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-...-
Shalamayne.
Shalamayne is the combination of two swords, Shalla’tor the Shadow Render, and Ellemayne the Reaver. Both, for centuries, were wielded apart from each other, until Jaina Proudmoore granted them to Varian Wrynn, a man split in two halves. One half was a charming yet easily manipulated king, the other was a gladiator torn by inner anger. In the battle between the horrid Onyxia, the charmed king threw himself in front of the gladiator to save him from a fatal fire ball, yet it was this act that returned the two men into the body as one, and the two swords into one.
Now, Shalamayne is a sign of strength, a symbol for both Stormwind and the Wrynn house. The glow she creates strikes fear into her enemies, and warms her allies. King Varian wields her and wields her well.
Peacebringer.
Peacebringer is the name given to a scepter with a wooden handle and a golden carved circle on the end. The scepter is best known for it’s wielders, the crown prince of Stormwind. Currently, Prince Anduin wields it, as he did once as a young king. The scepter has held many names across generations, Peacebringer has followed from Prince Anduin’s determination to seek peace for his people and the people of his enemies.
Peacebringer has held it’s reputation alongside her owner, and brings both love and support to the minds of those who look upon her. As long as she still stands, there is hope for her people’s future.
Together, Shalamayne and Peacebringer fulfill each other's weaknesses and help to empower each other's strengths.
The day both fall would be a dark day indeed.
-...-
It was devastation
The Legion, while invading the Broken Shore, sent in a team to sneak into Stormwind Keep and place down a trap crystal. The crystal was large and green and when activated formed a fel green shield around the entire city, similar to that of the fate of Suramar. Stormwind was locked within a fel prison, with no way in or out. With no escape, and no way to bring in allies, the Legion quickly overpowered the city’s citizens, her guard, her prince, and her king.
The Legion had been quick in their attack, and without warning, without time to call for aid, Stormwind had fallen under their control.
Since then, citizens have hidden within their homes, under constant watch, unsure of what to do, and how long they had left to live.
Moral was low, and no one had heard from the crown in weeks.
-...-
Prince Anduin felt himself, yet again, get pushed into the runes that took over the entire room’s floor. His body ached, clothes dirty and torn, his frame much thinner than before. The legion guards stood on either side of him, letting him fall to his knees in the middle of the rune, the middle of the room. Anduin felt his hands shake in the cuffs locked behind his back, but their rough grips left him to suffer alone on the floor, the guards walking back to stand at the ends of the room.
“Getting tired, young prince?”
It was a mocking laugh, one that Anduin has heard before. This scene was all something he’d seen before. Multiple times over, actually. Since he’d been captured, the Legion tried hard to corrupt him. Over the course of weeks they beat him, tortured him, refused him food and water. They forced him to watch his citizens die, forced him to watch as his city was demolished, as the throne room bled with green and red. All of this, of course, to crush his spirit, his hope.
“Never.” Anduin growled, mustering up what saliva he could and spitting at Gul’dan.
Of course it was Gul’dan.
The orc wanted to oversee his torture personally, said it had something to do with continuing a tradition with Stormwind and her kings.
The orc frowned, unappreciative of the saliva at his feet. He used his staff to tilt Anduin’s face up. The 17 year old prince, with a few missing teeth, bruises and dirt covering his once handsome face, still held eyes filled with hope and determination and hatred. His bright blue eyes still shined.
“How bothersome, you are.” The orc growled, smacking the prince with the end of the staff before walking back a few feet.
“We start again,” Gul’dan turned to the group of four fel warlocks surrounding the prince. “Power the rune.”
As commanded, the warlocks raised their arms and called to their powers, activating the rune. The rune began to glow as the warlocks chanted a language Anduin couldn’t understand. The prince braced himself as much as he could, but there was little he could muster to protect himself from the fel magic that attacked his body and his mind. He squeezed his eyes closed, biting his cheek, as the pain increased. As the whispers of a better future with the Legion entered his mind.
“Give in.” Gul’dan spoke, watching the prince react. “Your strong will would serve the Legion well.”
It hurt, it hurt so much. Anduin fought it, again, calling to the light just as he had the last time they tried this on him. He battled the pain, the whispers, but the pressure was too much. He felt himself out of breath and gasped, tears escaping his eyes despite how hard he tried to hide them.
Normally, Anduin was someone who believed that tears were no weakness, and shedding them was a strength and a way of healing. Here, though, everything was a weakness, and the Legion tore weakness apart. Tears would bring nothing but pain and death.
It hurt so much.
The prince was holding out, again. Gul’dan growled.
“Hit him harder!” The orc yelled to the warlocks, and as commanded, the power increased, as did the awful glow of the rune.
Anduin couldn’t help it but scream. His lungs hurt, but his voice filled the halls of the keep, any others imprisoned within the building bound to have heard him. The room glowed in green, the stone walls shaking in their weakened state.
His body felt as though it was being torn apart.
His home, though strong as she was built, tore under the pressure of the fel.
Everything Anduin ever knew and loved and cared for, threatened by the fel.
It was his only escape, since they captured him and his city. Escaping into his mind, his memories. Anduin thought about everything that gave him strength, his people, his family, his allies, and even those who were supposed to be his enemies.
Anduin thought about Jaina and Genn and Tyrande and all of the other Alliance leaders whom basically raised him along with Stormwind herself. He remembered Velen, who Anduin never got to confess he saw as a grandfather figure. He thought about the Horde and of Baine, and how there was so much he wished to tell them, so much he wished to do with them, both as a prince and one day as a king.
Anduin thought about Pandaria and Theramore and all of the places he’d yet traveled too, but one day he would. The world, Azeroth, was such a beautiful place, full of diverse life that was worth fighting for, was worth his strength. It was worth making it through this hurt. This hell.
Anduin thought about the friends he’d made too, true friends, and how few of them there were. He remembered all of the kids he played with at the orphanage every week when he was small, all the kids he used to know by name. He wondered how they were, if they were still alive. He thought about Me’dan, a child he only knew for a short period of time after the death of Onyxia, who saved his life once against unknown attackers. He remembered Wrathion, who he hadn’t seen since Garrosh’s trial, and Anduin continued to look past his betrayal, only wishing to know that he was okay.
Anduin thought about his parents. His father was never perfect, no one is ever perfect, but his father loved him and that was all Anduin could need of him. His mother, Anduin wished to know better, but he hoped that he would see her sometime in the distant future, not now.
He thought of the future, and how bright it would be.
The Light flooded into him, and suddenly all of the pain felt miniscule. He felt it’s call, it’s devotion to him, and he felt powerful.
“BREAK HIM!”
But the warlocks were not fast enough, and when the prince opened his eyes, they were golden.
Gold shot out from his body, taking over the room, and within an instant all of the fel guards and warlocks were burnt to a crisp, their bodies nothing but ash.
Gul’dan stood there, in his shock, only saved by the fel shield he called to protect himself with.
The orc took in the damage, and noticed now how he was the only other being alive in the room along with the prince. The rune was no longer powerful with the warlocks gone, and the gold from the light was filling in the cracks to the stone walls and flooring, like real gold was used to restore broken pottery.
The child had golden runes across his now clean face, his injuries healed. The orc growled as the child dared to stand.
“Anything solely built to destroy will find it cannot stand forever. I have seen similarities in war criminals, however I have only ever heard stories about the Burning Legion.” Anduin spoke, his voice an echo of something higher. “Until now.”
Gul’dan watched as the prince stepped closer, off the center of the broken rune.
“Your Legion has taken many worlds, but it won’t take my world. It won’t take my home.” The prince continued. “It loses its stability here.”
The prince called light to his hands.
“ThIS IS THE BEGINNING OF THE END!” He yelled, casting the light towards the orc.
Gul’dan blocked one attack with his staff, however, was hit in the shoulder with another. The light burned his shoulder, leaving behind golden markings that continued to eat at his body. The orc touched his fingers to the burn, the light left behind only spreading to his fingers.
He looked back towards the prince with a smirk.
“...For you.”
Caught off guard in his determination, the prince had focused himself on the Orc, not the fel portals that appeared behind him, summoning replacements of the guards and warlocks he’d killed an instant ago. The guards launched themselves at the prince, the warlocks summoning backup, Gul’dan watching as the prince easily annihilated each and every fel demon that looked at him.
“I heard you were strong willed and I didn’t believe it. I was proven wrong,” The orc spoke as the room was lit up with sparks of gold after gold, the burning of demon flesh filling the air, “and yet right at the same time.”
Gul’dan pointed his staff towards the prince, a dark green and black shadow of magic shooting out and hitting the prince. This hit didn’t hurt the prince, merly knocking him slightly off balance as the magic swirled around him. The mist curled around his neck, tightening, becoming denser, until it formed a collar.
Anduin dropped to the floor, coughing and gasping for air.
Pain and hurt returned to him and his soul felt betrayed.
“H-how?” The prince gasped, tears returning as he knelt on the floor in confusion and broken spirit.
How was his power so quickly taken away?
Gul’dan laughed as he approached the prince, using his staff to turn the prince and force him to look up.
“You are powerful.” The orc spoke. “Powerful, as a wielder.”
The orc let the end of his staff caress the collar that made the prince his slave.
“Without a weapon, a source of magic, you are nothing. You have been gifted in the light, as well as the shadows, and even with words. Any weapon you try to use, you are unstoppable with it one way or another.”
Gul’dan stepped back to take in the joy the sight of the broken boy.
“The Legion has watched you for years, allowing me to create what would cause your so called downfall.” He continued. “When you are blocked from the light and from the shadows, from your words, from any magic or weapon you know how to wield, you are nothing.”
“No.” Anduin shook his head. “NO! I am more than this!”
“Are you?” Gul’dan laughed, watching blood trickled down the prince’s chin. “Because I believe you can be.”
Anduin flinched as the fel guards stood closer, the warlocks returned to their places, and as Gul’dan raised his hand to form a mesmerizing, beautiful, green, fel orb.
“Accept the fel as your weapon, Prince Anduin Llane Wrynn, and you will never be powerless again!”
“NO!”
The rune reactivated, the warlocks calling all of their power, and this time, Gul’dan leading them. The room filled with green, escaping through the cracks and the doors and windows, visible from the city streets. The keep shook, continuing to crumble, as all of the fel magic contained within the city was focused into one room, one boy.
More buildings within the city fell, including the city’s cathedral.
His screams seemed to be absorbed by the fel, and were washed away with all that was bright and gold.
The green light faded, the spell cast, and Gul’dan leaned on his staff to take pride in his work.
Left, kneeling in the middle of the room, was the prince, however changed.
“Rise.” Gul’dan commanded.
Prince Wrynn slowly stood, meeting the orc’s gaze with his own burning fel eyes.
“The Burning Legion seeks my aid.” Anduin spoke, his voice loud, confident.
Gul’dan raised his head. “The Burning Legion needs your power, Prince Wrynn.”
Anduin paused, taking a glance around the room, meeting the curious looks from the demons. He returned to Gul’dan.
“You know what I want, warlock.” He said with a slight glare.
Of course, Gul’dan chuckled, the kid would not change in his ways just because he was corrupted.
“You want what is best for your people and your city, that I understand. You are beloved by your people, as a good prince should be.”
“That,” Anduin nodded in agreement before continuing on, “as well as my father.”
He wasn’t remarking on how beloved his father was, and that too was a demand the warlock expected.
“Of course, Prince Wrynn.”
Gul’dan hit the floor with his staff twice, and in seconds a demon appeared from behind him, standing before the corrupted prince, bowing, and holding out a scepter.
Peacebringer.
Anduin gazed upon the golden reflections of his scepter, then back to Gul’dan as if he distrusted the orc.
“Your father has a spirit that can be broken by no one else but you.”
Gul’dan motioned for Anduin to take the scepter, and the prince, though slowly, did so. He took Peacebringer into his hands, gazing into her carvings, gripping her like she would be snatched from him any second.
“I want you to face him.”
-...-
Varian lost track of time a long long while ago. The last thing he remembered before awaking in his cell was fighting the invading Legion. They’d cornered him within his own city, and the force field they put up made it so no help could come save them. He’d fought with Shalamayne against many demons, saving many of his people, but the demons continued to summon more and more of themselves.
Varian remembered his son falling in battle, and a burning rage, and that was it.
Since then, he’d assume, he was subdued and placed in this cell room. He was chained to a wall with only himself and his clothes. They fed him sometimes, but his body had grown weak. Any attempt to break out failed and resulted in more torture.
Nothing hurt worse than the distant screams.
He knew they belonged to his son.
He knew that he was supposed to hear him.
He could only hope that his son would survive this.
It’d been weeks since his imprisonment when one day, he heard his son’s screams continue. And then a blinding burst of golden light filled the cracks of the cell room. And then fel magic threatened to destroy everything the gold held together.
Varian had no idea how much more time passed, taken to staring at the gold that filled the floor and walls. He was eventually torn from the gold as the cell room doors opened. He expected another beating, more torture, more humiliation. He expected them to kill more civilians in front of him, or to do more unspeakable actions, things he hoped they were sparing Anduin of.
They didn’t do any of those this time.
He was force fed a potion, something that made him too weak to properly move. The chains were removed from him, and his sword was placed before him. The demons left, and over the period of an hour, the king regained his movement.
Odd.
Varian knew this was a trick, knew that when he stood up to pick up the sword, he was falling for whatever plan they had. But it was Shalamayne, the real Shalamayne, and he knew that for a fact. He tried to leave the cell room, but the doors were locked. He tried to break down the door, but there was something protecting it.
Varian returned to sit at the end of the room, holding his sword, waiting.
And waiting.
Waiting.
When the door opened again, a lone figure walked inside, before closing the door behind them. Varian stood, gripping his sword, preparing to face off against demons.
He didn’t expect to face off against his son.
“A-ANDUIN!” He gasped, dropping his guard as the prince walked across the room to meet him.
“Father.” Anduin smiled, and though the voice brought hope to Varian, everything else screamed that something was wrong.
“I was so afraid over what they’d do to you, I swear to you I’ll kill them al-” He stopped, meeting his son’s gaze. “-all…”
He cleared his throat, gripping his sword again, though standing back.
“Anduin. What did they do to you?” He spoke, his voice shaking. His sons eyes glowed violently green.
“Stormwind was doomed to fall should I have done nothing.” Anduin replied, and an anger grew within Varian’s heart.
“So you joined them!?” He yelled. “Anduin, the Legion are the ones who are destroying Stormwind! Destroying Azeroth!”
“By joining the Burning Legion we spare Stormwind from her death.” Anduin noted.
“We doom her to a fate worse than death!” Varian barked, bewildered at his son’s words.
The Prince sighed, tapping the scepter in his hands. “I agree we could do better then the Legion, but we will need to survive in order to prosper.”
“There is no prospering as long as we are ruled by the Legion! As soon as Azeroth is taken over, the Legion will throw us all to the dust, having joined their side or not!”
“From the dust we will rebuild and we will be stronger than we are now.” Anduin gripped Peacebringer, Varian eyeing it in the fel light. “Our people cannot be at peace when they are dead!”
Varian saw frustration in Anduin’s eyes and anger in his heart, birthed from the corruption of the fel magic that plagued his body. There were many words Varian wanted to say, wanted to plead with his son, yet his throat when dry.
His son had fallen hard to the delusions of the fel.
“They did it….” His shoulders fell, “They took my son from me.”
“Father I am not dead!” Anduin frowned. “Join me and we can make sure that no matter the Legion’s plans Stormwind will have us to protect her!”
“You can't eat your cake and have it too, son.”
“Join me, Father, and I can show you what I mean!”
Varian shook his head. “No, son, I can see what you see just fine.”
Anduin growled, catching Varian off guard. He couldn’t remember the last time he had heard such anger from his son.
“They warned me you wouldn’t care!” His son’s voice grew louder, the scepter in his hands glowing in green flames.
“Anduin, this isn’t you!” Varian replied.
“If you can’t submit, I can rule Stormwind just as fine withOUT YOU!”
Using Peacebringer, the son shot flames of fel magic at his father, who was too late to block them with Shalamayne. The fel magic burned the king’s body, sizzling loudly in his ears as he took a stance against his attacker. Varian was more prepared for the next attack, and though everything in his soul was wanting to stop, he needed to live. Uncorrupted.
Tears.
Varian felt tears fall from his eyes as he blocked each attack, fel flames hitting his blade, or shooting off just past him against the stone cell walls.
The Legion was using his son as a weapon
against him.
Varian rushed towards his son, using the sides of his blade to knock Anduin down against the floor. Despite the small victory, he had no other plans. He alone could not uncorrupt his son, not without-
Anduin retaliated quickly, calling fel with his scepter, hitting and burning his father’s lower chest. Without proper plate armour, the king fell back, gasping as the fel ate away at his clothes and skin. He felt dizzy, trying to regain composure as his son stood back up.
The Burning Legion had planned this battle and only desired one thing from it.
A Wrynn would die and it didn’t matter which one.
If Anduin killed Varian, Anduin would live on and continue to give false hope to his people while he himself was manipulated by the Legion’s false promises of survival.
If Varian killed Anduin, Varian would find life difficult to live, strength difficult to muster, and hope difficult to believe in. Without hope or strength or will, his swords would mean nothing in battle, and he and his city would perish.
It was easy to think that with his son dead, the king would single handedly take down the Burning Legion with his anger alone, but that idea of Varian was nothing but false. Varian would like to think he would lead his people into battle bent on a determination for revenge, but in truth Varian was unsure if he could leave his room to face the world he couldn’t save.
Anduin was his future.
Without Anduin, the future was dark and grey.
Anduin was his strength, not Shalamayne.
Without Anduin, Varian was a man who hid in his fears with alcohol breath.
Memories of Anduin’s unknown fate in Pandaria returned, and when all the nobles urged the king to seek a new heir, as there was no way the prince survived a drowned ship, the king drank himself away.
Anduin launched at his father again, fel magic hitting against Shalamayne again and again, burning at the king’s sides, his rough hands, and his aging face. Each time , each hit, Varian could not hurt his son, not even if he wanted to. Each time, each hit, Anduin carved away at his father’s defense.
Anduin was much stronger then Varian.
His son had the advantage and it was clear.
“JOIN ME, FATHER!” A bolt of fel hit Varian’s chest, and like the whispers of the void, it felt like it had hold of his heart. “PLEASE!”
The plead meant much to the father, but it would not save him from his son’s wrath.
“I-” Varian gasped, coughing up blood, his body weakening, “-I won’t.”
Anduin’s eyes widen at the choice of words, his body shaking in anger. It’s not that he couldn’t, nor that he didn’t want to, but that he wouldn’t.
The prince yelled out in rage, a bright blast of fel magic blinding Varian as he fell from Anduin’s fel grasp, back against the cell wall. The chains against the wall rattled, and in that moment something changed. Split.
Anduin stormed up to stand above his father, kicking Ellamayne away from the once charmed king’s reach. The blue sword clattered against the ground.
“You,” Anduin growled, peacebringer placed below the unscarred king’s face, bringing his weak gaze up. His hair, dark and long, sat on his shoulders and not in a ponytail. “,have decided your fate!”
Peacebringer glowed green, her touch burning the king’s skin, and her call pulling the king’s energy, his life, away.
“With your crown I will save our city, you believing in me or not!”
It hurt, his son’s words, but the nearing presence of death was oddly calming to the king’s mind. Sleep lulled in his chest. He looked up to his son, not with hate or betrayal, but to simply enjoy that he existed.
Shalla’tor ripped through his son’s chest, blood gushing from the wound, and everything stopped. The pain, the time, the delusions.
Peacebringer dropped from the prince’s grasp, falling and hitting the cold floor.
Varian watched as his son lost his strength, now shaking not in rage but in his growing weakened state. Behind him, wielding Shalla’tor, was his other half. The old wolf gripped the sword, and with it his son, with a broken and shattered heart. His rough hands, covered in bandages and red leather gladiator gear, where never meant to bring death to his own son.
Slowly, with a gentleness never shown to anyone else, Lo’Gosh lowered his son to his knees. His eyes blurred with tears, but his face held strong as his emotions threatened to flood the room. His other half, back against the cell wall, pulled his son into his embrace, allowing Lo’Gosh to steadily remove the sword from his son’s insides.
Blood dripped from the blade, onto the floor, which he tried hard to ignore.
Varian held his son, who struggled to breath, to live, with the hole in his chest. Anduin looked downward, his mind and vision blurring as he touched the blood that stained his blue and gold clothing. He regained a bit of thought upon looking back up, and meeting his father’s loving gaze.
“Father, I-”
Varian shushed him, his arms wrapping around his son tightly, hugging him.
“I’m so sorry, Anduin.” Varian said, letting Anduin lean against him, bringing his own hand to help hold Anduin’s face.
His son was struggling to hold on, and as the time ticked by, so was he.
His son’s eyes filled with tears, falling from his face, and though his eyes continued to glow green, the corruption could not deter the boy’s love for his father.
“I-” Anduin began, then sharply inhaling as his chest stung, “F-failed y-you. I-”
Varian rested his forehead against his son’s.
“I’m so proud of you.”
Anduin said nothing in reply, closing his eyes as he listened to his father whisper words of encouragement into his dying mind.
Lo’gosh stood behind them, watching silently while still holding Shalla’tor. He looked from the dying father and son to the sword in his hands. He too could feel death approaching. He was not free from it just because he had split. No, their fate was shared.
As his other half continued to whisper to his dying son, Lo’gosh stepped over to pick up Ellamayne. Holding both swords in his hand, he paused to stare into the reflection of the blades. In both he saw himself, with his scarred face and red headband, however in only one did he see himself with the blood of his son.
This was not how their lives were supposed to go, but it was what they were doomed to.
For this change in fate, the Burning Legion would pay.
Gripped both swords, anger overcome the tiredness that sat as rocks in his lungs. He focused his attention to the blades, holding them out, and slowly, with a bright glow, the two swords returned to one. Now he had little time.
Lo’gosh held Shalamayne tightly in one hand, turning to pick up Peacebringer in the other. He gazed into its golden carvings, seeing a reflection of the room. He noticed more than ever the gold that had filled the room’s cracks from before. The fel had overpowered it, but yet, the gold remained. The light remained.
Lo’Gosh turned to look down at his other half and his son, the whispers growing softer and weaker.
He had little time left.
Lo’gosh, wielding both Shalamayne and Peacebringer, turned to walk down the room, towards the doors. His steps echoed, and with each echo, the anger and rage and power grew. The wolf spirit inside demanded revenge, and with what time he had before death, he would answer Goldrinn’s call.
The doors opened violently, nearly spooking the demons and warlocks in the room outside of the cell room he’d been locked in. He continued to walk forward, stopping anyone who dared to challenge him. Demons raised their weapons, attempting slice through his heart, but the deed was already done. Warlocks called for aid, but no matter how much force the legion could muster, the wolf would not give in.
Fel blood spilled onto the floor, flooding the keep, and as Lo’gosh reached the end of the room, he stood before the crystal. The trap crystal, big and glowing and evil, that trapped Stormwind and kept her from her allies. The crystal stopped her from revolting against her captors.
It would stop her no longer.
Death called to his and his body began to fall apart, as if disappearing into mist. His hand failed to contain the strength needed to hold Shalamayne, and the sword fell to the floor.
His time was running short.
Growling, the man raised Peacebringer up, mustering all the strength he had left, smashing it down into the crystal. The scepter stood, alone, without his grasp, inside the smashed crystal. There, as the fading half-a-man watched, the scepter glowed a bright gold, disrupting the fel the crystal spewed.
An echoing crack could be heard across the city, and though the man could nor would not witness it, the fel shield around the city was falling apart. The city was free, and with the shield gone, her allies would rush in, arming her civilians, revitalizing her spirit, and storming her keep.
The man felt death, and his body disappeared, his soul traveling back through the mass of demon bodies and blood to rejoin with his other half back in the cell room.
Holding his son’s lifeless body, the reunited man let go of his last breath, joining him in the afterlife.
-...-
As Azeroth managed to push off the Burning Legion, she turned to rebuilding and recovering. Stormwind’s people rebuilt their fallen structures, including a monument to a sight she would never forget.
Upon storming the keep, surrounded by the blood of demons, sitting upon a throne of broken fel crystal, was Peacebringer.
Though the entire truth would never be known, it was clear who saved them.
To their memories, Stormwind vowed to retain the strength and willpower of their late king, Varian Wrynn, as well as the kindness and bravery of their late prince, Anduin Llane Wrynn.
May the two rest in peace.
-...-