“Prophet Velen,” Anduin said softly, “may I speak with you?”
“Of course, my King,” the old priest replied. “Come, sit with me. What is it that troubles you?”
Anduin did as he was told. “You told me once that draenei have more . . . lenient views on gender. On what it means to be a man, or a woman, or neither.”
“Or a combination.”
“Exactly.” He shifted his feet, already growing restless with anxiety and anticipation. “And you know about my, uh, situation.”
“I know that you were not born in a way that reflected your identity. That you had to be the one to tell people around you that you were a boy.”
“And that there’s no way yet to . . .”
“To switch your specialization?”
Anduin’s cheeks turned pink. “That’s one way to put it, yes.”
Velen smiled gently. “There are many great mages and priests and medics working on it, Anduin, in both Stormwind and the Exodar. We need only to be patient.”
“That’s not quite what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Velen raised an eyebrow. “Then what is it?”
“I’ve told you about my relationship with the Black Prince, correct?”
“That you have.”
“Well, we’ve been . . . intimate. For some time now. And lately I’ve been out of sorts in rather unusual ways. I fear — well, fear might be a bit strong — I suspect that I could be-”
Anduin gulped. He nodded slowly. “I don’t know what to do,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I know that I have to produce an heir eventually, but I’m not sure if I’m ready just yet. I’m barely ready to be king, let alone a . . . parent.”
Velen reached over and took Anduin’s hands in his own. “You do not have to do this alone, Anduin Wrynn. And I’m sure that you will be an excellent father, should you choose to go through with this.”
Anduin pulled one of his hands away and let it rest just below his navel. “I don’t want anybody else to know just yet,” he said. He looked up at his former teacher, blue eyes asking for a favour he couldn’t voice.
“Of course. You will tell others when you are ready. My lips are sealed on the matter.”
Anduin smiled. Tears pricked his eyes. “Thank you.”
“Anything for my King,” Velen said simply.
Ultimately, a decision had to be made, and Anduin elected to keep the baby. But it was another month after that before Wrathion reappeared outside the window of his chambers, eyes scarlet as ever with a dangerous gleam.
“You’re looking well, my King,” he said casually, perching himself on the windowsill and resting his chin on one hand. “How are you doing?”
“Stressed,” Anduin replied, not bothering to turn around as he removed his shirt. “Where have you been?”
“In a constant state of confusion and moderate panic, thank you for asking.”
“So no different than the last time I saw you?”
“No different than the last time you saw me.”
Anduin hummed his acknowledgement. “Pass me my brush, won’t you?”
Wrathion lifted it by the handle and stared at the ornately carved back of the thing for a moment, then tossed it to his lover.
“I said pass, Wrathion,” Anduin reprimanded with a smirk.
“Are you angry with me now?” Wrathion fell back dramatically onto the bed. “Oh, woe is me, whatever shall I do? I believe my heart may very well be broken.”
Anduin chuckled, letting his hair down and brushing through the small knots that had formed throughout the day.
Wrathion propped himself up on his elbows. “You seem different, Anduin,” He noted. “Something troubling you?”
“It would be simpler the list the things that aren’t troubling me, Wrathion.”
“Ah, yes, I’ll start; me.”
“No, you’re actually at the very top of the list of things troubling me.”
“That’s rather harsh.”
“Don’t worry, I still love you.”
“That’s more like it.” Wrathion rose and gently kissed Anduin’s cheek. He began to leave a trail of them down his jaw and eventually began to nibble teasingly at the skin of his lover’s shoulder. His hands found their place on Anduin’s chest, gently tracing the scars below his pecs. “I love you too, my King, more than words can say.”
Anduin set down the brush and leaned his head away from Wrathion, humming contentedly. “Wrathi . . .” His left hand reached up to toy with the dragon’s dark curls, but within a minute his eyebrows knitted together and he gently shoved Wrathion away, straightening his neck.
Anduin sighed. His fingers gravitated towards his slightly distended belly, absently investigating the newly formed curve of his abdomen.
The blond man turned to look his lover in the eyes. Still scarlet, but the danger was gone, replaced by gentle concern.
Wrathion blinked. “You . . .” His eyes narrowed slightly. He pursed his lips. “What?”
“I’m going to have a baby, Wrathion.” He took Wrathion’s hand and rested it on his stomach. “We’re going to have a baby.”
Wrathion continued to stare. He looked down at Anduin’s belly, feeling it for himself and rubbing small circles with his fingertips. He laughed breathily, smiling a bit. He looked back at Anduin. “There’s an egg in there?”
It took everything in Anduin not to burst out laughing, but he managed to keep his composure. “No, Wrathion, there’s no egg. It’s a little human.”
Wrathion chuckled. “I didn’t realize . . .” He looked as though he might cry. He peppered Anduin’s face with kisses until they were both on the bed in stitches from laughter.
“I love you, Anduin,” Wrathion said breathlessly.
Anduin responded by pulling his lover into a deep kiss.
The people of Stormwind were confused at first, of course, but more than that they were ecstatic. The marriage laws had been reformed just as Alliance forces were returning from the Broken Isles after the defeat of the Legion, and the wedding of King Anduin Llane Wrynn and the last prince of the Black Dragonflight followed shortly thereafter. Within a month, the two had announced the expectation of their child, and, while some didn’t understand, many were just glad he was producing an heir after all. Things were quiet for a while. Peaceful, almost. Of course, Genn insisted on keeping a careful watch on the Horde’s every move, and more often than not stayed up into the early hours of the morning, but the High King of the Alliance couldn’t have been happier.
It was during this time that his daughter was born.
Wrathion had been with him through the whole thing, and when Anduin’s screams finally mingled with those of the infant, the dragon nearly burst into tears (which he denied every time Anduin brought it up. He had obviously been hallucinating in his delirium).
“Light, Anduin, it’s a girl!” He said, gently squeezing his husband’s hand. “We have a little girl. A perfect little princess.”
Anduin panted, legs shaking, and tried to get a good look at the child in Wrathion’s arms. She was messy and bloody and slimy but once she was all cleaned up he could see that she had his eyes and Wrathion’s nose and the loveliest cinnamon curls. Her skin was darker than his, and she had sharp little nails, but she was his. She was his and she was Wrathion’s and she was the princess of Stormwind and even if she told him later that she wasn’t, he would love the child being placed in his arms until the end of time, and even after that, and he knew in that moment that he would kill a hundred men and die a hundred times for her.
Wrathion sat beside his husband, wrapping one arm around his shoulders, and helped to support the child with the other.
“What do you want to call her?”
“Jaina should be her middle name,” Anduin replied. “After my aunt.”
“We’ve been over this,” Anduin said, trying to give his husband a disapproving look, but ending up tossing him a goofy smile. Wrathion laughed.
“I think it’s a wonderful choice.” He kissed Anduin’s temple. “And what about her first name, hm?”
“Is Varia Jaina too much?”
“I may not be the best person to judge that. I only have one name.”
“That’s not true, Wrathion Wrynn.”
“I’m still getting used to that.”