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.
Wrathion studies Anduin, the blue of his eyes and the bright gold of his hair. The softness of his smile. This close, it is easy to see the slight redness around his eyes from the earlier upset -- the shadows lack of sleep has given him. The faint imperfections in his skin.
Anduin has grown since he was the shorter-haired prince who hobbled around the Tavern in the Mists, playing games with him and laughing at him. The scant few years have aged him so quickly.
Humans are so delicate.
Anduin may be afraid to lose him, but Wrathion doesn't know how to admit to him the other way around is a near certainty even if no harm comes to either of them.
His fingers flex into Anduin's arms, eyes dropping away for a moment as he thinks then lifting back up -- brow furrowing.
"I would never wish you to be anyone else," he says softly, "than the man who has tried so hard to offer me his friendship, even despite the suffering my family and I both have caused him."
"Wrathion..." Anduin replies, gently, searching his companion's face and wishing he knew exactly what he could do to coax that frown back off of it. He thinks, perhaps, he has already been too emotional in front of him as it is -- he is not certain how much any further gestures might be tolerated. Still.
He reaches with his free hand out across the space between them, pinching his fingers in the front of Wrathion's jacket and tugging it slightly.
"I see before me a black dragon who is more than the summary of the sins of the past. He is clever and brave. Handsome," his lips quirk at this a little, "strong and steadfast to his beliefs. He has made mistakes, some of which cost him dearly. But I believe his heart is true."
Wrathion's eyes drop hesitantly to the hand gripping his jacket, trying to discern meaning from it.
Clever, brave and handsome. These things are all of course true, but... still pleasant to hear. His frown softens a little, and his hands slide away from where they were resting on Anduin's upper arms -- one still laced through Anduin's other hand. He realises belatedly, hesitates then... keeps hold of it, covers the hand so it's gently enveloped between both his own.
His tongue runs over his teeth, and he scrambles for something clever to say.
"Well," he says finally, "as was noted, he had some help along the way."
Anduin glances down at where Wrathion has moved to take his hand in between his own, his fingers curling in between Wrathion's gloved hands. It is a tentative touch given on his companion's part, and he can tell that Wrathion is not entirely certain of himself in it. Yet he is still offering, and for Anduin, that means the world.
He raises his eyes back up to Wrathion, offering him a soft and gentle smile as he does.
"He will always have that help available to him," Anduin says, softly. "Should he require it."
It has been Anduin's point all along, of course. Not that he insists on putting himself in Wrathion's business, as had been implied earlier. Just that -- he is there for him. He always has been, for as long as they both have known each other.
This is reaching the limit of Wrathion's tolerance now.
He smiles, a little uncomfortable, and squeezes at Anduin's hand.
"And his help is always available in turn," he adds. "Now, perhaps we should find something to eat."
Away from the melancholy of the coast, the sight of the mermaids and safely somewhere warm. Also, around people which may help Anduin feel... comforted? By the presence of others? Is that how it works? Wrathion isn't sure, but it seems worth a try.
Head a little cooler than before, Anduin can see the strain in Wrathion's smile. He understands this has probably been a lot for Wrathion to withstand, though withstand it he has, and here he is at the end of it holding Anduin's hand at that. His trust, his support, means more to Anduin than he can say.
"Of course," Anduin says, softly. "Let's go and get ourselves out of this wind. And Wrathion?"
He tightens his fingers on Wrathion's jacket, just to hold him there for a moment longer. Tilting his head back slightly so he might look Wrathion in the eyes, he offers him a soft, warm smile.
The fingers still fastened into the lapels of his outwear are making Wrathion feel...
Something he cannot quite place. A mixture of unease and... something. His heart is beating faster. Can Anduin feel it, with his fingers latched so tightly into the fabric, or is his hand far enough away to avoid that?
He needs to pull himself together. He thinks he might be staring. The silence is going on far too long. He's staring to feel uncomfortably warm.
"You're most welcome," he manages. "Perhaps we might find a warm drink, too. Hermione made me one after the incident in the stairwell."
Back on the topic of food. Food and drink. Food and drink and getting out of the wind. He hesitates, as if reluctant to break the moment, then moves to release Anduin's hand and turns to begin walking back toward the tower.
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no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
Anduin has grown since he was the shorter-haired prince who hobbled around the Tavern in the Mists, playing games with him and laughing at him. The scant few years have aged him so quickly.
Humans are so delicate.
Anduin may be afraid to lose him, but Wrathion doesn't know how to admit to him the other way around is a near certainty even if no harm comes to either of them.
His fingers flex into Anduin's arms, eyes dropping away for a moment as he thinks then lifting back up -- brow furrowing.
"I would never wish you to be anyone else," he says softly, "than the man who has tried so hard to offer me his friendship, even despite the suffering my family and I both have caused him."
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He reaches with his free hand out across the space between them, pinching his fingers in the front of Wrathion's jacket and tugging it slightly.
"I see before me a black dragon who is more than the summary of the sins of the past. He is clever and brave. Handsome," his lips quirk at this a little, "strong and steadfast to his beliefs. He has made mistakes, some of which cost him dearly. But I believe his heart is true."
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Clever, brave and handsome. These things are all of course true, but... still pleasant to hear. His frown softens a little, and his hands slide away from where they were resting on Anduin's upper arms -- one still laced through Anduin's other hand. He realises belatedly, hesitates then... keeps hold of it, covers the hand so it's gently enveloped between both his own.
His tongue runs over his teeth, and he scrambles for something clever to say.
"Well," he says finally, "as was noted, he had some help along the way."
There.
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He raises his eyes back up to Wrathion, offering him a soft and gentle smile as he does.
"He will always have that help available to him," Anduin says, softly. "Should he require it."
It has been Anduin's point all along, of course. Not that he insists on putting himself in Wrathion's business, as had been implied earlier. Just that -- he is there for him. He always has been, for as long as they both have known each other.
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He smiles, a little uncomfortable, and squeezes at Anduin's hand.
"And his help is always available in turn," he adds. "Now, perhaps we should find something to eat."
Away from the melancholy of the coast, the sight of the mermaids and safely somewhere warm. Also, around people which may help Anduin feel... comforted? By the presence of others? Is that how it works? Wrathion isn't sure, but it seems worth a try.
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"Of course," Anduin says, softly. "Let's go and get ourselves out of this wind. And Wrathion?"
He tightens his fingers on Wrathion's jacket, just to hold him there for a moment longer. Tilting his head back slightly so he might look Wrathion in the eyes, he offers him a soft, warm smile.
"Thank you."
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Something he cannot quite place. A mixture of unease and... something. His heart is beating faster. Can Anduin feel it, with his fingers latched so tightly into the fabric, or is his hand far enough away to avoid that?
He needs to pull himself together. He thinks he might be staring. The silence is going on far too long. He's staring to feel uncomfortably warm.
"You're most welcome," he manages. "Perhaps we might find a warm drink, too. Hermione made me one after the incident in the stairwell."
Back on the topic of food. Food and drink. Food and drink and getting out of the wind. He hesitates, as if reluctant to break the moment, then moves to release Anduin's hand and turns to begin walking back toward the tower.