There was an old widow who used to come into the Ebon Wheel in the evenings to drink away her loneliness. She always carried a scrawny little dog in her arms, petting it constantly as if by unconscious reflex. Wright had never seen the animal walk and wondered if it could, or if it had just given up after years of being toted around by its master.
Sitting with her back against the cool rock wall of the grotto, slowly stroking one hand across the sleeping whelp in her lap, Wright reminded herself of that eccentric old woman, and wondered whatever happened to her.
The Black Prince had mumbled about green fire and rivers of blood for some time before dropping into a deep sleep. Night had fallen but he showed no signs of waking anytime soon.
Lekthra remained silent, and with her injured leg in a splint she wasn't likely to attack or flee, although Wright still didn't trust her. The orc sat on a fallen log, poking the fire with the stick she had used to cook her fish. Strange noises came out of the forest in all directions, but nothing approached the circle of light cast by the flames.
Wrathion squirmed and made soft noises of distress. Wright picked him up and laid him on her shoulder like an infant. "Ssh, my prince," she soothed under her breath, patting him on the back.
He sighed and sank into her warmth. Soon his breathing returned to a steady, almost-snore.
Wright knew she must look absurd, coddling a tiny dragon like a baby, but in the weeks since they met she had grown oddly attached to Wrathion. He put on airs and acted arrogant, even obnoxious, most of the time. Yet she had been awoken numerous times by him crying out in his sleep for Fahrad, or thrashing in a nightmare. The innocent wonder on his face when he explored new things reminded her of how young he truly was.
She had no children or younger siblings, but she had discovered that it was oddly comforting to remain strong for someone else. Devoting her energy to taking care of him also helped her avoid thinking about her own troubles. Wright didn't have the slightest idea where she would be now if he hadn't taken her under his wing.
She smiled at the pun, running a hand down his back.
True, if she hadn't met him, she wouldn't be shipwrecked on an uncharted landmass, stranded in the middle of nowhere with an orc, but... Somehow it was still preferable to the thought of wandering the streets of Old Town, trying to make ends meet in any way her dignity would allow.
"Dragon better?"
Wright jumped slightly at the sudden voice, looking to the orc with wide eyes.
Lekthra smirked at her reaction.
"Maybe," Wright said, looking down at the sleeping whelp as an excuse to avoid eye contact with her. "Sleeping." It was difficult to communicate with the few simple words of Common they shared...not that she wanted to talk to a member of the Horde, anyway.
"You are not dragon?" Lekthra asked carefully.
Wright swallowed back a laugh. "No. I'm human."
"Look like dragon mother," the orc teased.
Wright patted Wrathion's back gently. "I'm his bodyguard. But he doesn't have a mother, either."
"I think he is very smart for very young," Lekthra said, visibly struggling to translate her thoughts.
The human nodded in agreement. "He is."
"Strange."
"That too," Wright said with a smile.
Lekthra gave a short bark of a laugh. "All of this is strange, us three here. Orc, human, dragon."
"Yeah."
The orc eased herself down onto the ground, sliding the leg with the splint carefully to minimize the jostling. "You sit with dragon; you watch first. I sleep first, then watch and you sleep."
It took Wright a moment to figure out what she meant. "Yes, I'll take first watch."
The orc nodded with a grunt of agreement and turned her back, settling down in the dirt to sleep.
Wrathion whimpered and kicked one footpaw against her chest, and Wright made soothing noises until he was quiet again. She knew this wasn't exactly in her job description, but, then again, he'd never really given her one. Guard him from harm, yes, but other duties kept getting tacked on. Oh well. As long as the haughty little dragon was around, she knew she'd never be alone...or bored.
Warmth and softness greeted Wrathion when he awoke the next morning. It was a pleasant feeling, and for a fleeting moment he thought he was back at Ravenholdt, snug in a pile of blankets at Fahrad's side. A cascade of scents, some familiar but most not, brought him back to reality as he inhaled to yawn.
Wright was still asleep, lying on her side and facing the barely-glowing remnants of the bonfire. Wrathion was trapped in her arms, and although he was quite comfortable there, it was time to face the day. The horrific vision of the demon invasion was still fresh in his mind, but the fear was slowly sharpening into determination. Azeroth had to be united under one banner. It was the only way to avoid the planet being stripped of all life.
He had a few ideas about how to accomplish such a monumental task, but of more immediate importance was figuring out exactly where they were, if they were in danger, and how to get food and other supplies.
The whelp managed to wriggle out of the human's arms without waking her, and flapped his wings to ride up a weak thermal rising above the fire. Before he could clear the trees, however, a gruff voice reached him from below, and he came to a halt.
"Good morning, dragon prince."
He looked down at the orc. "Good morning...Lefra, was it?"
"Lekthra."
"Of course." He circled down to land before her, then shifted into his human form. "How is your leg?"
"The splint is good. It will heal."
Wrathion decided not to ask her about the pain. She would never admit to any, and might take the inquiry as an insult. "Glad to hear it," he said instead. "Now, then, have you given any more thought to what we discussed yesterday? If you wish to return to the Horde, I will not try to stop you. However, I could certainly use a strong, capable orc like you in my service."
Lekthra scowled, picking at a loose thread on her vest. "The Horde today is...not what it used to be. I was proud to fight under Thrall. He was indecisive at times, but he had honor, and always worked for the good of our people." She left her opinion of Garrosh Hellscream unspoken, but it was obvious that she believed him lacking in the qualities she had admired in the previous warchief.
"I see." Wrathion rubbed his chin. "You know, there was great loss of life when those ships foundered. Many of the dead went to the bottom with their vessels, or were swept out to sea. There doesn't seem to be anyone around to record the names of the fallen and missing. The orc you were, the one who was sworn to serve under Hellscream's banner, could easily have perished. No one would ever be the wiser."
She considered this, regarding him with a combination of respect and surprise. "You are a clever whelp," she said quietly.
"I thank you for the compliment but please, address me as either 'my prince' or 'Your Majesty,' or simply 'sir.' I have a reputation to maintain."
She startled him by laughing, which finally woke Wright. The human sat up and gave them a confused look, but upon seeing that nothing was amiss, took her time in stretching and rubbing her eyes.
"Very well, Your Majesty," Lekthra said with only a small element of mocking in her voice. "You mean to protect Azeroth from demons and other evils? Sounds like a worthy cause. I would rather follow a baby dragon than a frothing-mad warchief."
"I'm not a baby," he grumbled. "But yes, my chief concern is the well-being of this fragile world, and any assistance would be greatly appreciated. You will be compensated for your service with the best armor and weapons, and you will never go hungry."
Wright wandered closer, looking annoyed at the way they were speaking orcish and thus leaving her out of the conversation. "What's going on?"
Wrathion turned to greet her with a gracious smile. "Wright, I am pleased to announce that our company has grown by one-third. Lefthra has agreed to join us."
"Lekthra," the orc corrected.
"Yes, yes," he said with an impatient wave of his hand.
"I have to work with an orc?" Wright narrowed her eyes suspicously at the other female.
"Yes, you do," Wrathion said firmly. "And hopefully, in time, you'll both be joined by a variety of other races. We seek to protect Azeroth, and as such any of the world's denizens are welcome in my ranks. Now shake hands and promise not to kill each other." He gave a hopeful smile and looked expectantly from one to the other.
Wright hesitated, wrinkling her nose at the orc. Lekthra did not look particularly enthused, either, exposing her tusks in an aggressive sneer.
"I'm waiting," Wrathion chided, crossing his arms on his chest.
Finally, with an exaggerated air of reluctance, a green hand seized a brown one in a crushing handshake intended to instill pain rather than camaraderie. Wright set her jaw and squeezed back just as hard, not about to let an orc show her up.
Lekthra endured the counterattack for several long seconds before their arms trembled under the strain. At last they each let go, nodding in grudging respect.
"Strong grip, for a human," the orc said.
"You're not bad, either," the human sniffed.
Wrathion clapped a hand on each of their backs simultaneously. "There, excellent, we're all on the same side now. You two are to protect me with your very lives, understood?"
They both nodded.
"Splendid! Now that we've sorted all that out, let's explore a bit, shall we? I'm unbearably curious about what kind of land we have washed ashore in. This continent isn't on any maps that I've seen, but it has an aura of ancient mystery about it..." He shivered in pleasant anticipation. "I can't wait to see what lies ahead!"
With a puff of magic, the Black Prince shifted back into his true body and flew above the level of the trees to get his bearings. "There appears to be some kind of settlement to the north and west. Come on, let's go!"
Wright hurried after him, realized the orc was moving at a snail's pace due to her injured leg, and unenthusiastically turned back to help her. "This is not how I imagined my life would go," she muttered, draping one of the orc's arms around her shoulders.
Lekthra snorted in amusement and gripped her makeshift crutch with white knuckles. "The same for me."
Wrathion came back and flew in excited circles around them as they slowly made their way down the forest trail. "That's it, teamwork! Very good! One foot in front of the other, now. Left, right, left, right, left... Oh!" He burst into giggles that seemed all too appropriate for his age. "Lefthra, Wright! Lefthra, Wright! I love it!"
He flapped on ahead, leaving the orc to grumble, "My name is Lekthra."
Wright shook her head. "Good luck changing his mind. He is a prince, you know."
Wrathion's unnaturally good skill with languages enabled him to pick up the Pandaren tongue within a few days of interacting with the locals. This opened up a new world of knowledge, which he eagerly absorbed like a sponge. The Pandaren he met in the Jade Forest were gracious hosts, if a bit taken aback by his exuberance. He spent hours and hours reading every tome and scroll he could find.
Wright and Lekthra-or Right and Left, as the Black Prince now insisted on calling them-did their best to guard him, although they were treated with warm hospitality by everyone they met. The orc's leg healed quickly under the ministrations of the monks.
As it turned out, there were other survivors of the naval battle and shipwrecks, and most seemed intent on continuing the hostilities between the Horde and the Alliance. There were a few who were fed up with the conflict and more interested in exploring the new land, and these were swiftly recruited into the Black Prince's service. Within weeks the Jade Forest was swarming with reinforcements from both Stormwind and Orgrimmar. The lost continent of Pandaria was lost no longer.
Hoping to see more of the strange land before it was bespoiled by war and outside influences, Wrathion pressed westward, exploring the undulating landscape of the Valley of the Four Winds. The first time he laid eyes on a mushan, he demanded that Left and Right kill one for him so he could see what it tasted like. The orc's leg was strong enough by then to get back in action and she and the human found their fighting styles complimented each other remarkably well.
They made a bonfire to roast the mushan, a young specimen with tender meat that proved delicious to all three of their disparate tastebuds. Unfamiliar constellations sprawled across the sky as they sat around the fire, sheltered in the lee of one of the area's many green hills.
As usual, the Black Prince chose to eat in his true body, sitting so close that flames tickled his toes. "Mmm!" Wrathion moaned happily, his mouth stuffed so full of mushan that he would barely close it to chew.
"Good," Left agreed. Juices ran down her chin as she gnawed on a large chunk of meat.
Right was a bit more dignified, slicing bite-sized pieces with her dagger and then eating them off the point, but had no complaints.
Wrathion swallowed enough to speak. "Tomorrow I want to head north a bit more, if we can. Those mountains intrigue me. I can sense the earth rising quite abruptly, and a source of ancient power just beyond."
The guards said nothing. They had both accepted their roles as his followers, and without other ties or concerns they were content to accompany him wherever his whims took him.
The orc, in particular, had a much more agreeable attitude now. Part of it was the absence of pain in her leg, no doubt, but she commented occasionally on what a relief it was to be free of Hellscream's war machine. "When I swore to serve the Horde, it was to carve out a place for our people to live and prosper, not to mindlessly slaughter just because we can," she had muttered once, and Right slowly came to believe her.
The human had never even seen a real orc before the naval battle, having lived her entire life within Stormwind and Elwynn Forest. Her opinions had been formed from the myriad of sensationalized war stories shared around the tavern. She still looked at the Horde as an enemy, but if Left no longer considered herself a part of it, well...
"Your Majesty," the orc said, "I mean no disrespect, but...you may be eating too much. I only say this because I don't want you to get sick." Her Common had improved with practice, even if her accent was hard for Right to understand sometimes.
Wrathion looked over his shoulder at her, shreds of raw mushan dangling from his chin. "Your concern-" he started, then chewed and swallowed when his mouth proved too full to speak clearly. "Your concern is noted and appreciated," he said. "I think I am capable of judging that for myself, however."
Right spoke up. "She may have a point, Your Majesty. This meat is awfully rich, and it's something we've never eaten before. Best to take it easy."
Wrathion snorted. "I wasn't aware that either of you were an expert on draconic diets."
"Left's right," the human said, then grinned at how silly that sounded. "We're just worried about your well-being, my prince-as you instructed us to do."
He frowned, looking back and forth between them. "I find myself outnumbered," he grumbled. "Still, I am getting full, so I'll humor you." Despite his words, he still tore off one last helping of meat before flopping down inches away from the fire and stretching out to sleep.
Right and Left exchanged glances and shrugged. Whatever their differences, they found themselves united in their protectiveness toward their prince.
The orc looked exhausted from walking all day on her still-mending leg, so Right volunteered to take first watch. Left nodded in gratitude and stretched out beneath a blanket with her back to the fire. Right got out the small, portable tea set she had picked up at a Pandaren market and set about brewing herself a hot cup.
The first hour of her watch passed uneventfully, though Left talked in her sleep sometimes and Right found herself wishing she knew enough orcish to guess what she was dreaming about. If only she had the knack for languages that Wrathion did!
Speaking of their leader, Right noticed that the little dragon was restless. She kept an eye on him in case it was a nightmare. He had them often enough that she had learned to wake him before it got too upsetting.
This time he woke of his own accord, however. He sat up and rubbed his eyes with one paw while holding his belly with the other.
"Everything all right, Your Majesty?" Right whispered.
"Yes, yes," he said unconvincingly, standing slightly bent over. "I just... I'll be back soon." He flew up the hill and disappeared over the crest.
Right smirked knowingly. "We warned you," she mumbled, shaking her head. Normally she would have followed him for protection but she suspected he wanted privacy.
It was quite some time before he returned, still looking somewhat unwell.
"Are you all right, my prince?" she asked again.
He landed next to her and slumped forward to rest his chin on the fallen log on which she sat. "Not a word. Just brew me some chamomile tea. Now."
Right raised an eyebrow but did as he asked.
The whelp did his best to look nonchalant despite the fact that he obviously couldn't sit up straight.
While the tea steeped, she sat back down and let one hand wander over until it came to rest on his back. When he did not object she rubbed his shoulders, and he could not stop a low groan from escaping.
Right remained silent. As soon as the tea was done-she knew he liked it as hot as possible without it being ruined-she set it before him in a small cup. She kept her attention on her own drink while he sipped it. By the time he had finished the cup, he seemed to be feeling a little better.
"Thank you, Right," he said quietly. "For the tea, and for not giving voice to the 'I told you so' that I know must be rattling around in your head."
A guilty smile spread over her face. "Of course, Your Majesty."
"I'm going to attempt to get back to sleep, now." He shuffled toward the fire, where he had pushed away some dirt and ash to make a cozy indentation for himself. "And, Right? We don't need to mention any of this to Left."
"It goes without saying. Good night, my prince."
He nodded in curt approval and laid down with his back to her.
As it happened, Wrathion woke up and made another hurried trip over the hill during Left's watch, so keeping the truth from her wasn't an option. The two guards independently decided to let their prince sleep in a bit later than usual, figuring he needed the extra rest.
When he did stir, it appeared that the chamomile tea, sleep and time had combined to make him feel normal again. Neither guard said anything, for which he was grateful.
They struck out toward the line of mountains that loomed to the north. Left was the first to spot a sign of civilization: a crumbling mogu statue, a yurt, some tents, and what appeared to be a crowd of...gnomes? No, as they got closer it became apparent that these small folk were something else entirely, with overlong arms and squat bodies covered in silky brown fur.
"Greetings, friends!" one warbled in the Pandaren tongue as they approached.
Wrathion stepped forward in his human form, wary curiosity on his face. "Good day. My company and I are looking for a route into the mountains." He glanced around at the warm clothing, ropes and comically-large backpacks that the strange little people carried. "It appears you may be headed in the same direction."
"Yes, yes," he said happily. "It is a lucky day to climb the Path of a Hundred Steps."
"Hundred steps?" Wrathion echoed.
"The passage into the Veiled Stair," the furry creature said, as if that explained everything.
Wrathion successfully hid his annoyance with a charming smile. "You'll have to excuse my ignorance. I am not from your land, and I'm afraid this is all quite unfamiliar to me. I must admit, I'm not even aware of what, exactly, you are. No offense."
"Oh!" the other said, lifting the wool-lined brim of his hat to squint at the prince with small, beady eyes. He reminded Wrathion of the gophers that used to plague the garden at Ravenholdt. "You are from beyond the mists!"
"Yes," Wrathion said, pleased to be finally getting somewhere.
"Oh my, my, it is very good fortune to meet those who have traveled from so far!" He clapped his hands together in delight.
"Er, well, thank you," the prince said uncertainly.
"We are the grummles. We know the mountain trails better than anybody!"
"Excellent! Might I be able to hire some of you to guide us safely into the higher elevations?"
"Grummles are always willing to help a friend!" he said, then waited expectantly. Despite his comment, it seemed he wanted some kind of payment.
Very well. Wrathion had pockets full of jewels. He pulled out a low-quality cut of ametrine that he hadn't gotten around to enhancing yet.
"Ooh!" the grummle gasped, accepting the gem from him with gloved hands. "I have never seen a luckydo like that before!"
"A lucky what?"
"A luckydo," the grummle said, his wide grin showing off his bucked teeth. "But the best luckydos smell much stronger than this." He approached Left, sniffing eagerly. "You have a good luckydo! Let's see!"
Left glanced at the prince uncertainly, but he nodded so she reluctantly opened her knapsack.
The grummle gave the gem back to Wrathion and peeked inside her pack. "Oh yes, yes, this is a great luckydo!" he raved, holding up a stained molar the size of his hand. Left had pried it out of the mushan's skull while butchering it the day before, intending to keep it a trophy of her first kill in the new land.
Wrathion was flummoxed as to why the stranger would prize a dirty old tooth instead of a precious gem, but he wasn't going to question it. "I trust that is sufficient to hire a guide?"
"We will be climbing the Path of a Hundred Steps very soon!" the grummle said cheerfully.
Wrathion assumed that meant they were welcome to come along, because the grummle wandered off into the camp and none of the others paid him any attention.
"Odd creatures," he muttered.
His bodyguards said nothing.
"Well, we might as well rest while we can." He plopped down on a roll of tent canvas, and Left and Right took up positions on either side of him. "Sit, Left," he instructed, waving her closer. "Don't strain your leg any more than you have to."
The orc bristled and stood straighter. "I am quite fit, Your Majesty."
Wrathion shook his head, remembering orcish pride. "As you wish."
A plump grummle who was even smaller than the rest, and presumably younger, came over and stared at him.
"Hello," Wrathion said, raising an expectant eyebrow.
The young grummle rocked back and forth on his heels for a moment before blurting out, "I love your hat! You must be a great one to have such a fine luckydo, even if you do smell like a saurok!" Then, giggling nervously, he scurried away and disappeared in the crowd.
Wrathion blinked. "Um...thank you?" he said, although the grummle was well out of earshot.
"I think you have an admirer," Right teased quietly.
He shot her an annoyed look and crossed his arms on his chest.
Considering how stubby their legs were, it was shocking how easily the grummles scaled the Path of a Hundred Steps. Wrathion and his guards found themselves lagging behind. Although the change in altitude didn't bother the dragon, his guards were soon lightheaded and breathless.
"Halfway there," Wrathion said. "Assuming there really are only a hundred steps. I've been counting, you see."
Right wheezed and stopped, bent over with her hands on her knees. "Only fifty more? Piece of cake."
Left looked confused at the figure of speech. She was limping visibly but would probably keep going until she collapsed rather than admit to weakness.
"You ladies look like you need a moment," Wrathion said, although his own legs and feet were protesting the climb. "Let's take a short rest." He sat down on the next step with a gusty sigh.
Right and Left did not argue. Several of the grummles stopped with them, despite none of them looking the least bit tired.
When they had caught their breath, they continued on. By the time Wrathion counted the seventy-fifth step, his legs were burning from the exertion. He was reluctant to change into his true body in case the grummles were spooked by a dragon, but it was increasingly tempting.
"Why are we doing this again?" Right asked irritably.
"Because," he said with a scowl, "I'm curious about what lies within these mountains. I sense hidden power and ancient magic."
Right did not look like this was enough motivation but held her tongue.
They ascended into a layer of cool fog after the eighty-fifth step, making it hard to see what lay ahead. The grummles went fearlessly onward, however, and Wrathion decided to trust their experience.
"Ninety-seven," he panted. "Ninety-eight..." He forced his feet to move. "Ninety-nine... One hundred!" He moaned in relief and dropped to his knees in the dirt. "Thank the Titans!"
Left and Right knelt on either side of him, both struggling to catch their breath.
"Just a bit further, friends!" said a grummle, scurrying past with an annoying amount of energy. "The Tavern in the Mists awaits!"
Intrigued, Wrathion forced himself to his feet once more and plodded onward. A quaint building materialized out of the fog on the left side of the road, made out of wood and bamboo in a distinctly Pandaren style. The grummles milled around outside, chatting with a few Pandaren who were apparently familiar with them.
"Welcome, welcome! Come in, rest your weary feet!" called a male Pandaren from the doorway.
The Black Prince had never heard a more appealing suggestion. He called up a reserve of energy from somewhere and hurried toward the tavern.
"Welcome, travelers, to the Tavern in the Mists," the innkeeper said, spreading his arms wide. "I am Tong. May I get you something to drink?"
"You certainly may." Wrathion managed a smile and headed inside with Left and Right in tow.
Wrathion had not planned to stay at the Tavern in the Mists indefinitely. At first Left's bad leg was too swollen to continue up the mountain. She said nothing, of course, but it was clearly bothering her and she wouldn't be much use as a bodyguard when she could barely stand. Then Right came down with a head cold from the chilly mountain air. By the time they were both recovered sufficiently to move on, Wrathion found himself quite content to stay there.
The Path of a Hundred Steps and the Veiled Stair comprised the only land route into Kun Lai, which meant that virtually every adventurer who was exploring Pandaria would have to pass through there. As the varied faces of the Horde and Alliance drifted through the tavern, Wrathion's mind kicked into overdrive, formulating plans. Yes, this would be a most convenient spot indeed...
His supply of gemstones may not have impressed the grummles, but Tong was a different story. He was more than happy to rent a pair of rooms to the strange prince. Left and Right did not seem to mind sharing a room, and they shadowed him every waking moment anyway so it was really just a place to sleep. Wrathion's own room was nothing fancy, just a futon, a table with two chairs, a small bureau and a distressingly empty bookcase.
Just as the rogues of Ravenholdt had once scoured the Eastern Kingdoms for books he hadn't read, Wrathion's network of agents across Pandaria began sending him anything they could find: books, scrolls, collections of legends and poetry, historical accounts, archaeological reports...
Collecting reading material for the prince was not their primary goal, of course. As his influence spread, he installed agents-he didn't like the word "spies" as that sounded too sinister-in every major settlement on the continent to be his eyes and ears. He dubbed his followers "Blacktalons," and only accepted the most highly skilled, unquestionably loyal fighters: Horde or Alliance, it mattered not a bit. His message boiled down to "Stop fighting amongst yourselves and pay attention to the greater threats to our world, namely the Burning Legion, which is coming soon." In a world torn by rivalries, strife and war, such unified simplicity was appealing to many.
Although his own agents existed outside the Alliance and the Horde, renouncing all previous loyalties to swear themselves into his service, that did not mean he ignored the champions of those factions. Far from it. They would be very useful in their own way, if he could carefully manipulate certain key elements...
His machinations were going smoothly enough, but then fate did him an extra favor by delivering the Crown Prince of Stormwind to his doorstep.
It started as a day like any other, in which Tong served a delicious breakfast and adventurers of all stripes came and went. Some stopped to talk to the Black Prince, offering progress reports on the missions he had assigned to them. Others glared at him suspiciously and avoided the corner of the tavern where he held court. Left and Right stood behind him with their weapons prominently displayed, ever alert to any potential danger.
There were those who lumped him in with his corrupted ancestors and refused to have anything to do with him, but most of the champions who passed through were curious about him and greedy for the rewards he offered. After settling in at the tavern, he made an effort to refine his crafting skills further, and with the untapped potential of Pandaria's resources at his disposal, he improved his gem cutting techniques and blacksmithing constantly. The lure of his uniquely enhanced gems was more than sufficient to draw many mortal adventurers into his service.
After finishing his breakfast, Wrathion sat at his usual table, studying a gemstone recently delivered by one of his agents from a mine in the Jade Forest. It was a variety he'd never seen before and wanted to inspect it thoroughly before he attempted to work with it.
"Your Majesty, it is an honor!"
He looked up expectantly but soon realized Tong wasn't speaking to him. It had been an arduous task convincing and reminding the Pandaren innkeeper to address him with his royal titles. Who else would deserve such respect?
Tong was in the front doorway, blocking his view of whomever was arriving. "I hope you enjoy your stay. If there is anything I can do to make you more comfortable, you need only ask."
"Thank you, I shall," came a pleasant voice that sounded vaguely familiar.
Tong bowed low and backed up, stepping aside to let the newcomer inside. First two armored soldiers in Stormwind colors entered, surveyed the room, and posted themselves on either side of the door.
Then the person Tong had been addressing limped into the building, leaning heavily on a wooden cane. Over his golden jacket he wore a blue tabard emblazoned with the lion of Stormwind. A silver circlet held back pale yellow hair from a face that was attemping to look cheerful but could not quite mask his pain.
Wrathion had only had two fleeting glimpses of him before, but this could only be Anduin Wrynn, Crown Prince of Stormwind. What in the world was he doing here, of all places? Rumors spoke of him surviving the shipwreck, but beyond that his whereabouts had been an unknown even to Wrathion's intelligence network.
The human's bright blue eyes took in the tavern's main room with polite interest, then stopped and widened when they came to the elaborately-dressed figure at the corner table. He approached with a tenative smile, his cane tapping loudly as he walked. "Greetings," he said. "You must be the Black Prince, Wrathion."
Respect for someone of supposedly equal rank urged Wrathion to stand, but he declined to bow. "I am indeed. And you are Prince Anduin Wrynn."
"The same," he said with what seemed a slightly nervous laugh. "May I sit?"
"Please do," Wrathion said graciously, taking a seat on the side of the table closest to Left and Right. "Were you injured in the shipwreck?"
Anduin eased down onto the bench across from him with a wince of pain. "No, this was a more recent...incident." He did not offer any more explanation, and the dragon did not push. There would be time. "I had heard you were here in Pandaria, and while I'm forced to take it easy I thought it would be a good opportunity to pay you a visit."
Wrathion kept his face neutral but inwardly tensed. The human prince had suffered greatly at the hands of Onyxia. Did he blame Wrathion, somehow? Knowing Right and Left were just behind him eased his anxiety a fraction, but his greater plans would be vastly more difficult if they had to harm the heir to Stormwind's throne.
Anduin made no hostile move, however. He regarded the Black Prince with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. "I understand you are free of the corruption that twisted the rest of the black dragonflight."
And if I am not, you'll want me killed just like the reds did, I suppose, Wrathion mused to himself. Aloud, he said, "I most certainly am. My egg was purified by Titan technology, and I am quite sane, I assure you. I wish only to protect Azeroth, as my ancestors did before the taint of the Old Gods seeped in."
Anduin nodded, looking into his red eyes with an intensity that made Wrathion shift his weight uncomfortably. One of his favorite things about being in Pandaria was meeting people who had no preconceived notions about what black dragons were like.
"The world can always use another guardian," the human prince said after a moment.
More than you know, Wrathion thought. He could still see the fel green flames streaking across the sky in his mind's eye. He sat up straighter. "I am aware of your past experiences with my flight," he said. "I cannot exactly apologize for something I had no involvement in that happened before I was even conceived, but I do regret the trauma my predecessors put you through."
Anduin actually looked surprised. "Um, thank you."
"I do hope you won't hold all that against me." His tone was airy but his unease was not as hidden as he would have liked.
"Of course not," the human said with what appeared to be a genuine smile. "Each person should be free to choose their own destiny."
Wrathion gave a curt nod. "Well said. And I intend to do right by this fragile world, no matter the cost."
Tong brought over a pot of fresh tea and two cups. The princes thanked him and each took a sip before continuing their conversation.
"It can't be easy, being the last of your kind," Anduin said thoughtfully.
Wrathion scowled, holding the teacup under his nose to breathe in the steam. "When the rest of one's kind are crazed monsters, solitude is preferable." He took another drink.
"Still, it's a heavy burden to bear. Even when my father was missing, I still had people around who cared about me." The shadow of grief passed over his face, and Anduin studied his teacup before taking a long sip.
"We dragons aren't quite so...dependent. And I am hardly alone." He gestured over his shoulder at his guards.
Anduin eyed them critically. "They aren't dragons, are they?"
Left looked vaguely offended while Right tried not to smile and failed.
"Of course not," Wrathion snorted. "They are my bodyguards. And as you can see, I show no partiality. Horde or Alliance, orc or human, as long as one has the best interests of Azeroth at heart, they are welcome in my ranks."
Anduin gave an enthusiastic smile. "It's good to hear someone else believes it's possible for us all to work together! War is a terrible thing, and there are so many other, better ways we could use our resources."
Wrathion raised an eyebrow at his fervor. "War is a measure of last resort, but waged intelligently it can result in some long-term benefits...like the continued existence of life on our planet."
The human looked confused.
Wrathion continued. "Prince Anduin, I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I have had several prophetic visions in my lifetime. The first two came true. The third and most recent warned of a full-on invasion of Azeroth by the Burning Legion."
Anduin's already fair skin paled. "When?"
"I don't know. Not in the next year, from what I can tell, but soon." Wrathion frowned and took another swallow of tea. "The world must be united to face this threat, or there will be no hope for any of us." He suppressed a shiver at the memory of streets stained with blood. "I am doing everything in my power to prepare any champions who cross my path, but you should bring word back to your people, as well. You are allied with the draenei, who have more experience than any at combating the Legion."
"I have been studying the Light with the Prophet Velen. He has seen glimpses of a renewed threat, as well, but he says not all visions come true. The future can be changed if good people take a stand for what is right."
"My visions have all been accurate."
"All...two of them, did you say?" The human prince's words carried only mild teasing, an attempt to lighten the mood, but they did not set well with Wrathion's ego.
"My abilities were granted to me directly by an artifact of the Titans. I have powers the world has not seen since your civilization was throwing rocks at trolls."
Anduin looked more amused than offended. "Nothing personal, but I hope you're wrong."
Wrathion sighed and stirred his tea. "So do I."
As it turned out, Anduin Wrynn settled in at the Tavern in the Mists to spend some of his recovery in the fresh mountain air. At first Wrathion was annoyed to have attention drawn away from him. He was supposed to be the only prince around! He also found his studies interrupted all too often by the inquisitive human striking up conversations.
Anduin's initial nervousness over meeting a black dragon wore off quickly as he realized that the Black Prince was not like Onyxia and the others. For some infuriating reason he refused to believe that Wrathion wasn't lonely. The injury to his leg kept him from engaging in any kind of physical activity, but at least once or twice a day he came looking for his draconic counterpart to share something he had read or heard. The worst part was, most of it was actually interesting.
Wrathion did not want to socialize. He was busy. He had important things to do, a continent of knowledge to absorb, schemes to oversee, intelligence reports to sort out... He couldn't just sit around and talk about Pandaren folk tales with some pestering human!
So why the hell was it after midnight when it finally occured to him to take his leave and head to bed?
"Oh wow, it is late, isn't it?" Anduin said, yawning as he rose from the table. The tavern was quiet. All the sane people had gone to bed long ago.
"We'll have to continue our discussion at a more...reasonable time," Wrathion said, echoing the yawn. "And you have to stop doing this."
"Doing what?"
"Distracting me from more important matters. Making me sit up until all hours of the night talking about these idiotic books. You're a bad influence."
Anduin let out a disbelieving laugh. "Right. I'm a bad influence on a black dragon."
"A purified black dragon." He dragged his feet on the way to the stairs, with Left following close behind. "Oh, and Anduin?"
"Yeah?"
"Do try to remember that bit about the sea giants you mentioned earlier. We never got back to it and I had some thoughts that I'm far too tired to get into now."
"I'll try."
Left saw Wrathion safely to bed before retiring to her own room. Another Blacktalon agent guarded the hallway outside overnight.
The Black Prince resumed his natural body and dived onto the futon. As he got comfortable among the pillows, he remembered something else he had wanted to discuss with Anduin. There was a legend in the book they had been dissecting that reminded him of a similar tale from troll mythology, and he wanted the other prince's opinion on whether there could be a historical connection between the two.
"Drat," he muttered. "Friendship is so time-consuming." Still, for all his bluster and reluctance, he did find himself looking foward to the time they spent together in the evenings. Anduin was highly educated and intelligent, allowing him to keep up with even Wrathion's Titan-enhanced mind. As a fellow prince, Wrathion was forced to deal with him as an equal instead of holding himself above, as he did with everyone else.
At first he told himself he was only tolerating the human prince's company because he wanted to maintain cordial relations with the Alliance. Then he blamed it on guilt over how his dragonflight had treated him in the past. Now, for the first time, Wrathion admitted to himself that actually enjoyed having a real friend.
He burrowed deeper into the pillows, pulling a second blanket up to his neck. It was never quite warm enough in his room, but there was no safe way to add a fireplace.
A friend. Ha! What did he need one of those for? He had tremendous duties on his shoulders. Hanging out with a like-minded individual, discussing topics of mutual interest, was a useless distraction.
Just because Anduin could relate to the experience of being far too young to be thrust into a position of great responsibility, that didn't mean they had to be friends. Just because Anduin's mother had died when he was a baby, too, that shouldn't mean they had to sit up all night talking. Just because they both felt the current war should end as soon as possible, that wasn't a reason to grow fond of each other. Absurd.
As Wrathion's mind wandered off into slumber, he idly wondered if any of his long-dead clutchmates would have been anything like Anduin. He would never know, of course, but he liked to think they were as clever as himself. Well...not as clever, since he was specially made by Titan technology to be the perfect black dragon. But surely his siblings would have shared some of his intelligence and style, even if they were corrupted.
That night he dreamed of himself and a blue-eyed whelp tumbling around together, playing in the shadow of their mother's wing.
