Chapter Text
The Obsidian Citadel was dark and hot, with harsh wind currents rising up from the mountains that the dragons coasted along as they fought back the djaradin. Anduin’s assistance in these battles was becoming somewhat known, though they did not know his true name. A number of the Blacktalon were assigned to him, and many of Sabellian’s brood assumed he was simply another of Wrathion’s people.
He enjoyed being referred to as such.
He and Wrathion were always careful not to let their true feelings show in front of any who might reveal their relationship to the wider world. One, because being with a mortal was exactly the sort of weakness that Sabellian would use against Wrathion, and two, because the last known relationship that Wrathion had had was… with Anduin. And Anduin was trying to stay discreet, because he did not want to have to return to Stormwind.
He wanted to dissolve the monarchy and spend the rest of his life with Wrathion, and that was sure to cause a lot of paperwork, so he was just… putting it off.
The responsibility of the crown was not a comforting weight. Not anymore.
The letters from Mathias Shaw, updates on how his people were doing, burned in his hands. Unopened, and heavy with responsibility. With pain. With the Throne.
Anduin bit back a sigh and tucked the envelopes away again, just in time for Wrathion to burst into the hide shelter in his visage form.
“-I swear to the Titans. He knows just what to say to get under my skin!” Wrathion threw himself onto the recliner beside Anduin and buried his face in the priest’s chest, and let out a sound of pure frustration.
Anduin petted his head gently, closing his eyes. At least this was becoming their new normal, and he liked it this way. He felt useful, helping Wrathion burn out his steam and talk through the conversations he had had with his rival. It was nice to help, and be helped in return. It felt balanced.
The citadel was taxing on everyone, even those for whom it was their ancestral home. The warm air was kind to his bones, but the changes in air pressure when dragonriding were not, so he had to be careful. Anduin was at his most comfortable sitting still, as he was now.
He petted Wrathion’s head some more and hummed, letting his love take the comfort he needed. The stakes for this conflict were extremely high for Wrathion, and while he would always have a place at Anduin’s side, this was about him defending the title he’d thought he would always have. He had been quite literally groomed for the role since before his birth, and Anduin knew how upset he was to have this uncertainty.
“Breathe,” He murmured, realising that Wrathion was holding his, and felt his love shudder as he inhaled and exhaled again. “You will win this.” He continued. Of this, Anduin was certain. Sabellian, though he had the advantage in experience and in knowing the other black dragons, did not care for Azeroth or her people. He was not fit for the Earth Warder title or the position. Wrathion cared for everyone, large or small, and carried the responsibility gracefully after many trials.
“I miss Byss.” Wrathion said into his shirt, and Anduin bit his lip. That, he could not solve. Ebyssian was aiding the dracthyr in the Forbidden Reach, far away and out of contact. The nickname slipping out meant that Wrathion was really upset, and so he wrapped his arms around his lover and pulled him into a proper hug.
“Everything will be okay,” Anduin whispered, keeping his voice low and calm. “You will win this, and Ebyssian will return, and you will have your family together again.” His voice petered off, strained, and he stifled a cough, returning to simply holding Wrathion.
The black dragon took a deep breath, and then another, and Anduin recognised that he was starting to calm. He tucked his own face into Wrathion’s neck for a few moments, taking comfort in return, before they both pulled back.
He wasn’t surprised to see Wrathion’s gaze mirroring his own, each one checking the other over, assessing their mental state. A gentle kiss on the cheek, and then on the brow, and then Anduin cupped Wrathion’s face in his hands. “It will be fine. Trust in me.”
Wrathion blinked his assent, smiling softly. “Thank you, my love.” He glanced downward, to the envelope corner sticking out of Anduin’s pocket, and his brow furrowed. “I could say the same to you. You have had that letter four days, my light.”
They had gotten used to not using Anduin’s name in unsecured areas a long time ago, and by now the pet names were comfortingly ordinary. A gentle, persistent reminder to the priest that he could shed the title of King Wrynn, but he would always be Wrathion’s love.
“With the campaigns, I worry.” Anduin looked away, embarrassed. “Used to this.”
He dreaded the weight of that golden circlet and felt it pressing on his brow in the toughest moments, though he knew it was physically far from him. Metaphorically, the crown still shackled him five years later.
The letter was burning a hole in his pocket. “...read it with me?”
“Of course,” Wrathion shifted to sit so they were pressed together, ankle and knee and hip and shoulder, and tucked his arm around Anduin’s waist before pulling the letter free. Anduin leaned into his embrace as Wrathion broke the seal, letting his eyes close.
“ ‘Sir. I hope this letter finds you in good health. All is well within your home; the noblemen are no more or less rowdy, and the old wolf still begs me for scraps. The general remains patient, and tells me you may take as long as you need. He does seem to have everything under control.
All is well, so please do not worry. You are missed.
-S’. ”
Anduin breathed a deep sigh of relief. The weight on his brow felt lighter. At least Stormwind fared alright.
“Oh, and a post-script,” Wrathion’s voice was full of mirth. “‘ F has purchased me a small furry creature. My home will never be free of fur again.’ ”
It felt so good to break into surprised laughter, and Anduin practically wheezed with it, imagining Shaw with an excitable cat or dog climbing all over him. “That’s- he’s-,” He laughed, and felt Wrathion begin to laugh too. Eventually they calmed, still grinning at the mere thought.
“Fur on his boots! Fur on his mustache!” Wrathion added weakly, and Anduin burst into giggles again.
He wondered if Shaw had added the post-script specifically to make him laugh. He wouldn't be surprised. Warmth settled in his chest at the thought- the small proof that he was still loved in his home.
Anduin often struggled with the idea of not being wanted back, even though he knew his plans upon returning would hardly go over well. Marrying Wrathion? Cutting down the power of the monarchy? He knew that everyone would have something to say on the matter and most of it would not be supportive.
His insecurities aside, Anduin still hadn’t figured out whether he missed being King.
Wrathion nudged him, a knowing look in his ruby eyes. “You’re thinking too much, darling. Allow me to distract you?”
It was always easy to give in to Wrathion’s temptations.
Anduin allowed his lover to press him back against the cushions, but instead of kissing him, Wrathion smirked. “Shirt off, then lie back.”
He did as he was told, baring his skin to the warm air and watching his lover’s eyes sharpen. There was nothing quite so ego-boosting as having a dragon stare in undisguised hunger.
Wrathion ran a gentle finger down his chest. “Patience, my love. Meet my eyes.”
Was it getting hotter? Anduin’s breath caught, his world dimming down until all he could see were his lover’s glowing eyes.
What happened next was for their eyes and ears only, dear readers. But the pair were left quite satisfied, in the dark shelter high in the mountains.