To quote a famous figure: And here we - go!

Once again brought to you by Jojo1112-proofreading, aka my good-spirited sounding board for this story. Hope you have a good time reading!

Chapter 3: Monsters

The doors of Undercity's throne room closed slowly after the three ambassadors of the Alliance – two humans and a night elf, all looking rather relieved at the prospect of escaping the gauntlet of orcs who lined the walls and were meaningfully toying with their weapons – had stepped through them. They fell shut with a resounding clang, leaving the remaining leaders of the Horde inside by themselves.

"Threats, sweet words and an offer of peace." commented Lor'themar. The former High Elf turned his green gaze away from where the ambassadors had just been. "Thoughts?"

"It's a genuine offer." the huge tauren Baine stated. He had kept his silence for the duration of the meeting, though that was more out of respect than a lack of something to say, clearly. "I know Anduin, and those were his words. Note how they explicitly said 'peace', not 'surrender'. He would have had every right to call it the latter by this point."

Saurfang frowned, looking up at his friend. "We're not defeated yet, Baine."

"You know as well as I do that that's only because they've chosen not to attack again yet. With Jaina there, they would have our walls down in minutes. We're too weakened to withstand another assault."

The old orc huffed and rose from his position on the throne steps. He had chosen not to sit on the royal throne when he addressed the ambassadors, partly because he wasn't Warchief and partly because the thing was plain and simple not made for an orc. His head ached, a condition he hadn't even known his race could develop until a few hours ago. He wished he could refute Baine's claim, but the unfortunate truth of the matter was that the tauren chieftain was right. "We could make a final stand. Die fighting, at least." he said, though even to him it sounded half-hearted.

"Or we could be sensible and take this offer before even more of Azeroth is destroyed. In my opinion, that would the more honourable course."

Saurfang threw his friend a sour look. Baine had argued for a truce from the very beginning of this war, and while following events had made Saurfang begin to share that desire, agreeing to it now would be akin to admitting defeat. But it was either that or fight, and most likely die senselessly. Or, if by some stroke of luck they'd prevail, he'd have to continue fighting a war he could no longer see the honour in. None of the options agreed with him.

"Sylvanas will not approve of that decision." Lor'themar pointed out in Baine's direction. As always his impassive face was unreadable. It made it impossible to tell where he stood.

"Sylvanas isn't here." Saurfang stated. If he was honest with himself, he was glad of that fact. Perhaps he should have been a bit more distraught that the Warchief of his Horde had been captured by the enemy, but he couldn't bring himself to be.

Baine didn't have such qualms. "And thank the Earth Mother she isn't, because if she were, those three might be sent back to Anduin as severed heads by now and the Alliance would be storming our walls! I'd say this outcome is the best we could hope for."

"Careful what you say, chief." hissed another voice.

Usually either carefully measured or mocking and derisive, now the open threat in it was unmistakeable. Saurfang did his best not to flinch as the Forsaken Nathanos Blightcaller stepped out of the shadows to the left of the throne. He didn't know when or how he had appeared there; he could never hear the damn bastard coming. It was a nasty habit all of them seemed to share.

The Forsaken's red eyes burned at Baine. "It figures you would be the first to bow. With all the friends you have on the other side of the ditch. But the rest of you?" He turned his gaze to Lor'themar and Saurfang. "You're all short-sighted. Once our queen returns, the Alliance will break and none of this will matter. And here you are talking of surrendering to those – men."

"The Alliance might object strongly to her just 'returning', Champion." Lor'themar replied, far more politely than Saurfang would have been able to. "And as for it breaking, none of Sylvanas' attempts in that direction have yet shown much promise; if anything they have only brought them closer together, wouldn't you agree?"

"We won't leave them a choice in the matter." the Blightcaller said, ignoring the second half of Lor'themar's objection completely. "I hear we've captured the king's pet beast in the battle. I think I'll pay it a little visit until it either howls out my queen's location or its cries bring the boy king himself to our doors to beg for the wolf's life." He punctuated that sentence with a grim smile and turned, heading for the door.

"Nathanos!" Saurfang bellowed. As the Banshee Queens champion, the man was technically higher ranking than him, but enough was enough and his voice still carried enough authority for the Forsaken to stop in his tracks. "You won't be torturing anyone, is that understood? You're dooming the Horde if you do this."

The Blighcaller turned around, a look of contempt on his face. "I hadn't expected you of all our warriors to be afraid."

Saurfang bared his teeth, steeping up to him. "The Alliance doesn't scare me and neither do you, Champion. But forsaking every code of honour just for petty revenge? You've been after Greymane for a long time now, I know. But I won't let you murder a defenceless prisoner and prove to the Alliance that we're the monsters they claim we are!"

The other raised a mocking eyebrow. "Would it help your sense of honour if I untied the beast first? Or has your idealistic tauren friend here planted even more ridiculous notions in your head?"

"What would that be; basic common decency?" Baine said heatedly.

"Let me guess; you'd rather set the wolf free as a 'gesture of goodwill', correct? I'm sure the boy king will thank you politely before he resumes razing this city and takes your tribe as faithful, powerless subjects. But then that's all your kind ever wanted, isn't it?"

The tauren's nostrils flared. A growl came from low in his throat as he took a step towards Nathanos.

"If I may," Lor'themar interjected, his voice still measured, "I'd point out the option none of you seem to be considering: while we have lost our Warchief, Anduin Wrynn lost his general and close advisor. The logical solution that springs to mind is a trade. One prisoner for another. It wouldn't need to be a basis for peace, but it would keep or options open."

Saurfang scoffed. He was grateful to the High Elf that he was trying to prevent the others from going at each other's throats, but he very much doubted that to be a viable solution. "They'd be fools if they agreed to that, Lor'themar. Sylvanas can do much more damage to them if she's free than the wolf could to us. She has done too much already." The old orc shook his head as the vision of the burning tree flashed behind his eyes.

"From what I know, Wrynn and Greymane have a close bond; akin to, if not father and son, then mentor and student. It might make him susceptible to our proposal."

"I doubt it." Saurfang glanced at his friend. "Baine? You know them better than we do."

Baine thought for a moment, then nodded rather reluctantly. Saurfang guessed that the idea would have agreed with him much better if the trade had been about anyone other than Sylvanas. "Maybe. But Anduin isn't stupid. If they agree, they won't just let her go. They'll demand concessions."

"Which I'm sure you'll meet." Nathanos commented. Saurfang could see the silent fury simmering underneath the Forsaken's disdainful expression. "I see you've resolved to keep talking. Talk, then. I have better things to do than listen to it." His red eyes fixed on Saurfang one last time before he turned around and stalked out of the throne room.

Lor'themar stared at the spot where he'd disappeared. The elf's expression betrayed worry for the first time. "I don't like this." he said quietly.

Saurfang could only agree. It wasn't like Nathanos to back down from an argument. "I'll double the guards on Greymane's cell. Before he tries anything stupid."

Baine shook his horned head. "He and Sylvanas would make the world burn before they'd listen to reason. And if we don't do something, they just might." His gaze roamed between the other two leaders. "This is the best and perhaps only chance we'll get. We have to speak with Anduin and reach an agreement, quickly." he urged.

"You're proposing treason." Lor'themar's eyebrows rose in question. "Sylvanas is Warchief, and he's her champion."

"The Horde has always chosen its warchief." the tauren disagreed hotly. "Look at what she's done to Teldrassil; how she treats anything that isn't Forsaken. I don't know many who would still choose her." His eyes fell on Saurfang. "I know you wouldn't either, old friend. So stop supporting what you know is wrong and help us end this madness."

His friend didn't say it explicitly, what he expected him to do, but he didn't have to. Saurfang stared back, trying to dissuade the tauren from that notion. He had never wanted to be Warchief, nor was he fit to be. Least of all now: In the past, at least it had always been somewhat clear who his enemies were. He missed those days.

But his friend was right in that this couldn't go on like this.

The old soldier straightened his shoulders. "Go; talk to Wrynn." he told Baine. Well aware that this was crossing the first line, and if Sylvanas were to return he would pay for it. So be it. He turned to Lor'themar, who had kept silent and watched the exchange with cautious apprehension. "You don't have to agree with Baine; this is just 'keeping our options open'. Can I count on you to keep Nathanos in check?"

Red eyes clashed with blue; one mocking, the other challenging. Again it was this ritual of sizing the other up before either of them made a move. Sylvanas wondered if on his part it was a show, or if this was the real Anduin Wrynn. She was almost willing to bet the former, but it would be interesting to find out.

When Wrynn moved, he surprised her by producing a key from inside his cloak. It was dull grey and worn at the edges, telling of frequent use. He unlocked the cell door and, with an ungraceful movement, stepped inside, closing it again behind him.

"Brave." Sylvanas mocked, making a show of rattling her shackles. She ignored the burn of the Light-infused metal as it made contact with her skin.

"Just a matter of courtesy." he countered. "We should speak face to face instead of through cell bars."

"Why don't you unlock these chains as well then, little lion? That would make for truly civilized conversation."

He snorted wryly. "Thanks, but no. I'm not that trusting; though my friends insist on warning me so."

"You should listen to those warnings sometime. If your track record is any indication, they are warranted. You've been taken prisoner more times than is reasonable even for human princes, if I recall correctly. It mystifies me how you have managed to survive this long, little lion."

"Is that your first question, Lady Windrunner?"

"It is not." So he really wanted to play out this little game, did he? Fine. Sylvanas thought for a moment and decided to first probe for some immediately beneficial information. "Where exactly is this place? I know you sent me through a portal, and I can hear the sea."

Wrynn nodded. "We're in a remote tower on the northern shore of Baradin Bay, just a couple of miles north of Ironforge. Usually used to house caught pirates until they can be picked up, hence the cell. Moira kindly left it at our disposal when I told her of our…predicament."

"How nice of the dwarf." Sylvanas said. There had been no hesitation with his answer, so he must have been expecting that question. Still, the lapping of the waves that she'd heard and the coldness of the air made her think that he'd told her the truth. There were of course other places that would meet those conditions, but what he described made sense from a tactical standpoint. Not too far away from Undercity, but deep enough into Alliance territory that anyone who might discover her whereabouts would have a difficult time getting here. She smirked. "Though I don't think I've ever been described as a predicament before. 'Dashing', sure; 'plague', occasionally. But a nuisance? I don't know whether to feel flattered or insulted."

"Moira called you something slightly less flattering when I spoke with her." Wrynn replied drily. "I understand there's no love lost between you two. My turn. Where is Genn Greymane being held?"

Really? Sylvanas scoffed. "I don't know."

"But you must have some idea."

"I do, but that's another question. I've already answered yours." She smirked. "Which means that it's my turn."

He blinked, bewildered. Then a look of annoyance passed over his features. "I had hoped we could start this off on more honest terms, at least."

"Maybe you are just too trusting." she replied innocently.

"I see. I'll remember that next time." He raised an eyebrow. "And your question?"

Let's see. "Since you've so brazenly marched up to our walls and I'm indisposed, how do you plan on taking Undercity now?"

"Lordaeron."

"No." Sylvanas denied, cold seeping into her voice as she straightened in her shackles. "It will never be known by that name again."

"It is an ancient human city…"

"It is ours by right." she cut him off sharply. "And no human – least of all you – will ever rule it again."

"Because of Arthas?"

"Answer my question!" she snapped.

He flinched at the vehemence in her voice. For a heartbeat, she had not seen Wrynn standing before her but him; the blond-haired, blue-eyed monster of a man who had destroyed everything she had once cared about. Sylvanas had not expected the powerful flash of hatred that had coursed through her then, had thought it long dead and buried along with the rest of her mortal feelings. Don't be a fool; look at him! she admonished herself. This blond-haired, blue-eyed human prince looking at her with worry was nothing like Arthas, and should not be capable of provoking such outbursts from her.

The worst part was that he hadn't even done it intentionally.

His eyes lingered on her face for a moment longer, and it was impossible to tell how much they saw. Finally he replied, "Currently we are offering your Horde the chance to surrender the city peacefully."

"As a disguise for what plan?" Sylvanas demanded, finding reassurance in the brusque manner she could talk with him.

He shook his head. "No plan. Why does everyone expect it to be a trap? Is it so difficult to believe that I just want to avoid further bloodshed?"

"Not really; since you seem to have a bleeding heart, Wrynn. But I would sooner burn the city to the ground than let it fall into your hands, and my Forsaken feel the same. I'm sure your spymaster will have told you this as well. So what scheme has he come up with in the meantime?"

The young king frowned, his light brows drawing together. "If he has one, he hasn't told me yet. And even if he has, I'd like to exhaust all other possible options before I'm forced to send my men against you again. Far too many of them have died already."

Sylvanas raised her eyebrows. This was so far removed from Arthas that it was almost laughable. "You really meant that you were going to be honest, didn't you? I'll give you some advice, little lion; I wouldn't tell such things to my enemy, even if they are bound."

His features twisted into a grimace. "Maybe I shouldn't. But as I said; I will explore all other options first. This is one."

Sylvanas looked him over more closely. Now that he stood in the light and no longer looked like a ghost from her past, she could see the dark circles under his eyes, from exhaustion or lack of sleep or both. Had he not rested at all since the battle? Perhaps it was muddling his mind a bit; that would explain some things. But far be it from her to mention that to him. "If you want to believe this is really going anywhere, by all means, let's keep talking."

"Good to hear such enthusiasm from you." he said sarcastically. "It's my turn again. Who is in command of the Horde in your absence?"

At least that was a worthwhile question on his part, though Sylvanas doubted that his spymaster wouldn't know the details of the Horde's workings if he'd asked him. Maybe he was just testing her. "My champion, I would imagine." she answered. This one didn't hurt to answer honestly.

"Nathanos, the Blightcaller." Wrynn nodded. "I've heard of him. Not Highlord Saurfang, then?"

Sylvanas smirked. "If your question is who you could negotiate with, spare yourself the effort. Nathanos would put an arrow through you before you even reached the throne room. Though, he would probably reserve that pleasure for me."

"You had your chance already." His answering smirk was almost challenging.

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes. So you're trying to play my game now, are you? "I could have put an arrow through your heart before you even saw me." she taunted. "I chose not to. Do you know why?"

"No." he replied.

"It was too easy." she sneered. "You wouldn't have been a challenge."

He grinned – which was not the response she was expecting. "My turn."

"What?" Sylvanas hissed. This princeling was developing an annoying habit of puzzling her with everything he said and did.

"It's my turn of the game. You had your question and I answered it. I truly didn't know why you wouldn't have killed me when you had the chance."

"That was a rhetorical…!" she cut herself off when she saw his grin only widened. He was copying her, she realized. Suddenly she had to fight off an amused grin of her own. "What was that horseshit you said about being honest?" she demanded.

"Is that another question, Lady Windrunner?"

Against her will, the grin broke through. Not bad. "Fair enough." she allowed. "Capable of at least a little bit of thought, it seems."

"You shower me with compliments." In a stiff motion, he sat down on the cold stone so that they were at eye level. Fitting, Sylvanas mused, now that the conversation had turned into a more even spar than it had been at the beginning. She had to admit that he possessed some skill at diplomacy: having tested the waters, there was no reason to force her to keep looking up at him, and insisting on it would have been a show of inferiority – no matter how a lot of men might have thought the opposite. It confirmed what Sylvanas had first observed on the battlefield, when he had channelled the Light and brought the slaughter of his army to a stop: that despite his young age, this boy king had much potential; more than he was likely aware of. He was held back by his inexperience and his morals, though, and that made him vulnerable. She only needed to find an angle.

Wrynn crossed his legs and grimaced, probably at some pain that the change of position must have caused in his bad leg. "Now, in keeping with the topic of my death: Why were you so intent on killing me?"

Sylvanas raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes, I'd like to know."

"You're the High King of the Alliance if you hadn't noticed, little cub." she replied derisively. "If you didn't expect to have a massive target on your back, you're an even greater fool than I thought."

"So people keep telling me." He tilted his head. "Still, you ignored everything else to get to me. My father used to say that in battle nothing gets you killed faster than focusing only on the enemy in front of you. I'm not the warrior he was, but apparently, neither are you."

Again an attempt to rile her up; again a copy of her own tactic, albeit a poor one. A fast learner he might be, but it was still obvious that this was not his element – and yet the weak taunt managed to get under her skin. It spoke to how puzzled she herself was about her behaviour that it actually made her bristle. Sylvanas' eyes narrowed. "Funny. Let me out of these chains and I'll show you just how inadequate you are to your father!" she growled.

The young priest's smile froze. For a second, his mask cracked, revealing uncertainty. Sylvanas smirked at the sight. Evidently she had struck home. There was a weakness in the young king she could exploit: he was still stuck in the shadow of his father and not as accepting of it as he pretended to be. And that made it a subject worth exploring further.

"Put on as much ridiculous armour as you want, little king, you'll never live up to Varian." she bored deeper. "He stored you safe at home when he went off to fight the Legion, didn't he? He saw what I see; that you're not ready for the real world outside your moralistic little walls. He must have been so disappointed in you."

Wrynn flinched like he'd been slapped. The calm exterior was completely gone now, replaced by an expression halfway between anger and apprehension. "What would you know about my father?" he asked hoarsely.

"More than you, I would say. He was my enemy for years and my ally for a few weeks – either of which is more time than he ever spent with you, isn't it?"

She knew that would hurt him, because, while exaggerated, it wasn't too far from the truth. Varian's complicated relationship with his son had never been a secret, neither among the ranks of the Alliance nor those of the Horde. Everyone knew the former king of Stormwind had wanted a warrior like himself for an offspring, and that Anduin had disappointed that hope at every turn. Which he now seemed to try and make up for by acting the general that he clearly wasn't. Yet.

He seemed to make an effort to pull himself together. "That's not what I came here to talk about. If there's no point to your theories, I suggest we…"

"Oh, but you're forgetting yourself, little lion!" Sylvanas leaned forward, batting her lashes coquettishly. "It's my turn to question, isn't it? And you said that you'd answer everything honestly – including 'family secrets'. Or were you lying?"

Wrynn gritted his teeth. "No."

"So then. What I was wondering: Did your father ever tell you he loved you?"

"Yes! Of course he did!"

"Why so agitated? Could it be because you can count those times on your pretty little fingers?"

His expression turned stony. He shook his head. "I see. For a moment I had forgotten who I was talking to. I thought we could do something here, but you're just as cruel and vain as your actions have made you out to be."

"Is that so?" Sylvanas had heard the same and worse before, so often that it barely even registered anymore – so why did it now, suddenly, coming from him? Maybe it was the juxtaposition to his initial courteousness; now that he was finally dropping the act and throwing it in her face as everyone else did. She bared her teeth. "Rather quick to come to that conclusion you are. What happened to Varian's peace-loving little son who he claimed could only see the good in people?"

Finally, there was a flash of the hatred she was used to seeing. It looked out of place on Wrynn's face; the loathing he regarded her with was alien to those bright blue eyes. "He had a bell dropped on him and his father was abandoned on the Broken Shore." he replied sharply.

Sylvanas scoffed. "Is that the mutt talking? Varian's death was his own fault; he should have left while he had the chance."

His hands clenched into fists at his sides. If he weren't the soft, restrained boy that he still was, she imagined he would have lashed out at her. "My turn." he managed, voice strained. "Why did you burn Teldrassil?"

There it was. The question whose answer had to already be fixed in his mind; which would cement the loathing that entered his eyes when he looked at her. Sylvanas was used to it.

With an abrupt motion she threw herself forward. The chains stopped her only inches from the boy's face and she saw his eyes widened in shock. The Light burned deep into her wrists, but Sylvanas didn't care. She bared her teeth in the mockery of a smile. "Because I'm a monster, little lion." she said sweetly. "Because I could; because that dusty old tree had no more right to exist on this earth than me or my Forsaken. If your Night Elven friends are so distraught by it, they should have thought more carefully about joining your Alliance. Things die in war; they always have and always will. I know."

Somewhere, her smile had turned bitter. "You will never understand that, boy; because you've never lost everything. But you will. And when it happens, it will break you. Me and my people, we were not broken; we – I survived the destruction of all I had, and that gives me more right to live on this cursed earth than anyone else." She looked at her opponent and scoffed. "You? You can't even move past the death of your father!"

She expected him to hit her or, failing that, to turn away and hide the tears that she had seen threatening to appear at the corners of his eyes. She thought it would be the latter. She almost wished for the former.

But all he did was stare at her, the hate on his face driven away by shocked surprise. It was impossible to tell whether it was the final taunt that had silenced him or her open show of callousness. Maybe he had really held out hope that she was better than her reputation, that she could be reasoned with, and now he was seeing that hope falling to pieces. Sylvanas couldn't feel pity for him. It was about time he learned that despair.

"The right to exist on this earth?"

It was little more than a whisper. Even Sylvanas could only make out that it came from Wrynn because she saw his lips move.

His voice rose in volume for his next shocked question: "You think this is about anyone's right to live?!"

"Hasn't it always been about that?" she countered with another question.

The blue of his eyes had turned icy. His tone wasn't far behind: "And who gets to decide who has that right? You?"

"That notion seems to trouble you."

"I'd say it does, yes." he confirmed, leaning forward until only inches separated their faces. If he was uncomfortable getting so close to her, nothing of it showed on his face. "Because you suggest that some beings' lives are worth more than others'. You show only disdain for those you kill, like they're somehow not worthy of existing in your world. But you don't get to make such a decision. No one does."

"That's funny." Sylvanas said quietly. Her tone turned venomous, giving voice to the burning ire in her chest. "Because I learned it from your Alliance. Who were you to turn us Forsaken away when we begged for your help?"

The ice thawed abruptly as his eyes widened. His mouth opened, but she wouldn't let him speak. Her whisper shut him up more effectively than her sneers had. "Oh, you were noble alright. Honourable. You had a peace-loving people and didn't want it sullied with our rot. We didn't have the right to be a part of that people – we shouldn't even have existed. You were in the right to turn that unnatural rabble away." Sylvanas abandoned the unbearably unctuous tone and spat. "It didn't matter then that we disagreed. We should have just been good Dead and faded from existence. But what can I say; we're a stubborn lot. So if you ask what gives me the right to decide?" She glared. "I'd answer, better me than anyone else!"

For the first time, the young king opposite her seemed lost for words. Likewise for the first time, he suddenly couldn't seem to look at her face. He cast his eyes down to the floor. "I'm… I'm sorry."

Her nostrils flared. "Who cares if you're sorry?"

Wrynn found the courage to look up, meeting her smouldering glare. "I didn't make that decision." he said quietly.

"You think that matters? It was the same righteous Alliance that besieges us now. You can try to wash your hands of it all you like…"

"That's not what I'm trying." He looked away again, burying his face in his hands. Suddenly he only looked tired. There was a heaviness laced through his voice: "I know our history can't just be washed away. I can no more erase Arthas than you can erase Garrosh. But burning every bridge, everything in your way, is not the answer. It can't be."

"And there we are; back to your notion of peace." Sylvanas mocked. It came out a little strangled: With her fury simmering down, her body was starting to register the blinding pain that had shot through her wrists. While she had strained against them, her shackles had seared through flesh, muscle and sinew all the way down to the bone. It burned like nothing Sylvanas had felt in a long time. It was all she could do not to cry out.

"I wanted…" Wrynn trailed off, his brows drawing together in a frown. His eyes skimmed over her face. "What are you… Are you alright?"

She refused to answer, shifting away from him. But even this small movement caused the chains to dislodge and she hissed, catching the smell of smouldering flesh.

Wrynn's frown deepened. In an ungraceful motion he got to his feet and covered the remaining distance between them. Sylvanas glared at him, clenching her fists. He bent around her to inspect the chains, forcing her to crane her neck to keep him in view. He carefully ran his gloved fingers across her wrists and he gave an indefinable noise. "A Light enchantment?"

He was so close; no more than an inch separated them. If Sylvanas were able to move even one arm she could have grabbed his throat and squeezed until his pretty face turned purple. Oh, how much she wanted to. The pain made dark spots dance in her vision. "Not your idea, then?" she bit out.

"No." he muttered. Abruptly, he removed his gloves, leaving his hands bare. They started to glow in a faint light. "Hold still."

Before she could demand what he was doing near her with a Light spell, he closed his eyes and spoke a short incantation. The light around his palms flared up, reaching for the shackles. The next second, the burning sensation abruptly ceased.

Sylvanas was too surprised to move for a second. She flexed her wrists. They flared with pain, but otherwise nothing happened when they made contact with the chains. They were now just plain metal. She focused her gaze back on the priest. "Do you expect me to thank you?"

She heard him sigh. "I don't expect anything. Just accept it, alright?" His warm fingers traced around the frayed edges of skin where the shackles had left their mark, surprisingly gentle. He winced when he got to the deep burn marks underneath. "I knew Light hurt the Forsaken, but I never… I didn't know it was this bad."

Sylvanas barked a laugh, coming out too bitter. "Doubting the holiness of your profession, priest? As undead we're not part of your Light; unnatural, remember? As a righteous, do-good healer, it must be so frustrating that your arts only serve to harm us."

"It… doesn't seem right, no. But I'm a discipline priest; I have some spells other than Light I could try. Do you want me to heal it?" Still his fingers traced carefully across the burns. The blue eyes met hers, asking for permission.

She looked at him, forgetting to mask her surprise. "You know Shadow magic?" she asked sceptically. It was the only school of magic she could think of that contained some beneficial effects for the Forsaken. But imagining this bright-eyed, fair-haired boy wielding it was just bizarre.

Wrynn smiled, without guile. "All Light priests know some of it, though I imagine most don't want to announce that far and wide. Clashes with the image and all. But you have to understand some of the other side's workings if you ever want to master your own, and – well, you inevitably pick up a few useful things on the way."

Maybe she had misjudged him yet again. Maybe there was still more to this innocent little lion cub than met the eye. If only a little.

He was still looking at her, waiting for a reaction. "So, do you want me to try? I think Shadowmend should work here, though I will admit that I am not terribly well practised in that spell…"

"Leave it!" she said, more sharply than intended. "I don't want you burning my hands off, Wrynn."

"I promise I am not going to burn you."

"I said leave it!"

He flinched at the vehemence of her exclamation. The warmth of his hands retreated from her skin as he bent around to look at her. His boyish face was twisted in a confused frown. The expression only made Sylvanas more furious. Young, righteous and caring. Like he'd forgotten that they were enemies.

The puzzled look on his face deepened. "…You're not afraid that I'll hurt you." he said slowly. "You're afraid that I might actually heal you. That I might help you."

Sylvanas scoffed. "Afraid? Certainly; whatever you want to believe, little lion."

It sounded too guarded even to her own ears, and she could see that he heard it, too. She glared at him, daring him to comment. Then she noticed that his eyes were darting back and forth from her face to her wrists. There was no taunt coming, she realized: he was still focused on her injury. Sylvanas was overcome with the desire to murder him.

His jaw worked. "They're really badly burnt. It wouldn't take more than a second…"

"Does 'no' mean something different where you're from?" she asked hotly. "I'm not going to let a cleric touch me, least of all you!"

"Please just let me do this. I know you don't lose blood, but you still feel pain and I'm not going to torture you!" His voice again dropped to this quiet, imploring tone: "There's no shame in accepting help sometimes, Sylvanas."

"Oh, how wise. You would be an expert on that." she returned, her lips thinning.

His response didn't go beyond a quick eye roll. "So you'd rather be in pain? You won't let me do anything?"

"Well, I suppose you could loosen these shackles. They do sting a bit."

For a second, the fool actually seemed to be considering it. Then he luckily (for him) snapped out of it and shook his head. "I'll get you something for those burns by tomorrow." he muttered, apparently loath to fully admit defeat.

"Enough of this." Sylvanas said impatiently. "We're still playing, aren't we? It's my turn." She hadn't actually kept track, but she was also past giving a damn. Anything to get that absurd, caring expression off his face when he looked at her.

"I'm not sure if we've made progress so far, but alright. What do you want to know?"

"What do you want with all this?" she asked her question, and for the first time a tiny part of her had to admit to herself that she was honestly curious. She couldn't make sense of this strange amalgamation of enemy and healer, boy and king, weakness and courage that was standing before her. His contradictions were driving her insane.

Anduin's expression set. His damn, honest eyes met hers. "I told you already. I want peace."

"You really expect that to happen?"

"If I keep throwing myself at the dead ends then yes, I believe at some point one of them has to crumble and make a path just to stop me being a nuisance about it."

What in the name of the Old Gods was he going on about? Sylvanas decided not even to bother asking. "Let me rephrase that: do you really expect talking to me of all people would help you in your naïve quest? I've never championed peace, and besides I am locked up here. What do you expect you'll gain by trying to change my mind?"

"I hope to get through to you in some form. You are the one person who can change things."

Sylvanas would have loved to sneer at that. To tread his naïve, presumptuous notion into the dirt where it belonged.

But the scorn never made it past her lips. Because only a week ago when she had walked through Undercity, one of her Forsaken had told her the very same thing. You are the only one we can count on to change things for the better, my lady.

Sylvanas didn't know why this déjà vu made her falter. Why the thought of Wrynn and her Forsaken agreeing on something – on her – threw her off balance. She had to clear her throat, covering it up as a coughing fit. Half her wrists were missing; she had an excuse to be sick. "Fair's fair. You answered my question." she managed once the strange moment had passed. Going back to the 'game' was instinctive, returning to familiar waters to wash over her brief spell of uncertainty. "Now it's your turn, and the last. This game is starting to bore me, so make it quick."

Her opposite gave a slight nod. He didn't 'make it quick' at all, though, choosing instead to painfully slowly sit down in front of her. Now they were of a height again, though the atmosphere had changed somewhat from before. Anduin's eyes were deep blue pools, picking up their now familiar habit of searching her face; what for she still couldn't guess.

Just when Sylvanas was about to prod him to open his damn mouth already, he asked: "Why do you think you're a monster?"

She frowned. "What?"

"You claim you commit these atrocities because you are a monster. That wasn't just a taunt." He leaned a little closer. No, her proximity didn't seem to bother him at all. "Every person I have ever met believed that their actions were in the right, no matter how cruel some of them were. Why don't you?"

Sylvanas gave a short laugh. "What an odd question. Only a monster could burn down a world tree, couldn't they? Your Alliance is all too fond of calling me that; so I don't see why this is your question."

"That's not an answer. It doesn't matter what anyone else calls you – you yourself insisted that you don't care. This is coming from you, no one else." he persisted. His eyes wouldn't let go of her. "Why do you think you're a monster?"

Sylvanas gave a disaffected shrug. This was straying into territory that she had no wish to enter; pushing open doors that she had closed a long time ago. "What else should I call myself, after everything I've lived through? I needed to become a monster to survive, so I did. That's all there is to it. Why are you so interested?"

Technically that was another question, but Sylvanas found that she was once again too annoyed to let technicalities get in the way. And she wanted to know his answer.

"Perhaps I don't agree with you. Perhaps I don't think you're as irredeemable as you make yourself out to be."

Sylvanas scoffed. "So you're going to redeem me, priest, is that what this is all about? Bringing the fallen angel back into the light? Maybe cure my undeath, too, while you're at it? What a noble notion. I'm sorry, little lion, but stronger men than you have tried, and I have outlived them all. I'll outlive you too, if you aren't careful."

She was prepared for a stubborn repetition of those platitudes she had spelled out for him. She was prepared for flustered indignation that she would shun his attempt to 'fix' her.

She wasn't prepared for the sad smile that appeared on his face. Anduin shook his head. "You probably will. Don't worry; I'm not going to try and 'cure you', as you put it. I don't think anyone can undo what happened to you – and as much as you hate it, I don't think you want it undone, do you? As long as your work isn't finished, you're not going to rest. Am I right?"

Sylvanas cocked her head. "For once, you are." she answered in the affirmative. If nothing else, this prince was perceptive. Despite the anger that was still – always – coursing through her veins, she had to smile. This wasn't what she had expected at the outset. Ridiculous notions aside, a conversation with Anduin was turning out to be just as interesting as fighting him. Sylvanas leaned forward, just far enough to brush his personal space. "So then, little lion, where does this leave us?"

Was that a hint of nervousness that flashed across his face? Anduin cleared his throat, pulling away and getting to his feet. The priest's mask pulled back in place, though not quite as impassive as before. "Able to continue this conversation tomorrow?" he said questioningly. "I'd like to keep playing this with you if you are willing."

Sylvanas graced him with a small grin. "If you so wish. I'm not going anywhere." To her own surprise, it didn't come out so much mocking as it did teasing. The light, little note slipped into her voice without any input on her part; without thinking.

Odd.

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