~Author Note~

This is set shortly after War Crimes and MoP. It's... kind of an AU? Maybe? Right now, I'm not sure if it would be considered one but let's err on caution and go with yes.

Pairings: Nothing romantic. Just Varian being Azeroth's #1 (DILF) Dad.

My plan is to (hopefully) get on a decent schedule with updating stories on the regular. That means hopping between the Warcraft and AC universe to do "Ripples" some justice and finish that badboy up. New stories are going to be cross-posted here and AO3. For now, though, enjoy this heartfelt, family fic~

Warnings: None to really note. Maybe language and a rusty writer getting her legs back under her.

Anduin wasn't sure what dragged him from his unconsciousness first: the biting cold from the snow beneath him or his father's half-yelling, panicked voice inches away.

"Anduin! Anduin! Can you hear me? Guards! Get a healer!"

The fifteen-year old groaned lowly at the frantic overtures heavying down the High King's words, but they were enough to make the prince groan lowly and force his eyes open. Powder blue irises tinged with fatigue and turned glassy by the Winterspring chill stared up first at the oddly purple sky. Winterspring always did have a strange ecosystem, constantly bathed in snow and tossed in an omnipresent hellish winter. Why they chose it as the staging point for their council meetings between the Alliance and still reforming Horde was a mystery to him. As if watching the leaders snap at each other's necks wasn't enough pain, they were masochist enough to add insult to injury and willingly elect to freeze.

Or maybe they just knew there wouldn't be many places for someone to run if an attack did happen. Footprints in the sea of snow would be easy for anyone to follow, even the lowest and most amateur of trackers.

"I am a healer," Anduin weakly protested as he fought to roll himself up to a sitting position, though his limbs felt numbed from the cold and his fur-lined cloak was soaked from the snowbank he lay in. In the distance, he could see his father's guards rushing from the Kal'dorei lodge, their plated armor outfitted with winterized tabards to fight off the cold as best as they could. "I just need-"

"What are you doing out here?" Varian sharply cut off as he swept his stare over his child, frowning at the unnatural blue tint to his normally pinkish lips. "You missed the welcoming breakfast. Your guards had been looking all over for you and I was a breath away from notifying the rest of the compound on your disappearance. Conveniently occurring right after several of the Horde just arrived." From the lodge, a crowd had begun to collect, though their distance wouldn't afford them much of a scene to balk over. While Varian's very large figure undoubtedly stuck out among the expanse of alabaster, pristine snow, his son's frozen body was almost covered in the very sickly white substance.

Looking from his father's scarred, scowling face flickering between paternal worry and kingly frustration, Anduin bowed his head as he fought to stand. "I'm… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause a stir or worry you. I must've fallen when I was…"

The movement in the frostline far from the lodge was fragmented from the thin silhouettes of trees. The wind battered more harshly against his face, making his cloak whip and snarl around his body and angry wisps of snow circle around him tauntingly.

He was closer, and the figures took shape. A man with glowing red eyes snapped at him, yelled something but he couldn't make out the words. The other with elven-like features yet gaunt that had long lost its beauty with death, drew a long bow. His hands were raised defensively up as he backpedaled, trying to regain a safe distance.

The sound of a bow string releasing came seconds before the pain in his chest exploded and then pure blackness.

"Anduin?"

Blinking rapidly, the prince didn't realize he was falling over until two strong arms were gripping his shoulders and carefully pulled him to his feet. The world seemed to turn sluggish around him, but the memories - he was sure they were memories, weren't they? - flashed with a frosted veneer in his mind. A gloved hand pressed and prodded on his chest where the pain resonated moments ago in his memory, but his heavy jacket wasn't even cut, and no matter how much he prodded it, there was no ache or pain there. It must've been a dream…

"I'm sorry, father. I… I think I just need to lay down," Anduin looked up at the King with a sigh, expecting to find a scowl hand in hand with a disapproving look. But he didn't see any of the sort. His dark chestnut hair, drawn back to its normal messy ponytail, had turned into a field of snowflakes, and his blue eyes several shades darker than the prince's blithesome ones were overcast with a keeling concern.

"Here," Varian hastily unclasped the silver rivet attached to the front of his own long, heavy cloak, the outside made of a smooth velvet while the inside was lined with some kind of exotic fur imported from Ironforge. Fabric with craftsmanship befitting a king, he didn't think twice before pulling it from it his shoulders and draping it over his son's. Their size difference was almost comical, so much that his cloak could've served as a warming blanket for the prince had he chosen it to. "Anduin, you cannot do this! This isn't Pandaria! My appointment here is too important to be chasing you around, and the guards are already on tightened watches with so many Horde in the area. Please, Anduin, take pity and listen for once."

The hissing words felt more like a snap against the prince's cold cheek. Turning his face into the soft warmth of the cloak, the priest's argument froze and died on his tongue before he could fully let it form. The fur still carried the High King's body warmth and telltale scent - earthroot aftershave, plate armor polish, and tea - and he wasn't sure if it was having the heat or the calming smell of his parent that put his argument at rest. "I'm sorry," he repeated between chattering teeth. "I… I don't fully remember what happened but… I don't mean to cause an interruption or distraction for you. I know how important this is and want to partake in these-these proceedings. It's important that we-"

"Light, you're freezing. Come on." And he'd be freezing too, soon, if he didn't find shelter. The guards had finally made their way through the thick snow that came up to their knees, fighting their way to the father and son, with a worried druid in tow. But Varian didn't pause to let the Kal'dorei put his fretting at ease and look over the prince; placing a heavy hand on the teen's slightly shoulder, he carefully led him towards the lodge and graceful warmth it promised.

Anduin's unnatural quietness was what tipped him off that something wasn't right. The boy was a bundle of energy and excitement when the royal's arrived hours ago that morning, too excited to even unpack in their shared quarters and barely containable to receive briefings on the week-long meetings. Reparations would be determined, evacuation orders between factions in certain zones, and the daunting conversation regarding Garrosh's mysterious whereabouts. His evasion at his trial had only been a handful of weeks ago, and the unknown ate a hole in everyone's unease.

Approaching the large lodge, feeling two pairs of eyes on him, Varian glanced up to a wooden balcony overlooking the frozen lake, sprawling snow-covered forests, and haven of snowbanks the two royals had just come from. His fingers tightened instinctively around the half-stumbling prince's shoulder when his eyes met Vol'jin's pensive ones and hardly softened at meeting Thrall's.

While Jaina and Anduin swore of Thrall's honorable intentions and peaceful qualities, he refused to lower his guard. The Orc was the one who trusted Garrosh in the first place, who had been his mentor. In the King's mind, he carried a sliver of the blame.

The Lodge was an explosion of activity with a clashing of so many different races that Varian immediately felt his freehand reaching for Shalamayne. Night elves mixed with their Sin'dorei cousins in the communal dining hall, tauren sat amongst dwarves at the rustic bar tucked under the enormous staircase carved out of a single, giant tree trunk, and humans and orcs poured their attention over reports and books at the various meeting rooms specifically set up for the purpose of the summit. Guards of each faction and race could be found every few feet, patrolling to ensure no blows were to come and watching to determine which side initiated in the event that they did.

Snow blew in with the King of Stormwind, his son, and his small collection of personal guards as he stepped fully in, shaking his head in a poor attempt to rid himself of the snow that began to collect on him. His hand was still protectively placed on the teen's shoulder, interpreting his uncharacteristic silence and sapped energy as a sign that he needed to rest. And see a healer. Anduin might've been taught by Velen himself and ran all around Pandaria flexing his newfound abilities in the Light, but he was still, at the end of the day, a child.

His child.

"Your majesty! You found him!"

Grinning tightly at the elderly human in a woolly sweater that rushed towards them, Varian felt Anduin tense under his hand. But when he glanced down at the boy, Anduin was looking at the man, his chief chamberlain, who he'd known since his birth with a tired smile. "My apologies, Wyll. I didn't mean to cause a ruckus or distract from these proceedings. I… I fear I may have just… fell in the snow and hit my head."

Varian lifted an unconvinced brow. "Hit your head in the snow?"

The teen's cheeks exploded in a heated flush. "Or… Or something. Maybe one of the trees. I don't… I don't remember."

"Then right you are to get resting, your Highness," the elderly man chided in a good-natured tone, his warmth as infectious as Anduin's brilliant smile and benevolent habits that somehow managed to earn him friendship with anyone he came across. Some saw it as a virtue, but as his father, Varian only saw it as a vice. Somewhat worldly and traveled, Anduin was still painfully naive and unjaded to the ways of the world, seeing the best of people when even there wasn't any to be seen. His insistence that Hellscream had the ability to change was evidence enough of that. And evidence enough that his naive streak had jarring consequences.

Seeing movement out of the corner of his gaze, Varian glanced over in time to see Vol'jin and Thrall descend the ramp leading up to the outdoor mezzanine, their lingering distance - close enough to catch the High King's attention but far enough away to grant him privacy with his child - conveyed their unspoken hailing. "Wyll, if you could please take Prince Anduin back to our rooms and make sure that he is seen by a healer, and stays there for the remainder of the day, I would be most appreciative."

Though the chamberlain smiled and bowed obediently at the waist, the grim look in his smile told the King that even he doubted his ability to sequestered the curious prince to a single room for a few hours. The Lodge wasn't large and didn't grant even leaders the most luxurious of quarters. But comfortable with adapting to battlefront accommodations of a mere tent, Varian brokered no argument when he accepted the paltry hospitality. And as expected, Anduin didn't seem the least bit deterred in his excitement at having to share a room with his father.

"You're not coming with?"

In hindsight, in a few hours time when he'd be cradling his head in his hands and sickened with worry, Varian would look back and see that unnaturally clingy question from his son as the start that something was wrong.

Looking down, Varian frowned at the odd paleness that crept over Anduin's cheeks and stretched up into his blue eyes, making them lose their luster and seem duller. But it was the freckles of concern in the teen's youthful features that gave him a pause. Anduin wasn't one to want to be babysat, least of all by him. Independence was his most sought after meal he hungered for, decidingly brought on by his age. And Varian tried as much as he could, within reason, to give the priest more chances of it.

If it wasn't for feeling Vol'jin and Thrall's stare lingering on him, he would've listened to the small voice in the back of his head and followed the blonde back to their quarters. "No. I have a meeting with the council within the hour and the welcome dinner shortly after that. There's something else I need to see to immediately, though." He paused. "Are you ok, Anduin?"

The beryl irises turned distant for a split second, almost lifeless, making Varian's hand on the boy's shoulder stiffen. But with the blink of his eyes, they were back to normal. "I'm just tired," he mumbled lowly and ran his hand through his messy gilted bangs, disheveling them worse than they were before. "Resting and a hot bath should do me right. Maybe I'll try that… goblin shower contraption they were boasting about. One of us should be the test rat for it."

Varian grinned, only slightly relieved at his son's use of levity. "Knowing goblins, it might just be sparking before you get in. And if that's the case, I hope you have the sense not to."

Beginning to fight with the silver clasp on the cloak, Anduin shook his head. "Please at least come up with a better story to tell the nobles about my death, something with more dignity. Death by goblin shower sounds utterly pathetic."

"It would be the talk of the Houses for at least five years. Maybe six if we push it," Varian reached forward and clasped his larger hand over the prince's. "Keep it. I won't be going outside again. And Anduin…" he sighed heavily and dropped his hand to the side. "Please be more careful and aware of your surroundings. I chased you all over Pandaria for half a year. I'm not about to have a repeat in Winterspring. I think you've exhausted my patience where your adventures are a concern."

Grinning wryly, a sudden pain nestled between two of his ribs robbed Anduin of breath and words. Hissing as a stinging anguish swept through him, he instinctively pressed a hand against his burning chest, fingers pressing and exploring through the many layers of fabric. But even with prodding digits, the discomfort didn't change; it festered and ached like a scalding burn, feeling as though his skin was blistering away beneath the heated affliction.

"Anduin? Are you alright?"

Breathing through the pain at hearing his father's worried voice, Anduin quickly nodded. And just like that, in a matter of three breaths, the pain was suddenly chased away. He blinked rapidly, fingers continuing their fretless search but finding nothing amiss or out of sorts. There wasn't the familiar dull pain of a bruise, but he couldn't think of what else could've caused it. "I'm alright. I think I might've bruised something when I fell." Sensing the next words to come from his sire, Anduin lifted a hand. "And I am a healer, father. Sending in another healer is like… it's insulting. I'm not that tired that I can't see to it myself and I promise you that I will once I warm up."

Glancing over his shoulder, Varian found Vol'jin and Thrall still waiting for him, though the patience in their stances had diminished considerably. He could get in an argument with his son on the topic or relent and trust in his word; both avenues were tempting. A single father trudging through the murky, lightless trials of parenting a teenager, he was becoming better at recognizing smart fights with Anduin, though it often took deconstructing the situation with more finesse than it did planning the siege on Orgrimmar. Who knew the chaotic attitudes of teenagers could surmount up to Hellscream's might?

"I'll be back before supper to change," the High King began with a sigh that answered the boy more than his words did. "And if I - me, not you - decide that you look well enough to attend with me, then I'll allow it. In the meantime, I want you resting and when you're strong enough, heal what you can. And do not hesitate to call for me if you need something. Or a healer. Understood?"

A tired smile tugged on the prince's lips. "Yes, father."

As he embraced the boy quickly, careful about the amount of strength he used in his muscled arms around the teen's slender frame, Varian felt the stares from the Horde leader and Earthen Ring guardian watching him. Part of it was unnerving, but given they were standing in the main lobby of the lodge where the activity continued to prosper around them, he wouldn't be surprised if he arrested more attention than just the Orc's and Troll's. A regal man with a commanding presence and built stature, he rarely mixed in well with crowds. Only after watching Anduin weakly walk down the corridor and take the first turn to retreat back to their room did Varian finally turn towards the ramp behind him. Meticulously trained and unwaveringly loyal to their monarch, the guards immediately fell into the King's shadow as they followed him. But one plate-gloved hand rose up, signaling them to stay stationed a short distance away to grant their liege the luxury of a rare splinter of privacy.

Or as much privacy as he could manage in the middle of the lobby with arriving diplomats and leaders.

"Thrall, Warchief Vol'jin," Varian greeted in his typical booming tone saturated with command and warmed only just enough to suggest he wasn't a threat.

"King Varian Wrynn," Thrall greeted with an honored tilt of his head forward, though it wasn't returned from the human. Not that he was expecting it. His cerulean eyes framed by a pair of plaited raven-hued braids cascading down the front looked from the King over towards the corridor. "If I didn't know the trial was only weeks ago, I would've thought at least a year had passed by how much your son has grown."

Varian chuckled flatly, untouched by any attempt of familiar levity. "Teenagers have the habit of growing overnight. Now if only his curiosity didn't grow as well. He'll put me in an early grave at this rate."

Thrall didn't have to ask what the king was referring to. Their eyes had met outside, when he was returning to the lodge with the bundled up prince. "I was relieved that his brush with Sylvanas and Nathanos didn't create tensions. I'm hopeful to return soon to Nagrand after these meetings. Neither of us need the headache of dealing with a fight this early in the processions."

Schooled to maintain a staunch air of diplomacy and impassiveness even in the face of his adversaries, no matter the occasion, Varian fought to keep the trouble from etching into his features then. Seeing Vol'jin shift his weight unsteadily between his feet and look away told him he failed at the feat. "What brush with Sylvanas?"

Vol'jin exchanged a look with Thrall, unreadable for the most part but slathered in uncertainty and hesitation. "Tell me," the king growled, not liking the information being kept from him or the crawling feeling of disquiet clawing at his stomach.

"We be seein' 'im chatting wid' di Dark Lady and har ranger. Di Blightcaller," Vol'jin paused to look past Varian as the doors to the lodge opened and the blonde-hair Regent Lord of the Sin'dorei stepped in with an equally as blonde companion at his side, both of them looking none to pleased at the callous weather and their need of heavy winter gear. It was no secret anymore than the Sin'dorei had been a breath or two away of abandoning their faction to return to the Alliance colors they once honored decades ago, leaving their terms with the Horde unsavory in the troll's mind. He looked back to the High King with a sigh. "Yuh should chat wid' di boy. We only did see wah looked lakka argument. By di time we get tuh Sylvanas, we lost track ah where yuh boy was."

Thrall nodded slowly. "She claimed she was trying to have a private word with her ranger when the prince showed up."

Stumbling on a private conversation? Finding trouble? It all sounded very much like Anduin.

Sighing heavily and massaging the jagged scar that ran across the bridge of his nose, Varian nodded slowly. He made a silent point to seek out Sylvanas and offer his apology, assuming it was only an argument and she didn't lay hands on him. Dropping his hand from his face, feeling leagues older than he was, the King fought the billowing anger bubbling up in him. "I found Anduin unconscious in a snowbank, half frozen with near hypothermia," his tense voice danced the dangerous line of accusatory. "You're telling me he just had an 'argument' with Sylvanas and then conveniently passed out? Give me more credit than that, Warchief."

"If yuh be wantin' di full story, maybe yuh boy shud tell it. But if he not be tellin' di truth, look at who's at fault den. Yuh boy couldda been taken as a spy."

It took all of Varian's power not to draw Shalamayne. Suddenly he regretted his decision not to dismantle the Horde. Maybe it was the truth in his words that bothered him so much. "The prince will be questioned, as will Sylvanas. And hear me, troll, if I learn that my son was harmed in any way, the Alliance won't be showing nearly as much clemency as I was originally willing when it comes time to determine reparations."

Spinning around on his heels, the High King didn't wait for a response, denying them that chance and respect and favoring them with the resoluteness of his back. It was dishonorable and snubbing, but with his emotions as bothered as they were, he didn't care. The Horde ought to be thankful for him even agreeing to stomach the weeks worth of meetings. It was a courtesy that he was allowing the Horde leaders to partake in the discussions regarding war reparations and terms, when he could've came up with the terms on his own from the comforts of Stormwind and his office, submitting them and demanding unwavering compliance.

Thrall sighed defeatedly as he watched Varian stomp off. How Anduin, a harbinger of peace to such an extent he believed there to be goodness in a man who broke every bone in his body, could be a son of the High King, the Orc couldn't fathom.

"I be havin' a bad feelin' about dis."

I survive on donuts and reviews! With luck, I'll try to post an update soon(tm).