Hypothermia

The girl was already dead.

Not literally dead – the Light had yet to take her into its embrace. But, she was as good as dead. As dead as men who later bled out from a single artery cut, or men whose wounds had become infected. In all his years as a knight of Stormwind, Anduin Lothar had seen many men (and some women) become walking corpses. Not like those that the orcs summoned, but as near as – walking pieces of meat who were just waiting to die. Provided they could walk at all when shadow came for them, while they cried out to their families or gods. For after all, did not the clerics of Northshire say that one's life was darkest before the Light?

He couldn't say. He'd never died. Apart from the Dreadmines, he'd never come close to death. And he'd be damned if he died now, in this winter, two years after this war had begun. He'd live long enough to see this war over, and after that, the last descendant of Arator could enter the Light. Which would be far later than this girl, he reflected.

With a 'thump' on the snow, the Lion of Azeroth dismounted and walked over to the child. He glanced at his fellow knights, one of their hands on a banner, the others on their swords. Even the orcs laid low during the winter months, but they were not above sending scouts into Elwynn Forest to bite away at the king's armies. Not to mention the vagabonds that preyed on the refugees fleeing to the capital, and at times, even foot soldiers.

"My lord, we should get moving."

He ignored Sir Darren and knelt down at the girl. Seeing her more closely now, "girl" was perhaps too disingenuous a term. If he had to guess, she was in her early teens – no longer a child, but not yet at womanhood. But, she was female, her air was black, her skin white, and her fingers, which were clutched around some strange case, were showing signs of frostbite. Her body was motionless, and she wasn't even shivering. Taking off his gauntlet, Lothar put a finger to her neck – a pulse, barely there. It would expire within the hour. Far too short a time to get her to any healer, or even a fire.

"Hearthstone," the girl whispered.

Hearthstone, he wondered? That game people played in taverns when there was nothing better to do? The game that was only one step up from drinking, or whoring, or anything else that made the gods weep? Gingerly, he picked up the box from the girl's arms – it was made of wood, but surprisingly heavy for its size and make. He folded it out, and indeed, there was a hearthstone board. Scowling, he closed it up and tossed it aside – he had better things to do right now.

"No, you orc," the girl whispered. "I won. Play nice."

Lothar looked at her in pity. Where were her parents? Probably dead. It might have been more merciful to give her the mercy of death and let her join them faster. He reached for his dagger…

"Blood elves…night elves…just…play along…"

Lothar frowned – she wasn't just freezing, she was losing her grip on reality. There were only one group of elves in this world, far to the north, and they called themselves by neither of those names. As the girl continued to speak, he heard the names of many races – most he recognized, some he didn't. Perhaps the Light had already taken her to a place beyond mortal understanding. Or perhaps her mind had become as enfeebled as her body.

"My lord, we should really leave."

He looked up at Sir Darren. He'd dismounted, and had placed a hand on his shoulder. Looking beyond him, Lothar saw his knights. Even through their armour and furs, he could see them shivering.

"My lord?"

"We make for Goldshire," Lothar said. He picked the girl up in his arms and began carrying her over to his horse. "Hopefully a warm fire awaits us."

"And the girl?"

"We can only hope that they have room for another grave."

Darren nodded. "Let me take her sir."

"Sir Darren…"

"You've carried more than your fair share of children over the years. Let me take this one to the hereafter at least."

Lothar forced a smile. "Is death your sigil now, Sir Darren?"

"As long as it takes to protect the living."

Knight humour. Gallows humour. The humour of those serving a king who refused to commit his forces against green-skinned monsters who were showing every day that they weren't the lumbering brutes they'd first appeared to be, but brutes that could apply a veneer of strategy to their rampages. As Darren took the girl over (who was now saying "good game, let's have another"), Lothar looked back at the snow where she had lain. Already there was little sign of her bed, the snow having cleared her imprint away. All that remained was the Hearthstone board, and for some reason, a small white mouse on it. A mouse that looked up at him with big brown eyes, beyond a small red scarf wrapped around its neck. A pet, Lothar reflected. One that would soon be dead out here as well. He could see it shivering in the cold.

After a pause, Lothar put out the palm of his hand. After another pause, the mouse climbed up onto it, letting Lothar stick it in a pocket of his furs.

What in Light's name am I doing?

He knew, and he hated himself and the world for it. He couldn't save the girl. He'd failed to save hundreds of people. All he could save right now was a mouse, in a world where mice died and reproduced by the thousands. The world didn't care about mice. He barely cared about mice. But out here in the cold, it was the only victory he could have. And not the one the girl was still playing in her head. He glanced at her as he led his knights onwards.

She'd stopped talking, and was deathly silent. All that remained was the sound of the wind, carrying snow and screams on the air.

It would be a long ride to Goldshire, he reflected.

A/N

As you can probably guess, this is based on the Hearthstone cinematic trailer and the meme that Ava is just hallucinating all of it and is really freezing to death in the snow. What do I think? I dunno. I'm not that fond of the short, on its own terms, or as a piece of Warcraft media. I will say that Hearthstone seems to be trying to separate itself from Warcraft by dropping the "Heroes of Warcraft" sub-title, but...bleh. Warcraft has always had its share of absurdities and humour, but as someone who played the first three RTS games and never really got into WoW, I can't help but feel tonal whiplash. Even WoW itself at least still takes place in the same setting as the early games, but, well, what do I know? Hearthstone sells, there's little chance of WC1/2 being remastered (could see Warcraft III getting the remastered treatment though), and Warcraft IV...well, let's just say I'm not holding my breath.