For All the Fallen
By Rillan macDhai
No, don't own Blizzard or World of Warcraft. Would like to write for. Firesworn and Bobby are mine. The paladin is a tip o' the hat to my friend John. If you're reading Rogue Magick, this takes place after their time in Outland. Just a little insight into Firesworn, one of the most contrary, secretive characters I've ever had show up in my head.
Firesworn felt him die.
In the balmy warmth of Booty Bay, fingers of Northrend's chill stroked along his body in a lover's intimate caress, a ghost of lips brushed his, a muted flash of hair the color of fire in autumn leaves curtained his sight, leaving nothing but red eyes, already dimming. Free. The word might have been just the rush of wind through a door, a beating of bird's wings, but he felt the bond, the awareness of the other slip away with the sound, leaving him alone.
Grass-emerald eyes shut against the sudden emptiness, he bowed his head, and his own blond-brown hair fell forward to hide the grief he felt. Farewell, Tal, may the Light forgive you.
Warm fingers closed over one hand, squeezed gently and released him.
Looking up, he saw the concern in the eyes of his human friend, the rogue Bobby Twoknives.
He shook his head slightly, then, in sudden decision, he crossed to the bar. The goblin bartender's eyes widened, and then narrowed with calculation as he explained. Gold exchanged hands. The goblin disappeared even further behind the bar, coming up with a dusty bottle and four delicate glasses.
Prize in hand, the sin'dorei war mage returned to the table.
Bobby watched curiously as he poured, carefully filling the fragile stemware. When the rogue would have taken one, he cupped his hand over the crystal. "Wait."
The goblin tapped a small gong, silencing the room. "Drinks and a toast," he announced in both Orcish and Common, handing a tray to the barmaid. "Courtesy of our magey friend near the door."
Firesworn inclined his head to the ragged cheer, removing his hand from over the glasses, setting the two extras in the spaces that would have been occupied if the table were full. Standing again, he waited with glass in hand while the room was served. Even the Allies kept their jeering to a minimum, most not willing to turn down a free drink. The bouncers, not in on the arrangement, gripped their cudgels a bit more tightly.
Lifting his glass, he said in his clear, perfect Orcish, "To absent friends and all our fallen." The goblin echoed his words in Common.
An Alliance paladin who had been glaring at him stopped and snagged a drink she had previously refused and lifted it in echo as the room rumbled with the toast repeated.
Firesworn met her eyes, smiled and slammed the drink back, the taste of blood and alcohol mingling on his tongue.
Bobby coughed and sputtered. "You could have warned me."
Firesworn sat down and poured another drink, lifting an eyebrow at his friend.
"One was more than enough," the human said hastily. "I'll stick with brandy."
The rogue waved the barmaid over and ordered.
The goblin woman nodded and retrieved the crystal from in front of him, then the other two empty glasses, prudently leaving Firesworn his and the bottle.
Bobby looked after her, a faint frown on his face. "Did you slam both of those while I was ordering?" he accused.
The mage shook his head, sipping his drink slowly.
Bobby paled slightly, but he was beginning to get used to uncanny things happening around the elf.
"Okay," he said, folding himself around the snifter of brandy the barmaid brought him. "I know one of those glasses was for Nightfrost. Who was the other for?"
Firesworn smiled and let the drink slowly relax him, the taste of blood and fire in his mouth, but he didn't answer Bobby.