The cell was damp and cold—the kind of cold that seeps into your bones and freezes you from within. What passed for a bed was a dirty rag on a long, flat stone, sitting directly underneath a small window with bars near the ceiling. Muddy water trickled in from the street through the opening and directly onto my "bed", so I chose to sit in a corner on the opposite side instead, hugging my knees to keep warm.
No one came to visit for the rest of the day, not even to bring any meals. The guard patrolling that wing of the stockades would occasionally walk by in silence, pretending not to see me. I didn't talk to him either. They knew what I wanted—there was no point in repeating it into oblivion—and I refused to beg for food. The basin on the left side of the entrance provided some water that dripped from the faucet like life-sustaining tears.
The last time Greymane saw me, I stabbed him in the leg, and he threw me at a wall so hard that I blacked out. That encounter at Skold-Ashil was a failure in multiple ways for everyone involved—Sylvanas had failed to capture Eyir, I had failed to protect her, and then we all had failed to kill each other. No one could say his desire to hurt me was surprising. Yet, I expected slightly better living conditions—the cells in Orgrimmar were, at least, dry.
The rain continued through the night, as the darkness fell over my cage like a shroud. As I curled up on the floor to sleep, I thought about Wildgaze, hoping someone was taking care of him. He was an innocent creature, and I did not wish him to pay for having me as his owner.
Those walls, that floor, the dust in the air and the water droplets on the walls, they were all burdened by centuries of prisoner lives and stories. I could feel their weight crushing me in that space designed to break bodies and souls. Sleep did not come easy, and when it arrived, it carried nightmares and terror once again. My sleep was haunted by hundreds of faces, those I failed to save and those I sent to the afterlife. They all came back to punish me most nights, but it was different in that cell—dreams more vivid than reality itself, hands grasping my clothes, scratching my skin, voices howling and the rain falling on me like acid.
I woke up drenched in sweat but so cold that even shivering was painful. It was still dark and pouring outside. Incoming footsteps echoed loudly through the corridor, heavy keys jangling as the lock turned to open the door before two guards came into the cell. The first one picked me up from the floor, and the other yanked my arms back, wrapping coarse rope tightly around my wrists—tight enough to make my joints protest and ache. The pain from my old wound flared up, and I gritted my teeth to stop a whimper from spilling out of me as they pushed me towards the back wall, one of them yelling, "Stay there!"
Another set of footsteps approached as the guards positioned themselves on each side of the door. Greymane's grimace greeted me a few seconds later, soaked clothes dripping onto a puddle on the floor, and clenched fists ready to meet my face again.
"What are you doing here?" His tone was calm, but his eyes disclosed the real thunder within.
"You stink like a wet dog," I replied, a malicious crooked smile covering my lips.
The first jab hit me in the eye, making it water and swell, the pain extending to my brain like a landslide. I stumbled but pulled myself together to stand tall again. It was worth it.
"What is your purpose?" His voice was rising as anger took over him, lips curling up to reveal grinding teeth eager to sink into my throat, like the beast he was.
"I told you, the Warchief sent me with a message for King Anduin," I repeated, earning another punch. This time, the target was my jaw, making me hit the back of my head on the wall behind me. Pain shot through my skull again, my vision faltering and wobbling around the edges. Everything went black for a moment, my legs barely supporting my weight. But I still stood, defiantly, unyielding. My plan would work. It had to work.
"I can do this all night," he warned, opening and closing both fists, preparing to release all his pent up energy on me.
"You know, for a dog, you really lack intelligence."
His fist sank into my ribs, stealing the air from my lungs. He grunted with the effort of throwing all his weight onto it as he punched me again and again. My legs refused to hold me up any longer, and I fell, doubling over to cough the pain away, to recover the oxygen I was having trouble finding. And then he kicked me in the face, blood splattering everywhere and pooling in my mouth as it gushed from my split lower lip. It throbbed violently when I spat at his feet, trying to get rid of the coppery taste that permeated my mouth.
"You can hit me all you want, mutt" I murmured, heartbeat pounding in my ears, my body reduced to a mess of aching bruises. "Release all that rage. It won't make a difference."
I tried to sit up but failed, head too dizzy, the room spinning around me like a carousel. Unable to use my arms to push myself up, I just rested there on the floor next to his boots, trying to regain some of the strength he had taken away from me. The ice in my veins was gone, replaced by heat and turmoil. The cold floor was pleasant against my hot forehead, helping me keep myself grounded.
"Anduin is not here to save you," he shouted, bulking muscles rising and falling as he breathed deeper through the fury that consumed him. "I am in charge of this city!"
I recalled watching him from afar in Gilneas, years ago, before Sylvanas ordered me to retreat with her. He was the one who fell to the floor then, wailing on his knees, clutching the body of his dying son against his chest. The memory was still raw as if it was only a few days old. I was the one being kicked now, but he would be the one to crumble.
"Remember what happened the last time you were in charge of a city?" Forcing myself to move, I pushed through the pain to get on my feet and opened my one good eye so I could watch as the full effect of my words covered him like a dome, pushing him over the edge. "You drove your own kid into the bottom of a bottle, and then you got him killed. Is that your plan for the Wrynn boy as well?"
Greymane paused for a second, letting it sink in, the words bruising him deep within in a way he could never bruise me. And then his rage exploded all at once, growls turning into roars, echoing through the cell from wall to wall, shaking the stockade to its very core. He shifted into his beast form, pain slashing across my face as he bashed me with his claws, the force of the impact throwing me to the floor again. He grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled me up, lifting me as if I was nothing more than a rag doll, and prepared to throw me across the room like he had done before at the Vault of Eyir.
"Genn! Stop!" A voice boomed behind him as someone ran into the room, stopping right next to us. "What have you done?"
"She deserves it! I should've killed her when I had the chance!" He dropped me abruptly, and I crawled away as fast as I could. "I'm gonna kill her! I'm gonna kill her right now! Move away, Anduin, this does not concern you!"
The boy placed a hand on Greymane's furry chest to keep him away. "Get out! Now!" He stood between the worgen and me to make his point come across clearer, using his own body to shield me from further harm. "We will discuss this in the morning!"
The mutt's breathing came out ragged, his whole body shaking as he tried to stare Anduin down. "Do not make me repeat it!" The King's tone was unmistakable—he was not to be crossed.
"As you command, Your Majesty," Greymane grumbled, giving up and shifting back into a human before walking away.
Anduin crouched and reached towards me, but I shied away from his touch as his royal garbs carried the faint smell of peaceblooms and the unexpected sting of old memories. I didn't realize what I did until I saw the alarmed look on his face. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise!"
I turned around, allowing him to remove the rope from my wrists, and I did not fail to notice the slight shakiness of his fingers as he untied the knots. "I apologize for the way you were treated." His voice was soft and gentle as our eyes locked. "Are you okay?"
I held his gaze, knowing full well that my miserable state was telling him everything he needed to know. "I'm okay, Your Majesty."
"Can you stand?" I nodded, and he held me close to his chest as he helped me up, pausing until he was sure I could stand on my own.
"Thank you for coming to see me," I said, wincing as I tried to stay upright. The sharp pain on my chest every time I inhaled was probably a sign of a cracked rib, so I hugged myself with one arm, trying to keep everything together.
Anduin's sky-blue eyes, engulfed in sorrow, skimmed across my face as he raised his hands, calling forth a yellow glow while he murmured a prayer to the Light. An odd inner peace flooded my heart. The swelling on my left eye went down enough for me to open it, and when my fingertips touched my lip, they came out dry. It was easier to breathe and to stand, and most of my aches were gone.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," I said, bowing my head. "You are most kind."
"Please, sit." He motioned towards the poor excuse for a bed, before walking to the water basin on the corner. He produced a handkerchief from his pocket and dipped it in the water. "Genn can be a bit hot-headed," he explained, sitting next to me. "May I?" He motioned towards my face with the handkerchief, and I nodded in agreement. He wiped the blood from my cheeks with small gestures, careful not to hurt me. "What is your name?" His eyes were focused on the job at hand, brows drawn together and jaw set with penance. There was something intriguing about him, something my body could sense but was unable to see, like thorns hiding behind starlight petals.
"I am Omellas Bloodforged, Your Majesty."
He dabbed the handkerchief where Greymane's claws had ripped through my flesh while I gritted my teeth, trying not to recoil from the pain. "Omellas is a beautiful name."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," I replied, offering him a modest smile.
He paused, eyes drifting up to mine, and a smile spreading to his lips as well. "I heard you have a message for me?"
"Yes, I do. Lady Sylvanas sent me as a special envoy from the Horde." He listened intently, hand falling on his lap, forgotten. "She wishes to inform you that the Horde is committed to keeping the currently existing armistice between our factions and she would like me to stay here as a spokesperson for the Horde if you allow me. She is also open to receiving someone from the Alliance in Orgrimmar if you so wish."
"It gives me great joy to hear this." He moved to work on the other side of my face, my eyebrow stinging with a wound I didn't even know I had. "But you could've told Genn that."
"Lady Sylvanas made it clear I was to talk only to you. When you've known her as long as I have, you understand that her orders are not to be disrespected, even if it doesn't look like a big deal." I chuckled lightly and shrugged. "Besides, if I had told him this, he would've sent me back before I even had the chance to talk to you."
He chuckled too. "Yes, he probably would." He sat back and stared at me for a moment, studying my face, undoubtedly looking for unspoken words. "My people think you're a spy."
Thick raindrops thumped on the grass outside, trickling down the wall and dampening the rag beneath us. Anduin's long blue coat was all wet, and his white shirt, embroidered with golden thread, was stained with red splatters. Yet, he didn't seem to mind. A couple of wet locks of hair were stuck to his temples, but he was still clutching his handkerchief, worried about cleaning the blood off my skin.
"You don't agree with them," I pointed out, pleased by how easy Anduin was to read if you looked close enough. His eyes were an infinite horizon full of possibilities, a maze of hopeful roads and mysterious desires. They were also an open window that revealed the truth inside him.
"Why do you say that?"
I glanced at my wrists, rubbing the thin pink lines that marked the spots where the ropes had chafed the skin. "You wouldn't be here taking care of me if you did."
He tilted his head to one side, pausing to consider my answer. Then he got up to hide the smirk that threatened to appear on his lips, and rinsed the handkerchief in silence, clean water running through it and coming out a dark pink.
"I am not a spy, Your Majesty," I assured, as he sat back down by my side.
"That's something a spy might say." He fidgeted with the handkerchief in his lap for a moment, folding and unfolding it, and then crumpling it in his hand.
"Spies don't usually try to get in through the front gates."
"That's a valid point. But-"
"Your Majesty." I interrupted, placing my hand on his. "The Warchief has plenty of spies at her disposal, as I'm sure you do too. I'm just... Me." I shrugged again as he glanced down, turning his hand so our palms would touch.
"Your hand is so cold," he mumbled. He tested the temperature on my forehead, eyebrows drawing together. "You're running a fever." A faint light emanated from his palm and surrounded my hand with a divine heat that spread through my entire body. It reminded me of azerite, but it felt entirely different—instead of a trip to a volcano, this felt more like a mellow afternoon walk in the summer. "Did you eat anything today?"
I shook my head, and his frown deepened. "I will have you moved to a better cell until I make a decision, and I will have someone bring you food and a blanket."
"You worry too much," I whispered, squeezing his hand, grateful for his care.
He continued to dab the handkerchief on my clammy neck with furrowed brows but serene eyes. There was no doubt in my mind that an Alliance person in Orgrimmar wouldn't have the same level of personal care by Lady Sylvanas, which made Anduin immensely fascinating to me.
"Your Majesty," I started, trying to get his eyes back on mine. I was determined to make him believe me, so I needed his undivided attention. This was a decisive moment, the one I had been beaten up to secure. The fact that he seemed to be angry at Greymane for how he mistreated me just added extra points in my favour. "We all suffered terrible losses." My voice cracked at the end of the sentence, followed by the swallowing of grief. "We had to work together to defeat a common enemy, and Lady Sylvanas feels that this alliance should be kept alive. Our people need peace, to heal and rebuild. There's no reason why we can't share this world." Anduin stared, our eyes glued together, drinking in every word to sate his palpable thirst for peace. "But if you do not wish me to stay, just say the words, and I'll be gone."
He paused for a long while, considering my words, and I smiled to soothe his doubts. Then he raised his hand, touching my jawline with his fingertips. "Please stay still," he murmured, patting the handkerchief below my lip. "I need to speak with my advisors before making a decision. I'm sure you will understand. And I'll make sure you are treated with respect from now on," he said, with a kind of sadness in his voice, as he inspected the small bruises that remained. "You didn't deserve to be treated like this."
"I've had worse Your Majesty. I'll live."
When he finished his task, he got up to rinse the handkerchief one last time. The rain outside was softening to a stop when Anduin turned around, the flickering torchlight on the corridor dancing with the shadows on his face. The menial task of taking something dirty and making it clean again seemed to have calmed his spirit. When he looked at me, there was nothing but kindness in him, his anger forgotten, washed away along with the blood. "I will come back tomorrow with an answer for you. It was a pleasure to meet you, Omellas Bloodforged."
He opened the door and stepped out, the guards following him closely. I grabbed the bars on the door as he walked away and replied, knowing the echo would carry my voice to him. "Likewise, King Anduin Wrynn."