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Brothers	By : Koori Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 1830 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter Eighteen – Thomas Conway, Age 35
He tightened the cinch on Nutmeg, their chestnut mare. His black stallion, Granite, was grazing nearby ready for the trip. The meeting last night had gone well enough. The town folks had accepted the fact he'd found Nathaniel's gravely injured mother in the woods and that he had failed to save her life but rescued the one she carried within. No one questioned his and Norah's choice to raise the child as their own, though Ellen voiced she'd wished they had been honest from the get go so the town could have rallied around the boy. Thomas pointed out he hadn't wanted his child treated any differently but now he and Norah had decided to leave Nathaniel's ears the way they were meant to be. The town was small and Thomas knew everyone at the meeting by their first names, he did notice the absence of the Dixons. But that was fine with him; he wasn't in the mood to deal with the bigots.
He and Norah had come to the meeting alone leaving the children at home, much to Foster's chagrin. Nathaniel had slept through the evening only awakening long enough to drink some broth before drifting back asleep. He assured his family it was a peaceful slumber. The following morning Thomas announced he was delaying the family trip to Stratholme another week, there was something he needed to do first. Then he had instructed his boys to dress for riding.
They had done as he asked and were now approaching along with a small bag their mother had packed with lunch. He handed Nutmeg's reins to Foster who easily swung up onto the saddle. Then he offered his arm to his brother who climbed up behind him. "I'll have to get you both your own horses soon," Thomas said as he grabbed Granite's reins and hopped up on the saddle.
"Where are we going, sir?" Nathaniel asked.
"There is something I want to show you boys," Thomas replied. Instead of turning toward Corin's at the road they went west. They rode in a comfortable silence; it was nearing lunch time when they approached Thondroril River. After they crossed the bridge he pulled up on the reins and slid down from Granite's back. Nathaniel shimmied down off the mare, followed by his brother. Thomas led the group into the woods; it took him a minute to find what he was looking for. The grass had overgrown his work those years ago but the stones were still there and all around them brilliant wildflowers.
"Nathaniel," he said. "This … is where I buried your mother." He had sat the family down yesterday and told them the story of Nathaniel's birth, leaving nothing out.
His son knelt and placed a hand on one of the cool river stones. "The flowers are pretty," he said.
"Sometimes when I pass through these parts I take time to plant a few more seeds," Thomas pulled out a small pouch and handed it to Nathaniel. He poured some seeds in his hand and sprinkled them over the grave. Foster offered him his hand, and some seeds were given. The boys showered the ground with them. Afterwards Thomas brought them to the riverside; Foster eyed the stream suspiciously after all these years his eldest had never gotten over his fear of water. Spreading out a blanket he took out the lunch Norah had packed.
The boys joked with each other as they ate. Thomas noticed Nathaniel needed reassurance that all was the same as it had been the day before between him and Foster. His brother was willing to supply all the assurance he needed. They were in middle of wresting over the last cookie when Nathaniel's head jerked up alarmed and looked over his father's shoulder. The warning came too late and he felt a burning sensation in his left shoulder a second before the sound of gun fire reached him.
He had no weapon; there hadn't been bandit sightings in years. Rolling with the pain Thomas quickly got to his feet and turned around. He was looking down the barrel of a rifle being held by Zach Dixon. Behind him was a wagon with their worldly goods, his daughter Wendy was sitting meekly on the cart, the right side of her face swelling from bruises. His son Vance was nowhere to be seen.
"What the hell are you doing?" Thomas demanded. "By the Light, they'll hang you!"
"No one will ever know," Zach said as he pulled the trigger. At the same moment Nathaniel appeared slamming into the older man, causing his shot to go wild. Thomas used the distraction to close the distance between the two of them. Nathaniel let out a yelp as Zach kicked him, but by then Thomas was on him. Pushing the barrel of the gun down and to the side with his injured arm he brought his free hand up colliding with the chin of the other in a sickening crunch. As Zach stumbled back Thomas jerked the gun free and threw it into the nearby river.
"Foster!"
Nathaniel's shout was followed by a loud splash. Glancing over his shoulder Thomas spotted his youngest tackling Vance, Zach's son.
"Help!"
Thomas quickly found the source of the cry; Foster was floundering in the river as the strong current drew him away. Vance kept Nathaniel from helping his brother. "Pa, save him!" his youngest son yelled.
"Don't make me choose," Thomas begged silently.
Zach had gained his footing and was approaching once more; a long deadly knife appeared in his hand. Thomas's arm was aching something fierce, he was losing blood and with it strength.
There was a second splash and Thomas spotted Wendy swimming toward Foster, her dress lying on the bridge. "Woman you get back in that wagon," Zach shouted. Ignoring her father she got an arm around Foster and struggled to get them both to the shore.
Taking advantage of the diversion Thomas sprang on Zach, knocking him to the ground. As the men struggled he felt the cold blade cut into his injured arm but he ignored the pain. Grabbing the wrist that was wielding the knife he snapped it like he would a twig. At the same time he brought his palm down hard on the exposed neck crushing Zach's windpipe. Using the same blade that was dripping with his blood he turned the knife on its owner and slit the throat of the man that dared to threaten his family.
As Zach gasped his last gurgled breath, Thomas stood up and looked to see how his boys were fairing. Wendy had gotten Foster to the riverbank on the far side and his son was on his hands and knees coughing up the water he had swallowed. Relief he felt was short lived when he could find no sign of his other son. "Nathaniel!" he shouted.
There was no answer. Stumbling over to where he had last seen the fair-haired child he saw a pool of blood. "Nathaniel," he cried again as the loss of blood overcame him and he fell to his knees. "No …" he said, shaking his head trying to fight the darkness that was closing in. In the end it would not be denied and he fell forward his hand falling into the small puddle of crimson.
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Brothers