Chapter Text
He was given a warm greeting by his family back in Stormwind. Propped upright with more fluffy pillows, he let them smother him with bear hugs. He was home. With his family. The realization brought more tears to his eyes. He let himself be wrapped up in his mom’s arms as she cried with him, everyone telling him how happy they were to have him home and in one piece. It was an inconspicuous saying, of course, but he still couldn’t resist making a crack about it.
“Don’t joke,” Emma chided. “I talked to the healers; I know what happened.”
The medicine jumbled up his thoughts too much for him to understand. All he remembered was being dragged back to the Vindicaar--after that, it was vague sensations of being jostled about. Then he was waking up in Dalaran.
His family left for a short while towards the end of the day to get some dinner and a place to stay for the time being, leaving him under the watch of Natalie. And, soon enough, Saskia.
“We got a dog!” she announced excitedly.
The fluffy black pup put his chin on the bed, wagging its tail. From the size of its paws, Horace could tell that this was going to be a big puppy. Its fur was still downy soft, and its eyes closed contentedly when he reached over to pet its head.
A knock at the door brought his groggy gaze over to the entrance of Stormwind Cathedral’s infirmary. His eyes lit up and a smile grew on his face when he saw who was standing in the threshold. “Anduin,” he breathed.
In the young man’s hands was a vase of sunflowers, which he set on the bedside table. There was a deep blush visible on his cheeks. “I was told these were your favorite,” he said, tucking longer stands of blond hair behind his ear.
“They’re wonderful,” Horace gushed. He scoot over more to the side and pat the space next to him.
Anduin sat a tad hesitantly, but took Horace’s hand in both his own and pressed a kiss into his knuckles. “You’re going to have some scarring, but otherwise no permanent internal damage. Velen made sure of that.”
He hummed appreciatively, leaning into his partner. “Wait, Velen?” he asked after a moment.
“Light, I apologize, I assumed that you remembered what--” He cut himself off. “We don’t have to talk about that now, if you don’t want to.”
“No, I-I want to know what happened. I’ve been trying to piece it together since I got back to Dalaran but whatever they’re giving me is really strong.”
Anduin chuckled, but his brows remained furrowed in worry. “Well, you see…” He exchanged somber glances with Saskia and Natalie.
“Anduin. What happened? Did we lose the war?” Anxiety swirled in his chest at the mere notion.
“No, no, we won the war. Sargeras is gone, and the Burning Legion is defeated,” he said gently. He bit his lip. “Before he was taken by the Pantheon, however, he… drove his sword into Azeroth.”
“Silithus is in ruins,” Natalie added, voice soft.
All the blood drained from his face as the news sank in. So that was what he had forgotten. He slumped further into Anduin, trembling. “I saw him,” he whispered. “Sargeras. I saw him do it.”
His partner held him closer, soothing him with a wave of Light. “I can’t even imagine.”
Horace felt sick to his stomach. The memory of Sargeras turning back to stare at the Vindicaar, at him . He swallowed hard against the bile rising in his throat.
Anduin, noticing his distress, stood. “Here, I’ll get you an antiemetic. I understand the pain medicine you’re on can be hard on the stomach.”
Medics, with their funny little words. Horace groaned and squeezed his eyes shut while the world tilted and turned. In a few short moments, Anduin returned with a spicy-smelling concoction. It did eventually make him feel better. What helped even more was being able to lean into Anduin and rest his head on his chest. Sighing deeply, he let his eyes slide closed in the midst of Saskia’s story about how she “found” a dog, until there was only the gentle sound of their breathing.
*
Over the next few days, Horace managed to sit up more on his own, and eat three bites of dry toast. Yes, he was hungry, but he was also queasy, and his still-healing stomach wasn’t game for much. His friends and family came to visit regularly, bringing him his clothes, books to pass the time, and other things to make him more comfortable. Anduin stopped by when he was able to sit by him and talk, something Horace was quite fond of. His partner, though a little bony, was warm and gentle.
A week later, the priests of the Stormwind Cathedral cleared him for light movement, and Anduin brought his wheelchair for Horace to use. “Some fresh air will do you a lot of good,” he told him.
Horace wobbled as he stood with his partner’s help, taking deep breaths to avoid passing out. A few small, shuffling steps, and he practically collapsed into his wheelchair. It irked him beyond words to be so physically weak--he had abs for Light’s sake, those took work to maintain--but he did whatever the healers told him to make sure he recovered as fast as possible.
Anduin draped a blanket over his shoulders. “Ready?”
It was sunny outside, but he shivered. Damn blood loss. Looking up, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. Argus was no longer visible in the sky; in its place was a dull red star, its five points stretching out like arms.
“It feels… weird,” Horace admitted.
“How so?” Anduin prompted. He parked the wheelchair in an alcove overlooking the harbor and the setting sun, then sat on a stone bench so that he could be close to him.
“Argus is really gone. It’s dead, a million miles away. We fought so hard and for so long, and now it’s over. We won.” He wrapped the blanket tighter around himself. “Now what?”
Anduin shrugged. “Peace, hopefully, but…”
“I don’t like the sound of that ‘but’.”
“In Silithus, where Sargeras’s sword is, a strange material has started cropping up,” he explained. “Holding even a small shard in my hand, I…” He suppressed a shudder. “It’s powerful. Very powerful. The Horde is already establishing a mining operation there.”
A frown found its way onto Horace’s face. “So, of course, the Alliance had to respond in kind.”
Anduin winced ever so slightly at his tone, but softened when the paladin reached to take his hand. The two met eyes, each holding a tired sense of resignation.
“You and I both know that the Horde as a whole isn’t the enemy. They’re good people who just want to survive,” Horace reminded him.
He nodded. “It’s hard to make everyone see that. There are too many wounds, too many people who lived through the First War, or grew up in its aftermath. Even if I did make peace with the Horde, I’d probably face full-scale riots and find myself without a head.”
A grim thought, but a realistic one. Old habits died hard. “I imagine abdicating and starting a new life far away from politics sounds pretty appealing.”
“It does,” Anduin laughed. He moved closer to him and gave his hand a squeeze. “Then I remember the kind of people who would replace me and it quickly loses its luster.”
Horace gave an exaggerated shudder. The gesture sent a fresh stab of pain through his abdomen, however, and he doubled over. He shot a pointed look at Anduin as the man chuckles, grudgingly accepting his healing spell.
“You can’t laugh at me,” he half-whined. “I’m injured .”
“I’ve tried that excuse before; it didn’t work.” Anduin wrinkled his nose, resting his head on Horace’s shoulder.
In turn, Horace leaned into him and sighed contentedly. “We can act all old and grumpy then, with all our aches and pains.”
Clearing his throat, Anduin croaked, “Eh? What was that, sonny?”
He busted up laughing despite how it made his wound hurt. Yes, the future looked ominous, and would probably result in bad decisions, and more war, but right in that moment, things were okay. And for the time being, that was enough.
~THE END~