Brothers: Twelve

Leodry, age 28

Graz Stoutstump's ranch, three years after the Third War

"Shara, Graz was wondering if you had the extra shears ready?" Leodry asked, stooping to poke his head through the low door. The bleating of sheep could be heard outside, along with the happy banter of several dwarves. The lady dwarf he addressed was sharpening shearing blades, the whetstone quick in her deft hands. She gave him a quick smile and nodded.

"Aye, Leo. There," she indicated the tools sitting on the heavy, wooden table and turned her attention back to the tool in her hand. "This 'un 'll be ready soon enough." Leodry nodded and grabbed the shearing tools, bounding back up the stone steps two at a time of the Stoutstump home to the outside.

Sheep were milling in a makeshift pen, all of them carrying heavy coats. With the spring coming, they'd need to be sheared. Besides, Aerie Peak needs the wool for textiles and padding for the new gryphon tack, Leodry thought to himself, watching over the animals. Graz, father and leader of the small clan, stood at the fence with one of his sons and his daughter, along with several volunteers from nearby homes. After an accident with a gryphon, the younger of his two sons decided breeding gryphons wasn't his calling after all. Now left with just one eye and a nasty scar, Gren found peace on the ranch, helping his father care for the mountain sheep.

"Shearing day, Longshanks," he jested, poking at Leodry's stomach as he came to stand beside his adopted family. "Moira's ready, as is Da. Ye 'ave the shears?" Leodry nodded in response, handing out the sharp tools. Graz nodded, then, and said, "Le's ge' started."

The sheep would squirm and try to escape, but there was no getting away from strong, healthy dwarves and a tall human who had once trained as a soldier. They worked until sunset, the sheep giving up their wool. By the time the sun was low over the mountains, peeking through treetops, the entire herd had been sheared and a very generous stack of wool had been produced. Shara and Moira set about getting it separated out into the different qualities and colors while the men cleaned the shears, and broke down the temporary paddock to let the sheep run over the mountains again.

They talked and laughed, joking and telling stories, and though an outsider walking by might think it strange that these Wildhammer dwarves had taken in a human, specially one as old as Leodry now was, they thought nothing of it. To Graz, he was a little like another son, although much taller, and to Moira and Gren he was like a very close friend or even brother. Leodry imagined that Shara, being shy and distrustful of outsiders as she was, probably thought of him as a ranch hand, more than a son, but she cared about him nonetheless.

They were a family. They lived together, ate together, and tended to the home and ranch together. When they finished up and the wool was separated out and sorted, the other dwarves heading back to their homes, they headed inside for dinner. Moira helped her mother prepare the meal and set out ale for the men. The cooking fire was bright and warm and they all celebrated another good day of work before heading off to their rooms to sleep.

----------**----------

Leodry was startled awake. He didn't know why, at first, and groped about in the dark, confused. Then he heard the shouting. He bolted upright, recognizing the voice as Graz's. He tumbled out of the low bed, blankets and furs scattering, and reached for his pants. As soon as he was able to untangle himself from the bed, he ran for the door, only stopping to pull down a dull sword from the wall where it had hung as decoration.

It was dark in the house, but after living there for as long as he had, he knew his way around well enough to do it blind. The door was standing open to the cold night and Graz's voice was now joined by Gren's which only spurred him on, making him take steps three at a time to get outside. The moon was just a sliver in the sky, the shadows under the trees deep and dark. Leo took only a moment to scan the shearing yard to realize they weren't there.

His sword glinted in the faint moonlight as he stood, listening hard for the direction to run. He heard Graz and Gren yelling, along with the sounds of fighting, but the trees spread out the sound, echoing it strangely, but finally he figured out the direction. He took off, fast as his legs could carry him, into the forest, dodging trees and jumping over brush. The sound of a battle soon reached his ears.

He burst into a clearing where several sheep had been slaughtered, Graz and Gren standing amidst the fallen livestock, surrounded by trolls. Tall, muscular, green-skinned, and deadly, they surrounded the clearing and the two dwarves. With a yell, Leodry joined the fray, his sword flashing in the moonlight, temporarily startling the trolls, pushing them back a few steps.

"Glad ye could join us, laddy," Graz roared, holding off a troll with a huge hammer. Gren held two smaller hammers, each crackling with energy, his minimal shamanistic power manifesting. While not immediately fatal, Leodry knew those hammers would pack a punch. Several of the trolls seemed to think that the addition of a human warrior was too much and turned tail despite the obvious protests of their bretheren, scooping up two of the dead sheep on their way. Those that stayed behind rushed the dwarves and man, their stone axes trying to bite deep into their flesh.

Leodry had survived the Scourge and a prince gone made. Simple mountain trolls, even ones as bold as these were, didn't frighten him in the least. Skilled with his short sword, he held the trolls that attacked him at bay long enough for the two dwarves to take them out permanently. Just as it seemed like the trolls were running away, Leodry glanced behind him. A troll had doubled back and was preparing to throw an axe at Graz's head.

"No!" he yelled, diving for the old dwarf. He collided with Graz, knocking him to the ground, but cried out as his shoulder flared in terrible pain. The troll had thrown and Leodry had just gotten Graz out of the way, taking the weapon to his naked shoulder. Gren yelled, throwing one of his hammers, striking the troll squarely in the forehead with enough force to kill it instantly.

"Leo!" Gren called out. "By th' mountain, Leo, yer a damn fool." He jumped up and ran as fast as he could back towards the house, calling for Moira and Shara. Graz rolled over and took a look at the wound, grimacing. The axe was still stuck in the flesh of his shoulder and Leo wanted to die from the pain. His eyes were squeezed shut tight and he groaned trying not to move the torn muscles.

Moira came running after her brother, a roll of bandages in her hand. She gasped and nearly dropped the long strips of woolen cloth in shock. "Oh, Leo, what happened?"

"Not now, Moira. Ge' 'im fixed up. I 'ave te warn the neighbors," Graz said, getting up and running off into the woods. The soldier in Leodry awoke and he wanted to reach out and stop his friends from running through the dark woods unprotected. He could only manage another moan, though, and Moira did her best to calm him.

Finally, Shara arrived, Gren in tow. With her daughter's help, they carefully pulled the primitive, stone throwing axe from Leo's shoulder, blood now flowing freely down his back. Shara rinsed the wound with warm water and slapped a few bits of wool over it quickly, telling him she'd have to do a more thorough job back at the house. Moira and Gren helped him back to his feet, and did their best to support him as he stumbled back through the dark woods. The windows were alight from torches and a fire inside, looking for all the world as though nothing had happened.

The four of them finally made it to the door and nearly fell inside. Shara directed them to help him to the stool near the fire where she had him sit. She then pulled a chair near and stood on it looking over the wound. Shaking her head, Shara handed him a stick to bite down on and got to work. "Moira, bring me hot water an' th' bruiseweed. Gren, bring me sewin' kit an' find some strong alcohol. Quick now, quick." Shara whispered a few prayers over the water and steeped the bruiseweed, crushing it in her fingers. She then pulled back the cloth bandage they had used to stem the bleeding in the clearing. Shara hissed through her teeth when the wound started bleeding again.

Leodry realized then where Gren got his shamanistic gifts as the quiet Shara smeared the quickly-made poultice over the gaping wound. He groaned with pain, but held still. Quickly, the pain subsided to just a minor dull ache and he sighed with relief.

"Sorry, lad," Shara whispered, then opened a bottle Gren had handed her. Moments later, Leodry nearly roared in pain, managing to just groan through his teeth as whatever strong drink Gren has found was poured over the wound. Even with the poultice dulling the pain, the cleaning was painful. Then, Shara motioned for Gren to hand her her sewing kit and she opened it to pull out a needle and thread.

"Gren, hold this o'er th'fire fer a moment, quick," she asked him, handing him the needle she had chosen. Leodry nearly gasped in surprise as Gren's skin turned grey and hard, the needle firmly grasped between his fingers, and held it over the heat of the fire, sterilizing the sewing tool. Once he brought it back to Shara, she got to work.

Though the bruiseweed pultice had helped, he still gasped in pain when the needle pierced his skin. Shara, calm, continued on, her hand steady. Slowly - agonizingly slowly in Leodry's opinion - the wound was stitched up and the bleeding finally slowed to nearly nothing.

"Moira, the bandages," Shara gestured to his back and walked to a nearby basin to wash her hands. It was then that Graz returned and closed the door behind him. Moira took her mother's place on the chair behind Leodry and carefully bandaged his shoulder. Graz held a whispered conversation with his wife and then came over to Leo, concern on his bearded face.

"Well, lad, 'ow 'r' ye doin'?" he asked and Leodry grunted, the bruiseweed beginning to wear off and the ache getting worse. "I've been better." Gren pressed a mug into his hands and he gulped it down, discovering it was more of the alcohol that had been used to clean his wound and was greatful for the dulling sensation it gave him. "What's this? Bourbon?" Gren nodded. Leodry took another large gulp of the alcohol, his head starting to swim a bit, but the ache in his shoulder dulling.

Graz looked down at his feet for a moment, then straight into Leodry's eyes. Placing a hand on his good shoulder, he squeezed gently. "Thank ye, lad. I... Iff'n 't weren't fer ye, I'd be-"

"I know," Leodry said, reaching up to grab the old dwarf's forearm. "Graz, you're like a father to me. I couldn't bear thinking what would happen if you were gone. Trust me, I'd do the same thing all over again, given the same chance."

Graz finally let go, a small nod of understanding, and a smile. Leodry took a deep breath and stood, swaying on his feet a bit, both from loss of blood and from the strong drink. Gren helped steady him and got him to his room where he collapsed on the low bed. As soon as his eyes closed he was asleep, dreaming of dark forests full of trolls and axes flying through the air.

Brothers: Eleven

Leodry, age 25

Graz Stoutstump's ranch, near the end of the Third War

Weeks had passed since Moira and Graz had found Leodry in the snow and winter had come to the mountains in full force. He had recovered, more or less, and been adopted by the dwarven family. They were Wildhammers to the core, though a bit more open than the rest of their kin, and the Stoutstump clan had lived in the wooded mountains of the Hinterlands since they left Grim Batol. They spent far more time in the mountains and outdoors than they did inside, and Graz specialized in breeding mountain sheep that were used for just about everything from wool to meat to gryphon food.

Once he had finally healed up, Leodry was put to work. Graz was as good as his word and respected his privacy for the most part, as did most of the Stoutstump clan, never asking him questions, but Moira was curious about him, often asking him of his life before he came to their small ranch. He rarely answered her questions with more than a half-hearted grunt or shrug, but it did nothing to quell her curiosity or chit-chat. Leodry liked her despite himself. Her good nature reminded him of Hannah, which always brought good thoughts of home.

"I imagine ye've cut enough firewood for th' day, Leo. Come inside, 'ave some ale," Moira called from the doorway of their hillside home. Carved from the rock, it was much larger inside then the outside revealed with most of the rooms underground in the hillside. He had been cutting winter firewood while the unpredictable storms had subsided for a time. Graz had gone out to care for the sheep with his wife, Shara. Moira's two brothers were apprenticing to become gryphon breeders and rarely returned home except for very special occasions, such as a birthday or other holiday. Leodry had yet to meet them, though he knew they were called Gren and Greer.

"Thank you, Moira," he said, dusting off the snow from his boots before coming all the way inside. He followed her downstairs into the kitchen where a large cooking fire was going, warming him to the bones very quickly. A large mug of ale already stood on the table and he sat, taking a long pull from the stein. The one thing he had yet to get used to was the sheer amount of alcohol the dwarves had. If you asked for water you were looked at funny, but a light-weight like him could only drink a mug or two before having a hard time walking.

"Did ye cut a lot of wood in yer old home, Leo? Ye're a natural." Moira was working away at dinner, which appeared to be a wild boar Graz had caught the night before. Leodry quietly sighed, and watched Moira work before finally deciding he couldn't keep quiet. If I can't trust Moira and her family, who can I trust?

"Yes." The single word actually caught Moira offguard and she squeaked in surprise, which made Leodry laugh. "What? You asked, and I answered."

Moira, her mouth agape in surprise stared at him and finally exclaimed, "You never answer, Leo! I had gotten used to it!" They laughed together, then, as Graz and Shara came in, covered in a light dusting of snow.

"Wha's so funny, then, ye two?" Graz asked as he hung up his cloak near the fire to dry and settled himself at the table while Shara went below to prepare the house for the evening. She seems to avoid me... I hope it wasn't something I've done, though I've hardly had the strength to do much. Maybe she wants me out now that I'm well. Shara's always more quiet than the rest of the family. Moira, still fighting back giggles, set a full mug of ale before him and just shook her head, pointing at Leo.

"Oh, just our Leo, Da. 'E surprised me, is all."

Graz raised one bushy eyebrow over the rim of his mug, but didn't say anything. A few more gulps of ale, and Leodry decided to elaborate for him... and finally tell them the truth.

"Miss Moira asked me if I used to chop wood in my old home and I said 'yes'. She was surprised I finally answered, is all. We both found our reactions funny, Graz. You should have seen her face." He grinned from ear to ear, as did Graz.

"Well, lad, I'm sure me girl thought ye mute at this point."

Leodry nodded. "Yes, I imagine she did. I've just been... reluctant to tell you how I managed to end up here."

"Worried ye couldn' trust us, lad?" Graz asked quietly. He didn't seem angry, just curious.

Leodry smiled sadly. "I was running, both from the Lordaeron army, and from myself. It's... hard to stop running. To finally turn around and look back and realize that what I've done may be wrong." He took another drink of ale before continuing, Moira rapt with attention, Graz less obviously so, but listening intently.

"I joined the Lordaeron army as soon as I was able, wanting to follow in my father's footsteps. He was a knight; died in the Second War, along with my brother who was acting as his squire. All we got back was one of my father's vambraces and my brother's tunic. I died a little inside when I heard the news, but I wanted to become like them. I wanted to become a soldier." He sighed, wondering just how much he should tell them. "I rose through the ranks well enough. By my twentieth birthday I was a captain in control of my own soldiers, and life was good. I served my country, and my prince, with pride."

"Arthas," Graz growled, the one word carrying all his malice and anger. It seems even the Wildhammers hate former Prince Arthas. He's become something else. Something sinister.

"Yes, Arthas. I loved and served him, until Stratholme. I had seen what the plague did to people, how it killed them and then reanimated the dead bodies." Moira gasped, and Graz grunted, but Leodry continued. "It was terrible and cruel. I got word that my home had been hit, the plague spreading there, too. My surrogate mother and father had died and probably been raised as ghouls for his damned army. Still, even knowing this, I could not bring myself to kill the people in the city."

Moira and Graz shared a look between them, now realizing just what Leodry had been running from, but it was Shara, just returned from the rooms below, who spoke. "Ye poor bastard. Ye've been runnin' fer no reason, laddy. No decent man would kill innocent people."

Leodry snorted. "Were they so innocent, Miss Shara? They would become the walking dead soon enough, more than ready to tear my head from my shoulders. No, I was a coward."

"'T'ain't cowardly te refuse te kill folk. Yer heart told ye t'were wrong, an I'd think less of ye if ye'd 'ave just tol' us ye'd been part o' that mess." Graz patted Leodry on the back, concern on his face.

Leodry nodded, but he wasn't convinced. "Regardless, Graz, I did commit treason. I, as a captain, ran from my duties and outright refused a direct order from my prince."

"'Cept Arthas ain't yer prince now," Graz nearly spit, but held himself in check. "'Sides, how c'n ye be a traitor te a kingdom that don't exist? Lordaeron lost te the Scourge, the city reduced to rubble." When Leodry moved to protest, Graz shook his head. "No, lad. No guilt fer ye. If'n ye had gone back, ye'd just be a walking corpse now."

Moira shook her head. "Enough, Da. Poor Leodry's had enough. Thank ye fer finally tellin' us, though. I'm glad ye trust us, Leo." She smiled then, and turned to the cooking fire. "Come, let's eat." Leodry nodded, feeling the weight, not lifted, exactly, but lighter. He even managed a weak smile for them, even Shara, who returned it.

Brothers: Ten

Loem, age 11

Southern Silverpine, directly after the end of the Second War

"It's an interesting look for you." Uldor said from his wagon, grinning. Loem grimaced, unsure if he liked this newest change. Hekter had been as good as his word and pulled him aside this morning to dye his hair. What was once a nice chestnut brown was now black, perfect for sneaking around farms in the middle of the night, but not Loem's favorite color.

"Thank you, m'lord," he replied drily. Ulodr chuckled.

"I remember when Hekter first dyed his hair. He hated it, but his master demanded it, of course, so there was nothing for it. He's blonde, you know, just like me," he chuckled. Loem was surprised by that, but then, there was a great deal about Hekter he didn't know. I wonder how they're related, m'lord Uldor and Hekter. They seem to be close, but I doubt they're family. There's something about Hekter that just says "commoner" instead of noble, even one like Uldor, who's rather untraditional.

As if conjured just from them speaking of him, Hekter rode up. "Uldor, a word with you later, if you would." He turned to Loem. "Good day, young apprentice. Your hair looks good. Be lucky you have dark eyebrows. I have to dye mine, and there's no better trial of patience, let me tell you."

He looks so normal now, but last night... gods. He was scary. He's more than a spy or scout... he's an assassin. He has to be. Loem gulped at the thought. I didn't even hear him come up. I wonder what he's doing with the soldiers. Was he sent do deal with orcish leaders directly? I would believe it, just seeing the way he moved last night. Loem looked away, determined to not let it bother him. Hekter was still Hekter, still a joker and a good-natured fellow. Plus, what am I thinking? I know so little of any of this, of warfare, of fighting. I mean, I'm only eleven! I should be grateful he takes the time to teach me anything, instead of sending me home, an orphan.

The group of soldiers slowed as they neared the edge of the forest. Ahead, a great deal of it had been cleared and Loem could hear men shouting. Hekter frowned and rode forward, interest on his face. Lord Uldor also looked interested in whatever was going on ahead, but couldn't do much more than crane his neck. Finally, he turned to Loem.

"Ride ahead and find out what's going on. We should be nearing the Gilnean border and I'm ready to return home." Loem nodded and urged Praetor forward, passing the confused soldiers. The front of the line had stopped due to several masons having to move large stones over the road. Loem looked up in awe to see a huge wall with an even bigger gate under construction. Hekter spotted him and rode over.

"The king has decided that Gilneas requires a bit more protection. The wall will be used to keep others out, and Gilneans inside, safe. The masons have been working on it since the war looked to be ending. Come on. There's much to discuss with Uldor about your future."

They rode back down the road towards the wagon where the knight was resting. Hekter went ahead and told Uldor all about the new wall that marked the border of Gilneas. Uldor didn't look terribly surprised. "Sounds like the King has made his orders more than orders. It seems Gilneas will be pulling away from the Alliance altogether at this point." He turned, then, to Loem.

"Loem, what will you do? I would very much love to take you with me, to make you a part of my household in Gilneas. You've served me with distinction and I haven't any children. You'd never want for anything."

Loem, afraid that Uldor was going to say something like this, gulped. "Sir Uldor... I..." He hung his head, trying to find the right words. "M'lord, I have family. A brother. I'm all he's got left at this point and I have to get back to him. Please, understand."

Uldor nodded slowly. "Of course I understand, Loem. Just know that the invitation stands. My men and I will be staying here, outside the gate for a few days to get more supplies, unload a few unwanted things, repair and rest... if you change your mind, or find your brother and want to bring him with you, I'll be here."

"You mean... I could bring him along? I could get him and you'd take us both?" Loem was surprised.

"Of course, Loem. You're like a son to me and any family of yours is family of mine. Go. Find your brother. I hope to see you again soon."

----------*----------

Loem was in shock. How he went from squire in the army to being accused of thievery and murder he didn't know. One moment he was on the road, on his way home again, the next he was in chains with officers claiming he had stolen Praetor, asking him where his father was, what his REAL name was, as it couldn't possibly be Loem Kingswarden. He was confused, lost, and once again alone.

He looked up, through the bars of his cell, to the soldiers that were seated around the table, playing cards. I have to get home, to Leo. I'm all he's got... he's all I've got. Praetor has to be in their stables, even idiot soldiers can tell a well-bred horse from a nag, so they're probably keeping him to give to their commander. What few things I had are in a pack by the door. He craned his neck a bit and could see the small bag from where he was sitting. It was still there, dropped unceremoniously as they had dragged him in and thrown him in the small cell.

Already he was forming a plan. There was a few small pieces of metal that he might be able to bend enough to form into a lock-pick, though he had very little experience picking locks. Still, the large keyhole for the cell looked easy enough. Hekter had talked to him about the basics. Once that was done, he'd just have to wait for them all to go to sleep and then he'd-

"What is the meaning of this?!?" The soldiers jumped to their feet and even Loem jumped about a foot in the air as the door crashed open. It was their commander, and, for a brief moment, he thought that the man was going to set him free.

"Why hasn't this prisoner already been taken back to Gilneas? He's obviously some farmhand looking for adventure! We need to find his lord so that he can be sentenced and punished." Loem gulped, his hopes of freedom dashed. These men have already made up their minds... they refuse to believe that I'm Loem Kingswarden! It's insane! I'm telling the truth!

He wanted to cry, to scream, to fight back, something! But he could do nothing, and now, just when he thought everything was going to be alright, all his hopes were taken from him. The commander came over to the cell door and leaned down.

"What's your name, boy? You're getting only one more chance to tell us the truth." Loem wanted to spit in the man's face. "Truth? I've been telling the truth. My name is Loem Kingswarden, squire to Laric Kingswarden until his death, and rightful lord of the Kingswarden estate in northern Lordaeron. I was going home when-"

"I've heard enough." The commander stood up and turned his back on the young squire. "You're an idiot, boy, whoever you really are. If you were a squire of Lordaeron, where's your tabard? Where's your Lordaeron crest?" he sneered. "And why, if you're really from Lordaeron, are you wearing the Gilnean colors?! Bah." With that, he turned to one of his men. "Get him loaded in a cart and get him into Gilneas. The king is wanting all Gilneans behind that wall, and I'll not be one who lets this one get away. The stallion will accompany him, as evidence of his crimes."

With that, the man left, slamming the door behind him again and leaving the stunned and bewildered soldiers in his wake. Loem, finally realizing that the truth wasn't listened to, slumped against the wall, defeated, tears sliding silently down his face.

Brothers: Nine

Loem, age 11

Silverpine, End of Second War

"What?"

"Let's go. We're going to see if our guesses were right." Hekter glanced around again, then started moving quietly down the hill into the dark. I can't believe he's going to trespass onto the farm. Surely Uldor didn't want me doing this... He couldn't have! I'm a squire, I made oaths not to lie or sneak about or... He realized he was being left behind. He ran up to the edge of the hill, and was immediately pulled down roughly by Hekter.

"Don't stand on any hill or edge where your silhouette will be seen. Always crouch or crawl over them. Now come on, quietly." Loem followed the near-silent scout down into the farm's only field.

"Too bad they don't have corn or wheat. We'd be able to hide in it." Loem commented, barely whispering, but Hekter heard, as he turned back and nodded, a slight smile on his lips. He used military hand motions to indicate they should move for the barn. They skirted around the edge of the field near the fence to the barn, the doorway open just enough for them to slip in.

"This farmer is too used to peace and quiet." Hekter whispered quietly, just inside the door. He then pointed to the wall and Loem followed his finger to see several tools hanging there. Several sickles, hoes, and pitchforks, along with tack for one horse and a harness that no doubt attached to a plow or wagon. Hekter was right... and my guesses weren't far off, either.

With his finger over his lips the dark-clad soldier crept forward, Loem right on his heels, to peer around the corner into the barn proper. An old, swaybacked mare stood snoozing in a nearby stall. More wool was caught on the rough planks inside, and sheep droppings littered the straw-covered floor. The sheep were nowhere to be seen, and Loem realized that Hekter was right again, they had to be off in a nearby field. Hekter moved forward swift but silent, motioning for Loem to stay near the door.

He moved in a way that made it nearly impossible to see him, even for Loem, who knew he was there. As he made his way around the barn, Loem glanced around, trying to take in all he could see, now understanding that Hekter wanted him to learn to take in a lot of information at once and sift through it later. He did his best to memorize the inside of the barn as Hekter finally stopped at a tarp-covered pile of what Loem thought might be extra hay.

Hekter reached out and lifted the tarp, revealing a huge pile of newly-sheared wool. Loem smiled, but then jumped when a dog barked outside, followed closely by the bleating of sheep. Hekter's answering smile was erased immediately as he rushed back to the doorway and peered outside.

"Alright, Loem. New exercise. You're about to be spotted by enemy combatants, and you're alone. If you attack, there are dire political consequences. Get out of enemy territory, don't be seen, and make sure you keep this safe." With that, he pushed the rolled up tarp into his hands and bolted out the door, silent as the shadows he blended into.

Loem was alone in the farmer's barn, holding... What? Oh, gods, it's some wool! He never said anything about stealing! Loem was breathing hard now, confused and scared of getting caught. He wanted to leave the wool here, but Hekter had definitely given it to him for a reason. Okay, first things first, gotta get out of this barn.

He looked out the door and was almost spotted by the boy that was working to get the sheep back into the barn. Damn! Hesitated too long! What to do, what to do? He moved back into the barn, quiet as he could, the tarp filled with wool under one arm. In the shadows of the barn, he was hard to see, but he knew he wasn't as good as Hekter and would no doubt be spotted. Racking his brain for ideas, he heard the barn door creak open behind him. Out of time! He nearly panicked until he remembered seeing a ladder leaning against the wall. He rushed for it, clambered up as quietly as he could and settled onto a rafter, praying to the gods it would hold his weight.

The shepherd and the sheep were loud as they poured into the barn, after the silence that had enveloped Loem and Hekter for the time they were inside. He used the sound to move through the rafters to a nearby window, hoping the boy wouldn't look up or that the dog wouldn't see or smell him. Luck seemed to be on his side, as he reached the window without being seen by the boy who leaned lazily on his shepherd's hook, obviously tired.

He stole a glance out the window and nearly lost his footing. He was facing the farmhouse and there was a figure in the window... a woman. Did she see me? Did she know I was- A screech from the house left no doubt. Yes, she spotted me. Loem could hear a clattering in the farmhouse and yelling. It sounded like the woman was yelling to her husband.

"Thief! Thief in the barn!" The door of the farmhouse burst open to reveal a disheveled farmer in his pajamas, his frightened wife right behind him in a gown, screaming. It would have been funny if Loem didn't also notice the large gun the farmer was carrying and the angry look on his face. Light poured from the doorway from a lamp in the house and Loem knew he was out of time. He made a leap through the window, twisting in air to land and roll as he had been taught, but the farmer was nearly there, and Loem could hear him cocking his rifle to shoot.

Damn. He turned to get up and run, but the barrel of the gun was right in his face. Loem's eyes followed the barrel up to a very angry-looking farmer. "Thought you could steal from Old Gerard, eh, boy? Maybe this'll teach you." He cocked the hammer back and Loem winced knowing what was coming. But it didn't come. He risked opening his eye and his heart skipped a beat.

Hekter had been there, watching the entire time. His hand was on the barrel of the gun, pulling it away, his other hand steadily holding a dagger at the farmer's throat, the silver shining in the moonlight. "Now, now oldtimer, you don't want to hurt my little friend there. He's small fish." Loem was surprised at how menacing Hekter sounded, and how naturally and calmly he held the dagger to the man's throat. It was frightening to watch, and he could only imagine how the farmer felt.

Once he had the gun in his possession, Hekter pulled away, the dagger disappearing into it's sheath in his belt again without leaving a mark on the frightened farmer. "Get up, Loem." He obeyed, blushing a deep scarlet, thankfully hidden under the black makeup. Hekter came over and brushed him off, making sure he was unhurt. The farmer still stood there, confused, his hands slowly balling into fists, ready to fight. Hekter noticed and smirked for Loem to see, then turned his attention to the farmer.

"My apologies, oldtimer. This was just an exercise that went rather badly." Hekter reached into his pocket for a pouch which he presented to the farmer. It clinked heavliy as he held it up and Loem realized it was full of money, probably gold coins from the sound. "Payment for your loss of sleep and the scare." The farmer, interested in the money but still distrustful, reached out slowly. Hekter tossed it the rest of the way and turned back to Loem. "You can give them the wool back as well. Oh," and he turned back to the farmer, now flanked by his son and wife. "You should really lock your barn up at night. Had it been me, all your wool would be gone by now." He chuckled and grabbed Loem by the shoulder, walking away down the lane, leaving the dumbfounded family in their wake.

Loem let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. I wonder how much trouble I'm in.

"You did well." Hekter finally said and Loem snorted in surprise. "Truly. Perhaps you waited a bit too long in the doorway, but you saw the ladder and made your way for an alternate exit. That was quick thinking." Hekter patted him on the back.

"But... but I failed. I got caught. And that farmer would have shot me if you hadn't been there." Loem looked down, embarrassed again.

"Well, that's true, but that's also why I was there. Uldor would've had my head if I let you get shot." He grinned. "You might have gotten away with it if you hadn't stood directly in the window. The wife saw your silhouette. Turn around and look at the barn again." Loem did so, barely seeing it through the trees. "See the window? It's actually a pass through so they can use the area above as storage for hay with an easy way to get it in and out. That barn was in disrepair, or was never actually finished. There are two windows there, though, so she could see you, perfectly framed. Always stay to the side of windows."

With that last bit of advice they made their way back to camp where the soldiers were all sleeping. Loem wiped off the black makeup and crawled into his bedroll.

I'm going to be so sore in the morning, he thought as sleep finally took him.

Brothers: Eight

Loem, age 11

Silverpine Forest, End of Second War

"M'lord Uldor, the forest is just ahead." Loem rode beside the crude wagon on Praetor, a very different child from when he first followed his father into war. He wore light armor, leather vambraces hiding two daggers that Uldor had begun teaching him how to use, and he wore the red and white of Uldor's house along with the Gilnean crest. The blue and maroon ribbons braided into a necklace he wore under his shirt were the only remaining vestiges of his previous life. The war had finally ended when the Horde fell apart. Stormwind was back in the hands of its people, though the city was broken and reduced to rubble. Still, the Horde was finally finished, the remnants being rounded up and sent into internment camps. The war was finally over.

Uldor had come out worse for wear, however. In the last battle he fought bravely, much like Loem's father had, and held off several orcs at once, only to be struck heavily from behind as the last opponent fell. His back, luckily, wasn't broken, but a large gash was left and he had nearly bled to death yet again. On top of that, he had sustained other, smaller cuts and injuries during the fight that would no doubt scar. Still, they had survived and Uldor had declared that he would follow his king's orders and go back to Gilneas. Too weak to ride, he rested in an open wagon pulled by a couple of pack horses, his warhorse following patiently behind. He'll carry a terrible scar on his back for the rest of his life. It must be painful. Loem watched him carefully, his eyes watching for any sign that they'd need to stop. At least Silverpine is peaceful and beautiful.

"Loem, I'm fine." Uldor always seemed to know when Loem was watching him, worrying about him. "Truly. I may not be able to ride, but I'm not dying. I want to continue your training tonight, even if I have to do it from this damn wagon. King Greymane had recalled his troops, and well he should. We've suffered losses on behalf of the so-called Alliance and have gotten little in return for our troubles." Several nearby soldiers smiled or called out agreement after overhearing Uldor's remarks. Just about every Gilnean traveling with them wanted nothing more than to return to their kingdom and do their best to forget that the war had ever happened.

Loem bit back a retort. While he may be of Lordaeron, he was still under contract with Uldor and wore his colors. Getting into an argument with him in the middle of all these Gilneans would be pointless. Also, he'd just dishonor Uldor and himself. No, I know better and besides, Uldor is teaching me fighting techniques that suit me so much better than what my father was teaching me! I always hated sword and shield training... they seemed slow and clumsy. Daggers are way better, much faster, easier to use, simple to conceal... Father wouldn't approve, he'd think what Uldor was teaching me was "dishonorable" or cowardly, but I'm so damn good at it! Even Uldor and the other soldiers think so.

One of the Gilnean soldiers, Hekter, a friend of Uldor and a rather unusual man in general, rode up close. "Copper for your thoughts, Loem?" he asked, his brown eyes shining with mirth as he brushed a bit of his loose black hair back behind his ear.

Loem tilted his head, indicating Lord Uldor. "I'm worried about his injuries, sir. He refuses to rest much, and I'm worried he'll pull the stitches out of his back. That cut on his head probably needs cleaning again, too."

Hekter just laughed, his dark, metal-studded, leather armor catching a few rays of light as they passed through the trees above. "Oh, Loem. Stop being so damn motherly. Uldor will be fine, and if he isn't he'll know better tomorrow. Sometimes you have to let idiots learn for themselves."

Loem blushed a bit, both at the teasing and at the audacity of Hekter. As far as Loem could tell, Hekter wasn't a lord, but he often called Uldor names and made such comments. Uldor ignores it, in fact laughs along, but I haven't figured Hekter out. I've never seen him use a shield. He's certainly nothing like any of the other soldiers or knights. I like him, he's funny and lighthearted, but he's so disrespectful sometimes.

"Hekter, don't mess with my squire. He seems to always have enough on his mind without you adding to it." Uldor joked, wincing a bit as the wagon hit a rough patch of road.

"My lord, do you need more tonic for the pain?" Loem asked, but Uldor was shaking his head.

"No, Loem, I'm fine. Just... sore and a bit tired. Hekter, I want you to continue Loem's training tonight. Whatever you see fit to teach him." He turned back to Loem. "Sorry Loem, but something tells me I'll be in no real mood to do anything once we stop. Hek's right, I shouldn't push myself, much as I want to." He sighed again and leaned back into the cushions gingerly.

Loem just smirked and Hektor grinned, happy to have won an argument for once. "He probably just doesn't want to worry you too much." Hekter said over his shoulder as he rode past. Gods, he sticks out like a sore thumb in this crowd of soldiers, and I never saw him on the battlefield. Not that he'd last long against Orcs dressed like that. What kind of fool wears such light armor for fighting? Or maybe... maybe I'm wrong about him. Maybe he's not a soldier after all. I'll try to find out more about him tonight, during our training.

"Uh... Loem?" Uldor interrupted his thoughts. "Maybe I will take that tonic after all." Loem sighed and handed over the skin he carried that was already full of the pain-relieving tonic. Uldor just laughed again at his squire's preparedness and took it gratefully. As he passed it back, the shadows grew deeper, the trees closer, the sun falling through to create a warm glow all around them and for the first time since leaving home, Loem felt safe and at peace.

---------**----------

"Take a good look." Hekter whispered. He had taken Loem up into the hills some way away from camp to continue his training. I've no idea how this is training, or even helpful, but Uldor told me to do whatever he asked without question. He turned his attention below, to a small farm.

"It's a farm, what am I looking for?" Loem asked, a bit of frustration leaking into his voice. Hekter just smirked, his dark eyes glinting in the moonlight. Hekter grabbed him and turned him away from view of the quiet farm.

"Now, now, Loem, don't get upset with me. Describe it." Loem tried to turn back but Hekter held him in place. "No, that's cheating. I did tell you to take a good look, did I not?"

Loem's mouth just dropped open. "How do you expect me to describe it? I only got a moment to glance at it, and I was distracted, and it's dark out!" Hekter just grinned maniacally and shook his head.

Loem sighed, wondering again why Uldor had left him with this madman for the night.

"Fine." He closed his eyes, trying really hard to remember what the quiet little farm had looked like in the moonlight. "There is a farmhouse and a barn, a little field with young crops. I'm pretty sure there is a small doghouse near the farmhouse, painted red." He smiled a bit, thinking he had done fairly well. Hekter snorted.

"What kind of crops? What livestock do they have? How many people live there? What possible weapons do they have?"

Loem shook his head. "How could I possibly know any of that, sir?" Hekter smiled and let go of Loem's shoulders. He sighed and sat back on his heels. "I'll let you look. It seems Uldor hasn't had time to teach you much about using that wonderful brain of yours." When Loem had turned back to view the little homestead, Hekter moved forward to look as well. "Now, answer my questions."

Loem, confused, looked hard for some answers. "Well, the crops are too young to be certain from here, but they might be potatoes... maybe... And I think they have at least one horse, maybe more, or maybe oxen or cattle, because there's some hay near the barn." Hekter waited for more, but Loem just couldn't figure more out, especially anything about weapons.

"Very well. Loem, look closely at the farm." Hekter paused, then turned toward the farm himself, and seemed to change from a lighthearted soldier to something else. He was serious, focused entirely on the little homestead below, and Loem wondered just what he was going to see that he didn't.

"Those are indeed potatoes, but there are also strawberries on the far side and the trees behind the house are apple trees, most likely. The hay was a good catch, but it isn't enough to feed a herd of cattle and a horse, so I'd say they have just one horse, probably to pull the plow. No cattle, but they have sheep."

Loem frowned, but before he could ask Hekter answered, "Look to the side of the barn. There's a bit of wool caught in the wood, and a bit more on the ground there between it and the house. I bet they did some shearing recently. The doghouse was also a good catch, as it probably means there are children in the family." When Loem turned, completely confused at how a doghouse can possibly indicate children, Hekter smiled. "A farmer wouldn't paint it red, or build his dog a house at all, most likely, if it's a working animal. Notice it's empty? The dog is probably with the sheep, protecting them from wolves. We can then guess that there is at least once child, which usually means parents, so one woman and one man, though it's impossible to be sure unless we get closer and look in the house.

"So... so you're not sure?" Hekter suddenly seemed more like himself and laughed at the question.

"Of course I'm not sure. As I said, I'd have to get up to the house and look inside to be certain, but we can make smart guesses." He turned back to Loem. "Now, what about weapons? Try to answer."

Loem looked back to the farm, but couldn't imagine a farmer owning a sword. "You don't mean traditional weapons... do you? I suppose a farmer would have all kinds of tools, like hoes, and shovels, and maybe a sickle." Hekter nodded, pleased, and Loem continued. "Pitchfork, for the hay. That's like a pike or spear, or might be used as one. And... and, in a time of war, that barn may house soldiers."

Hekter nodded, a pleased smile on his face. "Very good, Loem. Exactly what I was looking for. While it's true that a sickle isn't a sword, they're both sharp and both can be used to kill a man. Think less about weapons having to be a sword or a dagger or a mace. Instead, imagine risks and the potential of every situation and place. Now..." he turned to his pack and pulled out a jar. He took off the top to reveal a dark paste. With a pointed look, he dipped his fingers in and smeared the stuff all over his face. With his hair, pulled back into a horsetail for the night, he blended into the shadows perfectly and Loem finally understood just what the man really was. Hekter was a scout and a spy.

"Now you, Loem." He helped him cover his face and the back of his neck - "I've been nearly caught before because I forgot my neck" - and helped him smear his hair back with the dark, oily stuff. "Your hair is pretty dark, but I think tomorrow we'll do it right and dye it black, like mine." Once the two of them were well covered, Hekter put the pot back in his pack and waved Loem over to the edge of the hill.

"Let's go."

Brothers: Seven

Leodry, age 25

Northeast of Aerie Peak, Third War

"I think 'e's finally comin' around. Give 'im some air, lass."

The voice was gruff and heavily accented, but kind, and Leodry opened his eyes to see two faces staring down at him, one round and soft, and the other covered by the largest beard he had ever seen, both with tattoos of the like he'd never seen before. Confused, he moved, trying to sit up, but groaned with pain. He felt like he had been kicked by a few horses then dropped off a cliff.

"Don't try to move, laddybuck. Da found ye in the snow, half dead, days ago. We weren't sure ye'd make it, but here ye are. I'm Moira, what's your name?" She leaned back and Leodry realized she was quite short, no more than four feet tall. Dwarves. Dwarves found me.

"I'm... I'm Leodry. How long have I been..?"

Moira smiled again and patted his shoulder. "Ye've been out fer about, oh, I'd say three, maybe four days. "Why were ye travelin' through the mountains this time o' year? It's dangerous." She chided him, so much like Hannah, he almost laughed, if he wasn't in so much pain.

"I... I was running. Running away," he whispered. Moira turned to look at him.

"Ye a bandit? On the run from the law?" She asked, some apprehension showing on her face. Leodry quickly shook his head, which was a bad idea, as it was pounding.

He groaned again. "No, no nothing like that. I just..." He sighed, wondering how he'd explain.

"Quit pesterin' 'im, Moira, love. 'E don't 'ave te say anythin' 'bout 'imself iffin' 'e don't wan' te." Moira's father had left to get more hot water and had just returned with a steaming bowl and a clean cloth. Now that he was awake, he looked around to take in his surroundings.

A warm fire crackled in a large, stone fireplace. Stone walls were relatively unadorned aside from a few tapestries showing dwarves hunting. The low ceiling was also of stone and Leodry realized they were underground. He was laying on a low platform of some kind covered in skins, which was surprisingly comfortable. Of course, compared to where I've been sleeping in the last weeks, that doesn't surprise me in the least. A bed of rocks would be more comfortable.

"Sir," Leodry addressed Moira's father, "My armor... where is it?"

"I 'ad it taken to a local 'smithy for repairs an' cleanin'. It's a bit worse fer wear, but me friend will put it right again. And no 'sir' fer me, laddy. Call me Graz."

"Graz, then. My thanks, but... I can't possibly pay for such repairs, and I should be going anyway..." his voice faded as he saw the stern look the old dwarf was giving him.

"Nonsense, lad. Where ye goin' te go? Yer barely able te stay awake. Ye wouldn' get two steps afore fallin' again. No. Ye'll stay 'ere fer now."

There was no arguing with him. And he's right. I can barely keep my eyes open as it is, and whatever medicine they've given me hasn't had time to work. I feel awful and wouldn't make it far anyway. Maybe... maybe I've run far enough. Maybe I don't have to worry about them following me here. Maybe here, I don't have to worry about being a traitor. It's not like I'm in Lordaeron anymore, at any rate...

He fell asleep again, the fire warming his sore muscles with Moira and Graz tending to his wounds and sickness. For the first time in weeks, he was safe. For the first time in weeks, he slept soundly, his dreams filled with thoughts of home, and family, and peace.

Brothers: Six

Loem, age 11

Far Southern Lordaeron, Near End of Second War

He gasped in surprise and joy when he entered the stables. It had been several days since the battle where he lost everything, but here was something he never expected to see again.

"Praetor!" His father's warhorse, armor a bit disheveled, covered in mud and filth and dried blood, and shaking like a leaf, stood in the village stable. Hearing his name and a familiar voice seemed to calm him a bit, but he was still worse for wear.

"I found 'im in me fields this mornin' young master, quiverin' like that. He's bad off, but nothin' a bit of grain, some special care, and a good night's sleep won't fix, I reckon. Took me a few hours just to get close enough to lead 'im 'ere. Still, now 'e's got you, 'e'll be fine." The old farmer patted Praetor's flank and bowed a bit to Loem, taking off without another word, his work done. Loem was just able to say his thanks before the old man was out the door. The stablehand shrugged and helped Loem unsaddle the large warhorse and get the armor off. Most of it would need repair and all of it needed cleaning, but Loem didn't care. Praetor was alive. It was as if the gods had taken pity on him and given him part of his family back.

"I'm glad for you, young Loem," Uldor's quiet voice came from the stable doorway. Loem turned slowly and spotted the blonde knight, still a bit weak from his injuries, his arm held in a sling and a slight limp slowing him down, but all-in-all doing well.

"Yes, sir. Thank you." He turned back to the horse, rubbing his dark coat down and whispering nonsense into his flicking ears, calming the beast.

"He was your father's?" Uldor asked, keeping his distance, knowing the typical temperament of a warhorse, especially one as stressed as Praetor was. Loem nodded, responding quietly.

"Yes, sir." Loem gulped back tears, determined not to cry anymore. "He was my father's pride, aside from his family, and he's practically family as it is. Didn't think I'd ever see him again."

He trusted Uldor, but he wasn't sure of anything anymore. I'm alone. I have the clothes on my back, minus my tunic which has gone missing - I should really try to find that damn thing - and a few supplies in my pack, and now Praetor, by some happy whim of the gods. Uldor is kind, but he's a Gilnean, and rather proud, from what I've seen. Although, I've noticed that most Gilneans are proud, some to a fault, though Lord Uldor isn't terrible about it. I don't have any friends anymore, now that Ged is gone, as I steered clear of the other soldiers for fear of them noticing how young I was and then speaking ill of father. I have to fend for myself. I can't ask for favors, it would indebt me to people I don't know. People I don't trust. I have to keep a level head...

"He's certainly a beauty, Loem, or will be once you've finished cleaning him up again." Uldor came a bit closer, now that Praetor didn't look like he'd attack the first unfamiliar thing he saw. "I've purchased a new horse myself, there, in the far stall. Once you get him cleaned up a bit, why don't you get him settled in the stall next to mine?"

"Oh, well, actually... Lord Uldor, I haven't the funds to pay for his lodging." Uldor smiled kindly.

"Well, that's not an issue, Loem, as I've already taken care of it. It's the least I can do for you, what with all you've done for me these last few days. Why, if not for you, I wouldn't even be here."

With that, Uldor turned and walked out of the stables, leaving a rather confused Loem in his wake. He feels indebted to me? A lord of his stature, indebted to me? I'd feel uncomfortable about the whole thing if I wasn't so worn out. Still, with Praetor, maybe I can make my way home again. Or at least- His thoughts were interrupted by shouting outside. He recognized some of the voices, including Lord Uldor's. What in the gods names was going on?

Outside, several soldiers were protesting angrily. A mounted knight, one Loem didn't recognize, was shouting orders over the din. Lord Uldor was doing his best to keep order, and keep the unruly and upset soldiers in line. When he saw Loem, he tried to wave him back inside the stables, but the mounted knight spotted him as well.

"You! Boy! You wear the crest of Lordaeron! You're a squire?" Loem could only nod numbly, confused. "These orders apply to you as well, then, and your lord. Listen up, all of you lot! You're to report to the southern camp near what's left of Stormwind in three days! We make our final push from there. See your captains for more detailed reports, but all of you had better be ready to fight! Right then. You! Captain, come here..."

----------**----------

Loem didn't know what to do. That night, he sat by the fire, his bedroll empty, his head too full of thoughts to sleep. He moved aside automatically when Uldor came to join him, something he used to do for his father, and now simply habit.

"It's wrong of them to expect these few survivors, injured warriors and soldiers, to just pick up and head off to battle again. We're practically refugees. Still, orders are orders. Maybe they know something we don't." Uldor paused, staring at the crackling fire. A few logs shifted and popped and a wave of heat washed over them both. "I'm not your father. I can't tell you what to do, or where to go. Whether or not that soldier would remember you in three days... who can say?"

"I don't want to run away." Loem whispered. He was afraid, yes, but he understood his duty. He had accepted the responsibility when his father first mentioned they'd go to war, and he meant every oath he had taken. "I'm a squire of Lordaeron, and much as it pains me to go to war again, if there is even a single knight that can use my services, I have to help them, by the oath I've taken."

"That's a very mature thing to say, Loem. You're an amazing young man. As it turns out, there is a knight that requires a squire." Uldor turned to him. "I could use your help. You've a knack for basic healing arts, at least, those that use bandages, and something tells me I'll be needing more bandages." He smirked again, and winked, then continued, "You can care for horses, their tack, and armor, and do it efficiently and well. My own squire had to be sent back home long before we left Gilneas due to a coughing sickness. Nothing severe, I was told, but I wasn't going to make him march all the way to Lordaeron ill and make it worse. Now that you're a 'free agent' I was hoping to hire you."

Loem was a bit surprised. He had assumed that Uldor simply didn't want a squire, as he hadn't had one. Whether he was telling the truth or not, Loem couldn't tell, but regardless Uldor hadn't shown any sign of lying or of deceit for the days Loem had known him, just open, honest thoughts. He's so unlike my father. Maybe that's why I feel like there should be something else, something he's not telling me. My father was never this kind.

"Thank you, Lord Uldor. I'd be honored to serve as your squire."

"Excellent. I'll have a contract drawn up." Loem must have looked confused, as Uldor laughed when he saw his face. "I'm hiring you, Loem. For pay. You've skills most squires don't, and I intend to put those skills to use. Don't worry, you won't disappoint me, and you'll earn every copper I give you. This isn't a charity case."

Loem smiled and nodded, Uldor putting to ease his worries. I don't want handouts. And when this war is done, when it's finished, I'll go home and find Leodry. He's all the family I've got, now, and if Uldor is willing to pay for my services, then I'll take any job I can get.

With that, he crawled into his bedroll, knowing the next few days would be hectic, preparing for their march towards the Stormwind border and the following battle. His eyes closed, and he slept, dreaming of the old farmhouse, and his father, sitting peacefully under the big tree on the little hill overlooking the road where his mother was buried. Somehow, that gave him comfort, and the night passed, uneventful and calm.

Brothers: Five

Hannah

Northern Lordaeron, End of Second War

She sat, writing by low lamplight, her worn journal on the only desk in the small farmhouse. Her husband slept soundly in their bed behind her, but she couldn't sleep. Not with the news that had come earlier that morning, not knowing that the young boy downstairs was no doubt having nightmares of being alone, crying to himself. She had tried to comfort him, but he pushed her away, and months of working in the fields made him strong enough that she knew better than to come on too strongly.

I didn't want the boy to hear that kind of news that way. Not like that, with some cold, uncaring messenger delivering the news as he had done hundreds of times to hundreds of families since the war had ended. But he had. He and Danir heard me cry out and came running from the fields, worry on their faces. The messenger said his cold words, monotonous and unfeeling, then left us, terrible grief following in his wake, not even turning back once. Perhaps that's why he's so unfeeling. Perhaps if he turns back, he'll get dragged down into the vast sea of despair he leaves behind. He had handed us one of the vambraces with Lord Laric's family crest, and a torn tunic with the lord's colors, no doubt worn by Loem.

She paused, tears welling up again thinking about how Elaine's elder son was dead, her husband dead, at the hands of terrible, monstrous orcs and trolls. Oh, Elaine, I wish I could have protected Loem, too. I'm sorry. She bent her head to the page again, her quill scratching quietly.

Leo didn't quite understand, at first. If it had been for anything else, it could have been described as comical, the way he stood there, dumbfounded, his jaw hanging slack... but there was nothing funny about it. It was like a puppet at a fair, it's strings cut suddenly, when realization struck. He crumpled to the ground and I rushed to his side. It was the first time he cried without seeming to apologize for it, and he let me hold him, comfort him. It almost felt as though I had a child of my own, though even then I knew that wouldn't last. He'd get angry, blame himself, blame his father, blame us... In time, I know he'll forgive us, and himself... I hope he forgives his father, someday, too. He's just a boy, after all. He took the vambrace and the tunic, and neither Danir or I tried to stop him. Last I saw, he was curled up in his bed, the bit of worn armor clutched in his hand, the tunic used as a blanket. I dare not take them from him now, but I worry that it will do more harm than good. If he comes to the table in the morning wearing them, I'll be more insistent. Still, I can't imagine what he's going through right now. Laric Kingswarden was my lord, his dead wife my best friend, but he was a difficult man and I can't say I was terribly fond of him in life. His death, while sad, is less terrible to me than the death of his son, an innocent, and so like Elaine. The gods may strike me down for that, but I cannot bring myself to feel too much sorrow for Laric, for taking his boy to war when he was only eleven.

She paused again, anger smoldering in her soul. She smiled tearfully, though, and shook her head, wiping her eyes.

No, I cannot hate him. It will show, and though Leodry is not as bright as Loem was, he'll know something is wrong. I must forgive m'lord for his act. Gods! I just realized, now that both Laric and Loem are gone, Leodry is technically our lord now. Perhaps it is good that their family has lost much of the estate over the many years. These few farms and stretch of land are all the Kingswarden family has to its name. The keep the family once had has long since been reduced to rubble and dirt and the large farmhouse and now-empty stables are all that's left. M'Lord Laric never did much for the house, but maybe Danir and I can fix it up and take Leodry back there when he's a bit older. It's his house and land now, and I'll do my best to teach him how to run his estate. The other farming families will surely help as well, I think. They were on better terms with lord Laric than I. I'll send letters in the morning, I think.

She sighed and put her pen aside, the realization that the lord of her lands was dead and the new one was downstairs crying himself to sleep more than she could bear. She blew out the lamp and crawled into bed next to her husband. In his sleep, he reached out for her and she nestled into his arms, content.

Perhaps it would be better to just let him live a simple life of a farmer. A simple man can do as he pleases without the trials and difficulties of dealing with an estate. He can work, and live, and love. His life can be uncomplicated. Leodry deserves a simpler life. He deserves a better life.

He deserves a family.

Brothers: Four

Loem, age 11

Battlefield, Second War

"Father! FATHER!!" he cried out, searching through the broken, bleeding corpses for the colors of his house surrounding the crest of Lordaeron. Many of the dead were human, far more than of the green-skinned orcs or tall, tusked trolls. The Horde raiding party had caught them all by surprise, outnumbering them and overpowering the tired soldiers who had been marching and fighting for days. He scanned them all, hoping for the flash of blue and maroon that would signal he'd found his father. Blue for loyalty, maroon for patience in battle, he repeated in his mind, a rhythm that kept his mind from the grim scene before him.

Dozens of pairs of empty eyes stared up into the sky, unfocused, as he continued on, yelling for his knight-master, his father. Other survivors, far too few in number, called out names of those who may still live, some with success, others ending with a cry of grief when they recognized a face covered in blood, or severed from a body. The field was red, but Loem couldn't find his father anywhere.

He stumbled over something, and twisted his body in air to fall without injuring himself. He turned back to see what had caused him to lose his footing and cried out, realizing that he had fallen over Gredden. The youth's face was surprisingly calm and serene in death, though it was covered in a splash of blood. Loem choked back tears, furious at the Horde who had taken so much and lost so little in return.

He crawled over to his fallen friend and closed Gredden's eyes, wiping away the sticky blood as best he could. He tried to ignore the wounds that had claimed the young squire's life. If he looked, he may lose his stomach. At least you died quick, friend. That much, at least, I can see. He grabbed a nearby sword, lost by some soldier or another, and drove it into the ground near Greddon's head. A simple marker, but he would be able to find this place later. He still had his father to find. Doing his best to fight back tears, he returned to his search.

For another hour he scanned the dead and dying, hoping that every time the corpse's face wasn't his father's it meant he was still alive, still breathing, but his hope was short-lived. Finally, near the edge of the battle, he came upon a pile of dead orcs. There, at the center, was a Lordaeron crest and the ribbons of blue and maroon of the Kingswarden house. Laric Kingswarden, knight of Lordaeron, died from wounds sustained while fighting off five orcs and a troll spear thrower. For the first time in a long time, Loem cried.

I'm alone. I'm alone in the middle of a battlefield, my father dead before me, my only real friend dead, too. What will my brother think? How can I tell him?. Loem was surprised at how hot his tears seemed, how much his chest hurt, how desperately he wanted to sob and yell. I don't even have my mare. I'm alone.

A groan startled him from his thoughts and he remembered he was still in potential danger. If the moan had come from a troll, known to regenerate quickly given a chance, or even an orc, he could be joining his father and friend in death. Luckily for him, it was a human.

The knight seemed young, and Loem immediately recognized the Gilnean crest on his armor, surrounded by ribbons of white and red, a house he had no hope of recognizing but at least symbolizing noble lineage. He moved carefully around the dead orcs, making sure to give them a wide berth, even though they were truly dead, making his way over to the injured knight. His eyes were blue, and blonde hair could be seen under his helmet, though it appeared to be matting with blood rather quickly. Loem scanned the field, hoping to find another soldier nearby to help, but the knight reached out with another groan, catching his tunic.

"P-please... help me..." the man whispered, fear and pain easily heard in his voice.

"I'm here, my lord. Please, be still. You aren't alone." Loem tried to comfort the soldier while tearing his tunic for bandages. The knight was pinned under a large orc warrior, the brute's spiked armor no doubt digging into the Gilnean's body. "Hold on, I'll try to free you."

Loem moved around, grabbing onto the body with distaste and pulled as hard as he could, slowly rolling the huge, bloody body off the young knight. The orc was insanely heavy, far heavier than any man, though he wouldn't have stood much taller than his father. Loem thought it was the armor, but noticed quickly that most of the orc's armor was made of leather and chainmail, not plate. The weight was purely from huge muscles, and he felt a pang of pride for his father, knowing how strong a beast this orc and every other must have been. My father could hold off a whole lot of you, alone. Serves you right, you damn bastards.

Freed, the knight already seemed to breathe a little easier and he reached out again. Loem rushed back to his side, using his quickly made bandages to stem the bleeding from the young man's side and arm where it appeared an axe had hit him. If not for his heavy armor, his arm would've been off. The bandages made from his tunic seemed gaudy against the steely armor at first, but the blue and maroon quickly darkened with blood and Loem knew this man would need a true healer's touch or he'd not make it.

"Thank you," the knight said, his blue eyes focusing slowly on Loem's face. "Who are you? What's your name?" Loem finished tying off the bandages and making sure he had done all he could before answering.

"Squire Loem, my lord. I am-" he caught himself. "I was Lord Laric's squire. He was my father." He could feel himself wanting to cry again, but shook his head. Now's not the time, dammit.

"Oh, gods, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I saw him fall, I tried to get to him, tried to help, but there were too many. Gods, I'm sorry," the blonde knight sputtered. Loem tried to quiet him.

"It's okay, my lord. You did what you could, and for that I thank you. Please. Just lie still."

It was then that another soldier came near and Loem called him over. Several nearby farmers and villagers had come to help clean up and dig graves, and they managed to move the knight to nearby healing tents where a few high-elven priests were tending to the wounded. Loem got help from them to move his father's body as well and marked his grave. He was able to mark Gredden's as well, though he felt completely exhausted by the end.

"Go, boy. Go to the healing tents and get yourself looked at." The villagers made him go, made him sit and rest. At first he protested, but was grateful, in the end. The elf priest made him nervous, though his ministrations were wonderful and did much to ease his discomfort. Loem was still hurting, but he knew it was from sadness, not any lasting injury. The knight he had found was still here and he made his way over.

He thought the knight slept, so was surprised when he opened his eyes and spoke. "Ah, so you're the one that found me out there pinned under that ugly bastard of a greenskin." Loem simply nodded. "Thank you. I was afraid that I wouldn't be found 'till I bled to death. Thanks to the priest, though, I think I'll pull through." Without his helmet and cleaned up a bit, Loem could see he was younger than his father, probably not much more than 20 or so. Pain and blood loss had made the man paler than he should be, but Loem doubted the man had worked many days outside in the sun, aside from the time during the war. The cut in his head had been healed by the priest, so his blonde hair was no longer covered in blood and his blue eyes were clearer and more focused. "So, Loem, was it? I truly am sorry for your loss. I didn't know your father, but I saw him fighting off a group of the orcs and doing well, 'till that troll joined the mix. You should be proud of him. He went down fighting."

Loem didn't know what to say to that. He just nodded again, afraid that if he opened his mouth to speak, he'd cry. The knight seemed to sense his discomfort. "I have the worst manners, though I hope you'll forgive me, under the circumstances. I'm Uldor. Uldor of Gilneas."

Loem finally decided that it would be terribly bad manners not to speak up now that the young lord had introduced himself. He swallowed his tears and said, "I'm Squire Loem Kingswarden of Northfields in Lordaeron, sir. I recognized the Gilnean crest on your armor, but not your colors. You weren't with my father's group."

"Well isn't that quite the mouthful," he smirked, then nodded. "Smart lad. You've a keen eye. We were coming together to join up with your group when we were all ambushed. Were you with the soldiers?"

Loem shook his head. "No. My f-father..." he paused for a moment, but managed to continue, "he had a small injury, so I had ridden off the main path in the hopes of finding a healing herb or two to treat him when the Horde attacked. The sounds of battle spooked my mare and she bolted, falling into a small stream and broke her leg. I had to..." he paused again, wiping away a tear that had escaped. "Well. I had to put her out of her misery. Still, I should be grateful. The gods must have guided her, since she bolted away from the battle and probably saved my life. Greddon wasn't so lucky."

"Greddon?" Uldor asked. Loem nodded and continued. "Another squire, my lord, from our group. We were friends." Uldor simply nodded understanding, and Loem looked away as a few more tears managed to fall, try as he might to hold them back.

"Friends is something we've both lost today. Friends and horses. My own charger, Beast, was taken out from under me by an orc's axe." He sighed and settled into his makeshift bed. "You should rest, young Loem. No boy your age should have to see what you've seen today, do what you've done, squire or no. Have the priest give you something for dreamless sleep," he suggested, waving the priest over.

It's the best advice anyone's given me, ever. I wish I could fall asleep and wake up and find out this was all a terrible nightmare. But I know it's not. I'm so tired I can't even cry anymore, and the smell of blood is everywhere. Dreams might seem real when you dream them, but they never smell.

His mind quieted as the priest laid his cool hands on his forehead, though, and he drifted off into comforting darkness. Uldor looked to the priest and thanked him, watching the young squire sleep.

"You saved my life, Loem Kingswarden of Lordaeron. Hopefully one day, I can return the favor."

Brothers: Three

Leodry, age 25

Northern Hinterlands, Third War

The rain was coming down in sheets, the wind cold and biting. He had been running for so long, with nothing but the armor on his back. His waterskin was nearly empty, and he hadn't eaten in over a day. Unseen tears streamed down his face, hidden by mixing with the freezing rain. He had failed.

I failed. I failed my father and brother's memories. I failed my country. I failed my prince. I failed myself. What soldier runs from his duties? What soldier refuses to serve when his prince demands it? What soldier turns traitor and becomes a coward? Hannah lied. These tears won't ever clean me of the poison of what I've done. Not ever.

He tripped and fell into the hard, cold mud. His shield arm fell at an awkward angle, causing him to cry out in pain. He bit his tongue, hoping any who might be following him hadn't heard. He didn't even know if anyone was following him anymore. Surely someone will have noticed he had deserted. It was only a matter of time before he was caught and brought to justice as a traitor.

The wind was getting colder, as was the rain, which had turned into bits of ice that pelted his armor and chilled him to the bone, even through his cloak and tunic. The ground had turned to a slush, a mix of water, mud, and ice. He had climbed high into the mountains at this point, though he couldn't tell where, exactly. He had lost his way days ago, and he didn't care. In fact, he didn't want to know where he was. All he wanted now was to die. Alone.

But I'm afraid. I know I should die, I should pay for my treason, but I don't actually want to be alone. And gods it's cold!

He continued on for hours, cradling his hurt arm and cursing under his breath. Any passerby, if there had been any, would have thought him mad. His clothing torn, his armor in disarray, his face disheveled... it wouldn't have surprised him in the least if they thought him mad. And he wouldn't have cared.

I'll never get the prince's words out of my head. I'll never forget. I'm a traitor. I turned my back on everything I've ever stood for. But... but I couldn't do it. I couldn't do what the prince demanded... I couldn't slaughter them all, like cattle. No matter what they would become... I couldn't do it. I may have no honor, but at least I can say I didn't raise my sword against an innocent. Even if they wouldn't be innocent for long.

He dropped, then, of exhaustion, to the ground, now covered in uneven snow. I'm so cold... freezing. I think I'll just rest, just for a moment. I'll continue on, continue walking until I get to a town, if there are any bastions of civilization out here, but... but I need a moment, just a moment...

His eyes closed, then, tears still leaking from beneath his lashes, the light snow falling silently all around.

Brothers: Two

Loem, age 11

Second War

"Father, will we reach camp by nightfall?" he asked, hopeful. His rear was feeling every bump in the road despite a well-used and broken-in saddle. He knew better than to ask too many questions of his father, though, especially recently, what with the injury he sustained in the last battle.

"Squire, though you are my blood, you should always address me as Master Laric, or Knight Laric, understand?" his father chided, but sighed, and turned a bit in his saddle to address him better. "I imagine we will make the camp by midnight. We have a few wounded that slow us down, but even with the slow pace we should meet up with the reinforcements before dawn."

He's hurting again. I wish he'd let me deal with that cut better, Loem thought, looking at his father's arm, which was cradled gingerly against his armored side. Most wouldn't catch his changes in mood as an indicator, but Loem knew him too well. As I should, since I'm his son. Our forces have been hit hard. The orcs and trolls are filthy scum, and our lives would be better if they all dropped dead by some miracle.

Loem looked towards the horizon, the long line of soldiers moving like a great, dark snake over the terrain. His mare, old and tired, still managed alright, and he patted her neck affectionately. From the rumors spreading through the ranks, the reinforcements were from another kingdom, perhaps Gilneas or Kul Tiras. Well, Kul Tiras is nearly all sailors, so it's probably Gilneas. It will be interesting to meet soldiers from other kingdoms than just Lordaeron and what was left of Stormwind. I know little of politics, and I doubt I'll ever learn a whole lot about governments and the aristocracy, but I know enough to find the Alliance interesting. Who would have thought that all the kingdoms of men would come together like this.

The soldiers finally came to a stop in a large clearing that already contained many soldiers, most wearing the Gilnean crest. Loem brought his tired mare to a halt when his father stopped and dismounted.

"Loem," he called, "Get our tent ready." With that, he left his warhorse in Loem's care and made his way through the soldiers to check in with the single group of Lordaeron soldiers already here. The young squire turned his attention to setting up camp for the two of them, and quickly picketed his mare and his father's stallion, unsaddling them both and rubbing them down. Once that was done and they were comfortably grazing, he erected the tent and unpacked the bedrolls.

"Hey, Squire Loem!" a voice called from outside the tent. Loem stuck his head outside the tent flap to see one of his friends, Gredden, a fellow squire. Gredden, several years older than Loem, was built just like Leodry, all muscles and short, stubborn, stockiness. For a moment, Loem remembered his younger brother and sent a quick, silent prayer to the gods to watch over him.

"Gredden, what do you need?" The older boy, his jet black hair cropped short, shrugged then asked, "You want to come with me to fetch water? I'm sure you and your master's water skins could use refilling."

Loem smiled and nodded, grabbing a couple of buckets and followed the older squire away from camp. It was dark, but the path to fresh water had been well marked by the older soldiers earlier in the day. They didn't say much to each other until they were well away from camp. Unlike most of the other squires, Gredden was much like Loem, both from poorer, noble families and simpler lives. They laughed and joked as if they had known each other since they were young children instead of just the few weeks on the road.

"So, friend Loem, how old are you, exactly?" Gredden suddenly asked, causing Loem to choke a bit as he filled his bucket.

"Wh-why do you want to know, Gredden? It's not like it matters," Loem answered, feeling suddenly foolish. Surely it was nearly impossible for them to see he wasn't fourteen, the traditional age of a squire.

"Oh. Well, no real reason. I overheard a few soldiers talking, is all, saying bad stuff about your father, that he was being stupidly foolish taking a green kid into battle. I would have said something, Loem, you know, but they were high-ranking and I didn't want to get into trouble. Plus, I know your father would never be stupid, he's great, much better than my own knight-master, and..." Gredden's voice trailed off after his ramble, knowing that Loem rarely got really angry, but realized he may have pushed his luck this time.

It was true that the young squire was well known for being calm and reasonable, especially for a young man, but Loem just never had a chance to be anything else. His father and Leodry were the ones with hot heads, he was the calm one. It had always been that way. He was angry that other soldiers would say such things about his father, especially behind his back that way. It was cowardly. I'll tell father. He'll set them straight, he'll... He'll make them stop. Loem sighed. No. I can't. We're in the middle of a war. He'll make them stop, alright... he'll probably beat them to a bloody pulp, or worse. Father can't keep his temper in check when it comes to personal attacks.

"Loem?"

"It's fine, Gredden. I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't repeat what you told me, especially to my master. He won't... he wouldn't take it well, and he's injured at the moment. You understand."

Gredden nodded. Loem was glad he wouldn't argue the issue. He felt he could trust Gredden.

"I'm eleven. Well, nearly twelve. My father decided that, due to the war, I could forgo the rest of my page training and be his squire. I haven't heard any real complaints, so I guess I'm doing fine."

Gredden gasped a bit, and frowned. "Eleven! Wow... well, wow, Loem, that's really young. I mean-" he glanced at his friend a little guiltily. "I mean, you're doing really well. I wouldn't have guessed you were that young." He shuffled a bit. "Let's just forget the whole thing. I feel really foolish now."

Loem just laughed. "That's probably best, Gred. Come on, my master will want the water."

"Oh, right! Just let me get some, too. I almost forgot!" This just made Loem laugh all the harder. Gredden gave himself away too easily. In fact, Loem guessed that he and his knight-master had all the water they needed. He had just wanted to talk. Fair enough. I don't have to let on that I know. Funny that I'm supposedly so young, yet I seem to have a more level head than him. Or my father, for that matter.

Such thoughts just made Loem think all the harder about his situation and about the soldiers who were talking behind his father's back. Greddon was delightfully oblivious, though, which just reinforced Loem's theory that he was more mature, even at such a young age. Still, the dawn came without further incident. Loem had thought on the conversation overnight and had come to the decision that he had to do everything he could to seem older. Hopefully, less fidgeting, less asking questions, more action and responsibilities would mask his extreme youth and there would be less chance Greddon - or his father - would overhear any other soldiers saying bad things.

Without waiting for his father to wake, he began preparing the supplies and horses for the march today. He'd not let anyone else think he was too young to be here. Not if he could help it.

Brothers: One

Leodry, age 30

Ironforge, two years ago

Sometimes, when I close my eyes and try really hard to remember, I can almost see the farm as if I stood there. The sun on my face and arms as I worked the plow. The way Hannah would call for me and Danir to come inside for dinner. The smell of freshly turned earth and the harvested grain. The herb garden Hannah kept for cooking. Oh, and Hannah's cooking! The gods themselves would die to have even a bite of her food.

I remember that the first time I saw her farm, I cried. I didn't want to stay there. Father... He stopped his train of thought, his green eyes opening.

The stone walls of the room filled his sight and he groaned. Above, he could hear loud shouting and laughter of drunken dwarves and he wished he could join them. But he had already had a few to drink, which was why he was back in his room as it was, his head pounding from a compounded hangover. It's the only reason he was waxing nostalgic. There was no reason to think back, to dream about what was, when it can never be that way again. Father would disapprove, especially. 'Course, he'd think my behavior in general is terrible. So would Graz, come to think of it.

He was so strong. Always strong for us. Hannah hated him for it, but I know why he was so hard on us. I don't know if I love him, but I can at least respect him. She just thought he was callous. He wanted us to survive, to fight, to be strong like him. He didn't know how to raise children, just soldiers. I suppose my mother could have softened him a bit, but I never got a chance to meet her. Still, Hannah and Danir did well enough for me, as family goes. They made me strong, just in a different way than my father would have wanted.

Still, they couldn't prepare me for what would happen. Father might have been able to do so. He might have made me stoney enough to have been able to take the loss that would come without shedding a tear, but Hannah and Danir were too... human. Too loving. When we got word that they were gone...

He was almost surprised to feel the tear slide down his face. He had hit bottom. A deserter, a failed soldier, and only an adequate blacksmith, he hadn't done anything with his life. Ever since he left the battlefield those years ago and fled to Khaz Modan he had been a failure. His father woudn't have run. He would have done his duty to his prince, no matter what orders he was given. No matter how mad the prince may have seemed, or how terrible things had gotten. But not me. I ran, ran like the scared child that cried when his daddy went to war. And I tried to make it right, but I haven't done that well, here, either.

He turned over, feeling sick for the first time in ages after drinking. Maybe I had too much of that ale earlier. Maybe Hannah was right. Maybe it really is a poison, sadness. Maybe I've just gone too long without crying.

He fell asleep again, alcohol causing his dreams to shift and change, too fleeting to be remembered.

Into the North

"Seona! Seona, you in there?" Fandren's voice carried through the open doorway into the women's dormitory at the Cathedral of Light in Stormwind. The young priest dared not enter the dormitory, off-limits to men with dire consequences if they entered, but if he had heard the rumor right his friend wouldn't be in Stormwind much longer.

As it was, the young paladin was inside, packing the rest of her things. She sighed, knowing that Fandren missed her. They never got to see one another anymore, what with her being so busy with the Alliance army. She was needed by so many and had less and less time for her old friends. Checking one last time to ensure all her things were squared away, she shouldered her pack and closed the door to the small room behind her.

The dormitory door was standing open to allow the fresh breeze inside and Seona could see her young friend framed in the doorway. He's so young, she thought. He still has so much to learn, too. I wish Brother Benjamin would just let him do as he pleases. He'd be so much better off.

"Seona! There you are. Is it true? Are they finally sending you north? Are you taking the ship to Northrend?" Fandren's eyes were filled with a fearful excitement. He knew what awaited those who went into the cold north, but only the most well-trained warriors and soldiers went there, and he was jealous. Seona just sighed and nodded.

"Oh, Seona, be careful! Is there anything I can do for you before you go? Or maybe we can visit a nearby tavern and have a drink together before you leave." Seona, surprised at the suggestion, actually thought it was a good one.

"Aren't you a bit young to be drinking, Fan?" She asked, jokingly. Fandren laughed.

"Come on, Seona! I'm a man grown now! I can do as I please, no matter what others want to think." She hid a frown. He makes comments like that more and more often now. I know Brother Ben can be difficult, but he certainly seems to not take this seriously. She shook her head. No, can't think about this now. He's my friend, not my student or my responsibility. Plus, as he said, he's a man grown. Whatever he does is his choice. I'll not mother him.

"Come, then, Mister Fandren," Seona joked. "Lets get me squared away for my journey and we'll have a goodbye drink at a nice pub. Maybe I'll introduce you to some good dwarvish beer." With that, the two of them walked out of the grand church to the streets of the Cathedral District. The square was relatively quiet this time of day, but Seona had business to attend to.

They made their way to the canals. A well-known leatherworker there had agreed to repair Caliburn's tack and fit it with fur lining. She paid him the remainder of his fee after looking over the craftsmanship and had him deliver it to the Cathedral stables. Her next stop was an armorsmith where Fandren nearly knocked over a display of a full suit of armor. After his apology and a hasty clean-up, she spoke with the blacksmith.

"You'll be ready, m'lady. I've nearly gotten all your steed's armor fixed up and ready. I've tightened a few of the looser bits as well, without changing the fit, so you'll be safe against anything you come across, whether it be Scourge or a simple beast." Seona nodded, handing over the gold for the work. "I'll just have it delivered to the stables for you, then, m'lady Lightstone."

Seona thanked him and continued to her last stop, a small tailor shop at the end of the canal. "I need new blankets for Cal. It's going to be cold up there and I can't have him freezing to death." Fandren frowned. "Didn't you purchase a gryphon? Why bother with Caliburn's tack when you've a way to fly?"

"Unfortunately flying in cold weather like that is much harder than in warmer air, both for the rider and for the beast. On top of that, Zephyr is less protected against the freezing temperature. It takes more than a blanket to keep a gryphon warm in the sky. It will be some time before I'll be able to afford to prepare him for flight in Northrend. Besides, Caliburn could use the exercise. I spent nearly all my time in Outlands in the sky on Zephyr. He deserves a rest."

With that, she pushed open the door of the tailor shop and finalized her purchase of the new and much warmer saddle blankets and armor lining for her charger. With a smile and a nod of thanks, she was nearly done. Fandren, beginning to look terribly bored, smiled when she emerged from the shop and asked, "So, we finally ready for that brew?"

"One last thing, and then yes, we'll go for a drink."

"What could you possibly be still missing? You've packed, Caliburn is resting and will soon have entirely new tack and repaired armor... what am I missing?" Fandren asked, ticking off the places Seona had been on his fingers, confused.

Seona giggled. "I have to meet with my estate manager, Ziir. He'll meet us in the Dwarven District, near the tram station. Let's not keep him waiting, Fan, he's an intimidating fellow when annoyed."

Seona made her way through the streets of the human capital with the young priest on her heels. The Dwarven District was easy to distinguish from the rest of the city, both from the billowing smoke from the many blacksmiths and engineers' work, but also because most of the people were her height. For once, she wouldn't have to crane her neck to speak to people, though poor Fandren would no doubt have to stoop or even kneel, if he wanted to talk to any gnomes he may pass on the streets.

The archway entrance to the station came into view through the smoke. Near the entrance, a tall, heavily armored man stood, his bald head easily visible, his spiked helmet held under his arm. The few people moving to and from the tram gave him a wide berth. When he turned, Fandren gasped, realizing just what he was and why people avoided him. Cloistered in the Cathedral as much as the young priest was, he hadn't seen any of the Death Knights of the Ebon Blade up close. Seona smiled reassuringly and strode confidently up to the tall human.

"Ziir! Good to see you, my friend." She reached out and the death knight turned her way, stooping to take her hand.

"M'lady Lightstone. A pleasure, as always. Who is your companion?" Ziir turned his blue-glowing eyes towards the very nervous-looking Fandren, who, to Seona's pleased surprise, stuck out a trembling hand. "F-Fandren, sir. Forgive me... I haven't met anyone like... um... with your... condition."

Seona sighed, but Ziir seemed unaffected by the young priest's rudeness. "Quite alright." He turned to Seona, "M'lady Lightstone, I understand you have a great deal for me to process, correct? If it's all the same, I dislike Stormwind and will take the packages back to Ironforge straight away." Seona nodded and reached into her large traveling bag for a few smaller, but obviously heavy packages. "Ziir, I've picked up all this in Outland. The second bag is filled with nothing but skins. I had to send the ore shipment separately, so expect that in a few days. Did you have anything else for me?"

The death knight took the heavy packages and shook his head, handing over a small note and a bag of coins. "No, just the funds you requested. I'll do my best to keep you posted, but mail has a difficult time getting to and from Northrend as I understand it. Godspeed to you, m'lady Lightstone," he turned to Fandren and bowed, "Fandren. May we meet again."

With that, he turned back to the tram station and entered, his back fading into the darkness of the tunnel and out of sight. Fandren sighed, relieved, and Seona smiled. "Well, I guess that's that. Let's go get that drink now, Fan. First one's on me." Fandren nodded, still trying to shake off the strange feeling he got from meeting a real Death Knight, and followed his short friend into the nearby tavern.

They found a nice, secluded table and ordered drinks, reminiscing about old times, when Fandren was a young child, an orphan like Seona, and how they became friends. She told him stories of Outland and the things she had done there, of Zangarmarsh and it's strange, etherial beauty, of Nagrand and the strange, floating islands and waterfalls, and of the ogres, orcs and draenei that made there home there. He told her of the rumors in the church, about his simple life as a student in the Cathedral, about the troubles of Stormwind and the people living in it.

They laughed and talked into the night, the dwarven paladin and the young priest, but in the end, Seona had to end it. "I'll be boarding the ship before dawn, I think," she told Fandren, his smile slowly fading. "I'll miss you, Fan. I don't know when I'll be getting back, either. You should focus on your studies more, so you can eventually leave the Cathedral. Brother Ben doesn't want you as a student forever!" she joked, only realizing after that it may be in poor taste, considering their strained relationship. Fandren, luckily, was slightly drunk and waved it off.

"That would please him, no doubt. Eh, don't worry about me, Seona. I'll be fine. You're the one that has to be careful, now. Up north, it's a different land, or so I've been told. Strange people up there, and strange dangers. The Scourge, some kind of half-giant people, terrible beasts... no. You watch yourself, I don't want to have to say prayers for your spirit, or come down to the docks to pick up a coffin, something the priests are doing far too often these days."

She reached across the table to her friend, and he grasped her smaller hand in his own. "Thank you, Fan." She said, a tear escaping to roll over her cheek. "Oh, look at me, you're going to make me cry!" she chided, a smile on her face again. Fan laughed too, though it was only half-hearted.

"Write to me, Seona. Sometimes I feel like you're the only person in the Church that understands me." Fandren gave her hand one last squeeze, then let it go. "Oh, one last thing before we head back to the Cathedral... where in all the hells did you find that Death Knight to care for your finances?! I thought I was going to piss myself, he scared me so much!"

Seona laughed, draining her mug. "I'll tell you on the way back to the church. It all started when I was patrolling Elwynn Forest, months ago..."

----------**----------

Seona stood on the dock, the strange, dim light of the false dawn illuminating the wooden planks just enough for her to see. Caliburn snorted, restless after being ridden so little over the last weeks and knowing that great change was coming. He pulled at the reins a bit, but Seona gave a small tug and a look that would melt steel and he settled, not ready to face her ire this early in the morning.

There were no other soldiers waiting for the ship, and Seona was beginning to wonder if she had walked onto the wrong pier. A dockhand finally appeared from the shadows of the nearby boxes and crates stacked for shipping and walked over to the paladin. "Waitin' for the ship to Northrend, m'lady paladin?" she asked. When Seona nodded, the dockhand pulled out a small ledger. She checked it, turning pages quickly until she found what she had been looking for. She bent down a bit to get a better look at Seona's face, then nodded. "You're Seona Lightstone, Paladin?" When Seona nodded, she continued, "I've got it down that you have a single pack and will need space for one horse. Looks like you're all set, then. If the seas weren't too rough, The Kraken will be here soon enough."

The woman walked closer to the end of the peir. "Speaking of..." Seona followed her, telling Caliburn to stay where he was. There, on the horizon and quickly getting bigger, a ship was coming in. It slowed as it got closer to the harbor, and the dockhand quickly moved to the large bell that was situated at the end of the pier. She rang it, the clear sound carrying over the water and around the harbor, letting everyone within earshot that the ship was coming in.

It was huge, much larger than the ships Seona had ridden on before. The dockhand came back to stand beside the short paladin and pointed to the ship that was now preparing to dock, slowly approaching the pier. "They covered her prow in metal armor to allow her to break through the ice up north. She's powered by a steam engine, too, thanks to the gnomes and dwarves, so she makes good time." She stooped to pick up Seona's luggage and placed it near the crates of supplies that would be going along as well.

The ship was at least twice the size of the sailing ships the Alliance used to get from the Eastern Kingdoms to Kalimdor. The armor that covered the prow was beautifully shaped to form a gryphon's head. Seona could see scratches, though, near the water's edge. She couldn't imagine ice on the water that could scratch metal like that, but she imagined she'd find out soon enough. The steam engine made a terrible racket as well, nearly spooking Caliburn, but her hand steadied him. "Come now, Cal. That engine can't be worse than all the things you've seen at this point."

Finally, the enormous ship came to a stop at the end of the pier and the dockhands quickly unloaded its cargo. Seona was sad to see that some of the things unloaded were coffins. She sent a prayer to the gods for the dead and prepared to board. As she led Caliburn up the ramp onto the ship, she turned her head to the wind. Strangely, it smelt of winter, salt, and ice.

She was ready. She was ready to face the cold north, to fight the Scourge where it lived. She was ready to become stronger than ever before. She was ready to finally find Arthas... and help bring him to Justice.

Northrend, Seona is coming. Are you ready?