There was a very good reason Quel'thalas was plunged into a constant state of alluring autumn and not allowed to be inflicted by the true temperatures and climate the northern city-nation should've been seeing: winter climates were dreadful and ugly.

Well, there was probably more to it than that but for Lor'themar Theron, he hated everything about winter, snow, and cold. Everything died when forced to endure the chilly elements. And what did manage to survive was hidden under blankets of heavy snow that was freezing to anyone who walked through it and had the habit of soaking through weak-soled boots and linen pants. Looking around Winterspring, the Regent-Lord longed to be rid of the bleak lands and the constant eyeful of snow. So much snow. Too much snow.

"We could've waited for the morning, you know. Winterspring isn't that detestable. It's rather growing on me."

Lor'themar sighed at the man loyally at his side as the two of them made the trek from the lodge towards the stables. The closer they got, the louder the beasts penned up inside could be heard. "We've been gone from Silvermoon long enough, Hauldron," he glanced at his friend out of the corner of his good eye and frowned at the teasing smile on the ranger's face. "And don't think for a second that I believe this arctic hell is growing on you. Nothing is growing on you besides frostbite."

"You sure you trust Vol'jin to wrap up the reparation signings?"

"If the man isn't capable of signing his name where it ought to be, the Horde has more pressing issues than us returning to our sovereignty. And if the High King, of all parties, can decide to take the day to explore caves instead of overseeing the proceedings, I think our departure is hardly noteworthy," his words were as bitter as the winds howled around them, kicking up some snow and smacking it against the two Sin'dorei with jovial glee. Lor'themar frowned as he wiped the snow free from his face. "I suddenly regret being the one to suggest denying portaling to the lodge for security measures. I look forward to nothing more than getting to the Spire and escaping the mess this week has been."

The ranger's low chuckle wasn't swallowed up by the winds in time, making the Regent Lord scowl all the more. His mood was fouled by the tensions that had risen between the factions thanks to an over zealous Sylvanas who thought it intelligent to attack the High King's son. Maybe her brain did rot away when the rest of her body and flesh did and wasn't revitalized as much as it ought to have been when she was risen. Truly, there was no winning outcome from her assault on the teenager; clearly, her unsuccess resulted in a near war and had she'd achieved in killing and raising the boy, Wrynn's wrath would've decimated their still recovering faction. Her actions were hasty and stupid and driven by her own madness.

To think that she used to be a renowned ranger in their ranks, capable of shrewd calculations and sound tactics.

The two Blood Elves shoved their way into the stables and nodded at the Kal'dorei stationed to care for the sabers cloistered in their pens. With it being night already, the stablehand looked at the two Sin'dorei in surprise and paused as he was about to throw a pail of chopped up innards into one of the pens. "Departing tonight?"

Hauldron smiled tightly. "So it would seem."

"In the storm?"

Lor'themar shrugged dismissively. "The Horde outpost isn't far from here. The ride will be less than an hour, even with the winds and snow. Which of these sabers are fit for the journey?" Pulling his satchel from his side and eyeing the different sabers in the pens, Lor'themar couldn't be sure which one he'd prefer. In reality, he didn't prefer any of them. Sabers were clumsy, unwieldy creatures that lacked the grace and serenity that his hawkstrider possessed, moving with fluid strength and agility. But the thick fur on the saber was leagues better for the harsh climate than the plumage of fine feathers on his preferred mount.

The stablehand seemed to recover from his surprise at the question and rushed over to begin unpenning two particularly large beasts with sword-like fangs and a thick mane of fur. Content to not help the Kal'dorei at all, Lor'themar stood back and watched him wrangle their mounts together until that no longer held his attention. His eyes wandered around the stable, taking in its definitive Night Elven aesthetics and acrid aroma of saber excrement and stale blood from their raw diet. Yes, he hated Winterspring and wanted to leave that night.

His pointed ear twitched at roaring and the sound of a scuffle on the opposite end of the stable from where they stood. Idly glancing over in the direction, Lor'themar watched silently for a few drawn out seconds as another Kal'dorei stablehand fought to calm down two weather-beaten sabers, their coats soaked to the bone in melted snow and their saddles disheveled on their backs and empty of any riders. "Well, that doesn't fill me with confidence."

The Night Elf assisting them with saddling up their sabers paused in tightening a leather strap to glance over in the direction the Regent Lord was staring. "Oh. Those two… we found them down by the foothills. Poor things must have been roaming for hours." Smirking faintly at the uneased look on the Sin'dorei's face, the stablehand returned to double checking the stays on the saddle. "Can't say whose they were. Those cats were fitted this morning." One buckle secure, he turned to the next and was rewarded with the saber yawning in his face, unimpressed with having to be sent out when it was just promised a meal. "Whoever it was probably got scared by the avalanche and left them."

Lor'themar hooked a brow up. The crawling feeling of disquiet began to grow and fester. "What avalanche?"

Patting the saber a few times after suiting him up, the Kal'dorei grabbed for another saddle hanging on a peg and began the same process on the other beast. "Down south, just near the ridgeline. Kind of strange having it happen now, during this season. Avalanches don't happen until the weather gets a little warmer and the ice starts to melt and shift."

The Regent Lord shook his head and gave an undignified snort. "Warmer? Here? I had no idea that was even a prospect. I'll have to keep that in mind when we're looking at where to hold our next war reparations council."

Hauldron at least laughed a little at the dry humor, but the sarcasm was lost on the stablehand, who was focused more on doing his job and making sure the sabers were properly dressed and saddled to comfortably survive the journey. In truth, the Night Elf probably didn't care so much about the Sin'dorei and how much comfort they had. If it were up to him, he would've tossed the Blood Elves out into the wilderness to make the trip on foot and save his wards the brunt of the elements.

The Sin'dorei favored silence and exchanging soured looks at one another as they climbed their mounts and settled into the saddles. It was bulky and awkward, the fittings poorly suited for their more lithe figure compared to their Kal'dorei cousins. Not that Lor'themar expected the stablehand to extend courtesy for their comfort. The meeting might be painted as a peace summit but it was far from forcing peace onto everyone who attended. Century old wounds still bled freely, and no amount of meetings over the course of a mere week would see them suthered completely.

The Regent Lord pulled his fur-lined hood up to cover his mane of pale hair and pointed ears and looked at the stablehand. "You said the avalanche was to the south? I'd like to avoid it or any other snow monstrosity if I can."

The teal-skinned elf shrugged indifferently and did a poor job trying at hiding his annoyance at being pressed to help the Sin'dorei beyond the basics of his duties, if he was trying to hide it at all. "That's what I said. Assuming your Undead are capable of figuring out navigations and told us the right location of it."

Hauldron beat him to it. "What Undead?"

"Whoever was coming from the south ridge around the time of the avalanche," the Night Elf's clipped words were quickened with impatience. Beside him, a saber growled to let its own impatience for the innards known. Its dinnertime was being interrupted by the conversation. "They all look the same to me. If you're really curious, why don't you ask your Banshee Queen? They were with her. I'm sure she'd be more than happy to give you a play by play of what collapsing snow looks like."

The sardonic tone made Lor'themar hate the lodge even more, if it were possible. He wasn't one to fall victim to banter and mockery but his tolerance was already expired. "Perhaps I will." He really had no intentions on it. "Thank you for your lauding hospitality. Truly one of the Alliance's gems. I'll be sure to specifically seek out your services next we visit. Perhaps we'll visit for tourism next time and see those caverns that were apparently so fetching your High King blew off our summit meetings for."

The elf snorted lowly and didn't rise to the bait. "If there's anything left of those caves after the avalanche."

Almost. Lor'themar was almost free of Winterspring, the Kal'dorei, the peace summit, the Wrynn's.

Seated atop the saber and about to pull the beast towards the stables entrance, the Regent Lord suddenly stopped and closed his eyes with a defeated sigh. Damn the Royals. Damn the boy. Damn Varian. How could one family - not even a full family at that - cause him so much inconvenience in the span of a week? It was almost impressive if it wasn't so annoying.

When he opened his eyes, he was met with Brightwing's knowing glance. Though a low grumble voiced his displeasure, Lor'themar reluctantly nodded back at his friend in their unspoken accord to get involved.

Jumping off his mount, the Regent Lord glanced back at the two sabers on the other end of the stables that were being dried off. "Where is Varian Wrynn?"

Each time Varian looked down at his son's unconscious face, he steeled himself for the unbearable. To eventually find the teen's pasty, sickly white hue even more ashen and ghastly as the death that stalked him eventually found its target. And when- if… if that happened, the High King sincerely doubted his ability to maintain motivation to keep his own survival up. Maybe the cavern, the beautiful caves that were meant to be a day trip for him and his child, would be the last moments they'd share together. Maybe that's why the fates were kind to them, allowing the two to shed away their pride and allow them to be honest with one another.

Life was cruel. Just when he felt their relationship make leaps and bounds, their time together in the living world was being cut short. Maybe he was looking at it wrong, though. Maybe the fates knew that their demise was coming and, as a last gift, had given the father and son a moment together.

That would give the High King warm, fuzzy feelings if he believed in an orchestrated fate. But he long ago stopped holding onto childish whims. No, fate was a fallacy people clung to in times of failure and strife to give themselves excuses for what was happening. It was easier when you didn't have to own up to a bad hand of cards and could blame someone - or something - else. But Varian didn't buy into it. Fate and destiny were created by oneself, shaped by decisions the conscious mind made, and accountability could be placed nowhere else but on the person.

The Light? Elune? Ancestors? All of that was nothing compared to freewill. Freewill was the true destiny-maker. And it was by his own freewill he chose to take Anduin to the caverns without a guard detail. It was by his own freewill that he signed their death certificates.

Sighing heavily, the High King shifted himself to try to get comfortable. Seated against a rocky wall with his unconscious child laying against his side, he wasn't sure if he'd bleed out or die from hypothermia first. A falling rock during the collapse had managed to crumble his plate chestpiece, puncture it, and tear into the muscle and tendons on the side of his torso. He was lucky the rock or jagged plate didn't pierce a vital organ; that would've given him a quicker death but rob him of time with his son in his last moments.

He didn't know how Anduin would die. Placing his hand on the boy's back, he counted the aguishly long seconds between the prince's labored breaths that sounded wet. His lungs were too weak. Closing his eyes to try to fight off the tears that stung in the corners, Varian placed his head against the back of the cold mountain wall. After spending half a lifetime in the heat of battle and seeing his fair share of war wounds, he knew well how to categorize the soldiers that had a fighting chance and the ones who simply had to be kept comfortable before the inevitable. Had he come across Anduin on the battlefield, he wouldn't have hesitated to categorize him in the latter. His son wouldn't survive the night.

"You were all we ever wanted," he mumbled quietly as he cracked his eyes open and looked up at the darkened cavern. It was night and the remaining ice that lay shattered and broken around them still caught illumination from the outside brilliance. "Which is surprising because I…" He hesitated, wondering just how much he wanted to admit in his final hours. "I didn't want a family at all."

At the admission, he looked down expecting to find Anduin's hurt expression looking up at him. But the boy hadn't stirred and likely wouldn't ever again. So the High King sighed and continued, his stare never leaving his son's face. "It wasn't a time for a wife or, hells, children. We were still rebuilding the kingdom, I just had my coronation, and I was ushered to the altar to make good on a betrothal that was arranged when I was a boy. Your mother hated and wanted nothing to do with me. All she saw was a man carrying a burden of hate for Orcs that I'd never met. She believed I only saw the world from behind my sword and buckler. And she was right."

Ignoring the cold, Varian struggled to pull off his plated glove and gently brushed aside the blonde bangs from the boy's forehead. "I thought that hope would come in the form of conquering the Horde and Orcs. I didn't want to bother with a family - I grew up without one. I wanted to focus on being a King of a rebuilding nation, not having to split my time between my subjects and family. But I needed an heir to solidify the Wrynn dynasty and quiet the nobles who were clawing at the throne."

A ball of thickness grew in Varian's throat as he looked over the teen. "I didn't want you at first but when you were born, too early and so small, I couldn't think of another day without you. And I couldn't think of how I lived so long without you. I realized that the hope that I wanted so bad for Stormwind came from showing them a strong future, from having you."

Closing his eyes, he felt the warmth of his blood soaking his side. The steady flow wouldn't allow it to freeze, not even in the icy hell. "When you were born, it was like my eyes were opened to how unsafe Azeroth was. And when your mother died with you in her arms, I realized that I couldn't keep you safe from everything, no matter how hard I tried." He laughed ruefully. "And Light, did I try. And you hated me for it. Not that I blamed you. I hated myself for it."

How he wanted to tell Anduin so much then. But at the same time, bestowing wisdom to his child wouldn't do much if his child wouldn't outlive him to carry the wisdom on.

It wasn't how he expected to die. The battlefield was always what he envisioned, and then Anduin would continue on to inherit the crown and proceed to build Stormwind up to further glory. But how far from the truth Varian was. He wasn't in battle and his son would die with him. While he used to pray that he'd die long before Anduin, he suddenly changed that perspective. The last thing he wanted was his son to suffer and die alone.

The High King also imagined dying in darkness. Even with his eyes closed, he was surprised at how bright it was in the cave… a cave that shouldn't have had any illumination because the entrance to it was now blocked off.

His eyes snapped open.

It was too bright for a cave, especially one that just had a traumatic cave in. Looking around, Varian glanced in the direction of the entrance - well, where it used to be. As expected, the daunting wall of ice and rock blocked their freedom. But if the light source wasn't coming from there, where was it coming from?

The fatigue and exhaustion that hunted the warrior was shoved to the recesses of his mind, where he stowed away all the rest of his weaknesses that he couldn't afford to dwell on. Instead, a rush of hope jerked his adrenaline system into high alert and gave him the strength to stand up and collect Anduin in his arms. He was careful maneuvering the teen, which was no small feat with his own side sliced open and freely leaking his life's essence on his shirt and jerkin beneath his armor. The boy jostled freely in his arms for no more than a few seconds as the High King shifted him into a bridal carry, an arm slipping beneath his knees and under his slender shoulders, before he marched onwards.

He traveled in the opposite direction of the blocked off entrance, knowing that their freedom and chance for survival was no longer there. Instead he delved deeper into the heart of the cavern and quickly lost count of how many footsteps he managed. It was difficult navigating around the fallen ice and rocks and still maintaining his balance in his weakened state, but Varian had seen worse. His times in the Ring had made him fight with shattered bones and shredded muscle and still come out victorious. And so he opened the cage Lo'Gosh was typically kept penned inside and allowed the beast to run wild with his body.

As much as Varian and Lo'Gosh hated one another and couldn't see eye to eye on almost every subject, they both held incredible love for their son.

Despite going deeper into the heart of the mountain, the pale light catching on the ice around him grew stronger, encouraging him in silent applause to continue on. That there was hope if he only had the strength for the two of them. Anduin had mustered an impossible rush of strength in his broken, frail body to keep them safe and protected during the collapse. Varian refused to allow that sacrifice to go wasted; he'd pick up where his son left off and get them out of the cave and to safety. They'd survive.

With darkness tunneling his vision and death continuing to mock him, Varian almost missed the small opening at the end of the narrow passage. It was small, not even as tall as him, but wide enough that he could squeeze him and his son through with the right angle. If he wasn't so infused with a heated adrenaline, the wolf inside of him single mindedly focused on survival and nothing else, he would've broken down in tears at the sight of night and the hope it carried.

And he might've hesitated at the blizzard that awaited them.

He had to shift and maneuver both himself and Anduin's limp figure to get through the small opening. If he had more time, he might've shed himself of his plate to make the effort easier. But each second was a second off of his son's chance, and he wouldn't put that in jeopardy anymore. Eventually and with the right amount of wiggling, the High King emerged from what was meant to be their icy grave and into the chilled night.

A wall of blistery snow slammed into him with enough force that it almost knocked him from his feet. Night had fallen over Winterspring, giving the High King some kind of timeframe for how long they were trapped in the caves. Hours must've gone by. And while night in the snowy lands normally would've given them a lavender-painted sky that'd reflect off the sheets of ivory snow, the sky was a bruised dark blue from the storm. Fractured rays from the moon fought to escape the clouds and spill down to the lands and her inhabitants. It wasn't much, but it was enough for Varian to get his bearings and start the treacherous trek north.

The cold was numbing and stole his breath, making him clutch the boy closer against him. He didn't look down at Anduin's face; if he was struggling for life, it'd prove too much of a distraction for the King and he doubted his ability to maintain enough strength to press on towards the lodge. But he also didn't look back behind him to see the thick trail of blood in his wake. At the very least, the wet warmth saturating his clothes on his side gave him some kind of heat in the face of the brutal weather.

Time became abstract and he wasn't sure how long he walked for. As the snow turned thicker and his feet began to struggle to hold balance, he couldn't ignore his dwindling strength that seeped from his body almost as fast as his blood did. He knew he was headed in the right direction - north - but he didn't know how far he'd have to go. The belly of the mountain zigzagged so much so that it disoriented him and possibly tossed him out further from the lodge than the real entrance. What could've been a feasible trip was suddenly feeling like a horrible mistake.

Darkness clawed at his mind and plagued his vision. He blinked rapidly to chase the darkness away and right his vision, staring forward with dogged determination to reach his destination. The snow was heavy and obscured his visibility horribly, making it difficult to see in front of him. But he didn't know if he couldn't see more than two or two hundred feet in front of him; the world spun and lurched as his energy and life was nearing its end.

Just as his leg gave out beneath him and he fell to the snowy ground, Varian saw the glowing lights of the lodge at the bottom of the hill. It was yet another cruel hand from fate, that he was so close to getting him and his son to safety but he couldn't make the final steps. The weakness and darkness closed in around him as he faintly became aware of his face plastered into the snow. And Anduin… he felt the boy still clutched in his arms, unconscious and unmoving, but he didn't have the strength to get up and check on him.

They'd die within sight of the lodge.

"There! I think I see 'em!"

The world shook and trembled under the collapsing darkness that swallowed up Varian's vision. The last thing he saw - or he thought he saw and it was likely just a hallucination - was a very short man in the oddly familiar shape of a dwarf barreling towards him through the snow.

Muradin?

It was impossible. But before the High King was given his answer, unconsciousness took him.