Easily done, I've got 40 years of lore and paladins seeing terrible shit to work with.
Title: Ashes to Ashes Author: Kelriia Frettlar the__ivorytower Fandom: Warcraft Request: World of Warcraft - OMC/OMC (unless someone can find a canon way to do this?) - to a paladin, something like this was sacrilege -- where the "something" in question is NOT sex. [for fromherashes] Pairing: Implied Llane Wrynn/Anduin Lothar Setting: Middle/End Warcraft II Disclaimer: Warcraft is not mine. Blizzard owns it. I just run in randomly and play battle-chess once a week. Warnings: Death, implied yaoi. It *is* Warcraft, after all. Summary: When he got to the Burning Steppes, Anduin Lothar realized he would die here. ==== The moment he got to the Burning Steppes, Anduin Lothar realized he would die here. His horse stomped, impatiently, kicking up clouds of dust and ashes.
Ah, Llane. I'll see you soon, Lothar thought to himself. He saw Turelyon gallop up, bringing with him the latest news from the Horde. As he listened, it seemed as if all sound left him, and Turelyon's mouth moved, but he could hear nothing but the sound of his own heart, his own harsh breathing.
"Sir?" Turelyon asked, his voice gruff. "What are your thoughts?"
"When I die, I want my statue to be there." He pointed, just to the ridge. "Have me pointing at the volcano. I always want to challenge them." He raised his eyebrows at the expression of sheer horror on Turelyon's face. To the paladin, to discuss so openly his death and defeat would have seemed like a sacrilege, not something to be spoken of so casually.
"You won't die here," Turelyon managed finally. "Sir... I..."
"I've seen it," Lothar said quietly. "It's my time. We won't lose to the orcs, not now, but I will fall. Make sure they build the statue."
"I..." Turelyon looked troubled, but he nodded. "As you command, my lord."
Anduin clapped his hand on Turelyon's shoulder. "Come on, then. We have a Horde to drive out."
~ * ~
The world tasted of ash. Lothar eyed his opponent, watching the muscles in his arms, anticipating the next swing. His sword flashed, bringing it up to parry, when the hammer swung in an unanticipated direction, and it crashed into his side, already bleeding freely. He cried out, falling to his knees. He held his sword, watching as the orc's mouth moved and no sound came out.
In his mind's eye, he saw Llane. His Llane, Stormwind's Llane. His king, his best friend, his lover of too many years to count.
"Told... die here," he gasped. The orc, watching him impassively, and brought the hammer down for a final, fatal strike. He could feel Turelyon's eyes on him, he heard his second's anguished cry. They would push the orcs out. He would just need to die to accomplish that.