“You’re heir to the throne!” Varian insisted, using whatever course he could to convince his only child that he was being absurd.
“I’m not abandoning Stormwind, but I need to leave to complete what I’ve begun.” Despite being only thirteen summers, at the moment Anduin sounded like a much older person. “I started it with High Priest Rohan in Ironforge. You know what he said about me. Even you agreed with him about my potential.”
“The Light can help you when you come to rule Stormwind, but it’s only a tool, like—”
“The Light is no tool. The Light is.” Anduin smiled softly. “Someday, I’ll make you understand that too. Father, I never felt more alive than during my training in Ironforge! Just think of it! As a priest of the Light, I could do so much more for our people—”
“As king, you have the ultimate ability!” Varian’s heart pounded. Of all that was happening, this was the one thing with which he could not cope. His son would come home with him. There would be an end to this talk about the Light, clearly a misguided influence. Varian would see to it that Anduin would overcome his lack of sufficient battle skills and train to become a proper ruler!
“Father?” Anduin’s smile faded. “You aren’t listening. Fine. I tried.”
The boy turned to leave. Something snapped in Varian. He saw his beloved Tiffin again with their infant son snuggled in her arms. Tiffin faded away, leaving only the child . . . and then the child began to fade away.
Varian could not let that happen. Without thinking, he lunged forward, snaring Anduin’s arm.
The prince let out a cry. Some of the overwhelming fear faded, and Varian realized that he was crushing Anduin’s arm.
“I—I—” The king released his grip. Anduin, his face filled with shock, grasped at his injured arm. He knew as well as his father that Varian not only could strangle a foe with one hand, but had several times. Few men there were who could match the strength of the legendary Lo’Gosh.
And now, in a fit of utter madness, he had used that same might, however briefly, against his defiant son. . . .
“I—Anduin—” Varian could not summon words. The person most precious to him in all the world stood horrified at the sight of him. “I never meant—”
Their guards suddenly came running. Varian could only guess that they had heard Anduin’s cry and feared for the prince’s life.
“Your Majesty!” called the captain. “Did someone attack the two of you?”
“It’s all right,” Anduin interjected, rubbing his arm. “There’s no danger . . . is there, Father?”
“No . . .”
Anduin turned to leave again. Varian started to reach for him, but stopped the moment it appeared that the guards would follow his example and try to keep the prince from wandering away.
“Where are you going, Anduin?”
The prince paused and looked over his shoulder at his father. “To Velen. I’m going with him and the draenei when they depart.”
It did not startle the king, but did sting him. The Prophet could probably speak far easier with his son than he could. “Did you—have you discussed this with him?”
“I talked to him about resuming my studies of the Light.”
“You can do that back in Stormwind with Archbishop Benedictus!” Varian did not care how he looked to the guards. This was his son and he was losing him.
Anduin’s brow furrowed at mention of the archbishop. “Benedictus . . . is not right for this. . . . I can’t explain that. I just know. For what I need to learn, I need to go elsewhere. Rohan even once told me that.”
The king had not been aware of that little fact. He silently cursed the dwarf, silently cursed Velen . . . and then finally himself.
“They can take my things to the ship, Father.”
“Velen may not take you with him to the draenei capital.”
Anduin paused to consider this, and Varian’s hopes stirred. Then: “If he won’t take me with him, he’ll know that I have to go elsewhere to achieve what I must. Good-bye, Father.”
“Don’t—” The former gladiator bit off what he was going to say, for the guards, more aware of what was happening, looked as if all they waited for was the smallest signal. Even a hint by their king that they should step in and surround the prince would have served enough as a direct order.
His decision not to let them act brought the sad smile back to Anduin’s face. “Thank you.”
“I—I swear by your mother that I’ll never hurt you again, Anduin. Not in any way!” He started toward his son with the intention of hugging him.
The prince’s eyes widened. He stepped out of reach, then replied, “I know.”
Anduin walked off in what Varian could only imagine was the direction of the Prophet’s quarters. The king watched until his son was no longer visible to him, aware all the while that the last thing he had seen in Anduin’s eyes was a shadow of fear that Varian might, after all, hurt him.
“Your Majesty . . . ,” the captain hesitantly began. “Are you certain we shouldn’t—”
“You’re dismissed,” he responded curtly. “All of you.”
Aware of his mood, the guards obeyed swiftly and without question. Varian was at last left alone.
And only then did he realize just how much he was afraid he would be that way for the rest of his life.
Some of the certainty with which he had left his father began to evaporate the farther from the king Anduin got. Yet, something continued to urge him on his course.
He knew somehow that he would find Velen in the Temple Gardens again. The draenei had just begun to meditate and so was not disturbed by the youth’s sudden appearance.
But that did not mean that Velen had no inkling as to why Anduin had come.
“You spoke with your father,” the Prophet murmured. “I sense the troubles between you.”
Anduin saw no reason not to be blunt. “Velen, I know my path now. I want to go with you.”
The draenei looked perturbed. “How did you find out?”
“What do you mean?”
“Matters have arisen that take me elsewhere. I planned to choose another priest to act as representative of the draenei and leave in the morning after giving my farewells to our hosts.”
His revelation cemented Anduin’s course. “I knew nothing. I knew only that I can learn best if I come with you.”
“Your father . . .”
“I’ve told him.”
The Prophet frowned. “Perhaps you should reconsider. The path of the Light is not a simple one, and you are young. Gifted, yes, and I say that honestly. Come to me in three years, perhaps—”
“If you try to leave me behind, I’ll follow. I know that I’ve chosen right. I feel it.”
“So young . . . and yet so old,” the draenei remarked with a sigh. He noticed the youth rub his arm. “You have an injury. Let me help you.” The Prophet placed an open hand on the area in question.
The Light emanated from the draenei’s palm, a wondrous glow no larger than an apple yet radiating so much majesty. It spread to the injured region. The pain in Anduin’s arm quickly receded, becoming little more than a memory in but the blink of an eye.
And as that happened, Anduin felt a stirring in his heart. Emotions arose, feelings of love and forgiveness.
Along with those feelings, an image formed, one not of memory, but rather imagination. Anduin only knew his mother from pictures, and so the vision he had of her was one formed throughout his young life. In that vision, she was glorious, comforting. . . .
“You love her very much, your mother,” Velen murmured. He did not bother to explain how he knew what Anduin was thinking. Velen was the Prophet, after all.
“She died when I was a baby, but all I’ve seen and heard from my father and others of the court makes me feel I know her . . . and love her.”
The draenei nodded. “And you love your father much also.”
Anduin swallowed, recalling the pain and the constant frustration with the king . . . but also all that Varian had sought to do for him. “Of course. Whatever our disagreements . . .”