With the holiday's and travel, I'm not sure when I'll be able to toss the next chapter out so here's a very long one! A few notes with this chapter. Explanations of shadow magic are my own take on it. The war reparations are not canon; I added this in for a bit of realistic flair to it, drawing on influences from WWI and WWII.
Thank you everyone for the reviews and kind words! I seriously get so excited to see reviews and comments so please, please keep them coming! Also, the next chapter you'll be seeing Vol'jin and Varian chat about the outcome of this attack so stay tuned!
If he squeezed the cup any harder, Varian was positive there would be a mess of shattered ceramic and tea on the conference table. At least then he wouldn't have to look at the litter of papers starting to make him go cross-eyed. He couldn't even find himself to be hungry for the lunch break that was due to be called, which he fully anticipated retreating back to his accommodations to take it with Anduin. Assuming the teen was awake. But he'd welcome the company of his sleeping son to any of the leaders and advisors seated around the council table. Really, he'd had his fair share of looking at them for the rest of the day, despite the fact that the meetings still had hours upon days left.
Crunching numbers, calculating indemnity inflations, and arguing the cost of Orgrimmar offensive fortifications incurred by the Alliance during the siege. Varian had surprised everyone - and earned a sea of groans - when he told them he'd discarded all prior plans he'd drafted up. What he didn't add was his teenage son was the driving force that influenced his decision and drove him to turn the meeting minutes into fire kindle. And while he entered the room with all the best of intentions to heed his priest's generous-hearted words and approach, the High King was either fighting with himself on the matter or arguing his point with the other Alliance leaders.
The Horde seemed too stunned to voice their opinions, for which Varian was eternally grateful. His patience was paper thin, and was only seeming to get worse as the summit progressed. Or regressed, thanks to his abrupt change of heart.
"King Varian… these new drafted terms are…" Genn's voice almost cost the High King another quill caught victim between his two white-knuckled fists. The servants overseeing the council had quietly emerged from their tucked away positions on the room's periphery, stepping out from the shadows to wordlessly collect the pieces of broken quills left in small, angry piles in front of the High King. They said nothing the past four times they swept up the mess, and neither did anyone else at the table; a small blessing for their safety and sake.
"Are what?"
The Gilnean monarch coughed stiffly at the High King's biting tone leaking with his unbridled frustration. The lunch bell hadn't sounded yet and they were already being graced with Varian's anger that carried as much notary as his martial prowess. Not that Genn could much blame him. Stuck sequestered in a single lodge by the damning blizzard outside with detestable Horde and bickering Alliance leaders all the while suffering the paternal plights of worrying for his only son's safety… the Worgen could feel a flood of sympathy for Stormwind's ruler. But that was from one father to another. Had it been Liam laying in Anduin's position, suffering under the entombing damnation of a forsaken illness, he personally would've sought a fitting retribution within seconds of his child's life hanging on a fatal edge.
In the days that followed the altercation between the teenage prince and the Forsaken Banshee, word had spread faster than the billowy gusts of wind pelting their lodge with strong lungs of bitter snow. The Gilnean king hadn't taken much inventory for how the rest of his faction reacted, but he himself was beyond livid. He'd heard yells - a shrieking feminine mixed with a thundering masculine - from a conference room and didn't have to wonder how Jaina took the news. While maternal with a softening gaze whenever she looked at Anduin, the Archmage's wit had been off-kilter since her exposure to the mana bomb and the sudden destruction of her beloved city and people. It was no surprise, especially after her hostile reaction following Garrosh's downfall, that she pushed Varian to yet again take up arms and assert their forces against the still weakened Horde ranks. Her emotions were as taut as a bowstring, rumored to have been worsened from the electrifying effects of the mana bomb that riddled her with second hand radiation. But Genn knew the difference between aggression brought on by a curse and that of someone grieving the loss of what they used to have.
He knew that differentiation well. Too well.
And while Genn might've expected Varian to quell Jaina's bloodlust for the Horde and finding an immediate revenge, what he didn't expect was Varian doing the expect opposite and showing a surprising measure of mercy when it came time to sit down at the negotiation tables. The war against Garrosh's tyranny and neutralizing his threat had been beyond costly for them in both gold and resources. It would be near impossible to recoup what they lost, not with the Horde's present shattered remains. Restructuring and reforming they might be doing, but they were still mending broken joints and nursing wounds that would fester for decades.
Still, Varian had once been at the head of a financial assault on the Horde leaders, whipping them with his unrelenting front as vicious as he would with Shalamayne in battle. But over the course of a day - a mere night - everything had changed.
Genn looked back down at the numbers. They were much lower than he would've liked for initial compensations. "The resources and industrial assets will please Ironforge. Assuming Vol'jin agrees to them," he flicked a condemning chocolate-hued gaze upwards, looking across the sea of papers and ledgers to the other side of the table where the Horde retinue sat. The troll's face was unreadable with a blank, well-groomed expression giving no hints to what he thought of the High King's sudden change of heart. "The provisional coal payment seems very… reasonable. But freezing an indemnity rate, Varian…"
"I didn't realize dogs knew how to count. How amusing."
"Enough, Sylvanas," Lor'themar's crisply accented voice that spoke in a highly cultured Common beat anyone else on the verge of launching a verbal reprimand to the Banshee. He sat on the opposite end of the table from her, favoring neither being in the center nor in her proximity. But the Sin'dorei leader had come to prefer residing in the flanks with Brightwing at his right side, appearing to cling to every word spoken but offering very few comments of his own. "The coal and steel shipments you propose, Wrynn, while surely to stabilize emerging cities and outposts for the Alliance, will be a knife in the back of the Horde's already waning resource battle. If your idea of reparations is to disemploy any hope of the Horde's commercial and economic renewal, I applaud your enterprising schemes. As it stands, excavation efforts are already being pushed beyond capacity to restore Orgrimmar after the siege." He placed the parchment down onto the table with a surprising surge of poise and control, each movement turning fluid into the next. "What you propose exceeds what the Horde is able to pay, not even touching on the possibility of willingness."
Varian looked down at the numbers. They were beginning to mesh together, so many figures and calculations. A headache began to pound behind his eyes. "Then we'll reduce the shipment expectations from every three months to every six until the total amount is satisfied."
"Varian!"
The High King didn't even look up at Jaina's incredulous outcry as he scribbled the change on his copy of the proposed terms. His already overcast mood was turning more foul. "I'm enforcing an executive decision on this," he grumbled in an abrasive tone matching his attitude. After turning quiet for a spell, the head of his quill pressed firmly against the parchment, he didn't look up as he waited for any dissenters to utter their concerns or rejections.
Only silence responded to him.
"Then we're in agreement," not that he'd grant them - at least the Alliance leaders - much leniency in the decision. "We'll reconvene after lunch to determine a supply schedule honoring the change from quarter to biannually. I believe I've been more than allowing in these provisionals to encourage a restoration of the Horde and not just...crippling your economic reprisal. Tomorrow we'll discuss the monetary indemnity incurred. And I am firm on my stance of not enforcing hyperinflation. Or any inflation, for that matter. War has consequences, not peace. And let us not forget that the person we waged war against, for the most part, is not in this room. It's not in my agenda to pass his sins and the cost of his tyranny on the people we fought to pull out from under his hold. Nor should it be the purpose of these meetings."
"Di Horde be needin' tuh discuss dis," Vol'jin mumbled among this large tusks, his low voice stripped of any emotions. "We bi takin' an extra long recess tuh hab our own meetin'." His eyes snapped over to Sylvanas' dual crimson ones, catching her sardonic, mocking stare for the briefest of seconds. "I may bi askin' sum nuh tuh return, either."
Hastily collecting his papers into a messy bundle strapped in a goatskin leather ledger, Varian was already pushing himself to stand. The lunch bell would be sounding soon, but his patience had expired already. "A wise choice," the High King shot an equally disdainful glare at the Banshee Queen, who met it with the same dark amused grin that made Varian nearly reach for his beloved sword and simply end her. In truth, he didn't know what discord rushed through the Horde leadership like a consuming wildfire on the heels of his son's illness. But astute and perceptive thanks to too many nights sacrificed to arguing among Nobles, he was able to discern the strained relations and disquiet that festered between Sylvanas and the other leaders, especially their newly seated Warchief.
After giving forced pleasantries and insistence that he wouldn't be joining the lunch meal in the dining hall, yet again, Varian took his leave. His mind was splintered worse than rotting wood, tormented with what was perhaps regret but better explained by sheer uncertainty for what he had elected to do. So many times in the past, and not so distantly either, he was beyond tempted to exact a fitting retribution to the faction and people who wronged his own and claimed the unjust death of his father. He couldn't forget it, the man who's namesake carried on through his son, and whose death drove the High King into fits of starving revenge against them. The Orcs were faceless in their claims of honor, no matter how much they bellowed to possess it. Time and time again, the humans - physically weaker but stronger in unity - had seen the devastating effects the so-called honor had brought them.
But while the Orcs claimed his father's life, it wasn't the Orcs that nearly claimed his son's. Well, not this time. Garrosh's brutal blow from the bell was still too fresh in Varian's mind, but it was by an Orc's hand that Anduin was healed from the blight.
Trying not to let himself show too much mercy and levity at the notion, his pride as thick as his broad frame, Varian busied himself with gathering two plates of food from the dining hall. He was sure Wyll would've done the menial task and toted them back to their chambers but the monarch was in need of a distraction. He selected a bowl of bone and herbed broth with a slice of rosemary bread for Anduin and a hearty herbed bear steak for himself with a pale yellow and spotted black rice that smelled of earthroot and some other herb he couldn't place. He nearly reached for two helpings of the steak, hoping that the prince would have the appetite to eat more than just mere liquid and bread, but he knew it'd end up being a wasteful attempt. As bottomless as Anduin's stomach normally was thanks to his teenage growth, his appetite was sluggish in returning in full force and didn't seem to show any urgency in coming back anytime soon. The boy was barely able to eat more than half an apple for breakfast and left the brown sugared porridge cold and untouched.
"King Wrynn."
The deep voice that carried itself with the throttling intensity of thunder made the king pause as he was about to leave the dining hall, arms occupied with holding a tray filled with small silver-hooded platters. "Baine." Varian didn't bother concealing his annoyance at the interruption. Nor did he put any effort at concealing his still unresolved anger at the Tauren befriending his teenage son in secret meetings behind his back. "For being so quiet during the council, I'm surprised to find you approaching me now. Any thoughts you might have on the reparations are best saved for after the recess."
The Tauren gently shook his head. As much as Varian detested the Tauren - at least for their continued support of the Horde - he never could quite grasp how large they were. He'd faced more than his fair share in battle and had come out of the skirmishes as both victor and nursing countless wounds. Lingering slightly in the corridor right outside of the dining hall, his considerable bulk blocking Varian's path, the Tauren's stance didn't leak any hints of aggression. No, it was quite the opposite. "I have nothing to say on the negotiations. At least not anymore. You retracted the monetary compensation you were originally demanding of Thunderbluff. And I have no argument about your changed resource delivery. It's fair enough."
"Then what do you want?"
Baine didn't even blink at the biting words. "I came to see about Anduin."
The broth nearly sloshed out of its bowl as the High King fought with himself not to throw it at the Tauren for his concerns. He didn't want them. Not from a Horde leader, from the very faction that nearly stole his son's young life. "Then ask Thrall. I'm sure he'll give you updates."
Baine mirrored the human's step as he attempted to pass him. And he disregarded the challenging glare from the King and dropped his voice several octaves and volume, quiet yet dripping in concern. "I'm asking you. Beyond simply being a child caught in the crossfires of hostilities - some unfounded given the purpose of this summit - I consider the prince a friend. I honor his friendship as much as I do his welfare in this much."
"Don't talk to me about honor," the human spit back in a strangled voice poorly containing his rage. "The most honorable thing your faction has done is respond to cleaning up the mess Sylvanas made. You're lucky that I don't listen to my advisors and the rest of the Alliance telling me I was due to get a deserving revenge."
"We both know Anduin wouldn't want that."
"There's a lot of things that Anduin wouldn't want, or does want, and doesn't get his way. He's a child. You can't cherrypick when you think he's relevant or not to fit your narrative, Baine. And on that juncture, if you ever come near my son again, behind my back, it will be the last thing you wished you'd done. Anduin may still be naive and fill his head with immature, foolish thoughts of seeing 'good' in everyone, often at the expense of his own safety, but let me reaffirm something if you somehow confused yourself - he didn't inherit any of that from me."
"Immature those thoughts may be, but foolish? Is it foolish to walk a path of tranquility and turn your back on destruction? I think Azeroth is left wanting for a little immaturity after all she's been through. I think we all are. Too long have we followed in the footsteps of leaders with jaded views and tarnished perspectives."
Varian squeezed the edges of the tray harder. "I can only imagine you're speaking of your own Warchief, Baine. The Alliance - and my kingdom - lead by a set, seasoned example. Jaded views are cautionary ones. But please, tell me how operating Thunderbluff with the stance of being 'immature' goes for you."
The Tauren didn't look the least bit insulted at the callous, bitter words. No, he knew the fount of where the king's anger and frustration came from, and it wasn't a politically charged source. "Varian… I condemned Sylvanas's attack for what it was: dishonorable and unjust. We all did." Seeing the scarred features begin to tighten up and coil with collating emotions, Baine was quick to continue in his same low-toned voice weighed down with concern. But he was quiet not just for the sake of showing his care and compassion; no, his words could be translated to treason for speaking of matters outside of a secure forum not meant for the gold-and-blue tabarded king. "Vol'jin is unnerved at what she's doing in her apothecaries. There's a line between upsetting the ancestors through lichen ways and using a tool for war. She crossed that line, especially against a boy at a summit."
Varian wanted to yell and scream obscenities, he wanted to unearth the legendary blade on his back and embed her lip into the Tauren's chest. He wanted to blame him for all of the wrongs brought to his kingdom, his faction, his family. Light, he could protect an entire half continent of people from rampaging orcs, an ethereal lich king, broods upon broods of dragons, sha-infested amalgamations… but the one person who meant the world to Varian, the one person he woke up for everyday, he couldn't keep safe.
He closed his eyes with a sigh. Baine wasn't to blame. He was only a convenient outlet who happened to wear the same tabard as the banshee who deserved his wrath. "I'm sorry," he mumbled as he opened his eyes to find Baine watching him closely. "Anduin is doing much better than before. Maybe a little too better for my sanity. He's strong enough not to be sleeping the majority of the day but too weak to go back home to Stormwind." Furrowing his thick brows, he glanced briefly down at the tray. "He's not gotten his appetite back, either. I intend to bring that up to Thrall next I see him."
Baine chuckled lightly - well, as lightly as a Tauren could. It still rumbled like thunder. "If I remember anything of Anduin Wrynn, it's his curiosity, goodness, and appetite. I recall very well how many tea sandwiches and pastries he had at Theramore." It was a gamble bringing up the impromptu meeting that clearly had earned him the king's wrath. But Varian's face didn't pinch or become shadowered with rage at the reminder; no, that rage had subsided enough to make him look tired and weary, the gravity of the last few days taking a striking toll on him. "And while I'm positive his goodness hasn't wavered, I'm sure his curiosity and appetite will be quick to come back in full-force as well."
Varian growled lowly, though without the previous malice that had consumed his voice moments earlier. "The curiosity and wandering I could do without. That's what got him into this mess in the first place."
"Much better a wandering mind than a lost soul, King Wrynn. He follows a charitable path, though. Especially for one so young. His actions at the trial were… inspiring."
Now those were memories Varian didn't need to be reliving; Garrosh's tyranny, the bell shattering the boy's bones, the soured trial, the Mag'har somehow managing to slip by their fortifications. "Don't remind me," he grouched and moved to walk past the Tauren who'd stepped aside to grant the human passage once again. He wasn't sure if the words would be enough to satisfy whatever concerns Baine had but considering the King wasn't blocked again, he didn't dwell on the matter.
The Tauren's rumbling words echoed down the corridor as Varian strode past. "Please give the prince my reassurance that I'll continue to seek the ancestors guidance for his recovery."
Thankfully, with Baine at his back, the King's irritable roll of his eyes went unnoticed.
Varian had no intention of making good on that request from the Tauren, sharing no love for the blatant affinity and supposed 'friendship' the chieftain had with his young son. While Anduin might've been a priest by discipline, he was heir to Stormwind by birth and son of the Alliance's High King. Varian had been largely joking when he made the comment about throwing Anduin in prison for treason for his friendship with Baine, but the harsh reality wasn't far from it. Had the House of Nobles heard that Anduin was keeping company with a Horde leader, especially against the king's wishes and knowledge, they'd stoke the flames of the rumor mill and toss the poor boy to the dogs. It was no secret Varian was often at odds with the nobles, his heavyhanded approach to running the throne hitting heads with their gluttonous desires and stifling decorum.
Reaffirming his grip on the tray, Varian knit his brow in confusion at first when he turned down a corridor and was hit with what he could only describe as obnoxious noise. A heavy sound with a bastardized notion of a tempo maintained with a reverberating bass, the clatter only grew louder and louder the closer he got to his chambers. And as the volume grew, so did the sounds. The detonating bass was no longer aimless but followed a paltry pattern; roaring drums, pealing guitar strings, and clamoring voices slowly mingled together to make what was pathetically called 'music'.
The two guardsman stationed outside of the royals chambers had thin, white-lipped expressions and creased brows as they fantastically fought to try to ignore the explosion of music from the rooms they were guarding. Varian made a mental note to increase their pay for the trip and adjust the patrol schedules to give them respite from watching over the teenager.
"How long?"
The guard returned the sympathetic look from the monarch with an awkward cough. "For the greater part of the past bell, Your Majesty. Thrall visited the prince a few hours prior."
Which told Varian that Anduin had likely been awake for at least two or three hours, despite the King's stringent orders for him to commit his day to resting. Blaring near deafening music was a far cry from resting the body. The King felt his own blood pressure pitch to a soaring crescendo at the shrilling boom vibrating the door on its hinges.
Opening the door, Varian closed his eyes as a wall of riotous music almost bodily hit him, threatening to bowl his broad frame over with its disorderly tune. He wasn't sure what unsettled him more; the irony that someone so benevolent and tender as a priest preferred the rackety harmony of a heavy metal music, or the fact that Stormwind's future king was a diehard fan to a Horde band.
He could settle for disliking both.
The rancorous noise - Varian refused to acknowledge it as something as melodic as music - suffocated any sounds the King might've made lumbering into the room. And a man of substantial size harnessed with a thick broadsword to his back made quite a bit of sound. Not that the teenager lounging in the bed in a half-sitting position, his body supported from a plush mountain of pillows, heard or took any notice to his father thanks to his eyes fastened down on the book cracked open on his lap and the voluminous explosion of music beating against the walls.
Setting the tray down on his bed, Varian reached over to the small device resting on his desk, seated among the haven of work papers and missives from his state couriers, and flipped the dial in a deathly downward position. Though his own experience with portable audiophones was rudimentary at best, he'd tinkered enough with his son's after Jaina gifted it to him for his fifteenth birthday. At the time, the gift sounded splendid and perfect for the staunchly regal boy often deprived of outlets most teenagers enjoyed. Music and the arts were beloved subjects he tried to ensure the prince was well taught to appreciate and respect.
It backfired horribly on the King.
The blonde's head snapped up when the music suddenly died.
"Is ETC the Horde's newest assassin tool?" Varian snorted some and shook his head in mild disapproval. "Truly, Anduin, had my intention been to harm you, you wouldn't have any clue it was coming. You couldn't hear me at all over this...noise. I'd be amazed if you could hear anything."
Though still pale from his weakened state - something that didn't go unchecked from the King's quick cursory gaze - Anduin's lips quirked up into an amused grin. "I'd be amazed if I could stop any assassination plot that managed to get by your guards, father. ETC or not." He chuckled lightly. "I might as well enjoy the music during my final moments."
"That's not funny."
"It's a little funny."
Varian narrowed his eyes on the teen, taking in his damp blonde bangs and pajamas that were different from the pair he was wearing in the early hours of the day. "Don't push yourself too much, Anduin. You might be healing well, but you're far from recovered. And the moment you have recovered enough, it's straight back home to Stormwind for you," he grumbled as he reached over for the tray and placed it on the boy's bed beside him.
The prince's eyes flashed with mild lecture as he closed his book. "But not before I attend you during that ride through Winterspring you promised."
"I have no memory of making any such promise."
The humor drained from the boy's expression. "Now that is not funny."
Varian grinned faintly as he dropped himself to sit at his desk, his own silver-hooded platter plucked from the tray. "It's a little funny."
Delidding the hood from his own meal, Anduin's boyish spirits rebounded quick, though whether from the lightheartedness flooding from Varian's words or the sight of food, Varian didn't know. His worried, paternal side hoped the teenager was regaining his soured appetite back with a roaring revenge, the same appetite that made the royal chefs and bakers scramble to deliver enough to sate the bottomless hunger. While it was indisputable that Anduin wouldn't ever develop the burly frame from his father, a frame befitting a warrior, he'd likely still inherit most of his looming height. Which made the still-short fifteen year old suffer the awkwardness of his transitional age, a period when his limbs were clumsy and bumbling in coordination as they fought to adjust to his emerging growth. Lanky and slender, Varian remembered back with fond memories living through his own tormenting adolescenthood, though he was granted companionship with Arthas. The two of them were inseparable during those days.
Arthas. What he'd give to go back in time and try to do something - anything - to derail the destructive path his best friend had traversed down.
"Are you ok, father?"
Varian let go of the melancholic thoughts as the fatigued voice pulled him back to the present, leaving behind ghosts and phantoms in the recessed shadows where they belonged. "Hm?" He met the prince's concerned gaze. The boy was too perceptive for his own good sometimes. "Oh, just thinking. Nothing to worry yourself over. The negotiations have my mind running numbers more than I'd ever want." He slathered the lie liberally with a wry laugh. But judging by the teen's forced smile of understanding, he knew it fell short. "If the soup's not enough, I can send Wyll to get you something more robust. Though it's all Kal'dorei food so… I don't know how 'robust' it will be."
Plunging the lip of his spoon into the burnished broth, sloshing through the soupy ocean emitting rising steam from the surface, Anduin smirked weakly. "The steak looks pretty good." His pale blue eyes, still glassy from his body's fight against the blight, glanced over at the flank currently getting stabbed by the King's fork and knife. "I like it here in Winterspring. I mean, from what I've seen of it, anyways. It's so different from Stormwind. The closest I have to compare it to would be Kun-Lai, but even that wasn't… quite like this." He turned quiet for a moment as he glanced briefly out the window, watching the pour of obscuring snow fall in torrential sheets. "Is this what Icecrown was like?"
Varian frowned as he chewed the heavily seasoned piece of steak. Leave it to the Night Elves to slather - and ruin - a once prized cut of meat with their insistence of including nature in everything. He reached for the bottle of Darnassian merlot he left out from the night prior, the red wine still three quarters filled and would do the trick to keep him company for the meal. What he'd give for something stronger with a more bitter kick to it. He doubted he'd find a Dwarven whiskey in the lodge. Actually, he doubted he'd fine anything Dwarven at all. "Icecrown?" He coughed a little and carefully scraped the slush of herbs off the steak. "Not quite. The snow there was thick and would come down nonstop but it wasn't like this. In the mountains and the sea, near the Argent Tournament grounds, it was a little more similar. But around the citadel, the ground was kept warm from the structures and the armies movements. It didn't allow it to collect like this. And the sky always looked stormy and dark."
Anduin tore off a chunk of the rosemary oiled bread accompanying the soup and tossed it in his mouth. It wasn't toasted like Ironforge favored and he nearly choked on the overwhelming herbs that accosted his tastebuds. "I wish I was able to go with you then. At least to the Argent Tournament." He smiled faintly at the memory. "I would've liked to see Icecrown and the festivities. Instead of being left at the Keep."
"You were too young."
"As if age was the only thing holding me back," the prince countered in a light tone. "You hardly allowed me to stay in Lion's Landing as long as you did."
"I think you're still too young to be at a forward base," Varian leaned back in his chair, taking mild enjoyment from the steak's freshness now that it was free from its herb prison, and looked over his child quietly. "And do you have any fathomable idea the panic you set SI:7 and the House into when you were enjoying your tour around Pandaria? My being there to establish the base only added insult to injury - the crown prince was missing by his own machinations and the king was willfully putting himself and the throne at risk by going to the front. Had something happened to both of us…"
The broth suddenly tasted stale and lifeless. Anduin knew the conversation well; he'd been on the receiving end of it enough he could recite it. "You didn't have to go to Pandaria. You could've stayed in Stormwind," he leveled the king a pointed look to drive his words home. But given his anemic state, he doubted he mustered much at all.
"The same could be said for you," Varian groused back with a stern look that lasted only a few seconds. The monarch's testy side bristled and cursed at the memory of Pandaria, at the panic that shook his core and made him turn to the bottle more times than he should've. But watching the boy make waves in his soup, looking probably as miserable as he felt in his frail state, he couldn't make the same ire surface that he felt when in the moment those many months ago. He was beyond relieved that Anduin still breathed, for his son had almost been taken from him more times than he ever should've.
The king sighed tiredly, shook his head, and, for the first time, spoke earnestly of the matter. "I tried to stay in Stormwind as long as I could, son. Getting word that you were shipwrecked and your whereabouts were unknown was torture. Learning that you were once a Horde prisoner made me beyond worried. But it was hearing about the numerous evasions you made with your guards and SI:7 did I finally say enough was enough. If the whole of Stormwind's army, if Shaw's best agents, couldn't get you back, I was fully prepared to find and drag you back myself."
A feeble smile cracked on the teen's features as he sipped the soup. "You're jesting."
A challenging brow rose, making the boy's smile slowly wither under its scrutiny and telling presence. "I'm not, Anduin. Once Lion's Landing was established and secure and no longer needing my supervision, I intended to hand her off to General Twinbraid and lead my own expedition to find you. You might be willing to employ rather impressive measures to evade guards and Shaw's agents, but you wouldn't do that with me. Nor did I have any intention of allowing you."
The prince's submissive stare dropped down to the puddle of broth left in his bowl. He welcomed the messy blonde bangs to sweep over his forehead and spill into his eyes, hoping that they'd act as curtains to veil his billowing defeat. Ever perceptive and unfalteringly strong, his father was one person who Anduin would've listened to had he shown up in Pandaria and demanded him home. True, he'd sought his independence in the past when he arranged his own tutelage under Velen much to his father's chagrin, but the wilderness of Pandaria was different. The distance was a virtue and a vice, the differentiation oftentimes getting blurred depending on the day and what Anduin was doing at the time. When his mind was consumed with his mission to save the island and keep it a treasure, he could forget about Stormwind and its king. But when the rush of the day finally slowed down, when he was sleeping in unfamiliar bales of hay or in strange Pandaren inns, his mind would wander to the white-stoned Keep he left behind. And he'd find himself missing the velvet chaise couch he'd curl up and fall asleep on in his father's Map Room while the king attended to his work, the sounds of his quill scratching across paper and his occasional muttered comments lulling him to sleep. He'd miss their nightly dinners together and the crude comments his father would make about the Nobles.
Homesickness struck him harder and faster than he could ever prepare for. And while he could shirk away from guards and agents, and continue to bolster the imperativeness of ensuring Pandaria's safety, he knew one person could unravel and undo all of his work. The one person he longed to hug and see all of those nights, to get his wisdom and feel his surety.
"I would've gone back with you."
The whispered words gave Varian a pause. "I know." He said the simple two words with a surge of tenderness that surprised the boy, making him snap his gaze upwards to catch onto his sire's stare. "I have no intention on reliving those days, son. There's more than enough for us to focus on now, and living in the past would get us nowhere. Just know that… I'm getting old. Show your old father mercy."
The tension dissolved in an instant as the prince laughed. "You're not old, father. But I promise you that I'll keep your venerable age in mind before I pick my next island to run around. Maybe I'll even take you with me next time." Though it was clearly said as a joke, Anduin turned a sliver more serious as he considered the older man for a beat. "Would you have done that? If you found me in Pandaria and I had asked you to come with me to save it, would you have done that instead of making me go back?"
Placing the eating utensils on his empty plate, Varian took the time to consider the question. "And ignore Stormwind and the Alliance?"
"You've put the House in charge of the kingdom temporarily before and they didn't completely ruin things. You could easily do it again."
"And in those instances, I've always been accounted for and in a sure place. Even when I was in Pandaria and establishing our foothold there, I still took portals back home to maintain the state." He knew he was arguing a losing battle; even he didn't believe the extent of his words. It was true that the House of Nobles were organized to assume temporary regency over the Kingdom when the ruling family took leave for whatever reason. Sighing heavily, he ran a large hand over his haggard features. "You're also assuming that I would've given you a chance to try to convince me to allow you to run around Pandaria." Leaning forward slowly, he balanced his elbows on his knees and hardened his stare on the boy caught under the reprimanding look. "I heard that you were using shadow magic to mind control your guards, and according to several other accounts, it's not the first time you've done it." He watched as the teen uneasily broke eye contact and looked down at his lap. "Where did you learn it?"
The stiffness in the King's words made it difficult for Anduin to discern his father's emotions; was he angry or curious? Or both? "Some from Velen, some from my own independent studies. I… I felt bad doing it! I try not to do it! And it doesn't work on everyone - a strong will makes it hard for the void magic to confuse their autonomy and take effect." Abruptly, the boy looked up with a sudden panic, eyes widened like saucers. "I've never tried to use it on you, father. I promise you. Or any of the Nobles or-or any leaders in the Alliance. I've only done it on my guards and… um… I did use some shadow magic on hozen that were chasing me. But that's it!"
The King lifted a hand up in the air to signal the boy's panicked emotions to still themselves. "At ease. I trust that it goes without saying you'll garner yourself a bad reputation if you continue to abuse your power in that way. Trust is the foundation that you rule with - trust in your subjects and that your subjects trust you. Manipulating their freewill to bend to you makes you no different from a fear mongering tyrant. Your tools of the trade are different, but the outcome is the same. You both stripe someone of their freewill to impress your own agenda with your power."
The blonde's shoulders drooped forward. "I know, father," he mumbled in a quiet voice. "I give you my word that I will … try not to do it again."
"Good." It was a start. And while Varian was tempted to continue the lecture and ensure his son wouldn't draw on his magical affinity to wrongfully duck his guards, he wouldn't do at the expense of the boy's recovery. So he instead focused on a different aspect. "Have you given those abilities any thought, Anduin? Shadow magic, if honed and sharpened like a blade, can be very versatile in battle. We have our own battlepriests in the Stormwind ranks and they're as potent and deadly as a mage. Don't let Jaina hear you repeat that, but it's true enough."
Pressing his lips into a thin line, Anduin looked everywhere but at his father's face. "I don't like shadow. It's not natural to me, and I don't like… I don't like the voices," he quietly intoned back, his words reluctant yet carefully chosen. He looked like he wanted to say more, but was fearful on how to piece together his thoughts. "I… I know you want me to be a warrior. Or to be more than just a healer. But shadow magic isn't something that I'm comfortable mentoring in. The Light is my calling, father. The shadow is…" He closed his eyes and shivered involuntarily as he far too easily recalled the phantom voices that'd slither through his thoughts when he'd call on the void. "It's not right."
The King favored a profound silence, using the time to sip at his wine and carefully look over the boy. While one part of him was disappointed that Anduin yet again turned away from the path of war and destruction, constantly leaning towards creation and healing, he was also relieved that his son wasn't tempted by the voids power. As strong and potent as shadow priests were with their curses and manipulative magic that preyed on the mind, it was a risk to one's own sanity. It wasn't like the arcane that lacked a body and remained faceless, the secondhand effects not nearly as callous as the void.
After emptying the red reserve from the goblet, Varian studied the goblet's polished stem. "What do the voices say?"
Anduin looked up then, eyes immediately snapping to his sire's face. An aggressive, dodgy edge crept into his voice. "To me or in general?"
"Both."
"The voices talk to me, not at me," the prince hesitantly replied back, the topic seeming to unnerve him the longer they dwelt on it. "What they tell you is all half-truths but finding the 'half' part is hard. It's either riddles of the future or promises for greatness with one or two stipulations that stand in your way. They-they make it sound easy to achieve the impossible if you only do the one thing they're telling you to." He shook his head and traced the hem of his nightshirt slowly. "They'll show you things, too, if you're strong enough in the void and immerse yourself deep enough. Visions that can turn to reality if you listen to them."
The king flicked his eyes up from the goblet to once again observe the teen, his disquiet with the conversation as blinding as the pearl-white snow outside. "Do you dislike the shadow because you struggle with it?"
Swallowing thickly, Anduin fought to find his voice. "No. I fear it because of how strong I am in it. And how easily it comes to me. The voices… to many, they're nothing more than quiet whispers at first. The longer you draw on the shadow, the louder and more pronounced they become. But for me… it's-it's like the moment I touch on the void, the voices are there. And they're loud and clear. So loud I can barely hear myself think. You're not supposed to listen to them and never answer them. Ever."
"And have you?"
The prince frowned. "A few times. I… I didn't mean to. No one ever does. They don't like to be ignored and once they realize that you're ignoring them, they manipulate you and make you start hallucinating to forget that it's the void that's talking. I've seen you in places that I shouldn't have when I've used shadow magic, and...I've talked to you when I shouldn't have. That's what it does - it finds your weakness and vulnerabilities, some of your deepest desires and fears, and twists them to serve their purpose." He laughed wryly and ran his fingers through his blonde hair. "I know my boundaries and where I'm vulnerable and weak. As strong as I am in the Light, I don't have the mental fortitude to keep my sanity against the void."
Placing the empty goblet on the desk to join his lunch plate and utensils, knowing full-well they'd be cleaned up by the servants when they'd tend to their rooms in the afternoon, Varian stood with a stretch. His expression softened as he considered his son in renewed curiosity; the ways of priesthood had always been a point of contention for the pair. Healers couldn't stand the might of a warrior, in his eyes. They were there to clean up the job done by people cut from the type of cloth Varian was. But there was a whole different side of priesthood that he had forgotten in his hasty assumptions. A side that was arguably more destructive and brutal than all other schools of magic and the most sharpened blades.
And if he was hearing right, his son was strong in it.
"I'll see you use the shadow for myself then," Varian began, quickly ignoring the look of contempt and argument blossom on the boy's features. "In a spar that we'll have after our ride through Winterspring. I'm growing tired and restless of these council sessions, and after my upcoming meeting with Vol'jin to determine a fitting retribution from the attack done to you, I think I'll be in need of physical exertion."
Anduin's soured emotions bled into his deadpanned voice. "Then hand me a sword and you can beat me in the courtyard until you're satisfied."
"No, you'll be unarmed," the king mentally batted away the brazenness driving the youth. But the braziness was nothing more than a thin veil to cover the fear truly gripping the teen. "You're still recovering, Anduin. I have no intention of stunting that or, worse, putting you back into the healers hands. I don't want you pushing yourself physically. So while I'll be armed with Shalamayne, I want to see your capability with the shadow. If it's as threatening as you say, I want to see it for myself. And it'll put me at ease knowing you can't use a simple mind control on me."
The prince's jaw tightened and loosened as he fought to wrangle his own rampant emotions in check. Typically so revered in maintaining his fortitude when in comparison to his easily angered father, he didn't like feeling caught off guard. But the notion of shadow wasn't a passing topic for him; it was a dark side - a proverbial gloom- that lingered so close to his spiritual ethos, taunting and stalking him with its words of a promising future.
Words that promised him peace if he would only get rid of the one person who stood as an iron gate that blotted out all hopes of tender affinity in the world. The one person who was at odds with so many leaders even in his own faction, who bristled and scorned at the concept of negotiations, the one person who had the ability to bring an end to the wars with a mere signature of his name.
The one person who he loved more than all of Azeroth.
He could get out of the spar by lying and saying the blight still made his lungs weak and frail, and he didn't feel himself capable of drawing on any kind of magic, Light or Shadow. Besides, didn't his father forbid him from using the Light to heal his ailments? It could be an easy enough fib. But the outcome would probably mean his father's already suffocatingly protective knack would get worse and his promise to let him out of the lodge at all would be rescinded.
Sighing defeatedly, Anduin grudgingly nodded his head. "If you truly want to, father, then I will. I promise you this though - fumbling with a sword or using magic, the result will be the same." He cracked a sheepish smile that outlined the exhaustion beginning to tug on his features and outline the heavy circles under his eyes. "You'll still win."
"It's not always about winning or losing." Reaching for the tray, content to find the bowl empty and the bread nowhere in sight, the King placed it back on his desk to join his own collection of dishes. "I'll send Wyll to get you something more to eat from the kitchens on my way out but I need to return to the council. Assuming I manage to sit through the sessions today," which was a big assumption when the king was already wanting to slam heads through walls, "I'll be back here before supper. And you best be resting while I'm gone."
Judging by the boy's slow blinks and heavy lids, he doubted he needed to issue an order.
Reaching back to yank a few pillows free from the mound behind him, Anduin had no complaints as his body succumbed to the comforts of the Kal'dorei pillowtop mattress. Much more plush than the Stormwindian variety. "I'd like to attend supper with you in the dining hall tonight. My books are becoming dull company and I could greatly use some conversation and change of scenery," his words were carried with a beseeching tone seeking his father's approval where he would've instead resorted asking forgiveness for doing it anyways if he felt any better. But his chest felt tight like a band constricted his midsection, mocking him with every breath he fought to fill his lungs with.
Varian frowned. "I'll take supper here with you if you'd rather not be alone."
"I appreciate the offer, father, but the High King can't be absent for all of the meals. And it doesn't send a strong message to keep the prince hidden away after an attack."
"The High King is to be wherever he chooses to be. And if I want to spend the rest of my meals in my rooms with my son, then I challenge any Horde or Alliance to voice their displeasure. If they can't manage to have a damned meal without me there, then this summit is more useless than I gave it credit for."
Despite the growing frustrations in the elder Wrynn's words, Anduin grinned tiredly, readjusting the blankets around himself. "It's one meal. Just one meal. And if he's agreeable, I'll even have Thrall sit beside me through it to keep an eye on me. And I don't have to remain long, either. I'll leave after the main course is served if it pleases you."
Running a hand over the back of his neck, feeling every day of his long forty years, Varian didn't miss the uncharacteristic appeasing attempts from his son. And he was chagrined to admit they were having some success, or at least enough to not make him flat out refuse the prince and slam the door on his pleas. If he had it his way, he'd order the next mage he came across to conjure a portal straight to Stormwind's throne room and kick his son into it. The fact that he was having to keep Anduin housed under the same roof as his assailant was nothing less than a sick joke on a cosmic, divine level.
If the fates were trying to teach Varian a lesson through the cruel arrangement, he wasn't having any of it. The only life lessons he'd gathered over his many years and harsh trials was to never let his guard down. Time and time again, it'd been proven to him when he let himself rest, when he stopped looking over his shoulder and acting like his back was against the wall, his life would be shattered once again. His father's assassination. Tiffin's death. His own capture. Anduin's numerous brushes with death in his tender years. The divine bell. Garrosh. It was almost sardonically comical how he mentally categorized Anduin's attack by Sylvanas's hand as yet another example that he'd failed and lowered his guard. The lesson had a fatal risk to it but it hardened his shell just as it was beginning to go soft, reminding him of the nefarious minds that swarmed Azeroth.
But he had to pick his battles as a father.
Lingering at the door with it slightly ajar, Varian looked back at the barely awake boy. He could turn ironclad and oppressive with his rule over the teen, order the royal guards make the prince remain in the room even if they had to resort to bodily force. It wouldn't be the first time they had to do it and certainly wouldn't be the last if Anduin's thirst for unhealthy adventure remained unsated. And naturally, he'd find himself with a very unbecoming, angry teenager for the remainder of the summit.
No, maybe it wasn't about picking his battles but about fighting them with cunning finesse.
"Fine," he began with a heavy sigh, ignoring the radiant smile that cut across the priest's face. He almost felt a morsel of guilt. "If you are still feeling well by the time I come back before the meal, then I'll allow you to come with. But I'm going to have Wyll bring you tea and more broth in the meantime. And you are to rest, Anduin. Understood?"
"Yes, father. I'll spend all of my very limited waking hours drinking the tea and broth."
Satisfied and feeling far too relieved that his plan was going as well as it was, Varian fought to hide the relief from his expression. It was all about performance and maintaining face if he wanted to pull it off. Maybe a part of him was remorseful at his dodgy hand he intended to play, resorting to clandestine tactics best reserved for the war room among his military advisors. But the trials of fatherhood were arguably more treacherous and confusing than all of his campaigns combined.
After leveling a final departing smile, Varian slipped from the room and shut the door resolutely closed. He waited a few seconds, earning questioning glances from the guards, before ordering Wyll be brought to him. The salt-and-pepper haired servant came to his King's side in an instant, his face contorted in mild concern as he looked past Varian towards the closed door behind him. Or rather, his young charge that resided inside of the room behind the door.
Inclining his head gently to gesture the House Wrynn chamberlain walk with him, the High King dropped his voice to a conspiring low tone. "Bring the prince the same broth he had for lunch and whatever tea Thrall's been making him."
"At once, Your Majesty."
Once they turned down a corridor, Varian dubbed the distance enough to unveil his greatest tool against an overly curious, charismatically rebellious teenager. "And make sure you put dreamfoil oil in it. The alchemists here at the Lodge will have it in their supply stores."
Wyll eyed the monarch out of the corner of his gaze, his brow creased in concern and confusion. "Dreamfoil oil, Sire? Is His Highness having troubles finding sleep?"
"Something like that."