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WHO: Anduin Wrynn and YOU?
WHEN: During the Priest's Plot
WHERE: On the deck of the Pariah & below in the sleeping quarters
WHAT: Anduin gets a little carried away and knocks himself out for 2 days...
WARNINGS: None so far!
NOTES: You can encounter him on deck when he first passes out or when he's waking up (someone's gotta get him up off the floor!), just know it'll take him 2 days to wake up again so he won't be very chatty until that time haha

Anduin had understood from the start that firing those arrows at the mass of roiling dark clouds in the sky would take a toll on him. He had done his best to conserve himself, taking small breaks for food and rest, recharging what energy he could with the aid of one of his companions' amulets as the priests had instructed to do.

He had known, logically, that his efforts were only making one small dent in a larger effort. That for that reason there was no need to overtax himself. But with each arrow fired into the sky, with each sucking pull on his spirit, his mana, his energy -- whatever the arrows were stealing from him -- so too grew within him a sense of urgency. A feeling of dread. A fear of that which Anduin could not put into words, but that he knew he could not allow to overtake these boats, filled with people he has grown to care for.

And so he does not heed the warning signs that are there, as the edges of his vision start to blacken and dim. The boat beneath his feet feels unsteady, and Anduin understands that it is not due to any rocking of the ocean below. Still, he reaches for one final arrow. These are not his people, but that does not make them any less worthy of his defense. He will not fail them now. He cannot.

Pulling his bowstring taught, Anduin releases his arrow high in the sky -- before he crumples to the deck like a puppet cut from its strings, the darkness swallowing him whole.

And in the darkness, Anduin dreams, if a dream it can be called, of the ocean. Of deep, murky, cold water. Everything still, so still around him. And silent. Anduin knows that there is more to existence than this darkness, this silence. And he yearns for it, that he might one day be born with a shape, and--

Anduin wakes to a dull throbbing in his temples and an ache in what feels like almost every part of himself. If he had yearned for a body, then a body he had most assuredly received. Groaning softly, he moves to raise a hand to his head, momentarily caught off-guard when he finds his arm restricted by... A blanket?

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This crossing, the ghosts and the clouds and everything they've had to do at sea, it has felt absolutely endless. It takes every sliver of her being to keep optimistic about getting out of this one.

In the end, she will be glad to not be good with archery. Her spells have to do with targets, sure, but for the most part of her life, as long as she's aimed her wand in the direction of her target, the spell has hit. Arrows, on the other hand - that's a whole other story.

She is nearby when it happens. Near enough to see the movement in the corner of her eyes, and turn and aim a cushioning charm at the deck under Anduin. When he collapses, it will be of a soft surface, even if it's not felt.

With a second's pause, she dashes forward, getting quickly to him. "Anduin," slips out, with a little more fear and desperation that expected. "No, no, come on, wake up - I am not having your voice join the ones in my head right now."

She brings her fingers to his pulse quickly, calming her breath just long enough to listen, focus - a pulse. "Oh good, thank god. Oh, you're going to get such a lecture when you wake up - you!" She notices there is something of a crowd, even if not quite. Some patriarch standing over the passed out form of Anduin, and hers kneeling at his side like she was ready to mourn. "Wei Wuxian - please - help."

For a moment, it's the Yiling Laozu who stands there, winds off the waters whipping at his hair, the red of his ribbon a slash of crimson against the muddy gray-brown skies overhead. His flute, in his waistband, catches the scant light and swallows it, while the bow over his shoulder looms higher over his head. An empty quiver, and a sigh that slips between his parting lips, bone deep.

He shakes his head as he kneels, sliding a hand under Anduin's shoulder, his other hand encircling Anduin's upper arm.

"Congratulations," he says, lips twitching up in a fairly mirthless grin. "You've completely depleted yourself, young man."

His gaze shifts to Hermione, not looking away.

"Miss Hermione, he'll be fine. Let's get him belowdecks, ah? There's room with Zenobius, he can rest there." A pause, and he reaches across to touch her arm with his fingertips. A serious gaze, dark but unharried and certain.

"Anduin knew there were limits. He chose to ignore them. Feel free to inform him how stupid that is once he wakes!"

Positively the cheeriest statement he makes, he smiles, and starts to haul Anduin's unconscious form upward, away from the deck. The two of them should be able to muscle him down the narrow stairs and into the equally narrow room with its narrow bunks, with narrow margins for error and damage. Nothing to it!

She has the time and wherewithall to answer: "I will," as a promise. She will be very stern with Anduin - can't just go around only exposing one of the two to the full brunt of her nagging. It's payback time.

"I'll get the legs." She doubts she could carry him under the shoulders, if she nearly folded under Wrathion's weight back when - people of Azeroth sure come in stocky variety. She moves to grab Anduin's feet, casting a percursory glance over her shoulders for safety, and hoists - "Oof."

The first margin for error and damage: Hermione drops the legs, and they make a thunk sound. She meets Wei Wuxian's eyes with a mortified expression. "Let's...not tell him I did that."

Wei Wuxian bites back his first attempt at getting her not to do what she does, instead watching and blinking in mute amusement (and a silent lamentation to poor Anduin's tingling toes, doubtlessly, and the ache of his heels).

"Did what?" He says instead, blinking slowly, innocently, while nodding his head to Anduin's shoulders. Where he is, at present. "All I can imagine is you lending me a hand with supporting his shoulders, then we can get to the ah... coaxing... or dragging to the ship's underbelly. Unless you want to nestle him in a lifeboat?"

Offering options, while also considering what a pain that would be, having done so with Lan Zhan for their sake when it became apparent that attempting to coexist in a hammock was going to suffocate them both in the night.

She grumbles a little under her breath, and a voice in her head that resembles Wen Qing repeats Do you deny your stubbornness?, so Hermione sighs and goes around to the other side and fits herself under Anduin's shoulder.

"Let's get him down, I don't want to worry about his boat being cut loose on some accident and him being flung to sea." She swallows a knot of dread, and glances down at the passed out priest.

"I'll have to tell Wrathion."

"Please do," he says, still sounding cheery even when he grunts under the effort of their combined hauling of Anduin properly upward for escorting. "I'm sure he'll be impressed with his lack of moderation."

Mutually aware that Wrathion certainly would not, and he vaguely imagines, a dragon's temper is unlikely to be much better than his own brother's.

"Might want to lead with Anduin being physically fine, only exhausted. If you lead with him collapsing, it might not go over well."

Toward the stairs down... toward those stairs they carry him onward...!

She wonders briefly if the advice comes from Wei Wuxian knowing about what Wrathion truly is, but she wn't ask the question - she won't be the one to betray her friend like that. Nevertheless: "Too true. He'll sweep in angry." She pauses, adjusting her hold on Anduin just to not whack his head against anything.

"Not that I can't understand why. He's lucky we were there to see it, or I'd be doing much of the angry sweeping myself."

"No sweeping, no swooping. This ship can't handle that, not large enough," he says with a grin, his own nod to what Wrathion is in full, and also how a calm Wrathion is better all around than one in full blown protective (or otherwise) panic.

"Though if you need a broom, we can borrow one! The only one. It's in the galley."

Shuffling himself to the side so he can take the steps first, bracing one arm against the wall as they go downward.

"Here, I can support his weight, keep him from falling forward on me, ah?"

"Right - I will do my best," she promises, sounding already strained enough from just grabbing onto the back of Anduin's shirt and carrying only part of his weight.

She shouldn't levitate him, she reasons with herself, not while they're on deck. A testy wave and she might fling him to sea herself. So no, old school. Analogue. It's fine.

"Well, either I'm undernourished or we can never judge Anduin for not looking after his physical wellbeing," she manages after a few effortful steps down. The boy's thicc.

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weifinder - 2022-07-15 06:17 (UTC) - Expand

This time around when Anduin stirs from his slumber, there will be a cup of tea waiting on the floor besides his hammock, and a witch keeping it still warm through magic. She sits in a chair beside him, watching the pallor of his skin and feeling...undescribably upset.

She thought she'd put this part behind her. That letting Harry go and die and return from the beyond to land the final blow against Voldemort would mark the last time she'd be waiting on baited breath to see if someone she cared for was going to make it. Mark the last time she'd be stuck in a hospital ward, retracing her own steps and wondering if there was anything she could've done to prevent this.

In every universe out there, it seems, there is no short supply of Harry Potters as long as she's there to stress out about their safety.

Anduin shifts slightly, in what he is swiftly coming to realize is a hammock -- how did he get here? -- dragging his arm out of the blankets to rub across his face and rub at his eyes. He feels, frankly, terrible. But more awake now than he had when he had woken previously, which he supposes is at least something.

His body... Hurts. Which is not really anything new, but he does not really feel very capable of doing anything about it, given how tired and drained he still feels, and until he does...

Anduin takes in a deep breath, letting it out slowly and trying to take stock of the situation. It is only then that he realizes he is not, in fact, alone.

"Hermione," he says, her name coming out rougher than he had intended, and he winces at the sound of it.

She jumps out of her seat immediately and takes his hand in hers. "Shh, yes, it's me."

She brings her hand to feel his forehead for a fever, and checks that his pulse isn't speeding up with two fingertips pressed under his jaw, before she slumps back with a sigh of relief.

"You're heavier than I expected," is the first that comes out. "So if you find inexplicable bruises, it's because maybe bringing you down here with Wei Wuxian wasn't easy. By the way, he has instructed me to scold you for recklessly giving yourself burnout. I'll wait for you to be more awake. Water or tea?"

Anduin cannot help but feel some sort of warmth inside of him at the fussing. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that Anduin never knew his mother, and with his father grieving her and thus largely absent for the first part of his life, he really experienced such things as... Well, someone checking for his temperature with their hand, or any other familiar gestures that he's certain many other people grew up with. He had had Wyll, of course, and Bolvar and Jaina. But a servant and other members of the nobility were unlikely to be nearly as familiar with him as -- this.

Blinking up at her as he tries to follow along with what she's saying, still finding himself coming out of sleep, he cannot help but smile at her.

"Ah," he says, before trying again. "Tea? If you're offering."

She should be mad at him and reprimand him for smiling, but she's not really the Molly Weasley type of mom friend. That smile makes a knot of tension finally pull loose, and she forgets the offer for tea and just throws herself half into the hammock to give him a big, big hug.

For a second or two.

"Ah - damn. Anyway, I have tea ready. I'll get it."

Anduin startles for a moment as she throws herself toward him, before the moment passes and he moves to raise his arms to gently squeeze her back. Allowing her the moment and letting her pull back whenever she wishes to.

"I am sorry," he says, softly. "I -- owe you both my gratitude and my apology, it would seem..."

She takes a little longer for the hug, because in the midst of all that this journey has been, hugs have been scarce. There has been a poverty of hugs.

When she's had half her fill, she draws back and gets the tea from the floor, taking the stasis charm off and handing it over in time to hear him falter and stumble over an apology. "Yes, you were so heavy," she pipes up, far softer than she'd wanted to be towards him. "Are all priests muscular in your world or is this just a feature of yours?"

Ah, yes. He supposes he does have this coming. He flushes slightly, self-conscious, but it's better to have her teasing him than otherwise. Also, if he didn't know better he'd say that there is a compliment in there, hidden in the midst of it all.

"Muscular?" he asks, raising his eyebrows slightly, before shaking his head. No, no, he knows.

"I, ah. May be a priest, but." He glances around, wary of who might be listening, before continuing, "My father wanted me to know how to wield the sword as well. His sword. Shalamayne, it is called. It is in my luggage here somewhere -- perhaps you have seen it?"

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reparo - 2022-07-14 21:32 (UTC) - Expand

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chosenbylight - 2022-07-15 22:16 (UTC) - Expand

As much as Wrathion had wanted to keep a watchful eye on Anduin, he understood the man would likely want his own space. To be able to do things apart from him. That he could, of course, protect himself when necessary. That he had done without Wrathion's assistance for some time.

This does all seem to undermine that.

He'd left him to go investigate the business with the other priests present on the ships, and the next thing he knows Hermione is informing him something has gone awry.

It makes him sick to his stomach.

Could he have prevented this? Will Anduin recover? Mortals are so delicate, their lives so short. So far, he seems to be... at ease. Just... sleeping. Wrathion has stayed with him as much as he can, is doing his best to keep him clean and comfortable -- to make sure he has small sips of water and broth. Still, so much as he seems otherwise healthy he has yet to wake. It's been two days, and Wrathion is aware that healing can take time but how long? How can he be sure he will? That no permanent damage has been done?

He's trying to play himself off as cool, but he feels anything but. The nest of blankets he's made for Anduin swaddles him protectively, head resting in Wrathion's lap so he can gently smooth back his hair and keep an eye on his breathing and pulse. He has a book open, although his focus drifts -- his thoughts tangled. What will he do if Anduin stays like this for weeks, like Zenobius? For longer? If he never wakes?

Under his hand, Anduin stirs and groans.

Wrathion pauses in his reading, one hand still threaded through Anduin's hair, and waits to see if he will stir further.

Anduin furrows his brow, clenching his eyes tight against the gentle throbbing in -- pretty much every part of him. He understands that he is only just waking up, and yet he still feels exhausted somehow. As if he has just fought in some great battle and given of himself everything he could.

He also feels... Warm? Warm and comfortable, which means he is not wherever it was he had been before. Deep in the ocean? No. On the deck of the ship. Firing arrows at the sky. At the ghosts.

He can sense Wrathion's fingers, threading through his hair. He had probably been able to feel it long before he had woken up, but he did not -- still cannot entirely recognize what the sensation is. At least, not until he convinces himself to open his eyes and sees him there.

Still. For a moment he simply lies there, blinking up at Wrathion in the dimness of the cabin, not fully capable of connecting... Just what exactly is going on.

"Wrathion?" he asks, his voice heavy and rough with sleep and disuse.

He's awake.

Wrathion feels a heavy sense of relief, exhaustion, yet also unease. The experience has been a reminder of how easy it would be to lose Anduin. How fragile things can be.

He closes his book, sets it aside.

"I'm here," he allows. Fingers tease strands of blond hair back behind Anduin's ear. "How are you feeling?"

Groggy, by the looks of it, but that is to be expected. Is he in any pain, however? Once he's stronger he could heal himself. In the short term, however, he might need to rely on traditional remedies.

The fingers in his hair feel... Nice, and for a moment Anduin closes his eyes against the sensation. Not the wisest choice, for he has to fight himself to get them back open again, his eyelids feeling heavy -- every part of him feeling heavy and fatigued.

"Tired," he says, which feels wrong, somehow, although he doesn't quite know why. "Achy," he elaborates, because he gets a feeling that the first was obvious and he needs to give Wrathion something of use.

He frowns, as he begins to take stock of the sensations his body is giving him and slowly begins to wake up a little more, before he adds with a little confusion, "Thirsty...?"

Is he -- lying in Wrathion's lap?

He is indeed, at least partially. The easiest way for the dragon to keep an eye on him, of course. That's all it was. Nothing else. There was clearly no other way he could have done this. Wrathion hums in response to Anduin's observation, turning to reach for a small container of water.

"Here," he offers, "sit up a little -- slowly, if you would -- and take a sip of this."

He moves a hand to assist Anduin, something to keep him steady while the other offers out the water.

Anduin is not too proud to lean into Wrathion's support as he helps him to prop himself up a little on one arm, reaching his free hand to steady the drink. The water is cool and soothing as he takes a few tentative sips, and it is a challenge not to drink it down at once even if he knows better.

After he has had what he supposes what he should, Anduin pushes the water from himself and allows Wrathion to take it away, murmuring his thanks. He moves to lean back against Wrathion once more, turning wide blue eyes up to study his face.

"What happened...?" he asks softly.

"It seems you overestimated yourself. You've been unconscious for two days."

Wrathion shifts to set the water down, allowing Anduin time to absorb that information. It will, he imagines, be a surprise.

"You were carried here by Hermione and Wei Wuxian. I was then informed."

Which, naturally, was not a... pleasant situation. To know he was elsewhere when Anduin came to harm. He slides his eyes back to Anduin, thinking.

"Do you feel able to eat? I could find you something plain, although our options are... limited."

...ah.

Two days. That -- would explain some things. How thirsty he feels. How lethargic he feels. He knows, without even trying to reach out for his mana, that it is entirely depleted. He supposes, having depleted himself so much, his body's only response would have been something of the sort. Still.

"It would seem," Anduin says, lowering his eyes for a moment, before raising them back to meet Wrathion's, "that I owe all three of you an apology..."

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& later; recovery time(d)

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Recovery!

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