Anduin's cheeks color softly at the mention of it. And, if he's being perfectly honest with himself, the echo of Wrathion's voice in his head...
He tries to think of what Wrathion has shared about the theory behind the link. A connection formed between them, through the magic in Wrathion's blood. It feels oddly intimate, though Anduin can't be sure whether that has to do with the echoes of Wrathion's voice in his mind or not. If it is a connection between the pair of them though, that means that -- it is supposed to work both ways?
Anduin pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, biting it in concentration, a frown creasing his own features as he thinks very hard at Wrathion. It feels slightly foolish but soon enough, he's figured it out himself.
I was fifteen.
Anduin's lips twitch.
And they were trying to keep me from my studies so frankly, they had it coming.
One way of referring to Anduin's explorations, he supposes.
"You seem to be getting the hang of it," he observes, sheathing his dagger again. He hadn't expected Anduin to struggle, but there's still pleasure in it -- and pleasure in seeming him flush under the tease too. It feels as if the both of them are always in fraught situations, rarely able to simply relax. "This will wear off, but I can press the enchantment into something else for you to use. I'll have to... refresh it, on occasion, but it will do for emergencies."
Not an entire replacement for what they have, but still something if Anduin loses their communication pendants -- or needs Wrathion's attention more directly with something he cannot use them for.
Anduin is somewhat relieved to hear that Wrathion won't have to keep applying this blood magic directly to his skin. Not that he would mind terribly if that is how it did work, but. He does have to wonder whether it would have some sort of an effect on him, after a while. To enchant an object though...
Anduin unconsciously raises a hand to press against his chest, over his mother's locket where it rests against his skin under the layers of his clothing. A small frown passes over his expression, before he glances up to Wrathion, a question in his eyes.
"You... Have something in mind?" he asks. Wrathion had said he had something for him. Was it the enchantment, or an item itself?
"I did. I assume blue is your preferred colour, but correct me if I'm wrong."
Wrathion digs into his pockets and draws out a small purse, loosening the tie around it. From inside, he tips out a small collection of different gems -- not all of which are blue.
"You'll have to tell me how you'd prefer to wear it. My crafting supplies are somewhat limited, but I will of course do my best."
Even with limited supplies, Wrathion wouldn't give Anduin something ugly.
Anduin peers down at the purse that Wrathion has tipped out into his hand, eyes widening in surprise at its contents. Gemstones. Of course, Wrathion could enchant the stone and Anduin could wear it, inconspicuously. In a piece of jewelry, perhaps?
The idea of it sends a little burst of warmth through Anduin. He has carried around his mother's locket, his father's compass, for some time now. To have something Wrathion has made for him -- even if it is for this purpose...
"It... Is my color, so I have been told," he says, flicking a pair of self-conscious blue eyes up to Wrathion, along with a tentative smile. "I think... If you made another pendant, it might perhaps be a bit too close to that of those the Merchant has given us. But perhaps..." Another moment's thought, before tentatively, "A ring? Not the most practical thing in a fight, to be sure, but. Maybe. I could wear it on a chain, when needed? Or." He pauses to give it another moment's thought, moving to hold out his own hand in consideration. "Maybe something... I could wear around my wrist?"
Edited (anduin can't make up his mind either) 2022-01-29 21:46 (UTC)
"A ring on a chain is a pendant," Wrathion points out wryly, but he drops his eyes back to the gemstones -- picking through them thoughtfully and examining the choices.
"Wrist could work, I could make something you could hide underneath your sleeves. Inconspicuous. The clasp will have to be secure so you don't lose it, of course."
He picks up one of the blue gems, glancing between it and Anduin thoughtfully. Anduin's eyes are a pale blue, unlike the vivid colour of his Alliance banners. Not that anyone but the two of them will be examining it, but it is a consideration.
Anduin's lips curl up with amusement as Wrathion considers the gem, another self-conscious flush spreading across his cheeks at Wrathion's tease. Wrathion has always been better at these things than he, more aware of his own appearance and how to dress in general. In retrospect, Anduin has to wonder how he acquired such skills or whether they simply come naturally to him, being an attractive person. Anduin has always struggled with such things, himself.
"Yes, of course," he replies. "Under my sleeves, so I don't -- lose it in a glove or. Get it caught on something."
He watches Wrathion with a moment of fascination before asking, "How... Does it work, then? I mean. We've demonstrated it now but. Are there -- limitations? If you should be across the city...?" Not that he knows exactly where they are headed next, but. The question stands.
"We'll need to test that. The limit is normally quite generous when applied directly, but I've never imbued these properties into a gem before -- nor worked with... gems of these type, or limited tools."
They may behave differently, to their benefit or.... detriment. Time will tell. He drops the gem back into his palm, begins pouring them back into the small purse.
"Mmm," Anduin hums in agreement. "Once you have constructed something, we should probably determine at least something of this? If we are relying on the gem in cases of emergency, that is."
He glances up at Wrathion, searching his face for a long moment of thought before he continues, "It works both ways, of course. I will be wearing the jewel, but if you should need to contact me in any emergency situation... You will, yes?"
He knows Wrathion, of course. Better than most. He understands all too clearly how he might not want to reach out for help. He's done it before...
If Wrathion was going to ask anyone for help, Anduin Wrynn would be top of the list. He secures the purse strings once more, secrets it away within his pockets and studies Anduin thoughtfully.
"You are... well, I hope?"
Just checking. Anduin has spent a great deal of time recently fussing over him, but he is certainly the type to not care for himself if he needed it.
The question startles Anduin slightly, his blue eyes widening in surprise. It isn't that he's surprised that Wrathion cares, just that -- well. He isn't exactly in the practice of asking such things, or talking about them at all, if he can help it.
Anduin's kneejerk reaction is to respond the way he normally would if someone else would ask. Of course! He's fine. Of course he is fine. He's spent enough time chiding Wrathion about telling him the truth in the last while that he can hardly turn around and not do the same.
He turns to look out towards the ocean for a long moment, gathering his thoughts.
"I... Can't help but think that the Merchant brought us here for a reason," Anduin says at last.
"It was intended as a lesson, since he believed us indifferent to the stakes."
Wrathion turns his gaze back out toward the sea, thoughtful.
"Would you have acted differently? Having seen this."
Would he have killed Rigarda, instead of handing her over? Does the sight of what the undead here are capable of change anything for Anduin? Surely he is quite aware of the consequences. The scourge, Sylvanas Windrunner and her use of Blight -- they are all things known within Azeroth. Yet perhaps seeing it here is different, seeing it is not better than they feared. Not perhaps some mild uprising, but true destruction.
Anduin is quiet for a long moment, pale blue eyes focused out towards the breaking waves.
"You advised me, back then, that Taravast is not Stormwind," he says at last. "Walking the streets of Ellethia, I... Found it difficult not to draw comparisons. To think of Lordaeron... Everything that happened there once, long ago. And not so long ago, at that." He takes in a breath, letting it out slowly. "Sylvanas proved herself capable of using the Blight against her own capital city. I have no doubt that she would not hesitate to use it against Stormwind, if given half the chance."
He turns back towards Wrathion. "I have seen cities raised to the ground before. Just because I will not blindly follow the instructions of a man whose first order is one of murder… It does not mean that I am indifferent to their plight."
"Understanding their plight is one thing, agreeing to send tribute regularly to your aggressor is quite another -- especially knowing they will destroy other cities all the while."
That is, after all, what Rigarda had been doing. Keeping Taravast safe by arming the undead legions so they might continue to decimate other cities.
"That is what Macaluso may well now do, after all. He may see no other way to stop his city being destroyed. Yet equally, had Rigarda not lived, he may not have known what methods he could employ to save Taravast. The city had no standing force, it may have been destroyed. An unknown potential or a known one. There may be another way, but Taravast is not Stormwind. We do not know enough to guess the right path. Were this Stormwind we were speaking of, you would known all your options. Evacuation to Ironforge. Assistance from the Grand Alliance, seeking reinforcements from the Kirin Tor. You cannot make the decisions here for another, you can only use your best judgment."
Even if that judgement is often difficult to make.
Anduin's gaze falls to the sand by their feet as Wrathion speaks. He is right, of course. And if Anduin had been in a similar position, agreeing to such an arms deal with the enemy would not be the way that he would choose to resolve such a situation, no matter what.
But he is not the leader here, and in the end...
Anduin moves to cross his arms across his chest. Normally a defensive posture on others, it feels a little as though he is curling in on himself.
"Do we know who he is?" Anduin says, at last. "He calls himself the Merchant but do we know what true business he has collecting us otherworlders? Shepherding us across the land?" Anduin's frown grows deeper, harder. "I cannot help but feel as though... We are but an unlimited crop of expendable assets. Pieces on his board. You ask me if I would have done any differently, when the truth of the matter is that I would have done nothing at all, if that man had not come to me -- me, Wrathion -- with such an ask. How could I even have known? And now he brings us here, like it is some sort of punishment."
He turns to look out across the ocean again. "It is as you say. One can only ever do their best with what they have in front of them."
Wrathion's gaze flicks back to Anduin as the priest frowns at the sand, then back out at the sea. This closed off body language is unusual on him, yet not unheard of. Usually it speaks of stubbornness, of defiance, yet Wrathion detects none of that in his tone. If anything he seems... anxious, perhaps? He cannot quite put his finger on it.
"Do you believe you are being treated like a pawn?"
That was his chosen identifier on the lockets, after all. Wrathion twitches a weak smile, tilts his head.
"A shame, given a king is normally the most important piece on the board. If the merchant chooses to use you recklessly, he risks losing his own game -- don't you agree?"
Anduin turns back to Wrathion as he speaks, only catching the pun at the twitch of Wrathion's lips, feeling the sudden urge to roll his eyes at his companion once he has. Honestly, he really should have come up with a better identifier, although now that it's done...
He can't say that he doesn't feel as though it isn't accurate. It's part of the reason he's always hated the code name as much as he has.
Anduin raises his eyebrows slightly at the rest of what Wrathion has to say. Since Taravast he has felt as though there was a band around his chest. Like a chestplate fastened too tight, it has been difficult to get a deep breath in. Whether that is from the weight of his uncertainty, or his guilt, his worry, his loneliness, or -- some combination thereof, Anduin cannot say entirely. The strap of that band loosens half a notch however, at the implication behind Wrathion's words.
"I suppose he may be at a disadvantage," Anduin says at last. "I for one have certainly not shared my position back home with anyone here, least of all the man himself."
"Your manner hardly begets the image of a common trade worker."
They may not know, officially, who he is -- but Wrathion suspects most people think Anduin some sort of nobility. His outfit often has parts of his fine clothes from home, he is well spoken, well groomed and has all the outrage against injustice born of privilege. People more used to it tend to be less surprised and frustrated.
Still. That is something to consider. Anduin's position, after all, has another aspect to it -- who might know they are from the same world. Wrathion has been little inclined to ignore Anduin, so people no doubt are aware they are friendly.
Their benefactor has yet to turn on them directly, but there is... always the possibility.
"Hermione is aware we share a history," he points out. "And Slick. They don't know your position there, but they do know we are both of the same world."
Anduin ducks his head for a moment, self-conscious at the fact that no, he can't entirely turn it all off and just... Be a normal person, despite his best attempts. He has been raised to take up the crown since infancy. Just because he does not feel particularly fit for the position does not mean that he is not still... a king.
He glances back to Wrathion, frowning at the rest of what he is saying.
"I... Have not spoken of our connection to anyone," he says. Not even Hermione. Though he supposes it's inevitable she's put the pieces together. Anduin concerns himself with the well-being of strangers and acquaintances often enough, but. It had been rather obvious from the start they'd known each other. Anduin never has been very good at keeping his emotions to himself.
He hesitates at that, understanding dawning.
"I suppose that I would not have to, would I?" he realizes aloud.
"No," Wrathion allows gently. "I don't believe you would. However, if we are to be treated as pieces on a board, we should be aware of what people know about us. I don't believe our nameless friend above manipulation."
He's willing enough to give them tasks, to use them. Wrathion would not be surprised if he decided to apply pressure in getting them to fall inline. The easiest way to do that is to aim for weak points. Wrathion doesn't have many, but he's very aware of one.
Anduin frowns, unhappy with the fact that he has unwittingly endangered Wrathion simply through their association. The alternative, of course, is not associating with each other at all, and he isn't much keen on that idea either.
He supposes they're just going to have to be as careful as they can, and look out for one another.
"No, I don't suppose that he would be," Anduin agrees. He considers this for a moment.
"He will know that I am a healer. I have not been secretive about my abilities. And," he glances aside at Wrathion, "he will likely have seen our rescue of those people out on the water." And how desperately Anduin had worked to try and save them.
"I've kept the majority of my talents hidden, but I doubt that will last forever."
It feels only a matter of time before something pushes him over the edge. He folds his arms, fingers tapping thoughtfully against the thick material of his coat.
"There may be fallout, once it all comes to light."
People may vilify him, may question why he didn't intercede in previous circumstances, may call him a liar. May fear him. May think him dangerous.
"You understand why I didn't cross the water."
A statement, but also a question -- Anduin at least understands, yes? Even if the others may not.
Anduin wonders in retrospect if perhaps he shouldn't have done the same. If he shouldn't have been more careful to reveal the truth about his own skills to the otherworlders in their group. He has even gone so far as to explain them, to some.
He cannot help himself, though. When they had needed him, he had to help. Time and time again. He is a priest, a healer, and it really is as simple as that.
His expression softens slightly at Wrathion's question. Saddens slightly, at that.
"I do," he says, gently. "It is wise to be cautious of such things, until we know better how the people of this world may respond."
Wrathion's fingers tap against his coat sleeve still, eyes dropping uneasily back to the shoreline.
"I upset you, before."
A statement again, not a question. He understands that Anduin was upset, he doesn't need that part emphasising. It's more a question of... understanding.
Something that has, quite recently, burned him -- the desire to understand. Approaching these things has always been difficult for him, a game of tolerances and balances. The desire to understand balanced against the embarrassment and the difficulty in knowing how to learn what he did wrong, to understand enough to fix the situation.
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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He tries to think of what Wrathion has shared about the theory behind the link. A connection formed between them, through the magic in Wrathion's blood. It feels oddly intimate, though Anduin can't be sure whether that has to do with the echoes of Wrathion's voice in his mind or not. If it is a connection between the pair of them though, that means that -- it is supposed to work both ways?
Anduin pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, biting it in concentration, a frown creasing his own features as he thinks very hard at Wrathion. It feels slightly foolish but soon enough, he's figured it out himself.
I was fifteen.
Anduin's lips twitch.
And they were trying to keep me from my studies so frankly, they had it coming.
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One way of referring to Anduin's explorations, he supposes.
"You seem to be getting the hang of it," he observes, sheathing his dagger again. He hadn't expected Anduin to struggle, but there's still pleasure in it -- and pleasure in seeming him flush under the tease too. It feels as if the both of them are always in fraught situations, rarely able to simply relax. "This will wear off, but I can press the enchantment into something else for you to use. I'll have to... refresh it, on occasion, but it will do for emergencies."
Not an entire replacement for what they have, but still something if Anduin loses their communication pendants -- or needs Wrathion's attention more directly with something he cannot use them for.
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Anduin unconsciously raises a hand to press against his chest, over his mother's locket where it rests against his skin under the layers of his clothing. A small frown passes over his expression, before he glances up to Wrathion, a question in his eyes.
"You... Have something in mind?" he asks. Wrathion had said he had something for him. Was it the enchantment, or an item itself?
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Wrathion digs into his pockets and draws out a small purse, loosening the tie around it. From inside, he tips out a small collection of different gems -- not all of which are blue.
"You'll have to tell me how you'd prefer to wear it. My crafting supplies are somewhat limited, but I will of course do my best."
Even with limited supplies, Wrathion wouldn't give Anduin something ugly.
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The idea of it sends a little burst of warmth through Anduin. He has carried around his mother's locket, his father's compass, for some time now. To have something Wrathion has made for him -- even if it is for this purpose...
"It... Is my color, so I have been told," he says, flicking a pair of self-conscious blue eyes up to Wrathion, along with a tentative smile. "I think... If you made another pendant, it might perhaps be a bit too close to that of those the Merchant has given us. But perhaps..." Another moment's thought, before tentatively, "A ring? Not the most practical thing in a fight, to be sure, but. Maybe. I could wear it on a chain, when needed? Or." He pauses to give it another moment's thought, moving to hold out his own hand in consideration. "Maybe something... I could wear around my wrist?"
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"Wrist could work, I could make something you could hide underneath your sleeves. Inconspicuous. The clasp will have to be secure so you don't lose it, of course."
He picks up one of the blue gems, glancing between it and Anduin thoughtfully. Anduin's eyes are a pale blue, unlike the vivid colour of his Alliance banners. Not that anyone but the two of them will be examining it, but it is a consideration.
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"Yes, of course," he replies. "Under my sleeves, so I don't -- lose it in a glove or. Get it caught on something."
He watches Wrathion with a moment of fascination before asking, "How... Does it work, then? I mean. We've demonstrated it now but. Are there -- limitations? If you should be across the city...?" Not that he knows exactly where they are headed next, but. The question stands.
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They may behave differently, to their benefit or.... detriment. Time will tell. He drops the gem back into his palm, begins pouring them back into the small purse.
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He glances up at Wrathion, searching his face for a long moment of thought before he continues, "It works both ways, of course. I will be wearing the jewel, but if you should need to contact me in any emergency situation... You will, yes?"
He knows Wrathion, of course. Better than most. He understands all too clearly how he might not want to reach out for help. He's done it before...
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If Wrathion was going to ask anyone for help, Anduin Wrynn would be top of the list. He secures the purse strings once more, secrets it away within his pockets and studies Anduin thoughtfully.
"You are... well, I hope?"
Just checking. Anduin has spent a great deal of time recently fussing over him, but he is certainly the type to not care for himself if he needed it.
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Anduin's kneejerk reaction is to respond the way he normally would if someone else would ask. Of course! He's fine. Of course he is fine. He's spent enough time chiding Wrathion about telling him the truth in the last while that he can hardly turn around and not do the same.
He turns to look out towards the ocean for a long moment, gathering his thoughts.
"I... Can't help but think that the Merchant brought us here for a reason," Anduin says at last.
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Wrathion turns his gaze back out toward the sea, thoughtful.
"Would you have acted differently? Having seen this."
Would he have killed Rigarda, instead of handing her over? Does the sight of what the undead here are capable of change anything for Anduin? Surely he is quite aware of the consequences. The scourge, Sylvanas Windrunner and her use of Blight -- they are all things known within Azeroth. Yet perhaps seeing it here is different, seeing it is not better than they feared. Not perhaps some mild uprising, but true destruction.
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Anduin is quiet for a long moment, pale blue eyes focused out towards the breaking waves.
"You advised me, back then, that Taravast is not Stormwind," he says at last. "Walking the streets of Ellethia, I... Found it difficult not to draw comparisons. To think of Lordaeron... Everything that happened there once, long ago. And not so long ago, at that." He takes in a breath, letting it out slowly. "Sylvanas proved herself capable of using the Blight against her own capital city. I have no doubt that she would not hesitate to use it against Stormwind, if given half the chance."
He turns back towards Wrathion. "I have seen cities raised to the ground before. Just because I will not blindly follow the instructions of a man whose first order is one of murder… It does not mean that I am indifferent to their plight."
Rather the opposite, in fact.
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That is, after all, what Rigarda had been doing. Keeping Taravast safe by arming the undead legions so they might continue to decimate other cities.
"That is what Macaluso may well now do, after all. He may see no other way to stop his city being destroyed. Yet equally, had Rigarda not lived, he may not have known what methods he could employ to save Taravast. The city had no standing force, it may have been destroyed. An unknown potential or a known one. There may be another way, but Taravast is not Stormwind. We do not know enough to guess the right path. Were this Stormwind we were speaking of, you would known all your options. Evacuation to Ironforge. Assistance from the Grand Alliance, seeking reinforcements from the Kirin Tor. You cannot make the decisions here for another, you can only use your best judgment."
Even if that judgement is often difficult to make.
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But he is not the leader here, and in the end...
Anduin moves to cross his arms across his chest. Normally a defensive posture on others, it feels a little as though he is curling in on himself.
"Do we know who he is?" Anduin says, at last. "He calls himself the Merchant but do we know what true business he has collecting us otherworlders? Shepherding us across the land?" Anduin's frown grows deeper, harder. "I cannot help but feel as though... We are but an unlimited crop of expendable assets. Pieces on his board. You ask me if I would have done any differently, when the truth of the matter is that I would have done nothing at all, if that man had not come to me -- me, Wrathion -- with such an ask. How could I even have known? And now he brings us here, like it is some sort of punishment."
He turns to look out across the ocean again. "It is as you say. One can only ever do their best with what they have in front of them."
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"Do you believe you are being treated like a pawn?"
That was his chosen identifier on the lockets, after all. Wrathion twitches a weak smile, tilts his head.
"A shame, given a king is normally the most important piece on the board. If the merchant chooses to use you recklessly, he risks losing his own game -- don't you agree?"
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He can't say that he doesn't feel as though it isn't accurate. It's part of the reason he's always hated the code name as much as he has.
Anduin raises his eyebrows slightly at the rest of what Wrathion has to say. Since Taravast he has felt as though there was a band around his chest. Like a chestplate fastened too tight, it has been difficult to get a deep breath in. Whether that is from the weight of his uncertainty, or his guilt, his worry, his loneliness, or -- some combination thereof, Anduin cannot say entirely. The strap of that band loosens half a notch however, at the implication behind Wrathion's words.
"I suppose he may be at a disadvantage," Anduin says at last. "I for one have certainly not shared my position back home with anyone here, least of all the man himself."
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They may not know, officially, who he is -- but Wrathion suspects most people think Anduin some sort of nobility. His outfit often has parts of his fine clothes from home, he is well spoken, well groomed and has all the outrage against injustice born of privilege. People more used to it tend to be less surprised and frustrated.
Still. That is something to consider. Anduin's position, after all, has another aspect to it -- who might know they are from the same world. Wrathion has been little inclined to ignore Anduin, so people no doubt are aware they are friendly.
Their benefactor has yet to turn on them directly, but there is... always the possibility.
"Hermione is aware we share a history," he points out. "And Slick. They don't know your position there, but they do know we are both of the same world."
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He glances back to Wrathion, frowning at the rest of what he is saying.
"I... Have not spoken of our connection to anyone," he says. Not even Hermione. Though he supposes it's inevitable she's put the pieces together. Anduin concerns himself with the well-being of strangers and acquaintances often enough, but. It had been rather obvious from the start they'd known each other. Anduin never has been very good at keeping his emotions to himself.
He hesitates at that, understanding dawning.
"I suppose that I would not have to, would I?" he realizes aloud.
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He's willing enough to give them tasks, to use them. Wrathion would not be surprised if he decided to apply pressure in getting them to fall inline. The easiest way to do that is to aim for weak points. Wrathion doesn't have many, but he's very aware of one.
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He supposes they're just going to have to be as careful as they can, and look out for one another.
"No, I don't suppose that he would be," Anduin agrees. He considers this for a moment.
"He will know that I am a healer. I have not been secretive about my abilities. And," he glances aside at Wrathion, "he will likely have seen our rescue of those people out on the water." And how desperately Anduin had worked to try and save them.
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It feels only a matter of time before something pushes him over the edge. He folds his arms, fingers tapping thoughtfully against the thick material of his coat.
"There may be fallout, once it all comes to light."
People may vilify him, may question why he didn't intercede in previous circumstances, may call him a liar. May fear him. May think him dangerous.
"You understand why I didn't cross the water."
A statement, but also a question -- Anduin at least understands, yes? Even if the others may not.
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He cannot help himself, though. When they had needed him, he had to help. Time and time again. He is a priest, a healer, and it really is as simple as that.
His expression softens slightly at Wrathion's question. Saddens slightly, at that.
"I do," he says, gently. "It is wise to be cautious of such things, until we know better how the people of this world may respond."
For better or worse.
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Wrathion's fingers tap against his coat sleeve still, eyes dropping uneasily back to the shoreline.
"I upset you, before."
A statement again, not a question. He understands that Anduin was upset, he doesn't need that part emphasising. It's more a question of... understanding.
Something that has, quite recently, burned him -- the desire to understand. Approaching these things has always been difficult for him, a game of tolerances and balances. The desire to understand balanced against the embarrassment and the difficulty in knowing how to learn what he did wrong, to understand enough to fix the situation.
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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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