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.