HI all,

Here is chapter one of my attempt to write a World of Warcraft fic.

It is an AU telling of BFA. So obviously it does not follow canon. I will try to keep to lore as much as possible, but some things may change like classes etc.

Flames are not welcome, but constructive feedback or ideas are. I do not claim to know the entirety of canon, so I will do my best to research but if I error on something I apologise.

Any who, I will answer questions or respond to comments when I can. If I cannot do so without spoilers I will let you know in an AN. Any ways I hope you enjoy my first chapter. IT is shorter then what I would normally write of around 7k of words.

Chapter one.

Being one of his first, true battles was a surreal experience, one he doubted he would ever forget in his life. The chaos, controlled by the orders of both faction's leaders, the blood that darkened the earth to a rusty red ran like fine wine at a dinner party. The bodies, faces forever frozen to express their horror, fear, anger, pain or whatever emotion they had felt before dying was a haunting sight.

Books often romanticised war, bards wove glorious tales of how great heroes defied the odds and vanquished great evils. The young King of Stormwind couldn't help but want to band minstrels and bards and any other who would preach about the heroics of war. There was nothing glorious to the fighting going on around him. There was no honour in this unwanted fight that was sure to spurn the hatred further between the Horde and the Alliance.

And all for what? Because of a clash of culture and philosophy? Because neither side wanted to try to lay down their arms and extend an offer to learn more about each other. He retracted his blade from an Orc, another loss that could and should have been prevented.

I thought becoming a Paladin meant I could aid people, not bring death. Anduin thought to himself as he knelt down to close the terror-filled eyes of the Orc he slew. "Be at peace, warrior." He murmured over the roar of steel clashing against steel and the shouts of the warriors trying to overpower their foe.

Under his lion shaped helmet, he cast a gaze about. The Battle for Lordaeron was turning into a nightmare, a hellish campaign that was going to cost the victor greatly. He sighed, the warmth of his breath fanning over his face as it couldn't escape quick enough through the small air vent holes near his mouth. Anduin grimaced, he was sweaty, and tired and he was so angry. Why couldn't Sylvannas see reason? Why did she have to bring about another war when they were not even recovering from the Burning Legion's latest invasion?

Did her descent into death, from noble ranger to death bringer drive her insane? Did Arthas truly destroy the noble heart that one pounded under the proud Windrunner's breast? Did she not care that the planet was on the verge of death, and all life and undead were going to cease to exist unless they find a way to mend the wound Sargeras had caused.

Glancing around again, Anduin spotted a Dwarf hunter who was about to be overrun by a Taurren Shaman. Acting on instinct, a golden glimmer enveloped his right hand. The unsuspecting Taurren crumbled when a Judgement hammer was hurled by the High King, his chest caving in like a walnut would to a hammer.

Breathing deeply, The King of Stormwind fought for his emotions as he tried to work out a way to end this fight. A fight he never wanted for a city that was dilapidated, and possibly unable to ever be inhabited by anyone or thing other than the Forsaken. The Forsaken, the very image of the gangly, grey skinned race immediately conjured busty ranger to appear in his mind. He furrowed his brow as he brought his Greatsword up to parry a blow from a Warhammer, the Bloodelf he clashed with was young looking, but then Elves always seemed to have the youthful trait.

A Forsaken warrior came into his view, his large axe gleaming under the noonday sun as the rotting fleshy-abomination charged the young High King. Anduin sighed, brought his bastard sword and lion-insignia great shield to bear as the Forsaken leapt high into the air, intending to make a name for himself by killing the boy-king. Martial training kicked in, the blonde haired young man took four steps back as dust exploded upward from the plate-armour weighted impact.

Anduind didn't give the undead time to react, he charged forward with his shield like a battering ram. The Forsaken was easily knocked onto his backside, axe being flung from his gauntlet-hand. A quick swipe of the bastard sword at the weak point of where the Forsaken's helmet didn't cover his neck, it's head rolled a foot away nearly causing Anduin to vomit at the rotted muscle and spine that dangled from the Forsaken's head.

Shaking his head, the Forsaken was an impure creature, a blight on the living. They were unnatural creatures birthed from a great evil. Anduin didn't pretend he understood them, his training as a Priest then as a Paladin had him believing these creatures were evil, a sin against the Light that needed to be destroyed. But, he wasn't sure if he hated them or not and that was why he was so torn, he did not hate the Horde.

Casting another gaze around the battlefield that waged just before Lordaeron's gates, that is when he spotted her. The reason for this war stood on a broken rampart, as glorious looking as one could ever hope to be. Her prized bow clutched in her left hand as she stood over the field of battle, ever the warrior she is. The red cape she wore flapped wildly in the breeze, Lady Sylvanas Windrunner cast a striking figure. One could not help but be both awed and fearful of her intimidating form.

She stood like a sentry over her city, daring anyone to try to enter the gates of Lordaeron. Her glowing eyes sending a warning and challenge to any who would be so foolish to try to take on the warrior she had become.

How he wishes he could approach her, tell her to keep the damn city if it meant ending the war and this cycle of hatred. But no, Anduin was not so foolish to think surrender was an option because the Alliance wanted her dead. Sylvanas raised her bow, the arrow flew straight and true into a human priest, exploding out of the Priest's back and breaking upon the ground.

A burning anger rose in Anduin, the Light whispered to him, telling him he needed to end this fight, to end the slaughter and death and destruction raging all around him.

Lordaeron should be left alone, lets its souls rest in peace. Why is this city tormented so by the drums of war?

Spurned by the anger, by the want to end this hatred and chaos, in his mind Sylvanas was turning into another Arthas. How the very thought of the former Paladin churned such a hatred within the young King of the Alliance. The very name of the disgraced prince was like acid on his tongue. It was because of Arthas's actions that this war was being fought, and it was because of the creation of the dead prince that Anduin began to charge forward to end this fight. He shouted to his soldiers to charge forward, The infantry closest began to advance. Night Elves, Dwarves and a few humans began to follow their king's rallying charge.

The grinding orchestra of weapon clashing against weapon was a disgruntling symphony that would torment Anduin for nights to come. Two more enemies fell under his bastard sword and shield before he found himself suddenly face to face with High Overlord Varok Saurfangs Reaper who guarded the access to his Warchief. The Orc was a massive amongst his own kind, his axe equally intimidating. Anduin exhaled slowly, he was no so confident in his ability to topple the giant of a warrior by himself.

His eyes flicked up briefly, he could see her staring down at him, her pale lips curled into a cruel smirk. She expected him to fall before Saurfang no doubt. Lowering his eyes back down to his opponent, the pacifist within forced him to plead with the proud man before him.

"Does your honour dictate that we all die here today?"

Anduin couldn't really gauge the expression Saurfang wore, al Orcs to him seemed to have a snarl forever marring their face.

"You know nothing of honour boy! You walk in the shadow of your father, pretending to be a warrior, to know of honour. You know not what the word means."

Stormy blue eyes narrowed at being compared to his father, of being considered that he was naïve. Irritation colouring his usually calm voice. "Honou, you claim I do not know what honour is? Honour is not waging a useless war, Honour is knowing when you are defeated and you accept it graciously."

"Defeated?!" Vorok barked with mirth and contempt. "I am not defeated human, unless you think you can best me?"

Gripping the leather-wrapped hilt of his sword Anduin raised his shield as he readied himself for the fight of his life. "There is only one way to find out."

A snort not too dissimilar from a pigs snort came from Saurfang who raised his own Reaper, accepting the challenge of the young King. No amount of training could ever prepare Anduin for the sheer strength and Power of Verok. He felt his shield arm go numb when the axe crashed against his shield, he felt his body pushed two feet back from the sheer force behind the arcing swing. It was a wonder his arm was not broken.

Sucking in a breath, the Young-Lion had no time to counter, only to parry a lightning fast jab of the axe's head, with surprising swiftness from the Orc, Anduin was sent crashing to the ground by a kick to his legs. Hitting the ground, he lost his lion helmet, revealing his young face was coated with sweat, his blond curly hair clung to his face.

"You are weak boy." Varok sneered as he pinned Anduin to the ground by placing a heavy foot onto his breast plate. "You humans break too easy." He cajoled and raised his Reaper high into the air readying the killing blow that would grant him honour.

Anduin quickly let go of his sword, he called to the light to come to his aid. The Reaper-axe crashed down hard on the Blessing of Protection he summoned. The axe had come just an inch from splitting the younger man's face into two. Varok was shocked when his axe was stopped by the Paladin's shield, the confusion was Anduin needed. Sloppily, he summoned a hammer of blue light that he quickly flung into the Orc above him, the axe was dropped as the paralyzing affect was immediate, Saurfang was stunned for five seconds.

The Judgement-hammer Anduin summoned then threw at Saurfang's chest wasn't powerful enough to kill the mighty orc, the full strength of the light-infused attack was weakened from Anduin's exhaustion. It was enough though, to break a rib or two, and knock the Orc from his triumphant perch above the Boy king. Anduin didn't spare much thought to the noble, but defeated Orc that his infantry quickly shackled. An Arrow being shot into the ground as he rose to his feet drew his eyes. He saw Sylvanas stare at him with those intense rubies of hers before she fled inside the castle, he watched the direction she took.

Making sure Saurfang was going to be taken prisoner and not killed, he ordered his man to guard the castle's entrance. Grabbing his sword, he ordered his men not to follow him as he ventured into Lordaeron's throne room.

VVV

Were it minutes or hours since the battle had commenced? The Young-lion had lost track of the time as he navigated the corridors of a Kingdom he had only read and heard about. The halls were full of dirt and dust, mould stained once pristine marbled floors and stone walls. To say he was a tad frightened would be an understatement. As he came around another bend, a rat running across the torn and dirty rug startling him.

The golden-haired youth swore he could hear the groans of the souls that once lived here. He wished he could have visited this kingdom in all its splendour glory, sadly those golden times were forever lost like sands in an hour glass. No longer was this bastion a symbol of the might and strength of the human spirit. It had been tainted long ago by the actions of the damned prince, death permeated through the crumbling stone walls.

Thankfully, Anduin didn't have far to travel far, he finally caught up to the Banshee Queen in the once beautiful throne room – where she sat waiting for him on an old throne. He was taken back, not expecting to have found his enemy so soon. His brow crinkled as he took in the sight of the Warchief, sitting so provocatively on her throne, one leg bent and resting on the edge of the overly large seat, the other tucked under her body while she rested herself on her right elbow.

She wore a predatory smirk, her eyes piercing the dimly lit room, for a moment Anduin was afraid of those eyes that seemed to pierce right through him, he suddenly felt naked as she tilted her head – un-blinking in her study of him.

She truly does look like a Queen, albeit an insane one at that.

The blood was still rushing through his veins, the exhilaration of combat still made his heart hammer like a war drum against his ribs. The light still was crackling at his fingertips, ready to be unleashed at any who challenged the young knight. His blood-caked sword and shield were clenched in either hand, waiting for the call of a challenge – like so many times today.

Letting out a slow breath he spoke with as much courage and conviction as he could. "Lady Sylvanas Windrunner." He hoped his voice didn't break, his throat was already sore from having had to shout orders all day, at least that is what he tried to chalk up his sudden case of nervousness to. "I give you the chance to surrender, to call off this war. Do so, and I promise you will not be harmed and will be given a fair trial."

Her taunting laugh was an answer of its own accord. "Oh, you are an honourable one little cub." She grinned, her voice full of mocking.

There, that grin, those eyes that stared at him with an intensity robbed the moisture from his mouth, it made him sweat, and nervous and a bit afraid. And yet, he found himself unyielding to the intensity that made her so feared. He took a step forward, and another, slow and cautious, but forward – his eyes never leaving hers, his weapon and shield remaining at his side.

"Your answer Warchief?" his voice his tone and how he said her name drew a snarl and fury from the beautiful ranger. She couldn't believe he was being serious in his proposal.

She stood from her throne, having snatched her bow and an arrow from her quiver with such graceful speed. But Anduin was already sprinting toward her, his shield raised to block her arrow that she loosed, the arrow, fuelled by her dark power, ricocheted off his shield and launched skyward. The heaviness of his armour fuelled their collision, their bodies smashing through throne room as the roof collapsed where they had stood. Instinct and training took over, Anduin raised his shield just in time to block both he and Sylvanas from falling debris.

When the young king thought it to be safe enough, he dropped his shield next to himself and turned his head. Stormy blue eyes looked down at the unconscious woman underneath him, he felt his cheeks warm at the intimacy of their position. He titled his head, amazed and befuddled by the woman. Awake she was a nightmare of a warrior, unconscious she looked so peaceful. Despite the dire situation he was in, he couldn't help but to admire the deathly beauty under him. She was strong to be sure, he could see the taut muscle her clothing did not conceal.

She had full lips, and a dark, but winsome face that was forever ageless. Pulling his eyes from her face he took in her odd armour, her bustier did little to hide her generous bosom that were held resistant to gravity by the leathers she wore. He felt guilty and shamed for ogling her while she could not defend herself, he forced his admiring eyes back onto her face. He became worried when he saw rivets of blood dripping from her left ear. As gently as he could, he moved her strands of hair from her eyes, briefly his mind wondered if her hair would feel soft if he removed his gauntlets. Shaking his head free of the traitorous thoughts, he spotted a gash near her temple.

Gently he pressed on her temple, not the best of ways to examine if she had fractured her skull. Happy there was nothing he could feel broken, he used tore at her cape, using the thick cloth to dab at the wound.

Here I have the chance to kill her and end this war, and yet I am concerned for her wellbeing. He mused sardonically. Still, he cleaned the injury as best as he could, as he wasn't sure if Forsaken could get infections or not considering they could be poisoned. He grinned, wouldn't it be funny if a Forsaken could get an infection considering they were not the most hygienic of species.

Finished with his mending, he glanced skyward, noticing what had remained of the roof had been what had caved in on them.

Her arrow probably exploded or hit a weakened part of the roof.

Shaking his head in disbelief, he noticed the doorway to the room was intact as was the flooring which was a good sign. He could his hear his men shouting his name from the corridors. He smiled ruefully, he was probably going to get a lecture from Greymane, Turalyon, Alleria, and everyone else on his council for being so reckless.

But, it was for a good cause right? His heeding the danger and charging into the darkness was worth the possible cost of his life…after all, he turned his gaze down to Sylvanas, they had won the battle right? He should feel elated, proud and happy he had won. And yet, he couldn't help the sinking feeling that all would not be well despite the Alliance's victory.

Shaking his head, he decided not to dwell on why he was suddenly feeling apprehensive. Not that he was given much time as Greymane in his furrier form rushed into the throne room. "My King, are you o….is that the Banshee Queen?"

Anduin Wrynn quietly sighed, only Sylvanas and the Forsaken could rip such a snarl from the Worgen. "Yeah, she is hurt and needs medical attention." He commanded as one of his other soldiers, a Night Elf had rushed over to help the King stand.

Greymane's grey eyes stared at Sylvanas, his hatred fully worn like a Hallow's End mask. "Treat her? Sire she should be killed immediately, end the war here and now."

Giving his thanks to the Night Elf warrior, Anduin rotated his right shoulder to relieve the cramping, the days battle was quickly catching up as his adrenaline began to dissipate. Kneeling down, the High King of the Alliance ignored Genn's demand of execution, and gently with a tenderness that made all the soldiers who had filed into the room stare in wonder, he lifted Sylvanas into his arms.

Wow, she is lighter then I expected. I wonder if all High Elves are this light?

"Genn!" he barked as the Worgen grabbed his shoulder. He turned his stormy eyes upon the white-furry face of the now taller man. "She deserves to be treated with the respect a prisoner of war deserves. She will have her injuries treated, we all need our injuries treated!

His eyes flashed with a golden flicker of the power he possessed. A warning to the Gilnean man. Genn's snout crinkled in disgust, shaking his head he huffed and marched out of the throne, leaving eight soldiers and their king in silence.

"So, what do we do with her? The battle is still going on outside." A Dwarf asked when nobody made a motion to move or speak.

"I uh," King Wrynn began to say when Jaina Proudmore materialised from the dark corridor like a spectre. "Jaina…" he began to, but she interrupted him.

"Genn told me, I do not agree with your decision to keep her alive, but you are my King. I will create a portal to Stormwind." She tersely said, Anduin nodded, and cast a one more sweeping glance around the room before he entered the portal to his kingdom, he couldn't help but wonder if he was making the right decision or not.

Right, I will try to post one chapter a week if I can. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Reviews welcome or ideas.