Work Text:
Admiral Taylor knocked hesitantly on the door to the young prince’s makeshift hospital room. Hearing no response, he waited a few heartbeats longer than was necessary before he turned the handle. Anduin’s condition had been serious but stable the last time he popped his head in, and he had to steel himself to see the prone figure laid out on the bed. Lion’s Landing was no fortress, but the king had done his best to turn it into one. The outpost was packed to bursting with soldiers, at least a quarter of the Alliance army had been recalled to Krasarang to ensure the prince’s safety.
As always, he let out a quiet breath in relief when he entered the room to find it illuminated by the healing trance of Prophet Velen. He was still working on Anduin’s wounds, which meant that Anduin was still alive. There was no point in asking the old Draenei how it was going, he was deep within himself and had not acknowledged anybody since he’d arrived. It had been nearly a full day and Taylor knew that soon they would need to draw him away and insist that he rest, but none of the other healers were confident that they could handle injuries of such magnitude if Velen stepped away. They were in a field medical bay, not the royal hospital. If anything went wrong they had very few resources to fall back on.
Clearing his throat, Taylor stepped up to stand beside King Varian, who was seated at the prince’s bedside, holding his hard like it was about to shatter. “He looks better,” he lied. Velen’s efforts were surely concentrated more on the injuries they could not see, but it was still gutting to see the young man who had been giving him gray hairs for months lying stiff and silent with bruises all the way to his fingernails. He forced himself to look away and set down the papers he had brought in on the prince’s bedside table. “I have the situation report you asked for.”
“How bad are our losses?” Varian didn’t sugarcoat anything. Pulling so many soldiers away from their front lines would present the Horde with a perfect opportunity to overrun those that remained. Varian’s official orders were for the troops in the field to hold their positions if they could, but retreat if pressed. They could afford to lose ground, but lives were not as easily regained.
“Not as bad as you expect.” Taylor allowed himself to briefly bask in the feeling of bringing the King good news for once. “The Horde is as shocked as we are. Half their troops are on the verge of mutiny, it’s all their officers can do to maintain control. And a few hours ago, a catapult launched this over our front lines.” He reached into his bag and handed over the small parcel, its contents no worse the wear for having been rummaged through by SI:7 security personnel.
Varian lifted the lid with uncharacteristic hesitancy. “What is this?” He reached inside and picked up one of the items inside, a small strip of dessicated red material.
“Dried cactus apple, from Kalimdor.” There had been nearly a dozen in the box, but after extensive poison testing, only five remained intact. Taylor thought they smelled terrible, but perhaps orcs had different scent preferences. “According to Spymaster Shaw, they’re popular in Orgrimmar, as a treat for children.”
Varian’s face softened. “He’ll love that.” Replacing the fruit, he gently set the box down on Anduin’s bedside table. “He’ll be insufferable.” He smoothed a strand of hair away from Anduin’s eyes and sat back in his chair to resume his vigil.
The cactus fruit was only the beginning. Once news of Anduin's survival began to spread, a stream of get-well cards, letters of admiration, and small gifts flowed into Lion's Landing. Some entered through legitimate channels, like the set of intricately carved wooden animals handed over by a solemn representative from the civilians in Paw'don Village. Others entered the stronghold through more unorthodox means, tucked away inside disabled munitions or simply handed over during tense ceasefires on the front lines. By the time the Prince was awake to receive them, his small room was overflowing. And then, almost a week after Velen deemed him fit to get out of bed for brief walks down the corridor, Anduin received a visitor.
Taylor had been briefed on the Black Prince months ago, while the fortress at Lion’s Landing was still under construction. They all had. A black dragon, living and active, could not be classified as anything less than a high priority security threat. The report, compiled by Shaw’s top field agents, was not a flattering portrayal. Wrathion was volatile and unpredictable, possibly hostile, and a key suspect in at least one mysterious death. The only positive thing they could find to say about the young dragon was that he was not known to be working for the Horde. That he could simply stroll through the front gates with a pair of armed guards was unimaginable, no guards in their right minds would ever let him inside.
And yet, there he was. Wandering the hallways as if he belonged there, on the very first day King Varian had torn himself away from Anduin’s bedside to return to his duties. It was far too timely to be a coincidence, even though the King’s schedule was meant to be known only to a select few carefully curated individuals. And so there was Taylor, on what was supposed to be a rare day off, crammed into an interrogation room with a hastily gathered squad of soldiers blocking the exits.
“You can’t be in here.” It wasn’t a threat, not exactly. Only a very foolish man would threaten a dragon, no matter what size, inside a flammable building. Taylor had decided that he didn’t care how Wrathion had gotten inside, as long as he could be made to leave without incident. The security breach was appalling, but the weakness could be identified once the threat was gone.
The Black Prince nodded to acknowledge Taylor, but didn’t answer him for a long minute. He seemed much more interested in the decor of the room they were in than the soldiers in with them. “I don’t mean to overstep,” he said at last. His claws tapped against the tabletop, and Taylor briefly wondered if they were built into his gloves or if they were naturally that long. “I had heard that Prince Anduin was being cared for here, and wanted to deliver my well-wishes in person. Along with this.” He reached into his pocket, but stopped when the guards at the door reflexively put their hands on their swords. “It is nothing dangerous, I assure you.”
The guards looked to Taylor for instruction. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, fighting back a headache. Giving Wrathion the benefit of the doubt felt like a bad idea, but insulting a black dragon was inarguably a worse option. He weighed his choices a moment longer, then gave them the signal to stand down. They let go of their weapons, and the Black Prince’s bodyguards relaxed almost imperceptibly. Their crossbows were secured to their sides, and Taylor thought that his men could close the distance before they were drawn, but he did not want to find out.
“Go on then,” he said. “But I’ll warn you that SI:7 is inspecting everything that goes into the Prince’s room. You can leave whatever it is with me, but I can make no guarantees that it will reach him. And we are not allowing any outside visitors.”
Wrathion’s brow furrowed and he frowned, but made no attempt to argue. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and produced an ornately decorated envelope. “This contains two items,” he explained. “One is a bracelet, of Pandaren make, enchanted with a charm that promotes healing. The other is a letter. It was… intended for Prince Anduin’s eyes alone.” For the first time, Taylor detected a gap in the young dragon’s projected aura of confidence. He no longer seemed capable of making eye contact, and his claws were digging part of the way into the paper. “My associates and I were impressed by his actions. It takes a great deal of courage to stand up to an enemy warlord, and although it may have been reckless, the results were inarguable. This is an invitation, of sorts. I have been operating out of a charming Pandaren inn up in the mountains on the Veiled Stair. The proprietor maintains an outdoor bath, fed by nearby hot springs. The locals say it does wonders for the injured.”
As Taylor took a breath to demand Wrathion hand over the envelope, a slight movement at the door caught his eye. The shadow of a person standing out in the hallway, leaning close to the door. He managed, somehow, to quell the urge to roll his eyes. “Go back to your room, Your Highness,” he called, raising his voice slightly to be heard clearly through the sturdy wood.
As usual, Anduin did not listen to him. The door opened slowly, the Prince needing to use almost his whole bodyweight to shift it. His dominant arm would need to be in a sling for weeks yet, and he was under strict orders from his healers to use it as little as possible until then. He wobbled his way into the room, leaning heavily on the cane he’d been given, and gave Wrathion a small, polite smile. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I heard my name. Thank you for coming all this way.”
An odd expression crossed over Wrathion’s face, and he held the envelope out for Anduin to take. “Well, I couldn’t allow your accomplishments to go unacknowledged. However, I believe I may have overstayed my welcome.” He spoke rapidly, and it was difficult to tell in the dim light but Taylor thought his face looked a little flushed. “I apologize for frightening your guards,” Wrathion said, and almost sounded like he meant it. He stood and brushed off the front of his coat. “It was nice to meet you. Left, Right, let’s go.”
Before anyone could react, the three of them were out the door. A heartbeat later, Taylor’s men scrambled to follow them out, hurriedly bowing to Anduin as they went. Anduin took advantage of the distraction to fold up the envelope and stash it in the front pocket of his hospital robe. Taylor grit his teeth. He was never going to get that back. Only up and about for a few days and the Prince was already wreaking havoc on his blood pressure.
“I wish he’d waited,” Anduin commented. “That was the dragon Shaw has been so worried about, wasn’t it? I’ve heard a little bit about him. It would be interesting to talk to a black dragon who isn’t trying to kill me.” He had a familiar expression on his face that Taylor did not like. When the Prince looked like that, he was usually thinking about getting into trouble.
“You know you aren’t to go anywhere without your father,” he reminded Anduin in his best commanding officer voice, knowing even as he spoke that it would have very little effect. Anduin was kindhearted and loved by all, but fifteen was a difficult age and there were very few people whose instructions he would consistently follow. “The Black Prince claims to mean well, and he might be telling the truth, but we know almost nothing about him.” Privately, he made a note to assign Anduin a second personal guard, just in case.
“I know.” Anduin thumped his cane meaningfully on the floor. “I’m not going anywhere fast on this leg anyway. It would be nice, that’s all.” He shot a wistful look out the window, where the mountains were just barely visible in the distance, hidden in a haze of clouds. “Pandaria is so beautiful, I feel like I could spend my whole life here.”
Taylor nodded. He had to agree. The Pandaria campaign was one of the most challenging things he’d ever faced, but there was something about the place that took the rough edges off of things. Even when he himself had been injured and in pain, it had never once occurred to him to feel homesick. The calming effect on the spirit was unlike anything he’d experienced before. Here, and nowhere else, it felt possible that the Prince might recover fully from his accident.
“Do you need help back to your room?” he asked, gently as he could. “You really should be resting still.”
“I can manage by myself, but I think I’d like the company. It gets dull resting without anyone to talk to.” Anduin smiled at him, and just like that, all thoughts of an argument were forgotten.
They went off together down the hall, chatting as they went. Anduin pointedly avoided any more talk about the Black Prince, but he wore the bracelet he’d been given until long after the enchantment on it faded.