Anduin Wrynn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
chosenbylight) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
westwhere2021-12-11 03:30 pm
chosenbylight) wrote in westwhere2021-12-11 03:30 pm
Entry tags:
[closed]
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.
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.
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"My apologies," he says, gently. "I do not mean to keep distracting from our game. It has been some time since I have had the chance to play against any such a worthy opponent as yourself."
Considering his pieces for a moment longer, he picks one up and makes his next move. A cautious advance.
"It seems that both of us could use the distraction tonight," he says, reaching for his own drink again. He shifts his legs slightly underneath himself, rubbing his knee absently as he takes another sip of the alcohol.
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Wrathion reaches out easily and moves a piece into an aggressive counter.
"You from your knee, it seems?"
He saw that.
"Does your healing do nothing for it?"
If Anduin is avoiding casting on himself to not draw attention, after all, he may as well drop the charade. If it doesn't work, that's something else. Either way, his continued discomfort is... less than ideal.
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"It -- does," he allows, flicking his eyes up to meet Wrathion's after a moment, a soft flush of color spreading its way across his cheeks as he does. "I can use the Light to relieve myself of something of the ache, for a while. I do, when it bothers me, but I prefer to be..." He shrugs slightly. "Subtle about it. When I can. My healing is not exactly... Well. You will notice when I am doing it. But then again, I suppose you have also noticed when I have not, so there really is no point in pretenses."
Anduin reaches out to play another piece in a defensive guard, taking another sip of his drink and letting the alcohol burn in his throat for a moment before he calls the Light to his aid. Raising an eyebrow at Wrathion as if to ask happy? as he eases back the ache in his leg.
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He reaches out for another game piece, playing it in a more cautious advance this time.
"Subtlety is unnecessary," he says, "the extent of your injuries is well known to me."
Wrathion understands the sentiment, of course. All he's ever known is a world where he must protect himself, be on guard, vigilant against those who would discover and exploit his weaknesses. The first week or so Wrathion was guarding his injury, hiding it like an animal afraid of being picked off by a predator.
Sometimes, the only person you can trust is yourself.
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Taking in a breath, he lets it out slowly before turning back to Wrathion with a half-smile.
"It has been some time since we were able to truly sit together and talk," he observes. "I had forgotten that you were able to read me so well." Not that Anduin makes it particularly difficult, of course. But it does make a difference. He turns towards the board, studying his next move for a moment, as he continues, "I... Am glad you are here with me, Wrathion."
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Wrathion keeps his eyes on the game board, thinking.
"I hadn't thought we'd spend time like this again."
It seemed as if the gentle grace of Anduin's approval might be lost to him forever, replaced only by bitterness. That had... hurt, in a way that was difficult to express, but Wrathion had accepted it. He had played a losing hand, acted overconfidently and felt the consequences. Anduin was not to blame for that.
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Perhaps things have not changed so much after all.
"I suppose there are some benefits to being abducted away into another dimension,” Anduin muses aloud.
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That's something worth picking at, after all. It wasn't always a given that Anduin would be so pleased to sit with him and spend time with him. Wrathion's tone is teasing, but he watches quite attentively as Anduin answers -- it means something to him, regardless of how casually he plays it off.
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"Is this the part where I am supposed to say something about how it is only natural to benefit from the presence of a member of the Black Dragonflight?" he teases in return.
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Wrathion's brow furrows at that, annoyed. That wasn't what he was getting at, after all, but there's no way he's going to admit otherwise now.
"Obviously," he says instead, and leans forward to shake a new piece out of his cannister. It drops to the board, and he turns it and plays it in an aggressive advance. "I have been protecting you, after all."
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Reaching out, Anduin takes up one piece from the board and makes a roll for it, randomly selecting a new side before placing it back onto the board in front of him.
"You have," he agrees. "But there is more to it than that, of course."
He turns his gaze towards the fire, weighing his options. But he has already put his foot in his mouth. How much worse can he make this?
"Here you are, sitting up with me in the middle of the night, playing this game and trying to help me keep my mind off of this no doubt foolish thing that I am about to attempt tomorrow." He turns to flick a smile towards Wrathion again. "And you will be there with me then as well, even though I know you do not agree with my decision. How...can I not find your presence here a comfort?"
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How is he supposed to answer?
"I do my best," he says finally. "I am aware I am not always successful in my support."
Sometimes his words are too harsh, his tone too frank, or his judgment is not sound. Still. Wrathion has never had anything but the best of intentions, for whatever that is worth. He eyes the move Anduin has made, trying to piece it into a pattern and failing entirely. Either Anduin is not truly planning, or Wrathion simply cannot yet see the shape of where this is all leading.
He picks a piece of his own, moves it into a guard position.
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"I do not suppose anyone is always successful," he replies, lightly. "I have certainly made a fair share of mistakes myself."
Not everyone appreciates a soft hand, as Anduin well knows. Even those that care for Anduin himself, they may not welcome such an approach. They may wish for Anduin to be something he is not, to deliver something he cannot. No, it is just as easy to fail in other ways. Anduin supposes time will tell whether such is true here and now as well.
Anduin reaches for his drink again, playing his fingers against the glass.
"All we can hope to do is our best," he offers.
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Then again, Anduin has always asked more of himself than most would. He has a warm, gentle demeanour. He shows softness and sympathy where it is not, in Wrathion's opinion, deserved.
He's not quite sure he's earned the right to it himself, for that matter, but that's a different consideration.
"Nobody could ask more of you," he says finally. "Although your priority must be survival. We both of us have plenty left unfinished at home. I my quarry, you yours."
Sylvanas Windrunner is now on the run, following Saurfang's defeat, and N'Zoth still looms over them all. It seems strange to be relaxing at all knowing all that is yet to be done.
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Perhaps it's because it is so familiar that it catches his attention in the end. His quarry. His quarry... Anduin frowns after a moment, before turning towards Wrathion, an expression of confusion on his face.
"Forgive me," he says, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. "It is difficult to follow the politics of this place. Is there someone else you are after here as well?"
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"Not that I'm aware of," Wrathion says. Did Anduin think he was referring to this place as home already? Surely not. He takes a small sip of his drink, frowning as he sets it aside. "I was speaking of Azeroth."
Surely he follows now? Both of them, he supposes, technically have several different... rivals of a sort. They both have main interest, though. Anduin finding Sylvanas, and Wrathion on stopping the Black Empire by defeating the Old God that drives it forward.
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I my quarry, you yours.
Anduin turns in his seat to consider Wrathion fully. The warmth of his body, which he can just feel radiating off of him, sitting as close as they are. The tired circles under his eyes and the way that they do absolutely nothing to detract from the casual elegance he has settled back into. The tumble of his hair, the way his shirt is just a bit too loose to show some extra skin and he's probably done that on purpose as well, knowing him. The way he had been playing Jihui, the conversation leading up until this moment. This is Wrathion, and yet.
"Do you mean to say... That you have not yet faced N'Zoth?" he asks, as carefully as he can.
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"I was unaware you thought I had," he admits finally. Honesty and openness seems best, allowing Anduin to say as much as he believes he should on the topic.
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He shakes his head slightly, though he doesn't know why. He doesn't want to say the wrong thing here, but he needs to make it clear that--
"Yes," he says, at last. "I have read the reports myself. The Alliance champions..." he trails off, not knowing what else he should say.
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He feels a knot of unease build in his chest, shifts from his faux-relaxed slouch to sit more upright beside Anduin.
"How long?" he prompts, wariness colouring his voice. Is this a matter of days or... longer? Not that he's sure if that makes it more... believable or not. Perhaps he wants to believe, though. Perhaps he wants the reassurance that he will succeed. That N'Zoth will be defeated.
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I my quarry, you yours.
Anduin shakes his head in response to the question again, uncertain whether he should be telling Wrathion these things, but then again the cat is already out of the bag. He has already revealed that he knows that Wrathion does face up against N'Zoth, he... Supposes this is not that much more information.
"A month," Anduin replies. "Maybe longer. It has been..." He trails off. Wrathion does not wish to hear his explanations, nor his excuses.
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It wouldn't do to get overconfident, in case he happens to be from a different branch of the timeway. One where N'Zoth doesn't fall, one where he is corrupted and absorbed into the Black Empire's forces.
Or where Anduin is.
The thought makes him frown down at his drink once more, a tingle of dread creeping over his skin.
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"What do you mean, not your future? Of course it is," he says, perhaps a bit too sharply. It has already come to pass. Anduin has experienced the aftermath for himself. He may not personally have fought N'Zoth, but he was there. And there has been no indication that Wrathion is from any separate dimension up until now. He understands the importance of not changing the timeline with anything he might tell Wrathion here and now, but.
No. It cannot be.
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The smallest thing can ripple, cause a fork. It isn't at all wise to be certain of these things, to be assured of the future in any way.
Wrathion himself manage to learn that lesson quite harshly. Anduin may want it to be true, but that doesn't mean it is.
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But he is Wrathion. His Wrathion. He has to be. One way or another...
Anduin raises his hands and runs them over his face, trying to keep himself collected.
"I don't," he says, after a moment. "But... I have to have faith. In you. In... In all of this. There is no other way." Not for him. It's too much.
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