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Genn Greymane had to admit that he was getting old. Not physically, no, the worgen curse took care of that. Mentally, however, he was feeling his age. His great-grandchildren were old enough to start their own adventures, going off to Light knows where and leaving him alone in Stormwind once more. He could see his daughter in them, despite them not being hers biologically. The way they carried themselves was passed down from Tess’ adopted son. He sighs forlornly and turns away from the balcony overlooking the garden.
It had been there that Tess and Vanessa had passed at a ripe old age, asleep in each other’s arms.
It had been tough to accept that his daughter was gone. He’d lost Mia decades before, then Tess…he’d debated throwing himself off a cliff then. Now, the feeling was more prevalent.
He needed to see Anduin. If he was going to ask for death, he’d look to his king first. He needed to know that Anduin didn’t need him anymore.
Genn’s feet carry him to the throne room, but the person lounging there isn’t Anduin. Instead, his daughter Turalia sits on the steps, eating an apple as her suitor--one she actually likes--talks about something that Genn can’t make out. As soon as the blonde woman sees him, she beams in his direction, red eyes dancing.
“Genn, I was wondering where you’d been hiding! The first apples from Westfall arrived today! Looks like the druids there actually succeeded with that orchard project of theirs.” Between her and the man sits a bushel of apples, all a disconcertingly bright pink.
“I hesitate to ask if that was their intended color. I trust you had someone else try them first?” He asks as he crosses the distance. The human male--one of the druids borrowed from the efforts in Drustvar, if he’s not mistaken--stands and dismisses himself respectfully. Genn likes him.
Turalia tosses an apple to the worgen king. “Flynn practically inhaled one before Shaw could stop him. He hasn’t died yet.”
“Not for lack of trying…” Genn mutters. The Kul Tiran captain was a nuisance of the highest order, though his work was effective, if not efficient. How he and the spymaster had fallen for each other, he’d never know. “No, my dear, I was looking for your father. Is he here?”
“Hm, no, he’s with Papa. Helping with the latest shenanigans my youngest siblings conjured up. Say! If you could take a quick trip to Blackrock, you could bring them the apples! Father’s been practically sleepless with worry over the harvest.” She seems to note Genn’s pensive expression and her tone changes to a conspiratorial one. “They’re sour.”
Oh, she’s definitely inherited the bulk of both of her parents’ mischief. Seeing Wrathion’s expression as he bites into a sour apple makes the list of Genn’s top ten things to do. He’d be able to accomplish that before his talk with Anduin, too. End his life on a high note…if he made it to the Bastion, he’d even be able to relay the experience to Varian. He can’t help but smirk as he grabs the bushel of apples. “By your leave, then, your highness.”
“Have fuuuun!” Turalia calls after him in a lilting tone.
He’d miss her.
-
Genn had to admit a begrudging sort of respect for the security Wrathion had in Blackrock as he’s stopped by a Blacktalon agent as soon as he appears through the portal. They don’t bother asking about the apples, simply taking one and biting into it without hesitation. Their expression doesn’t change in the slightest, but Genn can smell the agent start to sweat as the sour flavor reaches their senses.
“Is Anduin in the Spire?” Genn asks after a moment, graciously allowing the agent a moment to compose themself.
“He’s with his family, yes. The king and crown prince are there as well.” With such a simple statement, the agent conveys that they know exactly why Genn brought the apples. His respect for them increases exponentially.
Genn nods. “Thank you. I might not return to Stormwind until the morrow.”
“Thank you for informing me, your majesty. I’ll inform the next shift to not expect you.” The agent bows and turns to allow him through the door.
He’d have to get Wrathion to train the Stormwind guards, at this rate. The discipline of the Blacktalon is legendary, for good reason.
The worgen king is glad of his curse as he climbs the halls of the mountain, not even breathless by the time he reaches the Spire. The agent guarding the entrance is apparently less immune to surprises, however, visibly flinching as a loud screech echoes from inside the door they’re guarding. They still bow respectfully to Genn and allow him to enter without hesitation, though Genn wonders if he’d made the correct choice. His heightened senses are immediately assaulted by the cacophany of flying, screeching whelps and shouting voices.
Well. He’d had experience wrangling unruly children, between his own children and the generations afterwards. He sets the bushel of apples down, takes a deep breath, and bellows:
“Enough!”
There’s a moment of complete and utter silence from all parties, then rustling as the whelps land, expressions full of shame. Genn has a moment to be proud of himself before one voice echoes over all others.
“Grandfather!” Varian, crown prince of Blackrock and heir to the black dragonflight, crosses the room with a pronounced limp. “It’s been ages!”
Genn doesn’t have a chance to question the title he’d be given as he’s hugged by the short, lithe blond. In his shock, he also doesn’t notice the whelps shifting and running over to greet him. He hasn’t met them yet, but they seem to take their cues from their eldest sibling.
“Ah, my boy, I--” He looks over to where Anduin and Wrathion have all but collapsed onto a couch, but receives only a shrug and wry grin in support. “I’m not your grandfather.”
Varian lets him go with a snort. “Nice try. You might not be mine by blood, but you certainly are. Are those apples?”
He blinks, looking next to him and nodding. He won’t admit to being deeply unsettled by the words the boy had spoken. “Er, yes. From Westfall.”
“Are they for us?” Wrathion asks in a tired voice. Genn remembers that voice and has to rethink his plans to surprise him with a sour apple. The poor lad’s exhausted from being a father, and Genn can’t imagine doing anything that wouldn’t ease that a little.
Damn. “Yes, but they’re quite sour, according to Turalia. So much so that they may have traumatized one of your agents. Anduin, I’d hoped to have a word with you, if I may.”
Varian, Light bless him, takes the hint immediately. “Alright, someone grab the basket and we’ll go see if we can make Aldar make interesting noises, shall we?” The whelps clamour around each other for a moment before one takes hold of the apples and starts walking. The rest follow suit, Varian bringing up the rear as he leans heavily on his cane.
Once the door closes, Anduin speaks. “Is there anything the matter?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.” He frowns. “Did Varian call me ‘grandfather?’”
Wrathion snorts from his spot on the couch. His red eyes twinkle much the same way Turalia’s had. Genn feels oddly seen by the dragon, as if he can discern the real reason for the worgen’s visit. “They’ve been calling you that for decades now. Varian was--what was he, Anduin, five?”
“Four.” Anduin’s gold-tinged eyes are full of worry and Genn wonders if both of them can see right through him.
“Four. Varian was four when he started referring to you as ‘Grandpa Genn.’ It was rather annoying at the time.” The dragon sighs. “But he wasn’t wrong. You were--and are--the closest thing my children have to a grandfather. If it’s upsetting, however, I’ll have them stop.”
“No, no, it’s not--” Suddenly, Genn realizes that he’s more at ease in this mountain than he’s been in Stormwind. Even in the face of this revelation, he finds he’s not upset by it. It’s rather…flattering. “What’s another hundred grandchildren?”
Anduin laughs. “Don't forget the eventual great-grandchildren. You could have sent a servant with the apples, Genn. Speak your mind.”
He’s rather proud that Anduin’s mastered his father’s way of giving blunt orders. He’d only managed some years after becoming a father himself, but it was nonetheless reassuring to the old king. “Rose and Liandra left to travel the world today.”
“Ah. I’m sorry, Genn, I know how difficult that can be.” The blond’s statement is genuine and filled with sympathy.
He clears his throat. “Yes, well. It got me thinking that I’m…well, I’m old, my boy. Old and tired and I need--”
He pauses. The words don’t seem to want to come, and he wonders for a moment if he’s been mistaken on what he needs to happen to him. Death seems a waste, especially after his encounter with the whelps. Genn realizes how very hurt they would all be if he were to request that of Anduin.
He finds himself rethinking his request immediately.
“--I need to retire. Stormwind’s too full of memories now. I find myself wondering what I ought to do more times than not, especially now that the House of Nobles knows that Turalia will rake them over the coals if they question her. I’m…unnecessary.”
“I agree.” Anduin says calmly. “I’d hoped you’d come to me about this before summer and am glad you have. Did you have any thoughts on where you’d go now? Gilneas is an option, now that it’s been cleansed and rebuilt, but I think that’s got the same problem as Stormwind.”
“Yes. I’d gone to see it once, but…yes.” He retreats from those memories. Genn would never again set foot in Gilneas. Better it be left to the people who had cleansed it. He thought it was poetic that the night elves had gone to live there.
Wrathion stretches out, then fixes the worgen with a look that betrays his thoughts. It’s intentional, otherwise Genn wouldn’t have a clue as to what was going through the dragon’s mind. As it is, the words come as a shock. “I’d like you to live here, in Blackrock. Or in the town below, if the mountain doesn’t suit you.”
Even Anduin seems stunned by the words. Genn simply stares at him for long enough that the dragon blows out an exasperated puff of smoke.
“Oh, please, don’t act like you never thought about it. Varian needs someone to school him on how to properly argue with human nobles and Anduin’s still too nice to do so. You’re the perfect fit for that.”
Genn frowns. “I don’t know--”
“And I need you here.” Wrathion says quietly, stunning both of the other kings again. “I need you because my children need you. They love you, you idiot. You’re as much their family as Anduin or I am.”
He has to practically pick his jaw off the floor and takes a long few minutes to come up with a response. “I…thought you hated me.”
The dragon snorts. “I think you’re a close-minded fool more often than not, but hatred is much too strong a word. I’ve grown to rather enjoy our arguments. Keeps me on my toes. Besides, who else can make every person in this mountain almost shit themselves with a single word? I desperately need you to teach me that skill.”
“You’re certain?” Genn doesn’t dare hope…he’d never been told he’d been a wanted part of a family before.
“I am if Anduin agrees.”
Genn looks at the blond and startles when he sees the tears in Anduin’s eyes. He doesn’t feel himself closing the distance and wrapping the other king in a hug, but he feels the sobs wrack Anduin’s body. “My boy, you have no need to cry.”
“Shaw said you were becoming depressed. I thought--I didn’t want you to go.” Anduin’s voice is tight with emotion, words spoken between sobs. “You’re the closest thing I’ve had to a father since Father…since the Broken Shore. Please stay. Please say you’ll stay.”
He’s not crying. Genn doesn’t cry. The dampness on his cheek is from nerves. Yes. Nerves. “Anduin, my boy, if you want me to stay, I will. Of course I will.”
Anduin pushes away from him and wipes his face. “Thank you, Genn. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost another part of my family.”
“...You won’t. Not today.” He hugs the blond again, feeling like he belongs for the first time in a very long time.