Join the Army, See the World

"Join the army, they said. See the world, they said." Cedric let out a grunt as he continued to sharpen his sword. "Much rather be sailing."

Most of the footmen remained quiet. All but Pyke, who murmured something about sailors, ocean, and seamen. Not necessarily in that order.

"Something you want to say Pyke?"

The footman looked up at him. "We doing this again?" he asked.

"Doing what?"

"You. Woe is me, hate the army, much rather be sailing, so on and so forth." He nodded his head to the south. "You seen the waters around here Cedric? Plenty of them for you to sail on."

"Yeah. There are. Want me to take you sailing Pyke? Pretty sure armour like that doesn't float."

"No," Pyke said, a dark look in his eyes. "It doesn't."

Cedric looked at Pyke for a moment – him, and all the other soldiers gathered around a small crackling fire, either sharpening their swords, or eating rations, or yearning for home, or any number of things that people like them did. Usually, it worked in combinations. So, while he could sharpen his sword, he could still complain.

"Funny thing, this world having seas." He looked at the footmen, all of them silent. "I said, funny thing this world having seas."

"Heard you the first time Cedric."

Cedric glared at Lowdry. "I'm sorry, am I bothering you?"

Lowdry glared at him with the one eye he had left. "I know. Life's terrible. Suck it up."

"Oh sure. Suck it up." He gestured to the desolate lands that were called Hellfire Peninsula. "Not much to suck here, in case you haven't noticed. Got oceans to our north, east, and south, and barely any rivers worth a damn, let alone ones that have been deemed safe to drink from. To the west, were rocks, dirt, more dirt, and lo and behold, more rocks. To his east was a fortress being established – Honour Hold. The bastion of the Alliance force that had been sent to Draenor via the Dark Portal, so named the Sons of Lothar. Just years ago, he was defending Azeroth from the greenskins, and their Light-forsaken allies. Now, he was invading their world in a bid to eliminate their threat once and for all.

It was madness. He'd counted on enjoying a nice soiree at Nethergarde for a few years until he built up enough gold to retire. Maybe settle in Stormwind after it was rebuilt, considering that his home village in Lordaeron had been burnt to the ground. He hadn't expected that the orcs would actually return through the Dark Portal (meant to be destroyed, thank you very much Archmage Khadgar), or that the Alliance would launch an invasion in turn. When he'd seen the posters of Anduin Lothar in every city from Stratholme to Strom, urging him to "join the army and see the world," he hadn't counted on seeing any world other than his own.

"So. When do you think we move out?"

And the men were doing what men like them always did – most of them veterans from the Second War, now sent to fight and die a second time. In his experience, life in the Grand Army of the Alliance could be boiled down to 90% boredom, 10% terror. No-one created terror in the periods of boredom, but they did create all manner of strife to fill the gaps.

"I dunno," Pyke said. He glanced at Cedric. "Hey. Ced. You're the oldest one here, right? When do we move out?"

Oldest one here, he reflected. He was only 22.

"Poor guy's lost his tongue," Pyke said, smirking.

"Or balls," Lowdry added.

"What, you going to be a eunuch or something Ced?" Richmond asked.

"I dunno Richmond, bet you wished you were one before Stormwind was retaken," Pyke said.

Cedric saw Richmond look away, his face burning for reasons other than Draenor's sun.

"Ah, Richie and Roslin," Pyke sneered. "One little magical night, as the brothels came back to the greatest city in the south. Or was it Rose."

"Roslin."

"You sure? Pretty sure it was Rose."

"I know her name."

"Ah, right. So, did she tell you on the night your daughter was conceived, or did she tell you after the-"

Richmond punched Pyke, knocking the footman down onto the dirt. The footmen, with the exception of Lowdry and Cedric, cleared around – not to protect themselves, but to give the two men plenty of room to fight. Because of all the ways to alleviate boredom, fighting was one of the best ways to do it. The men cheered as Richmond pummelled Pyke's nose, and let out an "ooh" as Pyke kicked him off, his boot hitting Richmond's groin.

Maybe that should have happened a year ago, Cedric thought.

He couldn't help but feel sorry for the boy. Forced to make do with what pickings Kul'Tiras provided, fought his way south, stationed in Stormwind that the kingdom's people were already flocking to, decided to get some pleasure before moving on south. Nine months after that, he discovered he was a father, and for months after that, he'd been sending some of his coin to Stormwind to help support his bitch and his bastard. It would have been funny if Richmond wasn't just so damn set on preserving his 'honour,' whatever the hell that meant anymore. That, and the thousands of orphans who already existed across the Seven Kingdoms now thanks to the orcs. The world didn't need children who could barely be supported.

He looked at Lowdry. He nodded, and the two pulled the two brawling men apart, if "men" could even be the word used for those barely beyond their seventeenth namedays.

"Alright, that's enough," Cedric said. He looked at Richmond, his groin, then Richmond again. "Do that again, and you'll be firing blanks for the rest of your life."

"If the asshole isn't already."

"Shut up Pyke," Cedric said.

"Oh, sure. He punches me, and I'm the one who gets blamed." He spat at Cedric, goblets of blood landing on his armour. "Surprised he even got a little bastard out of it, since all he's got is poison inside of him."

"Says the person from Alterac," Ashton murmured.

Cedric looked at Ashton. Pyke looked at Ashton. Cedric looked at Pyke, before grabbing him to stop the man from pummelling Ashton to dead.

"Take that back! Take it back!"

Ashton and some of the other footmen snorted as Pyke fought to get towards him. Part of Cedric felt sorry for Pyke – he hadn't been in Alterac when Perenolde had betrayed the Alliance by siding with the Horde, nor had he been there when the Alliance had razed the kingdom to the ground. At the time, few people had questioned the necessity of it, and now, with the benefit of hindsight, only slightly more did. But for those of Alterac who'd volunteered to fight beyond their homeland, men like Pyke, it left them in the position of being surrounded by people who despised them, but without a homeland to return to. Least not one that was standing at least.

"Look at that," Ashton sneered. "Kitten's got claws."

"Ashton, shut up," Lowdry snapped. He and Cedric managed to pull Pyke back before tossing him onto the ground. He looked up at them, glaring.

"You done?" Cedric asked.

"You," Pyke hissed. "You, from Lordaeron – some bigshot fisherman who wants to go sailing, and-"

"I would like to go sailing," Cedric said. "Unfortunately, it's a bit hard to when your village is burnt down, along with all the boats." He paused, as he clenched his hands. "And all its people."

He'd hoped Pyke might have been able to find some common humanity there, but it was clear even before he spoke that none was forthcoming. "You've got a kingdom to call home. I don't."

"Maybe don't go breaking bread with orcs," Ashton murmured.

Pyke looked ready to attack him again, but Cedric grabbed his arm. "Enough," he said. "We're better than this."

"Are we?" Lowdry asked. He nodded, and Cedric followed his gaze – they'd caught plenty of eyes, and not just human ones. He could see some elves passing by, muttering about "barbarians" and "lesser races." He could see a pair of gnomes looking on, terrified, as if they'd seen a pair of giants brawling (and to them, that might as well have been the case). Only a single dwarf looked happy, but that might have been because of the unhappy dwarf beside him giving his fellow a number of copper coins. But most disapproving of all was that of the paladin riding by them.

Oh hell.

Sir Turalyon. The leader of the Sons of Lothar – one whose presence Cedric would have been honoured to be in if not for the whole debacle.

"Not interrupting anything am I?" he asked.

The footmen lowered their heads in reverence and gave answers in the negative. Cedric included.

"Good. Because we'll be moving out in an hour's time, and I'll need brave warriors such as yourselves in the vanguard." He looked over the footmen, a small smirk on my face. "No problems I hope?"

"No, Sir Turalyon."

"Of course not."

"Blood and honour."

"Honour and blood."

"Very good." He gave his horse a light kick and rode off. Cedric could hear the sound of his hoofbeats, as surely as he could hear the sound of Ashton's footsteps as he approached him.

"Asshole," he said. "Takes up Lothar's sword at Blackrock Spire, suddenly thinks he's as good as-"

Cedric pushed him to the ground. "Finger slipped," he said. He looked away from Ashton, and towards his men. "Well, you heard him. Get ready."

"To die you mean," Pyke murmured.

Cedric didn't dispute the possibility. By all rights, he should have been dead long before getting to Draenor.

But he had joined the army. And if that meant seeing worlds other than his own, then so be it.

A/N

Why yes, this did come from the footman's 'poke lines' in Warcraft II, how could you tell?