come in?"

"If we get control of this area, the whole kingdom is under our jurisdiction. We can end the battles that the ruler has started, and get this place back on its feet, economically speaking. Its mostly farmland, however, it would be a valuable asset to us, and certainly a much more pleasant change from what the citizens have now." He frowned. "However, the ruler has been pulling out every stop to make us look bad, and your recent... episodes... haven't helped. I'm sending you here not only for your health, but to make amends for the damage you've caused, and to prove to them that we are still on the side of the people."

"I see." Grog wasn't to fond of being used as a peace offering, but community service sure as hell beat the gallows or the guillotine.

"I realize its not the best plan, but I also think that you need to make up for this yourself. In short, had the court agreed to exile or execute you, I would have refused, simply because that would be letting you off easy."

"I think I get it. I can't just expect to die and let everyone else clean up my mistakes, I have to do it myself."

"Now you're getting it." His father said, smacking his back. "Now go get packed. I want you gone by sunrise."

As quickly and as quietly he could manage, Grog did as instructed, packing his necessities into a pouch and slipping away before anyone could notice. He had considered taking a long way through the trees, but the faster he got there the better, so against his own instincts, he made his way into the field where all this had fist started.

---

The field was quiet, and almost peaceful, if you ignored the near three day old human corpses on the ground.

Grog crinkled up his nose. He wasn't surprised, per say, but he was also somewhat disgusted that the other troops hadn't come back for the bodies of their comrades.

'If I'm going to start making amends, this is where I should start.' He finally decided. Using parts of his own armor as a spade, he slowly but surely dug enough holes to bury the corpses.

The next part was removing their armor. It was a disgusting job that made him ill, but he knew that burying them in it wouldn't do. Setting the sorted piles aside, he buried each corpse one at a time, then using some branches as a makeshift scarecrow, he set up the armor at the head of its owner's grave. Finally, he collected all the helmets and set them on top. He collected the weapons, and, upon seeing that each had a name on them, decided to return them to the owner's next of kin.

That is, once he got them cleaned up.

---

After walking for hours, he finally got to the village just as the people were waking up. This, naturally, went horribly wrong.

"Orc! Run for your lifes!" "Invasion! "Get him! Get him!" "Filthy beast!"

Soon enough, a crowd of humans had gathered around him, moot of them dwarfed by his immense size. Despite their chants and anger, they didn't initiate the attack. Grog took this a hopeful sign.

"Uh, hi." He said weakly, waving to everyone.

"What do you want here?" Someone in the crowd shouted.

"Its kind of a long story, but suffice to say, I'm here to apologize for some things that happened recently."

"Apologizing doesn't bring back the dead!" Someone else shouted.

Grog sighed in frustration. "Yes I realize that, but I'm here to hopefully set things straight."

A woman stepped forward. She was older, and judging by her garb, in mourning. However, little sadness showed on her face, having been hidden by contept and disgust. "We called on your king to help us, and instead we find out that you brutes actually killed and ate some of our men! My son was one of those lost that day, and the thought that he was made into some meal for you to enjoy... it just..." breaking down, she threw weak punches at the orc. Despite being younger than her, he was, naturally, larger, and better built. He made no move to defend himself, and let her tire herself out, before speaking again.

"It didn't quite happen like that. What went down that day was a freak accident, a loss of control, and... being the one who did it, I want to make it up to you all."

There were a few angry shouts and terrified whispers. Sure that they were going to attack, Grog did the last thing he could think of.

He sat down.

"I honestly don't care if you want to kill me. What I did was wrong, even to my own people. But it was the orders of my king that I come here and attempt to make up for my wrongdoings." He motioned to his sack. "There is the weapons I've found that belong to the human armies. They all have names on them. If your kin was in that battle, their weapons are in there."

"What of their armor?" One man asked, stepping forward to confirm the contents of the bag.

Grog pointed over toward the field. "I buried everyone, and set up their armor as a tribute to them. You don't need to worry about it being disrupted by my kingdom. We have an unspoken role that one does not desecrate the effigy of a fallen warrior, no matter what race they be."

The crowed still seemed uneasy. Grog raised his hands. "Look, I'm honestly not here to cause trouble. I just want to help you in any way I can."

"And if we don't want your help?" Someone asked.

Grog shrugged. "Then so be it. I'll leave."

"Good riddance!" Someone said.

"I say we kill 'im so he can't change his mind!"

Grog made no attempts to stop them. Its not that he was suicidal, by any stretch. He just wanted to make amends. If Fate decided that his life is the cost of that, then so be it. He'd been expecting it anyway.

The mourning woman shook her head. "I disagree." she said firmly, do the surprise of the mob.

"Your son's death has made you daft, ma'am!" Someone shouted. Grog shot a dirty look in the direction it came from. These people were all completely useless. Ready to turn on each other if but one dared to have a difference in opinion. It was a wonder they even wanted to rebel.

"Hold your tongue!" She snapped. "It is clear that you are all simply out for blood. But a mourning woman's mind is not clouded by such things."

Grog let out a snort in spite of himself.

"You stay quiet as well, lest I allow them to tear you apart." She ordered. Grog held up his hands, and didn't make another sound.

"While the sins he committed are quite vile, even by his own kingdom's standards, he has shown no intent to harm us, and has rendered himself utterly defenseless. I trust that he is peaking honestly and does in fact wish to make up for his atrocities."

"Trust? An orc? Let alone the one that ate your child?"

"Need I remind you that it was these very orcs whom you now despise that you once called upon to save your sorry hides?"

"Excuse me..." Grog said.

"It is impolite to interrupt a lady, and at that one who is trying to spare your life." She told him.

"Yes, but you really should know, there is a cavalry approaching the square."

She whipped around in shock. "And how,pray tell would you know that?"

Grog pointed to a hill. "Well, there is that banner with the insignia of your ruler, for one."

In no time, the mob surrounding the orc, was itself surrounded by royal knights. Both rings parted, and the king stepped forward, until he was in front of Grog.

"Well, what do we have here? A filthy orc has taken up space in the square of my royal village?"

Grog leaned back, but remained seated. "I presume that you are the current ruler of this territory?" He asked.

The man sniffed. "You presume correctly. I am King Orion the fifth. Current ruler, without any plans on becoming a former ruler."

Grog smirked. "My father has much to say about you."

"I can assume its less than positive, then?"

"You'd assume correctly." He said, mimicking the way the king spoke.

"Well, I'll have you know, that anything you've heard is simply vile propaganda that was spewed by your ruler, in an attempt to justify his invasion of our kingdom."

Grog examined his nails, looking bored. "The way I heard it, you made the first move. And since my father is my ruler, I have no reason not to trust him."

A few more murmurs went through the crowd.

The king scoffed. "A nobleman, and yet you fight on the front lines, and sit like a peasant at my feet? The orc race certainly is a primitive one."

Grog stood up, his height greater than the kings by nearly two feet. "Well, I was attempting to present myself peacefully, but if you prefer that I stand and behave as a noble, then that can be arranged." He held out a hand. I don't care much for titles and whatnot, but if you insist, you can refer to me as the First Prince to the Great Orcish Kingdom, Grogner." he grinned childishly. "Most people call me Grog, though."

"What a barbaric name." The king scoffed. "I refuse to even shake your hand, you beast."

Grog retracted his hand, and shrugged. "Fine by me. I wouldn't want to accidentally crush your prissy little fingers." he said flatly. Grog was hungry, tired, and in need of a strong drink, which all together put him in no mood to deal with snobby nobles who think they're better than him.

A few gasps were heard, and the king turned red. "Kill him." He ordered his men, before turning to the villagers. "You're all quite lucky I stopped by when I did. I saved your lives after all. I'm in a good mood, so I won't charge any extra."

Grog snorted. This guy was the worst. But if he was gonna go down, he was at least going to get one last shot in. So he did something his father told him never, ever, ever to do under any circumstances while in the presence of nobility.

He spit in the guy's face.

Time seemed frozen, as nobody knew how to react. The king turned purple in the face, sputtering like a madman before stomping his feet and yelling like a child. "Kill him kill him kill him!!"

The soldiers advanced on Grog, while the civilians backed away. "You despicable bastard!" The king shouted. "Do you know not the conduct a noble must uphold in the presence of other nobles? Did your father not teach you manners?" he ranted on.

"No, he did, but frankly, you deserve it."

The king was silent with anger. Grabbing a sword from a surprised knight, he rushed forward, aiming to plunge the blade into Grog's stomach. It was simple enough for Grog to avoid him, and disarm him, before turning the point on the king. Even on his back, the man sneered at him. "Go ahead. Kill me. But as soon as you do, all my men will cut you to ribbons and use your innards to decorate my memorial. Nobody will see it as though I attacked you, they'll think I was brutally murdered by a rampant orc. These people will never speak against it, so its all quite useless."

Grog handed the sword back to the knight it had been taken from, before turning around to face the king who had scrambled back to his feet.

"I don't particularly feel like killing you." He said smugly. "Aside from that, this hardly counts as a real battle."

The king pulled a dagger from his cloak and plunged it into the orc's back, which caused him to wince in pain. "A foolish mistake, for now I can kill you and tell everyone that I beat the Orc King's son in battle."

Grog gritted his teeth, trying not to give this guy the satisfaction of seeing him in pain. It hurt like hell, but it hadn't hit any vital organs. Mostly just muscle and fat, thankfully. Had he done that with the sword, and it would be a very different story.

"You... realize that if you make that claim, many people will challenge you to battle, including my father, to see if you really did best someone of my skill." Grog said. "Besides, if you didn't think we were a threat now, wait until they get word that the prince was murdered. They'll go straight for your castle and you know it."

"Then let them come!" He said, pulling the dagger out, a stream of orcish blood following. He motioned to his men to follow. "Leave him, he's as good as dead. If he doesn't succumb to his wounds, he'll perish of infection before he can get back to his camp." The army left, and the crowd of villagers once again surrounded him.

"Well..." he said. "Sorry I had to go and get stabbed before helping you all out. But its fine." He said, falling to a kneeling position. "Send a message to my father, and he'll have someone collect my corpse and scrub the blood off your square."

A man in a long coat stepped forward. "Now that won't be necessary. You know as well as I do that you are not fatally wounded, young man. And when you're patched up, you can scrub your own blood."

Grog was surprised. "Does that mean you aren't gonna let me die a slow and painful death?"

The man shook his head. "No, its quite clear that you are indeed on our side, or at the very least, against Orion V. I figure someone like you would be a big help around here, at least to defend us."

Grog laughed. "You sure you want a vile, despicable, man-eating, king spitter to defend you?"

The man shrugged. "That doesn't sound half as bad as what the King does to us." He motioned at two larger men. "Come on now, lets get you back to my clinic and stitched up."

---

It was a few hours later. Grog sat in the clinic, fresh bandages on his torso, both wounds cleaned up, and sealed. "Thanks again." He said, reaching into his pocket and dropping a handful of various coins on the doctor's desk. "I'm afraid that's all I have at the moment, but I'd be willing to work off the rest of my bill."

"This is more than enough. I wasn't going to charge you at all. Its the least I can do after the way we 'welcomed' you earlier."

Grog shook his head. "Keep it. If I'm gonna make amends, I'm also going to work to earn my living. Starting from zero, and all that."

The doctor put the coins in a pouch. "Then don't give these to me. I have plenty of money to cover a few battle wound cleanings. If anybody needs this, its the baker woman. Plus, you owe it to her, since that was her who stood up for you and all." He grabbed a few other things and handed all the items to Grog in a crate. "If you want to work off your debt to me, deliver this all to her, and do whatever else she asks of you, understood?"

Grog nodded. "Yes, sir."

---

The bakery was easy to find, only a bit down the road from the clinic. It was a cute little building, two levels, with the upper level being the actual residence, and the lower one being the business. Grog stood awkwardly outside the almost-too-short door, pondering what he should say. Before he could, though, the door opened, and the woman stood in the entryway, arms crossed.

"Are you just gonna block the entrance to my shop, or do you need something?" She asked. Her attitude had changed, she was much more buisinesslike now, as opposed to the frustrated and sad woman he had met earlier.

"You're..." He started, but the woman stopped him, and held out her hand.

"The name's Paula. Sorry I'm not a weeping mess right now, but I can't be cryin into my bread."

"Right, I'm..."

"Grog, yeah. I heard the whole long title. Look, kid, pleasantries aside, what do you need? I have a lot of work to do, so polite conversation isn't exactly on my to-do list right now."

Grog grinned. He liked her. He held out the box of stuff from the doctor. "The guy at the clinic asked me to deliver this to you. He also said that I was to help you with anything you needed."

"Ugh, that man..." She smiled. "Alright come in, lets take a look and see if everything is here."

---

The inside of the bakery was quite nice as well. The ceiling was a bit low, but Grog was also quite tall. For her, and most of the village, it was probably a normal height. Following her to the back, she set the box on a small table and began to empty it of its contents.

"Lets see, some relaxing herbs, painkillers, aloe, gauze... its all here." She removed the pouch of money last. "Now what do we have here? I never asked him to send me money."

Grog grinned sheepishly. "That's actually mine. I tried to give it to him, as payment for patching me up, but he said you needed it more, and that I was to give it to you with the rest of this stuff."

She huffed. "The nerve of him." She tried to hand the pouch of money back to Grog, but he pushed it away. "Keep it, keep it. There must be a reason he told me to give it to you instead of keeping it for himself, and I can't take it back in good faith."

She turned red. "Why you! That man thinks that with my son gone I can't do anything, so he sends over a lackey and some cash? I have a bone to pick with him." She stormed out of the room, and headed toward the front door. "You wanna do something? Watch this place while I have a word with our local doctor." With that, she slammed the door, the little bell on top ringing wildly. Grog stopped it and nervously sat down behind the counter where a clerk would usually be. On one hand, he was asked, rather ordered, to stay here, but on the other, he didn't know what that woman was going to do, nor did he really want to get involved.

He looked up at the ceiling and sighed. "All this over a few measly coins, sheesh."

"Its really not all that 'measly' to her, you know." A voice said. Two young kids, a boy and a girl stood in the doorway of the back room. It was the boy who had spoken, but the girl who spoke next. "Yeah, you're royalty an' all, so its pocket change to you, but to her, that's more than she makes in a day."

"Paula is prideful." The boy explained. "That amount of money just being given to her is almost insulting. Its been like this for a few days, ever since her son died."

Grog looked at the two strange kids in curiosity. "She makes less than that? The amount I gave her would have only paid for a few rolls at home."

The girl shook her head. "Its different here. Everyone but the king is near-poverty. Her prices are the bare minimum she can put them to make profit, and even then, some people can't afford them."

"That's pretty pathetic of your king to hoard all the money for himself."

"You're telling us" The two said at the same time. They had been inching closer to Grog a bit at a time, but they finally walked over to him and offered out their hands.

"I'm Tina." The girl said. "I'm Leon." The boy added.

"Grog." He said, gingerly taking their hands and giving them a small shake.

"We know." The girl said. "We saw everything that happened this morning. That's how we knew you were rich."

"I'm really not all that wealthy." He said nervously."My father makes no more than anyone else, and keeps very little from taxes. We just happen to have a nice house is all." He frowned. "Actually, that was all the money I had on me, and it was to buy food. All the rest is at my home."

"You aren't that bright, are you?" Leon asked.

Grog shrugged. "My life hasn't exactly been all that peaceful, you know. I would have gotten more money today, had I not left."

"But you could have kept the money and not told anyone you had it."

Grog shook his head. "Absolutely not. I'd be lying, and that's not any good at all for someone trying to make amends."

"Amends amends you sure say that word a lot."

"Its a very important word."

The door opened again, and Paula entered. "Leon, Tina, you're early. I hope you aren't bothering Mr. Grog."

Grog stood up. "No, no bother at all." He smiled. "No need for the 'Mr.' part either. I'm too young for all that."

"Oh, how old are you?"

"Uh lets see, ten, fifteen..." he counted on his fingers. "I'd say about... 20 or 22 years old."

"You don't know?"

Grog shrugged, noting how often its been happening. "Years and all that aren't really that big of a deal where I'm from. When you reach maturity, you're an adult, and that's about it. We keep track of birthdays and stuff... sort of... but nobody really counts."

"Thats silly." Leon said. "If you don't know how old you are, how do you know when you can do grown up things?"

"When we reach maturity. There is this big celebration where we get welcomed into adulthood, and thats when we can do everything grown ups can.

"So are you a grown up?"

Grog shrugged once more. "I guess. I mean, I've reached maturity, but some people say I still act like a kid."

"I know lots of grown ups who act like kids. But I know a lot of kids who act like grown ups." Tina told him. "I wouldn't worry too much. Just be yourself."

"That's pretty deep coming from someone so young." Grog said.

Tina just smiled, curtsied, and left out the back with Leon close behind.

"Cute kids. Are they yours?"

Paula shook her head. "No, they're orphans."

"Oh."

"Don't sound so mortified," she laughed, "they're darling children, and in some way, I guess I did raise them."

"Some way?"

Paula looked thoughtful. "That is a story for another day, young man. Now that everything has been settled with that casanova pharmacist, I figure its time you were put to work." She inched past him, and sat on the stool behind the counter. "So, what can you do, besides cause a ruckus?"

Grog thought. "I'm fast, and I'm pretty good with basic accounting."

"mhm." she said.

"if nothing else, I could clean or do some repairs." he steeped back. "n-not that this place needs any cleaning or to be fixed, I mean, its very lovely."

She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused at his attempt to backtrack. "You're lucky you're cute, because you're terrible at conversation."

Grog's eyes went huge, and he sputtered a bit, turning a vague shade of red under his green skin. "You think I'm... cute?" He was surprised. It wasn't often such a word was used by a human to describe him, or any orc for that matter.

She leaned forward. "Yes, cute. For an orc, I suppose." She added, giving him a teasing look.

"I... um..." he was at a loss for words. Just this morning she had tried to punch him out to avenge her son, then later went and told off that poor schmuck of a Pharmacist for insulting her pride, and now she's calling him cute.

"What's the matter, big guy? Cat got your tongue?"

He regained his composure, and chuckled a bit. "You certainly are an interesting one, ma'am. Such a lady would be considered among the elite and high class in my culture, but here, from someone as sweet and kind as you, its almost scary."

She stood up straight, though more than a foot shorter than him, her sheer presence dwarfed his own by an immeasurable amount. "Good. That means I'm doing something right." She stated plainly. "Sometimes you have to be kind, and other times maybe a bit stern, but no matter what, you do what you must to assert yourself."

Grog cocked his head to the side almost comically. "Quite the opposite of what I've been told these last few months."

"Now you listen here, young man." She stared at him, her eyes burning with an eternal flame not unlike those found in the bravest of warriors and heroic of souls. "Whoever told you that is the biggest shit-eater I've had the good luck never to encounter, and such an attitude is not one I want under my roof."

He raised up his hands. "No, trust me, I understand." He said quickly, heart racing. "Its not something I want to live by and I won't bring it up again, I swear."

She relaxed a bit, and sighed. "Its been such a stressful time lately, I find myself getting snappier and snappier. At this rate I might become a crocodile, or maybe a piranha."

Somehow the mental image fit.

She dabbed her face with a cloth handkerchief, and made her way to the back room. "Now, then, Grog, could you be a darling and make some deliveries for me? I think it might help you as much as me."

"Are you going to be alright?" He asked, to which she let out a small laugh. "I handled myself quite well before all this, I don't expect anything to change."

She returned with a few boxes and bags, along with a neatly printed receipt of all the deliveries that had to be made today. "There is a cart out back you can use to haul this around, and when you're done, you can just leave it with the blacksmith, he's going to fix it up for me."

As he loaded everything up, he caught sight of Tina and Leon. The orphans were climbing a tree in the back part of the bakery. Waving to them, he let them know he was off to make deliveries, and asked that they keep an eye on Paula, despite the baker's insistance that she was fine.