Two small, glowing red eyes were barely visible in the shadows underneath a thick patch of ferns. Had anyone been walking along the narrow strip of beach near the Red Crane's training grounds, they could easily have passed by without noticing, which was exactly as the owner of the eyes intended.
A tiny wisp of smoke rose through the ferns as the figure sighed. He had hoped being out here alone, getting some fresh ocean air, would help him shake the gloom that enshrouded him. So far, he had spent at least an hour staring out to sea, and he felt no less horrid.
Seagulls screeched overhead and enormous crabs wandered in the surf, but otherwise the beach was deserted.
The red eyes drooped shut, and in his mind's eye no living thing stirred under a sky filled with green fire. He came awake with an alarmed snort, then settled back on his stomach in the dirt and fallen leaves. The sun-baked sand a few yards away looked inviting indeed, but for now the privacy of the shade was preferable.
The last thing he needed was some adventurer wandering by. He could just imagine it... "Oh look, it's that failure of a prince! I can't believe we spent all those months running around doing tasks for him. What fools we were!"
The black whelp curled into a tighter ball, trying to make himself even smaller. Maybe he could even disappear.
The sound of flapping wings grew nearer and at first he assumed it was a seagull. Then he caught a hint of draconic scent on the breeze and perked up warily.
Moments later a crimson whelp swooped down to land right in front of his hiding place. "Are you done moping yet?"
"I am not moping. I am...thinking. How did you find me? I picked this fern specifically because its strong scent would mask my own."
"I can sense your life energy," Cybela said smugly.
"Damn reds," he muttered.
As usual, her cheerful mood was impervious to his snark. "Come on back to the temple and have something to eat."
"I'm not hungry," he said purely to be contrary. He was, of course. It was well after noon.
"Some of the Red Crane's initiates were attacked by a tiger this morning. They escaped with only minor injuries and brought the carcass back to the temple. They say we can eat it as long as we leave the hide intact. One of your Blacktalons is skinning it now."
Wrathion's mouth watered. "Well, in that case... Wouldn't want to be rude." He crawled out of the ferns, shook himself to get the bits of dirt and plants off his scales, and flew off without waiting for Cybela. She had no trouble keeping up, however, and they arrived back at Chi-Ji's temple together.
The dragons' feast was a bit too messy for the dining hall where the Red Crane's trainees normally ate, so Wrathion and Cybela took their lunch outside to one of the terraces overlooking the Krasarang jungle. Neither whelp spoke much as they tore into the fresh tiger meat, eagerly devouring all the choice bits.
"I'm stuffed," Cybela said with a happy moan, flopping onto her back on the cool stones.
Wrathion picked his teeth with a bone shard, in a slightly better mood now that he had a full stomach. "Well, you can't nag me for not eating enough raw meat for a day or two, at least," he said with a smirk.
"And there's leftovers! Although we ate the best parts already."
Wrathion poked the tiger's skull with his foot. "We should have Left crack that open for us tomorrow."
"Why?"
"Some cultures-many troll tribes, in particular-believe that eating the brains of your enemies will give you insight into how they think."
"You want to know how tigers think?"
"Not particularly, but..." He sighed. "If it works, and I can get my claws on a demon's brain..."
Cybela gawked at him. "You wouldn't!"
He slouched back against a stone pillar. "I have to do something. The Legion is still coming, and there's so much I still don't know."
She tilted her head at him sympathetically.
"I've always had visions to guide me through the major crossroads in my life. Ever since Orgrimmar's fall I've been expecting another, but it's been over a week, and..." He let his voice trail off with a frustrated scowl. "I'm adrift, Cybela. I don't know where I should go or what I should do, and I hate not knowing."
She scooted closer and put an arm around his shoulders. "Maybe that means you should take some time for yourself for once, instead of worrying about the fate of the world."
He sniffed derisively. "Oh, certainly, let me laze around on the beach while demon hordes bear down on Azeroth. I'm sure they'll delay their plans if I explain politely that I really need a vacation."
Cybela rolled her eyes. "You said a protracted siege to topple Thunder Bluff would be acceptable, if need be. Now that isn't necessary, thank goodness, so we can use that time to relax and regroup."
He stood up and shifted into his human form, brushing dust off his jacket before walking toward the main temple. "If I could just trigger another vision somehow..." he muttered.
She resumed her elf body and followed him, shaking her head in worry.
Later that day, Cybela opened the door to the room she was sharing with the Black Prince and immediately reeled backward as an overpowering odor assaulted her nostrils. "What the-?" she sputtered before coughing too hard to speak.
"Hello," came a voice that was familiar yet strangely mellow.
She put a hand over her nose and mouth to dull the scent and looked into the room.
Wrathion sat slumped back in a chair with his feet up on a box. His jacket was open in the front to show the fine silk shirt he wore underneath, and his turban lay discarded on the floor nearby.
As Cybela approached she realized the cloying smell was coming from a brown wad of herbs smoldering in a clay dish on the table next to him.
"What is going on in here?" she asked, coughing.
"My dear red sister," Wrathion said dreamily. "How are you this lovely afternoon? Come, sit. Breathe."
"Breathe? Yeah, right!" She hacked and gasped for breath and opened the single window behind him.
"Hey," he protested mildly. "Don't."
"What is that?" she demanded, pointing to the smoking object on the table.
He picked it up awkwardly, his hands not quite as coordinated as usual, and inhaled deeply. "Isn't it amazing? It's like breathing peace and harmony. Anduin would love it. I love it. I love you. I love him. I love everything." His glazed red eyes filled with tears quite suddenly, and he stumbled to his feet to throw his arms around her. "You're so good to me," he sobbed noisily.
"Whoa, whoa, Wrathion," she said, lowering him back into his chair. "I don't know what's in that stuff you're burning but it's making you act really weird."
He had already stopped crying. Instead he started giggling. "You know what's weird? Tauren. They look like cows, but they aren't cows."
She stared at him in complete confusion as he laughed hysterically, tears rolling down his cheeks.
"That's a funny word, too. Cows. Caaaaowwwwzzz." He giggled even harder, wheezing for breath and nearly falling out of his chair.
"Oh, for Titans' sake," Cybela grumbled. She took the burning lump of herbs, clay dish and all, and hurled it out the window.
"Hey!" he whined. "That was mean!" His laughter was gone in an instant, replaced once again by tears of distress. "Why is everyone so mean to me? My own champions beat me up in front of the Celestials! Me, a poor, orphaned whelp! After I gave them such nice things! Stupid King. Stupid Alliance. I hate them. They're stupid, and I hate them."
Cybela tried not to laugh. "Come on, Wrathion. Let's get you some fresh air."
He blubbered and hiccuped as she slung one of his arms over her shoulder and half-walked, half-dragged him out of the room. Fortunately it was a short distance to an open veranda, and she used the last of her strength to maneuver him onto a stone bench.
"I can't save the world. I'm only three!" he said with a keening sob, flopping sideways to lie down on the bench.
"Breathe, Wrathion," she said, waving her hands in front of his face. "Get fresh air in your lungs."
"I want Fahrad," he whined, turning his head away from her.
"Ssh, it's okay," she soothed.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"
"It's all right, Wrathion," she said, stroking his black hair. "Calm down."
"I'm sorry!" He covered his eyes with his forearm as his chest heaved with ragged sobs.
Cybela leaned down and gently moved his arm away from his face. "There, there," she said. "You're okay. It's that funny smoke making you feel this way. It'll get better now."
His bleary eyes widened as if he had just noticed she was there. "No, get away from me!" he yelled, scrambling backward until he slid off the bench and fell hard onto his rear. He cowered behind the bench, ducking his head to hide underneath it. "I'm not your prisoner! Don't hurt me! Leave me alone!"
Cybela looked around to see if anyone was witnessing this, partly because she would have welcomed some help and partly because she knew when he came to his senses again he would be utterly mortified. She turned back to him and held her hands out in a universal "I'm unarmed, I mean no harm" gesture.
"It's all right. Nobody's going to hurt you. You're safe. Take a deep breath."
Wrathion peeked at her over the bench. "What...? I don't know what's happening," he mumbled.
"You inhaled some kind of herbs that made you...strange," she said, taking a step closer. "You'll be okay. Just calm down."
He sat up slowly, clutching his head. "So...dizzy!"
She hurried over and stooped to steady him. "Just sit still. I think it's starting to wear off. Deep breaths now, come on. That's it."
Wrathion's eyes were watering heavily but his gaze was more focused now. "I feel like I'm flying but I'm in my human form so I can't be, but everything's so blurry, and how did I get here?" he rambled, then began to cough. Cybela patted his back as he gasped and shuddered.
When the coughing fit was over, he seemed more lucid. "What in the name of Khaz'goroth's sooty beard happened to me?" he panted.
"There were some weird herbs burning in our room, and they made you kind of crazy."
He stood up very slowly, wobbling with vertigo, and plopped down on the bench. "Phew." He put a hand to his chest and took several deep, steady breaths. "Well. Ahem. Apparently that incense effects dragons a bit more strongly than it does trolls."
"Is that where you got it?"
He nodded. "I consulted a few of my agents, and a former shaman of the Darkspear tribe said that burning that combination of herbs opens the mind to visions and hidden wisdom."
"That is definitely not what it did to you."
He cleared his throat and massaged his forehead. "Ugh. Remind me never to do that again."
"I don't think that will be a problem."
He glanced around, having trouble focusing his eyes. "Did anyone see me like that?"
"No."
"Good, good." He turned to her. "Except lucky you, who once more gets to see me at my most pathetic. I apologize."
She smiled and embraced him. "That's what big sisters are for."
"You're not that much older than I am."
"Doesn't matter. I'm still older."
Wrathion pursed his lips. "Is there any of that tiger meat left? I'm ravenously hungry all of a sudden."
Cybela shrugged. "I'll go see. Don't move from this bench until I get back."
He coughed once more and stayed put.
"Letter for you, my prince," came the husky voice of a worgen.
Wrathion looked up from his breakfast of crab meat. His draconic mouth was too full to speak properly so he motioned for her to set the envelope on the table. The Blacktalon did so, bowing obediently before backing out of the prince's chamber. He was eating alone, as Cybela had long since awoken and gone about her day. Wrathion slept much later than usual as the last of the grogginess from the previous day's herbal experiment wore off.
Still chewing, he fluttered across the table to get a closer look at the letter. It was fine stationery, clearly not made of the rice paper common in Pandaria, and the wax seal was stamped with the lion insignia of Stormwind.
Anduin.
The other prince's first communication since the fall of Orgrimmar.
Wrathion nearly choked in his hurry to finish the mouthful of food. As soon as he was able to swallow, he shifted back into his human form and tore open the envelope.
"Dear Wrathion," he read. "I hope this letter finds you well. I am sure word of the events in Orgrimmar has reached you by now, and I imagine you have mixed feelings. On one hand, the war is over and will no longer be a distraction or a drain on resources that we need to prepare for the Legion's arrival. On the other, I know how strongly you felt about facing them with a united front. I truly believe everything will work out for the best, though. Azeroth has repelled the Legion before with less forewarning."
"But this time is different!" Wrathion said aloud. His hands were shaking so much it was hard to read the letter, so he set it down on the table to continue.
"I am so proud of my father for the wisdom and restraint he showed in Orgrimmar. I cannot begin to tell you how relieved I was when he chose peace."
"Oh, I can imagine," Wrathion grumbled with a disdainful sneer.
"The people of the Horde deserve to be free, and to live as they choose. The important thing about the Alliance is that we all chose to be a part of it. Conquering the Horde and forcing them to join us would be against everything the Alliance stands for. We would become an empire, not an alliance-no better than the mogu."
"The mogu got things done!" Wrathion snarled, pounding on the table with one fist. "This isn't a niceness contest, Anduin, this is about the fate of the world!"
The letter continued, "My father and I, and the rest of the leaders from both factions, will be at the Temple of the White Tiger for Hellscream's trial next week. I would like very much for you to join us, to see him brought to justice, and to see the people of Azeroth gathering for a common cause. I think it would ease some of your fears-"
"I'm not afraid," he mumbled defensively.
"-to see that, even as separate factions, we can peacefully work for the greater good of the world."
Wrathion snorted flame, narrowly avoiding the parchment. "Greater good? Ha! What does an idealistic dreamer like you know about the greater good?"
"I hope to see you there. Fond regards, His Majesty Anduin L. Wrynn, Prince of Stormwind," the letter concluded.
The dragon re-read it all, shaking his head. "Oh, Anduin," he sighed. "This is all so...you. Peace and unity and optimism... Fine ideals, when destiny is kind enough to make them possible."
His initial anger soon dulled into a mixture of loneliness for his friend, and a weary acceptance of the fact that Anduin Wrynn would never think like a dragon. It wasn't that Wrathion didn't want peace and harmony. He just saw the bigger picture, and knew that such a state would never have the chance to exist if the world wasn't prepared to repel the Burning Legion.
No, he realized, it wasn't that Anduin didn't think like a dragon. It was that he didn't think like an Earth Warder.
But then, no one else did.
Wrathion folded up the letter and slipped it into an interior pocket of his jacket. Very well. Once again it fell to him to see that Azeroth was protected, no matter how unpleasant the process.
"I had my own father killed. I can handle disappointing one starry-eyed human prince," he muttered to himself on his way out the door.
Later that day Wrathion overheard one of his Blacktalons bemoaning the fact that her favorite dagger had broken. Eager for something to do to keep his mind off less pleasant matters, he offered to repair and improve the blade in question.
The sweltering tropical afternoon was uncomfortably hot to most people, but quite pleasant to a dragon. The Black Prince sat cross-legged on a terrace that faced east, into the deep jungles of Krasarang. He had left his turban in his room, letting the warm breeze play through his hair. The broken dagger lay on the stone floor in front of him, glowing with fiery energy. His eyes were half-closed as he willed the metals in the dagger to reform. The tip of the weapon had been snapped off and the blade bent, but it was simple enough to coax the steel into new shapes.
He could have made the dagger serviceable again in mere minutes, but he was enjoying the distraction so he idly etched intricate designs into the metal. A shard of pure heat danced over the blade, creating swirling patterns that would have taken a magnifying glass to be truly appreciated.
"Yer Majesty?" The voice belonged to one of his Blacktalon guards, a female dwarf.
He sighed and opened his eyes fully, letting the fiery glow dissipate. "Yes?"
"Ye have a visitor."
Wrathion perked up and looked over his shoulder. "Oh?" He both hoped and dreaded it might be Anduin.
"Kairozdormu of the Timewalkers," she said formally.
He raised an eyebrow. That was unexpected. A friendly face would certainly be welcome, if only the bronze hadn't come to berate him for his failure to unite the Alliance and the Horde... "I will see him," he said at last. He got to his feet and brushed dust off his pantaloons.
The Blacktalon disappeared into the temple, and a few moments later a familiar high elf form strode onto the terrace. "Young prince," Kairoz said warmly. "It is good to see you again."
"You also," Wrathion said with a nod. "I trust all is well on the Timeless Isle?"
"The Isle is unchanging," he replied mildly. "I have heard that things in the rest of the world are not so."
Wrathion looked away uncomfortably. "Not everything has gone according to plan," he admitted.
Kairoz stepped forward to lean on the stone railing, peering into the dense jungle. "I'm sure that's been rather disheartening for you."
Wrathion joined him, also fixing his gaze on the greenery instead of making eye contact. "To say the least," he said quietly. "The world must be united to face the Legion."
"Yes, it must," the bronze said. "I understand you are quite skilled in blacksmithing and metallurgy."
Wrathion turned to frown at him, confused by the sudden change of topic. "Yes. I have the powers over the element of earth that the Titans originally granted to my flight."
"Then you are familiar with how something can be melted, folded, bent, beaten, compressed...and emerge stronger than before."
"Of course."
"The people of Azeroth are the same."
Wrathion blew a dismissive puff of smoke out of the corner of his mouth. "Yes, yes, I've heard that platitude before," he said, thinking of Tong's ill-timed advice. "The factions are stronger because they have to fight each other, blah blah blah. That's not what my vision said. We must be united into one force. It's the only way."
"Agreed," Kairoz said placidly.
"So what...?"
"You are too young to remember the other times the Legion attacked Azeroth, at Hyjal and through the Sunwell. Or the war against the Qiraji. Or the campaign against the Lich King."
Wrathion scowled and opened his mouth to complain about his age being used against him yet again, but Kairoz did not give him a chance to get a word in.
"Those threats were on such a grand scale that most of Azeroth's diverse peoples temporarily laid aside their differences to defend the world."
"I can't stand by and assume that will happen again! We cannot scramble at the last moment to put up a united front against the Legion. We must be prepared!"
"Indeed. If only there was a new global threat that everyone would band together to repel..." Kairoz seemed to be speaking hypothetically, but there was a devious glint to his eyes that did not escape Wrathion's notice.
He watched the bronze out of the corner of his eye, considering the possibilities such an ally might bring to the table. "Like what?" he asked at last.
Kairoz gave a thin smile and glanced around to make sure they were alone. "The first Alliance was formed in response to the orcish invasion through the Dark Portal. If a similiar but even greater danger, hostile to Horde and Alliance alike, were to emerge in such a way... Well, history has a funny way of repeating itself sometimes."
The prince narrowed his eyes. "And if the people of Azeroth are not strong enough in their current, fractured state to repel this new foe?"
"Then the world will still be united under one banner when the Legion arrives. Just not a banner you are familiar with at the moment." Kairoz's voice was calm and matter-of-fact as he spoke of untold thousands of Azerothian lives being lost as civilizations were trampled into the dust. "And I can guarantee that this third party will be just as fiercely opposed to the Burning Legion as we are."
Wrathion could only imagine Cybela's reaction to such a development, and the potential fate of Anduin and his kingdom were too grim to contemplate. Yet an instinct deep inside reminded him that preserving the planet was all that truly mattered.
Earth Warder... He had a solemn duty. No one ever said it would be easy.
Perhaps sensing his unease, the bronze said, "If all goes as planned, most of the fighting won't even take place on Azeroth. Our world's armies would return victorious and united, with minimal bloodshed on our own soil."
Wrathion pursed his lips. That did make it a bit more palatable, he supposed.
Kairoz edged closer. "You're a highly intelligent dragon, Your Majesty. Surely you can see the wisdom in this."
Wrathion looked out at the jungle again, mind racing. It could work. It made sense. It was a gamble, but better than doing nothing... He thought for another moment before saying, "I assume you've peered into the future and found this to be the best course of action."
"My flight's view is cloudy, now, but from what I can tell-and I assure you I've been exploring the possibilities for quite some...time." He smirked. "This is Azeroth's best chance in the long run. The conflict will be bloody, of course. Wars always are. But you have proven yourself able to see past such short-term details in order to focus on the big picture. What you have accomplished is a testament to your skills and dedication."
"What I have accomplished amounts to far too little," he said with a self-deprecating grimace.
"What we can accomplish together amounts to far more," Kairoz countered. "Let me help you, Black Prince. Remember, the different dragonflights must also band together now." He laid a hand on Wrathion's back. "The Titans meant for us all to protect Azeroth. The burden was never meant for one flight, or one dragon, alone."
Wrathion felt the uniquely draconic warmth of the bronze's hand through his tunic, and silently considered. Was this the answer he'd been looking for? He hadn't had a vision specifically telling him to ally with Kairoz, but his last vision indicated that ties to the other flights were important.
He turned to look Kairoz right in the eyes, drawing himself up to his mortal form's full height. "Let's talk," he said with a meaningful nod.
Kairoz grinned.
The end…for now.
[Spoilers for War Crimes ahead.]
Until we know more about what Wrathion and Kairoz are up to, I've decided to leave things here. War Crimes tells us some of what they do, but there is still so much unknown.
Were the events that set Warlords of Draenor in motion all Kairoz's ideas? How much of it was Wrathion's? Or were they Kairoz's ideas that he cleverly made the prince believe were his own? We now know that Wrathion is on alt-Draenor, but past the incident at Admiral Taylor's garrison we know absolutely nothing about where he is, what he's doing, if he's still working toward any of Kairoz's goals, if he has Blacktalons with him, or what his agenda is.
And that's not even getting into what his relationship with Cybela will be like after all this. She's not going to be any happier than Anduin was…
Without knowing the whys, whens, wheres andhows it's difficult to extrapolate, and anything I come up with would be negated by canon the next time Wrathion shows up.
So for now we must leave our royal whelp here, poised at the literal crossroads of history, about to embark on a scheme that is either brilliant or disastrous, or a little of both…
Thank you so much for reading my stories! I hope they were as enjoyable to read as they were to write.
