A/N: You guys have been spoiling me so much with reviews. :D So here, have a small chapter!

Chapter Nine

Myth led him to a small, purple house crammed between its neighbours, retrieving a key from his pocket. Anduin marvelled at the tiny size of the place as he stepped inside. Compared to the Keep, it was so small.

A deep voice, speaking the flowery language of the elves, called out to Myth as the boy shut the door behind them, accompanied by the smell of something delicious. Anduin's stomach contorted painfully. "An'da," said Myth, before continuing in Common. "I have a new friend, may he stay for dinner?"

There was a brief period of silence, the faint clinking of some utensil or other being put down and a blinking night elf appeared in a doorway. The delicious smell wafted in behind him. The night elf stared at Anduin. "Oh!" he said, after a moment, Darnassian accent already evident in his tone. "It is a pleasure to have a guest, always. Welcome, welcome. What is your name, child?"

Anduin would have normally bristled at being addressed as such, but he found himself smiling at the welcoming tone of voice, free of condescension. Perhaps it was an elven thing — Maeqa sometimes addressed those younger than her as "child". "Andy," he said. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. And thank you for having me."

The night elf smiled dreamily. "How polite. My name is Kair Emberfleet. It has been a while since we had guests, so excuse the mess. Please, make yourself at home."

"Thank you, Mister Emberfleet."

The elf chuckled. "Kair is fine enough, child."

"What's for dinner?" Myth asked.

"Come see." Kair frowned. "Did you fall out of a tree again, Myth?"

Myth touched the bruise on his cheek. "Yeah."

"You should be more careful."

Kair beckoned them both into the kitchen, where he set a reluctant Myth to work. Anduin didn't recognise the food at all, nor the Darnassian name Kair supplied — it seemed to be something made entirely of plants and vegetables he'd never heard of. Anduin normally turned his nose up at greens, but it would be rude to in someone else's house, and he was already salivating at the aroma. If it had been gruel, he would've wolfed it down, but this… did all Darnassian cooking smell so yummy?

"May I help, please?" said Anduin.

Kair opened his mouth as if to deny him, but he seemed to reconsider at the hopeful look in Anduin's eyes and set him to crushing some strange nuts into powder with the flat of a knife. With his friend at the counter, Myth smiled and seemed far more enthusiastic about chopping up peacebloom stalks.

Anduin pondered the wisdom of letting such a small child use a knife. Fordragon hadn't allowed him to use a knife, ever, and it was only when he was under the lonely supervision Maeqa that his night elven bodyguard would roll her eyes at "overprotective humans" and promised not to speak a word if Anduin chopped his own apple. But Myth seemed to manage the sharpened utensil without any difficulty. Perhaps it was yet another Darnassian thing. One would think the elves would be more protective over their children, but when Myth cut his finger he merely yipped, wrapped the finger in a small bandage, and went right on with his task.

He's forty, remember, thought Anduin. No doubt human children looked total idiots to night elven ones, who had much longer childhoods in which to learn and make mistakes.

After the initial silence, soft conversation bubbled up between them. Kair, with hair as pale-blue as Myth's, seemed to be where Myth had inherited his soft-spoken voice from. Kair was a gentle contrast to Lady Prestor's abrasiveness and Uncle Bolvar's — well. Bolvar had never been loud, but he'd never been quiet either. When he spoke, he was heard. Anduin missed something Kair had said more than once, and focused intently to catch every word the quiet night elf said.

Anduin hadn't had so much fun in his life. In spite of Myth seeming to despair of chores, Anduin had always longed to help, and here he found purpose and fulfilment; stirring the pot on the stove, adding the ingredients carefully, watching their project grow. It grew to a point where Kair merely stood by with that soft smile of his, giving directions as the boys carried them out. He closed the curtains in the main room, blotting out the dark veil of night and the last sliver of twilight.

Finally, when Anduin thought he'd die of starvation, Kair pronounced dinner ready. To Kair's amazement Anduin set the table perfectly and without second thought. The night elf chuckled. "We only need a simple knife, fork and spoon for this meal," he said to Anduin. "Though I am impressed you seem to identify different types of forks, let alone arrange them in the correct order!"

Anduin had forgotten commoners tended to have only one course. Some didn't even have dessert — but he certainly wasn't complaining. If he'd only eaten this particular dish for the rest of his life he'd die a happy man. Besides, it meant he could wolf down everything on his plate without having to worry about saving room for another course. It tasted even better than it had smelled!

They ate in a dining room which may have been bigger if it were not so cluttered with books. With every spare wall dedicated to literature which had overflowed onto stacks on the ground, the place had grown cramped. Myth navigated through the obstacles on the floor as easily as a fish in water. His more oblivious father knocked over a tower of books whenever he turned around. He laughed softly at the third pile that scattered across the floor, and Anduin couldn't help but smile as he stooped pick them up. "I have to take these to the royal library later," said Kair. "I hoard so many books I simply can't keep them all."

Myth's face glowed with love as he regarded his father. "I know it's a bad day at the store when An'da only brings three home."

Anduin could remember Donyal Tovald occasionally speaking of a regular, night elven donor who often brought dozens of books at a time when he visited, though Anduin had never had the honour of meeting said donor until now. Bolvar used to read often, Anduin remembered with a pang. He didn't as often these days, but it used to be you could never catch him in his spare time without his nose in a book. But that had been back when he was captain of the palace guard, before Adam Rivers took over, before the Suicide Squad was formed. Before he became too busy to interact with Anduin, before Katrana Prestor had piled stress upon him.

Anduin cleared his plate. "That didn't touch the sides," Kair remarked with a smile. "Seconds?"

"Yes please!"

When Anduin had finally eaten fit to burst, Kair stacked their plates in silence and left the room with that odd smile of his. Anduin looked to a softly-smiling Myth and said, "Does he know about the other children? How they treat you?"

Myth's reverie was shattered. "No," he said, frowning. "Please don't tell him, he would worry!"

Anduin hesitated. But then, he was here now, and would be for some time until the search was called off. He would defend the boy. And besides, Myth was keeping his own secret, and Anduin was in his debt already. "I shan't speak of it," he promised.

Myth relaxed. "Do you have a place to sleep tonight?" he said, seeming to be grateful to change the subject.

Oh, hell. Anduin hadn't thought of that — he'd been too wrapped up in chatting and playing with Myth all day.

"What do you mean, Myth?" said Kair from the doorway.

Myth froze. Anduin quickly scrabbled. "I live with my aunt and uncle," he said. Obviously the night elf wasn't as oblivious as Anduin had thought. "They had to travel tonight to visit a sick relative, but the people I was supposed to be with had forgotten and gone away, but by the time I came back home my aunt and uncle were already gone."

Kair stared. "That's terrible!" he exclaimed. "Well, isn't it a good thing you came here? You should stay in Myth's room for tonight, and perhaps something can be arranged after."

The last thing Anduin wanted was for Kair to ask around after this fictional, neglectful caregiver. "I'm sure my grandparents will be back in the morning," said Anduin with a smile. "I'll check at around lunch time. Thank you so much, Kair."

Kair set up a small bedroll on the floor of Myth's almost-empty room. While Myth had a small pile of books of his own, it seemed that the boy had most of his entertainment from playing outside and owned few things. Then again, aside from books, the Emberfleets didn't seem to own much at all. Kair immediately declared Myth could sleep on the floor that night.

Anduin didn't argue until the lights were out and he said, "Myth. Swap? This is your bed."

"Nuh uh," said Myth, but he moved anyway. He crept into bed and snuggled into Anduin. Touched, Anduin wrapped an arm around the small night elf. Myth mumbled sleepily, "Glad to have made a friend."

And, beyond belief, Anduin was grateful, too.

The darkness of night pulled him into a loving embrace, the sound of distant thunder soothing him, where he dreamed of being a mighty hero who liberated his father from his enigmatic, faraway prison.

He'd bring Varian back. He had to.

-o-O-o-

Back at the Keep, Bolvar got to play the fun game of "let's-pretend-shit-didn't-just-hit-the-windmill."

"A thief who happens to be called 'Andrew'?" said a guard to another under her breath as they walked into the cloak of darkness underneath the press of the heavy clouds above, "Like hell. This isn't going to end well, mark my words."

Bolvar was going to neither confirm nor deny anything, and he was tired as hell. The Keep had been in an uproar all day, but only a handful of people knew the true reason - to the grand majority of the staff and nobles, some servant boy had made off with one of Prince Anduin's cherished possessions, an heirloom, and bolted with it. But already the sinking ship had sprung a leak, and rumours of Anduin's disappearance whispered through the hallways.

They were drowning.

The half-dozen of them — Bolvar, Prestor, Rivers, Shaw, Foris and Maeqa — plugged as many holes as they could, and suddenly it felt like Varian's disappearance all over again. The Nobles hadn't known about that for two weeks, either, until Varian's return had grown more and more unlikely and Prestor had been forced to admit what had happened. But before then, Bolvar could remember the rumours circulating the guards like wildfire only three days after Varian had been supposed to arrive at Theramore.

A furious Katrana Prestor had pushed and pushed for Maeqa to be fired, but Bolvar managed to help the night elf get away with only a severe reprimand and a dock in pay with the condition that if Anduin was in danger, Maeqa would not come back whether he returned safely or not. Accidents happened — never before had Maeqa had any need not to accept any food or drink Anduin had given her, and in her position Bolvar would have done exactly the same and had forced Katrana to admit similarly. The night elven woman tore herself up with guilt, and she and Foris had marched off into the city hours ago with a handful of SI:7 operatives (who had been given the 'servant boy' story) determined not to rest until Prince Anduin was found. Accident or not, all kinds of disastrous consequences could surface. Not just for Anduin, but for the entire kingdom. Stormwind stood upon the brink of chaos. It was bad enough the King was gone, but if his only heir was gone too...

Light only knew what could happen.

Anduin could not have gotten far. Prestor had said, "Mark my words, he'll be back by lunch," but Anduin had not reappeared and the guards were still combing Old Town and the Dwarven District. He couldn't have gotten far — the city was huge, one small boy who hadn't been in it since his mother's funeral wouldn't want to stray too far from home. But as the hours ticked by, as the sun peaked in the sky, descended the blue and hid under the horizon, Anduin had not reappeared.

Anduin had just vanished — there had been no sightings of a boy in a white shirt, brown pants and a woollen hat. Bolvar wasn't surprised, either; Anduin couldn't have disappeared into of thin air, but who would notice? People only saw what was out of the ordinary, and a boy wandering Stormwind was far from unusual — children roamed around all the time. Light knew how many complaints he'd heard about two children tearing around with a doll and taunting each other near the Trade District.

"Spread out to Cathedral Square," said Fordragon to Rivers. Then added, "And Trade. I doubt he'd go to the Trade district, but he'll have wanted to buy food, if he didn't appeal to the priests."

At first he'd been angry, but now pure worry consumed him. Worry for Anduin's fate. Worry for the fate of Stormwind, and the Alliance. Worry for what would happen when the other cities found out — if they had to. Gods, he hope they wouldn't have to. Worry for what the new day dawning without a safe Anduin could bring. If he wasn't back by morning…

What had brought Anduin to run away? He'd been so different lately; normally the boy was as good as gold, even from a young age, an extreme rarity in children who weren't wealthy, let alone the prince. But it seemed that in the past handful of months, Anduin had spent all the sullen behaviour he'd been saving up. And this... this...

"You," said a stern voice behind Bolvar, who stood at the mouth of the keep staring into the water. "Return to your quarters and sleep, you are doing us all no favours running yourself to the ground."

And you shut up, Bolvar wanted to bite back.

"Earlier you informed me you had not slept all night," said Lady Prestor's fluid voice as she stepped beside him without looking at him. She stared into the dark sky instead, pregnant with clouds — as if things could get any worse, the weather conspired against them too. "Dead on your feet, you are useless to us."

"I was a soldier once. I know how to go without sleep."

Lady Prestor let out that trademark, long-suffering sigh of hers. Her fingertips brushed against his arm, her electric touch jolting his heart. "Go to sleep, Bolvar."

Bolvar stared at her. Since when was she ever concerned for the wellbeing of anyone else? If he wasn't so wracked with tension he would have laughed — men in the Keep would kill to have Lady Prestor touch them like that! Heck, they'd kill more than once for her to touch them more…

"She's right," said another voice from the shadows. "We'll wake you immediately upon any further development."

"I shall search for him myself," said Prestor. With a rustle of fabric she pulled her cloak tight around her in the cold air, her grey eyes wandering the sky from underneath her hood. "Cathedral Square, perhaps. He will seek shelter in the cathedral when the rain comes, and he knows the priests." She looked to Shaw. "I shall speak with the Archbishop. I believe he is trustworthy."

Shaw paused, then nodded. "But swear him to secrecy," said Shaw. "The less people who know, the better. He is trustworthy, but we must be extremely select in who we tell. The moment a criminal hears of this, Anduin is as good as dead."

"And you — go inside," said Prestor, turning her glare on Bolvar.

"Wake me in three hours," he said with a sigh, too tired to argue. Prestor nodded.

He returned the gesture. His armour clinked as he made his way up the blue and white slope of the main corridor, the bright light stinging his eyes.

In the distance, he heard thunder.

-o-O-o-

Onyxia liked this less and less by the moment. A hidden Dragonspawn appears in the Keep — and days later, Anduin disappears. True, the boy ran away…

… But just who had waited for him in the shadows? There had to be a reason Anduin had not come home yet, unless the rain had driven him past Katrana to the Keep.

In Stormwind, Onyxia was impotent. She would arouse suspicion if she left for Blackrock to chew her brother out. She would not find Anduin in Cathedral Square, and no matter how much she called that vile nickname "Andy", nobody would answer. And nobody did answer, though she called nonetheless. When the clouds gave out and released a downpour upon her, it failed to flush out any sheepish prince.

"He must be found immediately," Katrana hissed to the Archbishop under her breath, who only five minutes ago had blinked sleep out of his eyes. The minute he'd been sworn to secrecy he'd jerked awake — never before had Katrana Prestor paid a personal visit. "Send out your priests. The cover story is that he's a boy named Andrew who made off with a precious heirloom of Anduin's, a thief caught in the rain. Pretend he's wounded, do anything you can to force them to work faster."

The Archbishop nodded. "I understand."

"Alert us immediately if you find something."

"You must consider that if the boy has yet to return — "

" — that somebody may have him," said Katrana. "Stormwind Intelligence is ahead of you, old man, but we must cast our net as far out as possible."

"Understandable." Benedictus pressed his mouth into a thin line.

The rain taunted her and pulled her into a chilly hug as she stepped out, the enormous doors closing behind her. Her shoes soaked through on the naked steps, and her sodden hood dampened her hair. "Andrew!" she called out. The rain crashed over her voice.

To hell with that wretch!

"To find a boy, you have to think like a boy," said a voice by her knee.

If it weren't for her keen hearing, Katrana wouldn't have perceived her over the rain. She narrowed her eyes at the gnome beside her.

"I could not help but overhear!" said the gnome. "My apologies for startling you, Lady."

Oh, fel. Briefly, Katrana considered dragging the gnome into an alley and slaughtering her — but no, that was the human influence speaking. Onyxia cared not if the entirety of the Eastern Kingdoms found out about Anduin's disappearance. Let the brat cause more chaos and disillusion.

"You speak not a word of this to anyone else," said Katrana.

"Of course not," the gnome bowed. "I would not endanger the boy's life."

The entire city, naturally, was likely to know by dawn, Katrana thought with a sneer.

She recognised her. It was the gnome who'd killed her kin, the blonde who'd saved Leonardo Withering. And yet, there was something else familiar about her that Katrana could not place. "And just what are you doing in the rain in the middle of the night?"

"Giving advice," said the gnome.

"Oh, pray, tell," Katrana snarled.

The gnome smiled as if she hadn't detected the sarcasm. "Humans, I find, are an odd culture, uncomfortable around the shorter races for, ah, obvious reasons," she said, tilting her head and aiming a penetrating gaze at Katrana. Katrana glared back. "But I find the more I think like a human, the more they treat me as if I am one. They forget I'm not human. It's a nice little trick."

Her tone was too meaningful for Onyxia's liking. "Is there a point to this?"

"To find a boy, think like a boy," said the gnome, "If you were a runaway prince, where would you go? What would you look for? What is your purpose?"

... Hell.

"If you were too proud to come back," said the gnome, "who would you go to for help? What are you attracted to about the world outside you've never seen?"

"Well done, gnome," Katrana drawled. "You are not entirely useless." Already, ideas took form. Samantha had read to the boy too many stories of heroes and villains, he was too fixated on his father, often asked Maeqa about...

The Park.

The gnome laughed. And that, out of all things — that gave Onyxia pause, her muscles freezing as the sound bathed her. That niggling sense of familiarity, the idea that she knew the gnome, persisted. Deep within the dark recesses of memory she searched for the source.

And from her memory she heard a tune. A few soft notes of lyrics she had forgotten, a single bar that repeated itself over and over, the sound of a man humming…

She shook it off. No doubt Katrana Prestor's mind was malfunctioning. The human brain often did for no reason. Never in Katrana Prestor's lifetime had she heard that tune, or she would recall from where. Her memory was sharp, after all, especially when it came to events of the last fifty years.

Without a goodbye, she left the gnome.

The heavens continued to pelt water at her, along with something else. Katrana almost fell over as something large collided with her.

She almost roared in fury, but it died in her throat. A black whelp lay on the cobblestones, close to unconsciousness. Immediately, she scooped him up.

"Jettion?" she said. Fel — had her brother given him no time to rest between receiving her letter and sending his response? A whelp was not built to travel such distances without a break — she'd only sent the letter that morning!

Jettion's wing folded to protect the envelope he held from the wet. He cooed unhappily. He could have died! Onyxia hissed. She was going to kill Romathis...

"Jettion," she said. She glanced around, but the gnome was gone, and she was alone in the square save for the distant cries of, "Andrew, Andrew!" "Jettion," she said again, before any guards could filter into the square. "Did Anduin ever speak to you of running away?"

The whelp looked up at her, eyes clouded with fatigue. "Often," he answered in Draconic.

Priests began to spill out of the cathedral. Guards gradually emerged into the square. "Where has he gone?" she whispered.

"Is he gone again?" the whelp said quietly. "He never told me."

"I will give you water," she murmured to him, "but before you rest I have work for you to do. We must check the park."

She gently pried the damp envelope from his little grasp and hid it in the warm safety of her cloak. Hopefully, the writing inside had not been destroyed. But even if it hadn't, there was little Romathis could say that could stop Onyxia from ripping out his throat next time she saw him.