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The punch definitely worried Wrathion.
He wasn’t going to say anything at the time, but he worried that Anduin’s anger in that moment wasn’t at all because of N’zoth’s influence. He still wasn’t exactly sure his true role in his father’s death, he didn’t quite have all the details yet. He wanted to ask, eventually, and to talk about it with Anduin, but he wasn’t going to bring anything up until he’d properly reconnected with his old best friend.
His only best friend.
Perhaps they weren’t best friends anymore, or even friends, but Wrathion wanted to fix that. He wanted to prove himself an ally to the world, make it up to everyone, by leading the charge into N’zoth’s demise, and he was more than willing to die doing it. Long story short, those last four years changed his perspective on life, and on his goals. His goals for Azeroth, for the Black Flight, and for himself. For Anduin, if luck allowed him any input.
With the defeat of N’zoth, and as close to an end to the Fourth War as the sister factions could achieve, Wrathion granted himself a moment of rest. He would need to continue aiding Magni and MOTHER in restoring Azeroth and finding a way to get rid of Sargeras' sword in Silithus. Azeroth still bled, but it helped that her inhabitants weren’t fighting over her blood anymore.
In his moment of rest, and in between his work in Silithus, Wrathion aimed to win back Anduin’s heart, at least whatever small amount the young king was willing to part with again.
Wrathion stood within the large and empty walls of Stormwind Keep, frozen in place standing before the equally large and empty throne. He let out a sigh, his breath visible in the cold air.
His worries, about the punch, felt so small and distant now.
He’d managed, somehow, to regain Anduin’s friendship. Perhaps, he hurt to think now, he’d regained a bit of Anduin’s heart as well, but besides a few rather out of character flirts, Anduin hadn’t actually brought up their past relationship. Wrathion wanted to, he craved a second chance, but he didn’t think he deserved to be the one to bring that up. Not this soon, anyhow.
He’d finally, finally made amends with the one person on Azeroth he’d loved.
To, what shouldn’t be his surprise, the king had been kidnapped again.
Wrathion stared hard at the scene before him, the collection of lit candles, the handmade wreaths, the Winter Veil gifts. A massive gathering of objects left surrounding the empty throne. Despite the holiday, the room was a battlefield between hope and warmth and mourning and loss. Conflicting emotions, conflicting feelings, and the longer Wrathion lingered in it, the more distraught he became.
He held his breath, made an attempt to calm himself, and instead of taking in the room, he looked down to the lone gift in his own hands.
That’s right, he was here for a reason. He’d come on the day before Winter Veil to add another gift to the pile. A gift that would go unreceived.
Hopefully, not for too long, if the sheer feral power of Azeroth’s champions were to be relied on. They’d proven themselves this much, and at this point he found himself a bit scared of them. Fuckers will do anything for any prize at all. A stolen shoe, some pocket change, a cloak you worked really hard on only to get thrown away when the next new baddie comes around, literally any prize at all.
The gift he’d brought for Anduin was small, wrapped in red wrapping-paper covered in tiny little hammers. He’d borrowed the wrapping-paper from Magni, who’d also gotten gifts, wrapping them while cheerfully recounting his past memories of Winter Veil in Ironforge. Excited to spend the day with his family and friends.
Wrathion fiddled with the small gift, feeling the contents move slightly, however mostly secure and safe. He picked up the tag he’d taped to it, rereading his own handwriting.
TO: King Wrynn
FROM: Black Prince
Wrathion closed his eyes, stopping himself from rereading the tag over and over again. He came to leave the gift, then to leave Stormwind. There was nothing else here for him. And Left and Right expressed an interest in having a Winter Veil eve dinner with him, before they took their break the next day. Wrathion was sure this was their way of making sure the Black Prince didn’t spend the entire holiday alone, and he was thankful for that, but he...He wasn’t sure he wanted to pretend.
He’d spend the entire dinner thinking, worrying, about Anduin, about how Anduin deserved to celebrate with them. With anyone.
Wrathion shook his head, he’d stood here for too long.
He stepped forward, before the pile of gifts, and knelt down to place his gift among them.
“Wait.”
Wrathion had heard the echo of boots against the Keep’s marble floors, but did not process them till he heard a voice behind him. He turned slightly, to see Genn Greymane, then stood back up, the gift still in his hands.
“...yes?”
Wrathion hadn’t meant to speak informally to the older man, but he’d never felt more tired and out of it mentally. He hadn’t expected to talk to anyone while he was here. By the looks of it, Greymane looked just as tired as he felt. He didn’t need to ask to see that they were both hurting over the empty throne.
Genn stood beside the Black Prince, hands behind his back, looking across at the throne. He opened his mouth to speak, but paused. He took a moment before continuing.
“These gifts were left here by the citizens of Stormwind.” He began, Wrathion pulling his gaze off the man and towards the gifts. “As long as I’ve been by their side, the Wrynns have been beloved by their people. Especially...especially Anduin. He’s always received gifts from his people, on his birthday and on Winter Veil.”
He cleared his throat, glancing to Wrathion momentarily before looking away again.
“But I’ve only ever seen his gifts collected in this manner when he’s gone. Missing.” Genn continued. “They will all be collected tonight to be searched by a trusted royal mage. If deemed safe, they will be placed in storage until his return.”
The man let out a sigh, and Wrathion caught the slightest hint of a smile on his face, before it disappeared. A memory, perhaps?
“I remember…” Genn began, though hesitated. Maybe he was over speaking, but...but in this moment, it felt right, so he continued. “I remember returning to Stormwind, with King Varian and Prince Anduin, after the unexpected conclusions to Garrosh Hellscream’s trial.”
Wrathion left himself tense, unsure of the old man’s direction. If the worgen noticed, and Wrathion was certain he did, he made no show of it.
“Prince Anduin was not himself. Something had broken in him. It was the first time I’d ever seen him cry.” Genn frowned. “He’d just...started sobbing in the middle of court with the House of Nobles, in a room with a hundred other people, and had to leave. Spent a concerning amount of time after that locked within his bedroom. In that time, he’d found comfort in the gifts left for him since his disappearance nearly a year before. His room was a mess with objects and he cherished each and every one of them. They helped him heal, as best he could.”
Wrathion frowned, holding his distress back. What was the point in reminding him of his mistakes?
“Why are you telling me this?” He asked, unable to hide his inner turmoil.
“I have never seen the loss of someone affect him so much. I’ve never seen him show so many different emotions for any other living soul.” Genn answered. “Not for those lost in Arathi Highlands, not for those lost at Teldrassil, not even for his father.”
Genn shifted, slightly. “Not to downplay how difficult these last few years have been on him, I do not envy him in that regard, but none of it compares to the tears he spent on you.”
Wrathion let out a small chuckle. “Me? Over his father?”
“He has been preparing for the day his father dies his entire life. No matter how difficult it would be to process, he’d have royal advisors at his side, the SI:7, and all of the other Alliance leaders he’d grown up with. As horrible as the Legion invasion was, it provided distraction. He could put off his mourning to focus on his job.” Genn paused. “He’d not prepared for losing his only friend, nor had he anything to distract himself from upon returning home, besides the gifts.”
Wrathion still did not understand the point of Genn's words.
“...why are you telling me this?” He asked again, weaker.
“Your gift to him does not deserve to be placed into storage with the rest.” Genn said, looking to Wrathion and the gift in his hands. “When he returns, he should find it waiting for him within the comfort of his own chambers. In the place he goes to heal. Where he’s always gone to heal, after every traumatic event.”
The realization that Genn hadn’t meant to discourage the Black Prince, but to in some way comfort him, felt strange. Genn, nor any of the other royal advisors, nobles, and Alliance leaders, liked Wrathion very much, especially not near their beloved young king.
“What makes you think he will want to see my gift first?” Wrathion asked, more curious than pessimistic. “That a gift will be what he needs to heal after returning from the very depths of hell?”
Genn had already answered the question, but the answer didn’t feel complete. Genn smirked slightly.
“According to the Prince, you overvalued yourself in all aspects. Had an ego, I heard him complain once.” Genn said. “Maybe he was right, at the time. But I fail to see that in you now.”
Wrathion struggled to understand this feeling of receiving...what is it? Praise? A compliment? A positive observation?
“You undervalue yourself.” Genn explained. “Especially the role that you play in Anduin’s life.”
Wrathion stared at the gift in his hands, but his eyes were wide. He’d worked for so long to change the way people viewed him, his flight, for the better. His mistakes were loud and clear and though he defeated N’zoth, he feared no one would forget his past. But it wasn’t till just this moment that he heard that his efforts were working. He was bearing the fruits of his labor, and sooner than he thought he should. And from Genn Greymane, of all people.
“It seems that the fate of the Wrynn house and the fate of the Black Flight are intertwined.” Genn added. “Which is why I am offering to take your gift to him to his room, for him to find first.”
Wrathion wasn’t exactly sure he knew how to reply.
“...unless you believe he values saving the best for last?” Genn asked, raising an eyebrow at the dragon.
Wrathion turned the gift in his hand over a bit, before slowly holding it out to Genn. He felt like he should say more, tried to find something significant to say after all of Genn’s words, but he failed.
“Thank you…” He turned, watching Genn hold the gift carefully, then began walking away. “Thank you.”
Genn dipped his head as he watched the dragon depart, leaving the worgen king alone within the throne room. He looked down at the gift, small and neatly wrapped with a pattern of repeating dwarven hammers. A tag, with the “to” and “from” filled out. It felt light in weight. Genn could use his decades of experience with Winter Veil, as well as the birthdays of his wife and daughter, to figure the gift was some sort of jewelry.
He could admit he had a curiosity, but he didn’t care enough to see if it had a noise, or to handle it roughly in any way. Though he still struggled to trust Wrathion in general, he trusted Wrathion to put great care in the gift he would be giving Anduin this holiday. He was, after all, very obviously trying to apologize to him. His efforts did not go unnoticed.
The nobles weren’t too happy with it, but they were idiots, Genn thought, as he turned to make his way through the Keep, to Anduin’s chambers. Any dangerous dragon would have hypnotized the young king, charmed him. Had Wrathion any ill intentions, he didn’t need to put effort into winning Anduin’s hand. Which is what made his efforts so important.
Genn made his way through the quiet, empty, cold hallways, coming up to the door to the king’s receiving room. He stopped, paused, to take in the lack of guards. How strange, he thought, for he would be sure that protecting the personal property of the king would still be a concern.
He entered the room swiftly and made his way to Anduin’s desk. He placed the gift onto the wood, took a look around the room, frowned at it’s unnerving stillness, and left, closing the door behind him.
The night went on, hours ticking away on the clock placed high upon the room’s wall, across from the king’s desk. Besides the tick tock of time passing, the room, as well as the bedroom beyond it, sat still.
Still, till a rough gust of wind caused the doors to the bedroom’s balcony to tremble violently, unable to contain the force, the lock breaking and the doors flying open. A dark, unnatural mist appeared within the room, slowly lurking within the shadows. Searching, from the neatly made bed to the dusty bookcases to the polished wood of the king’s desk.
The mist paused, and took form, and a hand with sharp, black nails came down upon the gift left behind. They gently ran against the wrapping paper, stopping to find the tag taped to its side. The hand held the tag, rubbing their thumb against the dried ink, the figure hesitating with thought.
A smirk came to her face, as she lifted the gift from the desk, knowing this was what she came here for.
The mist disappeared from the king’s chambers, the broken balcony doors closed and forced shut, nothing left out of place, besides the absence of the gift.
-...-
He tried to sleep as much he could, for it was about the only activity he could do, locked within the rune cell he’d been trapped in, for..how long, now? He could listen to the distant screams of tortured souls, echoing the halls of Torghast, but he preferred not to, and unconsciousness was a good escape.
Besides, Anduin slowly began to realize, he was going to go stir crazy anyway.
No sunlight, no fresh air, no positive social interactions, no showers, with the bare minimum for food and any other necessity. While Sylvanas had long removed the chains that held him down, it didn’t do much when he could only walk two steps at most. His limbs were growing stiff and aching. He’d removed most of his plate armor just to stare at it and trace all the details he’d long forgotten, or the ones caked in dirt and blood.
He’d expected to be tortured with pain unlike any other, stabbed with sharp blades, tormented by memories of his past, something akin to the stuff that was happening to the souls he heard scream.
But it seemed the torment they deemed best fit for him was this. Leaving him for what felt like days on end, caged, without the proper resources needed to keep a human sane. The longer he went, sitting alone, the more and more he struggled to keep his thoughts together.
Sleeping was the only way to pretend he wasn’t stir crazy. To pretend that this wasn’t how Sylvanas planned to weaken him, to either convince him to join her, or to take her control over him.
Perhaps, he hoped, that the longer he suffered here, the closer he would be to seeing Azeroth’s champion run through the floor’s doors.
Sleep made that time go by faster.
He was rudely awoken, at some point, to the sound of the doors echoing open, and the steps of the Banshee Queen walking down to meet him again. His hair was a ruffled mess, the shoulder he’d used to sleep on was horribly sore, and the plate pauldron he hugged to his chest was slightly dented. He sat up from his uncomfortable sleeping position, dropping the armor and wiping away the drool from the corner of his mouth.
When she stopped before the rune, looking down at him, he expected her to comment. To tell him that he stinked, or that humans were pitiful beings, but she said nothing. Her look did not even judge him, or perhaps he’d lost the ability to read people’s faces. He didn’t know anymore.
He looked down, noticing a box in her hands, strangely colorful, compared to the world he’d been a prisoner to. It was wrapped, and a tag hung from it, though the wrapping paper looked a bit ruffled. Like the box had been unwrapped and looked into. Reviewed, checked, approved, and rewrapped and retaped.
“Happy Winter Veil.” Sylvanas said, after a moment of silence. “Little Lion.”
Anduin’s eyes widened slightly, but only for a moment, to the realization that today, at least in Azeroth, it was Winter Veil.
It was Winter Veil already?
A feeling of sorrow and longing filled his chest, and his gaze dropped from Sylvanas to the floor. He loved the holidays, the one time that all of Azeroth could calm for a night of peace, even in their worst of wars. A time that he always got to use to rest and repair, to take a step away from work and focus on himself. Since his father’s death, it’s been the only time he could mourn properly. To pay respects, in his own terms, and in his own time.
A feeling of anger and frustration appeared, as he was forced to forgo the season he needed now more so than ever. To be tormented with the very fact, by his captor. He glared at Sylvanas, waiting for her. He’d grown tired talking to her. Wasting his words on her.
Sylvanas looked in amusement, holding out the small box, her hand dipping into the rune cell force field just enough for him to have the ability to take the offering.
At first, he refused. He looked at it, but he did not move an inch.
“I brought you this, all the way from Stormwind Keep.” Sylvanas feigned disappointment, shaking the box ever so slightly as to push him to take it. “It would be a shame if you refused it.”
Anduin watched the tag twist around in the air, and after it settled enough, he could squint and read it. The harsh emotions in his chest dulled when he saw who the gift was from, and instead the feelings of sorrow and longing reignited.
He must have made a face, for Sylvanas grinned in reaction.
Anduin gave in, reaching out and taking the box, his grip on it tight, his motions hurried, afraid that he would lose this, or perhaps worried it was a joke. A torment worse than what he was already developing on his own.
If Sylvanas really wanted him to agree to her terms, would she fake this? The lack of any clear signs of forged handwriting was a concern. The ruffled rewrapped paper was also strange. Did she want him to think she’d not known the contents when stealing it...or did she really not know?
“I don’t get it.” Anduin’s shoulders lowered as he tried to relax. Why would she give him this? It didn’t matter if it was real or fake. She had a motivation for everything.
“I apologize for not decorating, nor bringing you a Winter Veil feast or tree.” Sylvanas replied, rolling her eyes, waving her hand to the side. “I thought something would be better than nothing.”
Anduin sighed, accepting that she wasn’t going to show him her cards. If he was going to guess, she probably wanted to toy with his sanity, or tease him with a piece of home. Maybe, should there really be a heart within her corpse, she wanted to preserve his sanity. Would getting nothing have been better than getting something? He’d never know.
He turned his attention away from her, hesitating to open the gift. He reread the tag again, wondering about the Black Prince. Wondering about Azeroth. He was careful to remove the tape, unfolding the wrapping paper. Tearing into wrapping paper was something he’d never liked to do, save for when he was really young. He grew to enjoy reusing the paper, if not to use them as bookmarks for his huge collection back home.
The tiny dwarven hammers were cute, a strange choice of wrapping paper for a dragon, but cute nonetheless. He took his time, savoring the moment, unsure if Sylvanas was impatient or not, he didn't care to look up at her. He let the wrapping paper fall to the floor, managing to keep it from tearing, aside from a small one near the edge of one of the pieces of tape. He was pretty sure that had already been there.
After that, he had a small dark box in his hands, grey in color. A gold edging appeared where the box was to be opened, and Anduin felt the pull of a small magnet as he opened the top of the box.
Inside, placed upon soft black foam, was a necklace.
It’s chain was thin, but strong, and gold, shining in the flicker of the flames of Torghast. At the end of the chain, a crystalline pendant, colored a deep, beautiful red.
A blood gem.
He felt himself shaking, trying to gently pick up the piece, trying not to let the tears in his eyes fall any further. Trying to remain calm, and failing. He let the box sit on the floor as he delicately inspected the necklace, instantly feeling that it was real.
He glanced up to Sylvanas, but content with whatever his reaction meant to her, she’d already turned to leave. Her footsteps echoing against the room, disappearing slowly through the doorway, leaving him with his gift.
She’d...given him a blood gem. No! Wrathion had given him a blood gem! But why would she…?
He realized, as he struggled to put the necklace on, that blood gems did not work in the same way as jewelry that was enchanted, or contained runes or curses. Sylvanas likely deemed the gift safe for him to have because she couldn’t detect anything magical about it.
She wasn’t able to form the connection to Wrathion that it allowed Anduin to make.
To her, it was just a necklace.
But to him-
Anduin could hardly keep himself calm as he shifted where he sat, closing the latch on the necklace and letting his shaking hands rest the gem on his upper chest. The distant feeling of warmth that he felt while holding the piece, the very warmth that caused him to fail in holding back his tears, his excitement, grew tenfold as he now wore the piece properly.
He could feel Wrathion.
Even here, in the very depths of hell itself.
Anduin enjoys the feeling for far too long, only eventually realizing that Wrathion hadn’t yet noticed him. A large, stupid grin appeared on the king’s face, as he gently held the pendent between his hands, warming it up. He closed his eyes, and focused his thoughts through the gem.
As soon as he did, he could feel Wrathion’s surprise. His grin widened. He looked like a mad man.
He could almost see the dragon, panicking and struggling to process the feeling, where it came form.
‘Anduin??!?’ Wrathion’s voice come through, into Anduin’s head, and there was nothing stopping the man from sobbing then and there.
‘It’s you!’ Wrathion gasped, emotional, as he listened to Anduin’s cries. “How did you- How did you get this!?’
Through the tears, Anduin laughed.
When he failed to give an answer, Wrathion continued.
“Tell me where you are! I’ll go- go and save you!” Wrathion spoke with a rush. “Right now, I can find you if you-”
“Wrathion-” Anduin cut the man off, his voice oddly cheerful for a man in torment. “Wrath, Please.”
“I’m serious, Anduin, I can probably use the gem to find you and- and-”
“No...no, Wrath, I cannot in good faith lead you to your death.” Anduin’s smile slimmed, his eyes opened, though the blur of tears kept him from focusing on anything that surrounded him. He let out a deep breath, a weight fading that he didn't realize he’d held onto. “Please, right now, I just need someone to talk to. Please.”
Anduin’s voice was tired, rough, and nothing at all of a sane healthy man. It stuck out to Wrathion the more Anduin spoke.
Wrathion hesitated, his stress something Anduin could feel through the gem. He could feel Wrathion begin to calm, come to terms with their positions, and their lack of action. At least to some degree, he was sure the dragon would be plotting something in the meantime.
“O-okay.” Wrathion said, the concern clear. “I’m here. I will always be here.”
Anduin’s smile was soft, his shaking still present, but his tears slowing. The warmth of the blood gem did not restore the man’s health, nor did it provide him a feast, or ease his fears, but there was no better form of comfort.
The comfort of a friend. Of someone more than a friend.
Of Wrathion.
Anduin shuddered as he realized just how badly he missed this feeling. In his worst of times, broken and in chronic pain back in a tavern in the mists, this feeling was what made it all worth it. Would it be his savior now, in even darker times?
“Thank you.” Anduin let himself breath. “Do you...do you have any stories?”
“Stories?” Wrathion asked.
“From your adventures? Did anything funny happen while you were away?” Anduin asked, seeking out a story, even if embellished or completely false, just to wisk his imagination away from this haunted place. To escape.
Wrathion paused, a bit unsure, but then seemed to catch on. Anduin could almost picture the dragon’s smirk as he thought up something worthy of a story to a king.
“Well,” Wrathion’s voice was firm, confident, and now lacked his previous panic and worry. Just what Anduin needed to hear. Wanted to hear. “there was this one time....”
As Anduin closed his eyes, to imagine the words told to him, Torghast became something but a distant memory. The impact it had on his mind, his thoughts, failed to keep their hold, and negativity and despair crumbled, replaced with a new, restored sense of hope and happiness.
Wrathion was not here, he knew, but to know that Wrathion would be there when he returned made the pain all that more bearable.
-...-