Work Text:
“I can’t,” Anduin says, reaching for the door of Saurfang’s cell. It shrieks when he opens it, stops when he does. “Not alone,” he admits, and turns to leave before he can change his mind, before he can second-guess himself.
“Wait.” Saurfang steps out of the cell, one hand still clasped around the bars as if he still doesn't believe it's real.
Anduin turns, silent.
“I can't do this alone either,” he admits. “You have another prisoner, I need him.”
“Which one?”
“Zekhan. Troll shaman, bright red hair.” Saurfang raises a hand to indicate his height as he speaks. Short, for a troll, at least.
Anduin frowns. He tries to cross his arms, but the armor prevents him and he lowers them back to his sides. He's not ready for any of this. “And why should I release two prisoners? It's already risky enough releasing you.”
“Lordaeron was his first battle. He doesn't deserve this.”
“He killed soldiers of the Alliance.”
Saurfang laughs, cold and bitter. “You sound like your father.”
“Convince me,” Anduin pleads. He wants to help, he does, but he's already risking so much. His compassion, he has been finding, does have its limits. “Give me a reason.”
“He doesn't have anyone left.” Saurfang runs a hand over his face, his shoulders slumping. “No one's coming for him, no one even knows he's gone. He's worth nothing to you.”
“Many would have me execute him if he's worthless.” He wouldn't, couldn't, but he needs to know what Saurfang will say next. Needs to hear it.
“Zekhan is worth everything to me.”
Anduin smiles. It's reason enough for him. “If he's worth risking your freedom by dawdling with the king of the Alliance,” Anduin hands Saurfang the ring of keys and nods his head, “then you had better take good care of him.”