AN: Thank you guys so much for the reviews and kind words! This story is coming along pretty well; I'm hoping to have the whole thing wrapped up in a week (fingers crossed!). It's not one of my longer works but a fun little idea I had rolling around in my head.

Happy Reading!

After retreating to their room and somehow convincing Wyll that he wasn't about to collapse from a little time left outside in the elements, Anduin was granted some much needed solitude. And yet, at the same time, he didn't want it. Even as he undressed with painfully slow limbs that felt gawkish and uncoordinated, he didn't like the idea of being alone. But he didn't want a guard stationed at his door watching his every move with emotionless, calculating eyes trained to look for threats to the royal family. And neither did he want his chamberlain fretting over him and trying to find the impossible balance of adhering to his King's word and his prince's rebelling attitude. That middle ground rarely existed.

No, Anduin wanted his father there.

Draping the king's borrowed cloak on his neatly made bed, Anduin lingered there as he fought with the juvenile emotions and wants. He was fifteen years old, hardly a child anymore in need of a parent's comforting words and touch, and more than capable of caring for himself. Less than a year ago, he'd managed to travel over the rolling hills and infested lands of Pandaria without a word from his father, often times even evading the king's half-decent attempts of tracking him down and dragging him back to Stormwind. But this was different. He couldn't pinpoint the reason or why, but a panicked, aching sensation began to boil in his stomach, making him long for the surety of his father who knew how to handle the worst of situations.

Swallowing back the childish whims, Anduin glanced around their shared room. Delightfully small, it carried all the whimsical essences of any Kal'dorei lodge with dark woods, thick blankets and woolen linens to fight back the chill, a small hearth set into the wall, and a gracious paneless window that held back the outside chill thanks to strong arcane enchantments. Two beds in the typical Night Elven four-poster design were tucked a little to closely together for his comfort, but their Kal'dorei allies favored communal settings, especially among kin and family. Hours ago when the royals first arrived in the town, Anduin had boisterously claimed the bed nearest the window, wanting an unobstructed view of the snowcapped mountain range enclosed around the lodge. Now, he couldn't find the strength to much care where he slept.

Shedding himself of his clothes and leaving them where they fell, he stumbled into the bathroom. It wasn't particularly large, either, but large enough for the week there. Though there was a narrow bathtub with taps that would enchant the water to a hot temperature, he wanted to test out the goblin shower they bragged so much about. But his energy sapped his enthusiasm, and he could barely show more than an idle glance at the shower head that rained down a cascade of hot water.

Anduin didn't know how long he was in the shower. His limbs were beginning to struggle to cooperate with him, feeling heavy from one movement to the next, and at one point he had to place his forehead against the tiles to catch his breath. It was only for a moment, he thought, that he stood there with the waters rushing down his body in a torrent and waited for the heat to warm his chilled bones. It was slow to happen, though, and ultimately never did. That chill permeated and refused to be chased away, making him shiver even under near scorching hot shower.

"Anduin?"

The familiar baritone voice made his eyes snap open and pull his head away from the wall. His father was back already? Reaching for the tap to turn it off, an odd scaliness to his fingertips made him stop and look down at his hands. They were a lighter shade than the rest of his body and covered in the pruniness brought on by water, but so severe that his skin looked ready to flake off. Maybe he'd been careless with the temperature. Or maybe the goblin contraption really was as faulty as the rest of their 'doodads'. Surely he wasn't in the shower for more than a few minutes.

Quickly turning off the rush of water, he grabbed a towel hung from a peg and wrapped it around his waist. "Just a second!" He winced at his hoarse voice, but wasn't given much time to dwell on it before he was nearly doubled over in a sudden coughing fit. His lungs felt on fire and the pain in his chest from before suddenly flared with renewed anguish. Wincing and whimpering between coughs, he pressed a hand against his chest, fingers digging between his ribs to try to reach whatever was causing it. A bruise, he assumed. But even as his fingertips illuminated with the gentle call of the Light and warmth filled his body, the pain mocked it and only turned more vicious. A hand planted itself on the bathroom wall to steady himself as the coughs grew more desperate and his lungs suddenly seized at their inability to draw in breath.

Strong hands on his shoulders pulled him from the bathroom, he was distantly aware, and guided him until the backs of his legs felt the sudden comfort of the edge of the bed.

And then, just like that, the coughs suddenly stopped in tandem with the burning pain in his chest. The alarming sensation of drowning was gone and he hungrily sucked in breath after breath of precious air to fill his deprived lungs. If not for the hands still holding his shoulders, he doubted he'd have the energy to stay upright.

Cracking pained, blue eyes open, Anduin's fuzzy vision somehow managed to clear itself as Varian's face came into focus, the king kneeling in front of him with scarred features pinched in concern and worry. "Are you alright? By the Light, Anduin…"

Before he could answer, Varian dropped one of his hands from the teen's shoulder and brushed his fingers against the spot between his ribs that had just arrested him in pain. "Did Sylvanas do this? Answer me."

Blinking in confusion, his mind feeling sluggish and slow, Anduin glanced down at his father's ungloved fingers circling a spot on his naked chest. A cacophony of brutal blues brushed with painful reds marred the skin there, looking to be the start of a nasty bruise the size of two fingers width. "Sylvanas? I… I don't know. I don't remember…" His mouth felt dry and he fought to keep his thoughts coherent. Furrowing his brows, Anduin looked back at his father's fuming face. "What-what happened to the council and the meetings? I thought… you were busy."

Varian gave him narrowed, odd look. "What of it? Council meeting was largely uneventful. Posturing as expected and a briefing on the topics that would be discussed later in the week. I told you I'd be returning before supper. Which you won't be going to. In fact, I'm going to be sending a healer in here to check on you, and I don't want to hear a word out of you about it. So save us the argument and- Anduin, are you ok?"

The prince was staring out the window. The yawning floor to ceiling window that had once given him a picturesque view of the late morning snow fields right before he went in for his shower. His shower that was only a few minutes.

The night sky smiled back at him with an impressive canvas of studded stars and flooding moonlight that illuminated the snow.

Hours. Hours must've passed.

"Som-something's wrong," his voice cracked at the words and he looked down at his shaking hands. "I don't remember… I don't remember what happened before you found me outside. I don't remember what happened this afternoon. I feel… something is off. Something is wrong."

Varian was on his feet in an instant, and distantly Anduin heard the door be pulled open so rough the hinges threatened to be yanked from their beds in the wall. The world around him seemed to turn into a nauseating kaleidoscope of colors and sounds, each one mixing together and making his head spin and vision swarm. Clenching his eyes shut to try to stop the lurching vertigo, he thought he heard Varian yelling something, not at him but another, in his commanding voice like when he addresses his lieutenants. But it all felt and sounded miles away.

A second familiar voice joined his father's, this time closer to him. He felt two pairs of hands pulling him to the bed and laying him down; one pair was rough and calloused and large like his father, and the other were thin and spindly, deceiving frail with age but more than capable he knew.

"Just rest, Prince Anduin."

The spinning sensation was brought to a sudden standstill as a familiar radiance in the Light, so strong he could only hope to one day replicate its intensity, flooded his mind and body. The darkness lingering on the edge of his periphery lunged forward and dragged him into its maw.

It was the divine bell all over again. Only this time Varian was forced to stand behind Velen feeling as helpless as he could be as both parent and king to his ailing son. The Draenei hands basked sharp brilliance of Light into the unconscious teen lying listless on his bed, brought into a state of fabricated unconsciousness thanks to the priest's fast healing. Unparalleled in his affinity in the Light and a previous mentor to his son, Varian hadn't hesitated in ordering his guards to get Velen from his own private quarters. Looking surprised at first when he approached, Velen had rushed to the prince's side when he got one look at him.

"What's wrong with him? Is it sickness from the cold? Did he catch something when he was outside? I don't know how long he was out there. Maybe a few hours. He shouldn't have left his guards when he did! I told him to stay at the lodge and with me. Light, had he just listened for once in his short life, he could've-"

"King Varian, pray have peace," the Draenei mumbled quietly as his steepled fingers flooded with a near blinding light cascaded gently over the sleeping youth's torso, lingering over the oddly shaped and colored bruise. When the light drew nearer, the priest frowned as the blue began to turn darker and the skin slowly started to bubble with sudden blisters. The sickened sensation rolled from the boy into Velen, making him hiss in return and sharply draw his hands away. "He's afflicted with a disease. Unnatural and not worldly. It feels like… the blight. A strain of it, perhaps."

Varian's blood turned cold. "The blight? Where would he get that? We're in Winterspring, for Light's sake, not Northrend!"

Velen let the Light drain from his proverbial and physical hands, waiting until the golden radiance on his hands was completely doused before gently pressing on the grisly mark blemishing Anduin's chest. "To ask where is the wrong question, your Majesty. 'Who' is a more appropriate start."

"He's been with me nearly all day! Save for when-" The king's eyes narrowed to half-moon slits, the concern being chased away by anger and the thirst for rampage. "I'll kill her myself…"

With unfaltering patience and an odd calmness about him that almost suggested Velen knew the answer to his questions before Varian spoke, he turned slightly at the robed waist to regard the High King with a pensive look. When he spoke, he did so with brutal honesty, knowing his words wouldn't be easy to deliver, but spoke them with the evenness that his station demanded. "If not for the sake of this summit then for the sake of your child, hold your sword and your temper, Varian. The Light's strength is not stalwart against the blight, despite our best efforts. It is possible that whatever strain grips his life may be weaker, but there is no guarantee."

Stepping alongside the bed, Varian grabbed the edge of the blanket and managed to drag it over his son's sleeping form. Though covered by the towel still wrapped at his hips, he'd need more covering than that. And the paternal instincts that normally lay so dormant and untouched were roaring with life, shared by both his personalities. "I will not lose my son to this."

"I will stay with him and try to heal as much as I can, as much as his body will let me. It is early on in development so chance of interruption before it can fully become staged is high. But I'm sure that Sylvanas has the means through her alchemists to provide an antidote. At the very least, if she were to tell us more on the strain, we can steep it ourselves. Once it fully matures, though, there will be no-"

"I'll get the antidote or information," Varian snapped back and tightened the brace holding Shalamayne against his back.

The dining hall favored the rest of the Kal'dorei's knack of communal living with dozens of long tables taking up the expansive chambers. Food was served in platters against the walls in a buffet, encouraging a mealtime co-mingling between patrons. For some, it was relaxing and laidback and free of stifling high class affairs. For others, the thought of standing in a communal line for food between potential enemies was daunting enough to chase away hunger.

The welcoming feast was in fullswing, though the head table had three place settings that remained vacant and untouched, drawing questioning glances towards the seats. Jaina and Genn had exchanged concerned looks and words, not finding the lack of Varian, his dangerously curious son, and one of the strongest priest's a coincidence in the least. Even disconcerted looks were shared at the Horde headtable, Thrall glancing uneasily at Vol'jin but the warchief's expression remained painfully neutral. It was not the way to start out the summit.

Heavy plated boots thundered down the main aisle, drawing some glances but the din of the dining hall was explosive enough to almost mask his approach. Almost.

Varian didn't stop or slow as he approached the Horde head table, not even when the orc guards stiffened in warning though none of them reached for their weapons. As hated as the humans were among the Orcish ranks, his election not to dismantle their honored faction had elevated his name and status marginally among their bramble. They regarded him with skeptical looks but moved their hands off their weapons, though that proved to be a mistake.

The High King stopped directly behind the seated Forsaken leader who was leaned slightly to the side, listening to something her lapdog ranger was whispering into one of her elongated ears. But the conversation was brought to an abrupt end as a thick hand with the strength rivaling any orcs reached around and grabbed at her throat, plated fingers digging brutally into her windpipe and dragging her out of her seat and away from the table in one fel swoop.

The momentary peace shattered in a second.

But Varian ignored the Horde guards that clashed with his own, ignored the screams from Vol'jin and Jaina, ignored the quiet laughing from Lor'themar, ignored everyone and everything around him except for the words from Velen. Except for the sight of his only son lying on the bed, fighting for his life.

With an unfaltering vice grip, he slammed her against the wall, not caring at the sound of the wood buckling behind her or the growl of pain slip past her deadened maw. Within seconds, Shalamayne was pulled from her resting bed and the cold steel of her lip was pressed against the banshee's grey neck. The pounding of his heart filled his ears, creating the perfect symphony to encourage him to simply end her revolting existence. Lo'gosh roared, urging him to do it, but logic quieted him.

"If it wasn't for the fact that I need that antidote, you would be killed a second and final time, wench. To hell with diplomacy," he hissed, his feral eyes narrowing on her glowing scarlet ones. "Give me what I need and I'll spare your pathetic life for now."

Her eyes creased as a smile pulled at her grey lips and a taunting laugh rumbled past them. "I see you've gotten my gift, King Varian. This is no way to repay me. What father would not want their child to live on forever." Her smile widened. "Well, maybe less so the living part."

The sword was pressed sharper against her. "I swear on my life, Sylvanas, the next words out of your mouth better be the antidote, or else I'll-"

"-Or else you'll what?" She taunted, canting her head to the side. "Kill me? Then what? You'll be given a few days, maybe two if you're lucky, before the disease takes him and he'll be raised anew. Don't worry, Varian, I am so very charitable. He'll retain those boyish looks of his even in death, for the rest of his days. On my side."

"Varian, enough!"

"What be di meanin' of dis?"

Jaina and Vol'jin's voices broke through the white-hot rage seething in Varian's mind, clouding his thoughts and begging him for retribution. He was the High King, had rebuilt his kingdom from utter chaos and destruction, had led countless successful wars, had brought prosperity and wealth to his people, had ended tyrants and global threats to their world and beyond. And yet, he couldn't do the simple thing of keeping his own son safe.

Baring his teeth with an angry snarl, now having drawn the entirety of the dining hall's attention, he dropped the Forsaken and took a step back. Shalamayne glimmered with encouraging light that yearned for as much bloodshed as its owner, but he pulled the sword from her to turn to Vol'jin's bewildered face. "An attack has been made on my son, the crown prince. A child. You have until tomorrow at sunrise to procure me the antidote. If he dies," his voice shook just barely, so tense and low it came out more like a feral growl than a litany of words, "the Alliance declares war on the Horde. And this time, you will not be shown clemency."

He left a stunned dining hall behind, teetering as uncertainly as his son's life on the brink of war.