Chapter Text
Fwump!
Horace couldn’t help but grin as Anduin unceremoniously flopped back into the grass, his sword clattering to the ground. Sticking his own blade into the dirt, he strolled over and extended his hand, helping the groaning priest sit upright.
“The day I beat you in sparring,” he panted, “I’m going to eat my crown.”
That brought a fully-fledged laugh from Horace. “Don’t tell me that; I’ll hold you to it.” He joined him on the ground, wiping the sweat from his brow and taking a long pull from his canteen.
“Are you doing alright, though? No serious pain?” Anduin asked.
“Nope. You?” He poured some of the water over his damp hair and gave his head a good shake.
Anduin squawked indignantly as some of the droplets hit him in the face. “No more than usual.” He pulled off his boot and rolled up his pant leg to inspect the prosthetic device currently attached to what remained of his right leg. The Light rimmed his hand, and he used it to soothe the scar tissue and muscles resting in the socket.
It was a fancy, complicated-looking device, one that Gelbin Mekkatorque himself had built. Mostly metal with some polished wood accents, it served Anduin much better than his original prosthesis. A series of gears and springs existed in place of a knee, allowing it to move much more like a flesh and bone leg, but it wasn’t perfect. If worn for too long, it would still cause pain and swelling, and some days Anduin still required the use of his crutch.
Meanwhile, Horace was holding up well thanks to the hard work and patience of the healers. The deep gash and ripped-up intestines had started to scar over, and he could finally eat solid meals. Now all that was left was to regain the weight he had lost and get back into fighting form, the latter of which meant he got to spend more time with his partner. They sparred once per day, usually in the mornings, and cooled down with their respective physical therapies. It was time he enjoyed very thoroughly.
Sighing contentedly into his stretch, he asked, “Got some time for Westfall today?”
“Of course.” Anduin winced as he attempted to roll his shoulders a little farther back, tilting his head to watch the paladin rise to his feet. “Mind helping me up?”
Horace did a decent job ignoring the twinge in his gut as he hauled Anduin upright. For a brief moment, their noses brushed against each other, and he siezed the opportunity to place a quick peck upon his lips.
“Horace,” Anduin giggled, face going scarlet. His gaze darted around the gardens, looking for anyone who could have seen.
Biting back a remark, he let the priest’s hand go. Aloud, he said, “Your office, thirty minutes?”
He nodded. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
*
“I’ve been working on a budget to revitalize Westfall’s infrastructure with.”
Horace took a seat next to Anduin at his broad oak desk. While he was on time, his partner was always, without fail, at least ten minutes early, and therefore already had the necessary files set up when Horace arrived.
Sliding the spreadsheet forward, Anduin explained, “We have roughly ten thousand gold that we can put aside just in case there’s something which requires us to go over-budget. I’ve also heard back from both the Earthen Ring and the Cenarion Circle. They have each agreed to send people to assist in cleansing the land of fel energy and appeasing the elements.”
He couldn’t help but light up at the news. “That’s fantastic!” he exclaimed, scanning all of the documents. His interest was especially piqued by the long list of donations. “I see my badgering had finally paid off,” he joked, noting how many noble surnames were on the list. Even local merchants had been won over by Horace’s passionate implores for financial aid.
When his eyes landed on one name in particular, his heart skipped a beat: Wrynn, Anduin . And the amount made his eyes go wide as saucers. A hundred thousand! “Anduin…” he breathed, voice thick.
The man in question scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “I know my family hasn’t exactly treated Westfall’s plight as seriously as we should have. I wanted to make it right, to--”
Horace cut him off before he could start rambling with a jubilant kiss, running his fingers through Anduin’s long golden hair. This time, his affection was happily reciprocated.
When they broke apart, flushed and a tad disheveled, Horace continued to embrace his partner, pressing a more chaste kiss to his cheek. “Light, you wonderful man,” he laughed.
“It’s the least I can do,” he replied, resting his forehead against Horace’s.
Their lips continued to meet, but it was obvious Anduin was withholding some tidbit of information. “What is it?” Horace murmured.
“The druids and shamans, they, um.” Anduin had to pull back from his partner, unable to collect his thoughts otherwise. “They’ll be in Stormwind tomorrow.”
“Hey, the sooner the better,” he quipped.
“With everything going on in Silithus and Darkshore, I wanted to get matters settled quickly, financial and otherwise. That way we’re guaranteed our budget can’t be slashed by any military efforts.” His blue eyes sparkled as he met Horace’s dark brown ones. “Come hell or high water, we are going to save Westfall.”
*
Darcy was a very conspicuous creature. Nothing quite drew attention to a hidden rogue like a bright blue proto-drake with the personality of a puppy. Saskia still kept him close by, however, just in case she needed to make a quick escape. Officially, she was here on behalf of King Anduin Wrynn. Unofficially, she was drawing up a report of events which Silas Darkmoon insisted she keep him informed of. This was a show which was simply too big to miss according to the ringmaster.
When she entered Astranaar, nose already curling as a familiar, acrid stench hit her, her heart skipped a beat. The steaming green puddles scattered about confirmed her worst suspicions: plague. This was the work of the Forsaken.
“Captain!” she called, striding quickly up to a night elf. The kaldorei spared her a glance before returning her attention to the blight-riddled body splayed out in the grass.
“I’m an agent of the High King,” Saskia explained. “What happened here?”
“The Horde happened,” Captain Delaryn Summermoon stated simply. Her ears drooped. “There have been countless deaths, and likely more we won’t discover for some time.”
She found her fists clenching at her sides as she stared down at the dead Sentinel. “They did this in Northrend too,” she growled. “ Relentlessly .”
“Maestra’s Outpost has fallen under Horde control, as well,” one of the soldiers added.
Captain Delaryn nodded. “They’re heading for Darkshore. We are preparing to leave as soon as we see to the fallen.”
Saskia had no idea what night elf burial customs were, but she knew that whatever plague-laced poison had been used would not disperse unless they thoroughly cremated the bodies. “Very well. I’ll go on ahead, see how much damage I can do.” She turned around, put a carved whistle to her mouth, and blew.
Darcy was agile despite his size, managing to avoid knocking down any trees as he swooped down into the settlement. He rumbled as she swung into the saddle, bunching up then launching himself upward. Massive, leathery wings worked against gravity until they were above the treetops, scattering leaves as he burst through the canopy. Saskia took her hands off the saddlehorn to adjust her flight goggles, praying that they weren’t going to be too late.
*
They barely had time to take stock of the Horde’s movements before gyrocopters were trying to blast them out of the sky. Saskia clung to the saddle as Darcy nose-dived towards a group of catapults, leveling out at the last second as he unleashed a stream of frostfire upon them. A surprised roar erupted from him as he abruptly gained about fifty feet in altitude, the force of the blasts buffeting his unarmored belly.
There were mages among the troops; thankfully, no mage was immune to a lead slug. Nudging Darcy with her heels, she held still as the proto-drake banked right, using her vantage point to blast one with her shotgun while he was in the midst of casting. Yet when that one fell, more took his place. It took a lot of clever maneuvering on Darcy’s part to dodge the machine guns chasing him through the air, some of which nearly flung Saskia from the saddle.
“Dammit, they’re everywhere,” she snarled. Leaning into a turn, she pumped her shotgun again, took aim, and fired, dispatching a Forsaken sniper.
It was a toss-up. On one hand, there was a good chance they would be gunned down if they retreated. On the other hand, there was no way they stood a chance against an army this large.
Letting loose a frustrated growl, she let Darcy burn up another line of catapults. Then, just as she had predicted, the dice did not land favorably. A fireball hit her drake square in the wing, jolting them both to the side as he let out a pained screech. They flailed mid-air, desperately trying not to crash anywhere near Horde forces. Darcy beat his wings as quickly as he could with his injury while Saskia spun around in the saddle, shotgun loaded. She landed one shot smack in the middle of the cockpit, and the plane dive-bombed. Her second shot didn’t hit the pilot, but still got the propeller, dispatching it as well. To her relief, no more bothered to follow.
It terrified her how small of a dent she and Darcy had made in the Horde forces. Whatever Sylvanas was planning to do to the night elves, she was coming prepared. In the distance, Saskia could see a yet-untouched Teldrassil. She breathed a sigh of relief.
Darcy chuffed to get her attention. A good thing, too, as it gave Saskia time to brace for impact. He came in for a rough landing on an island in the midst of a raging river, sides heaving and magenta eyes screwed shut.
She scrambled out of the saddle, leaving it on but loosening the girth. The armor stayed on as well; they may be forced to make a quick escape and Saskia did not enjoy the thought of sitting on those back spines. Her brow furrowed as she assessed the damage to Darcy’s wing. It was still intact, thank the gods, but those were some nasty burns.
“I know it hurts, buddy,” she said, patting his side. “Just hang tight, okay? I’ll patch you up.”
In one of the saddlebags was a first aid kit, which she procured and popped open. After a bit of rummaging, she managed to locate the little bottle of burn salve. She couldn’t be generous with it--the area of injury was too great to spread more than a light layer. Darcy let out an appreciative rumble as she applied it to the affected area, the aloe-based concoction producing a cooling effect that helped to ease the pain. She covered it up in gauze to keep dirt and debris from getting inside the wound, then knelt by the riverside to wash her hands.
An elk was across the rapids, but Saskia’s armor blended in well with the terrain and it didn’t notice her while it drank. Her stomach growled as she stared at it. Yet she had no way of withstanding the river’s current and enough sense to know that starting a fire would get her killed. A hearty venison dinner would have to wait until she was back home, safe and sound.
A shadow passed over her head. She made to unsheath her daggers, but stopped when she saw Darcy land directly atop the elk, killing it instantly. He picked the carcass up in his jaws and forded the river again in one leap.
“Well, looks like you’re feeling better,” she said.
Darcy snorted and tucked into his meal.
Daylight was fading fast as Saskia began to jot down more notes for her report. Dinner for her was a ration bar and a handful of almonds, enough to keep her going for a few more hours of recon.
“This whole war really is shit,” she grumbled around a mouthful of food. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for destroying blight and saving the forest, but all this over a bunch of crystallized soul blood… stuff? Horseshit.”
Darcy grunted, ripping off a large chunk of venison and gulping it down.
“We should be helping Azeroth heal, not seeing who can harvest more of her,” she continued. “Azerite is… stupidly powerful. And of course the first thing these idiots do is see how they can destroy each other with it.” A drawn-out sigh escaped her, and she tilted her head back to look up at the remnants of the sunset surrounding by a smattering of little stars.
“I was never really keen on seeing the end of the world. You’d think that since we just defeated the goddamn Burning Legion that we’d have at least a couple years of downtime. I’m not ready for another war, Darcy. I think I’m gonna back out of contract with Anduin, just keep near him because he’s my brother.” She snorted softly, face growing fond. “It seems like yesterday I was pulling him out of a swamp in the Jade Forest. Remember when you hit him with your tail and he fell off a cliff?”
Darcy blinked at her, rumbling.
Her face fell again. “I think that, regardless of whether we’re active in this war, we’re gonna need to be prepared. The Dreadblades are with Tethys now, like they should’ve been from the the start, but Azerite is big and scary and without those cutlasses, I’m considerably less so… As much as I hate to go back there, I think it’s time we paid a visit to a certain someone, see what she can do for us.”
Darcy finished up the last of his meal and was licking up the blood from the grass. Saskia went over to him, pressed into his side with her knees pulled up to her chest. It was going to be a long night, with potential attackers lurking everywhere, watching, waiting. Thankfully, she was a light sleeper.
*
Natalie had abandoned her fel-related research projects weeks ago in favor of more direct tutelage from Lady Jaina Proudmoore, one of the most powerful mages on Azeroth. Not only was she benefiting from the archmage’s years of personal experience, but from her time spent with Magna Aegwynn, the Guardian of Tirisfal, who had faced down Sargeras and lived for centuries, accumulating vast amount of knowledge that she had passed down to Jaina. Double score!
Polymorph was quickly becoming her new favorite spell. Dangerous animal? Sheep. Highwaymen? Sheep. Illegal artifact tradesmen, poachers, demons? Sheep, sheep, and sheep. But there was so much more that she was learning. There existed more spells, charms, and magics in the world than she ever thought possible, and she was soaking it all up like a sponge.
Fingers covered in ink stains, she made her way down the spiral staircase of Jaina’s personal library, holding her notepad in one hand and pushing the door to the archmage’s study open with the other. “I finished re-stitching those tomes together like you asked; is there anything else you need from me today?” she chirped. She and some of the other Kirin Tor apprentices were planning to get together for tea and gossip later that afternoon.
But she received no verbal response. Furrowing her eyebrows, she stopped halfway to Jaina’s desk as the archmage rose from her chair and turned to face her. She was shaking, her eyes filled with horror and sorrow, and it terrified Natalie more than anything.
“L-lady Jaina?” she asked.
The archmage slowly looked up from the missive. “Teldrassil,” she whispered, “has been burned down.”
*
They had opened a portal to Stormwind Keep without hesitation. Kirin Tor mages volunteered in droves to assist in any way they could, Alliance and Horde alike; the Horde mages had had to be turned away.
The keep itself was in chaos. Natalie and Jaina fought their way through the crowds of soldiers and servants to the war room, where Anduin and another priest were kneeling beside a wounded night elf. Malfurion, Natalie realized. And cradling the archdruid’s head in her lap was a visibly distraught Tyrande Whisperwind.
Jaina called to the king, who turned to her as she rushed over. He looked panicked.
“Thank the Light you’re here. Refugees are pouring into the Cathedral District; we need people to help maintain the portals,” he informed them.
“On it!” Jaina barked, already spinning around and running out the door.
Natalie paused for a moment, swallowing hard and she and Anduin met eyes. Steeling herself, she nodded once, then followed her mentor.
All throughout the city soldiers were trying to keep civilians unable to help inside their homes. It was easy enough for Natalie to catch up with Jaina, although she was keenly aware that she would need to conserve her energy. Portals or no, mages would be in high demand today. She made sure to review her repertoire of frost spells as she ran.
Once inside the Cathedral Square, she almost lost her nerve and bolted. All around, medical teams were setting up shop, triaging as many patients as quickly as possible. Kaldorei civilians were holding the dead and the dying and wailing in unrestrained grief, fighting off anyone who tried to separate them and see to their own injuries. Parents were sobbing over children, children were sobbing over parents… Natalie’s heart was rabbit-quick inside her chest.
“Over here!”
Her focus was ripped back towards her mentor, who was beckoning her over to one of the portals. Instinct kicked in and she began to channel her mana into it, keeping it wide enough that ten people could fit through at once, but people weren’t the only thing coming through. Natalie could smell smoke, thick and acrid, and felt the heat of the flames on her face. She could see them, too, blindingly bright despite the obscurity of the portal.
People clung to one another as they staggered into Stormwind, coughing and gagging with tears streaming down their soot-stained faces. She tried to block them out, to pour all her attention into maintenance, so much so that she nearly missed Genn Greymane diving into the portal in his worgen form.
He emerged several minutes later, holding both his wife and a small night elf child. He set them just out of the way and returned to his human form, calling to his wife and shaking her shoulders while the child was carried to the nearest medic by another refugee.
“Genn! Is she alive?”
Natalie cast a quick glance at Anduin as he came galloping up on Reverence, his war horse. He swung down from the saddle, staggering slightly as his right leg bore his weight too quickly, and knelt at Mia’s side.
“She’s not breathing.” From Genn’s tone, he was on the verge of panic.
“Stay back,” Anduin ordered.
Her position meant that she could see him performing CPR on Mia Greymane, pausing every half minute or so to lean down and breathe for her. After what seemed like an eternity, the queen of Gilneas began to cough, though she was still very weak. Anduin sent one of his guards to find an inhaler for her while he channeled the Light, brows furrowing as he sought to soothe her damaged lungs.
Sweat dripped down Natalie’s face while less and less people came into the city, until, at last, two of the Alliance’s champions, Broll Bearmantle and Sylendra Gladesong, limped through.
“Is that everyone?” Jaina asked.
Broll turned his head to look at her, then broke down sobbing.
Sylendra spoke instead. “The priestesses…” she rasped. “They’re staying behind. But yes, that’s everyone we could find.”
Jaina’s expression became grim, and she nodded. “Alright.” She ended her spell, and the rest of the mages followed suit.
Natalie was the very last to do so, her heart clenching fearfully at the thought of not everyone having made it in time. And the priestesses… it had always been painted as a heroic thing for the captain to go down with their ship. No doubt their healing skills were sorely needed here, though. She shoved the thought down to deal with later in favor of beating back the wave of exhaustion that suddenly overcame her.
Standing, Anduin took off his overcoat and draped it over Mia, handing the respirator to Genn. “Make sure she’s hydrated, and encourage her to cough. We need to prevent as much fluid from building up in her lungs as we can. But I can’t find any serious burns on her; you can take her back to the keep,” he informed the worgen.
“Thank you,” Genn rumbled. Shifting back into worgen form, he scooped his wife up into his arms and walked away, accompanied by Anduin’s guards.
Natalie wasted no time in approaching her friend. “How can I help?”
“We need water,” Anduin told her, “and lots of it. Load up a cart with as many barrels as can fit. Take Reverence, he can pull it.”
Being a mage meant that she could summon great amounts of power, like that with which she powered the portal, but it was a greatly taxing process. Luckily, she had learned to always keep drinks and snacks on her person, and she scarfed down several handfuls of dried fruit and nuts while leading Reverence to the nearest well. City guards already stationed there were more than willing to assist her in filling the barrels and hefting them onto the cart, and even harnessed Reverence. She hurried the gallant palomino back towards the Cathedral Square, and he trotted along obediently.
“Good on you, mage!” a gnome priest called to her. He handed her a large bucket with a ladle. “The less severe cases are stationed inside the town hall. Get them this, then report back. It’s all hands on deck!”
“Right away, sir,” she said, doing her best not to slosh any liquid onto the ground as she carried the heavy bucket up the steps and into the building. She didn’t even pause to see if they started drinking before she was back outside with her next task: to distribute medical supplies.
Gryphon riders were carrying in boxes from the barracks and the harbor below. She used her magic to pry five or six of them open at once and sort their contents into distinct piles. Those piles would then be divvied up and taken to different parts of the square, where they would be within easy reach for medics. Supplies were being eaten up much faster than they were being flown in, however, and while she was waiting for more boxes, Natalie took it upon herself to make more water runs, giving herself and Reverence quite a workout. Time became meaningless, her renewed fatigue the only indication that any great length had passed.
During another lull in the deliveries, she found another bucket and ladle and set about helping the injured drink. She managed her warmest, most reassuring smile for them, saying whatever she could think of that would help comfort and distract as she slowly helped them rehydrate.
“D-did I do well?”
Natalie heart lurched at the quavering, barely-audible voice coming from behind her. She turned around despite herself and saw Anduin sitting beside a soldier prone on a blood-stained mat. Light, his burns… there was hardly an inch of pale violet skin that remained intact.
Holding the soldier’s hand, Anduin maintained a composed face. “Yes,” he soothed. “I could not imagine a more valiant soldier. Thank you, for your service. You will forever be remembered as a hero of the Alliance.”
The man was dying. It hit Natalie like a gut-punch and she watched, transfixed, as Anduin performed last rites for him.
“You have nothing to fear,” the king continued, “for you will be received with open arms by Elune. No harm will come to your soul; the Light is benevolent, and knows only love.”
“Doesn’t sound so bad,” the soldier whispered.
Not even a minute later, Anduin bowed his head. “Be at peace,” he intoned, and closed the elf’s eyes.
Her mouth was agape, lower lip trembling as tears spilled down her cheeks. She stared at the soldier, waiting for his chest to rise. It didn’t. He was gone.
Before she even registered his presence, Anduin was guiding her to her feet and away from the people, away from the body a city guard was covering with a sheet. He pulled her into a hug and let her sob into his shoulder. “I know,” he said. “I know.”
“How can you be so calm ? We just watched someone die,” she cried, her voice muffled by his surgeon’s smock.
“I’m not; not really. But I am good at faking it,” he admitted.
She had no response for that.
“Natalie, you’re exhausted,” he said softly.
“I can still help,” she insisted.
He shook his head. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Go to the keep, get some rest. You’ve earned it ten times over.”
She pulled back and wiped her eyes, cursing. “You come get me if you need help,” she muttered.
“I will. Promise.”
Maybe, just maybe, there was a slight chance Anduin had been right about Natalie being ready to pass out, as her knees buckled the moment she was away from the Cathedral Square and no longer running on adrenaline. A guard jogged up to her, asking if she was okay, if she needed help getting home. Taking a deep breath, she finally conceded to being walked home. The burly guard extended his arm and she took it gratefully.
The journey back to the keep was arduous, but she knew that she had no reserves left to teleport there. Her limbs were like lead and her eyes hurt from crying and she yawned every few moments, head too heavy to hold very high. Thankfully, the guard was patient, and didn’t say a word.
She glanced in the war room as she limped by, noting Genn and Tyrande but not Malfurion or Mia. The two were speaking in low voices that Natalie just didn’t give enough of a shit to try and make out. She thanked the guard “for the lift” once she reached her and Saskia’s room, and trudged inside, not quite understanding the importance of something to lean on. The last thing she thought of was if she would break her nose face-planting on the floor.
*
It was well past three in the morning when Anduin finally limped through Stormwind Keep’s threshold. Several of the Lion’s Guard approached and offered to help him back to his quarters, but he shook his head and dismissed them. He must have been quite the sight, sweat-matted hair falling out of its tie and surgeon’s smock covered in drying blood and gore.
Genn and Shaw appeared from the map room, the former placing a firm hand on his shoulder.
“You know what has to be done,” the worgen said grimly.
By the Light, he did, and it was ripping him apart. But in that moment, he was dead on his feet and only kept upright by the promise of sleep if he made it to his room. He nodded once, slowly.
He shuffled a few steps towards the great oak doors leading to the inner sanctum before he turned his head and asked, “How’s Mia?”
“Alive, because of you.” Genn’s eyes tightened. “You have my sincerest thanks.”
His valet looked startled when he saw him. Wordlessly, he helped him out of the smock and guided him towards the bathroom, where a tub of hot water to wash up in was already waiting for him. The gesture was appreciated, but he lacked the energy to do more than get into his sleep clothes and splash some cold water on his face.
Leaning on the countertop, he gazed at his reflection in the mirror. Tears began welling up in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks like a waterfall. One sob, quickly followed by another, then another, wracked his slim, scarred frame. How many people hadn’t made it through those portals? How many people were still trapped in the burning husk of the World Tree, doomed to die alone? How many would perish tonight, so very far away from home with their hearts in pieces? He had held the hands of the dying as he recited their last rites and helped ease their death throes while all around him he heard the screams of deep-seated agony, of terror and trauma and misery. How few he had managed to save, how many he had failed.
Horace had taken off on a gryphon earlier that afternoon to catch up with the Westfall caravan. As selfish as it felt, Anduin wished that his partner was there beside him right then, for those strong arms and that steady voice to carry him through to morning. When he was at last ready to curl up underneath the blankets, he had never felt smaller.