Note: This is a sequel to my other fanfic, "The Black Prince: The Beginning," but as long as you're familiar with Wrathion's origins and the basics of the rogue legendary quest line, you should be able to follow it.]
After nearly an hour of wandering the dark streets and alleyways of Stormwind's Old Town on foot, Wrathion began to wonder if he could risk a brief reconnaissance flight to help him spot his destination. There were plenty of people on the streets but most were walking with purpose, avoiding eye contact, so he found it difficult to ask for directions. It was clearly not the safest part of town.
He had chosen to present himself in far plainer clothes than his usual, royal attire. It seemed wise not to draw too much attention to himself. His pantaloons and shoes were the same, but he wore a nondescript black coat held shut with a belt and over-the-shoulder-sash of unadorned leather. He kept his gold loop earring but was otherwise bare-headed. No one gave him a second glance, which was his intent, of course, but still seemed odd after being the center of attention his entire life.
His eyebrows crunched together in a frown. There were a lot of things that had been constant in his life that would never be the same. There was no point in moping about it.
An entire winter and spring had passed since he left Ravenholdt, time he had spent meandering around the Eastern Kingdoms on his way to Stormwind. His vision had directed him there, but he had no real sense of urgency. He had an entire world to explore and a destiny to uncover-a destiny that had led him to a dead-end alley, it seemed.
The narrow street was lit by a single lantern that swung on a rusty chain from the side of a weathered brick building. The sign above the swinging half-doors had lost most of its paint to the elements but was still legiblle: The Ebon Wheel. A wooden wagon wheel that had once been stained black was nailed to the wall next to the sign, perhaps as a clue to the illiterate.
The smell of stale beer, tobacco and other things Wrathion chose not to contemplate at the moment wafted into the night air along with sounds an off-key piano and raucous laughter. He took a deep breath and reached out with a gloved hand to push the door open. Before he could touch it, however, the door swung open and a young woman barged past him.
Despite nearly running into him, she neither looked at him nor apologized, but ran off down the alley.
Wrathion sniffed in disdain and sent a venemous look in her direction. Such manners!
He strode into the tavern, wrinkling his nose at the maelstrom of odors that assaulted his nostrils. Wasting no time, he went straight to the bar in search of the innkeeper. A greasy-haired man in a heavily-stained apron watched him approach with a suspicious glare.
Wrathion flashed his best smile. "Pardon me, but I'm looking for a gentleman who goes by the name of 'Muddy' Wright."
The innkeeper huffed in irritation, giving the impression that he had heard the same inquiry many times of late. "Muddy's dead. If you're lookin' to recover a debt, don't bother. Bastard didn't have two pennies to rub together. Left his daughter without even that."
Wrathion's face fell. He had been counting on Fahrad's contact to help him. "Where might I find her?"
"Don't know, don't care. That was her you met comin' in. She and the old man lived upstairs, but with him gone I had to kick her out. Muddy owed me three months' rent already, and I ain't runnin' a charity here." The innkeeper refilled the ale mug of a nearby dwarf who had clearly had several already.
It was the only lead he had. Wrathion turned and ran out the door.
As he sprinted out of the alley and onto the main street, he realized he had no idea which direction the young woman had gone, and running blindly around a tough neighborhood in the dark wasn't the wisest plan. He came to a halt, feeling foolish.
A hiccup from the shadows alerted him to the presence of a green-haired gnome who was sprawled in a doorway with a near-empty bottle of grog.
"Did you see a young lady run by here?" Wrathion asked.
The drunken gnome looked up at him, obviously having trouble focusing his eyes. "A lady?"
"Yes, a young woman dressed in blue, long hair in a ponytail, skin about the same color as mine," Wrathion said impatiently.
"Oh yeah," the gnome said as if remembering something that happened years ago. "She went that way." His gesture was vague and uncoordinated, but it told which direction to go.
"Thank you," he said, hurrying off down the street.
Wrathion had gone three blocks, passing only lightless windows and locked doors, when a dark shape slammed into him from behind. Taken by surprise, he could do nothing to defend himself and fell heavily on his stomach on the cobblestones. Someone had his arms locked behind him and was apparently sitting on his back.
"Who are you?" a female voice hissed.
"I fail to see why I should share that information with you."
"I've got one very good reason right here, smartass." A dagger appeared in front of his face, moonlight gleaming on the blade.
Self-preservation instincts kicked in, and Wrathion quickly shifted back into his true body and shot up into the air to perch on the roof of the nearest building.
"What the hell?" his assailant gasped, stumbling to regain her balance after the person she had pinned down seemed to disappear.
Looking down from his safe vantagepoint, Wrathion now recognized her. Well, well... He dropped down to land behind her, resuming his human guise as his feet touched the ground. "Miss Wright, I presume?"
She whirled around and stood poised to attack, daggers in each hand. He had been around enough rogues to know a skilled one when he saw it. This woman knew what she was doing. Perhaps all was not lost, after all.
"Who and what are you?" she asked, dark brown eyes narrowed as she studied him with fresh wariness.
"My name is Wrathion. I believe we have a mutual acquaintance in Grand Master Fahrad of Ravenholdt."
"My worthless father knew him," she spat. "I never met the man."
"I see. Then news of his death will not cause you any particular distress."
"People die all the time." Her tone was flippant but there was a hint of pain in her eyes. "Did you kill him?"
Wrathion looked down with an uncomfortable sigh. "Fahrad had been ill for a very long time. He hid it well, but in the end it was a battle that could not be won." It was not exactly a lie.
The woman blew air out of the side of her mouth unsympathetically. "If you're looking for my father, he finally drank himself to death a week ago."
"So I heard. My condolences."
"Not necessary."
Wrathion raised an eyebrow. "I was told he had knowledge of the city and its waterfront. I seek passage on a ship but find myself woefully ignorant of ocean travel. Perhaps you would be willing to assist..?"
The woman relaxed her posture somewhat, clearly not trusting him but not anticipating an imminent attack. "I don't have time for this." She turned to leave.
"I would make it worth your while," Wrathion said with a smirk.
She looked back at him, eyes drawn to the gold coins in his outstretched palm. "You want directions, ask a city guard."
"I was thinking of a more...involved arrangement."
She tensed again, daggers at the ready. "I may be out on the street but I'm not that desperate yet. Keep your damned money."
Wrathion remained calm. "You misunderstand me. I am in the market for a bodyguard. You, Miss Wright, appear to be quite skilled with those blades, and you managed to get the jump on me earlier, which is no easy feat. I could use someone with your...talents." He met her suspicious glare with a reassuring smile.
"A bodyguard?" She snorted. "I've got better things to do than babysit some spoiled little rich boy."
His smile faded into an annoyed pout. "I believe there is still some confusion. Let me clarify." He glanced around to make sure no one else was nearby to see, then shifted back into his natural body.
Miss Wright inhaled sharply and gawked. "You're a dragon," she murmured.
"Not just any dragon. I am the Black Prince Wrathion, son of the fallen Earth Warder and last of my flight."
She looked appropriately impressed, and to his relief did not comment on his size or cuteness. "Well. That's...different."
He puffed out a mouthful of smoke for effect before changing back into a human. "So as you can imagine, I have many secrets to guard and enemies to avoid. If you would be willing to assist me, I would see to it that you are fed, clothed and properly equipped. It is my understanding that you are currently without a home or other attachments. I can offer you a fresh start. I cannot guarantee your safety, but I promise it will never be boring."
She stared at him with a distant, thoughtful expression.
He let her think, brushing dirt from the front of his coat and adjusting his belt.
"I won't sleep with you," she blurted defensively.
He looked up with a surprised laugh. "No offense, Miss Wright, but I haven't the slightest interest in...that. You are a human." He made a disgusted face. "Moreover, I am not yet even two years old. I don't know how familiar you are with the life cycle of dragons, but I won't be physically mature enough to engage in such activities for at least a hundred years."
She stammered in embarrassment for a moment before clearing her throat. "Ah. Good. In that case..." She considered again, squinting at him uncertainly. Her eyes wandered past him, back in the direction of the tavern. At last she drew herself up to her full height and met his gaze without fear. "You've got yourself a bodyguard."
"Excellent! And you may address me as 'Your Majesty,' 'my prince,' or 'sir,' whichever seems appropriate at the time."
She nodded, then thought better of it and made a formal bow. "Yes, Your Majesty."
A smug grin spread across his face. "Now then, let's get you a proper set of armor and weapons. I have a reputation to maintain, and I can't have my personal bodyguard looking shabby."
The young woman took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then fell into step behind him, silently shadowing him as he walked down the street with renewed vigor.
After a shopping spree that barely made a dent in Wrathion's gem collection, his new bodyguard was outfitted with the finest leather armor and crossbow that money could buy.
"I'll craft you some better daggers in the morning," he said, trying and failing to stop a yawn from interrupting him. "For the moment, I believe some sleep is in order. I trust you know of a suitable inn nearby?"
"Uh, I guess," she said.
"As you have seen, money is no object."
"Right. This way, then." She led him down a side street through the Trade District, toward the canal. A welcoming light shone from a building whose sign declared it to be "The Dewdrop Inn."
"It's a pun, you see," Miss Wright said. "You supposed to think of it as 'Do drop in,' like an invitation."
Wrathion blinked wearily. "Humans are very odd. Regardless, it looks like as good a place as any." He pushed open the door and went inside.
A matronly woman sat by the fire, knitting needles flashing with practiced skill. "Well hello there, youngsters," she said, standing up to shake their hands. "Looking for a place to stay?"
"Indeed," Wrathion said with his most ingratiating smile. "Would you happen to have a vacant room?"
"That I do," the innkeeper said, going to a small cabinet mounted on the wall by the stairs. "Five gold pieces a night for the both of you." She pulled a key from the cabinet and held it out to him.
"Excellent." Wrathion produced some coins from his pocket and presented them to her with a flourish, taking the key with his other hand.
"Just one room?" Miss Wright whispered suspiciously.
"More than adequate, I assure you," he whispered back. Then, turning to the innkeeper again, he made a small bow. "Thank you, madam." He climbed the stairs, and his new accomplice followed uncertainly.
The Black Prince found the door whose number matched the one on the key and tried the lock. The door swung open with a creak, revealing a modest room with simple but clean furnishings. The single bed took up most of the room, leaving a chest of drawers to dominate the far corner beside the window.
Wrathion gently blew a puff of flame to coax some life into the coals in the small fireplace.
"Where am I supposed to sleep?" she asked, frowning at the cramped quarters.
"Oh, the bed is all yours, Miss Wright," Wrathion said with a smile. "I prefer...different accomodations." He took one of the two pillows from the bed and dropped it on the floor in front of the fireplace. Faster than her eyes could follow, he shrank and shifted back into his true body and made a belly-flop onto the pillow. "Ah, very nice. Do try to wake me at least three hours before noon. I have business to attend to tomorrow, but at the moment I need some sleep."
"Um...all right." The woman wandered toward the bed, watching the whelp out of the corner of her eye as he stretched out in front of the fire with a contented sigh.
"Oh!" he said suddenly, opening his eyes to look at her again. "I'm terribly sorry, I never did ask your first name, or how you would like me to address you."
She stared in surprise at the curious little dragon, still not entirely sure how to take him. "Uh, well, my first name is Dexy, but you can call me Wright. I'm used to answering to that."
Wrathion smiled. "Very well, then. Sleep well, Wright."
"You too...Your Majesty."
He nodded in approval and rolled over to face the fire.
The young lady shook her head in disbelief at the bizarre turn her night had taken. From being kicked out onto the street to becoming the personal bodyguard for a pint-sized dragon with a ridiculously large vocabulary... Oh well, tomorrow couldn't get any weirder. She took off the outer layer of her leather armor and dropped onto the bed. Sleep claimed her almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.
A couple of hours spent watching the Black Prince working at the forge convinced Dexy Wright of two things. First, he was extremely powerful. Second, he knew it, and had an ego to match. She had to repeatedly remind herself that he was technically a child, despite looking like a young man in his late teens. His insatiable curiosity and self-centered whims hinted at his true age, however.
Stormwind's Dwarven District was abuzz with activity thanks to the new auction house and bank which had opened there recently. The area around the forge was crowded with engineers and blacksmiths. Wright stood just behind and to the right of the prince as he worked at an anvil, sweat rolling down her forehead. She didn't dare complain about the heat when he was making her new weapons, but she did marvel at how unaffected he was by it. Then again, she had awoken that morning to find him lying with his head in the fireplace, none the worse for wear from the glowing coals that had served as his pillow.
Wright had grown up hearing plenty of tales about dragons from visitors to the tavern, but so many of the tales were ridiculously embellished that she had little hope of separating fact from fiction. Then, of course, the city had been rocked by the revelation of Lady Prestor's true identity some years ago, and a swirl of rumors still obscured exactly what had happened. For awhile after Onyxia was ousted from the keep, Stormwind's residents half-jokingly accused each other of being black dragons in disguise. The paranoia soon wore off and life returned to normal.
Now that she actually met a black dragon in the flesh...and scales...any doubts she had about hidden dragons in her social circle were banished completely. Perhaps it was just because he was so young, but Wrathion was not exactly subtle about his true species.
As he worked on her daggers, he breathed occasional bursts of flame at the steel, and guided fiery tendrils of energy around the blade with his hands. The use of magic wasn't terribly unusual, but the fire breath did attract some stares. Several times Wright considered tapping him on the shoulder to suggest a more discreet approach, but the prince was nearly in a trance and she feared that breaking him out of it would draw more attention than his fire breath.
At last, Wrathion turned to her and held out a pair of daggers with the same giddy, proud expression that a child would have upon presenting his mother with a daisy chain. "There, finished!" he announced. "Blades worthy of the Black Prince's personal bodyguard."
Wright took the daggers from him carefully, and as soon as her hand closed around the hilt of one she raised her eyebrows in surprise. Already she could tell these were very fine blades, perfectly balanced and gleaming with hidden energy. Never in a thousand years would she have expected to hold such weapons, much less be given them for her own use.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," she said quietly. "They're...amazing!"
He gave a smug grin, looking very pleased with his handiwork. "May they serve you well in your mission."
She slid the daggers into sheathes hidden in her leather tunic. "They should, although if you can breathe fire I'm not sure you need much protecting."
His smile receded. "You still managed to ambush me last night. A lot of good flame breath does when you're pinned to the ground."
She shrugged and nodded.
"Now, then, I'm famished. Let's grab a bite to eat from that establishment over there before we visit the waterfront, shall we?" He did not wait for her response, and would probably not have listened if she had objected. She silently followed him into a nearby tavern. Compared to the Ebon Wheel, this was a place fit for royalty. It was well-lit by polished lanterns at regular intervals along the ceiling, and the tables were spotlessly clean.
Wrathion swept off his turban and bowed his head to the barmaid who greeted them. "Two for lunch, please," he said in his most charming voice.
The barmaid blushed and stammered, completely taken in by his exotic looks and regal demeanor. It was a bit past midday, so most patrons had already finished their lunches and left. The barmaid showed them to a small table in the corner.
Wrathion sat facing the door, leaving Wright to take the other chair. Without waiting for a menu, he smiled up at the hostess and said, "I will have a large steak-very rare, if you can, I want to see blood-and a glass of warm apple juice."
The barmaid turned to Wright expectantly, and the young woman found herself tongue-tied. "Just...bring me a sandwich."
"Beef, pork, mutton or chicken?"
"Uh...pork?"
"Anything to drink?"
"Apple juice is fine. Just, er...chilled, not warm like his."
The barmaid left to relay their orders to the cook.
Wrathion turned to his guard with a curious smirk. "I've never set foot in an eating establishment like this before but I think I managed with sufficient grace. You, on the other hand, used to live in a tavern, yet you're acting completely out of your element. Why is that?"
Wright scowled to mask her embarrassment. "You saw the Ebon Wheel. It was nothing like this. You also need money to order food. I was lucky to get the leftover scraps at the end of the day."
"Ah. I see." Wrathion traced the woodgrain of the table with a gloved finger for a moment, obviously thinking. "Well, if you're to operate at the kind of efficiency I expect, you'll need proper nourishment. Consider it part of the job."
She shook her head slightly, still not quite able to believe the arrangement she had stumbled into.
"Now, there is something else I should explain, because if the situation arises I need you to be prepared." Wrathion regarded her with a serious expression.
"What is that?" she asked, trying very hard not to be distracted by his glowing, red eyes.
"Among the many abilities and talents I was born with, I have the gift of prophecy. I have experienced two incidents in which I fell unconscious for a short time and had some kind of vision of the future. If at any time you see me collapse with my eyes open, looking at things you cannot see, you will know I am having a third such episode. They seem to strike without warning, and when I awake I feel generally horrible. I will be too dizzy to stand or walk, so I will rely on you to keep me safe until I recover."
Wright's eyes widened as he talked. This was well outside her realm of experience. "Um, all right. I'll keep that in mind."
"Also, my kind is violently allergic to cinnamon. Keep it away from me at all costs."
She nodded.
"I prefer my bath water at a temperature you would consider scalding hot, close to boiling."
Until that moment she hadn't been aware that her duties as a bodyguard would include preparing the prince's bath, but she nodded again. It was still a small price to pay for the clothes, weapons, food and shelter he had given her.
"I hate to be interrupted when I'm reading."
She kept nodding.
"However, time can move terribly fast when one is engrossed in a good book, so if you notice me in danger of missing an appointment or losing sleep, please do speak up."
"All right," she said, wishing she had a pencil and paper to take notes. Remembering his true age, she was tempted to ask if he needed her to read him a bedtime story and tuck him in, but then she recalled how he slept half in the fireplace. She smiled. "I'll do my best, my prince."
"I'm sure you will. Now, moving on to other matters...in the second of the prophetic visions I was speaking of a short time ago, I saw myself boarding a ship in Stormwind Harbor. I'm afraid I couldn't tell you the name of the ship or where it was headed, but the vision was very clear that I was meant to get aboard. The ocean was covered in a thick fog at the time, and I felt a strong compulsion to sail through it to see what was on the other side. That was the entirety of the vision. I admit I'm not really sure what it is supposed to mean, but that's why I've come here to Stormwind. I'm hoping if I walk along the harbor something will trigger a memory or another vision, and I'll know what I'm supposed to do next."
"I know some dock workers," Wright offered. "They might be able to pass on some information."
"Excellent. That's just what I hoped."
The barmaid approached with a ceramic plate balanced on each forearm. "Here you are, hot and fresh," she said with a flirtatious smile at Wrathion.
He rewarded her with a gracious nod and a smile of approval at the barely-cooked plate of meat. The barmaid actually made a curtsey before giggling and fleeing back to the kitchen.
Wright wasted no time in picking up her pork sandwich. It had been days since her last true meal, and the smell of the food made her stomach twist in hunger.
"I normally prefer to eat in a more, er, 'natural' state, but since we find ourselves in public I'll remain as I am," Wrathion explained, awkwardly fumbling with a knife and fork.
Wright wondered if he would be offended if she offered to cut his steak for him, but he seemed to be managing so she concentrated instead on her own food.
They ate in silence, with Wrathion struggling to use utensils in a dignified manner, and Wright inhaling her lunch as if she had never tasted food before.
A bit of steak went flying off his plate and onto the table between them, and Wright looked up in surprise. Wrathion scowled and returned it to his plate. "These tiny weapons aren't as easy to use as they look," he muttered.
"They might work better if you flipped the fork over the other way," she suggested.
He did so without comment.
Wright tried not to stare as he sawed angrily with his knife, attempting to slice off a piece of steak. His vigor made the plate slide on the table, knocking into his juice glass. Wright's hand shot out to grab it before more than a few drops had spilled.
"Would you like me to do that, Your Majesty?" she asked finally.
"No! I am perfectly capable of-ow!" His next effort resulted in the knife slipping across the porcelain plate and stabbing into his hand. "Damn it!" His eyes glowed even more red in agitation as he dropped the knife and inspected his hand. Fortunately, the glove had protected him from any serious injury, save the one to his pride.
"Please, my prince, allow me," Wright said graciously, not waiting for a response before grabbing the knife and fork and quickly dividing the bloody steak into bite-sized pieces.
He slouched against the back of his chair, a hint of frustrated tears in his eyes. When she finished, he angrily snatched the fork out of her hand and resumed eating. He muttered something about cutting his own food being beneath his dignity, that he was a prince, after all, and how dare humans design such ridiculous tools for something as simple as eating.
She tried not to smile and finished her lunch without a word.
When that ordeal was complete, Wright led him across town to the harbor. With a stomach full of fresh meat and bright sunshine baking down, the Black Prince was in a better mood already. Gulls' keening cries reached them before the docks even came into sight, and his sensitive draconic nose detected salt in the air.
Wright led him down a long course of stone stairs from street level to the waterfront. Wrathion craned his neck to look around in all directions, an expression of childish delight on his face. "Fascinating," he breathed, taking it all in.
Ships of elven and human designs were moored at the piers, and a constant stream of sailors, porters, travelers and soldiers scurried between them. Guards in Stormwind colors were stationed at cannons and weapon stockpiles here and there. He turned to look back at the city proper, and noticed that the large barracks at the southern edge of the wall was a crumbling ruin, blackened as if by a devastating fire. Much of the structure had fallen into the ocean.
"What happened there?" he asked, pointing.
Wright hesitated. "That was...Deathwing, Your Majesty. He set fire to that whole part of town, and dropped the park into the sea. Between him and Onyxia, this city hasn't had the best experiences with, um, your family."
Wrathion stared, imagining what the attack must have looked like, and suppressed a shudder. "I do hope you won't hold it against me."
A gentle smile crossed her face. "Well, it sounds like you weren't even born yet, so no. Not your fault."
He nodded gratefully but still felt a chill despite the afternoon sun. They continued on down the stairs. "I never met my father," he said quietly, and Wright turned around to listen. "A fact I do not regret in the slightest, believe me. But rest assured, I am nothing like him. He was a puppet of the Old Gods, maddened by centuries of corruption. My egg was cleansed of their influence, and I was born free of the whispers that plagued the rest of my flight. The original mission of the black dragonflight was to shape and protect the earth, a task I wish to take on...somehow." He sighed and looked out to sea with a troubled frown.
She was not presumptious enough to touch him, but she came up close beside him and joined him in looking out at the horizion. "Your Majesty, I don't know much about dragons and Old Gods and shaping the earth, but... I do know about having a worthless, angry father. Be glad you never met yours. You're better off without him. My pa never destroyed cities, and when he was sober he was a very good rogue, but mostly..." She shook her head. "Don't look back. Your life is your own. Make the most of it."
He turned to face her with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Wright. I intend to."
She smiled back and resumed the trip down the steep stairs. When they reached the bottom, Wrathion immediately wandered off along the docks, and Wright dilligently shadowed him, alert for any pickpockets or other threats. At each pier they passed, he mumbled, "No, that's not it" or "Not that one..."
Just as she was about to suggest tracking down one of the dock workers she knew to ask for advice, he stopped so suddenly she nearly ran into him.
"This is it! This is the one from my vision!"
"This one?" Wright swallowed nervously. "Your Majesty, this is a military dock. Stormwind's royal fleet is the only one that uses it."
Wrathion rubbed the small patch of beard on his chin thoughtfully. "Interesting..."
"We can't just walk up and get aboard a naval vessel," she said.
"Hmm."
Just then, a stout man walked up and began nailing a scroll of parchment to a nearby signpost. When he left, Wrathion strolled over to see what he had posted.
"Wanted," he read aloud. "Deckhands and cabin stewards for a voyage to Tanaris, departing Tuesday next from this pier. Applicants should contact the Royal Navy recruiter in Stormwind Keep."
"They're not going to let a black dragon join the royal navy," Wright said flatly.
"They won't know I'm a black dragon," he said with heavy condescension.
"Don't be angry at me for saying this, my prince, but...you have scales on your cheeks."
He flinched and put a hand to his face. "Titans damn it," he grumbled. "That happens sometimes when I'm distracted. Please do point it out when it does." He closed his eyes to concentrate, and the hint of scales faded away, leaving only normal-looking human skin.
"There's also the whole 'red eyes' thing."
"Oh, yes. Um, well..." He scrunched up his face as if suffering intestinal distress, and the glow in his eyes dimmed to a ruddy brown. "Is that better?" Before he finished asking the question, the crimson flared back up, just as brightly as before.
"For about two seconds," she said apologetically.
He crossed his arms on his chest and huffed in frustration. "Shapeshifting takes practice. I'm afraid I'm not as...experienced as I would like to be." He watched people of all shapes, sizes and races walk by, trying to think of a solution. He spotted a male night elf strolling along with a small owl perched on his shoulder. "I wonder... Some mortals keep small creatures as pets."
"Your Majesty, I don't think-"
But he was already walking quickly toward the steps that led back up to the city. She had no choice but to follow.
