Chapter Text
Faerin Lothar has never seen anything so beautiful.
The bridge on which she and her companion stand on at Highland Pass affords a view she heard legend of. Stormsong Valley, with its sweeping farm and mountain views and endless blue sky above, lay before her.
Anduin Wrynn inhales and exhales deeply, as if to cleanse the tension that was building within. It did feel nice to see the valley again, it had been some time, and he was honored to show Faerin what the Azeroth above Hallowfall was like.
That, and he had a personal matter to attend to, in a small hamlet out west, by the sea.
They head for the main town of Brennadam and Anduin points out the sights. There are farmlands all around, the meadery in the east and the shipyards to the north.
Outside of Boralus, Brennedam was considered the largest trade hub with the busiest market of all of Kul Tiras.
There were all kinds of shops that made Faerin’s head spin, there was even a cattery, much to her dismay.
When they wander into the food quarter and come upon the bakery, she notices Anduin paying particular attention to the bread and pastries. After looking into the shop itself, he suggests they head into the center square.
There are so many more people than Anduin thought would be there and by habit, he pulls his hood down lower, careful to hide his face and armour.
Faerin, upon seeing this, distracts the curious glances. Her gregarious and friendly nature warms the cautious people of House Stormsong. They haven’t always been amiable, but today they are welcoming to them both.
It’s because of this that they leave Brennadam later than Anduin hopes.
On their route west, Anduin decides they need to stop in Deadwash, for their safety. Though he knows they would be able to handle themselves - fighting was all anyone could think to do recently -- he’s just tired.
“It’s late,” he says. “There are raiders along these roads and there’s an inn here.”
At Faerin’s nod of agreement, he adds “and I mustn't forget to mention there’s also treasure hunters.”
“Treasure hunters?!” Faerin says in disbelief.
Of course, he intentionally shares that fact just to see her reaction. Once more, Anduin feels the tension within him unraveling. He smiles, having done it so infrequently lately, it felt odd, but good.
In the oncoming darkness, Faerin notices.
“Careful Anduin.” She smiles back at him. “Or you’ll actually allow yourself some happiness.”
Anduin’s only response is a snort of derision and to steer his horse towards the stables.
The tavern that they walk into is lively.
There’s music coming from somewhere, drunken singing and lots of talk of whose share will be bigger when all of the treasure is found.
Faerin is delighted.
She heads to the bar to place an order for food and drink and makes her way to the table Anduin secures in the corner.
She can hear a man - whose name is apparently Leo - at the table next to them explaining to an adventurer where most of the treasure lies and where to avoid the Irontide raiders.
When the food arrives, there’s even more drunken singing. The building is also starting to shake as some of the treasure hunters start to dance, which truthfully isn’t any real form of dance, but instead synchronized stomping.
Faerin gives Anduin a look full of mirth and gets ready to eat but not before gesturing at his hood and his ridiculous attempt of trying to eat while shrouded.
“Would anyone know you here?” she asks incredulously. “They’re all drunk Anduin.”
“They might,” he says. “But you’re right.”
Here’s the thing - the two people in the corner about to eat their meal, neglect to take full stock of the room.
Who are among the revelers? Who is just walking in? Who spots Faerin, clearly an outsider with her gleaming armor, but waits for confirmation on her companion’s identity?
Anduin pulls back his hood and almost immediately a flagon whizzes past his head to smash into the wall behind him. The honey mead within splashes free against the wall and all over the back of his head and down his neck.
Faerin’s mouth is agape. She’s not really sure if she should find it funny or not.
The tavern’s patrons seem to interpret the action as a celebration. The singing and dancing continues even more raucously and the barmaid that just brought their food tosses a cloth onto the bar and just walks out in surrender.
But Anduin, wiping at the back of his neck, quickly sees and recognizes who threw the mead and he’s stunned.
In more ways than one.
Taelia Fordragon is standing at the end of the bar seething.
She looks different.
Anduin, in all his years training in the art of diplomacy, can read her body language like a book. He’s quite certain a few people could also read her body language, obvious as it was.
Tense, coiled like a spring.
There’s so much more noise now, but he can easily read the word coming from her lips - you.
She’s pointing aggressively at him and is about to lunge towards him but she’s caught in her midsection by —
“Is that Flynn Fairwind?” Faerin asks, as if she spots an old friend, already forgetting about the thrown mead.
Flynn is pulling Taelia close and is whispering something in her ear. An act that seems more intimate than it should be among friends and Anduin suddenly, to his confusion, feels hot.
Nor can he begin to explain the relief he feels either as Taelia abruptly pulls away and heads for the door.
Anduin’s eyes follow her as she stops to grab her hammer that’s leaning against a pile of other weapons; clearly the spot the tavern keeper has designated for treasure hunters, workers and adventurers to lay aside their arms.
“That’s a really big hammer, Anduin,” Faerin says to his deaf ears as he is already standing up, disregarding his food.
Flynn makes a grand bowing gesture for the passing Anduin, who grunts a greeting as he follows Taelia out of the tavern.
The rogue for hire straightens then leans against the corner of the bar, crosses his arms and smiles at Faerin as she gives up on eating all together to approach him.
“Hello there, Flynn.” She smiles.
“Lady Lothar,” he says, bowing again, to which Faerin just rolls her eye.
“What was that all about?” She asks.
“Mmm, let’s see shall we?” Flynn taps a finger to his chin. “Oh yes, I remember now…”
“Anduin - knew - her - father - wasn’t - dead - but - she’s - always - thought - he - died - when - she - was - a - child - and - Anduin - didn’t - tell - her - that - her - father - was - not - only - alive - but - also - that - he - was - actually - the - Lich - King - master - of - the - Scourge - and - undead - army,” Flynn explains in one breath and smiling at Faerin warmly.
“Oh,” she replies. Then, “ohhhh.”
“Yes. Quite.” Flynn’s now pouring a mug of mead for himself and gesturing towards Faerin to ask if she’d want one as well. She shakes her head and he shrugs, putting down the flagon and dropping a coin on the bar.
“Now then, Lady Lothar should we go check on the king?” he asks, grabbing his mug.
“How are you?”
“How am I? You can’t be serious.”
“Right, you’re angry with me.”
“Oh, I’m beyond angry, your majesty,” she says, unholstering her hammer.