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Wrathion groans as he wakes up, body still sore from the exertion of the previous day. Who would have thought that laying eggs was so draining? Well, aside from every person who’s given birth ever. Still, it’s not like he attended classes or had a mother tell him what to expect! Titans, he hadn’t even known he’d gone into heat, let alone gotten pregnant!
Though, looking back on that night, he probably should have guessed. He hadn’t felt like himself, near-death experiences of his husband non-withstanding. If Wrathion had bothered to do the slightest amount of research, he would have likely put two and two together. But noooo, he stuck his head in the dirt, called it an incredible night with Anduin, and had forgotten about it.
Now, he’s got eighteen eggs warming in the sunlight of Anduin’s suite and enough muscle aches to fell a Titan. He whimpers and curls up, only for that to hurt worse. He perks up when he hears the door open, hoping it’s his husband. Instead, Genn Greymane walks through the door. Wrathion scowls.
“What do you want, wolf?” He asks sharply, his temper already frayed from the pain. “Where is Anduin?”
“He unfortunately had some urgent business to tend to this morning. If it could have been delayed, doubtless he wouldn’t have left your side. However, he did imply that it would be appreciated if I looked in on you and the…eggs.” The old king looks over at the bundled eggs and then back at the dragon.
“Spit it out.”
Genn sighs. “You and I have not seen eye-to-eye in the past, but please allow me to offer some advice, meant only in kindness.” He waits, and when there’s no response from the dragon, continues. “Mia was in a good deal of pain after she gave birth to Liam, and again with Tess. Holding them seemed to ease it, though. You may be more comfortable on something closer to your children.”
Wrathion considers it, then nods. “I…I think I’d like that. At least until we move them to Blackrock.”
The man nods. “I’ll have it arranged. When Mia’s free, I’ll send her up to you with anything that might lessen the pain further. If you can eat, I’ll also arrange some food be sent to you. Something light.”
“Thank you, Genn.”
“You’re welcome, Wrathion. Get some rest until the servants have set up the area for you near the eggs. If you need any assistance, please have the guards find me. I’ll arrange anything you need.” Genn turns to leave. “And congratulations, my boy. You and Anduin deserve some happiness.”
-
“Varian Landan Wrynn, get your scaled butt down from there!” Anduin cries out as his son swoops through the marketplace, landing deftly in the apple tree nearby. He pinches the bridge of his nose and pretends he doesn’t hear the muffled laughter of the people around him. One laugh stands out, and the blond opens his eyes and glares at his husband. “Laugh it up, you’re the one who’s got to catch him.”
Wrathion’s eyes dance with mirth. “I did warn you that you should have commissioned leashes for our children earlier.” He sticks out and arm and snags the leg of one of their other sons. Besarion, Anduin thinks, noting the gold markings around his eyes. “Now, little one, I do believe we’d established certain rules, didn’t we? Go back to your uncle in the Harbor or no candy apples!”
Besarion squeaks, upset at the suggestion, then flaps off to chatter to his siblings who are making a ruckus on the rooftops of the Mage District. Anduin can see when Atraxia, the largest of the clutch with scales like pure obsidian, takes matters into her own hands and orders the rest of them back to the Harbor. Except, of course, for the obstinate little whelp in the apple tree.
Anduin sighs again and walks up to the base of the tree. “Varian, by the Light, please get down from there!”
“No!!” He screams before gorging himself on an apple.
Wrathion unhelpfully begins to laugh uproariously from where he’s standing. “Of course his first word is ‘no!’ Oh, Anduin, he’s our son alright.”
“Right now he’s your son. Can’t you shift and get him down?”
“Nope. Just let him eat apples until he rolls out of the tree, it’ll be fine.”
The blond groans and rubs his temples. Dragons.
-
Wrathion looks himself in the mirror again, checking the line of the suit he’d made. It was befitting the royal consort, a stunning raiment of golds, blues, and blacks. He impresses himself sometimes. He hears someone clear their throats and turns to see his eldest son standing there, elegant in his own suit. His long hair has been braided--no doubt by Kalia--and he looks dapper in the deep reds and golds he’d insisted upon.
“You look very well, Papa. I just wanted to inform you that you don’t need to worry if you don’t see us around the masquerade. We’re going to make our appearances and then head to Suramar for the feast there. Lord Regent Lor’themar invited us to, and I quote, ‘give your fathers a break.’ Enjoy your date night with Father!” The lithe little blond grins and strides out of the room before Wrathion can say anything.
The older dragon snorts at his reflection. “A date night for the king and royal consort at the Stormwind masquerade. How scandalous!” He straightens his jacket, places the mask over his eyes, and leaves the room, determined to find his husband and make it truly a scandalous night.