Work Text:
It was early still when Anduin woke that morning. The dawn sun-rays had yet to reach his windows in the second story of the army fort in Pandaria. He kept his eyes trained on the slowly lightening sky outside the window, watching as the dark outlines of the Pandarian terrain distinguished itself from the pale blue sky. The clamor of the military port was well underway - most of the soldiers having been up since well before dawn.
This wasn’t Stormwind, Anduin reminded himself. The peaceful morning hours when the first shops opened lazily at dawn didn’t exist here. Instead, the sounds of officers calling out orders to their regiments could be heard before the stars even left the sky. Carts of ammunition and weaponry were transported to the boats at all hours of the day. Warning bells would chime in the early dawn, announcing any Horde sighting.
No, this was not Stormwind. Nor was this the Pandaria he had been coming to know. This was the start of a war front. Not the front lines, not by a long shot, but it was close. Closer than he had ever been before.
He got lost in his thoughts for the next few minutes, listening to the yelling of a General. The voice was too shrill to be Taylor, and not eloquent enough to be Jackson. Anduin reasoned it was probably Reed- he was always quick to a temper anyways. After the voice faded further away, Anduin sighed, never finding out if he was correct or not since the regiment never came through the small part of the square he could see from his window.
Having grown bored of the view from the window, his eyes wandered over the simple chamber he occupied. The candle on his bedside was about half as tall as it was when he had fallen asleep last night, its previously unlit end now charred black. Squinting at the candle for a while, he pondered the implications it held before a small smile tugged at his lips. He glanced around the rest of the room, his eyes landing on the two simple chairs placed inside the bare room- one of them off in the corner and the other right near his bed. He couldn’t recall if they were there the day before or not. Closing his eyes and furrowing his brow slightly, Anduin tried to concentrate. It was hard to focus on something for a long time- which in itself, Anduin found frustrating. Thinking and remembering things should not take this long or be this hard. He was bright.
A nagging voice crept back into his head, reminding him of patience and understanding his body’s limits. Pain was distracting, and healing made things foggy. Anduin told himself knowing that his mentor had used much more eloquent vernacular when comforting him previously. Still, it made things all the more frustrating. When he was alone, he was bored out of his mind. When people were around, he stressed them out even more with his confusion and slow responses. Light, Anduin decided that head injuries were by far the worst. His prior previously severe concussion was now only considered moderate to mild. Still, it bothered him more than the multiple compound fractures to his left leg. Velen had claimed that would take the longest to heal and cause the most pain for the rest of his life, so Anduin did not doubt that he would come to redact that statement with time. Despite that, Anduin had valued his mind over his body his whole life. Even though his willowy build held nothing against most of the boys his age, he had always been wise beyond his years. He could deal with a limp. He couldn’t deal with losing his wits.
A bead of sunlight began to form on the stone wall across from the window. As it began spreading, Anduin watched it illuminate the different textures on the stones. He knew what would be coming at any moment, and he was trying to prepare himself.
Without fail, the wooden door to his chamber crept open, blocking part of the morning sun from hitting the wall. Anduin pride his eyes from the wall and onto the tall robed figure that came slowly into the room.
His white and red robes swept across the ground, nearly covering the hoofed feet of the Draenei who entered. His light purple skin covered with the long white beard that flowed so perfectly with the angelic like grace and perfection that most things about the race possessed. Velen smiled at Anduin softly, meeting his gaze. “Good morning, young Prince.”
Anduin smiled in return, hesitating to return the pleasantries in fear that his voice might inflame his headache or reveal the exhaustion he felt despite having just awoken. Regardless he responded, “Same to you, Prophet Velen.”
He brought in another breath, preparing to ask his mentor a simple question of how he was faring. However, the breath got caught in his chest; his ribs flared up in pain against the inflation of his lungs. His natural reaction to cough and curl in on the injury only worsened the stabbing pain. He felt a steady hand on his good shoulder, pulling him flat against the bed again. Light, he thought as he listened to Velen’s soft words of comfort and gentle healing touch on his ribs as he channeled more healing energy through his body. Now talking was painful too? Perhaps the head wound wasn’t that bad. Of everything Anduin missed, it was conversing with others and communicating that he longed for the most. Now he couldn’t do that either. Keeping his eyes closed, he did his best to relax through the pain as Velen worked.
After a few moments passed, Anduin was able to focus enough on his surroundings to realize that Velen was still speaking to him. It was in a slow and comforting tone, one that probably was meant more for reassurance than actually to convey information. Concentrating more, he was able to distinguish what the Prophet was saying.
“…but for now, you must rest, young one, let the Light and time do its work to heal your battered body. Your strength and mobility will return to you soon. While it might feel like you are trapped in your mind at the moment, you will return to your post by your father’s side, the calm voice soothing the storm…” As the words sunk in, Anduin felt himself slowly relaxing into the bed; his mind lulled into peace by the gentle streams of Light he felt inside him.
Time had passed in strange ways over the past few weeks. Sometimes days would fly by in what felt like seconds, him having no recollection of falling asleep or waking up. Often panicked voices had stirred him awake during those times. He had assumed that his health was faltering more then, whereas some days would drag on for so long that he would lose track of time. It would feel as if a day had passed when only an hour has ticked by. Having the window open now helped, but that had only begun over the past few days. Before that, the curtains and drapes were pulled closed over it. Anduin assumed this was a sign that he was finally stable… and yet the half-burnt candle made him think otherwise.
Either way, time would get away from him. And at that moment, he wasn’t sure if it was minutes or hours that passed by before the healing light energy faded from his chest. A more deliberate tone came from the Prophet, clearly trying to get his attention. Despite it taking an embarrassingly long time, he was able to withdraw himself from the peaceful healing he had retreated to and focused on the words the draenei was saying.
“My Prince, open your eyes and listen to me.” His deep ancient voice more commanding than it usually was.
Anduin took a few moments to blink open his eyes, the aching in his body returned alongside his awareness. He was now longing for that peace again as the throbbing pain radiated from his right leg and subsequently, his collar bone. Biting down on his cheek to concentrate, he forced his eyes to focus on the ancient ones of his mentor. Prophet Velen smiled to him, a remorseful expression, before shifting to lift Anduin’s arm and gently place it across his stomach. While repeating this with his other hand, the Draenei began speaking.
“Your Highness, I wish I did not have to burden you with such news, but my sight leads me to believe you already know. The war here at Lion’s Landing rages on with no end in sight. Now the troops draw closer and attack more openly. The front lines are no place for recovery. Most of the wounded have already evacuated back to Stormwind.” He spoke somberly, pulling down the sheets on the bed, lifting Anduin’s slight frame forward. The prince’s head then rested against his shoulder as he unraveled the bandages encompassing the boy’s torso.
Moments like this were what Anduin found so compelling about healers- for, at this moment, Anduin had no control over what happened to him; the Prophet held his whole life in his hands. Hands that he had to trust to heal and not further hurt. It only further confirmed to him what he wanted to do with his life. Heal, not harm.
His eyes were locked on the plain back wall of the room as Velen began to apply new bandages, discarding the last ones. The expanding silence was more concerning than if he were getting updates on what was happening on the war front. Anduin had been somewhat shielded from the critical details of the battles, but as of his injuries, he stopped receiving any information. There had to be a reason why Velen now brought it up.
Oh Light, perhaps the Horde made some significant advances, and they were losing their footing here. Or maybe Garrosh found a way to attempt to harness the shaw magic... Anduin slightly tensed as he gathered in a breath to ask.
A hand on his back halted him. “Relax, my Prince. This is not bad news I carry. Further, do not try to talk; your attempts have not yielded good results.” Closing his parted lips, Anduin tried to relax as Velen resumed the wrapping of the bandages.
“What I am saying is I have not wanted to keep you here since the moment your father called for me, but we had no other choice due to your condition.” The boy prince nodded, creasing his brow to try and gauge where this was going.
“Well, you are steadily improving now with no major relapses for several days. It is my hope that by the end of the week, we can transport you safely away from here.” Velen began to carefully lower Anduin back to the bed, catching his inquisitive expression.
“Not all the way back to Stormwind, no, that is a long and treacherous journey. No, what I plan is a safe, secluded neutral zone, just north of here. It is named the Tavern in the Mist. The Pandarian there have guaranteed it is a secure place for healing and rest.” The Prophet began carefully unraveling some of the cloth around Anduin’s shattered knee. Despite his best efforts, he flinched away from the touch. As Velen gently added an herbalist paste to help fight the infection in the wound, Anduin watched, unfazed by the inflamed and discolored limb.
“You will, of course, be accompanied by the Royal Guard, and your father insists on leading the escort caravan himself.”
At this Anduin opened his mouth to interject, only getting out a single grunt before the Prophet shushed him. “Rest your voice, for now. It would do more harm than good to have you wind yourself once more.”
Anduin strongly disagreed- after all, his voice was his greatest strength. It made lying here so much harder, stuck entirely inside his mind. He missed having company, people around him he could interact with beyond Velen and his many priests and priestesses. Light, almost a year passed since he last saw his personal servant. As lonely as the path to becoming the future king could be, Anduin had found friendship in those around him… some who had passed like his trainer in Ironforge and others who were lost… like Lady Jaina, who seemed to be so lost in her desire for revenge that she murdered thousands of civilians in Dalaran.
He heard whispers that she had not taken his near-death well at all. And yet he had not seen her come to visit him once. He understood, she was hurt and trying to fix herself, but she was often the closest thing to an aunt he had ever had. Selfishly, he wished she would come, but he would chastise himself when those thoughts came through his head. She would be there for him when he needed her, he was sure. As these thoughts trailed through his mind, his eyes drifted back to the burnt-out candle.
“He was here all night, and the night before.” Velen must have seen him staring, and Anduin felt a flush come over his cheeks at his thoughts being so obvious and childish. If he was candid with himself, Anduin had missed his father more than anything else during this long, arduous time in a healing ward. Varian supposedly kept vigil over his bedside for the first three days and nights, when his life hung in the hands of the Light. Yet now, he was the High King of the Alliance, with a responsibility to his people. People who continued to press against the relentless attempts of atrocity by Hellscream.
The past rift between the two Wrynn men hung like a shadow in Anduin’s mind. For the last many years, his father was violent, short-tempered, driven by revenge, and the heart of a wolf. When he was old enough to walk, a training sword was pressed into his hands. It never fit right, no matter how hard he tried. His footwork was shoddy at best, and his build was slender like his mother… nothing like his father’s. Constantly, Anduin felt like a disappointment in his father’s eyes. After that Varian slowly began to change. Their reconciliation during Remembrance Day marking the first of many mended fences. Now, Anduin had found his father going out of his way to express his admiration of Anduin’s diplomacy and connection to the Light. And yet… Anduin knew he would not be stuck in this position if he had become the warrior his father desired. It was hard not to assume his father kept his distance with those thoughts in mind.
Velen’s hand was placed on his cheek, a smile that conveyed little rested on his face. “Rest Anduin, one of my apprentices will be in soon to make sure you are well.” He stood and elegantly exited the room, his draping robes disappearing down the hall.
Anduin was left alone in the vacant chamber, and he mentally let out a sigh. The light streaming in from the window did nothing to comfort the ache he felt.
———————————————————————————————————————
Anduin stood in the Keep, staring down at his father’s grave. The silence around him was confusing, creating a sort of void. As he stood in silence, Jaina approached him, offering him his father’s sword - a slightly crazed look of devastation on her face. The orange light from Shalamayne illuminated her face eerily as she muttered to him, “Dismantle the Horde…” Instinctively, he jolted back. Jaina’s face shown with betrayal as she dissolved in front of him, his father’s sword falling to the ground lifelessly. Anduin spun around as Genn Greymane passed him an ornate helm, a lion’s face carved into it. As he reached forward, the Keep dissolved around him in plumes of smoke.
The cracked earth under his feet was covered in carcasses of alliance soldiers as a woman pulled off her hood. She waved desperately at the walls of the decrepit and broken city, her blond hair suddenly getting blown back as she turned around. Her grey, dead face lit by a brightly radiating holy light. Burning brightly, the light expanded out, encompassing the whole field, leaving only a shadow in its place, another person who slowly walked towards Anduin. Her face still hidden; she began to speak, “You have won… Nothing!” The shadow veiling the face fell away as the figure dissolved into slithering tentacles, disappearing into a puddle on the ground. Backing away again, Anduin felt himself press against the beautiful and dastardly Divine Bell. The sound of the Bell began ringing out, in rhythm with the howling laughter from deep below. And yet it was from behind the Bell that the hulking figure emerged, Garrosh, his face grim and frustrated as he swiped down on the Bell, the sound of chaos pressed Anduin down… down … down….
He gasped as his eyes shot open. Instantly his reaction was to jerk forward, preferably find somewhere to pray to the Light for peace. Yet the moment he was startled awake, jerking up, the sharp pain from his wounds made themselves known once again. There was no solace from the injuries he faced- not even in sleep. He maneuvered his unbroken arm over the cracked ribs, his body dizzily trying to adjust to the more-or-less sitting position.
Three long days had passed since Velen’s news about his impending departure. Anduin was conflicted. Amid the night, not for the first time, he missed the beautifully bright Cathedral in Stormwind and the naturally lit garden in the Keep.
And yet, this land needed someone not hellbent on bringing war to fight for it. As he tried to calm himself and breath through the pain, he felt a hand on his narrow shoulders.
Opening his eyes in surprise, Anduin saw the silhouette of his father. The long dark hair falling freely over his shoulders as he was turned away to light the candle at the bedside. As the life flickered into the candle, Anduin caught sight of his father’s face. Illuminated in the soft light, Anduin noticed no sign of the warrior King or “Lo’gash” as Valeera called him, Varian’s face appeared calm, albeit conflicted. Dark circles under the High King’s eyes were made more prominent by the angled candlelight, and slight stumbling started to mar his chin. When his eyes set on Anduin, a worried smile pressed across his face.
“Are you all right, or should I send for one of the Healers?” His voice sounded very out of place, attempting to be quiet and gentle, never really seemed fitting for Stormwind’s King. As Anduin cautiously shook his head, casting his eyes downwards, the hand on his back fell away. Silence fell between the two.
Light, this was the first time they had spoken since the Bell. Anduin felt his palms start to sweat at the prospect of a conversation with his father now.
After a few moments passed, Anduin glanced over at his father nervously, catching his gaze for only a second. Hesitantly, he turned back to resentfully staring at his ribs as he began speaking.
“I’m so- no, I know that I should not have…” He sighed before taking a deep breath and bringing himself to start clearly, “I am sorry. I know I acted quickly and had too much faith in what I could do, but I had to try to reason with him or use the mallet before he could harm any more of his troops. If I was a fighter… perhaps I would have held him off, and I know I should have waited-” Anduin was cut off by two hands cupping his face, lifting his bowed chin to meet his father’s gaze. He took a slightly choked breath as he felt his father’s thumb wipe the stream of hot angry tears rolling down his face away. Anduin had not even realized he had shed any.
“Anduin… no.” His father had moved from the seat by the bed to kneeling on the ground next to him. Now they were eye to eye. Varian held his son’s face in his hands for several long moments while Anduin’s shoulders slumped in shame, and the frustrated tears weld up in his eyes. He didn’t understand what Varian meant. After everything, Anduin was afraid to hope that his father would support him. He was foolish to act alone, and he risked so much of the alliance progress… his thoughts trailed off as his father started speaking.
“I- I am not the spokesman nor the diplomat you are, my son. I fear I will say the wrong thing… but, Anduin, were you not to have taken that path, I fear the destruction caused by the Bell would have been too immense to comprehend. And… no warrior on their own could survive against Hellscream in his madness. Yet by the Grace of the Light, which you are so blessed, you live against all the odds. Were you to have taken the path I dreamed for you, I would have lost… “He let the words fall, unable to complete his thought as his breath hitched.
Anduin was not entirely sure what his father would have finished with: you, hope, or everything. At that moment, a swirl of peace and joy awoke inside, stronger than any of Velen’s healing magic. Anduin felt himself still, the frustration leaving him. Yet, the stream of tears continued down his face, now in relief as he slumped forward. Wrapping his free arm around his father’s back, Varian hesitantly drew him closer. Anduin knew his father was always scared of physical contact. His mind flashed back to that day in Darnassus when his father’s warrior strength has almost broken Anduin’s arm. Even when it happened, Anduin knew that his father would regret it for the rest of his life. Anduin also knew that Varian, in his right mind, loved him more than anything in this realm and weather whatever trials to regain Anduin’s trust. Two years later, he can honestly say Varian found control, and Anduin truly trusted him.
Varian tightly held his son’s head. The moment drew long as the King muttered, “I am beyond proud of you. But if you ever pull something like that again, no amount of courage or faith will save you from the shock and despair you will cause your father. “The faintest mirth could be heard in his voice as he spoke.
It was clear neither one of them wanted to pull away from the comfortingly tight embrace. Anduin would never admit to the amount of comfort staying in Lion’s Landing had brought him, knowing his father was only a stone’s throw away. The hidden and ‘safe’ Tavern in the Mist surrounded by guards on both sides of his door could never compare to the guarantee of his father’s protection.
Anduin began to pull back from his father’s embrace, glad that is father kept both of his hands on his shoulders. He wasn’t sure if he had the strength to remain sitting up.
“Anduin...” Varian hesitated as he glanced at the prince, “you didn’t go to fight Garrosh to prove anything to... to me, right?”
Immediately Anduin shook his head, “No, no, I... I thought maybe that was a factor... but it was the right thing to do, and none of your soldiers or spies would have given Garrosh a chance. I thought I could reach him...” It was his turn to trail off before adding, “I had to try. Light willing, I had to try.”
A breath the King seemed to be holding was released, and his shoulders straightened as a weight seemed to come off them. He gave Anduin a wry smile, the bags under his eyes further emphasized.
“Father, you look absolutely exhausted, when was the last time you rested?” Anduin’s frown deepened at his father’s sudden smirk. “No! Do not discredit my concern simply because you appear better than I do. That is not a very high standard now…”
The prince trailed off as the King rose from the ground to retake his spot in the chair. Anduin had to support himself now, pressing one hand firmly against the bed to keep himself upright. His father didn’t seem to notice, looking at the candle as he spoke. “I have been busy, but any moment I have to rest, I know I would find none because of my worry for you, Anduin. I find more solace here than I would if I attempt to rest anywhere else.”
“Then perhaps it w-will be a good thing when I am off.” Anduin’s voice cracked with emotion halfway through the sentence, his attempt to sound light-hearted as he lowered himself down onto the stack of pillows on a shaky arm. The aching pains throughout his thin form were beginning to flare up again. Slight strain built up in his voice as he attempted to belittle his concern. “Then you will be able to focus on the t-troops and evacuating the locals. I overheard the Pandarian near our western flank have lost a significant amount of their farming land and-“
Varian held up a hand to cut Anduin off.
“You worry so deeply about all others… Anduin, you being farther away will not push you from my thoughts.” He smirks half-heartedly at his son, “Not being able to see you still drawing breath might make me even more distracted.”
“Or more easily agitated, you mean?” Anduin quipped back with a shared smile between the Wrynns. Anduin’s faltered after a moment, though, looking drearily at Varian. “I don’t want to leave… I know it is for the best… but…” He trailed off as he thought the rest.
I don’t want to be away from you.
The unspoken words hung in the air between them. Even though both of them mutually understood each other, neither one had any words which might provide comfort to the coming separation.
Anduin resorted to watching Varian as the king leaned against the back of the wooden chair. The candlelight cast slight shadows over the deep scar on his face; Anduin always thought that it made his father much more challenging to read. Others just claimed he was always angry- which used to be more true than false. Nowadays, though, Anduin would occasionally catch an earnest smile on his father’s face. Be it when they would eat together, or a tiny smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth during noble’s bickering.
At the moment, he just seemed stoic. His brow furrowed slightly more than usual as his gaze passed into the shadows of the room. Anduin felt guilt start to gnaw at him again, wishing that he could act stronger for his father. He was already stressed beyond imagination by the war. Anduin was just adding to that with his nerves and injuries.
With that thought, his leg gave a throb and spasmed. A sharp pain ran up his leg from the broken limb, causing Anduin to bite down on his lip in an attempt to suppress a gasp. The tangy taste of his own blood welled up against his tongue. Varian snapped out of his quiet reminiscing, his brow wrinkling even more in concern as he turned his focus back to Anduin.
Curling his fingers up in the linen sheets, Anduin felt a warm hand press down and wrap around the fist, before untangling them and linking them with his own. Several painful moments passed before Anduin felt the limb relax slightly, the crippling pain slowly seeping away. Going limp, he felt himself sag into his father’s shoulder. Not really knowing when his father had taken to support him, he felt heat rise to his cheeks again. Both frustrated and embarrassed, he knew that a titled prince should not be this clingy or weak, but when had that ever stopped him in the past. Ultimately, as his senses cleared from the pain, hushed mutterings were being pressed into the side of his temple as his father’s other hand supported his head.
“I am sorry, I know, I know, I wish I could take this, you should never have to deal with this, Light, I have you, I am sorry….” The stream of consciousness continued as Anduin refocused. Weakly he attempted to pull back, still embarrassed by his weakness. Surprisingly, his father made no move to let go of his only son. Yet, his fervent whispering faded out as he carefully lifted his other hand and wrapped loosely around the narrow shoulders.
“I don’t want you to leave either Anduin. Well, the selfish part of me doesn’t, but the protective father wants you as far from the war front as possible. So rarely have I been able to act on the later instinct over the past year, I beg of you to indulge me this one time. If you use your strong will and wit on me now, I might give in and keep you here, in harms way. Please, heal and be safe, for my sake.”
A single tear trickled down his face as he slowly nodded into his father’s neck. Varian let out a small sigh as he slowly helped Anduin lower himself onto the bed again. Reluctant to let his son go, he gripped his hand once more, the large calloused hands of the warrior in stark comparison to Anduin’s pale, frail lanky digits.
Nervously, Varian glanced down at the offending limb, which was giving his son so much agony. “Should I get Velen or one of the other priestesses to come and give you a potion for the…” He trailed off, the word ‘pain’ when in association with Anduin was still too much.
Anduin shook his head, “I’ll be alright.”
A silence fell as Anduin felt himself start to slip off. Before falling into the clutches of sleep, the slight sigh and fingers carding through his short hair caught his attention. It was just long enough for him to hear the whispered response of his father.
“Of course you will be. You are the strongest of us all.”
———————————————————————————————————————
Anduin let out a slight sigh as he watched the latest soldiers be lined up at the docks. The peaceful song of the gulls starkly contrasted with the grotesque scene in front of him. The latest boats back from Zandalar and Arithi brought back little but carcasses. Men and women of Stormwind, his people, fell to the unbridled power of the Banshee Queen.
They were losing.
With that thought, a dull ache ran through his old wounds. By now, he had schooled his expression into remaining neutral despite whatever pain he felt.
After all, no one was left to care for him.
“That is the last of the soldiers. They will be bringing up farmers next.”
At that moment, the physical ache he felt was immediately overcome by the pain those words brought. As a boy, he had hoped that when he became king, he would lead the Alliance into the first age of peace they had seen in generations. In that naïve and youthful dream, he also stood as tall as his father did, had grown a full beard, and had laugh lines around his eyes by the time he took the throne.
He was robbed of all that. His eyes scanned the warriors in formation, the weight of this war pressed down on him even more than the heavy plated armor on his slight form.
Without turning back to Genn, Anduin knew from his tone that, as a veteran to war, this was simply an unpleasant necessity of circumstance to the worgen. Not for the first time, he wished for the more sympathetic council of his father. Forcing those thoughts from his mind, he reminded himself to be glad he still had some trusted allies.
“When we started this war, I thought we were fighting for peace, but we’re just…” His voice trailed off as he saw a young boy fall to his knees next to a corpse of an older female soldier.
“…Fighting.”
The weight of the word came crashing down on him as he let his perfect stance falter under the weight of his failures.
“You are doing all that you can to stop her, your majesty.” Genn offered, attempting to soften his voice slightly.
He felt like that was a lie. He was supposed to be a diplomat, find allies where there were none, bring calm to a rising storm in enemies. Or extend an olive branch when another would be willing to take it. Diplomacy was his one kingly trait, and even that was useless. Their list of allies grows shorter, and any point of communication was lost. There was no one left on the Horde he could reach…
Unless… Anduin felt a steely expression rise within him as the ache of the Bell faded… there is one last conversation to be had.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Seated at his war table, Anduin stared at the troop numbers, his brow creased. Despite appearances, his focus was on the sundial in the room, as he watched it reach the next hour mark. Or the changing of the guards, that is. As two new royal guardsmen entered the war council room to relieve the last women, Anduin began counting in his head. His childhood of slipping past guards, Katrana, and often his own father taught him to memorize the strict regiment of the guards skillfully.
Theoretically, a set of guards stationed outside of the stockades would shift every two hours, the new ones starting their vigil by walking the full length of the prison. If the first set was, theoretically, mind-controlled into skipping their rounds and paying no heed to those entering or leaving the stockades, then a prisoner would have exactly a two hours head start in trying to sneak out of the city before warning bells would be rung to signal an increased security on the major exists and the Keep.
He reached a count of twenty when the first chime came, and a set of six guards came swarming into the room. The briefest smile graced his face before he quickly furrowed his brow and looked up in feigned concern at his guards.
“Your Majesty! The war prisoner has escaped!”
Anduin let go of the scroll he was holding and stood as several more guards entered the room, all stationed to protect the king in case of an emergency. He nods at them as he picks up his father’s sword from the ground and places it on the table next to him. He felt no ache in his body as the little golden light on his father’s sword faintly glowed …not unlike a candle.