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Timeless: a Wranduin Story	By : flagfish Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 4142 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Warcraft nor any of the characters,nor do I make any money or profit from writing this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Illidan Stormrage/Kael'thas Sunstrider
Murozond/Kairozdormu/Nozdormu/Malygos
Jaina Proudmoore/Aethas Sunreaver...?
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Full list of warnings:

Anal, angst, oral, hurt/comfort, threesomes/moresomes, bisexuality, dominance/submission, exhibitionism/voyeurism, handjob, incest (Stormrage twins, Dath'remar/Kael'thas), spanking, mind control, M/M (explicit), F/M (implied), unresolved sexual tension.
--
This wasn't what Wrathion had intended, but now that he'd found himself there, he couldn't retreat; some distance behind him, Anduin stood with one hand on his staff, but what righteous declaration he might have made had died at his throat as he squinted against the cold sunlight. Two long shadows stretched in the snow where for once the cunning Black Prince stood undone.
The dark volcano behind Neltharion remained complacent, thin rivulets of molten rock streamed down its crevices and lines— but it was a solid, powerful thing.
In this timeline, the black aspect was kind.
Wrathion's father was slender and tall, his black hair stick-straight as it batted shimmering behind him, the Obsidian Sanctum was a sacred place here; he'd had many, many sons, but this one he didn't remember.
Wrathion was only a drake, at the end of adolescence he had reached his full height in his human form, and, Anduin noticed, quite resembled his father— his father in this timeline, who was handsome and strong, a protective and cunning presence. Even with Wrathion's back turned to him, Anduin could tell he was pensive about doing this, he was viscerally afraid, like it were trauma ingrained into him he couldn't will away by choice.
"I come seeking your aid— Father."
He spoke the words clearly, though his tone wavered and he fought audibly for calm, for the aristocratic grace he employed to seduce and enchant when he wanted something done. There was little of that now; it was almost pitiful, something uncomfortable Anduin nonetheless forced himself to endure, there had always been wretchedness in the Black Prince which in his pride Wrathion had despised, and had fought to conceal it so it wouldn't exist.
Somehow, though Neltharion didn't recognize this young drake's face, he knew he was his brood, he could smell it on him; his robes bellowed in the wind on his approach, eyes glowing bright. Wrathion impulsively stepped back when his father's hand came gently on his chin, he tilted it up a bit to examine him, like he could see his true form; he didn't remark on the obvious question unspoken between them, How is it that you are my son, but I do not know you at all?
Instead, he said softly, "You are my son, but you are afraid. I can smell it on you, little drake."
All the resentment Anduin had harbored for his once-friend gave way to a protective impulse, already the Holy Word channeled in him as he'd begun to call for the Light; however, there was no need. Neltharion's words weren't intended in malice, but spoken rather as simple fact, and it was something impossible to deny or explain; the black aspect understood without asking, somehow this brood of his had reason to be afraid.
"I'm not..." Wrathion started, despite his tall stature he turned his gaze to Neltharion like a sulking whelp and said, "I'm not all that little anymore."
Anduin paused where he'd been channeling the Light inwardly, the soft white glow that lined him dissipated into the frozen air; he stared now with one eyebrow raised. Here was a childish point that was very fondly nostalgic to him, there was tenderness in him to witness it somehow again.
Neltharion, too, appeared taken somewhat off guard, because Wrathion had spoken the words like they alone proved his courage, he continued muttering aside about how he was now a fully grown adult dragon, and had a number of impressive horns which were very intimidating and large.
Does he? Anduin wondered, before he caught himself actually interested in the subject, and inwardly chastised himself that such a thing was of little importance.
Last he'd seen Wrathion, he'd been two years old and just a little whelp, who took himself awfully seriously considering his small and adorable stature; however, he'd always been remarkably intelligent and sly, and his rather unintimidating appearance had been quite deceiving. Had there been any doubt as to what in his shrewdness the small whelp was capable of, Anduin had learned better, the hard way.
Neltharion, however, could guess at his son's approximate age, and could tell he was a drake at the largest, who still had a ways to go before reaching the full size of a wyrm— but this clearly seemed like a sore point, so he put the issue to rest. "Very well," he said instead, "in what matter does this son of mine seek his father's aid?"
They were words Wrathion had never expected to hear, and they bled through him with aching lament that threatened dangerously forth at the back of his throat; from behind him, Anduin watched his entire form stiffen in a useless struggle for composure, Wrathion's straight black hair rippled as he raised his chin almost in defiance of his own heart. But his emotion betrayed him, it was audible in his voice, which wavered only slightly as he forced forth the words.
"Where I come from, this world is on the verge of destruction— its salvation is a task left to me alone. But here, Father, all through its ranks the black dragonflight lives to protect and watch over Azeroth, none but we could truly understand what it is to sustain the weight of this burden."
All around, the frosted air trembled with the weightless fall of innocent snow, the little flakes descended feather-light on Wrathion's clothes and hair.
Some distance away, Anduin stood empty and hollow, the gilded bottom point of his staff sunk into the frozen earth. The world... was on the verge of destruction...?
He thought of Wrathion's words to him long ago, how one day, he might see— but the secret he'd now inadvertently revealed had him still with cold sweat. Just what was he playing at ? What sorts of predictions were these?
He'd not realized this all hurt partly because here, Wrathion felt, was a burden none other could truly understand.
--
"This is where I die."
Winds washed through the meadow like living ocean waves, like an invisible brush combing past the hills; high on the cliffs lining Nagrand, Kairoz was sat beside Murozond, they had a perfect view of it here. In his elven form, Kairoz's hair had grown very long, it swept to his feet when he walked, like he'd lived forever— it was what happened to dragons who were so lost in time their beginning and end became figures of speech, without any real meaning because they were infinite.
Murozond, too, was supposed to have died.
"Just there," he agreed, his voice serene and mild, they had witnessed it countless times. At certain moments it felt reality all around them flickered in-between the timeways, flashing to intervals of alternate worlds, like a stop-motion film where none of it was real; they witnessed the shimmering golden sand spiral from where Kairoz, in orc form, had fallen, how it dissipated intangibly into thin air, and there was a longing ache in it that pained him still now.
"Nothing can stop us, not even time," Murozond had said upon Kairoz's death, in his elven form he had cradled him like a whelp, his fingers on his face were gentle; they both felt so old they couldn't remember how they'd begun, or maybe they were very young, or maybe it didn't matter. Murozond's hair was long and dark, longer than Kairoz's, it poured forth and obscured his face when he leaned to kiss Kairoz's forehead.
It was an important point in time, his passing, because it had been a beginning, as well; reality flickered between them like they watched both outcomes at once, Kairoz dies and Kairoz lives, the two timelines diverged from each other like unraveled threads from a rope.
And this is where you save me.
It might have been Murozond who spoke, or it might have been Kairoz, because it meant the same thing, either way; breath hovered suspended between them, unspoken whispers they drank from one another, their hands outlined in blinding bronze light in their embrace— something beautiful and terrible—
—they both were the Timeless One.
(On to Chapter 2)
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A/N: I'm still looking for someone interested in RPing Wranduin, Illidan/Kael, Varian/Arthas, or many other m/m pairs from Warcraft (if this is on here then I'm still looking, hehe!) So, if anyone out there is up for it, please let me know ^^ (Contact info on my profile). I don't mind if you don't know that much lore, if you're new to Warcraft or to RPing, if you're a little shy, or if English isn't your first language; I just like writing with someone else who's passionate about the same stuff =)

A/N:

    This story includes the following characters:
    Wrathion
    Anduin Wrynn
    Jaina Proudmoore
    Aethas Sunreaver
    Neltharion
    Kairozdormu/Kairoz
    Nozdormu
    Murozond
    Malygos
    Alexstrasza
    Ysera
    Kael'thas Sunstrider
    Dath'remar Sunstrider
    Illidan Stormrage
    Korialstrasz/Krasus
    Queen Azshara
    Lady Vashj
    Eranikus
    Itharius
    Merithra of the Dream
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- 2
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Timeless: a Wranduin Story