westwhere | [closed] Somewhere in the distance, I heard you calling

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[closed] Somewhere in the distance, I heard you calling

WHO: Anduin Wrynn & Wrathion
WHEN: Post-Baby Dragon Drama
WHERE: Wrathion & Anduin's shared abode
WHAT: "Seeing Wrathion distraught take 2, but this time it wasn't obscurely caused by magic"
WARNINGS: none more than the baby dragon incident, will edit as needed!

Anduin sits at the little table in his shared rooms with Wrathion, nursing a cup of tea and trying to pretend like he isn't fretting about his companion, waiting for the sound of that frankly ridiculous door to signal his arrival.

It has been a very long day, following an even longer night. After the news of the dragons from Eidris, he isn't certain how much Wrathion had slept, if at all. He isn't certain how much he had slept, come to that. Wrathion does not like to wear his emotions on his sleeve, as Anduin himself, but it had been clear the possibilities weighed on him. The uncertainty, of what could be.

The wait for the morning and the next crossing to be possible had been excruciating. When morning finally does dawn, Anduin recognizes that Wrathion does not need him tagging along. He has already made plans to do further investigation with Wei Wuxian, and there are tasks that he can do here in Minaras, to try and get to the bottom of this. Still... It had been difficult, to stay behind.

Glancing aside at the mechanical wolf where it has powered down for the day once more, Anduin wishes in this moment that it were a real dog. That he could at least take comfort in petting it.

That he might have heard at least something from Wrathion since he left this morning, that might ease the growing knot in his stomach. No. He would have sent word if something had happened, if he could not return. Anduin takes another sip of tea and wonders whether he should prepare a second pot.

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Wrathion feels sick to his stomach, and the worst part of it is he'd been forced to linger in Eidris for hours after. The separation between the cities had not felt so vivid, so frustratingly pointless. He had, at least, been able to put some energy into beginning his attempts to get access to the Ubiq factory, but the hours had passed by excruciatingly slowly. Every time a dragon flew past, Wrathion was reminded of what they had learned.

It made it difficult to take his mind off things. All he had wanted was to get out, back to Minaras and the loud tick of clocks, the endless noisy machines, the ridiculous room, the droids he fears may be monitoring them.

He feels exhausted, but at least now he can rest.

The gear mechanism in the door begins to whir to life, and soon the loud clack-clack-clack of it being drawn aside begins.

Wrathion waits, too tired to even be impatient, and lingers a moment outside before beginning to make his way in.

He's not quite sure what to say, what he even wants to say, so he simply shrugs off his coat in silence and hangs it up.

Anduin pushes himself to stand as the door mechanism starts humming Wrathion's return. It's an oddly formal gesture, but he finds he cannot simply sit still. He watches, quietly, carefully, as Wrathion seems to hesitate for a moment. As his companion finally makes that initial step across the threshold, before turning not toward Anduin himself, but to hang up his jacket.

Anduin does not want to hover. He wants to give him the space he needs, whatever it is that has happened. But in order to do that, he does need to understand what has happened. Which is going to require something in the way of sharing from Wrathion, for better or worse.

"You're back," he says at last, wincing slightly at how foolish he feels for saying so. Of course he is back, he is standing right there. But the words are safe too. Something to fill the silence he does not quite understand how to fill otherwise. "I... Was thinking of making some more tea, if you would like some?"

Wrathion glances sideways at the pot already out, then back up to Anduin.

"Something stronger, if you don't mind."

There should be something open in the ice box, he thinks. He doesn't expect Anduin to have burned through all the alcohol while he was out, unless he has had a truly horrible day himself.

"I made it back as soon as I could. Waiting for the crossing, you understand. The time at least allowed me to begin sewing connections at the Ubiq factory, so I might eventually see if they can help me with the mysterious key."

The key...

The key is not why Wrathion had made the crossing in the first place. It is not for that matter why he is turning down Anduin's offer of tea in favor of something more potent either. Anduin's brows pinch with concern at the request, but he steps back from the table and crosses to the small kitchen area nevertheless.

"You might as well have done, while you were there," Anduin agrees, although he wonders how much of Wrathion's heart had been in the task. He doubts that his interactions at the factory had put those shadows on his face.

Anduin reaches up into a cupboard to pull down a pair of glasses for the pair of them.

"I was very quiet here in Minaras today," he observes, glancing over his shoulder at Wrathion. "I imagine the same cannot be said for Eidris."

"It was at least pleasant to enjoy some natural light. The dragons were... different. I haven't been around so many in some time, strange to be there while staying hidden in my visage."

Somehow, still apart from them. Still watching from a distance, in so many ways. Wrathion toes off his shoes, goes to fold himself into one of the chairs by the bookshelves.

"I made it across in good time, and my papers at least seemed to cause no trouble at the border. It's good to know they still hold up under scrutiny."

Should they need to cross again, there will hopefully be no fuss there.

Anduin cannot help but wonder whether the other dragons can sense his other form, whether he is in his human visage or not. He contemplates questioning Wrathion about it but -- the timing is not right. Especially not given what had driven Wrathion to Eidris and his investigation of the dragons in the first place.

"I do miss the sun, down here in Minaras," Anduin agrees, crossing to the ice box and pulling out the bottle Wrathion had known would be there. "Perhaps I will attempt to make the crossing with you sometime. I can be your escort. Your muscle, perhaps?"

He pours out several fingers of the drink each, one for Wrathion and one for himself. Capping the bottle, he leaves it aside on the counter for now and crosses the room to hand a glass to Wrathion, folding himself into the second armchair with his own.

"There is more, should you need a top-up," he says, softly.

He takes the glass silently, letting his arm rest along the side of the chair with the glass dangling from gloved fingers.

Wrathion studies Anduin, expression closed off. He knows he can't avoid the topic forever, but this is the sort of thing he's not terribly good at discussing.

Topics that hurt.

He avoids them instinctively, avoids anything that feels unpleasant or that he's uncertain how to handle -- even if that means avoiding a person he cares about for years for fear of hurting.

This hurts, in a way he isn't sure how to properly express. He hasn't the correct words to say how he feels, to explain.

"Physically they were fine -- the whelps, when we went to look. Aiva was not... enthusiastic to let us look, but we managed it. Much like those at the summit she seemed to have moved on from the incident where she had grown upset, it was a... passing thing. She no longer had concerns, despite being distraught before."

Anduin can sense Wrathion's discomfort, as he joins him in their matching armchairs. It's there, in the way he's holding himself. In how he is holding himself back, closing himself off. He knows that Wrathion isn't comfortable displaying emotion, certainly not in such a way as this, leaving himself vulnerable. Anduin would like to hope he knows that he is safe here with him, no matter what. He realizes however that being so open is easier said than done.

Wrathion is obviously choosing his words carefully. Physically the whelps were fine. This does not mean that there was not still something amiss. Wrathion would not look so shaken if there had not been anything wrong, across that border.

"Were you able to determine exactly what had happened to them?" Anduin asks, his voice soft and gentle.

He can only divert so long.

"No," Wrathion admits. "Not what happened, only the consequence. Although there were no physical problems I could detect, no unusual traces of magic, Wei Wuxian is more... attuned to certain things than I am."

Wrathion pauses, eyes steady on Anduin, then flicks them down as if casually opting to consider his drink a moment.

"To his reading, they appeared dead despite the physical evidence otherwise."

He does not look up. To look up now, he knows, would to be read the emotion in Anduin's reaction. The anguish, the pity, everything he does not feel able to handle. He has to be stronger than this. There is no time here for grief, especially not grief for things that are not even properly dead.

They appeared dead.

Anduin's eyes flick quickly up to Wrathion's face, searching his expression for any hint of what the words might mean. Of any hint of what Wrathion is not saying aloud. They are only whelps, hatchlings. Infants, less than a day out of the shell at the time that Wrathion had managed to make his way over there. Anduin had done some digging for information, while Wrathion had crossed the border earlier that day. Enough to come to understand the basics of what supposedly had occurred. But why in the world...

"I don't understand," Anduin says, brow pinching tight in concern. "You said that Aiva's distress for them had... Passed? Was she caring for them as she should?"

"The same as those at the summit recovered from their passing phase," he confirms.

A period of strangeness that they then seemed to forget ever happened. It was so with Aiva. He circles his drink idly, keeping his eyes on it.

"She cared for them. Their physical state was was fine. No injury, malnutrition, no bodily malady in need of healing."

Nothing, then, they could do. Simply an awareness of -- this. Whatever it means. Some sense, some absence of something, some spiritual lacking.

Wrathion does not elaborate on the rest of it, but Anduin understands. They are the only ones who can sense anything wrong.

He feels wrong for continuing the line of thought. Especially when this is obviously affecting Wrathion -- well of course it is. These might not be dragons of the same kind that Wrathion is himself, but they are still dragons. And what Wrathion has told him of his history, of his history with the whelps of the black dragonflight...

All the same he has to wonder whether it is only spiritual. Or whether Wei Wuxian or even he himself might have some sway over the creatures. He supposes it would be one way to understand whether they are dead or alive. Whether -- any of them are...

"Did either of you sense anything else off about them?" he asks, carefully.

"There was nothing wrong with them," Wrathion growls, tensing up now. Nothing that he could sense, as he has said. No unusual magic traces, no physical problems, nothing to point to this. Yet, all the same, Wei Wuxian was assured.

He eases back slowly into his chair, trying to appear relaxed once more but not selling it. The glass is lifted from where it dangled, and his grip tightens around it as he rests it on the arm of the chair.

"Nothing else," he corrects, and simmers in his own discontent.

Anduin studies Wrathion's face, in response to that outburst. As he pretends to relax into his chair once more. Anduin knows him far better than to believe a single moment of the act, especially after that.

Leaning forward in his chair, Anduin sets his own drink aside. He had only poured it for himself to be sociable, and he would rather his hands be free at the moment. Especially as he pushes himself to stand and crosses the few steps between them. Slowly, he lowers himself down to kneel on the decorative rug before where Wrathion sits, resting a gentle hand on his companion's knee as he does.

"We will figure out what has happened," he reassures, softly.

Wrathion lets out a low, slow rumble of warning as Anduin approaches -- yet he makes no move to stop him. Does little more than twitch minutely at the hand that alights on his knee.

"... They are only children," he offers more softly.

Their wings cannot yet carry them. How can they be coming to harm so soon? Without even a chance? The cruelty of it is unspeakable. Something twitches in his expression, and he drops his gaze to the and on his knee.

"There must be some way to undo it."

Whatever has been done, here. There must be a way.

Anduin notes the deep grumbling that Wrathion directs at him as he moves closer but he pays it no heed. If Wrathion really did not wish for him to touch him, then he would say so. Or he would at least have a greater response than he has made so far. Anduin does not know whether he's welcome to much more than this, but it's at least a start.

"They are," Anduin agrees gently, because it is true. Only just hatched, and if they are behaving normally otherwise, who is to say that there is not something else going on? If Aiva does not sense that anything else is wrong, as their mother... Just because there is something spiritually wrong about the whelps does not mean that there is nothing that can be done to save them.

"We will figure this out," he reassures again, squeezing his hand against Wrathion's knee. Anduin finds that he has other questions -- many other questions. About what would have been expected of a dragon hatching, of when they normally bond with their human counterparts. But those questions can wait for now. He doubts that Wrathion knows most of the answers, and even still. He doubts such discussion is exactly what his companion needs in this moment.

"Have you eaten today?" he settles on asking. It is easier to focus on Wrathion himself, for now. Wrathion, he knows how to handle. To take care of, even if he may not want to be cared for at present.

Wrathion frowns at the squeeze to his knee, but lifts a hand regardless to cover Anduin's own.

"No," he admits, "I had little appetite for it."

Slowly, he lets his fingers twine through Anduin's. His skin seems so pale, compared to his own. So fragile.

"I have little now," he admits. Most likely he should eat something, and it help he supposes -- yet nothing feels appealing. The warmth of Anduin's hand, though, that does have appeal. His fingers flex, then tighten their grip.

Anduin cannot say that he is surprised. Half the reason he had asked is that he had already assumed the answer would be no. It is true that just because Wrathion does not feel like eating does not mean he shouldn't. The fact that he has not is likely only making him feel worse. And yet...

Anduin makes no move from where he sits on the floor in front of him. He does not make light of the fact that Wrathion has reached out to him in return, fingers warm as they interlace between his own.

Instead, he slowly lifts their linked hands to press the back of Wrathion's knuckles against his cheek. Quiet for the moment, but his meaning is clear enough in Anduin's gentle touch.

Whatever Wrathion should need, he is here.

The touch is so gentle -- Anduin himself is uncommonly gentle, for a man the world has been so rough with. For a man Wrathion, himself, has been so rough with.

"Grief will not help them," he says finally. "Answers will. I have the blood of too many dragons on my hands already."

It would be... preferable to save lives, if he can. Especially ones so young. He lifts the glass he's still holding onto with his other hand, takes a slow sip before setting it aside on a small table.

"Have you eaten yourself?"

Let's talk about Anduin, that seems a better topic. Better than Wrathion and all his pain that he's trying to quickly shove down into a box and fasten shut.

Anduin recognizes that Wrathion may be deflecting the attention as a means to escape the focus himself, but he leaves it for now. He does not think it is particularly healthy for Wrathion to box these feelings away forever. But is not going to force him to address them precisely this moment. Everyone processes these things in their own way, in their own time. Even Anduin himself.

If focusing on him is what Wrathion needs, then so be it.

He presses his lips to the back of Wrathion's hand, then sets it back down on his knee, shaking his head in response to the question as he does so.

"I haven't," he answers, mostly truthfully. He had had a bite earlier during the day, when he had been out on patrol in the streets, but he doubts that is what Wrathion was asking. "I was waiting for you."

With so little news from the other side of the city, from Wrathion, throughout the day... He will admit that he had been worried.

Wrathion squeezes Anduin's hand, lifts it back up to rub his own cheek against it this time. The feel of Anduin's skin against his face is... soothing,

"Then let us both find something," he offers. "Together."

He isn't sure how much of it he'll be able to eat, but he can try. He can try, and he knows it will make Anduin happy if he does. The company, too, will help he is sure. The simple domesticity of sharing a meal may help settle his discomfort. May help weaken the poison he feels flowing through his body, render it ineffective. Anduin Wrynn is a healer, and Wrathion is ready to accept healing.

Anduin flexes his fingers in Wrathion's hand, shifting his thumb to stroke against whatever skin he can find. Allowing himself to linger for a few moments longer in the touch, offering his companion whatever gentle reassurances he can through that touch alone, before at last he forces himself to stand.

"Come," Anduin says. "I am certain we have something that will do."

He tugs gently on Wrathion's hand, for despite his change in position, he still has not let him go.

Wrathion allows himself to be pulled up, giving the faintest inclination of his head in agreement.

His free hand slips to rest at Anduin's waist and the dragon sighs, moving into his space and gently leaning into him.

"I... appreciate your patience."

A halting, awkward form of thanks. This is difficult, but Anduin is doing his best to help. He deserves gratitude.

Anduin reaches his own free hand up to gently card through Wrathion's hair, pushing a stray curl out of his face and tucking it behind his ear.

"You were there for me, when I needed you," Anduin points out. After the incident with the arrow and the ghosts, and then beyond that. The circumstances of Anduin's misfortunes and Wrathion's now are nowhere near the same, but the point still remains. He should not worry about Anduin, in this. This is exactly where he wants to be.

He allows himself to linger in the touch for a moment, as Wrathion leans into him. Cupping his fingers against the side of Wrathion's jaw and leaning forward to press their foreheads against one another.

"I am only sorry I could not be there with you, today," he says, after a long moment.

In truth, Wrathion wonders if it is better that he wasn't. No doubt Anduin would have preferred to be there to comfort him, to help, but Wrathion isn't sure what help he could give. All he can imagine is Anduin's gentle presence making it harder for him to hold himself together.

Better to be with him here, now, in private where such things matter less.

His eyes slip closed, and Wrathion lets out a low rumble of contentment at the contact.

"You are here now," he murmurs. "You are here, and we are together."

The hand at Anduin's waist slides around to the small of his back, coaxing him closer. The contact is... soothing. Titans, even just Anduin's scent is soothing. He wants to wrap himself up in it, breathe it in and let his mind settle.

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