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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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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...

"That's true," he agrees. "She told me the same, that she only gave a description."

He sits back a little, guiding Anduin's hand to drop from his chest so he can gently envelope it between his own and idly continue rubbing at his aching hands.

"Perhaps you could duel to the death," he offers, as blandly as he can manage. "That might be entertaining. How adept are you against casters?"

It's a joke. He's just having fun. It's nice to be... wanted.

Anduin's eyes follow Wrathion, as he moves to sit back and take his hand back between his own. It's only when Wrathion mentions dueling that Anduin fully grasps the fact that he is being teased, a healthy flush of color starting to spread its way up his neck and across his cheeks as he flusters.

"To the death," Anduin replies, raising his eyebrows slightly. "Could we not set the stakes a bit lower? Not that I do not appreciate your flair for the dramatic, but I do quite like Hermione and I would rather not be forced to commit murder in your name, if it's all the same to you."

A joke as well, but in between the lines, a subtle signal to Wrathion of his intentions.

"You wouldn't kill for me?" he prompts, tilting his head a little as his thumbs idly work over Anduin's hand. "I suppose it is not in your nature, not the way it is mine."

Wrathion is well aware he has blood on his hands, enough to stain them permanently. There is no washing it out, at this stage, no diluting it and pretending it isn't there.

He is what he is.

Eyes dropping, Wrathion turns Anduin's hand over gently, running his thumbs along the back of it.

"I'd kill for you," he admits, "but I don't think you'd ask me to. Even if you ran out of other options. You're not the kind of person who'd ask."

He'd be the one making the other, the one dragging replies from Anduin to get his confirmation that he needed it done. It's never good to guess, after all. Guessing someone should be killed is how lethal mistakes are made.

Anduin frowns slightly at that.

Not in your nature. Not the way it is mine.

Wrathion is right, of course. He would never ask, even if he knows that Wrathion would be willing to step up to the task. That is besides the point. Never mind that it makes Anduin uncomfortable for any such acts of violence to be committed. Wrathion is not a tool, to be weaponized in such a way. Certainly not on his behalf.

Anduin looks down to where Wrathion is now running his thumbs over the backs of his hands.

"I did not say that," Anduin says, after a long moment. "You are far too important to me, Wrathion, for me to draw any such line in the sand. But I think... I know that you would not truly ask such a thing of me, either." He flicks a smile back up at Wrathion. "We both know each other far too well for that."

"I would not ask it of you," Wrathion agrees. "I'd rather any blood be on my own hands, not yours."

He squeezes Anduin's hand gently, lifts his eyes again. He feels oddly vulnerable, still devoid of his shirt as they discuss this. Unarmoured, exposed. His gaze flickers over Anduin's face thoughtfully, trying to read nuance.

"And what would the King of Stormwind and the Alliance do, were he to win the right to this prize?"

Anduin raises his eyebrows at the question, uncertain whether Weathion is asking him a serious question or not, and therefore, whether or not to give him a serious answer in return.

Although, referring to himself as a prize. He can't help the crooked smile that twists its way across his lips at that. Nor the heat that rises once again to his cheeks as he considers his reply.

"Well," he says. "Since the King of Stormwind would have gone through all that effort... I would like to think that there would be some reward for him in it. Wouldn't you?"

Ah.

Well.

... Reward?

Wrathion squints, trying to process this. Is Anduin being... suggestive? Not that he is -- opposed, exactly, it's just he had assumed this process would be... slower? That there would be... more to talk about, first? Or, well --

"Is the right to the Black Prince's hand not reward enough?"

A hesitant question. Wasn't that the point of this fictional duel?

Anduin realizes as soon as Wrathion starts to look at him like that, that he may or may not have misread this question. Squinting is not usually the desired outcome of flirtation, after all.

"Oh. Well. It is," Anduin says, dropping his gaze back down to his hand, where it rests in Wrathion's. Wrathion's own hesitation is making him feel almost shy, after going out on a limb to then fall so far off the mark.

"A reward, I mean. My apologies, I. Did not mean to imply otherwise, if. That is what you had thought." Not that -- this is a fictional betrothal, after all. But, the point still stands.

Somehow, that doesn't feel quite as convincing as it should do. Wrathion frowns a little, eyes dropping down to Anduin's hands.

Reality feels as if it's slowly closing in.

It was a flight of fancy, of course, but nothing that could ever be reality. The High King of the Alliance and a Black Dragon? That would be too much. People would talk, question how much he was manipulating him. Anduin has an image to maintain. The good, Light-blessed Priest. The son of Varian Wrynn.

This can be nothing serious.

"Of course," he says softly, and gently squeezes Anduin's hand. "I understand."

Somehow, Anduin's attempts to fix things seem to have only made the matter worse. He doesn't know or understand quite how. But he can feel Wrathion's energy begin to drop, and glancing up at his face, spots the frown that spreads across it.

"Wrathion," he says, shifting to squeeze his fingers in the effort to catch his attention once more. Searching his face for some sign of what might have put that frown there as he digs back through everything he's just said for some sort of clue.

"Forgive me, I. Have spent so much time, keeping these things to myself, I fear I am not as good at expressing them as I would hope to be. I..." He wets his lips, nervously, before continuing. "I gave the spirit your name for a reason, you know. I understand we are only joking about the idea of such a duel for your hand, but. I... Would fight for you, I hope you know that."

He wants to believe that.

He does.

Yet the frown doesn't shift from his brow, even as his fingers flex around Anduin's.

"Even if Genn advised you against it?" That's an easy one to guess, after all. He doesn't need to see into the timeways to know what Genn Greymane would think. "Even if Jaina asked how you could trust me again? Even if Tyrande, Baine, everyone who attended the trial in Pandaria asked you when my trial would be for freeing Garrosh Hellscream?"

Anduin can feel his heart twist in his chest as Wrathion's fingers tighten around his. In response to how earnestly he asks those questions. The look on his face as he does. As though they may have been weighing on his mind for some time now.

He understands that the response he gives in this moment matters. Not that he doesn't always try to at least give some thought to his conversations, but this...

"Genn and Jaina will always have their own opinions of what is best for me," Anduin says, softly. "But my heart is my own, as are my decisions. You have made mistakes." He squeezes Wrathion's fingers gently, to soften his words, as he continues, "But they do not define you. You have also done Azeroth a great service. We would be in a very poor place indeed, without your bravery. I would remind them of that."

And then remind them that he is King of Stormwind, if all else fails. But he'd certainly start with the rest of it first.

Mistakes.

Just because you have hurt me does not mean that I do not still care for you, Wrathion.

He did hurt Anduin, though.

He did.

He caused... so much pain.

As much as Wrathion craves Anduin's forgiveness -- craved Anduin's forgiveness, he supposes -- even having it he knows is only the beginning of the battle here. There are many others who still need to accept him, and that process will be... slow. It may never truly resolve in Anduin's lifetime.

It wouldn't do for the Grand Alliance to fall apart over something like this.

As much as he'd selfishly like to keep Anduin to himself. To spirit him away from his troubles, kidnap him in the family tradition. For them to live quietly together, to go on adventures. For Anduin to be away from the stress of war and politics, to live a life of indulgence with him where their most difficult decision is where to travel to next --

Anduin would not be happy. He's a worrier. As much as he claims he would be firm, would push back, it would hurt him. Any happiness they had would be mixed with more pain. His burdens would not truly be shed, and the guilt would eat him alive.

It isn't a problem yet, at least.

Not yet.

Not here.

Not until they return, if they return.

If they return together. If they remember.

"Well," he says finally, "Genn and Jaina are not here -- but I am."

He pushes back the unease, gives in to the urge to lean forward until their foreheads touch and lets his eyes slip closed.

His pulse races unreasonably fast, and one hand slips free to gently rest on Anduin's side. Perhaps they will never truly have what they dream of but they could have this, they could have this and it could be enough. It could be.

"I am here," Wrathion repeats, "for you."

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