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Thassarian was still absentmindedly clutching the bundle of mistletoe when he took a seat at the bar of the Legerdemain Lounge.
Dalaran was bustling with Winter Veil crowds. On the short walk from Krasus' Landing to the inn, despite his best efforts to weave through the shoulder-to-shoulder throng, he'd ended up bumping into a fully festively-attired draenei—or rather, the seemingly quite intoxicated draenei had wobbled right into him.
"Sorry," Thassarian said. Regardless of the situation, he always defaulted to apologizing first.
"Oh, 's fine," the draenei slurred in response. Then, for some reason, he looked the death knight up and down before breaking into a rather baffling smile. He fished something out of his pocket and promptly slapped it onto Thassarian's saronite chestplate. Apparently not anticipating just how icy cold and heavy the armor was, the draenei instantly winced, his expression shifting to one of surprise and pain as he yanked his hand back. Fortunately, Thassarian's reflexes were quick enough to catch the item before it fluttered to the ground. It was a sprig of mistletoe, tied with a festive red ribbon right where the stems forked.
"Here, for you," the draenei said, winking his left eye at Thassarian. "Might come in handy with your… 'brother'. Happy Winter Veil!"
Before Thassarian could respond, another voice chimed in from a much lower altitude. "He's had a bit too much," said a female gnome. Apart from her own red holiday hat, her armor and the axe strapped to her back marked her as a warrior. She offered Thassarian an apologetic nod. "Don't mind him." Then, with strength belying her size, she grabbed the draenei by the edge of his tunic and started hauling him away. "Coming through! Drunk, make way!" she called out, plowing through the crowd toward the Eventide.
Thassarian stood frozen for a moment, his mind slowly processing the words. Use mistletoe on a "brother"...? When it came to brothers, the first name that sprang to his mind was…
Koltira.
It was only when he heard the grumbling from behind him that he realized he was blocking traffic on the main thoroughfare. Though the language wasn't Common or Gutterspeak, the tone conveyed the speaker's annoyance clearly enough. He hurriedly quickened his pace toward his destination, his thoughts still tangled.
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Thassarian set the mistletoe down beside him, still turning the draenei's words over in his mind.
Truth be told, when he first saw Dalaran's festive decorations and the winter revelers, he had felt bewildered, even a little resentful. The fight against the Lich King was still raging. Icecrown Glacier, not far from Crystalsong Forest, teemed with undead Scourge. Every day, champions from every faction lost their lives—or lost them a second time. The anger and hatred he'd accumulated in the years since his own "death" still constricted his heart like bands of iron. Celebrating a festival now, at least for him, felt profoundly out of place.
And even if he were inclined to celebrate the grandest holiday at the year's end, using mistletoe on a "brother" was... confusing. If he remembered correctly, during Winter Veil, if two people found themselves under a sprig of mistletoe—whether by chance or design—the one thing they had to do was kiss. During his childhood Winters in Lordaeron, he'd occasionally caught his parents sharing a kiss under the mistletoe hung in their home. Some of the more naughty children among his playmates would run around with sprigs, holding them over the heads of any two kids who were talking or standing close together, chanting "Kiss! Kiss!" He'd been a victim of such pranks himself once, though the other victim—a girl—had just flushed scarlet and run off. Later, when he joined the military, there were no pranksters around, but he never had a girlfriend... or a boyfriend. So, in truth, whether in his "living" years or after his "death," kissing under the mistletoe remained an entirely unknown experience for him.
As for the word "brother," there were really three possibilities. First, a real, blood-related brother. He had none, only a sister. Second, the human brothers of the church, who once shared his faith in the Holy Light. But he was living dead now—the Light was no longer salvation but a force that could destroy him anew. It was best kept at a distance, along with these brothers who likely still hated him at heart. Third... Koltira.
No, that wasn't the point. Thassarian shook his head. Regardless of which meaning it was, kissing under the mistletoe with any of them seemed… highly unlikely. Had the meaning of mistletoe changed during the Winter Veils he'd missed? Couldn’t be. Though, it wasn't entirely impossible—perhaps this was some new custom brought by the draenei, an alien race. He suddenly felt foolish for dwelling on the words of a random, drunken stranger.
"Greetings, Death Knight. What can I get for you today?" The bartender, Arille, asked cheerfully, polishing a freshly washed glass with a cloth. The question pulled Thassarian's thoughts back to the present.
"Caraway Burnwine," he replied. He preferred something stronger.
"An excellent choice!" the high elf behind the counter said. "Though, if I may make a suggestion—it's Winter Veil, and we've partnered with the Smokywood Pastures to stock a special batch of Greatfather’s Winter Ale. What we serve here isn't your ordinary brew; it's got the Legerdemain's own secret touch. Care to give it a try?"
Thassarian hesitated briefly. The multicolored festive lights were making his vision swim slightly. The common area of the tavern's ground floor was a cacophony of voices and clinking glasses. A small commotion erupted near the bookshelves by the Winter Veil tree—a gnome mage had apparently lost control of a minor Blizzard meant for atmosphere, burying half of himself in unexpectedly heavy snow. Out of the corner of his eye, Thassarian also noticed a pair of night elf ladies kissing passionately under a sprig of mistletoe by the entrance, utterly unconcerned with the crowd around them.
"Alright, I'll have what you recommend then," he changed his mind. As Arille turned to draw the ale, Thassarian quietly tucked the sprig of mistletoe into a compartment within his chestplate.
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Thassarian had found himself thinking about the mistletoe a lot these past few days. To be honest, he had no real plan—no plan for what to do, nor for who—or so he told himself. He just kept the sprig tucked away, occasionally pulling it out to check if it had wilted. Thankfully, it always looked as vibrant and green as ever. Practically a walking icebox as a Frost Death Knight, he thought with a hint of self-deprecation.
After exchanging mission intelligence with Justin Bartlett, Thassarian left the command room of the Skybreaker and headed to a less populated spot along the side rail to open a Death Gate. Today was the day to report back to the Highlord at Acherus.
Just before concluding his talk with Bartlett, the human commander had bid him farewell with a "Happy Winter Veil," making Thassarian realize today was indeed Winter Veil Eve. He had returned the sentiment. On his way out, he'd also passed Maraad standing by the doorway; they exchanged a brief, acknowledging nod. For a fleeting moment, Thassarian had the impulse to stop the draenei paladin and ask if mistletoe had taken on some new meaning these days—No, that's stupid, he instantly strangled the thought in his mind with a mental Death Grip.
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Acherus in the Eastern Plaguelands remained as it always was, devoid of the festive decorations that adorned the cities of the living—after all, this place was steeped only in death and silence. Festive of Winter Veil, a holiday symbolizing peace and goodwill for the "living," was profoundly out of place here. Thassarian felt a slight sense of relief. This is better. This is the atmosphere that suits a death knight.
He descended the steps from the terrace and approached Darion Mograine, who was astride his deathcharger. The report mainly covered various investigations in Icecrown Glacier—notes from Cult of the Damned researchers, kill reports on the Lich King's three primary death knight lieutenants, the efficacy of the plague-neutralizing agents created using giant's marrow, and so on. After completing the lengthy debriefing and receiving new assignments, Thassarian bid his superior farewell and turned to leave. But as he turned, he found himself face-to-face with his "brother."
They were standing far too close. The first thing that registered in Thassarian's vision were those striking high elf eyes, gleaming with an eerie blue phosphorescence. While he only took a subtle, composed step back on the outside, internally he was startled. By the Light, when did Koltira get here? He knew the high elf had been a ranger in life, but it seemed he had the makings of a rogue as well. And Darion, who had been speaking with him, must have noticed Koltira's approach but hadn't thought to mention it afterward. Thassarian mentally grumbled.
"Thassarian," Koltira spoke. "I have a report to deliver as well. Wait for me."
"Of course, brother."
So the human death knight stood waiting, not too far from his brother and superior. He felt an inexplicable awkwardness and restlessness, shifting his stance a few times before settling on leaning his weight on his left foot and crossing his arms, his gaze wandering across the main floor of Acherus. He noted that Koltira's report overlapped somewhat with his own—after all, Koltira was stationed on the Orgrim's Hammer, and their areas of investigation inevitably coincided.
He missed Koltira. Though they were both stationed on these two flying gunships that often patrolled relatively close to each other, the chasm between their factions still seemed uncrossable, keeping them apart for quite some time. He'd even tried looking for the high elf death knight's figure during lulls when the ships were relatively close and not actively engaged, but Koltira didn't seem to spend as much time on the open deck as he did.
After what felt like an indeterminate amount of time, Koltira's report seemed to conclude. After bidding Darion farewell, he walked directly over to Thassarian. "Let's go," the high elf said, giving the human's shoulder a pat. Thassarian glanced back at the Highlord, still mounted on his deathcharger in the same spot. His heavy, intimidating helmet covered most of his face, making any expression impossible to read. He wasn't turning to watch his subordinates leave, but somehow, Thassarian just felt his gaze following them from behind that helmet.
"How ‘ve you been, Koltira?" Thassarian asked, turning to catch up with the high elf who was a few steps ahead, falling into stride beside him. He wasn't sure where Koltira was headed, so he started with small talk.
"Can't complain. Perhaps still something to be grateful for—the work in Icecrown has been progressing smoothly. We've gathered a fair amount of intelligence on the enemy lately," Koltira replied. "I assume it's the same on the Alliance side? The Horde adventurers who brief me sometimes mention running into Alliance scouts in the vicinity."
Thassarian nodded, then realized Koltira was leading him to the teleporter that accessed the fortress's second level. After the slight disorientation from the teleport faded, they continued on. Thassarian had been wondering how to answer if his brother asked, "And you?" because he really didn't have much to say; Koltira's account mirrored his own recent experiences almost exactly. But the high elf said nothing more, simply walking beside him in silence.
The second level of Acherus was slightly more lively than the first—a few death knights were hacking away at training dummies in the practice pool, runic power representing Frost, Blood, and Unholy flaring from them. Some ghouls were busy with menial tasks like moving supplies or cleaning in the corners. Two gargoyles chased each other playfully across the ceiling, weaving through the air. For some reason, Thassarian found the scene… peaceful. Well, that's hardly the most appropriate word to describe a scene that would be utterly terrifying to any ordinary living creature, he thought, but it was the one that came to mind.
Koltira stopped in front of the abomination that served food and drinks. "Care for a drink?" Without waiting for the human's answer, he addressed Corpulous directly, "Two Morning Glory Dews."
After accepting the cup of glowing blue-green liquid, they walked a little further until they reached a quiet, undisturbed corner. Koltira stopped, leaning back against the wall and taking a sip of his drink. Thassarian leaned against the wall beside him. They drank in silence for a few moments before Koltira spoke again, breaking the quiet.
"You know, it is Winter Veil Eve tonight."
Thassarian nearly choked, a sudden, strange feeling of intoxication washing over him. If his blood still flowed, he might have imagined his face flushing with heat. Is the drink really that strong? Was this some specially brewed, magically enhanced alcohol for death knights? At the same time, he felt an odd warmth emanating from the area of his armor where the mistletoe was stored—No, that's impossible. An illusion. All of it must be an illusion.
"...Yeah," he managed, sounding slightly flustered.
"When I was still alive, we never celebrated Winter Veil. I'd heard of it, of course—it came from the dwarves during the old days when Silvermoon was still part of the Alliance," Koltira continued, seemingly unaware of Thassarian's discomfort. "Still, it was never made an official holiday. I suppose the fact that Eversong Woods is perpetually spring-like had something to do with it. So, after I broke free from those years of control, I was a bit surprised to find the whole world—even my own people, who now call themselves blood elves—celebrating it."
I'm a bit surprised too, Thassarian thought. The world changes so fast. Who knew mistletoe could be used on a "brother" these days.
Koltira raised an eyebrow at Thassarian, seeming a little dissatisfied with his brother's lack of reaction. "So, tell me about this holiday. I'd like to understand it better."
"Oh, um. As you said, it originally came from dwarven tradition, but humans and dwarves have always gotten along well, so most humans celebrate it too," Thassarian said, turning over his long-dead brain, trying to dredge up every bit of Winter Veil trivia he knew. "The legend says it started with Greatfather Winter, a… deity, I suppose, who walks across the continents of Azeroth at the end of each year. The 'Winter's Veil' refers to his snowy cloak. He delivers gifts to people all over the world. When I was a child, my mother told me Greatfather Winter knew whether I'd been a good boy that year. Only good children received his gifts."
"Did you get a gift every year?"
"Of course. I was a bit mischievous as a kid, but still a model boy next door," the human replied with a hint of pride.
They both laughed heartily for a moment.
"So, what special things do you do during Winter Veil?" the high elf asked, blinking with interest.
Thassarian, who had just begun to relax, tensed up slightly again as the image of the mistletoe sprang unbidden to his mind. He tried to push it aside. "Oh, you know. Mostly, getting together with family for a big feast," he said, then immediately regretted mentioning family. He didn't want to upset Koltira by bringing up Faltora. He quickly changed tack. "And having snowball fights with friends. Or visiting each other's homes, sharing peppermint sticks and mince pies."
The high elf nodded thoughtfully. He didn't seem to show any negative reaction to the unintended mention, and Thassarian breathed a silent sigh of relief.
"And what about mistletoe? What's that for?" Koltira continued, his tone casual, as if he were merely curious.
By the Light. Thassarian mentally facepalmed. The very thing he least wanted to talk about had come up. Now that Koltira had asked, he couldn't just change the subject. How should he answer? The draenei's words echoed in his mind again. Might come in handy with your… 'brother'. No, Koltira didn't know about that, nor the true meaning of mistletoe. Should he lie or tell the truth? He couldn't decide. He wasn't good at lying.
"Oh, mistletoe. People usually hang it up as a festive decoration—"
"Like this?" Thassarian stared in shock as Koltira produced a sprig of mistletoe from seemingly nowhere, its stem tied with an identical red ribbon. The high elf placed it on the wall between them, high up, and with a flick of frost magic, froze its end securely in place. Alarms blared in Thassarian's mind. What is happening?
"And then?" Koltira adopted an innocent expression, his wide eyes seemingly filled with pure curiosity, but Thassarian could have sworn he caught a glint of amusement in them.
"Uh—then, umm—people hug under the mistletoe, to express their… affection for each other." He wasn't lying. He was just… omitting the complete truth.
"And?" The elf raised an eyebrow again, the corners of his mouth twitching upward ever so slightly.
And? And what? Thassarian felt the Morning Glory Dew's effects surging back, his long-stilled heart seemingly beginning to pound against his ribcage. What's going on? He suddenly felt like he'd fallen into a trap set by this cunning high elf. Was Koltira doing this on purpose? And if so, why? He stood frozen, as if struck by a paralyzing Chains of Ice spell, his mouth hanging open in a ridiculous gape, expression locked in utter bewilderment.
Koltira finally couldn't hold it in any longer. He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he looked at Thassarian's face. Setting his empty glass down on a stack of crates behind him, he took a step forward, closing the distance to the still-motionless Thassarian, and wrapped his arms around his brother in an embrace.
Thassarian's mind was racing, yet it remained a complete blank. It suddenly struck him that in all the years he'd known Koltira, aside from supporting each other wounded on the battlefield, they had never properly hugged. He lifted his arms and returned the embrace, giving Koltira's back a pat. His own glass, still holding a small amount of liquid, slipped from his clumsy grip, spilling the blue-green drink onto the dark gray floor.
Just as the human was finally starting to relax, telling himself that his brother—unfamiliar with the customs and simply trusting him—was just expressing a fraternal affection that was usually difficult to voice, Koltira moved his hands from Thassarian's back to his shoulders. Then, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Thassarian's cheek.
The death knight's lips were ice-cold, but the spot on Thassarian's cheek felt as if it had been seared by fire.
"Happy Winter Veil, Thassarian," the high elf whispered softly by his ear. Then he released the human, turning away with startling speed, not letting Thassarian see his expression.
But Thassarian still noticed the faint, uncontrolled tremble at the very tips of his ears. It suddenly occurred to him that if they were still among the living, Koltira's ears would probably be glowing a brilliant red right now.
"Wait." Thassarian's body moved ahead of his mind, his hand shooting out to catch hold of the high elf's cloak before he could get too far.
"I haven't said it to you yet… Koltira, Happy Winter Veil," he said, striding forward and finally retrieving the mistletoe he'd been safeguarding from the compartment. No time for magic spell. He stopped in front of Koltira and simply held the sprig aloft by its red ribbon above both their heads.
"About the mistletoe… let me tell you the real 'and.'"
--END--