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WHO: Wrathion, Anduin
WHEN: Late Feb - Early March
WHERE: Ke-Waihu, the house of the old village wise man
WHAT: Curses, scratches, and aches
WARNINGS: Wrathion will likely scandalously take his shirt off so Anduin can see what he's healing. Or not healing, as the case may be. There may be disgusting hand contact. There is definitely UST.

In Ke-Waihu, the darkness at night is thick, the silence as heavy as a blanket muffling everything around them.

Wrathion finds it both reassuring and a source of unease. He hears nothing coming, yet neither is there a gentle hum of activity to mask his own movements.

In truth, he should not be out in the dark at all. He should be in his own assigned home, sticking to their cover story. Yet he has grown... accustomed to Anduin's close company, and the scratches that recently appeared on his skin have begun to bother him.

He simply wants him to examine them. As a healer. That's all it is. He isn't thinking about anything else. Not the union ceremony Anduin got swept up in, not the prospect of the Beastmaster being here, not the sick unease he feels wondering if he should leave in case something happens. If he should leave Anduin behind, for his own safety.

Not Anduin's gentle sympathy as they traversed the forest, chased by fleeting visions of Azeroth taunting them with something they could not have.

Not the reminder of how he had faced down Fahrad, devoid of a way to save him as the whispers twisted his mind.

Wrathion feels... strange. He cannot say he has ever particularly been troubled to only have himself for company, yet in the inky darkness here his own thoughts feel... loud somehow. The rooms he stands in feel big, and he feels uncommonly ill at ease.

He sends Anduin a simple message:

I'm outside.

Then waits to be let in, a ghost lurking around the window of Anduin's room in the wiseman's old abode. It seems fitting Anduin has been placed here, since he seems well suited to resolving disputes and giving advice. Then again, he'd likely been enjoying the respite -- or what limited respite he had.

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Anduin is hoping that turning the conversation away from himself will help to distract from the sensation of Wrathion's touch. To preoccupy his mind, and hopefully divert his attention from the slow, dangerous spread of warmth that has started to dance its way over Anduin's nerve endings.

It's... Half working. Anduin swallows thickly and tries harder.

"It is not a bad thing to get to know the others," Anduin allows. "I would rather not consider the idea that any separation might have been done on purpose, but I suppose. Anything is possible."

Wrathion considers that a long moment, the small hints of reaction from Anduin as he continues pressing in with his thumbs, and frowns in thought.

Anything is possible, he says, and it is of course true but... mixed with other information they've been provided there are definitely questions to be asked.

"Do you recall the Merchant's note about smuggling," he says, "to the undead legions?"

Underground trafficking, he thinks he'd called it. Any connection to the undead is unpleasant, especially after how Taravast went in the end. This isn't about Taravast, though. It's about the connection here, about the village having a patron.

Well, now that is a distracting question. Distracting enough to bring a frown to Anduin's face, even though the pleasure-pain of the slide of Wrathion's fingers across his palm.

"Yes I do," Anduin replies, his expression tightening slightly as he glances up at him. Anduin has been so distracted, with the villagers coming to the house and these curses and the fox spirits (and the aftermath thereof). There's been so much to take in here, he feels as though he has only scratched the surface. Smuggling to the undead...

That in letting her live, you enable her and those like her, who trade in death. That you are now complicit.

"I have not seen any sign of it myself, though that is not to say it is not happening."

"Nor have I, first-hand, but I did learn something interesting. This village has a patron."

His eyes drop down to Anduin's hand, thumbs sweeping out from the centre to apply steady pressure against the muscle around his thumb.

"The Beastmaster, it seems. He returns seasonally, and is due back sometime soon."

Which is interesting for many reasons. One, because the smuggling may be towards the Beastmaster's faction.

Two, because Wrathion would rather not be here when this arrival happens. A pity they couldn't give specifics, then.

Anduin has been having a difficult time staying entirely present for the conversation thus far, but his attention snaps to Wrathion at that.

The Beastmaster. Due to return.

It's as though a bucket of ice water has been dumped over his head. All the heat and the breath gone out of him in a rush as the knowledge of what might be settles in its place. Anduin has not faced the Beastmaster directly himself, of course. But he had healed Wrathion from the aftermath of his last encounter, and he has witnessed his fear.

"Wait." Anduin sucks in a deep breath, reaching out to place a hand on Wrathion's hands and still them. His eyes are impossibly wide and blue as he searches Wrathion's face himself this time. "Wait. When -- how? Wrathion."

There's three prompts there.

Wait. When? How?

Wait he can do. His hands still as Anduin's comes to rest on his, and his eyes lift to meet the young king's.

"They gave no specific timeframe," he answers. There's a pause as he considers the 'how' aspect, head tilting slightly. "If you're asking how I know, one of the villagers mentioned it."

Presumably not... how will the Beastmaster arrive? He has no idea, does it matter?

In truth Anduin is not sure what exactly he is asking either. It’s a lot to take in all at once. Wrathion, shirtless in his bedroom at night, his hands warm around Anduin’s, pleasure still singing down Anduin’s nerves in response to his touch, his voice so calm — too calm — as he explains…

Anduin’s pulse had been fast before, although now it is racing for a different reason. There is danger in this. The Beastmaster knows Wrathion. Knows what he is. If he should come now…

He forces himself to say something, to formulate words other than the denial that is rattling around in his brain. No, not now. Not him. Not you.

"You need to do what you can to break this curse," Anduin concludes, voice low and intense as he studies Wrathion’s face. "We both do. There is no telling whether it’s effects hold only to this area of the land or not, but." His expression tightens. "As we have proven tonight, I will not be able to heal you otherwise."

That's true. If these cuts continue to progress, and he's still injured when the Beastmaster arrives then he'll be fighting at less than his best.

If he has to leave in a hurry, he may become unable to break this curse if the resolution has to be... localised.

"Of course," he agrees. There's a pause, as he weighs up how to address this. "I may need to leave."

Not we, necessarily, he wouldn't assume Anduin will run with him. Wrathion may be fleeing flat out for days again, trying to stay one step ahead as he's chased through the forest.

Something in Anduin's chest constricts, almost painfully, for he recognizes that he had not necessarily been included in that statement as well. But of course, if it came to that, he would only wish for Wrathion's safety. There is a chance that, if it came to that, he would only slow him down.

Now it is Anduin's turn to look away. Turning his gaze down to Wrathion's hands, now clasped between his own, feeling suddenly, overwhelmingly... Helpless. There has to be something that he can do. He needs to do something. He can not, will not let this person harm Wrathion. Not without giving everything of himself in return.

"I understand," he says, softly. Shutting his eyes and sucking in a breath to try and collect himself, but everything is a jumble of emotions now, raw and vulnerable after Wrathion had lulled him into such a state. "You will... Keep me abreast of what more you learn?"

He can at least rest assured that Wrathion will not be disappearing tonight. (At least, he hopes not...)

"Of course," Wrathion allows.

He hesitates, then adjust his grip on Anduin's hands -- threads their fingers together.

"I would ask only one thing of you. Do not let me share my family's fate."

If he turns, don't let him continue on some endless, mad rampage. He doesn't want that. Doesn't want to become a part of that legacy.

Anduin has known that Wrathion was afraid of the Beastmaster. Of hearing his voice in his head. Of falling under his control. He had understood there were similarities of the undead liege to the thrall of the Old Gods, but he had not realized until this moment exactly what such a loss of control might cost.

Anduin's fingers convulse around Wrathion's, his eyes flashing wide as he drags them back up to meet Wrathion's gaze. The full weight of Wrathion's request settling upon him like a rock upon his chest. Making it equally as difficult to breathe.

Anduin is vaguely aware of the fact that Wrathion hardly ever comes to him willingly for aid, and here is the second request in one evening. He had not been capable of fulfilling the first. And now...

He wonders whether he could live with himself if he did as Wrathion asked. He knows that he would be unable to if he did not.

"I will not let it come to that," Anduin replies, almost desperately. He understands that in the end he may have very little power over such things, but he feels as though he has to hold on to some hope. It may be all that's left for them, in the end.

Wrathion nods in response, flicking Anduin a small smile.

"I know if anyone has a chance of helping me, it would be you. You have always been an exceptional individual."

Clever, patient, someone strong in the Holy Light despite his father being a warrior, who survived Garrosh Hellscream attempting to end his life, who has chosen repeatedly to befriend those should be his enemy and managed to sign into place an armistice against all odds.

Anduin may doubt himself, but to Wrathion he has already achieved more than many others could manage in a lifetime. His will is strong. If he puts his mind to it, he doesn't doubt Anduin could achieve much more.

Anduin had half-expected Wrathion to press the point. He recognizes it had not been the promise that his companion had asked of him, and wonders whether it is enough. Whether it is a comfort, or...

But then Wrathion smiles at him. It may not be a very expansive gesture, but at this moment Anduin will take it.

Anduin squeezes Wrathion's fingers in response to his words. He has no concept of whether Wrathion truly believes what he says. About him being exceptional. About him standing a chance in this. But he appreciates the sentiment nevertheless. Even if he is not certain that he should be the one most in need of reassurance just now.

"I don't know about all that," Anduin replies, with a soft twist of his lips. "But I know that I will do everything that I can. I promise you that, Wrathion."

"That was never in doubt."

Wrathion has complete confidence that Anduin will throw himself into the task, likely even when he should stop. He squirms one hand free, moves it to rest on Anduin's upper arm in what he hopes is a gently reassuring gesture.

It didn't really work on Hermione, but he's trying it again. Maybe he'll work out the right way to do touching one day, if he keeps practicing.

"Thank you. I know this is coming... faster than we both wanted. There's never enough time."

Wrathion may not be used to offering such a gesture, and it is a little awkward, but Anduin doesn't mind. It is a comfort, a reminder of what it is he stands to lose. Of what he has to fight for. There never is enough time, there never has been, and it's all Anduin can do not to tighten his grip on Wrathion's hand and simply not let go.

How long do they have? Will they have any warning of the Beastmaster's arrival? Will he have any warning, or will he wake one morning to find that Wrathion has disappeared.

Anduin closes his eyes, shaking his head for a moment to clear his head of those thoughts. He cannot let himself go to pieces now. The Beastmaster is not even after him. He can only imagine how his companion must feel himself, underneath it all. He needs to be strong. Strong enough for both of them. The Light only knows what they'll be up against, in the not-so distant future.

"Then let us make time," Anduin replies, at last. Opening his eyes again to search Wrathion's expression, his chest feeling almost painfully tight as he murmurs, "I care far too much for you, to let you go now."

Then let us make time. I care far too much for you, to let you go now.

Wrathion gains a subtle tension as he processes this, eyes widening. He knows Anduin cares for him conceptually, of course. Anduin cares for everyone. It is this constant outpouring of it that will surely break him eventually, his desire to care for and heal everyone in his path.

What Wrathion had lacked was an explicit indication that he was first in those affections, that the harm he had done no longer stood between them, that he was allowed to acknowledge it.

That it would not be too bold to expect something of it.

That he had been forgiven.

He blinks, once, hand spasming where it's fastened with Anduin's still.

His mouth feels dry, suddenly, pulse excessively loud. He's quite certain Anduin must be able to hear it, it's so heavy.

He's taking too long to respond, he realises. He should say something.

"Yes, of course," he manages -- which isn't at all the right thing to say. Who would reply to such a thing with 'Of course'? He's making a fool of himself. Wrathion flusters, tries to regroup. "That is to say, I -- share the sentiment."

Anduin has always worn his emotions on his sleeve and now he wonders whether his heart and soul have been laid bare as well. Wrung out from inside of him Wrathion's warm, careful fingers and studious, attentive gaze.

That's rather how it feels anyway, as he sits there with Wrathion in the silence that follows his declaration, Wrathion's eyes widening at him, with a sinking suspicion that he may have just said too much. Shared a bit more of himself than he had intended. Not that he does not mean every word.

Not that he has not always meant it.

Carefully, Anduin allows Wrathion time to process this himself. Watching his face as several emotions pass over it at once. His own heartbeat thundering in his chest as he squeezes Wrathion's hand, feeling it twitch between his own, an anchor for them both.

Anduin smiles, despite himself, as Wrathion stumbles over his reply. At his obvious fluster and the implication of his choice of words.

Would he react poorly to hearing it, do you think? Hermione had asked. And now, perhaps, Anduin has something of an answer.

"There," he says, softly. "That was not too difficult for either of us to admit, was it?"

Wrathion lets out a breathy laugh, eyes dropping to their hands.

His heart is pounding, leaving him almost dizzy from it.

"I am forgiven, then?"

He hesitates, then lets his eyes warily lift to watch Anduin's reaction. The man could, after all, simply be putting it aside. Not truly forgiving him, not honestly in his heart, but allowing this regardless. Bandaging the wound so they might continue, even though it will always ache. His fingers flex around Anduin's, tightening just too much -- as if he's afraid he might let go. That he might change his mind.

All this time, and Wrathion had still assumed... It explained a lot, in truth. The careful way he had held himself back, even when Anduin had all but begged for what remained of their friendship. Never mind the promise of anything else, if they could not even salvage that… Anduin has been so careful because he had assumed that Wrathion had not been ready when in truth—

A complicated array of emotions pass through Anduin and across his face. Surprise. Regret. Sorrow. Affection.

Anduin squeezes his fingers around Wrathion's. Holding tight for a long moment before shifting his grip, moving to clasp their entwined hands close against his chest. Over where his heart sits, pounding in his chest. Just there, for Wrathion to do with it what he would. If he would have it.

"Yes, Wrathion," he says, gently, and then because he supposes that he deserves to hear it said said plain and straight, with no room for compromise or misinterpretation, "I forgive you. And I hope you will forgive me for not making that clearer to you before."

It's a relief, to hear Anduin say it out loud. Without strain, with no aggressive provocation. He sounds like he means it, and as he does exhaustion settles over Wrathion twice as heavy. As if he's finally set down a burden, can stop fighting.

"Thank you."

Wrathion's voice is uncommonly quiet, small. His chest feels strange, tight. It has become difficult to speak, and he finds he doesn't know what he'd say even if he could find the words.

For a moment, all he can do is draw in breaths and let them out slowly. Wait until the sensation has passed, fingers latched still too tightly with Anduin's. His other falls to rest in his lap, as if the exertion of keeping it resting on the other man's arm has simply become too much.

Anduin watches as his words settle over Wrathion. As the relief sinks in and the tension slowly releases, and -- Anduin has to wonder if maybe Wrathion's struggle for forgiveness might have been the only thing holding him together, at times.

It would almost seem so, for the way he has all but collapsed before him now. Anduin's fingers still tightly clutched between his own, as if the moment and reality itself might collapse if he were to let go.

The thought of it twists at Anduin's insides and it is too much. He knows that Wrathion is particular about these things, but there is a vulnerability to the way that Wrathion is holding himself he has never seen before, and he finds he cannot stop himself.

"Come here," he says, gently, tugging Wrathion toward him and reaching out to wrap an arm around his shoulders with his free hand.

Wrathion goes tense once more as Anduin wraps an arm around him, but offers no resistance. The priest is a steady, warm source of reassurance but Wrathion stays stiff, awkward. As if he doesn't know how to relax into the touch.

"I am fine," he protests, but his voice is still unusually soft.

Anduin's scent is soothing. Little by little, the gentle motion of Anduin's hand has the dragon begin to melt into his touch. He's not entirely comfortable, the angle is awkward and he's still clutching Anduin's other hand mashed between them -- but he's not quite ready to let go of that yet.

"I know," Anduin says gently, brushing aside Wrathion's words of protest. Holding him in this embrace, Wrathion's fingers still gripping tight to his other hand, he understands that this is what he needs. That he has needed this for quite some time now. Anduin might not have seen it before. But he sees it now.

It might be a little awkward, with only one arm, but he manages. Squeezing Wrathion's fingers gently in a gesture of reassurance with one hand, he smoothes the other over an undamaged patch of skin on Wrathion's back. His touch is light and gentle, but it seems to be having some positive effect if the slow release of tension from Wrathion into the embrace is anything to go by.

"We will be alright," Anduin says, softly. "I believe in you, Wrathion. In us."

Wrathion lets his head fall to rest against Anduin's shoulder, hiding the heat building in his face. It's... embarrassing, the way the words so easily seem to draw this reaction from him. His limbs feel heavy, and little by little his fingers loosen their vice-grip on Anduin's hand.

He thinks about Ny'alotha, thinks about how easily all his allies believed he had turned against them.

I believe in you, Wrathion. In us.

He's been doubted so long, he doesn't know how to respond to such open support. It's always been like Anduin, though, to be possessed of such firm belief even when the odds are against him.

"You always have had poor judgement," he says, but there's affection in it. His free hand gently fastens into the back of Anduin's shirt, holding them together.

Anduin cannot help but breathe out the soft huff of a laugh at that. Gently adjusting his hold as Wrathion moves to rest his head on his shoulder, quietly pleased that the other has chosen to move further into the embrace than pull away.

"I seem to recall a conversation, not so long ago," Anduin says, softly, "where you told me it was for the benefit of Azeroth that I should not change at all."

He may or may not be paraphrasing. It's been a long night, and they are both tired. But by his recollection, that was pretty much the gist of it. When the Merchant had caused him to doubt himself -- what was it that Wrathion had said? If you ceased to try you would deny the process to many who do desire it. Including Wrathion himself.

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