[closed]

[chosenbylight]

WHO: Anduin & Wrathion
WHEN: Present-ish, following this conversation
WHERE: Their accommodations
WHAT: Anduin receives an assignment from the Merchant; having absolutely no idea how to handle this, he be panicking a little
WARNINGS: discussion of Wrathion's history with content including draconic slavery/experimentation/forced breeding

Anduin paces back and forth along the length of the room -- their room, he supposes he should consider it, though he is still having some trouble adjusting to that fact -- his hands clasped behind his back and a troubled expression on his face.

He supposes he might have expected a message from the Merchant sooner or later. Anduin has questioned the man's motivations in aiding the displaced otherworlders from the start, Anduin's distrust of his motivations only growing the more that he had learned about the strings the man was pulling behind the scenes of the rebellion. With the debt that is owed to the man from the way that he had rescued them from the desert, it stands to reason that he would come knocking, asking for some sort of compensation. When the message finally comes, however...

Anduin feels as though a mistake has been made. Or is it a test? Of his resolve? His dedication to the cause? Whatever the Merchant's motivations are for having chosen Anduin himself for this particular assignment, they can't be good.

Comments

[blackscales]

Wrathion lets himself in through the door silently at close enough to the ten minute mark. His plain black coat is back on, blending him away, and the majority of his curls are tied back out of his face -- although a few escape and hang loose. He pauses by the door, closing it behind himself and tilting his head at Anduin.

"Should I be locking this?"

How paranoid should they be about the contents of this conversation? Anduin certainly implied a level of urgency and secrecy both.

[chosenbylight]

Anduin's pacing halts in place at the sound of Wrathion letting himself in the door, his paranoia getting the better of him for a moment until he sags with relief at the sight of the other man. Reaching up a hand, he pushes a lock of hair out of his face and resumes his back and forth across the room.

"Please," he replies. He can only imagine what might come of being overheard, with the things he is about to share.

He waits until Wrathion does exactly that before he turns to him, uncertainty in his wide blue eyes.

"You spoke of your initial role in the palace, under the nephew's political party," Anduin begins. "That the Merchant provided you with this cover story. Did he -- assign you this position?"

How much of a choice had he had in the matter?

[blackscales]

Wrathion locks the door, curiosity rising now, and paces further into the room. Picking a patch of wall he leans up against it, arms folding as he settles. He considers the question, and when he answers his tone is bland and factual.

"He did. Karsa found me after I was swept up among some citizens made homeless after the siege laid to Taravast by the undead armies. I'd been waiting in the kitchens of the Palace of Doxe, which they'd repurposed to burn the large quantities of bodies. She explained the situation to me, then handed me the assignment and a change of clothing."

The context is not strictly necessary, but Wrathion thinks it helps give weight to why he'd accepted it. He was injured, had just been chased for three days and was now watching bodies being burnt. In comparison, the job seemed quite appealing.

[chosenbylight]

Anduin stills again as Wrathion begins his explanation, his expression pinching as the other man continues his way through it. After a three-day flight from danger, to wind up in such a place...

It is no wonder that Wrathion would have accepted the assignment, as opposed to the alternative. Lost, injured, alone and afraid -- he had likely needed something to latch onto, and this assignment had been exactly that.

If Anduin had been another man, he might have sworn. As it is, he squeezes his eyes shut tight for a moment, letting out a long, slow breath before opening them again.

"The Merchant has contacted me for an assignment," Anduin says, which he knows he has explained already but it is context for why he has asked. "What do you know of donna Rigarda?"

[blackscales]

Rigarda? Wrathion tilts his head, considering it.

"Supposedly an associate of the Merchant in some way. High up in Taravast society, and therefore powerful. Played at being neutral during the political games. Old friend of Bonaccorso. Two other likes ourselves were tasked with taking weapons on her behalf to the undead lords as payment, a mission they did not complete. I believe she had them taken in turn."

So, ruthless and powerful noblewoman who he suspects likes games. Is that information enough?

[chosenbylight]

Anduin turns away to gaze into the unlit fireplace as he considers this new information.

An associate of the Merchant. Two others were tasked with taking weapons to the undead lords on her behalf. Anduin's mind works quickly to piece these facts together. A mission...

"A mission given to them by the Merchant as well?" Anduin asks, troubled. He does not like the conclusions that he is drawing. He understands that he does owe Wrathion an explanation as to what exactly is going on, and he will. He's just trying to gather what information he can before it all gets -- convoluted.

[blackscales]

"My impression is it came from her directly, not from the Merchant, but it was before my arrival -- you'd need to get specifics from people who were here at the time."

This is leading somewhere, though, and Wrathion feels curious and wary both -- the whole... situation seems one ready to explode any minute. Anduin has, seemingly, been drawn into that plot. There's no other reason he'd ask such specific questions about it.

[chosenbylight]

Anduin nods, absently. He supposes that makes at least a little more sense, all things considered, although he will need to know.

"Yes," he agrees. "Do you know their names? I will need to speak with them. I need to know exactly what was said, everything I can about this mission of theirs." It would seem that they did not agree to its terms themselves, and he would like to understand why himself.

He turns back to Wrathion, his expression drawn tight and dark.

"If the Merchant was once close with donna Rigarda, it would seem they have had a falling out."

[blackscales]

"I didn't say close," Wrathion corrects lightly, "I said an associate. It makes sense that he might have turned on her, though. He and Karsa are both from places that have suffered under the undead armies, and if Rigarda was arming them then she is complicit in the death and destruction they caused."

He shifts his weight, unfolds one arm to rub at his bead thoughtfully.

"What I'm uncertain of is how much he knew coming in. If he only brought us here to reach the beacons, or if he knew something of all this from the start and we've been pieces in a long play for revenge. Perhaps it was always his intention to travel here and meddle, and we simply arrived at a convenient time."

It seems quite the coincidence if the Merchant knew nothing, but that doesn't entirely rule it out as a possibly. Wrathion fishes in his pocket, and dangling the communication pendant.

"Karsa gave me this, so I'm sure you're aware of the possibility the Merchant may be able to intercept messages sent on it. That said, it is a quick way to contact everyone who shares our circumstances. The two taken by Rigarda -- I believe free now -- were called Shen Qingqiu and Eleven. I've never spoken to either of them personally. There may be others who have experience with her, and if you have a job that involves Rigarda it might not hurt to fish for information among others using this. You don't even have to tell them why, at first, if you choose not to."

He pauses, considering Anduin, then pockets the pendant again.

"Can I ask what the job is?"

Pre-Rigarda

[blackscales]

Wrathion is still awake, but that's nothing new.

He hasn't slept well in some time, even before his surprise trip to Taravast. It's... worse, in a way, but that isn't surprising either. Adding things to the long list of topics to concern himself over does little to encourage sleep and relaxation.

He feels... anxious, trapped, frustrated. The lack of knowledge and control eats at him, has him catastrophising constantly. He's uncomfortably tense, each new development sending his mind whirling and heart racing.

Macaluso. Rigarda. The Beastmaster. The conversation with Slick. N'Zoth, not a threat here in the next few minutes but an ongoing one regardless.

They're all playing on his mind. He knows his sleep has been... interrupted by the concerns several times over. Since Anduin's arrival, been anticipating the moment it is noticed. So far the priest has said nothing, perhaps either because he sleeps through it or out of politeness It seems just a matter of time.

For now, Wrathion is laid out awake in the darkness. The dim red light from his eyes just enough to read the notes in his journal.

Anduin is awake too.

He's restless as well, no doubt, worrying about the day to come. Wrathion can hear him shuffling every so often.

"You should sleep," he offers, "humans require rest to work at their best. Tomorrow will be tiring."

[chosenbylight]

Anduin is awake.

He has been trying to sleep for some time now, to little success. There are too many things spinning around in his head as well, and the weight of the unknown is heavy on his shoulders. On his chest.

He moves to try and re-settle himself on the cushions, hoping that he is not making too much noise -- though he can see the dim light of Wrathion's eyes on the other side of the privacy screen he has set up across the room. It had amused him, at first, but the amusement had quickly turned to frustration when he can hear Wrathion moving about but he cannot see exactly what he is doing. He supposes that that is the whole point of the thing, but still...

He turns towards the sound of Wrathion's voice, letting out a breath.

"And dragons do not, I suppose?"

[blackscales]

"Not as much."

He closes his journal thoughtfully, lets it rest against his chest.

The sigh is somehow telling. Wrathion can sense Anduin is just going to keep tossing and turning, his frustration is palpable.

"Would a drink help?" he offers. Perhaps it might, if nothing else, dull Wrathion's own rush of thoughts. He dislikes resorting to it -- the sensation of losing control is... something that makes him uneasy. Still, he can heed his own advice. Sleep will help both of them, in the end, and if it's just to aid that then... it's not so bad.

[chosenbylight]

Anduin considers lying here staring at the ceiling until dawn, considers the offer of a drink with Wrathion in turn, then moves to push himself to sit up on the cushions.

"If it is not too much of an ask," he says, turning towards the curtain and Wrathion's silhouette beyond. "There are perhaps one too many things turning around in my mind tonight, and I am finding it difficult to quiet them."

He hesitates for a moment, before adding, "I... Do not mean to interrupt your work."

Whatever Wrathion is up to. He has heard him writing, some nights, although to be honest he has no idea what he is working on, or what he might be writing about for that matter. Is it something to do with Wrathion's own plans in the palace? Or something else entirely? Is it rude to ask? Wrathion has been so generous already, as it is.

[blackscales]

Wrathion doesn't respond to that, but he moves to push up. He paces over and inches the divide back a little, studying Anduin's face then tilting his head toward the fireplace. Wrathion's hair is tied back loosely to sleep, shirt made of some light fabric and a little rumpled. His feet are bare, treading lightly on the floorboards.

"Come on, then," he says, and turns away to pry the floorboard back up. He fishes out a bottle of alcohol, sets it and some of the food to one side before crossing back to grab glasses out of a cabinet. "See if this helps."

He paces back over, sets down two glasses and drops into a loose-limbed sprawl before opening the bottle, watching Anduin expectantly.

[chosenbylight]

Anduin has left his own hair loose for sleep by comparison, though it has become slightly mussed by his tossing and turning. He hasn't had time to collect much in the way of clothing, though sleeping in the same shirt and trousers he's been wearing day in and day out would be ill-advised. As such Anduin's sleepshirt is more of a potato sack than an actual garment, but it will do.

He watches Wrathion as he crosses the room and fishes out the bottle of drink. Watches him still as he sprawls himself before the fireplace before he moves to stand himself. Padding barefoot over to the dragon's side, Anduin lowers himself to take a seat, folding his legs beneath himself somewhat stiffly as he does. He reaches a hand up to tuck his hair back behind his ear, turning to Wrathion and raising an eyebrow at him in return.

"You keep quite the store in this place," he observes.

[blackscales]

"On the contrary," Wrathion says, "it's the same bottle. You're simply the only person I drink it with."

He pours out a measure into each of the glasses, sets the bottle aside and inches one towards Anduin. It's strong alcohol, so small glasses seems best. Them both having a hangover the following day would be as bad as having little sleep.

"Surely Stormwind Keep has a collection of the finest vintages?"

Isn't that how it works? Nobles gifting them constantly to the Wrynn family, no doubt hoping to gain a little favour. He props himself up on one arm, studying Anduin through tiredly half-lidded eyes.

[chosenbylight]

Anduin hums softly, reaching for the drink as Wrathion sets it before him. He swirls the liquid in the glass, the action largely unnecessary but comforting nevertheless, watching it slosh against the sides of the glass as he does.

Wrathion of course knows that Anduin had not wanted for much, in the castle. All he had needed to do was call for whatever he wanted and it would appear, assuming the room was not already stocked as it was. He had not asked for such a life, but he had been born into it and he as ashamed as he is to admit, he really doesn't know anything differently.

"When I cannot sleep back home in Stormwind Keep, I usually start with tea first," Anduin replies. He flicks his eyes to Wrathion, the corners of his mouth tugging into the start of a smile before he raises his glass to his mouth to take a sip. "Perhaps therein lies my mistake."

[chosenbylight]

The beacon of Taravast. Anduin had known somewhere in the back of his mind that this was the end goal that they had been working towards, through all the troubles they had suffered this month. It is one thing however to understand a goal in the abstract and another entirely to see it standing before them.

Since it was unearthed, the witch who had been powering it required a significant amount of power to get the beacon up and running. Anduin had donated more than his fair share of mana and energy to the cause, until he had seen spots dance across his vision and he had needed to sit and recover his strength. But now, here, today -- the beacon is ready.

Anduin turns to glance at Wrathion at his side, the reality of the situation slowly sinking in.

They will be going back to Azeroth. But they are not going back to the same Azeroth...

He realizes perhaps a second too late that he has been standing there, saying nothing, for far longer than would be considered a natural silence.

[blackscales]

Wrathion is watching the bright swirl of energy around the beacon, arms folded in thought as the queue forms.

"Well," he says mildly, "back to work for us, it seems, after this... diversion."

Anduin to his role as High King of the Alliance, Wrathion to his attempts to defeat the Black Empire.

They'll see each other, of course, in time -- although perhaps not... the same versions. Perhaps he'll meet with an Anduin who never went to Taravast, and perhaps Anduin will meet with one who has never feared the Beastmaster.

Strange to think, and strange they both arrived this way, but the timeways can be fickle. Wrathion drops his eyes down to Anduin, flickers him a small smile.

"His Majesty should lead the way, I think."

Nobody has so far screamed on contact with the beacon. They cannot, of course, prove it works, but it's certainly worth trying.

[chosenbylight]

Diversion. Is that what it was?

It had certainly not been a holiday. While Anduin had managed to set aside his responsibilities as the High King of the Alliance, there were other troubles that found him here. Other impossible decisions he had been forced to make on behalf of people he would never meet. And Wrathion...

Wrathion will return from this to face unspeakable dangers that Anduin has only read of in missives from the confines of Stormwind Keep. He knows, of course, that he makes his way through it. But this Wrathion has not done so yet. And the Wrathion he is to encounter back home...

Will he ever see him again? He's certainly made himself scarce thus far? Of course, despite the armistice, everyone still has their reasons for being busy, and yet...

Anduin finds he cannot yet make himself move.

"I do not know if I am quite ready," he says. To go back home to Stormwind. To lose this.

[blackscales]

Hmmm.

Wrathion turns to Anduin, hesitates and lofts an eyebrow. Once upon a time he might have supported Anduin being rebellious, running away to give his guards a heart attack. Once upon a time, Anduin would have done so. Yet he was a prince, then. He's a king, now, and the mantle weighs heavy on his shoulders.

"Shirking responsibility is unlike you," he comments, tone gently teasing but also curious. What's brought this on? Does the thought of home not feel a relief to Anduin? His comfortable keep, filled all his staff ready to bring him anything he desires?

[chosenbylight]

Anduin glances away towards the crowd for a long moment, feeling Wrathion's eyes on him and unable to meet his gaze in return. Perhaps that is something of the hesitation he feels. The knowledge of what awaits him when he returns, the burden of the crown and everything that comes with it. Sylvanas, still in hiding. His people, still suffering from the aftermath of two wars fought so close together. Selfishly, though, he knows there is more to it than that.

Anduin is aware, on some level, that he had been losing himself. To Stormwind. To the Alliance. To what his councilors demanded, and what his country needs. Perhaps... In going through all this with Rigarda, some level he had understood a bit too well what it is to consider such a sacrifice. Taravast may not have been his responsibility, as Wrathion had curtly reminded him. But Stormwind...

Anduin is willing to return to it all again, he supposes. Yet when he returns, who will he have there with him, at his side? This friendship, which they have only just begun to rekindle? It will be nothing more than a memory yet again. And Anduin doesn't know whether he can stand the thought of it.

He turns back to Wrathion again, a frown painted across his face.

"My apologies," Anduin replies. "It is only that I have just realized... You are not truly coming with me."

[blackscales]

Ah.

Wrathion's feels a wave of unease at that, followed by an irrational spike of jealousy. Is it strange to be jealous of yourself? Only last he recalls, all Anduin had offered him was a punch followed by icy acceptance. To lose this gentleness and go back to that leaves an ache in his chest.

"No," he accepts, "but I will be there. Waiting for the day you are ready to speak with me."

It will no doubt be a surprise to his alternate self, the turn around in Anduin. Wrathion supposes his struggle will be more pronounced, without any of the gain of Anduin's sympathy. At least, now, he knows it to be possible.

[chosenbylight]

Anduin's expression softens slightly at that.

"I would like to think so," he says, taking a long moment to study Wrathion's face and the expression that meets him there. He wants to be careful with what he says here, knowing now that it is Wrathion's future he may spoil if he is not mindful. All the same...

The fact that he has not seen hide nor hair of the dragon since defeating N'Zoth will likely prove some challenge. He does not frankly know where to even begin looking, though he supposes that being the King, he may have some resources to hand.

"I have missed you, Wrathion," Anduin says, reaching out to rest a hand against his elbow.

[blackscales]

Anduin touches his elbow, and Wrathion goes very still.

Even through the layers of his shirt and coat, he imagines he can feel the warmth of Anduin's hand. It's meant, he supposes, as some kind of reassurance. Some light display of kindness.

Wrathion finds he is not at all reassured. Anxiety races through him as he tries to work out how to respond to the gesture.

"No doubt the company of Stormwind's nobles pales compared to a black dragon."

Of course, they're all simply dull compared to his exciting presence. That's it, right?