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Fairmont	By : BurneHazard Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 792 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not claim any ownership of World of Warcraft, nor do I make any money off this story--it is purely for fun.

Chapter List
- 1-Disclaimer
- 2-Chapter 1
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Frost coated the browned blades of grass just enough that they crunched underfoot. Dead leaves littered the ground of the wooded area but the trees were spaced far enough apart it did not form an actual carpet. The light of the false dawn was barely glimpsed upon the horizon through the almost bare limbs of trees. Over head however, stars still clung to a shadowed sky. It was barely bright enough to see let alone to venture out into the coldest part of the early morning. And only fools would travel through the territory of the Defias alone at any hour.

Such a fool dared push those things of common sense. Grass and leaves rustled and crackled about tooled leather boots as a single figure made its way through the trees. There was no road through this area yet each step was taken with intent as easily as if it had been a cobblestone lane. The heavy thumps from hooves seemed to almost come in cadence with the noise as the horse followed obediently behind the figure.

Eyes watched from the brush, the rise of rocks forming the hills and breaks, from the trees above and shadowed areas behind trunks. Of course there was no way that the bandits overrunning this particular area had missed or would ignore such a tempting target. Not a one of those watching dared make a move. Their eyes would simply be watching, waiting, searching for possible weakness or opening. None of them were stupid enough to challenge this particular figure.

In the fading gloom, olive-green eyes rose to scan the trees. Breath visible in puffs of white fog danced and curled over the dark brown beard and mustache of the man's face as he looked at the woods. He and his faithful warhorse were well aware of the attention on them while they walked. The beast's ears were constantly flicking forward then back despite its calm demeanor. The man's free hand rested with ease on the grip of the mace fastened at his hip. Although the shield was strapped to his back, it provided a solid protection against arrows or blades that might be thrown toward the blind spot.

This odd, unspoken, uneasy truce held shakily but real. Even if this man wore simple leathers of blue bound by dull bronze studs and strips, he was well-known to these Defias. The mace at his hip glowed with a pure light so concentrated in its heart that it bled free like flames in the air around it. Several of the bandits watching had felt its might personally in close confrontations with the man. None wished to be the first to have their skulls crushed by the devastating weapon. None had faith that sheer numbers could overwhelm this particular traveler.

While watched by at least a dozen eyes, the man and horse finally left the trees to enter a small clearing where no bared branches reached across the sky. Had the sun been above, it would have bathed the grassy patch in its light for the duration of its path. It was here that the man turned and approached the almost sheer rock face that the woods nestled up against. There was no marker save for a bare patch of earth at the base of the stone with a small ring of rocks and the remnants of overgrown but purposely planted brush that might have been of the blossoming variety.

Letting the reins drop from his hand at last, the man stepped toward the small nook and leaned down. Reaching out he brushed one hand over the face of the rock. A light sprang into existence just over the worn blue glove. The simple arc of illumination fell over the rock face to cast sharp shadows into the deeply-carved letters. Names. Not one or two or three, a long list of names in a rough rectangle. Deep grooves marred the names at the bottom left, but those names clearly had been re-carved in the same hand to the side of the first column.

Releasing a sigh, he traced his fingers over both columns. Sinking down to one knee, the green eyes began the ritual of reading every name one by one. Pushing the thick cloth hood back he let the bite of cold air ground him. The dark brown hair held a shimmer of rich red beneath the shiftless light. It caused a faint illusion of a corona about his head and shoulders. Enough of a subtle reminder that the two young bandits that had drawn close halted and withdrew even further.

Head falling, the man finally clasped his hands together on his upright knee. Eyes closing, his lips began to move in quiet prayer. It should have been the most opportune moment for the watchers to strike. None of them moved. Perhaps it was the all-too-visible reminder of just what manner of power the man could use in the arc of light resting in the air over his head. Perhaps it was the massive form of the armored warhorse standing its own silent vigil over the kneeling figure with ears perked and muscles bunched in readiness for battle.

Or perhaps it was a faint stirring of respect that even cutthroats and bandits could hold for someone who honored such a shrine of remembrance...

At last, his head rose so that he could again look to the names. The light appeared to twist of its own accord and draw closer to the second column that had been re-carved. Once more, the man reached up to trail his fingertips over the engraved letters.

Tarthea Hadragil

Rethoniel Cromlord

Shou'reth Witherleaf

Aaron Lightstep

Bae'keri of Darnassus

For the first time, he spoke.

"I'm sorry. My wounds have finally healed, but I should have been at your side."

The air shifted faintly. While it could not cause the light to flicker, the horse released a warning snort. A metal-shrouded hoof tore into the ground, ripping black chunks of earth with white roots up. It was enough to bring the man's attention around. One of the Defias bandits had at last come forward. The woman's gold hair seemed almost as yellow as a daffodil though what skin was visible around the faded red mask was dark. She was loosely garbed in rough looking leathers and wool likely hand-made by an unskilled crafter.

Rising in a fluid motion, the man turned to face her. A hand fell to the mace but he did not remove it from its place. Not yet. Her blades remained sheathed at her hips as well. For several moments the two simply studied one another. Her eyes were brown. Muddy.

"We've been wondering, paladin. What did you do this for?"

Her words caused a ginger-shot brow to rise in mild surprise. Even with the mask, he could recognize the woman by her voice. She had been one of the ones to survive attacking him at one point. No wonder she was keeping just enough distance between them that they both could have time to react to any attack. Caution had been learned by this one.

"Because..." he started, only to pause.

Glancing back to the brush framing the circle of stones at the base of the engraving, he released a sigh. When he looked back up, the woman remained exactly where she had been before.

"...someone must remember."

Something passed behind the muddy brown eyes. The man straightened slightly. One of the woman's hands rose in a halting gesture. "You remember them?"

"I seek to remember when others have no time. When others do not believe it important to remember the ones who sacrificed so they might live."

Another period of silence. Finally, the locked gazes parted as the woman looked to the carved names. "We have watched you."

"I know."

"What will happen when you fall and there is no one to remember?"

Everything was deadly silent. The dawn was close enough the world began to hold its breath. Nothing stirred. Animals were utterly silent in anticipation. Leaves and branches remained still. Water moved only sluggishly beneath ice in the distance so not even a murmur of sound could be heard. Perhaps it was that even Time itself paused.

"Would you remember the names of those who fell that life might continue?"

The quiet voice was almost like thunder in the pure sorrow and power of hope it carried upon it. Suddenly, the woman took a breath she had been unaware of holding. Both stared at one another even more intently.

"You know what you're asking," she finally managed to say.

He nodded once. "Yes. Your past means nothing in this matter. Your choice in this moment is what holds importance."

Blinking, the woman's eyes narrowed. There was confusion, puzzlement. Then again, there was an inkling of understanding. Very slowly, she shifted her weight. One step. Grass crunched. The blue-sheathed hand fell away from the mace. The woman hesitated a moment longer then approached. Her eyes lingered on the man until they stood in arm's length. Both looked to the stone list.

"Who were they?" she asked.

"My friends. My men and women. Those under my command...who perished because I was not capable enough to protect them. Because I was not strong enough to keep them alive. Because I was not powerful enough to heal them when they began to falter. And the ones who helped to protect your lives when the Plague was brought to our lands."

The woman's eyes widened suddenly and she looked back to the man. He was watching the stone as the light shifted higher to form a simple spread arch over the top of the list. Despite the light armor he wore, there was enough muscle on his tall form to indicate he was no stranger to being burdened by full plate in combat and out. There were no scars visible upon his face--so young he could not have been much older than a kid at the time he spoke of. And yet, just as those thoughts passed through her mind, his eyes turned back to her.

She found her breath catch again. Olive green. Not that uncommon or striking a color. Looking at those eyes, she was suddenly aware of the weight of age they seemed to hold. The eyes she stared into belonged to a man that was in the later years of his life, old, battle-worn and weighed down by things only a lifetime of loss and triumph could give. It was not merely that he was a paladin. Although formidable, she had faced many such older veterans that never had eyes like this man.

"What...is your name?"

There was the faintest hint of a smirk upon his lips. Rather than answer her though, the man turned away. Leaves and grass rustled and crunched beneath his boots as he went to the warhorse. Leather groaned and metal creaked against the restraints as he swung himself up into the saddle with a practiced, fluid ease. Settling, he reached forward to take the reins in hand. Turning the golden charger's head so the hard eyes of the beast left the woman.

"Paladin?"

"Fairmont."

Before the woman could ask further, the man's legs tightened against the horse's barrel and the beast took off at a trot, tail flagged high and head held proudly with armored neck arched. The woman stared after the man as he passed without fear or concern through the trees. Trees that seemed to break away as Defias slowly emerged from their concealed places and protected places. Slowly, they began to gather around her.

"He did not ride a paladin's charger."

"He did not wear their typical armor."

"He did not try to arrest you or kill you."

The buzz of talk was ignored as the woman turned to look back to the list. Already the solid hoof beats were fading into the distance. Yet, she noticed the light arch remained over the stone to emit a steady, pure white light. Stepping closer with caution, she took her first real look at the carved names. Her own apprentice had tried to desecrate the monument and paid with his life for it at the man's hands. Now, however, she had an idea just why the man had been in such a rage.

"We're going to leave him alone from now on. No further watches. No further guard. Let him come and go as he pleases. No one bother him or you'll answer to me."

Murmurs of disbelief rose. Protests. Voices raised in indignation. Leaning closer, she looked to the names that had been partially destroyed by her deceased apprentice's hand. Something caught her attention. One name that had not been re-carved with the others into a second column.

Julian Fairmont

The light began to grow brighter. While the arc did not grow, the intensity increased. Hands rose to shield eyes. Defias turned away and fell silent as the blinding illumination cast shadows everywhere around them. Stumbling backward, the woman tried to look past her raised arm. A flare, a pulse...and gold began to bleed through as it dimmed. Gradually her arm lowered only to find that pale gold wash of the late autumn sun caressed the rock. Turning to look after the paladin, her eyes were blinded by the rays of the rising star.
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Fairmont