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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's lips twist up again at the not-quite-compliment. Made all the sweeter that, for all Wrathion's own bravado, he had still chosen such a soft approach towards Anduin himself.

"That would indeed be a crime," Anduin agrees, turning his face into the gentle press of fingers against his skin. "For all that I'm sure you would still be very dashing. I would prefer to keep you just as you are -- all in one piece."

For all that the Light can seal wounds and heal broken bones, there are limits. Anduin knows this personally. He would prefer not to have to find out what they might be on dragon anatomy, if it's all the same to Wrathion himself.

"I'm glad we can both agree on that."

Wrathion twitches a smile, then gently releases Anduin -- shifts to nudge the bowl of stew closer to him.

"Tell me if that's too strong for you."

He can weaken it more if need be, after all, or attempt to find an alternative. He cannot guarantee it will be more appetising, but the goal is mostly that is stays down and that Anduin builds his strength up. The bar for success is low.

Anduin obediently reaches for the bowl as Wrathion slides it towards him, picking it up and sniffing the contents dubiously. A stew. Perhaps it is better if he does not ask precisely what it was made with.

Taking a sip, he makes a valiant effort not to make a face — but Wrathion can probably read it in his expression anyway. It isn’t that he is a picky eater, he isn’t! He’s still technically a growing teenager, he will eat plenty of new and adventurous things. But he did grow up in a castle and there is something to be said about quality…

"It’s fine," he reassures his companion, then to quell any protestations, "Well." His lips quirk slightly. "It's certainly not Stormwind's finest. Perhaps you might have a word with the chef, the next time you see him."

"A word with the chef," Wrathion echoes. "And what do you imagine that word might be?"

Since Wrathion strongly suspects any words he might have would be of little impact. If they don't have better ingredients, they aren't about to suddenly develop some now just because Anduin's more refined palate objects to their seasoning.

"Do bear in mind this was weakened in strength for you."

So if his complaint is that it is dull, watery or tasteless that is in fact by design.

"That," Anduin replies, "is hardly my complaint."

If anything he could stand to have it weakened further, but he is hardly about to make Wrathion lift another finger for him just now. Certainly not over something as silly as this.

Steeling himself, Anduin determinedly raises the bowl to take another sip. He is hungry, as much as the stew leaves much to be desired.

"Tell me what I have missed," he says, trying to distract himself instead. "Have the spirits moved on?" He tries not to sound too hopeful. He would like to think that, however ill-advised his decisions may have been, they might have aided at least partially towards something good.

"Their presence has lessened, certainly. I've seen one or two still lingering but nothing like before."

He takes a slow sip of his own stew. It is indeed far from the best thing he's eaten, but if forced he'd have to admit it wasn't the worst either. Wrathion has spent plenty of time struggling on his own, without any manner of chef at all, eating whatever he could to keep going.

That said, if this is unacceptable for Anduin he could probably char some fish. There's bound to be fish of some sort here -- although if the fish are palatable or peculiar in some way remains to be seen. Wrathion shifts himself a little, adjusting to lean a little more deliberately up against Anduin's side.

"We are continuing to sail onwards. The Concord still follows, and the weather appears to be worsening."

The Concord. Anduin frowns slightly at that, trying to fight through the fog of weariness clouding his brain to put the details of everything back into place. Grateful for Wrathion's presence at his side, he is more than happy to lean into the warmth of him in return.

"They have not made another attack?"

That is what happened the last time, is it not? The Concord was the name of the ship that fired upon them. Of the Dawn's Reach Trading Company. Begging the question, naturally, what business does a Trading Company have in pursuing and firing upon pirate vessels, of course.

Just what has the Merchant gotten them into the middle of now?

"They remain at a cautious distance, but still pursue us. I believe the peace is quite tentative, they are likely awaiting an opportunity."

A moment when they can push the advantage more assuredly, to avoid taking too much damage again. Wrathion sets down his stew, picks up his tea to inspect the way it steeps for a moment.

"This is not your ship."

Just a gentle reminder. Curiosity is of course natural, but Anduin has already run himself dry once and been out for two days. He is not in charge here, the people at large are not waiting for his command. He does not have to leap up and help immediately.

Anduin's lips curl up at those words, perhaps a little self-consciously, but he moves to lean his weight more comfortably against Wrathion's side nevertheless.

"No," he agrees, "it is not. This is not my ship. These are not my people. This is not Stormwind. I am not their king. So you keep having to remind me..."

Taking in a deep breath, Anduin lets it out slowly, squeezing his eyes shut before tipping his head back to regard the boards of the ceiling above.

"You know," Anduin says at last, "you really are a better advisor than I initially gave you credit."

Wrathion hums in thought, as if considering that.

"Obviously, my advice is superior to that of your other advisors. Black dragons are intelligent, wise creatures and master tacticians."

He fusses with his tea, taking a small sip to see if it is strong enough then setting it aside. Wrathion hesitates, then slowly begins to slide an arm around Anduin. For... support? Comfort? He's not sure, but hopefully it... helps. Especially since he's not certain how well the stew is going over, currently.

Anduin lets out the huff of a laugh at that, leaning to tip his head to the side to rest on Wrathion's shoulder.

"My other advisors," he replies, wryly, "might have differing opinions with you on that matter. Although you are welcome to take it up with them directly, if you like." He shifts slightly, turning his head on Wrathion's shoulder so that he can flick a smile up at him.

"I would say myself," Anduin continues, after a moment's consideration, "that you do have some advantage over them. With perhaps the exception of Spymaster Shaw, I think that. They will never really see me beyond the expectations of the man they wish me to be. You..."

He studies Wrathion -- which is no small feat considering how very close they are.

"You have always understood exactly who I am," Anduin says, at last.

"Well," Wrathion says softly, "perhaps that is because you are already the man I wish you to be."

So he has no expectations of change here. Anduin Wrynn is already the person that Wrathion cares about most, and is not expecting a transformation into -- whatever it is Genn Greymane wants him to be. Some kind of war hero, most likely, like Varian Wrynn before him. A soldier, a fighter rather than a healer. Wrathion shifts to tighten his arm around Anduin, leaning his face against the top of his head.

"Luckily for you," he murmurs, "your other advisors are not here for me to address."

Otherwise he might indeed take it up with them directly.

It is foolish perhaps, to be so moved by such a thought, and yet. Anduin is rather used to not meeting expectations. To not being quite enough. For Wrathion to suggest that it should be any different...

Already the man I wish you to be.

Anduin turns his face into Wrathion's shoulder, careful of the bowl of stew he has still balanced carefully in his lap.

"So long as they are not, I am afraid the task of keeping me in line falls squarely on your shoulders."

"A task I am quite happy to embrace."

He lets his eyes slip closed, letting himself settle more comfortably as Anduin turns his face into his shoulder.

"Although," he adds softly, "it would help me a great deal if you could allow me some leeway in this. Perhaps, some small concession as I am your lone advisor..."

Perhaps, Anduin could make some attempt to not give Wrathion a panic attack in the future. That would be pleasant.

Wrathion may have been delicate in his phrasing, but the message is clear. While he is happy to be there for Anduin, happy to keep an eye out for him -- he need not make it quite so difficult a task. Anduin recognizes that for all his actions are born out of selflessness, Wrathion is the one bearing the brunt of them in the end. That is certainly how things have worked out recently, at least.

Anduin nuzzles Wrathion's shoulder gently, his chest tightening slightly as he does.

"I'm sorry," he says again, his voice equally soft as Wrathion's own. "I give you my word." He lifts his head to glance up at Wrathion. "As my lone advisor. I will do my best to try and behave for you. This place is difficult enough as it is, without adding anything further into the mix."

"Behave?" Wrathion echoes mildly. "I certainly hope not, simply some restraint when it comes to dangerous escapades."

Anduin shouldn't promise more than he could give, and he certainly isn't someone to behave all the time in the manner this tone suggests. Still, Wrathion smiles to himself and gives Anduin another reassuring squeeze.

"Now, perhaps a little more of this stew. Questionable as it may be, it will help you restore your energy."

No doubt the priest will be frustrated by sitting around too much, so gaining his energy back should be a priority. Otherwise he risks pushing himself and tiring out.

Anduin can’t help but smile at the correction. No, perhaps behave is the wrong choice of words, as well they both know. For all that Anduin may be a king, he has ever had a rebellious streak, and that is unlikely to change any time soon.

He has pursued friendship with Wrathion, after all. A known black dragon. Even after what was done to him by the black dragon Onyxia. Even after what happened later in their friendship as well.

"I suppose I cannot argue with that logic," Anduin agrees, raising the stew to his lips and taking another sip. "You have spent enough time watching over me as it is. We do not need any setbacks."

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