Peace

Author: Janna

War was a complicated thing. Obviously, nobody wanted it to happen. But it undeniably benefited many people in many ways. There were those who benefited economically by way of their foresight and understanding of the markets, and not too seldom a total lack of conscience as they ruthlessly profited off of the suffering of others. Of course, it is easy to condemn a man who overcharges groceries while children are starving on his doorstep, but one ought never to forget their own role in creating this situation. Few were truly innocent. Few could honestly claim they weren't putting their own survival first, yes, even before a starving orphan. And the grocer, no matter he got rich on it, at least played his part in bringing food to the population.

War was business. For the grocer, for the blacksmith, for the landlady, the innkeeper, and the farmhand. Those who took it serious as an opportunity would come out on top when the decks were reshuffled after.

And then, there were the soldiers. A soldier is never a 'good guy'. Whether they are sent to kill men and women who were sent to kill them – all of whom just pawns to a higher power –, or whether it was demons that were to be slain for the promise of glory and, eventually, possibly, unbelievably, peace. Soldiers were grocers, blacksmiths and farmhands and while out there slaying demons, they were sorely missed at home where their children cried for another bowl of soup at night.

Morality had to be put on hold during a war, when there was no right thing to do. And that experience changed people. The baker who returns from the front will never look at his work in the same way. Every loaf he pulls out of the oven will carry the faces of those hungry children. And yet he knows he did what he had to.

War was a teacher. It taught a person more about themselves than they could hope to learn in their entire lives.

It's your second war that reveals most about who you are. And when the third comes around – if it comes around for you – there are no regrets left to dwell upon. You know now that all there is to fight for is survival, and all there is to live for is another day. You have lost your fear – not the fear of dying, only the insane could ever lose that – but the fear of disappointing. The fear of moral judgement.

And if you reached a fourth, you'd start to feel as though there were two versions of yourself, one in times of peace, and an entirely different person during wartime.

--

"Oi, who's that from?"

"Ain't none of yer business, lad."

Without looking up from her letter, Eyris finished her pint of what they called "dwarven stout" here in Stormwind – she doubted a dwarf had even touched the hops it was brewed with, but times were rough and imports slow, so she refused to let it bother her. She had bigger things to ponder.

She looked up and caught the bartender's eye.

"Refill, please."

But before she could set her tankard down, it was snatched from her hands. "Let me get that for you, Mrs Bloodaxe!", grinned the short human with straggly, dirt blonde hair that had been lingering about her table for at least half an hour now.

Eyris gave a low snort and picked her letter back up, pretending not to notice. The bartender, a human girl far too good natured for the job, exchanged looks with the green haired gnome lounging on a bar chair and sipping sparkly wine through a straw. They both burst out giggling.

"Ah'd save yer breath if it were me, Fred", growled the grubby, aged dwarven warrior sat at the next table. "She's got nae interest in ye, an' Ah dare say yer only interest in her is her gold, so if Ah may teach yer a lesson today, Fred, dwarves ain't handing out their fortunes to any ol' bugger comes along an' tries to woo us."

"Gold? What gold's that ye s'ppose Ah've got?" Eyris peered at the warrior, knitting her thick black eyebrows. The warrior seemed to shrink a little under her gaze. He averted his eyes and shrugged.

"They say you've got quite a bit", said the barkeep with an innocent sort of fascination. Eyris's frown deepened as she turned to fixate on the girl.

"I don't know, your travels, all those missions... it pays, doesn't it?" The human asked curiously.

"Is it true that you've got royal blood? And you're not going to Ironforge because Moira Thaurissan would have you killed?", piped up the gnome, turning her straw between her fingers idly while watching the scene from her perch.

"That's not..."

Eyris shut her mouth mid-sentence. Thing was with rumours, you only made it worse if you tried to deny any of it.

"Who's been spouting tha' bollocks ter ye is wha' Ah want to know", she barked.

"Tha' lad Torgrimm", said the warrior. "'e reckons ye got a medal from the king for yer service up in Northrend."

Eyris scoffed. "Ye dinnae get paid fer tha', 's jest a fancy piece o' metal ter hang above yer mantlepiece if ye've got one."

"So it's true??", Fred interjected eagerly. "You've been to Northrend? With the King's army?"

She sighed. "Yes, lad, Ah've been ter Northrend an' Light help me if Ah ever stop 'avin' nightmares about it."

The young man was dumbstruck for a moment.

"'twas a blasted hell up there from wha' I hear", nodded the warrior. "Ah never went, busy fightin' on the homefront, but Ah've had more than me fill of undead back in Lordaeron." He shuddered.

"Aye, tha' was right horrible", said Eyris solemnly.

Fred gasped. "You fought in the Third War?!"

Eyris drank from her tankard, then wiped the foam mustache with the back of her hand. Stale.

"What other wars have you been in?" The kid just didn't shut up.

"Tae many ter keep count", she grumbled, now folding up the letter and stuffing it back into the envelope. She'd have to find a new tavern to spend her free nights, she thought, as apparently her name had gotten around Dwarven District and now the bored and the lonely would start to think that knowing it meant they knew enough about her to bother her with their gossip.

"Did you go to Outland, then? And Argus?" His curiosity was far from sated.

"Ah'd rather keep me own two feet squarely on the planet Ah war born on. There be demons enough ter fight down 'ere."

"But the War of the Three Hammers? You've been there, right? What was it like? Did you fight dragons??"

Eyris ran a hand over her dark face, trying to keep calm

.

"Lad, a minute ago ye were makin' pretty eyes at me, an' now ye suggest Ah look some three 'undred years old? Nae, Ah've not been in th' War of the Three Hammers, an' if ye'd paid any attention to yer teacher ye'd know there were no dragons either."

"Oh, I didn't... I didn't know it was that long ago", stuttered Fred. "How old are you, then?"

"Old enough to be yer grandma", she barked, a little sharper than strictly necessary. Did she have a granchild by now? Light knew. She reached for her tankard to drown the thought.

"'sides", she continued, "there ain't nothing glorious about war, y'know. Get tha' nonsense outter yer head, laddie, before they send ye to the frontlines. They make the best cannon fodder, the likes o' ye, blinded by the gold on the generals' uniforms."

Fred looked offended, but she cut him off before he could object.

"Dinnae talk ter me about king 'n' country 'n' honour 'n' sacrifice an' all that jibber jabber. Listen, Ah've been in more wars than ye'll live ter see and Ah'm telling yer now, war is about killing or bein' killed, 'tis blood an' dirt in yer eyes an' wee 'n' poop in yer pants 'cos ye stared yer own death in the eye an' somehow made it out alive. Or 'cos ye saw yer best mate go down an' be guzzled up by a felhound, because, listen 'ere, ye thought if ye die ye'll get a funeral with banners an' fanfares and crying maidens? Only if yer body makes it out an' chances are, it won't."

She leaned back and watched the emotions on the young man's face with satisfaction. The gnome gave a low whistle, the warrior nodded in agreement and the barkeeper suddenly seemed very busy collecting empty mugs off their tables.

"Oh", made Fred. "well it's peace now." He smiled feebly.

Eyris chuckled.

"Aye, peace. 'til the next war."