#& wrathion can’t ask for more than that.

[serenums]

thinking of anduin going on a special royal visit to the dragon isles since coming back from his hiatus, & of course, all five aspects are present to welcome him, including a certain black dragonflight diplomat…

wrathion is nervous because he definitely doesn’t feel like getting slapped across the face (wrathion, the prince-turned-diplomat, getting slapped by the king of the alliance in front his dragonkin?! no, way too embarrassing), but, most importantly, nervous because he wonders how his friend feels about him nowadays. it’s been too long. can he even call anduin by that title? does he even know him anymore?

months pass, & despite a few hiccups here & there (the dragon isles are old & have this tendency of making past memories, good & bad, bubble up to the surface), they build their friendship, their trust, back up again. nights passed flying over the waking shores, skiing with tuskarr children, strolls down the ancient bough…

wrathion had never truly felt home anywhere. both unwanted & misunderstood by his kin anywhere he went for, well, most of his short life. the only time he’d felt at home (or at very least, at ease) was in that quiet tavern up in the mountains of pandaria, worlds away from any person who believed they knew his heart.

& finding his friend again, a friend he met at a place he came to love, well… you couldn’t blame him for opening up his heart.

wrathion never missed a chance to explain any aspects of draconic culture to anduin. local foods (& why black dragonflight cuisine was so much better than the rest of them), the long history shared by the centaur & the green dragonflight, how to properly care for a whelp, national holidays,…

anduin always listened. as king, he was interested in how different nations built a life for themselves, & how they celebrated their history. but he loved seeing wrathion smile so big when talking about local games. or seeing his features soften when talking about black dragonflight history, recounting tales he’d heard from sabellian & onoria. memories he never lived. anduin watched his friend pour his heart out through his words, the tone of his voice betraying this bittersweet feeling of being ‘home’.

#i’m not too sure how to end this bc this imagine wasn’t supposed to turn into a ficlet jsbdjs but yea! #give me homesick wrathion! homesick for a place he never knew but he still yearns to belong at bc the black df is back together so surely…? #that means he can feel… at ease? at one place only? these are bittersweet feelings… #anduin can’t understand how he feels. he’s a stormwind bred & born man. but he listens. #& wrathion can’t ask for more than that. #wranduin #jades fic #<= my tag for all my fics ficlets & imagines! #fanfiction #wranduin fanfiction #wrathion #anduin #anduin wrynn #wrathion fanfiction #anduin fanfiction #anduin wrynn fanfiction #warcraft #wow fanfiction #warcraft fanfiction #dragonflight fanfiction #dragonflight #jade.txt

[redandpointy]

short flashfic

related to the short story posted today where Wrathion attends Lor’themar and Thalyssra’s wedding, and Kalecgos hears that Jaina couldn’t attend due to issues at home. It’s me so it’s Jaina/Kalec flavored.

Jaina appeared in front of Proudmoore Keep in a burst of arcantic light and a cloud of barely verbalized curses. Hefting her staff, she stalked into the keep, absently nodding at the guards who saluted the Lord Admiral as she returned home.

Jaina stalked into the Lord Admiral’s offices. Her mother was in the larger room used for planning, apparently waiting for her. Katherine turned from the map of Kul Tiras to greet her. Whatever Katherine had been about to say was stopped by the thunderous look on her daughter’s face. “How bad?” Her mother asked.

“Gold and supplies raided, every fishing boat sunk. Casualties all around, but at least this village didn’t have an armory to plunder,” Jaina reported in terse, clipped words. A wave of her hand dismissed her staff to it’s holder on the wall. Another gesture set a red tack on the map of Kul Tiras. The image was littered with markers indicating the piracy plaguing their shores and their naval deployments to combat it.

“We can’t spread the navy any further,” Jaina stated, eyes blazing holes into the map’s parchment. “Tandred says they’re stretched about as thin as they can be in the north. Any thinner and we’ll see more coastal raiding like we did last month,”

“Jaina-”

“I know! I know we need to fine out where these Pirates are operating out of before more people are killed. I know mother, believe me.”

“Jaina-”

“And I know people are frightened and they want to see something done, but we’re spread thi-”

“Jaina,” Katherine interrupted her daughter, placing a hand on her shoulder. The flow of words finally ceased. “Jaina there is a... person here to see you.”

Frowning, Jaina wondered at the slight pause in her mother’s statement. “A person?”

“He’s in your office and wished to speak with you once you returned.”

Confused and wary of what else could go wrong, Jaina entered the smaller private office. She was startled by what she saw on the other side, for it was none other than Kalecgos The Spellweaver, Keeper of Magic, Lord of the Blue Flight, Member of the Council of Six of Dalaran, her former lover and (she hoped) still friend.

The blue hair, half-elven ears and astounding magical presence gave it away, though his back was to her. Though... what he was wearing... The dark blue shirt was of exceptionally fine material and.. blouse-y. With puffy sleeves. The pants were black leather and exceptionally tight and she did have to reluctantly drag her eyes away to take in the high, lacing boots and three? swords belted around his hips.

“Kalec?”

He turned at her voice and smiled tentatively. The shirt was indeed blouse-y and though it could be laced up the front, it wasn’t. instead she caught a flash of his chest as he took a step forward carrying a wide brimmed hat with a plume of white puffy feathers as long as her arm.

“Jaina! It’s good to see you.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “What a surprise- I- What- Why-” She cut her self off and shook her head then gestured. “What are you wearing?”

Kalec beamed. “Wrathion told me this would be appropriate wear for your home and the situation.”

“Wrath- The situation?”

Kalec nodded. “I would like to help. Ah, wait, I have what I am supposed to say.” He held up a finger with an apologetic look then summoned a sheet of paper. Clearing his throat he read “Yarr. I not be letting them lay a hand on your booty. Yarr.”

Jaina stared, unable to process the situation.

Kalec looked nervous, if hopeful as he smiled at her. “Did I say it correctly? I was uncertain of the meaning but Miss Fordragon was quite supportive of the suggested text.”

#fanfic #Jaina Proudmoore #kalecgos #jaina/kalec #look I will sail this ship into the ground #at least now Kalec has amazing art #he is a soft sweet nerdy dragon boy #just let my nerds have some happy time okay?

[jerek]

you'd tell me i'll be just fine

The canoe lands, with a peacefully sleeping Black Prince and champion aboard.

The edges of Wrathion’s dream were starting to dull. Whatever it had been, now it was a haze of half-wakefulness, and he fumbled through the memories of the night before.

It wasn’t the incident with the cloak– that was years ago. Despite the sun glaring red through his eyelids, he wasn’t in Pandaria. The mountains weren’t the right shape.

His sense of the land was… off, in this place. Like a compass at the northernmost point of the world. He realized that he was in the Dragon Isles, then that his spine and his head were up against something hard.

Wrathion opened his eyes, and was instantly made to squint against the morning sun. He– no, they were beneath the Ruby Lifeshrine, their vessel having wedged itself in a shallow spot between the cliffs. Had he slept through so much of the morning?

Had his champion slept so long as well? He might have been horrified, if either of them were on a particularly strict schedule. As he recalled, though, this was one of their usual lulls.

Midha looked exactly as she had when taking her cat-naps at Ravenholdt. They were both taller than they had been, and yet she was still the shorter of them. Likely why she was comfortable, bundled atop his chest, and he was pinned between her and the hull.

He stared up at the Lifeshrine. Whelplings were taking turns darting over the edge and fluttering back to safety. He shifted and drummed his fingers on Midha’s shoulder, whispering, “Champion.”

She stirred, but didn’t wake. One of the whelplings hovered a moment too long before rejoining their friends. “Champion, it’s almost noon,” he warned.

Midha’s eyes cracked open, and she took a deep breath as if returning to life. For a few heartbeats, she seemed disoriented… then she propped herself up, hands on the sides of the canoe,and followed his gaze upward.

Something sat on her back. She flinched– but her attacker only squeaked in Draconic, confirming Wrathion’s fears.

“Why’re you still slee—” The whelpling, a little red smudge in Midha’s periphery, caught sight of her round pupils. He flinched worse than she had, and only kept his footing by virtue of sinking in his claws and flapping furiously like a caught bird.

“Why aren’t you a dragon?!” the whelpling demanded.

Midha blinked, unsure how rude it’d be to burst into laughter.

“Now, now.” Wrathion set to work carefully plucking their new friend’s claws out of Midha’s cloak. “You can’t just ask people why they’re mortal.”

“Well…” The whelpling blinked his huge, yellow-green eyes. “Well, why are you in a boat?”

Wrathion lifted the whelpling over Midha’s head and sat him down on a crosspiece, before sitting up. His champion sat back on the other crosspiece. “That is a better question. My champion and I simply saw fit to take an excursion…”

He glanced over to Midha. “And then, if I recall correctly, you were the first to doze off?”

“...Probably,” she muttered.

“Just so I know you’ve done the utmost in defending dragonkind.”

Their friend, as it seemed, wasn’t done yet. “Mister Sabellian asked where you were. I can go tell him if you want!”

“Sabellian?” Wrathion’s eyes widened. “No, that’s quite alright.”

“Are you sure? Because he said if you were off doing nothing–”

“Nothing?” Wrathion laughed, so harsh and sudden it was a wonder no flame escaped with his breath. “Sabellian has done nothing for longer than any of us have lived!”

He had anticipated flame, this little whelpling, and poked his red head out from behind his wings. “I can tell him that, too.”

Wrathion stared again– and then shook his head. “If you must tell him anything, tell him I will return to Neltharus at the earliest opportunity. I’m sure if he has the time to go asking after me in the Ruby Lifeshrine, it can’t be that urgent.”

“Just that?”

“Nothing more, and nothing less.” He grinned at the whelp, who nodded and took the hand Midha offered as a launchpad to flap his way back up.

For a long while, the two of them simply watched– not just the whelp, but the wilds of the Waking Shores around them.

But, eventually, the silence had to end. “If you were wondering,” Wrathion said, “it’s usually only whelplings that have to huddle for warmth.”

“Have to?” Midha asked.

“The whelps at the Life Pools are made to, until they naturally tire of it. You and I, however…”

She understood. “That’s why.” When Wrathion tilted his head, she went on: “Why I came to find you. I wanted that for someone, and if it couldn’t be me, then it’d be you. If it isn’t you… it may as well be them.”

It took a moment, but he smiled at her. “I remember. Your eyes were as red as my own.”

#midfic #wrathion #the rare double moses #swear to god only wrote this 2 parter cause the wrathion shrine in my head started talking back #dragonflight spoilers

[wolfandwild]

My Shadowlands Wish List

Now that we’re getting closer and closer to pre-patch and the inevitable launch of the expansion, I thought I’d rattle off a wish list of things I hope we get to see in Shadowlands, largely from a lore/story perspective. (Or rather, my stupid foot was hurting so badly I couldn’t concentrate on writing my fic properly, so I decided to ramble off some not-so-hot takes, honestly they’re pretty mild in the grand scheme of things). I was in the first alpha wave, so I’ve had a pretty good opportunity to play the game as it is thus far, and I did want to make it clear up front that I’m fully aboard the hype train. Shadowlands is looking like a great expansion for a number of different reasons, and while I do have a few areas of concern, on the whole I am currently feeling very positive. Please also note these are just my random, late-night personal musings - your mileage may vary, and that’s a-okay.  Mild Shadowlands spoilers below the cut.

You Get A Customisation! You Get A Customisation! Everybody Gets A Customisation! This one is pretty much a no-brainer. I don’t necessarily think Blizzard need to have absolutely every possible character customisation ready to go before launch, but I’d like them to continue adding further options over time. I move in a couple of different circles in Warcraft - I’m obviously involved in the writing/lore/character aspect of the game, but I’m also GM of a raiding guild and closely follow the gameplay/competitive side of things too - and customisation is one of those few things that gets everyone excited, regardless of their reason for playing the game. I’m looking forward to seeing a much more vibrant, unique and diverse Azeroth come Shadowlands pre-patch. (Mostly irrelevant side story - when Wrathion returned in the Patch 8.3 cinematics, my Twitter and lore Discords were basically going berserk with excitement, meanwhile there’s a hundred very confused dudes in my raiding guild who don’t read quest text being all, “What the hell is a ‘Wrathion’?”. I live in two different worlds, honestly). Another reason I’m excited about customisation (and I’m probably in a very small minority on this one) is because I actually really dislike allied races, and I think it gives Blizzard an option to add more flavour to character creation in the game without always having to cobble together a new race. I honestly think they should have simply gone for sub-race customisation from the beginning, to avoid having to ass-pull allied races out of nowhere. Using customisation over allied races also makes it far simpler to give something to both factions (e.g. high elves), or to add something for one faction without necessarily having to always add something to the other faction to keep things in balance. Giving an extra hairstyle to humans but not orcs generally isn’t going to cause that much of a fuss, but if one faction were given an allied race and the other wasn’t because there wasn’t a logical racial option, there would be a shitstorm of epic proportions. So you end up in a situation where one faction* gets saddled with a really random, sucky allied race just to be ‘fair’. *The Alliance. It’s the Alliance. Leave Britney Arthas Alone Arthas has never been a personal favourite of mine, but I respect that he has a fantastic story, and that he’s a cornerstone of Warcraft lore. His story is both satisfying and complete, and that’s exactly why they should leave him the hell alone. I don’t mind if he’s visited in flashbacks (like the Bastion cinematic), or if we explore how he affected still living characters (e.g. Jaina, Sylvanas, Bolvar), but I think it would be a mistake to try to make him a central character in the expansion. In contrast, someone like Kael’thas is an excellent choice for an additional arc, because his original story was a bit all over the place and there is still plenty of room for his character development. Arthas doesn’t need it, and I don’t think the minute potential gain is worth the risk of retroactively making the rest of his story worse. On a similar note... Warcraft III Was Released Nearly 20 Years Ago, It’s Time to Move On The Warcraft RTS was a landmark series of games, and was obviously without them we wouldn’t have the World of Warcraft. However, I think the future health of Warcraft’s lore depends on the ability of the writers to grow the story outwards and upwards, not to always default back to the same handful of characters for nostalgia’s sake. While characters like Jaina, and Thrall, and Sylvanas are great, they can’t carry the narrative forever. Shadowlands represents a unique opportunity to build up the next generation of characters and to blow the cosmology of the universe wide open. From what I’ve seen on the alpha/beta, Blizzard are definitely taking a step in this direction, and I’m hoping that’s what we get instead of Patch 9.2 - Oh Look, It’s Thrall Again. On an additionally similar note... Sylvanas Is Crazy, And She Needs To Go Down (I don’t actually think she’s crazy, but one should never miss the opportunity for an Avatar reference). One of my complaints about the recent lore developments in Warcraft its that it’s starting to feel a lot less like the World of Warcraft, and more like the Sylvanas of Warcraft. She’s playing 469D chess; she’s behind everything; she’s the sole driving force of the narrative. I don’t think that works in an MMO that’s meant to tell the story of an entire expanded universe. It makes things feel small. And before I get eaten alive, I want to be clear that I don’t dislike Sylvanas as a character - in fact, I think she’s very compelling and on a night when my foot wasn’t killing me so much I’d be happy to get into an argument as to why she’s actually one of the most consistent and well-written characters in the World of Warcraft. I don’t necessarily think she needs to die, either, but I think it’s time for her narrative to come to a close to make room for other characters in the story, and I don’t think Blizzard are going to get a much better opportunity to give her a satisfying ending than in a death-themed expansion. Justice for Tyrande (Or Vengeance, Whatever Uther Wants to Call It) Tyrande got done dirty in Battle for Azeroth, probably more than any other character. I’m not a massive night elf fangirl by any means, but their entire race was basically used as grist for the mill in Sad Orc Dad’s story, with no next to no narrative follow-up besides a cool cinematic that went absolutely nowhere in game. Outside the game, her character then got subjected to the cacophonous misogynistic crowing of the fanbase that occurs whenever a female character dares to be angry in the World of Warcraft. Much like Jaina, she’s decried for being ‘crazy’ or ‘irrational’ for, you know, being pissed that her people and her homeland were wiped out in an act of wildly disproportional aggression. I don’t know about you guys, but that would tend to make me a wee bit testy, but maybe I’m crazy and irrational too. In any case, I want to see her go off in Shadowlands. Fuck ‘em up, girlfriend. You Get One Villain. If You Drop It, I’m Not Buying You Another One I think most people will agree with me that the two weakest expansions (at least from a narrative perspective) were Warlords of Draenor and Battle for Azeroth. There are a few reasons for this, but for me one of the biggest issues was that they were chop-and-change expansions. Both were advertised and started off with narratives and themes that were wildly different from where they finished up. Warlords was part Iron Horde expansion, part Legion expansion; BFA was part faction war expansion, part Old God expansion... and that’s exactly the problem. Both times, I felt like we got two half-done expansions, instead of one single, cohesive narrative experience.  If you look at expansions like Wrath of the Lich King and Legion, both of which were very well received, a lot of their success hinges on their presentation of a consistent narrative with a clear goal for players within the story. The Lich King, for example, was a consistent and very present villain. He menaced you throughout your entire journey, and so his eventual defeat on top of Icecrown Citadel was meaningful and impactful. Defeating N’Zoth, by contrast, felt pretty hollow, as we hadn’t had enough narrative build up to really care about taking him down. Part of the reason I’m excited for Shadowlands is it looks like we’re getting a nice, focused story development that builds up to a logical and satisfying villain in the Jailer. Why Can’t We Be Friends? Look, I bleed blue. I love the Alliance... but the faction war should not continue to be a driving narrative element in the World of Warcraft. I don’t want the factions to be removed, I think they’re a core part of the Warcraft experience and I’d be pretty sad to have to let them go entirely, but the cycle of hating one another then teaming up in an uneasy alliance in order to defeat a bigger bad, only to go back to being at one another’s throats the next day is... tiresome.

Ideally, the war would have ended after Legion - it was the most logical place to do so, and I think it was a big missed opportunity that they ran with Battle for Azeroth immediately afterwards. Unfortunately, I think this means the Alliance is going to just have to forgive and forget, which doesn’t really make a lot sense at this point given everything that happened in BFA, but for the sake of the overall story, it might be a necessary sacrifice. That said... I Am Once Again Asking for Alliance Narrative Agency I know there are a lot of (valid) complaints to be had about the Horde storyline, but the one thing the Horde has always had over the Alliance is that they actually get to drive the narrative forward. The Alliance are pretty much exclusively reactionary, and in a lot of ways are side characters to the main Horde storyline. I’ve made this argument elsewhere, but it honestly wouldn’t be too hard to remove Anduin’s part in Saurfang’s storyline in Battle for Azeroth and have it turn out more or less exactly the same way... which says a lot about the importance of the Alliance in the overall storyline. In short, the Alliance are secondary players at best, and downright irrelevant at worst. One of my biggest hopes for Shadowlands is that we’ll actually get to see some Alliance narrative agency. To be clear, however, this does not mean a simple rehashing of Horde conflicts with a blue coat of paint. Alliance stories are not Horde stories, and nor should they be. Having an Alliance leader turn into a genocidal despot is not the only way to create conflict or agency in the story - there are plenty of opportunities for character growth, development and conflict on the Alliance side without having to have one of our leaders do a heel turn (e.g. Tyrande as the Night Warrior, Anduin dealing with his experience in the Maw, Jaina confronting the fates of people like Kael’thas and Arthas, Taelia meeting her father, etc.), and I really hope we get to see some of those narrative threads come to fruition. I Want to Mount Everything Add a hundred new mounts. Two hundred. A pot plant with googly eyes, the four hundredth Alliance horse, your mum. I’ll ride anything; I don’t even care. (Please note this is the most important opinion I have).

#world of warcraft #shadowlands #shadowlands spoilers #battle for azeroth #lore #turns out i had a few more opinions than i originally realised #anyway shadowlands looks cool guys y'all should check it out #but i would always rather have some warcraft than no warcraft #so take that how you will

[peacecraving]

@doubtmeifyoumust asked:

“ you know i can’t feel it. this light of yours, i mean. ”

“ It’s not mine. ”

He spoke lightly, very simply---a thin, modest sort of smile glimpsing the line of his mouth. 

“ Well---it’s not really anyone’s, but---it’s certainly not mine. ”

His tone matched the look on his face---candid, humble---perhaps even a touch solemn, though---with reverence more so than true sorrow. 

Which wasn’t to say that he didn’t feel any sorrow at all---he would have been sorry to hear anyone voice something like that, let alone someone he knew---and cared about very much. 

Still---Wrathion was quite young, and---unlike certain other people who were gathered here, Anduin believed that his heart was essentially in the right place. 

He liked to think that the rest would always follow. 

“ I’m just a---conduit, if you like. Or---I try to be, anyway. ”

Another smile chipped his mouth---a trifle more painful than its predecessor, and he ducked his head, glancing down---feeling a juvenile twinge of shyness get the better of him. 

His nerves were---well, not the best right now---and he expected they were likely to blame. 

Certainly, Wrathion wasn’t to blame. Being around him was---actually one of the few things that still felt reliably calming. 

Anduin looked back up---appeared to consider for a moment, and then continued in a slightly different tone---like he was testing the waters. 

“ I---won’t delude myself by assuming that you meant to imply any interest with that statement, but---I could help you sometime, if you---ever wanted. ”

He shrugged a bit, endeavoring to sound more casual than he felt---in keeping with the claim he’d just made about refraining from any self-delusion, but---when it came to this particular subject, he always found himself getting hopeful. 

It just---meant too much to him, he supposed. 

And---it was difficult not to feel as though if he simply found the right words, and the right moment to share them---that he could convince almost anyone. 

Because---once someone had truly felt the Light---felt it, and allowed themselves to trust it---he couldn’t imagine them ever wishing to turn away. 

It was that sense of calm, and peace---that had first drawn him to crave the Light in the first place, or---so he’d always believed, at least. 

He couldn’t deny that Garrosh had succeeded in making him contemplate the matter from other angles---as had been his intention, no doubt. 

Had he truly sought the Light---? Or---had the Light reached out to him, and it had simply been the natural response to follow---? So natural that he hadn’t even realized---? 

But---surely it didn’t matter, either way. 

The Light was the Light, and it could only be a good thing.

Could you choose to deny the Light?

He’d immediately resented the question.

When Garrosh had put it to him, it had just felt so---wrong, and out of place---especially coming from someone in Garrosh’s position. 

What was the point of asking a question like that, in regards to something that no one in their right mind should ever want to do---?

The insolence of it had---sparked a rare sort of anger in him. 

Of course, he’d tried to remind himself that someone in Garrosh’s position was exactly the sort of person who would raise a question like that---that was partially why he’d found himself in that position to begin with, and why he needed all the more help, but---even so. 

It hadn’t sat well with him, and it still didn’t. 

It felt like such a crude, needless thing to know, and yet---now that he’d been forced to consider it, he had found himself wondering. 

He believed the Light was stronger and far wiser than anyone of their world could possibly grasp---capable of guiding, and creating, and influencing, but---he also believed that people made their own choices---shaped their own destinies. 

Where he personally fell between those things, how exactly he’d come to reach this point---maybe he wasn’t sure. 

#[ soft people do not have that kind of courage || ic ] #doubtmeifyoumust

[wastingstarlight]

feels like the end

pairing: Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn rating: T word count: 1.3k tags: Canon Compliant, For the most part, Light Angst, Fluff and Angst, this is very soft okay just trust me on this a/n: playing it a bit fast and loose with how corruption works in-game but, ya know, gotta do it for the Angst™ read on ao3

From this height, Stormwind glitters like a jewel lit from within. It is its own self-contained universe, each person a pinpoint of light, a distant star.

Wrathion is a shadow upon a shadow, his dark scales blending into the night sky as he soars a safe distance above the patrolling guards and their clever gryphons.

He should be in Silithus—he knows this, he does—but as champion after champion had passed through the Chamber of Heart whispering stories about the horrors they’d battled to keep N’zoth’s forces at bay, about the corruption that tugged at their bodies and minds from the armor that was meant to protect them… Well, there was a champion of his own on Wrathion's mind.

Wrathion banks left towards the outskirts of the city and angles towards the ground, landing softly in a field just outside the city proper. He shakes himself off, stretching the flight-weariness from his wings, before shifting into his human form.

He keeps his head down as he heads through the city, channeling a modicum of magic to distract the guards that look at him a bit too closely. He doesn’t want to be recognized, not yet.

This close to the Keep, the tugging in his chest is as strong as an invisible bowstring stretched taut. It is a physical thing, the longing. That had been one good thing about setting up camp in Silithus; it had been an ocean away. Far enough so that the tugging was no more than a mild nuisance. A dull reminder.

He only shows his face at the foot of Stormwind Keep, to the small fleet of guards protecting the entrance. They share a look before stepping out of the way and letting Wrathion through.

He’s met by another few guards at the doors of the castle.

“What’s your business in the Keep?” the woman on the left says gruffly.

Wrathion gives her a half-smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I bring intelligence on N’zoth’s attacks in the Vale of Eternal Blossoms,” he lies. “For King Anduin’s ears only.” A pause. “I know it’s late, but I’m afraid it’s urgent.”

The woman purses her lips then nods. “Wait just inside. A guard will take you to His Majesty’s parlor.”

Wrathion knows this castle like the back of his hand, of course, but he plays along as the plate-clad guard leads him through the maze of passages to the king’s chambers. There are more guards stationed about than there had been last time, Wrathion notes. Was Anduin worried about an attack from within? The thought troubles him.

Golden light pours from beneath the door to Anduin’s parlor and Wrathion clasps his hands behind his back as the guard knocks on the door and then—

There’s Anduin. Wrathion’s heart sings.

“Wrathion?” Anduin says with a frown. His hair is down and he’s wearing a simple white shirt and tan pants, likely hastily thrown on when he’d been told there was company. He looks so young without his armor. So fragile. “Come in, come in,” he says shaking his head and taking a step back. “Thank you, Evelyn,” he adds with a tired smile to the guard who stands straight and nods in response.

The door clicks shut behind them and for a moment, they just look at each other.

Anduin looks like he hasn’t slept since the last time Wrathion had dropped by if the dark smudges under his eyes say anything. Wrathion takes a step forward and tucks a lock of hair behind Anduin’s ear, brushing his cheekbone with his thumb, before sliding his hand down to rest on the side of his neck.

Anduin’s shoulders slump and he sighs, leaning into the touch before stepping back and turning away towards his desk where a riot of papers have been scattered. “What news do you bring of the Vale?” he asks, shuffling a handful of what appear to be maps into some sort of order.

“Oh, it’s full of tentacles. Twisted creatures, too. Nasty things. And orange eyes dotting the sides of mountains. It’s unsettling, really,” Wrathion says conversationally.

A smile tugs at the corner of Anduin’s lips and Wrathion calls that a victory. “Your urgent intelligence about N’zoth’s attack on the Vale is that…N’zoth is attacking the Vale?” he asks, arching an eyebrow as he turns so he’s facing Wrathion and leans back on his desk.

“Precisely, my king.”

Anduin grins for real, ducking his head as if that would hide it.

“You are a piece of work, Wrathion,” Anduin says wryly.

“You wound me,” Wrathion replies with mock offense. After a pause, he speaks again, quieter this time. “How have the visions been lately?”

The smile falls from Anduin’s face. He pushes off the desk and brushes past Wrathion, walking until he reaches the window. Wrathion trails him, a few paces behind.

“It is all so fragile,” Anduin says as he gazes out across the city. “All of these people. All of Azeroth.”

Wrathion stays quiet. He knows Anduin has more to say.

Anduin closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, measuring his exhale. “I have seen hundreds of ways my people die. Thousands. I’ve seen the world strangled by N’zoth’s shadows.” He opens his eyes again, but they’re unfocused. “Is it not inevitable? Who are we to think we can defeat the Old Gods?”

“We’ve done it before,” Wrathion murmurs.

“No,” Anduin says, shaking his head. “The titans did. Creatures of legend. In the grand scheme of things, we are just flashes of light compared to them.”

Wrathion tsks. “You do not give yourself or your people enough credit, my king. Nor do you give me enough credit.”

Anduin huffs petulantly. They’ve had this conversation before. Wrathion steps forward to look out the window alongside Anduin, pressing his hand into the small of the king’s back. This close, he can feel the veins of corruption whispering beneath Anduin’s skin, tangling around his heart.

Tearing his gaze away from the city, Anduin turns and, after a heartbeat of doubt, curls his arms around Wrathion’s neck and buries his nose into the dragon’s shoulder.

It’s Wrathion’s turn to sigh as he curls his arms around Anduin’s waist, keeping him close. Wrathion can feel the exhaustion in his bones. He pulls back a fraction and brings one hand up to cup Anduin’s jaw.

“Let me help you,” Wrathion murmurs, swiping a thumb across Anduin’s cheekbone.

In lieu of a response, Anduin tugs Wrathion down and kisses him.

Wrathion’s eyes slit and his hand goes up to catch in Anduin’s hair, adjusting the angle. For a moment, it’s like this—as slow and sweet and golden as honey—and Wrathion lets himself indulge. Then, Wrathion threads some magic through the kiss, seeking out the worst threads of corruption in Anduin’s heart and purging them with care. It is not a lot, not what MOTHER could have done, but it is enough to soften the edges, to keep the whispers at bay.

Anduin slumps even further into him and it’s clear Wrathion’s assistance is beginning to have its desired effect. It takes a weight off of Wrathion’s shoulders that he hadn’t even known was there. The kisses grow slower as Anduin’s exhaustion truly begins to sink in. Wrathion breaks the kiss to breathe.

“Stay?” Anduin murmurs, voice small. He is not a king, now—he is just a boy with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

They both know Wrathion can’t, not for long. They also both know that with Wrathion by his side, Anduin is likely to have a dreamless sleep.

Wrathion leans forward and kisses Anduin again—once, twice.

“I can think of no place I’d rather be.”

#wranduin #wrathion #anduin wrynn #world of warcraft #warcraft #mine #my writing #w: wranduin #w: wow #w: fic

[aranyaphoenix]

Hi! Tell me more about Your character! What are 5 things they likes. 4 they do not like. 3 goals. 2 things you wanna do on them and 1 way to start an walkup RP with you!

5 THINGS ARANYA LIKES

Her bffs! @thunderwolfstrike @silverashwind @theperished-wra @lakefire and a lot of people in @eclipse-syndicate!

TEA!

Perfect views of the night sky.

The ocean.

Warmth. Holding fire in her hand has a particular serenity for her.

4 THINGS ARANYA DISLIKES

People whose actions don’t match up with their words.

Cold environments.

Having to put up with her mother’s shit. The woman’s been dead for over a hundred years, but we’ll be seeing her in Shadowlands. Linan Ver’Sarn was stuck up and two faced a lot of the time, and only kept her promises to her daughter if it was convenient for her to do so.

Any stench that her fire spells can’t burn away. That kind of reek is unnatural and a hellish pain to have to deal with.

3 GOALS ARANYA HAS

Heal her heart. Getting divorced by her husband was bad enough, but subsequent to that the Black Empire has exploited her history of being abandoned by those she loves, and it’s seriously fucked her up.

Find a peaceful day where she can open up to @silverashwind about who/what she really is. Next to @safrona-shadowsun he’s her best and closest friend blue-side, and their trust has grown. Plus, his mun is like a brother to me and Valéria loves him like an uncle; Aeden’s a truly great prospect for an IC mentor for her.

This one’s an in-game goal rather than an in-character goal: Imma get Wrathion’s backpack!

2 THINGS I WANNA DO WITH ARANYA

I’m really looking forward to Shadowlands! It’s been touched on many times before how Aranya was supposed to have a son with @rhovinthorne, but she miscarried when the Burning Legion last invaded. Well, @manwich85 (Rhovin’s mun) and I have been talking a lot about what we each want to do with our characters over Shadowlands, and the soul of their would-be son is DEFINITELY going to feature, I can hardly wait! SO MUCH FEEELS ahead!

I wanna get back to adding my voice acting snippets to my writing and RP posts, it’s been a while since I last did one. Past posts with my voice work here!

1 WAY TO START A WALKUP RP WITH ME

I like it best when people approach walkups the same way that a real-life conversation with a total stranger that becomes a positive memory happens: chit chat in an elevator about what brought ya here, asking if it’s okay to pet their animal companion, saying how you like their shirt or their hair, remarking to the side about something that’s going on that you’re both observing.

But NEVER. EVER. EVER just start off with a plain and unembellished “hi.” DON’T DO IT. It’s weird, it’s like if a total stranger for no reason just decided to come up to you and said “hi” to you.

The only time this is okay, is if you’ve heard of my character before and want to approach her for business. Everyone says “hi” in a situation that’s just business, commerce, professionalism, etc., in which case you should also address her by name. “Hello there, Arcanist Ver’Sarn/Starwing?”

#Aranya #Wyrmrest Accord #world of warcraft #refs

[terraforged]

Shipping Info

WHAT IS YOUR OTP FOR YOUR CHARACTER?:

     I mean Wrathion/Anduin is literally the only thing I ship with him. He’s had pretty much no interaction with anyone else canonly, and doesn’t really like anyone else to any meaningful extent, so there’s nothing else that’s remotely interesting for me when these two already play so well together. It’d just be like picking a bargain basement ship when you COULD have a really good one instead. Why would you do that??? It’s similar for Anduin with me too though. I can think of three other semi-popular ships for him, with two of them being white bread levels of boring and the other being kinda weird and Yikes for me. I really don’t care for either of these lads with other characters romantically so I’m definitely the wrong tree to bark up in any discussions of such :^(

WHAT ARE YOU WILLING TO WRITE WHEN IT COMES TO SHIPPING?:

    I mean I dunno I’m down with whatever Novi wants to write lmaooo. I’m pretty willing to write most things with anything as long as I can justify it as making sense to Wrathion’s character. Wrathion is pretty flexible  writing wise so... yeah, anything that makes sense really!

HOW LARGE DOES THE AGE GAP HAVE TO BE TO MAKE IT UNCOMFORTABLE?:

    If they’re two consenting adults I Do Not Care. If one isn’t then that’s the point it makes me uncomfortable.

ARE YOU SELECTIVE WHEN SHIPPING?:

     I mean if it’s Novi I sorta don’t care who the characters are, but with anyone else then I think I’m probably fairly selective in that shipping isn’t a major priority for me but can cause a lot of problems when it goes wrong, and I’m not much interested in the associated drama. Plus I just like shipping with Novi :(

HOW FAR DO STEAMY MOMENTS HAVE TO GO BEFORE THEY ARE CONSIDERED NSFW?:

    If bits are involved then it’s NSFW lmaooo

DOES ONE HAVE TO ASK TO SHIP WITH YOU?:

    I feel like Novi just assumes at this point. She’s very rude. Please report her for me :^(

ARE YOU SHIP OBSESSED OR SHIP MORE-OR-LESS?:

     I like shipping and the ship on this blog underpins a lot of his personal growth and development going forward, and I’m really excited to get to play with some of the later parts of it and how those aspects impact Wrathion/what they mean for him. But that’s my stance on shipping as a whole where it’s more about a continued cycle of development that’s fun for both parties to write, rather than just. Idk. A meaningless romance I guess? I tend to like having 1 ship that gets to impact my character’s development entirely with undercurrents across the whole of my blog, rather than multiple ships which occur in their own separate instances and where nothing else you write is ever important to it.

ARE YOU MULTISHIP?:

    No, not on most blogs. I don’t habitually care for multiship personally, though I technically am on Varian for all I’m also only really sorta writing him with Mel at present and don’t plan on changing that.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE SHIP IN YOUR CURRENT FANDOM?:

    If it’s not Wranduin then I only care a little bit about it, if at all. I like a couple of other romantic ships in wow but not with any major interest currently. I tend to like a lot more of the platonic relationships that occur in canon and RP wise, as they’re generally just as important as romantic ones if in different ways? Alex and Wrathion gets me good for example, though canon does that dirty yikes. The Valeera/Brol/Varian dumbass friend trio is also super good even though it’s now a dumbass duo since Varian went and got murdered. Varian and Anduin also hits a real certain kind of way and I love them a lot too.

FINALLY, HOW DOES ONE SHIP WITH YOU?:

    You are either Novi and then, you know, I require ritualistic sacrifice. Or it’s on a blog where I can’t really ship with Novi for whatever reason and then as long as I know you, have a good rapport with you, and it makes sense for the characters then just ask ig.

Tagged by: @necroarchy

Tagging: i think everyone was tagged

[archmage--khadgar]

AU where everything is the same but Khadgar lives vicariously through his recently adopted son Anduin.

(YOU BROUGHT THIS ON YOURSELF, ANON. Also, it got long so there’s more under the break!      It keeps deleting the break, I have no idea if it’s like that for anyone else, but if so, APOLOGIES FOR THE LONG POST, I legit can not fix it.) Khadgar was awkwardly flattered to discover the statue of himself outside of Stormwind when the Dark Portal was reopened, and he was finally able to return to Azeroth. More surprisingly, was when he was introduced to Anduin Wrynn, the son of Varian Wrynn and named for his old friend, Anduin Lothar.  The last time Khadgar has seen Varian, he was still a child. It was hard to imagine that young boy as an adult, as King but was quickly saddened by the news that Varian had gone missing some time ago. Anduin was more than happy to hear stories of his father as a child, and of the hero, he shared a name with. He wanted to know more about the Outlands, about the Naaru, about the Orcs that had remained on that destroyed world. Khadgar sympathized when hearing about Onyxia’s deception, and relayed his own personal experiences with the Black Dragonflight. Khadgar had to return to Shattrath but happily kept in touch with the young boy. When a new plague had begun to spread across Azeroth, Khadgar opened up Shattrath as a place for healing and research. Any undead that tried to sneak its way through any portal was quickly and easily destroyed by A’dal. When Varian returned, Khadgar wasted no time in revisiting Stormwind. The High King of the Alliance was elated to see Khadgar again. “You haven’t aged a bit!” Varian exclaimed. “Actually, you look younger, without that beard. Remind me to never grow one - don’t tell Velen I said that.” Khadgar joined Varian and Anduin for dinner, after all, Varian needed to defend himself from Khadgar’s wild tails of him as a child!

“Anduin, don’t listen, I never went to Goldshire when I was young.” “That inn was used as a base so much, I’m fairly certain you practically lived  there.” “Light’s sake Khadgar.” Varian tried so hard to not laugh. “You clearly have not been there lately. Anduin, to clarify, Goldshire used to be a very upstanding, quaint town.” While Khadgar returned to Shattrath to continue to monitor the Legion, he once again remained in contact. When Deathwing attacked, Anduin was quick to tell his father about the threats Deathwing had personally made against Khadgar. About the nightmares. Varian was even quicker to urge Khadgar to remain in the Outlands, to keep a lookout for the Legion, to stay safe. “You’ve done more than enough for Azeroth, Khadgar. You don’t need to come running every time there is a problem.” “..If you need...ANYTHING....” “Yes, we will contact you.” When Anduin went missing on a strange continent, when he was later crushed by a bell but survived, when be befriended a young Black Dragon who claimed to be the uncorrupted Son of Deathwing, Khadgar’s emotions were rocked every day.  Wrathion, at least, knew just as Khadgar did that the Legion would one day return. Anduin spoke highly of the whelp, so Khadgar decided that if Wrathion ever wanted to reach out to him, he would listen. And then Garrosh and a Bronze Dragon made a passage to Draenor, 30 years in the past to alter history. Despite the loss of the Dark Portal, mages were still able to teleport between Outlands and Azeroth with relative ease. Khadgar was able to return once again, to plan an assault with Thrall, Maraad and other heroes of the Alliance and Horde. Once more, Khadgar had to help stop an invasion. “Khadgar, you better return. Alive.” Varian ordered. “Oh, I make no promises.” “Khadgar. Please. There are so few who are still alive who personally knew my father. You are a dear friend to this family, my...family.” Varian reached out to grasp Khadgar’s arm. “Azeroth will always be your home, and this city is always open to you.” Khadgar did survive. Khadgar did return to Stormwind. To warn that the Legion had finally returned. Everything happened so fast. Varian was dead. Everyone swarmed around Anduin now, as he was technically old enough to be crowned King properly this time. Advice, sympathy, expecting him to be a leader while still treating him like a child. Khadgar had much work to do in Dalaran. But he was very good at being in two places at once. Khadgar was also very good at being sneaky; when he wanted to be. Where was he going? People always asked Khadgar when he would leave to rest or “do business” without the aid of champions. People often thought they would hear Anduin talking with someone around the corner or in the other room, but investigations would always show that either Anduin was alone or that...Anduin wasn’t there at all. “Perhaps Stormwind Keep is haunted. I’ll have a priest look into it.” “My King....aren’t you...” “Well. Yes. But spooks and ghosts aren’t my expertise, as I’ve never had to fight Undead before. I’ll find somehow who’s more...knowledgable.” Anduin’s eyes lip up as he was introduced to the vast libraries of Karazhan, to A’dal, to many wondrous places in Outlands and Azeroth that Anduin had only heard about but never visited.  These adventures could never last long, but these brief moments of watching Anduin’s face light up with every excursion filled Khadgar with more life than any spell or gem had ever given him. Khadgar learned to love Azeroth all over again through Anduin. Although they had grown up differently, they both found themselves in leadership positions way before their 20th birthdays. Children expected to lead and save the world from otherworldly monsters. It simply wasn’t fair. Perhaps through Anduin, Khadgar could see Azeroth through the eyes of someone young again. Their adventures quickly became self-indulgent, disguising themselves as a father and son, doing simple things like going for ice cream, attending the Darkmoon Faire, and fishing. However...Anduin was the one teaching Khadgar to fish. “Medivh taught me how to fly a Gryphon...though...all he needed to do was tap my forehead.” “Really? The power of the Guardian is that strong?” “Ohh, yes. Yes, it is. It was quite painful too. Unless it’s an emergency situation, I would never recommend learning anything that way.” Anduin was quiet for a moment. “I don’t suppose you can teach me how to teleport via that method, could you?” “Probably not, and I wouldn’t do it even if I could, teleporting requires intimate knowledge and familiarity with the leylines, and, furthermore, being comfortable tapping into them. I can’t teach comfort. So no, I will not teach you how to teleport.” “Hmm. You know, as King, I could simply order you, right?” “Oho! But I have leadership in two cities that are neutral, and not a part of the Alliance!” Khadgar chuckled, pulling Anduin’s hood down over his face. Anduin chuckled, promising that negotiations would continue later. This is how it was until the Horde and Alliance became enemies once more. It was too dangerous to sneak out now, and Anduin this time, had to go to battle properly. “Khadgar, I promise I will not allow the Alliance to pull Shattrath or Dalaran into this fight for as long as possible. This war isn’t right.” He confided in the vision he had of his father, knowing that Khadgar would understand what it was like to experience such things. When he released Saurfang, he sent a letter to Khadgar, asking if it was the right thing to do.   He sighed in relief when Khadgar said yes. Greymane’s approval, if he ever found out, didn’t matter. Anduin didn’t want this war, the Horde and Alliance should be working together to save their world from the damage caused by Sargeras! At least Khadgar and Magni understood. At least he knew that Khadgar supported him in ways no others would. Many would lament that it was such a shame that he and Khadgar were not related by blood, that they were not family. But Anduin knew better than that. He knew that family was not determined by blood alone. He and Khadgar both knew they were family, even if no one else felt that way.

#khadgar #anduin #varian #world of warcraft #AU Drabble #Anonymous

[gascon-en-exil]

WoW really is losing steam now, with blizzard focusing on Overwatch now as their big IP. Overwatch is a MOBA fitting in with what I said.

I don’t know for sure what “you” said because all of this is on anon and I can’t distinguish them. In any case, Overwatch has been around for four years or so and hasn’t killed WoW yet. There’s also a new Diablo coming out I think, and WoW Classic which is technically its own thing as well as a remake of Warcarft III which is releasing very soon. Companies can focus on multiple IPs

How would you add actual moral grey?

See what I mean? Is this you? I don’t care, really; I don’t even know if it’s about WoW or FE since I’ve gotten asks about both today. I think there’s a great two-sided story to be had in the tension over the rightful control of Silvermoon and Quel’Thalas. The ren’dorei can argue that their experiments into the Void are of a piece with their people’s earlier work with the Fel and the holy energies of a Naaru, while the sin’dorei can retort that the very presence of Void energy threatens the stability of the Sunwell they still rely on for their magic. The blood elves could be themselves divided over genuine dedication to the Light as embodied by the Sunwell and an opportunistic pragmatism that sees M’uru’s sacrifice as just another means of ensuring their survival and that they (the blood elves) should be no more beholden to the Light or to the draenei who “redeemed” them than they were before. Meanwhile the void elves are now left to cope with no means to sustain their magical addiction but Void energy, which has got to have some kind of negative effect on them aside from some silly tentacle jokes. How will the Alliance cope with that? Hell, how will the Lightforged specifically cope with that, as they exist in direct opposition to the Void? Something needs to be done with that, even if it’s just two comedic relief NPC quest givers with gay subtext...Blizzard seems to enjoy them.

But I guess you referring to all the big names. Um...Anduin and Wrathion finally have sex and it’s amazing, but Wrathion is obviously manipulating him to some end so now the leader of the Alliance is torn between his ideals of justice and the needs of his dick. Also Tyrande is growing more murderous and Genn is kind of on her side but doesn’t want to be too open about it. Over in the Horde the council idea doesn’t work too well especially once Gallywix buys all the votes, but the elves don’t care because they’re off in Suramar swapping magic secrets and having wild drunken orgies and it’s all very lovely.

You should know BlizzardBearLove is a radical Alliance Stan who calls Horde players, "Nazis" for not liking the story, & is infamous on tumblr for coming in announced whenever a tumblr user expresses dissatisfaction with WoW's story. Heck just now they posted a rant saying people who like Sylvanas as feminists.

Oh look, I didn’t think I’d ever get one of those kinds of messages telling me about all the allegedly horrible things someone who’s interacted with one of my posts has done. I don’t make a habit of reading through other people’s blogs, because unless you’re one of the ten or so mutuals with whom I regularly interact I don’t care enough to do so.

#World of Warcraft #WoW

[swtorramblings]

Opinions: let’s shock everyone and not choose the obvious. Kira Carsen, Vector Hyllus, Akaavi (I know you like her but still). For WoW, Anduin.

Well, I spend half my time on this blog on the obvious choices. I think those opinions are probably clear.

Since you asked about several, I’m going to save some sanity and use a key.

How I feel about this character

All the people I ship romantically with this character

My non-romantic OTP for this character

My unpopular opinion about this character

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

These are mostly emotional responses and may not fit canon. If so, please don’t tell me, I’d hate to be made aware of things that would make me dislike them.

Kira Carsen

Love her like a sister. I don’t agree with her all the time, mainly about the whole “it’s time for the Jedi to get political” and such, but she can be flawed and not really affect my affection for her.

A good or good-ish smuggler or agent (would probably have to not be loyal to the Empire). I also like the idea of her with an LS Inquisitor, but it would require a lot of work (probably including re-writing some of the Inquisitor’s past actions) to make sense, and would start off rocky, but I think they have some shared experience to bond over. Ashara.

I tried to stay away from them for this, but I can’t: She should form a found family relationship with the Tiralls. Preferably with a new little sister. This would also require some work to make viable, beyond the obvious. Risha, and maybe Vette since I really think they should have returned together.

She shouldn’t have been a romance option for the Knight without other changes to their relationship.  I wish she had started out as an equal to the Knight rather than a Padawan, for one. She was there sharing the risks in the early chapters and that could have been her trials. If it weren’t for that, I probably would have included the JK in #2.

See 4, but mainly: She absolutely should have returned during KotXX. It might be for the best that she didn’t, but a good story with that is such a loss.

Vector Hyllus

I generally like him. I don’t have the affection for him the “bug husband” fans do, but he’s generally kind-seeming and supportive to the Agent, romanced or not. I am always uncomfortable with companions that show too much loyalty to the Empire. He does seem OK with the Agent being a traitor, though. His being part of the hive isn’t really a problem, though if he was at any point coerced my opinion on that would change, but that’s not my impression and I wouldn’t blame him for it.

The Agent, especially an LS one. I don’t think I have any others.

Also the Agent and most of the crew. He seems to get along well with the bad doctor especially. Mako, couldn’t tell you why. A not-too-awful Warrior might make a good friend/bodyguard type relationship.

I don’t know if it’s unpopular, but I would have liked to explore more of the philosophical implications of his state and how it affects his loyalties, especially considering his treatment of elements in the Empire during the story.

I wish we had gotten to see something of him before the bonding, possibly in a recording.

Akaavi Spar

I like her a great deal, though sometimes I think I may like my image of her more than the actual character. I think she has her own code but won’t let anyone take advantage of her for it, pragmatic but honorable. I don’t remember the romance, it’s been too long and was before I started recording everything, but I felt like it was a decent, “I’m big and powerful and don’t like you much” but growing more affectionate, so that would be good if it’s not just my own headcanon.

Any Smuggler, really, though I prefer the idea of her becoming a couple with more neutral or light sided characters. I have a nagging feeling I’m missing an NPC, but it’s not coming to mind.

I want to see her in a drinking contest with the Trooper or the BH, not sure why. Senya. Koth.

She didn’t get enough play time by half. 

Female smugglers should have been allowed to romance her.

Anduin Wrynn

Great character. Epitome of “our children should be better than us.” Wants peace desperately but isn’t going to take your guff if it comes to that. I feel so sorry that he was born into his world. Kind, honorable, protective. Not only willing to accept surrender but willing to offer the chance, though it’s cost him at least once. 

I can’t think of any. I could joke here about Wrathion, so I will, but nothing serious comes to mind.

I’d like our heroes to be allowed some time to just hang out with him. Again, including select Horde members. Saurfang after lifting him to his feet. Jaina. I’m sure I’m missing a bunch. He’s just likeable.

I like him and hope he doesn’t change TOO much. I haven’t seen a lot of hate for him, but considering what kind of character he is, I expect there must be.

I would have liked to be allowed to meet his mother rather than just have her be part of his and his dad’s tragic backstory.

#long post #swtor #wow #character impressions #kira carsen #vector hyllus #akaavi spar #anduin wrynn

[lothirielswan]

“Wanna Smell Books with Me?” [19]

Join the journey on AO3 too!

Quest Objective: Someone please hold Jaina's beer.

~Wrathion, the Violet Citadel~

“You have what was promised?”

The banners of lilac and cobalt churned at the top of the alabaster steps. Torches played games with shadows across the floor. Dalaran was known for its knowledge, and yet everything seemed hidden by a layer of smoke.

Grand Magister Rommath gestured with his hands, and a wooden crate settled on the cold ground.

Left and Right guarded the staircase at the bottom, so no one would interfere with our transaction. Anyone who came close was given a death stare along with a long rifle pointed at their nose. Such ferocity. Such power.

I lifted a talon. Two more agents descended from the shadows and cracked open the lid with their blades. Rommath raised a slender eyebrow, but gave no reply.

The artifact rested on cushions of silk. It's intricate golden design was uncanny, created by beings of much higher thinking. Certain parts of the strange machine gave off a soft glow. There was a subtle familiarity to it; it looked exactly like my visions from the Thunder King.

“Our archeologists scoured Northrend, the Badlands, Uldum. We found the pieces scattered throughout.” The Grand Magister explained. His features were bathed in twilight hues of gold, azure and violet that made up the room. The dark velvet of my robes were sun-kissed by the gleam of the artifact, like the first rays of dawn. A new beginning.

I hummed with satisfaction. No more hiding. No more shame. The Black Dragonflight will reclaim what is rightfully ours.  

“It was a pleasure doing business, Grand Magister,” His title rolled off my tongue. I snapped my fingers, and two more lackeys emerged from the darkness of the room to carry the crate out of sight. Rommath’s quirked eyebrow grew more rigid.

“You have an abundance of recruits.” He said.

I lightly shrugged my shoulders with a pinch of modesty. “I’m comfortable. I’m afraid you can't say the same.”

I heard of the plight of the sin’dorei. The filthy remains of the Scourge still ran across their homeland, and the elves’ numbers were few. It was a shame, such powerful sorcerers turned to arcane addicts. They did not wander ruins simply for the joy of finding lost artifacts.

Rommath did not appear pleased to bring up the state of his homeland. “That is not a Black dragon’s business.”

“But it could be.” I said.

The bare muscles of his arms stiffened. Rommath muttered, “In what way?”

“I have plans, Grand Magister. Plans that will change the course of Azeroth,” Said I. I was poised and proud, shoulders out as if I had my wings on display.

“Your people are near extinction; I can modify that. Your forces can join mine, and I will reward you.”

Rommath was silent for a moment. “You sound like the Betrayer.”

Illidan Stormrage. Another famous figure. I never had the luxury to meet the former Lord of Outland, but he surely lived up to his reputation during the Legion’s recent invasion.

I replied, “The Betrayer did what was necessary to achieve a higher goal; he opposed the Legion-–”

“And many died in that campaign.” Rommath took another step closer. His fists were clenched like two threatening boulders of marble. The bridge of his nose creased like cracked alabaster. “Many suffered. Many are still paying the price. I would caution you with whatever plot you have come up with.”

“...So that's a no on joining me?” I remarked, unfazed by his closeness and the pain laced within his voice.

The Grand Magister’s head cocked to the side. “The fate of my people is not for me to decide; that is the Regent Lord’s will, what little remains of it. I will inform him of your offer, and the costs.”

Rommath gave a curt nod with his scarf still covering his lips, a last mockery that I still did not know everything he did.

His back was to me when I called out one last time. “Grand Magister?”

His shoulders slumped from exhaustion, and faced me with his expression still disguised behind scarlet silk. “Yes, Black Prince?”

My lips curled into a smile, baring my teeth with sharp points to be persuasive. “I urge you to consider my proposal. I doubt your people would like to be on the wrong side of history a second time.”

Rommath’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you should follow your own advice.”

~Eona, the Purple Parlor~

“Jaina, please-–”

“No. Jaina’s not here right now. Jaina’s on vacation.” Jaina held up a cautionary finger as she slumped down into one of the padded chairs. Her interest moved to the bookshelf near her as I pleaded with her.

“I don't know where Khadgar is and I got a bad-omens vibe from Chromie! Please? I’ll pay you back for the danish.” I replied.

Jaina shot me a foul look at the mere mention of the pastry. But she didn't answer. Instead, Jaina pulled a random book from the shelves, opened it, and hid her face behind the cover.

“Oh,” She moaned into the ink-smothered parchment filled with knowledge. “I miss that smell. I miss books. I miss my youth.”

I lowered her book so I could meet her gaze. “You’re still incredibly young.”

“Ha!” Jaina settled back in her chair and propped her feet up on the nearest table. “Young. What is young? Innocence. Ambition. Love…”

Her fingers suddenly clenched the leather cover of the novel. “Arthas is dead.”

I flinched and felt a pang of guilt. I managed a breathy response, “Yes, he is.”

Jaina gently tugged at the bottom of her braid. So much of her blonde locks had been consumed by the frosty white arcane. Her eyes were black and blue, like ice in the dark. Her voice was melodic like a river, and it had been frozen over. She was still young. But she looked exhausted, like the years had feasted on her spirit.

“It's an odd thing to say, but...I feel like him now.” Jaina’s attention was lost to some illusion that I could not see. Her fingers twitched towards the brooch. “Arthas, he was such a contradiction. He loved his people. He fought undead. He opposed dreadlords. Then he changed. He killed his people. He lead the undead. He took orders from dreadlords.”

Jaina stroked the crest with her thumb. “And now here I am. I used to have faith that everything would work out alright. I used to have faith in myself. Now...”

She shook her head, not for long, but with intensity, as if she could banish the thoughts like one could wring blood out of a healer’s rag. “Now I'm young. And my youth is gone.”

I didn't know what to say. I stole a chair from the other side of the table and dragged it next to hers. At random I plucked a book from one of the shelves and glanced over at her.

I bit my lip as I held up the novel. “Wanna smell books with me…?”

Jaina’s eyes were glassy as she stared at the cover. She nodded, a small smile on her lips. She wiped at her eyes. “I thought you would never ask.”

Our arms brushed together as I opened the first page and started to read. Yes, Khadgar and Dalaran needed us. But Jaina needed this more.

“The girl’s fiance dies in that one.” Jaina remarked.

I looked up at her smirk. “This is what I get for stealing your danish?”

“You brought a bookworm along to smell books, Eona. You should’ve known that something would get spoiled.”

~*~

We were still reading in the Purple Parlor when the air thickened from a teleportation spell. Arcane crackled across my skin and light filled the chamber.

I blinked a few times, stunned by the new change in the atmosphere. Jaina was used to the way of magics and was already standing, staff in hand. Her expression turned grim.

“Khadgar!” I ran to him as I made out his form.

I caught his arm as he stumbled, feeling the coldness of his skin through his dark blue robes. He was pale, and his forehead glistened with sweat as he swayed on his feet.

Archmages Modera and Aethas materialized on his sides. They wore the same drained expressions. Jaina helped Modera down as Khadgar teetered in my grasp.

“Eona...you never told me you had sisters,” Khadgar gasped. I held onto his arms, trying to still him as best as I could.

“Huh?” I said.

“Yes,” Khadgar held up a finger, pointing to the air around me. “There’s three of you...am I counting right? Aethas! What do your elf eyes see?”

“Stars...so many stars...” Aethas groaned and yanked off his hood to massage his temples.

I lead Khadgar to a one-armed sofa as he spoke in his dreamy state of delirium. “You know, I bet if Sylvanas raised me from the dead...I’d be like Beetlejuice.”

I sat the Archmage down and frowned as I leaned over him. “Please don't give me that mental image, Khadgar.”

“No, it's perfect! You can be Lydia! IT’S SHOWTIME-–wee!” I urged Khadgar down to lie on the sofa, smoothing out his hair as I did so.

I glanced over at Jaina as she examined the other two mages.

“What happened to them?” I asked. I wonder if Anduin is still here. He’s a skilled healer, he might know.  

“You know, Eona, you smell really nice.” Khadgar rasped below me. “Kind of like strawberries. Which is funny, you look like a strawberry. You’re covered in seeds…”

I crossed my arms. My white linen shirt came down to my elbows, so the freckles drizzled across my arms were still visible.

“Where were you last, Modera?” I heard Jaina ask.

I joined the two mages across the parlor. Modera seemed less hysterical than Khadgar, but just as exhausted.

“Violet Hold,” She gasped. “the prisoners escaped...we went to track them...they trapped us there. Kalecgos is still with them-–”

My eyes flew open. Jaina and I exchanged a look.

“–-then we faced the Vampyr…” Modera’s head tipped back as she gulped in air.

Jaina nudged my arm. She didn't need to. The two red dots on Modera’s neck said it all. I sprinted back to Khadgar. His skin was branded with the same two marks.

“Aethas too,” Jaina said quietly, smoothing her robes as she stood upright.

We backed away from the three limp mages, watching as their movements seemed to slow.

“If they…” I swallowed. “does that mean they’re stuck that way?”

“No. We have spells to remove it, and it's usually temporary. I can ask Anduin or Malfurion to tend to them.” Jaina glanced up at her own staff, then quickly retrieved the long weapons from where the mages lay.

I nodded, moving my hair away from the front of my face. As I did so, Khadgar leaned up slightly, sniffing the air.

“What about Kalec?” I said.

Jaina returned to my side with their staffs and her eyes flickered over the sleeping bodies. “We’ll get him together. I’ll meet you at Violet Hold. Let’s clean up the Kirin Tor’s mess before the summit has the chance to notice.”

We stepped back into the shimmering portal and our feet echoed as we appeared at the staircase of the Violet Citadel. Jaina raced towards the Anduin; I took the steps two at a time with my thoughts on Kalec.

I squinted as a familiar face lingered at the bottom of the steps. Grand Magister Rommath looked to my coming, his eyes analyzing me like a spellbook.

“Eona, I must speak with you.” He said as I was halfway down the mountain of steps. My calves were burning and I didn't care. Kalec’s face kept flashing before my eyes.

“I'm sorry, now is not a good time.” I remarked.

“It’s important-–”

“Then we’ll discuss it later.” I finally reached the bottom of the stairs and sped past him.

“You are going to slip if you move too swiftly, Lady Sunstrider.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I love cliffhangers :3

Chromie: Me too! Although, I usually see them coming with my powers, but they're still entertaining--but that's not why I'm here. Author, you're messing with the timestreams!

Author: Don't worry, I have a permit.

Chromie: I'm sorry, Author. That bowl of edible cookie dough that you offered the Bronze Dragonflight was delicious, but it does not allow you to go willy-nilly with the past. The Dark Portal was closed for twenty years, making Eona's existence impossible!

*Awesome freaky lightshow happens. Nozdormu, Lord of Time, appears*

Nozdormu: Author, well met. I must say, your work with this new future for Azeroth is...entertaining, but Chronomu is correct.

Author: Jeez, Marvel didn't have these kinds of laws set up--then again, Deadpool was my co-writer. Protectors of Time, please hear me out! I have a loophole!

Nozdormu: Very well, Author. Do as you must. We will be watching...and if you can spare me a cameo, it would touch this old dragon's heart. You even let Kalecgos have a minor role in this story, and he's practically invisible!

Kalec: ...Thanks.

Author: Will do, Lord Nozdormu! Thanks for stopping by, Chromie! As for you Awesome Adventurers, you can actually witness the first time Eona's parents met now, in the recently updated "Protectors of the Present"! Hope you enjoyed c: love, fortune and glory to you!!

#featuring Khadgar the undead Beetlejuice #thrilling adventures of eona #World of Warcraft #khadgar #Jaina Proudmoore #kalecgos #archmage modera #aethas sunreaver #Eona Strider

[diguerra-moved]

❝ No one will speak to me! Surely you understand my position.❞ (for alex!)

A MEME I TOOK FOREVER TO REPLY TO AND CAN’T FIND ANYMORE // not accepting.

“And you wish for me to intercede?” It is a question borne of disbelief, most of all; he, righteous anger and well earned fear in previous stances they had met, was not at all alike he who stood in front of her now, polite words and reasonable tone. Such a stark contrast she could find in his present and past self, if it could even be called past with how recent previous encounters were. What changed? Certainly not the wrongs she had no way of righting, that he had been outspoken in his resentment towards. No, all that changed was his need of her. 

Oh, how he must loathe to plead to her of all people! The thought brings her no joy. It isn’t in Alexstrasza to hold on to resent, much less when she had agreed his hatred was all she was deserving of. There is no pettiness in inquiry made, no grudge; it is to her bewildering that he would ask for her aid in so open a manner, but she has no intention of answering it with scorn. 

The Dragonqueen had not interfered to make their kin shun him so (would not want them to, for she wished to harm him no more than she already had). With history’s cautionary tale, she needed not; they feared the blood of those who had turned on them all, and she knows him to have been right when he accused her of cursing him to existing under scrutiny of others, for there would always be suspicion in that regard. “They are wary.” Would be even had he done no wrong, but alas, he had. “I have no means to change their feelings.”

“All I can offer you is to speak in your favor. I shall try to get them to at least listen to what you may have to say, if you so wish ——— but I cannot promise you they will, Wrathion.”

#terraforged #* muse: alexstrasza / CRIMSON QUEEN. #* in character: alexstrasza / LIFEGIVER; THE CRIMSON QUEEN DUTY BOUND TO GUARD ALL LIFE. #* verse 003: alexstrasza / TO SEE THE WORLD THROUGH MORTAL EYES.

[favoritedragonprince]

He always knew.

(Ravenholdt Manor - Before Pandaria)

Wrathion was reading some papers on the table, the champion who arrived a couple weeks ago showed an incredible skill, so the Black Prince was counting with his comeback, therefore preparations were needed but he wasn’t alone that night.

-Fahrad you are particularly quiet today, what has your mind so occupied?-

The rogue woke up from his trip down memory lane when he heard the words from his prince, he looked at him, the voices wouldn’t shut up.

“Look at him, thinking he is someone. You have him in the palm of your hands. Destroy him. Torture him. He thinks he is a prince. The pathetic whelp thinks he is important. Prove him wrong. Corrupt him. Tear his body and mind apart.”

Stop.

-I am sorry my prince, just wild thoughts.-

He got up and went to window, wind was strong that night, and the Manor was quiet, silent as a dead body.

Idiot Fahrad he already had feelings for the “Black Prince”. He looked at him like a son, he was his son, he knew it.

And that’s why he had to do that, Wrathion was meant for so much more, he was uncorrupted, his mere existing could turn the world upside down.

And Fahrad was an obstacle, the voices were and obstacle, they were going to control him at some point, and then...Wrathion wasn’t prepared enough and he was already a trained rogue dragon...the Black dragon tried to put that image aside.

-Wrathion you already know, who I am, right?-

The Black Prince was genuinely shocked hearing his name, the rogue would always refer to him as prince or some other fancy name, but, he still answered without lifting the head.

-Of course, you are Fahrad, a very well trained rogue who trains other rogues and...- But the other voice interrupted him, now the rogue was in front of the table.

-No, Wrathion, I mean, who I really am.-

Then the prince showed his very particular grin.

-Yes, you are Fahradion, a powerful black dragon who was in command of some of Deathwing must powerful forces, until you focused yourself on destroying human colonies from the inside, yes I know, why the question?-

Fahrad narrowed his eyes.

-As you said, I’m a powerful black dragon, but above all, I’m corrupted...and they...won’t shut up...about...killing you!!!-

The eyes of the rogue turned orange and with a powerful glow on them, smoke also came out from his nose but Wrathion didn’t blink.

-I already now that, but not to worry, they managed to erase the corruption in me, of course we can take it away from you, we only need time.-

Fahrad just lowered his head, now back to normal and he sighed.

-No, Wrathion you can’t take it away, you have to kill me to ensure your safety.-

The rogue almost managed to finished before seeing the red eyes of the prince in front of him, glowing even more than his.

-You don’t dare tell me what I can and cannot do, WE are going to take the corruption away and that’s IT.- The dragon finished his words slamming the table, kill him? No, never, there has to be a way, there was a way for him so he was going to find a way for Fahrad, that was for sure, yes, Alexstrasza had the information, a little bribe and that’s it...

-You know...it’s impossible, you know it deep inside you, make the promise Wrathion, make the promise that you will kill me when the Champion you chose finishes the tasks.- The rogue wasn’t very happy with what he said, but it was the truth, the only truth.

-...How...can I kill you?...- How could he do that?...Everyone knew that Fahrad wasn’t only another rogue to him, he was a mentor...a father-like figure...something he’d never have again.

Was that...sobbing? Was Wrathion...crying?...

It was for only a moment before he’d go back to his normal self but he definitely cried.

-You’re asking the impossible Fahrad, I can’t kill you, but overall I DON’T WANT to.- That was the final decision, you could heir it in his tone, Fahrad couldn’t help but to make a really melancholic smile, but he wasn’t going to keep insisting.

-You’ll know what to do...-

That sounded like a whisper, but it wasn’t really a whisper, more like the rogue said to the princes own mind.

-Let’s go my prince, you have to rest, there’s training tomorrow.-

And so the two dragons went to sleep, almost forgetting about the whole conversation, like it never happened, but it did...and it was going to affect the future.

(Ok so we all know that the only perfect ones Wrathion fickers are katieskarlette and Yulon BUT I still wanted to post this...and it helps me with my English writing so yeah, that. Headcanon about one of many Fahrad and Wrathion fights about “you have to kill me, no I can’t” I just love headcanons so so much, I’ll post more original content later I P R O M I S E)

#wrathion #headcanon #world of warcraft #imagine #wow headcanons #black dragon #wrathion headcanon #dragon boy #favorite character #fangirl #fahrad #dragons dad and son #cataclysm expansion #cataclysm headcanons #sad story but is good for headcanons #you really have no clue how much I love Wrathions -im right and you are not- attitude #gives me goosebumps #the good ones

[yulon]

The Wrath of Sabellian (pt. 47)

Book Three: Trial of the Black King

Sabellian begins to doubt Azeroth’s promises, and newcomers prove to be more useful than everyone thought.

---

Sabellian stood on the cliff outside the private cave and stretched his back. It pop-pop-popped.

The sun was high, a disk of unpolished gold hiding beyond the smoke of Blackrock - a false sunset smoke, red and orange. The landscape was the same dark heat-glow; such bright colors did not fall easily on the cracked plates of earth and lava, and looking at it now it felt like the world had been split into a light-touched kingdom above and this deep blackness below, where only the haziest of light suffused.

“Father, forgive me,” Vaxian had said. Over, and over, and over again. His words rang in Sabellian’s mind as he stood there, looking at this once-kingdom, his wings tucked tight to his body and his claws laid flat and splayed along the rock.

It had taken some time to calm the usually stoic dragon, and, in silence, Sabellian had ushered into into one of the caves far from the others’: one of the lonlier ones, a quieter one so far it was almost on the other side of the Mountain.

“What do you remember, boy?” he asked, making his son sit. Vaxian’s eyes were round with fright, red-rimmed with sickness. He shuddered with every other breath.

“I remember everything,” he said. His voice quaked; the words pitched and buzzed like electricity, and he was eerily reminded of the nether. “They took us to the Vale and healed my wing. Then -” He closed his eyes. Shuddered. “Like suffocating.”

He studied Vaxian, watched his son take deep breaths.

“After the Vale… Serinar suggested we come here. I was unconscious for most of it. But I remember feeling like I was being watched. I knew Samia had been taken. I knew the others were worming into me.  I could feel them, Father. I could feel them crawling up my ankles and up into my legs. It grew worse when Seldarria pumped me full of the nether. Samia held me down. Then I could hardly wake up at all. But I could still… feel them…” Vaxian lifted a claw and held his chest. “When the Spiritwalker visited… it took all of my power to tell him to try to save him and the others. To save you. I heard what They were planning. What They whispered to me. I knew They were lies.”

“What did They tell you?”

Vaxian looked at him, and a flicker of electricity coursed through his eyes, a spark like a heartbeat. “They told me how They would rebuild our family… how They would protect us. But I knew better.”

The grimness coiled into his belly was a terrible thing to know: a terrible thing to realize N’Zoth had said the same to him, only what felt like hours ago, whispering promises of protection and deals and trades.

“And now you have woken up.”

“Hard to explain,” he murmured. “I was with the others, and they were speaking - and it felt wrong. Some of the things they were saying…” He creased his eyebrows. “When just a moment ago it was fine.” His gaze grew distant. “Then I knew.”

It was familiar. Sabellian nodded. “Like after we settled on Outland.”

“Yes… Like that…”

“And how do I know this isn’t some ploy?”

Vaxian shook his head. The skin weighed heavy under his eyes.

“I don’t know how I could convince you otherwise, Father. I just know how I feel. I understand this is hard to trust;  I would not trust it, myself.”

It was true: there wasn’t much Vaxian could say or do.

One, I will free.

He’d left Vaxian to calm down, and the boy had fallen asleep. His heavy breathing carried from the cave out to this lonely cliffside.

This must be a trick. The thought curled around his head, spinning around and around, a whirlpool. A ploy to get me pliable and trusting.

But of course it was. N’Zoth had said as much. This was a show of “good faith,” of the Old Gods’ promises coming true.

He looked back at the cave. It was dark, a black sheet of shadow.

It could be possible for Vaxian to be free. If it was N’Zoth’s curse in their veins; N’Zoth could lift it.

And had They? Had They really?

Vaxian could have killed him three times over by now. Sabellian’s back had been turned for a solid hour; the dragon could have bit him in the jugular as he’d ushered him to the cave; he’d been close enough to grab and choke.

None had happened, even though Sabellian had been waiting for them to happen. Even though he’d left such openings, just to see if Vaxian would take them.

But such things were too… simple. N’Zoth was the Corruptor. To have Vaxian try to kill him was too easy, and, if N’Zoth was telling the truth, not what They wanted.

What They wanted was to show how They were telling the truth.

What They wanted was what They couldn’t have: Wrathion and Ebonhorn.

Yet how stupid could he be, to believe this? How stupid could he be to have a dark measure of hope that Vaxian, sleeping peacefully behind him, was free because an evil thing had willed it? How stupid could he be to think N’Zoth would really let the others go, just for two?

How stupid could he be to wonder how N’Zoth could free Vaxian, and Azeroth remained silent?

It was overwhelming.

Azeroth hadn’t come back.

A trick. This is wrong.

He clawed at the ground.

A fool indeed, to think salvation lies in the enemy!

But there Vaxian was, sleeping behind him, proclaiming his purity.

If only they still had the Titan relic! The one which had made Wrathion, took Nasandria’s arm, had had ticked down Sabellian’s remaining sanity. They needed the latter. Otherwise, there was no way to know.

N’Zoth was watching him. Waiting.

Wrathion and Ebyssian in exchange for your family’s freedom.

Deep down, deep in his heart of hearts, the idea was a tantalizing one. One he might have made before without hesitation.

But now -

He flexed his paws and a rush of power swam into his body. The earth beneath his feet gave a shudder, the shudder of an animal when woken.

Sabellian held onto it, eyes closed and, with a rough sigh, let it go.

He felt caught between two chasms, unable to jump to one or another.

But one thing was certain - if he had no other choice, he might have to make this one.

“Baron.”

Sabellian looked down at the ridge. Leokk came bounding up, Rexxar on his back.

“Wrathion woke up. He needs to talk to you.”

The boy. I’d forgotten all about that.

He shuffled his wings and rose to his feet.

“Any reasons why?”

“No,” Rexxar said. “Left was of little words.”

Sabellian nodded. “Lead on.”

He waited for Rexxar to turn away and head down to the Mountain before he glanced back at the cave. He’d told Vaxian to stay put, and he hoped he would.

He knew at once he could tell no one about this. Just as he had told no one about N’Zoth.

Wrathion would want to interrogate him, or send him away, back into the jaws of the enemy. And if there was the slim chance Vaxian was free - Sabellian would not take such a risk to his son’s life. If the others found out he was no longer on their side…

Sabellian took flight and followed Rexxar’s retreating form.

As he descended, he noticed a pair of yellow eyes following him from one of the caves: Ruby.

He ignored it and headed into the Lair.

A host of Blacktalons awaited him, their eyes watching from the shadows. Some he saw clearly; others he had to squint and focus. There must have been a dozen, all guarding the entrance to Blackwing, a grim and deadly retinue.

Sabellian shifted into his human guise and moved through them, unhindered. Only in times like these did he remember Wrathion's far-reaching power: the very one N’Zoth so desperately wanted.

He walked past the mass of guards and into the deeper rooms. In the smaller, circular room - the one where Nefarian had locked away Chromaggus,  the two-headed, chimeric monstrosity - Wrathion and the others were waiting.

The prince paced around the back of the room, face scrunched in thought, one hand holding his chin. Ebonhorn stood frowning, and nearby, Left stood guard and Rexxar wiped down sweat from Leokk’s side.

“This is… ill news indeed,” Ebonhorn said.

“What is it this time?”

Ebonhorn and Wrathion looked toward him. Wathion stopped pacing.

“Where were you?”

“Watching,” Sabellian said dismissively. “What news, then?”

Wathion frowned. “I’m doing fine, thank you for asking.”

Sabellian stared at him.

The prince sighed. “Your brother is right. Very ill news.” His expression grew distant and thoughtful. “Azeroth. It was Azeroth who made me a bit… well. You saw.” He began to pace. “She was a bit frantic. She showed me some visions… told me to look…” He shook his head.

Azeroth? It should have been hope which coursed through him.

Instead, it was a deep and stiff dread.

“What visions? What did she show you?”

“Enough. Though I really don’t understand why she can’t talk to me like she talked to you! It’d make it all the more easier.” He waved his hand as if waving off the train of thought. “The visions. I’m afraid, the, ah, long and short of it, as they say, is that Azeroth has been blocked to us.”

The dread grew heavier. “I see.”

“It seems that the gathering of the cursed has made a sort of blockade. The more we invited, the harder it became for her to push through. Which is… unfortunate…”

Yes , he thought. And opened the way for N’Zoth and the others. N’Zoth Themself had told him as much in his own vision.

How had he not realized such a thing before? N’Zoth had twisted it to the belief Azeroth had abandoned them - but the truth was Azeroth was barred to them in the same way N’Zoth was upon them. At once he thought of the images of vines in a dense jungle, intertwined and tangled in one another to block the path. Azeroth had flashed the image to him multiple times, signaling how she could not reach him or his children - let alone anyone pursued by the corruption - because of the curse of the Old Gods: the vines blocking the way.

It had been one thing, to understand Azeroth’s plan had invited the Old Gods.

It was another thing entirely to know she had done so and also uninvited herself from the situation.

Willingly.

Betrayal.

Without thinking, his hand moved to hold his crane pendant.

“I just don’t understand,” Ebonhorn rumbled. “Did she not know such a thing would happen? She and the Old Gods have been at odds for ages upon ages. She must’ve known this would happen…”

“She told us the cursed will open the way, but they closed it,” Wrathion said, tapping his lips.

“Boy,” Sabellian said with a sigh. “They have opened the way: for the Old Gods.”

The room went cold and silent. All eyes turned to him.

“How do you mean?” Ebonhorn asked. “It’s true we have invited corruption into our midst, but that does not mean the Old Gods have more power here than they have before.”

“The Old Gods feed Themselves on that corruption, brother,” Sabellian said stiffly. “It’s why They seek to corrupt everything and everyone. Why cults are formed. What use is one corrupt mortal? Nothing. That’s why They urge a single soul to preach about Their teachings: so it can spread. So They can grow stronger.” He waved a hand around them, a large sweep. “This Mountain is cursed already, and inviting the others here has set this place to a more darker tone. What I said is true: the way is open not for Azeroth, but for our very enemies.”

N’Zoth’s insinuation came writhing back: Azeroth, unaware what she spoke was the words of her dark captors, unaware her plans were the will of the evils in her heart…

“Are you suggesting this was part of her plan?” Wrathion said, staring at him in disbelief.

“I suggest nothing, only tell you what I know. Of the three of us, I’m the only one who knows how the Old Gods work.”

Wrathion studied him. His face began to fall into a thoughtful, albeit troubled, frown. “I had worried as much when we invited these dragons here,” he said, “ if you remember my alarm about the whole affair.”

Yes, he remembered Wrathion clucking around and wringing his hands. Sabellian crossed his arms, shook his head.

“I hadn’t thought it would be enough for Them to -” He caught himself. To slip through my pendant. For Them to be so present They can talk to me. “For Them to block the way for her. As none of us did.”

Wrathion eyed him. “You're the one she spoke to. Are you certain Azeroth said nothing else?”

“No. Only how the group of dragons here will help save us.” He dropped the pendant, and it flopped back down to his chest.

Titans , he thought. Have we really just been taken for fools? Was this N’Zoth’s plan all along? The dread began to fuel into a deep anger, an ancient, lifelong anger which sparked in his knuckles.

“I knew it was foolish to put my faith in a god who’d already abandoned us,” Sabellian growled. “All of this for nothing. We invite vipers and have nothing to feed them.”

“ You were the one who insisted we go through with this,” Wrathion snapped at him. “ You were the one who actually and wholeheartedly believed her!”

“Because I had nothing else to believe!” Sabellian snarled. “Hope can blind!”

“What do you have to believe in now ?” Wrathion spat back at him. “We have a setback, nothing more! None of us thought this would be easy!”

“She purposefully blocked herself from us. She’s out of the equation! Does that not seem suspect ?”

Wrathion scowled, the fangs of his canines flashing in the dim light. “What? Do you honestly believe she’s in league with the Old Gods? Are you so pessimistic?”

Before he had a chance to reply, the boy continued. “She hasn’t left us entirely, anyway . Why else would she try to talk to me? Or give me help about where to look?

Sabellian narrowed his eyes. The visions.  He’d forgotten the boy had mentioned those. “And what help did she give you?”

“She couldn’t do much,” he said. “I did have to go catatonic before she could reach me, but she was able to show me glimpses. Hints of -”

“Hints?” Sabellian spat. “More games and puzzles? More things to waste our time on which the others plan and plot?”

“She couldn’t do much!” Wrathion repeated, scowling. “You weren’t there! You didn’t feel her!” “Why would she talk to you, then, if not Ebonhorn or me? She might have been able to speak, then! But she chose you! To waste more time!”

“You’re not implying you think Azeroth is trying to lead us to danger,” Ebonhorn said.

“I’m saying we only have three days before we are done here - whether that means death or desertion.” He uncrossed his arms over his chest and almost crossed them again, he was so pent up with energy. “And rather than telling us what to do next, she gives us more warnings and little hints for us to solve, scrambling as darkness closes in around us.”

“She gave you all that power,” Wrathion said. “She wouldn’t have done that if she was being controlled , as you’re suggesting.”

“Then tell me, boy, her little hints. How illuminating they must have been.”

Wrathion ground his teeth.

“Snow. Blue scales. Blood.” He paused. “And to remember… I think it’s something she showed us before.”

Disbelief flooded through him. “That’s all?”

“If I could just go over it a little longer -”

“So now our only hope is something you think she’s already show you? Nevermind Azeroth herself using her massive power to help! But what a pity, now that she can’t be here! ”

“She can’t just pop up from the ground -”

“Yes. Because the cursed closed the way for her. Something she neglected to share.”

Silence inched around them. Finally, Wrathion, his face a little flush, spoke.

“I didn’t speak to an Old God,” he said stiffly.

“No, maybe not,” Sabellian said. “But you can’t deny this is all They would have wanted.”

A flash of anger cracked over the boy’s face. “You’re the one who insisted we do this in the first place!” he said again, and his voice echoed and bounded along the walls. “Or are you choosing to forget how I was the one unsure about inviting an entire host of rogue dragons without plan?” He crossed the room, closed the distance between them, face fixed in an accusatory glare. “And if you’re going to be the pessimist, then I suppose I’ll have to be the optimist! You can do the worrying for the both of us. I know what I felt, and it wasn’t corruption. Go grump up there, go scare the others, go corral them, waste time, and I’ll try to figure this out. Get things done.”

She cannot save you.

Sabellian took a breath.

Shame filled his lungs like polluted air. He was not sure if it had been Wrathion reminding him, or perhaps the derision that it was to be the boy who would “get things done,” but something did stall his anger, and his mind grew calm and bleak.

N’Zoth was getting to him.

“My worries outrun my patience,” Sabellian said. “Forgive my… paranoia.”

Wrathion raised his eyebrows. Some of the anger left his face.

“There is nothing to forgive,” Ebonhorn said. “It’s dark news. Frustrating news… we’re on our own, and darkness grows closer.”

“I’ve always been on my own,” Wrathion said. “I’ll be fine.”

“I only wish she could have explained more,” Ebonhorn said quietly, his eyes creased in concern. “About just why she allowed this to happen. It’s impossible for her not to have realized it would have…”

The look on Wrathion’s face mirrored those thoughts.

Ebonhorn was right: she had to know this would happen.

So why?

Why bring them, when she would be blocked?

Azeroth had power beyond comprehension; he’d felt it, even in a vision.

Unless, of course, her thoughts were infected. Unless, of course, she was being controlled. All without her realizing anything was wrong.

Her heart is a crater, and we have filled it.

Titans! He’d just had those thoughts. Over and over they came, over and over like Vaxian’s sobbed apologies. He felt more trapped then ever.

Hope. Hope. He pushed the dread side, but felt it claw and stick to the edge of his mind, a flotsam.

Too many pieces - not enough to know for sure.

And Vaxian…

N’Zoth may have really freed him. And with Azeroth barred away, what could she do?

It came down, in the end, to Azeroth’s sanity.

“We must have some hope,” Ebonhorn rumbled.. “And there is no need to be alone, Wrathion. Can your Blacktalons infiltrate the others, and perhaps see what they might know?”

The prince shook his head. “No. Whatever charm or hex Seldarria had set in the Mountain before has been reestablished in the caves they’ve chosen. They can’t get past without being too confused and disoriented.” He looked at Sabellian. “But pretend all is well, uncle,” he said. “You continue bullying the guests, and meanwhile… I’ll sort his out. Clearly she wanted me to.”

Or it’s something to distract you with -

Enough.

He felt like he was chiding one of his children - and he might as well have! The back of his mind quaked like a frightened child, looking at every moving shadow and word like another new monster. N’Zoth had brought it to the forefront, yanked it forward.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Sabellian said.

“Oh, and, uncle,” Wrathion said, “you really should have warned us about your plan to kill the others.”

“I didn’t plan it,” he said dismissively. “But it had to be said.”

Wrathion made a sour face. “Let’s just hope it hasn’t stirred the pot any worse. Though I know it has.” He waved his hand toward the entrance. “Go ahead, go on. I have work to do.”

  ---

  After some time, Wrathion was alone. He’d sent Ebonhorn off to check on the other dragons, and though it was an actual request, he wanted to be alone.

Wrathion narrowed his eyes.

“My uncle is hiding something.”

Left looked at him.

“What?”

Wrathion shook his head.

“Something seemed off about him,” he said. “Jumpy. Nervous.”

“Mm.”

“Yes, Left, I agree.” He hummed and rubbed his goatee. “Something has him doubting all of a sudden. And it’s more than just what Azeroth had to say. Something shook his belief. His hope.”

And to think he believes Azeroth is in league with the Old Gods! The timing was unfortunate, and the points he’d made logical enough, but Wrathion wasn’t about to throw all his hope into the chasms of the mountain. Azeroth was too powerful to be swayed that easily.

“Trail him for me,” he said. “See what has him second-guessing.”

  ---

Sabellian dug his claws into the dirt and closed his eyes.

Silence. Stillness. The earth lay as sturdy and truthful as his own feet. The longer he stood there, the more the earth was like an extension of his palms. Out and out they stretched, spanning cracks and lava and boulders. With his eyes closed he felt like the earth itself, the great span of it laying still beyond him.

He bent his head and forced his thoughts further.

The cave. Think of the cave. The control. The rush of motive. Intent. The clear joining of his thoughts with the earth, as for one moment he became it and it became him.

If he moved on of his paws, would the earth shake a mile away, or lift with it? It felt as if it might, connected so.

Did Father feel this in every step?

The thought was a thunderclap, startling his concentration. His paws were only his paws again, and the dirt just dirt. He growled softly and flexed a claw.

This self-doubt would doom them all.

And so much of it!

I suppose that comes from speaking with N’Zoth and a World Soul!

He shook himself out and took a couple steps back. The dirt lay raked with streaks of disturbed tracks: other places where he’d paced. After checking on Vaxian - still sleeping - he’d come down here to try centering himself.

With the earth.

Laughable. A month ago, he would have balked at the idea - this stupid idea, laughable idea, what a fool -

Enough. Again and again his mind returned to the same circle. Did Father do this? Is Azeroth corrupt? Is N’Zoth pulling all the strings? Am I being played for a fool? I am a fool, to turn to the earth -

And on and on and on…

He was so used to being in control, and now all this, all these conflicting pieces…

He stopped at an undisturbed area and closed his eyes again. He sent his focused inching forward.

Clear. Clear. Only him. Nothing else. No Azeroth. No N’Zoth. Just him, alone, focusing along the heat and dirt.

His thoughts began to quiet.

Just him.

He breathed. Felt. The awareness of the earth began to curl back.

Breathe.

No thoughts of warring gods. No thoughts of trickery. No thoughts of being lost at sea, torn back and forth by two waves.

It had been hard, on Outland, but not as hard as this. He had known sureties on Outland: he had known the threat of the Gruul, the hatred of mortals, the fuel of revenge. He had known their sanctuary would one day be destroyed, and them along with it. He had known his children, which he had once seen as war dogs, were now his one reason for living. He had known his whole life had been a lie. He had known that they were alone.

And such things he had been able to plan around. Such things, he had been able to prepare for.

But this - this great and awesome thing he had stepped in, this clashing of powers - this was something else.

Too many moving pieces. Too many half-truths, half-lies, and promises - promises that should have been empty but were kept by the greatest enemy of his life.

I am not their puppet.

He pulled his focus inward, felt the thrum of the earth beneath his feet.

A puppet. Yes, that’s what he felt like. N’Zoth was using him to try to get to Wrathion and Ebonhorn, for the grand prize. Azeroth was using him to alleviate her guilt for failing his Father and all the others.

I am not a puppet.

Sabellian opened his eyes, and the surface of the world grew taut around him. It was like looking through a lens, one tinted with a golden glow, the surface vaguely fuzzy, heavenly.

He was not a piece for N’Zoth to set. Or even for Azeroth, for her to fuel the guilt in her heart.

I am myself.

I am here for what matters.

He thought of his children at home. He thought of the children he’d lost. He thought of the children here, the ones under the thrall and the others who were questionable.

Family was all he’d had when he’d regained sanity, there in that broken world, thirty years ago. Family was his sole purpose.

He was here for them.

Not for Azeroth. And certainly not for N’Zoth.

This power was for them.

This world would be theirs.

The ground hummed. He breathed out, felt the smoke curl from his nose.

Maybe there was something to this.

He closed his eyes and chuckled.

Meditating! His children would giggle at him for doing something like this, their wound-up Father digging into the earth and breathing and thinking.

But he felt better. There lay a lightness in his chest, a sureness, which he hadn’t felt in - too long to say, and even realizing that was a sudden understanding. Maybe not since they’d left Pandaria. Maybe not since speaking with the White Tiger.

I am not a puppet.

“You’re glowing!” The dream crashed around him. Sabellian jumped. The world fell dull and smokey, the crisp edges snapped back. He whirled his head around, nostrils flared, to find Jacob frozen in place near the lava pool. “I’m sorry,” he said, eyes wide like saucers. The drake dug his talons into the earth, but it was the only movement he saw: the boy was even stiller than the lava, which bubbled and churned in slow, easy movements. “I was only walking with Ruby and we saw you and I thought something was a little off -”

“Ruby?” Sabellian shifted his weight, pulled his claws close to stand high and straight. He glanced toward Jacob’s right, and there she came, slinking from behind the pile of boulders near the lava pools. Her wing dragged in the dirt and left a trail of disturbed earth.

How long were they watching me? His skin prickled with anger. “Our apologies,” Ruby said. “We were just walking by.” She nudged Jacob with her nose, but the drake remained frozen. Frowning, she looked back at him. The dimness in her right eye felt far more potent in the smoke here, her left glowing amid it while her right was hardly visible. “What were you doing?”

“Nothing you should worry yourself about,” he drawled, and shifted his body to face them. At last Jacob moved, snapping up to attention and smacking a paw on the dirt, as if he were saluting.

He eyed the drake. The thing was skinny, but had the makings of a Deathwing descendant: the wide shoulders, the thick-boned tail, the large paws. He looked too much like Onyxia for his tastes.

“You need to remember to act like a dragon, here, lad,” he said. “You’re no longer expected to act like a human guard.”

Jacob nodded absently. His fins bobbed up and down, up and down. “Yes, sir. I mean - yes. Should I still call you sir? I heard someone else call you sir.”

“Sir is fine,” Sabellian rumbled. “Don’t think too hard about it.” As if he would think hard at all.

Ruby looked at the ground by Sabellian’s feet. The grooves. Sabellian almost had half a mind to move and cover them with his paws, but doing so would be a childish thing, covering up a toy he wasn’t supposed to play with.

“I didn’t expect visitors,” Sabellian said. “You were walking all the way out here?”

Ruby smiled. Something about the expression felt forced or even vaguely sly. “You don’t need to worry. We weren't trying to spy on you.”

Sabellian grunted. “Even if you were, I assure you you wouldn’t find much, other than an old dragon alone with his thoughts.”

“Everyone is alone with their thoughts along the mountain,” she said. “It’s why we took a walk.”

“I gave them a lot to think about,” Sabellian said dryly.

“How’s Wrathion?”

“Well,” he said. “A headache.”

“A large headache.”

He snorted. “I’m afraid the boy has a host of afflictions. You get used to them coming and going.”

Jacob flexed his front paw. “I don’t know how he can already turn into a human. He’s not even my age! I couldn’t turn into a human until I was, hm, maybe five years old, and even then I was almost a drake and -”

“Was this in Dustwallow?” His alone time gone, Sabellian leaned in to the conversation. And it might just get them to know better. Such a thing might help his cause.

If only he was good at getting to… know people. Getting them to talk. There’d been a reason Onyxia and Nefarian had been chosen over him to meddle in mortal world, and him in the battle arena.

Jacob blinked at him. “Yes, sir. I hatched there with the rest of my - hmm.” He squinted. “Thirty-one siblings.”

Thirty-one! He’d forgotten how many eggs Onyxia could have at once.

And now, there remains only one.

“Until one day Mother had to go to Stormwind forever and she took me and some others. Then we went to Stormwind and ate some of the old guards so we could -”

“Dustwallow is a lonely place,” Ruby interrupted gently. “And was too swampy for my tastes. I don’t know how Onyxia and the others dealt with all of that grime and muck.”

“Oh I didn’t mind it at all,” Jacob said. “The mud was sticky but you could trap animals in it then eat them.”

Sabellian grunted softly. “Lonely is good for a broodmother. She raised hundreds of her whelps there, unencumbered. Until she gave herself away.”

Ruby glanced at him sidelong. “I know.”

“I really can’t believe your her brother. My uncle,” Jacob butt in. “She never said you glowed, though. She said you spat acid out of your teeth. And that it was unhygienic and how she was surprised you hadn’t choked on it. I always wondered how you did that, but not how you didn’t choke on it, I always wondered how you didn’t die. From the poison.” A pause. “The poison in your mouth.”

Sabellian blinked, taken aback. Onyxia told him that? “I… yes. I’ve ingested so much over the years, I’m immune to most poisons.”

Ruby glanced at the tracks in the ground again.

“What were you doing over here?”

“I told you it doesn’t concern you.”

“Most things here do concern me,”  Ruby said. “I want to believe what you said on the mountain, but if even you’re going to keep things from us…”

Right to it, this one.

He glanced between them.

“I wasn’t communing with any terrible gods,” he drawled. “If you were wondering such a thing.”

“Could you do that if you wanted?” Jacob asked.

“I doubt it. And I never would.”

Ruby stretched out her maimed wing. It didn’t reach the full span and shook as she lifted it.

“You understand what I’m saying, Sabellian, all gentle conversation aside.”

“Weren’t we just talking about him coughing up poison? Was that gentle?”

Sabellian eyed Jacob for a moment before his eyes slid back to Ruby. He understood well. But would explaining it alienate them from him or make them trust him?

Titans! How did my sister do this so easily? Or the boy, for that matter?

Ten-thousand years and he couldn’t do this one stupidly easy thing.

“I was meditating,” he said at last. “I’ve had a lot to think about.”

“I didn’t know meditating made you glow,” Jacob said. “Though, you know, the pandaren at the lake do it all the time, and sometimes they hover. Can you hover?”

“The glow was… unintentional,” Sabellian rumbled. “The earth tends to make me do so, at times, for reasons beyond my understanding or enjoyment.”

Ruby stared at him.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a dragon use the earth,” she said.

“Believe me,”  Sabellian said, “it’s a new process for me.”

“Like a shaman? They practice at the lake, too,” Jacob said.

“I’m afraid the only shaman here is Ebonhorn - Ebyssian - and whatever spirit Ophelion has trapped in his necklace.”

“So there might be some truth to the Earthwarders,” Ruby said, smiling briefly.

“Hardly,” Sabellian said, scowling. “But there’s nothing wrong with using every tool to my advantage.”

“ Every tool?”

Something about the way she said it made him wonder. He tilted his head.

“Some are better left alone.”

“Maybe so.” She sat and nodded toward the mountain peak. “I was surprised what you said. I think most of us were. I came expecting you to want what the others did.”

“And that’s not you want.”

“Not yet,” she said dismissively. “But you aren’t what I remembered.”

A coldness fell over him.

“I didn’t think we had met before.”

“I don’t think we ever really did, officially,” she said, not unkindly. “I was a striker in your battalion until my injury.” She twitched her wing. “During the Red Dragonshrine raid.”

Images of terrified Red whelps flagged his eyes. He blinked them away.

“Yes. I recall that being a more… violent assault.”

“Hmm,” was all Ruby said. Then: “So, no world domination, this time?”

“No. And hopefully the other fools will realize as much is certain death.”

“I don’t know if I trust you.”

Jacob glanced at her, bug-eyed.

“If you trusted me now after serving under me then, I would think you a fool.”

She nodded. Again she glanced at the gouges in the dirt, and again she glanced back at him.

“Might I ask you something?”

“Within reason.”

“How did you change so much, and so quickly? I recall a bloodthirsty lieutenant, bent on destroying everything in our way, clad in armor and hundreds of boiling poisons. Now you proclaim a gentler path, one without our… “cause…” and do earthly meditation.”

“Dragons change,” Sabellian said. “Though places help.”

“Outland has many places to hide,” Ruby said, looking at him intently. She understands. She knows what I say. “I considered going there, at times.” Then she nodded. “It’s a welcome surprise, then. I’ll have to wait and see if it sticks.”

“I suppose we all do.” He thought of his pendant. “Ruby, you did not have to come here. Why did you? What do you want here?”

She laughed airily. “I did have to come here. It’s hard to just deny Deathwing’s son, even if I am a world away.” She paused, her face growing thoughtful. “I guess a life would be welcome,” she said. “But not a life I’ll immediately throw away.”

“Then I doubt you’ll be helping the stubborn lunatics.”

“No. If I wanted a life of death, I would not be living in the Storm Peaks.” She lifted her maimed wing. “And a maimed dragon like me has little to do in war.”

“There is more to Black Dragons’ madness than war. There is manipulation.”

She smiled.

“Trust me,” she said. “If I wanted to do something, I’d have done it far before.”

“You’ll have to forgive me if I say I can’t trust you,” he replied. “Just as you can’t trust me. You can be here now, gathering information for the others, and may go back now to tell them of my new tool.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But that’s alright if you don’t trust me. I didn’t expect any different.”

“Wow,” Jacob said. “You two talk like the Nobles. Always going around and around and around one another.”

Sabellian snorted. “A good way for us to fit in with mortals, boy.”

“Oh. Right. Huh. That makes sense. Did we copy how the Nobles talk or did they copy how we talk? I think -”

“Jacob. How about you, lad? What do you want?” Ruby asked.

“Right now I think it’d be very cool to see my uncle do some earth things, or spit poison out of his teeth.”

“No. I mean here. We were called here, but what do you want? For your future?” Sabellian pressed.

“Oh.” A pause. “I don’t know, I usually don’t think that far. But I guess it’d be nice not to die, so maybe what my uncle wants. What you want.”

“Have the others asked you this, Jacob?” Ruby asked.

“No. I think they forgot about me, really, because I stand so still, and if it’s one thing I’m good at its being still and watching things, because I’m a guard - I told you that, right? They never let me guard the Wrynns, though, which is kind of -”

“Boy.” A sudden thought occurred to him. Wrathion had said his Agents couldn’t spy on the others because of the hex.

Titans, was this so easy?

“Would you like a job?”

Jacob’s eyes lit up. “I can do a job.”

Ruby frowned.

“Why don’t you keep an eye on the others for me?” he asked. “Help Ruby and I. It would be helpful to know what they’re planning.”

Would this idiot actually turn out useful? Everyone else apparently discredited him. If Jacob could just do what he did best…

“Oh, I can do that,” he said. “It’s what I’ve been doing anyway. I’m really good at it.”

“Now, boy, if they say something strange, you should come to me right away. Do you understand?”

He nodded.

“Do you know what I mean by strange?”

“Oh, sure I do,” he said. “If they talk about trying to kill you or asking about a cult or talking about sacrifices -”

“Is this something you’ve already heard?”

“Oh, sure, I heard a lot of things. A couple of times.”

Sabellian moved close, and quickly. “What did they say?”

“Uh -” His eyes went white along the edges. “I don’t remember all of it, I wasn’t listening so much, just what I said, I wasn’t on the job yet -”

“Enough. Fine.” Sabellian took a step back. Jacob stood frozen, his maw stretched tight. “My… apologies. Yes. Those… those sorts of things are strange. Listen for those. And if they say anymore, you remember, alright?”

“You got it, Uncle. Now I’m on the job, I’ll remember everything. I’ll just treat you like the King.”

“Whatever works best, then.”

Jacob bobbed his head up and down. “I’ll go right now. Oh! Sorry, Ruby, is that okay? I know we were on a walk -”

“It’s okay, kid. Just be careful.”

Jacob nodded, turned, and shot off into the air.

I remember when I was that fast. Sabellian watched as the drake angled his way to the mountain in a learned, knowing swoop. He already knew where they’ve set up.

“You shouldn’t use him like that.”

Sabellian looked down at Ruby.

“We all have jobs to do,” he said, and for a moment stood starkly reminded of Azeroth’s spheres, a splintering of responsibilities. He didn’t like that. “I am only pleased he can do something.”

“Just be mindful of him,” she said. “He’s one of the scrambled ones.”

“The what?”

“The corruption has eaten away at him and left him scattered,” she said. “I’m not surprised you don’t know. Royalty like you always saw the best, and not the most broken.”

Irritation swept over his scales like a shudder from the cold. “I’ve dealt with my fair share of dragons, girl, and know more than you ever have.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But maybe not what you didn’t want to see, back then. Just remember we’re here and want things like you do. Try not to use us as all of those ‘available tools.’” She glanced at the earth. “And you and the Prince could do to be a little more honest, too.”

---

  The sun was nearly down by the time Sabellian returned to his cave.

His body ached. After Ruby had left, he’d thrown himself into training - uncaring who saw. It would come out eventually he had turned to using Earthwarding powers, and he had no wish to slink to some hidden, dark place to play with rocks in shadows’ company.

At least it was becoming a little easier. Now he was beginning to think of these powers as a tool to protect and not an extension of Azeroth’s will, he was beginning to grasp it more naturally, with less inhibitions. The fueling of doubt and shame remained, a flicker of dark light in his heart, but turning back to a power he had spent ten-thousand years hating, fearing, and trying to destroy… those flickers would be hard to dislodge, if ever able.

He trudged up the path. He was so sore, he felt like his body was turning to stone.

He shook his wings out as he entered the cave. Not facing the sun, it was a dark and black inside. He shifted into his human guise and groaned as he rolled his shoulders back. The cave was large enough to hold both him and Vaxian, but he was sick of his dragon form. Standing in his smaller frame might help lodge out the worst kinks.

Two red eyes watched him from the back of the cave.

He stopped.

“Boy. What are you doing in here?” He paused and narrowed his eyes.  No gentle sounds of sleeping rumbled back at him. “Where is my son?”

“He’s safe,” Wrathion said. “And so are the rest of us - no thanks to you.”

Sabellian waved his hand, and fire lit the pits of rock etched into the wall. The cavern lit up the cave in red, flickering hues, washing over them both.

Wrathion sat on the edge of a boulder, arms crossed, eyes fixed on him. His face was dark and unreadable.

Vaxian wasn’t there.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

Wrathion jumped off his seat and opened his arms wide. His face was flat, a mask of all-business, though his eyes had a hardened, angry cast, a sheen of blood red.

“When were you going to share about your brand new discovery?”

Sabellian went still. Part of him had known the moment he’d realized Vaxian wasn’t there, but -

He knows, but how ? Yet the second he wondered was the moment he knew. Anger smoked in his chest.

“You were spying on me?”

“I knew something was wrong after talking to you,” Wrathion said. “Something you weren’t sharing. So I had you followed. And aren’t I glad I did!”

“How dare you, you insolent little -”

“Hah! How dare I! You’re the one who kept this from us!” He approached Sabellian.

Sabellian growled.

“What did you hear?”

“Oh - I heard nothing. The Blacktalons trailing you heard enough, though,” Wrathion drawled, his eyes fixed on him. “Though Vaxian himself explained the rest.”

“If you hurt him for such things -” “He gave it up willingly,” Wrathion interrupted. “How he has ‘seen sense,’ as he put it. How he realized he had grown corrupt… and how he realized he isn’t anymore. Out of the blue! And how you hid him here, telling no one.” His face darkened. “My, isn’t that quite the comeback? Who would ever believe this corrupt dragon would grow sane just in time to weasel over to our side? What a miracle!”

Sabellian flexed his hand into a fist. “I had not utterly believed it, boy ,” he snarled. “I am not as naive as you may think I am in these things. Your vehemence alone is why I told no one. I wanted to test him for myself - in company he was comfortable with, if he truly was free.”

Wrathion sneered. “The simple idea of you actually wanting to test his truthfulness is naive enough, uncle! How does this make sense to you? How does a corrupt dragon wake up with no catalyst?”

Of course it sounded foolish to Wrathion: he did not know N’Zoth’s promise. But now he knew about Vaxian, and there was no going back. Sabellian would look a desperate father either way.

Unless he told the truth.

But how could he?

“Vaxian had many openings to kill me,” Sabellian said. “But he took none of them. And if he was corrupt? Then it would be a good time to question him on how the others’ planned to use him.”

Wrathion shook his head, his expression one of disbelief. “I knew going into this your children would be a weak point for us, but I never expected you to lean into it so easily! Maybe you didn’t utterly trust him, but you kept him here. You hid him from us. And you had plenty of time to tell us. But you didn’t, did you? I wonder why that is!”

“I told you why I hid him. Or are you on one of your ranting and raving fits again, where you talk and only hear the sound of your own voice?”

Wrathion bristled. “The fact remains, you lied to us. Aren’t we supposed to be allies? When were you going to share this newest miracle?”

“When I thought the timing was right,” Sabellian said. “There’s more about this you don’t understand.”

“Then tell me,” Wrathion insisted. “We are allies now. Anything we hide from one another is another arrow in the Old Gods’ quiver.”

Sabellian flexed his hands until his knuckles popped.

He sighed.

“N’Zoth spoke to me,” he said. Wrathion’s face fell. “You don’t need to be afraid: it was not from any corruption. Not mine, at least.” He gestured out to the cave opening. “It didn’t surprise me when you told me what Azeroth told you… because They had already told me.”

Wrathion was silent. His stare was, for a bleak moment, vacant and unseeing. Then he began to work his jaw, and he opened his mouth, where it hung open before any words left it.

“And you didn’t - how couldn’t you -” Wrathion opened and closed his mouth, making click-clack noises with his teeth. “N’Zoth spoke to you? The N’Zoth? Surely a nightmare - a figment -”

“No. It was N’Zoth.” Sabellian looked down at his hand. The smell of bodies, the decaying grass, the distant, alien buildings…

“They wanted me to trust Them,” he said. “So I might reconsider my allegiance. Vaxian was Their… gift.” He set his lips in a thin line. He’d been gullible to think Wrathion and the others wouldn’t have thought his sudden doubt in Azeroth particular; he should have reined his emotions in. As usual.

Wrathion stepped back and shook his head. “This… Titans! Sabellian, you should have told us!” He shot him a look full of sudden anger and betrayal. “ This important, and you keep it to yourself?! ”

“Why should I have told you? So you could grow more distrustful of me and mine?”

The dragon scowled. “I distrust you far more now than I would have before,” he said. “What did They tell you?”

“What Azeroth told you,” he said. “Bringing the other dragons here has given Them a foothold. One where They can easily manifest.”

And They want you.

If there he was one thing he still had to keep, it was that.

“They were trying to convince me Azeroth would be of no help,” Sabellian continued. “And only They had the power to free my children.”

“You couldn’t possibly believe Them.”

“I don’t know what to believe,” he said. “I don’t trust Them. I’m not that blind. But Azeroth is blocked to us, and she was the one who we were counting on. How can she heal if she isn’t here? The cursed will open the way… but have only blocked it!”

“I told you. She gave us a way -”

“A way which might not allow her to come, even then.” He sighed. “I know only Vaxian is here and claims sanity. I don’t know how. N’Zoth is playing Their hand to counter Azeroth's, and we are chess pieces on the board.”

“You shouldn’t have kept this from us,” Wrathion bit out. “We should have known N’Zoth is not only here but intimately watching!” He rubbed the side of his face, and for the briefest of moments an intense flash of fear coursed over his face. He swallowed and rolled his shoulders back, and the fear was gone. His acting had improved immensely. “This… this changes things…”

He looked up and caught Sabellian’s eyes, and the look between them was a lock, two great wills grabbing at the other. It felt physical, as if someone could reach out and feel the rope held taut between their gaze.

“That’s all They said to you.”

“Yes,” Sabellian lied. “They wanted me to trust Them. Vaxian was the first gift. That was all.”

Wrathion studied him. “You aren’t considering -”

“No,” he said, voice a snap, stiff. “I know not to trust such promises, and I will never give myself over to the Old Gods.” But that’s not the deal, is it? He pushed such thoughts aside. “But Azeroth… boy, even They thanked me for what we did, bringing all the dragons here. You must see why I was so shaken when you told me what she had told you. ”

The Black Prince scoffed and looked away. The tautness between them fell like a cut line. “You said as much in the cave. But if N’Zoth Themself is here and watching… Deathwing’s corrupter here… ” He paused and shook his head. “No. No. I know what I felt, Sabellian. I know what I felt. ”

They would go around like circles if they continued, so Sabellian dropped it. He was sick of going around in circles. “Where is Vaxian now?”

Wrathion cut him with a dark look. “I’m not about to up and tell you. Not after this!” The dragon crossed his arms over his chest, tilted his head up. “I’m not going to let your weakness break this down from the inside out. Apparently N’Zoth knows well enough where to hit you first.”

“My weakness -”

“Listen, Uncle. I don’t have such ties to your children. They know how to wiggle in and hit you. For all of us, don’t seek him out.”

Sabellian ground his teeth, but no matter the anger in his belly, he could not find fault in the boy’s reasoning. Perhaps the others - the newcomers - didn’t know the great and exploitable weakness which was his children. They could not yet use them against him.

But N’Zoth knew. N’Zoth’s blood pumped through his heart. N’Zoth was the Corruptor, the Manipulator.

He wasn’t a fool. He could trust nothing.

Not even himself.

He nodded slowly.

“Maybe you’re right,” Sabellian said. “My children are a weak point. Keep him from me.”

Wrathion raised his eyebrows, and his shoulders relaxed.

“You do understand why, don’t you? Anything They can do to lead us astray -”

“I know, boy. And such things are tempting, no matter all the warning signs.”

Because he knew, deep down, he would trade Wrathion and Ebonhorn for the freedom of his children in a heartbeat if he had no other choice.

“Boy. Don’t take this to mean I will let this pass by.” He approached. “Do not spy on me again. I freed you from my grasp for a reason.”

Wrathion looked a t him evenly. “Then don’t keep secrets. I think that sounds fair.”

Sabellian snorted. “For now, boy. For now.”

  ---

  It was a sound sleep he was roused from, which made him all the angrier.

The hand on his shoulder grabbed him like a threat, and Sabellian woke at once, his hand crunching onto the offender’s before he took a breath.

“Ouch! Ouch!”

Sabellian’s eyes focused, and Jacob’s pained, panicked face grew into focus.

“You idiot! What are you doing?”

“Ouch, ouch, ouch!”

Sabellian sat up and let go of the drake’s hand. The boy’s gauntlet was crunched and dented. He yanked it back.

“Aw, man. This is the third gauntlet I’ve destroyed this year.”

“Jacob, how did you get in here?”

“Oh, through the front entrance, sir,” he said, and pointed with his mangled gauntlet toward the opening of the cave, dark and black in the night sky.

“I meant who let you in.”

Jacob cocked his head to the side. “Nobody. I let myself in.”

Sabellian glanced out at the entrance as he stood up. Blacktalons were supposed to be stationed out there to guard entry.

Did the boy dismiss them?

Wrathion had left in a cold wake after Vaxian’s discovery. But no - if anything, the boy would have posted more, to make sure he wasn’t up to anything else - even though he’d threatened the Prince from further spying.

Maybe they’d allowed Jacob in to watch and listen in case he had secrets to share.

Or they just hadn’t noticed him.

Sabellian rubbed his eyes. “Then what’s so important?”

“Well, I was doing what you asked, sir. You said to come at once if I heard something strange.”

His sleep and irritation vanished at once.

“Tell me.”

“Seldarria was talking about that Cult again. It was called the Twilight Cult. She was talking about going to meet some people from that one.”

That worm.

“Are you sure?”

“Oh absolutely sir. When I’m on the job I’m on the job. The Twilight Cult, made up of a lot of hungry mortals, they can bring a lot of power and knock you down, or make you swayed. That’s what she said, sir, in her own words.”

“Jacob, where are they going to meet?”

“Out at Redridge, sir.”

“When?”

“Oh, she already left.”

“ When ?”

“About half an hour ago.”

“Why didn’t you come get me sooner?”

He paused and bit his bottom lip. “I forgot where your cave was, sir, and there’s a lot of them, I got lost.”

He rumbled and moved past the drake. “I’ll fetch the boy’s lackeys - though they’ve probably already heard. Be prepared to tell them where to go, nephew. And don’t mess this up.”

  ---

They were on their way in twenty minutes.

It was nearly impossible to catch up with a full-grown dragon - especially one who had an almost hour head start.

Wrathion hoped, at least, they could arrive before the meeting began, or not miss too much.

One could only hope.

He bent down low on the gryphon, the wind shearing into his eyes and ruffling the black feathers on the mount’s neck. Flanking him rode Left and Rexxar on Leokk, and on the other side, another twin of Agents on an ebon gryphon like Wrathion’s.

The intimacy would hopefully be a plus, not a hindrance. But stealth was their specialty.

They would not get caught.

If they did - speed was something else they could do well, and the small numbers would allow them to escape, and quickly.

He banked the gryphon into a downward glide. They were approaching the band of mountains separating the Gorge from Redridge.

Though the gryphon had the camouflage to blend in with the night sky, they’d decided to stay low to the ground. They didn’t know if Seldarria and the others had posted Dragonkin guards along the mountains, and they would be looking up for flying dragons… not down.

Leokk took the lead as they passed through the Gorge and into Redridge. The blackened ground began to up into clay-red and the mountains around them grew rounder and smaller until even trees began to poke through and blossom green in the blackness.

The Twilight Cult. Wrathion gripped the reins tighter, the leather straps close enough to his face he could smell the oil. Seldarria and the others took Sabellian’s offer to the very reaches, didn’t they?

Left caught his eye and nodded. He nodded back. A small flick of the reins from Rexxar, and Leokk rocketed forward. The wyvern was the fastest, and they would do a quick scope of the place.

Jacob seemed harmless enough, but with the new knowledge with Azeroth and N’Zoth, they couldn't be too safe. The boy could be a talking piece for Seldarria or Serinar - or N’Zoth Themself - and lead them into a trap.

N’Zoth.

A deep weight had yet to leave him. Not since Sabellian. It felt childish of him - because they were only the most tenuous of allies - but he felt… betrayed. Something so important, so necessary, and he had kept it from them.

N’Zoth had spoken directly to him - had showed Their direct involvement - and Sabellian had said nothing.

Sure. He could understand Sabellian not wanting to say anything for fear they could think him insane like the rest. And true, maybe there was some suspicion.

Bur more, now, than he would have before.

At least he’d agreed to hide Vaxian. Wrathion had expected more anger - more of a fight - but thankfully the Blacktalons posted at the cave mouth hadn’t been needed.

Sabellian’s children were their greatest weakness. He’d known that going in - but if N’Zoth Themself…

N’Zoth Themself.

It was one thing, to speak to Azeroth. It was another to know N’Zoth was watching. Not just the amorphous idea of corruption.

The very source of it.

Here.

Watching. Meddling.

He swallowed down a shudder.

However much of him had accepted this next gambit as the highest danger - the last notch of the ladder - the thing which could change everything… nothing could really prepare him for the actuality of what loomed before them. A coming clash of a ten-thousand year old storm -

And the enemy had showed its face.

Now - now, seeing the darkness on the horizon, seeing is claws begin to grip onto any weakness…

Now it was truly real.

Wrathion and the others alighted near a large willow tree along the side of a hill. It wasn’t the highest crest, but they’d still be able to see anyone coming, and no one would see them stark on the horizon.

Anything?

As before, the bloodgems worked when off the Mountain, and as Wrathion sat up in the saddle, he reached out to Left in the darkness. Below, distant dots of farmland rolled around the hills and mountains, and crests of human towers and ancient fortifications from the time of the First War stood between them as sentinels. To the east, he could just make out lights from some hidden town - Lakeshire, surely. Though he couldn't see the buildings themselves, the mere suggestion of it pulled at him.

Did he miss mortals that much?

Maybe so. Or at least his Tavern. At least his champions. That life felt so far gone, relics like the distant towers. His plans with the Alliance and Horde, even moreso. He smiled to himself in the dark. What would Anduin Wrynn think if he found out he’d planned on backing the Horde?

Before all this Siege business, of course. Now the Alliance could dismantle and conquer the Horde and rise as the chosen warriors against the Legion -

But he was getting ahead of himself.

Azeroth had given him the role against Sargeras’s Burning Crusade, but they had other things to do, first.

They’re here , came Left’s voice. Where Jacob said they’d be.

Wrathion smiled. Excellent. As surprised as he’d been to learn of the “Stormwind Guard’s” new job, it had paid off, and quickly.

He nodded to the others, and they took off again.

There’s Dragonkin guards , Left said as they headed east. Take the southern curve along the mountains and stay as low as you can. They’re stationed on the higher ridges.

They passed the towers and headed around the shadowy crooks of farmland. A farmhouse’s lonely oil lantern lit their way in the dark for half-a-heartbeat before it vanished beyond the hills and it was only them and the moonlight again.

Hurry, my Prince. They’re starting.

Wrathion spurred the gryphon onward. The beast grunted; its wings peaked up. Thankfully the breed was bred for its silence. And being expensive, apparently, considering how much he’d had to dig down into his cofers for the things.

The meeting, Jacob had told them, was to take place at the abandoned town at the eastern edge of Redridge, in a forgotten place where no mortals came close.

There, Prince Wrathion , one of his Agents said, and motioned toward their right flank. What he’d taken for a circle of destroyed hills was actually a field of buildings, toppled and littered along a great circle of mountain. Along a strip of cliff, Left and Rexxar crouched in wait, using a natural curve of rock as cover from the town below.

Wrathion and the others spiralled down and landed nearby. He slipped off the gryphon and hurried to Left’s side. Rexxar was looking over the edge, back to them.

“Three from the Cult,” Left said, and together they joined Rexxar by the rock wall and peered over. “And Seldarria is alone, beyond her Dragonkin guards.”

The town was hardly an “abandoned town” at all, but a dilapidated ruin. The buildings lay in piles of rotting wood and brick. Some structures remained as only skeletons of the foundation, and the only thing standing was a long, stone building with a high steeple at its entrance.

In front of its ruined stairway stood Seldarria, her neck poised high and serpentine. In the darkness, her scales shown an inky velvet purple. Flanking her were two Dragonkin guards.

“ -travel quickly,” she was saying to the retinue standing before her.

Three, as Left had said. One stood in front of the rest. The mortal stood tall despite the hunch, and the cloak dragged long behind them. The others had similar clothes, but stood with less flash and grandeur.

“Out numbers span the Eastern Kingdoms, your Grace,” the lead cultist said. “We were ever at your disposal.”

Left had been able to use the charm, then: a common item which amplified sounds from afar. They sounded as if they were only feet away and not an entire field’s worth.

Seldarria smiled. “And how many are available to me and mind, Barthamus?”

The cloaked figure bowed his head.

“More than you may require,” he said. “If we may… your grace… the scope of your plan lays as a thin scope. How will this aid us?”

Seldarria laughed. It was a cackle, an amused wheeze. “Do you know where we stand, worgen?” She waved her claw at the ruins around them. “This… this is a legacy. A town which stood stalled than Lakeshire. And our army swept it off the face of this world. And here we stand, this place now our own, planning steps of darkness.”

“My dear, this has a wider scope than crushing traitors and the soft-hearted. When we retake control, our new age will begin anew, and I do assure you your masters will be very enthused of our work.”

Your masters, too . Wrathion pushed himself closer. This wasn’t good. Left caught his eye.

“I am pleased to hear it,” Barthamus said. “Any victory for the masters is one we shall readily aid.”

Seldarria moved closer, he tail dragging behind her. “Darkness for darkness, my new friend. Show me your end of our deal, then, or we have no business here.”

Again the figure bowed, but this time they turned and raised their arms wide. The other two joined him. Their arms stretched high, reaching toward the moon, their long sleeves falling and catching at their elbows. Tattoos inked along their exposed arms: alien, swirling symbols which made his skin crawl.

“I don’t like this,” Rexxar said. “It reminds me of the fel-users in Draenor.”

Despite the distance from them, a wave of something like a cold humidity swelled over his face. He wanted to pull back, but something stirred between the cultists.

Their hands and exposed arms grew a haze of black-purple.

Between them, the ground began to bubble. Bubble. The haze around them lowered, moved like a snake toward the dirt writhing in front of their feet, and as it touched, the ground began to rise.

But it was not ground at all. It was not dirt; not rock. What grew from this bubbling mass was fleshy, a mound of purple-black matter.

Unnatural. Wrong. Unnatural. Though it had no shape or form as it grew and grew higher and higher, Wrathion felt as if he looked into the structure of a nightmare. His mouth grew dry. His heart thundered. The sky blackened around them.

Seldarria’s eyes were fixed on the column of flesh, and her expression was hungry.

“Yes… yes ,” she hissed. “ Yes! ”

The form began to take shape as the glow around the cultists’ and their tattoos began to grow more vibrant. Two massive trunks extended from its sides, and two more from the bottom. The ones along the boxy torso grew long and sinuous: tentacles, thick like tree trunks. Claws grew from the elephant-like bottom legs. A hunch of a head extended from the shoulders, and from this grew long tendrils and in the center, two yellow, evil eyes.

The Faceless One stood an easy twelve feet tall, and as it extended its tentacled arms, the cultists stumbled back, drained.

"Gul'kafh an'qov N'Zoth," Barthamus said, and the worgen’s hood came down as he gazed to his summoned monster. His eyes were alight with the same terrible madness in Seldarria’s, and black ichor dripped from his grinning maw. “ Gul'kafh an'qov N'Zoth !”

“Ancestors help us,” Rexxar rumbled, and as Wrathion began to pull away, bile in his throat, Seldarria turned her head and, from a hundred feet away,  fixed her eyes on him and grinned a maddened grin.

#wrath of sabellian #sabellian #wrathion #rexxar #spiritwalker ebonhorn #whaddup

[wastingstarlight]

(re-posting because this dumpster fire of a website always messes up formatting when I put read mores in asks 🙃)

raiwalk asked: would it be alright to ask for a fluffy wranduin, for the song prompt?

yes!!! send all the wranduin prompts!!! <3 okay, so i cheated on this one a little bc a lot of the songs on this playlist i had been using are Big Angst™ so i skipped until i found a non-angsty one! ANYWAY thank you so much for the request :’)

(cross-posted to ao3)

///

When I don’t know what to say When I don’t know what to do There’s a room I need to sit in Surrounded by my favorite view And I need a hand to hold Someone to tell the truth Would it be okay if I came home to you?

//

Anduin is having a bad pain day.

They’re fewer and farther between now, but when they do happen, they never fail to knock the wind out of him. He has made so much progress in his recovery but on days like this, he is sharply reminded just how far he has to go.

Tong had been in just after dawn with a pot of tea laced with healing herbs, which had dulled the pain enough for Anduin to doze for a few more hours. Tong must have said something to Wrathion as well because the notoriously inquisitive dragon had not once knocked on his door demanding audience.

It was…nice, Anduin supposed. The quiet. His guards brought him lunch just after midday and he ate alone for the first time in weeks, the only thing filling the silence the muted click of chopsticks on wood.

After, he means to read, goes so far as to open a book in his lap, before dozing again. There had been more healing tea with lunch and with the painkillers came the familiar cotton-headedness.

He is just on the edge of sleep when there is a clatter at his window, a thud on the ground, and there, in all his glory, is Wrathion in whelp form sprawled awkwardly on Anduin’s floor.

There is a sharp knock on his door. “Anduin?” his guard calls out. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Anduin replies, mind whirring as he tried to come up with an excuse through the brain fog. “Just, um, dropped my book.”

After a pause to make sure the excuse worked, Anduin sets the aforementioned book aside and glances back at Wrathion.

“I wanted to check in,” Wrathion says primly, sounding quite diplomatic for a dragon that had just crash-landed into Anduin’s bedroom.

“And you couldn’t use the door?” Anduin replies with a faint grin. The grin fades when his gaze settles on the awkward angle of Wrathion’s left wing. “Did you hurt yourself?” he asks, instinctively feeling out for injury with the Light, before being sharply reminded of how much energy he had been using to keep his own pain at bay. More cautiously, he reaches out with a sliver of Light, just enough to feel the impression of any wounds.

“I,” Wrathion says, lifting his chin defiantly, “may have, hypothetically, accidentally…gotten some burrs stuck on my wings. That I took care of!” he adds hastily, “…with my teeth.”

“What…actually, never mind,” Anduin says, rolling his eyes. He knows better than to ask at this point. “C’mere,” he says, beckoning Wrathion over.

“What?”

“You came here for me to heal you, right? Well, I’m not getting out of bed, so. Come here.”

With a huff, Wrathion pads over. The mattress groans when the dragon jumps onto it. He might have been the size of a particularly large, winged, house cat, but he was certainly more dense than one.

Taking great care to avoid trodding on Anduin’s legs, Wrathion comes to a halt just beside his hip and extends his offending wing.

The scratches are minor, more from the burrs than from Wrathion’s attempt to remove them, and Anduin brushes a gentle hand across the skin of the joint where Wrathion’s wing meets his shoulder, palm infusing with Light as he heals the worst of the damage. Anduin doesn’t think he imagines that Wrathion leans into him.

“One of my champions was telling me about a cave on the northern shore of the Jade Forest,” Wrathion says airily. “Apparently there’s a special type of bioluminescent algae that grow nowhere else in the world but there.”

Anduin smiles, smoothing his hand down the velvety skin of Wrathion’s wing for longer than was strictly necessary. It is fascinating how something so small can be so complex, so powerful. The exhaustion is once again setting in, made stronger by his expenditure of power, but Wrathion’s very Wrathion way of checking in was nonetheless endearing.

“Is that so?” Anduin asks, stifling a yawn.

Wrathion stiffens beside him, folding his wing back in. Anduin hadn’t realized just how heavily Wrathion had been leaning on him until he is gone.

“You should rest. I’ll—“

“No, wait,” Anduin interjects. He hesitates. He doesn’t want Wrathion to go—Anduin has missed his company, though he’d never outright tell him that. “Tell me about the cave,” he murmurs after a heartbeat.

Wrathion tilts his head and narrows his eyes. Apparently he finds whatever he’s looking for because then he huffs and makes a big show out of making himself a comfortable space to settle. Wrathion lets his wings unfold a bit and absently Anduin brings one hand down to stroke the exposed velvety skin.

“Well,” Wrathion starts. “I had sent a pair of champions on a mission—“

Before he knows it, the combination of herbal tea, afternoon sun, and Wrathion’s familiar voice has lulled Anduin away from his aching body and into a mercifully dreamless sleep.

///

Knight-Lieutenant Maren Bristol is not surprised that Anduin doesn’t answer his door when she knocks with his dinner. She is surprised at what she sees when she enters.

Anduin is young, so young, but somehow he looks even younger asleep when the worries of the world don’t line his face. He’s on his side, curled around and with one arm thrown over the sleeping dragon beside him. They are both washed in the golden light of the setting sun.

Maren sets down the tray quietly and can’t help but smile as she leaves.

#world of warcraft #warcraft #wranduin #anduin wrynn #wrathion #raiwalk #my writing #mine #w: wow #w: request #w: wranduin #w: fic