Chapter Text
Varian explained the events in Stoneward as his father listened, sparing no detail in the hopes of driving home exactly how dire the situation had become without their ever knowing. Privately, he feared Llane might simply dismiss what had happened, and insist Pathonia must have had some other motive. He had watched his father entertain her paranoia, her viciousness, for decades. It was only thanks to Mathias that she could no longer threaten Stormwind with her lies, but that didn’t mean her legacy could not still cast its terrible shadow over their kingdom regardless.
When he was finished, Varian stood back and watched his father consider everything he’d said. After what seemed like an eternity, Llane finally nodded. He had his arms crossed over his chest, and they rose with the deep breath he took before he shook his head and said, “It pains me to say it, but I suppose there is no other word for what she’s done besides treachery. And I never once suspected her. How very foolish of me.”
The relief Varian felt was almost staggering. He couldn’t help the slight sag of his shoulders or the heavy sigh that burst from him. “She hid her intentions well. Regardless, I am glad to hear you say that,” he admitted.
Llane didn’t seem disappointed, but there was a sadness about him. “Is that so?”
“Father, I know you trusted her—”
“No,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “No, it is more than that, my son. Much more.” He moved over to a plush wingback chair and sat down. “My distress is not Pathonia’s doing alone.”
They were in one of the castle’s private audience chambers, and had been there for some time. It was a small but cozy space, well-appointed and comfortable enough for both guests and solicitors alike. It was one of the few places in the keep where they could have a private word without risk of being overheard. A sensible precaution, Varian thought—news of Pathonia’s treachery could not be permitted to circulate as gossip. They would have to carefully control what the nobles and the citizens knew of her disappearance, or risk casting doubt on the king’s ability to rule his own kingdom.
“Father? Are you alright?” Varian prompted. Llane had been silent for too long, and it was beginning to make him worry that there was more to this matter than even he realized.
But Llane only shook his head. “You know, Varian, I had a great deal of time to think while you were away,” he said. “I was quite furious with you when you disobeyed my orders and went after your friend Saurfang. I thought you would surely be killed, or held prisoner and tortured in order to force Stormwind’s surrender. Genn Greymane can be a cruel and vicious man when he wishes to.”
Varian could only think of what Saurfang had told him, that in the other world he had been just as angry, just as thirsty for blood at one point. He wondered if he might have been pushed to such an extreme here, as well. If the loss of his father, his kingdom, his beloved Tiffin, might have made him into the kind of man who would choose violence before reason. “I know,” he said quietly. He found a loose thread in his cuff and worried at it, prepared for what would come next.
“But here you are,” Llane said. “And I was wrong.”
Varian looked up, and he knew his face betrayed his shock because his father abruptly laughed. “My boy, don’t look so surprised. I am capable of admitting when I’ve made a mistake. Stubbornness may be in our blood, but it is not insurmountable.”
“I admit this isn’t what I expected.”
“Indeed, and I never expected to find that I have been harboring an agent of my greatest enemy within my own keep these many years.” Under his breath, Llane cursed Pathonia’s name. “To think I listened to her. That I—how many innocent men and women did I condemn to the noose on her word alone?”
There was simply no way to tell. Pathonia’s ability to swiftly uncover the Gilnean spies in their midst was legendary, even among their enemies. She had been delivering them to justice for years. Only now they knew the truth, and his father was faced with the terrible reality of what he had allowed to happen under his reign. Varian did not envy him the weight of the guilt he must be feeling at that moment.
“This is a dark day indeed,” his father said quietly.
Varian could not disagree. He knew Pathonia had managed to earn the trust that was placed in her, but Llane’s complacency was also to blame. There was no simple answer he could provide that would ease anyone’s conscience over what had been permitted to occur.
“Perhaps…” he continued, almost as if he were talking to himself, “perhaps it is time for something else altogether.”
There was a pause, during which Varian’s mind spun with possibilities. His greatest hope was that his father might see fit to elevate Mathias to his grandmother’s post once he recovered fully, as Varian had suggested. If he was open to such a possibility then perhaps there were other matters, other hard-set traditions and tactics he might convince his father to revisit. They could turn the tide of the war, bring Gilneas around and force a ceasefire. Perhaps, in time, there could even be peace.
He waited. Eventually, Llane sighed again, gesturing to the chair across from him. “Have a seat, my boy,” he said gravely. “It’s time we talked.”
Flynn stood in the hall outside the audience chamber, feeling extremely uncomfortable about a number of things at that particular moment. Chief among them was that the hall in question was within a wing of Stormwind Keep. He’d never expected to set foot in the city outside of being there for his own hanging, to say nothing of the castle itself.
The large green man looming across from him wasn’t doing his nerves any favors, either.
The orc, which was what Mathias had informed him was the name for Saurfang’s people, had recovered swiftly from wounds that Flynn had suspected no normal man would have survived. Even with potions, and their cook’s efforts, he’d been in fairly sorry shape while they had him aboard. The whiptail was a stopgap, but it couldn't perform miracles, and the flight from Stoneward had been arduous. It struck Flynn that something about Saurfang must have been enough to keep him alive until he could be properly healed. That was disconcerting, given his size.
They had sailed from Gilneas with the swiftness of the Tidemother herself, making it to Stormwind in just over two days. Throughout most of the voyage, Flynn had stayed beside Mathias, cleaning his wound so it didn’t infect, feeding him broth from the galley, and evidently aggravating him enough that it kept him alive. Mathias hadn’t been much for conversation, what with the hole in his gut, but he had explained a few things during his more lucid moments. Some of them were harder to believe than others.
“Oi,” he said quietly, drawing Saurfang’s attention. “You’re from another world, right?”
Saurfang nodded. “An Azeroth you do not know.”
“Suppose it’s difficult to doubt you, what with all this,” Flynn conceded, gesturing to him. “What’s it like there?”
Saurfang scratched his scarred chin and hummed to himself. “Not very different, really.”
Well, that was a great deal of information to go on, wasn't it. Flynn cleared his throat. He wasn’t used to being nervous; he was a pirate, captain of his own ship, and he didn’t suffer the intimidation of other men. No matter how big and green and pointy they were.
Still. He was very big. And pointy.
“And there’s another Mathias in your world?” Flynn asked.
Keen eyes regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, and then Saurfang nodded. “There is,” he said, still keeping matters rather vague. Flynn could only assume it was intentional. “Do you want to know if there’s another you, as well?”
“Well, if you’re offering…”
“There is.”
Although he’d suspected as much based on some of the comments both Saurfang and Varian had made, having the existence of another version of himself outright confirmed was rather staggering. “I—do you know me?” he asked.
“I do.”
“Well, bloody tell me about myself, then, why don’t you? Come on, out with it. What am I like?”
He imagined a dashing knight, or perhaps a humble farmer. Neither life had ever appealed to him, of course, but he could imagine if things had been different, if he’d been born in another place or faced different challenges, he might have wanted something like that for himself.
“You were a pirate once. I don’t know much else, but you gave it up.”
Flynn’s shoulders slumped. “Well, at least I’m consistent across realities, I suppose. And we know each other, then? How did we meet?”
Here Saurfang hesitated. Flynn could see it in his eyes; he knew something, but he didn’t want to share it. That was interesting.
Flynn had made a life out of knowing what to anticipate from any man standing across from him. He could outfight, outgun, and outsmart most opponents with relative ease. And he was fairly confident that, even if Saurfang did possess physical resilience to rival any man Flynn had ever known, an orc was no more or less clever than any other species on Azeroth. Getting the information he wanted was only a matter of finding the right way to ask.
He was just about to have another go at it when the door to the meeting chamber opened, and Varian emerged. He was pale, and his eyes were wide, as if he was searching for some quick means of escape.
“You alright, mate?” Flynn asked. “You look as if you’ve just been told your own execution date.” He certainly hoped that wasn’t the case, because it seemed unlikely the king would think twice about doing the same to the pirate who had helped him.
“I—I’m, well,” Varian stammered quietly.
Flynn exchanged a look with Saurfang, who he suspected might have the same concerns.
It took a moment, but Varian eventually managed to shake off whatever had briefly taken hold of him, and he looked up at them with a small, somewhat guarded smile. “I suppose I should get used to being called Your Majesty,” he said, sounding strangely bashful for a man who had just casually informed them that he was about to become king. “My father has declared his intention to abdicate, and pass the throne to me.”
Well, that was certainly a surprise. “Aye?” Flynn asked, flashing his own smile at the soon-to-be king. “Well, that sounds like a reason to celebrate if I’ve ever heard one!”
“Congratulations,” Saurfang said. He was more restrained about it, but it was clear enough to Flynn that he was both proud and happy for Varian. He added, “You should tell your wife.”
“Tiffin!” Varian exclaimed. “Of course, I—Light, how could I not think to tell her first? She’ll have my head!”
“At least now it’s regicide if she does,” Flynn said. He laughed at the withering glare Varian sent his way.
“You are right, however. I should find her.” He looked up at the two men, almost pleading. “Forgive me, I know I had promised you both we would speak, but—”
“Go,” Saurfang said. Flynn agreed with him.
They watched together as Varian dashed off, nearly getting lost in his nervous excitement before he doubled back and went the right way. Flynn had never met the future queen, but he had a feeling, if Varian’s devotion to her was anything to go by, she’d be understanding about finding out a little later than the others. “We ought to get out of here before the other king makes an appearance,” Flynn remarked, gesturing to the closed door of the chamber with his thumb. “I don’t think he’s overly fond of either of us after that little stunt in Gilneas.”
Saurfang grunted in agreement, and together they left the hall in the direction of what Flynn believed was the courtyard. He didn’t know where else he might go in the great big keep, what with Varian off looking for his wife, Mathias still laid low by his wound, and Saurfang… well… being Saurfang.
While they wandered, he thought some more about the other world the orc had claimed to be from. Flynn really had no reason to believe he wasn’t telling the truth; after all, even Renzik had seemed surprised by their first encounter, and if anyone might know what to make of a brute like that, it would have been him. It made Flynn think about everything else he’d heard, and what Varian had said. Never outright, of course, but he’d set plenty of stones along the path to the truth during their voyage.
“You’ve got someone at home waiting for you, eh?” Flynn asked him. “This Anduin you mentioned?”
He caught a sidelong glance from Saurfang and a small nod. “He is my mate,” he said.
“I thought as much. Then you didn’t mean to come here?”
Saurfang shook his head. “I have been away for months, with no means to return on my own. There is a war being waged there as well, but it is much more serious than it is here—not two kingdoms fighting each other, but nearly the whole of Azeroth.” He grimaced, and Flynn saw something else, something a little softer, behind it. “I fear what’s become of my mate while I’ve been gone.”
That seemed entirely too understandable, in Flynn’s opinion. “Sounds rough,” he said sympathetically. “How did you get here in the first place?”
Saurfang’s broad green shoulders rose in a shrug. “We attempted to use a piece of a device that could control time, imbued with magic by the dragons of the bronze flight. It is difficult to describe.”
Flynn stopped. “You said bronze?”
He received another nod. “Broken off during a battle. All that remained after were fragments, including the one that brought me here. It would look like mere scrap to anyone who could not sense its true power.” He shook his head. “I have little hope of locating it on my own.”
Flynn had never had much magical aptitude, much to his occasional frustration. Magic could be incredibly handy under the right circumstances. He knew that from experience. But there had been a moment in the prison… A nagging voice that he’d never felt particularly inclined to ignore in the past, telling him that what he found in there was no mere trinket. It seemed that little voice was right after all.
Clearing his throat, he said, “So, er, funny story, now that you mention it. You see, I found something when I was stowing Pathonia’s body back at Stoneward—incidentally, much heavier than she looked. And I had no idea what it was, or truthfully if it was anything at all, but I had a strange feeling I should take it with me regardless.”
Saurfang appeared curious, but didn’t seem overly concerned by his confession. Still, Flynn at least had the good manners to be somewhat embarrassed for himself. “It’s not like I was looting her or anything,” he said perhaps a bit too defensively. “Just seemed silly to leave it with a corpse, is all. Anyway, as I said, I didn’t know what this little bauble might've been, but it seemed important. And it looked like gold at first. So.” He reached into one of the many pockets sewn to the lining of his coat and produced a palm-sized object made of gleaming, beautifully sculpted bronze.
At first glance he had assumed, it seemed correctly, that the piece must have been broken off from something larger. Something as ornate as the piece itself. But whatever it was, he knew it was not a mere bit of sculpture. Especially if Pathonia had been carrying it. There was a weight to it, a heaviness that the bronze alone could not account for. Magic or no magic, at the time Flynn had thought he could almost feel it humming. Like the whir of a great timepiece as its mechanisms counted each minute that passed.
Saurfang looked down at the object in his hand and his eyes grew wide. He reached out, hesitantly at first, before he finally took it from Flynn’s palm. “Thank you,” he said, and it was the quietest Flynn thought he’d ever been.
“Is that important to you?” he asked.
Nodding, Saurfang cradled it in his own palm as if it was more precious than anything. That largely answered the question, but then he smiled and said, “It is more important than you know, Captain. It’s my way home.”
After he parted from Saurfang, who had vaguely cited matters that needed seeing to before he could leave, Flynn made his way back up one of the winding towers, to the guest quarters. He’d been welcomed into the keep as Varian’s guest, something he had tried to refuse at first. It worried him that earning the crown prince’s favor might come with more burdens than benefits, in the end. Although the benefits were considerable.
Like his own, a small chamber had been set aside for Mathias, where he could recuperate safely and, perhaps most vitally, where the king could keep an eye on him. Flynn was bunked right across the hall, but he hadn’t bothered to go in there yet. All the time that hadn’t been spent with Varian or Saurfang had instead been spent lingering at the wounded agent’s side while he slept. Watching over him, as if there was still some danger looming in the shadows that might snatch him away.
Admittedly, his interest in Mathias Shaw had started out purely physical. He’d fancied the man from the moment he laid eyes on him, and the more Mathias snidely dismissed Flynn’s efforts to woo him into some dark corner of the ship, the more Flynn wanted him. And then he’d turned out to be some dashing, heroic type, and well… let it never be said that Captain Flynn Fairwind was immune to how good valor looked on a man. Especially a man like Mathias.
Stuck in that thought like some sort of whirling eddy, Flynn found himself continually revisiting their first exchange after returning to the ship. They’d done all the healing they could at that point. Only time and luck would do more.
“You know,” he’d said when Mathias first opened his eyes. He had been sitting in his own cabin aboard the Siren’s Wail, listening to the creaks and groans of the timbers as the ship swept through the waves, bound swiftly for Stormwind. The crew had sailed as if Greymane himself was snapping at their rudder, and he couldn’t have been more grateful or more proud. “When you asked if my offer to share the bunk was genuine, I thought you meant at the same time.”
Pale and shivering, Mathias had somehow managed a wry half-smile of his own. “It’s your fault for not asking, Captain.”
“Aye, suppose it is at that,” Flynn had sighed. “Suppose I’ll just have to collect my gold and cut my losses, then.”
“Or…”
Mathias had stopped to lick his lips, and Flynn rushed to get him some water when he gestured for it. He’d helped him drink, and then waited for the rest of whatever he meant to say.
“Or you could stay. Make even more gold.” His chest jumped with a quiet chuckle. “Not that you deserve it.”
“Stay?” Flynn had reached out and placed his hand on Mathias’ forehead. “No fever. What are you on about?”
“Stormwind could—” Mathias’ breath caught in his throat, and his face contorted in pain. Flynn had had half a mind to call for more healing, but he knew even magic had its limits, to say nothing of the body itself. There was only so much that could be given over to mending wounds before it began to create new ones from the deficit. Ones that were deeper and even harder to heal.
After a moment to catch his breath, and after what Flynn had assumed was the pain beginning to subside, Mathias turned and met his gaze with those beautiful spring green eyes. That was when Flynn had known he was truly lost.
“Stormwind could use a man like you,” he’d said. The words had stunned Flynn into silence. At least for as long as it took to get his wits about him and awkwardly change the subject, anyway.
After that, the conversation had drifted to far safer shores, but Flynn had not forgotten it. Those delirious words, speaking of things he wasn’t certain Mathias even remembered anymore. No one had ever taken a good look at him and said he was worth more than what they could sell off his looted corpse. Certainly they’d never begged him to stay. And while that wasn’t begging by any normal measure, from what little he knew of Mathias Shaw, it was practically groveling.
Now, standing in a posh bedchamber in the northwest tower of bloody Stormwind Keep, Flynn wondered if he had any idea what in the tides he was doing anymore. This wasn’t just a passing interest.
As if on cue, there was a muffled sound from the rumple of thick blankets piled atop the body in the bed. Flynn had entered the room quietly, but evidently nothing was quiet enough for Stormwind’s new top spy.
“Good morning, gorgeous,” Flynn said cheerily. He marched over to the curtains and threw them open, letting light spill into the room. The windows overlooked the forested mountains that surrounded the city, and the view was stunning. “Healers said you should drink this,” he added, fetching a warm pot of tea from the table and bringing it to Mathias’ bedside. The pot was enchanted to remain warm, and wisps of steam rose from the delicate gold and white cup as Flynn carefully poured some for him. “Cream and sugar? Actually—scratch that, I’ve got neither to offer you. Looks as if someone forgot to bring them.”
“That’s because they know I don’t need any,” Mathias grumbled. “I do work here, you know.”
“Well, fan-cy,” Flynn mocked, drawing out the end of the word. “Come on, sit up. That hole in your gut’s been closed at last, largely thanks to the king’s healers. You won’t start leaking like a poked waterskin.”
“I can tell. I feel much better than I did when they carried me off your ship yesterday.”
“They had me a bit worried, all those burly soldiers with their hands on the cot. For a few seconds there I was worried they might dump you right in the harbor.”
Mathias smirked, and Flynn bristled at the implication.
“Don’t get it in your head that I was jealous, now,” he warned.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Has Varian—ah.” He stopped and frowned at himself. “Has Prince Varian spoken with his father yet? About Pathonia?”
“Aye, just this morning.”
Mathias was quiet while he sipped his tea, but Flynn could see the cogwheels turning.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked. He didn’t want to crowd Mathias on the bed, and so he pulled over one of the fancy chairs from the table and sat down there, instead.
With a sigh, Mathias said, “My grandmother was a traitor, Flynn. She betrayed the kingdom. No doubt the king is furious, and he has every reason to be. But serving this kingdom is all I’ve ever known. If he determines it isn’t wise to trust me…” He shook his head. A moment passed where it seemed he might not say more, but then he went on. “Varian came to see me in your cabin after I’d woken up. He thanked me, told me how grateful he was. And then he said he wanted me to be the kingdom’s new spymaster.”
Flynn could tell Mathias wanted to talk, and he had a feeling that was unusual for him. Normally, he’d have tossed out any number of flippant remarks, trying to goad Mathias into lightening up by refusing to take the matter seriously. But he wanted to do this for him. The man had just faced down the potential ruin of his entire life, and certainly the end of everything he’d thought he understood to be real. He probably needed to talk more than anyone else at that moment. The least Flynn could do was take it seriously and listen.
“How can I know that anything she said was true? That any of it was real? Her contacts, her methods, they’re all tainted now. I’d have to start over from scratch. And… I could. I know I could. But how could King Llane ever trust me? A spymaster must have the complete confidence of the house they serve, and I would be coming to this with the blood of Stormwind’s people on my hands, put there by Pathonia herself.” He shook his head. “Varian might believe in me, but the king never will.”
Flynn sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, humming thoughtfully as he considered what Mathias had said. “Well, that is a conundrum,” he admitted.
While Mathias’ confidence was what Flynn had found most appealing to start with, he had to admit there was something charming about seeing the man so out of sorts and vulnerable. Still, teasing him now only seemed cruel.
“Suppose it’s a good thing Varian’s about to be king, then, isn’t it,” he followed up. “Since you do have his trust, as you pointed out.”
Mathias nodded absently and continued to stare into his cup. Then his eyes grew wide and he turned sharply to Flynn. “What?”
“Evidently, His Majesty has decided it’s time to retire. He told Varian this morning. Although, you might want to keep that little nugget between you, me, and the sea for the time being, especially since Varian’s convinced his wife will be on the warpath for having found out last.”
“Tiffin is very forgiving,” Mathias said. He still seemed as if he was struggling with the news. “But Varian must have others in mind, better candidates—”
“Than the bloke who risked his life to help him without a second thought?”
“I had several thoughts, Flynn, and I voiced them all to him. Very bluntly, in fact.”
Flynn laughed. He didn’t know what sort of relationship the two men had before he’d come along and inserted himself into the matter, but he had a feeling Varian was the sort of man who truly valued honesty. Even bluntness. He said as much to Mathias, who only frowned and shook his head, though he didn’t argue. At least he seemed to accept that Flynn was right about that much.
“If I am made spymaster, the first thing I’m going to do is get some new armor,” he muttered after a few moments of sipping at his tea. “I spent so much of my life in Pathonia’s shadow, I even had to dress like her.” Whether he knew or cared that his other armor had been thrown away, it wasn’t clear. Flynn didn’t bother to mention it.
He decided it was best to lighten the mood, instead. “Shame,” he said, “because I thought you were rather dashing in all that black.”
“You should see me in blue.”
“Or green.”
Mathias scowled, but there wasn’t any real heat behind it. “The kingdom’s colors are blue and gold, Flynn.”
He couldn’t help himself; Flynn reached out and swept a bit of loose fringe back from Mathias’ temple. It was difficult not to smile when he saw the faint flush of scarlet that warmed his cheeks. “Barely even spymaster and you’re already making a case for why you shouldn’t have the job,” Flynn said quietly, still softly stroking the hair behind Mathias’ ear, as if it would fall out of place again if he stopped. “What sort of spy announces who he works for?”
“You might have a point,” Mathias said. He had not looked away, and it seemed neither of them was capable of breaking that spell. “But I like blue. I look good in blue.”
“I bet you do.”
Just as softly, Mathias said, “And I think I’ve had enough of green for one lifetime.”
The laugh that burst forth from Flynn finally did it, and they broke apart. Not fully, and Flynn had a feeling it would never be for very long again. He didn’t quite know what to make of that, or the nervous and excited lurch in his chest that accompanied the thought. “Speaking of, you’ll want to say your farewells to Saurfang soon. He’s got his way home at last, it seems.”
“How?”
“I may or may not have lifted some strange magical object from your grandmother’s corpse while I was disposing of her. Don’t look at me like that. Anyway, turns out it was the key to sending the big fellow back to where he belongs.”
Mathias seemed to give that some thought before he nodded. “They said I should be on my feet by morning, though I’ll have to take it easy. I should have no trouble offering him a polite farewell.”
“Then I’ll let the others know.” Flynn waited for Mathias to tip the cup back for another sip, and said, “In the meantime, I’ve given some thought to your offer.”
Mathias nearly choked on his tea. “Offer? What offer?”
“To stay here in Stormwind, of course.”
“I—” Mathias looked around as if searching for some hidden means of escape. “I don’t remember ever—”
“And I was thinking there’s a lot a crew like mine could do with a port like this to call home.”
Frozen, his fingertips gone almost as white as the teacup he was grasping for dear life, Mathias listened.
“It’s safer, for starters. Doubt the nightlife’s as interesting, of course, but that’s hardly a dealbreaker. And I think you could use the help around here.”
“Is that so?” Panic had given way to skepticism, and he had that same stubborn look that made Flynn want to violate the very strict orders the healers had given not to jostle him about. As much as he liked the man, he did so enjoy needling him and seeing that little angry furrow in his brow. And while he’d never admit it, something told Flynn that Mathias enjoyed it, too.
“Aye,” he said smugly. “After all, without me, that mission into Gilneas would have died floundering on the dock in Booty Bay. Admit it, I round out the team rather nicely.”
Mathias seemed to give it some thought, and Flynn predicted he was working up to a spectacular explosion. He enjoyed seeing that passion in his eyes; the righteous certainty of his anger, boiling over after it had been held down for so long. If his brush with death at Pathonia’s hands had been any indication, he needed to let some of those things out of the bottle—perhaps now more than ever.
But instead, and much to his surprise, Mathias only said, “You may be right.”
“I—wait. I am?”
“A small ship, a clever and loyal crew, and a trusted captain at the helm. Stormwind could do worse.”
“Just Stormwind?”
“Not much worse, of course.”
“Oi.”
That was when he was treated to what he had come to believe was a rather rare smile. Something small and private, unguarded in that little guest chamber where it was only the two of them. “And Captain…” Mathias began quietly, looking down at his hands and the now-empty teacup cradled between them.
Flynn leaned forward. He fought the urge to lick his lips, but they suddenly felt damnably dry. Almost breathless, he asked, “Yes?”
“You will be wearing blue.”
“So, you’re going back,” Varian said. He had his arm around Tiffin’s shoulder, and he gave her a slight squeeze against his side. “You’re certain that item will take you there?”
He was referring to the piece of the Vision of Time Saurfang had set on the desk beside them. They were in Tiffin’s study, where Varian had gone to find his wife and share the news of his imminent ascension. It sat there now, heavy and seemingly inert, but Saurfang thought he could almost feel the magic humming within. He had not given much thought to its power before it ripped him away from his own reality, but now he was struck by how foolish they had been. How rash and irresponsible. He had a feeling Anduin would say the same thing when they were finally reunited.
“I am,” he answered with a nod. “And I know it will.” It had to.
“What if it takes you somewhere else?” Tiffin asked. She stepped out of the half-circle of Varian’s embrace and reached out to take Saurfang’s much larger hands in her own. The contact warmed him, and he was grateful for it. “Varok, are you certain?”
Saurfang thanked her for her kindness by squeezing her soft hands as gently as he was able. He smiled down at her. “The chance of returning to the arms of my mate is worth any risk. I believe your own beloved husband understands that well.”
Varian lifted his chin and stood straight. “I do,” he said. “And I understand. We both do.” His hand settled on Tiffin’s shoulder, and she nodded sadly. “When will you go?”
“As soon as I am able,” Saurfang answered. “I’ve been in this world for months, with no way of knowing what has happened to Anduin, or to the Alliance.” He knew the old wolf would give his life before allowing any harm to come to Anduin, but he did not believe that would be enough to stop Sylvanas if she brought her full strength to bear against them.
“I see.” Varian didn’t seem happy about it, but he was honest enough in his understanding of the reasons why. Tiffin still appeared to be worried for his safety, and his chances of getting home at all, but there was no argument, no concern, that would dissuade him now.
When he had first received the piece of the Vision, unaware it had ever been in his possession to lose in the first place, he was nearly struck silent by the weight of its meaning. Home. Anduin. His longing had begun mere days into his time in this world, and it had not ceased since. He would do anything he had to if it meant going back, to make up for the time he’d lost, to see Anduin again.
At times he had entertained fantasies of returning home, and what it would be like. Being met with a worried scowl and arms full of his beloved mate, reproaching him for his absence even as he reaffirmed the love they felt for one another. He imagined telling Anduin about the strange world he had gone to; meeting his father again, but for the first time; meeting Tiffin and discovering how truly lovely, truly graceful and yet full of mischief and passion she was. She reminded him so much of Anduin. He could imagine the soft and wistful smile that would meet his words as Anduin listened to the stories of the mother he never knew.
“Stay another night at least,” Tiffin pleaded. “Let us have dinner together one last time. I know we’ve both enjoyed your company so much.”
Truthfully, Saurfang didn’t know if he would be returned to Stormwind months after his departure, or if he would arrive mere moments after he left. There was a possibility he would arrive in the keep to find Anduin and Greymane still standing there. Perhaps, to them, it would seem as if he had never been gone at all. He did not know. There seemed little reason not to honor Tiffin’s request, in that case. It was only a matter of hours.
He nodded. “I will stay one more night,” he said. “To thank you for your hospitality and your friendship.”
“We’re honored,” Varian said. He moved forward and clapped a hand on Saurfang’s shoulder, connecting all three of them with one gesture. “For now, however, I think I should go check on Mathias, and give him the good news. Though I’m certain Flynn has already done it for me.”
“They should dine with us tonight,” Tiffin declared. “I have yet to meet this bold pirate captain the two of you befriended, and no doubt the two of them will wish to say their goodbyes as well.”
Varian swiftly agreed with her. Saurfang could only imagine the future of Stormwind in the hands of these four humans, and he found the idea pleased him greatly. With Varian and Tiffin on the throne, and the support of men like Fairwind and Shaw, they would make a formidable adversary for the Greymane he had met. And that idea pleased him even more. If they were not able to wrest peace from the old man somehow, he was doubly sure they would make him wish they had.
The next morning Saurfang packed what meager belongings he had accumulated into a small knapsack Tiffin had given to him. It didn’t take very long. He tried not to think about the strange sadness he felt at the prospect of leaving a world where he didn’t belong. But home was his Azeroth, where his mate was, and where his friends and honored comrades awaited his return. He even found he was eager to see Greymane again, despite what he had been through in this world’s twisted facsimile of Gilneas. And he would never admit as much to the old wolf, but the absence of his companionship had been nearly as difficult to bear as the sudden loss of Anduin’s presence.
He heard a quiet knock at his door, and turned to find Tiffin standing there. She had a small bundle in her hands, wrapped in a thin blue and gold cloth. “I’ve brought something I’d like for you to take with you,” she said. “If you think it’s wise.”
Saurfang turned. “What is it?”
She carefully parted the ends of the cloth to reveal a wooden box. It was made of fairly plain dark wood, and decorated with a pale, iridescent inlay in the shape of flowers and birds. It appeared to have been in her possession for many years. “There are some things inside that I thought Anduin might appreciate. Varian told me that he was only a baby when I—well, when his mother died.”
“He was. Though I know he loves her dearly regardless.”
Tiffin smiled sadly at the box, folding the cloth back over the top again. “Varian has also set aside a few things for you to take. I believe he intends to give them to you himself before you go.”
“I am certain anything you gifted to Anduin would be deeply treasured.”
“There are some things for you as well. We will miss you, Varok.”
Saurfang smiled, and tried not to give her a reason to cry. He had never expected that his appearance in this keep would end in a tearful goodbye. Especially not after the way it had begun.
“Could I…” Tiffin hesitated. She set the box on the small table beside the door and moved closer. “It’s just that I would feel so silly doing this when everyone is watching. I just—” She abruptly threw her arms around his middle and hugged him, pressing her face against his chest and squeezing him tightly. Her little hands couldn’t even connect behind his back.
Saurfang felt a swell of affection in his chest, and he returned the unexpected embrace with one arm, giving her a light pat on the shoulder.
“Planning to take my future queen with you?” he heard Varian say.
Tiffin stepped back, wiping her eyes and smiling. “Future queen and current wife, my love. I’m afraid I let my emotions get the better of me,” she said. “No need to worry.”
“I would be more worried for the other Stormwind,” Varian chuckled. “I suppose Tiffin’s already given you her gift. I thought you and Anduin both might appreciate these.” He held up a smaller sack, made of dark blue velvet. It was cinched at the top with a length of gold cord. “I wish we could do more. It sounds as if things are fairly dire on your side of reality.”
He didn’t know the half of it. But still… “Your support will mean a great deal whether it is offered in person or not,” Saurfang said. He was sure of that much. Anduin would be delighted and moved to know that his parents were alive and happy somewhere, even if he could not reach them. Receiving these tokens from them would mean just as much.
“Flynn and Mathias are waiting in the courtyard,” Varian said. “I thought you might like to be as close to where you started as possible.”
He had appeared in this reality standing within the bowels of the keep, rather than the throne room he departed from, but the reason why had eluded him. Although he knew the castle itself had been rebuilt after he and the others had rampaged through Stormwind and razed its structures to the ground, there seemed little reason for him to have moved locations between realities. Regardless, it seemed wise enough to at least bear his location in mind. He thanked Varian, and slipped both the box and the velvet pouch into his knapsack. When it was done he turned to face them both fully.
“I cannot offer enough thanks for all you have done, nor repay the kindness you have shown me. Because of you and the others I will be able to return home, to see Anduin again, and keep him safe. Aka’magosh,” he said, bowing his head and pressing his closed fist to his chest. He knew they would not know what it meant, but the sentiment would be clear regardless. That was all that mattered.
They made their way to the center of the keep and out into the courtyard, where the sun was shining down on the fountains and trees and birds sang eagerly from the parapets above. He had thought little of how strange it was to be back in the same city he once burned; to see it as it was before the Horde had laid waste to it, and appreciate its simpler beauty. Still, it could not hold a candle to the sight of home.
“Thank you all,” he said, addressing the small group. The two rogues had joined them, with Flynn standing close at Shaw’s side. Perhaps they did not think anyone would notice the way the new spymaster leaned on his companion, but Saurfang did. “For everything you have done.”
“Tell the other me I said hello,” Flynn instructed, “and take him out for a drink on me.” He tossed a gold coin that Saurfang caught out of the air. It was stamped with a likeness of King Llane on one side.
“Already spending the kingdom’s gold,” Shaw muttered.
“It’s my gold, actually. I earned it by hauling you lot around all over the north, thank you very much. I’ll spend it on myself if I want to.”
“Enough, you two,” Varian muttered. He was doing a terrible job of hiding how much their bickering amused him.
Tiffin’s smile was still wistful, but no longer so sad, and Saurfang was glad to see it. He would not want that to be his last memory of her. She was bright and buoyant, and he wished to carry that with him when he saw her son. “Give Anduin our love,” she said.
Varian simply offered him his open hand. Saurfang grasped it with his own. “Good luck, and may the Light bless you both.”
After that, it was only a matter of grasping the fragment of the Vision now settled securely in his pocket, and going home.
He blinked and found himself lying in the garden, beneath the nearly barren branches of the carefully manicured trees. Not the spring courtyard of the other reality, but late autumn high in the keep of his own. It had been late winter when he left.
With a grunt of effort he sprang to his feet, nearly stumbling down the short steps and through the entryway that would lead to the throne room. Anduin’s throne room, where he prayed to the spirits he would find his mate. But when he came crashing to a halt and found the throne empty only moments before he was swiftly surrounded by pikes and swords, his heart gave a terrible lurch.
“Where is he?” he demanded, not caring how many guards he frightened, or how they crowded closer.
“Identify yourself!” one of them shouted. He made threatening gestures with the halberd shaking in his grip.
Being surrounded by halfwit guardsmen who panicked at the sight of him was beginning to grow tiresome. Saurfang growled, bearing his teeth. “Spare yourself a fight you will not win, and go fetch Greymane like a good boy, human.”
On occasion it was easy enough to recall the old ways. He smirked at the sight of the terrified guard scurrying off to fetch his master.
It didn’t take long for the old wolf himself to appear. Saurfang could hear him coming long before he entered the throne room, great coat billowing about him and his face permanently fixed with a scowl. “Need I remind you that this is precisely what you and your men are trained to handle, Commander? Do you imagine I’ve nothing better to do than reinstruct you every time there is a… minor inconvenience…”
Greymane came to a stop halfway to Saurfang, his footsteps slowing until he only stood there.
“Light help me… Saurfang?”
It was as if seeing him was not surprising but distressing. Around the room the guards, too, had begun to mutter amongst themselves, and when he looked, Saurfang saw the same strange tangle of uncertainty giving way to recognition. It was as if they had all somehow remembered who he was.
“Where have you—” Greymane stepped forward, but warily. As if he didn’t trust what he was seeing with his own two eyes. “Where have you been?”
“It would take too long to explain,” Saurfang answered. “Where is Anduin?”
Greymane blinked and took a step back. All the suspicion and curiosity was gone in a flash, replaced by a haunted look that said more than any words could. It set Saurfang’s heart pounding and lit a flame in his blood that felt too much like the stirring echoes of bloodlust. “Where is he, Greymane?” he demanded. He could hear his voice rising with every word. “Bring him to me, or tell me where to find him, now!”
“You have to understand, I can’t—”
“You can and you will!” he roared.
“Calm down, damn you!” Greymane’s eyes flashed gold and he hunched his own shoulders, but he did not transform. He snarled back, “I cannot bring him to you when he is not here!”
The remaining guards didn’t seem to know what to do; they shuffled their feet uselessly, looking between the two men as if they expected an all-out brawl to erupt at any moment. Some gripped their weapons tighter, but if they knew him as they finally seemed to, then they understood that would be of little use.
“Tell me where he is,” Saurfang said, lowering his voice if not his fury. “What’s happened, what have I—why isn’t he here?!”
“I will explain if only you’ll listen.” Greymane turned to the guards and swept his arm toward the door. “Leave us, all of you. Lord Saurfang and I have a great deal to discuss, and we will not need steel to do it.”
They all obeyed at once, shuffling from the throne room and pulling the heavy doors shut behind them. The echo of the empty chamber suddenly became much louder than ever before.
“Old Wolf,” Saurfang said, feeling the distress in his voice even more than he heard it. “Please.”
“You have my word that Anduin is alive, and,” Greymane sighed. “And he’s as well as he can be, I suppose.” He stopped and frowned. “It hasn’t been easy for him, Saurfang. You have to understand, you’ve been gone so long—”
“How long?”
Greymane hesitated. A man who had thrown himself at the banshee without a second thought in Stormheim, who stood up to Anduin when the madness of an Old God gripped his mind and stifled his spirit, risking death time and again, and yet he hesitated.
“Eight years,” he said.
Eight… Eight years?
“Spirits,” Saurfang muttered numbly. He staggered back, struggling to put meaning to words that could not be true, could not possibly be true. There were hands on him and he flung them away, only to be met with a growl and more insistent fussing. But his thoughts were not with Greymane or his nannying. Instead, he was with Anduin, alone and uncertain, left to wonder what had become of his mate. He’d been so selfish. How many months had that last evening with Varian and the others cost him? What had it cost Anduin?
“Sit down, here. Just—sit down before you collapse, you great brute!”
At Greymane’s insistence he all but fell onto the steps of the marble dais beneath the throne. Clutching at nothing, he watched his hands as his fingers curled into thick, blunt claws, right in front of him but yet so far away. It felt like the air was thick and it had filled his head. His thoughts were muddled, his chest heaving not from anger now, but panic. Grief. Deep and consuming. “Where…?” he managed.
Greymane was crouched before him. He had a hand on his forearm. “The Isle of Dorn, at present. I’ve only just received word that they won a significant battle there recently.”
“Battle? Then the Horde—”
“The Alliance and the Horde,” Greymane said with a wan smile. “They won it together. Along with some new allies I’ve not yet had the opportunity to meet.” He paused to give Saurfang’s arm a gentle shake. “He is with Alleria, Saurfang, and he is safe. Thrall and Jaina have recently returned with a combined fleet to lend support to their efforts there.”
The Alliance and Horde were allies? But who were they fighting? “You took the throne?” was all he seemed able to ask.
Greymane shook his head. “Turalyon serves as regent for the time being,” he explained. “And you’re lucky he wasn’t here today, or else you’d have had a much less congenial welcome than you received with all that bellowing and snorting you did.”
Considering how the guards had responded to his reappearance, that did not sound promising. “I don’t understand, you made it seem as if the Alliance and Horde are working together.”
“They are. We’ve been at peace for some time now.” He put a hand up when Saurfang started to speak. “As you said, it would take too long to explain.” He stood, offering a hand so that Saurfang could do the same. There were no complaints when it was refused.
“How can I find him?”
“The Kirin Tor has requested the aid of our own mages, which is a whole other matter unto itself. I’m certain I can find someone to conjure a portal for your use, however. It will take you directly to Dornogal. But you must understand, there is a great deal more than just the earthen city there, Saurfang, and your arrival will be… unexpected.”
There was something the old wolf wasn’t telling him. Something he did not seem willing to share. Perhaps he did not feel it was his place, or else he thought it would be better to receive the news from Anduin himself. Whatever it was, Saurfang knew already that he would not like it. “Thank you,” he said regardless. He clasped a hand on Greymane’s shoulder. “For looking after him all this time.”
He expected a similar gesture or a warm smile in return. He did not expect his gratitude to be met with a look of despair, instead. Greymane’s weathered face fell, and he turned away. “Don’t thank me for that, Varok,” he said quietly. “Don’t ever thank me. Just go.”
Anduin looked out over the sea stretching endlessly before him, enjoying the silence of the bluff and the salt wind. Without knowing what lay beneath, any aerial reconnaissance might have marked Dorn as nothing more than a mere island placed almost haphazardly amidst all the blue. They would never suspect the true breadth of Khaz Algar. They could not imagine the world that lay within, winding and vast, with all its many complexities and secrets. Few could conceive of such things without seeing it for themselves.
He heard Thrall’s familiar footsteps coming up the path behind him, and he didn’t bother to turn or even question why he’d come. The similarities to their meeting in Silithus, what now felt like so long ago, did not escape him. It seemed pointless to bother making something of a simple conversation, anyway.
The sun was setting over his shoulder, bathing where they stood in a wash of violet, orange, and pink. It was beautiful. Worth protecting. He’d seen many sunsets since returning from the Maw, but none had ever struck him as powerfully as this one did. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe it had nothing to do with what had happened in the Priory that morning.
“Jaina and I have been looking for you,” Thrall said, announcing himself. Anduin had never known what it was like to have siblings, nor did Thrall, but he thought the former warchief took to the role of a kind older brother perhaps better than he realized. It seemed to come naturally to him. “Are you well?”
Anduin shrugged. “I needed some air,” he answered vaguely. While his feat with Khadgar had reaffirmed what was once such a natural part of his life, almost as natural to him as breathing, in fact, it was nonetheless incredibly overwhelming. Simply thinking about what he’d done was almost enough to set his mind reeling. After so long without the familiar presence of the Light, it was a great deal for him to process. For anyone, he’d imagine. He understood the others were probably concerned about him, however, and so they had obviously elected to send Thrall. After all, it had worked once, why not try it again? At least now it was less likely they were worried he might hurl himself into the sea.
Things were different now. He could still hear Azeroth’s turmoil in the Radiant Song, and they had hardly solved more than a mere fraction of the problems plaguing the peoples of Khaz Algar. But something felt different now. Like the world had shifted, the balance restoring itself just enough to be detected in the barest of ways. He couldn’t begin to guess how that had happened, and he wasn’t arrogant enough to believe it was his doing, but regardless, it seemed to Anduin like a shift toward something better.
Having the Light within him again, opening himself to it and embracing it, had felt like a piece of him that was missing had finally been returned. After so many years shrouded in grief and uncertainty, the Light’s touch made him feel as if he had finally surfaced from a cold, dark lake, taking the first desperate gasp of air and filling his lungs. But what surprised him most was that it hadn’t truly been any different; no less intense for its absence, no less warm and reassuring than it had ever been. It was almost as if the Light was waiting for him, and not the other way around. Perhaps it had been.
They spoke idly for some time after that, discussing his father, his past. They even spoke of what he’d been through, not only in the Maw, but before that. Anduin found it stung a little less, the scars—seen and unseen—no longer aching so much with the reminder. Unlike before, he appreciated Thrall’s company, rather than disdaining it. He even smiled. It felt… normal. And after a while it hardly seemed necessary to say anything at all. They simply stood there, watching the light fade over the sea together.
“I spoke a great deal with Faerin,” he said after some time had passed. “In Mereldar.”
Thrall hummed his answer, but didn’t speak. He seemed to know Anduin was leading to something, and would get there in his own time.
Anduin gratefully accepted that invitation. “I think I understand something now,” he went on after a beat, “something I could not bring myself to accept before. That what matters most is not who we’ve lost, or how, but what we take with us from having known them. The ways in which they shape our lives even after they’re gone.
“I held on to him for so long, convinced he was so much of my strength that I was lost without him. I had to believe he was real, that he existed, because if he wasn’t then how could I ever feel safe again? How could I find the strength within myself to go on after all I’d seen? All I'd done?”
Thrall stood beside him with his arms crossed over his chest, a broad and silent sentinel with the fading sun at his back. The unspoken name that loomed over every word was likewise a presence all on its own. Anduin did not think he could be so patient if their positions were reversed.
“But now I know that what he really gave me was the means to see myself and what I could be, without flinching away from it,” he said. “Without falling victim to my own uncertainty. I knew who I was through his eyes, Thrall.” He smiled again. Small and private this time, and for no one else but himself. “I have that to take with me, whether or not I have him. Whether or not I ever did.”
Varok had never wavered in his belief, not even when Anduin was wreathed in darkness, threatening to take them all with him into the shadows. He had risked his life for that conviction, sacrificed for it. Or… at least that was how Anduin remembered it. He was, and likely always would be, the only one who did.
He took a deep breath. Before him the sea rolled on in its endless rhythm, unperturbed by the small, sorrowful creature that gazed upon it. “I’ve decided to let him go,” he said quietly.
Thrall started, and from the corner of his eye Anduin saw him turn sharply.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he added before Thrall had the opportunity to speak. “It’s time. I know it is. I don’t harbor any ill will toward you and the others for not believing me. Please don’t think I blame you, or that you’ve let me down in some way.”
The truth was, if things had been different, if it had been Thrall who came to him, hysterically demanding to know what had become of a mate no one else could recall, Anduin might not have believed him either. And he could still feel Varok in his heart, but it was only the two of them there. No one else was privy to that. No one else knew what he knew.
“It was never about belief, Anduin. I hope you understand that.” Thrall sighed, and Anduin thought he could feel some of the weariness he and the others must have carried on their own that, in his terrible grief, he hadn’t perceived. The pain they had felt knowing they could do nothing to help him with a puzzle whose missing pieces only he could see. “We simply didn’t know what to say that would help you.”
“I know.” Perhaps their ‘help’ had not been the most useful, or the most comforting, but he knew now that it hadn’t come from a place of malice, at least. Even if the ends had been disappointing, their concern for him was genuine. If it could not bring him comfort, at least it let him know he wasn’t ever truly alone, and he was grateful for that much.
“What will you do now?” Thrall asked.
He was certain Alleria had already told Thrall and the others everything that happened in the cathedral. A part of him bristled at the thought that any of them might believe he owed something of himself now that he had reconnected with the Light. But a far more reasonable voice told him he was being foolish. That they had only ever asked of him what he was willing to give. The choice to act or not was entirely his own.
Someone else was coming up the path; Anduin heard their heavy footsteps on the soft earth. Booted feet clad in armor. Turalyon, he thought. “I don’t know,” he admitted. He was distracted by the thought of their peaceful interlude being interrupted by anyone else. Not to mention the last thing he wanted was to discuss a possible return to Stormwind, or his duty to the Alliance.
From the corner of his eye he saw Thrall turn to greet the newcomer, and he caught the smile that pulled the orc’s jowls up around his sharp fangs. “Ah,” he said, “I was wondering where you’d gone, my friend—”
Thrall's arms fell away from his broad chest to hang at his sides. He stood there, seemingly frozen in place.
“Varok?”
The name struck Anduin like an axe to the chest, and without thinking he lurched to his feet, turning around with the demand for an answer already poised on the tip of his tongue. But it died there, and all the hurt and outrage building in his veins abruptly melted away.
For years he had hoped, prayed, and pleaded for Varok to be returned to him. In whatever way, in whatever condition, it made no difference. But for years he had looked again and again, only to be met with sadness and disappointment.
And now he was here.