Flinthammer Hall

“Ah’m alive …”

Darkness.

“Did he say something?”

“Him? No, he’s been laid up here for months, ever since they pulled him out of the sea. He’s a dead man — he just isn’t smart enough to stop breathing yet.”

“Ah’m alive …”

“Doctor, his lips moved that time! I think he’s waking up!”

The voices moved nearer.

“Impossible! The height they saw him fall — and he landed on his head! Even if he’s not dead, he should be a vegetable.”

“Ah could murder a wee pint. Me throat’s parched …”

“Quickly, lad! Run to the inn and get him a pint — several!”

Now there was the sound of water sloshing, which made him flinch.

“Easy there, my friend. Just getting a cool cloth to wash your face — you’re sweating something fierce.”

“What happened ta me? Why cannae Ah open me eyes?”

“You don’t remember the battle? We saw the final battle with Deathwing. All those warriors on their back — the crew of the Lady Mehley saw you fall off. They were as shocked as anything to find you alive, floating in the water.”

“Did Ah kill him?”

“Who, Deathwing?”

“Oh, aye. Ah were there fer the death o’ tha Lich King an’ th’ discovery o’ the Draenei an’ fought in Quel’Danas.”

“Hold still, I’m going to unwrap your bandages. You clearly suffered a serious blow to the head if you think every great moment in modern history somehow had you at the center. You’re not Varian Wrynn, after all.”

Ringo Flinthammer blinked his eyes, wincing painfully at the dim torchlight.

“There’s a bear outside that will be happy to see you awake. He almost tore our heads off when we first brought you in, until a Druid of the Claw was able to explain we were trying to help you.”

Ringo sniffed.

“Smells like salt, like th’ sea. Where am Ah?”

…

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((A guest post over at A Druid’s Doodling, as part of Blog Azeroth’s Furtive Father Winter 2011: Forest Song.))

I heard the bells on Winters Veil
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to dwarves.

I thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Dwarvendom
Had rolled along the unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to dwarves.

And in despair I bowed my head:
“There is no peace on earth,” I said,
“For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to dwarves.”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“Khaz is not dead, nor doth he sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, good will to dwarves.”

Till, ringing singing, on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime,
Of peace on earth, good will to dwarves!

“Ah’m gonna make this th’ best Feast o’ Winters Veil ever,” Mountaineer Ringo Flinthammer thundered, slamming his mug down on the counter at the Stoutlager Inn.

Deathwing’s second pass over Thelsamar had been much less destructive than his first, and the residents had managed to prevent the worst of the damage with a quickly organized bucket brigade and Hodir‘s blessing, in the form of an early snowfall. And if everything still had a bit of a smoky air to it, the dwarves just chalked that up to being festive.

“Oh, aye?” Vidra Hearthstove asked, polishing a glass. “What do ye have planned, then?”

“Me brothers want to have us all dress up in holiday sweaters — which Ah’m sure will be horrible, given that Ely’s pickin’ them out — and pose fer a portrait. The wee one wants Greatfather Winter to bring him his first ram, so we’ll be takin’ him to Amberstill and seein’ if there’s a kid gentle enough fer him to ride. Me, Ah’m just hopin’ fer a few quiet nights around the fire before … Well, a few quiet nights around th’ fire.”

“Sounds like ye’ll be makin’ a lot of great memories.”

“That’s the idea.” Ringo stared into his mug a moment. “Years ago, me friend Widge and Ah discovered the Caverns of Time and went back to visit me father on the eve of the Battle of Mount Hyjal. There was another dwarf there, another traveler …

“Well, we’ll see, Ah reckon,” Ringo said, raising his mug in a toast. “Here’s ta makin’ holiday memories.”