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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.

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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.

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?

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."

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.

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.

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?

Anduin has a feeling that Wrathion does not truly know what to do with all of this sentimentality. The signs are there, in the way that he stiffens slightly underneath his touch, and in his deflection.

He keeps his hand laid gently upon his companion's arm, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a soft smile at that.

"Certainly no one has volunteered a game of Jihui, in all the time since we have last met."

Well. It was not exactly the last time they had met. Truth be told, Anduin still has a tangle of emotions balled up in his gut about that particular occasion. How much he had truly meant to say or do, and how much had been the influence of the whispers in his mind. They should probably talk about it someday. That meeting, the chaos with Hellscream's trial, his father... But not today. Instead he says, simply:

"I understand that we did not part last on the best of terms, but I hope you know that -- you are welcome, in Stormwind." He meets Wrathion's eyes with a soft and steady gaze. "You will always have at least the one friend there."

Edited (repetition WHY) 2022-01-05 15:58 (UTC)

Anduin is always so... sincere.

He can't promise this, though.

He cannot promise this, when the Anduin he returns to will likely not be the selfsame one touching his elbow. The one he returns to may still be angry inside, may still hold fast to the loss of his father and the hardship it brought upon him.

No matter what Anduin Wrynn says, the jaw of a black dragon still hangs in Stormwind Keep. The shadow of Deathwing lingers.

Wrathion's flicks Anduin a hesitant smile, turns his eyes away to the beacon.

"We're going to lose our place in the queue," he comments. "You must go, Anduin."

Stormwind awaits his return, no matter his lingering desire to stay. No matter his seeming need to offer Wrathion solace in their parting moments.

Anduin studies Wrathion’s face for a moment longer, his gaze lingering for perhaps a little bit longer than it should, before he offers him one last curve of a smile.

“Of course,” Anduin says, squeezing his hand on Wrathion’s arm before stepping back — releasing him. “You are right. It is time to go home now.”

He cannot say what the future will hold for him. For either of them, really. But he will have to hold faith that it will all work out for the best, in the end.

Forcing himself to take a breath, Anduin turns once again towards the beacon.

“We both of us have responsibilities to attend to.”

"You have your quarry to hunt, and I have mine."

Sylvanas Windrunner and N'Zoth, of course.

These are not concerns to be discarded, the lives of many are on the line. So much as he may have been enjoyable to be... something akin to close once more, nothing lasts forever. If they are lucky, they might have the opportunity to spend time together once all the chaos has passed.

A period of peace would be nice, although Wrathion knows better than to bet on it.

Still, he holds out a hand to indicate for Anduin to lead -- taking a half step himself.

"Not to mention you have more comfortable accommodations to return to."

Anduin glances aside at Wrathion once more, with another half-smile. Wrathion is being exceptionally gracious of Anduin's melancholy, and he is grateful for that. He can only wonder what Wrathion himself thinks of all of this, though of course the dragon would not share such things so openly. Not at such a time as this.

"Our accommodations here were not half so bad as you play them up to be," Anduin protests, gently. "Though it will be nice to sleep on a real mattress again..."

He allows Wrathion to gesture him forward, and they rejoin the queue for a moment. Drawing closer towards the beacon itself, he watches as a the figure in line before them -- disappears. Presumably sent away home by the beacon's magic. He turns towards his companion.

"You should go first," he decides, in the spur of the moment. "You... Have a very important mission waiting for you. We are all counting on you to do your best, and. I know you will."

Wrathion inclines his head a little in acceptance, eyes flicking between Anduin and Hatisse.

A knot of anxiety tightens in his chest. Will this beacon truly work? Or is this all some elaborate ploy?

Hard to know, when those that come into contact with it vanish.

"If that is what you wish, then I will gladly lead the way."

He takes a half step in front of Anduin, turns to face him properly.

"I'm sure we will meet again soon," he says, and as he turns back to face the beacon the queue is progressing quickly. The blue light of it casts a strange sheen over the area, its crackling energy occasionally whipping out to make coattails and loose hair lash around.

Wrathion takes a step forward as the queue reduces to nothing, turns back to Anduin. For a moment he hesitates, as if debating saying something. Then he nods, flicks a weak smile and turns to step up to the gateway.

It swallows him, throws several arcs of power that crackle across the ground, then shudders and fades to nothing.

Anduin offers Wrathion a smile at those parting words, nodding his agreement, knowing if he speaks again himself he will never let him go. He will keep finding some excuse, and he knows that isn't fair on either of them. So he forces himself to stand back, arms clasped in front of him as he watches Wrathion step through the gateway.

Just as he is about to step forward to follow, the beacon's blue light flares up and arcs of power crackling to the ground, several people nearby crying out in surprise and jumping to get back out of the way. And then the light fades out completely.

A soft murmuring begins in the crowd gathered, which starts to build when the light does not return. Anduin keeps his eyes trained on the gateway where Wrathion had disappeared, a sense of dread building within his gut. He stands numb, jostled as the organized queue dissolves in chaos and the crowd rushes forward toward Hatisse, who sags with the strain of the effort of powering the beacon this much already, but it is no use. They cannot re-light the beacon. There is no use trying. They are stuck there. He is stuck there. And Wrathion...

Had he made it through? Did it work? He is here no longer, but the light had gone out mere moments after he'd passed through its archway. Had it been given enough time, to do its work? Had he just sent Wrathion to his death?

Anduin's knees feel unsteady, as if they will not continue to support him if he does not sit down soon. Leading himself to an abandoned cart nearby, he sinks down heavily on the edge, himself forward on his elbows and raising one shaky hand to cover his eyes.

Azeroth's song is clear.

Wrathion hadn't been... sure, in truth, that they'd manage it. The road had been long, hard, and N'Zoth was... powerful. Towards the end, it had felt a close call. The champions of the Alliance were powerful, but the Old God was cunning. Wrathion had helped them as best he could, protected their sanity, but there was only so far he could go with them.

Luckily, it had been far enough.

He's tired, so tired. All he wants to do is rest in the Chamber of Heart, listening to the peaceful hum.

There is, as they say, no rest for the wicked.

When the beacon retrieves him throws him back out into Taravast, his knees hit the floor quickly.

Wrathion's hair is dishevelled, the ground is spinning out from under him. His limbs feel heavy, weak. A sharp smell of ozone is overwhelming his senses.

He falls forward, holding himself up with one hand, and coughs weakly.

Around him, other people seem to be picking themselves up too. They seem... familiar. Something about this place feels familiar. It's hard to place, with the way his head is throbbing.

His eyes lift, and settle on the figure of Anduin Wrynn. The warm red of them has lost its consistent natural grow.

"What?" Wrathion manages, and little by little the details begin to come back to him.

Minutes have passed, and the chaos of the beacon's shutdown has just begun to settle when it suddenly bursts back into light. Anduin glances up to it with a start as through the lightning crackles, shapes are thrust back out.

He is on his feet in an instant, pushing his way through the crowd, heedless of the electricity in the air and the burst of confusion through the people around him once more as he quickly scans through the figures on the ground. He had not been here long enough to meet many, but some of their faces register as familiar to him, and his heart lurches in his chest as he hits on one curly head in particular, that rises to look at him and --

His eyes.

"Wrathion?" Anduin asks, suddenly uncertain that this is him, or some cruel copy the beacon has now created, from its dying magicks.

Wrathion frowns at Anduin, eyes flitting around the surroundings then landing back on the wary figure.

"Anduin?" he prompts, and tries to push back up from his hands with a wince, breaths still coming fast. He feels... lightheaded still, unsteady. "We're back here."

Taravast? This is Taravast, he remembers -- but a moment ago... a moment ago he hadn't. A moment ago, he'd been in Ny'alotha, and hadn't remembered anything about this place at all. He's quite sure of that, quite sure his life has carried on as if nothing in this place had ever happened.

Yet now, he's back here. He's back here, and the memories are there too.

A wave of dizziness passes over him, and Wrathion closes his eyes a moment -- trying to force his breathing slower.

Anduin takes the careful few steps to close the distance between them, moving to cautiously crouch before Wrathion -- perhaps against his better judgment. The sight of his eyes without their customary red glow is... Odd. It makes him uncertain whether this is Wrathion at all. But it sounds like him. It feels like him, and after those few sickening minutes of uncertainty, Anduin is perhaps a bit too willing to look for reassurance at this moment.

"Easy," he says, reaching out to steady him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Are you -- how are you feeling? What is the last that you remember? By the Light, Wrathion, I had thought..."

He forces himself to stop talking, taking a moment to look his companion over for himself, as if he doesn't really trust any answer that might come from Wrathion's own lips, before he reaches to tip Wrathion's face up to meet his own. "Your eyes..." he says, breathlessly.

The touch is... unexpected, and uncomfortable. Wrathion flinches back from it, only a moment later processing the words. His eyes? He reaches up a hand to his face in confusion, feeling at it for whatever Anduin might see. Nothing is bleeding or streaming, that he can tell. He can still see. What, then?

"I was in the Chamber of Heart," he manages. "I did not... expect..."

To return here? Yet he didn't remember, so of course he didn't think on it. Why? Had his memories been tampered with? Who would do such a thing, and why? Perhaps some... mechanism of the beacon? Or was there some element of time travel to it, and perhaps everything that came before was... unwound, somehow?

The Chamber of Heart?

Anduin lowers his hand from Wrathion's face, though he keeps the other braced on his arm for a moment longer, uncertain whether Wrathion is steady enough to support himself. He seems...shaken. It is not an emotion that Anduin is accustomed to seeing in Wrathion and it concerns him. Not that Anduin can really blame him, at that. Anduin is certainly unsettled himself.

He turns to cast an eye around the crowd around them, his mind running in frantic circles before he glances back to Wrathion.

"We should get out of here," he decides aloud. "We can talk somewhere safer than this. Can you stand?"

The implication that he might be unable to stand is enough to pull Wrathion sharply back together. The last thing he needs is to look weak, when people here in Taravast might still remember him and want to do him harm. Nodding stiffly he pushes to his feet, disguises a wave of light-headedness by taking a moment to dust off his coat.

He looks back at the beacon, and the way its blueish-glow has vanished, at Hatisse.

Interesting.

For the moment, certainly, it seems they won't miss anything by leaving.

"Of course," he says simply, "it seems they have their hands full here."

Wrathion could offer help to get it working, but for the moment he doesn't feel that... wise. Perhaps if he has something to eat, to get his strength back?

Anduin pushes himself up as well, poised to step forward and assist him should Wrathion seem like he is not able to support himself. But his original unsteadiness seems to have cleared itself for he stays upright (or perhaps he's managing it out of sheer force of will -- which would be like him, Anduin reflects).

He glances aside at the beacon as Wrathion speaks, before nodding in agreement. He had had the impression that they'd had one shot at this, and that had been it.

He waves Wrathion forward, ushering his companion down the street away from the crowds and back in the direction of the little room that they had been staying in. He waits long enough to make it out of earshot before he turns back to Wrathion again. He can't help it. He had thought -- well. He hadn't known what to think, in those few sickening minutes between when Wrathion had disappeared and the beacon had shut down, and when it had re-activated and spat him back out at their feet.

He realizes after a moment that he is staring and catches himself, flashing Wrathion a self-conscious smile.

"My apologies," he says, awkwardly. "There's been -- quite a lot to process in the past few minutes. And as I said, your eyes are. Well. Different." He gestures towards a pane of glass that they are passing, indicating that Wrathion should see for himself.

Different?

Wrathion frowns at Anduin, confused, then glances sideways at the pane of glass.

The dull red of his eyes looks back, and Wrathion stops with a lurch. Cold dread tightens around his heart, and he flexes his fingers to hide an involuntary tremor. The beacon, perhaps? The first time he'd passed through it he'd certainly felt weak, at first. He'd had no mirror to look at, then, no other person to see him. Had this happened then? Had he --

"I see," he says stiffly, and turns to keep walking.

He's not doing this in the open.

Anduin hurries forward after him, frown deepening at the sudden stiff set of Wrathion's shoulders, the tension in his step. He does not know what to say -- not that he supposes there is anything to say, out here in the open. After those few minutes of terrible uncertainty, Anduin is still struggling to keep his footing in the push and pull of emotion he finds himself dragged through now. Hope, fear, concern...

The rest of the walk passes uneventfully, Anduin's blue eyes focused on Wrathion's stiff back as he carries on just a few steps ahead of him, Anduin allowing the dragon that little bit of space for now. He waits patiently while Wrathion picks the lock to open the door to the little room they had been staying in -- that he didn't think that they would be back to -- then quietly shuts the door behind them, regarding the other carefully for a long moment before he speaks.

"Are you alright?"

The look Wrathion shoots Anduin says he dislikes this question.

"I didn't expect to return here," he says simply. The room looks the same, almost as if no time had passed at all. He hesitates, then steps over to the patch of floor he'd hidden things under. Kneeling, he pries up a board to look under.

Everything as he left it.

How... strange. Taravast looks as if little has changed, and of course progress would be slow but... still. He'd expect something to be different.

Right now, it seems the biggest change is in him.

He sets the board aside, stands up and glances around the room without looking directly at Anduin. He'd... prefer to do this in private, truth be told, but it seems petty to ask after Anduin has walked here with him. Wrathion holds out a hand, gestures slightly as if calling on a spell.

Nothing happens.

His fingers curl into a fist, tongue running over his teeth as he thinks.

Anduin hadn't supposed that Wrathion would enjoy an implied weakness, but he's asking all the same, because he does care about the reply. He watches, from his position by the door, as Wrathion crosses the room and checks underneath the floor board. As Wrathion takes stock of the rest of the room. And then, as Wrathion attempts to call forth his magic.

He supposes he shouldn't watch, that he should give him his privacy. But he wants to know the answer as well. When Wrathion opens his hand, makes a gesture that Anduin has seen him do a number of times, and nothing happens... Then Anduin does glance away, his chest tightening ever so slightly.

"I... Didn't expect to see you again at all," Anduin counters. "That is..." He swallows, somewhat thickly, forcing himself to stand straight against the wood, his hands behinds his back just in case they betray his words with any shaking. "You went through the beacon and then the whole thing threw off a storm of energy then just went dark. I was half afraid that... Well, it hadn't worked. That it had swallowed you up, until it spat you back out a few minutes later."

More than half afraid, if he's being honest.

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