I love how often Wrathion gets the full blame for releasing Garrosh when he was in cohoots with a Bronze dragon.
But yeah, sure; let's just keep blaming the black dragon alone. /s
Don't get me wrong. He's not innocent by any account, but it's snakey that it seems folks ignore or forget a BRONZE dragons involvement. (Kairozdormu, or just Kairoz, if I remember correctly.)
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As Midha grows into others' perceptions, the Pandaren provide fireworks and music.
“A slow song,” Kairoz observed. “You should look for Anduin.”
Midha smiled… a cold, wilting smile. “He’s probably teaching Wrathion.”
“And he wouldn’t spare you a dance, if you were to ask?” Kairoz returned her expression, though the curve to his recurved mouth was as wooden as a bow.
“I don’t know how to ask him. I don’t know how to dance, either.”
All the fireworks made the sky seem darker. Wrathion would sometimes joke– he’d do this or that when the sun went down. Light flickered on the planes of Kairozdormu’s elven face.
Laughter simmered in his chest. “I’ll show you, then.” He extended a hand, and asked: “May I have this dance?”
If the sun never moved, how could its warmth vanish?
She wordlessly nodded, and swallowed a moment later so he wouldn’t notice. Instead of taking her hand, he set his own on her waist, and stepped closer. He held her opposite shoulder, and guided her. “Place one hand on your partner’s shoulder, and the other at their side,” he said.
She did so. Underneath his robes, Kairoz was as solid as anything could be. Mogu, made of stone, felt more breakable under her daggers than he did under her hands.
“There’s little technique to a slow-dance… besides not stepping on the feet of one’s partner. Watch what I do, and follow along.”
Two steps to the left– his left, his right, her left, her right.
Then, to the right: his right, her right, his left, her left. Until, more easily than she’d expected, they were in sync.
She still watched.
“Your own spatial awareness should help you here.” He came even closer. “When your prince asks to dance, you and he will only be so far apart.”
Midha looked up, and fumbled a step. She didn’t step on his toes– he clipped her ankle, and they stopped in place.
“I’m sorry. I thought you meant…”
Kairoz seemed contented with her. “Whoever happens to ask first,” he corrected.
They went on. It took longer the second time, getting back in a rhythm. He even turned her around, so the fireworks made auroras of his hair. Like rain-shafts lit by sunset, which she could see now was obscured by clouds.
“Pay close attention.”
Her eyes refocused on his. He took a wrong step– and came chest-to-chest. The silver of his breastplate shoved into the leather of her own. Kairozdormu grinned at her, and a stray nerve of hers felt a sense of accomplishment.
He lifted her hand. Her whole arm, really. It seemed unnatural, the way he turned it over… until she spun alone, and wrapped herself up in his shadow.
“Is it warm?” he asked. She looked up, her forehead brushing smooth skin beneath his jaw…
And she nodded.
“Humans are tepid to our kind.” The hand on her waist had sunk its fingers in the muscle of her back. He rested his chin between her braids. “Most of them never live to draconic adulthood.”
“Is that a hundred years?”
“Nearly, yes.”
They barely moved to the music. It was more like the two of them were drifting. Two feathers, shifting in the changing wind.
Kairoz took her hand from his shoulder, and placed it on his jawline. The pulse of his throat was as slow and deep as his breath. “When I can no longer watch over you directly, remember: that whelpling of yours is praying that you will come to him and ask for immortality.”
Was he?
“I do not think he can grant it,” Kairoz added. He opened his mouth to speak, still clasping her fingers to his heartbeat…
“Excuse me.”
Anduin stood just a few feet away. He crossed his arms loosely over his chest, but he was fiddling with his sleeves at the elbow, and he interjected: “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Wrathion was asking about you.”
“We are well.”
Kairoz spoke for her. Her hands were suddenly back at her sides– she wondered if Anduin saw it, or remembered it, or if she’d be the only one who knew.
Anduin asked again: “Midha, right? I think he wanted you to come back over. He wants to talk to you.”
She gave Kairoz a look. Maybe it had already passed: the moment he couldn’t keep her to himself. For all he knew about time, he didn’t seem to know how long ago that was.
But Kairoz had raised his eyebrow at Anduin. “Go on, Midha. We can speak later.”
She chewed on her lip as she walked away. Following Anduin back to Wrathion, she wondered if all this had something to do with her growth spurt.
Friends like Kairozdormu wouldn’t last if she started to look as smart as she felt.
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Kairoz sees through Midha, and Midha sees through Kairoz.
Midha staggered out of the arena-- propping herself up on legs she couldn't feel. Colt legs, she guessed, though she'd always wanted to be more like a gazelle or one of those high-elven steeds.
Colt legs. She wiped away what felt like sweat and dust on her face, and found her palms smudged with red.
"Oh, dear."
Who was that?
A broad hand pulled her in one direction, and she toppled that way-- falling into the side of someone who wore delicate cloth. Not Wrathion, she thought, Wrathion wasn't here. But he sounded... strange.
"You'll have to take care not to overexert yourself," he said. "Come along, now." The same hand snuck under her arm, a moment before she stumbled; a moment before she was swept back up onto her feet and into long strides. Whoever it was, he was tall.
She wheezed, dabbing at her mouth now: thankfully, no blood. "Where are we going?" she asked, hoarse and soft.
A thoughtful sound. "You cannot see?"
"It's bright," she said.
"Well. We won't go far."
She nodded. As always, she was wary. But there were guards here, and the two princes would notice if she was gone long. Not that she planned to be.
She turned her head to the shaded side of the man guiding her. And she opened her eyes, still squinting: pale robes. Strands of long, pin-straight blonde hair that only waved where his shoulder bent it.
His voice sounded familiar: moreso when they stepped into a tent.
"Sit here, please." He tapped twice on a chair, which she blinked at twice before she was confident enough to sit without falling.
It was dimmer here, underneath fabric the same color as his robes. And this stranger was... not a high elf, no.
Kairoz. Or 'Kairozdormu--' the bronze dragon she'd been introduced to.
"I thought they healed everyone who fights the Celestials," Midha remarked.
Midha closed her eyes again, willing away a headache, and tried to focus on Kairoz's voice. "It would seem so. Unless you left too quickly."
They were always healing whole parties at a time. It made sense. "I might have."
Something soft grazed her cheek.
"Forgive me," he said. "I would undo your wounds, but such magic is less reliable here." Nonchalantly, he wiped the filth and blood from her face. It was a dampened kerchief, brushed in small circles. He was more delicate about it than she had any reason to expect.
Really, she didn't expect anything from him.
"Does it look bad?" she asked, slightly smiling.
"You were lucky, I'd say. If you have no scars yet, I doubt this will leave any."
"That's good." She didn't much care for her own looks, but she knew who would. Better to just not have any scars. "I didn't know dragons had kerchiefs."
His lips quirked up at the ends. "Not many of mortal make could survive in our use." As he spoke, he pulled away, offering a hand-mirror and searching with his other hand for something else.
Midha held the mirror, beholding her own face. Her eyes looked puffy, and one was maybe starting to bruise. Her nose... she felt for the cartilage there, and counted herself lucky that it was intact. "I hope I don't go to Orgrimmar all beat-up like this."
"Speaking of!" Kairoz grinned as though something in his oven had just finished baking. "I've seen glimpses of your path. You intend to join the Siege, correct?"
"Whenever it happens," Midha answered. "I think it'll be soon, it's just that everyone talks about deposing Garrosh. From the king down to us."
"Be that as it may, when it does come to pass, you'll need to be prepared." Kairoz paused, then added: "It's my impression that the Black Prince expects you to behead Hellscream yourself."
She could feel the smile on her face-- there of its own volition. "I'll cut in line."
"One must take initiative in matters like these," he replied. "In this new 'Age of Mortals,' I fear my flight struggles to know which way fate flows, let alone regulate the course of history."
He passed whatever he'd been looking for into his right hand so smoothly and quickly that Midha didn't think to look until he'd closed his fingers again.
"But here," he tapped his knuckles once against an ornate hourglass beside him, "is an invention of mine. With it, I can regain some of the sight I've lost."
His fingers unfurled. There was a small, mundane-enough stone. He overturned Midha's own hand, and pressed the stone into her palm: as soon as it touched her skin, she felt a pull like that of a portal or hearthstone.
"Stones like these form within the bodies of all creatures on the Timeless Isle. The sands of time gather in deposits, and those deposits can be broken down to fuel visions of future events."
Midha's eyes had settled on the stone, and the long, pale fingers that put it in her hand. His nails pushed just a little too hard. "You want me to find these stones," she guessed.
"I want a co-conspirator," he said, and his amusement was evident in his voice. "The same as you are with the Black Prince. It's simple enough to see your talent in combat, but the hourglass has shown me that perhaps you, too, have an invention."
She blinked. But she knew what he meant: something he couldn't use, that she doubted any of these hard-handed, soft-voiced, tall-standing men could have a purpose for... because it was like holding hands.
But he was holding her hand now. "Will I be able to see the visions, too?" she asked.
"Of course. I expect you may feature in them." He left the epoch stone with her, presumably so she'd remember what they looked like. "Five more like that one could show us a scene."
...Deliberately, she nodded.
A more familiar voice called out from a short way across the arena: "Champion? Midha--" she could imagine him turning to an agent-- "where is Midha?"
"Go to him," Kairoz said, suddenly guiding her up onto her feet and toward the tent's curtain. "And don't tell him we've spoken here. He'll get jealous."
