A/N: Sigh. I've lost two pets over the course of writing this story. My childhood dog, and today one of my ferrets. So this chapter is for them, Lucy and Astra. I'll see you on the other side, my lovelies.
On other news, I now have a few Warcraft novels, including the Shattering and one with Deathwing whose title I forgot. Time to see how badly I mutilated Knaak's creations! (Apparently he's responsible for the different Flights and Aspects.) I had no idea they sold in my country.
As always, thank you to Coincidencless for going over this chapter for me! All mistakes are my own.
WARNINGS: Chapter contains serious squick (not for the faint of heart!) and ableism from Katrana.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Katrana couldn't do it.
No price is too high to pay for the Dragonflight, she snarled to herself as she stormed down darkened corridors towards her training room. No price is too high to pay.
No price but this.
The untouched vial lay deep within a skirt pocket. She had deliberated in the kitchen, gazing at the yellow liquid still within its glass prison…
And she had replaced the cork like a coward.
She had intended to ask about the Dragonbane testing, but she could not act. She never had to act before, never had to hide the scorn or derision she felt for the people around her. Fordragon would have made the connection between her body language and the topic at hand. He'd begun to pick up her habits and manner of speaking, and wondered why…
She touched the chain at her throat. She hissed.
Katrana closed the door to her training room behind her. She clenched her jaw and channeled her rage through her fingertips. Heat distorted the air as she blasted a cone of fire towards the target dummies.
She failed. Because of her weakness she failed. Without the child's conception, when the Dragonbane revealed her all their fates would be sealed. There were less than a thousand of them left, and the amount of Broods out there could be counted on one human hand, and that included hers' and Romathis's.
All because she lacked the spine to hurt a human, a human who would put them all to death given the chance. And yet, rape was still rape, and nothing within Onyxia could bring herself commit such a crime, not even for her children. There had to be another way, but she wrung her brain inside out and not a drop of an idea revealed itself.
The Dragonbane would poison her. If she made it out of the Keep alive, she would live to see Blackrock overrun, to see Stormwind's deadly gaze turned on the Broods with weak defences, to see her own children murdered in front of her eyes the moment Theramore discovered them.
Their days were numbered.
And it was all her fault.
Onyxia felt afraid.
She blasted the targets with all the magic within her until hours later she slumped, drained, against the training room wall. It held the heat like the bricks of an oven, emanating through the silk of her robes. Black strands of silken hair clung to her face with sweat. Her chest heaved as her human form strained to catch its breath from exertion.
She rested her forehead on her knees.
They were doomed.
-o-O-o-
"Orion will not accompany me through the Dark Portal," said her companion. "Father's orders. I do not know the way he thinks and do not assume to try."
This was no ordinary dream whose sleepy veil cast a vague blur over fictional surroundings. She saw detailed cracks in the brickwork, the fine mortar between the cobblestones beneath her feet and every star in the sky. Her chest felt the medallion's warmth.
This was memory, brought to the surface by its magic. A memory of Lordaeron's cool palace walls, a memory of a murmured discussion long ago in the dead of night.
They walked shoulder to shoulder; him in his robes and her in the dark-skinned mortal form she favoured whilst speaking to Romathis.
But it wasn't Romathis that walked beside her.
"War is on the horizon," said her companion. He limped, favouring his left leg, a dark scowl on his features. Orange and red robes disguised his wasted leg as he leaned on a staff. Sabel favoured the worst colour in the spectrum. "Soon Stormwind will be recovered, and we must be ready to make our own moves."
"If Orion is not going with you, who will be?" said Onyxia. Her memory played out better than she remembered. But then, the subconscious hid memory in a perfect vault and it did not always wish to give up its treasures to the conscious mind. "Your mates, I assume?" She strained to tear herself from the medallion's spell, and blurted, "Sabel, is that really you? Is this your magic contacting me? Are you alive?"
"Indeed," said the guise of Baron Sablemane. At first, Onyxia's heart rose, until he said, "Lividia, Ravenia and Maleficent are preparing themselves."
"Ravenia?" said Onyxia as the medallion clawed her back into memory. "But she is newly with egg, I had thought?"
"She is," said Sabellian. "But Father insists on her company. I assume he wants her to lay on the other side despite the danger."
"We will see how your lineage matches up to Draenor's natural defences, then," said Onyxia, though her brother frowned. "What of the other — Sabel! Is that you?" She had to fight it. But like going back in time, the medallion stuck to the actions of the past.
"Lividia's brood will accompany us," said Sabellian. "And so will most of Maleficent's, though she will leave Nalice behind."
"Idiocy. Nalice is invaluable if circumstances require — Titans damn this medallion!"
"Serinar objected to her potential departure," said Sabellian. He ignored her outbursts, and Onyxia's heart sank. Of course he did. This wasn't him. Just memory. "Violently. He refuses to accompany her and forbids her from leaving."
Onyxia's past self rose an eyebrow, but on the inside her consciousness withered with the weakness of disappointment of a battle lost. "And Father allowed this?"
"Serinar is protective, as it turns out, of his consorts."
"Consorts? I thought they were merely mates?"
She bled into her past self completely, until she forgot she dreamed, until she forgot that she had not seen her brother for twenty years.
"Nalice finally pinned him down," said Sabellian. "And you recall how hard it is to say no to Nalice."
Onyxia snickered at the thought of her niece. "I did not realise that Serinar was the type to cave so easily."
"And so she gets the dubious honour of having Serinar as prime consort for the rest of her life," Sabellian crinkled his nose.
"I do not envy her," said Onyxia. "Not one bit. Surely the prestige of having him as mate at all is enough?" They had children, therefore they were in the same brood. Why want more than that? Especially with Serinar?
"Apparently not — " Sabellian stopped in his tracks. "Ah, humans."
A drunken voice called out from an alcove, "What th'fel does that make ya, eh? A bloody alien? Y'don' look like a bloody orc to me!"
"Charming," said Sabellian. "They are drunk. And juvenile. Wonderful."
"Oh shit!" said the voice of a young Reginald Windsor. "It'sh Baron Shablemane! And… who'sh the lady? Fuck, the lasht thing we need ish another fuckin' Shablemane… heh heh heh, fuckin' Shablemanesh…"
"Oh godsh feckin' damn feckin' it! Isn' 'e th'guy that terrorished Bolvo when 'e wash shick?"
A third voice said, "Leo, that name ish revolting and if you use it one more time I'll shove thish down your throat."
"Ha! I love ya, it'sh alrigh' — ah, not that way…"
"Leo, you can shove it — "
A trio of teenagers sat cradling bottles to their chests like homeless drunks. Onyxia recognised the crown of brown hair of a much younger Bolvar. Reginald Windsor looked cross-eyed, and though young Leo seemed the most plastered of the lot, he defied all logic and seemed to be most lucid.
"Alien?" mused Sabellian. "Yes, I suppose you could say that."
"Baron," said Onyxia warningly. How could he even think of endangering them?
It's only a dream, she remembered. There is no danger.
She clawed to the surface as if she were drowning in mud.
"They will not recall this in the morning," said the Baron with a smirk.
"Damn shtraight we won'! It's th'ole fuckin' point," said Leo. Onyxia had forgotten how strong his Lordaeron accent had been in his youth. "Bolvar's girlfriend cheated on him. Shtupid bitch."
"So we did the rational thing!" said Reginald.
"We got 'im shloshed! Er... shlosh... sh... damn it."
"How charming," said Sabellian. "Now..." The three boys stiffened in horror. Onyxia felt Sabellian cast out his draconic aura. A mouse scuttled from a hole in the wall and bolted the opposite direction. A veil of terror settled upon the teenagers that pierced their drunken haze like a spear. "Get. Lost."
As best as they could under the influence, the boys bolted.
There. She broke through, like a whelpling newly hatched from an egg, as Bolvar scurried away with his friends. As he ran further away her strength grew. "Impressive," said Onyxia. "That must be a new record for the amount of times Withering has run into a wall in the space of thirty seconds."
She hadn't said that in her memory.
"I will never understand why humans drug themselves," Sabellian clucked. The dream grew vague around them, the bricks in the wall bleeding into one another. "At least they will not remember my little indiscretion."
"But they will," said Onyxia, reaching for the wall. Her hand plunged through it. Now she spoke her mind with ease. "This is Bolvar's dream, not mine, see the way it falls apart as he leaves? He remembered this. The champagne was stronger than most for my purposes, it must have triggered the dream." As she spoke, the detail sluggishly returned under her attention, her subconscious eager to please her. The dream continued to blur at the corners of her eyes.
"And you didn't drug him." Onyxia felt sadly amused that her recollection of Sabellian did not even break character as he spoke of events that he never saw. "I knew you had good in you, sister."
Onyxia frowned, turning to the shade of her long-missing brother. "And what is that supposed to mean? I have always done good."
"You have always been brutal and ruthless."
"I am not human," said Onyxia. "And neither are you, and so human 'morals' do not apply to us. Do not pretend we are."
"The Titans created human ancestry," said Sabellian. "I have watched the Vrykul since I grew aware of them. I watched them as they sent their children on ships to distant shores, I watched as those children grew up and formed a society of their own. We are not much different. If anything, they are better than we are. We must not be arrogant. Our arrogance will lead to our undoing."
"You are missing, and obviously this is not the real you," Onyxia snapped. "Why are you lecturing me from within my subconscious? You are not even real!"
"If you are dreaming of this, it means you are entertaining the possibility that I am right." Sabellian looked smug. "Keep that in mind, sister."
Onyxia gazed at him. "I find myself at a loss without you, brother. As irritating as you are."
"Hmph. You never learned to stand on your own four legs, did you? Never learned how to face your weaknesses without me doing it for you."
Onyxia hesitated. "No," she murmured. "I never did. You always forced me to face my fears and talked me through them. I should never have allowed you to."
"It did you good," said Sabel.
"You left Lordaeron court to attend to plans and preparation," said Onyxia. "You came back one more time to say goodbye. After that, I never saw you again. The mission in Draenor failed. The Gronn massacred your people, and in the midst of it the Dark Portal closed and trapped you. It is highly likely you died."
"There is a reason our kind call me karkunasj, sister," said Sabel. "All the same, I imagine I was not amused."
Onyxia's lips quirked in a mockery of a smirk. It was no coincidence that the Draconic word for "mortal" — karkun — and "cockroach" were so similar, though any mortals with knowledge of the language overlooked it. "You were the weakest of us all, with your eccentric ideas and physical problem." She looked down at his leg; the leg that every dragon aimed for first whenever they fought Sabel. Over thousands of years, what had once been simply a weak leg had been rendered near-useless from break after break after break, all thanks to kin. "And yet you never died when you were supposed to."
"Mark my words," quipped Sabel. "I do not die easily. I am stronger than you think."
"And I am weaker than you think," Onyxia murmured.
"I do not believe it."
Around them, the dream began to fade and shred. Far away, Fordragon flirted with consciousness.
"Romathis has trapped me," said Onyxia. "I do not know how to escape this without hurting one of the mortals. I know you love them."
"Then you have changed," murmured Sabel, looking at her sideways. "You have learned to respect them as I do."
"I need you," said Onyxia. "You would know what to do."
"Then do as I would, sister," said Sabel. "Do not do anything I would not unless you tell me about it afterwards."
As the dream fell apart around her and bled into consciousness, Onyxia could have laughed.
That sounded like something the real Sabel would say.
-o-O-o-
A clear blue sky stretched over Stormwind. Bolvar kept his hat low over his eyes as he snatched his first free Saturday morning of the year and allowed the cobblestones to take him in a direction he'd gone many times before, but had not for quite some time.
He saw Carlos Hackett and his son Richard by the canal. He would have said hello under other circumstances but decided not to today, instead turning into Old Town. Anduin had been pushing to go to the park, much to Bolvar's dismay, so perhaps he would see them again soon.
And perhaps he'd even see Richard's conspicuously absent mother. In spite of how often Carlos had brought her up, Bolvar was yet to meet the woman. Did she even exist?
The bright day found Old Town deserted. Its peak hours came at night when the rest of Stormwind flooded into its many bars and taverns, and subsequently tried not to get shanked in the process. Not even the guards liked Old Town much, and though Bolvar had doubled security since he had taken over Old Town was still far from safe at night.
But the Brotherhood of Cinders was this way, and if anything, they were the only things that kept crime soaring through the roof. Though, for all he knew, they could be responsible for most of it and avoided being pinned down. Their leader was a rogue from SI:7 trained by one of their most infamous and womanising rogues. Bolvar had more than one memory of sheltering Leo in his quarters in Lordaeron because Rudolphus kicked his son out to ravish some woman or other.
He missed his friend. He missed both of his friends. It had been some months since he had spent time with Leo for the sake of it, and he intended to rectify that today, since he'd dreamed about them last night.
That drunken night wasn't the most glorious of memories, but… it was the first time Leo and Reg had done him a favour, the first time they'd supported each other. Even if it was with alcohol.
Bolvar glanced at a burnt-out alley as made his way up the steps in front of the guild hall and pushed the door open. Fires in Stormwind weren't rare; he imagined one of the guild mages had an accident. Beyond the atrium, it looked like everyone had thrown themselves into a full-swing party and went home before someone could be conned into cleaning it up. Usually Leo was on top of things. But then again, it was unusual that Leo hadn't shown up to any assemblies lately. He often popped in to see what was going on with Stormwind.
Outside he heard the ring of swords in a training square, and murmurs off the main room. Floorboards creaked above his head.
"Leo?" he called out. "Feel like a spar and a drink if you're free?"
A woman trotted into the room. "Ah, Jensen," he said, recognising the guild mage. "Is Leo around, by any chance?"
Tarani Jensen stared at him with wide eyes. "Uh," she said. "No. He's away for a while. He had a mission in Kalimdor, he'll be out of contact for quite a while."
Bolvar blinked. Leo always told him when he left! "Really? That's odd..."
"There was an emergency, as I understand it," said Jensen. "I don't even know the full story myself, something about some renegade night elves and some, uh, Grimtotem. And a few... drunk... goblins..."
Bolvar peered at her. Was she even telling the truth? "Get in touch with him as soon as possible and tell him to write to me. Or I'll pester him about it for the rest of his life, and he won't like that."
"Yes, Highlord!" Jensen snapped to attention.
Where the hell was Leo? It sounded like a secret mission, but then, Jensen had never been shy about saying as such in the past.
He wasn't ferreting about in the Steppes again, was he?
Bolvar's heart sank as he left the guild hall. Leo had been drifting away ever since he'd been made Highlord, and even worse still since Reginald had gone to the Steppes, and contact had close to dropped after Reg's disappearance. They'd all been friends since Bolvar had met them in Lordaeron. Leo always told Bolvar when he left Stormwind…
Perhaps he'd disobeyed Bolvar and gone to look for Reg. But what did he expect Bolvar to do? There was a reason Bolvar had not sent out a search party.
He'd already lost Reg. He didn't want to lose Leo too.
But he feared it was too late for that.
-o-O-o-
"You do not take this seriously," said Evenian.
Insolent fool. "Do not accuse me of such," said Katrana, yanking out a drawer in her desk and foraging for a quill. The sheaves of paper in front of her rustled as she got to work. "I take this far more seriously than you do."
"Really? Is it so hard to drug a simple-minded paladin? I thought you were going to do that," said Evenian. "What stopped you?"
"As it turns out, he is immune to the potion." Lying came easy to Katrana. She'd lied for years by now. "And he is just about as eager as I am to consummate this relationship."
"Most human men can't wait to get their genitals into some hole or other," Evenian scoffed. "We will have to adjust our plan, then. It is imperative that you catch as soon as possible."
Pregnancy was always complicated. One had to catch, one had to carry to term, one had to hatch — oh, human children skipped that part. "I understand that."
"I have an alternate idea."
Outside, some infernal bird screeched at the top of its lungs. Katrana shoved her chair backwards and strode to the window. Flames coalesced in one hand as the other opened the window. She squinted through the branches of the tree outside her window. Where was that fel-damned bird? "I will not force myself on someone unwilling."
Instead of finding a bird Onyxia's eyes landed upon Jettion lumbering across a branch towards a nest, on the brink of falling. No wonder the bird was annoyed.
"Who said he was not willing?" snickered Evenian
A streak of blue dive-bombed Jettion. There it was! The whelp shrieked and slipped, clutching the branch with only two tiny paws. "Come on, Jettion," said Onyxia. "Surely a child of my brood would have more capability than this."
Jettion screeched. Onyxia was certain that if he had put words to it, it would have been a few rude ones to his mother. Dragons were not so different from mortals sometimes.
"You are, of course, capable of procuring a few of Fordragon's hairs?" said Evenian.
What would he want Fordragon's hairs for? One only needed the hairs of a mortal if they wanted to assume their form —
Oh.
For the love of the Titans, he was not suggesting…
"I have ordered you to depart my study on two separate occasions already," said Katrana, continuing to watch her son. "Perhaps if I forcefully remove you, the third time will be the charm?"
"Broodmother, what must be done for the Flight must be done," said Evenian. "It is simple. You implant false memories within him, and I take his form so that the child will resemble him —"
"No. I would rather mate with a kodo." Katrana allowed the fireball in her hand to flare and gave the scorch mark on her door a pointed look. "Remove yourself from my study immediately, before I remove your soul from its mortal shell. Rest assured, not even Omnarion will find your body."
"Don't you know what's at stake?" snarled Evenian. "You would let us all die! Don't you understand at all what would happen if we did not do this? Your brother needs you to do this!"
Ah, she'd thought as much. "You are out of line."
"I am Scalebane, my duty is to tell you when you are — "
"Get. Out."
His eyes narrowed. The form of Lord Fletcher gave Katrana a stilted bow and departed to the cacophony of indignant squawking outside.
Katrana aimed the fireball out of the window, silencing the offending bird in an explosion of burned feathers.
Gods, mating with a dragonspawn was an even worse idea than mating with a human. She shuddered.
... But Evenian had a point. She loathed it, but he had a point. There was no way out of this. Not unless she…
Ugh.
For good measure, Katrana hurled another fireball out of the window and hit another bird. Satisfied with his mother's assistance, Jettion crunched on the birds' eggs. At least, until the nest fell out of the tree. The whelp followed its plummet as if he could not believe gravity would betray him.
Dragonspawn and dragon pairings were rare but not unheard of, however much the idea disgusted Katrana. They utilised mortal forms for such pairings.
And the resulting mortal spawn were far more warped than if they had only one Draconic parent.
There was no way any child of Katrana would grow up without problems. Physically, they would be fine, but the mortal children of the Black Dragonflight were born... unhinged. They grew up paranoid and angry. Mortals could not handle dragon blood pumping within their veins, no matter their heritage.
And two draconic parents would only exacerbate the problem.
But Evenian had a point, as much as she hated to admit it. She would have to mate with someone who took Fordragon's form, and then plant false memories of conception within his head. That way, the deed itself never happened. Then the child would be born resembling him, and... grow up twice as insane, most likely.
She was running out of time. Sooner or later the Dragonbane potion would be ready...
A flicker of panic seized her heart in a tight grip. She could not lose. She had to do whatever it took, and…
She paused.
There was another dragon within Stormwind Keep.
Thank. The. Titans.
It was almost amusing. Months before the idea of mating outside her Flight would have disgusted her, but now it crushed her with relief. She was not quite sure what Horan/Hora's natural sex was, but it would not matter. Dragons and dragonspawn alike could choose whatever mortal sex they preferred. Mating with a Bronze in mortal form would ensure that the child did not have a double dose of Obsidian blood and therefore was not completely psychopathic growing up — only partially — and it was another dragon.
Another dragon. Another blessed dragon.
She didn't care if Horan was a fel-damned Red, she'd missed the company of other dragons. The bonding would be permanent, but she doubted the Bronze would be eager to tell anyone else about it. Her reputation would be safe.
But the question was, how to convince the Bronze? The Bronze had —
The Bronze had offered his help. The Bronze knew this was coming.
That cunning little —
She sighed, resting against the windowsill as Jettion licked his chops below. The little whelp was so innocent, and as accepting as a child, in spite of his violence. It wouldn't bother him that he would have a human half-sibling until he was a drake, until he was old enough to understand.
But it did not matter. There was a crack in the wall in front of her. She would be a fool not to take advantage.
-o-O-o-
"Do not look so surprised. You know what I am here for."
"What, you're not going to buy me dinner first?"
Silence. Then, "I am not amused."
The quarters of the workers of Stormwind Keep weren't anywhere near as lush and well-furnished as the nobility. Hora Peddlefeet's male, elven form, Horan Bronzewing, owned quarters even more sparse than the rooms of the servants and various workers of the Keep that Katrana had glimpsed over the years.
"Tea?" said the high elf in front of her.
He looked identical to the memory the music box had brought up for Katrana that December. "If you're prepared… put something in it," said Katrana. "A calmative. I assume you are prepared?"
"It was quite easy to stop time and take a few hairs," said Horan. "Yes, I'm prepared to act tonight. And… a calmative?"
"Yes," said Katrana. She paused to consider. "And perhaps some bourbon. I am not doing this sober."
Horan winced. "Are you sure…?"
"Shut up and do it."
"As you wish, your majesty," Horan exaggerated a bow. Katrana glared. "Alcohol or a tranquilliser? Can't do both, that'll poison you."
Katrana paused in thought. "Alcohol. Actually, forget the tea and bring me a glass of the strongest thing you've got."
Horan sighed. "I'll be a moment."
Katrana seated herself in a wooden chair. It creaked beneath her weight. Better a Bronze mate than a dragonspawn or human.
The Bronze returned with a tray. "All these years later, it still feels strange being tall," he said in Draconic. "Usually I take the form of a gnome. I do prefer gnomes, they're quite comical, don't you think?"
"I am still not amused." Katrana took the golden drink. She sniffed it. Her body reported back with a strong scent of alcohol. Perfect. She took a big gulp. "So you know what I am here for."
Of course he did. But she could not find any other way to start conversation.
"It's rather sudden, isn't it?" said Horan with an apologetic smile. "I haven't been too far into the future, but I've been all over the place. It was a bit of a shock meeting the kid, believe me. I knew it had Bronze blood pretty much immediately and thought, what the hell?"
"So the child will be born," she said with a sigh. That meant she'd found no other way.
Horan tilted his head. "It's difficult," he said. "I have to watch my words around you. I want to tell you everything, but I can't. If I tell you that you'll have a physical fight with someone and win, that might lead you to becoming overconfident and making a fatal mistake. See what I mean?"
Katrana ignored him. Already she felt a pleasant buzz in her head. "Tell me what Romathis wants."
"I don't know."
"You are a damn Bronze — "
"Not a god," said Horan. "I know a lot, goodness knows I've gone through so many versions of this timeline by now trying to get everything right, but I only know so much and I haven't even gone beyond this year yet. I haven't visited him, and neither can I see inside his head. Romathis would have me killed the moment I set foot inside Blackrock Spire, and freezing time in there wouldn't allow me to see any action."
Katrana frowned and gazed into her glass. She took a deep draught. She would need to relax for what was to come. "What do I need to do to defeat him? You've seen my future."
"You're helpless, aren't you?" Horan ignored her question. "You have no idea what to do."
Katrana muffled a snarl. "Tell me what I must do."
"I can't do that."
"At least tell me what my future holds."
Horan tilted his head, gazing at her solemnly. "I don't think you'd want to know," he said. "Some things you succeed at, others you... don't. But then, all lives are that way."
"Don't be vague!"
Already, she felt the effects of the alcohol. She so rarely had it in this mortal form, and with its thin frame it was no wonder it took effect so quickly. Her mind felt distorted, with only a pinprick of focus that held onto Horan's words.
"There is only so much I can tell you," said Horan.
"Then tell me what you can."
Horan gazed at her as she drunk once more. "This is an alternate timeline, you know."
Katrana frowned. "Alternate? Yes, I think you said something…"
"Yes," said Horan. "I wanted to change things."
"You are a renegade, then," said Katrana. "Most of your kind are against that."
"Yes," said Horan. "I'm working alone. I know a lot I wouldn't otherwise know, but I don't have the backup of a full team of drakes and wyrms, and I haven't been far into the future either. So this is a precarious mission that has taken me decades of preparation. Even though I've only been here since your October, I've been all over the place, I had to spend years training as a priest as well especially for this. There is still much work to be done."
"What happened in the original timeline?" She was going to forget this later, she knew it.
Horan gazed at her. "You died," he said. "Stormwind found out what you were, and you died. You failed to create a decent bond with Fordragon in spite of your best efforts, nowhere near what you have with him now. I came to change that."
"And the Black Flight?" Katrana felt her heart in her throat.
"It did not end well for them either," Horan murmured. "Or the rest of the Dragonflights." He shook his head. "After you and Nefarian fell, Malygos was next. He went insane, he waged war against mortals. Alexstrasza sentenced him to death, and most of what was left of his Flight died with him just as most of yours died with you. The remains of the Black Dragonflight were next, you fought a terrible war that left you almost extinct. The new Aspect of Earth that replaced Neltharion only ended up a pawn of Alexstrasza, and even that Aspect fell eventually. The Greens found themselves corrupted by a force they believed they had defeated, we were overwhelmed by the Infinite... and Alexstrasza turned on each of us in turn. By the time we realised what happened to her, it was too late, and from there even worse events unfolded." He smiled weakly. "I always wondered why my kin did not go too far into that future. I found out one day. It was a barren wasteland. The Burning Legion won with the barest handful of surviving dragons to assist Azeroth's mortals. And it all started here, in Stormwind Keep, on a day when a human uncovered your true identity and killed you."
She should have waited to drink until after the discussion. She groped at comprehension in vain. Her mind opted for the simplest translation. "Bad stuff happened. Got it."
Some people were angry drunks, happy drunks, depressed drunks… she was a human drunk! Genius.
She eyed her glass uncertainly and pushed it away.
"My superiors insist we must not change what is, but I insist we must not cling to what is familiar," said Horan. "I will save you all. But I need your help. You need to do your job here and keep doing it."
"And what of…" Whatshisface? Ah, yes. "Romathis?"
Horan gazed at her thoughtfully. "Let me take care of that," he said. "You do what you came here for, I'll take care of the rest."
"I'm an idiot for trusting you," said Katrana. "I don't believe you're on my side for one moment. The only reason I'm doing… I'm drin…" she gestured at the glass. What was the stuff inside called again? Oh, hang it. "I'm doing that is because if you poisoned me the body would fill this room and they would not be able to remove me through the doorway. The stench would be awful. I don't think you're so inconsiderate." She paused. "What a way to go, however. To cause maximum convenience for all involved!" She had to think about it when her mind wasn't sloshed.
Perfect. If the humans cornered her, she'd make sure to die in a room where she could stink up the palace for the days it would take for them to cut her up and get her out.
Horan looked amused. "You've always trusted the wrong people and been too suspicious of those you shouldn't be."
That was a dig at her naïvete regarding Romathis, she knew it. Katrana narrowed her eyes. "So what the hell do you want here?"
"To protect the Flights," said Horan. "To protect Azeroth. To save... well." He laughed softly. "I was a friend of Neltharion's once, you know. Before the corruption."
"The corruption," said Katrana. Corruption. Corruption. Corruption. That was supposed to mean something to her, she was sure of it. "So we were corrupted. Fancy that."
"Yes. You were."
"Did you ever meet Sabellian?" said Katrana.
"I met him in the original timeline once or twice. And I will meet him again, one day," said Horan. "When he was a young whelpling. My future self told me."
Only a Bronze could speak like that and make sense. But then, the alcohol helped. "Before his leg got hurt?"
Horan blinked. "His leg?"
"He always had trouble with that leg since he was a whelpling," said Katrana. "When Deathwing broke it, it only grew worse. Then the others killed it — broked it — damaged it over and over."
Horan blinked at her owlishly. "But he… eh? That's weird." He sipped at his tea.
"'Weird?' How?" Weird was a quite interesting word. Weird. Weird. Weird.
"The Sabellian from the original timeline didn't have a limp," said Horan. He frowned.
"He hid it very well sometimes." She'd been the only person he didn't hide him from. She'd never attacked him after it got bad…
"Perhaps the beginning of this timeline was tainted as well… curious," said Horan.
Katrana stared at him. "How old are you? Please tell me you are not a drake."
"I am an adult."
"You smell young."
"I am an adult."
"Barely, then," Katrana grunted. "Disgusting."
Horan laughed. "You have been around humans too much!"
"I have not... Well, yes. A little. Somewhat. Thirty years."
"I thought Black dragons didn't care about age differences either," Horan grinned at her, sitting back in his chair. "When you can live forever you'd be lucky to end up with a mate that has an age difference of less than a thousand years with you, after all. And consider this, Onyxia: I'm older than Fordragon."
He had a point. "Eh," said Katrana. "Good enough."
Horan took her glass. "I think that's enough," he murmured. "I do not want to take advantage."
"Take advantage? I'm the one throwing myself at you. For the good of the Flight, of course." Katrana stood. At least she still had her balance. "I do not want to do this."
"I don't want to do anything you don't want me to — "
"Shut up. I give you permission. You need no more than that. Let's get on with it." Ugh. "So you have the hair? Show me."
"Shush," said Horan. "Watch this."
Horan stood up, his blue eyes blazing at Katrana before he closed them. He clasped his hands together. "I am no expert in shapeshifting magic," said Horan. "So it took some practice to get the form down. The hairs helped. As it is, it's not entirely accurate..."
As Horan spoke, his voice shifted. He grew taller, his shoulders expanded, and new clothing summoned from the Nether appeared on his body.
Onyxia stared at the blond Fordragon in front of her, and decided now was an optimum time to utilise a human colloquialism Fordragon was fond of. "Bloody hell."
"It — oh my, listen to me, I never get used to the voice changes," said Horan. He looked down at himself. "Have I still got the blond hair? It'll have to stay. At least I got his eyes?"
"You do have the wrong hair," said Katrana. "A shame. Brown suits him. But the green is there, so the eyes are the same, never fear." Her half-drunk mind informed her of an important fact, so she added. "Or fear if you want. It will get you nowhere." There, the Bronze was warned of the futility of such an emotion.
Horan/Fordragon gave her an odd smile. "You're more relaxed now, too," he said. Or Fordragon said. Secretly, Katrana felt grateful for the blonde hair. "Or… actually, it's the alcohol, never mind."
Both dragons stared at each other.
An awkward silence ensued.
"So, um," said 'Fordragon.' "What happens now?"
"Now we mate," said Onyxia matter-of-factly. Being clinical helped. "And then I plant a false memory in Fordragon's head, and tomorrow I nurse a hangover and contemplate mass-murder. And maybe poison Lord Fletcher's drink. The slime."
The blond Fordragon stepped closer. "Let me take care of it," he murmured, touching her cheeks. Katrana forced her eyes to close. "Onyxia. I'm sorry. I really am."
"At least you're here," said Katrana. "Or I would have been forced to… dragonspawn… ugh."
"Shush," said Fordragon's voice. She felt a touch on her hip.
"And besides," Katrana murmured. "Fordragon is not so bad when my inhibitions are dead. I am grateful it is him, and nobody else…"