westwhere | [ CLOSED ] The door locked from the outside

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[ CLOSED ] The door locked from the outside

WHO: Wrathion, Anduin, Hermione
WHEN: End of January
WHERE: Ellethia’s ghostly lighthouse
WHAT: Failing to outsmart a wish spell
WARNINGS: Wrathion has an extended panic attack, it is described!

Every day, Zenobius spends several hours on the 11th floor.

Every day, Wrathion's curiosity grows.

The lighthouse is a strange place, much like all of Ellethia is, and he has yet to fully pin down its mysteries. The building's sphere of influence is quite immense, and its draw seems to fade once you are safely within it -- making it hard to pinpoint the exact source. Is it the lighthouse itself? Something under the ground, or in it? Is it only sentient mortals who hear the call, or are animals drawn to it?

The mystery might be answered, of course, by the 11th floor of the lighthouse itself. Its main entrance is locked via some sort of enchantment that appears to be operated by touch, if the palm mechanism is anything to go by. The sign next to it asks those who enter what they wish for, and a scratched warning underneath advises against entering.

Ominous, yet Wrathion remains curious.

The consequences cannot be lethal: Zenobius may be addled but he still lives, patrolling the lighthouse and entering and exiting this room every day.

Perhaps, then the trick is in choosing the right wish. Nothing too personal, nothing too vulnerable? Something that cannot be turned against him?

Wrathion mulls this over a long time, considering it at length before he gives in to the temptation. He is, after all, a dragon. Whatever spell is on it, surely it cannot do him much harm?

He palms the entry mechanism and offers: I wish I understood what happened here.

It's an honest wish, and the door lets him in. The room inside is not quite what he expected. Sleeping figures with healed injuries, seemingly unaware of his presence. He paces the room, curious, then pauses to approach one of them. The sleep seems deep, the figure outwardly peaceful.

Still, a creature who cannot be woken is not guaranteed to be at peace. Wrathion hesitates, then reaches out to one.

He withdraws quickly, shaken, and makes for the exit to the room.

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The sleepers are not at peace, that much is certain. Perhaps a better man than Wrathion might try again, try to hold the connection with them for longer and discern more -- yet Wrathion withdraws from the pain like a wounded animal. He has no certainty that he will gain anything, and only the knowledge that he can be hurt and has been hurt before.

That his mind has been vulnerable here, and the risk may outweigh the reward.

He exits out eleventh floor room, brow furrowed in thought as he tries to decide where to search for answers next, and something happens.

It creeps up on him -- slow, at first, as he begins to descend the stairwell, then all in a rush -- like an ocean wave suddenly crashing over his head and submerging him.

Fear.

Pure, bone deep terror.

Wrathion has felt fear before, has felt the invasive pressure of an Old God trying to worm its way into his mind and control him.

This is... different.

He feels his temperature plummet, his body start to shiver. Feels an all-encompassing sense of dread that he cannot begin to describe --

One hand fumbles out to steady against the wall, and despite his shivers the palm is clammy.

His chest hurts, he can't breathe --

Sliding to sit on the stairwell before his legs collapse from under him he gulps for air, pulse racing and head spinning. It's difficult to even focus on anyone who approaches, and when he tries to speak its as if the ability has escaped him completely. All he can do is grip people who approach him, as if that might do something to stop the tremors. Might steady him enough he can bring it under control.

He will be distinctly embarrassed about this once it passes.

A locked door has never stopped her before, and there is nothing quite like being told that you shouldn't peek behind a door for fear of consequences to make Hermione wish she could do exactly that.

But - a big one - she is trying very hard to be pragmatic here, and stay within the allowed confines of the lighthouse. Everything about this tower feels ominous, spooky, and if she wants to keep her wits about her, she should definitely try to not step out of line.

Right? Right.

Except right now she is creeping her way up towards the eleventh floor, determined to at the very least understand what the door is all about.

She is stopped from that, however, by the fact that a familiar figure is sitting on the stairwell, looking shaken. Oh, dear... She takes a breath, and tries to approach:

"Wrathi-oh, okay, you're grabbing."

Anduin is of a similar mindset to Hermione himself. The 11th floor intrigues him, and he has always enjoyed a good puzzle.

But there is something about this lighthouse that gives him pause. Zenobius, perhaps. Anduin has been spending a great deal of time around the lighthouse keeper, up on the 12th floor, trying to better understand the man after the incident with the boats. It isn't easy, and he isn't certain that he's learned all that much more than he knew before, but...

Anduin is just wandering down the stairwell after another session of trying and failing to communicate with the elusive old man, when a commotion catches his eyes on the steps below. Hermione, huddled over a man who is clearly in distress. Anduin closes the distance between them in short order, intending to offer his gentle assistance when the words die on his tongue.

"Wrathion?" he breathes, looking to Hermione with alarm. "What happened?"

The fact that he's holding on to Hermione so tightly is probably a tell in and of itself. He'd meant to grab her to pull her attention, but words aren't quite forming themselves the way they should. His thoughts keep escaping him, mind whirling, and all he's left doing is gripping her wrist while he tries to ride it out in the hope he can explain in a moment.

The moment isn't coming.

Anduin's voice filters through to him, and somewhere in his whirl of panic Wrathion has enough stubborn self-preservation left to realise he is drawing attention while vulnerable. Something he very explicitly hates

The lighthouse feels small, suddenly, claustrophobic on top of dangerous. He needs to -- needs to get up, to get out, to warn them. To tell them --

He lets go of Hermione long enough to try and struggle to his feet again, but his legs don't hold him. Wrathion stumbles with a hiss of frustration, flails out to try and brace the wall to hold himself upright while he gulps for air.

The sudden appearance of someone else registers, but Hermione goes into focus mode. In front of her is a problem she can solve: Wrathion is having an extremely bad day.

She crouches down in front of Wrathion for a moment, right before he tries to get up - then is quick enough to try and steady him, remarking to herself (quietly) that he is stockier than she expected, all things considered. (Weakened, sure - but still impressive.)

"Here, lean against the wall for a moment. The stairs can be slippery, and you'll break your neck trying to play up the bravado." She spares a quick glance behind her, finding Anduin right there - and there's a flash of surprise as dots get connected. They know each other? Huh.

Then her returned attention to Wrathion. "Can you hear my voice well, Wrathion? Will you follow my lead?"

Anduin quickly moves forward to step in and help Hermione brace Wrathion as he starts to struggle up to his feet -- he always has been so bloody stubborn, of course he would try and do it on his own at a time like this. Anduin is taller, broader, and likely stronger than Hermione. He's had to learn how to be, to carry his father's sword, to wear the heavy armor of a king.

The pair of them have not exactly been keeping the fact that they are from the same world a secret. They've not exactly been advertising it either. Anduin supposes the cat is out of the bag now, as he reaches to catch Wrathion's arm, concern written tight across his face.

"What is it?" he asks, addressing Wrathion first then turning his worried blue eyes to Hermione. "Wrathion, please. Did you see what happened? Here."

It's almost second nature for Anduin to call forth the Light to his aid, to try and help Wrathion calm himself. The soft glow of it fills the stairwell, as Anduin channels it through his hand and into Wrathion himself. Frown deepening as he waits for some sign that it is having any sort of an effect.

She would whirl around towards Anduin with a reprimand if the space allowed it, but there's a familiar person going through a very familiar breakdown, and Hermione's still holding onto said person's shoulder.

So she assumes the glow is a Lumos-sort of spell, and doesn't check what - if anything - she feels through the magic flooding the stairwell. Instead:

"He's having a panic attack," she cuts Anduin off, impatiently, a little bit harsh to boot. "And people having one generally can't give you lengthy detail of what happened and what they saw, as that point is not important."

Softening her expression, she turns her attention towards Wrathion. "Listen to my voice, okay? I'll guide you to some breathing - follow my counting, yes?"

Anduin's expression pinches slightly in response to Hermione's reprimand, though the harsh note of impatience in it lessens something of Anduin's own panic that has been building within himself.

A panic attack.

Anduin is not unfamiliar with the concept of them, given the amount of pressure he has faced from the burdens in his own life. But Wrathion... He has never seen him so affected by anything. Granted, he would also never allow himself to be seen so affected, but to be caught in such a state in the middle of the tower?

And -- the Light. It had not made a dent in the tension thrumming through Wrathion at all. Which... Isn't right at all. Something is wrong.

Anduin supposes that joining in to echo Hermione's sentiments will do more harm than good, but he turns back toward their companion with a frown, shifting his hold on Wrathion's arm to a softer touch (but not entirely releasing his grip).

"We are here for you," he says, gently.

It's difficult to focus much on what is going on, so the minor dispute goes somewhat over Wrathion's head.

A shame, because he'd be delighted to have witnessed someone reprimanding Anduin Wrynn.

The glow, at least, he does recognise. The Light finds no injury to heal, no damage to Wrathion's person, but although it does nothing to drain his tension it does momentarily allow him to stand a little better.

Mostly because his legs are holding him with a burst of renewed strength, and because between them Anduin and Hermione are propping him up a little.

His head hurts still, and he feels dizzy. These are problems for future Wrathion. Current Wrathion still doesn't want to be in an open space. He shoots Anduin an uneasy look, then rests his gaze on Hermione a moment. Breathing? Counting? He can't quite work out what any of this is meant to mean, but either way it's a no from him. He shakes his head, and immediately makes another weak attempt to move away down the stairwell again. His legs don't immediately give way this time, but his balance is still off.

Considering the paths life took her and her friends down on, should it be any surprise that Hermione has breathing techniques memorised to push back panic attacks? Especially when they were carrying the locket horcrux, they came in handy for herself. She has read about them - she read about them in the summer leading up to stealing her parents' memories, knowing pragmatically that this act alone would have her battling with a lot of emotions - so she knows what she's doing.

Not that she has a chance to do it. Wrathion insists on moving, which is so frustrating. And so typical - he's probably the type who won't accept help from anyone, for fear of appearing weak.

(Harry.)

"Okay," she forces out in a tense voice: "You want to get to the bottom of the stairwell first? Because we'll help you, but you have you let us."

Wrathion may not be able to speak aloud, but there are whole sentences said in the look that he shoots Anduin, before he turns away and tries to force his way further down the stairs. Several different emotions war within him at once as he jerks forward himself, doing his best to keep a tight grip on Wrathion's arm lest he topple head-first down the staircase in front of them -- the absolute last thing they need right now.

Speaking of stairs. There are quite a lot of them. To help him all the way down to the first floor, from the eleventh... Feels awfully precarious. Anduin tries to think fast on his feet.

"Hermione," he begins. "Perhaps it might be best to find a quiet space first?" He tightens his grip on Wrathion's arm for a moment, a gesture of support. "Somewhere closer at hand, with a bit less...traffic?"

The (relative) ease of movement doesn't last long. Wrathion finds the lingering warmth of the Light beginning to fade from him, and as it does his so does his ability to stay upright.

His ears feel like they're ringing, heart racing harder and harder. His breaths are still coming too fast, and as he tries to force himself down the stairs the dizziness is getting worse. He can hear Hermione saying something tense, and Anduin's hand tightening on his arm, but he can't quite focus on the words.

Between them, they're both very close to him. He feels crowded, frustrated, anxious. He needs to get out of here, needs --

Wrathion makes a weak attempt to shake them both off, and lets out a low warning growl. It's a deep sound, something that seems as if it's echoing in the cavernous chest of a large creature -- not a human.

That sound rumbles, the way no human growl of frustration manages to, and Hermione falters in her stubborn attempt to outstubborn Wrathion, surprised by it.

She looks to Anduin for guidance, nodding. "Alright - I know where the empty rooms are. Come, I can transfigure us a seating area."

Anduin recognizes the sound of the dragon's growl, deep and low, vibrating right through Anduin's own chest. It is a warning sound for several reasons. One, because Wrathion is demonstrating his discomfort. Two, because they really don't need Wrathion growing any more uncomfortable and then potentially transforming on them. A panicked dragon in the middle of a tower staircase is the last thing that they need just now.

Anduin shoots Hermione an appreciative glance, nodding quickly.

"Please. Yes, that sounds for the best, yes?" He turns back to Wrathion, reaching for him again, calling again on the Light since that had seemed to have helped at least a little before. "Wrathion. Come with us, let us get you somewhere safe."

The gentle wash of Light magic is enough to help Wrathion's legs hold him for a brief moment, and also gets him just enough strength once more to begin trying to free himself of both of them. The upside of this is that he is, indeed, moving in the right direction. The downside is he's trying to do so independently of Hermione and Anduin, with limited success. Wrathion struggles forward, with the stubborn determination of someone who will do something on their own or die trying, and braces himself with one hand against the wall as he tries to descend the stairwell.

The process has been too slow so far, clearly he can do better himself.

Unfortunately, the stairwell itself is... moving, or more accurately his vision is not as steady as he would like. One of his feet nearly misses a step, and his weight goes fully against one of his companions with another low growl of discontent.

The after effects of the doorway -- the cost of the spell -- last a whole hour.

The incoherence does not ease the entire time, nor do Wrathion's tremors. By the time the hour is up and they do begin to fade, he is therefore exhausted.

He passes out near immediately.

His sleep is heavy, deep, and although a little restless in patches not particularly disturbed.

Once he begins to wake, it's a slow process. Groggy. He feels disorientated, confused. He remembers the lighthouse, the room filled with sleeping figures, then --

Wrathion's eyes blink open, awareness of the presence with him suddenly twitching him sharply into consciousness. They meet Anduin's gaze, and his blue eyes are shadowed with concern as always.

For a long moment, he doesn't know what to say. The tension feels thick, and Anduin's hand on him is warm.

The priest has likely been here with him the whole time, he realises. His head aches terribly, and his limbs feel weak -- as if he'd run flat out for a length of time. He remembers being unable to stop shaking, and supposes that is likely a part of it. That would, logically, account for the strain in his muscles.

The silence draws out, and Wrathion awkwardly realises that one of them is probably going to have to break it and it should probably be him.

He sits up a little too quickly and immediately finds himself reaching out to steady against the wave of dizziness that passes over him.

"Ah," he manages. Less graceful than he intended.

Of course Anduin had been there with him the whole time.

Anduin doesn't know if he has ever seen Wrathion afraid in his life. Finding him there like that, in the stairwell, and having absolutely no idea what had happened to him or why. Trying everything he and Hermione could think of and only barely being able to take the edge of the fear away for him, had been. Difficult, to put it mildly.

It was such a relief, for all involved, when Wrathion's shaking had eased and he had suddenly collapsed into the boneless slumber he'd fallen into for the last hour or so. Yet Anduin is... Worried. Of course he's worried. Until he can speak to Wrathion, until he's reassured that Wrathion is truly well again...

Anduin frowns into Wrathion's eyes as they blink up at him, concern filling his expression once more as at first Wrathion simply looks at him. Deepening further as all at once Wrathion abruptly tries to pull away, then seems to think better of it.

"Easy," Anduin chides softly, reaching out to steady him. His hands are already starting to glow softly as he begins to call on the Light, intent on healing at least the worst of Wrathion's discomforts.

This continues to be embarrassing.

Wrathion takes a few slow breaths, trying to steady himself as Light washes over him.

"There's no need for that," he murmurs, wincing as he glances around the room to make sure they're alone. That nobody else is seeing him wobble about this way, like an unsteady whelp. It's difficult to feel truly grumpy, though, in the insistent warmth of the Light. It eases back his bristling anxiety against his will, and takes a few more slow breaths.

"Thank you," he manages awkwardly, because even despite his protests he can recognise that his situation had been.... precarious. That Anduin had done his best to assist Wrathion, despite a lack of information.

Anduin gives Wrathion a look at the protests. Somehow he doubts that Wrathion honestly would rather continue to feel shaky and lightheaded than accept his assistance, no matter his bristling.

...still. He is grateful that Wrathion seems to be relaxing in response to the touch of the Light, either way. He releases his grip on Wrathion's arm after a long moment as Wrathion's breathing eases, his eyes carefully searching Wrathion's face for any sign of distress before he softens slightly at his companion's words of thanks.

"Of course," he replies, sitting back to give him a little more space. "How... Do you feel?"

How does he feel?

Unpleasant.

Wrathion's eyes drift down to where Anduin was holding his arm, thinking.

"I paid a visit to the eleventh floor."

Since Anduin no doubt desires to understand what happened. Wrathion isn't quite... clear, exactly, which part of what he did caused this but he knows it was to do with that floor. Was it the door itself, responding to him after he wished to understand? Was it the people sleeping in the room? Was it his attempt to reach out to one? Something else, perhaps? Something else responding to him entering?

Titans, he barely remembers it all too. All he's left with is the... sensation, an understanding without much detail.

He could, of course, go back in. The temptation is there.

Anduin’s expression pinches in confusion for a moment.

“The eleventh floor…” He trails of as understanding dawns. The locked floor. The floor that Zenobius keeps disappearing into. They had found Wrathion just on the stairs outside of the door, had… Something happened to him in there? Well, of course it had. But what?

His concern settles deeper, memories of the past few hours and the terror that had gripped Wrathion still all too fresh in Anduin’s mind.

Anduin has vaguely wandered close enough to the door, as Zenobius disappeared inside. Close enough to inspect the door and the inscription outside. It guides him thus to his next question, with a soft frown.

“You made a wish?”

"It was required to bypass the door. Nothing happened initially other than it opened."

His eyes trail back up to Anduin, brow furrowing.

"The room was... strange. Ten people inside seemingly trapped in a deep sleep, laid out on stone slabs. Their sleep was not restful."

What nightmares plagued them he could not say, but nightmares they must have been. How long had they been asleep? When did they get their healed injuries? What was their relationship to Zenobius, the lighthouse keeper for that matter? Did he put them in this state, or is he simply bound to care for them after they fell into it?

Wrathion has so many questions.

Ten people, lying deep asleep, in a room guarded by a wish...

Anduin has many questions himself. So many questions. Somewhere near the top of the list is what exactly Wrathion had been thinking -- although Anduin supposes he already knows. Of course he had been curious. Anduin had been curious himself, although not enough to give that door anything of himself. Which begs another question...

Wrathion's wish. It seems too personal a question to ask so directly, so for the moment he simply lets him speak, frowning along with his words.

"You did not recognize them?" Anduin hazards, hoping the answer is no. He had not noticed anyone missing from their group, but he does not know if he would have been able to tell if they were. Unconsciously, he shifts a little closer towards Wrathion.

"I did not. They were no-one who I had seen in our group before."

A pause.

"I suspect they had been there for some time, and will continue to be so."

All just a theory, and the exact sequence of events is still hidden to him -- but the shape of it is there. Nothing, he suspects, dies in Ellethia. What sent them into that sleep he does not know, but that state seems like one they may be doomed to stay in if it cannot be... undone somehow.

If they cannot be woken.

What of the consequence, though? Troubling.

There is -- a lot to consider about these people, lying sleeping behind that door. What happened to them, why they do not wake, and what role Zenobius plays in all of this. Are the man's wits addled because of how often he passes through this door? Or is he the one who placed this enchantment upon it, for that matter?

"Did you see anything else?" Anduin pushes, before shaking his head. "No -- I. Forgive me. I do not mean to... It's just that." He hesitates, turning very concerned blue eyes back to Wrathion again.

"You were inconsolable, Wrathion, and I. I need something..." Now that he has recovered, he cannot bear the thought of Wrathion pushing him away and shutting him out, now that whatever danger has passed.

Inconsolable.

It's not quite the word Wrathion himself would have chosen, but he can see why the priest chose it.

"It wasn't something I saw," he admits finally, brow furrowing a little. How to explain it. "I'm not entirely sure what the source was, if it was the sleepers themselves or the... enchantment on the door. I reached out to one of them while I was inside, and found their sleep... restless. Whatever nightmares they were having, they were distraught. It unsettled me enough that I went to leave, and as I left and began to feel... similar."

Anduin's concern deepens. The thought of being drawn into these sleepers' nightmare is...

"Did you dream?" he asks, uncertainly. "Hallucinate? Or was it just their distress that passed to you?"

He pauses, searching Wrathion's face for a long moment before he continues. "I do not know how much you remember of that time. I tried to help, tried to break you out of it, but. Whatever had its grasp over you was -- unnatural. In the end, I could only do so much..."

He tries not to let that bother him, but it's fairly clear that it does either way.

He shakes his head, frown deepening as he thinks.

"It was a feeling, an... understanding. I asked to understand what happened, and I suppose I did get that wish granted -- either purposefully or accidentally."

Wrathion flicks a wan smile, lowers his eyes away to where his hands rest on the sheets.

"The details faded as the terror did, but... I know that these people wished to live, and I cannot help but wonder if those laying asleep had that wish granted. If they will now never die."

It is... A truly terrible thought, as far as Anduin is concerned. The idea that these people might be condemned to such a fate due to one, single, very understandable wish. But to exist in such a state -- it is no life at all.

Anduin cannot help reaching for Wrathion, laying a hand over his on the bed, although whether he is doing so to comfort Wrathion or himself is not exactly clear.

"I am glad that it did. Fade," Anduin specifies. "Even if you have lost some of the understanding that you wished to achieve, the consequences were..." Anduin's expression pinches slightly, searching Wrathion's face for a long moment before continuing softly, "Your health and well-being is more important than that, Wrathion. That door, the wishes you must give up to enter... There is danger in such things." As they both have just witnessed.

The touch to Wrathion's hand makes him tense a little, uncertain of what Anduin is going to say and... uneasy as he begins to say it.

Of course it is dangerous, Wrathion understood that even before he interacted with it. He thought he had picked a wish that couldn't backfire, but perhaps he should have known better. Magic can easily twist the simplest of desires.

"I am aware," he says simply, "but there is danger in not understanding this place too."

On balance, it had felt worth the risk to try.

"...of course."

Anduin can feel Wrathion tensing underneath his touch, and so he retracts his hand once more, moving to clasp both of his own in his lap. He had not meant to scold, or to come off as such. He's just. Worried. Concerned. The attack that Wrathion had suffered had seemed to last forever, and the fact that he could barely do anything to help...

This should not be about him. Wrathion seems fine. He is awake and alert, and he is no longer under the effects of whatever the wish had done to him. He should be glad of that.

"You are not alone in this anymore, Wrathion," Anduin points out. "You do not owe me anything, of course. But I would ask you tell me of your plans the next time. I only wish to help."

To help.

Would Anduin have been able to help, had Wrathion told him? He had not known what was going to happen, had not known how he would be impacted. There is no way they could have prepared for this. If anything, there would have been a danger that Anduin would have accompanied him inside, that he might have been rendered similarly incoherent.

Still. Anduin had asked him such a thing once before.

Tell me what's going on. We can work together. We can find some way to--

He moves his hands to knit fingers together. They feel cold suddenly, although that might just be the loss of Anduin's warm touch.

Not alone in this anymore.

"You are right," he says finally. "If I had been more fully incapacitated it would have left you alone here, in danger. I should have considered that."

Was his goal not to keep Anduin safe? He should be more careful, with that in mind.

Anduin's expression pinches as Wrathion speaks, his brows drawing together, his mouth drawing into a firm line.

"That isn't--" Anduin starts, sharply, before stopping himself, pressing his lips together tightly and sucking in a deep breath through his nose.

"By the Light, Wrathion, I don't know how much more plainly I can say that I was worried for you. For you. Not because I need you around as a bodyguard or some sort of protector. You are important to me, as a companion. As a friend. I care about you, and if anything worse might have happened back there--...!"

Anduin cuts himself off again, feeling as though he has already said too much.

Wrathion holds Anduin's gaze for a long moment, considering that.

Important to him. As a companion. A friend.

His stomach clenches uncomfortably, a weight pressing on his chest. Not as bad as when he'd been struggling in the stairwell, not enough to have him gasping for air, but there all the same.

Anduin has assured him they are friends once before, but he has also -- quite recently -- struck him in the face.

My father is DEAD because of you!

The priest had made his mood quite clear, then. Wrathion was not forgiven. His presence was barely tolerated.

Yet all the same, the warmth Anduin offers now is... alluring. Wrathion yearns to accept it, for things to go back to how they were on Pandaria before the trial. For them to be comfortable with one another, close enough to tease each other and laugh together. The temptation has already been there, more than once. Wrathion has let his guard down, has sat and consoled the young man. Expressed his fears to him.

Anduin's mortal lifespan will be nothing compared to Wrathion's, which makes it feel all the more important to value what time they have. Yet all the same, there is a danger. Black dragons cannot be hurt by fire, but they can be torn apart by guilt and grief easily enough.

The lines in the sand between them are being blurred, and Wrathion is not certain where to step.

"It was a calculated risk," he manages carefully. "I was confident I would survive the experience without permanent damage."

A calculated risk.

Anduin feels the backs of his eyes burn and he does not know whether it is out of anguish or frustration. Perhaps, he supposes upon reflection, it may be some combination of the both. Regardless, he cannot sit here and continue to argue this point. Here in this room, where he had fought to drag Wrathion to safety. Where he and Hermione had done their best to try and soothe his fears and calm his nerves, and nothing seemed to be enough.

He is so tired of feeling like he will never be enough.

Anduin sits back in his seat, his face closing off tight.

"Of course," he says, his own voice very carefully neutral. "You nearly transformed in the middle of that staircase, but. No. I suppose you were right. No permanent damage done."

He moves to push himself to stand. "You should get some rest."

Ah.

There it is.

Anduin has always had a sharp tongue, when he wants to. Wrathion supposes it was only a matter of time before he felt it, yet still. He had hoped it might not be so soon. It is perhaps a small blessing he managed to keep his temper this curtailed this time.

Still, Wrathion's fingers subtly tighten over each other as Anduin moves to stand. He's clearly upset him, but what would be the right thing to say? Should he have simply thanked him, agreed to tell him next time? Yet Wrathion is loathe to making promises he may be unable to keep. If he believed Anduin would try to help and become hurt, he would not want to tell him. If he believed Anduin would stop him, but that his choice would protect Anduin, then he also would not want to tell him.

Anduin is offering him his friendship, his help, but Wrathion is unclear how much of it. Is unclear if he is still working toward forgiveness, if he is trusted yet without suspicion, if boundaries are still in place that he cannot see.

It is difficult to trust if you do not believe you are trusted in turn.

"So should you," Wrathion points out. "Do not exhaust yourself."

There may be plenty of concerns here, of people Anduin wishes to help, but he cannot help them if he drives himself into the ground.

Anduin turns, halfway to the door, his expression mostly guarded save for his eyes. He never has been very good at hiding how he feels, not really, and it is no different now. There is a sadness there, a weariness he can feel seeping down into his very bones, painful and familiar like the ache of the Bell.

There's anger too. Which isn't nearly as comfortable a feeling for Anduin, a pacifist. A priest. An anger and frustration he can feel clawing at his chest, up his throat, and he knows if he does not force himself to leave then he will say or do something he may regret.

And so he does. Turning on his heel, Anduin forces himself to walk out the door without so much as another word.

But he will not rest easy. Not for a long while, at least.

By the time Hermione returns to visit him Wrathion is sat up, at least, and certainly calmer than last she saw him. He's still... rumpled, to a degree, his usually neatly styled hair mussed from repeatedly worrying it with his fingers. Still, he's sat up -- a now cooled drink sat beside him and the book of astronomy open in his lap.

It had seemed wise to... let his mind focus on something else for a moment. To re-direct it as much as possible as from the chaotic whirl of danger it was now aware of, and still insistently sure he should be preparing for.

Difficult to relax in such circumstances.

His eyes flit up sharply as soon as he senses footsteps, still overly alert, but on recognising the figure of Hermione he relaxes a little. Not... entirely, but a little.

This is potentially awkward, after all.

He hesitates, then carefully closes the book and sets it to one side -- sitting himself up straighter

"I believe I owe you some thanks," he says. That would be polite, after all. Should he... offer her something? For the assistance? What would be appropriate? People normally require some sort of payment for assisting him, even when the fate of the world is at stake. He is not, however, entirely rich in the local currency yet. This makes rewards a problem.

When they were still lodged in the palace in Taravast, for some inspired reason Hermione began hoarding chocolate in her enhanced bag. It came in handy when the Dementors appeared, and when the long boat ride became too tense.

It comes in handy now, as she steps into the room where Wrathion has been set up to rest, a mug of hot chocolate in her hand. She found milk in the lighthouse kitchen, and melted some from her reserves, so at least it's not alchemy.

Upon entering, she is greeted with that, and Hermione remembers how difficult it was to get him settled to begin with. With a soft sigh, she steps into the room and brings the mug over to him, holding it out for him to take. She fixes him with a look that means to scrutinise, down to the marrow of his backbone, then purses her lips.

"You're not very keen on accepting help from others, are you?"

Wrathion blinks rapidly at the sigh, having not quite expected thanks to inspire it, then frowns at the question.

Ah. Well.

He reaches out hesitantly to take the hot chocolate from her, letting it warm his fingers. The scent of chocolate is familiar, but he's not certain he's ever had it in a drink form. It's a popular gift around Noblegarden, he believes, and the romantic festival that always seems to elicit chaos. He thinks he recalls seeing it used in cakes too. His eyes rest on the drink a long moment, thinking, then lift hesitantly to Hermione. His natural instinct is to protest in some way, but she is of course right. Should he explain in some fashion? Do the reasons matter? How much could he explain without it simply inspiring more questions he didn't want to answer?

"I've grown used to looking after myself," he admits finally. It feels as if it might not be what she wants to hear, but he's not certain what else he can say. He hardly knows enough about her and her home to judge how safe it might be to say anything more.

She hums, pulling a chair that's vacant, bringing it closer to the bed. "So I've realised." She pauses here, because words don't come easily now. "Anduin is your friend, isn't he?"

His frown smooths out at that, eyes lifting to her in surprise a moment. This conversation is continuing to take... turns he had not expected.

He hesitates a moment, trying to decide how to answer. Anduin would say yes, he knows, because he has assured him as much -- that Wrathion will always have a friend in Stormwind. Has he earned the right to say that, though? After everything that happened, has he been forgiven? Or is Anduin simply being kind to him, a kindness he does not truly deserve?

"I believe so," he offers, uncertain.

"You can let him help you, then. If you cannot trust anyone else to help you when you are in need, trust your friends."

Hm.

Wrathion's eyes skim away again, considering that. Hermione is right, in that he must trust someone -- if he does not then he will simply never get anything done. Yet it is... complicated.

"I have lost the right to ask him for help."

That makes her sit a bit straighter in the chair, a flicker of outrage rushing to the forefront of her expression. "How does one lose the right to ask for help yet remain friends?"

"He offered me help once before, and I refused it. The... consequences of my poor judgement caused him a great deal of pain."

His eyes lift back to her, and he straightens -- as if bracing himself against whatever she might say.

"He may consider me a friend again, but Anduin has always been gentler and more patient than I deserve. I do not believe I have yet earned the right to ask anything of him."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ CLOSED ] The door locked from the outside

HERMIONE & ANDUIN:

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AFTERMATH: ANDUIN:

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AFTERMATH: HERMIONE

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