A/N

This is a work of two - me giving the emotional and artistic backbone and Windcage giving the functional and decent structure. Without her, it would have never worked. Thank you, my dear friend and awesome comrade-in-arms!

This is also inspired by the famous "He who..." meme in the fan fiction sector which a lot of famous stories from different fandoms are based on.

And of course, rating is seriously going up later on. :-)

Disclaimer: I don't own or make any money from World of Warcraft/Blizzard.


When he saw her on the battlefield, it was the first time realization dawned on him that there was no way back now.

Anduin Wrynn, King of Stormwind and High King of the Alliance, was fighting with his emotions - being forced into a war he had never wanted – because all the battles he had fought on his way here, in front of the gates of the City of Lordaeron, or Undercity, as it was called now amongst those of the Horde, had given a foretaste of what was to come in the future. And he hadn't liked it the least. There must be more to expect to from the future than war.

There she stood, on the crenellated walls, high above their heads, and wasn't this as theatrical as Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, Warchief of the Horde, certainly wanted it to be, holding her impressive bow, her dark red cape flapping in the wind, every inch the warrior she obviously had become and the red glowing eyes sending a warning to everyone out there not to touch her city - as if that was what he wished, as if he didn't wish with all his heart she could keep her city – and yet here they were, demanding she answered for her actions.

Genn Greymane's voice tore him from his musings. "My king, we have her cornered."

Anduin nodded to his words, but sighed behind his lion mask. To him there were no creatures that weren't worth fighting for. All deserved peace on Azeroth. No exception. So why must she see things differently? If they only were to talk...

The air all but exploded over them, the sound of splintering wood as one of his catapults went up in flames and started falling on itself, making him look up just in time to see this dark figure jump off it, a piercing screech going over the battlefield before it dived down, towards his soldiers, the black cloud consuming them before it landed and she rose from within. Her rallying cry still held the piercing note of a Banshee. "For the Horde!"

And then, all hell broke loose.

A burning rose in Anduin, as if the Light wanted to tell him this was the right path, the only path, that there was nothing he could've done for it not to lead here.

"Push forward!" He heard himself command. The infantry closest to him began advancing, the grinding sounds of weapon meeting weapon drowned out every other thought as the armies clashed. Two of the enemies soldiers fell at his feet before he found himself smacked with the grip of High Overlord Varok Saurfang's Reaper and flew backwards, hitting the ground and losing his lion helmet. Right next to him, Genn continued fighting for him, protecting him, reaching out to get him to his feet, a desperate call - "Anduin."

And then Genn too was gone, tossed to the ground. When a troll sprang towards him, sudden fury made Anduin jump back up and fight, letting all his anger and frustration to the fact that he was forced to go through this run free until he ran the troll with his sword to the ground.

At the time the troll didn't move anymore, he stopped. Here he stood, looking around, taking in his surroundings and watching his comrades, his soldiers falling one after the other, the cruelty of the battle hitting him full force. No. This was not his way. One glance at his father's sword, and he dropped it to the ground, the burning Light in him already shining through and collecting above him when he raised his hand to the sky, the Light answering him. He channeled it and conjured his massive dome of Light to heal his forces and to keep the Horde at bay. He looked up, into the Light, its brightness driving tears into his unprotected eyes, but he poured all his faith, all his beliefs, his whole heart into that ray of Light, instinctively trusting its guidance and its intimate way of capturing him completely.

After the dome ceased, Anduin took upon answering the cry of his counterpart. "Stand as one! - For the Alliance!"

And then, he allowed himself one smirk. For her. And he knew she saw it, when she smirked back. The game was on. The battle continued.

Were it minutes? Were it hours? Anduin had lost his sense of time. He was fighting, he was healing, he was commanding, he was fighting, following her wherever she went, deeper into the ruins of Lordaeron. And finally, he caught up with her, in the Throne Room – where she waited for him. Now, they stood some distance apart, but finally eye to eye. Confronted with each other. The sudden silence made him aware of his own present condition.

The blood was still rushing in his veins from all the fighting, his inner core burned, the Light in him still awake and whirling, waiting for his next call to break out and heal – like he had done over a thousand times before, he had lost count – and his heart was beating fast.

"Lady Sylvanas Windrunner." His voice was hoarse from too many commands shouted over the battlefield. "I offer you the chance to surrender. I personally guarantee that you will not be harmed."

Her derisive laugh was an answer itself. "How honorable, boy-king." She mocked him.

There. This grin reminded him of the battlefield. It made him... sweat. It was then that a new wave of light rising from the inside gave him the courage to step forward.

"Your answer, Warchief?" The way he pronounced her title told her he took her in no way serious, expecting her to reject? But he would take her seriously if...

The moment she raised her bow to aim, Anduin was already on the move, sprinting towards her as if he had anticipated her actions, his arms stretching to hinder her movement, the Light propelling him, causing her arrow to shoot up, their bodies colliding and due to the speed of his action they both slammed against the door, the ceiling of the Throne Room, hit by her arrow, crushing down on the place where they had stood before. The walls cracked, the door gave way and they both fell through when Anduin instinctively cast a shield with a protective ward over them.

Bright blue eyes met red glowing ones, the last pieces of the crumbling ceiling bouncing off the shield as they kept raining down on them.

"I'm undead. I don't need saving." She mocked him again.

Anduin blushed, suddenly aware of the intimate position they were in. "I'm not." He answered while slowly moving off of her and back on his knees. He looked around, realizing they were in a small protected garden in between the ruins of Lordaeron, what was left of the Throne Room built as a high wall next to them, separating them from the rest.

Sylvanas knew that time was running out. Yet she couldn't allow him to follow. She had to fade. And for that, she had to distract him.


How could she distract him? There was only one way she knew how to do it with humans: to get them in an emotional uproar. And the only way she had learned how to do so – from experience with Nathanos in former times - was to kiss him.

And so, Sylvanas acted. She bounced up and got closer. Anduin's eyes widened, but he did not step back. Did he expect a fight? Oh no, she grinned inwardly, she had something else for him in her mind. Something she was certain to knock the boy-king out. Set upright, only a touch away – something he wouldn't have figured her on doing - she took his face in both of her hands, something she had known herself and especially seen humans often do. Their eyes met for a moment and with all tenderness she could muster from somewhere deep down inside of her, long lost and forgotten, determined not to frighten him away – and not losing sight of her intention - she kissed him.

There was nothing that could've prepared her how it felt... to kiss him. A storm swiveled around her. Emotions she had completely blacked out came back in an instant, making her being undead feel almost painful. The feelings she had thought to be over and done with, they were all there, returning with ferocity that almost made her retreat – but she realized that Anduin had gripped her back on the arms, not wanting to let go, following, even inviting her to deepen the kiss. How... who... had taught him that?

Sylvanas felt confused, excited, worried, all at the same time. Hell, this closeness... She felt lost in his embrace. No wonder why she had stayed away from all semblance of warmth, even touch, but Anduin made her suddenly want to tear down the walls, to burn them down, to overcome them. This was not going the way she had intended to. In a tiny moment of weakness she had allowed her impulsiveness to take over and this was what she reaped.

Yet, nothing could've prepared Anduin how it felt to be kissed by her, either. His initial shock was followed by surprise before it gave way to a storm of feelings. By the Light, he had never felt anything like this. Electric shocks went through his body, her cold lips' touch sending pulses all over him, pulses against which he could do nothing. Like a reaction chain once at full speed could not be stopped anymore... and his nature to answer made him grip her arms, following her, not wanting the kiss to end. So, he opened his lips, allowed her to slip in, the intimate contact shaking him to the core but filling his whole being with Light and feelings in such an intensity he was almost afraid of -

When the bomb exploded, they both pulled apart, the earth beneath their feet shaking. Anduin, all burning cheeks and heart racing, needed a moment to collect himself before he had the courage to look back at her. Sylvanas' eyes glowed a deep red, but she knew it was more than urgent now to act. She faded in an instant, slipping through Anduin's fingers as he stared at her, still stunned by the kiss.

Anduin had already cast another shield when he heard the call of a Gryphon. Genn must've sent it to him and he couldn't be more grateful for it.

While flying over the smoking ruins of Lordaeron, he allowed himself to think of her. Every fiber of his body screamed he should've held her back, that he should not have let her leave him. But there was little he could've done. However, he longed for another kiss of that kind, no, not only a kiss – he could not stop his mind from wandering, he wanted so much more, all that he was allowed to do, to pleasure her, to make her feel, to make her groan – all of those things he had watched from time to time his servants do, and that he would have loved to share with her. It felt just like waking up. She ought to be a skilled lover, he was sure, and he would have loved to ask her to teach him. He closed his eyes when longing took possession of him. It accompanied him all the way, through the rest of the day, returning to Stormwind, through the whole night when he couldn't sleep, still burning for her, laying hands onto himself wishing she would do it instead and after having an intense orgasm alone, there was a moment when desperation sneaked in. It would never let him go. He was suddenly sobbing – dead tired, exhausted, wrung out - knowing that he would never be allowed to follow his increasing desire, knowing the Warchief of the Horde would not allow such a moment to repeat itself, it was as sure as day followed night. And it also was that, as inexperienced as he was, he stood no chance against the lover the gossip claimed she had, Nathanos Blightcaller, official Champion of the Warchief of the Horde.

He was so desperate, he didn't know what to do. He was the King of Stormwind. There were duties to be fulfilled. How could such a kiss have such an impact on him? Confuse him completely? He, who had been in control of all of his emotions before?

Gone was the fear of her. Gone was the inferiority he had earlier felt towards her. But also gone was his unattainability. He had no explanation for it but whenever he revived that kiss, he could feel her lips on his. The hands holding his face. The moment the kiss deepened. And with that the pulses returned, the Light in him burning with the memories of their bodies touching and the lingering questions assailing his mind: what would happen if they met again? Would they kiss again if he were to act? Perhaps she would allow him more? Anduin did not kid himself that he was way beneath her concerning sexual experience. Would she teach him? He was painfully aware of how he was fooling himself. She would never do such a thing. The vain and proud Warchief of the Horde would never tolerate... him in her bed. He should face the bitter truth. They were like two boots thrown into a pair in which neither of them fit. But he couldn't shake away the nagging question - what if...

He was running on fumes, he knew it, but he couldn't do otherwise. The longing for her had him every night. Kept him up. He was in despair that nothing of it would ever be real. Yet, there was little for him to do against it. Any of it. The burning, the aching, the yearning – those were nothing new to him anymore. They cost him his sleep. He paid for trying to maintain the facade of normalcy when his blue eyes grew darker. When his patience gave way to a restlessness even Genn called upon him, shaking his head. Anduin felt helpless. It had him bad, he knew it. But the feelings in the night – they were what made his life worth living in the morning – and what turned it into hell, having to survive each day. Often, his look tended towards his father's sword. Pondering on falling on its blade. Or even having the courage to fall on his knees in front of her, begging for salvation: make me an undead, so I can at least spend my life close to you. Those thoughts, they were abhorrent, Anduin knew it but he couldn't change his passion, his lust, his very being that was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. The heat he had felt in only one kiss. When he couldn't sleep he wandered around, his attention always turned towards the west. Was she there across the blue ocean? Or somewhere else further away from his sight? Did she ever think of him? If he could shut down the burning in himself. If he could only put her out of his dreams and thoughts and his life, it would be a redemption. But he couldn't. He was a shadow of himself, he knew it. And something had to change.

He had to meet her. He had to tell her how he felt. To ask if she could... save him or if she was able to put his head back where he belonged. Even if she were to deny him, it wouldn't matter. Maybe then he would have his strength back and stop dreaming of a path forbidden to him. If he had clarity, then his life could go on – one way or another. If not, he was on the path to drive himself crazy. He was already on the edge, close to the point of no return. So he decided to go, hoping that Stormwind would remain peaceful in his absence. In case he returned, he would willingly repair all the damage he had caused. Anduin knew it was risky, him going out alone. Somehow he had to travel to Orgrimmar. Not as Anduin Wrynn, King of Stormwind, Leader of the Alliance, but maybe... as Llane. If he were Llane nobody would recognize him. The blonde hair falling to his shoulders, the good clothes changed to simple ones. The armor left behind in his quarters, of no use anymore. A hood to hide his face. No weapon for him to carry. He left a note for Genn Greymane and Jaina Proudmoore, the closest and most important persons in his life – until Lady Sylvanas Windrunner had kissed him - hoping they were able to forgive him.

When they found it, he was long gone and on his way to her.