The sensation of falling. That's what dragged Anduin from sleep. It was an odd feeling but one he was well acquainted with. When he clumsily tumbled down a hill in Valley of the Four Winds, his body was rewarded with the sickening sensation of freefall before crashing into a turnip field. He was lucky the field was in full bloom with a bountiful harvest to pillow his fall, though the Pandaren farmer was less than impressed to find a disoriented prince squandering his crops.

Free falling was also the strange feeling he experienced after his body was broken under the Bell. Pain laced through his body like one of the many intricate tapestries hanging in the Throne Room, but he wouldn't forget that telltale feeling of falling through different planes. Maybe it was his body inching closer to death. But it made sense that it was more of the opposite - he was inching away from it, for wakefulness was always shortly at its heels.

And with wakefulness came a whole different cocktail of confusion and pain.

His eyes felt burdened with lead that kept them closed, and it took a titanic amount of strength to open them. But they didn't stay open for long. A brief glimpse of a canopy overhead - the pale blue fabric familiar to him - was the only thing he saw before nausea and lurching disorientation made him clamp his eyes shut again. The freefalling sensation was subsiding stubbornly, but was leaving him in a discerning amount of vertigo and weakness. Nothing seemed hinged and right in the world, not even him. Everything felt like it was spinning fantastically; from his aching body to the fluffy pillows and linens that embraced him.

Fluffy pillows and linens? A canopy overhead? Not just any canopy. It was a canopy that he had woken to for many years and would likely continue to wake to for many more.

Curiosity won out in the end, as it typically did for the teen, and he fought the storm of dizziness as he opened his eyes again. The world seemed to listen to him and quiet its spinning somewhat, allowing the prince enough power to struggle up to his elbows and look around the familiar room. A fireplace with an imposing stone mantle sat vigil across from him, the three doors in the bedroom were all closed, and the balcony doors were latched shut with their drapes fully waterfalling over them. Fractured rays of sunlight spilled out between the fabric.

The bedroom was just as Anduin remembered it: hues of rich blues accented with polished gold in the honored colors of the Alliance, a stack of dog-earred books messily left on a desk weeks ago, the ETC poster plastered on the wall beside the four-poster bed, the Horde rock band a comical addition to a Stormwindian royal's rooms. But how did he manage to wake up in his bedroom back in Stormwind? That was impossible. The last thing he remembered was…

A dreadful cold washed over him like an ice bath. Ice. That's exactly what he last remembered. The collapsing cavern that tried to entomb the father and son together. If it weren't for his holy shield that protected them, they would've… But how did they get out in the first place? How was he in Stormwind?

How long had he been asleep? Where was his father? Was he ok? Was he alive?

As weak and tired as he felt, Anduin's fear served him as an ally for once. He threw the thick brocade comforter from his body, barely taking note of the crisply clean pajamas he wore, and prepared to launch himself into a full search for answers. If his father succumbed to the elements and atrocity that stalked them, that would mean the prince was no longer a prince; his birthright would've granted him a natural ascension to the Crown, though governing would go to the House of Nobles during his time of unconsciousness.

His heart plunged into his stomach at the fearful thought; but was he more fearful at the thought of being king or being an orphan?

Just as his bare feet swung over the side of his bed and hit the cold stone floor, the side door leading to his private lavatory opened and a familiar figure strode out. "Your Highness!"

Anduin shamefully didn't care that he scared Wyll enough to make the poor chamberlain drop the neat stack of towels to the floor. The title was all he needed to hear to put his fretting at ease and affirm his current status in the Kingdom. If it were anyone else in his Household, he might've needed more confirmation that his father still breathed and the rightful addressing of a king was simply forgotten. But not Wyll; the loyal servant sacrificed his entire life and livelihood to serving House Wrynn, starting with his father's early reign and shifting his role to attending to the young heir. Impeccably posh and unfaltering in knowing the ways of the Court, Anduin often turned to Wyll when he needed a refresher in knowing etiquette in certain situations. No, Wyll wouldn't mess up addressing a royal, let alone his king.

"I… I did not expect you to be awake! Truly, it's a blessing from the Light that- What am I saying? Allow me to get the healers!" The poor chamberlain fought with the towels, his shaky, urgent hands dropping them a few times before he resolved himself to simply balling up the mess and rising to his feet.

But the prince quickly shook his head, earning a frown from the servant. "I am a healer, Wyll." Judging from the deepening of the frown, he doubted that line worked. "And I wish to… I wish to see my father. Where is he? Is he…"

The sentence wasn't completed. But it didn't have to be for Wyll to understand. "His Majesty is well, my prince. More well that I think the Nobles would prefer, if the yelling from the Petitioner's Chamber is any indication." He chuckled nervously, but his worried eyes continued to run marathons over the teen's figure, his mind clearly undecided on what course to take. Duty and loyalty were cherished traits to a Noble's servant, but they often didn't walk the same path. "I am under strict orders to ensure your well being. And I do not think your father or the healers would take kindly to my allowing you to walk the corridors after you've been unconscious for seven suns. You should truly be seen by the healers..."

Anduin did a double take and ignored the pressing concern in the manservant's words. "Seven suns?! I've been out for a week?!" That would explain why his limbs and muscles protested at any movement, releasing a creaky litany of objection from his hasty actions. "How did I get here? In Stormwind?"

"A portal. After Muradin found you and your father half alive in the blizzard, you were under the care of the healers at the lodge. But your father insisted on getting you home, even against advisings." He pretended to rearrange the towels, his fretful nerves causing him to make no progress at all. "You and your father returned here four nights ago, along with... that Orc shaman." His face twisted into dislike. "His herbal treatments he insists on using have the most foul smell. I've been laundering round the clock and I still swear this room still reeks of burnt…"

But Anuin stopped listening to Wyll complain. While the teen had so many questions wanting answers - how did Muradin know where they were? Did Thrall really come with them to Stormwind and was he still there somewhere? How had he and his father survived at all? - none of that mattered in the moment. No, the prince was humbled by a fierce longing for one thing. Or rather, one person. The one person whose stalwart fortitude inspired nations and rallied leaders, who fought with wit as much as his brawns, who didn't bend a knee for anyone and lived his life in brutal honesty at the expense of favoritism. His strength was contagious and whipped through lands like a consuming wildfire.

But where the world saw a fearless king, all Anduin wanted was his father.

"-has been a horrible patient since his return. By the Light, his Majesty opened court the moment he was lucid enough from the healing tinctures. I swear, my love for your House is without question but the Wrynn stubbornness-"

"Wyll," Anduin interrupted with a beseeching look. He'd heard rumors, as most had, about a supposed charm he possessed. A charm strong enough to disarm the most unrelenting and callous of stances. While he didn't believe a word of it - any "charm" he had to get his desperate way in the past had been through employing the void - he still cranked up a boyish look he hoped would do the trick. "I'm tired and worn and I'll probably be shuffled between all of the healers in the Eastern Kingdoms when my father hears I'm awake, allowing me no time of my own. So please… I just want to see my father."

He could physically see the chamberlain buckling under the look, fighting against it while running the possibilities through his mind. At first, Wyll didn't say anything, just flicked a dodgy stare between the prince and the towels that served as a comfortable distraction.

But he didn't leave. And he didn't say no.

"His Majesty is currently holding court with the House," Wyll spoke in a slow, cautious voice, but there was a serving of resolution. "Now, I was simply coming in here to change out the linens. And I have done that undisturbed because my Prince is still asleep. What he chooses to do when he awakens, when I am long gone and conveniently discharge the guards to begin their shift change, is his prerogative."

The smile that burst on the teen's face was almost strong enough to fill his being with a rush of energy, invigorating his fatigued, aching body that still desperately longed to rest in bed. Standing on his feet, the priest's balance teetered like a top, wobbling slightly left to right as his weak muscles strained from disuse. And while he nearly broke into song to show his appreciation, he didn't have to. Having grown up with the chamberlain serving him as more than a mere household servant, there for him when he scraped his knee and recited his letters when he was a mere child, the two maintained a braided affinity that only strengthened over the years. Wyll was more than just a servant or accessory to their Household. He was a member of it and a father figure when his own father fought with his demons.

Their silence was comfortable but emboldened with gratitude as Wyll slipped out from the room. It only took Anduin a few minutes to gather his strength and promise his body some rest once his mind was put at ease. After he heard the telltale clinking and clanking of plate growing more distant in the hall, the prince grimaced as he left his room and emerged into an empty corridor.

Traveling through the imposing hallways gilted in the splendor of the Alliance's might, Anduin wasn't the least moved by any of the exotic tapestries or intimidating suits of armor hanging on the walls. Maybe visitors who weren't versed in the Keep's climate would pause every few feet to marvel at the craftsman that harmoniously conveyed their efficacy in all meaning of the word. But to the prince, it was home. The stale smell of the flagstone rocks and floor polish, the sounds of boots and distant voices in the various council chambers, the tepid warmth that always seemed to envelope the castle. For a time - or rather, many times - the castle felt more oppressive than the stifling Stockades, his luxurious chambers acting as his prison cell and the royal guards no better than patrol guards. In many ways, he was shackled worse than the prisoners held in the desolate depths of their city, where vermin and rats prevailed and hope died.

He was the prince. The heir. The next in line to inherit one of the strongest kingdoms in all of Azeroth.

And yet, as Anduin turned the corner to leave the Royal Household section of the Keep, he didn't feel at all like a prisoner then. He only felt incredibly at home.

There was a warmth he took for granted that he felt now, maybe its grace was intensified from his two brushes with close death. Maybe it was the Light's way of showing him to appreciate what he had and to stop running from his life and family. From his purpose. As much as his heart yearned for the thrill of adventure and the feel of freedom that he was given in Pandaria, it was a hunger that felt sated. The Keep's hallways seemed brighter and more welcoming for him, and he had an odd desire to walk the streets of his city and visit the small tavern in the Mage Quarter, the very one that had horrible egg puns on their breakfast menu. The morning seagulls song that filled the docks was a perfect soundtrack to watching the naval ships make birth. And the apple orchards out in Elwynn would be nearing their ripening. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gone apple picking with his father.

It'd been years. Long before Lo'Gosh.

When he reached the Petitioner's Chambers, Anduin realized his plan was poorly thought through. The two guards stationed outside the closed doors shifted uncomfortably as they eyed the teen up and down, their expressions strangled as they fought with their own perceptions. Still, they offered a stiff: "Your Highness" and made no move to open the door for the Prince. Quirking a brow up, Anduin followed their gaze to his body and immediately flushed at realizing he was still dressed in his pajamas and barefoot. He hadn't bathed, didn't see to properly grooming himself, and probably looked like he'd rolled straight out of bed. Because he had.

"Erm… I…" Presentation was half the battle, and his dignity was too ironclad to let his inappropriate attire drag him down. The teen lifted his chin proudly and mustered up his courtly tone, which sounded painfully forced on his scratchy voice. "I'm here to see my father."

His stare not moving from the prince's face, the guard made a subtle gesture towards the raised lion-crested tapestry hung on a large wall directly beside the Petitioner's Chambers. It was a signal, one done out of tradition than necessity thanks to the employment of guards, that high court was in session. "If it is His Majesty's wish, your admittance shall be permitted. But the King's order was to remain undisturbed."

Anduin paused and took in the dark crescents under the guard's eyes before he glanced mournfully at the door. The session was likely long and had been going on for a lengthy time if the guard was already looking ready to succumb to sleep. In the past, court sessions wouldn't extend beyond a comfortable half to full-day with appropriate meal breaks, largely for the ease of the nobles and to diffuse his father's gathering anger. Any longer would create a cocktail of disaster; the nobles would become restless and impatient with whatever topic was tossed around the table and his father's perseverance would ebb considerably with the passing hours. It became an assumed amenity to limit high court to avoid any quarrels and bickering; House Wrynn was already in strained relations with many of the other nobles, they didn't need more reason to find the monarch's temperament more loathsome.

As much as he wanted to see his father and be in his strengthening presence, he had to play the part of a prince adhering to the wishes of his king.

Frowning deeply, Anduin shook his head slowly and moved over towards one of the stone benches pushed against a wall. "No, thank you. That won't be necessary. I wouldn't want to interrupt them." Be a childish inconvenience. I wouldn't want to be a childish inconvenience just because I wanted to see my father.

He felt foolish then and wondered if he should've listened to Wyll and just allowed the healers to bombard him with fretting concern. But no, instead he'd listened to his emotional whims and the juvenile longing of an injured child seeking the solace and comfort of their parent. But his parent wasn't a mere trader, mage, or even commissioned officer in the navy with responsibilities that had a clear cut start and finish. No, his father was the chief commander to several dozen fleets and armies that stretched across five continents, king to one of the most flourishing kingdoms in Azeroth and a renowned leader who successfully led campaigns that dethroned a Lich King and an Orc tyrant. His time was precious and often splintered at the best of times.

And Anduin wanted that time for his selfish, childish reason.

Releasing a trounced, defeated sigh, he didn't hear the door to the Petitioner's Chambers open as he stood up from the bench and prepared to make the sorrowful trek back to his room. The healers would consume him in a frenzy and shackle him to his bed as they fretted over his wellbeing, albeit his protests that he was fine and more than capable of overseeing his own recovery. And he'd play the part of a dutiful prince and obedient son and wait for his Liege to hear of his awakened state and come to see him at his convenience. With the chaotic state the nation was still quivering in, how could he assume that his father would want to slice out precious time just to appease the teen's… what? Moment of insecurity?

He'd traveled across Pandaria for months without so much as hearing from his father, even going so far as to avoid his guards and his clutches. Now he was longing for his presence?

He had no right to claim it. Not after everything he'd done and put his father through. For every order Varian gave him regarding his safety, Anduin had defied it with impressive precision. Despite his father's insistence otherwise, he'd arranged his own tutelage under Velen and left Darnassus with a people that weren't his own, greatly upsetting his father and leaving him to wallow in his feelings of failure. Only a short time later had been Pandaria, when he'd taken so many matters in his own young, incapable hands and tried to move pieces on a chessboard only to find out how out of his league he was. And more recently, he'd gone against his father's orders to stay in the lodge and at his side, and earned the Banshee Queen's odious attention and ire.

Who was Anduin to make demands on his father, to desire his time when he wanted it, when it served him, when he'd ignored his own father's desires fantastically in the past?

"Anduin?!"

The teen stopped cold in his tracks, his back to the Petitioner's Chambers and the voice's beholder. But the familiar baritone, so strong and deep, that it warmed his core and quieted the irrational worries that plagued him. As he turned around, Anduin tried to steel his resolve and bolster his nerves, creating what he hoped would sound like a pragmatic excuse for why he was there. His pajamas and disarray state would disprove any lies about wanting to assist his father in the court, but he could come up with a feasible reason that he was walking around the Keep and just happened to be near the Petitioner's Chambers.

But when he finished his revolution and found himself captured in King Varian Wrynn's astonished gaze, he felt the floor fall out under him. And, with it, all of his courage and willpower fled every inch of his body.

Standing just slightly in the corridor, leaving a bustling room of nobles at his back, the High King blinked several times at the boy, his breathing coming in more rapidly. "Anduin- You're awake! I've been…"

Jagged movement behind his father yanked Anduin back to the present, his brilliant blue eyes flicking from the monarch to the court behind him. A recess, most likely. He ducked his head and spoke in a low, broken tone. "Busy, I know. You've been busy, father. I… I didn't mean to intrude or-or come here to…. I was simply walking around the Keep and…"

The lie dried up on his tongue before it could fully form. But that didn't matter. Even if it hadn't, he wouldn't have finished the sentence. Heavy boots created a cacophonous thunder in the small space between them that was quickly closed, and before Anduin could realize what was happening, his entire body was snatched up in a warm embrace.

The strong arms easily eclipsed his narrow shoulders and clamped him close against the burly chest void of the typical plate chest piece. The teen said nothing and doubted his ability to form words even if he wanted to as he pressed his face into the king's shoulder, relishing the feel of the embersilk fabric on his cheek and the familiar scent of his father's aftershave and armor polish. In parts, the aromas meant nothing, but together it created the perfect mixture to calm the teen's mind and bring him the security he so desperately craved.

Broken physically and ailing mentally, Anduin leaned against the strong body that didn't waver or falter. Though he felt bandages beneath his father's jacket, the King brooked no issues in gripping the boy tight against him in a clutch that challenged all of Azeroth to try to take him away again. Neither cared or noticed the few nobles that spotted them from the doorway, though they quickly turned away to give the father and son their moment. Those who didn't were ushered back to their seats by a solemn Genn.

"I'm sorry," Anduin finally choked out, only realizing then his body was shaken with sobs, his tears saturating the fine silk fabric beneath his cheek. "I'm sorry for-for bothering you and-and I know you're-"

"I am exactly where I need to be." The arms slowly untangled themselves from the teen and Varian leaned back just enough on his heels to look down at the boy, still regarding him in amazement that he was awake. "Do not ever apologize - ever - for coming to me. Especially not after… not after… Light, Anduin. I almost lost you twice."

And just like that, the dam holding the prince's emotions shattered. "I'm sorry for everything," he blurted out. "For going against your wishes, for ignoring you, for leaving you as often as I did when you didn't want me to. I'm sorry for making you think I'm misguided and naive in my ways and making you worry for me. I'm sorry for being selfish with everything and for-for leaving you. I'm sorry for leaving you." The tears sprung from his eyes with renewed flow. "And you're wrong - I don't hate you for trying to keep me safe. I've never, not one day in my life, hated you. I never could and I never will."

It took Varian a few seconds of confusion for him to place what his son was saying. But the puzzle pieces fell together, and his despairing memories in the icy cavern came rushing back to him. Words that weren't ever meant to be spoken were heard, admittance of harsh truths when faced with the cruel mistress of death.

Varian thought he was going to die. And he thought his son wasn't awake to hear him.

Swallowing repeatedly, making the thick lump in his throat bob and shift, the High King looked down at his son in unabashed ardor and warmth. The boy was everything he wasn't; emotionally reactive, soft spoken and calm, turning to compassion instead of anger. And through that alien benevolence emerged a strength that Varian could only marvel at from a distance. He could never learn to understand the teen no matter how much he tried. But there was an unfaltering love in those differences.

"Do you know what I have the taste for?"

Wiping the palm of his hand hastily over his cheeks to clear them of the wetness, Anduin blinked at the sudden question from his father. "What?"

"Pandaren noodles." Varian placed his hand on the boy's shoulder and gently turned him around, fully placing the Petitioner's Chambers and meeting at their backs. He wouldn't return to it, and Genn would graciously understand and carry it on in his absence. As he began walking down the hall with the teen at his side, he felt the quizzical stare fastened on him. "And I heard that there's a famous noodle cart in the Jade Forest owned by a Pandaren named Forehead."

"Chin."

"Close enough."