(2023-03-23) A Short Family Reunion

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Author:	Jessa
Summary:	Kiekel remembers something, someone from his old life, and goes to see her. What does Granny do when she discovers one of her family is back from the dead?
Rating:	M for Mature 17+

They’re free. Kiekel, and all these other Death Knights, they’re free from Arthas’s influence. But at what cost? They’re going to be rejected everywhere they go. A human king alone won’t change anything.

The gnome walks through the thick layer of snow covering Dun Morogh, heading toward Gnomeregan, wearing his jet-black armor and helmet. Perhaps he’ll remember something more about his life when he gets there. Would it help? Was he even present when disaster struck the gnomish city? He can’t remember any of it.

He remembers things. He remembers he had a wife. He remembers how much he loved her. He remembers his work, and how much he loved it.

He doesn’t remember his past, apart from these specific aspects of his life he loved. He must have had a family, but did he love them? He must have. Then, why can’t he remember them? Why can’t he remember any of them?

As his mind wanders and his feet guide him toward his old home, Kiekel wonders. What does it change, that he had a family or not? He wouldn’t want to see them like he doesn’t want to see his wife. More specifically, he doesn’t want them to see him. Not like this. Not the monster he is now… Not that he cares, he tries to convince himself. Then who? Who could he turn to? Kiekel doesn’t want to spend his whole un-life with other monsters like him. He enjoyed meeting people, he enjoyed throwing parties and fashion shows… these death knights clearly don’t care for such things. Does he still care, though? The gnome struggles to come to terms with simple facts like that. And remembering gets even harder when this thirst overwhelms him. This terrible thirst…

Kiekel reaches Gnomeregan and sees all these irradiated leper gnomes.

---

Kiekel drops his sword, panting, and stares at Gnomeregan.

“Good old Gnomeregan…” he says, the corner of his lips curving into a smile. “Old you are, yes, good, however…”

Then it clicks. He remembers. He remembers someone from his family. Kiekel grabs his sword from the ground, and cleans and sheaths it before rushing away. Back to civilization. Back to where his people live. He knows someone! Someone he’s not ashamed to see. Someone he’s not ashamed to be seen by. As he runs, he begins remembering things. Details about her, her face, her home, her… well, her.

Kiekel recognizes her house, and knocks on the door.

“Either come in or go away! I don’t like people rappin’ on my door, makes ‘em sound like salesmen.” The door yanks open and Kiekel is glared at by a tiny old woman under a most remarkable pile of hair. Her eyes narrow. “Are you a salesman, sonny?” She hefts a staff as if debating bonking him with it. “I don’t want anything!”

Behind her is a neat and tidy home, one room that would be small to anyone larger than a gnome. There’s no fire, but there is a fireplace and a rocking chair pulled up next to it. On the bed to one side of the room is a pile of crocheted blankets, none of them done well. Needles and thread stick out of a basket beside the rocking chair, and a footstool offers what comfort it can.

“Yeah, yeah, a salesman, sure look like one…” Kiekel says, looking down at his dark armor. He removes his helmet, flipping his pink hair into a tidier style… and revealing his brand-new blue eyes. “It’s me. I’m back.”

Well cobble stacks. “Huh,” Granny says. Just in case, she tries a very careful poke of her walking sti– I mean, wizard’s staff – against the armor. “Come on in here, before Belvis Stoutnose decides to gossip. Woman can’t keep her mouth shut.” She steps aside and glares out the door. “I SEE YOU, BELVIS! THINK I WON’T TURN YOUR LEFT HAND INTO A LIZARD AGAIN? I’LL DO IT, YOU OLD BIDDY!”

Having satisfied her anger at her neighbors, Granny toddles over to the rocking chair and clambers up into it. “Shut the door, boy, don’t let all the lava in.”

Kiekel looks at the stick poking him before looking up and raising an eyebrow at Granny. No, he's another type of undead that she might be thinking of. As he hears her shouting at Belvis, Kiekel nods. That's the gnome he remembers, yes. This realization makes him sigh, but he's got no one to blame but himself. It's his own fault he remembered and sought her, specifically! He steps inside and closes the door. "I'm not a ghost, if that's what you were wondering," he lets out a brief scoff. "I'm much worse than that. There's a lot of maintenance necessary that comes with keeping a physical body."

“Ghost?” she says. “I know you’re not a ghost. You are dead though. Sort of. Think I haven’t heard of Death Knights? Seen ‘em? Didn’t expect as how one of mine would be yanked out of his grave by that upstart little whackmuffin prince. Why’d you let him do it? Huh? Miss me too much?” She giggles, still a surprisingly young sound.

There’s a plate on the table. Well, now at least. It wasn’t there before. Was there a table? Who knows. She nudges the plate toward him, a delicate little affair of pale milk glass with daisies on it. When she pulls back her hand, there’s a muffin on the plate. “Muffin?” she asks.

“To see you?” Kiekel scoffs at the idea that he became a Death Knight for her. “Well, that’s certainly as good a reason to become undead as can be, uh.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t let him do anything, though. Had I gotten a choice…” he doesn’t finish his sentence. Had he gotten a choice, he might have taken undeath instead of death. He might have not. He’s still unsure about this.

The knight grabs a muffin, seemingly unsurprised by all the magic that may or may not be happening, alongside the magic that is definitely happening around here! “Thanks,” he takes a bite. Yup. It doesn’t taste like anything… or like everything since he came back. He decides to play along and keeps eating the muffin. “To be completely honest,” he says with his mouth full. “I only just remembered you. I know you’re… Granny. I remember your personality,” he shrugs, looking for a place to sit. “That’s all.”

A chair whisks itself to him and taps him behind the knees, assuring him it’s perfectly safe to sit. “Well, that’s the important bits! Nothing wrong with your memory. You’ve been dead awhile! To be expected. You don’t, uh, want me to put you back down, do you? I may be old, but I’m not cold, you know.” A glass of milk shows up near his plate. Nothing is said about it.

Kiekel instinctively sits on the chair, not having to think about it for a second. He throws the last piece of muffin into his mouth and takes the time to chew before speaking, this time. “No, no.” He shakes his head, thinking. “I just… needed somewhere else to go than the floating fortress full of other undead monsters.”

Granny leans forward to pat the undead killing machine on the gauntleted hand. “I’ll have the guest room made up for you,” she says. Then she scowls. “But no armor in the house! Scuffs my floors and this is a rental, you know! And you’ll make yourself useful; no relative of mine is going to laze about the house reading dwarfie magazines with the fold out centers!” She sits back hard, making her chair rock as though it’s afraid she’ll get mad at it.

Which, I mean, maybe.

“You wanna be useful, you could go into Gnomeregan and get my best shawl. Wanted to go back myself but, well, combat magic’s a use-it-or-lose-it thing.” She shakes her staff in the air. “Not that I can’t put a fireball up a well-deserving nose if I want to!” She glares at Kiekel, in case he was about to suggest she could not, in fact, put a fireball up a nose.

Kiekel startles slightly as Granny puts her hand on his. He also looks surprised at her when she mentions hosting him. That’s not what he wanted when he came here, but… why not, after all? He frowns at the rules, though. “No arm–? Not that I’m against that rule, but that’s all the clothes I have left! Fuck, that’s all I have!” He sighs. “Should have remembered you a little earlier, if I have to go back to Gnomeregan, now…” He downs his glass of milk, getting up from his chair. He doesn’t seem to refute the fireball thing. He’s been a fire mage for a little bit, he knows how these things work. “Keep that fire for Belvis.”

“I didn’t mean now, boy. You just got here. I’ll get you some clothes, never you mind about that.” She peers at him. “That idiot prince didn’t improve your manners. Say thank you!” She swipes at him with her stick, aiming for his armored shoulder. She might miss. He’s a Death Knight and she’s old.

“Okay, oka–” she doesn’t miss, as Kiekel is more focused on trying to remember what her best shawl looks like. Kiekel lets out a small ‘ouch’ more from anticipation than from actually being hurt, as his armor takes the hit for him. “Thank you!” He sighs exasperatedly, “Just get me some second-hand clothes, okay? I don’t need anything new. Just a shirt and some pants” He chuckles. “I’ll be getting plenty of clothes in Gnomeregan when I go get your shawl anyway.”

“They’re all irradiated!” she barks at him. She does that a lot. “My shawl is different.” Likely an understatement. “Just sit there and accept that your family is going to take care of you. And when I see that jumped-up little human gloomy Gus, I’ll do him one right in the head, I can promise you that. Dead should be dead! None of this dragging family out of their graves. You’d think the humans could clean up their own mess!”

Um, Gnomeregan, Granny? “Uh… of course we’re all one world and we each have to do our parts,” she mumbles. Then she eyes him. “What are your plans, kid?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Laying low. I don’t want… most people to see me like this. I’ll fight that little Gloomy Gus with you, I guess.” He shakes his head. “And it’s fine. The clothes are fine. What do you think radiations would do to me, uh? Kill me?”

She snorts. “Trot around with you, irradiating everyone else. Life isn’t all about you, boy. It seems death isn’t, either.” Some of her wrinkles fade as her expression softens. Some of them. “Well, you’ve a home here while you figure out what you’re supposed to do with your unlife. At least you’ll keep the place cool in summer.” She giggles, little legs waving. Her chair rocks happily.

"Ah! Careful with the sudden changes of temperature. We wouldn't want you to catch a cold, Granny," says Kiekel, siting back on his chair. "If that irradiated shawl doesn't get you sick first."

“All right,” she says, waving her hands. “Off you get. Mind you think about your future while you’re fetching me my shawl. No relative of mine is going to be a layabout.” She ponders. “There’s a mercenary company or two that might do for you. Not mine; can’t see that nice paladin boy or Jocoza Sparkwire taking in a Death Knight, at least not for now. But if you want to fight, we can arrange for it.”

Oh. He gets up from his chair, not wanting to be her first relative to be a layabout. "Okay, I get it, I'm getting your shawl. Jeez." He pauses. "We'll see. Mercenary might be a good path, yeah, but I'll probably be going up north sooner or later."

She ponders this. “Up north. Hm.” Her chair rocks slowly, hopefully, aiding her thoughts. “Maybe. Be a fit place for you. There are other Knights up there. Be careful in Gnomeregan, kid. Those gnomes are insane. Oh, I know they can’t hurt you but one might bite you and get drool all over you.”

"Yeah," Kiekel says, scoffing, making his way towards the entrance to Granny’s home. "There's still a bunch of Death Knights with their fucking prince back there." He laughs, putting his helmet back on and opening the door. "And don't worry, Granny, something tells me I'll be fine in Gnomeregan, drool and all."

After he leaves, Granny stares at the closed door. Her chair rocks quietly, sympathetically. “Ah Kiekel,” she murmurs. “You poor child. I’m so sorry.” She doesn’t bother to wipe away her tears. They channel through the wrinkles around her eyes and fall to her shoulders.