Diederich Does Dismally with His Darling Widow
Diederich sat down at the bar and unhappily ordered a drink. He hated being in Orgrimmar. It brought back too many memories of when he'd first escaped the Lich King, but the only thing that brought him solace lately was offering his services in battle in the many contested territories the Horde struggled over. He stayed close to the battlemasters and went where he was needed whenever they offered him his next assignment. He missed the Undercity terribly, but even though there were battlemasters there as well, Orgrimmar was the only city that also had quartermasters, and he needed their equipment badly.
So in between assignments, he drank.
"Here's your 'piss water,' asshole," the bartender grunted, shoving the beer at Diederich, slopping some of it onto the bar.
Diederich handed the woman the cost plus a decent enough tip to make up for calling her beer piss water. He'd gotten good at judging how much of a tip he owed her whenever he pissed her off, which was frequent. It kept too much spit out of his drinks.
She smiled approvingly at the tip and walked off.
Diederich pushed some pale blue hair out of his face and swigged. He missed the black. His hair had gone from black to blue when he'd changed schools of training, from Unholy to Frost. He wondered idly if he'd get the red hair back that he'd had when he was alive if he changed over to the school of Blood combat, but it wasn't worth it. He didn't like that form.
"I looked cooler with black hair," he whined out loud to himself.
The woman sitting next to him visibly startled and turned to stare at him. He returned the favor. She stared harder. Diederich very nearly spit out his beer. He was staring at his wife.
Ex-wife? He figured his death had probably ended the marriage in legal terms.
"You..." she stuttered, "Excuse me. You sounded just like..."
Diederich looked down at her hand. She was still wearing the ring he'd given her. He wasn't wearing his. He hadn't had it when he... came back.
"Just like my late husband."
"I'm sorry to hear that," he muttered, not sure what else to say. He turned back to his beer and finished it. "Oi! I need more piss water!"
"Go make your own, asshole!" the bartender yelled back. He should have dropped the piss water thing the first time.
His wife was staring even harder. He played with his empty beer mug for a moment, and then looked back at her again.
"You sound exactly like him..." she said sadly. "You almost look like him, too."
"He must have been a lucky man," Diederich mumbled. "You're a beautiful woman. What're you doing in a shithole like this, anyway? You look too high-bred for some dive in Orgrimmar."
She laughed. Diederich marveled at her. She was beautiful when she laughed. He hadn't had the privilege of finding that out before.
"You're definitely not my late-husband," she said, laying a flirtatious hand on Diederich's. Diederich shivered. Her hand was so soft and warm. "He never flattered anyone."
"Sounds like he was a grade-A prick," Diederich said with a touch of self-pity.
She laughed again, her green eyes shining brightly. "A product of his up-bringing, to be fair. He couldn't have been more of a Dawnblade if he tried. They're a bit infamous for their coldness."
"Why do you still wear his ring?" Diederich blurted out. He hadn't meant to.
Aurora blinked, then smiled sadly. "He was my husband, and the father of my son. That's never gone away."
"Why haven't you remarried?"
"What a personal question," Aurora scolded.
Diederich pressed on regardless. "Surely a high-bred and beautiful woman like you has had many suitors."
"I have. But cold though he may have been, none of my gentleman callers has measured up to my husband."
Diederich grew an inch taller and immeasurably cockier instantly.
"Piss water," the bartender barked, slamming down a beer in front of Diederich and splashing a fair amount of it out. "Pay up."
Diederich fumbled for coins, his fingers actually shaking with the storm of emotions in his head. He handed the bartender far more than his lukewarm beer was worth, barely looking.
"Gonna remember I can get that much outta you, so watch your mouth," the bartender said, and sauntered off.
"So what if I was your husband?" Diederich asked hastily, ill-considered and sloppy.
"Excuse me?"
"You said I remind you of him so much. What if I am your husband? What if this is what happened to him after he died? Would you take me back?"
"You're not my husband," she laughed. But it was shaky and her eyes were troubled.
"What would you do if I was?" Diederich pressed.
"I'd demand to know why you never came to your family and told any of us that you're alive. I'd want to know why you didn't admit it as soon as you saw me just now. I'd... I'd be very angry with you."
The reminder slapped him back into reality. A fantasy life had seized his imagination, a life in which he went home to his wife and son and lived happily ever after. But now the bitter pill of truth had been thrust down his throat and he swallowed it wretchedly. His mother and father had outright refused him when he'd gone home. They would make his life, his wife's life, and his son's life absolutely hellish if they dared try to impose a Death Knight onto the more pride-worthy memory of their high-ranked, well-respected son who had died fighting Arthas, not some betrayal who had knelt to him instead. They wanted nothing to do with the monstrosity that had been raised in their son's dead body, and would not allow him to sully their good name. They had the power to back up their threats.
Diederich took another swig of beer and turned a despicable smile on his wife. "I just wondered if it'd help me get laid. You really are a good looking woman and if you've been saving yourself all this time for the memory of your husband I bet you're good and tight by now."
Aurora gaped at Diederich in open-mouthed fury. She really had grown more of a spine since he'd died. Independence had been good for her these five years.
"You disgusting, Scourge-riddled dog," she spat. And there it was, what she really thought about Death Knights to boot. It was good he hadn't tried to sully her remaining warm feelings toward her husband, either.
"Can you blame a man for trying?" Diederich shrugged, giving her the most heartless smirk he could muster.
Aurora stumbled off her stool. "That look," she laughed, a nervous, panicky sound. "You really are my husband, aren't you? You didn't really look like him until now."
"I'm not your husband, you stupid cunt. And unless you're putting out tonight, you're wasting my time." He turned away, back toward his beer, and finished it while she ran out of the bar, audibly forcing herself not to cry.
Diederich threw his empty beer glass hard, shattering it on the bartenders side, a few feet from where she stood pouring someone else's drink.
"That refill's gonna cost you big time, asshole," the bartender yelled.
Diederich laid his head on the bar and waited for her to bring it.