Epilogue

To the Highlord Fordragon,

Leonardo Withering told me you were back in Stormwind. It seems all of us are drawn back to where it begun, even ghosts. In Southshore we had heard you died, but apparently that was an untruth. But the rumours there were significantly less strange than here, in Stormwind, where I overheard one mercenary from the Brotherhood of Cinders telling someone from the Frostmoon Federation that you are a dragon now, and that's why you're alive. As if there's some draconic equivalent to necromancy.

It is I, Katrina Hackett. You may recall me — you saved my life, once, after Withering drove Onyxia from Stormwind. Our farm was burning, and you saved me. I lost my eye and my home. You came to me and asked me the truth of what happened to my family, what happened to the Prestors of old. I told you about the dragons, about my brother Richard and my sister Kitty, and you believed me.

Aside from my beloved Carlos you were the first ever to believe me.

Carlos is gone, now. I miss him every day. But Richard has survived; battlemages from Alterac Valley heeded our calls for help and arranged teleportation to Stormwind. It is not a place I wanted to see again, but Richard's life was more important. He has decided when he recovers, he wants to join the Brotherhood of Cinders. He has admired them ever since they slayed Onyxia. He's barely sixteen, but… there is nothing left for us but our wits and the clothes on our back, and what the kindness of the priests and priestesses of the Cathedral of Light have given us, and I believe will be more than capable when he learns how to walk again.

Ravenholdt forsook us. We will not go back there. He is an adult now. I think I will do the same as he, but as a priest. As a healer, so I am never in the position of helplessly watching my son die again. There is nothing else left for me.

(But I shan't go with him. He is a boy, after all, and boys need room to grow. Even when they are all you have left.)

Deathwing is gone, but Onyxia is still alive and the Black Dragonflight remains, and so I am afraid. But the Brotherhood of Cinders came to us, one night. They talked to Richard about recruitment. They talked to me. Their leader does not trust Onyxia, but he told me he will make sure she never touches me again. I can stay in Stormwind, he said. But I am not naïve; tension between the supposedly redeemed Obsidian Dawn (they don't say "Black Dragonflight" any more, all of a sudden) and Stormwind is still great, and there are many of my own kind who would still gladly see me dead for what a dragon did. And I know better than to think anything can stand against Onyxia, whether she is undead or no. I spoke with her, once, and she seemed barely to pay attention to me, barely affected by what her Dragonflight had done, if at all. Does she have any empathy at all for us mortals, I wonder? For all those lives she ruined years ago?

I cannot stay here. I look to the future, and I dread it.

But I recall a young dragonspawn who helped save my son's life with powers from the earth she and a young dragon summoned, and a little of my dread fades. Perhaps, this time, the peace will last.

Wars among a generation may go unending, but even the generations die eventually. Even for dragons.

With all my gratitude,

Reenie Hackett

-o-O-o-

Spring.

Just, spring. The scent of pollen in the air. The sun's rays no longer weak against Anduin's face. The reappearance of in-season fruits and vegetables in the Trade District, like clockwork. Noblegarden approached. Gilneans stopped laughing at Stormwind citizens for shivering in temperatures above freezing as the world warmed.

"I'm supposed to sit in the talks by now, you know." The grass outside of Stormwind Keep, vivid and green, came up to Anduin's knees. "I'm old enough."

"Given previous circumstances, your father wants you as far away from Onyxia as possible." Maeqa, his bodyguard, kept a respectful distance from his shoulder. "He wanted to send you to Darnassus."

"Darnassus?"

"Remember what happened last time he sent you to Ironforge?"

"Hmph." Anduin stopped by the pond. On the little island in the lake, he watched the shamans from a distance. Was the new Aspect of Earth among them? "So now I'm banished from the Keep."

"You are lucky I could talk your father out of it." Maeqa stopped at his elbow and folded her arms behind her back. "There are too many members of the Black Dragonflight in the Keep for anyone's liking. They are lucky they were admitted at all."

"They're called the Obsidian Dawn. And it had nothing to do with luck, the other Aspects showed up all at once and pretty much cornered my father into it."

Maeqa canted her head slightly, watching him. "And your opinion on that?"

"They wouldn't have done it unless they had to." Anduin shrugged. "Apparently I missed a show, though, when Onyxia appeared. If Sabellian is so wise, why did he bring her?"

"Maybe it was wisdom we are not aware of."

"Hmph. They want peace so badly and yet they twist our arms." Anduin knelt by the water's edge and picked up a stick. "From the story I've been hearing, the Aspects have changed their minds about the Obsidian Dawn so quickly they have whiplash."

"The mercs tell me Nozdormu has been twisting their arms as well."

"I suppose the Obsidian Dawn must really be that important." Anduin stared out at the surface of the water, gleaming in the mid-afternoon sun.

Maeqa considered him. "You were close to Onyxia, once."

"She was a dragon."

"And? It must be affecting you."

"It doesn't. It's not your concern."

"I may be your bodyguard but I guard your state of mind and guide you as much as I defend you." Maeqa sniffed. "Speak your mind."

"I don't really know what to think, to be honest." Anduin ran his hand through his hair. The other one still clutched the stick, spreading gentle ripples across the water. "I miss Bolvar. He was never the same after what happened. You know, one of the guards said Bolvar was back?" He snorted. "Right." He sat down on the grass.

Maeqa stiffened. "Blackwhelp, four o'clock."

Anduin twisted around, brandishing the stick. Maeqa drew her sword.

A large whelp fluttered across the ground towards them, followed by a scowling, dark-skinned boy in a turban. The whelp stopped in the grass before Maeqa and chirped at her. It sounded like a question.

"Hmm." Maeqa sheathed her sword, but did not take her hand off the hilt.

"I think it's a pet," said Anduin. "See the boy over there, the one in the turban? He looks pissed."

"Language, my prince."

The whelp chirped politely and plopped on the ground in front of Anduin. Chirped again.

"Hello," said Anduin.

Then suddenly the whelp transformed into a girl and launched itself at Anduin. "I missed you I missed you I missed you!"

"What the f — " Anduin remembered his bodyguard was listening just in time. Maeqa tensed, drawing her sword.

"I missed you I missed you I missed you!"

The bad-tempered boy with the turban stopped a short distance away. "Apparently he missed you."

"What?" Anduin squawked. "He? I'm pretty sure this is a girl. Uh. Why's she hugging me?"

"He's a he." The boy sniffed. "He does that. He chooses a different form each time. Sometimes a boy, sometimes a girl."

"Remember me?" The girl clinging to him grinned up at him. "You used to feed me ham under the table and Bolvar Fordragon hated it!"

"Holy — " Anduin blinked. "Jet? Is that you?"

Jet shrieked and hugged him tightly again, before shifting back into a whelp and fluttering around his head.

"I thought you were a boy?" said Anduin.

"I am," said Jet.

"Then why did you turn into a girl?"

"Because I wanted to!"

"What happened to your eye?"

"He probably poked it out with his tail," deadpanned the boy with the turban.

Jettion curled up into a tight, purring ball in Anduin's lap. Anduin patted him, making Turban's lip curl in disgust. Anduin smiled politely at them. Maeqa glared daggers. "So you've come with the Obsidian Dawn, then," said Anduin.

"Obviously," drawled Turban.

Anduin waited, but when it wasn't forthcoming, he asked, "What is your name? Are you a dragon, too?"

"I am Wrathion, the Black Prince and third in line to the Obsidian Dawn, and will likely never Ascend as us dragons live forever and my damned mother stands between me and my grandfather should he do us all a favour and cark it. Which I hope he doesn't, because my mother becoming Black Aspect would be the worst idea ever." Turban sighed. "You, I assume from Jettion's drama, are Prince Anduin."

"Indeed," said Anduin cheerfully. "So how are the diplomatic talks going, do you know?"

"My grandfather chose his diplomats poorly, although he is known for his enjoyment of other people's pain so it is unbeknowst to me whether or not it was deliberately sadistic or simply a display of power," said Wrathion. "Auntie Onyxia was almost turned into a pincushion as soon as she stepped into Stormwind. She has been allowed to explore the Keep under guard, but was prohibited from the peace talks by your father. She has been replaced by her much more mild-mannered backup, who had the feeling such an altercation would take place, although his appointment as diplomat was also unwise because humans are pathetic, sentimental and weepy. However, he seems to be having some success last I checked in, because even Varian Wrynn is aware that if he annoys the saviours of the world he will annoy everyone else. It seems as if the other Dragonflights are suddenly best friends with us again due to guilt. I hope they drown in it."

Anduin tried not to laugh at Wrathion's long suffering. "Really?"

"I suppose it helped the other Aspects are present today, along with my grandfather," said Wrathion. "And that Auntie Onyxia had the tact not to protest when King Wrynn yelled at her. Or to make smartass comments. It's a good thing my mother's not here; pure or not, my mother never could resist provoking people. That would have been a disaster." Wrathion sighed dreamily.

"I see," said Anduin.

"Apparently you met her once. Her name is Nalice?"

Anduin winced. "She had kids? Oh, Light." Then, "Wait, someone married her?"

"No. Well. Yes. When he realised what he'd done, he died in embarrassment."

"Um." Was Wrathion being serious or not? "Sorry?"

"Deathwing killed him." Wrathion snorted. "There was a lot of shouting in the Keep. Mostly your father, although Grandfather joined in and yelled back just as loudly. He's always been bad tempered."

"Seems to run in the family," muttered Maeqa.

"Where is the graveyard?" said Wrathion. "The High Wyrmpriest is there."

"What's a High Wyrmpriest?"

"Something Grandfather made up. She's the founder of the Wyrmcult. Or, she will be. Now, can you please answer my question?"

"It's near the Cathedral of Light," said Anduin. "Not anywhere near here, sorry."

"Hmph," said Wrathion.

"Andy!" called out a voice.

Anduin looked up to see Myth, the young night elven boy, and his dog Crithto tearing across the grass towards them. Crithto had a hat on, today. "Andy, Andy, Andy!" the boy yelled.

"Myth?" said Anduin.

Myth almost fell over as he skidded to a stop, not even looking at the Blackwhelps present. "Fordragon's alive! He's alive, he's alive, he's alive! He's in the library, I saw him! I saw him after the peace talks came to recess, he's alive — "

"Myth, he's dead."

"I saw him! He talked to me and Dad and his hair is strange but it's him!" Myth pouted. "He said I hadn't grown an inch!"

"What?" said Anduin, dropping the stick. Maeqa perked up. "Really?"

"I swear to Elune I've grown at least that much!"

"No, I meant Bolvar!" Anduin rushed to his feet and bowed sloppily to Wrathion, who sniffed. Jet fell out of his lap with a shriek. "Er, sorry Jet — I have to go."

-o-O-o-

It had taken weeks to wait for the eruption to stop, for the magma to cool, and then to clear the rubble and reinforce the ceiling. Serinar had not meant for any of their enemies to have the Obsidian Dragonshrine, but after digging for almost a month with an entourage of dragonspawn, one of them undead, Nalice finally stumbled upon the intact deeper passages.

Today, she was mostly alone. The dragonspawn had gone across the sea, home to Stormwind with Bolvar Fordragon, Onyxia and Sabellian. Wrathion, too. Katia had cried for days after her big brother abandoned her. When he returned, Nalice was going to have Words.

The deeper passages were occupied. Some of the Twilights had claimed a portion of it — some aggressively, some more timidly — but Nalice had allowed them to have their emotional baggage and their space. They were lost without Deathwing or their martriarch Seldarria. They spoke of having an Aspect of their own, as if they could conjure a Heart of Twilight out of thin air. Nalice left them there to their own devices. They'd leave when they realised building their own shrine was better than sharing. As long as there was no violence, why should she care? The Obsidian Dragonshrine had been far too empty for far too long.

But with each day that passed more drakes and whelps trickled into the Shrine. Dragons that had been in hiding, defectors from Deathwing's army, dragons who'd still been in his army once purified. First it was her hatchlings from Sholazar, then came the others. Only the other day the first dragon all the way from Outland had arrived, nearly dead from his journey and years of malnourishment. "I'm only a scout," he'd said. "The druids in Blade's Edge were called to Sholazar to heal the land there, after something happened with the pillars. I have to go back to tell the others we can go home."

"Rest first," said Nalice. When the other dragon rumbled in appreciation, she said, "Otherwise you'll cark it before you can get back and then where will we be?"

None of the fully-grown were female, but plenty of the drakes and whelps were. It made Nalice smile.

Day in and day out, Sapphiron — the Ambassador — had been killing wildlife and bringing them back to the Obsidian Dragonshrine for the children. It was bizarre, Nalice reflected, to see them feed without killing each other, without more than the occasional squabble over a meaty bit. Sapphiron had left for Stormwind, too.

Today, the only adults in the shrine were Nalice and the Outland scout. Eduard was off doing something in Dustwallow for Fordragon — it would take some time for Nalice to get used to the idea of having an undead dragonspawn in her service. Eventually she managed to have Tariona White brought back to Northrend, and her first question had been, "Why are there so many brooms here?" only to say, "Never mind" five brooms later.

As Tariona reached for another broom, she said, "Do you think the others will settle in Stormwind?"

"No." Nalice continued to sweep the ash. Katia watched them both, still miserable. "Every single one will return. Stormwind will be no home for them now."

Later, Tariona gave up on broom number six and left to sleep in the dormitory cavern. Katia followed Nalice around.

The two of them were alone.

"You know," Nalice said to Katia, throwing aside a broom handle. "It was my father's disability that made me a pariah, not anything I'd done myself. My mother Maleficent was one of the most powerful Black dragons alive, so nobody dared touch her for becoming his mate. So they condemned me, instead."

Nalice picked up a broom from the wall. They were running out; Serinar had liked to pass most of his spare time making brooms, complaining they never lasted long. "I was the strongest of my siblings, I murdered most of my clutch, but the Black Dragonflight hated me anyway. I did not inherit my mother's power, nor my father's aptitude for shamanism, and that made it worse." Nalice ran a hand through her hair. "Serinar only mated with me to spite Maleficent. He was in love with her, you know. He was absolutely insulted she chose my father as a mate. Grudges run in our veins as much as blood does, and thousands of years later he decided he'd use me to make her jealous. Idiot. Of course, Maleficent took real delight in that. She taunted him, said that he was weak to be threatened by Sabellian." Nalice smirked. "And, of course, later on he'd tell me my tongue was worse than Maleficent's and that it was the worst decision he'd ever made, but what does it matter? That's quite typical of my kind, to speak to each other like this. I kept him in line, and he did ultimately grow fonder of me than he'd ever been of her. I did scorn him because — "

Katia sneezed. The twigs of Nalice's broom flared and turned to ash.

Nalice sighed and reached for another. "Oh, how I look forward to having more whelplings around destroying the cleaning supplies!" She quietened, then, watching Katia with a tight grip on the handle. "I did scorn him for keeping the Old Ways — at least, as much as he was able — but I loved him. And he loved me. And I shall always long for him. The Shrine has been my home ever since he took me on as his mate and consort, and it will stay my home."

She felt a gust of air. Heard a flutter of wings.

"Oh look," she said to Katia. "Another visitor. Shall we see?"

At the mouth of the Obsidian Dragonshrine, there was another drake — no, a dragon. He was small, but a dragon nonetheless. A male one, disappointingly enough, but…

"Oh hello," said Nalice. "Last time I saw you I was cut up and you were about to set your…" she paused. "… Great-grandson on me, then you lost it and went raving into the bushes." She gave a malevolent smile. "By the way, Fahrad, how are you? Voices no longer giving you trouble? Because if they are, then you are truly insane and it wasn't Old Gods after all. Hate to disappoint."

Fahrad stared at her sheepishly. "Um."

"Not much to say?"

"I didn't come earlier because I was afraid."

"Usually I would make fun of you for that, but lately I've found myself not actually caring. If you wish to be a coward, after all, it doesn't do anything to me, does it? Go ahead, embrace your inner coward! I, for one, am quite tired of heroes."

"I meant," said Fahrad, "It's extremely odd that my own granddaughter is several times my age."

"Time travel," said Nalice.

Fahrad hesitated. "Yes. I suppose."

Nalice twirled her broom in her fingers, just in time to find half of it had been singed off again. She sighed. "And how is Ravenholdt taking your draconity?"

"I think they're more concerned that I lost self control," said Fahrad. "They're more worried about Wrathion, and angry about his manipulation. Some have returned to Stormwind with their relatives. Others think it's thrilling that there's a Black dragon in their midst."

"Well!" said Nalice. "The dragonspawn population needs replenishing and once Inkling's training is complete, she will be restarting the Wyrmcult from which we will draw upon for more dragonspawn. She's a priestess now, not that she knows anything about priesting. If you feel so inclined, it would greatly help us if you could point prospective recruits to the Obsidian Dragonshrine. Hmm, it could help for us to have our claws sunk in to Ravenholdt. Care to help?"

"I'll… think on it," said Fahrad.

Nalice heard more wings. A couple of drakes land beyond. One released an armful of whelplings.

"Those must be Obsidia's," said Fahrad, quietly. He sniffed the air. "Some are female."

"I am no longer the last of my kind." When Nalice smiled, she heard no soundless voice inside her head chastising her for it. "It will be hundreds of years before they can mate, and we do not yet know if we have the diversity to truly replenish our numbers, but… we will survive."

"And we have all the time in the world," said Fahrad.

-o-O-o-

Leonardo Withering's brand new Alliance tabard swung as he walked down the hallway of Stormwind Keep, an envelope in his fingers. Clarisse walked, cackling, beside him.

"You should've been there!" Clarisse could barely talk for giggles. "You should've been there. So, these five jackasses who think they're so fucking great walk into the Great Hall. Sounds like a joke. Five dragons walk into a bar."

"The Aspects?"

"Mhmm! Led by Lady Alexstasza, of course, although Sabellian whined endlessly about it and right in front of her, too. Anyway, so these five jackasses go up to the king and they're like, we're going to talk about fucking treaties with the Obsidian Dawn whether you like it or not, motherfucker."

"I'm guessing they didn't use that kind of languag."

"Nah, course not, dragons don't swear and they shit unicorns or something. So anyway, they've got this entourage, you know? One dragon from each Flight for the Aspects, except for the Obsidian gits, who bring this whole fucking entourage of dragonspawn. Or at least I'm guessing they're dragonspawn, 'cause they've all got the weird black hair and I swear to the fucking Light that one of them was Hannah. You know, that chick we kicked out who died at the Wrathgate? Except she's gone all weird and dyed her hair black like the rest of them. Ew, cults."

"I was there, remember?"

"Anyway, so Whatshisface the one that jumped into the magma like it was a motherfucking pool is like, hey, here's my fucking diplomats. And you'll never guess who they were, you'll never guess — "

"Bolvar," said Leo. "I know. I was told."

"Nah, not just him!" Clarisse cackled and threw her arms into the air. "So there's the fucking Ambassador, just this dead guy walking around Stormwind like it's fucking nothing and nobody wants to bump him off, but that's not all. Fucking Onyxia turned up."

Leo walked around a corner, almost crashing into a lady. She gave the cackling Clarisse a dirty look and brushed past them without even a glance.

"So what does Varian Wrynn do? He loses his fucking shit. He doesn't give a shit that there's fucking Alexstrasza and Nozdormu there. I was like, begging Nozdormu to rewind time and shit because it was embarrassing but it was actually pretty fucking funny. He chewed her head off in front of fifty members of the House of Goddamn nobles. Varian, I mean, not Nozdormu. It was a fucking once in a lifetime event. You should've been there!"

"Heh. I wouldn't have minded seeing that."

"Anyway. He's like, no, you are so not sitting in these talks, I'd rather gargle goblin urine, and Sabellian is like fuck off you jerkwad, except nicer — well, no, he wasn't much nicer about it. Sabellian's like, look, she mighta been dead whatever years, but she knows Stormwind law like a goblin knows how to get around legislated corporate social responsibility, and he ain't walkin' in there without her to rip Varian's terms apart and shit. So Varian loses his shit and at first it's really funny but then Nozdormu's like, 'guys, I've seen this shit before, you're going to be yelling at each other for fucking ever if we don't do something now' and he, like, kicks Onyxia out."

More entertained by Clarisse's colourful storytelling than the actual events, Leonardo snickered. "Oh, really? I bet she wasn't pleased."

"I don't think she gave a shit, to be honest, she just shrugged and went 'well okay' and left. So Varian's like, ha, I fucking win you dragon scalebutt, and it's not 'til half an hour later when the talks have started that he shits himself because he just let a fucking dragon he hates loose in his own keep. Nice one, King Dumbfuck."

"… Great."

"She's not hard to miss, though, because just about half of Stormwind law enforcement has taken to following her around in case she, I don't know, tries to set people on fire. 'Cause they were so useful last time she turned into a damn dragon. Dicks. Anyway, there's a recess because apparently one of the dragons in the talks is secretly Sapphiron and he told Jaina Proudmoore she would have gotten along well with Katie — "

"Katie?"

"K-T. Kel'thuzad. So one of the mercs threw a chair and Varian was like ugh I hate you all and called time out. It was the best thing ever, Stormwind politics is usually so goddamn dull and today it's been nothing but comedy!"

"Ah." Leonardo stopped in front of a door. "Clarisse. I'll have to leave you now."

Clarisse peered at the door. "Hey, I know this one, isn't this the one where they were fucking? I know this one!"

"… Please, Clarisse."

"You know if you just want me to fuck off, you can say so, you know."

"Clarisse, fuck off."

"Atta boy!" Clarisse grinned at him, clapped him on the shoulder, and walked away with a skip in her step.

When she vanished around the corner, Leo rapped on the door.

A familiar voice inside said, "Come in."

Leo hesitated.

The voice didn't come again.

When Leo stepped inside, he saw the room was half empty. It always had been, but now it looked hollower than usual. A little girl with black hair lay on her stomach drawing. She barely looked up at him before she continued, a quill half-broken in her clenched fist. Leo saw that a couple of boxes were packed with her belongings. Miss Perin, Saya's long-suffering tutor, was nowhere to be seen. As usual.

"Hello Saya," said Leo. "Where's your father?"

"He's in the laboratory with the Wyrmcultists," said Saya. "He's giving the officers training today."

Apparently Saya wasn't quite sure when "today" was, but then, when had she ever been?

"Well," said Leo, used to her spewing out such bizarre statements. "I hope he enjoys it."

"Nah, he hates it, there's this one student always crawling up his ass." Apparently Saya wasn't five today, either. She was a lot calmer, a lot less high strung, than Leo was used to seeing her. "Also he has talks with the Dark Irons afterwards, and you know what they're like. Fenran's an asshole."

"Uh huh," said Leo, and moved through a doorway.

He found Bolvar in his study.

It was a strange dichotomy. Once upon a time, Bolvar had been all chocolate hair, green eyes, armour of gold and blue that made him glow like the sun. Today he looked cold, shivering slightly as he looked down at a music box on his desk. He looked up to see Leonardo there. He smiled. "Leo. It's good to see you."

Leo's eyes surveyed him, taking in Bolvar's black hair, dark eyes, and patchwork Northrend armour. It took a moment before he found his voice again. "It's good to see you too, old friend."

There was silence between them. Leo felt self conscious about his feet on the floor, about his arms wrapped around his waist. What should he do with them? Shift casually to lean on one leg? Place his hands behind his back? He'd never been so aware of his own body before. Was he frowning?

"It's warm in here," he blurted out.

"I feel cold in anything that isn't a desert or volcano, these days," said Bolvar. "Drawback of being, you know, a dragon."

"So, you're an actual dragon now."

"Well, no. They can't do that, though I'm pretty sure Sabellian's going to try find a way once everything's settled. They need women, after all. I'm dragonspawn. It was a… a gift from Onyxia as a thank you for not skewering her ass earlier."

"I, uh, see." Leo uncrossed and re-crossed his arms. "So what happened to the Helm of the Damned? I thought there should always be a lich king?"

Bolvar rolled his shoulders. "Dragonfire."

"Hmm?"

"It was melted down. No more Lich King. Not anymore." Bolvar closed his eyes. "I'm just in this one body again. A dragonspawn body. But I look human, and feel like a… super human. I can smell everything. Hear everything. See details I couldn't before. I think I can get used to this." He smiled weakly.

"I thought you hated dragons."

"I won't lie, it's hard to let go of old grudges." Bolvar shrugged. "Never thought I'd serve Onyxia. But she said I could do as I pleased. She wouldn't stop me if I left. But I can't stay here, Leo. This isn't my home anymore."

"You'll always be my closest friend," said Leo, quietly.

Bolvar's smile wavered. "Heh. And — you to me, I — I hope, I, uh…" He rubbed his arm. "I'll stay with them. At least for now. Help them rebuild. Keep an eye on Onyxia. I believe and trust in her sincerity, but there's a part of me that feels I have to remain vigilant. At least, for now."

"So now you and Ka — Onyxia are best friends?"

"It's…" Bolvar's brow furrowed. "Complicated."

"Uh… huh."

"You have to remember we're just as guilty as we are."

"I don't think so," said Leonardo Withering. "You've been listening to her too much."

"It's something I've suspected for a while," Bolvar murmured, lowing his eyes. "I was so angry, I… it lurked in the back of my mind that killing her wasn't the right thing to do, but I thought it was just love clouding my judgement. So I went to the opposite extreme."

For a long moment, nobody said anything.

"I just came from the Cathedral of Light." Leo stuck out his hand with the envelope. "Katrina Hackett was there — Richard, her son, was caught in the Sludge Fields, but he's making a recovery. It got hairy, but he's through the worst of it and the gnomes say they can build him some mechanical limbs. Gangrene got most of them. She wrote a letter to you."

"I don't think she'll be happy." Bolvar took the letter from him as if it would explode in his fingers. "She'll have heard Onyxia's back by now."

"I don't think she knew what to think," said Leo. Not any more than I do.

Bolvar smiled weakly again.

"So," said Leo. "How did Varian Wrynn take you all showing up on his doorstep?"

"It wasn't unannounced," said Bolvar. "Sabellian wisely had Alexstrasza arrange it. In spite of Lirastrasza's death she's just about falling over herself with guilt about the whole yeah-we-tried-to-wipe-out-your-kind thing and he's exploiting it for all it's worth so Onyxia has to rein him in a little. Anyway, when we turned up Varian did not take Onyxia's presence well."

"I heard."

"He kind of lost it at her. Don't really blame him, considering everything she put him through, but I always wondered why she didn't just kill him."

"What a kindness she did him." Leo couldn't help his bitter sarcasm.

Bolvar shrugged. He still wouldn't look him in the eye. "Sabellian managed to salvage the situation. And by 'salvage', I mean he yelled back at Varian Wrynn even more loudly and accused him of being a genocidal maniac with an axe to grind."

"Clarisse didn't mention that bit. And you didn't get kicked out of Stormwind?"

"Well, the other Aspects were standing there looking all repentant, like they'd been caught kicking puppies, so. Not even Varian Wrynn dares to go against a whole bunch of dragons."

"Huh. What about Onyxia?"

Bolvar's lips twitched. "She's around here, somewhere."

"Uh huh."

"So things are… tentative. Very tentative." Bolvar ran a hand through his dark hair. "Sabellian was wise to ensure the other Aspects came to mediate. Though I'd call it less 'mediation' and more 'pressuring Varian to play nice.'"

"How'd he take you?"

"Until Alexstrasza vouched for me, he thought I was one of Onyxia's tricks," said Bolvar. "He wouldn't talk to me at the first recess. Didn't even look at me. I'm probably as good as a traitor to him. It'll be a while before things heal, if they ever do. Right now, I'm just another person he's — " he tilted his head, as if listening to something, but Leo couldn't hear anything. After a moment, Bolvar continued as if nothing happened. "Just another person he's lost."

"Have you forgiven Katrana Prestor?" said Leo.

"I suppose I… have." Bolvar rolled his shoulders. "If we don't forgive, things will be tense forever, and we'll never move forward. In a way, it's comforting that Varian's still angry, that you're still angry — it means I don't have to be. You hold that grudge so I don't have to. And besides, the Black Dragonflight is my home now."

"It doesn't have to be," said Leo. "You could stay."

"Hell no!" called out Saya from the next room. "I hate this shithole, it's too cold!"

Bolvar chuckled sadly. "Saya's a different person. Much chattier. Less… tense. It's good to see her again. I missed my little girl so much. She must hang around Samia too much in the future to get a foul mouth like that."

"Or Clarisse." Leo frowned. "What about Proudmoore? Clarisse said she turned up and one of the dragons antagonised her — "

"Oh." Bolvar looked past Leo. "Onyxia. I thought I heard you there."

Leo whipped around.

Katrana Prestor stood in the doorway, as tall as ever, although a lot more dead than Leo was used to her being. Two purple crystals took the place of her eyes, and one of her hands was completely skeletal. She carried a staff similar to the one she'd had while in power. She was dressed as if for Northrend weather.

"I'll leave, then." Leo nodded to Bolvar. "I will speak to you later."

Bolvar muttered something in another language. Katrana Prestor casually stepped away from the door.

Leo pushed past the guards beyond, past Saya, and into the bright light of the Stormwind Keep hallway beyond.

-o-O-o-

"Some wounds will never heal," Bolvar murmured, as Leonardo Withering left.

"I am relieved he did not stay to chat," said Onyxia. "I have been loudly talked at enough for one day, I think."

"Loudly talked at…" Bolvar chuckled weakly. Onyxia didn't seem fazed by the Stormwind guards tailing her — the captain of the guard had set four to following her, but Bolvar could count at least seven crowded into the room beyond. Onyxia acted as if they weren't there. "I suppose that's one way to put it. I heard you whispering to Saya. She didn't sound suprised that you were back."

"Bronzebloods will be Bronzebloods," said Onyxia.

"Indeed. I heard her talking to Leo — apparently I'm going to train some people in a laboratory at some point in the future."

Onyxia arched an eyebrow. "And here I thought you didn't want to go back to Icecrown now the Helm of Domination is destroyed."

"I don't think she was talking about the lab in Icecrown." Bolvar turned to the desk. Set down Katrina Hackett's letter, picked up a scroll from beside the music box he'd given Katrana Prestor years ago. "You might remember I insisted on having Moira Thaurissan present at the talks… I didn't tell you why, because I wasn't sure I could pull it off, but…"

"Ah, yes," said Onyxia. "I suspect if Varian had not yelled at me, he would have had enough energy to do so at her as well."

"Well." Bolvar handed Onyxia the scroll. "I realise this may be worthless to you, as a dragon, but for mortals this represents… a big step. Frankly, I'm astonished I could get this in a single morning. There are details to arrange and a treaty to work out, but I was able to secure this far quicker than I'd even hoped."

Onyxia unrolled the scroll.

Stared at it.

"How did you get this?" she said.

"Well," said Bolvar. "I think having the other Aspects present helped. The mortals are going to complain forever about dragons getting involved in Alliance politics, but…"

"No. How did you get this?" Onyxia showed him the scroll. "This is the deed to the entirety of Upper Blackrock Spire. How did you get this?"

"The Dark Irons never reclaimed it," said Bolvar. "After what went on with the elements there, well — they think it's cursed. There are other parts the Dark Irons don't like to touch, either, and I might be able to secure those as well for us. But that's a start. I figured you'd just move in there anyway, but I wanted to get this first, so that we know we're there with the grudging goodwill of the Alliance. Makes things easier in the long term. It's just a… a rough contract, but the details will be hammered out in the coming weeks."

"We may be able to secure some territory for the Twilight Flight, as well," Onyxia murmured. "I received a letter recently from Nalice. More and more are taking shelter in the Obsidian Dragonshrine. We must look after them, at least for a time. They are of our blood now, in a way."

Their minds had been severed from each other with the destruction of the Lich King's helm, but the bond created by Onyxia's amulet long ago still flickered like dying embers, and Bolvar knew what she would be thinking. The halls of Blackrock would need to be scrubbed of blood. The bones would need to be picked up, and their ashes scattered into the magma.

The guards staring at them from outside the room began to fuss.

"Bolvar!" called Anduin's voice. "Bolvar! Bolvar, are you there?"

"I told you," came Saya's voice. "He's with the Dark Irons again. Go away. Hey, I don't remember you being this short."

"Bolvar!" Anduin pushed through the last of the guards and fell into the room.

He blinked, picked himself up, and looked at Onyxia. "Oh. Um. Hello."

Onyxia raised an eyebrow.

"Auntie Kat!" Anduin recovered himself. "You look beautiful today!"

Onyxia smirked.

"Bolvar!" Anduin threw himself at Bolvar. Bolvar almost fell over. "You're alive, you're — weird looking, but alive!"

"Light," said Bolvar. "You're almost as tall as I am. When did that happen?" He pulled Anduin away, holding him by the shoulders, and looked at him. "Light… You've grown so much…"

"I shall leave you to it, then, shall I?" Although Onyxia's tone was nonchalant, Bolvar sensed her discomfort as she handed him back the scroll.

"Wait," said Bolvar. "Before you go, Onyxia — there's something I want to show you."

Onyxia paused.

"Not now," said Bolvar. "But — later. When this trip in Stormwind is done. I had Eduard go check something for me, and… well. When this is taken care of, we'll travel to Theramore."

Onyxia tilted her head, quietly. Her tone was empty. "As you wish."

-o-O-o-

"Did you know Eduard's your uncle?" said Samia. "Nobody told me. It was Leo who told me. Eduard was like, 'Oh, hey, I guess I forgot to tell you.' Asshole."

The tiny grave in front of her didn't answer.

"Er, I shouldn't swear in front of you, it's just… yeah, sorry." Samia knelt on the ground. The grave in front of her was clean; someone had been looking after it, even when the other graves around it became overgrown. The grass around it was the most vibrant green Samia had seen in a long time; the sun and the light here, in Stormwind, was brighter than it had been in Hillsbrad. "I sound like I'm not taking this seriously. I guess I thought I'd never be able to come back and I just… don't know what to say."

She ran a hand through her hair.

"You'd be six years old now," said Samia. "If you lived. I miss you, Mandy."

Samia hadn't brought flowers. Hadn't thought to. She'd just rushed off, as soon as she could. Just went to the graveyard, looking for the one that said Amandine Inkweaver.

It had been a long time since anyone had called her Samantha Inkweaver, but those days were long gone, along with her humanity.

The grave lay there. Tiny. Peaceful. Still.

"I should probably go now," said Samia. "I don't have time. But I'll be back tonight, okay? And I'll bring flowers. I promise. I love you, baby." She pulled at a stray piece of grass. It didn't need to be pulled out, but she felt she had to do something.

She couldn't touch her baby girl, after all.

She stood up, but she didn't leave. She stared at the grave for a long moment more, until Sabel touched her shoulder and made her jump.

"How long have you been standing there?" she murmured to him, as his hand rubbed at her shoulder.

"Long enough," he said, his eyes lingering on the gravestone. Then, he simply said, "I know what it's like."

"I know." The dead drakes of Dragon's End lingered in her memory, along with the red of Blade's Edge dust. And, far away, the smell of rain. "Can we go?"

He led her away.

-o-O-o-

It was a few weeks more before they could leave Stormwind, but eventually the worst tension died down. The other Aspects had left after the first week, their guilt satisfied by their intimidation of poor Varian Wrynn. Tariona White had wanted to stay as a diplomat, but Nalice summoned her to the Obsidian Dragonshrine, and so in the second week Tariona was gone too. She left another dragonspawn in her place.

Five weeks later, Bolvar and Onyxia boarded a ship to Theramore with a small, draconic entourage, with nothing but faith in Bolvar to draw her back into the marsh she'd left unwillingly, years ago. Jaina Proudmoore went with them, along with the Ambassador. Lady Proudmoore seemed to have warmed up to him despite their rough start — although she had few words to say to Onyxia, Onyxia often caught her and the Ambassador speaking long into the night.

Onyxia had had a bad feeling from the start. Bolvar wouldn't tell her what it was he wanted to show her, but then, she hadn't asked, either. She'd hoped it was in Theramore, but he'd bought supplies and led them into the marsh, leaving their entourage behind in Theramore's tower along with Proudmoore and Sapphiron.

"We can always fly," said Onyxia. "We could be back by sundown."

"I don't know the way from the sky," said Bolvar as they passed through Theramore's gates into the marsh. "I don't even know the way from the ground as it is." With him, he carried handwritten instructions from Eduard that Onyxia didn't look at.

The deeper they got into Dustwallow, the more uncomfortable she felt.

It wasn't until after midday, when the trees began to thin, that she finally said it. "You're taking me to the Wyrmbog, aren't you?"

He paused, then, from where he'd been poring over Eduard's instructions, and said, sheepishly, "Yes."

"I don't want to rebuild it," said Onyxia.

"I didn't think you would."

"Then why are we going there?" The place looked slightly different from years of her absence, but she didn't need Bolvar or Eduard to guide her. She knew where home was.

Bolvar paused, then. Folded the instructions and put them in a pocket. "Onyxia," he said softly. "Do you trust me?"

She didn't answer.

He smiled sadly. "Will you trust me?" he offered her his hand.

"I don't want to rebuild it." Onyxia stared at his hand. "I want to leave it as it is. With Blackrock and the Obsidian Dragonshrine both being rebuilt we don't need the Wyrmbog. We won't for years, not until our numbers are bigger."

"Onyxia," Bolvar said softly.

Onyxia went quiet.

"Will you trust me?"

"Alright," said Onyxia, forcing herself to take the proffered hand. "Fine. I will."

He led her away.

"You're going the wrong way," said Onyxia, tugging at his hand. "It's this way."

She led them.

She led them through marsh water and over streams and small hills, avoided deep mud puddles and watched crocolisks catch their scent and scurry away from them both in fear. Onyxia steeled herself as they walked into open air. Trees knocked over years ago by her panicked crash landing were still present, tilted, rotting, and overgrown with moss. Exposed mud and dirt littered the ground as if someone had dug up half the place only yesterday.

And in front of them was the Wyrmbog.

Onyxia stopped. The jaws were massive as they always had been. They'd been there for centuries.

Bolvar gently urged her on.

She followed him, this time, keeping him in front of her as if he was a shield. He touched the teeth and they opened for him, as if welcoming him home.

Him, instead of her.

"I don't…" she said. My children died in here.

"I had Eduard come and look here for me to find something out." He turned to her, then, still urging her gently onwards. "You had a daughter, didn't you?"

"I have had a lot of daughters, Bolvar. More daughters than you have female ancestors, I don't doubt."

"I mean one daughter in particular," said Bolvar. Although her eyes could see well in the dark he, as a male with narrower eyes, could not; she helped him avoid a couple of bones in the path she couldn't remember being there before. "You used to write to her. Her name was… Ebonaria, wasn't it?"

"Yes. I wrote to her." She pressed her lips together. "You found out about that ferreting around in my mind?"

"No, you kept records of the letters you wrote, as well as her letters," said Bolvar. "Why'd you do that?"

"I copied my own letters so I could refer to them if I had to, so I could remember my explicit instructions in case they were disobeyed," said Onyxia. She'd hidden them in the ash chute underneath the fire place, in a small drawer. "You found them?"

"Yes," said Bolvar.

The two of them twisted around one corner. A massive hallway lay before them. Once upon a time, dragonspawn patrolled here. Flametongues and Scalebanes; only the elite had the privilege of guarding Onyxia's brood.

But they were long gone.

"I read in your letters you thought someone named Romathis was plotting against you," said Bolvar. "You were worried he'd take your children from you."

"A fear every mother shares of some person or other."

"Indeed. Do you remember what you told Ebonaria to do to prepare for that eventuality? It was in your letters."

"No," said Onyxia. "It was a long time ago."

Before the last corner, Bolvar stopped them. Smiled sadly at her, her hands in his.

"You told her to bury some of your eggs," said Bolvar. "To hide them. To pretend there was some attack or other, so that if Romathis came for them, Ebonaria would be able to protect them from him without provoking him more than she had to."

If Onyxia was alive, her heart would have stopped in her chest.

"So she did," said Bolvar. "She hid them. And when the Brotherhood of Cinders came, they couldn't… couldn't find them. Well. See for yourself." He let go of Onyxia's hands.

Onyxia's mouth felt dry as she stepped around the corner.

"Lady." Eduard had been waiting for her around the corner, a half-charred broom in one hand and a bloody but empty bucket in the other. "Welcome home."

The massive cavern of the Wyrmbog stood before her. The last time she'd seen it, it had been filled with tiny corpses and the furious Brotherhood of Cinders.

Today, the bones were gone. Her blood still stained the floor in parts, and she could see the rock where her body had been mummified by the heat, but around them, here and there…

Tiny bodies. Dozens of them. Sitting clustered together feeding on some kill or other one had dragged back, or Eduard had dragged back. The room was filled with the friendly chattering of whelplings. They were so small — how long had they slept in their eggs, waiting for her to come back and dig them back up before a dragonspawn came for them at last?

The chattering stopped. Several heads turned in Onyxia's direction. Nostrils flared as many sniffed the air. Some hesitated, detecting her undeath. Others still ignored it, reluctantly coming closer.

"They're alive," Onyxia croaked. Beside her, Bolvar smiled. "Some of them are alive…"

Joyful shrieks and the sounds of flapping wings filled the cavern, a leathery sound reminiscent of a flock of bats as dozens of whelplings fluttered towards Onyxia. The first flew landed on her chest, her head, her foot — the rest kept on coming, knocking her onto the ground and shoving their snouts in her face, trilling. Onyxia laughed and shoved a few away. Bolvar grinned down at her.

And as the Black Dragonflight slowly crawled away from extinction — as Nalice rebuilt the Obsidian Dragonshrine with Katia beside her, as Samia and Sabel set to scrubbing and cleaning Blackrock Spire and as Wrathion started his tutelage as a shaman, and Jettion remained in Stormwind watching over Anduin — one memory would always stick out in Onyxia's mind for millennia afterwards: the memory of being piled on by whelplings eager to see a fellow dragon, welcoming her home at last.

A/N: Welp. That's a wrap.

This story started when I got annoyed at myself for never finishing what I started, and I promised myself I would finish TOD no matter what. I didn't think it would be so difficult or take so long, nor be so rewarding - but here it is. Finished. All done. I learned innumerable lessons with this story and I will miss my snarky Black dragons.

Special thanks goes to:

Coincidencless and Diloph - for your beta work, your sharp eyes and encouragement.

Wanda Von Dunayev - For your support and amazing critique, and for your beta work. I very much recommend Wanda's fic to anyone reading this, she is an amazing writer!

The Lady Genevieve - Although we do not know each other much, I never forgot your faith and positivity which came at a time I needed most. So thank you for that.

Reality Deviant - For being here since practically the beginning.

And to each and every single reviewer, who have given me encouragement and constructive criticism, I would not have arrived here if not for you.

With thanks,

Iceworth