In which Renathal and Elisewin determine their loyalties. Rated T for oblique sexual references.
Read on Ao3 here.
The Dark Prince of Revendreth and his former Maw Walker stood shoulder to shoulder before the shadowed dais, watching the two hulking dragons toss their heads and stretch their wings in obvious attempts at imperious unconcern.
"Sabellian, of course," declared Renathal tersely, brushing a bead of undignified sweat from his brow.
Beside him, Elisewin tilted her head, meeting his gaze in the Obsidian Citadel's dimly flickering firelight. She blinked. Renathal interpreted the gesture unconsciously and raised an eyebrow in equal surprise.
"You disagree?"
"I … no, I don't disagree, per se. I'm just … surprised." A muscle twitched in her cheek; another physical tell he understood without thinking. "I thought you would have a bit more princely solidarity."
Renathal frowned, at Elisewin's amusement and the sight of her indecently cool skin, her magic apparently insulating her from the Citadel's sweltering heat.
"I have absolutely no idea what you mean," he said curtly.
Elisewin snorted, loud enough for the Blacktalon Assassins behind her to look their way, but Renathal ignored this in favour of addressing an even more distasteful question:
"Surely, you do not consider myself and this Wrathion on any sort of equal footing?”
"The Black Prince. The Dark Prince."
Her gaze flicked between the two as she named them. Renathal sniffed and tossed damp hair haughtily over his shoulder.
"Besides the coincidence of a slight similarity in our titles, I cannot see how he and I have anything in common whatsoever."
"He's leading a rebellion? To regain control of his ancestral home and restore a reputation besmirched by a corrupt father figure?”
Someone unfamiliar with the former Maw Walker might have thought she was enjoying raising Renathal's ire. As someone who was intimately acquainted with her, Renathal knew that was precisely the case. Their raillery was a well-practiced ritual he usually enjoyed; but the suffocating weight of his armor, and the way his clothes clung stickily to his skin underneath it, and his lover's defense of a different Prince all left him distinctly discomfited.
“If Wrathion were leading a rebellion against his father, I would have sympathy," he argued tartly, "but that fight is finished. Sabellian is the eldest and, as far as I may ascertain without truly knowing either, entirely competent to lead his flight, and clearly has the prior claim. If anything, Wrathion is hurting their efforts, manufacturing conflict purely for the sake of power. The more accurate comparison would be if another, younger Harvester had attempted to usurp my own position while we were distracted by Denathrius, to seize control as the realm was embroiled in chaos. Unacceptable."
Murmurs of agreement from behind him - two elf-visaged dragons of Sabellian's flight - clashed with the echoes of indignation from Wrathion's nearby Blacktalon contingent. Renathal had not realised how loud his voice had risen. He took a steadying breath through his nose and fixed passable apology onto his features. But neither his heat-induced vitriol nor his attempt at calm - nor the low, dull roar of the dragons and kin arguing on either side - dented Elisewin’s expression. She continued to smile sedately, gaze still flitting between the Dark Prince and the dais. Renathal watched her eyes linger on the smaller dragon, and the anima boiling in his veins had nothing to do with external heat.
"But I suppose given your history together, you would prefer to support Wrathion, regardless?"
His voice held notes of delicate warning, which Elisewin, watching the two would-be aspects' fraternal bickering, seemed not to hear.
"History?" she repeated absently. "With Wrathion? I think I met him ... three times? Four at most, before this. Most of his dealings with Azeroth were before my people joined the Horde. Nearly everything I know of him comes second-hand."
"Still," persisted Renathal in that same deadly tone, "he must have made quite the impression for you to support him so staunchly," and Elisewin's smile slipped at last.
She whipped around to face Renathal properly, inspecting him with an impassivity as flat and familiar as his armor. The dragon onlookers would read her expression as blank, even bored, Renathal knew. But he knew better. Elisewin's pale eyes fixed on each piece of him in turn, putting his own physical tells together, and he felt tense satisfaction in being the center of her attention once more. It was becoming a rare occurrence here, what with how busy they were, and Renathal was aware of a restless ache throbbing at his center as she closed the distance between them.
"My impression," she said quietly, brushing back limp hair stuck to his collar, "is that Wrathion is both dramatic and ridiculous. A combination almost as dangerous as corruption. And one that requires a great deal of external handling to prevent it ending in disaster for all. If I'm inclined to support him, that is why."
Her disapproving tone, and her blissfully cold fingers brushing against his throat, were undoubtedly effective in soothing some of Renathal's tightly wound tension. But he wanted more. More of that enchanted chill, more of the skin-on-skin contact he had not realised how badly he missed, and a more solid confirmation.
"You are sure it has nothing to do with your... affinity for fallen princes?"
Elisewin's light laugh fluttered the hair of his goatee and set his spine tingling with a different, more welcome heat.
"Renathal," and his shoulders relaxed at the way she pronounced his name, "I already have all the prince I can handle."
Her accompanying kiss was sweet and tinged with frost. An unusual and wholly welcome sensation that chilled the sweat prickling across his skin. Though it did nothing to cool the flames now licking at Renathal's core as she pulled away.
"Not for several days, you haven't," he reminded her darkly.
She laughed again, a shakier, more self-conscious sound, and Renathal knew precisely what was discomposing her. He wrapped an arm around Elisewin's waist and tucked her securely to him, allowing his staid lover to hide her heated blush from the curious, susurrating crowd.
"We can always fix that, you know," she murmured, the words muffled against his chest. "Just say the word and I'll take us home. We can lock ourselves in Darkwall and not come out for days."
"And the dragons?"
"Forget the dragons."
"Hmm," Renathal growled. "Do not tempt me."
Her low, throaty giggle vibrated through his newly frost-tinged armor, but it was only half jest. The idea held definite appeal. A week of physical labour in an unfamiliar, sun-cursed land, and without the precious intimacy - not to mention physical release - to which he had grown accustomed made Renathal long wistfully for Revendreth, even in the state they had left it. But-
"Unfortunately, we have already given our word," he reminded them both, "and I would not offer the mortal realms any more reason to think uncharitably of myself and my kind."
Elisewin lifted her head to find Renathal's resolute gaze.
"And that is why you are the only prince who has any claim on my loyalty."
She craned her neck to kiss him again, and this time Renathal refused to let her go. The dragons could watch all they liked, he neither noticed or cared. Nor, he felt certain, did his lover any longer as he guided her lips and tongue in their perfect, practiced dance. After a minute, far too brief, he allowed her to come up for air, enjoying the odd combination of fire and frost swirling through him, and the deep, shuddering gulps of air Elisewin required to reassert her focus.
"A compromise, then?" he suggested, feeling more magnanimous now he was no longer perspiring. "Offer your assistance to Wrathion, and I will offer mine to Sabellian. A division of forces will keep both sides happy, as well as appropriately supervised. And, perhaps, allow us to finish our work here more quickly so that we might find the time for a well-deserved break."
He infused the word with equal expectation and promise, and Elisewin glowed at him.
"As you command, my Prince."
She nodded deeply, then met his eyes; hers glittering darkly, his burning to rival any Obsidian flame. Readjusting his grip on Elisewin's waist, Renathal stepped forward and escorted her up the shallow stone stairs. There were whispers, and more than whispers. He ignored them and so did she. His chin was as high, his stride as proud as any would-be draconic royalty as he relinquished his soulbind and the two of them approached different sides of the shadowed dais.
