Anduin nods at the question, picking up a mug and pressing it into Wrathion's hands.

"I would warn you that it is still hot, but -- I suppose that I needn't worry about that, for you," he says, cocking his head to the side. Wrathion's very blood is hot enough to burn, after all. Hotter than the drink itself, Anduin is fairly certain. A little hot chocolate wouldn't hurt anything.

Picking up his own mug -- which he does have to wait to cool -- he moves to take Wrathion's hand.

"Come," he says, softly. "Let us go make ourselves comfortable."