Disclaimer: Warcraft and World of Warcraft are the intellectual property of Blizzard Entertainment, Inc. and are being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of Warcraft, World of Warcraft, or their derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.
Summary: Near the end of his life, a widowed former king in declining health reunites with an old friend.
Note: Although this story was initially sparked by a kinkmeme prompt, certain indignities of old age have been treated in a realistic rather than an eroticized manner. I chose not to tag for some of that content: if you have any concerns or questions about what might be included, please contact me before reading the story.
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Cenotaph
by silverr
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Cenotaph: noun. 1. a sepulchral monument erected in memory of a deceased person whose body is buried elsewhere.
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Part 1: Stormwind
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… 1 …
It had been the sort of dawn not often seen in Stormwind: instead of a graceful ebbing of the darkness into shades of blue and gold, the night had fled from curdled red clouds that boiled up on the horizon. Even after the sun had pushed through, spreading out a reassuringly cloudless brightness, some citizens, mindful of the old sailors' adage about red skies at morning, hurried to complete their errands before the storm's violence arrived.
The man entering Stormwind's public garden carrying an armload of wildflowers was not one of them. He wore simple dark clothing, and his shoulder-length dark hair framed a dramatically handsome brown face that was enhanced rather than marred by the lines of middle age. Patiently, calmly, as unconcerned about any approaching storm as the birds twittering in the trees, he made his way through the cedar-lined pathways and rose pergolas toward what the Stormwind citizens called "The Green Lady's grave," then knelt and began to arrange the flowers artfully around the base of the white stone plinth.
Nearly fifty years ago, shortly after the war with the Legion, a farmer named Wollerton had gifted his property—a modest farm and an adjacent pond on the outskirts of the city—to the crown, to be used as King Anduin saw fit for the good of the families of Stormwind. Anduin, newly married, had asked his queen what she thought should be done with the land; she had suggested that a portion of it be set aside as a place where the battle-weary citizens could not only be be reminded of all they had fought for, but also find solace in beauty. Anduin enthusiastically agreed to this, and when she admitted that she had some ideas for the design, he put her in charge of the project. The resulting memorial garden and its creator had become so beloved over the next thirty-five years that when she died a cenotaph had been placed at the center of the garden in her honor.
The man arranging the flowers finished his task, then glanced through the trees across Olivia's Pond toward the arched opening in the city wall at the northern end of Old Town—in wartime sealed by an ironbound gate, but now, in the time of the Great Peace, open and unguarded. Most of those who passed through the gate he paid no mind, but finally a particular group commanded his attention. Though they were too far away to make out individual faces, the man knew that the white-haired figure in a wheelchair at the head of the procession was the former king, Anduin, and that the wheelchair was probably being pushed by Lady Susannah, Anduin's eldest granddaughter and a paladin of the reformed Silver Hand. Those following Anduin and Susannah were likely to be Anduin's children and their spouses, their children and grandchildren, and various dignitaries and visiting scholars. Normally this visit to the late queen's memorial took place in the early afternoons, so that the midday sun could warm the former's king's frail old bones, but today it seemed they had set out earlier, in order to keep Anduin out of the incipient rain and chill.
The procession had descended the grassy verge, and was now making its way around the pond.
The man made a few final adjustments to the flower arrangement, then waited. As the group entered the garden and came down the path he saw that the royal family was accompanied by the female gnome who had been in the king's service for over a decade as well as several unfamiliar elves, dwarves, and worgen.
"Someone's already here," Lady Susannah said as she noticed him. She stopped pushing the wheelchair, set the brake, then came around to stand protectively at her grandfather's side.
After inclining his head in acknowledgement to Lady Susannah and the gnome, the man looked steadily at Anduin. "You came earlier than usual this year," he said in faintly-accented Common.
Anduin, ensconced under a snugly-tucked blanket, seemed almost oblivious to his surroundings. His eyes, startlingly blue in his age-ravaged face, were unfocused and watery, although his hands, resting on the blanket over his lap, twitched slightly each time an explosion of far-off thunder crept nearer.
"And so at last we catch the mysterious admirer who's been leaving tributes all these years," the king said, eyeing the stranger with mild distrust.
The man spread his arms. "I trust I have not broken any laws by doing so? I assume it is no trespass to enter a public park to pay respects to the deceased."
"You always leave the same type of flower at the Green Lady's memorial," the queen said. "Why?"
The man smiled faintly. "Such flowers grow abundantly in the wilds, and they are blue and yellow. Blue and yellow are still Stormwind's colors, are they not?"
Anduin had squinted, then raised a hand to rub fretfully at his eyes. His mouth began to work as if he were trying to speak, but the sounds were not audible.
"What is it?" his granddaughter leaned over to ask him.
"Those particular varieties of blue and yellow flowers were my mother's favorite," the king said, "but very few people outside my family know that. Very few." There was just the slightest edge to his voice. "So I must ask how you came to possess such personal information?"
Before the man could respond, Anduin leaned forward suddenly and said hoarsely, "Wait! I know you." There was disbelief, and yet also a rising hopefulness. He raised a trembling hand and pointed. "But it can't be you. It has to be a trick."
"No trick, my old friend," the man said, placing a hand over his heart and giving a small bow. "I forgive your uncertainty. It has been many years since we had our adventures, and I looked rather different at the time." For an instant his brown eyes flashed red, like fire opals catching the light. "But then again, so do you. The beard suits you. It's very… venerable."
Most of the royal party looked surprised by this exchange—but not the gnome, who had been watching with a thoughtful, slightly amused expression. "Perhaps you should show Anduin how you looked back then?" she said.
The queen glanced at the gnome, then said—to the man's surprise— "Yes, if you can, please do so."
"How could I refuse a request from two such gracious ladies?" He made a sweeping motion with his hand, and in an instant was transformed. His simple dark clothes blossomed into an elaborate jacket and pants of swirl-patterned brocade and black leather tooled to look like dragonscale, criss-crossed with sashes, flashing with buckles, and swaying with fringe. Knee-high tooled boots spiraled up over his legs, an oversize turban shimmered into place over his hair, and his face was now that of a much younger man, barely out of his teens.
"Oh!" Anduin said. "It is you!" He hastily shoved the blanket off his lap and struggled to stand.
Lady Susannah steadied him, though she also appeared to be gently holding him back. "Grandfather? Who is this man?"
"Please let me go!" Anduin said, pulling his arm free of her grasp and shuffling toward the stranger.
The dwarven ambassador, who had watched all this with growing astonishment, finally demanded, "What in Azeroth is going on here? He just completely—"
Anduin stumbled. As the stranger caught him he began weeping openly, without shame. "Wrathion! You're really… I thought I was dreaming!"
Wrathion patted Anduin's back reassuringly. "Yes, it's me."
"Wrathion?" the male elven ambassador said. "You claim to be the black dragon prince? Didn't he—"
"A black dragon?" the youngest of the great grandchildren cried. "Will it burn our city?" He started to cry.
Wrathion looked dismayed.
"The city is safe. There is nothing to fear," the Queen reassured the child. "Ask Kirsi. She knows all about dragons."
The gnome made a big show of looking around—poking into bushes and lifting up small rocks, asking, "Hello? Are there any scary mean dragons hiding over here?"—which gradually seemed to calm the child.
All this time Anduin clung to Wrathion as if still not quite convinced that his old friend was not a hallucination. "You wouldn't be taller than I am now if I hadn't shrunk so much," he said with mock peevishness, then turned his face into Wrathion's neck and said with quiet fervor, "I knew you hadn't died. I just knew it. They said you couldn't have survived, but I knew. Even though I couldn't find you, I knew." He tightened his embrace for a moment, then stepped back at last, though he held onto Wrathion's forearms for support.
"Let me help you back to your chair, grandfather." Lady Susannah gave Wrathion a boldly appraising look before putting her arm around Anduin and carefully leading him back to his wheelchair.
"Did you know that some mages can change their bodies to look like anyone or anything they want?" Kirsi said to the still fearful child. She then raised an eyebrow expectantly at Wrathion.
"Oh!" Wrathion said after a moment. "Oh, yes, that is true." He bowed his head slightly and gave it a shake, transforming himself into a Wrathion-sized calico cat.
The child's eyes widened, and the older children gasped.
Wrathion wiggled his nose so that his whiskers twitched, then dropped to all fours.
"Ha!" Anduin had settled himself in the wheelchair and was holding up his arms so that his granddaughter could tuck the blanket around him. "Before we know it he'll want a saucer of milk and a nice fish to eat!"
This, finally, coaxed a giggle and a tentative smile from the sniffling princeling, and a proclamation from one of the other great-grandchildren that they wanted to be a face-changer mage when they grew up.
Wrathion shifted back to his initial, human appearance. As the king and his family moved forward to pay their respects, he stepped aside and, with a half-smile at Anduin, edged toward the path that led out of the garden.
The movement did not escape the queen's notice. "Please don't hurry off," she said. "Stay a while longer."
Wrathion glanced from the queen to the king, who looked no more welcoming than he had previously.
Anduin held out his hand. "Yes, stay," he said. "I'm not done with you yet."
It was at that moment that, with a crack of thunder, the first raindrops began to fall, and so Wrathion raced with the others back to the Keep.
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… 2 …
Despite their efforts, the thunderstorm was faster than they were, and they were drenched by the time they reached the Keep. The party adjourned to the great room, where they put their boots and outer layers of clothing near the small fireplace to dry. The queen sent servants off to fetch mugs of soup and hot beverages, and to bring lap blankets and shawls against the chill.
As the storm unleashed in earnest, pelting the windows and rattling the casements, the visiting dwarven scholars added logs to the fire in the great-hearth, stoking it into a blaze, while those who were otherwise unoccupied began to move the room's couches and chairs to take advantage of its warmth.
The gnome Kirsi supervised as Wrathion and the elven ambassador carried a large couch from the far side of the room. "I'm glad to see that the queen talked you out of sneaking away," she said as they placed the couch at right angles to the hearth.
"I did not wish to intrude on the family any further," Wrathion murmured.
"Impressive shapeshifting you displayed earlier," the ambassador said, seating himself on the couch in a way that made clear that he felt he had done his share of the manual labor.
"You are too gracious," Wrathion replied with a small bow. "I fear I have barely mastered the rudiments despite many years' practice, and have not yet grasped the true essence of shapeshifting."
The elf gave a small nod, approving of this elaborate humility, and said, "Few do. Still, your cat was passable—"
Wrathion had already turned away.
"How rude!" The ambassador was almost comically astonished.
"Please excuse us," Kirsi said, then hurried after Wrathion, who was walking to the far end of the room to pick up some chairs. If I didn't know for certain that you are who Anduin thinks you are, she said silently to him in Draconic, I would have pegged you as an imposter trying to trick an old man.
Oh? And why is that? Wrathion asked, hoisting a chair in either hand.
You're working so hard to be helpful and polite. Self-effacing, almost. I saw you eyeing that little chair behind the ambassador's couch; do you plan to sit in the shadows where you can barely be seen?
What if I do? Is it so unreasonable to wish that my flight was known for something other than pretense and destruction? For terrifying children? Wrathion shot back as he placed the two chairs he was carrying near the fire and then went back to bring two more. And as far as blending in—here you are, living among humans, Kirsidormi. How many of them know you are a Bronze?
Kirsi shrugged. The king and queen. I told them I wanted to do something with my Lorekeeper knowledge beyond just accumulating it, so I offered to serve as Royal Azerothian Historian. And since knowledge is pointless if it's not passed on, I offered to tutor their children in history. They accepted. It's an arrangement that makes everyone happy.
You are also well-placed to observe history as it is made, Wrathion pointed out as he placed the second pair of chairs.
I suppose so, but I've never been as interested in world-changing events and grand gestures as most of my flight. Too many of them are so focused on protecting the timelines that lead into the future that they forget that the past needs our love and attention as well.
I couldn't agree more. With a wry bow, Wrathion then went to sit where Kirsi had indicated, on a padded footstool in the shadowed nook to the right of the mantel.
She laughed, and then went to where the Queen and Lady Susannah were fussing over Anduin—toweling his rain-damp hair, helping him into a dry jacket, kneeling to put warm socks and soft slippers on his gnarled feet. Anduin's wheelchair had been placed directly in front of the fire; the chairs arranged in a semicircle to either side of him made him the keystone in an arch.
Tell me one thing, Kirsidormi asked Wrathion. Previously you left the flowers without being seen. Today, you allowed yourself to be caught. Why?
A number of people who had not accompanied the family to the garden had begun to gather around Anduin, attempting to engage him in conversation. Although they spoke to him as if he were both simple-minded and hard of hearing, Anduin answered with distracted politeness, leaning from side to side in his chair and peering around them, searching for something. He looked increasingly bewildered, like a man lost in a thick forest.
Selfishness, Wrathion told Kirsidormi. I know he is fading; I wanted to be near him and hear his voice one last time.
Anduin finally caught sight of Wrathion, and smiled with relief.
A servant approached Wrathion with a tray. "Something to warm you? We have beef broth, cream of leek soup, mulled cider, spiced wine, and several types of tea."
"Nothing for me, thank you," Wrathion said, smiling back. "The sight of my old friend has already given me all the warmth I need."
You've been secretly watching him all these years, if you know how weak he's become.
Wrathion did not deny it.
Kirsi shooed the crowd around Anduin away, then took a cup of tea from the tray. He's been doing much better than could have been expected, given the damage his body has taken over the years. But now his bones are so brittle that they break if he coughs too hard or bumps into something… which is a danger now that his vision has started to cloud. Even so, he's always cheerful and loving, although he must be in nearly-constant pain.
I sense there is something you are not telling me, Kirsidormi.
Well, recently there are moments when Anduin doesn't seem to know who he is, or where he is, or what he's just said or heard—and then afterward, once he's aware that it's happened, he's so ashamed. It tears him up. She took a deep breath and sipped her tea. It tears all of us up.
Why does he not use the Light to restore himself? Wrathion asked. It has healed him in the past. Does it now fail him?
No, but it can only go so far, Kirsidormi responded. It can heal injuries like cuts and broken bones, things that would have mended on their own given time and proper care. This is different.
This forgetfulness is a malady of the mind?
Kirsi nodded. In a way, the worst part of it is that he knows what he's losing.
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Once all the guests were seated and served, the king asked Anduin to reminisce about the adventures he'd had in Pandaria as a young man.
Why would the king suggest this? Wrathion asked Kirsidormi. How does it help Anduin?
Sometimes talking about who he was helps him hang on to who he is, Kirsidormi conceded. But mostly it just makes him happy.
To the crowd's dismay, Anduin shook his head. "Wrathion is a much better storyteller than I ever was," he said. "Get him to tell the stories instead."
This statement caused several whispered conversations to break out between those who had heard of Wrathion and those who hadn't. With the entire room now looking expectantly at him, Wrathion said, "A compromise, perhaps? We could tell them together."
"Good idea! Come out of that dark corner and sit by me," Anduin said. He then looked pointedly at the dwarven ambassador to his right.
After a moment she caught on and said hastily, "Aye, I'll move, and he can sit here!"
Reluctant to be in the spotlight, Wrathion nevertheless seated himself to next to Anduin and began to coax the stories from him, plying him with question after question. It wasn't long before Anduin transported himself and his audience to the past with his tales of mogu and jinyu, of hozen and saurok. As the rain continued to pelt the windows of the keep and late morning passed into afternoon, Anduin began to speak of Taran Zhu and Chen Stormstout and Lady Snow Blossom; of Lor'themar Theron and Lady Proudmoore, of the Four Celestials and the mantid, isles of giants and thunder, of the Thunder King and the Divine Bell and even Garrosh Hellscream—and still his audience was entranced.
As was Wrathion. He appreciated how generously the firelight warmed Anduin's pale gaunt features and returned the lost gold to his white hair, but he also saw how much talking about the past enlivened Anduin: his face had begun to glow with enjoyment, his gestures were becoming more animated, and, to the delight of the children gathered around his feet like puppies, he was beginning to imitate the voices of the people in his stories.
By the time the day had started to darken into twilight, Anduin had segued into an honest account of why the Alliance had been in Pandaria in the first place, and how those who had brought their war to the misty continent had reawakened the sha. He was taking a break to soothe his throat with honeyed tea when one of his great-granddaughters tugged his sleeve. "Tell more stories about the hozen, greypappa!"
Anduin looked down at the child and his smile faded. "Who are you people?" he demanded. "Are you friends of my father's?"
The soft murmur of conversation in the room ebbed as Anduin's expression shaded into confusion.
"Where is he?" Anduin asked fretfully. "Why isn't he here?" And then realization swept across his face, and he put his head in his hands, keening in an open-mouthed cry.
Wrathion, startled and thinking that Anduin was having some sort of seizure, rose from his chair, but then Anduin closed his mouth, dropped his hands, and, his eyes brimming with tears, told his great-granddaughter, "I'm sorry, sparkle, but I'm done with stories for now." He handed his mug to Lady Susannah, and then—once again the frail old man who had entered the cemetery—struggled to push himself up from his chair. "Why am I always in this thing! I'm not a cripple!"
Wrathion and Lady Susannah helped him stand. "I'll take him from here," Lady Susannah said.
Wrathion nodded. Anduin awkwardly grasped his hand and said, "It was so good to see you." His smile was more a grimace, as if willing that the past moments could be entirely forgotten. "Don't rush off, I'm not done with you yet."
Wrathion nodded, and watched as Susannah, followed by the king and queen, took Anduin away.
This was the signal for the remaining guests to disperse.
Several of the guests were peering at Wrathion with far too much curiosity, and so he began returning chairs to the far end of the room, an activity that discouraged all but the elven ambassador.
"Wrathion. Son of Nyxondra, blood of Neltharion." The ambassador had levitated the couch and was directing it back to its original position. "Are you truly he, or is Stormwind's former king merely suffering from a pitiable delusion?"
"Does it matter?" Wrathion asked, his eyes flashing red as he bared his teeth.
"That's answer enough for me," the ambassador said smoothly. He set the couch down and left Wrathion alone.
Wrathion opened one of the great room's tall windows. The storm had crept away, leaving cool, clean-smelling air and a tapestry of muted sounds. The wet streets and rooftops far below the Keep shimmered in the light of streetlamps and the rising moon.
He sat on the window sill, making no acknowledgement of anyone else's presence.
More than an hour passed before he was alone with the dying fire. He closed the window, and then returned to the low chair next to the mantel, staring at the empty space where Anduin's wheelchair had been until the doors opened.
Kirsi, the king, and the queen entered. The king motioned to his guard, and they withdrew, closing the doors behind them.
Wrathion stood. "This looks… ominous."
The king clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace. "Kirsi has told us that you are, in fact, who Anduin said you were, and that you know many things about him."
They doubted him? Wrathion asked Kirsidormi.
Just listen.
"What you may not know is that, ever since the war with the Legion, he has been obsessed with the eyewitness accounts of a lone dragon that threw itself recklessly against the Dark Titan himself in order to deflect an attack on Anduin's flagship. Though the dragon was struck down, the precious respite its sacrifice bought for the Army of Light is seen by many as one of the turning points of that battle."
"Surely that places too much importance on a single action?" Wrathion said.
"Not at all," the king said, then continued with what sounded like a well-rehearsed speech. "After the Great Concord was established, Anduin searched for years for any trace of the dragon. He told me once that he hoped that it had lived, so that he could find it some day and thank it for buying us time. For helping to ensure Azeroth's freedom."
"Many fell during that war," Wrathion said.
Kirsi scowled in exasperation. Stop that.
"Nevertheless," the king said, "on behalf of King Anduin and the people of Azeroth, allow me to thank you. None of us would be here if not for you."
Wrathion opened his mouth, and then closed it without saying anything. He gave an almost imperceptible bow of gratitude.
What they're not saying, Kirsidormi informed him, is that they also recognize your other sacrifice. By not letting Anduin know you had survived, you made it possible for him to grieve and move on, to marry and have children.
How much do they know?
Before today? Only rumors about how close you two were. But tonight, when Anduin went on and on about you… well, they could barely get him to stop talking and go to sleep. I think the word 'infatuated' was used.
"It has been a very long time since my father has been as happy as he was today," the king said. "I realize that you must have duties and responsibilities elsewhere, but if you could find it in your heart to stay a few days, we would be very grateful."
"Yes," Wrathion said. "I can find it in my heart to stay. As Kirsi must have told you, dragons do not abandon those they care for."
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… 3 …
Beginning the next morning, Wrathion proved the truth of his words. He was with Anduin from daybreak to sunset. They ate when Anduin was hungry, and sat by the fire when Anduin was cold. When he sensed that Anduin was restless or in pain, he told him stories or read aloud to him him to distract him—and when Anduin dozed off mid-story, Wrathion sat with him until he woke.
It was during one of these naps, during the afternoon of the second day, that Lady Susannah came by. Noting that Wrathion sat looking out the window with the closed book beside him, she asked, "Would you like something else to read?"
"No."
She smiled briefly, then left.
When Anduin woke, he asked if Wrathion would like to go for a walk outside. Spurning the wheelchair, he insisted on walking, leaning heavily on both his cane and Wrathion's arm.
"I should be angry at you," he said unexpectedly, as they walked around the cloister that enclosed the small park off the throne room.
"Angry at me? Why?"
"For not letting me know you weren't dead." Anduin stopped walking and wiped at his eyes with the back of the hand holding his cane. "You knew how much…" The storm of emotion had him in its grasp, and he couldn't go on.
Wrathion waited until Anduin was ready to walk again before he answered. "And if I had come back? Your father was right; who would have wanted to risk their life knowing their husband had a jealous lover—"
"Ex-lover."
"A jealous ex-lover in the background? One who literally could breathe fire?"
"I could have married you both," Anduin said.
Wrathion laughed. "I very much doubt your subjects would have accepted that! Or your wife, for that matter."
"No, she would have," Anduin, now calm, said. "But you were dead."
"I… " Wrathion was nearly at a loss for words. "I admit, that would have been something. What an extraordinary woman."
Anduin smiled sadly. "She truly was."
They finished their circuit of the park. As they went back into the Keep, they passed a narrow arched doorway that led to a spiraling stone stairway. "Let's go up here," Anduin said.
Wrathion, thinking that Anduin had exerted himself enough already, said, "Shall we leave it for later? I'm more in the mood to sit by the fire and play jihui, if I can remember the winning strategy."
"You know very well that the winning strategy is to let both players win," Anduin said. He pressed one hand against the stone wall—there was no railing—and with the help of his cane maneuvered himself up one step. "I'm going up. It's one of my favorite places in the Keep. You can leave me to go sit by the fire. "
"I thought humans became wiser and gentler with age," Wrathion said, "not more difficult."
"You don't have to come with me," Anduin said with infuriating calmness as he painstakingly navigated another step. "I'm used to climbing stairs by myself. I've done it many times. Thousands of times."
Wrathion's mouth quirked in exasperation. "How many of these steps will you need to hoist yourself up to get to the top?"
"I think two hundred," Anduin said matter of factly, "but I've never kept count."
With an exasperated growl Wrathion stepped forward, picked Anduin up, and began to carry him up the stairs.
"This is ridiculous," Anduin said. "You are ridiculous."
"If anything is ridiculous, it is your overly dramatic behavior." Wrathion adjusted his hold, worried that Anduin wasn't secure.
"My dramatic behavior? You just swept me up like… someone from a Marcus romance!" Anduin shifted slightly, settling more comfortably and putting an arm around Wrathion's neck to help support his weight. "Although, I will admit I could get used to this form of transportation. It's too bad carrying me would be tiring." He rested his head on Wrathion's shoulder.
" 'Strength used in the service of others is twice as powerful as strength spent on our foes.' "
"So you learned something from the Celestials after all? I'm impressed."
"Why would you think I did not?" They had reached the top of the stairs. Wrathion carefully put Anduin down so that they could open the door. "For my part, I am astonished how rude and disagreeable you have become in your old age."
Anduin smiled. "Oh, I've missed this."
"This?"
"Your insults. I know they all love me, but they treat me like I'm made of spun glass. Naive, angelic, spun glass."
Wrathion snorted. "With all that you have survived? You are steel, not glass."
The view from the top of the tower was indeed spectacular. To their right, treetops nestled against the low foothills that protected Stormwind's northeastern perimeter. The quicksilver water surrounding the small island of the Eastern Earthshrine was directly below them; to their left, the city's colored roofs spread to the horizon like a gigantic quilt.
"I used to come up here on foggy days and pretend it was Mason's Folly," Anduin said.
"You missed Pandaria that much?"
"I missed you. I had long imaginary conversations with you up here."
Wrathion was about to reply to this when Anduin gasped, and then said, "Oh no." He bent over slightly, then turned toward the stairs. "No, no, no."
"What's wrong?"
"I've got to get back!" he said. "Now!"
"Where?"
"Downstairs!" He almost stumbled in his haste.
Wrathion picked him up and began to run the stairs, wincing at how much much the impacts were probably jostling Anduin.
"Hurry!" Anduin said, "I can't—" Tears began to trickle from his eyes.
Wrathion reached out to Kirsidormi. Come quickly! Something's wrong!
Where are you?
Southwest tower stairwell. Descending.
By the time Kirsi and Lady Susannah met them at the bottom of the stairs, Wrathion knew what was wrong.
Anduin had soiled himself. "I'm so sorry," he said, utterly miserable. His face was wet with tears and flushed with shame.
"Follow me," Susannah said to Wrathion, who was still carrying Anduin.
"This isn't the way to his room!"
"That's not where we're going." Lady Susannah went a short way down the hall and opened the door to a sparsely-furnished, windowless room.
A nightstand with a basin of water stood between two white-sheeted beds; there was a wooden cupboard in the corner, and next to it a table with neatly stacked bandages and rows of elixirs. With a nod Susannah indicated that Wrathion should put Anduin on the bed.
"What can I do to help?" Wrathion asked Kirsidormi, who was stirring the water in the basin with a heating wand.
"Let us take care of him," Susannah said quietly, taking washcloths and a set of clean clothes from the cupboard. "This is a small matter, quickly tended to. He'll be ready to resume your walk shortly." She then not so gently pushed Wrathion out of the room and closed the door.
Wrathion ranted silently to Kirsidormi for a solid quarter-hour about the impossible fragility of humans and the unacceptable indignities of their senescence before the door opened and Anduin reappeared. Bathed and in clean clothes, he asked Wrathion if he was still in the mood to play jihui.
Behind him, Susannah's expression clearly communicated that a great deal was riding on Wrathion's answer.
"I am," Wrathion said. "Do you plan to walk to the great room, or do you expect me to carry you?"
"I'll walk, but reserve the offer to be carried for later."
Kirsi clucked her tongue and shook her head. Susannah's smile was warm and approving.
Anduin said nothing on the way to the great room. Wrathion accompanied him in companionable silence.
The great room was filled with sunshine. As Wrathion moved the jihui table in front of one of the windows, Anduin said abruptly, "That's only happened to me once before."
"What?" Wrathion said distractedly, then understood. "Oh. That."
"Well, it's your fault," Anduin said, beginning to arrange the jihui cubes. "How am I supposed to pay attention to anything else with you around?"
"Me? You are blaming me?"
"Yes." Anduin turned the Crane cube, his usual opening. "You are too distracting."
"Distracting? How?"
Anduin looked up, and the smoulder in his tired blue eyes spoke for him before his words did. "You are still the most fascinating man I've ever met."
"Not surprising, as I'm not truly a man at all." Wrathion's hand hovered over a Fireship, but instead he moved Tiger forward two places, toward Crane.
"Hm, I remember differently." Anduin was looking down at the board, but he was smiling.
"Are you flirting with me, King Anduin?" Wrathion asked.
"It's very possible."
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The next few days were more the the same: walks, jihui, playful conversation. Various family members looked in on them now and again, but for the most part left them alone.
On the evening of the fifth day, after Anduin had excused himself—being careful to avoid having another unfortunate incident—Wrathion had begun putting away the jihui board when the King and Queen came into the great room.
"Do you have a moment to speak privately?" the queen asked.
"Certainly."
As she motioned for the guards to leave and closed the doors, the king said abruptly, "My father wants to go adventuring with you. In Pandaria."
"Adventuring?"
"That's what he called it," the queen said, "but I'm sure he just meant that he'd like to see the sights. One last time," she added sombrely.
"The trip would kill him," the king said. "He's too frail to travel, not to mention mountain climbing and extremes of weather…" He sighed. "If only he had wanted to go off and do this twenty, even ten years ago, I would have supported him completely. But now—I do not think I can allow it."
"Let me guess—when you told him of your concerns, he was not dissuaded?" Wrathion asked.
"No, he was not," the king said. "If anything, he became more adamant. Said that taking such a journey was his decision—"
"Is it not?"
"It isn't if he won't listen to reason." The king paused, chewing on his words for a moment. "I hadn't realized until now how oblivious I've been to the changes in his mental and emotional state."
"Don't blame yourself," the queen said. "The changes have been so gradual, we all missed them. And your father's been good at covering for his lapses until lately."
"You say he deceived you to hide his condition," Wrathion said quietly, "but surely he only did so to lessen your sadness about this sickness for which there is no cure."
"I suppose you're right," the king sighed. "So what are we to make of his request to go adventuring? How can we know if it is truly something he wants, or simply a whim of his condition?"
"Does it matter?" Wrathion asked. "What harm is there in allowing him to revisit the locations of his youth if it would make him happy? It will be a simple matter for me to transport him there, take him around to the sights, and then bring him safely home."
The king's face hardened with anger. "You would defy the wishes of his family?"
Wrathion folded his arms and said firmly, "If visiting Pandaria is what Anduin wants, I shall take him there. With or without your approval."
The king and the prince glared at each other until the queen put her hand on her husband's arm and said, "In the end, though, wouldn't we rather have your father's final days be filled with joy? You said yourself how wonderful it was these past few days to see such a change in him since Wrathion's been here."
The king rubbed his eyes. "Yes, it's just that… when I think about how soon we'll lose him, it's difficult not to be greedy, to want him to stay here with us until the very end… but I also can see how humiliating it is for him to constantly be reminded that his memory is beginning to fade. I dread the day when he won't even know that he's forgotten us. I think he does as well."
"I have acquired some knowledge of this illness since I arrived," Wrathion said, "and it seems that Anduin is still very early in his decline. Such a day as you describe will not come for years, if at all." Wrathion realized too late the implication of this statement, that Anduin might not live long enough for his mental faculties to deteriorate completely, for he added, "And at any rate, visiting Pandaria will not take years, only a week or two. Surely his love for you will preserve his memories during such a brief time."
The king nodded once, reluctantly. "It is only because I love him so much that…" He paused, and took a deep, steadying breath. "How soon would you leave?"
"A day, perhaps two," Wrathion said. "We cannot leave until I have consulted with an ironsmith."
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~ To be continued ~
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A gift for alternatedoom (aka mintcreme) based on a prompt they left at the WCKM asking for Wrathion and elderly Anduin, this story incorporates headcanon enthusiastically adopted from their story "In the Heart of the Kingdom," a beautifully-written tale—simultaneously sweet, sexy, and amusing—about the circumstances and repercussions of Anduin and Wrathion's first time. This story is also dedicated to the marvelous fanartist captaindazya, whose Wrathion and elderly!Anduin comic over on tumblr has been the cause of much happy misery the past few years.
A final note: Although this story was initially sparked by a kinkmeme prompt, certain indignities of old age have been treated in a realistic rather than an eroticized manner. I chose not to tag for some of that content: if you have any concerns or questions about what might be included, please contact me at at silverr1 .
Grateful thanks to bryn for beta and use of Kirsi/Kirsidormi.
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first post 26 August 2016; rev 14 Oct 2016