1AN- After debate with myself and re-reading a few things, I decided to hop back into the premise of the basic what-if - What if Sylvanas wins in a siege against Stormwind? Plus, given new data, and alla' that. Woopty doo. Here we go, right? Adding a few details, shuffling things around. (Posted as of 8.1.5 with Nazjatar Leaks.)
Decayed Mirrors
The Cannon fire rung out with a drumbeat pattern, matched only by the immolating slag being slung into the heavy walls. The clang of metal plates and the clink of chainmail rose among cries of clashing steel and brutal combat, orcish and human and beyond all locked in brutal combat.
Anduin watched quietly from the steps of Stormwind Keep, Shalamayne gripped tightly in his hand.
They're coming for me, a stark realization dawned. He briefly reflected on the Siege of Dazar'alor - on losing the fleet to Azshara after sending Genn off. He was still rallying the troops there to return with what was left. She was coming, and there was nothing he could do- a sudden strike, and decisive hit.
He could see the force making their way through the crowds below- the Champions of the Horde, some clinging to images of old artifacts that claimed Azeroth's future and some new individuals, choosing to take up arms against their recently new allies. A twinge of regret flickered in his stomach- perhaps having Tyrande handle the Nightborne situation wasn't for the best, nor was immediately imprisoning the Zandalari Princess.
"My King," a gruff voice called out from behind him. A plated hand rested on his shoulderplate, motioning back towards the doors. "Best you step inside, sir."
Anduin, distractedly, gave a few nods- turning back to enter.
Shalamayne's light gave a wavering flicker.
Sylvanas couldn't help but give a dark chuckle, lifting a hand in front of her mouth daintily. Peering red eyes watched as the champions marched onwards- her chosen speaker, at the head of it.
At heart, she wanted to draw this fight out more- but she needed to end this quickly to deal with Saurfang's little tryst, next. She was cocky, yes, but that was necessary in unnerving her opponnents- it was another thing to be completely stupid and believe she could hold out.
No. Best to hold tight to those remaining shreds of loyalty before a civil war erupted.
Talons rapped against her side as she crossed her arms, watching on as the smoke rose. The normally complacent blue sky had been clouded red with thick smoke and flame, the screams of civilians heavy in the air as grunts charged in to do as they pleased- whether to kill or more. Why was she nervous?
The sound of Mathias Shaw's Death Cry broke her from her reverie. She pointed a hand upwards at the Drawbridge upon striding forward with narrowed crimson slits- before clenching them into a fist.
At her command, harpoons shot out and lunged into the wood- heavy chains connecting them to artillery that began to crank. Bit by bit, the Drawbridge was forced down- Down-
As soon as it was down far enough, the more eager began to scramble over the side and charge down the bridge- roaring battle cries as they went to meet the lines of guardsmen. The mages worked to redouble their efforts and wards against physical and magical projectile alike as a flurry of respective faction beasts leaped into the fray among their masters or at their behest.
She drew her bow and partook, knocking an arrow.
They had been pushed back to the small garden area between the keep and the Library, the last guardsman letting out a strangled cry as an axe bit into his neck. Anduin held back the empathic tears that welled, grip tightening around his blade as his gaze narrowed at the oncoming tide of fighters. Right as he lifted his blade to block the strike from a death knight-
"HOLD," the banshee called out.
The cursed warrior froze before withdrawing.
"He is mine," She replied. "Make the rest of yourselves useful- Deathguard, nearby. Everyone else- scour what's left."
The appropriate guardsmen remained as the crowd begrudgingly slipped out of the exit, Sylvanas's cocky smirk ever-present on her hauntingly beautiful visage. In another life, it would have flustered Anduin- but he suspected he had been forced to live near to three already, between Stormwind's early days, his travels in Pandaria; and now.
He lifted his blade in preparation, assuming a defensive stance. She lifted her bow and drew a shortsword from her side.
Tension crackled in the air like the fizzing spells in the world beyond.
Sylvanas suddenly moved in a blur of speed, demeanor a deadly calm, aiming a series of strokes at his midsection while aiming to club his head with the end of her bow. He narrowly dodged the club and held Shalamayne to take the strikes, kicking an armored leg down at the Ranger's leg to sweep her off her feet- working momentarily before she kicked off the ground with her other and spun off into the air.
With a series of deft movements, she unleashed a triad of arrows down at him. He lifted Shalamayne to deflect the first two before suddenly feeling an impact between his left arm and shoulder, a biting pain. Anduin frowned for a moment before taking a step forward and calling upon the light to unleash a swirling ray of energy at the Ranger, which she nimbly bounced out of the way of.
They narrowed their gaze at each other before running towards one another in a vicious charge- him lifting his blade and making a downwards swing, her lifting her bow to compensate and block. The impact sounded with a loud ring before she swiped a hand out with the shorter blade, Anduin's own lowering to grip the wrist and prevent it from moving- just bare centimeters from his chainmail midsection.
She was dead- her strength did not fade. He was living- tired- stressed. His grip wavered, her blade moving closer, closer; ever closer-
He bit back a cry of pain, only sounding a grunt as the blade dug past and tore into his stomach. She only grinned malevolently, suddenly leveraging it deeper.
With a sudden jerk, the blade suddenly tore through his midsection. Anduin's eyes went wide in shock as he looked upwards, reaching-
A spiral of light shot down-
Sylvanas growled and shot a twirling, dark arrow upwards, obliterating the beam of hope. -his last hope.
After a moment, Anduin fell to his side, gasping. A hand clutched the handle of the blade buried deep in his stomach, touching the red life-liquids pouring out. The scent of iron reminded him of older memories, of bruises recieved in training.
Something bitter in him was amused. Already, my life flashes before my eyes.
Sylvanas stepped over and crouched beside the king, simply smirking. With a shuddering gasp, he coughed up a scarlet bubble- reaching for Shalamayne, the blade too far from his reach, letting him only dig at the grass.
"...my, my, your majesty- don't you see~?" She purred. "I've wo-"
"Why?" He asked, a rasping question.
She blinked for a moment. "...because you would have come for us sooner or la-"
"Don't you remember w- What I said i..." Another cough. "In Lordaeron?"
"Only...one, of us- wanted this...war."
Anduin leaned back, breathing hard. He could feel a slight numbness washing over him- a vague fatigue.
"...I tried, you know." Why was he telling her? "...tried, to be a good...king; like him."
The banshee watched the boy quietly, face unreadable.
"...I listened to my people- I- ...I wanted to fight for them." He gave another wheezing breath.
"...I wanted peace, Windrunner." The boy suddenly looked very, very old- very tired.
"..." She frowned faintly. "...I fear for my own death. For my people. For- that-"
"No," she declared. "You won't die here. You'll come back, yo- I'll-"
She reached for the sword buried in his stomach before a hand reached up weakly to take her wrist. Anduin lazily opened a pale eye.
"...no," he said quietly. "...I'd- I think I'd...like to rest now- if...if that's alright."
"But I-" "Please."
Sylvanas frowned and closed her eyes. After they gave a final, shuddering gasp, a clawed hand reached up to close his eyes.
"...bury him," she muttered as the Deathguard approached. "Let the King have his rest."
