One chilly evening a victorious party of champions descended on the Tavern in the Mists after defeating the sha that infested the nearby Terrace of Endless Spring. Wrathion eagerly hung on every word as they described the battle against the corrupted protectors of the terrace, followed by the fall of the Sha of Fear.
Some of the champions were obviously still on edge from the encounter, jumping at unexpected noises and glancing around nervously. Yet they had triumphed, and in return Wrathion showered them with praise and some of the finest enhanced gemstones the world had ever known.
All in all, a good day.
The Black Prince was too keyed up to go to bed at the usual time, even though the champions had dispersed and the tavern was mostly empty. A dwarven death knight sat reading in one corner, but undead didn't need to sleep, so that wasn't unusual at this time of night. A pair of troll lovers sat near the front door, somehow managing to kiss each other quite passionately despite the tusks that jutted from their mouths. No doubt they would head to their room soon for all too obvious purposes. A lone Shao-Pan monk was nursing a drink at the next table over, lost in his own thoughts and ignoring everyone else.
Wrathion decided none of them were worth his attention, and turned to his bodyguards. "You're dismissed for the night. I'm going to take a quick flight around and then retire."
Left and Right nodded and bowed.
Wrathion shifted into his true body and stretched his wings before flying out the front door. It had been several days since he'd taken the time to visit Mason's Folly, so he headed in that direction. He wasn't sure what the name meant, since it was a sturdy, aesthetically pleasing balcony of stone overlooking the Jade Forest far below. Perhaps it was considered a folly because it was essentially in the middle of nowhere, but that was precisely why Wrathion liked it.
He swooped down to land on the stone railing and sat, sniffing the chilly night air. The Blue Child was full, and the White Lady was barely visible as a half-circle behind a thin veil of fog. As he craned his neck back to admire the heavens, a flash of anxiety took him by surprise as he remembered his vision of a sky filled with felfire.
He gave a troubled sigh and returned his gaze to the rock spires rising from the Jade Forest. His efforts to bring the war between the Horde and Alliance to an end hadn't been going as well as he had hoped. At first it seemed that the Horde's war machine was poised to crush the Alliance, but now internal tensions were rising and it appeared as if Orgrimmar might be facing a civil war in the near future. This was a complication he could certainly have done without, and he had to adjust many of his plans accordingly.
Oh well. If the Horde fractured, the Alliance was strong enough to establish dominance. As long as the fighting stopped and Azeroth stood united under one banner to face the Legion, it mattered little to Wrathion which banner that was. Anduin Wrynn's friendship had made him feel fonder of the Alliance in recent weeks, but he could not let that influence him. The human prince would be dead in less than a century, yet Azeroth must continue to exist for eons to come. That was his duty, and he was determined not to let any personal feelings he had get in the way.
Still, headaches had been plaguing him with annoying frequency in the past few weeks. The stakes were terribly high, and he could not afford to hesitate or second-guess himself.
In an effort to remind himself of his connection to the planet, he was tempted to close his eyes and let his senses wander through the land. He had done so many times when he first arrived in Pandaria, but had not dared after learning that the sha infestation was the result of an Old God's remains polluting the continent. No whispers had ever intruded on his mind, and even though Y'Shaarj was dead, he was not about to take any unnecessary risks.
A shiver ran through him, but whether it was due to the cold mountain air or the thought of the Old Gods, he wasn't sure. Either way, he was beginning to feel tired enough to make sleep seem appealing, so he spread his wings and headed back toward the tavern.
Most of the windows on the second floor of the Tavern in the Mists were dark. One exception was the corner room he knew belonged to the Crown Prince of Stormwind, and another was the common room. Wrathion flew into the latter and found it empty. The jihui board was still set up with the game he and Anduin had been playing when the champions burst in with the news about the Terrace of Endless Spring. They would have to finish it tomorrow. Or was it today? He wasn't sure if it was after midnight or not.
He shifted back into his human form and headed for his room. As he passed some of the cheaper rooms, he heard grunting and moaning in a troll dialect through one of the doors, and he rolled his eyes. Just as he predicted...not that the pair had been particularly subtle about their intentions earlier.
Wrathion continued on to his own room, which was thankfully out of earshot. The Blacktalon sentry at the door bowed to him. He acknowledged her with a nod and went inside. It was dark but his draconic eyes were adapted for deep caverns and he had no trouble finding his way to the futon against the far wall. He arranged the pillows and blankets to his liking, then shifted back into a whelp and burrowed into the "nest" he had created.
He did his best to push all thoughts of the war, demon invasions, sha, and Old Gods out of his mind. Sleep came quickly.
The Black Prince's rest did not last long. Barely an hour later, he woke himself up with a frightened screech, flailing against his blankets in the clutches of a nightmare.
As he often was in his dreams, he had been back at Ravenholdt. He was practicing weapon skills on the training dummies with Fahrad when infernals began slamming into the ground all around them. The rogue tried to protect him, but one of the rocky demons barreled into them and they both went flying backward. Fahrad shoved him under the bleachers and told him to stay there, then whirled to face their attackers. Wrathion screamed at him that daggers were useless against such a foe. Just as two infernals closed in on Fahrad, about to smash him into a fiery pulp, the whelp had awoken in a panic.
He must not have cried out as loudly as he thought, because the guard in the hallway did not open the door to check on him. He was glad of that, since it was embarrassing to be seen shaking in terror over a stupid dream.
And it was stupid. Just another nightmare. Not real.
Wrathion untangled himself from the blankets and flew over to light the lantern by the window with a snort of flame. A pleasant yellow glow spread over the room. He landed on the bureau and splashed some water on his face from the wash basin there, trying to get his breathing back to normal.
It was terribly chilly in his room. That's why he was shaking. Still...his heart pounded and he found himself emitting small whimpering noises without a conscious decision to make them. Such squeaking sounds emerged when he was especially stressed or frightened. He loathed them, partly because they made him seem weak, and partly because he suspected they were designed to alert his mother to attend to him, had she been around.
Her bones lay bleaching in the sun in the Badlands, of course. Fahrad was gone, too. No one was around to recognize his distress call.
This line of thinking made reality seem only marginally better than the nightmare, and he swore under his breath as he realized he wasn't going to get back to sleep anytime soon.
He hopped off the bureau and resumed his human guise. Perhaps some tea would calm his nerves. He started for the door, then realized that his clothes were the same elaborate, royal ones he wore during the day, which felt wrong, somehow. He paused, removed his gloves and turban, and slipped off his decorated jacket. This left him with a plainer shirt, one made of white silk with a pattern of draconic runes embroidered along the collar and sleeves. No one here could read the symbols, of course, but it privately amused him to know it listed his name and titles in the most flowery, formal language possible.
With that, he opened the door. The Blacktalon sentry must have seen the light turn on, because she was ready with a bow and did not act surprised by his sudden appearance. He nodded in as casual a manner as possible and trudged toward the stairs. As he descended, he surveyed the tavern. The death knight was still reading in the corner. The only other people around were two night elves who looked like they might be sisters, chatting quietly near the bottom of the stairs. They smiled and nodded at him. He could not muster a smile in return, but he mumbled, "Hello, champions" as he passed.
He wandered into the kitchen and found it occupied by one of Tong's assistants, Xing Li. The young Pandaren was so busy kneading bread dough that she didn't even notice him at first, and when he politely cleared his throat she jumped.
"Pardon me, I didn't mean to startle you."
"Oh, Your Majesty, it's just you," she said, clutching her chest as she recovered.
"Just me?" he said, raising an eyebrow as if offended.
"I did not mean-" she started.
"It's fine," he said with a faint smile, holding up a hand to cut off her apology. "I'm afraid I'm having trouble sleeping. Would you know of a tea that might help?"
"Of course," the Pandaren said. "Valerian with lemon always helps me."
"I'll take a cup, then." He looked wistfully at the brick oven, drawn to its comforting heat.
She got out a tea pot and packets of herbs, humming cheerfully as she mixed everything together.
"While you do that, would I disturb anything if I...sit in the oven?" he asked awkwardly.
She turned toward him with a confused look, then remembered what he truly was. "Oh, certainly, go right ahead. I don't have the bread ready to bake yet."
Wrathion sighed in relief and shrank into his real body, then crawled into the oven to sprawl out amid the glowing coals. He stifled a pleased moan, letting the welcome heat soak through his scales.
A few minutes later, the kitchen door opened, and he heard Xing Li say, "Oh, hello, Your Majesty. Don't tell me you can't sleep, either?"
Anduin's voice replied, "Afraid not. My leg is bothering me, and some of the other, um, guests, are being kind of noisy."
Wrathion could not resist sticking his head out of the oven and commenting. "Are you referring to those trolls who have been rutting loudly for hours?"
Anduin gave a startled cry, and Wrathion smirked.
The human got over his surprise quickly and laughed. "Yes, actually."
"One has to admire their stamina. I've heard that a female troll in heat can mate over eighty times in one night."
"Great, I'll never get any sleep," Anduin grumbled.
"I could have one of my Blacktalons persuade them to give it a rest, if you'd like."
Anduin sat down, wincing as his bad leg bent to fit under the small table. "It's all right. I wouldn't want to intrude. They're not doing anything wrong, exactly, it's just...distracting."
Wrathion rolled onto his back in the coals and closed his eyes. "As you wish. I can't hear them from my room, so it makes no difference to me."
"How about dragons?" Anduin asked.
"What about them?"
"Eighty times in one night?"
Wrathion was glad the glow of the fire disguised the blush he felt spreading over his face. "I wouldn't know. Nor am I likely to find out any time soon."
"Your tea is ready," Xing Li said. She looked as if she wanted to laugh very badly but was controlling herself to be polite. She set the teapot on the table along with two cups, one for each prince.
"Oh, thank you!" Anduin said. "That smells lovely."
She bowed. "You are most welcome, Your Majesty."
Wrathion reluctantly left the warmth of the oven and shifted back into his human form. The flash of relief on Anduin's face did not escape him. The human prince tried to hide it, but the sight of a black whelp still made him uneasy.
"I was going to ask for warm milk, since that's what I'm used to having when I can't sleep," Anduin said, stirring his tea. "But, when in Pandaria, do as the Pandarens do, I guess."
Wrathion took a seat across from him and sniffed his cup. "Hmm...lemon wouldn't be my first choice, but if it's supposed to help..."
"I don't know if it will work the same on a dragon, but it always helps me to sleep," the Pandaren said with a motherly smile before turning her back on them to work on the breakfast preparations.
Anduin took a sip. "So if you can't hear the troll orgy from your room, why can't you sleep?"
Wrathion scowled and avoided the other prince's gaze. "Just a stupid dream."
"Ah," Anduin said with a sympathetic nod. "That'll do it." An amused smile crossed his face, and Wrathion bristled defensively.
"It's not funny! I can't help what my subconscious does when I'm asleep!" he snapped.
"Hmm?" Anduin looked startled by his reaction, then realized he had misinterpreted his grin. "Oh, sorry, I wasn't making fun of you. I was just thinking about a nightmare I had once."
"A funny nightmare?"
"Not at the time. It was during the years that 'Lady Prestor' was around. I had a dream about dragons attacking the keep, and I ran to Bolvar's room in a panic. He reassured me that there weren't any dragons in Stormwind, got me a glass of milk, and sat with me until I fell asleep again. Little did we know at the time that Deathwing's daughter was in the same building." His smile faded to a mournful look. "You asked me once about grief. I have lost a lot of people I've cared about, but you know... I was just a baby when my mother died, and, unlike your kind, we humans don't really know much at that age. I don't actually...remember her."
His words had the air of a confession, and Wrathion suspected Anduin had tried to comfort his father by pretending to share memories of Tiffin.
Anduin continued. "But Highlord Bolvar was like a second father to me. All the years my real father was missing, he took care of me, taught me, brought me treats, stayed with me when I was sick, took me fishing... I miss him most of all."
Wrathion turned the tea cup in his hands, studying the pattern on the china rather than look at Anduin. "I...understand."
When he did not elaborate, the human asked, "I don't mean to pry, and you don't have to answer, but...who do you grieve for?"
"Me? I had my entire dragonflight killed," he said flippantly. "We'd be here until dawn if I had to list them all. Good riddance to the lot."
"Yes, but as I understand it, you never met most of them."
He opened his mouth to make a snarky retort, but sighed and took a sip of tea before answering. "I had a...caretaker. He rescued me from the red dragonflight, helped me hatch, taught me to fight and hunt, and assisted me with my mission to eradicate my corrupted brethren."
Anduin nodded in fresh understanding. "I see."
The dragon's gaze was distant, but a faint smile tugged at his lips. "We never bothered with such a pointless endeavor as fishing, but he also brought me treats, and sat with me when I wasn't feeling well...comforted me after nightmares..." He took another drink of tea and fell silent, not wanting to stir up any more emotion than he already had.
"How long has he been gone?"
Wrathion considered for a moment. "I suppose it's been almost a year, now," he said quietly.
"Ah. The first year is the hardest."
"How long for you?"
"Bolvar fell in the assault on the Wrathgate," Anduin said. "So...over two years."
"And you said time makes it easier?" Wrathion asked.
"It does. It's never easy, but..." He shrugged and took another drink of tea.
Wrathion sipped his, wishing it was hotter but not wanting to complain. It did have a soothing effect.
"Well, this is dumb," Anduin said, shifting his weight in his chair.
"What is?"
"Sitting here, making ourselves feel sad. That's not going to help us get to sleep."
Wrathion snorted. "Would you prefer tales about happy bunnies frolicking in the meadow?"
"I'm a little old for that, but you aren't, so if you want me to tell you a bedtime story..." Anduin smirked.
"In case you hadn't noticed, dragons mature significantly faster than humans do. I may be only two years old, but I'm not a child."
Anduin refilled his teacup. "No, you're not. But there are still some things that only come with experience."
"That is hardly my fault."
Realizing that he was dangerously close to actually offending his friend, Anduin backed off. "So if dragons grow up so quickly, when are you old enough to...do what those trolls are doing upstairs?"
Wrathion took another sip of tea before answering, giving himself time to think of a proper way to phrase his answer. "On average, dragons reach breeding age at around one hundred years."
"A hundred?" Anduin repeated with a gasp. "But if you mature faster than humans..."
"Mental maturity and physical maturity are two different things," he said, raising his nose disdainfully. "If we stumbled around being helpless for the first decade and a half like your people do, we'd never live long enough to breed. Between the ages of five and one hundred, young dragons explore the world, establish a territory, hone their skills, and find their purpose. Many select their first mates in their eighties or nineties, but if they're the sort of pair who will reproduce it doesn't happen until later."
"What about before they turn five?"
Wrathion clenched his teeth, wishing he hadn't brought up that benchmark. "That is typically the age when whelps leave their parents' lair to strike out on their own," he admitted reluctantly.
"So you should still be-"
"I should be precisely where I am, seeing to the defense of Azeroth," he interrupted.
Anduin said nothing, merely drinking the last of the tea in his cup.
"Besides, aren't you close to the age when humans select mates?"
Anduin choked on his tea and coughed until he regained his voice. "Well, some do, I mean, not everyone..." He coughed again, then recovered his dignity. "First of all, we don't call them 'mates.' Secondly, as Crown Prince of Stormwind, it's not up to me. When my father decides it's time for me to wed and produce an heir, he'll find a suitable match."
"I sense some reluctance on your part."
It was the human's turn to squirm uncomfortably. "I know my father will try to find someone he thinks I'll get along with," he said after a moment. "He and my mother had an arranged marriage, and grew to love each other very much. It's just...he and I don't share the same...tastes."
"You would prefer to have the decision in your own hands."
"Of course," Anduin said, pushing the empty teacup away. "Wouldn't anyone?"
"I wouldn't know," Wrathion said with a bitter laugh. "As the last black dragon in the world, it's not a problem I've had any reason to contemplate."
"Why limit yourself to dragons? Jaina and Kalec seem happy."
Wrathion snorted. "With all due respect to Lady Proudmoore, Kalecgos' last lover was the avatar of the Sunwell. He is not exactly known for his orthodox tastes. Besides, considering the woefully short life span of your kind, it's hardly a long-term solution."
Anduin shook his head, choosing not to defend his "aunt" at the moment. "What about someone from the other dragonflights? You'd have more than just life expectancy in common. Although, if you're looking for heirs...can the different colors interbreed?"
"It's generally frowned upon, but there's no biological reason why they can't. We were all the same variety of creature before the Titans tinkered with us, after all. There aren't many documented cases of bi-color offspring, since such matings are both rare and subject to low fertility. The unique magical abilities of each flight do not seem to breed true across color lines, however."
There was a sly twist to Anduin's mouth. "So you have thought about it."
Wrathion sniffed defensively. "I try to gather as much information as I can about any and all topics. I have many decades to consider the options, but frankly I don't think the world needs any more black dragons. My own considerable talents are more than adequate to protect Azeroth. Having more of us around would only complicate matters." He made a dismissive gesture, as if flicking away an insect from his hand. "The Titan artifact that made me granted protection against the Old Gods' whispers, somehow, but there's no guarantee it would be passed on to my hypothetical offspring. It's not a risk worth taking, as far as I'm concerned."
Anduin sighed wistfully. "I suppose when you don't have a kingdom depending on you to secure the line of succession, you can follow your heart instead of being obligated to find someone who is the same race, of noble birth, and the opposite sex." He counted off the criteria on his fingers.
"Are you saying you're in love with a destitute male dwarf?" Wrathion teased.
Anduin laughed but did not make eye contact. "Not exactly."
"It's a pity you humans favor monogamy. Dragons take as many mates as they like. There's no need to confine oneself to a particular...type. After all, there are plenty of other reasons to have a mate besides reproduction. Or so I've heard," he said with a pointed glance through the ceiling in the general direction of the trolls. "My caretaker tried to explain certain, er, details to me once, but I informed him that the Titans' databank included plenty of information on such matters. He was rather relieved."
Anduin looked away with a shy cough. "I wish I could talk to my father about all this, but I just...can't."
"So you talk to a dragon who finds the whole business really rather boring."
"I guess so." The human gave a small laugh at the absurdity of it all, then pushed his chair back from the table and picked up his cane. "I'm going to try to get some sleep, now."
"Very well. I do hope the racket has quieted down. If not, the offer still stands. I doubt they'd continue once one of my agents burst in to complain about the noise."
Anduin chuckled and shook his head. "Not necessary, but thank you. Good night, Wrathion."
"Good night, Anduin."
When the sound of the human prince's cane tapping on the floor receded into the distance, the Pandaren cook finally turned to face the dragon slouched at the table. "Your Majesty," she began, and he jumped, having nearly forgotten she was there. "I'm going to put bread in the oven, now. If you want to, there is room in the back..."
Wrathion yawned, feeling the soothing effects of the tea make his eyelids heavier by the minute. "That would be ideal, if it wouldn't inconvenience you."
Xing Li waved off his concerns. "I don't believe the breakfast rolls will end up tasting like dragon."
He snickered and shifted back into a whelp.
"I'll try to be quiet," she said.
"Thank you."
Wrathion crawled into the back of the brick oven and stretched out among the red-hot coals. A happy groan escaped him as he curled up and closed his eyes. It wasn't practical to do this every night, but as a one-time indulgence to combat insomnia, it felt heavenly.
He swiftly fell asleep, truly warm for the first time in weeks.
It had been three days since he returned from his pilgrimage to the four temples of the Celestials, and Wrathion still ached from the grueling combat they had put him and his champion through. Fortunately, Anduin was away on Alliance business. The human prince would surely have noticed how stiff and pained his movements were, but he was able to fake it in front of the adventurers that passed through the tavern.
Left and Right dutifully stood watch as the Black Prince soaked in the hot springs in his true form. The steamy water soothed his aching muscles, and he stayed near the edge so he could sit on the bottom while leaving only his head above water. He kept his eyes closed, trying not to make any visible signs of distress even in front of his two most trusted bodyguards. They had not been happy when he insisted on making the journey to the Celestials' temples without them. Coming back bruised and battered only increased their displeasure, although both were trained too well to let it effect their performance.
Still, Left hadn't spoken to him since he returned, and he caught Right giving him worried, pitying looks whenever he moved wrong and could not suppress a soft grunt of pain.
Wrathion inhaled the steam rising from the water's surface and slouched until his neck was covered, too. The strained muscles reminded him of Fahrad's training sessions at Ravenholdt. Hours spent drilling on the practice dummies... He gave a thin smile at the memory of his first, clumsy attempts to use a polearm. He had protested that he was unlikely to ever use such an unwieldy weapon, and yet here he was, lugging a lightning-tempered mogu lance all over Pandaria.
You prepared me well, he thought to Fahrad.
Thoughts of the rogue still made an unwelcome surge of grief wash over him, but Anduin was right. As time passed the sadness dulled ever so slightly, and the good memories became even more precious.
Determined not to let himself dwell on such melancholy thoughts, he reflected on his recent journeys. Since arriving in Pandaria, he had heard many tales of the Celestials, the ancient guardian spirits who embodied the ideals of wisdom, hope, strength and fortitude. Visiting each temple and receiving the blessings of Yulon, Chi-Ji, Xuen and Niuzao had been a thrilling experience, and he wished he had more time to study each.
It was just as well that only a single mortal champion had been present to witness the meetings, however. When faced with beings of such age, wisdom and power, his own youth and inexperience had made him feel-and occasionally sound-like an awkward child. He winced to remember some of his faltering answers to their questions. The riddles and proverbs were one thing, however. Even sparring with his champion in combat was an acceptable challenge. The all-too-realistic image of his father, on the other hand...
Wrathion suppressed a shiver and briefly dunked his head underwater. He had not been expecting that. It really wasn't fair. How did the Celestials even know about Deathwing? His corruption had surfaced just as Pandaria was hidden from the rest of Azeroth. No one here was supposed to know about the insane, fiery monster he had become. Yet both Niuzao and Chi-Ji had conjured up horrifying visions of the World Breaker in his human guise, and then expected Wrathion to fight him.
The Celestials had effortlessly seen past all his bravado and bluster and cut straight to the thing that terrified him the most. Such audacity should have angered him, but the sheer terror of facing Deathwing drowned out any other emotion. The pure, gut-wrenching fear he felt the first time he saw his father's ravaged face glaring down at him had been nearly paralyzing. Had his mortal champion not been there to assist, he doubted he would have been able to move at all. As it was, he stumbled several times, pleading for the Celestials to make it stop.
Wrathion scowled and hugged himself tightly under the water, determined not to let his guards know how shaken he was by the experience. Bad enough his champion had witnessed it. He was the Black Prince, the last of his kind, guardian of Azeroth. A silly magical illusion of his safely dead father was not worth losing sleep over.
He had, though. When he closed his eyes he could still see the sprays of lava... Even now he felt his stomach flip over at the memory.
It was not only the physical danger posed by Deathwing that made him tremble, though. He had faced similar attacks before. What haunted him the most was the sheer insanity in the Destroyer's gaze. There was no sign of pity, remorse, hesitation, compassion or rational thinking in those fiery eyes. He was truly a puppet of the Old Gods.
Had circumstances been different, Wrathion would have hatched as just another tainted black dragon, subject to the unrelenting whispers and chaotic urges. His clutchmates might have killed him in the throes of their own madness, or he might have slain them. Perhaps their mother would have destroyed them. Even if he lived long enough to take a consort, his mate or offspring might have killed him. That was all assuming mortals didn't get to him first. Very few black dragons died of old age.
Wrathion glanced at Left and Right, who stood on either side of the hot spring, alert to any approaching danger. Anduin was the only person outside the Blacktalon ranks to know about their secret orders to end their prince's life if he fell into the corruption of his ancestors. Right had balked at first, but he was vehement. He would rather die than turn into...that.
Xuen's words rang in his head. "A black dragon, through and through," he had called him. What did that mean? The White Tiger had chuckled before saying it, and it hadn't sounded like it was meant as an insult, but still... After as hard as he had worked to distance himself from the rest of his flight, the Celestials seemed to think he was true to his ancestry.
Chi-Ji had addressed him with several titles: "Child of the World Breaker." "Son of the Earth Warder." "Son of Deathwing." Yulon called him "dragon-child" and "a true child of the Aspects." It felt contradictory. The Earth Warder and the Aspects were the models he was trying to emulate. Deathwing the World Breaker was the last person he wanted to be associated with.
Were the Celestials simply acknowledging his contradictory background? Warning of what he might become? Or something else?
Fatigue of both the mental and physical variety permeated every scale of his body, and as he climbed up onto the wooden platform that surrounded the hot spring he felt slightly dizzy. He flopped down to sit before anyone noticed his wobbling. His guards turned to look at him, awaiting orders.
"Right, carry me to my room," he said, stretching his arms up to her.
"Of course, Your Majesty," she said with a slight smile, stooping to pick him up. Heedless of the water dripping all over her armor, she carried him into the tavern and up the stairs. Left unlocked the door to his room, and Right set him gently on the futon.
"A towel, please," he instructed. Left grabbed one from the bureau and rubbed it over his body to dry the water that hadn't been absorbed by Right's garments.
Wrathion nodded in approval and yawned. "That will be all. Good night."
The orc bowed and headed for the door. Right followed, but then looked over her shoulder. "Your Majesty?"
"Yes?"
"Are you...all right?"
He inwardly flinched. Perhaps he hadn't been as good at hiding his disquiet as he thought. "I am fine," he said firmly. "Just fatigued from my journey."
"Even before you left, I couldn't help noticing that you don't seem as...energetic as usual."
Left nodded in agreement. "You've lost weight."
"Thank you for your concern," he said curtly, "but I am quite well. I simply have a lot on my mind, what with saving the world and all."
Right gave him a fond smile. "Of course. Sleep well, my prince." Both guards bowed and exited, leaving him alone in his room.
Wrathion looked down at himself. Had he lost weight? He hadn't noticed.
"Blast," he muttered. "Broke another claw." He scowled at the jagged end of one of the talons on his left foot. He had returned from his battering at the Celestials' temples with several others broken off, but this damage was new. Must have snagged it on something in the hot spring.
He was too tired to file it down tonight. Wrathion fluttered up to douse the lantern by the window and returned to the futon. His usual nest of pillows and blankets was undisturbed since this morning, and he burrowed in with a weary sigh. Perhaps tonight he could rest without any nightmares.
As he drifted off into slumber, the voices of the Celestials echoed faintly in his head.
A black dragon through and though.
You are stronger than your father, young prince.
Remember, you are never defeated until you decide to remain so.
Live every day with hope in your heart.
With the support of friends, nothing is impossible.
Strength used in the service of others is twice as powerful as strength spent on our foes.
Power is worthless without spirit.
Do not despair, young prince.
The black whelp began to snore softly, and no visions of terror interrupted his sleep that night.
