Chapter Text
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Wrathion wasn’t necessarily frightened by the concept that Anduin had been kidnapped. No, as far as he was aware, that was something normal in the life of a Wrynn. What he was frightened about was the fact that it’d been Sylvanas Windrunner who kidnapped him, and that he’d apparently been dragged into the Shadowlands.
The literal afterlife.
Like, where only dead people go.
And upon hearing the news, he could only process this event as something that required death. It felt like no one wanted to tell him the truth : Anduin Wrynn was dead, his soul taken by the rogue ex-warchief. Everyone who talked to him about it skirt around the fact that he’d been killed, and that felt insulting. Angering. Maddening.
But, apparently, that wasn’t how it went, and Anduin Wrynn was alive, as far as witnesses claimed.
Sylvanas had opened a hole into the sky, a connection between the living world and the realm of the dead, and how she did that Wrathion had no idea. She used it to transport living beings into a place they didn’t belong, and what for he also didn’t know.
Wrathion was supposed to be focusing on removing the giant titan sword in Sithilus, as well as repairing the planet’s wounds that were still bleeding, but he found himself unable to focus on the job after finding out about Anduin’s situation.
He’d not consulted Magni nor Mother when he left one morning, to seek out the portal between life and death, and to find Anduin Wrynn.
Appearing at the Ice Crown, he was lucky to find a champion on their way to a place known as Oribos, and with a few pieces of gold the dragon could talk the champion into sneaking him along between realms.
Upon appearing in the Shadowlands, Wrathion felt a great distress, distant, but painful. He reached into his belt’s cloth coin purse and pulled out the source of his misery.
The blood gem.
The gem he made of his own blood. He made many, and gave them to that of his Blacktalon to keep in touch.
He’d also given one to Anduin.
The blood gem only worked when you meant to use it, channeled your voice or feelings through it. Anduin was calling out for help, had the blood gem on his person when kidnapped, and though likely wouldn’t receive a reply, he used it anyway.
Wrathion held the gem tightly in his hands, warming it up, trying to find a way to use it to guide him in the right direction to find Anduin.
But Anduin’s end of the connection ended almost as soon as Wrathion tried to reply, and any way of following the sister gem was cut off.
“Black Prince,” The champion pulled his attention back. “Are you okay?”
Wrathion nodded his head, placing the gem back inside his purse, adjusting himself.
“Of course,” He said. “In fact, I was wondering how much you can tell me about this place.”
As the two walked around the floating city, the champion filled Wrathion in on all that has happened to this point. The champions themselves escaped the Maw, however Baine, Thrall, Jaina, and Anduin had not returned with them. The champion was now working on building up support from the different lands of Shadowlands, in hopes to return to the Maw to save the missing leaders.
Wrathion gazed into the middle of Oribos, watching the souls of the newly dead filter in, and then directly into the pits of the Maw down below. At one point he’d stood too close, and Bolvar himself pulled the dragon back.
“It is too dangerous for you here.” The man of fire told him.
Wrathion looked back to see Bolvar, who regarded him with a worried look.
“I know you wish to save him, but none of us are prepared to enter and return.” Bolvar told him.
“Get more help” He said. “Help the champion in Bastion.” He said.
Now, Wrathion has been following the champion around for what felt like forever, and for what?
The only thing they seemed to be getting was one or two better pieces of gear, and more trouble. None of the people of the Shadowlands seemed to know what the hell was going on, and the deeper he and the champion went, the longer it was going to take to find and rescue Anduin.
Wrathion had eventually retired to one of the more peaceful little villas in Bastion, watching the champion hown in their new spells on a rather large metal...thing.
Nothing ever changes with these guys.
Year after year, despite literally murdering old gods and titans, the champions returned to their roots. Replaced some of the most powerful gear on Azeroth with...Bastion’s training gear.
Wrathion supposed he should be using this time for preparing the champion, if the champion was his key into the Maw.
Perhaps another legendary cloak?
Wrathion would need to find new threads and fabrics for it, and that was hoping he could find a few new perks to channel into it. Something that made it special, because the dragon was never going to make a mediocre cloak. He had to outshine an entirely new realm.
One afternoon, Wrathion assumed, for day and night was not really a thing here, the champion walked into the small open sitting area that Wrathion rested in. Behind the champion was another kyrian, one without wings, but just as blue and white and gold as all the rest.
“Black Prince,” The champion cleared their throat. “I’ve found someone who wishes to aid you.”
Wrathion, mostly paying attention to the mix matched threads and fabrics he was experimenting with, hardly gave the champion much of a look.
“Well, they can start by getting longer rolls of fabric,” Wrathion then sighed, placed the needle he had down on the table he sat at, and turned towards the two. “I’ve noticed you don’t have Ashjira’kamas anymore.”
The champion idled awkwardly, “Uh, I have it kept safe, my prince, in the case of further old god invasions.”
Wrathion’s eyes narrowed. “Sure, in your bank, getting dusty, I get it. It’s right next to the first one I made you too, isn’t it? I can hardly remember what it looked like, only that it had the most precious pandaren silks.”
“If you want them back-”
“Nonsense!” Wrathion shook his head, holding onto the needle again as if to continue his work. “As you said, you might need the remains of my kin sometime in the future.”
He waved the needle around in a circle as he spoke.
“Oh, the likes of auntie Onyxia, remember only as a piece of outdated armor in the bank of Azeroth’s champion.” He sarcastically sighed, oblivious to the kyrian’s flinch, pointing the needle to the champion. “If I hear that you’ve sold it to a trader, or light forbid you’ve disenchanted it-”
“No worries, my prince!” The champion stopped him. “Your work is in good hands.”
“And in the hands of no other.” Wrathion sent the champion a glare, but then nodded.
“Anyway,” The champion stepped aside, motioning for the kyrian behind them to step forward. “I leave you two to speak. I am needed elsewhere. That is fine with you?”
The champion looked up to the kyrian, who nodded their head.
“I am fine.” The kyrian said.
The champion bowed to both of them, then left.
Wrathion looked the kyrian up and down, noting the more personal features, such as long hair, and a fair but slightly distressed face. Was that...a bit of fear?
“And you are?” Wrathion asked, curious. Something about her seemed familiar.
The kyrian stood tall, eyeing him as well.
“My name is Tiffin.” She said. “Tiffin Wrynn.”
Wrathion froze.
“I’m told you’re looking for my son.”
Wrathion hadn’t realized how long he stared at her until she spoke again, awkwardly, leaning on the ends of her feet.
“I...I assumed you would know who I was-”
Wrathion shook his head.
“Forgive me, of course I do.” He said, standing up, placing his needle and work down. “It is an honor to meet you, Queen Wrynn.”
“I am no queen here, please, just Tiffin.” Tiffin said.
“And you are here to help me?” Wrathion asked, curious.
“The Maw Walker told me a few things, though I suspect not the entire truth.” Tiffin explained. “They said that you were a close friend of my son, who was lost somewhere here in the Shadowlands, alive.”
Tiffin looked worried. “We are all worried about the concept of living beings walking our realm, but I am admittedly more worried for the status of my son.”
“As am I, which is why I’ve followed our champion here.” Wrathion said, then motioned to the seat on the other side of the small table he was sitting at. “Please, let us talk.”
“Of course.”
Tiffin walked to the chair, taking her seat as Wrathion retook his, his hands in his lap instead of messing with his fabric and threads and needles scattered over the table.
“You are making a cloak?” Tiffin asked, looking at the scraps that had been sown together.
“The champion doesn’t like me getting into their progress, not unless I have something to offer them. Gold, power, gear.” Wrathion spoke, clearly annoyed with his position. “Usually I am in need of their aid, and they come to me, however this time I feel more...like a lost puppy.”
“Are they not helping you?” Tiffin asked.
“I need them to get into the Maw. I’m told if I went now I wouldn’t last long.” Wrathion frowned. “I would try to earn the aid of the four kingdoms you have here in your realm, but I feel the champion is...easier to ally with. A blank slate. I do not think your Archon would like me.”
“So,” Tiffin played with her thumbs, “You need to get into the Maw because my son is there.”
“Yes.” Wrathion said, knowing too that she felt the same fear he did. “Unfortunately.”
Tiffin frowned. “The Maw is known as a place that could never be escaped. The final resting place for the most evil of evil. I can’t think of any reason why my son would be there.”
“The story is complicated, Lady Tiffin.” Wrathion replied. “He was kidnapped, along with Jaina Proudmoore, Thrall, and Baine Bloodhoof.”
Tiffin’s eyes lit up to their names, she knew at least Jaina and Thrall, Wrathion figured.
“The reasons are unclear, but….I know they are in pain.” Wrathion looked down at his work.
Tiffin stewed in the information, thinking, and Wrathion let her do so.
“How do you know my son?” Tiffin eventually asked, eyeing him again. “You said he’s your friend.”
It was unsaid, but her eyes held more than her words. Why did a black dragon care? What did a friend mean to him?
“I...I was born in a complicated time. My flight was once known to be Azeroth’s protectors, yet recent events changed everything. Now the entire world expects me, a mere whelp, to be dangers and corrupted.” Wrathion explained. “And....I hate to say they’re fears were not unfounded. I made mistakes, but I am not corrupted.”
Tiffin held her face, waiting for him to continue.
“Your son, Anduin, was the very first person to show me kindness, at least kindness I didn’t need to pay for. Was the first person to call me his friend. We spent quite a few months walled up in a tavern playing games and talking.” Wrathion continued, thinking back to old times in Tong’s tavern. He severely missed those times.
“It is good to know he holds kindness in his heart.” Tiffin smiled. “How long ago was this?”
“He was fifteen, I was two.” Wrathion answered. “I believe it’s been five years since then.”
“It’s been twenty years already?” Tiffin questioned, almost slightly panicked. “Have I really been gone for so long?”
Wrathion was caught a little off guard.
“I assumed that you’d know.” Wrathion said. “Do the dead not have the ability to...say, watch their loved ones?”
Tiffin shook her head. “No. Time does not feel the same either. I work for the Archon, but I’ve refused to ascend so that I can be here to welcome my family when they pass.”
“Would you not be able to welcome them after being given wings?” Wrathion asked, calling back to bits of information he’d picked up on the process of ascending.
“They want you to give up your mortal worries to do so. They require you to forget who you were in life.” Tiffin shook her head. “They want me to ascend, to carry souls into our realm, and I want to, but I can’t do so until I see my family again.”
“That feels wrong.” Wrathion could only say, the idea of giving up your mortal memories somewhat frightening to him. To what? Become a cookiecutter transporter to the dead? Okay, perhaps it was an important role in the cycle of life and death, but the idea was not at all appealing.
“I was taken from my son too early.” Tiffin looked down at her own hands. “Instead of recovering from postpartum, I have suffered it for...twenty years.”
Tiffin pulled her hand from above the table to her lap, “Forgive me, they do not like hearing about things like this, and I’ve been holding onto these feelings for so long. I do not wish to dump them on you.”
“It seems there are more problems in the system of the Shadowlands beyond just a Maw Walker.” Wrathion replied. “I can only worry there are many more souls holding onto their burdens like you.”
“And,” Wrathion adds, “I am sorry for the fate that befell you.”
“There is no need to apologize, I see you are not at all like your…’auntie Onyxia’.”
Wrathion cringed at the call back to his own words. But, he realized something strange about her words.
“I thought you did not follow the events of Azeroth after your death.” Wrathion questioned. “But you clearly know who Onyxia refers to.”
Tiffin’s eyes widened, as if she hadn’t remembered, and suddenly looked aflame.
“I knew of her treachery, that is why she killed me!” Tiffin growled. “I’d figured her out, I even knew her true name, but Varian was under her spell, he did not believe me.”
“Really?” Wrathion asked, astonished.
“She acted strangely around my son, as if she was pretending he was her own.” Tiffin was clearly angry. “I refused to let him out of my sight. I thought, somehow, that would protect me, while I tried to find a way to out her.”
Tiffin’s anger suddenly vanished, replaced with sorrow. “I was far too afraid to think properly, to properly protect myself, and I think back on all the things I could have done differently.”
“You were likely under her spell as well.” Wrathion said.
“What happened to her?” Tiffin asked.
“You will be pleased to know that your husband King Wrynn beheaded her and hung her head from the front gates of the city.” Wrathion waved his hand, smirking. “After..a rather long story, best left for another time, and for your son to better tell.”
“A fate she deserved.” Tiffin looked unsure, and Wrathion suspected she wasn’t a fan of the beheaded head hanging as a decoration to her city. “You mentioned she was a cloak now?”
Wrathion chuckled. “I took her remains and fashioned them into a cloak for our dear champion, which is, again, now sitting away in Stormwind’s banks.”
Tiffin laughed. The idea that Katrana Prestor now sit as a dusty piece of cloth in the banks of the city she tried to conquer was hilarious to her.
“And Varian, how is he?” Tiffin asked, moving the subject along.
Wrathion hesitated, and she caught that immediately. She didn’t know of Varian’s death two years ago, which meant that Varian did not end up in Bastion to be alongside her. But then where did he go?
“He was not sent to Bastion, was he?” Tiffin seemed to deflate.
“He fell to the Burning Legion two years ago.” Wrathion hated to inform her.
“If what the champion spoke of earlier is correct, then the anima drought began around then.” Tiffin shook gently. “He could be in the Maw.”
“It is not a guarantee.” Wrathion tried to spin it. “He could very well have ended up in Maldraxxus, Revendreth, or Ardenweald.”
“Not Revendreth. The souls who go there are souls who are given a second chance before falling to the Maw.” Tiffin shook her head. “I do not see how he could end up in Maldraxxus or Ardenweald.”
“King Varian has...been through much since you passed.” Wrathion said, calling to his knowledge of the other two lands of the dead. “He embraced his warrior skills, was a gladiator at one point. Again, a story for another storyteller. I could see him within Maldraxxus’ ranks, though not the aesthetic.”
“A gladiator?”
Wrathion continued. “As for Ardenweald, I know that many claim that one of the wild gods had an interest in him. Goldrinn. I wouldn’t be surprised to find Goldrinn has brought him to the realm that wild gods favor.”
Tiffin frowned, saddened by the idea that they were not destined to meet again in the afterlife. That, again, the afterlife worked to distance people from the life they left behind, taking them apart from their friends and family.
“But, as Anduin said himself, Varian was not the same hard headed stubborn warrior he was known to be in the last few years of his life, and I see no evidence of Goldrinn’s favor other than that of a nickname. I too would have thought Bastion to be his home, based on what Anduin said.” Wrathion added. “Apparently he’d mellowed out. Learned to trust.”
“I see.” Tiffin nodded.
Wrathion wished he could reassure her that her loved ones were fine, but he couldn’t. He too felt fear and dread and pain-
And pain?
Wrathion’s eyes widened as he realized the blood gem was channeling again.
Tiffin watched as Wrathion quickly reached into his own purse on his belt, almost spilling its contents as he pulled out a small gem. He reached across the table, holding out the gem. Tiffin looked unsure.
“Hold it.” Wrathion said, then realized how suspicious that sounded. “It’s a blood gem, made of my own. Anduin has one, and can use it to channel his emotions and thoughts into it. He’s using it now.”
Tiffin’s eyes widened, and she nodded quickly, taking the gem into her own hands.
Wrathion saw her face change as she felt the same thing he had. The same pain, the same distress, the fear that Anduin felt. It felt almost like they could see him too, but the image was unclear.
“H-How do I-?”
Wrathion wrapped Tiffin’s hands around the gem tightly, showing her. When he let go, Tiffin concentrated on the gem, and how her hands warmed it.
After a minute, Tiffin looked up to Wrathion.
“It...it stopped.” She said, worried.
“I believe he felt you.” Wrathion said.
Tiffin looked down at the gem, sorrowful, and she handed it back to the dragon.
“Does he know? That it was me?” She asked.
Wrathion gently squeezed the gem as he turned to place it back in his purse.
“I can’t guarantee, but he knows it wasn’t me.” Wrathion answered.
Tiffin almost looked like she could cry, and Wrathion couldn’t blame her.
“I want to help you rescue him. What do I need to do to save him from his misery?” She asked, her voice slightly deeper. Serious.
“There is nothing we can do until the champion has completed their work here.” Wrathion frowned. “But we can help the champion get through this quicker.”
“I see.” Tiffin was clearly upset, it seemed all they could do was sit here. Now she understood Wrathion’s rant.
Instead of giving into silence, the kyrian changed the topic again.
“The gem. You said it was made from yourself?” She asked.
“Yes. As is the name, bloodgem. I do not make them freely.” He said. “I...lost touch with Anduin for a while. It was lonely without him. When I returned, I made sure to give him one.”
“You come here risking your life for him, a mere human. What is a being who lives no longer than seventy years to a being that can live for tens of thousands?” Tiffin questioned. “You said he is your friend, but you do things most friends would not risk for one another.”
Wrathion was caught off guard. He looked at her unsure, and swore she smirked at him.
“Is it not normal to do these things for a friend?” Wrathion asked.
“I think he is more than a friend to you.” Tiffin confessed.
Wrathion frowned, looking away.
No, he wasn’t. But that didn’t mean Wrathion didn’t want him to be. And so what if he did care for Anduin more than a normal friend would?
“I am in no position to explore feelings.” Wrathion replied neutrally.
“There are no kings in the realm of the dead. No expectations.” Tiffin replied. “Remember this.”
Wrathion heard her loud and clear, and knew exactly what she meant. But...they could not stay here, and Anduin still had expectations to fill as long as he lived.
Sure, maybe eventually, the two of them would meet in death properly, and could explore their feelings then, but that would be a long time from now.
He heard Tiffin shift in her chair, and saw her looking and moving around his fabrics, curious.
“So,” She cleared her throat. “You are in need of fabrics?”
She looked up to him, “I can fetch you some.”
Wrathion leaned back on his chair, bringing his talon to his chin.
“The late Queen Tiffin Wrynn, wife to King Varian and mother to King Anduin, running MY errands?” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head slowly. “I just can’t let that happen.”
Tiffin smiled. “Would pretending to be the Maw Walker make it acceptable? Do I need to ask for a reward? A shoulder pad?”
“Just one?” Wrathion chuckled. “Not that I have anything to give you.”
“Luckily for you, I am in need of nothing.”
“Not gold?”
“Gold?” She laughed. “Why would I need gold?”
“Perhaps we will work this out better as a team of two.” Wrathion said.
“Then let me show you the way to the fabrics you seek.” Tiffin offered. “I can give you a tour, assuming you hadn’t already had one.”
“That would be lovely, Lady Tiffin.” Wrathion smiled.
Tiffin stood from her chair, and Wrathion did as well.
He turned to pack up his threads and fabrics, grabbing them and folding them and carefully remembering not to prick himself with the needle. He turned to place them into his backpack, knowing his belt purse was too small, and-
Oh, that’s right. He’d given that to the champion too, because apparently they need a motivation to save the planet from an old god, and a backpack was just that.
He huffed, awkwardly holding the fabrics and threads, shoving the needle into the folded pieces. He then turned to Tiffin, who was watching him with amusement.
“Ready?” She asked.
“Ready.” He nodded, and the two left the table and chairs they’d sat at.
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