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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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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..."

Wrathion considers that a long moment, shifting to keep Anduin propped up more more comfortably.

"You did what you did for your own reasons," he says finally. "I have no doubt you understood the risk. I would prefer to understand why you chose this, and not an alternative path."

Anduin put himself at risk -- what was the gain that he felt would be worth it? What ultimate goal was he striving for that drove him to spend himself so much he collapsed? Made himself so vulnerable that his life as, in fact, in danger -- even if he did find himself rescued and nursed back to health?

Wrathion may not be chiding him outright, but the choice of words fills Anduin with guilt nevertheless.

He shuts his eyes again for a moment, collecting his muddled thoughts and attempting to gather an answer that he hopes will not come off as an excuse. He takes in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, before speaking again.

"For every arrow I fired, every ounce of energy it took from me, I could see the clouds clearing. However minutely. My actions were making a difference. I was making a difference."

Anduin opens his eyes again and lifts them to meet Wrathion's once more.

"I suspect that the enchantment on the arrows drove me to continue, after a time. But I also..."

Anduin hesitates, uncertain how to put into words an emotion he is not certain he even understands himself.

So he was compelled, that is what he's implying? Wrathion frowns in consideration, turning that over. If true, that take some of the fault away from Anduin. He cannot be blamed for that which was not under his control. Still, Wrathion wonders how much of that compulsion was really at work -- and how much was just purely Anduin's desire to overcome something. To fix the issue.

"Also?" he prompts. It seems best to hear out the whole story before he says anything or asks anything else, after all, and Anduin does appear to have more to say.

Anduin is quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts and steeling himself for Wrathion's response before he continues.

"It would be cowardly to blame my actions solely on the arrow's compulsion," Anduin replies. "I might have stopped sooner. I should have stopped sooner. I should have found another way to help, once I realized the cost. But..."

He lowers his eyes, ashamed of the admission, but feeling he owes Wrathion the explanation for having made him worry -- he's certain he had worried if he had been unconscious for two days.

"I wanted to," he says, at last. "Wanted to push myself, to not give up so easily. For everyone on board these ships. For you... I realize now that it was foolish to do so, but. I suppose we all grow wiser, in hindsight."

"I suppose we do," Wrathion allows. Anduin seems to be doing a decent enough job of deciding this was a mistake without his intervention. No need to rub it in when he's only just woken up, in truth.

Still. He'd only been incoherent for an hour, and Anduin had dressed him down thoroughly, vented frustration at him and pleaded with him to talk with him in future. To be careful.

Quite the role reversal they're undergoing now, then, and at another extreme.

Anduin flicks his eyes up to meet Wrathion's face, then lowers them again. He feels wretched, and not only physically. This -- was not the outcome he had been hoping for. But he had not been careful with himself, and he had known... Well, that something might happen, if not this specifically.

"I am sorry," Anduin says again. It feels as though he is apologizing too much these days to Wrathion -- that he has too much to apologize for. It leaves him with a feeling of discomfort that he does not like, but does not quite understand how to resolve.

Anduin would normally welcome the feeling of Wrathion's touch, but in the moment, resting here in his arms, it is -- too much. Anduin struggles to push himself to sit, reaching for the water Wrathion has set aside he does, his arms feeling like leaden weights at his sides.

"I did not mean to worry you," he says at last, feeling very foolish indeed.

Wrathion hesitates as Anduin struggles to sit up, moving to gently steady him and untangle the blanket enough that he won't get in a muddle with it.

"Would you say it was a calculated risk?"

Alright, a bit on the nose, but if they're going to keep discussing this he needs to make the point. He guides the water into Anduin's hands, makes sure he's got a firm grip before releasing it.

That's enough. He doesn't want to belabour the point.

"I've no doubt you're hungry, but your stomach will be empty. Some light broth might be best at first."

Edited 2022-07-08 21:03 (UTC)

Anduin sucks in a deep breath. Yes, it is a bit on the nose, but Anduin supposes it is not entirely undeserved, given how angry he had been at Wrathion when he had taken such a risk himself. Were the two situations even comparable, when Anduin has been unconscious for two whole days?

He does not want to ignore the comment -- he feels that doing so will do Wrathion even more of a discourtesy. But he does not seem to be pressing the point, and so he does not want to make too much of it either. And so he replies, "I would say that I did not calculate the risks near enough, wouldn't you?"

He glances back up at Wrathion and his expression softens slightly.

"I am starving," he admits, allowing the corner of his mouth to twist up in the hint of a smile. "Broth sounds lovely, if you would not mind. I do not mean to trouble you further, asking you to wait on me like this. I have no doubt you have had quite enough of that already..."

Wrathion lofts an eyebrow at the reply, but doesn't argue.

He agrees, after all.

Shifting his weight, Wrathion eases back to see if Anduin can keep himself sat up on his own.

"You looked after me when I needed it. It is no trouble to offer you the same."

The scale of assistance needed may be different, but it's a matter of principle. Wrathion would not abandon Anduin in his hour of need. If he needs him to be somewhere, he'd be there doing what he could for him. There are likely people better suited, but it doesn't matter.

Anduin still feels exhausted, despite (apparently) being unconscious for the past few days, and it is still fairly difficult to move between the combination leaden feeling and achiness he feels all over. He doesn't feel particularly motivated to move from this blanket nest Wrathion seems to have made for him, that's for certain. But he's capable of sitting up on his own, and he isn't asking Wrathion to wait on him hand and foot.

He isn't particularly capable of stopping him either.

He raises an eyebrow at Wrathion.

"I have been unconscious for two full days," he replies. "It's hardly a fair trade."

It isn't fair to Wrathion at all, at that. Anduin hesitates, taking a moment to study Wrathion's face as he ponders the situation. "You have been here with me, all this time?" he asks, a bit hesitantly.

"As much as I could be."

Obviously he needed to occasionally leave for supplies, food and to clean up himself. Wrathion hesitates, then reaches out to cup Anduin's chin -- frowning at him as he inspects him. He looks tired -- are his eyes focusing properly? Is he otherwise well? Wrathion is not an expert on the health needs of humans, he should probably read up more in case this happens again.

"You feel otherwise recovered?"

Anduin allows his face to be guided towards Wrathion's, turned this way and that as he inspects him closely. There are purple shadows under his eyes, despite the fact that he has been unconscious for days now, but his blue eyes are clear.

He considers Wrathion's question, for a moment. He -- isn't exactly certain that recovered is the word he would use.

"I feel -- drained," Anduin says, honestly. "As though the arrows took every lost energy that they could from me, magical or otherwise, and now my body is struggling to make up the difference. I do not think I will be able to call on the Light for a while yet."

He frowns, his thoughts focusing inward for a long moment.

"I... Did not sleep well." If indeed sleep it could be called at all.

Hmmm.

Wrathion releases him gently, considering this.

"Dreams of an expected nature, or something notable?"

After all, for him not sleeping well is something of an expectation. He's had more nightmares than he has restful nights for most of his life, but that is not true for everyone. For some people, restful sleep is more common. Anduin doesn't always sleep well, but the way he has said this suggests he's going somewhere with the remark.

"Unlike anything I have ever experienced," he replies. His brow furrows as he thinks back on it -- but he should tell Wrathion now, while his memory is still the freshest.

"I had a dream that I was deep in the ocean," he explains. "It was... Dark and cold, and. Quiet." Anduin shakes his head as he tries to think back on the experience.

"I am not certain what I was, but I do not think I was myself. All that I knew was the darkness around me, the quiet, and..." He glances up to meet Wrathion's eyes, his frown deepening. "And the deep yearning to be... Born into something with a shape."

Wrathion takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly.

Deep in the ocean, dark and cold and quiet, waiting to awaken.

That's certainly a... familiar thing, in a way Wrathion doesn't like.

N'Zoth is gone, and should not be here of all places, but the similarities are... unpleasant.

"Did it feel like this... presence, was here? With us, in this ocean?"

Or was it hard to say? Nothing in the darkness that would indicate?

Troubling.

It's troubling that Anduin wore himself out this way, troubling that he had this dream when he was vulnerable, troubling that such an entity (or entities) exists.

Anduin considers the question for a moment, whether he truly has an answer that he can give Wrathion or not, before shaking his head.

"I do not know," he replies. "In the dream... All I knew was the ocean around me. The quiet, and the dark. But I think-"

He glances back up to meet Wrathion's eye, a troubled frown writ across his expression as he does.

"It has to be, hasn't it? Somewhere here with us, in the Crossing. Where so many ships have met unspeakable ends, and the sea is filled with the bodies of the dead. As you know, the spirits told me that there was something down there with them, holding them here. I had thought perhaps a mirror to be involved. Now I cannot wonder if perhaps even more sinister forces are at play..."

Unconsciously, Anduin raises a hand to reach for the amulet the priests had given him, which had been around his neck when he had fallen unconscious several days previous.

A mirror is already a sinister enough force, in his opinion.

Wrathion frowns, one hand lifting to rub his beard.

"I've noticed the undead gentleman our party is friendly with has some manner of... shared body experience going on, although I'm uncertain of the detail. It may be worth looking into, if there's more of that sort of thing to come."

He pauses, reaches out to gently rest a hand on Anduin's arm.

"That will have to wait. For now, you need to rest and recover."

Anduin glances down at Wrathion's hand on his arm, letting out a long, slow breath. He supposes that Wrathion does have a point. Also this is another point in the favor of not doing such a thing again, if there are important discussions to be had, and important investigations to be made.

"They told me that some of their number were able to raise the body of another," he continues, somewhat doggedly, although he realizes that in order for him to rest and recover they will need to move on to other topics. And he will need to allow Wrathion to continue to help him, for at least a little while longer.

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