Work Text:
After finding his son's assigned room empty and lacking Anduin’s presence, Varian had tried to ignore the feelings of concern, frustration and even a little panic that the moment ignited in him. It wasn’t that far into the evening yet, the sun was only starting to set over the highest peaks of Kun-Lai’s mountains; and even at such a somber event as Garrosh’s trial, people were still finding it from themselves to gather and socialize outside the court hours.
Perhaps, Varian tried to reason with himself to keep his reaction in check, Anduin had simply gone to spend time with his aunt Jaina, or could be found from the middle of a short walk on the temple grounds to loosen his stiff joints. He had often done that in Lion’s Landing during his stay, after he had healed enough from his injuries to get out of bed. At first even against the recommendations of his healers, infuriatingly enough.
The King placed the tea set he had been carrying on the round sitting table of Anduin’s room, which was accompanied by two wooden chairs of Pandaren design that he had been planning to spend the next hour seated on with his son. It was a habit he had formed and tried cultivating in the tense lull in Durotar before the siege on Orgrimmar had begun, when he had realized just how far away Anduin had drifted from him again and how that distance between them saddened him. To his great shame he hadn’t seen the vastness of that distance until Garrosh had very nearly returned the prince to his mother.
A shared pot of tea and few exchanged words about simple and safe topics shared behind the false privacy of a tent flap had found him most success in bridging that gap. The food they had eaten that day, how his physical therapy was going, or just reminiscing over happy memories of the few shared festivals and holidays they had. Anduin had clearly appreciated the effort he was putting in, and it had felt like he had been making longer and bolder strides than he ever had managed before to bridge the expanse between father and son.
There was no reason not to continue to foster that same goodwill here as well even with all that was going on around them. He had vowed to himself before, bent over his son’s bedside where he laid so pale and unmoving wrapped in thick layers of blood-soaked gauze, that if he were granted yet another chance he hadn’t earned, he would put in the work and effort to become a father that Anduin deserved. Who he could be proud of. And he would make sure that his son would never forget his importance to him again.
That included him staying calm now as he turned to leave from the empty room to investigate the whereabouts of Anduin, allowing the heavy door to swing securely shut behind him. His heavy armored boots made a clanking echo in the sparsely occupied halls of the temple, the chain mail of his armor jingling with every step; but as he stepped out through the tall open doorway to the snow dusted stone terrace and was met with the chilly breeze of the retreating spring evening, he came to the discovery that Anduin seemed to want very little for company that favored his importance.
From his high vantage point Varian could easily spot down the flight of stairs the familiar golden, honey-brown hair, and for a moment he felt relief. For the next one, as he folded his arms over his chest and softly frowned, he felt indignant as he could have sworn on Llane Wrynn’s crown he had given Anduin clear instructions to wear his hood and gloves out here in the mountains where the chill could be deceiving, and here he sat bereft of both. Even worse, he sat chummy next to the young black dragon that his son had invited personally to the trial.
He shouldn’t have been surprised; if his agents’ reports were to be believed, and usually they were, this “Prince” Wrathion had been attached to his son at the hip for the entire length of his recover at the tavern he had insisted on traveling to. No, he shouldn’t have been surprised, but he could certainly be displeased. Their budding friendship was awarded a very high place amongst Varian’s most pressing worries, but from where he stood, it would be all but impossible to wean them off from each other without ruining the fragile rapport he had cultivated with Anduin so preciously.
The King walked with quiet steps along the ornamental stone railing, wanting for a better vantage point to observe the two. Only to observe, he justified, to make sure that everything was okay. He could see only the backs of both boys as they talked quietly with each other, and unless he meant to disturb them he could get no closer. Their conversation seemed relaxed and familiar, their heads swaying lightly as they talked, and the dragon’s hands in constant motion whenever it came to him to respond. When Varian at least caught a glimpse of Anduin’s face as he turned his head just right, he wore a contented smile Varian had only ever seen at a distance.
To say that the king was jealous of some black whelp’s ability to earn such a genuine, coveted smile from his own son would be ridiculous, and entirely incorrect. The two of them had made wide, respectable strides in their own relationship throughout Anduin’s teen years. He was in far better command of his temper, and his dramatic leaps in judgment. He did his best to listen completely, without having a reply ever at the ready tip of his tongue until he had the time to think over his response. Despite his frequent shortcomings and the powerful strain of Anduin’s goodwill, they had grown close enough to dodge the pitfalls that lead to their more…eruptive disagreements.
That someone who had, until recently, been a complete stranger to Anduin- and it could not be ignored, also happened to be a black dragon -could achieve more in such a short time was not cause for jealousy. It was cause for concern, and no small amount of well-earned suspicion.
Varian knew with more intimacy than anyone he was sure, of Anduin’s depth of trust and propensity to hand out second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth chances; and more if he thought you deserved it. Varian himself might be the recipient of a further seventh and eight, if he really taxed his mind to remember. For Anduin, intention began with belief. He believed ardently in change, and as he had already proven, intended to bring it about personally, if he had no other choice.
The King trailed his gloved fingers over the snowy railing as he walked, idly brushing off the feathered snowflakes with no mind to how they fell and piled on the toes of his boots. He stopped to grip the ledge, the well-worn leather creaking over his knuckles, when the dragon suddenly drove his elbow into Anduin’s side hard enough to unseat the blonde from the stair. Anduin wobbled unsteadily to the side, and Varian’s calves tightened as he prepared to vault down the stairs in his defense. His stormy eyes narrowed and rage ignited in his chest, a furious shout already at the back of his tongue as Anduin then regained his balance, and to his surprise, socked Wrathion back hard in the shoulder.
Varian paused, his brow knit, clouds of his own breath briefly obscuring the two enough for him to register the bright sound of Anduin’s laughter, which climbed the stairs in a desperate race to reach his ears and prevent him from doing yet another impulsive thing he would come to regret.
Wrathion would not be so easily countered, shifting his weight to bump Anduin bodily with his shoulder. Varian’s own shoulders tensed, as he was too aware of his son’s recent injures and fragility, and then relaxed when his son only redoubled the dragon’s efforts with another laugh. The sight was more familiar. If he could, for a moment ignore the weight of the wars, the crown, and the many years spent as a father to a boy who seemed determined to send them both to the family plot on swift wings…he had also been that young, once. He had played roughly, hauled his friends down into the dirt, struck up friendly and unfriendly competitions, bickered bitterly, masqueraded through the halls of Lordaeron as both a fearless and valiant king and a fierce and vicious orc warlord.
It occurred to him only then that the reason he had never seen Anduin so unguarded and familiar with someone was because he had, for the whole of his life, lacked companions of his own age.
Once more Varian had been too hasty. He had made a snap judgment. The undeniable truth was that Wrathion was a black dragon, but according to the reports that reached the king’s desk, he was also nothing but a child. Perhaps it wasn’t entirely Anduin’s prime vulnerability to the kind of manipulation favored by the boy’s flight, or his position as the crown prince that caused Wrathion to gravitate towards him. Perhaps even dragons craved the companionship of their peers, and Wrathion was as bereft of those as his son.
Varian had just begun to straighten up again, considering leaving them to it without his spying, when Anduin leaned back towards the dragon and this time it wasn’t to shoulder check him, but to lean even further to peck his lips in what looked very much like a kiss. The King could only stare, dazedly, because that had certainly never happened when he and Arthas had traded blows. It didn’t seem to take Wrathion by surprise either, which clued Varian in that this must not have been the first time this happened, because the dragon was already wrapping and arm around the blonde boy’s waist, and pulling him in closer to return the gesture.
One kiss became several under the softly falling snow, soft and inexperienced but wanting, until Anduin was reeling back, laughing and trying in vain to wedge his fingers, blushed pink from the cold like his cheeks, between the two of them. Wrathion responded by capturing those frail fingers in his palms and holding them to his mouth, breathing warmth into them so that the steam curled between the gaps of the digits. In his efforts to spare himself from the fresh onslaught of tenderness, Anduin turned his head just enough to catch a horrified glimpse of the figure glowering over them at the top of the stairs.
“Father!!”
The blonde jolted like he had been electrocuted, grabbing the dragon by the shoulders to separate them. To his great satisfaction Varian caught the barest glimpse of genuine surprise and fear in the dragon’s wide crimson eyes in the precious moment when he turned to see what Anduin was shouting about. Wrathion gathered himself at an impressive sprint, but his companion was still staring up at his father with naked horror.
“Son,” Varian simply said in response, his voice easily carrying over the wind and stairs with enough strength to make Anduin’s blood curdle. The King circled the decorative stone pillar at the end of the railing and started towards them with heavy steps down the stairs, now that he had been spotted it would do no good to attempt to obscure his presence.
“I can explain—“ Anduin hurried to say, releasing his hold of the dragon and pushing himself to his feet so he would be standing before his father reached them. The apples of his cheeks and the tip of his nose had already been whipped red by the mountain chill, and now there was a different kind of warmth spreading up his neck and blooming on his face.
“I think what His Majesty witnessed very much spoke for itself,” Wrathion drawled, sounding almost bored as he stood up in a tightly controlled way beside Anduin, looking much more calm and collected with his arms now securely folded over his chest.
At least until Varian turned his heated glare in his direction, and the boy’s expression tightened over his features, only his twitching eye and the arch of his brow betraying his nerves. One day he might be a formidable and imposing threat, but for now Wrathion’s true form was reported to be not much bigger than a house cat, and he would need to work a bit harder to intimidate the Goldrinn’s chosen.
Satisfied, Varian turned his gaze back to his son, who seemed to only shrink further and further into his warm coat the longer Wrathion spoke, staring at the snowy steps under his boots like he was hoping for the snow to simply deepen and swallow him up. When it seemed like Anduin was not going to continue without prompting, the King then spoke up again.
“Explain, then,” Varian said firmly, much more calmly than he felt but in his tone you could clearly see the limits of his patience. It left no room for anything else but the truth, and the blonde prince flinched from its lash as if hurt, the dragon beside him in the corner of the King’s eye growing rigid.
Anduin kept his bright eyes glued to the ground beneath his feet, carefully studying the wide snow filled gaps between the slabs of worn out stone, and the last time Varian had seen his son so guilty he had been no taller than his waist surely when he had been caught stealing from the kitchens. Only to turn out that he had been secretly feeding stray cats in the gardens. Anduin did not try to risk glancing upwards, into what he knew would be his father’s piercing, steely-eyed gaze; and the blonde made a face as he surely realized that the truth that Varian wanted would not be something he would want to hear. It was too late to come up with any lie that his father would not be able to immediately see through, even a lie of omission, and he had never possessed the deceit required to be a good liar anyways.
Nevertheless, for the sake of his dignity, and the paltry independence he had been allowed since his father had made landfall on Pandaria, it seemed like the boy was still determined to try.
“We were…just…talking,” Anduin ventured, which was true, or at least, some of the truth. Varian noted the unspoken apology in his tone, although he was more certain it was not for his actions, but rather for having been complacent enough to be caught. It might have been enough to dampen Varian’s temper, had the boy managed to stammer it out before it had bellowed into a white hot blaze.
“It seems though it would be very hard to have a conversation like that,” Varian snarked, mirthlessly, with a tone that he usually reserved for interrogation. He folded his arms over his chest and cocked his hip to the side, looking down at his son with disappointment that Anduin could hear in his voice, as he only shrank further into his thick winter coat, as if the fur collar might shield his burning ears from it.
“Wrathion has been a very good friend to me…” the blonde prince tried to start anew then but his voice trailed off, nervously rubbing his chilled fingers together now that they were not being kept warm by an overly friendly dragon. To try to hide them from the chilly wind, he dipped his fingers into the wool-lined sleeves of his coat.
“A friend,” the King repeated with even more suspicion because what he had just witnessed implied something totally different. Anduin was familiar with this method of questioning, and maybe it had worked better when he had been knee high, but in the more recent years he had reacted poorly to it. And even now, Varian could see the line of his jaw setting into a stubborn angle as frustration started to take root in him, and the fear in his eyes started to slowly lift from its way as his brows furrowed.
“It was one kiss,” Anduin insisted stubbornly, but he still could not find the strength nor courage to look up at his father.
“If I may comment—, ” Wrathion then piped up with that lilting, confident tone of his that he no doubt used to charm both those who ended up doing his dirty work for him, as well as the crown prince. Varian turned a heated look at him that communicated the message of ‘you may not’ so clearly that the dragon visibly hesitated and lost whatever words he had prepared as he hovered behind the blonde’s shoulder; a careful dance between appearing confident while also placing Anduin between them, in some false hope that Varian would not gladly lift the frail boy to the side to get to him.
The dragon would have to wait for his turn, as Varian was more interested in hearing what exactly Anduin had been thinking when he had decided to start fraternizing with someone like him, and just how he would try to justify such a terrible error in his commonly sound judgment.
“I thought I taught you better,” Varian growled. “You were there when I fell to Onyxia’s manipulation- and a few friendly words is all it took to make you forget?!” the King then finally let his opinion be known, disappointed and frustrated that his son would risk not only his own safety, again, in such an egregious way but also through him the throne, Stormwind, even Alliance secrets. The few short times Varian had seen Wrathion around others he seemed to ooze the kind of confidence that made it seem like he thought he owned the whole world. The keyword being ‘thought’ as he was nothing but one whelp of a dragon with an overgrown sense of self-importance and few foolish followers, and he would not have guessed that his stubborn, willful, and disarmingly intelligent son would fall to such a feeble ruse as a bad boy act.
“Wrathion hasn’t manipulated me, father,” the blonde prince insisted a bit more firmly, as Varian’s infectious temper crept over his tightened shoulders, but as always, Anduin had a much better mastery over his own emotions. He refused to allow anything to triumph over his diplomacy, allowing only what was necessary to fuel his confidence.
“Wrathion is a black dragon, it is all they have ever done!,” Varian quickly overtook Anduin’s tepid, measured tone, with no consideration left to be had for the said dragon as if he wasn’t standing right there beside them, witnessing this exchange that was reducing him to nothing more but a painful, dangerous extension of his flight’s sordid history. Neither Wrynn paid him any attention as his lip twitched, the only thing to plainly exhibit how his carefully crafted mask was cracking, but Varian did not need to look at him and his dangerously narrowed glowing ruby eyes to know that he spoke the truth. There was no trusting a black dragon, not even this small one as it would just one day grow up to be the same as all the others, as they had already proved again and again. Anduin had seen it for himself, the destruction caused in their madness, the wrath they had expended upon the world entrusted to them to protect, and yet the crown prince of the Alliance seemed insistent upon trying to befriend the last of them, perhaps out of spite.
Anduin seemed to finally gain the courage, or frustration, to look up at him. His cheeks flushed and his eyes steeled, as he stubbornly dug his heels in. It should have been a clear sign to Varian of his mistake, of how he was rapidly losing all the progress that he had made in communicating with his son, and how this would, more than likely, end in yet another frustrated stalemate where neither felt any better or worse about it; and the chasm between them would yawn wider. It should have, were his overwhelming worry for Anduin not refreshed every time he glanced over his son’s shoulder, and found the source of his grief smirking right there like a conceited shadow.
“I know what he is!” Anduin growled. “Wrathion is different. The corruption of his flight—”
“If I wanted to manipulate him,” Wrathion interrupted, not asking for permission this time and tired of being interrupted and ignored, he sensed that the only way to get his quips in was by force. “There are many more effective ways to do that than kissing him in secret,” the prince taunted, his half lidded expression of confidence worn like a weapon because he had to know how it would get under the King’s skin.
“Silence, wyrm,” Varian growled, more than a little ashamed for taking such an obvious bait, but reassuring himself that he needed to exert his unquestionable dominion over the situation somehow before it slipped out of his control completely.
“Father—,” Anduin tried to speak up, taking a daring step forwards as if he was going to physically hold him back if needed. Unfortunately, the prince went widely ignored by the two, in favor of glaring daggers at each other, both clearly preparing for some kind of altercation if things kept escalating.
“I’m not a wyrm actually. Wyrms and dragons are two completely difference species. Not that I would expect a man like you to know- A powerful king with an entire spy network at his disposal, who somehow has no idea what his son is doing behind his back,” Wrathion said smugly, and the boy had to be either stupid or suicidal, his razor sharp smirk only widening as he saw the reaction his words goaded out of Varian as if inviting an attack. Maybe he was. Maybe that was part of his manipulation, to turn father and son against each other.
“You slimy—!”
“Wrathion!! Father!!” the blonde finally snapped loud enough to wrest their attentions from each other, turning sharply to look at the boy beside him. Varian could not see what look Anduin was giving to the dragon, but Wrathion’s expression soured up into something almost scolded as if he was suddenly growing regretful for upsetting the blonde. It was almost bizarre to see, how all those sharp edges in on the dragon’s face from a moment before were suddenly smoothened out and vanished, in a way that looked too genuine and uncomfortable to be an act. The dragon truly did have a soft spot for Anduin, and as Varian allowed his shoulders to relax once more, the fog of his fury startled into clearing, and his more rational mind took hold.
Once they had quieted in their shock, Anduin turned back to his father. His gaze maintained the stubborn resolve of before, without even a hint of his abrupt eruption. His blue eyes looked almost pleading, wanting to be heard and understood so desperately, and Varian felt his determination melting even further as the veil of his anger lifted.
“I sought him out myself, father,” Anduin admitted. “And I— I really like him,” the boy stumbled over his words, glancing aside only briefly as the confession clearly flustered him. The dragon really had managed to wrap his son around his claws, but as Varian looked at Wrathion standing there now he looked much more reserved and almost nervous. Maybe it was a glimpse of the real him that he hid behind that confident act of his, and once more the King could see a little bit clearer now how Wrathion truly was just a nervous teenager who had so gently warmed Anduin’s hands before with kindness that he had not seen a black dragon perform before.
Still, his response to a mild scolding would not be enough on its own.
“My son…” Varian began, not yet calm, but with farm more control this time. He could hardly be blamed for his distrust in the members of the black dragon flight, especially when it came to the safety of his son. The prince had been through too much in his young life, had been hurt worse than Varian should have ever allowed to happen, and he wouldn’t allow anything more. ”I shouldn’t have to remind you of the damage that—”
“I know, father!” Anduin insisted, the strain in his voice betraying the small glimpses of the frustration that was still there, blistering just beneath the surface. “He’s not like them! I mean, he isn’t perfect but…but he genuinely wants to do good!” the boy sighed, looking back in Wrathion’s direction, as if silently urging him to not make him regret saying so. “I believe in him,” he finished, softly, and something subtle and almost painful shifted in the dragon’s expression.
Of course his son would believe only in the best, even in a black dragon, he would never expect anything else from him. As Varian looked down at his son and met his pleading eyes, he also realized that while he could try to protect him, Anduin was growing up. He was gaining new…interests, and probably handling it more mature than others his age would. He definitely was more mature, responsible and levelheaded than Varian himself had been at that age, and treating him like this, with so much doubt, like a child, was insulting.
He could shield his child from many threats in the world, but he could not stop him from growing up, and that was a very sobering realization to have so suddenly. His baby was becoming a young man, a fine one as well, a young man that any father should be proud to have raised, and Varian was once more failing him in refusing to meet him like an adult.
The King was quiet for one heavy moment as he deliberated, as he allowed Anduin’s own teachings to find him and guide him. Understanding, patience, giving the benefit of the doubt. The very temple grounds they occupied stood for those values, and Varian wasn’t quite arrogant enough to think himself wiser than wild gods.
“Maybe…we should continue this talk in your room. With more privacy,” the King then finally broke that pregnant pause, Anduin’s expression wavering as he probably took his words as yet another promise of more reprimand to come, and it broke his heart to think that his son would immediately expect the worst from him. He needed to do better, he knew that, and doing better started from offering an olive branch, and from listening before he spoke.
“Yes, father…” Anduin said and allowed his eyes to fall back to the snowy steps under his boots, looking so sad that it squeezed Varian’s chest to think that he had once more caused that. He looked over the blonde’s shoulder at the dragon again, who was avoiding his eyes to the side now with a look of stubborn toughness on his face that Varian clearly recognized as his best attempt to prevent any of his reactions from bleeding into the open, his arms folded protectively over his chest.
“And perhaps your…friend…would want to join us..?” Varian said, catching the look of surprise in Wrathion’s eyes as he turned sharply to look at him again with those almost unnerving ruby eyes of his, but for once he seemed to be rendered speechless and hopefully for a good reason this time. The King looked down at Anduin again, who was also looking at him with wide eyed surprise like he wasn’t sure if the person before him truly was his father or if someone had suddenly gone and occupied his skin, and he guessed that he had earned that suspicion.
“I brought tea,” Varian then elaborated, hoping that it would convey what he meant. Tea time was time of rebuilding. It was time of listening and sharing. It was one of the things he could do to show goodwill towards his son in a concrete low stakes way, and as the realization dawned in him Anduin’s face slowly warmed into a genuine smile unlike any he had given his father in a long time. The gesture clearly had not gone unnoticed and unappreciated.
“I would like that,” the blonde said, visibly relaxing, and then turning to Wrathion with a giddy little grin to offer him his hand.
The dragon looked like it was taking him a bit longer to follow what was happening, a cautious suspicion to his movements as he stepped closer to Anduin and eyed Varian like he was expecting him to pounce on him on any second. When nothing happened though, he braved to grasp the blonde’s offered hand carefully and looked at him, offering him a tight small smile which was probably his son’s bright smile rubbing off on the dragon as it truly was infectious.
Varian tried to not stare as he turned to lead them back inside, but he couldn’t help but notice the way Wrathion gathered both of Anduin’s hands into his own again, holding those chill bitten pink fingers between his palms like he had before. The King’s hearing catching the soft half whispered words that were not meant for his ears.
“Are you cold?”
It was such a small act of kindness, but it set the dragon so starkly apart from his kin in Varian’s mind that he felt almost foolish for having accused him so aggressively before. Of course, it would take more than that to erase his suspicion that was so deeply rooted in him, and Wrathion’s spiteful behavior was not so suddenly forgotten, but if anyone wanted to court his son he could only hope that they showed that kind of care and consideration to him.
“I’m fine, Rathi,” Anduin replied equally as softly with a familiar use of a nickname, and he didn’t let go of the dragon’s hands as he started to pull him with him back towards inside after his father despite the reservation Wrathion was showing.
Their steps made soft sounds as they walked through the snow in silence and ascended the stone steps to the temple door, the snow continuing to fall quietly around them. And even though Varian had no idea what would come of this conversation that was awaiting them, he felt like he was finally making the right move, even if that bizarrely enough included extending some trust to a black dragon. He was going to try and listen to his son, who had proved again and again to be the wiser out of the two of them, and he was going to try and give the dragon the benefit of the doubt.
The White Tiger Xuen had spoken cryptically of true strength to them when they had arrived here for the trial. He had said how true strength was not measured in one’s martial prowess or the size of their muscles, but rather in the way they faced challenges. Varian’s way to overcome challenges had always been a much more brutal affair than his son’s, who preferred to extend patience and understanding instead of intimidation and force. His way got results, but it also made many enemies, while Anduin’s risky gamble seemed to net him friends and allies in the most unlikely places.
If true strength was measured in one’s compassion, then surely Anduin was the strongest out of them all, and Varian would be foolish to disregard him for anything less. Even if that would mean having to tolerate the presence of one snotty brat of a dragon with the gift for making his son smile.