The fresh tint of sea salt and coming rain scented the air. Tiny droplets pattering the stone roofs around him as Anduin-clad in royal plate, as he'd come there straight from holding court-stood on the covered balcony of the Keep's western flank. Looking towards the docks where hundreds of coffins, each wrapped in Alliance flags, covered the salted wood.
"That's the last of the soldiers." Genn rumbled from behind him. Dispassionate in the face of Anduin's quiet grief; a further lance to the young King's heart in the face of all his people that he'd failed and was still failing. "They'll be sending farmers next."
The young Monarch's fists caught a spasmodic grip on the railing. Narrowly resisting the urge to clutch at his chest in pain or scream until his throat went raw. Farmers and merchants to follow the soldiers. Where trained men had fought and died, it would now be a slaughter. All because he'd been naive enough to ever entertain the notion of peace with Sylvanas. Weak enough a ruler to bow to Genn's insistence and march into battle against the whole of the Horde rather than trying to turn its better leaders against her.
Anduin contained the anger which had frothed closer and closer to the surface since the start of the Blood War. Reaching for the Holy Light that had once dwelled within him only to shrink in horror when, once more, he found only the hollow left in the War of Thorn's fiery wake.
"I thought we were fighting for peace." He forced the words through a jaw clenched so tight he feared his jaw would break. Tears dewed his eyes and his anger flared hotter. "Instead, we're just fighting."
"Sometimes achieving peace means bringing your enemy utterly to heel." A pause before the Worgen grumbled "I'm sure if that dragon of yours were here he'd say the same."
His temper reared like a spurned naga but Anduin forced it down. Even as he snapped "Wrathion was never 'that dragon of mine'" he could feel himself fraying.
The older King grunted. "Stubborn as you are, at least you learn from being burned. I just wish you'd learn not to allow your choices to be so thoroughly influenced by those you shouldn't trust without something first having to go wrong."
Like you? The unbidden thought found its roots in the deep hollow torn within him and settled over his mind like septic taint. The voice was not his own, though it wasn't the first time it had invaded his mind in the past months. The sharp bite of rime blown along a blade's edge, it chilled Anduin to his very core but he didn't dwell on it. Knowing better than the tempt danger by delving into the tartarus the Light's absence had left behind in pursuit of its identity.
He'd always prided himself on his ability to contain his emotions: something Wrynn's down his line were not particularly known for doing, and that his father had possessed a reputation for being incapable of. But without the Light to guide him to peace and that haunting phantom which toyed with and taunted him, Anduin felt the burdens of Kingdom and Faction crushing him threefold. Doubts gathering about his feet like laughing ravens. Failure. They called him. The Last King of Stormwind. Bane of your people. Destroyer of all your forefathers have built.
Anduin struggled to focus on Genn's next words. "There is some good news. Gilneas rebuilds. Let our rise from the ashes of what Sylvanas did serve as a symbol of hope going forward."
Hope means nothing. That voice again, echoing up from the caverns within him. He doesn't care for your Alliance. For your people or for you. You've only ever been a means to an end, Anduin Wrynn. A wrung to be stepped on. A back on which to rebuild his walls. They will leave this Alliance too: rats fleeing a doomed vessel.
Anduin hunched over the rail and tried to shake the dark whispers free but months of stress and word had left him weak. The star of anger lodged in his chest kindling into something that carried the ashen taste of hate.
"Pleasant for you." The venom in his voice went unnoticed. "Leave me."
"Of course, my Liege." The Worgen's footsteps retreated and the balcony doors closed but, still, Anduin was not alone. Cold eddied around him. A thin sheet of frost stretched across the rain spattered stones at his feet. His lips tasted of burned sugar. The King shivered.
They will all betray you. The wolf seeks to rule and uses you as a puppet. The elf blames you for her 'great' people's downfall and would see you burn as they did; even now, she plots to send assassins.
The hairs rose along the back of his neck. The urge to turn and interrogate his surroundings almost enough to overpower him. Anduin shook his head vigorously and clutched the bannister before him. "I don't know what you are, but I demand you leave me be!" How galling it was that his voice came out a whimper. "In the name of the Holy Light, away with you!"
I think not, child. The voice was purring now. Almost fond. Yet as always a deep hatred for life cut through every breath and made his heart race like a rabbit's caught in the sights of a wolf. I have plans for you.
Fear gripping him as he mentally thrust the presence away, Anduin fell back on the only thing he knew that might protect him. His lips formed familiar prayers but the words fell at his feet like dead birds. The voice's laughter sounded like splitting ice.
Your prayers are meaningless, Cub, now that the light no longer hears you. Only I do. It brushed itself against his mind, then. So incredibly cold that it robbed him of breath and sent him to his knees. Chest straining against arctic air as the rain around him transformed into snow. Frostbite slid blue fingers across his cheek. You're already mine.
And then it left him. Not chased off by his invocations but simply bored. Slinking back to the lair it had found within the fractures grief and trauma had left in his soul. The air warmed. The snow vanished as if it had never been. The puddle he knelt in reflected a familiar image: his face, though worn and pale with lack of sleep, carried no signs of winter's touch.
The knowledge that only Bolvar had ever called him 'Cub' seared against his mind like a brand.
Anduin fled the balcony back into the Keep and nearly bowled one of his Lion Guard over as he turned the corner. The man caught him when he tripped over a platted sabaton and kept him upright.
"My Lord, are you alright?"
"Yes." Anduin doubted they were convinced by his breathless response. Pulling himself free of the older man's grasp he rearranged his armor and pushed a lock of damp hair behind his ear. Attempting to conceal the fact he was shivering, though the expression of concern on the man's face made it plain that much had failed. "If you'd both be so kind as to accompany me, I've business in the Stockades."
"Of course, your Majesty." Gesturing to his partner, the man fell into line behind the King and said nothing more. Still dazed from the strange happenings on the balcony and with his emotions whirling inside him, the Priest in Paladin's armor hurried through the expansive halls of the Keep and out again into the rain.
The weather had done a good job of clearing Stormwind's streets but those handful of civilians who were still present all stopped to greet him. The King they loved. They King they trusted to protect them. The King who was failing them with every breath.
Anduin couldn't bear to meet their eyes.
A King, beyond all else, was meant to be like a father. A father with thousands of children. Thousands of children to govern and defend. Soldiers and farmers and craftsmen alike, he was meant to gather them all into his arms and shield them from the horrors of the world; ensure they were well and happy no matter what trials he had to go through or what he had to sacrifice.
Tears threatened once more and frustration set his blood aflame. Anduin bowed his head and sped his pace; walk becoming a trott that teetered dangerously on becoming a run. Though the Lion's Guard behind him seemed to pick up on his agitation, they sped their pace without comment.
The City Guards manning the small dock used to ferry prisoners across the canals greeted him with well masked surprise.
"Your Highness." The nearest man stepped forward, removed his helm and bowed. "What brings you here?"
Blinking against the late day sunlight and forcibly composing himself, Anduin parsed through his memory for the man's name before he answered. "Sir Brennaden, I've business in the Stockades. If your men could see me across the canal as something closer to dry than not I'd be appreciative."
"Of course, King Anduin." Turning to his fellows, he gestured to the nearest boat and barked "get the King a rowboat you louts! Don't keep him waiting in a time of war!"
The other four hastened to free a boat from its moorings. His Lion's Guard boarded before him while the others held it steady; the man who'd caught him when he'd tripped offered him his arm.
"Thank you, Gair." Anduin accepted his aid, allowing his bodyguard to lift him from the dock and onto the gently listing row boat, and then off again onto the Stockades stone steps once they reached the other side. The Guards here seemed likewise shocked by the King's appearance. Affording them only the barest nods, heavy stones suddenly seeming to drop around his shoulders, Anduin continued through the door and descended into the prison itself.
The dank, claustrophobic halls stank of damp and unwashed bodies. Hazy with smoke from the torches that guttered along the walls. He left his guards behind at the entrance of one of the farthest halls with a soft order to remain put and advanced down the suffocating corridor. Stopping outside the barred door at the end.
A shaft of light spilled from the grate overhead, but only seemed to make his surroundings bleaker. Anduin's armor clattered as he gripped one of the corroded iron bars and peered into the cell: an empty bed of hay and burlap; a vacant bench-table; a hulking figure, still in armor, huddled on the floor.
The presence returned like a dread shadow but didn't speak. Existing as a constant hiss in the back of his mind. Anduin's voice thundered off the slick walls, echoing in the silence where once there had only been the sound of dripping water. "You had the chance to end my life at Lordaeron. To win this war for the Horde and shatter the Alliance. But you didn't take it." Heavy keys rattled on their ring as he searched through their ranks for the right one. "Why?"
The prisoner shuffled in his place, raising his head to glare with deep set eyes.
Locating the correct key at last, Anduin inserted it into the lock. The door creaked open and shut behind him with a bang. "Why didn't you kill me, Saurfang?"
Are you truly so eager for your own death, Little King?
Wide eyed, Anduin whirled around and scanned the hall he'd just walked down. Convinced, this time, he'd catch it in the act. Would find a figure. A shadow. Something. The corridor was empty.
"Hearing voices, Little Lion?"
He jumped violently, almost choking on a gasp, and turned back. Clutching at the bars for support. "No." His voice shook. Anduin reached up a hand to scrub at his eyes. "No. I just need sleep. The last time I've gotten any real rest was...but that's of no consequence. Please, answer me."
The metal ring in the Orc's left tusk glinted in the low light. "You may be King in this city, boy, but you are not my King. Don't presume to issue orders to me."
You'd allow a beast to speak to you as such? No Lordaeric King would have bowed to an Orc! We crushed their kind beneath our heel and made them slaves! Stormwind burned at their kind's hand; Varian, my old friend, would have never stood for such an insult!
Anduin squeezed his eyes shut. Taking a deep breath in an effort to settle himself and push the voice away only to feel whatever force was responsible for his week's long torment sink its fangs into his mind. He hissed and struggled to keep the pain from showing on his features.
"An exchange, then. Equal trade." Whatever the voice was it seemed at once to be a singular being and three seperate ones. The one he'd spent the most time wrestling seemed to be the strongest, or at least some form of authority. Looming in presence and sweet in its persuasions it would speak with him for hours and call his every belief into question. Kindling his anger. Infusing every thought he had with doubt. The second aspect rarely spoke to him and when it did it was only vaguely; as if incapable of any more. It seemed to care something for him and radiated a defeated mix of fondness, deep grief and all consuming guilt. And then there was the third aspect, which had just attacked him. Up until now all it had done was hiss at him derisively as if it viewed him as lesser; a loathsome creature which dealing with was a chore. This one, even more than the imposing first, scarred Anduin as it seemed to consist of little more than bitter pride and ravening madness.
All three were simultaneously present at all times. A formless beast with three heads, or maybe just three mouths. But only one was ever dominant at any given time, and never equally.
Anduin released his hold on the door and began to pace the cell. "I spared you because I believe you still have honor. In spite of what the Banshee Queen," at the mention of Sylvanas the voice screeched so loud the King thought he might go deaf, "would see the Horde become."
Honor? What a fool you are. Such things mean nothing to beings that have no use for it; do you think the Burning Legion had a concept of such a thing as 'honor'? Do you think Sylvanas does?
"Was I wrong?" A headache was building at the base of his skull. All Anduin wanted was to go to sleep. "Do you want this put to end or would you see more innocents burn as they burned in Teldrassil? The Horde-."
I've given more for the Horde than you have for the Alliance, Wrynn! Bled for it! Killed for it! And Sylvanas is destroying it!" Saurfang surged up from his hunched position and lunged at him. Anduin reeled. His armor clattered against the wall he'd fallen into. Even the voice seemed alarmed as it fled back into the dark pit inside him. Varok's fist, easily the size of a small boulder, slammed into the stone beside his head. Dust wheezed from the slime coated rocks. It was more plain than ever how much larger the Orc was. How easily he could tear out his throat with his tusks, had the aged Warrior possessed the desire to do so. Restrained anger darkened his eyes until they were almost black. "What I want," his voice rumbled through his wide chest and into Anduin, "is my Horde back."
As suddenly as he'd pinned him, the Orc retreated. Thudding across the room to lean against the bench. Massive shoulders sinking and head bowed.
Anduin took advantage of the respite to gather himself and straightened up. "Saurfang." His head whipped around to glare and he huffed like a bull about to charge. For a moment, the young King almost reconsidered pressing the issue. "Tell me why you spared my life."
He stayed silent for so long Anduin feared he wouldn't answer. And then "because I hoped you could stop her."
Even your enemies heap their hopes and prayers at the foot of your throne. Hasten to place upon your head their crowns of lead and thorns. It had returned. The dark one, this time. Anduin shifted, nervous. Why must you always be their savior? Can they not solve the problems they create?
The headache mounted. Anduin squeezed his eyes shut again and tried to will the shade to leave but it slipped around his efforts to expel it. Amused by his failings. Circling like a mocking vulture.
Look at you. Already you suffer beneath the cross of the crown you were bred for. Is it not unfair of them to expect you to rescue them as well? What have they ever done for you aside from turn their backs when you truly needed them?
Sweat beaded along his temples. Anduin felt faint. At once too hot and too cold. He swayed.
Where were they when your father fell? When all you had left was torn away? Where was the Light when your shattered heart cried out in pain? Gone! The Prophet whom you looked to as a mentor? Shut away! The Wolf who should have helped you lead? Chasing selfish vengeance in the home of storms! What of the witch who once espoused your same ideals only to accuse you of siding with your father's murderers?
Anduin knew he shouldn't engage with such a force but in his exhausted delirium he couldn't help but wonder where the voice which thought it knew so much had been during that time.
We learned of you through the part of us that is Fire Blood. Much of him has been assimilated these past few years-he put up a fight, but wasn't much in the end-but that stubborn concern for his 'little Cub' remained. Sun bleached bones to rot among the snow. But we indulged him. You're the perfect bait after all and will serve your purpose well. The little cell began to spin and a high buzz filled his ears. "As you lost your faith and the Light bled from you we filled its place. Supported you. And seek to support you further. While your allies hid, your forces cowered and your heroes died we avenged your father in the blood of a thousand-thousand demons. We can give you victory, Little Lion. We can give you peace. We can free your people from death. Give in.
His vision blurred. The room became a blur of color. Distantly, Anduin was aware of Saurfang speaking but couldn't make out the words. He scrabbled at the stone in a desperate effort to arrest his fall. Blackness flooded over him as he hit the grimy floor.
Anduin awoke lying on the rough cot which furnished the cell. Gasping and wild eyed he jerked back from the motion in the corner of his eye only for a gravelly voice to order "drink, Wrynn. It's pretty damn obvious you need this more than I do."
The massive green hand and the cup it was clutching moved in again. Insistent. Only able to weakly squirm atop the burlap and exhaust himself further, Anduin allowed the water to be foisted on him.
"I doubt you came here to mumble incoherently and fall over." Once he'd deemed Anduin had drank enough, Saurfang pulled the cup away. "Are you ill?"
"Ill?" Was he? It certainly felt as if he was slowly going mad. And with how little he'd slept and ate of late it was possible he could have come down with something. "No." Anduin sat up and winced when the room threatened to resume its motion. "Just tired. I apologize."
"You're as cold as death." Saurfang's stare was heavy. "Your lips are blue."
Anduin caught his hand halfway through flying to his mouth and forced it back into his lap. He shook his head. "I must have caught a chill from the rain." The Orc didn't believe him but made no effort to stop him from getting shakilly to his feet. "You say you spared me because you believe I can stop Sylvanas. I can't." He strode-or, more accurately, hobbled-to the door of the cell and swung it open. Concealing the fact he was largely dependent on clinging to it to remain upright as he turned back. "Not alone."
Anduin left the door open and made his way back along the passage. The two Lion's Guard who'd accompanied him acknowledged his return with respectful nods.
"I'll retire early tonight." He said as they ascended the stairs towards rainy sunlight. "I tire."
"Of course, King Anduin." Gair said. "What of the prisoner?"
"Mathias is aware of my orders. SI:7 will handle it from here."
They stepped back into the beaten rowboat. Travel back to the Keep was uneventful and, mercifully, the Priest managed to make it to his chambers without being jumped by any of the nobles.
Anduin freed himself from his armor, removed the outer layers of his clothing and propped Shalamayne against the nearest wall. Dropping into sleep the instant he fell onto his bed.
His dreams were troubled. Images of ice and howling wind replaced the darkness. Anduin stood in the midst of a cavernous, echoing room; cathedral-like in its emptiness. But he wasn't alone. Across from him at the far end, small between the pillars that rose to either side, stood a figure. A young man with hair as white as snow and eyes like sunken pits of blue fire. His armor black, grotesquely adorned with imagery of skulls and lions, and alight with unholy runes.
Anduin had heard enough tales of the once Lich King to recognize Arthas Menethil when he saw him.
Fear hollowed his chest and he turned to seek a means of escape only to find an endless stretch of shadow before him. Turning back to ensure he wasn't about to be run through from behind, the young Priest found that Arthas hadn't moved. If anything, the Death Knight appeared equally as disquieted with his presence. Equally wary-though Anduin couldn't fathom why when the Champion of the Frozen Throne, who'd leveled cities and raised armies, could likely have made him a ghoul without much beyond a passing thought-they observed one another. Each waiting for the other to make the first move. The only sound was the shriek of the northern wind outside.
Anduin, curious despite himself, gathered up the courage to move. Arthas stepped forward at the same time. Both leapt backwards and glared at each other before edging forward again. Sizing each other up like wild dogs about to fight. At the center of the room they stopped to look each other up and down. Half suspicious and half intrigued. A cloak, capped in plate spaulders, spilled gracefully astride his form in a pall of sable fur. He'd often heard the Fallen Prince of Lordaeron described by those who dared speak of him as beautiful in life and seeing him like this Anduin could believe it. Even with grey skin and sunken, pearly eyes a remnant of the corrupted Paladin's beauty remained.
Maybe it was that beauty, and the time to Humanity it represented, that drove him to do it. Anduin reached towards the Death Knight before him, the curious undead mimicked the motion, and just as they were about to make contact his plated fingers collided with the spotless glass of a mirror.
"Your Majesty!"
Anduin jerked away with a yell and tumbled from his bed. Images of the dream scattered like terrified fish in a pond as he met the cold flagstones, leaving only confusion and a strange sense of foreboding behind. The shriek of wind was still in his ears. Louder, now. Becoming more and more distinct as he shed sleep until he could recognize what it truly was.
The frenzied wail of the city's alarms.
Anduin scrambled onto all fours and raised his head only for a hand to seize him roughly and drag him to his feet. Shalamayne shoved into his hands.
"I apologize for the rough treatment, your Majesty. But gentleness falls by the wayside when my foremost concern is your life."
He recognized the Spymaster's voice even when he couldn't make him out through the darkness. A darkness that was thicker than it should have been even in the latest hours of night.
"What's happening?" Anduin demanded as the Rogue began to tow him forward. "Mathias!"
"The Horde, my Liege!" He hauled him around the corner and into another of the Keep's many corridors, headed for the stairs. "The fog was thicker than usual but we thought less of it than we should have. Never considered it might be the work of Shaman intended to conceal the movement of their fleet. With our forces reduced and afield we're without real defense. Not against their troops. Not against their Azerite."
Anduin dug his heels into the stone beneath him, forcing Mathias to either stop or pull him over. "She's going to level my city; burn it like she burned Teldrassil!"
"Yes!" The Spymaster shifted his grip and resumed pulling him forward. "The Lion's Guard is the closest thing we have to a standing army; they've gone to meet the Horde at the docks and my SI:7 have joined them."
"What of my people?" Everything inside him had frozen up with dread and sorrow. He was supposed to protect them. Keep them safe. And yet he'd delivered them to their deaths.
"We'll evacuate who we can. Those able will flee into the forest, though there's sure to be more Horde forces waiting for them there." The Rogue's voice was cold but there was sympathy in what he could make out of his bearded face. "My concern is getting you to safety. The House of Wrynn cannot be allowed to fall."
Leave? Mathias expected him to allow himself to be shipped off to safety, no doubt in Ironforge, when doing so meant abandoning his people to burn? His place, even with the Light bled from him, was in the cathedral with the rest of the Priesthood. Pleading for mercy. For a miracle that might spare them all from his mistakes. A King did not abandon his subjects to the wolves! He defended them until his death. He didn't run to save himself.
He was about to say as much to Mathias but stopped himself short. Though Rogue and an Assassin the Spymaster of SI:7 was nothing if not loyal to the crown. If he believed doing so was necessary to save him Anduin wouldn't put it past the man to break his spine and knock him cold before bodily dragging him onto the tram. If he wanted any chance to make his last act that of a King rather than a coward he needed to cooperate.
For now.
Anduin swallowed his disgust and nodded. "The Tram, then?"
"The Tram." Mathias attempted to pull him to the staircase, but Anduin held his ground.
"We bring every civilian we encounter with us."
The Rogue looked utterly exasperated but opted for the smoothest option to get him moving again. "Of course."
Anduin allowed himself to be pulled the rest of the way through the Keep and onto the stairs outside. The swell of warning bells was almost deafening but over them he could still hear his people's screams. Fog hung thick and cold over the ground yet even through it he could see flames: both the orange of natural fire and the blue-gold of Azerite munitions. The familiar scent of brine and forest had been replaced with smoke and blood.
Mathias sped his pace into a run as they left the royal gates for the city istead, descending into the chaos below. Nearly blind the young Monarch struggled to see three feet in front of him. Tripping and stumbling over the scattered rock and cast off belongings and splayed bodies; fallen soldiers or trampled common folk he had no way of knowing. The seething crowd battered them from side to side. How Mathias was able to find sure footing was a mystery.
A ballista flew overhead and slammed into a building a few yards ahead of them, flinging stone and fire in all directions. Mathias spun about and pulled Anduin's head to his chest. The action shielded him from the deluge of debris but did nothing to impede his vision of the leveled building; the blue-gold flames leaping into the air; the child's toy burning on the cobbles.
On they ran through the circus of horror Stormwind had become. Under wreckage and over ruin. Collecting those too scared or too helpless to escape on their own; an elderly couple; a petrified cobbler's apprentice whom Anduin had to bodily halt from beneath a heavy table; an infant, barely two months old, abandoned in the panic. By the time they reached the passage to the tram and bolted down it a small caravan had gathered behind them. The stench of smoke and burned flesh were replaced with metal and oil. The thunder of ballistae and tolling bells muffled behind thick walls and the hiss of machinery as an empty tram slid into the station with a great rush of air.
"This is where I leave you, King Anduin. Take these people and get to safety."
"Thank you, Mathias, for your many years of loyal service. Both to my father and to me." Anduin hooked his fingers into the buckles on the front of the Rogue's chest piece. "I only hope you can forgive me."
"Forgive you?" The auburn haired man's eyebrows had drawn together. Thinking nothing of looking down at him and holding his gaze. "For what?"
"For leading our people to their destruction. For calling this down on their heads. For failing as their King." Anduin's eyes hazed blue-violet as he drew on the Shadow. "And for this."
The Spymaster didn't go easily. Realizing what he was attempting to do a split second too late, Mathias slammed down his trained defenses but by then Anduin was already inside. Bending his will was a task that approached monumental, especially if he wanted to avoid lasting damage, but he won out in the end. Mathias went rigid as Anduin withdrew. Guilt chewing his already hollow insides. He knew the wounds he was no doubt opening in the wake of what Detheroc had done to the man during the Legion's final invasion of their world, but to save his life he felt the measure reasonable.
"Get on the tram. Take them to Ironforge. Protect them. See justice done to the Horde, if you're able. If you're not...all I ask is that something of Stormwind survives."
He willed the man onto the Tram and he went, though stiffly. Still battling the compulsion which, Anduin hoped, would hold until he was out of range to return on foot. The terrified men and women who'd already crowded the cars stared at him. Doe-eyed and shivering. Shying away as Mathias stumbled among them. Regret coiled around his throat, Anduin looked them each in the eye as his fingers wrapped around the tram's lever.
"I'm sorry that I failed you." It released with a screech and a clang and the Tram began to move. Lurching forward. Picking up speed as it entered the tunnel. A few of them called after him but Anduin didn't allow himself to look back as he ran back onto the streets. Fumbling his way to the cathedral in the center of the city, located only through years of familiarity.
"Your Majesty!" The High Priestess sounded horrified to see him. "You shouldn't still be here!"
"A King does not abandon his people to die! Nor does a Priest when his prayers could mean their salvation." The voice was laughing at him but Anduin ignored it. "I will not flee from what I called down. I'll beg the Light for its salvation so that they might be spared. And if I fail then I'll die with them; it's the very least that they deserve."
He shut his eyes and arranged himself into the closest thing to the proper position his crippled leg would allow. Calling to the Light at the top of his lungs, choked and aching from the smoke and ashe. Not the familiar hymns or prayers he'd memorized as a boy but a ragged plea for it to take him and let his people live.
But the Light remained silent. Remained absent. The hollow in him where it had once coiled an empty pit where even the smallest embers had died. Had he not served with enough devotion? Had he not given enough of himself in his observance? Had he not sacrificed enough to be entitled this one mercy? His vision tinted red. Resentment, anger and fear roared up within him and a burning blasphemy sprang free before he could stop it. "Damn the Light! May it burn with us!"
The cathedral around them exploded in a great cloud of smoke and fire. Lifting him from where he knelt and flinging him backwards through a stained glass window. The ceiling gave way. An avalanche of white stone, each single block many times his weight, rained down; only stopped from crushing him by the support beam on which he'd been impaled.
Pinned like an insect to a collector's board the reality he was going to die settled over him like a shroud. Fear constricted as he struggled to breathe through the blood clogging his throat. Cold. So cold. Everything hurt. It was as if he were a child again; cold and alone. But this time there was no one left in the world who would come for him. He'd never known his mother. His father was gone. And Genn...he'd left. Back to Gilneas, more than likely. To his own people. His own lands.
Forgotten me already, Cub?
Anduin attempted to lift himself from the ground and wailed when the wood dug deeper. The stone overhead shifted dangerously. The shards of glass he lay against dug into his back. No one was there. There was never anyone there. Just a voice.
We're far more than 'just a voice'! We're Azeroth's rightful ruler! A God far greater than your precious Light! The bitter one snarled, only for the dark one to force it down. When it spoke again, it was without the crazed bite. We reiterate our offer, Little Lion. Serve the Frozen Throne. In return, we'll free your people from death.
He struggled to keep his eyes open even as vision failed him. Dust and stone and blood gave way to blindness even as another image formed. He was shivering, not just from the rapid loss of blood but from the ice he'd been laid out on. Three figures peered down from overhead with glowing eyes. The largest of them little more than floating armor held together by pulsing threads of screaming spirits. To its right, standing with the posture of a rabid animal and with madness in his eyes, stood a towering man with strands of wild white hair escaping from beneath his helm. The third figure looked more like an effigy of a human crudely formed from burning charcoal than a man and was held by the first in thick chains; wan yellow eyes gazing at him with guilty despair.
Give yourself to us, King of Stormwind. All three spoke with the voice of the first, the others little more than puppets on terrifying display. Give yourself to the Scourge. Bow before the Lich King.
"Save my people." He was so tired. So tired and only wanted to sleep forever and never wake up. "Save my people and I'll do whatever you want."
They stepped towards him. The second in lockstep with the first while the third was dragged behind like a reluctant hound. We have a deal, then. The hand not holding the burning figure's chains reached into his heaving chest. Crystals of ice formed in his blood as his vision shattered and everything around him went terrifyingly dark.
Death came quickly after.