Before the Storm

by Christie Golden

  “Please. I…need you, Wyll,” Anduin said. It was selfish, but it was true.

  “No, you don’t, Your Majesty,” Wyll said very gently. “You’re all grown up now into a fine young man. You need a valet, not a child’s servant. I’ve made a list over there of fellows I can recommend.”

  Wyll turned his white head and pointed with an unsteady finger. Sure enough, on the little table, there was a rolled-up scroll lying next to a book. Anduin noticed there was a bookmark inserted three-quarters of the way through. He seized on this and said, “But your book…you’re not done with your story.”

  Wyll chuckled, wheezing. “Oh,” he managed, “my story’s finished, I’m afraid. And it’s been a fine one, if I do say so myself. I’ve gotten to serve under three kings—good ones. Fair ones. One who needed a bit of guiding, to be sure. And don’t worry, I’m not talking about you, my boy. I’ve had a purpose, and true love, and just enough danger to make things interesting.”

  He turned his watery eyes on Anduin. “But I’m tired, dear boy. I’m very, very tired. I’ve lived long enough, I think. The Light’s got far better things to do with itself than to heal cranky old men who’ve lived long, full lives.”

  No, Anduin thought. No, I don’t think it does.

  “Please let me help you,” he said, trying one last time. “I’m just starting my reign. And I’ve lost so much. So many.”

  “I’ve lost everyone,” Wyll said almost conversationally. Anduin knew that the elderly man was not upbraiding him, but even so, he felt heat rise in his face. “Your grandparents. Your parents. My brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews. All my old friends. And my beloved Elsie. They’re all waiting for me. Can’t quite see them yet, but I will. It would be a grand thing to move with no aches and pains, I’ll admit that. But it’s going to be a grander thing to set all these burdens down and be with those I loved.”

  Anduin couldn’t think of anything to say. He wondered what it was that was finally taking Wyll away. An illness? He could purge it. A weak heart or another failing organ? He could repair it.

  He could, but had been forbidden to. His eyes stung.

  Wyll gently laid a hand on Anduin’s arm. “It’s all right,” he said. “You are going to be a wonderful king, Anduin Llane Wrynn. One for the history books.”

  Anduin covered the hand with his own. He did not call on the Light. He would respect the wishes of this good man who had served the royal family his whole life.

  “I’d be a better one with you making sure my crown sat just right on my head,” he said, recalling his trip to Ironforge a few years earlier, when Wyll had taken a good fifteen minutes arranging the prince’s circlet.

  “Oh, you’ll figure that out,” Wyll said.

  “Wyll,” Anduin said gently. “Will you let me ease your pain, at least?”

  The old servant—the old friend—nodded. Grateful for even this little chance to help, to make at least some feeble attempt to repay Wyll for all he had done, Anduin asked the Light for that and only that. A soft radiance limned his hand. The illumination traveled quickly to Wyll’s hand, then raced along his body for a few seconds, flaring brightly before it faded.

  “Oh, yes, that’s quite nice,” Wyll said. He looked better. Not quite so pale, and breathing seemed to come easier to him as his chest rose and fell evenly. But Anduin’s own chest was tight with grief.

  “What else can I do? Something to eat, perhaps? I hear the chef has perfected some pastries.” Wyll was as bad as any six-year-old child when it came to sweets.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Wyll said. “I think I’m done with that now. Thank you, though, Your Maj—”

  “Anduin.” His voice broke. “I’m just Anduin.”

  “You’re good to an old man, Anduin. I shouldn’t keep you. Please don’t berate yourself for this. Nothing is more natural than what I’ll be doing shortly.”

  “I’d like to stay if you’ll let me.”

  Wyll eyed him. “I’d not cause you any more pain than I have to, dear boy.”

  Anduin shook his head. “No. You won’t.” It wasn’t a lie. Not quite. Losing Wyll would be devastating whether Anduin was present or not. But at least if he was here when the old man breathed his last, Anduin would know he had done all he could. He had been denied the chance to be with his father when Varian died. They had embraced when the king left, and their words to each other had been kind. But Varian had fallen alone save for the presence of demons and his killer, and not even his body could be recovered.

  Wyll had earned the right to have someone with him at the end. He had earned it a thousand times over.

  “How about I read you the rest of the book?” Anduin said.

  “That would be very pleasant,” Wyll said. “Do you remember that I taught you to read?”

  Anduin did. The memory made him smile. “I used to get upset when you would correct my pronunciation,” he recalled.

  “No, not really. You were a very mild-tempered child. You just got frustrated. There’s a difference.”

  A lump wedged itself in Anduin’s throat. He hoped he could read past it. He owed Wyll that much, at least. “All right. We’ll read. Let me get you some water.”

  He stepped outside to call for someone and found Genn pacing in the hall.

  “How is he?” Greymane asked quietly.

  Anduin couldn’t speak and took a moment to compose himself. “He’s dying,” he replied. “He won’t let me heal him.”

  “He told the same thing to High Priestess Laurena when I called her in to look at him,” Genn said.

  “What? Genn, why didn’t you tell me?”

  Genn looked at him levelly. “Would it have made any difference to you?”

  Anduin sagged. “No,” he said. “I’d have asked him to let me try regardless.”

  Genn reached out and squeezed Anduin’s shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. And it’s his choice. You can’t save everyone.”

  “It feels like I can’t save anyone,” Anduin said.

  “I know that feeling, too,” Greymane said. Anduin thought about what the other king had endured and knew it to be true. Only a few refugees had escaped Gilneas, and it was only through the night elves’ kindness that they had survived at all.

  The young king nodded, his heart as heavy as lead inside his chest. He took a deep breath. “I’m going to read to him for a while. Would you mind having someone bring some water and cups?”

  Genn seemed about to speak, then nodded. “Of course. Would you like someone to stay with you?”

  “No. I’m fine. I just…well. If there’s an emergency, you know where to find me. I think it will be soon.”

  The older man nodded sympathetically. “I’ll station someone outside just in case. You’re doing a good thing, my boy.”

  “I wish I believed that.”

  “When you are Wyll’s age or mine, you will.”

  * * *

  —

  The next few hours slipped by. Wyll had perked up for a bit and accepted some water, though he wouldn’t allow Anduin to fuss too much over him. He listened to the book, which was a history about the Dragon Aspects, and initially made a comment or two. Then he spoke less and less, and finally Anduin realized the old man had drifted off to sleep.

  Or had he—

  As Anduin leaned forward to make sure Wyll’s chest was still moving, Wyll’s eyes flew open. Anduin realized at once that Wyll was looking at something the king couldn’t see.

  “Papa,” Wyll murmured. “Mama…”

  Anduin put the book down and took the old man’s hand. How thin the skin was, how twisted the fingers, like a tree’s roots. Yet up until his last few days, Wyll had completed his duties. Anduin’s eyes stung again as he envisioned those hands performing with difficulty things he himself could do so easily.

  How
had he not noticed this? I’m so sorry, Wyll. I didn’t want to see.

  Then, suddenly, Wyll grew querulous. “But…where’s my Elsie? You had to have died, dearest. If you’d survived the Scourge, you’d have found a way to come to me. Elsie, where are you?” His arm extended, reaching for his phantom wife. “I can’t find my way without you!”

  Anduin’s heart was breaking. Gently, he called the Light and placed his radiant hand on the old man’s now clammy brow.

  “Shh,” he said softly. “Be at peace. You’ll find each other, old friend. You will. When the time is right. But now rest.”

  Wyll blinked rapidly, frowning a little, and when he turned to Anduin, it looked as though he did recognize his charge. “Anduin? You’re here, too?”

  “Yes, it’s me. I’m here. I won’t leave you.”

  Wyll settled back down, closing his eyes. “You were such a good boy. It was a joy taking care of—” He broke off in midsentence. Anduin bit his lower lip.

  Then the old man rallied. “Tell her I always loved only her. My little Elsie with the fire-red hair. If you see her. Tell her I’ll wait for her.”

  Tears stung the king’s eyes. “Of course I’ll tell her. I promise.” He swallowed hard. “You go on now.”

  “I think I will. It’s really quite beautiful,” Wyll sighed. “Thank you for not keeping me.”

  Anduin started to say something but then closed his mouth. He could feel the old man’s pulse slowing…slowing…heard a soft sigh from the bed.

  Slow…slow…

  Stop.

  Genn was waiting for Anduin outside the door. When the king emerged, Genn looked at him with eyes that held far too many sorrows.

  “I’m all right,” Anduin said. It wasn’t quite true, but he had a purpose now, and that helped. “I need you to do something for me.”

  “Of course. What do you need, my boy?”

  “Please ask High Priestess Laurena to prepare Wyll’s body for burial with all rites due to so close a friend of the Wrynn family. Then tell my advisers to meet me in the map room within two hours. Notify High Exarch Turalyon and Alleria Windrunner that I desire their attendance as well.”

  Genn’s bushy eyebrows rose at that, but he stopped just short of asking why. Instead he said, “You don’t need to do anything just yet, you know. Your head—”

  “Is clear,” Anduin replied. “But I thank you for your concern. I’ll be in my quarters preparing for the meeting.”

  He turned and strode off before Genn could continue to press him. He had been alone with Wyll’s body and his own pain for an hour before emerging, and the first wave of grief had crested and receded. Now he needed to focus.

  Anduin spent the hours before the meeting writing furiously and consulting various tomes, then said a quick prayer to calm himself and went to meet his advisers in the map room.

  Everyone he had requested was there: Genn Greymane, Mathias Shaw, Catherine Rogers, Alleria Windrunner, and Turalyon. Even Velen had traveled from the Exodar to be present. When Anduin informed them of his plans, only Velen stood with him.

  Rogers, of course, was no surprise. “Have you been to Southshore recently?” she snapped rhetorically. “The very creature you’re negotiating with deliberately unleashed the blight against an Alliance town! I had friends—family—there. Now there’s only Forsaken.”

  “The Forsaken are not the Scourge,” Anduin reminded her. “Some of them retain a sense of who they were, and they miss their living relatives.”

  “I can’t believe them capable of such things,” Catherine retorted.

  Anduin turned to Shaw. “Spymaster?” he asked calmly.

  Shaw nodded. “His Majesty is correct. A short while ago, he asked me to send extra agents to the Undercity. A governing body has sprung up in Sylvanas’s absence. They call themselves the Desolate Council. I have reason to believe that the king’s proposal of a gathering would be extremely well received among this number. But they do not represent the majority of the Forsaken.”

  Rogers looked stunned. Anduin took a step toward her, beseeching her. “Catherine…your family and friends…they could be among the council.”

  For a moment, he saw something soft flit across the sky admiral’s face. Then her jaw tightened, and that face grew harder than he had ever seen it.

  “They are dead.” She all but spit the words. “Worse than dead—monsters. How can you possibly imagine I’d want to see them as they are now?”

  “Remember, Sky Admiral,” Anduin said, his voice still kind, “you speak to your king.”

  All the color that had fled her face rushed back. She bowed immediately. “My apologies, Your Majesty, if I’ve given offense. But the shambling wrecks of my loved ones are the last thing I would ever want to see. I’d prefer to remember them as they were. Alive, healthy, happy…and human.”

  “No offense was taken, Admiral,” Anduin replied. “And your point is understandable. King Greymane?”

  “You know my thoughts on Forsaken,” Genn growled. His voice was so rough and deep, the older king might as well have been in his worgen form. “I agree with the admiral. They’re monsters. If we care at all for our Forsaken relatives, we should be trying to give them true deaths, not embrace what they’ve become.”

  Anduin’s heart sunk further with each opinion voiced. “Reunions can often be disappointing,” Alleria said bluntly. “You may not know, but recently Vereesa and I met with Sylvanas. It…did not go well.”

  “No, I didn’t know,” Anduin said, strain creeping into his voice. He thought about his words to Valeera: It seems each passing day reduces the number of people I can rely on. “Perhaps you would care to enlighten me.”

  “We met only to see what was left of our family ties,” she said. “I will tell you more if you wish. But suffice it to say that I would not put my faith in her, Anduin Wrynn. She has been too long in the darkness, and it has eaten away what is left of the sister I loved so dearly.” Her voice was strong, yet it quivered slightly. Despite all that had happened to her, despite her worrisome familiarity with the Void, it was obvious to Anduin that she was still capable of deep love. She was still Alleria. And the failure of the reunion of the three sisters had wounded her. It did not bode well for his plan to convince this group of the power of familial bonds.

  “Nor would I trust the rot-riddled brains of the Forsaken to be able to distinguish friend from foe if they came face to face with their erstwhile loved ones,” Alleria continued. “I would advise against this path.”

  “As would I,” said Turalyon, startling Anduin. More than most, the paladin understood the power of the Light and how it could change minds and hearts. He had even befriended and fought alongside a demon who had been infused with the Light. “I ask you as a tactician: Do you really wish to risk failure? You could start a war. If even one of the Forsaken snaps and kills an Alliance member—”

  “Hell,” boomed Genn, “if one of the Alliance members sneezes too loudly, we’d have war. It’s too risky, Your Majesty.” He calmed himself before continuing in a quieter voice. “Light knows your heart’s in the right place. And it’s a bigger, more generous heart than mine. But you have to be a good king as well as a good man.”

  Valeera had said something similar. Anduin knew the truth of the words, yet he also had to be true to himself.

  Genn continued. “We have more than enough to keep us occupied and sleepless at night with goblins, Azerite, and a damaged world. Let’s not start a conventional war over, what—a total of a few dozen individuals? We gain so little and stand to lose so much.”

  “We stand to gain peace,” came Velen’s quiet voice.

  “The actions of a few dozen…people,” and Rogers pronounced the last word in a slightly strangled tone, “don’t determine peace.”

  “No,” Anduin said. “Not in that moment, perhaps. But over time. If thi
s goes well—”

  “If,” Greymane emphasized.

  Anduin shot him a sharp look. “If this goes well,” he repeated, adding, “and I believe it will, this could plant a seed. If these few people can find common ground, why not a hundred, or a thousand, or ten thousand, or more?”

  Aware that negative emotions were running high and threatening to overshadow other factors, he tried appealing to their tactical minds. “Why would Sylvanas openly start a war? She’s got much to lose and little to gain. The Horde is preoccupied with the same concerns that face the Alliance: how to recover from the devastating war with the Legion. How to heal Azeroth and how to keep Azerite from falling into the hands of the opposition. Do you think she wants to fight another open war with all that going on?”

  “There’s always a plan with that banshee,” Genn said. “She’s always steps ahead of us.”

  “Then let us work out the same steps ourselves. In no scenario does open warfare work to either the advantage of the Horde or that of the Alliance.”

  “That we know of,” Alleria said. “And there is much none of us knows about Sylvanas and how she thinks.”

  “Is there anyone present who thinks she would wish to see harm come to the Forsaken?” Anduin challenged.

  There was silence.

  “The Forsaken are her people. Her creations. Her children in a way. We’ve seen mountains of evidence that she is trying to save them, to find means to prolong their existences.”

  “As I’ve said before, she wants to make more of them by killing us,” Genn said. “What if she thinks these humans might be amenable to becoming Forsaken themselves? They could be with their loved ones forever that way.”

  “So she could kill our people, recruit a couple dozen new Forsaken—and immediately enter a war. That’s an excellent tactic.” Anduin tried, but he couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

  Genn fell unhappily silent. Anduin looked at them one by one. “I’m aware that this could backfire. The Forsaken could find themselves envious of the living, which could solidify a moderate attitude into a zealous one. The same could be said of the Alliance side. They may find themselves repulsed by people they once loved and become more determined than ever to destroy the Forsaken. But I believe they deserve the chance to find out. Both the humans and the Forsaken.”