A/N: Hello, my beautiful and lovely readers. Somewhere in between Atonement and all of my oneshots (and, you know, sometimes I do actually try to play WoW….) I wound up with this. Which was going to be hella shorter than it ended up, but I just kept thinking of all these scenes that needed to be added. We're just going to call this a two shot. The prompt was 'bitter silence'. Warning: shameless mentions of Arthas, because I can.
Anyway, leave me some love, or some new submissions, or just a hey. Or don't, that's alright too. I'll assume it's because you're shy, not because you hate me xx love, always. -Skye
...
The only thing worse than complete and utter silence was the fact that she has taken it upon herself to fill it with ceaselessly drumming her nails against the wooden surface of the table, and the only thing worse than that was that she insisted on doing it in this irregular pattern, so every time he got used to the constant thudthudthuding noise, she would change the beat entirely and remind him of the unnecessary sound all over again.
No, Bolvar decided quickly. The absolute worst part of it all was that every single time he worked up the courage to tell her to stop, because it was impossible to have a single coherent thought when she was doing everything in her power just to make him aware of her presence- as if he could ever forget- she would shoot him the deadliest glare imaginable, like she was just daring him to say something.
After what felt like an eternity, he finally lost his patience. This was an impressive feat in itself, as he was generally known for that particular trait. He couldn't help but feel like she looked a bit too proud of herself, too, when he finally brought his fist down against the table so hard the flames of the candles upon it wavered.
"Dammit, Katrana," he growled. "Knock it off."
She didn't even flinch. Just watched him with a single brow arched, and finally, finally, lifted her hand from the table, bringing it before her face instead to examine her long nails like they were the most fascinating thing she had ever seen.
Bolvar stared at her openly for a few more moments before finally tearing his gaze away, instead leaning back into his chair and crossing his arms tightly over his chest. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, took a deep breath. All the while, he swore he could feel her piercing gaze upon him, watching, watching, a predator anticipating the moment she could pounce.
He opened his eyes. She was looking away after all.
A long hiss of a sigh escaped his lungs, shattered the silence that had once again gathered between them. "What are we going to do?" He muttered, wishing he didn't sound so utterly defeated. Wishing he sounded like he had even the slightest idea of how to handle this disaster that had decided to throw itself right in his lap.
"I don't know," Katrana replied, except she managed to say this with that same air of confidence with which she did everything, that self assuredness she wore like a cloak, and so it left him wondering if maybe she did know, and was just playing along so as to make him feel less dejected and pathetic than he was. "I imagine," she added, stealing a glance at him from the corner of her eye, "that it will involve quite a bit of paperwork."
This comment earned yet another scowl, which made her lips twitch at the corners. She had to turn away again, allowing her hair to form a shield between them, for now was hardly the time or place.
"This is serious," he snapped, almost as though he could read her thoughts. "We are royally fu-"
"We have managed this far," she interrupted harshly. "He was useless anyway, really, so I don't see how this is any different."
Now it was his turn to glare at her, a deadly fire burning in his dark eyes. "Don't you dare," he hissed. "Don't you dare say a damn thing against him, not now." Not if what she had told him was true, if he was really gone...
If Katrana was bothered at all by his biting remark or harsh tone, she didn't show it in the slightest. In fact, she had been unnervingly composed through this whole ordeal, never giving away even a small show of concern or worry as to what they were supposed to do to keep all of Stormwind from going straight to hell.
Bolvar, on the other hand, was probably unhinged enough for the both of them. Even if he managed to look past political discord that was likely to follow this catastrophe, the fact still remained that Varian Wrynn had been one of his closest friends. Being only five years older than the young king, Bolvar had been a part of Varian's life for almost as long as he could recall. He had stood at his side through the darkest of times, the most difficult of struggles. He had been there to look after him in Lordaeron, when Varian was but a child, trying so very hard to be brave, to shoulder the weight of the kingdom that had crumbled into his lap. He had been there to witness his marriage to Tiffin. He had been there to hold Prince Anduin the day that he was born. He had been there to try and calm all of Varian's rage, all of his agonizing ache left in the wake of Tiffin's death.
And now, it seemed that these flickering memories were all that Bolvar had left, because Varian Wrynn was gone.
For the second time since he had collapsed into the chair, the paladin looked to the woman across from him and murmured lowly, "What are we going to do?" Whatever it was, they would need to do it quickly. In the absence of their king, Stormwind was left with a gaping power void, and if they didn't find a way to close it, chaos was going to ensue.
Katrana was silent for a few long moments. Bolvar tried to catch her amber eyes, tried to pull even the smallest sign of emotion from her, but as always she was a blank slate, desolate of anything except perhaps some careful calculation.
After a while she leaned forward onto her elbows, a predator closing the distance between herself and her prey, folding her hands before her. "The House of Nobles has already convened," she informed him. There was the slightest trace of irritation in her voice, probably the only emotion he had ever seen her give away. "We wish to implement you as Regent-Lord in King Wrynn's absence."
His reply was instant, a single, snapping, "No."
Katrana leaned back once more, giving him a hard stare. She didn't speak, but she didn't need to. Her entire demeanor told him all that he needed to know. This wasn't up for debate, not really. Bolvar felt all of the air slowly seeping from his lungs. "I'm not a politician," he reasoned. "And I..." And he didn't want to rise up and replace his best friend like some power hungry noble.
But if he didn't, then someone else would. The throne, the crown, the kingdom would fall into the hands of someone who only wishes to further their own goals, and all that Varian had worked to rebuild would fall into pieces all over again. And Anduin-
-oh, Light, how was he supposed to tell Anduin?
Bolvar clenched his hand into a tight fist, until his knuckles turned white, felt his nails digging into the skin of his palms. Katrana tilted her head to the side a little, watching, waiting. When still he did not say anything, when the silence had dragged on for far too long, she finally spoke up. "It is because you are not a politician that we consider you most fitting for the job, Highlord. The people of Stormwind need a symbol of hope and perseverance, someone who can guide them through these dark times." Then, softer, a tone so soft he would have never imagined her to be capable of it, she added, "Varian was your friend, no? You owe it to him, then."
Bolvar lifted his dark brown eyes to lock with hers at last. "Alright," he breathed. "Just tell me what to do."
...
Katrana couldn't be sure just how long she had been standing there, leaning against the bare stone wall with her arms crossed tightly over her chest and a deep scowl etched into her features, but she knew that it had been far too long, that there was no reason for this to be taking up so much of her time.
"I don't understand," Anduin said for what must have been at least the thousandth time, his small voice breaking through the silence. The air was so thick with tension Katrana swore she could feel it choking her, a heavy weight that pressed in on her chest. She didn't like it at all, whatever this feeling was that she wasn't even sure how to identify, and she didn't like the way Bolvar kept glancing in her direction every few seconds like he was expecting her expression to had changed to something at least somewhat comforting.
Whatever he was looking for in her golden eyes, he didn't find it, and so instead he turned his focus back to the boy. Anduin was sitting on the edge of his bed, small fingers clutching the heavy comforter, wispy blonde hair falling forward into his bright blue eyes as he stared at the man kneeling before him.
"I don't understand," he mumbled, his bottom lip trembling. "Where is my father? You said he would be back by now. You said he would only be gone a little while, Uncle Bolvar. Just a little while, not like Mommy."
Bolvar felt his heart constricting in his chest with each word the child spoke. He moved his hands to rest them atop Anduin's own, felt them trembling under his touch, saw the tears welling up in the corner of his wide eyes. In a world so full of pain and loss and suffering, Anduin was like a beacon of innocence, and now Bolvar had to be the one to come before him and destroy that. "He might still come back, Anduin," Bolvar said quietly, except even he could tell that the words were lacking the real conviction the boy needed to hear just then. "He's very brave, you know, and very strong. We are going to do everything in our power to find your father. I promise."
From where she stood, Katrana narrowed her eyes as she watched the scene unfolding before her. She didn't understand why Bolvar was trying to soften this, trying to make it into something easier. It would only do Anduin more harm in the long run, when Varian was never found. The young prince would cling to this hope, and it would be the very thing that ruined him. All of these emotions the humans seemed so insistent on carrying around were nothing but a weakness, a plague that held them back, brought them down, made them so much easier to crush. She had half a mind to open her mouth and snap that that king was dead and Anduin might as well just accept that fact and move on, but something about the way the boy stared at Bolvar like he held all the answers in the world made her bite her tongue.
And then, next thing she knew, Anduin's tears had finally broken free. They rolled down his flushed cheeks in wet, ugly rivulets, coating his face and dripping off his chin to fall and collide with the skin of Bolvar's forearms. His sobs were echoing through the chambers, bouncing off the high ceilings and stoned walls, reverberating and ringing in Katrana's ears, and she found herself unable to fully block them out. The blonde quivered, shook, and at last tumbled forward into Bolvar's chest.
The dark haired man quickly shifted his position so that he was sitting on the floor, cradling Anduin's body against his chest. Katrana watched with a slight crease in her brow as Bolvar slowly rocked him back and forth, pushed his matted hair from his face with calloused fingertips, shushed him and whispered meaningless words she didn't care to strain herself to hear. And all the while, Anduin cried and cried and cried, until Katrana found herself turning sharply, excusing herself in a nearly inaudible voice, and scurrying from the room. She moved quickly through the corridors of the great keep, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, until she made it far enough away that she could no longer hear the way Anduin sobbed and pleaded for his father.
…
"Stand up straight, Anduin."
Jaina Proudmoore did her best to muster a smile as her slender fingers smoothed out the creases and wrinkles in Anduin's clothes, tugging the tunic down and adjusting the navy and gold sash that hung around his small frame. Each time as managed to make him look presentable, he would wriggle away from her, push his own hand through his mess of blonde hair, or yank at his clothes and displace them all over again. Jaina had lost her patience some time ago, but with the way his silent tears stained his cheeks, the occasional hiccupping cry escaping his lungs, she couldn't bring herself to scold him.
She finally decided that this was the best she was going to get. She couldn't blame him, of course, not in the slightest. This whole thing was hard enough for all of them, and she couldn't even begin to imagine how it must have been hurting the poor child, as if he needed any more grief in his life. He had already lost his mother, and for most of Anduin's life, Varian had been emotionally inaccessible. Jaina herself had been far away in Theramore, leaving Anduin with little more than Bolvar to tend to him.
She glanced over her shoulder at the paladin now, who had been keeping a silent watch over them both from the corner of the room, dressed in his full armor and draped in the Stormwind tabard. She had known him more in the years of her innocent youth, but the passing of time and the expansive distance of the Great Sea had left them little more than familiar strangers. Still, Jaina thought, she could have never met him in all her life and she still would have been able to see the sheer exhaustion in his eyes and the dark shadows that surrounded them. The past few days had been hard on everyone, but especially him, and Jaina felt a swell of sympathy rise in her chest.
Turning back to Anduin again, the young mage placed her hand against his cheek, her thumb moving idly back and forth in what she hoped to be a calming gesture. "There," she murmured gently. "You will make a fine king, Anduin."
The boy yanked his head away roughly from her touch, brows furrowing and arms crossing over his chest. "I don't want to be king," he snapped, and although the words were harsh, they were driven not by anger, but by a deep sadness, and she could see it in his azure eyes. "I want my father back."
Jaina bit down at the insides of her cheeks, tried to gather what little composure she had left. "I know, little one, but-"
"Your father is gone," a new, icy voice interrupted her, slicing through the air like a jagged knife. Anduin's eyes went wide, and Jaina swore she saw him tremble as his head whirled around to face the doorway. Jaina's own gaze followed his, falling onto a lithe, dark haired woman slouching against the doorframe.
From where he had stood in the corner, watching over the prince and Lady Proudmoore, Bolvar threw the sharpest glare he could manage in Katrana's direction. "Lady Prestor," he hissed through gritted teeth. "You are out of line."
Jaina remained rigidly motionless, suddenly overly aware of each second that dragged past them, of the way the other woman's unnaturally glowing eyes flitted back and forth between Anduin and Bolvar, both of whom stared back at her. Nobody dared to breathe, let alone make a move, not even Jaina herself, until at last the woman bowed her eyes, though only slightly, and without ever taking her amber eyes off of Bolvar. "Of course," she replied quietly, her tone so deadly calm and dripping with traces of malice that made even the archmage, who had certainly seen her fair share of treachery and monsters, want to shiver. "My apologies, Regent. I meant no disrespect. I only wished to remind you that we are pressed for time. It would be a shame for the young king to keep his people waiting."
Bolvar held her gaze for as long as he could, but ultimately looked away, refocused his attention on Anduin. He forced his lips up into a smile, but it wasn't enough to conceal the heavy weight he now found himself shouldering. "Ready, kiddo?"
Anduin didn't speak, just dropped his gaze to the ground and clutched at Jaina's arm, moving closer to her as though trying to use her as a shield from the rest of the world. Bolvar just barely managed to stifle a sigh. Of course he wasn't ready. He was ten years old, and he was meant to inherit an entire kingdom, one that was far from well off in the first place. He was no more ready than Varian had been when he was a child. Hell, he was no more ready than Bolvar himself was, and the paladin had fought more battles than he cared to remember. Somehow, though, he had the distinct feeling that nothing he had ever encountered in the war against the orcs would have prepared him for the completely different front that was political warfare.
Jaina rose to her feet, taking Anduin's hand in her own and leading him towards the door. The unlikely group made their way out into the corridor, with Katrana leading the way and the other two flanking the prince- soon to be king. Bolvar reached down to place his hand onto Anduin's shoulder, giving a small, reassuring squeeze. "It's going to be alright," he said gently, and although he had meant the words for the child, he found that needed to hear them just as much.
…
The ceremony had dragged on endlessly, from the time the sun hung high above the city and bathed it all in a golden glow until it was threatening to disappear below the horizon. Bolvar had apparently forgotten just how long a coronation lasted, either because he had repressed the memories of his total and utter boredom, or because he, Varian and Arthas had been so incredibly intoxicated after the elder Wrynn's own ceremony, he had simply lost all memories of it.
Now that they had finally made it back to the keep, Bolvar was almost wishing he was still at the Cathedral, because at least there he had been able to find a few blessed moments of peace- well, more than a few, but it was still likely an improvement from this whole new form of torment. Katrana had taken it upon itself to organize some grand party in honor of the newly crowned king of Stormwind. The grand ballroom, which had remained entirely untouched in all the years that had passed since the death of Queen Tiffin, was finally opened up. Every inch of it was decorated in the royal colors, and the entire room was filled with dignitaries and nobles and official allies of the kingdom.
At the head of it all sat Anduin, slumped in a chair far too large for him and struggling to keep his eyes open as he stared blankly at the food laid out before him. A few loose locks of blonde hair fell forward into his face; the rest were held back by the golden crown that now encircled his head. Anduin had felt its continuous weight since the moment it had been placed upon him. The more he tried to ignore it, the more aware of it he seemed to become, and so he found himself slouching down a little more and wrapping his arms around his chest just to keep himself in a single piece.
"You haven't touched your food, kiddo," Bolvar said softly, leaning in towards the child from his own seat at his right hand.
Anduin didn't even bother to glance up in his direction. "I'm not hungry."
From the other side of the table, Jaina tucked a strand of her own hair behind her ear, wishing idly that the gown she had donned would allow her to breathe a little more, because the tension in the room was absolutely stifling. "Anduin, dear, please try-"
"Is this to be my life now?" He blurted suddenly, so sudden that both Jaina and Bolvar flinched and a few nearby people glanced in their direction. Anduin straightened up, his small hands bunching into fists as his blue eyes flitted between the two. "Everyone always telling me what to do? How I am meant to live my life? I don't want to be at this stupid party! I want my father to come home. And I said I'm not hungry!"
Jaina's widened eyes strayed to Bolvar's face. Neither of them dared speak again. It wasn't his fault, she thought. It had been a long day for all of them, and he was just a child. He couldn't be expected to act the part of the perfect noble, to play the games of politics and put on a brave face when inside he was so clearly crumbling apart. She herself recalled her own days spent in Lordaeron, trying to impress the nobles of court, trying to prove that she was worthy of the affection of their golden prince.
Her painful memories were cut short when a vaguely familiar voice interrupted the silence left in the wake of Anduin's outburst. Katrana seemed to appear from thin air, a small smile on her plush lips and her hip jutted out to the side. "Evening, Regent," she greeted Bolvar, who only gave a small nod in reply. If she was offended, she did a great job of hiding it. The paladin didn't know her well, aside from what bits and pieces he had gathered from Varian, but so far as he could tell she was excellent at pretending. He couldn't help but wonder what exactly it was she was trying so hard to conceal behind her flawless facade.
"If I may," Katrana said then. "I would like to borrow our guest of honor for a few moments. There are some people who would speak with him."
Bolvar had no sooner opened his mouth to suggest that now was far from the best time for Anduin to be speaking to anyone on any sort of official grounds, than Anduin himself had slid from his chair and risen to his feet. He stumbled a little from sheer exhaustion, but quickly managed to pull himself together, smoothing out his clothes before turning towards the noble woman. "Alright," he said, but the word was mostly swallowed up in the sudden yawn that escaped his lungs. He glanced back at Bolvar, who offered him the most reassuring look he could summon up. Anduin replied with the faintest trace of a smile, or at least the closest Bolvar had seen from him in days. "I am going to make my father proud," Anduin said simply, and then he turned away and allowed Katrana to lead him into the crowds of people.
A few silent moments passed between himself and Jaina, before the mage finally let out a small sigh. "Poor thing," she mumbled. "Such a burden for one so young."
Bolvar gave a small nod in reply. His chocolate brown eyes sifted through the masses until he spotted Anduin once more. The prince- king, he amended himself- was craning his neck to look up at some important person or other, Bolvar wasn't sure who, and Katrana had her long fingers gripping onto his shoulder as if to keep him from toppling over right in the middle of the room.
Jaina must have followed his gaze, for a moment later she asked, "Who is that woman?"
Bolvar pulled his brows together in a slight frown. "Katrana Prestor," he answered. "She is one of the noblewomen on the council, and..." He trailed off, his frown deepening further as he realized that was the extent of knowledge he possessed on the woman. He realized that he didn't know a thing about any of the nobles, really, aside from the few drunken slurs Varian would give from time to time, none of which Bolvar deemed suitable to repeat in front of the Lady of Theramore.
After a few silent seconds, the paladin added, "I believe her father was an advisor to King Terenas, during the second war." He left it at that, stealing a glance at the young mage, making sure he had not crossed some invisible boundary by mentioning the former kingdom of Lordaeron. But Jaina's expression had not changed, and so he allowed himself to relax a little.
Bolvar continued to watch the scene before him, feeling almost as though he was watching a play, some grand over the top performance of a great tragedy steeped in decadence. Surely that was all, just a play from which he could leave and then return home, and in the morning he would wake to find everything back to normal. He blinked hard a few times, trying to make the colors and bodies and music all swirl together until it had vanished entirely, but it wasn't fading, and it wasn't shifting, and it wasn't getting better.
"...just something about her," Jaina was saying, but Bolvar only half heard her over the sound of his chair scraping against the stone floor as he pushed it roughly away from the table. Everything was spinning under the sudden awareness of just what was happening, of the mess he had found himself tangled into. Across the ballroom, Katrana was laughing, and he swore he could hear it clear as day over all of the other sounds, and it was cold and humorless and haunting, and the next thing he knew he was excusing himself and making his way out of the ballroom as quickly as he could.
He didn't stop until he had reached the garden terrace, colliding with one of the grey pillars and gripping it tightly, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession with each breath he sucked in, his pathetic attempts at calming his own swelling panic. Before him, the city sprawled out under the dark blanket of night, all the people of Stormwind safe in their homes. It was his job to protect them now, to keep them from harm. It was his job to look after them, and whether he had asked for this or not, he was going to give it his all, because he owed it to Varian to hold it together until they found him.
If they found him, he thought, but quickly pushed that notion aside. Varian was a fighter. He would survive whatever perils had taken hold of him, and he would find his way home. And when finally he strode through the gates of the city, Bolvar had to make sure there was a city for him to come home to.
"Is the party not to your liking, Regent?"
Bolvar felt each muscle in his body tense up one by one, a chill darting up his spine at the new voice that dared intrude upon his solitude. Likely this was something he would have to get used to, the lack of even a moment of peace or time to himself. How could he ever be collected to collect his thoughts if no one ever let him think without breathing down his neck? Still, he took a slow breath and forced himself to turn and face her. She was standing a few feet away with her hands clasped behind her back, the deep violet silk of her gown hugging her curved hips and slender waist, the neckline plunging unnecessarily deeply, demanding all of his attention and-
"Are you quite alright, Fordragon?" She pressed. He thought for a moment he saw the corner of her lips twitch into a frown, but it was far too subtle to be sure, and gone long before he could be sure it was ever even there at all.
He cleared his throat quickly and moved away from the edge of the terrace, a step closer to her. "I am fine," he said, hoping it sounded convincing. He would need to get used to that lie, he supposed. "The party is wonderful, Lady Prestor. You have a knack for this sort of thing, I see. The council is lucky to have someone who can bring some life to them, when they are so dampened with political turmoil."
Katrana did no more to acknowledge the compliment than offer a quick flash of a smile. As it had faded and she had returned to her usual blank expression, she said quietly, "You will do just fine, you know."
Bolvar pushed a hand through his hair, stole one more glance over his shoulder at the slumbering city immersed in silence. "It is an enormous responsibility to shoulder on my own."
"You are not on your own."
Bolvar's brows immediately pulled together into a severe frown, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he actually managed to find his voice again. Even then, the most he was able to manage was a soft, "Oh."
Apparently his speechlessness was all it took to earn a smirk from the dark haired woman. She had never looked so beautiful as she did just then, and Bolvar couldn't help but wonder how hard he would have to work to make that smile appear more often.
After a few moments had passed in a strange sort of peacefulness, Bolvar let out another deep sigh. "I suppose I should go and get Anduin to bed. It's been a long day for him." He moved past her, back towards the keep, but he was well aware of how she trailed behind him, close and yet so far, and her heels echoing against the hard floors rang in his ears all the way back to the ballroom.
He found Anduin back at the head of the long table, curled up in his chair and barely able to keep his eyes open. Jaina had inched closer to him, leaning in to murmur some unheard words into his ear. Whatever story she was telling him was earning a sleepy smile from the child, and as the paladin moved closer he caught just enough to know that it was some grand and adventurous story from her and Varian's own youth.
"Anduin," Bolvar said as he fell into place beside them. He had taken off his crown at some point, opting instead to hold it in his lap, and so Bolvar dared to ruffle his messy blonde hair. "Ready for bed, kiddo?"
The child looked up through his lashes and gave a small nod, prompting Bolvar to reach out and try to scoop him up into his arms. Anduin recoiled quickly, shaking his head. "Not yet," he whispered. "They can still see me."
Bolvar couldn't help but chuckle a little at that, and so instead he took the newly crowned king's small hand in his own large, scarred one, pulling him up to his feet. "Lady Proudmoore," he said, dipping his chin in the blonde's direction. "Thank you for coming to show support of our new king. Lady Prestor," he went on, facing the other of the two. "Thank you for organizing this celebration for Anduin. And," he paused, his mind straying back to the soft words of reassurance she had offered to him. When he refocused his gaze on her, it was with a small smile lighting his face. "And for everything else."
He excused himself then, leading Anduin by the hand quickly, likely so as not to draw any further attention and risk making a scene. From where she stood, Katrana watched him go, a smug grin tugging at her lips.
...
Bolvar tugged the blankets up around Anduin, smoothing them out before sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. They had made it less than halfway to his room when Anduin had finally given up on walking, and so he had lifted him up and carried him the rest of the way, the weight of the world on his shoulder and the exhausted young king in his arms.
"Uncle Bolvar?" He said, or at least started to say, before yawning widely. The paladin smiled fondly at him, brushing a few strands of hair away from his face. "We are going to find my father soon, right? I don't think I like being the king very much. I think Father is much better at it than I am."
The older man felt his smile turn wistful, but did his best not to let it fade, if only for Anduin's sake. "We are going to try," he assured him in what he hoped was at least somewhat of an optimistic tone. "I promised, didn't I? We are going to do everything we can."
"We should send the whole army to find him. I'm the king now, right? So you have to do what I say."
A low chuckle rose up from Bolvar's throat. "Slow down, kiddo," he replied. "Maybe you should get some sleep before you start giving your commands. In the morning, I'll take you the park."
Anduin contemplated this for a moment before finally nodding in agreement. "Can we invite Lady Prestor to come with us?"
The question caught Bolvar off guard, the mention of Katrana's name surprising him and sparking some unknown feeling in him. He recovered rapidly, though, and managed to sound composed when he asked, "Do you want her to come along?"
The blonde knitted his brows together, his blue eyes staring up at the paladin. In them he could still see the lingering traces of innocence, and he prayed with all he had left that nothing else would ever try to take that away from him. Anduin startled him back into reality when he spoke once again, his voice small and yet somehow filled with a confident assuredness. "Yes, I think so," he decided. "She made you smile. You haven't smiled at all since Father left, but I saw her make you smile tonight."
Bolvar couldn't help but feel a slight heat rising to his cheeks. Leave it to a child to notice something like that, he thought. But it was the truth nonetheless. He had thought her to be little more than another insensitive, indifferent noble, but those brief moments alone with her had made him feel like perhaps there was more to her than he could possibly know, and there was this nagging feeling in the back of his mind that urged him to try and find out.
Blinking the thoughts away, he looked down at Anduin, who had given up on trying to keep his eye open, and looked more at peace than he had in days. "Sure, kiddo. We can invite her, if you like."
Anduin didn't reply again, so Bolvar could only assume he had fallen asleep. Rising to his feet, he made his way to the door, throwing one more look over his shoulder before stepping into the hallway and making his way to his own chambers. In the distance, he could still hear the sounds of the party, and for a moment he considered going back, to at least attempt to be social, but he decided against it. He would have plenty of time for that, he supposed, with the responsibility of guarding over Stormwind falling now into his hands.
But as he stepped into his darkened room, Katrana's words replayed over in his mind. Perhaps the burden had fallen to him, but he would not have to bear it alone. And he thought that maybe, that would make all the difference.