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Chapter Text

Anduin rubbed his aching thigh with the heel of his hand. His thumb and index finger soothed the purple bags beneath his eyes. Before the Lion Seat, an elderly woman promised to facilitate a conversation between the new king and his late father (for the price of a few hundred gold); Anduin reminded himself that his irritation with her was born from a lack of sleep rather than her false proclamations. 

There was no need to weaponize his restlessness against an impoverished peasant with little means to make money, although Anduin did have a particular disdain for “spiritual mediums”. Fortune-tellers, soothe-sayers and clairvoyants all sold lies. But there was predatory cruelty in manufacturing deceptions about deceased loved ones. 

Anduin knew better than to believe one could simply talk to the dead.

Light knows the dead don’t speak. 

They scream. 

And Anduin would give anything for one single moment of peace.

Chapter Text

Anduin understood loneliness. He knew how isolation could crawl through your gasping mouth to settle inside your chest, only to eat out your heart while it continued to beat . For the boy king, it was easy to imagine a child becoming so desperate to fill that cavernous void they sustain a traumatic head injury in an attempt to gain one ounce of affirmation. 

Anduin blamed himself. After all his time spent volunteering at the Stormwind Orphanage, he should have seen the signs, he should have reached out - maybe, it would have prevented a tragedy. 

From what Anduin understood of the situation, Owen had been led into the forest by a group of wayward boys. These children were known to have sudden, unexplained outbursts of odd, antisocial behavior. Owen was often the victim of their strange attacks. In spite of their bullying, Owen attempted to gain their favor by offering to perform a childish ritual to summon a fictional being known as “Stick Man”. This required the eight-year-old to jump into a small ravine three times. On his final loop, according to the boys, he fell and bumped his head. 

Once Owen awoke from unconsciousness, he was inconsolable. 

For weeks, Owen screamed his voice hoarse, refusing to eat, refusing to sleep, paranoid that if he should be caught unawares, he would be snatched by the Stick Man. The only activity the matrons could encourage him to perform willingly was drawing, but his countless scribbles of long, interconnected lines only seemed to disturb the other children. Like a plague, a fear of this fictitious creature spread throughout the orphanage. 

Anduin combed over the drawings submitted by the matrons in their desperate plea for a solution. For days, he searched for a weakness in their beliefs. An inconsistency in the story, perhaps? Ultimately, his quest was fruitless. The only solution he could offer the matrons was to attempt a crude form of exposure therapy: take the children into the woods to demonstrate that there was nothing to fear. 

The matrons headed Anduin’s advice. 

That afternoon, they guided the children into the thicket of trees surrounding Stormwind City. 

They only looked away for a single heartbeat, but in that time, Owen somehow disappeared from the group. 

He was never seen from again.

Chapter Text

Anduin surveyed the familiar scene outside his safehouse window; Alliance and Horde forces joined together, waiting for the order to strike down a cruel and insufferable tyrant. His heart clenched at the memory it conjured.

Unbidden, images flooded Anduin’s mind of the night he gave himself for the first and only time to Varok. After that passionate moment stolen before daybreak, Varok Saurfang made the ultimate sacrifice to save countless Horde lives - a sacrifice Anduin should have also been willing to make for the Alliance. Instead, he made plans to attack his own citizens to wrestle control from a man he had once called a friend. 

No, this was wrong. “Those who defend Orgrimmar are Horde as well,” echoed in Anduin’s consciousness with the intensity of a church bell. 

Without looking back at those gathered around their makeshift war table, Anduin murmured beneath his breath, “Greymane supporters are members of the Kingdom of Stormwind as well.”

A growl rumbled behind Anduin. The sound was so animalistic, he couldn’t decipher its origin. It could have come from Shaw, Baine, Wrathion, or even Jaina.  

“My King, we’ve been over this -” Wrathion started, cool, calm, composed, but Anduin could hear the undercurrent of fear in his voice. 

Anduin whirled around to face the somber expressions his friends wore. Pointing to the window, he cried, “I can’t ask them to sacrifice their lives for me, not without exhausting all other options.” 

“Anduin, you have only one other option,” Jaina explained, voice grim. “And what it means for you...” She allowed the implication to hang in the air like a poisonous shrowd. 

Anduin cast his gaze to the rotted floorboards beneath his feet. “It... would give my rule some legitimacy. There would be no more conflict about my reign,” he argued, voice small.  

“Your majesty, with all due respect,” Shaw began. “Your rule is legitimate. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.” 

“What is between your legs has no bearing on your designation,” Wrathion added. “Therefore, it has no bearing on whether or not you have a rightful place upon the Lion Seat.” 

“Tyrande and Genn used your secret to incite a coup in your own home, Anduin,” Jaina supplied. “Please remember, we are not the aggressors here. You are the true King of Stormwind, not Genn.”  

Anduin chuckled bitterly. “The nobles don’t see it that way.” 

“Well, to hell with them!” Wrathion spat out, throwing his arms up in the air. 

If only , Anduin thought. No, the bell could not be unrung. Even if Anduin re-established his position, Greymane supporters and Wrynn Loyalists would only continue to clash in violent, often bloody conflicts. Only the total annihilation of one side could end this turmoil, and Anduin was unwilling to see that outcome. 

The only peaceful solution to Genn’s betrayal was to negotiate over his demands. 

That night, Anduin left a note for his friends and rode off towards an open portal to Stormwind. 

Anduin’s footsteps reverberated loudly across the dim chamber of Stormwind Keep's throne room. Though his arrival was uncontested, the sneers on the guard’s visages lacerated Anduin’s heart. With a sinking stomach, Anduin realized he would find little welcome here; he was traversing upon enemy territory. 

Upon the Lion Seat, Genn’s whiskered jaw dropped, and his bloodshot eyes widened. He stood from the throne, arms open in invitation. “Anduin!” he gasped. “I was so worried! I’m glad to see you safe, my boy.” 

Anduin paused several feet from where Genn stood. He did not smile. 

Genn, to his credit, withdrew his request for affection.

“I will marry you on several conditions,” Anduin growled. “One, this will mark homosexual marriage as legal within Stormwind, for that is what we are entering into. I will retain the title of King -” 

“Anduin -” 

“Quiet! I am speaking!” Anduin snarled. Genn recoiled as Lo’Gosh’s voice echoed back against the marble walls. “ I retain the right to the Wrynn name. My children will be given the Wrynn name. And on that matter, you will only touch me for the purposes of producing heirs for my lineage. Do you understand?” 

Genn opened his mouth to speak.

“Yes or no, Greymane,” Anduin snapped. “Those are my terms.” 

Anduin wiped at the tears that had gathered when seeing the white sheet over his marital bed for the first time. He stepped towards it, embarking on a funeral march for his spirit.

Citizens often cooed over Anduin’s children inheriting the olive complexion and thick, brown waves of their grandfather. It was an appreciated reminder of Varian Wrynn’s legacy (and a testament to the strength of his genetics).

And if Anduin seemed oddly close to his advisor, no one spoke about it in front of King Greymane.

Chapter Text

Despite its gentle floral scent, the paste on Anduin’s face ravaged his skin, as if it were meant to burn the imperfections from his visage. He thought the endeavor quite fruitless; he was at an age where hyperpigmentation and acne were constant losing battles of attrition. His concerns, however, were met with Katrana’s complaints over his various terrible habits that she claimed contributed to his occasional blemishes. 

“I’m only repairing what you’ve broken with your cheese addiction,” Katrana eventually hissed, finishing her rant. 

Anduin shifted in his rose water bath to look upon his stepmother, who was seated behind his shoulder on a small stool. Her hands mixed a cream of some kind in a stone bowl. By its acrid smell, Anduin concluded it was a lotion to tenderize his skin. “Must you repair it with such vile concoctions, woman! I swear by the Light, one day you will kill me with them.” 

Katrana peered up from her project and sneered. “And waste that pretty face of yours? Do you think me stupid?” 

Anduin smirked. “Mother, see, I’m at an impasse. I’ve always been taught to never utter a cruel word I cannot simply keep to myself, yet I’ve also been taught not to lie...” His hands made a scaling gesture. 

“You think you’re hilarious, don’t you?” Katrana cackled. With a light touch, she slapped the meat of his upper arm. “Lets see how you feel after your father adjusts your attitude.” 

“Oh no!” Anduin gasped, theatrical. “And send me to the stockades for another three days? With all those crooked, depraved men?” Anduin flourished his eyebrows and added with a low voice, “You do know exactly how to threaten me with a good time.” 

Katrana recoiled away. “You wicked boy!” She screeched, baring her teeth. Genuine fire lit her eyes. “Do I need to have your purity checked again?” 

Anduin raised a single eyebrow. “I’m joking, mother. But, I must say, you are quite interested in the maidenhood of someone you can't exactly marry off.” 

Katrana, for all her cleverness, seemed to nibble on Anduin’s bait. She pursed her lips and glanced away, the classic tell of her upcoming planletting. 

Light damnit! Anduin knew the woman was up to something! Weeks of vanity treatments, special diets and wardrobe commissions hadn’t gone unnoticed. And Anduin hoped against hope that her schemes weren’t headed in the direction he thought they were. 

“Actually,” Katrana began, voice melting into honey. The bowl in her hand came to rest at her feet. Her clawed hands grasped at his shoulders before massaging them. “Now that your father has true male heirs -” Anduin cringed “-we thought it best to release you from your tormenting secret. Wouldn’t that be nice? To truly live as yourself, hmm?” 

Anduin knew better than to voice his gender identity. No, he would have to approach this at a different angle. “And you expect Wrathion to rule Stormwind?” Anduin asked, indignant. 

Katrana clicked her tongue. “You’re so mean to your little brother! And at his age, you weren’t nearly as clever.” 

No, I wasn’t nearly as cruel , Anduin corrected wordlessly. He rolled his eyes. Of course, this was approaching the territory he feared. With a sigh, he asked, “And who do you plan on selling me off to?” 

“Anduin, my child, you wound me,” Katrana cried. “I’m not selling you off for some mere pittance! No, no, no, I’m helping you achieve what you’ve always wanted: world peace.” 

“Oh? And how do you intend to do that?” 

“Rumor is that the Horde Warchief is seeking a proper bride to carry his brood.” 

Anduin twisted from his mother’s touch, sloshing warm water to-and-fro. Eyes and mouth set wide, he gasped, “Hellscream? Garrosh Hellscream? Mother, due to your rather extensive conniving, he tolerates the existence of humans at best! At worst -” 

“- he wants to dominate you,” Katrana pointed out. Anduin shivered at the implication. “I’ve seen the way you vex him with your charm and kindness at our banquets. He wishes to taint that, ruin it, plunder you for every good deed you had ever wrought on his people. 

“Garrosh only keeps his awful hands to himself to protect his pride, but if he knew he could claim King Varian’s daughter ? Oh! All you would have to do is flash your pretty eyes at him to have the entirety of the Horde at your beck and call. Think of it! A Wrynn on the Lion Seat and in Grommash Hold.” 

Although reluctant, after a heartbeat of thought, Anduin admitted to himself that Katrana, once again, thought of an excellent ploy. There was only one problem. “What makes you think Garrosh would ever listen to a word I said?” 

Katrana’s painted smile didn’t meet her eyes. “Once he’s had your tight little body, I don’t think there is much you couldn’t convince him to do, Anduin.” 

Anduin, once again, settled against the back of the tub. For a long moment, he pondered his fate, weighing his options. Then, he asked, “When do we see him next?” 

Katrana laughed. 

Chapter Text

Damian Hastings, one of Stormwind’s illustrious guardsmen, had all the attitude and charm of a disgruntled murloc. He sneered at anyone below his station who had the audacity to exist in his presence, pawned off his work assignments as if they were the last of the family jewels, and catcalled any helpless man or woman deemed attractive enough to warrant his attention. 

To Anduin, the man was perfect . 

It took a single directed glance for the man to follow Anduin to Stormwind Keep’s secluded courtyard. In the dark cover of night, Damien pounced, pinning the prince to one of the white marble pillars surrounding them. 

Damien bit and suckled at Anduin’s neck with little finesse. Anduin yelped as pain bloomed beneath his abused flesh. Regardless, the boy felt Damien smirk against his skin. “Who knew the prince of Stormwind was such a little slut?” 

Anduin tensed and whined. 

Damien wasted little time; his hands found the front of Anduin’s loose trousers. Rough fingers slipped beneath their hem and discovered the prince’s wet secret. 

“Oh, I’d heard rumors, but -”  

The guard never had a chance to finish his sentence. In a single heartbeat, Damien was torn from Anduin and gored through the chest by Shalamayne’s mighty twin blades. Moonlight glittered over the blood and sinew staining its legendary metal. 

The life in Damien’s cold steel eyes dissipated, and his greying lips released one final gurgling sigh. 

Varian yanked the sword from his corpse; it made a sickeningly slick sound as it escaped the confines of his body’s ribcage. The lifeless hunk of meat fell into a crimson pool of its own making. 

Not a moment later, Anduin leapt into the safety of Varian’s warm, solid embrace. “I was so scared, Father,” the boy sobbed. “It was so quick...I froze! I didn’t know what to do!”

“Shh, my boy, you’re safe now,” Varian soothed as he smoothed his son’s blonde bangs from his forehead. In a different, far more gruff voice, he commanded Shaw to, “Have someone attend to this mess.” 

Although muffled by Varian’s armor, Anduin heard Shaw ask in a cool, even tone, “Should I make different arrangements this time? The nobles are starting to complain about the smell in the garden.” 

Varian remained silent for a second, electing to squeeze Anduin tighter. Then, he said, “Let the sea take this one.” 

This one …further proof Anduin’s father would always love and protect him. Anduin hid his smile in Varian’s chest. 

Chapter Text

Anduin hid a yawn behind his open palm in an effort to be discrete. The hours spent reviewing charters, articles and statutes had taken its toll on everyone in the war room. Even Wrathion, who prided himself on his poise and grace, nearly fell asleep as he stood over Anduin’s shoulder. No, it would contribute little to his advisors’ fortitude to see their king weakened by their monotonous task. 

This was important work, Anduin reminded himself. The quinquennial event was required by law for a reason! (But that didn’t make the chore of updating governmental procedures any more palpable.) 

Words swam before Anduin’s exhausted eyes. He wordlessly thanked the Light that they were almost done with either editing or approving Stormwind’s various measures. He also sent a prayer of gratitude to his father for never having forced him to participate in this as a child - unlike other kingly duties.  

Anduin approved the parchment before him before handing it off to Shaw to organize. The next, and last, took its place: Contingency Plan . 

The two words didn’t quite make sense to Anduin. Contingency? For what? He shook his head and blamed his state of mind for his bemusement. 

Carefully, Anduin read the doctrine word-for-word - In the event Stormwind should imminently fall into the hands of an indestructible enemy...

A spell of dizziness overtook Anduin as he read through a sample speech about the ever-lasting spirit of patriotism and sacrifice in the face of defeat. 

Beneath the address to the people, there were written instructions for men on how to fall on their swords or farming equipment to guarantee a swift death. Women, however, were encouraged to throw themselves onto a pyre to prevent their bodies from being violated. Parents were advised to suffocate or drown their children in manners that caused the least amount of suffering…

...Soldiers would go through each and every home to ensure complete and total compliance. After all, the memory of Stormwind should remain forever untarnished - defiant of their adversaries, even in death. 

“Are you alright, your majesty?” Wrathion asked, forcing Anduin from his heart-pounding, sweat-inducing reverie. 

“Yes,” Anduin gasped. He took a few deep, even breaths. Then, he turned to Shaw. With a small smile of triumph, he added, “I approve of the last measure. Let’s all go to bed.”  

Chapter Text

The heavy oak doors leading into Anduin’s living quarters opened with a long creak. 

Wrathion did not stir from his seat. His vigil remained uninterrupted over Anduin’s resting form, blanketed by his favorite plush duvet upon their shared bed. If this intruder wanted a polite welcome, they would have to return once the King of Stormwind recovered from his illness and awoke. Until then, neither man had means to receive anyone .

The dragon ran his claws through the dry, straw-like hair sitting upon Anduin’s pallid forehead. 

“Wrath?” A feminine, Kul Tiran-accented voice called out to him from the entrance to their room. 

Ah, Taelia . One of the few people he could call a true friend. “Mm?” he hummed in her direction. 

“Listen, I know you want to guard his majesty, but it’s been several days since you’ve eaten...” 

Wrathion rolled his eyes and sighed; Taelia should have known he did not share the same limitations as human men in spite of his form. He stroked Anduin’s side. “As I have explained many times, I can go weeks without food. I’ll be fine until Anduin is better.”

“Fair enough,” Taelia conceded. Then, after several heartbeats of silence, she added, “He should be due to wake any day now.” 

Relief flooded out Wrathion’s anxiety. Finally! Someone else believed that Anduin would recuperate. It had grown tiresome to be the only person with faith in the High King’s health. 

Wrathion’s red gaze turned to Taelia’s bloodshot one. She shifted under his scrutiny, but she could not hide the greenish tint coloring her otherwise white cheeks. Oh no! Had she become ill as well? 

“Are you alright?” Wrathion asked. 

Taelia smiled. “I’m well. It’s just - the smell… Anduin hasn’t bathed in some time, has he?” Her polite sensibilities choked the small laugh that bubbled beneath her lips. 

Despite his own graciousness, Wrathion released a breathless chuckle. “True, Anduin is not the fresh flower he usually is.” 

“It might be nice if some clean linens were prepared for when he wakes,” Taelia pointed out. “I’m sure he’ll be antsy to shake off those dirty sheets as soon as he can.

“Good idea,” Wrathion agreed. “Why don’t you call on the staff to fetch some?” 

Taelia’s expression grew somber. “There aren’t many helping hands, I’m afraid. I was planning to bring the linens up myself. Although, if you helped, we could do so with one trip.” 

Wrathion’s alarm returned tenfold. He smoothed out the blue comforter atop his beloved king as his heart battered against its cage. “I can’t leave him,” he replied beneath his breath. 

Taelia clicked her tongue. She extended her hand toward him. “Come now, he’ll be alright for a few minutes, and I’d rather like some company. The Keep has become a little spooky since the quarantine.” 

“Do you promise that no one will disturb him?” Wrathion asked with a sharp tongue. 

Taelia did not hesitate. “He will be left to rest, I assure you.” 

As if he were pulled by some unknown gravitational force, it took a considerable amount of effort for Wrathion to lift himself from his chair and step in Taelia’s direction. Each step wrought more and more apprehension. The lead weight pulling at his stomach grew heavier.  Every instinct screamed at him to stop, to stay. But Taelia was right; it was time to leave their quarters.

Wrathion did not feel surprise or shock at seeing Shaw, Genn, and Jaina standing out in the hallway. And the inevitability of Taelia’s betrayal dulled its sting. He swallowed the lump lodged in his throat as the men entered Anduin’s room.

“Please be careful with him,” Wrathion pleaded through his hiccuping. “He’s still sleeping.” 

A pair of warm arms surrounded Wrathion. He cared little who they belonged to. All of his energy was spent on not crumbling to the floor as he wept fat tears against someone’s shoulder.

Soothing hands massaged at his back. Jaina’s voice whispered in his ear, “It’s okay. He will sleep beside his mother now. You can see him whenever you’d like.” 

Chapter Text

Anduin’s quivering fingers fumbled his Jihui piece, nearly dropping it onto the board. In spite of his polite sensibilities urging him to shut his damn mouth, he remained frozen, helpless, gaping like a fish out of water. 

Unstable breaths puffed passed Anduin’s lips. His heart rammed against its cage. A cold sweat formed over his brow. 

Wrathion arched an elegant eyebrow, expression otherwise neutral. “Do you concede your turn then?” 

Reality caught up with Anduin with all the force of a speeding tram. He snapped his jaw shut, swallowed, and blinked at his companion in an effort to regain his composure. “I’m sorry, what?” came out as a croak. 

The wicked curve of Wrathion’s smirk grew. “If you’re not willing to answer my question, you must concede your turn. Those were the rules, my dear prince.” 

Right. Yes. They were playing this strange amalgamation of Twenty Questions and Jihui in an effort to mitigate their bout of boredom. Then, Wrathion asked a question that hollowed out his insides. Regret soured Anduin’s empty stomach; he never anticipated broaching this territory. 

“What was the question again?” Anduin squeaked in the vain hope he had misheard Wrathion’s prior inquiry. 

Wrathion laughed, the sound warm, rich and oddly comforting. “Who was the lucky man or woman who took your purity? You said you had experience. Now I’d like to know who it was with.” 

Anduin gulped around the sudden lump in his throat. 

It was not their name or rank that sat behind Anduin’s tongue, ready to be cried, sobbed, or screamed out. How could it be? How could he simply admit to such a thing and not leave the wrong impression? No, instead, a litany of explanations for their twisted, imbalanced relationship threatened to burst from his lungs. 

For two years, those reasonings had encompassed the space behind his heart, willing to roll from his throat the second someone confronted him about their thinly-veiled secret. Anduin had waited, and waited, and waited for this moment. Countless hours had been spent preparing for the eventuality that someone cared enough to ask. 

Yet, as Wrathion tapped his finger on the table, waiting for an answer, Anduin could only produce incoherent garbling. 

By the Light, why was this so difficult?

In truth, Anduin had little reason to fuss. It wasn’t as if his lover violated him or anything - regardless of any reasonable assumptions. Anduin never refused them in their time of need. In fact, Anduin touched them first in an act of misplaced kindness, as accidental as the contact had been. Therefore, Anduin created the precedent, and not once did he correct those expectations. Why would he? Anduin loved them. 

As selfish as it was, the situation only hurt his ego. 

None had bothered to ask him about it, to check-in, to make sure he was okay. Despite washing the soiled sheets, no servant had whispered a word. On the occasions Anduin forgot to heal the bruises upon his neck, the guards looked the other way. The one time Anduin hadn’t cleansed the stench of sex from his flesh, Genn threw him a sympathetic glance - but said nothing. Did they not care? As he cared for them?

Anduin’s eyes grew heavy. His shoulders slumped. A shudder ran down his spine. The ache in his leg intensified. But it wasn’t until Wrathion scooped Anduin into an awkward, uncomfortable embrace - given his position on the chair  - that he realized fat, heavy tears rolled down his cheeks

“It’s not their fault,” Anduin bawled unbidden, urged by his instinct to protect his lover. “I love them.” 

“Shh,” Wrathion soothed. His gloved hands smoothed away the locks sticking to his forehead. “I’ll make sure you never have to see them again.” 

Hot alarm raced through Anduin’s system. He didn’t want that! 

...did he? 

It took hours of adamant denying, hissed arguing, and pathetic sniveling for Anduin to finally relent to Wrathion’s wisdom. The fault did not fall on his shoulders! And though Anduin loved, cared and admired his perpetrator, they were a perpetrator nonetheless. Anduin had been victimized. 

The realization broke his heart, but a sense of renewed freedom burst through the torn vestiges of his ribcage - a phoenix born from the ashes. 

For the first time in years, Anduin allowed himself the desire for a future without lies, a future Wrathion promised for the two of them. They would soar the skies together, embarking on fantastic adventures hand-in-hand, far from anyone who could hurt them. 

Or, so he foolishly wished. 

In the end, those vain hopes only made Wrathion’s betrayal that much more painful. 

At the very least, Wrathion left behind a will to seek an end to his torment. For that, he had Anduin’s gratitude.