Travel has become difficult for Anduin Wrynn.
Not that travel was ever particularly easy-the number of times he's been kidnapped in Pandaria alone has to be some sort of record-but he tires so quickly now, and his leg causes him pain. Every day, he is able to go a bit farther before he needs to rest, but progress is still slow, especially this final leg: the climb up the Path of a Hundred Steps.
A retinue of half a dozen Stormwind guards and unnumbered SI:7 agents accompanies him-his compromise with his father. Varian Wrynn had initially insisted that Anduin remain in Lion's Landing, where he had been convalescing, until a ship could be requisitioned to bring him back to Stormwind. Even as Anduin demonstrated what he believed to be a faster than usual recovery (though most of that was him pushing himself too far and spending most of his days working his injuries with the Light), Varian remained insistent that his son got into too much trouble in Pandaria and that he'd be much safer in Stormwind.
One afternoon, pushed to an uncharacteristic breaking point by the pain in his leg and his exhaustion, Anduin had muttered acidly about assassins doing their work even in the safety of the city itself. Varian was also at his breaking point, and the two had a heated argument that otherwise would have ended with Anduin making as dignified an exit as he could, had he been better able to walk.
As it was, however, the prince of the Alliance only managed to stagger to the room's entrance, leaning heavily on his cane, before pain and exhaustion caused him to lean against the doorpost and exhale heavily, his shoulders drooping. That moment had been enough for Varian, too, and the two sat back down and came to a compromise. Since the Alliance navy was thoroughly engaged with the Horde, it would be several weeks at least until a ship could be requisitioned to bring Anduin back to Stormwind anyway, and both king and prince balked at the idea of portals. Until that time, Varian agreed that Anduin could travel about Pandaria as he pleased-after all, the land seemed ideally suited for speeding up healing processes-at least within reason, and if accompanied by enough guards to protect the prince from whatever the Horde or the rest of Pandaria might bring.
Anduin, already tired of being holed up in Lion's Landing after the several months he'd been there, agreed readily, and once he'd proved that he could cross the courtyard of the keep twice without having to stop, he bid Varian farewell and set out for the Tavern in the Mists.
After all, he had an apology to make.
In the moments leading up to Garrosh Hellscream's attack, Anduin had been singleminded in his focus: nothing mattered but destroying the Divine Bell. He knew his history well and knew that Garrosh was in danger of repeating the sins of his father, condemning the Horde to possession and servitude by a force as wicked if not more so than the Burning Legion. Anduin had watched from the shadows as Garrosh's elite troops were possessed by the Sha but one by one fell to corruption, leaving only the warchief and his trusted blademaster Ishi still standing.
And that was when Anduin had taken his chance. That was when he had acted, rashly, foolishly.
The prince and his retinue stop to rest at a landing halfway up the path, Anduin stretching out his leg before him to massage Light into his aching bones. He feels older lately than the veterans of the first and second wars who accompany him, and they look at him with sympathy, knowing the pain of old wounds. The captain, a man named Sterns, sits down beside Anduin and rests a hand on his shoulder.
"If the pain is too great, your highness, we can rest here tonight," he offers, but Anduin shakes his head before he's even finished speaking.
"Not when we're this close. Besides, I'm sure you and the others would rather spend the night in a real inn with real beds instead of in tents again," he answers with a tired smile. Sterns returns the smile and stands.
"We'll be ready to leave as soon as you are," he says. "And if you need assistance as we continue, don't be too proud to ask."
Anduin's smile grows wry. "I won't," he says.
He couldn't be too proud to ask for assistance from anyone, not with so much on the line, not with Garrosh having apparently lost his mind. Even as he struck the Divine Bell and destroyed it, Garrosh's champions lying broken around him, he thought of Wrathion's words to him, calling him a foolish child. The irony of someone who was no more than two years old saying this was not lost on Anduin, but in that moment, he felt triumphant-he'd proved Wrathion, his father, even Jaina wrong. He had destroyed the Divine Bell and stopped Garrosh's plans in their tracks, even stopping the warchief himself for a beat. No one would be hurt by the Bell again; of this, Anduin was certain.
But in an instant, it all went wrong. He had tried to shield himself from Garrosh's attack, but the warchief had missed Anduin completely, striking at the Bell itself and shattering it. Anduin barely had a moment to react before the heavy stone pieces fell forward, causing pain like he'd never before known and then absolute silence.
Foolish child. A foolish child's errand. Somewhere in his unconscious mind, he heard the admonitions of Jaina, his father... Wrathion. They had all been right. He had accomplished his goal, but at the cost of his own life, and while it seemed an obvious sacrifice to make, in the darkness, Anduin felt oppressed by his own selfishness. Why did he have to be the one to stop Garrosh? What other heroes could have gone instead? Would he really leave his father alone, leave Jaina to her grief and pain, leave Wrathion...
"I'm ready to travel again," Anduin says, standing slowly with the aid of his cane. The cane is a fine specimen, carved with the head of a lion, gilded and embellished with sapphires. It's sturdy as well, a fact for which Anduin feels no shortage of gratitude on this passage.
As the prince stands, he sees the telltale smoke of rogues vanishing into the shadows, and Sterns calls his guard to attention, offering the prince a slight wink. "You heard the prince, soldiers. Let's move out!"
Though Anduin has never been far removed from Stormwind guards, he's always surprised and impressed at their efficiency. Sterns and the rest are ready to continue the climb in mere minutes, and after taking a deep breath and steeling himself, Anduin journeys on.
For a time, Anduin felt he was dying, and it was a strange feeling. The warm embrace of the Light seemed just out of reach, leaving him instead wrapped in the coldness of the Great Dark. He thought he could see the whispering violet of the Twisting Nether as well, and felt the turning of Azeroth beneath him, the sun's radiance, the gentleness of the White Lady and Blue Child. He heard songs and laughter, encouragement and love from a voice long forgotten. He ached to push forward into the Light, into everything, but something pulled him back into pain and silence.
The first sign he had of waking up was the heavy pressure of a gnarled and ancient hand on his forehead. Voices followed, sometimes talking too fast and sometimes talking too slow, never at the right speed for Anduin to understand them until with what felt like a monumental effort, he forced his eyes open and immediately scrunched them closed again, a physical protest to the brightness of his room.
His father's voice was the first he recognized. "Anduin...?" Varian said, and Anduin could hear the scraping of wooden chair legs against a stone floor. He felt the hand leave his forehead, replaced with a more desperate touch at his cheek. He forced his eyes open to see his father, close enough to block out the sun and the candles and everything that made waking up painful, lips slowly turning upwards in a watery smile.
To his surprise, Anduin found his throat tightening as well, and it took a few false starts before he managed to say, "Father."
The weeks that followed were filled with apologies-to his father, to Jaina, to everyone who would listen. Most, especially his father and Jaina, told Anduin that he'd done the right thing and that they were just glad he was alive. Most called him a hero and apologized to him for calling him a foolish child.
Most. He still had one apology left to give.
Ninety-nine.
One hundred.
In better shape, Anduin would have triumphantly counted the last steps aloud, but he's exhausted and in so much pain that he's not sure how he'll make it from the landing to the inn itself, never mind inside. His retinue is in much better shape; many of them have never been to the path's end before and are looking around in wonder while Anduin catches his breath.
Sterns holds back, however, and returns his hand to Anduin's shoulder. "You've made it this far, your highness. Just a few steps farther."
Anduin gulps in the thin mountain air and nods at Sterns, straightening and leaning on his cane. Just a few steps farther. No more than twenty, he guesses, and begins to walk.
Each step is utter agony. After this, after he's reached his goal, he will sit and he will stretch out in one of those marvelous Pandaren beds with a dozen pillows elevating his leg and a cup of tea in his hand. He may even sleep, but he can't do so just yet.
The last steps through the tavern's door are the worst, and Anduin nearly collapses once he is within. Innkeeper Jago recognizes him and darts forward with surprising speed to loop the prince's arm across his shoulders, and Anduin can't find the words to express his relief.
"I am glad to see you well again, your highness," Jago says. He's so tall that Anduin's feet barely graze the ground, and while he would find this annoying at any other time, in this moment he's nearly weeping with relief. "What brings you back here?"
"I have an apology to make." Anduin's eyes dart to the back room from which the scent of spice and smoke drifts faintly out to the entryway. Jago follows Anduin's gaze and offers him a toothy smile.
"You received the Black Prince's message, then?" he asks. The two begin to make their way across the inn towards Wrathion's chamber, followed by a pair of guards and a pair of rogues. Anduin nods once.
"That I am a fool, but that I am still welcome in the Black Prince's presence," he recites. Jago's grin widens.
"We all feared for your life, your highness. Even the Black Prince, even if he does not say as much." Jago stops just outside of Wrathion's chamber and knocks once on the doorjamb.
"I've stopped taking reports today!" Wrathion calls out, and Anduin smiles despite himself, feeling a strange swooping sensation in his stomach at the sound of the Black Prince's voice. "Tell them to come back tomorrow!"
"This is not a report, highness," Jago answers and eases Anduin to the floor, adding in a lower voice, "Can you walk in on your own?"
"I can handle it," Anduin says. Jago smiles and squeezes Anduin's shoulder; he tries to turn and walk away, but Anduin's escorts block his path until Anduin tells them to let the innkeeper pass, hesitates just a beat longer, and pushes through the heavy curtains that divide Wrathion's chambers from the rest of the inn.
As Anduin remembered him, Wrathion is flanked on either side by his personal guards, Left leaning on the back of his chair and Right standing ramrod straight. The Black Prince himself slouches in his chair, staring disinterestedly at a corner of the wall and floor, until Anduin speaks, bending at the waist. "Your majesty."
At this, Wrathion's eyes flick upwards from the wall and his expression comes alive in a brief moment of delight at the sight of Anduin. He crosses the room in two strides, his warm palm coming to rest against Anduin's cheek- until he sees the guards who have begun to file into his chambers. Anduin can barely register his actions before Wrathion drops his hand, flexing the clawed fingers slowly.
"You return from your fool's errand, O prince," he observes in his usual calm manner.
Anduin inclines his head. "I owe you an apology, for the way I spoke when last we met," he says. "You were right. I acted as a fool."
Wrathion snorts, a wisp of smoke trailing from his nostril as he returns to his seat and gestures to a nearby chair and stool as an invitation to Anduin, who gratefully sinks into the plush seat and elevates his aching leg. "Of course I was right. I'm always right. Will you ever learn?"
Anduin shakes his head, but offers Wrathion a smile. "I doubt it."
