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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 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.

"It has so far been to my benefit."

So yes, alright, Anduin shouldn't change. He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly as his body tries to get used to this... closeness.

He suspects if he weren't too tired to resist, it might be more difficult entirely. He allows himself to focus on the feel of Anduin's pulse, on his breathing, and on the gentle touch to his skin. The hand latched into his shirt eases its grip, and instead makes a hesitant imitation of the gentle stroking motion over the fabric. It's soothing to him, maybe it will be soothing to Anduin too...?

Anduin can't help the way his lips curl up at the edges as Wrathion's hand begins mirroring the motion of his own, stroking up and down against the back of his shirt. It's tentative and uncertain, but offered freely, and Anduin cherishes it for that reason alone.

He does not have to be able to see his face to understand how tired Wrathion is. He had seen it before, in the way he had held himself, before he had taken him into his arms. He can feel it in the way he is slowly leaning more and more of his weight into him, his head resting heavier against his shoulder as he does. He wonders if it will spook him out of it if he points it out, or asks if he might stay, and decides he does not want to risk it and break the spell.

"I am glad that you came to me, tonight," he says, instead. "To my window," he adds, with another quirk of his lips at the image of it, wondering just exactly how Wrathion got up there.

Wrathion lets out a discontent grumble, somewhat muted by the gentle comfort Anduin is offering

"Your front door can be unfriendly."

He's well aware this household has strict rules that he is breaking. Wrathion is used to being unwanted, though, to being a problem. It doesn't matter, he can still find his way in to achieve what he wants. He suspects he will be found out eventually, if he hasn't already been noticed today.

Drawing back just a little, somewhat reluctant, Wrathion studies their joined hands resting over Anduin's heart.

"There is... something I should tell you."

Unfriendly.

Anduin has to wonder what Wrathion means by that, although if he had to take a guess, he supposes there is a specific member of his household who would qualify as such...

Would fees persuade Wrathion to cast shadow upon another door?

He winces slightly, about to apologize to Wrathion for it -- and isn't that ironic, for hadn't Lan Wangji chided him for apologizing to him for Wrathion at that -- when Wrathion pulls back out of their embrace, and the hesitant expression on his face as he speaks breaks Anduin out of that train of thought.

"Something to tell me?" he asks. He squeezes Wrathion's fingers in his again, keeping their hands held exactly where they are -- hoping it is a gesture of encouragement, for whatever Wrathion is about to share.

He nods, brow furrowed a little in thought.

"Some of the villagers may think I am betrothed to Hermione. Apparently she named me as her suitor to escape one of the ritual weddings."

You know, to foxes. Which, he cannot blame her for that. If it worked, and avoided conflicted, it was a clever decision. It just may... complicate things, if Wrathion has two matches.

Anduin blinks in surprise.

Whatever he had been anticipating Wrathion sharing in this moment, it had not been this... confession. Although he can understand now why Wrathion had shared it, all things considered.

"Ah," Anduin says, articulately. "Yes. She... Had mentioned."

Actually, she had all but apologized to Anduin for doing so, but that was neither here nor there.

Anduin hesitates for a moment, adjusting his hold on Wrathion's hand and thinking fast. Wetting his lips as he realizes he might never find a more appropriate moment to share his own news. And he supposes it is better to inform him directly than for him to find out somehow through other sources...

"Wrathion," begins, wetting his lips. "I think. Perhaps there is something I must tell you as well."

Edited (this is better) 2022-03-13 21:53 (UTC)

She told Anduin too? Well, that's... Good, he thinks? It's good that Anduin knows, it's good that it isn't a surprise.

His eyebrows loft as Anduin presses on, furrow again in concentration.

"Go on," he encourages softly. "I'm listening."

By the sounds of it, he considers it important after all. He has an anxious look about him, but Wrathion finds he cannot guess at all what Anduin might feel the need to tell him.

Did Hermione say something else...?

Anduin nods, taking in a deep breath. Steeling himself for whatever reaction might come next. He doesn't think it will go poorly, judging by how Wrathion has responded thus far, but. One can never be sure.

"You are aware that I too was involved in the cursed fox marriages," Anduin begins. He is not currently wearing the bracelet they gave him, in recognition of his participation in the marriages. Mostly because his wrists had been bothering him, and the bracelet only exacerbated the sensation.

"We were given three choices of how to proceed. To slay the fox-bride, to ask our wedding party to... Pretend to be hunting hounds in the hopes of scaring her off. Or, as you know, convincing her that we were already promised to another. Given the options, I. Really only did have one choice, myself." He studies Wrathion's face for a long moment before continuing, "I may have... Also given your name. As. My betrothed."

Ah!

Wrathion's eyebrows loft in faint surprise, then furrow again thoughtfully.

"I suspect monogamy is the most usual approach here, given that claiming engagement to another did postpone the weddings."

So. You know. It does seem he cannot marry both of you.

Anduin almost laughs that that is Wrathion's first takeaway.

"I suppose that is true," he agrees. The fox-brides did not seem all that keen on sharing, after all. He watches Wrathion furrowing his brow in contemplation of this fact, his own eyes widening as realization dawns.

"Wait," he says, shifting his hand on Wrathion's and searching back in his memory for what Wrathion had said, then further for his conversation with Hermione. "Wait, I. Hermione told me that she hadn't given the fox spirit your name."

Unlike Anduin himself...

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