Anduin hesitates, at that. He has had some time, and space, for his feelings on that day to settle on their own. Yes, settle is perhaps the best way he can think of describing it. The frustration, anger, hurt, and fear he had felt on that day have not gone away. They've just... Settled. Or perhaps it is he who has settled into them, he supposes.
There's no point in lying to Wrathion to spare his feelings. The idea of it is frankly insulting, and so after a long moment, Anduin nods, a frown settling its way across his features once more.
"Yes," he replies. He falls silent for a long moment as he considers exactly how best to elaborate on this statement, before settling on, "I understand that we still have... Differences between us that we have yet to settle. But you shut me out. If you and I are only able to trust each other in this place... Then where does this leave me, if you will not give me your trust? Where does it leave you?"
Wrathion lifts his eyes and blinks at Anduin, trying to play back the conversation. Had he done that?
An uneasy sensation clenches in his stomach again. Navigating these conversations always feels more difficult, somehow, with Anduin. Like his own words might trap him any moment.
"I meant no offense," he says finally. Should he say more? Would saying more help, or would it make things worse? Titans, he's getting no better at... handling emotions. At knowing how to express them. Sometimes it feels as if he might be getting worse now that he's more aware of his own limitations.
Anduin meets Wrathion's eyes, reading the uneasy expression written across his face, and lets out a soft sigh.
"No," Anduin agrees, "I understand that you only meant to protect -- us both, in a way."
He studies Wrathion's face for a moment longer, hoping that he is not pressing him too hard as he continues, "You put yourself in danger on that day, Wrathion. Perhaps it does not really matter to you, especially given the hindsight of your full recovery, but. I had just explained how worried I had been for you, and you countered by telling me that you'd taken a calculated risk. It is hard not to be upset about such a thing."
Wrathion's expression pinches in concentration, as he thinks. Does Anduin believe that he doesn't appreciate his concern, or care for it? Does he not trust Wrathion's judgement, in calculating this risk? Or --
"You do not believe I should take risks?" he hazards.
Perhaps that is it? There should be no risks at all? He is not... certain he can keep to that, if that is the case...
Anduin presses his lips together, doing his best to be patient with Wrathion. It's clear that he is really trying to understand this. He had asked, not because he wished to bring it up again, but because he wished to make sense of what had gone on between them on that day. He does appreciate Wrathion making this effort, really he does.
"I think it is inevitable that risks are taken," Anduin elaborates. "Especially in such a place as this. But I..."
He hesitates for a moment, uncertain of how exactly to explain himself, before he settles on, "It will always upset me when you are in danger, Wrathion. That is part of what it means to care for someone."
Anduin glances away, uncertain whether he can meet Wrathion's eyes and answer such a direct question at the same time. Wrathion always has been observant, even if he has not always understood just what it is he is seeing.
It seems, however, that he is putting the pieces together well enough.
"I believe..." Anduin says, slowly, "that you have spent a great deal of time on your own, and you have had to learn how to prioritize in certain ways because of it. I cannot say those ways are wrong, for they have kept you safe as long as they have. But..."
Anduin hesitates, pressing his eyes closed for a moment, before he glances back up to Wrathion at last, searching his face as he continues, "I don't believe you to be unmoved by my distress, Wrathion. But you are wary. And I can't help but feel as though you are guarding yourself -- from me, I suppose. Is it really so difficult to be close to me? Have -- I done something wrong?"
Hesitation colours Wrathion's features, then he frowns slowly -- flits his eyes out toward the water once more.
"I was under the impression the role of repentance was mine, not yours. The last we spoke in Azeroth that was made quite clear to me."
What has changed, really? Wrathion has not explicitly been forgiven, has not been pardoned for his crimes against Anduin Wrynn and Azeroth both. He doesn't think anyone would claim the bounty put out on him by Varian anymore, unless they were particularly bold and foolish, but it would be nice to have it formally withdrawn.
It would be nice to know exactly where things stood.
Anduin takes in a long, deep breath, letting it fill his lungs and hoping it will give him the strength and fortitude he needs to answer this without ruining whatever tentative truce they have already built between them.
"Just because you have hurt me does not mean that I do not still care for you, Wrathion," Anduin says. He had figured that much had been obvious but. Perhaps it is best to say it out loud, for both their sakes?
Anduin frowns softly as he continues.
"And I suppose the truth of it is that… I don’t want your repentance, your guilt. If you want to make up for what was done then I would rather have the dedication of your companionship. The rewards are far greater. That is, if you truly wish to make amends."
Something flickers across Wrathion's face -- surprise, then a narrowing of his eyes. He feels his pulse begin to race in frustration.
If you truly wish to make amends.
Titans, even now that's still in doubt?
He lifts his chin imperiously, forces his shoulders to drop.
"You already have my companionship, Anduin," he insists. "You are the only person who has ever wanted it. Everything I have done has been to make amends -- for my actions, for my inactions, to forge a new legacy for the Black Dragonflight. If it is not enough, I accept that, but know that making amends is all I have worked for."
Yet now, Anduin discards it so easily. I don't want your repentance, your guilt. As if it means nothing.
His chest feels tight, fingers curling until they dig into his palms. Wrathion's emotions always seem to run hot, when dealing with Anduin. They tangle more confusingly, and he finds he has to sit somewhere quietly afterwards to make sense of it all. He feels -- hurt, he thinks? Anduin likely did not intend that, not when also claiming he cares for him and wants his companionship. Wrathion supposes he has, somehow, given Anduin the impression he doesn't want that. He isn't sure how, when he thought he was doing all the right things, but given his lack of experience in the field it isn't a surprise he'd mess that right up too.
Rationalising doesn't appear to be making the sting fade.
He knows he is getting emotional because he has to hold his tongue, to bite back a comment he knows would only seek to bite. And it isn't his intention to hurt Wrathion, it isn't. It's just...
"That is just it, Wrathion!" Anduin counters, his voice rising in volume along with the tightness in his own chest. "I do want it! But every time I ask for you to let me in, each time I hazard to call you friend, you pull away. You made an error in judgement, back then, and it cost us both dearly. But you need to stop using what happened to continue to punish yourself, or we will never be able to move past it."
Wrathion blinks again, at the lifting of Anduin's voice.
This isn't true.
It categorically isn't true -- Wrathion is quite sure he's told Anduin far more personal things than he's told anyone else in his life.
Those things didn't matter, it seems. That in and of itself hurts a little, that overtures that were important to Wrathion have been so quickly forgotten, but arguing that won't help. Wrathion thinks his original intuition was correct -- it was a specific thing that upset Anduin, even if he is speaking in generalisations.
He bites his tongue a little, tries again.
"You are upset I did not agree, as you wanted, to tell you of my plans in the future? That I did not accept your concern as a reason to do so?"
Anduin does not know whether to feel insulted by this phrasing or not, but his emotions are already heightened and so it is difficult not to feel a sting to Wrathion's choice of words.
"Of course I am upset!" Anduin counters, throwing his hands up in the air. "By the Light, Wrathion -- I am not asking you to communicate such things with me to spare me my concern. It was for you, you -- great stubborn dragon. For your safety. For your support. I know it is not much, but I had hoped that it would mean -- something!"
He has -- mixed feelings about Anduin's displays of emotion. On the one hand, being able to inspire such strong emotion in the priest is interesting. He's normally so collected, so diplomatic, but here he seems to have lost all sense of reason. He wonders what it would feel like to push him further, if he even could. Would Anduin strike him again? How much of that had been N'Zoth's influence, and how much Anduin himself?
On the other, being the target of his frustration feels unpleasant. That is the opposite of what Wrathion wanted.
Will explaining even help? It feels as if explaining might upset Anduin further.
The frustration of not knowing the right path has Wrathion wanting to flee.
That's his usual method, after all. When he doesn't know how to handle something he retreats, to give himself time to analyse the situation and develop a plan. Having a plan for what should be a simple conversation may seem excessive, but the weight of consequence is heavy here. When Anduin is involved, the conversation does not feel simple.
His chest hurts.
Is he punishing himself?
He hadn't -- thought of it that way. Not exactly. Working toward atonement is not the same thing as punishing yourself, is it?
Anduin had asked if it was really so difficult to be close to him. The answer is yes, quite clearly yes.
It hurts the way nothing else hurts.
"I don't like to give assurances I cannot keep," he says finally. His body language has gone tense again, as if he's bracing himself against the response to this.
A sound rips itself from Anduin, despite himself -- of pain. Of frustration. He can feel, humiliatingly, the fresh burn of tears in the corners of his eyes and he turns away for a moment so he can at least spare Wrathion seeing that. He knows he is falling apart in front of him, and that had not been his intention, in opening himself up to try and explain all of this.
He had meant to lay it all out, so that Wrathion might understand. He does not mean to raise his voice, does not mean to get so emotional that he cannot control the words that are now seemingly pouring from his mouth. It's just that...
It hurts.
There is a chasm, somewhere deep within Anduin's chest, and it is shaped like loss. There is no telling when it had formed -- there are so many instances he could name. So many people he has lost, and with each fresh cut the damage has spread until now what is left in its wake is a wide, gaping wound that even with his healing skills he has no chance of mending it. Not on his own.
Not when Wrathion stands across from him like that and he can see the dragon withdrawing from him even as he refuses to make him -- not even a promise. He had not even asked that much, and still it is refused.
Not when there is a hole in his heart and it is so difficult for Anduin to tell whether it is because Wrathion has put it there, or if it is because he misses him -- what they were. What they used to be together, when he knows of what could be, if only...
If only...
Anduin swipes a hand across his eyes and turns quickly on his heel, back toward his companion, taking one, two quick steps to close the distance between them, reaching out -- intent to grip him by the arm. He needs to make him see, make him understand.
"For pity's sake, Wrathion! Must I --"
Edited (you add ONE html tag and break everything) 2022-02-10 19:23 (UTC)
Wrathion flinches as Anduin moves quickly toward him, as Anduin lifts his voice again.
The priest seems to think better of it after a moment moment, stepping back again, but Wrathion stays tense -- uncertain where this is going.
"It was not my intention to upset you further, Anduin. Only know that... if you were in danger, I would do whatever it took to save you -- no matter the cost. I would not wait to seek your approval. I have seen Stormwind fall over and over in N'Zoth's twisted visions. I cannot see you come to harm."
Surely Anduin can understand that? Surely that makes sense?
Anduin cuts himself off, as Wrathion flinches away from him. Forces himself to take a step back, take in a breath, trying to calm his heartbeat and his actions, watching his companion guarding himself against him and feeling all the more wretched for it as he does.
N'Zoth's twisted visions. The truth of it is like a blow to the stomach and it leaves Anduin himself feeling... Unmoored. Wrathion has never spoken of such things -- well of course he wouldn't, they are still so fresh in his mind. The idea that the loss of Stormwind, his loss, could factor so importantly to Wrathion's experience... If so, then why?
Why does Wrathion not see it for himself?
"Must I suffer through my own Old God's nightmare before you understand that I cannot lose you either?" Anduin asks, in return.
Wrathion hesitates a moment at that, uneasy, then takes a tentative step toward Anduin. Another. He reaches out, gloved fingers carefully alighting on the priest's arm.
"I'm quite sure you've already suffered that," he says.
Anduin had to sit in Stormwind, after all, knowing Wrathion was climbing into the depths of Ny'alotha. Not knowing if he'd succeed. No doubt he had plenty of nightmares, even if they weren't the specific visions of Stormwind that Wrathion traversed.
Anduin takes a moment to press his eyes shut tight. At the press of Wrathion's fingers, gentle and tentative against his arm. At his words. He takes a deep breath and it catches in his chest, but he's trying. Trying to pull himself back together, trying to stop keep himself from simply falling apart. It's difficult.
It has been difficult.
The war. N'Zoth. Losing Wyll. Losing his father. Inheriting a country. The distrust of his council. The pressure, even from those he had looked to for support. And Wrathion...
Anduin takes in another deep breath, letting it out slowly before opening his eyes to meet Wrathion's. Raising a tentative hand of his own and slowly, carefully, pressing it over Wrathion's to hold it there.
"It will always upset me when you are in danger, Wrathion," Anduin says, at last. "I know that you cannot make me promises. But -- I am asking for your understanding. We have only just found each other again. Please..." He tightens his fingers ever so slightly on Wrathion's fingers underneath his own.
He hesitates again, eyes flitting to Anduin's fingers covering his own, then lifts his other hand to rest the other side. His thumbs rub a restless pattern into Anduin's arms through his coat.
"The goal has always been a mutual victory, if we can manage it."
The two of them, together, here or in Azeroth -- if Wrathion can help it they will both survive. It is a much preferable outcome to anything else, and has always been his preferred option.
Anduin does not know whether Wrathion is offering the touch because he wants to, or because he feels as though its something Anduin wants himself. Still... He appreciates the gesture nevertheless, and cannot help but feel himself begin to relax into the slow brush of Wrathion's thumbs against his sleeves.
A mutual victory. It is not a particularly soft reassurance, but now that Anduin is starting to feel as though he can breathe again, he does understand. He... Still cannot help but feel as though Wrathion is punishing himself, in some ways, for his mistakes of the past. Can't help but feel as though, for all his talk of forgiveness, he is not certain whether he deserves it himself yet, and it is holding him back. But he has fought, all this time, so that he might live. He may be reckless at times, but there is no hint at self-destruction, where once he might have thought there'd been.
"I do not mean to quarrel with you," Anduin says at last.
"You've always challenged me. I'd say it's part of your charm."
He squeezes Anduin's arms, trying to offer what little reassurance he can. Is this reassuring? He's not... entirely sure, but he hopes it is. Closeness seems to be comforting for him. It isn't something Wrathion himself is... exactly used to, but he can try. For Anduin, he has been trying. Carefully.
He hesitates, then shifts his fingers just enough that Anduin can lace his own through the hand he's covering. Is that better? Is that how this is done?
Anduin lets out a breath that might have been a laugh, in another life, his lips twisting their way into a watery smile.
He still feels... Raw. As if Wrathion has taken some sort of blade and flayed him wide open to leave his heart sitting right out there in the open for the world to see. He's not sure it will fit so easily back into his chest, not without some time, patience, and careful manipulation.
Anduin shifts his hand and tangles his fingers between Wrathion's, gripping his hand tightly in his own as he takes a moment to further gather himself back together.
"Trust a dragon to find appeal in such a trait," Anduin counters, though with an obvious fondness creeps into his voice as he does.
"I know I am a challenging companion myself. I assume there is some enjoyment in it for you."
If Anduin preferred an easier life, after all, he surely has much better options for friends? Wrathion has things in his favour -- he's handsome, intelligent, interesting -- but he's well aware of his own flaws as well. A less patient, less kind person might say that some days they outnumber the advantages.
"Where would the pleasure be in a companion who deferred to my every word or desire?" he asks, before shaking his head. "I do not require another servant, Wrathion. What I need..."
He seems to consider this, what to say and how to phrase it. He does not want to embarrass his friend, and yet.
"What I need is someone who knows how to question me when I need it, while never asking me to become someone that I am not," Anduin says, at last. Wrathion has teased, of course. But he has also sat there with him, in the quiet, when his thoughts had become too heavy. He has cheered him up with games of Jihui. He has poured him drinks and distracted him with meandering conversation. He has -- stood here on this shoreline, and withstood Anduin's roiling emotions and he has not run away yet but instead offered him his hand in support. He has called him soft, of course. But he has never expected him to change, and Anduin appreciates that more than he can say.
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Anduin hesitates, at that. He has had some time, and space, for his feelings on that day to settle on their own. Yes, settle is perhaps the best way he can think of describing it. The frustration, anger, hurt, and fear he had felt on that day have not gone away. They've just... Settled. Or perhaps it is he who has settled into them, he supposes.
There's no point in lying to Wrathion to spare his feelings. The idea of it is frankly insulting, and so after a long moment, Anduin nods, a frown settling its way across his features once more.
"Yes," he replies. He falls silent for a long moment as he considers exactly how best to elaborate on this statement, before settling on, "I understand that we still have... Differences between us that we have yet to settle. But you shut me out. If you and I are only able to trust each other in this place... Then where does this leave me, if you will not give me your trust? Where does it leave you?"
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Wrathion lifts his eyes and blinks at Anduin, trying to play back the conversation. Had he done that?
An uneasy sensation clenches in his stomach again. Navigating these conversations always feels more difficult, somehow, with Anduin. Like his own words might trap him any moment.
"I meant no offense," he says finally. Should he say more? Would saying more help, or would it make things worse? Titans, he's getting no better at... handling emotions. At knowing how to express them. Sometimes it feels as if he might be getting worse now that he's more aware of his own limitations.
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"No," Anduin agrees, "I understand that you only meant to protect -- us both, in a way."
He studies Wrathion's face for a moment longer, hoping that he is not pressing him too hard as he continues, "You put yourself in danger on that day, Wrathion. Perhaps it does not really matter to you, especially given the hindsight of your full recovery, but. I had just explained how worried I had been for you, and you countered by telling me that you'd taken a calculated risk. It is hard not to be upset about such a thing."
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Wrathion's expression pinches in concentration, as he thinks. Does Anduin believe that he doesn't appreciate his concern, or care for it? Does he not trust Wrathion's judgement, in calculating this risk? Or --
"You do not believe I should take risks?" he hazards.
Perhaps that is it? There should be no risks at all? He is not... certain he can keep to that, if that is the case...
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"I think it is inevitable that risks are taken," Anduin elaborates. "Especially in such a place as this. But I..."
He hesitates for a moment, uncertain of how exactly to explain himself, before he settles on, "It will always upset me when you are in danger, Wrathion. That is part of what it means to care for someone."
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Only it hadn't seemed that way, in the moment. It had very much seemed like something Wrathion had said was the cause of Anduin's distress.
He hesitates, squints a little in thought, then goes back to a previous concept:
"Do you believe me unmoved by your distress?"
Is that what had upset Anduin? He thinks Wrathion simply doesn't care?
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It seems, however, that he is putting the pieces together well enough.
"I believe..." Anduin says, slowly, "that you have spent a great deal of time on your own, and you have had to learn how to prioritize in certain ways because of it. I cannot say those ways are wrong, for they have kept you safe as long as they have. But..."
Anduin hesitates, pressing his eyes closed for a moment, before he glances back up to Wrathion at last, searching his face as he continues, "I don't believe you to be unmoved by my distress, Wrathion. But you are wary. And I can't help but feel as though you are guarding yourself -- from me, I suppose. Is it really so difficult to be close to me? Have -- I done something wrong?"
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Well --
Hesitation colours Wrathion's features, then he frowns slowly -- flits his eyes out toward the water once more.
"I was under the impression the role of repentance was mine, not yours. The last we spoke in Azeroth that was made quite clear to me."
What has changed, really? Wrathion has not explicitly been forgiven, has not been pardoned for his crimes against Anduin Wrynn and Azeroth both. He doesn't think anyone would claim the bounty put out on him by Varian anymore, unless they were particularly bold and foolish, but it would be nice to have it formally withdrawn.
It would be nice to know exactly where things stood.
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"Just because you have hurt me does not mean that I do not still care for you, Wrathion," Anduin says. He had figured that much had been obvious but. Perhaps it is best to say it out loud, for both their sakes?
Anduin frowns softly as he continues.
"And I suppose the truth of it is that… I don’t want your repentance, your guilt. If you want to make up for what was done then I would rather have the dedication of your companionship. The rewards are far greater. That is, if you truly wish to make amends."
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If you truly wish to make amends.
Titans, even now that's still in doubt?
He lifts his chin imperiously, forces his shoulders to drop.
"You already have my companionship, Anduin," he insists. "You are the only person who has ever wanted it. Everything I have done has been to make amends -- for my actions, for my inactions, to forge a new legacy for the Black Dragonflight. If it is not enough, I accept that, but know that making amends is all I have worked for."
Yet now, Anduin discards it so easily. I don't want your repentance, your guilt. As if it means nothing.
His chest feels tight, fingers curling until they dig into his palms. Wrathion's emotions always seem to run hot, when dealing with Anduin. They tangle more confusingly, and he finds he has to sit somewhere quietly afterwards to make sense of it all. He feels -- hurt, he thinks? Anduin likely did not intend that, not when also claiming he cares for him and wants his companionship. Wrathion supposes he has, somehow, given Anduin the impression he doesn't want that. He isn't sure how, when he thought he was doing all the right things, but given his lack of experience in the field it isn't a surprise he'd mess that right up too.
Rationalising doesn't appear to be making the sting fade.
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He knows he is getting emotional because he has to hold his tongue, to bite back a comment he knows would only seek to bite. And it isn't his intention to hurt Wrathion, it isn't. It's just...
"That is just it, Wrathion!" Anduin counters, his voice rising in volume along with the tightness in his own chest. "I do want it! But every time I ask for you to let me in, each time I hazard to call you friend, you pull away. You made an error in judgement, back then, and it cost us both dearly. But you need to stop using what happened to continue to punish yourself, or we will never be able to move past it."
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This isn't true.
It categorically isn't true -- Wrathion is quite sure he's told Anduin far more personal things than he's told anyone else in his life.
Those things didn't matter, it seems. That in and of itself hurts a little, that overtures that were important to Wrathion have been so quickly forgotten, but arguing that won't help. Wrathion thinks his original intuition was correct -- it was a specific thing that upset Anduin, even if he is speaking in generalisations.
He bites his tongue a little, tries again.
"You are upset I did not agree, as you wanted, to tell you of my plans in the future? That I did not accept your concern as a reason to do so?"
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Anduin does not know whether to feel insulted by this phrasing or not, but his emotions are already heightened and so it is difficult not to feel a sting to Wrathion's choice of words.
"Of course I am upset!" Anduin counters, throwing his hands up in the air. "By the Light, Wrathion -- I am not asking you to communicate such things with me to spare me my concern. It was for you, you -- great stubborn dragon. For your safety. For your support. I know it is not much, but I had hoped that it would mean -- something!"
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He has -- mixed feelings about Anduin's displays of emotion. On the one hand, being able to inspire such strong emotion in the priest is interesting. He's normally so collected, so diplomatic, but here he seems to have lost all sense of reason. He wonders what it would feel like to push him further, if he even could. Would Anduin strike him again? How much of that had been N'Zoth's influence, and how much Anduin himself?
On the other, being the target of his frustration feels unpleasant. That is the opposite of what Wrathion wanted.
Will explaining even help? It feels as if explaining might upset Anduin further.
The frustration of not knowing the right path has Wrathion wanting to flee.
That's his usual method, after all. When he doesn't know how to handle something he retreats, to give himself time to analyse the situation and develop a plan. Having a plan for what should be a simple conversation may seem excessive, but the weight of consequence is heavy here. When Anduin is involved, the conversation does not feel simple.
His chest hurts.
Is he punishing himself?
He hadn't -- thought of it that way. Not exactly. Working toward atonement is not the same thing as punishing yourself, is it?
Anduin had asked if it was really so difficult to be close to him. The answer is yes, quite clearly yes.
It hurts the way nothing else hurts.
"I don't like to give assurances I cannot keep," he says finally. His body language has gone tense again, as if he's bracing himself against the response to this.
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He had meant to lay it all out, so that Wrathion might understand. He does not mean to raise his voice, does not mean to get so emotional that he cannot control the words that are now seemingly pouring from his mouth. It's just that...
It hurts.
There is a chasm, somewhere deep within Anduin's chest, and it is shaped like loss. There is no telling when it had formed -- there are so many instances he could name. So many people he has lost, and with each fresh cut the damage has spread until now what is left in its wake is a wide, gaping wound that even with his healing skills he has no chance of mending it. Not on his own.
Not when Wrathion stands across from him like that and he can see the dragon withdrawing from him even as he refuses to make him -- not even a promise. He had not even asked that much, and still it is refused.
Not when there is a hole in his heart and it is so difficult for Anduin to tell whether it is because Wrathion has put it there, or if it is because he misses him -- what they were. What they used to be together, when he knows of what could be, if only...
If only...
Anduin swipes a hand across his eyes and turns quickly on his heel, back toward his companion, taking one, two quick steps to close the distance between them, reaching out -- intent to grip him by the arm. He needs to make him see, make him understand.
"For pity's sake, Wrathion! Must I --"
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The priest seems to think better of it after a moment moment, stepping back again, but Wrathion stays tense -- uncertain where this is going.
"It was not my intention to upset you further, Anduin. Only know that... if you were in danger, I would do whatever it took to save you -- no matter the cost. I would not wait to seek your approval. I have seen Stormwind fall over and over in N'Zoth's twisted visions. I cannot see you come to harm."
Surely Anduin can understand that? Surely that makes sense?
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N'Zoth's twisted visions. The truth of it is like a blow to the stomach and it leaves Anduin himself feeling... Unmoored. Wrathion has never spoken of such things -- well of course he wouldn't, they are still so fresh in his mind. The idea that the loss of Stormwind, his loss, could factor so importantly to Wrathion's experience... If so, then why?
Why does Wrathion not see it for himself?
"Must I suffer through my own Old God's nightmare before you understand that I cannot lose you either?" Anduin asks, in return.
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"I'm quite sure you've already suffered that," he says.
Anduin had to sit in Stormwind, after all, knowing Wrathion was climbing into the depths of Ny'alotha. Not knowing if he'd succeed. No doubt he had plenty of nightmares, even if they weren't the specific visions of Stormwind that Wrathion traversed.
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It has been difficult.
The war. N'Zoth. Losing Wyll. Losing his father. Inheriting a country. The distrust of his council. The pressure, even from those he had looked to for support. And Wrathion...
Anduin takes in another deep breath, letting it out slowly before opening his eyes to meet Wrathion's. Raising a tentative hand of his own and slowly, carefully, pressing it over Wrathion's to hold it there.
"It will always upset me when you are in danger, Wrathion," Anduin says, at last. "I know that you cannot make me promises. But -- I am asking for your understanding. We have only just found each other again. Please..." He tightens his fingers ever so slightly on Wrathion's fingers underneath his own.
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"The goal has always been a mutual victory, if we can manage it."
The two of them, together, here or in Azeroth -- if Wrathion can help it they will both survive. It is a much preferable outcome to anything else, and has always been his preferred option.
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A mutual victory. It is not a particularly soft reassurance, but now that Anduin is starting to feel as though he can breathe again, he does understand. He... Still cannot help but feel as though Wrathion is punishing himself, in some ways, for his mistakes of the past. Can't help but feel as though, for all his talk of forgiveness, he is not certain whether he deserves it himself yet, and it is holding him back. But he has fought, all this time, so that he might live. He may be reckless at times, but there is no hint at self-destruction, where once he might have thought there'd been.
"I do not mean to quarrel with you," Anduin says at last.
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He squeezes Anduin's arms, trying to offer what little reassurance he can. Is this reassuring? He's not... entirely sure, but he hopes it is. Closeness seems to be comforting for him. It isn't something Wrathion himself is... exactly used to, but he can try. For Anduin, he has been trying. Carefully.
He hesitates, then shifts his fingers just enough that Anduin can lace his own through the hand he's covering. Is that better? Is that how this is done?
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He still feels... Raw. As if Wrathion has taken some sort of blade and flayed him wide open to leave his heart sitting right out there in the open for the world to see. He's not sure it will fit so easily back into his chest, not without some time, patience, and careful manipulation.
Anduin shifts his hand and tangles his fingers between Wrathion's, gripping his hand tightly in his own as he takes a moment to further gather himself back together.
"Trust a dragon to find appeal in such a trait," Anduin counters, though with an obvious fondness creeps into his voice as he does.
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"I know I am a challenging companion myself. I assume there is some enjoyment in it for you."
If Anduin preferred an easier life, after all, he surely has much better options for friends? Wrathion has things in his favour -- he's handsome, intelligent, interesting -- but he's well aware of his own flaws as well. A less patient, less kind person might say that some days they outnumber the advantages.
It's good Anduin is both kind and patient.
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I assume there is some enjoyment in it for you.
"Where would the pleasure be in a companion who deferred to my every word or desire?" he asks, before shaking his head. "I do not require another servant, Wrathion. What I need..."
He seems to consider this, what to say and how to phrase it. He does not want to embarrass his friend, and yet.
"What I need is someone who knows how to question me when I need it, while never asking me to become someone that I am not," Anduin says, at last. Wrathion has teased, of course. But he has also sat there with him, in the quiet, when his thoughts had become too heavy. He has cheered him up with games of Jihui. He has poured him drinks and distracted him with meandering conversation. He has -- stood here on this shoreline, and withstood Anduin's roiling emotions and he has not run away yet but instead offered him his hand in support. He has called him soft, of course. But he has never expected him to change, and Anduin appreciates that more than he can say.
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