Brothers: Fifteen

Hekter

Gilneas, after the Second War

Hekter was furious, not because the boy had been caught by Bosch and his band of idiots, and not because he hadn't used common sense and stayed off the roads, but because he couldn't do anything about it. Once Loem had been taken into custody, he made his way back to his lord, cursing under his breath the whole way.

He found his way back to the wall, and over it, the night easily concealing him from the guards below. Once on the other side, he climbed down, carful in the dark. Thank the gods this thing is still under construction. Once it's done, it may not be such an easy climb. Careful not to alert any guards on this side either, he circled wide, cutting across the countryside to the nearby village where Uldor had taken up a room in the inn.

Stopping for just a moment to wipe off the black makeup he used, cleaning his hands in the horse trough and drying them quickly on his clothes and walked inside, nodding a silent greeting to the Innkeeper and a quick smile for his lovely daughter. Pretty little thing, she is... I wonder if she'd like to take a walk in the moonlight with me, he thought, but pushed it from his mind as he climbed the stairs to the second floor to the guest rooms.

The last door on the left opened to reveal the largest room in the inn, lavishly decorated and comfortable, with a warm fire in the hearth, and Uldor, quietly sitting, writing at the large desk. He didn't look up when the door opened, but nodded and quietly greeted him, "Hekter, come in."

Still angry, he shut the door and stalked across the room to come to his side. "Sit, Hekter, and stop glaring at me, just report." Hekter didn't sit, but moved to the other side of the desk.

"Loem has been arrested for thievery and possible murder as well. By Bosch and his merry group, just inside the border between the forest and the glades."

Uldor looked up the moment Hekter had said Loem had been caught. "Where is he now?"

"In their custody, soon to be loaded into a prison wagon and dragged all the way back here and through the gate, no doubt."

"Splendid." With that, Uldor returned to his writing. Hekter stood, still furious, still wondering why the hell Uldor was doing this. He glared down at his lord, silent, his arms crossed, fingering the hilt of the concealed dagger in his sleeve.

"Stop that, Hekter. It's unbecoming of you. Sit. Have some brandy or something. You can't make me nervous and you can't change my mind. This plan-"

"Is idiotic at best. What if Bosch gets out of control, or decides that you didn't bribe him enough? What if he decides to dump the boy on someone else to take to court, what if-"

"Hekter." Uldor looked up again, staring him straight in the eyes, stern. "'What if's' don't come into play here. We paid him more than enough, both in gold and in fear tactics. Controlling Bosch is child's play. Truthfully, you're the problem." He sat back, taking a sip of wine, and watched Hekter. "You're far too emotionally vested in this. Maybe I should send a messenger to get someone else to serve me, someone who isn't going to talk back to me."

Hekter grimaced, knowing full well that Uldor would carry out that threat. "No. But I think you've made a mistake on this one, Uldor. The boy is scared, feeling helpless, and-"

"Is he handling it? Is he looking around, working through the situation, trying to find solutions? I want him thinking, Hekter, and, if not that, then I want him helpless! Fel! I'm supposed to act the hero, remember, swooping in to save him from his fate! I had you steal his damn tabard weeks ago so that we could ensure his name was on the known dead list so that this could happen in the first place!"

Uldor pushed back from the desk, getting up to pace. "I've been thinking about this the moment the boy spotted me under that dead beast when he was looking for his father. He has keen eyes, intelligence, maturity, especially for a boy his age..." He trailed off, finally turning back to Hekter. "And you yourself said he has real potential, that you'd gladly train him. So, I want him. And, remember, Hekter, what I want-"

"You get."

Brothers: Fourteen

Loem, age 11

End of the Second War, the Greymane Wall

They had shoved him into a rolling cage, a prison wagon, and tied Praetor's reins to the back of it. It wasn't long after that when they started rolling back the way Loem had traveled from, taking him further and further from home and his brother. Rather than give into despair, however, he continued trying to find a way out of his predicament. Unfortunately, few ideas presented themselves. In the end, he resolved to simply await trial, try to provide proof of who he was, and hope that this mix up would finally resolve itself.

What else am I to do? I can't fight my way out, not against four grown soldiers, and I can't pick my way out of the wagon... not now, being watched every hour of the day. Surely whatever court they take me to will listen to reason, and I'll finally be let go.

Hours passed as they rode south through Silverpine. While the first trip through this forest had been serene and peaceful for Loem, now it seemed dark, oppressive, and far too long. Surely we'll pass Uldor when we get closer to the border. He or Hektor will see me, they'll help me out of this situation. As they were passing a contingent of soldiers walking on the road, the driver of the wagon slowed and halted. Loem peeked out through the bars and noticed that the soldiers were leading another man in chains. Doesn't he look charming, Loem thought, taking a long look at the man.

Dirty, matted hair of an undetermined color hung around a sallow face. The man was in a disheveled state, his armor dull and damaged. Any identifying marks or crests had been torn from his clothes. There were bandages around his forearm as well. The driver of the wagon spoke with the other Gilneans at length, then nodded and gestured to the back of the cart. Loem scurried to the back of the cage when the door opened and they shoved the prisoner inside with him.

He collapsed onto the baseboard and lay there, almost pleased to not have to walk anymore. They had kept him chained, just as Loem was, but the man looked terrible. The young squire frowned, thinking, What if he's a murderer? He could turn on me, and the inside of this wagon isn't great for a fight... 'Course, he doesn't look like he could hurt a kitten much less me right now, in his state.

He man groaned and shifted a bit as the wagon started moving down the road again. He sat up slowly and tried to get comfortable. Loem remained as far from him as he could, due to the stench if nothing else. The other prisoner coughed, sputtering, "Right lot we've gotten ourselves into, isn't it?"

Loem didn't answer. "Fair enough, young man. I just thought this last ride would have been a might bit better with some talk. I know exactly what will happen to me when we get to our destination. I've excepted it. You, though... you don't look like a deserter."

Loem looked up and stared straight into his eyes, angry that the thought had even crossed the man's mind. "No. I'm most definitely not a deserter. I'm a victim of mistaken identity, I suppose, and I'm sure whatever court I end up in will listen to what I have to say." The man snorted and laughed, his whole body shaking from the exertion. He nearly fell over again and started laughing all the harder because of it. Loem smelled alcohol on his breath and, mixed with the smell of his general uncleanliness, nearly gagged.

"Whatever you say, lad, whatever you say," he said, slowly getting under control again. "The name's Tor, by the way. I was a farmer from Gilneas, but I'm I walking dead man, now. They kill deserters if they find them. It's an irony that I ran and managed to evade them 'till the war was done, but then got caught the day after. They'd been walking me for days when these fine soldiers threw me back here with you, boyo."

Loem only felt a small bit of sorrow for the man's fate. I'm eleven years old, but I didn't shirk from my duties or oaths. He must be a bit of a coward to have run away, leaving his fellow soldiers to stand against the Horde without him. But then, how good of a soldier would a farmer make, anyway, when all they know is crops and a pitchfork? He sighed, and noticed the man's injuries.

"Tor, what happened to your arm?" The man looked down at the fresh bandages and shrugged, slowly pulling them away to reveal large gashes in his flesh. "Got mauled by a big cat or some such in the dark some days back, still don't know exactly what it was. It looks pretty nasty, don't it? Damn thing ran off good and quick though, when it figured out I was puttin' up a fight."

Loem looked at it and nodded, but something wasn't right. It's unnatural looking. The tears are clean, not ragged, which means it was done by a blade, not an animal. Plus... He looked harder, leaning forward to take a closer look. There's... black marks on his skin. Disease or... A tattoo! He did this to himself to remove a tattoo! Which means he's not a farmer at all. He's probably a career soldier or mercenary who ran from battle. And I nearly believed his sob story...

Loem didn't let the man know he had figured out he was lying. He just leaned back again and looked out the bars, hoping they'd get to town soon and Uldor or Hekter would spot him, or he would see them and call out. Night was beginning to fall, though, and it was getting harder and harder to see. By now, several days had passed since he had left here and a great deal had changed.

The king of Gilneas must have employed every single mason, carpenter and blacksmith in his kingdom to build his wall and gate, because it was already getting closer to completion. The wall stood strong and tall, looming over the gathered people. Tents had been erected and a makeshift town was taking shape as soldiers passed through on their way home. Uldor was nowhere to be seen.

Surely he hasn't left yet... he was going to wait, to rest and resupply. He was going to wait... Loem sighed, ready to give up, to give in to despair. This had been his last hope before he was sent to a court but it was too dark to see far and there was little chance that Hekter or Uldor would see him in this cage.

A guard strode purposefully up to the driver of the wagon and halted them, asking questions. When the driver mentioned he was carrying a deserter and a thief for trial, Loem listened in.

"Thief? Why bring him here? We don't need anymore thieves in Gilneas. The deserter will be dealt with here as well, just on the other side of the gate, if he's a Gilnean; this side, if he's not."

The driver spoke up, "Problem is, sir, we've reason to believe the thief is a Gilnean, and he's a boy. Can't be older than 15 or so."

A long pause, then, and Loem was startled as the guard came around and banged on the cage.

"Fine then, get them over the border. No doubt some lord is looking for his wayward servant. Realize, though, that the minute you cross the wall, you-" his voice faded as he walked back towards the front of the wagon and Loem couldn't catch the last bit. He wasn't sure what was going on, but his chance of getting out was dwindling fast.

The driver seemed pleased by whatever Loem had missed, but shouted after the guard, "Hey, sir, has the 5th infantry come through here? I've some friends in that group! If they're in town, I want to see them first."

"If they were here, soldier, they'd have gone through the gate. All Gilnean soldiers are only getting one day here then being forced through. Th' King wants no dalliance from his men."

That's why I haven't seen Uldor or Hektor or anyone else I might recognize, Loem realized. They're ordered through the gate right away. Fel, Uldor probably fought tooth and nail, but was still made to go through. Maybe he's right on the other side, then.

The wagon was already making its way South again, approaching the huge gate that would soon be finished, with a large, sturdy portcullis ready to come down to secure the entire country of Gilneas. It loomed above them, ominous, and Loem shivered, not quite knowing why. The light of the tents outside the gate flickered through the trees and then were gone, and night descended on him and the wagon, enveloping them all in darkness.

Thoughts: Retconning

Retconning. Blizzard does it on occasion, much to the disapproval of some of the more knowledgeable and die-hard fans of their story. I'm about to do it to my Brothers story, as well, as Loem's story is too shallow and has a few holes I want to fill in that can't be done in flashbacks or anything. So... yes, sometimes authors go back and change their story to suit their needs, especially in a drastically changing environment like an MMO.

I have no problem with Blizzard changing it up a little, seeing as they never expected WoW to gain as much popularity as it did so quickly. When they originally created the Warcraft story, they never imagined that it would come this far and become such an in-depth story (Some people may argue with me on that point, saying that the story is actually quite shallow, full of mary-sues, or whatever, and not well-written, but... well, just work with me here). When Metzen created Orcs and Humans, he probably never thought to write out everything: the backstory, the future, the cultural differences, the heroes, the villains, everything! Heck, even the maps/geography have changed since then, and it had to, to make room for more.

That said, every storyteller tries hard not to go back, to change what's already been written, because it makes them less reliable, less true. You lose faith in the story if they keep stopping, going back, and saying, "Wait, wait! This didn't actually happen this way, THIS is how it happened, and that's why Whatsisface is actually ALIVE in the future!" It makes you look silly, really, very much like you're just making it up as you go along.

Which, um... is... exactly what I'm doing. *blush*

Brothers: Thirteen

Leodry, age 32

Ironforge, present day

Leodry's eyes snapped open, and although he still lay quietly, his senses were alert for danger. It took him a moment to realize that he was in the inn in Astranaar. A soft chuckle came from behind him and he slowly turned over, wincing from injuries both old and new, to see the inkeeper, Kimlya. She was kneeling nearby, calm and serene. And beautiful, he thought, but quickly quelled any ideas. She's old enough to be my ancestor.

"You took quite a beating, Mister Leodry. You passed out on the ground just outside the inn, much to my dismay. I managed to get you inside and bandaged up. Are you feeling alright? Do I need to fetch a healer?"

Leodry managed a weak smile, shaking his head. "No, Miss Kimlya. I'll be fine. A bump or bruise is nothing new to me, I'm afraid. How long have I been out?"

She smiled wryly. "Only a few hours. Some of those injuries looked bad, but if you feel no healer is needed, I'll accept your wishes. Let me know if you require anything." With that, she left him in peace to rest. He was grateful for her help, and for knowing when to leave well enough alone. Gingerly, he pressed fingers against his ribs, hissing between his teeth when he pressed a bit to hard against one that was most likely broken. Still in one piece... more or less. Could be worse. I could be dead.

Once he knew he wasn't in any terrible danger of dying, no matter how much he ached, he sat up. After the pain subsided again, he stood, slowly, making sure he wasn't about to fall over. Well, then, I guess I ought to get back to work. He made his way down the sloped ramp, passing Kimlya, who looked at him with concern. He waved to her, and passed down to the ground floor of the open building.

A soft breeze blew through, cooling his skin and carrying the scent of rain and green forest. It calmed him, though it was much different than the scents of Ironforge that he knew so well. It's a wonder I ended up here at all, even for this short while. If it hadn't been for Bruuk, I'd no doubt still be a drunkard layabout in the city. He smiled a bit, thinking of the gruff, no-nonsense bartender who kept his tavern in the Military Ward of Ironforge. Bruuk's Corner, a well-attended bar, catered to the warriors and guardsmen of the dwarven capitol. Most of Bruuk's patrons were in full armor, and every one of them knew that in Bruuk's tavern, the furniture was sturdy, the mugs were clean, and you didn't fight. Not unless you wanted a knock to the head from Bruuk's mace that would rival any hangover you'd get from his booze.

The warrior chuckled, whistling for his stallion who had been grazing quietly nearby. He checked his packs, resettling a few things to even the load, and double checked his marching orders from Ironforge. They had arrived the day before, telling him to finish up whatever he was doing in the lush elven lands and then get back to the city for a debriefing and reassignment. Unfortunately, that meant he had to get beaten up by a few more furbolgs before he could return, resulting in his new, painful souvenirs.

It wouldn't take long to get back to the dock at Auberdine where he could take a ship to Stormwind (Gods, how I hate that damn city...) and then the gnomish tram back to Ironforge. He mounted up and turned to the western exit of the little village, saluting the lady Sentinals on each side of the gate as he rode out.

----------

Ironforge was a dark and busy as ever. Remembering his duties, he led his horse though the city towards the Military Ward. After a very quick debriefing and new orders, he made his way over to the tavern he had been thinking about all afternoon. Bruuk was there, as always, along with his barmaid, Edris. There was a time when Leodry would have sat in the chair closest to the bar, drinking himself into a stupor within a few hours, only to be roughly awoken when Bruuk was closing up for the night.

Bruuk had finally asked him why he bothered coming in at all.

"Ye've a warrior's build, laddy. Ye've even got th' armor an' such, so why're ye in here ev'ry night, drinkin' 'till ye can't see straigh'?"

Leodry had laughed, at first, until he realized that the old bartender was serious. It was the first time since he had left the Hinterlands than anyone had asked anything of him, demanded any kind of responsible answer. That was the first night in a long series of nights that he hadn't drunk himself stupid.

Bruuk noticed him immediately as he came in, gesturing to an empty table near the stairs. Leo sat, wincing again as he did so, and Bruuk brought over a small mug of light ale. Sitting across from him, he placed the mug down.

"Well, lad? What've ye been up te?" He asked, leaning back in the sturdy, oaken chair.

Leodry smiled, gratefully taking a long drink from the mug. It was simple stuff, not strong at all, just enough to relax the mind a bit. "This and that, Bruuk. I've actually just come off a short stint in the elvish lands in Kalimdor. Beautiful sights there, let me tell you," he explained, making a slight curved motion with is free hand to let the bartender know he wasn't exactly talking about the landscape.

The old dwarf chuckled heartily. "Aye, laddy, I imagine tha's th' case," he said, winking. "Good te see yer doin' well. Or," he paused, noticing the bandages Leodry was sporting, along with the slight wince that he couldn't hide in time, finally continuing, "at least, better than ye were. Didn' think elves hit tha' hard, lad."

The two of them laughed and talked a bit more, before Leodry finally said his farewells, making his way through the city to the inn. Two days of rest, and then back to work. Two days to repair my armor, clean my tack, re-supply, and heal up. Maybe, just maybe, I'll find time to write a letter to Maura... With those thoughts on his mind, he rode through the city, weary but content again, knowing he was where he was meant to be.

New Soldier of the Legion

"Congratulations, Legionnaire Seona!"

A large gathering of local citizens cheered and shouted for the lady dwarf, blushing slightly as she stood on a chair in the local tavern. She smiled and thanked them all, telling them that drinks were on her, which got another, even more enthusiastic cheer from those gathered. Below her, a young human priest looked on, smiling and cheering with all the rest. Once the congratulations died down a bit, she hopped off the chair, her armor clanging a bit as she hit the floor, the priest wincing a bit at the noise, but patting her on the back enthusiastically.

"Fandren, pass me that ale, would you?" she asked, sitting down on her chair next to the young priest. He smiled and complied, pushing his dark hair back from his eyes, watching his friend take a long drink from the tankard.

"Congratulations, sister. I never thought I'd see the day that you become a soldier." He said, laughing a bit. Seona laughed too, the blush on her face compounded by the ale, but her eyes sparkled clear in the lamplight.

"Ah, I never expected this either, Fan. I'm glad you could take a night off from your duties to celebrate with me."

Fandren smiled, lifting his glass to her and downing it in one gulp. "Of course, sister! When a former priestess turned Paladin enlists in some private army, you have to come join in the fun. Plus, when do I get this much free beer?"

They laughed together, enjoying each other's company and the company of the various Stormwind citizens that knew them both from the Cathedral of the Light. Fandren, young as he was, had only one more drink before he was starting to reel a bit and Seona decided to call it quits. After another round of loud congrats and cheers, and Seona squaring the tab away with the bartender who eagerly thanked her, the two slipped out and walked back to Cathedral Square, Seona leading her black riding horse and Fandren attracting neighborhood strays with leftover bread and cheese from the tavern.

The streets were relatively quiet this late, the working men and women of the city at home asleep and the die-hard tavern-goers still drinking at their favorite establishments. The two made a strange pair, but there were few if any to see them: the short, stocky, armored, lady dwarf and the tall, thin, young, dark-haired priest, both walking a little crooked and laughing together.

Fandren stopped when they reached the canals and looked out over the water. "I suppose this means I'll get to see even less of you than I do now, doesn't it? Now that you're well and truly a soldier." The laughter was slowly fading from his voice and Seona turned to look up at him.

"I suppose... I suppose that's true, Fan," she sighed. "My duties to the Kingship will have to take precedence and we're stationed almost exclusively in Northrend or on the various fronts. I'll have less and less time to spend here in the city."

Fandren sighed, too, turning to the short paladin. "I miss you, you know? The other priests don't understand me they way you do." Seona nodded, and he continued, "I'm doing more and more with the Redridge militia when I'm not in the city. I actually spend as little time here as I must, these days." Seona glanced sidelong at him, but remained silent, listening to her young friend. "Brother Ben and I simply don't get along anymore. We butt heads every time we meet, it seems, over differing philosophies. We don't hate each other, of course, but we aren't friends."

Seona shook her head. "Fan, Brother Ben is just... well, he's-" "An idealist," Fandren interrupted, a sour look on his face. "He's an idealist in a world that needs more realists. He wants me to be this pure bastion of the Light and I'm just not. I've been studying Shadow magics, Seona, and I'm right. I know I'm doing the right thing, nothing you or Brother Benjamin will do can change that in me."

Seona looked up to her friend. "Fandren, look at me." He hesitated, but finally turned and looked down into his friend's face. "Fandren, you are my closest friend. You are like a brother and, sometimes, like a son. And I don't mean 'brother' as in the fact that we're both of the cloth, I mean family." He glanced away, but Seona kept his attention. "I'm not ashamed of you or what you study or what you do. I've done..." She paused for a moment, looking, briefly, to the north.

"I've done some pretty terrible things in Northrend. Things that had to be done because no one else was there to do them. Things that would make Brother Benjamin no doubt call for my excommunication from the Church. Things that might even make you look at me sideways." Fandren started to protest, but Seona silenced him. "No, Fandren. I don't blame you for looking for other ways to walk your path. Shadow magics were something I couldn't stomach, not because they're evil, which I don't think is true at all, but because they weren't for me. I decided to completely start over, learn a whole new set of rules. That's not for everyone. Obviously you're doing okay. Obviously the Light hasn't forsaken you. Brother Benjamin would do well to take that into consideration the next time he sees you."

She turned back to the canal, watching the moonlight reflecting on the water, her stallion shifting lazily and sniffing her hair. Fandren was silent beside her. The two stood together, quietly, for some time before Seona sighed again. Fandren glanced down and laughed.

"We're such an odd pair, Seona. Me the Shadow priest in training, and you the priestess who turned in her robes for some armor and a hammer." He sighed as well, and turned toward the bridge. "Come on, then, sister Seona. There's a warm bed waiting for us at the Cathedral and a good night's rest. You need to wake in the morning to prepare to return to the fronts in order to become a great soldier of the Kingship's Legion!"

He cheered then, and ran over the bridge towards the square, Seona hot on his heels, dragging her tired horse and shushing him while they passed sleepy-eyed city guards. "Seona the Paladin! Seona of the Kingship! Seona the Legionnaire!"