Anduin's Diary (Fan Fiction)

[Perfectia-moon-guard]

I sometimes wonder why my father never remarried and tried to produce another heir. Even before he disappeared he would tell me that if something were to happen to him that I must take up the throne and lead our people into victory. As a child the task seemed glorious, something that I was born to do, and I knew that I would be a good king, no, I knew I would be a great king, because my destiny was set in stone. That I could do it, and I would do it better than anyone else. But as I sat imprisoned for so long, I began to think that maybe I wasn’t. I guess I’ve had a lot of time to self-reflect and to be honest I’ve wished above all else that Sylvanas Windrunner could have given me a blank book to write these thoughts.

Now I’m free from the shackles of The Jailer, and here I am writing, free from the Jailer, I can’t help but feel more imprisoned and I don’t know what’s wrong with me. When Zovaal took all the sigils I lost all hope for Azeroth, all hope that I would be king again, that my rigid pacifism would lead me to witness every horror imaginable and the only victory I would know is that I stayed true to my values. The values of a coward.

But when I took back control I felt something in Zovaal I never felt before, first, the desperation, like a final sprint to a finish line with other racers breathing hard behind me and then something else. We were connected and I felt Zovaal die, but I really felt him fade away and it was something peaceful, like someone had taken all the weight off his shoulders, and said, “You don’t have to do any of this.” Then it was like falling in a pool of water except you could breathe and the light was just fading away, and it felt okay. To put down your ambition and really fade into oblivion.

I lost hope for quite a while. I let go. Lost in oblivion, dark, silent, and complete. I found freedom. Losing all hope was freedom. When every moment was out of my control and I was completely at Zovaal’s mercy and all I could see was the terror as I pledged my blade into another victim, this is when I would cry. Crying seemed right when the smothering fire inside someone else snuffs out for the last time. When I can see that everything they will ever accomplish, is trash. Everything they would ever be proud of would be thrown away, and I was lost inside.

So now I’m writing because I can’t sleep, and I can’t sleep because I know where the dead go. A place of purpose, of pain and suffering, or devotion and bliss, and I feel it really shouldn’t. Freedom isn’t any of those things, they’re just different forms of slavery, to be recycled into new forms of slavery.

404 souls of would be heroes and adventures that got too close while exploring Torghast resided inside the blade. Some were lost trying to find a way out, some looking for lost souls that were unfairly brought there, and some looking for me, Sylvanas, or The Jailer myself. But all were too exhausted, physically and mentally before Kingsmourne stole their souls to empower the blade. 404 lives were taken, Horde and Alliance, never to be found again. Torghast was almost a meat tenderizer for the brave battle hardened adventurers that entered and when they were ready for the butcher’s blade, that is when I was sent in. 75 orcs, 50 humans, 15 gnomes, 25 gobins, 55 trolls, 8 night elves or nightborne I could never really tell the difference between the two, 28 tauren, also not sure if they were High Mountain or Mulgore, 30 blood elves, 40 draenei, no dwarves, 18 worgen, 60 pandaren, and no liberated undead. Lives turned down to nothing but fuel, and not even fuel, nothing, oblivion. It’s easy to cry when you realize that everyone you will ever love will die or in a long enough timeline everyone’s chances of survival will drop to zero. I am king again because everyone thinks I saved the world and with that much glory and fame I think I could lay in my bed for the rest of my days getting fat and watching theater shows and dancers. Getting really drunk until I pass out might be a way I could sleep, but frankly, I’m terrified that I might say something about how generally ungrateful I am to be rescued.

There is still a part of me that wanted to let it all die. While I didn’t believe Sylvanas’s words that freedom could be brought through the Jailer, I understand now what she desired. I knew that Zovaal was just another man of ambition, a tyrant, a man with a plan… But he was a tantruming child that didn’t want to be put on ‘time out’ again. But in the end he got something and while I don’t know what that thing was, it wasn’t what The Arbiter wanted. It wasn’t judgment for past deeds, it was… I can’t even begin to explain it… freedom maybe?

I’ve seen the eyes of dead quarry, the pupils dilate, nerves die, organs fail, and then they fall asleep. Would anyone judge a deer or a boar for not being a good hearted animal? I am the king of Stormwind and the leader of the Alliance and through the death of my father I inherited the throne. I know how to fight and the economics of running my city, the nobles are compensated for keeping the peasantry fed and housed and during balls and meetings these other leaders trying to convince me why there projects, whether it be weapon engineering, education academy teachers, to meet with therapist for soldiers suffering from post-traumatic stress that deserve funding.

These are the new leaders I’ve been meeting with, new leaders for peace and yet, education seems a bit pointless when you realize how fragile life is. Healthcare seems a waste of resources when you realize how much money it takes to keep the elderly healthy.

War thinned the population and it was easier to keep the masses fed when 80% of them were going to go into enemy territory and trying to survive there. I feel like I’m not ready for the world to change for how I was raised to be a warlord. The war meetings are getting shorter and shorter.

The order of operation is, scout, deploy, contract, and employ. Scouts report on how dangerous a place is and if the lost of life is worth the lands resources, then troops establish the garrison, if indigenous tribes or enemy troops don’t dismantle the garrison, contractors set up more comfortable living accommodations and merchants set up shops, then adventurers are employed and that’s when things are really set in stone. Because contractors employ adventurers to gather, hunt, steal, or thin numbers of indigenous tribes and enemy troops just enough so they will never be able to mount a formidable attack.

If the loss of life is not worth the resources of a particular land, I don’t put one there. But I know there will always be battles, fights, loss of life, and injuries. I know where the bodies and skeletons will be. I know what false reports, information leaks, and fraternization could lead to and what is set in stone can still be burned down, but this is my job. Everywhere I go, I hear a story about a petty officer’s glorious fight as a lower enlisted man fighting back impossible numbers through sheer desperation and will, as if this were some type of right of passage. It’s hard to know when these types of people are lying. Truth or not, I know they told it a few hundred times.

However, fewer troops are being pushed farther into Horde outpost where the chances of survival used to be very low. It would seem that, aside from a few scraps among adventurers, both sides are tired of fighting and my suggestions for tourism among both factions have not been laughed off as completely ridiculous as it used to be. This is what I wanted right? I should be happy.

My place as king seems a bit less appealing, and a place as a great or the greatest king feels a little like a job of a trained dog. You do this little job you were bred and trained to do. You sit, stay, fetch the quarry, attack the prey. You don’t understand any of it and you just do it until you die. I’ve seen the looks of contagious joy in a dog’s eyes at the approval of their masters when they realize they are serving their purpose and I’m wondering; when did I stop feeling like this?

I look at the flickering lights of my city over the edge of my window and still a few people holding torches looking up to the returned king. Like my father, but without a story of glory and honor, without a dragon head trophy, but with guilt, doubt, and fleeing thoughts that make it impossible to sleep. Did I learn too much, did my father learn too much, which was why he never took another wife or produced another heir?

They were so close to complete annihilation.

I’ve been kidnapped twice now, well three times, I think… By Zovaal and Onyxia and I think what Sylvanas expected was for Stockholm Syndrome to set in. I think both Sylvanas and Lady Prestor were beautiful women, but I could hear when Sylvanas was parroting something she was told or trying to convince me and herself that a statement was a fact.

Lady Prestor on the other hand, there just wasn’t enough time. I don’t know what I hated more, when my father or half of my father’s soul came back to Stormwind. The fact that my father wasn’t giving me the attention he was giving me before he disappeared or the fact that Lady Prestor was giving him more attention than I ever saw her give anyone else. I knew there was something strange and foreign about the two’s behavior and when she finally revealed herself. I was angry, and betrayed, but I never expected anything from her other than she was a strict teacher, that might have even cared for me at some point. If I had more time I might have told her how I felt, but I was just a child that felt starved for attention and I don’t think she deserved the fate she was given. I asked my father about the smiles I saw from him when she would enter a room, or the excitement he had when she would suggest spending time alone with him. He said, “You can’t ask me about that, that person wasn’t real. Onyxia just made someone that she could control.”

“You mean, someone that could love her?” I implied.

My father smiled and laughed slightly, “Maybe, I do recall from that other me, that she really liked the sound of my voice, it made her feel calm, but we never even kissed.”

When I was imprisoned by The Jailer I asked Sylvanas about my aunt Jaina and she gave me a half truth. She said, “Nowhere you’ll be able to reach her.”

I called her out on the lie and she asked me, “How do you do that? How do you know when I’m lying?”

So we started talking about Lady Prestor, Onyxia. How she had taught me how to act, and while I’ve never played a part in theater we would review spirits of performances, and try to reenact them. Lady Prestor took very little enjoyment from comedy, but I had seen her lose herself in dramatic and action theater, but then leave the theater harshly critiquing. We would review the spirits and play out the scenes, it was fun. But that’s how I knew, Sylvanas is not a good actress, and I knew she didn’t actually believe in her cause. Stockholm Syndrome might have even set in, I might have even fallen in love with her, if I didn’t think it was so pathetic.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me but it’s been four nights now without sleep, I can feel these micro naps making everything feel far away. Making everything feel like an out of body experience, sometimes I feel like I can see myself from the outside. Sometimes I feel like I can see people’s words as they get close or move far away. Nothing really feels real, I can’t touch anything and nothing can touch me.

The first few days after being away from Icecrown Citadel I couldn’t sleep the first few nights and I was given a nightshade tonic that put me out for about two to four hours. After doing that for a week Alleria started getting worried about me and told me that I shouldn’t become too dependent on that, it was literally poison. Then mage magic, which had me sleeping for 12 to 16 hours, and the dreams I would have.

It would be hard to explain but I’ll do my best. I would end up in places that I knew but when I would open doors or run down hallways I would see the floors open break apart like leaves on the water and I would look up and down left and right and there was nothing but endless sky in all directions. Sometimes I would go to a place and see the mountain horizon flicker in and out like a dying light as I looked at it from different angles. When I jumped off these seemingly endless cliffs and I would end up in a place with endlessly gray checkered floors with nothing but sky in all directions and no matter how long I walked, ran, or yelled for help, I would never see anyone or anything until I woke up. When I woke up I was somewhat afraid to go back to sleep again and I had lost more time than I expected. I’ve known about the emerald dream since I was a boy and know how dangerous it is, so I didn’t want to resort to druid magic.

I just want to sleep and really feel rested.

I mentioned the PTSD group, the therapist that was running it, how former soldiers wanted to become salesmen, farmers, and craftsmen again and they’re were a few people that seemed surprised to see me. I was scheduled to meet with several of the therapists on a curtain date but I came by earlier to see how things were going. Most of them were as tough as they could be, really only wanting to only give their names and telling stories about how they lost limbs. There was a fairly attractive dark skinned lady with sunglasses, a guide dog, and white cane. I usually don’t look at people for a fairly long time but I figured that she couldn’t see so would she even notice? She took off her glasses making eye contact with everyone that was speaking and if I looked at her for more than three seconds she looked me right back in my eyes until I looked away. I was nervous to say the least, and I’m sure that having the King of Stormwind coming by unannounced made quite a lot of people nervous as well. I spoke to the administrator after the hour-long meeting and admitted that I might have put too much faith into religious institutions, that a mental hospital might need to be built in the next year or two. If she could find the staff to help these kinds of people then a hospital would be built soon. “You didn’t just come here to give approval or disapproval of the project did you? You came here for help, just like they did?” Administrator Josephine claimed.

“Let’s just say my faith in the Light has dwindled since I was kidnapped and I can’t sleep. I don’t think any kind of prayer will fix that.” I admitted. “When I was in the Shadowlands I really hit rock bottom but at least all my limbs are intact.”

“You found it disturbing didn’t you?” She asked, “Have you ever left someone an amputee during a battle? It is strange to think that the limbs were so dependent on, they are just bones and meat. The same we would find in a butcher shop.” Josephine explained.

I nodded, “A little, these are the people who need help, the people that have real problems coming back to society. My problems are just in my head, and no, not really. Anyone I cut with my blade usually escaped with mild injuries or died shortly after.”

In all actuality, there will always be someone to fight, always be a war, war never changes. I predict while I may have issues coming back to a peaceful society, it will be highly unlikely that as I am now anything will get the jump on me like they did before. There will always be someone, something, some tyrant, some man of too much ambition and greed that will need to be dealt with, that only a warrior king could deal with.

I was kidnapped while at my fathers grave, I put my guard down because I was complacent. I don’t think that will happen again. If dragons, valkyr, or harpies came down to Stormwind and picked me up, I would fight with tooth and nail or whatever I had. Maybe I just need to be back out there where I know my enemy is, maybe then I could sleep. If I knew that there was a battle tomorrow, I would eat and sleep, knowing I need to be at full strength the next day. Those amputee’s didn’t have that choice, and I feel like a fake and a liar that she would think I would need any of her time. Maybe an overwhelming amount of training might be the thing that will put me into exhaustion and let me sleep. Besides, I can see that the sun is about to come up.

—-----------

Soldiers of the guard have families. Adventurers, spies, and scouts did not. Retirees, people that had children that were grown up, ran prisons. This is the balance I try to keep when arranging my soldiers. “If someone greatly stronger than you strikes you down, stay down and play possum, and let them take the small pouch of money you know they’re looking for.” This is how I’ve managed to keep my soldier’s numbers high and my injuries and deaths low. What I didn’t realize at least until today was how fast my soldiers will resort to that. How nervously they swung their blades and how repetitive and predictable their sword swings were. I mean some of these men were with me in the invasion of Lordaeron or at least I heard them mention that they were. It was frustrating to say the least that I may have pampered my guardsmen to a point they were no more effective then spoiled children.

I managed to break the training leader’s jaw today in one on one combat with a wood and cloth practice sword. Out of some misplaced ego when he decided to try to ‘teach me’ how real fighters do battle. It wasn’t anything special, just a few punches and low kicks while his blade was down. When I managed to strike his blade away he resorted to grappling, low blows, headbutts, and other forms of dirty fighting and something happened. I lost it, I kept hitting… no, pounding, I would have kept pounding until there was nothing but bones and blood in the dirt and grass. But his men managed to stop me and I ordered them to get him a healer.
When she showed up and looked at the instructor. “I can’t mend the bones with magic. He needs a surgeon, he’s going to be out of commission.” They carried him on a stretcher and took him.

“For how long?” One of the guardsmen asked.

The healer shrugged, “He’s an old man, most likely forever.”

I left without saying a word and laid down on my bed and closed my eyes. Still able to hear the chit-chats of guardsmen about the instructor I just permanently injured, and still not able to sleep. This place doesn’t feel safe, maybe that’s it. I was taken from my very home, it is so vulnerable to air attacks, and why wouldn’t it be. Onyxia designed it so she could easily escape and possibly do the most damage flying mountain to mountain dropping fire from the sky. Garrosh’s design for Orgrimmar might have been crude and brash but Deathwing wouldn’t have even thought about perching like a bored pigeon like he did in the front gates of Stormwind.

—-------------

A full surprise visit to the Exodar cured my insomnia as I took my airship to the Bloodmyst Isle and when I met up with Velen I didn’t really have much to talk about, I was going to talk to him about my insomnia, but I finally felt rested. Maybe it was the hums and vibration of the engines or maybe how loud and gargantuas these airships are and the amount of time and money it took to dispatch one of these things into the Zandalari Empire. It would have bankrupted the entire Alliance faction if I didn’t have the help of the Kul Tirans or the energy resources to power the machines that built these airships. The first one I dispatched into the empire I expected to last for at least a week. One month after that, I expected cheaper made ones to last less than a day. Lighter, cheaper, and but surprisingly faster, I guess the engineers just got better at designing them to push out, but that wasn’t the airship I was on. No, this machine was the top notch best gold could buy, it was slow and loud, and extremely expensive. Half a year’s budget of war expenses were made into building this thing and weeks worth of Azerite was used just to fly it. I remember the ship turning sharply and the propellers and wings losing lift for a few seconds before it caught air again and went back on course. The thought of the ship doing a complete barrel roll and falling down like a flipped coin before crashing into some area in the mountains was something I was hoping for. That sudden drop and thrill that this could be the end put me out with almost narcoleptic efficiency. I slept upright. I could still hear the sounds of the pilots and engineers and eventually, drowsy, I made my way to the lower deck and really let myself melt into the bed they had there.

Dreams, I dreamt about her again. The one I let die, the one that took my virginity, and almost severed my connection to the Light. Her high cheekbones and strong jawline looked down at me as I laid on my back and even in my peripheral vision, I could see those enormously wide childbearing hips she had. She told me before that due to an injury, she couldn’t have children, and the procedure she had to have done to her hips was so that she could function as an adventurer. Logically I knew she was surgically enhanced, but knowing that didn’t stop my heart from beating in my chest from the first time or at any time I saw her. Her hair was the lightest shade yellow, I’m blonde and when I look into a mirror I can see blonde and shades of brown. Her’s was yellow and lighter shades of yellow and if I looked closely I could see orange, like a sunset or a dawnlight. The memories I created of being with her are not imagines I don’t recall at least a hundred times a day since we were together.

In the Shadowlands me and Sylvanas talked about her a few times, she was her niece and she asked the Jailer about her. She told me that the Jailer said that the souls of her mother, her brother, and even her niece, born into a family of Windrunners like she was supposed to be, were not part of the fate that we are trending on right now. That this one had to be destroyed, so a new one could be reforged, I could sense the doubt and pain in her voice, “Isn’t that a fate you would want, to be with her again?” She asked me.

She found a weak point in my armor, “If fate were tied differently,” I explained, “if we were different people, we might have never fallen in love, better yet even met.” I remembered laughing slightly to her blind faith and obtuseness. “Do you ever think that he may be lying to you?” I shook my head at her, “Bring him to me, I’ll know if he’s lying.”

“No…” She objected.

“You want to keep believing, your still hoping that you could-”

“SHUT UP!!!” The sound of Sylvanas’s yell popped my eardrums, “I’ve looked for them in every corridor and every room here. I’ve explored these places of the afterlife for years long before I kidnapped you, I’ve looked through almost every archive, every sinstone, every fight record, and every soul tree, from the time my whole family was slaughtered by orcs and I can’t find them!

I miss her as well, she was the last flicker of hope I had, and when Nathanos told me you let her die on the Open Sea. When you let that frost queen kill her, that’s when I choose my allegiances.”

[Ogreninja-moon-guard]

Advance Sergeant Mitch Connor observed the scene on holo-screen. His plasteel and pleather chair creaked as he leaned to thumb the confirmation key on the comm. Ignition codes erupted from his data slate in a burst of scintillating technohallucinogenic hues.

“Abject Horror.”

Thats what he felt as he gazed at the data prompter providing AI generated speculative data on the world below him. He flipped a single switch with a staccato click, the ships weapon batteries flaring to life, their machine spirits roaring in an expression of titanic lust for battle.

“Firing.”

Mitch said the words disapassionately as the word “Exterminatus” pulsed on screen. The Life Eater virus deployed, liquifying 99.1% planetary biomass in moments. He fisted another key and the orbital bombardment began, the cyclonic torpedoes incinerating the atmosphere and glassing the planet in spectacular fashion.

[Perfectia-moon-guard]

In light of the new cinematic I thought I would boot this fiction up. I wrote a theory of what was going on in Anduin’s head and judging on what I saw it’s not to far from what I predicted.

But in my dream, my secret treasure was there, quiet and accepting, blissfully as I stroked the areas of her hair, she laughed as I touched her long elven ear. Her golden eyes looking into mine, raining smiles and kisses on my lips, “You feel like you’re about to break, don’t you?” She says in a broken Common accent she had. “Where are you going? What are you ‘oping to find?” She asked.

“I miss you and I don’t want to wake up.”

“Zat’s because you ‘ave terrible aim, but you’re going in ze right direction. You’ll find me.”

I wake as I notice that the airship has stopped and I think even in my dreams she could make me laugh. Even sweet dreams are a bit more heart wrenching when you realize that this is the reality you need to be facing for the rest of the day or in my case, I predict, maybe half a week before I can sleep again. I woke up to the sudden stop and the airship landing on the beach and I covered myself with an extra blanket and I felt the ocean wind chill into every inch of this ship. Desperately trying to bring my mind back into her warm embrace. It doesn’t come, the ambient sounds of mechanics and engineers going about their morning with the sounds of gulls overhead grounds me in reality. But I still remember her. It wasn’t just her body I was attracted to, if she wasn’t being stoic because she was mad, or melodramatic because she was sad, she usually made some kind of joke to break tension. To her, nothing was scared, or not worth making fun of, she was a woman that loved her emotions, brimming with confidence, and always seemed to be venturing out alone, blindly.

It is strange to me that my-… That Jaina Proudmoore killed her, her polar opposite.

I came to my former instructor with very little to speak about. I woke up with thankfulness that I was able to sleep for 8 hours, but I didn’t really have much to say to him. I was going to talk about sleep spells, whether druid spells were safe, maybe guide me through some meditations.

“I’ve been giving a lot of thought about my father, Velen. He had to separate himself into two people to escape imprisonment.” That is what I managed to bring up for making the trip all the way from Stormwind.

Velen nodded in agreement, “I’ve heard those stories as well and even the Horde admired Lo’Gosh, what of it?”

“It’s just… I didn’t know him very well, but from what I saw he was strong, primitive, savage and, well…” I looked downward and shook my head, “Manly.”

He looked away and nodded his head, “Oh. I think I know what you’re getting at.”

“He was able to survive and escape the arena, dozens of assassin’s and I wasn’t. That weaker version of himself was able to be so easily manipulated… and so was I.”

“Did you come all the way here to ask me to split your soul into two different people?” He asked.

“Could you?”

He shook his head, “No. Nor would I even if I could.”

I was upset by his close mindedness, “But you must understand my dilemma between my place as a diplomat and a… for a lack of a better word… Warrior. When my father was alive I was happier being the voice of reason and tolerance, it was why I came to you and asked you to train me, but look what happened.”

He rolled his eyes, “You are strong Anduin.” He stated factually.

“NOT STRONG ENOUGH AND IT’S YOUR FAULT!!”

Velen nodded and crossed his arms defensively, “Continue.”

“You don’t have anything to say?”

“I’m not the one that came all the way across Azeroth to vent thoughts of regret and to find a person to blame for them. So by all means, voice your troubles.”

“This weakness is killing me and we both know that a second of indecision in combat could be the factor between life and death.”

“So can impatience.”

“In that we both agree, but a week of inner turmoil.”

“It’s fine to take as much time as you need.”

“What about a year? How long will something take before you realize that you are not patient, but incompetent, lazy, and are making excuses to not damage your self image. What if you looked in the mirror and you saw yourself for the coward you are?”

He looked away and nodded, he wasn’t sure if that was an indirect insult, or self-deprecation, but maybe a combination of both, “Seek guidance… Even at my age, I needed it from Illidan Stormrage. I don’t think you understand the turmoil you bring yourself when you think you’re a prophet, that you think that every problem will work itself out or every turmoil is just waiting for the right day to happen. When the Legion was defeated in a way I didn’t foresee, I’ve never been so relieved that I was wrong. That I would walk my days with uncertainty of my curses, blessings, and my eventual death and I’m sorry that I couldn’t give you those lessons until now. But don’t damn yourself.”

He looked downward, “I’m already damned. Because of these stupid talks… and my refusal to take action. ”

“And yet your kingdom still stands and the Jailer is defeated.”

“But not because of me, and I keep losing things I want to protect. There was a part of me that wanted the Jailer to be successful and not because I believed the lie that Sylvanas was fed.”

“What have you lost, your father and Bolvar?”

He shook his head, “A lover.”

Velen put one hand on his chin grinned slightly, “Did something happen with Taelia Fordragon or perhaps…” He raised a eyebrow, “…Wraithon?”

Anduin laughed slightly and shook his head, “Spend a few months intense care with someone and everyone will assume romance. You are not the first person that’s asked me about that. No, I fell in love with someone from the opposing faction.”

He looked at me confused, “Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?” He looked away, “We could have had peace a lot sooner if you got married. She… I’m assuming ‘she’?”

“I’m not gay. And that’s what I thought too, but something’s happened, several breakups, makeups, and she was eventually killed by Jaina Proudmoore in the battle on the Open Sea. She wasn’t anyone of such high prestige that anyone would have noticed that she was missing, and we never really made my relationship open to the public, because…” I paused.

He looked at me inquisitively, “Because what?”

“Brave people need never cease to amaze me. I make battle plans that I feel are full proof, but I’m always surprised how many people run into burning buildings that seem seconds away from collapsing.”

“You’re equivocating Anduin, why couldn’t you make your relationship public.”

“Because she was an internal spy, I knew information that she knew and during our last break up, it was over her about to blurt out the information about Taelia’s father being the Lich King. She knew that would be sensitive information but said the only reason why she was hanging out with Taelia for so long was so she could get her cycle on a different day. I told her to shut her mouth, leave, and I told her that she had fulfilled her purpose and that I never wanted to see her again, unless it was in a cell. I ordered my men to arrest her.”

“I take it they weren’t able to?”

Anduin shook his head, no, “I knew that she knew that there was a completely foolproof invasion that was coming to the Zandalari Empire and yet she decided to aid in the cities defense. I feel like I should have been there, I shouldn’t have been in my castle walls looking at blue and red wooden figures on a map… Jaina called me on a communication mirror during her fight because she was injured and… I had to choose.”

“Between Jaina and… what was her name?”

“Perfectia Dawnlight.”

Velen’s face looked shocked and seemed as unmoving as a statue.

I called Velen’s name several times but he seemed unresponsive. When I screamed, that seemed to have gotten his attention.

“You-you killed her? You broke her heart several times, you used information that she gave you in privacy to further your goals in battle, tried to have her imprisoned, and when it came down to between Perfectia and Jaina, you picked that over controlling xenophobe Jaina.”

I looked away, slightly confused and nodded, “That is the just of it, yes.”

Velen put a hard right hand punch on my face and really made full contact with my mouth and nose. The blunt pressure on my face, in the split second he made me think he broke my nose, and knocked me backwards off my feet. I felt my ears ring, my vision spin, and I shook my head to not lose consciousness. Velen turned his back and started yelling and slamming the table several times over and over until it broke into two pieces, “Leave me to my grief, boy!”

I nodded, got up and left Velen to cry alone, but I could still hear his frightening wailing through the halls. In some since I knew what he was going through, I had to be put on suicide watch when I saw Perfectia die. However, the question burned in my mind, “How did he know her?” But I knew I couldn’t ask that question now or even in a week. I never saw my teacher lose composer like this, then again, this might have been his first time hearing news that someone he cared about had passed away. Velen had changed in ways I couldn’t imagine since the defeat of the Legion, it shames me that I didn’t speak to him more often about how good or bad he was doing.

I stayed near the Exodar thinking to myself, rereading past entries, and editing, even though it’s only been a week since I started writing in this book. It was something she did and she said she became a poet when she met me, but she only shared entries that involved the two of us. There were some areas and pages she kept highly guarded and at one point I even sent skilled rogues to steal her diary. Only to have them come back completely empty headed like they might have dropped it somewhere. Only to find out later that it was still in her possession.

Another sleepless night in the Azuremyst Isle and while the sunset was breathtaking. I couldn’t seem to get away from my guards long enough to really do any exploring. I understand they have protocall, but I’m more than capable of surviving the wandering Horde member that could have been on the off setting island. When I strayed too far away from the airship I was told about a dozen ‘what if’ stories about how I could be hurt or killed, but the good thing about the Azuremyst Islands was I didn’t see anyone flying. During nights out I asked the captain to fly the ship around because the sounds of the engines would put me to sleep. However, after two hours of flying, the pilot landed the ship, checked on me, and I was still awake. “I’m sorry your majesty but I’m tired.” He claimed. “If I have to stay up another hour I’m going to crash this ship.”

I nodded and told him it was fine. I was able to explore a little more freely after that, and raided a few murloc hunting tribes that left me alone as soon as I killed one of them. I laid on my back and for some reason was able to relax somewhat at ease even though I could hear the jappers of murloc over the sound of ocean water coming in. I closed my eyes and sang a song in a foreign language. I couldn’t get every syllable right in the song but I could get the chorus down. “Mais tu voudrais qu’elle soit ta reine ce soir… Même si les reines c’est pas trop accepté… Mais tu voudrais qu’elle soit ta reine ce soir… Toi, les rois tu t’en fous c’est pas c’pui t’plait ”

“Tu parles Thalassian?” (You speak Thalassian?) I heard a voice say.

“Oui, petite… bouchée?" I sat up and looked over to where I heard the voice coming from and it was a dark haired Blood Elf with a mask over his face.

He laughed, “Not very well I ‘ear.” He said in broken Common, “Your singing voice is nice zought.”

I looked at him strangely, “Thank you… Merci beaucoup.”

“Well I need to get back to business. I was going to stab you in ze troat, but now I’m just going to politely ask you to give me your sword.”

“You can have the gold I have but I can’t get you my sword.” I stood up and I was at least a foot taller than him.

He looked up at me, shocked, “Zats fair… Cut ze string of your coin purse and walk away.”
I undid the purse string and let the bag of gold fall on the ground, “Why are you here?”

“My Common is not so good, are you asking why I’m robbing you?”

I shook my head and spoke in Thalassian, he seemed more interested in continuing a conversation. We talked for a little while trying to correct my Thalassian, about why he was there, which was to steal the fishing spoils from murlocs and possibly rob any single wanders that passed by, and he finally asked me, “How did you learn Thalassian?”

And I was able to answer back, “My late girlfriend.”

“Your queen?” He asked with a smile.

That came as a bit of a surprise to me because I told him my name was Andrew and I thought he might have figured out who I was.

“The words you were singing were, ‘But you want her to be your queen tonight. Even if the queen is not too accepted. You, the kings, you don’t care, it’s not what you like.”

“Have you ever heard the song before?” I asked.

“I have, but that singer who wrote that passed away a hundred years ago, she sang funny songs about gender equality and a thousand years ago things were a lot different. But tell me more about your girlfriend.”

So I finally got to speak fondly about her. Genn Greymane was the only person I could really talk to about her and if there were more people around me. He usually shut me up like I was committing treason for bringing her up. I used a fake name and less risky circumstances. It was obvious that I was a Human and she was a Blood Elf, so he seemed to have understood the interdiction of my situation. I talked about her appearance and her sense of humor and the jokes she told me or impressions she did. Eventually he asked me what happened to her and I told him she died from stupid skirmishes from the Alliance.

He looked away and sighed. He put the bag of coins in my lap, “I can’t take this.”

“No, it’s fine. I feel like you more than earned what was given to you… I’m sorry I never asked your name.”

“It’s Orelson and it’s always been easy to justify people I’ve robbed, but this feels like I’m stealing from my own mother.”

“Anduin when you come into a room you smell really bad, like a burnt troll undead bodycase on a humid day. Like a fat old goblin ate 35 deviled eggs and defecated into a pan of hot water. Then took that pot and poured a gallon of clam chowder and brimmed it with dirty copper coins. You smell like a crowded nursing home with no doors or windows in August and they all had diarrhea from…

I finished his sentence and spoke in unison with Velen, “…expired canned sardines. Yes she’s told me that before.” I sighed and shook my head, “Did she tell you any new ones?”

He looked away and thought back, “She said my head looked like an entrance to a villain’s castle.”

Anduin laughed at that, “I’m going to try really hard not to think about that when I see you.”

“I’ve been going through bouts of crying and laughing since you told me she passed away and I never understood how someone that had gone through so much pain and turmoil could be so light hearted.”

“Humor was her defense mechanism. She could convert the negatives into positives when I feel like a lot of people would just be bitter and hateful.”

“I guess so… On top of the roasting she gave me while she was here in the Exodar… When she killed my son she said, ‘Well at least I was able to save him from a coat hanger.’ ”

“She made a abortion joke?”

“In one of my worst moments of grief, I was angry and sent her away, but later… I laughed about it.”

“I don’t understand why she would say that.”

He glared at me and made me a little uncomfortable, “Anduin do you remember anything from your injury from the Divine Bell. The people that performed your surgery and healing magic?”

He tried to think back on that time but the cold sweat he would unintentionally give himself as he went under anesthesia started to come back. It wasn’t something he liked recalling, “I know you were there to assist with the surgery.”
“Assisting? Try leading and instructing a group of medical personnel that were so hopelessly dependent on healing magic that the idea of cutting someone open to remove foreign objects was lost on them.”

“They seemed like they knew what they were doing.”

He nodded, “They did, because they had practiced on someone else before, someone that was laying next to you.”

A new memory was trying to form itself in Anduin’s mind in the hospital bed of Pandaria, cast filled with needles, pulleys that kept limbs up right, it was a disturbing psychological journey into pain and weakness, but she was there. Those pouty lips and that perfect jawline, “She was pregnant.”

“Would you like to meet him?”

“Who?”

“Her son.”

I looked at him confused but couldn’t really think of any words to speak. There were just so many questions that I had that didn’t make sense.

He looked away, “You see for a long time that vision I saw at Rakeesh’s birth told me that the man who kills my son will also lose a son by my hand and when I saw her for the first I started recalling the vision I buried deep.” He held into his heart like it was hurting, “Perfectia’s place of ending my son’s life with a sword out of some misplaced vengeance started to fill in when I saw her comatosed and pregnant.” He looked up.

I looked down and shook my head, then looked him in the eyes, “She said she lost it, that it would have killed her.”

He nodded, “It nearly did, her right iliac and pubic symphysis were mended in the wrong places and were literally stabbing into her cervix and uterus, luckily the fetus latched himself in the opposite direction of her injury. When I was examining her I could hear a heartbeat.”

I shrugged slightly, “I’m sorry I’m not understanding all the medical jargon you’re speaking.”

He looked at me confused, “Uterus… the womb, where the baby sits.”

I blushed and repressed a laugh.

He looked at me angrily, “Are you serious, was there something funny I just said? How old are you now Anduin?”

“22.” I answered. “It’s just, I was told not to say words about the parts under our small clothes. Until I was 14 I thought couples got married, prayed, and eventually the wife would get pregnant. It wasn’t until I was sitting in intense care that my father explained it all to me.”

He looked downward sadly, “I trained you to be a priest before that time, I’m so sorry Anduin.”

I shook my head with a slight smile, “It’s not your fault.”

He looked at me, “No, it is. I made you take a vow of celibacy without telling what that was. All I did was repress you and focus on keeping your heart pure, but I was stunting your growth.”

I shrugged slightly, “I figured things out eventually, with a lot of guidance from her of course.”

“You two were intimate?” He asked.

I nodded and smiled.

He looked away, “My Light, the hips on her were nothing short of a godsend.”

A laugh bursted out of my mouth, “I know. The image of us together was nothing I ever want to forget. I don’t think I’ll have any encounters as memorable as our nights together. ”

“And Taelia Fordragon?”

I sighed, “I will marry her to better secure the power between Stormwind and Kul Tiras, and will procreate with her and produce an heir that will inherit the throne and rule over both.”

He looked at me strangely, “But do you love her?”

I laughed for a few seconds at that, “No.” I said in a serious blank tone. I looked away and shook my head, “I… I don’t deserve that. Marrying Taelia is what’s expected of me, it’s what would secure the most power and even if Perfectia was alive today it would still be the safer decision.”

He looked like he wanted to say something but I interrupted. “I made a list of all the potential marriage candidates; Taelia, Tess, Jania, Tyrande, Moria, even Sylvanas, Calia, and Thalyssra.” And so I went through all the pros and cons of every female Azeroth leader. I took several pieces of paper and wrote down their names about everything good and bad about them. Thalyssra and Taelia were pretty close about ruling land acres, power, and beauty but Taelia won out because she seemed to care more about me when I was captured. But it wasn’t about ‘loving’, as in ‘caring’, this was about ‘property’ as in ‘ownership’. Velen sat there with his arms crossed nodding.

“You didn’t put Perfectia on that list.”

“SHE’S DEAD!!” I couldn’t control it anymore, “I couldn’t protect her, I couldn’t protect myself. I need more power.”

He looked away, “You said ‘power’ 23 times you know.” He looked back at me, “Have you let yourself cry, maybe gathered a group of her friends and relatives and just mourned her loss.”

‘Mourne’ I hated that word so much. I looked down at my blade and it was glowing blue and I looked at my hand and I was wearing brown gloves and armor. The runic armor I wore while in the service of the Jailer. I felt myself lose control again and plunged Kingsmorne into Velen gut…

And then I was back. “Anduin? Have you thought about arranging a funeral?” He asked.

That hallucination felt so real, “I haven’t been able to sleep, Velen.” I changed the subject erratically, “I did before I came here but before then it was almost five days… and I didn’t sleep last night as you might have guessed.”

He looked away as if looking for something, “I have some nightshade somewhere.”

I looked at him confused, “You take nightshades?”

He nodded, “I’m old Anduin, if I don’t take it I’ll only sleep 4 hours in one night and will be drowsy the rest of the day and eventually will pass out for another 4 hours in the middle of the day.” He found the bottle, “If you can’t sleep for 3 days or more go ahead and take it, you’ll be doing more damage to yourself by not sleeping. Then the poison will do to you if you drink it on a regular basis.” He gave it to me. “You should still try to mourn her loss.”

“Stop saying that!” I held onto my head and it felt like a triggering word, bringing so much anger, “She’s not DEAD!”

He looked at me confused, “You just said…?”

“They never found her body, Sylvanas couldn’t find her soul, and I dreamed about her and she said I was in the right direction. I haven’t been able to cry or sleep since I took off the Jailers armor and that’s when I was killing innocent people.”

Velen put his hand behind his head. He seemed uncomfortable by the subjects I was bringing up, “Do you think she meant her son?”

I looked away almost completely forgetting that, “How old is he? I would like to meet him.”

He looked away and shook his head, “Anduin you don’t seem mentally stable. I don’t think you should be around children.”

I laughed, “I’m fine… I remember his father’s name… Uh, uh, Oraino, she talked about him a few times.”

“Oranio.” He corrected, “He was a boy when we escaped Argus but he started coming into his own when we were in Draenor and led a group from Shadowmoon Valley all the way to Tempest Keep.”

I tried to remember the layout of Outland, “That’s quite a journey.”

He nodded, “The hardest part was trying to find food, which he was good at, but we fell out of touch when he came to Azeroth. Perfectia went to the wall of the dead when she repelled the Legion’s invasion just to look for his name.”

“Why didn’t you tell her about her son then.”

He looked at me angrily, “You know why… I thought helping her would have prevented the fate I saw. You have to understand I always thought my son would have been fighting against the Legion, I would be reunited, and then he would die, and she would make some kind of self righteous eye for an eye speech.” He started laughing, “But it wasn’t a speech, it was a stupid joke, because as far as she was concerned I had aborted her son, but I didn’t.”

“You still took him away, you told her he was dead, she still lost a son by your hand so maybe you got what you deserved.” I shook my head, “Where is he?”

He laughed slightly, “I’m not going to tell you. I was planning on reuniting them but do you think any adventurer, Horde or Alliance, has the means to raise a family? Children’s Week is almost a literal roulette game of death for those kids. How long do you think a lifespan of a child would be living like that?”

“This is coming from a man that abandoned his only son while his planet was being invaded? Did you even check the crib before you ran to your space ship?”

Velen’s eyes went wide with rage and he threw another punch at my face but I saw it coming this time and was able to counter and landed a clean blow to his chin while he was coming in. He fell backwards on his rear, “Get out of my city boy.” He ordered.