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..."
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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.
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