Chapter Text
Anduin heaved a sigh as he set himself down at his desk. As the new King, he had been moved into what was his father’s chambers, much larger than the ones he had as a Prince. It was strange to live in here now, he remembered these rooms from childhood, playing in them when his father had rare time off, or was just simply sitting at the same desk Anduin was at now. He had good memories here, but being moved into them made the loss of his father glaringly evident.
He shook the thoughts of the late King off, focusing his attention instead to the latest reports of the Alliance champions and Shaw’s agents. He studiously ignored the glowing shard the master spy had given him earlier, something taken from Azeroth’s wound in Silithus.
Exhaustion suddenly hit him, it had been a long day trying to clean up the messes left by the Legion, filled with meetings of his councils and listening to petitions from the citizens. Anduin put down the report in his hand, eyes straying back to the small shard. There was something almost… Hypnotic about it, something that called out to him. Before he realised, his hand was already halfway across the table, when he was snapped out of the strange fixation by a sudden cold draft in his room.
He looked up to see the lace curtains in front of the balcony gently swaying into the room, and one of the doors cracked open ever so slightly. Anduin frowned, he knows he made sure those doors were locked before he took his armour off. A quick glance around his room gave nothing away, but now he was aware someone was here, he could feel eyes on himself.
Shalamayne was lying near the bed with the rest of his armour, too far away to use to defend himself. Instead, Anduin grabbed the small letter opener on his desk and slowly stood up, before moving to the balcony doors. The slight scuff of a boot sole on the stone floor behind him was the only warning he got before someone grabbed him from behind.
Before he could shout or make any noise, a hand clamped over his nose and mouth, the other arm tight across his chest. He tried to thrash against the hold, but they held firm. Another pair of hands came out of nowhere, to grab his wrist that held the letter opener and prize it out of his grip. He heard it clatter on the ground near them. The second figure bent down to pick it up and it was then that he recognised the human figure.
Right placed the small dagger back on his desk, and Anduin surmised it was Left holding him. He relaxed in her grip, as much as he held no trust in Wrathion, he doubted they were here to kill him. Not to mention the fact that if they had indeed been sent to kill him, he would most likely already be dead before he even noticed the balcony doors open.
“We apologise for getting your attention like this,” Right began in a low voice, as to not capture the attention of the guards outside the room, “but we don’t have a choice at this point.”
Anduin furrowed his eyebrows at that. What on earth did that mean?
“I’ll let you go, just… Don’t make a noise. Please hear us out.” He nodded against Left’s hand and she let him go, and moved to Right’s side. Anduin looked at them, he hadn’t seen them since Wrathion up and disappeared. They both looked tired, dark circles under their eyes and a similar crease between their brows. In his memory, Left and Right were both stoic people, they didn’t share or show open emotion. Whatever wrong was serious and it made him concerned.
“What is it?” Anduin asked, when the silence was drawn out for too long.
“We’re sorry to ask this of you, Anduin,” Left’s gruff voice seemed softer than he recalled, “but we need help with… An injury of one of our own.”
Anduin folded his arms, narrowing his eyes at them. If Left and Right were here, then there was absolutely no doubt in his mind that they were here under Wrathion’s orders; they were his personal bodyguards, after all. How desperate the dragon must be to ask such a thing off him now.
“Why would I ever help him after what he did?” He immediately felt bad saying it, the agent that was injured wasn’t involved in what happened, but he didn’t want Wrathion to think Anduin could just be summoned to do favours like this. Left growled at him and made to step forward, but Right moved her arm across Left’s chest to stop her. They looked at each other, a silent conversation rapidly happened between them before the orc stood down and looked away from both of them. Right stepped forward slightly, her expression pleading.
“We have tried every route before you,” she said, “we didn’t want to ask such a thing of you, but every decision we have made… Nothing has worked. Please, Anduin, we have exhausted every possibility and this… Wound remains.”
The King of Stormwind sighed, his shoulders dropped and his hands flopped by his sides. All the teaching of the Light he had received pointed to at least trying to help, despite who was asking. He nodded slowly.
“Okay… Okay, fine. I’ll come with you and see what I can do.”
He was already dressed in a simple tunic and trousers, but he grabbed a dark cape from his wardrobe and pulled the hood to carefully conceal his face. They left through the balcony doors, the way that the agents came in. Right silently closed and locked the door, leaving no trace of anyone ever being there.
The trio made their way through Stormwind, sticking to the shadows and darker alleys. For two people smuggling the King out of his own city, it was worryingly easy. The nightly patrols of guards walked past their hiding spots multiple times, and Anduin almost laughed when he thought what Shaw’s reaction to this would be. It was as amusing as it was concerning; his SI:7 agents clearly needed to learn a thing or two from Wrathion’s own Blacktalon agents.
They went right out of Stormwind’s gates, sticking close to the mountains and away from any paths and camps. Left stopped them just before Mirror Lake, where a small figure waited for them dressed in dark robes. The figure took her hood off at their arrival, revealing a Blood Elf whose eyes glowed golden in the darkness. She greeted them silently, just a simple nod exchanged between them and she turned to begin casting. Anduin belatedly realised she was a mage, a portal was of course the simplest way of getting to their destination. Right took a small pouch filled with gold off her belt and tossed it to the elf who caught it with ease.
“I wish you the best,” the elf said simply, before teleporting herself away. Right reached out to hold Anduin’s wrist, and gently pulled him towards the portal. He felt almost like a child, his mother holding him so he wouldn’t get lost. Left stepped through the portal first, with Anduin and Right following behind. He stopped to breathe through the unique and strange disorientation that came with using portals and was shocked to see the Tavern in the Mists.
He had mixed memories from this place. It was a sanctuary, kept him safe while he recovered from his injuries, and it was also the place he became acquainted with Wrathion. They had fun here, playing many games of Jihui and conversations that ran long into the night. The two had been friends here. Anduin had even thought for a while they had the potential to be more, had believed the dragon had felt the same. But he was clearly wrong. Wrathion betrayed him, didn’t even blink an eye at what he did and caused the death of his father. Anduin truly wondered if he could ever forgive Wrathion for what he had done.
“Come.” Left brought him back to his senses, and he mentally shook off any thoughts to do with the whelp. A part of Anduin hoped he would be here so he could punch that permanent smug look off his face. As they walked to the entrance, he noticed strange spots where the air just seemed darker, like standing shadows. As he squinted, he could vaguely make out the shapes of people, stealthed agents standing around the inn, ready for any form of danger. Not for the first time, he wondered just who exactly was wounded and why Wrathion would put so much effort into keeping them this safe.
When they entered the inn, Anduin was surprised to see how many more Blacktalon agents sat inside. They didn’t seem to be on active duty, many sitting around at the tables and quietly talking amongst themselves. The building seemed full with the agents, many leaning against walls and sitting on the floor. He started to get a bad feeling about who exactly was injured.
Through the door at the back, Anduin could see what looked like a makeshift healers tent. From the angle he was at, he could see multiple bedrolls with agents sitting or lying down. All of those inside were out of their black leathers and in civilian-looking clothing, bandages peeking out here and there. With the amount of agents in there, he wondered what Blacktalon had been doing during the Legion invasion. Seeing them, he felt slightly bad in believing that they had been doing nothing.
“Anduin!” A familiar voice shouted across the tavern, and he looked over to see Tong making his way across the floor to them. The Pandaren greeted him with a large smile and a clap on the shoulder.
“Tong,” Anduin smiled, “it’s good to see you.”
“It is good to see you, too. It’s been too long.” Tong stepped back slightly, his smile turning sad, “I am sorry to hear about your father. I am sure he would be proud of you.”
“Ah…” he swallowed thickly, not wanting emotion to overcome him, “thank you. Being King is… Strange.”
“Just don’t forget you are not alone. My tavern is always open to you, should you ever need a good drink.” Anduin smiled at him gratefully.
“Thank you, Tong.”
“Has there been any news from upstairs?” Left interjected from the side of him.
“Ah, I’m afraid not. Would you like me to prepare some food for them?”
“That would be great, thank you, Tong.” Right bowed her head at him slightly, before leading Anduin to the stairs. He felt multiple pairs of eyes burning into his back, the agents staring at him intensely. The bad feeling about the wounded agent returned. Who could possibly insight such a reaction from the rest of Blacktalon?
There were only a few rooms upstairs, but it was immediately clear which room kept the injured agent. Two heavily armoured warriors stood outside the door. One was a tall Orc, with a shield almost as big as her own body. One side of her face was heavily scarred, and looked as if something with claws had swiped at her and blinded her in that eye. The other was a Night Elf, only distinguishable by the long ears that poked out from a helmet that completely covered his features. Neither of them looked at him, didn’t even move a muscle at his presence and instead kept their eyes fixed straight ahead.
Left moved ahead of them and opened the door, and Right followed her in stepping through. Anduin stood awkwardly in the doorway, taking in the state of the room. It was in chaos with bloody bandages thrown into a rough pile into one corner, with bloody sheets and clothes tossed in with them. On the table near the bed were multiple pitchers and bowls of water, and he could see some were murky with blood, with red-stained clothes thrown over the side of them. He looks to the bed, the bad feeling getting worse. From where Anduin was stood, the face and features of whoever was in the bed were completely obscured by the bedside dresser. He didn’t want to move forward.
Right had moved to a Nightborne priest who was sat by the bed, her hands hovering over the body and channeling Light through them. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, with sweat dotting her forehead despite the coolness of the room. Right touched her shoulder, bringing the priest out of her spell.
“Any changes?” Left asked, but she seemed to already know the answer. The priest sat back in her chair and wiped at her forehead, a completely devastated expression written on her face.
“I’m sorry,” that’s all it took for both Left and Right to deflate simultaneously, “everything I do has no effect. The best I can do now is ensure he’s in no pain.”
“Thank you, Milycie. Go downstairs and get some rest. You can help the other injured after you’ve had something to eat, okay?” The priest, Milycie, nodded and stood up to leave. As she passed Anduin, she gently touched his shoulder in comfort, despite not knowing him. She left and his eye caught on a piece of clothing tossed into the corner of the room. It was a horrifyingly familiar piece of black leather made to look like dragon scales, and was soaked with dried blood.
“-in. Anduin.” He snapped out of the dread, and looked to Right who was standing by the bed. She had clearly tried to capture his attention a few times and gestured for him to get closer. His stomach sank as he fully stepped into the room, the door closing behind him. It felt like a bad omen. He prayed to the Light that he was wrong, that there was just some nameless and faceless agent he didn’t know laying on the bed. The small amount of hope was diminished when he saw Wrathion’s face.
Anduin’s first thought was of how much he had changed. When they last saw each other, Wrathion only had small nubs that he had yet to grow into, but he now had four large horns adorned with golden bands. He noticed with dismay how the larger horn on the left had been snapped off from the middle, leaving a jagged edge. He also noted how much longer Wrathion’s hair was and how soft it looked.
His second thought was that the dragon must already be dead. His dark skin was pale and ashy and the chest concealed under the sheets wasn’t moving visibly. Seeing Wrathion like this was… Wrong. The dragon was supposed to be untouchable, leading his agents from the shadows and just not supposed to be in danger. Quite quickly, the sadness was washed over by anger. How dare Wrathion get this close to death? Especially before they met again. Well, met again properly. Anduin owed him a good punch to the face.
Still. He couldn’t deny that he was devastated to see the dragon like this. For how close they had been, for how close they were to being something more to each other, it hurt to think about Wrathion dying now. Anduin had to immediately purge that thought from his head. He would not let Wrathion die. He wasn’t allowed to die.
A wave of calmness washed over Anduin. He would not let the panic or any other emotion take over him now, he was needed by someone to help them and that is exactly what he would do. He reached out to lower the sheets that were carefully tucked under Wrathion’s chin and saw the thick layer of bandages on his chest.
“Can you help me sit him up so I can take these off?” He asked, and Left moved forward to gently lift the prone body into a sitting position. Anduin slowly unwrapped the bandages, noting how with each layer he uncovered, more and more blood was seeping through. Right moved forward to help him, but it still took a good few minutes for the wound to be completely uncovered.
As soon as the blond laid eyes on the wound, he had to look away and breathe through waves of nausea. Left carefully laid Wrathion back down and Right put her hand on Anduin’s shoulder to steady him.
“What… What happened?” He managed to choke out. It was so much worse than anything he could have even imagined. Someone with this wound, dragon or not, should be dead by now.
“Please help him,” Right almost begged him and ignored his question, “nothing… Nothing we have tried worked. Shamans, monks, druids, paladins and priests, and nothing has worked.”
Anduin glanced back at the wound, swallowing back vomit so he could get a better look. It was a gory sight; wide and deep. He could see the white of muscle and bone, Wrathion’s mortal rib cage had been cracked open by the force of whatever had caused it. It looked like some sort of stab wound, but the blade would have had to have been a lot thicker than anything he had seen before. An odd shine of something caught his eye and Anduin leant forward slightly to see. Just inside of the wound, where red blood should have been was a unique blue and yellow and his mind went to the shard of Azerite that sat on his desk.
The blond sat back in his chair, the true reality of the situation was finally hitting him. Wrathion lay on his deathbed, with what was either a mortal stab wound, or something that was magically inflicted. He could see Left and Right looking at him out of the corner of his eye, concern and worry and hope written plain on their faces. Anduin was truly his last hope of surviving, and he was damned if he would let the dragon die. There was too much left unsaid between them.
The King of Stormwind closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself. Who could have guessed this is where he would be sitting after Wrathion disappeared. He opened his eyes and rolled up his sleeves, decisively not looking at Wrathion’s slack face.
He could not falter here. He would not falter here.