Once I warmed up to the crew, they started complimenting me on how well I took care of Lucy. But honestly, I’d been going above and beyond for her on that ship—I was surrounded by Alliance folk, who, until recently, were the very people I was supposed to be fighting against. Nervous much? Yes, indeed. I fed her, washed her, brushed her, and made sure she got enough exercise—anything to keep busy and avoid thinking too hard about my situation. And hey, bonding over my beautiful horse gave me some common ground with the humans on board. I mean, who doesn’t love a majestic horse, right?
Lucy is a chestnut beauty, always decked out in gleaming gold armor and lush red velvet sheets. I polish my armor sometimes, sure, but I take extra special care of hers. Right now, she’s without her armor—probably ditched it on one of her adventures—but here she is, just as magnificent. It’s like she sensed where I was and found her way back, no doubt sneaking around Alliance territory like some kind of equine spy. She found Protecto and brought him straight to me—talk about loyalty.
Animals can’t speak, but sometimes I think they’ve got something deeper going on, like an unspoken language that cuts straight to the soul. That’s what I feel with Lucy. Without her armor, she’s all natural beauty: her reddish-brown coat shines in the sun like silk, her white patches catching the light just right. I combed her mane to one side as it fluttered in the ocean breeze, appreciating her strength. She’s carried me through battle after battle, never faltering under the weight of my full armor or heavy weapons. Compared to the wild horses of Northrend, she’s an absolute powerhouse.
I might’ve gone a bit overboard with the gloss, though. She’d be covered in dust if we were in Orgrimmar, and who knows what this salty sea air is doing to her coat. So I gave her another good brushing, making sure she was hydrated. Vereesa passed by a couple of times, raising an eyebrow at me still fussing over Lucy. I had to explain—this isn’t just a hobby; it’s my dream. I want to breed Lucy and start a business raising horses, but of course, the Horde never took me seriously. They preferred to keep me as a soldier, a paladin—never mind that I’ve proven time and again how essential horses are in battle. But Stormwind? Maybe they’ll listen. Maybe they won’t think I’m nuts for wanting to raise and race horses. Sure, the closest thing to races around here is Brewfest’s keg deliveries on rams, but hey, I’ve been known to get smashed and make a fool of myself at those too. Good times. I will miss the Horde.
The Alliance. My old enemy’s house, complete with frilly curtains and a fresh coat of “Welcome, Traitors” paint. Is it too late to turn back now? Seriously, all I’d have to do is call Protecto, scrub off this ridiculous oily makeup, waltz back to Orgrimmar, and get comfy in my garrison in Draenor. Sure, it’s lonely, but hey, it’s the kind of lonely where your talking dragon doesn’t judge you for eating cold rations in your underwear at 3 AM. I could just hide out in the Order Hall, collect my Light duties like they’re old love letters, maybe take some new vows and get my powers back. I’ve run away from stuff like this before—people have always found a way to clean up my messes.
But then there’s that giant sword in Silithus. What are we doing about that? Best case scenario: someone else deals with it, and I get to be a soldier forever. Worst case scenario: Sylvanas gets a little too creative with the whole “death to all living things” schtick, Azeroth splits like an overripe melon, and Lucy—my beautiful girl—dies in ten years because I’m still sending her into the fray instead of letting her enjoy a nice retirement of leisurely apple munching and grass naps. No colts, no fillies, just a good girl who deserved better.
And there’s Sylvanas. Do I turn back and let her win? I’d never hear the end of it from the afterlife peanut gallery. "Hey, Melfina, remember that time you ran away because things got a little awkward?” Nope. Can’t let that happen. I’ve got to see this through. I’ll stop her. Maybe I’ll even have to kill her, who knows? When this whole mess is over, and the dust settles, I’ll reveal myself. “Surprise! I’m not who you thought I was, but I’d love to stay anyway.”
All I want is a little plot of land, a place to raise some horses, maybe a family, and a chance to live without the constant “Who’s going to stab me today?” game. Not much to ask, right? Just a life where the biggest worry is if the foals will inherit their mother’s attitude.
We got off the ship to Stormwind Harbor, their navy was so beautiful, and the smell of the sea was fresh in the air as I walked off port. The gulls were screaming overhead, and the smell of raw crawfish and oysters were strong in the air as I came into the hard-stone brick floors. I was on Lucy’s back taking it all in as I looked around, but I saw Vereesa run off, “Come on.” She said, “Or we’re going to be late.”
So, we rode through unfamiliar areas and I really had to keep close to her. I saw bridges and tunnels. I had no idea where they went and there were streams filled with clear water and fish. I had seen this place from far away, but to be in Stormwind itself was breathtaking, nerve racking, and beautiful at the same time. We came to Stormwind Keep and I saw the strangest thing from all the guards I saw. I had to do a double take when I came into the keep, but he was walking backwards, and he appeared to be walking forward. I really had to stop, see him move up this path, then turn around, and move about his patrols, “Melfina.” Vereesa said impatiently. “I need to introduce you to the king.”
I looked around, confused. “Did you see that guard just now?” I asked, squinting at the oddly graceful figure.
Vereesa shrugged. “They all look the same to me.”
I touched the brim of my nose carefully, trying not to smear my makeup. “Yeah, probably just my imagination.”
But then my eyes landed on Anduin Wrynn, and all coherent thought flew right out the window. Have you ever seen someone who makes you question your entire existence? Like, suddenly you’re not you anymore, you’re just this mess of nerves and misplaced fantasies? Yeah, that was me, the moment I laid eyes on him.
Gone was the awkward boy from Pandaria. In his place was… well, this. Sky blue eyes that could probably convince you to confess every bad thing you’ve ever done, and a smile that was like a warm summer breeze. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to fight him, kiss him, or apologize for ever underestimating him. His armor was blindingly gold and way too heavy-looking, but he wore it like it was made of silk. He greeted Vereesa like they were old friends, his voice smooth and warm.
“Vereesa,” he said, his tone friendly and familiar. “How are you? It’s been too long.”
“How does the day greet you, my king? I trust you received my letters?” Vereesa responded with that formal politeness that I knew was driving her insane.
But I could barely hear a word they were saying over the sound of my own heartbeat. All I’d ever heard about Anduin was that he was some sheltered priest barely involved in the Legion Campaign. I was expecting some skinny guy who spent too much time praying or, I dunno, a pudgy royal who lived off cake and privilege. But this? This was… not that.
I mean, I remembered this dorky kid with a mop of messy blond hair, drowning in his fancy clothes. I’d been taller than him last time we met, and now he was standing there like some kind of… I don’t know, strapping hero. I almost laughed at myself for the shock of it, but I couldn’t help but think, “Damn, when did that happen?”
He nodded, “Yes, you said that you have a promising recruit that you trained personally. Is this her?” He glanced over at me.
Vereesa gestured toward me with a flourish. “Yes, this is Melfina. A Night Elf ranger that I’ve personally trained and would like to present for the Alliance’s cause, if you’ll have her.”
Anduin eyed me, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Your hair is white… How old are you?” he asked, his tone half curious, half suspicious.
Before Vereesa could jump in with some polite evasion, I blurted out, “Twenty-four, and my name is Melfina Lovewood.” I flashed a nervous smile, instantly regretting giving him my father’s last name like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Vereesa gave a delicate cough, subtly kicked my foot, and shot me a look that screamed, Really?
I quickly added, “Hundred years old.” I could practically hear her eyes rolling.
Anduin chuckled, clearly amused.
“Nice to meet you, King Anduin Wrynn. You are… not at all what I expected,” I admitted, trying to recover some dignity.
“Oh? What did you expect?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“Someone fatter,” I blurted out without thinking, and immediately felt my soul leave my body. Why, Perfectia, why? I clenched my teeth, looked down, and desperately wished for a portal to open beneath my feet. “Your Majesty,” I mumbled as if that would somehow fix my catastrophic lack of filter.
Vereesa just sighed, her patience clearly on its last legs.
Anduin, to his credit, just raised his eyebrows, suppressing a laugh. He extended his hand, and I attempted to salvage what was left of my dignity. I crossed my legs and dipped into the most graceful curtsy I could muster without a dress, lowering my head like I was in some kind of grand ballroom instead of standing in front of the literal King of Stormwind. I caught a side-eye from Vereesa, like she was waiting for me to start waltzing next.
But Anduin, bless him, responded with his own flourish—one leg sliding back, one hand lifted flat, the other crossing his chest as he bowed his head. It was surprisingly elegant, and I had to admit, pretty kingly. “Just Anduin, please,” he said as he straightened up, a small, relieved smile on his face.
I stood up too, feeling like I’d just survived some sort of social battlefield. Vereesa was looking at us like she was caught between secondhand embarrassment and total confusion, probably wondering how this little dance-off had happened in the first place.
Anduin cleared his throat, looking slightly flustered. “I’m… uh, I’m afraid there are more pressing matters. If you’re serious about joining the Alliance, meet me at the Stormwind Embassy.” He gave us a polite nod before heading off, leaving me to process that little exchange.
As we walked away from the keep, Vereesa wasted no time. “What was that?” she asked, eyebrow raised.
I waved her off, trying to sound dignified. “A nobility practice. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Nobility don’t shake hands?” Vereesa’s tone was a mix of skepticism and mild offense.
“A lady never touches a man’s hands unless she’s sitting down,” I replied, trying to sound like I wasn’t just making up etiquette rules on the spot.
“But you told him how old you were,” Vereesa pointed out, clearly amused by my attempt to sound proper.
I fidgeted with my fingers, feeling caught. “He asked, and I got nervous, okay?” I muttered, realizing I was grasping at straws.
Vereesa laughed as we approached our horses. “Did you really think Anduin would be overweight?”
I shrugged nonchalantly. “Kinda… or skinny. You could’ve given me a heads-up that he’d be so…” I twirled my hand, searching for the right word like I was spinning the wheel of awkward adjectives.
“Handsome?” Vereesa offered, smirking.
“No…” I cringed, feeling like that word didn’t do him justice. “Handsome sounds like he spends too much time admiring himself in the mirror… like my dad.” I thought harder. “Brawn? No. Charmante? Nah, too fancy. Hunky? Ew, too crude. Strapping… Yeah, strapping. I’d be strapping myself right onto that.”
Vereesa chuckled and nodded. “Since you were with Oranio, I guess you’ve got a thing for muscle. Honestly, I’m a bit surprised you haven’t been with an orc.”
I let out a snort and flicked my thumb under my chin. “Oh, I have, and trust me, once you’re in that position, they start acting like you’re a piece of furniture they just bought at a discount.”
Vereesa stared ahead, clearly wishing she hadn’t asked. “Well, I didn’t need to know that.”
I shrugged. “Well, if you ever wanted to understand Horde culture, you’ve gotta dive deep.” I gave a cheeky tap to my nose.
She shot me a sidelong glance, irritated. “You’ve got to stop with those Thalassian gestures and the Common words with that ridiculous accent. It took us long enough to beat it out of you.” She paused, frustration leaking into her tone. “Other than with my son—”
“Nothing happened!” I cut her off, firm and repetitive.
Vereesa sighed, shaking her head. “I’m not having this argument again. Have you ever been with one of your own kind?”
I looked down, suddenly uncomfortable. “Yes… but I don’t want to talk about it.”
She rolled her eyes, settling onto her horse. “Another vain, conceited jerk?”
I shook my head. “No… she wasn’t like that.”
Vereesa’s eyes widened. “Wait, she? Oh right, you and Isirami were a—”
I snapped Lucy’s reins, making a break for it. “I SAID I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT THAT!” I yelled as I bolted away, leaving Vereesa behind in a swirl of dust and unspoken stories.
So, she led me through Stormwind, to a secluded, wooded area where a cabin nestled among several bodies of water. We rode there, and I guessed that Anduin must have flown on something because he was there long before we arrived. As we approached, I noticed several powerful figures already gathered in the room—both politically and physically formidable. I recognized Alleria Windrunner, Genn Greymane, and Tyrande Whisperwind, leaders of their respective races and territories.
There was also Moira Bronzebeard. A surge of joy shot through me; it had been so long since I’d seen her. She looked around, a bit confused, before catching sight of me. “Hi?” she said, a nervous smile tugging at her lips, clearly not recognizing me.
Vereesa quickly pulled me forward, which was probably for the best. I might have been tempted to pick Moira up and hug her like old times, even though I knew she hated it. Sometimes, my emotions get the better of me, and I just can’t help myself.
I expected Vereesa to greet her sister with the same warm enthusiasm she had shown Anduin, but instead, she merely nodded her head, saying, “Sister.”
Alleria returned the nod with the same curt acknowledgment, glancing at me briefly as I waved at her. She rolled her eyes and then focused on the king as he began speaking.
“Thank you for joining us,” Anduin started, his voice grave. “These are dire times, indeed.”
He cast a glance in my direction, offering a slight smile, before addressing the room again. “We all know the Alliance incurred heavy losses in the war against the Legion. And even now, the world bleeds in the aftermath of Sargeras’s final strike.”
He paused, his expression darkening as he considered his next words. “Meanwhile, the Horde musters its forces and arms for war. Their aggression must not go unanswered. Our future depends on bringing other like-minded allies into the fold. I call upon those of you gathered here for your suggestions.”
A paladin, clad in blindingly bright armor, stepped forward to speak. “Victory on Argus was only possible because the heroes of Azeroth fought side by side with the Army of the Light. Many of our bravest soldiers gave their lives for the cause. Those who remain would be proud to join the Alliance. Among our number are brave initiates about to undertake the arduous path of becoming Lightforged.”
I found myself zoning out a bit. I never actually went to Argus, but I remembered that massive green moon in the sky causing ocean storms that were ten times worse than usual and twice as frequent. None of that sounded appealing.
Anduin smiled at the paladin. “Thank you, High Exarch. Lightforged soldiers would indeed bring strength to our numbers.”
Next, Alleria stepped forward. “High King,” she began, “I remember the days when my people and yours fought together against the Horde. I reached out to them in hopes of seeing Silvermoon return to the Alliance. My efforts proved… futile.”
That word struck a chord deep within me. “Futile?” I echoed, my voice sharper than I intended.
Alleria’s gaze shifted to me, puzzled. “Yes?” she asked, her tone laced with caution.
I could feel my anger bubbling just beneath the surface. “Why don’t you tell ze king what really ‘appened?” I could hear my accent thickening with my rising emotions.
“What?” Alleria’s confusion was evident, but it only fueled my anger.
“Tell ‘im how you almost corrupted ze Sunwell for a second time,” I snapped, my voice rising.
“I…” Alleria began, her expression twisting into one of anger and disbelief as she shook her head, but I was too far gone to back down now.
“Don’t you dare pretend to be ze victim in zis!” I shouted, my voice echoing off the walls.
Vereesa’s grip tightened on my arm as she yanked me back, her voice low and warning, “Melfina! Do you want to go back home? Because I will send you back right now!” She hissed, her eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and desperation as she tried to rein me in.
“Vereesa!” Anduin’s voice cut through the tension like a blade as he stepped forward, holding up his hand. “How could you say something so insensitive? You know that Teldrassil is still burning.” His gaze softened as he looked at me, trying to understand my sudden outburst. “I don’t know why Melfina came to you for help, but she came here to aid the Alliance.” He shook his head, scanning the room before addressing the council. “I’m sorry, members of the council. We’ll have to reschedule this meeting. I would like to speak to Melfina alone.”
We walked outside, the weight of my outburst still heavy on my shoulders. I hesitated before speaking, my voice low. “I’m sorry, my king. Feel free to use me as a bad example… so I won’t be completely useless,” I said, my regret plain.
Anduin chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I don’t think you’re a bad example, and you’re far from useless. If what you told me was true, then it was right for you to speak up. But I still need Alleria and her Void Elves in the battles ahead.” He paused and turned back to me, studying me thoughtfully. “I like your accent. That’s how you know about the Sunwell, right? You speak Thalassian?”
I felt my cheeks heat up. “I spent some time in the Ghostlands, so I picked up a bit, but half the time I don’t know what I’m saying.” I tried to laugh it off, but my voice wavered.
Anduin stopped, his eyes softening as he looked at me. “Do you always do that? Belittle yourself?”
I glanced away, my fingers fidgeting nervously. “I just… I’ve done things I’m not proud of. And if something bad’s going to happen to me, I’d rather face it head-on. Maybe laugh at it. That way, it hurts less.”
Anduin crossed his arms, his expression thoughtful. “What have you done?”
“Things I wish I could atone for.” I paused, then glanced up at him, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “Anduin, will you use the Void Elves to attack Silvermoon?”
His brows shot up in surprise. “No. Why would you even think that?”
I looked down, feeling a knot tighten in my chest. “Because my people want vengeance for what happened at Teldrassil.”
He looked at me closely, searching my face. “Is that what you want?”
I shook my head slowly. “No. I want this war to end. I want peace—real peace, where anyone born on this planet, or not, can sit at the same table without suspecting a hidden agenda.”
Anduin’s eyes widened, his voice softer now. “But they burned down your home. Is that honestly what you want?”
I took a deep breath, my voice steady. “Killing more people won’t put out those flames or rebuild those homes. Revenge is a waste of life.” I echoed Vereesa’s words, but they rang true for me too. “Sylvanas must be stopped, and that’s why I want to fight for you, my king.”
He nodded, understanding flashing in his eyes. “Thank you, Melfina.”
I stopped abruptly, Anduin pausing as well. “Anduin,” I said, reaching into my bag.
“Yes?” he asked, curious.
I pulled out a waterskin and offered it to him. “I managed to save this water from Teldrassil. The nature energy seeped into the ocean while it was burning. I think… maybe it’s possible to plant another World Tree with it.”
He looked at the waterskin, sadness flickering across his face. “I don’t think I should take that.”
I pressed it into his hands, determined. “Then tell me who will. It’s a long shot, but in the right hands, it might work.”
Anduin nodded and took the waterskin. “Thank you.”
We continued walking, and Anduin suddenly picked up the pace. “Vereesa tells me you’re a ranger, but I didn’t see a pet with you today,” he remarked casually.
I hurried to keep up. “I’ve never kept a pet. I wouldn’t have the heart to keep an animal caged.”
He glanced back at me, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “This won’t feel like imprisonment, I promise.”
We came to the edge of a river, where a big lioness lay sprawled lazily in the sun. Anduin knelt beside her, gently scratching behind her ears. “When I told my father I wanted to be a Priest, he was disappointed. He thought I should find another way to channel my strengths, so he gave her to me.”
I watched the lioness, marveling at her size and grace. She could easily be a mount, and she nuzzled Anduin affectionately. “I’m sorry, my king. Your father was a great man; I can’t take her from you.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “I could never part with her. But—” He reached behind the lioness and pulled out a small lion cub, cradling it gently before handing it to me. “He’s old enough now to be on his own.”
I stared at the cub, my heart swelling as I looked into his deep, soulful eyes. They mirrored Anduin’s, shining with an innocent yet fierce spirit. I took him in my arms, feeling his warmth and weight. He let out a tiny roar, and I couldn’t help but smile. “Hey there,” I whispered, kissing the top of his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.”
“What will you name him?” Anduin asked.
I thought back to my childhood, to the names that carried strength. “Kel’Magnus,” I said softly.
Anduin tilted his head. “That sounds Elven.”
“It was my grandfather’s name,” I replied, holding the cub close. “He was a great protector.”
Anduin smiled, his gaze warm. “Then I know you’ll be just as great with him.”
I bowed my head, holding Kel’Magnus tightly. “Thank you for this kindness, my king. I won’t forget it.”
Anduin nodded. “For the Alliance.”
I grinned, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. “For the Alliance.”
I took Kel’Magnus back to the inn in Stormwind, trying to get him to eat some meat, but he just wasn’t having it. The innkeeper handed me a bottle of cow’s milk instead, and watching that little lion cub drink was like seeing pure innocence—adorable and slightly ridiculous, like trying to feed a toddler a steak and getting a teacup instead. I love Lucy, my brave, beautiful horse, but this? This was different. There’s something about being needed, and with Kel’Magnus, it felt like a deeper kind of love, one that digs its claws in and doesn’t let go.
And then… there’s Anduin. Ugh, Anduin. I can’t get him out of my head. I remember feeling like this about Oranio, but this time, it’s like a storm that snuck up on me—a sudden jolt of lightning followed by endless rain, with every memory of him flashing like a bolt. Did Aunt Telavani know this would happen? She’s always the type to see the twists of fate before they hit.
Words are swirling in my mind, and I find myself scribbling them down:
I loved you when I saw you.
Who could not love you for so long?
You gave me wings of gladness,
And led my spirit’s song.
I loved you within the hour,
With only a look in your eyes.
Your lips I could not capture,
By storm or by surprise.
Your mouth that I remember,
With a rush and sudden pain,
As one remembers starlight
Or roses after rain.
I long to hear your laughter,
But suddenly I am sad…
The days and nights that haunt me,
For the kiss I’ll never have.
Wait… did I actually write this? I can’t believe I did, but it’s how I feel. I want to give it to him, but what if he doesn’t feel the same way? I mean, of course he doesn’t—he’s a king, and I’m a Blood Elf playing Night Elf dress-up, complete with makeup that’s just waiting to smear in the worst possible way. But this poem… it’s too honest, too good to just let go. He should know that someone feels this way about him, even if it’s just some awkward, disguised ranger with questionable decisions.
But can I really just hand it to him? No way. I need a middleman, someone who can drop it off without raising any eyebrows, and not because I’m scared, mind you—I’m absolutely petrified. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I promised myself no more foolish feelings, no more heart-pounding, dumb-poetry-writing nonsense, and yet, here I am, staring at a sleeping lion cub and plotting how to give a king a love note like a schoolgirl.
Maybe I’ll give it to that weird backwards-walking guard. He seems like he’d know how to keep a secret or at least be too confused to ask questions. Alright, Perfectia—Melfina—tomorrow morning, we do this. We hand off this letter and get back to saving Azeroth or whatever heroic nonsense we’re supposed to be doing.
For now, I’ll just snuggle up next to Kel’Magnus and try not to think about golden hair, ocean eyes, and a smile that’s got me completely undone. Goodnight, Azeroth.
Anduin walked back to the Stormwind Embassy after leaving his gift to the disguised Night Elf, Melfina. Vereesa caught up to him, her expression tight with worry. “Anduin, I am so sorry. She’s not even from Teldrassil—I should never have brought her here. I’ll send her home immediately.”
“No!” Anduin’s sudden outburst caught both of them off guard. He glanced back at Melfina, cradling the lion cub as if it were her lifeline. “Don’t send her away. I don’t know what it is, but I feel she’s important. And not just for the Alliance… I think we need people like her. She has a good heart.”
Vereesa studied him for a moment, surprised at the intensity of his reaction. “She’s been known to be outspoken,” Vereesa admitted, her tone cautious. “I wasn’t surprised by her outburst during the meeting, but I thought it might have thrown you off.”
Anduin shook his head, still looking pensive. “It’s fine. Honestly, it’s better this way—I need to know why Alleria and the Void Elves were exiled. I won’t turn them away, but I’ll keep them far from Silvermoon.” He rubbed the back of his head, leaning in slightly as if confessing something embarrassing. “Vereesa… can I ask you something?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”
Anduin hesitated, then awkwardly blurted, “I’ve just never seen an elf with hips like that. Is… is that normal?”
Vereesa blinked, momentarily lost for words before sighing in exasperation. “Not you too… What did I get myself into?” she muttered under her breath, clearly frustrated. “No, Anduin, it’s not normal. But I’ll bet you’ve never seen anyone quite like her.”
He winced, realizing his question was less than tactful. “I’m sorry if I offended you. That was really out of line.”
“It’s fine, your Majesty,” Vereesa replied, half-amused. “And no, it’s not exactly normal, but she’s from Mount Hyjal—blame it on venison, I suppose.”
Anduin nodded, still embarrassed. “I appreciate your patience.”
As he turned back toward the embassy, Vereesa spotted Melfina approaching, and the two exchanged a polite smile and bow before Anduin continued on his way.
Melfina trotted up to Vereesa, holding the lion cub like a proud parent. “Look what the king gave me! Isn’t he perfect?” she cooed, completely enthralled.
Vereesa opened her mouth to say something, but Melfina’s attention was fully on Kel’Magnus. “I’ll feed you, wash you, brush you—you are just the most precious little thing,” she babbled, completely smitten.
Vereesa massaged her temples in exasperation. “I’m going to go,” she sighed. “Despite your little performance earlier, the king still wants you in the Alliance.”
Melfina beamed. “Thank you, Vereesa. I can never repay you for all you’ve done.” As Melfina reached to hug her, Vereesa surprised her with a sharp punch to the chest, knocking her back a step.
“What was that for? Are you still mad about Galadin? I already said I was sorry!” Melfina yelped, rubbing the spot where Vereesa had hit her.
“Oh, shut up. You’re as flat as a three-day mug of dwarven ale,” Vereesa teased, smirking.
Melfina blinked, confused. “That still doesn’t give you the right—”
“‘Beaten down by the stresses of marriage, command, and motherhood?’” Vereesa quoted from Melfina’s diary, savoring the moment of payback.
Melfina’s face turned crimson. “Oh… I wrote that before I saw you again! You look great now. I didn’t think… I’m sorry.”
Vereesa softened, shrugging off the embarrassment. “I was recently widowed—I wasn’t at my best. But you were sick too, and… I hit you, so we’re even.”
Melfina smiled, touched. “Thank you, really.” She moved to hug Vereesa again, but Vereesa put up a hand to stop her.
“Just try to keep yourself under control. And… if you can, send me a copy of those Oranio encounters. Reading them made me remember what it felt like with Rhonin. Maybe I don’t miss him enough.”
Melfina’s eyes widened, “You had to be strong for your sons, so I’ll get to work on that as soon as possible.” She blushed, flustered but pleased, “You really do have talent… just, never mind.”
Vereesa chuckled as Melfina whistled for Protecto, who swooped down and carried her away. As Vereesa began to leave, she was stopped by Alleria, who grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
“You’ve never taken a Night Elf under your wing before,” Alleria accused. “What’s changed?”
Vereesa pulled her arm free, smiling faintly. “She needed help. And since when do you care about who I train?”
Alleria’s voice sharpened, “Who is she?”
Vereesa’s smile turned steely. “A good friend, and none of your damn business. Stay away from her, or I’ll take her side over yours.”
Alleria’s eyes narrowed, “Over your own sister?”
Vereesa met her gaze evenly. “Family isn’t just blood, Alleria. And speaking of family, Lirath might still be alive. Someone brought him back.”
“What?” Alleria’s voice trembled with shock.
“I would look for him myself,” Vereesa continued, “but I’ve got my hands full with my sons and my covenant. Maybe your Void Elves can try.” She walked away, leaving Alleria frozen in disbelief, and headed for the first boat out of Stormwind.
I’m Sorry
I woke up before sunrise because I knew Anduin wouldn’t start his kingly duties before nine, and I wanted to get ahead of the day. The first thing I saw was Kel’Magnus sitting proudly next to a little “present” he left on the floor. Great. But hey, at least someone was getting their morning routine down. I wasn’t even mad; in a way, it felt like we were bonding—mess and all.
I got up, cleaned his mess, and threw some water on my face. I was reapplying my makeup when the innkeeper came knocking. She took one look at Kel’Magnus’s masterpiece and immediately blamed my poor lion cub. I smiled awkwardly and shrugged, “Yeah… It was definitely him,” I lied. No need to complicate things by explaining that my own accidents happen when I miss a bathroom break. Who knew the high life of a blood elf would come with potty problems?
The innkeeper waved a hand. “You gotta housebreak that thing,” she said, pointing at Kel’Magnus.
“Yeah, working on it,” I said, keeping it vague. I mean, I was working on it—for both of us.
After a quick, awkward negotiation, she agreed to let me stay as long as I promised to clean up after Kel’Magnus. And hey, she even offered to have a barrel of hot water ready for my next visit—privacy included. I didn’t care if it was a pity deal; I would take it.
I tossed my stained sheets into her arms and thought, If I ever see another green pepper nacho, it’ll be too soon. They were supposed to be the “Orcish special” but tasted like someone left them in the sun for too long. Let’s just say, poolside snacks and I are officially at war. But hey, I’ve survived worse battles, right?
After dealing with the morning chaos, I headed to Stormwind Keep to find some sense of normalcy—or whatever that looks like when you’re pretending to be someone else half the time. And there he was again—the backwards-walking guard. Watching him do his little moonwalk routine up the hill felt like seeing a rare breed in its natural habitat.
I couldn’t help myself. “Pretty sweet moves you got there,” I said, giving him a thumbs-up.
He didn’t break stride, just shrugged, “It’s patrol. Walk around, write ‘nothing to report,’ rinse and repeat.”
“Oh, c’mon. You know you’re doing a little more than that,” I said, smiling.
He finally cracked, giving me a small, proud nod before resuming his patrol. It was moments like this—silly, unexpected—that made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I was figuring this whole mess out. One moonwalk at a time.
“Would you report me?” I teased, nudging him playfully. “I mean, if I was being interesting enough to write about?”
He glanced at me sideways and back to his route, unflinching. “Maybe. If you keep distracting me, I might have to. Could get you arrested, you know?”
I stifled a laugh. “Ooh, dangerous. I’ll try not to be too fascinating.”
We walked a few more laps, each circle feeling like a secret shared between us, and I couldn’t help but smile when he did his signature backwards moonwalk up the hill of Stormwind Keep. It was so smooth, so out-of-place, and yet, so perfect. I clapped my hands, genuinely delighted. “Oh my gosh, zat is so amazing zat you can do zat!”
I caught a glimpse of his blush through his helmet. “Thank you,” he said, unable to hide a hint of pride.
“You might be the most interesting guard I’ve ever seen,” I said sincerely.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Thanks, but I’m married.”
I grinned. “Well, your wife must be one lucky lady. I’m sure she’s impressed.”
He smiled, then paused, curious. “What’s your name?”
I hesitated, feeling a twinge of nerves. “I was kinda hoping I wouldn’t have to say.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is there a problem? Do you need help?”
I shook my head. “No, nothing like that.” I pulled out a folded piece of paper and held it up, suddenly feeling a little shy but in an excited way, not a defeated one. “Actually, I wanted to ask you a favor.”
He looked at the paper, then back at me, still hesitant. “I’m not supposed to take anything that isn’t part of my duty.”
“Oh, I get it.” I nodded, keeping my tone light and casual. “I was just hoping you’d pass this along to the King. It’s not anything serious, just… something that might make his day a little better.”
The guard studied me, then the paper. “This isn’t a bribe, is it?”
“No, nothing like that.” I laughed softly. “Just some words from someone who thinks he’s doing a great job. But hey, if it’s too much trouble, I can always find another way.”
He paused, weighing the situation. I could see he was still wary, but something about my confidence must’ve made him curious. “Alright, but just this once. And don’t make a habit of it.”
“Deal.” I handed him the note with a wink. “And thank you. I appreciate you doing this, even if it’s against the rules. You’re pretty cool, you know?”
He took the note, smiling under his helmet. “You’re welcome. And don’t go getting yourself in trouble. Not everyone’s as forgiving as I am.”
I gasped, smiled, and opened up my arms for a hug, but he quickly held out his hands in defense, taking a step back. “No hugs, please.”
I nodded, feeling a little sheepish. “Sorry, force of habit. I just get excited,” I admitted, rubbing the back of my head. “And for the sarcasm earlier. I’m working on it.”
He smirked beneath his helmet, shaking his head. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for. You just caught me off guard, that’s all.”
We continued walking as he patrolled, his steps measured and precise. “So, what’s in the note?” he asked, glancing at me.
I shrugged, keeping it casual. “You’d have to read it yourself. It’s just something I wanted to share with the King. Thought it might brighten his day.”
He introduced himself as Tommy-Joe Stonefield and explained his strict patrol routine, constantly glancing at the grandfather clocks stationed around the Keep. “You know,” he said, looking a bit worn out, “we’re supposed to act like we don’t exist when the King’s around. We can’t talk, and we’re expected to keep everything running like clockwork.”
I could see it wasn’t an easy job, but he seemed to take pride in it. “You understand why we can’t be friends with our king, right?” he asked.
I pondered that. “He seems so kind. Like he could be friends with anyone.”
Stonefield smiled wistfully. “He is kind, probably the kindest. But that’s the problem. If he were our friend, he’d try to protect us, and that would make it hard for us to do our jobs. Our duty is to protect him, not the other way around.”
I nodded, understanding the weight of his words. We stopped at his table, and he sat down to write ‘Nothing to report’ in his logbook. Then, he looked up and held out his hand, and I handed him the note.
Stonefield read it silently, a smile forming as he went along. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “My wife used to write me letters like this when we first got together.” He glanced up at me. “But what do you think he’ll say?”
I shrugged, feeling oddly at peace with it. “Honestly, I’m not looking for an answer. I just want him to know that someone feels this way, no strings attached.”
Stonefield nodded thoughtfully, then asked, “Mind if I make a copy? I think I owe my wife something sweet like this.”
I laughed softly. “Of course, go ahead.”
As he copied the note, I watched him change the last words to something more fitting for his own love. He glanced at the clock, realizing his shift was nearly up. “It’s almost nine. The King should be entering his throne room soon. If you’re trying to stay out of sight, now’s the time to go.”
I smiled, bowing slightly. “Thank you. For everything.”
He smiled back, a rare moment of camaraderie. “You’re welcome. And hey, good luck.”
The King of Stormwind, Anduin Wrynn, sat on his throne, ready to brief the arriving soldiers and adventurers about the day’s pressing events. Though his posture was composed, his mind was burdened, lingering on the weight of his responsibilities and the scars of past failures. He barely noticed the middle patrolling guard approaching—a rare breach of the invisible boundary usually maintained between king and guards.
“Yes, guardsman?” Anduin asked, curious about the close approach.
The guard pulled a piece of paper from his belt and handed it to his king. “It seems you have an admirer.”
Anduin took the note and read the first line aloud before glancing back at the guard. He scanned the note further, his expression softening to a faint smile before shifting to something more introspective. “It’s… beautiful,” he murmured, folding the paper. “Who wrote this?”
The guard hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. “She didn’t give me her name, but she’s a Night Elf.”
Anduin’s brows furrowed slightly as he considered the information. “A Night Elf… odd.”
“Odd? You’re at that age, Anduin,” the guard said with a knowing smile. “I’d have thought people would be throwing themselves at you by now.”
Anduin sighed, looking away as old insecurities crept in. “Maybe once, when I was younger. But things changed when I became a priest. The attention faded, and honestly… I welcomed the distance. Besides, I wouldn’t expect a Night Elf to feel this way—not after all that’s happened.”
The guard tilted his head, sensing the weight behind the king’s words. “Why not?”
Anduin’s voice grew quieter. “Because the Alliance failed them. I failed them. How could I expect admiration from someone whose people we couldn’t protect?” His eyes lingered on the note, guilt swirling beneath his composed demeanor. “If anything, I feel like I’ve let them down.”
The guard watched Anduin’s expression with concern. “You’re too hard on yourself, your Majesty. What happened wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could.”
Anduin pocketed the note, trying to shake off the creeping self-doubt. “Tell me, guardsman, was this the first time you’d seen her?”
The guard thought back. “No, actually. It was the second time.”
Anduin’s expression shifted, his heart suddenly racing as a realization dawned on him. “Oh…” He fidgeted slightly, trying to contain the unexpected surge of emotion. “I think I know who it was.” A small, unguarded smile appeared on his face as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, attempting to hide his reaction.
“If I may, your Majesty,” the guard continued, picking up on Anduin’s subtle excitement, “she seemed really sweet. Maybe… just let her down easy, if it comes to that.”
Anduin nodded, still lost in his thoughts. “You spoke to her?”
“Yes, for a while,” the guard admitted, recalling the encounter fondly.
Anduin’s curiosity piqued. “What was she like?”
The guard’s face turned a light shade of pink, struggling to maintain his professional demeanor. “Well, other than her, uh, very… obvious assets,” he said, his eyes flickering down and then away, clearly embarrassed.
Anduin couldn’t help but let a small smirk slip through. He leaned forward, cutting the guard off before he could go further. “Yes, other than that,” Anduin said quickly, stifling a laugh.
The guard reflected, blushing a little. “She’s a bit over the top, funny but in a charmingly inappropriate way. Genuinely sweet, though. She’s got a spark… someone who’d bring light into a room without even trying.”
Anduin sighed, his gaze turning inward. “This isn’t going to be easy…” he whispered, feeling the pull of his duties and personal desires conflicting. “It’s never easy.”
The guard chuckled softly, sensing the king’s internal struggle. “Oh, you poor kid.”
“What?” Anduin asked, surprised.
“Nothing,” the guard said, trying to hold back his amusement. “Just… good luck.”
Anduin cleared his throat, regaining his composure. “Find her, please. Tell her that I’ll meet her at Lion’s Rest after my duties are over. And keep it discreet.”
The guard nodded but raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t it be easier to have SI:7 find her?”
Anduin shook his head, smiling slightly. “It would. But this isn’t about efficiency. It’s about respect. She’s not hiding, just… waiting to be seen.”
The guard saluted, understanding the sentiment behind the king’s words, and departed to fulfill his new task.
(Perfectia/Melfina’s writing)
So, there I was, lounging in a half barrel of lukewarm water, watching the purple makeup slide off me like a melting grape popsicle. Kel’Magnus was having another “baby lion drama” moment: raw meat wasn’t good enough unless I hammered it into a pulp first. It’s like I’ve adopted the world’s tiniest, furriest diva. He still insists on drinking milk from a bottle, so I’ve started mixing in a little blood like I’m some kind of lion mixologist. He’s alive, so I guess I’m not the worst pet parent—take that, every hunter in Azeroth who’s silently judging me.
Bathing him, though? Forget it. He screeched like I was trying to drown him, but after a lot of cuddles and bribery, he forgave me, and I got busy cleaning the rug again. Yep, third time today. But it’s fine. The little furball’s got those four big baby fangs and a roar that sounds like a squeaky door hinge—it’s adorable and utterly useless in a fight, but hey, it’s the thought that counts.
I’m running low on gold, though, and at this rate, I’ll be charging admission for my bad decisions. Maybe I could start charging people just to watch him eat; it’s practically performance art. “Watch as the Mighty Kel’Magnus takes 20 minutes to refuse food unless it’s pulverized to perfection!” I’m practically a carnival act at this point.
Then there’s a knock at my door. “Melfina? It’s Tommy, the moonwalking guard,” came the muffled voice.
I got up, wrapped myself in a towel, and tried to sound casual. “Oh, hey, Tommy! How’s it hanging?”
“Good. My wife really liked the poem. Thanks for that,” he said, like this was a perfectly normal conversation to have at my bathroom door.
“Glad to hear it! But uh, how did you even find me?” I asked, peeking around to make sure Kel’Magnus wasn’t chewing on anything important.
“Yeah, about that… mind if I come in?”
“Naked. And a Blood Elf,” I said out loud, half to myself. Then, because I can’t resist, “Unless you’re paying.”
“I’m happily married,” he said, with the tone of a man who’s been offered worse.
“Well, bring her next time, I’ll give you a discount!” I laughed, then quickly added, “I’m just kidding, Tommy. Don’t tell Anduin I said that.”
He sighed, exasperated but amused. “Look, Anduin wants to meet you tonight at Lion’s Rest.”
I slammed myself against the door like it was the last biscuit in the pantry. “He does? What did he say? Did he like my poem? Was he mad?”
“No, no, nothing like that. He said it was beautiful, but—”
“I wrote him another one!” I blurted out, scrambling for the folded paper on my nightstand. “Can you bring it to him?”
Tommy sighed again, the kind of sigh you only hear from people with kids or really stubborn pets. “Melfina, don’t get your hopes up, okay? It was brave of you to write that stuff, but he’s the King. There’s… rules.”
My excitement hit a wall, and I could feel that familiar sting of rejection creeping in. I tried to keep my voice steady. “So… you told him who I was?”
“He figured it out. You know, the whole ‘random elf with a lion cub’ thing kind of stands out.”
“Oh.” I slid the poem under the door, trying to sound nonchalant, but my voice wobbled a bit. “Here, can you give it to him anyway?”
“Melfina,” Tommy said softly, “maybe you should give it to him yourself. He’d appreciate it more coming from you.”
I leaned back against the door, feeling the cold wood press into my spine. “Can I read it to you first?”
Tommy settled down on the other side, like we were two old friends having a chat over a pint. “Sure, go ahead.”
I took a breath and began to read:
“If love were a song, I’d sing off-key,
But I’d sing it loud and proud, you see.
Not perfect notes, but true and clear,
A melody meant just for you to hear.
I’d fumble words, I’d trip on rhyme,
But every line would be just mine.
Not for a crown or grand applause,
Just you and me, and a sweet, small pause.
I don’t promise stars, or perfect skies,
Just a space where truth and laughter lie.
A place where hearts can simply be,
A little messy, but still happy.
So if you laugh, or if you sigh,
Just know you’re the apple of my eye.
And whether or not you feel the same,
I’m glad to have been part of this little game.”
I lowered the page, cheeks warm, and shrugged, “I know it’s not much, but it’s… well, it’s me.”
I heard him chuckle softly on the other side, “Well, I can tell you one thing—you’ve got a way with words. If Anduin doesn’t see that, he’s the one missing out.” I could hear him shift as he stood up. “Listen, you’ve got something special, and whatever happens, don’t let anyone—king or not—make you feel otherwise.” He paused, sounding more upbeat, “Good luck out there. You’ve got this.”
(Perfectia Dawnlight is writing to herself while waiting at Lion’s Rest.)
So, there I was, slathering on the purple makeup like it was the last shield against all my life’s bad decisions. I’m not a makeup artist, but hey, when life hands you a bucket of paint, you pretend you’re a Night Elf. It’s fine. No one’s taken a second look since I started walking around like this, though if anyone ever put me next to a real Night Elf, they’d start asking questions. The other Night Elves are all sharp curves, tall stances, and perfect cheekbones, while I’m out here rocking ‘Flat as a three-day mug of dwarven ale.’ Thanks, Vereesa, I needed that confidence boost.
I bounce on my toes occasionally, trying to break in these shoes and keep myself from stressing out. The way I see it, if the other Night Elves are doing it, so can I. It’s not like anyone’s giving me an award for accuracy anyway. I’ve got this whole situation down to a fine art of pretending.
Would be nice to have a dress, though. Mages get to have all the pretty things. I’m stuck with what I could scrape together, which is a little light on glam and heavy on tight pants. The dark paint on my abs is doing its best to make up for my lack of, you know, the usual Night Elf physique. But hey, we play the cards we’re dealt. Money talks, and mine’s been singing a sad goodbye for a while now. My midsection’s got the drama of a tragic play—accented with darker shades and painted lines, a theatrical illusion of strength.
Sitting here under the tree, waiting for Anduin feels a bit like waiting to see if a cake you left in the oven will turn out okay. Maybe he just doesn’t like elves, or maybe he’s into dwarves, orcs, or someone who doesn’t need a ten-step makeup routine just to blend in. But whatever it is, it’s out of my hands. I’m not here to change anyone’s mind; I just need him to read the letter.
Tommy-Joe said it moved him, and that’s enough. Anduin doesn’t need to know it’s from me, and I’m not here to listen to his verdict on my poetic skills. He gave me this lion cub—a gesture so thoughtful it knocked me sideways. It’s hard not to want more when someone shows you kindness like that. Anduin’s everything I never expected: kind, strong, with that maddening humility that makes you wonder how a king ended up like that.
I catch myself musing like some lovesick poet, and I mentally slap myself back into reality. This isn’t some tragic romance. It’s not Romeo and Juliet—we’re not star-crossed anything. I just want him to read the letter, smile, and move on. That’s all. But as I sit here, the sun sinking lower, I can’t help but think… If we weren’t on opposite sides of this whole mess, maybe things could be different.
But then, that’s just the daydream talking. I need to focus, figure out what I’m going to say, and pray I don’t end up throwing this letter at his head out of sheer nerves.
Oh, and speak of the Light—he’s here.
The king arrived at Lion’s Rest after finishing his duties in Stormwind Keep and the emissary. He was nervous, more nervous than he had been in any battle or diplomatic meeting. He knew this wasn’t just any encounter—what Melfina and Guardsman Stonefield had done wasn’t just against protocol; it was the kind of thing that could stir rumors in every noble house. Stonefield had risked his position not for power or favor but out of something deeper, a genuine care that Anduin could respect, even if it put him in a difficult spot. Melfina herself had only arrived the day before, yet she had already caused a ripple that Anduin couldn’t ignore.
As king, his love life was never truly his own. Court ceremonies, matchmaking councils, and expectations bound him to traditions that felt suffocating. Potential brides were paraded through rigid rituals, where they dressed, danced, and displayed their lineage like commodities. The idea that someone might bypass all that—simply write down their feelings and hand it to him like a common love note—was unheard of. And yet, here he was, feeling drawn not by a sense of duty but by the quiet magnetism of a woman who defied every rule.
He wasn’t here as a king today. This wasn’t about alliances, treaties, or obligations. He was here as Anduin, a man who had read a heartfelt note that made him pause, made him feel something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time. “An extremely beautiful, kind-hearted, and humorous woman,” he murmured, half to himself, recalling her wit, her daring spirit, and those moments that had slipped under his guard. His heart pounded in his chest, each step toward her feeling like he was crossing into unknown territory, more daunting than any battlefield.
The sun’s last light was fading, casting long shadows across the park. Melfina sat under a tree, her head bowed over a book, writing furiously as if trying to trap the day’s last bit of magic on the page. Anduin hesitated, watching her for a brief moment. She seemed lost in her thoughts, completely absorbed, yet still carrying that vibrant energy he had come to admire. Gathering his nerves, he called out, his voice a careful blend of formality and the unspoken pull that had brought him here. “Melfina?”
Anduin approached with a hesitant smile, feeling every step like a march toward an unfamiliar battle. This wasn’t the throne room or a war council; this was something far more daunting. Melfina glanced up from her writing, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him, a mix of nerves and joy playing on her face. “Anduin,” she greeted, her voice wavering with an uncharacteristic softness.
He offered her a shy smile, but there was a tension in his posture, as if he was trying to keep his own heart from leaping out of his chest. “How are you?” he asked, and even to his ears, his voice sounded overly formal, almost rehearsed.
Melfina smiled back, a bit brighter now, and nodded. She stood, tucking her book away, and carefully pulled out the folded paper she’d tucked inside. With a slight pause, she held it out to him, her expression caught between hope and fear. Anduin’s eyes flickered to the letter, then to her. For a moment, he just stared, feeling an odd tightening in his chest—was it excitement? Fear? It was so unlike facing his usual challenges, where strategy and resolve were his shields.
He reached out instinctively, but at the last second, he hesitated, pulling his hand back and clenching it at his side. “I—I can’t,” he stammered, his gaze dropping as if the ground might offer him a script for what to say next. He glanced away, struggling to keep his composure, feeling every bit the young king who never quite learned how to handle matters of the heart.
Melfina’s smile faltered, confusion washing over her face as she looked at the paper still in her hand. She had expected many reactions—disbelief, laughter, maybe even anger—but not this. Not hesitation. “But… it’s just a poem,” she said softly, her voice tinged with a mix of hope and disappointment.
Anduin glanced at her, his expression apologetic yet firm. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it,” he began, struggling to find the right words. “I just… I can’t take it. Not like this.” He turned his gaze away, as if looking at her made this moment even harder.
Melfina’s grip tightened around the paper, and for a moment, she felt her resolve waver. “You… you don’t like it?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with a vulnerability that she hated showing. It wasn’t just the poem she was offering—it was her heart, raw and unguarded, and the idea of it being pushed away stung more than she could admit.
“No, it’s not that.” Anduin’s voice was gentle but firm, trying to reassure her without making a promise he couldn’t keep. “You’re… it’s beautiful, Melfina. Almost as beautiful as you. But I can’t…”
“Is it because you’re a Priest or a Paladin, you took vows of celibacy?” Melfina interrupted and asked.
Anduin looked down, a smile breaking through his initial surprise, but it was one of those smiles that masked a whirlwind of thoughts. He nodded slowly, his voice strained between laughter and an awkward attempt at explaining himself. "Yes, but there are exceptions…”
Melfina looked at him, half serious and half teasing, her expression a mix of curiosity and mischief. “Boys?”
Anduin’s eyes shot up, his mouth hanging open for a split second before he let out a laugh—loud, unguarded, and tinged with the kind of relief you get when something absurd cuts through a tense moment. “NO!” He laughed, and it was like he hadn’t laughed in years, shaking his head with a mix of disbelief and genuine amusement. The kind of laughter that carried away the invisible burden he’d been shouldering, almost like she had knocked a heavy pack off his back without even trying.
He caught his breath, still grinning, but his eyes were softer, almost grateful for the unexpected levity. “I can’t believe you just said that—completely inappropriate and absolutely not true.” He waved his hands as if pushing away the absurdity of the statement. “But… gods, I needed that laugh. You’re something else, Melfina.”
He looked at her, and for a moment, all the formality and expectations seemed to fade, replaced by a rare, genuine moment of human connection.
Anduin’s expression shifted, the weight of his responsibilities settling back onto his shoulders as the brief levity of their exchange faded. He glanced down, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his cloak as if trying to find some comfort in the fabric. “This isn’t just about the poem. It’s about what it means.” His voice softened, laced with regret and the quiet pain of someone who has spent his life trying to balance what he wants with what he’s expected to do. “I’m a king, and there are rules, traditions… things that I can’t just ignore. I have to think of my people, my responsibilities. I have to marry within nobility. You understand, right?”
Melfina’s face fell slightly, her gaze drifting to the ground. She nodded, but the slight downturn of her lips showed she understood more than she wanted to admit.
“But I thank you for your kind words,” Anduin said, his voice strained, almost like he was forcing himself to keep the distance he’d been trained to maintain. He turned to walk away, each step heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions.
“Anduin!” Melfina called out, her voice cracking slightly, the sound pulling at him. “I’m sorry… I know how eccentric and brazen I am, so if I offended you—”
Anduin stopped, his shoulders tensing as if bracing against the invisible weight. He turned back slightly, not fully facing her, but enough to let her see the conflicted expression on his face. “You’ve made me laugh… a lot,” he admitted, his tone wavering between gratitude and sorrow. He looked downward, his eyes tracing the stone path beneath his feet as if the answers might be hidden in the cracks. For a fleeting moment, she had lifted the burdens that always seemed to press down on him, but now, they settled back with the familiar weight.
“I wish I could, but I can’t.” His words were tinged with heartbreak, not just for her, but for himself, too. The truth was a harsh anchor, dragging him back to his reality. The duties he couldn’t escape, the traditions that defined him. He started to leave, his steps slow and heavy, a reluctant farewell to the childish dream he had allowed himself, even if only for a brief moment.
But he glanced back one last time, his eyes soft with gratitude. For the brief escape she had offered, even if they both knew it could never be anything more.
Melfina’s voice softened, tinged with a mix of wistfulness and sincerity. “But I am of noble blood, though,” she said, almost as if trying to convince herself as much as him. “I know what it’s like to marry into power, to be arranged, to be a piece on someone else’s board. My relatives… they never seemed happy. My mother was a noble, but my father… he was a slave.” She paused, a faint, sad smile crossing her lips as she looked away, caught in a memory. “And yet, they were the happiest people I knew. I could have married into royalty myself once, if I’d wanted that life.” There was a light laugh, but it was filled more with resignation than joy.
Anduin stepped closer, his brow furrowed as he tried to understand her deeper motives. “Is that what you’re trying to do now?”
“No!” Melfina responded swiftly, holding up her hands in defense, her voice edged with a desperate honesty. “It’s not about that.” She hesitated, glancing away as she grappled with the vulnerability of her confession. “It’s just… no one has ever been so kind to me before. When I saw you, you were so much more than I expected… The way you spoke, the way you carry yourself. And then you gave me Kel’Magnus.” Her eyes glistened, but she managed a small smile, her admiration clear and genuine. “I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen when I first met you.”
Her words hung in the air, a tender yet tragic acknowledgment of her feelings. She looked at him not with the expectation of returned affection, but with the need for him to understand the impact he’d made on her—how his simple kindness had reached a heart that had rarely been touched so gently.
“Melfina,” Anduin said softly as he stepped closer, his voice gentle yet heavy with the weight of their unspoken truths. She held the piece of paper out to him, trembling slightly, her vulnerability laid bare. “Please, just take it… and you’ll never have to see me again,” she pleaded, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. The usual humor she wore like armor was gone, leaving her exposed and raw. For all her bravado, for all the smiles and jokes, this was the heart she’d hidden beneath—a heart that feared it wasn’t worthy of love, of affection, or even a moment of genuine connection. Her tears fell not in anger or shame but in desperate hope that, for once, her feelings might truly be seen.
Anduin watched her, feeling her pain echoing his own internal struggles. He moved forward, instinct pulling him closer, as if he might wrap her in his arms and shield her from the weight of her own despair. But he stopped himself, shaking his head rapidly as if to clear the fog of conflicted emotions. “No, that is not what I want at all,” he said, his voice thick with sincerity. He sighed deeply, his thoughts drifting back to their first meeting, the way she’d held herself so proudly despite everything. “You said you were nobility. I believe you. When I tried to shake your hand, you seemed insistent on making me bow. But from where, exactly?”
He was searching, not just for answers but for the thread of connection between them—a truth that went beyond titles, beyond the roles they were both bound to play. His words weren’t just about understanding her past but about reaching for the heart of who she was, hoping to find a piece of her that hadn’t yet been hidden away.
Melfina looked up at Anduin, searching his face for a sign of acceptance, even as her mind scrambled for answers. “Dawnstar Village,” she said hurriedly, her voice wavering. “My family built boats and trained navy.” It was a rushed confession, one that she hoped would somehow align with the truth she had woven around herself.
Anduin tilted his head, recalling the geography. “Dawnstar Village… isn’t that on the Isle of Quel’Danas?” he asked, his brow furrowing in thought. “Vereesa told me you were from Mount Hyjal.”
Melfina’s heart pounded in her chest. She stared at him blankly, feeling the walls she’d carefully constructed around her lies begin to crumble. She couldn’t find the words, her mind grasping at excuses that wouldn’t come.
“I’m not familiar with Mount Hyjal customs,” Anduin continued, “but if you’re from Dawnstar Village, that would make you a High Elf, wouldn’t it?” His eyes narrowed slightly, not with suspicion, but with a genuine confusion that cut deeper than any accusation. “Then why…? Say something in Darnassian.”
“Ish Ni…” Melfina stammered, but the words faltered on her tongue. She couldn’t fake it any longer.
Anduin watched her, his expression softening with understanding, though still tinged with uncertainty. “You don’t speak Darnassian, do you?” he asked quietly.
Melfina could only shake her head, feeling her carefully maintained façade slip away. Anduin took a moment, drawing a breath as if preparing himself for the truth that hovered between them. “So… who are you?” he asked, his voice a mix of gentle curiosity and the ache of betrayal.
Melfina placed a trembling hand on her chest, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She looked up at him, the weight of her deception crashing down all at once.
Anduin’s concern deepened, his gaze locked onto hers. “Sorry for what?” he pressed, his tone tender, almost pleading.
Melfina shook her head, unable to hold his gaze any longer. She took a step back, her feet moving before her mind could catch up. “I’m so sorry, mon cheri,” she choked out, the familiar endearment slipping from her lips like a farewell. Then, without another word, she turned and ran, her heart pounding louder than Anduin’s desperate call echoing behind her.
“Wait, no, please wait!” Anduin’s voice was strained, filled with the kind of regret that cut both ways, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop. Not now, not when everything felt too real, too close, too much to bear.
Melfina stumbled into the tunnel, her breath ragged as she reached the top of the stairs. But any fleeting hope of escape died the moment she saw them—a gathering of Night Elves with their bows drawn, and Alleria Windrunner standing at the forefront, her expression as cold and unyielding as stone. Before Melfina could react, icy water splashed over her, the shock of it knocking the air from her lungs. Alleria moved in, her grip rough and unforgiving, scrubbing away the layers of purple paint that concealed Melfina’s true face.
Tyrande Whisperwind stepped forward, her presence commanding and seething with barely contained fury. Her eyes locked onto Melfina, filled with a righteous, burning contempt. “I thought there was something familiar about your voice,” Tyrande sneered, reaching out to seize Melfina by the throat. The touch was firm, her anger simmering beneath her tight control. “Did you really think you could pass as one of us after everything you’ve done?” The accusation hung heavy in the air, more than a question—a condemnation.
Alleria moved behind Melfina, now visibly stripped of her Night Elf guise, her tan skin revealed as the smeared paint dripped to the ground. She bound Melfina’s hands with ruthless efficiency, tugging her back like a prisoner of war. In a swift motion, she snatched the crumpled paper from Melfina’s grasp. “Look what I found,” she said, her voice devoid of sympathy as she handed the paper to Tyrande.
Tyrande snatched it without looking, her eyes fixed on Anduin. “What’s going on?” Anduin’s voice echoed in panic, rushing up the stairs. “She hasn’t done anything wrong!”
Alleria yanked Melfina by her hair, forcing her head back, revealing her stripped identity, the streaks of purple paint and tears mingling as her fear seeped through her crumbling façade.
“Take a closer look, Anduin,” Alleria growled with venom, pushing Melfina forward.
Anduin’s gaze met Melfina’s, and the betrayal hit like a blow, her pain mirrored in his eyes. His voice faltered, “She… she was trying to—”
“Lead you into a trap, no doubt,” Tyrande cut in, her words like knives. She finally glanced at the paper and, as her eyes scanned the words, fury boiled over. She crumpled it in her fist and stormed toward Anduin, her rage palpable.
“ NO, this won’t happen! This will never happen!!” she screamed, her voice cracking with fury. “This harlot helped burn Teldrassil, nearly killed my husband—and you think sweet words erase that?”
She turned on Melfina, her eyes blazing, spitting venomous accusations. “Do you deny it?” Tyrande’s voice dared Melfina to defy her wrath, every word laced with the weight of betrayal and loss.
Perfectia glared defiantly, her voice laced with venom as she spat, “Va te faire foutre.” The words were sharp, filled with a reckless bravery that dared anyone to challenge her.
Anduin stepped forward, desperation edging his tone as he tried to regain control of the spiraling situation. “I am still your king, and I am ordering you—”
Tyrande moved closer, her face inches from his, her voice low but brimming with a dangerous resolve. “Go ahead, order me, boy,” she hissed, each word dripping with contempt. “It will be the last time you ever do. Your people have already failed us, and perhaps it’s time we reconsidered our place in your Alliance. I think Alleria would agree, wouldn’t you?”
Alleria, who had been watching in silence, nodded with a cold, satisfied smile, her agreement like a seal on Tyrande’s threat.
Anduin’s gaze shifted back to Perfectia, meeting her eyes, and for a fleeting moment, all his kingly resolve faltered. He saw the pain, the defiance, and something deeper—something that mirrored his own loneliness. But the weight of duty bore down on him. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed, the words barely escaping his lips as he lowered his head, unable to bear the sorrow reflected in her eyes. He sighed deeply, the heaviness of his decision pressing down like a lead weight. “Take her to the Stockades,” he ordered, his voice cracking with regret, each word a reluctant surrender to the demands of leadership.
As the guards moved to seize her, Perfectia acted on impulse, shoving Alleria aside with her shoulder. Despite her bound hands, she surged forward, closing the distance between her and Anduin. She pressed her lips to his, fierce and desperate, pouring all her unspoken emotions into that single, defiant kiss. Anduin hesitated for just a breath before his hands found her face, cupping it tenderly as if trying to hold onto this fleeting moment. His fingers tangled in her hair, and he returned the kiss with a raw intensity that spoke of all the barriers he could never cross.
In those charged, stolen seconds, it felt as though the world had vanished around them. Anduin leaned in, drawn by an irresistible force, the kiss deepening as if to capture something eternal. The connection was electric, each touch sending a shiver through them both, igniting a fire neither had dared to acknowledge. The gasp of the guards echoed faintly in the background, but they were lost to the sensation, wrapped in the warmth and the sheer impossibility of the moment.
Perfectia pulled back, her breath ragged, her eyes locked with his, both of them unwilling to let go. Anduin’s hands still held her face, his thumb gently brushing away a tear that had escaped her eye. He stared into her gaze, seeing not just a foe or a deception, but the vulnerable heart beneath. There was no need for words; they both felt it—a tragic, impossible connection that defied the chaos around them.
Tyrande’s expression shifted, caught off guard by the raw display before her. Her guards stood stunned, unsure of how to react, and even Alleria, having been knocked to the ground, stared with an incredulous look, her hand half-covering her mouth in disbelief.
“Get away from him!” Tyrande snapped, finally breaking the silence, her voice filled with a mix of outrage and a bewildered kind of fear. She pushed Perfectia to the ground, tearing her from Anduin’s grasp. The guards moved in swiftly, binding her tightly as they dragged her away, leaving Anduin standing there, breathless and shaken.
“We will attack soon,” Tyrande announced, turning to Anduin with a renewed determination. “You have our support, but make preparations for our assault on Lordaeron as quickly as possible.” With that, she took the crumpled note still in her hand and ripped it into pieces, her defiance clear as she tossed the shredded paper toward Anduin, the fragments fluttering to the ground like fallen petals.
Anduin stood in stunned silence as the Night Elves departed, his fingers trembling as he reached down to gather the torn pieces. He carefully pieced them back together, his hands smoothing the creases as he read the words again, absorbing the depth of Perfectia’s confession. A single tear traced a path down his cheek as he whispered, “It’s beautiful,” his voice filled with a quiet, unspoken grief that lingered long after the last of the light had faded from the sky.
My Love Poet
“You know where my brother is. Tell me where he is.” Alleria’s voice was cold, her eyes boring into Perfectia through the iron bars of the Stockades cell. The dim light barely illuminated her face, but the intensity of her gaze was unmistakable—this was not a request; it was a demand.
Perfectia sat on the thin, uncomfortable bed, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees as if she could somehow shield herself from the onslaught of emotions crashing over her. Anger, sadness, and heartbreak warred within her, each feeling as sharp and suffocating as the cell’s stale air. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to summon the Ashbringer and tear through the bars that confined her. But she knew better. The Ashbringer wasn’t fueled by fury or despair; it required something purer, a sense of justice, a need to protect something beyond herself. It was a burden she shared with Alexandros Mograine, whose spirit she could not communicate with directly but felt in the whispers of her conscience.
“Where’s my lion? Where is Kel’Magnus?” Perfectia’s voice cracked, a mix of defiance and desperation. He was more than a pet; he was a reminder of the brief kindness she had felt, a connection that had soothed her fractured soul.
Alleria’s smile was twisted, a bitter shadow of satisfaction flickering across her face. “We tried returning him to his mother, but the stubborn little beast keeps finding his way back here. It’s as if he knows something the rest of us don’t,” she said, her tone laced with a mocking edge. “Don’t worry, the guards are keeping him safe. I’m impressed he bonded with you so quickly. Must be nice to be needed, even by a beast.”
Perfectia’s heart twisted painfully. She nodded, a tiny, defeated movement.
Alleria took a step closer, the cool detachment in her voice giving way to simmering frustration. “But back to my question—where is my brother?”
Perfectia turned her gaze away, her expression vacant, masking the storm within. “I don’t know,” she replied, her voice flat, drained of all its usual bravado.
Alleria’s eyes narrowed, doubt clouding her features. “Do you know how High Elves extract information from their enemies?” she asked, her voice laced with a cruel curiosity.
Perfectia’s mind flashed to a memory from one of the darker chapters in her book, the pages she had tried to forget but couldn’t escape. She forced a bitter smile. “Acupuncture needles dipped in nerve poisons, if I recall correctly,” she answered, her voice tinged with false bravado.
Alleria’s eyebrow arched in surprise, but she didn’t let it show for long. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “So you’re familiar. But with my power, I can do so much worse, Blood Elf. Tell me where my brother is, and I’ll help you escape.”
Perfectia’s gaze remained forward, her expression hardening. “I can’t go home,” she murmured, each word weighed down by resignation. “And I told you, I don’t know where he is.”
Alleria’s frustration flared. She ran a hand through her hair, exhaling sharply. “Why did my sister help you?” she snapped.
Perfectia hesitated, her mind sifting through painful memories. “Which one?” she asked, her tone guarded, masking the unease that prickled at her spine.
Alleria’s anger deepened, her voice growing colder. “You know damn well which one. The one who put you on your knees with a single strike.”
Perfectia’s face twisted with a brief flash of anger before she looked away, her eyes distant. “She felt sorry for me,” she said quietly, her voice laced with bitterness. “Because of Teldrassil.”
Alleria’s eyes narrowed, disbelief flickering across her face. “You expect me to believe that? You wear that pity like armor, but I see through it. You don’t get mercy, not after what you’ve done.”
Perfectia’s silence spoke louder than words. She hugged her legs tighter, her mind drifting back to the memories she couldn’t escape—the burning tree, the screams that haunted her dreams, and the ashes that clung to her soul. She had been a part of it, even if she hadn’t struck the match, and no disguise could hide the guilt that weighed her down.
Alleria’s voice cut through her thoughts like a blade. “Your disguise was convincing the first time I saw you, but today it was sloppy. Almost like you didn’t care anymore. Like you wanted to be caught.”
Perfectia’s lips curled into a sad, defiant smile, but she kept her eyes down, unwilling to give Alleria the satisfaction of a reaction. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Alleria studied her for a moment, searching for a crack in her composure. “What was in that paper that made Tyrande so angry?” she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.
Perfectia tilted her head slightly, finally meeting Alleria’s gaze. “You didn’t read it?” she asked, her tone edged with a mocking disbelief.
Alleria shook her head, frustration simmering beneath her calm facade. “I thought it might be poisoned. But there’s no antidote on you, no hidden daggers. So why did you kiss him?”
Perfectia stared at Alleria, the question hanging between them like a challenge. “What if I told you I just wanted to use him for his wealth and power, until I could twist him into something I could control?” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Or maybe I just wanted to feel something real for once, something that wasn’t wrapped up in blood and betrayal.”
Alleria scoffed, her patience thinning. “You’re a fool,” she said, her voice harsh. “You think you’re special because you got close to him? You’re just another pawn in this endless war. And pawns get sacrificed.”
Perfectia looked at her like she took what she said as a personal challenge, “Until they make it over into the enemies territory.”
Alleria smiled slightly, "Oh, you think you’re funny.” Alleria rolled her and looked at her nails, “I checked on Galadin and Giramar in Pandaria. I can move pretty fast with this void power you know, much faster than a boat or a portal. They didn’t tell me how they were injured, they didn’t want to tell me anything. They actually told me to mind my own business and leave.”
“I was in an accident… There were a lot of accidents. I didn’t mean to hurt them.” Perfectia looked away sadly.
Alleria nodded her head slightly, “Why did my sister help you?” She asked again.
Perfectia just looked at her angry.
“Take pride in those golden eyes you have? They are bright. You know, I don’t remember seeing you in Argus once.” Alleria looked at her suspiciously.
Perfectia shook her head and shrugged, “I’ve never been to Argus. They have been changing back and forth since I was a child.” Perfectia looked away and thought back, “Is it beautiful there?” She asked.
Alleria looked at her slightly confused and laughed, “No, wow, you are actually funny,” She said in a sarcastic tone “but that would mean…” She shook her head, “…More lies.” She said and looked at Perfectia.
Perfectia looked at her slightly confused and raised one eyebrow at her. “Okay.” She said and looked at Alleria.
Alleria was shaking her head like it was hurting and Perfectia looked at her suspiciously, “You should really write what he’s saying down. Ignoring him won’t make him go away.” Perfectia suggested.
“SHUT UP!” Alleria screamed.
Perfectia smiled slightly, “Me or him?”
Alleria laughed trying to ignore her and the voices in her head, “Regardless of your ‘Light Forged’ eyes, I can shoot you from a mile away in the dark.”
Perfectia shook her head and smiled, "I’m a little more hands on, inside me there’s a bottle of emotion where one half of me wants to beat the stupid out of you.”
She looked at her confused, “What’s the other half?”
She looked away, “The other half wants to smother you like my abusive, alcoholic, father lying in a nursing home on life support.”
She rolled her eyes, “You could have just said, ‘Kill you’. “
“I’m a poet Alleria, but you shoot all you want, I’ll still find you, a mile away, and these glowing eyes will be the last thing you both see. If it makes you feel any better, you’re not the only one sharing a room for one." She stated. “My roommate is a lot quieter than yours is though.”
Alleria looked at her disturbingly, “He was right, you’re an abomination, a sick freak, a failed science project, putting you down would be an act of mercy!” Alleria shook her head, “TELL ME WHERE LIRATH IS!” She yelled and slammed the bars with her hand.
Perfectia looked at her with a sarcastic smile, “Yes I’ll do all those things you just said, those were definitely words that just came out of your mouth.”
Alleria laughed, “Keep that up.” She shook her head, “You stole a kiss from Anduin, it might have actually been his first, by law you should be executed tomorrow morning.” Alleria leaned against the cell bars and put her hands inside, “You know when I was being exiled from Silvermoon, I couldn’t help but notice these elf-like creatures littered about the island.”
Perfectia shrugged, “What of it?”
Alleria smiled, “Wretched I think they were called, and I think with the help of my Void Elves I can remove every trace of arcane energy from your body to speed up the process.” She laughed at her, “Do you think Anduin will let you kiss him again when your teeth and hair are gone, and there will be no way to identify your gender?”
Perfectia got up, rushed the bars, punched through them, and let out a roar as her attack missed when Alleria backed away. Perfectia looked at her enraged and breathed like a caged animal through her teeth.
Alleria reached into a bag holding Perfectia’s things, pulled a book from it, and showed it to her, “Open it.”
Perfectia glanced at the locked journal in Alleria’s hands, her eyes narrowing as she recognized the Windrunner family seal—a distinctive, intricate design that marked the lock and the cover. She shook her head, a subtle but defiant refusal. “No.”
Alleria’s fingers traced the familiar crest etched into the lock, her frustration simmering beneath her composed exterior. “Your family’s seal… my family’s seal is engraved all over this thing.” She turned the book, letting the light catch the emblem that had eluded her understanding. “I’ve tried everything to open it, every trick I know, and it still won’t budge. My husband had a book marked with similar symbols of the Silver Hand once, but it was useless, just like this might be.” She paused, weighing the book in her palm as if it were a loaded weapon. “But if there’s anything valuable in here, it might just buy your way out of this cell.”
Perfectia rolled her eyes and leaned back on the bed, her posture dismissive, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I don’t plan on leaving,” she said flatly. “I’ve already told you—I can’t go home. I won’t. I’d rather carve off my ears and eyebrows, pretend I’m human before I ever set foot back there.”
Alleria tilted her head, her voice laced with a sharp, cutting mockery. “You think that will make him love you?” she sneered, her gaze flicking between Perfectia and the book that still defied her.
Perfectia’s laugh was a brittle, jagged thing. “You really believe I gave him that letter to win his heart? I’m not some lovesick fool hoping for a happy ending. That letter was for me—a confession of what I feel, not a pathetic plea for his affections.” She met Alleria’s gaze head-on, her defiance blazing. “I’ve loved before and kept my silence. He died without ever knowing, and I’m not repeating that mistake. Even if it makes me a Wretched, at least I’ll be honest.”
Alleria’s mask of control slipped, irritation flickering across her features. She turned, her footsteps brisk and sharp, each step echoing her unspoken anger. “We’ll see,” she muttered, her voice carrying a mix of disdain and something far more unsettled.
Perfectia watched Alleria storm away, and a smirk played on her lips. She began to hum a cheerful, almost taunting melody—a tune that sounded like it belonged to someone who found joy in chaos. The light, upbeat notes drifted through the cold stone corridor, an unspoken challenge that echoed with defiant optimism. "
Donc laisse-moi te chanter
D’aller te faire en’ hmm hmm hmm
Moi, j’passerai pas à la radio
Parce que mes mots sont pas très beaux
Les gens me disent, à demi-mot
“Pour une fille belle, t’es pas si bête”
“Pour une fille drôle, t’es pas si laide”
“Tes parents et ton frère, ça aide”
Oh, tu parles de moi?
C’est quoi ton problème?
J’ai écrit rien qu’pour toi
Le plus beau des poèmes"
( Angèle - Balance Ton Quoi )
The melody lingered, poking at Alleria’s composure, her back stiffening with every carefree note. Perfectia’s mocking tune filled the air, clashing with the heaviness of the prison’s gloom, and left Alleria feeling more unsettled than when she had arrived.
Anduin tried his best to piece together the four fragments of the torn letter, his mind replaying every moment Tyrande Whisperwind had ripped them apart. He couldn’t let go of the words, even in their incomplete state. Each phrase, each tear felt like a reflection of his own heart—conflicted, confused, and broken. As he walked through the dimly lit halls of Stormwind Keep, the weight of it all bore down on him. He caught sight of Genn Greymane in the corridor, the old worgen in human form, his keen eyes immediately catching the turmoil on the young king’s face.
“Is everything alright, my King?” Genn asked, his voice gruff but filled with concern.
Anduin shook his head slightly, his thoughts distant. “That Night Elf,” he began, pausing as if the words themselves were too heavy to carry. “The one who spoke out during the emissary meeting. I met her tonight.”
Genn nodded, recalling the scene. “Yes, I remember. She wasn’t shy about speaking her mind.”
Anduin sighed, the tension in his shoulders visibly increasing. “She wasn’t who she appeared to be, Genn. She was Sin’dorei—a blood elf. They’ve arrested her.”
Genn chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “Good. Probably plotting something. She made quite the scene, flaunting herself like that. Beautiful childbearing hips though,” he added, not noticing the way Anduin’s expression darkened at his dismissive tone.
Anduin stared at Genn blankly, unmoved by the casual dismissal. It was clear Genn didn’t understand—how could he? “Is something wrong, Your Majesty? You seem troubled,” Genn asked, his smile fading as he picked up on the king’s unease.
Anduin forced a smile, but it was thin, brittle. “No… no, it’s fine. Just another day.” The lie was almost painful, and he turned away before Genn could pry further. “I’m going to bed.”
But sleep didn’t come easily. Anduin tossed and turned, trapped in a storm of emotions that refused to settle. Anger, sadness, confusion, even a flicker of something he didn’t want to acknowledge- arousal. He wasn’t naive; he knew how courts operated, how women and men alike had tried to seduce him or his father for power or position. He knew the games people played. He knew how the Witherbark trolls had tried to bribe his father with flesh in the guise of treaties, how his father had always refused, sparking further conflicts that Anduin had tried to mend with diplomacy.
But this… this was different. It felt personal in a way he couldn’t quite grasp. War, he understood. Strategy, betrayal, even bloodshed—those were things he’d been groomed to face. But this? This felt like a battlefield he wasn’t prepared for.
Unable to settle his restless mind, Anduin wandered to the kitchen, seeking solace in something cold. His fingers brushed against a pear, and he picked it up, staring at it as if it might reveal the answers he sought. The pear’s gentle curves and soft exterior reminded him of her Melfina. Her body, shaped like the fruit in his hand, was neither thin nor perfectly sculpted but was full and real, a tangible testament to her unapologetic presence.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured to the pear, the absurdity of the statement hanging in the dimly lit room. “But who are you, really?”
The simple fruit encapsulated the mystery she represented—sweet yet solid, common yet uniquely appealing. Anduin’s mind drifted back to Melfina, to the way her body seemed to defy convention, much like the pear. She was far from the statuesque beauty of others; she was softer, with a certain vulnerability in her fullness that made her seem grounded and genuine. It was as if every curve held a secret he desperately wanted to uncover, but her true nature eluded him, slipping just out of reach, like the taste of a pear—familiar yet indescribable.
Hours passed as Anduin sat there, lost in thought, the weight of the day and the strange pull of Melfina consuming him. The intimacy of their moments replayed in his mind, blending into fantasies that felt both comforting and dangerous. He was caught between duty and desire, between the logic of a king and the heart of a man. “This feels like I’m standing on the edge of a battlefield,” he whispered, staring at the pear in his hand. “But she’s not the enemy… or is she?”
Anduin went upstairs, his mind heavy, and changed out of his bed clothes into darker, nondescript attire with a hood that concealed his face. He moved through the empty halls of Stormwind Keep like a shadow, eventually arriving at the throne room where the guards on night duty stood, their postures stiffening when they saw him.
“I need to speak with the middle guard from the morning shift,” Anduin said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Do you know where he lives?”
One of the guards nodded, slightly surprised by the King’s request. “Yes, your Majesty. Tommy Joe Stonefield. Let me show you where.” The guard retrieved a large, well-worn book that contained the guard logs and flipped it open, pointing out a location on the map. Anduin’s eyes traced the marked spot, a small house far from the bustling streets of Stormwind.
“Please, don’t mention this to anyone,” Anduin added, his tone heavy with the unspoken weight of secrecy.
The guard nodded earnestly. “Of course, your Majesty. We are sworn to secrecy.” He handed Anduin a silver whistle. “Take my horse. No one will recognize you as you move through the streets. Please try to be back by 6 am; that’s when my shift ends.”
Anduin took the whistle, grateful but still distant. “Thank you. I will.” He left the Keep, cloaked in shadows, the cool night air biting against his skin as he mounted the horse and rode through the deserted city streets, his thoughts still tangled in the night’s events.
He found the small house marked on the map, dismounted, and hesitated before knocking, keeping his head low. The door opened to reveal a grizzled man, his face lined with the years of an adventurer’s hard life.
“Are you Tommy Joe Stonefield?” Anduin asked, his voice almost unrecognizable even to himself.
“Yes?” Tommy replied, his brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of the visitor.