Warcraft Prime Consort

"Prince Wrathion of the Black Flight, Earthwarder of Azeroth; and his prime consort, Crown Prince Anduin Llane Wrynn of Stormwind."

Wrathion couldn't help but grin at the introduction. He'd had to fight hard to get his title recognised, almost spitting fire at the official who had tried to deny it to him until Alexstrasza had calmly spoken her approval. He'd been surprised at her support, but not impressed. It was the least she could do for him, after all.

Approaching the table in the centre of the room, Wrathion offered Anduin the chair he'd pulled out, then seated himself in the one to the left of it. Having Anduin recognised had been easier. He was well-liked, even among dragonkind, and Kalecgos had no doubt been involved in ensuring that he was even allowed to attend.

The Blue was, in fact, next to be introduced - with Ysera already having been, and Nozdormu, of course, yet to arrive. "Kalecgos of the Blue Flight, Spellweaver of Azeroth; and his prime consort, Lady Jaina Proudmoore of the Kirin'tor," intoned the Bronze flight announcer.

Anduin gripped Wrathion's arm excitedly as his "auntie" Jaina entered the splendorous room the meeting was being held in. She looked radiant as ever, the usual purple of her robes not absent from her wardrobe as would perhaps have been expected what with her attending under Kalec's wing. Wrathion begrudgingly admitted that Kalecgos didn't look bad, either, though his time with mortals was more than showing in his simple attire.

Anduin was certainly wearing different clothes to usual - his tabard remained, as did his royal sash and that awful headband he called a crown ("but more practical than usual," he'd insisted, interrupted by Wrathion's disgusted groan), but Wrathion had managed to persuade him to wear something rather more befitting of a dragon prince's consort for the rest of his outfit. The dragon's signature golden swirls claimed Anduin's arms and chest, tracing his neck and his waist over rich blue-grey cloth.

The older Prince calmed his eagerness a little as his aunt smiled wearily at him from across the round table. It had been a while since he'd seen her, Wrathion supposed.

Nozdormu finally arrived next - alone, as always. His shoulderpiece was empty, the cracks from where his Titan-given power had escaped still showing. Wrathion had, on the recommendation of the rat-faced Red who had briefed him before the meeting truly begun, forced his eyes to hide their usual glow - he had to admit, looking at Nozdormu's dull cyan irises, that his advice had been sound. Nobody else here had eyes which glowed quite like his. Not any more.

Alexstrasza had, of course, been here from the start - but she entered last. "Queen Alexstrasza, of the Red Flight, Lifebinder of Azeroth; and her consort, Kelkastrasza of Life." And there she was, all... regal and walking like she owned the place, with Kelkastrasza's arm linked around her own. Not a prime consort, Wrathion noted; it seemed the dragon queen still hadn't settled after Korialstrasz's death.

Anduin felt him tense as she entered the room and gently rest his hand on top of Wrathion's arm. Initially Wrathion moved to pull away and shoot a glare, out of habit - but when he realised that they were, for once, safe to display their affections here, he merely smiled at his fellow Prince and slipped his hand into his grip.

Alexstrasza called the meeting to a quiet, then began outlining the situation.

Anduin Wrynn had to admit - he'd tuned out of trying to understand what was going on about half an hour ago.

It was Ysera who had first started speaking Draconic, her face and tone calm but the reaction from her sister showing that her statement had not been. Wrathion had interrupted, curling his claws into a fist as he'd uttered his response through gritted teeth. Anduin had caught flashes of his meaning, Wrathion's the only accent he could even halfway understand - something about cost and benefit - but after that, the conversation had been lost to him.

Jaina still sat with the appearance of attent listening, but Anduin could tell she was just as lost as he was. He longed to excuse himself and her, to speak with her - but couldn't think of a valid reason to do so without offending his hosts.

I don't understand a word of this, a familiar voice spoke by his ear. Oh! Of course... the gemstone she'd slipped him, many years ago. He still carried it out of habit, even though it had been many months since they'd been in close enough proximity for it to be useful without simultaneously having an argument about something.

Me neither, he admitted. How long do you think they'll go on for?  
Probably another hour or so before we take a break. I knew this was a bad idea.  
It's not a bad idea, he replied, irritation clawing at his throat. They're arguing because it's important to them. I'm honestly just glad they care enough to be here - they were released from their duty two years ago.  
Jaina smirked. I'm just thankful they haven't started-

She'd almost spoken too soon. Wrathion, who had been stood up for about a quarter-hour now since almost losing his temper at something Nozdormu had said, had evidently taken offense to Ysera's words this time. He'd set her to a stumble by jutting the rock up underneath her chair. He snickered as Ysera sighed and Alexstrasza turned on him, speaking in a stern tone. He snapped back, obviously angered; Anduin grappled for Wrathion's fist, giving him a look which was equally placating and hopelessly confused.

"She called me a child," he muttered in Common.  
"Honestly, you're acting like one," Anduin said. "Sit down."

Wrathion pouted, but was calmed by Anduin's words where Alexstrasza's had the opposite effect. He parked his behind back on his chair and, after a second insistent stare from Anduin, placed Ysera's seat back at its original angle.

Alexstrasza's top lip twitched briefly in something resembling annoyance before she turned the meeting back to the topic at hand, still in Draconic.

He loves you, said Jaina abruptly.  
Anduin frowned a little, startled. I know, but... why do you say so?  
You need to be careful, she replied, though tightening her grip on Kalecgos' splayed-out hand as she did so. Love can be a dangerous thing, Anduin.  
I **am** careful, Aunt Jaina. A tender smile lit his face, though he directed it at the table, so's not to give away their dialogue to the others around it. But thank you for your concern.

Some of the frown didn't leave her expression, but Anduin was satisfied with his answer. He knew it was dangerous. He'd known it was dangerous when he'd first watched Wrathion press his bleeding thumb into his champion's foreheads; when he'd watched him eat the heart of Lei Shen. When he'd seen his unbridled fury at the outcome of the Siege of Orgrimmar. When he'd kissed him, for the first time, and felt the heat barely contained by the mortal skin he spent so much of his time in. When he'd felt his own loyalties - his desires to serve his kingdom above all else - played with and pulled apart by this new thing which caught his attention and which refused to be ignored. When his father had struggled not to lose his temper on his admittance of what he wanted to do.

But sparring with a friend was dangerous; riding a horse was dangerous. Everything was dangerous. And being with Wrathion? Not so dangerous, on the whole. His fury at the outcome of the Siege had quelled almost entirely when he'd been made aware of his audience, replaced by the fear and hurt which had inspired the anger in the first place. The young dragon had apologised, if only once, the single time he'd singed Anduin's hair on accident during a nightmare. He'd almost cried when he'd thought, for a horrifying second, that he might have harmed the older Prince during one of their unfortunately short nights together.

It was dangerous, but Anduin wasn't afraid. Perhaps it was, as his Aunt Jaina had just subtly suggested, his naïvité which informed his lack of fear; but, up until now, Anduin had found that what others called naïvité, he called faith. Confidence. Love.

Maybe he was being ridiculous - but he dared to think that he might be right about this one.

Even if Wrathion, whose arm he'd just had to grasp to cease him from standing up again, was acting like a child.


End file.

Warcraft, Family, Romance