westwhere | (no subject)

The lowered gaze lasts precisely three seconds before she glances up and witnesses him with his back to her, clearly untying his robe. She clears her throat, letting her head lean back against the edge of the spring again and closing her eyes.

"Yes, me too," she admits. The irony, really. "Can you tell me when you're in? I don't mean to make you feel unwelcome, please do come in and all, but I...have yet to join in on the whole doing this part naked."

It's important to clarify that it's not like she's bothered by his company at all, because Wrathion had misunderstood her that way too. And clearly they're both familiar with inns with hot springs.

Anduin turns slightly to glance over his shoulder at her, clocking that she is indeed averting her eyes -- has gone even so far as to close them. Bless her, honestly. There were a few he has shared the hot springs with so far that seemed to have tried to make it not a big deal by maintaining eye contact instead, both of them naked, and he isn't sure that hadn't just made things worse...

"Of course," he replies, a smile tugging at his lips, as he turns and quickly shucks the rest of his robe. Setting it aside with his towel and slippers, he does not waste time in making it toward the edge of the water.

"It does take a bit of getting used to," Anduin admits, as he steps in. "But I've had a lot of practice. When I was younger, I spent a fair bit of time at an inn with a hot spring nearby -- not all that unlike this one, really." He wades close enough to be polite but not too close that he might seem presumptuous. "Forgive me if Wrathion has already explained this. --ah. It should be safe now, if you want to..."

Stop avoiding looking at him completely. Although if she does look she will be able to see him from the waist up as he takes his seat. A lot of chest. Very muscled, very strong chest. Very strong, broad shoulders. Scars that he is self-conscious about, yes. But also, he is not un-easy on the eyes.

"He did mention it's how you two met," she admits, and then when he tells her it's safe and he is in the water, she opens her eyes. Blinks away the sudden blurred vision, and focuses more towards him.

She has missed most of the chest, but not enough of it to miss the scars nd the shoulders. Uneasy on the eyes he is not.

She lets out a little groan, in personal mortification. "We changed the subject pretty quickly, but I got the gist of it. In your world, hot springs are common and body shame isn't." A tense little smile, petty. "Good for you all."

Anduin winces slightly at that. It does sound like something Wrathion would say, if not to the letter.

"We aren't all incapable of body shame," he points out. Okay, so. Maybe he doesn't truly have any reason to be self-conscious about himself, but. That isn't stopping him!

He crosses his hands in his lap, hoping the water will cover as much of his modesty for her as possible, before he continues, "Wrathion and I, we met at the Tavern in the Mists, in Pandaria. I was there to recover, because the hot springs had healing properties, and because I had nearly died not that long ago. I was not well enough to make the long journey across the seas back home to Stormwind. It's -- where all the scars are from."

She can't have missed those.

She knows a few things about scars herself. The ones left behind from Dolohov's curse are hidden by the nightshift she's wearing, but she has not worn her long sleeves here. On her forearm, on the inside, if he were to glance her way at all, he may spot it.

The scar is there, written clearly with a cursed dagger. Mudblood. She's sure Bellatrix would've added another choice word or two if she'd had more time for torture.

Hermione doesn't like to look at it, just like she doesn't much like to look at herself lately, but it's one thing to be upset about her own body and another to tolerate a dear friend to live under the impression that his scars are shameful.

"You've nothing to feel ashamed of," she murmurs, and with a little blush and fluster, changes the subject: "Do these feel like they have healing properties to you?"

Anduin forces himself to sit back against the wall of the spring, with a casual air he does not necessarily feel.

"They... Help?" he replies, wincing slightly at the way he cannot even give her a straightforward answer. "I am not certain whether the waters themselves necessarily have medicinal properties, whether it is the heat of the pools, or whether I simply want to believe that they are doing something for me and therefore I feel better for a time. But."

He shrugs. "I do, so why question it too much? Even if the effects only seem to last for a few hours. It's good enough for me."

"I've made potions with shorter lifespans than that," she admits. "So if they help, why not just make use of them?"

She's here, trying to make use of them as well, isn't she? Not as much of a sceptic as she boasts being, because the first time that she came here, the waters had made her feel loose and pleased and she'd slept so well. Dreamlessly, even.

"I like the hot spring. It feels like a bubble bath, only without the bubbles - the point being, the hot water feels nice." She leans her head back against the edge with a sigh. "I'm not sure I'd enjoy the icy cold ones, and definitely not naked."

This is a nothing conversation, isn't it? It's haunted by a shade of shame, embarrassment, awkwardness - and Anduin and I have an understanding, which she so wants to needle Anduin about as well. But as much as Wrathion would love it, he can't be the subject of every damn talk she has with Anduin, for heaven's sake.

So she scrambles for something else. "Do you want to play a game?"

Anduin offers her a smile.

"I can heal myself as well," he says. "But -- I would not mind taking you up on that offer. It would be nice to have an alternative, especially when I need to conserve my energies."

The conversation jump does seem a bit of a scramble, but he allows it. He'd prefer not to discuss being naked while he is the only one in such a state. He feels it rather calls attention to the fact, all things considered. So at the question, he cocks his head.

"A game?"

She probably should have thought of the game before she suggested they play it, because now she's left trying to think of something that isn't wizard's chess.

"Uhm - sure. Yes. Like two truths and a lie? You tell two truths and a lie and I have to guess which one is the lie. I think we've played this one before on the network...?"

This -- does feel a bit strange to be doing considering their present circumstances, but Anduin is willing to give it a try if it will make Hermione feel more at ease. He nods slightly, indicating his willingness to play and his vague recollection of the group playing something like this at some point or another.

(Anduin himself had not played. It's hard to join into group activities, hard to be a normal person when he's never really learned how.)

"Alright," he says. "Well..."

He contemplates this, for a long moment. What hasn't he told her, about himself? About his life, back at home. At least, he thinks to himself, she knows. About him. About who, and what he is. It does make thinking of things a bit easier.

"My father once became two people," he begins. That's one. "I was once held hostage by the orcs." That's two. "The biggest threat I face back home right now is an enemy known as The Banshee Queen. ...she calls me her Little Lion." Three. He turns to her, raising an eyebrow as if to say, well?

This, too, is easier. When she'd stood here days back, with Wrathion, she'd poured her heart out about being weary of returning home and forgetting people, and the black dragon had told her she and Anduin were alike. So, she wonders if Anduin ever uses absolutely transparent distraction mechanisms too - like two truths and one lie in a hot spring.

She considers her answer, a little smile at the lion visuals - how Gryffindor of him - and then her eyebrows shoot up.

"Surely the lie is that nobody could call you Little anything?" she blurts out, very aware of the build of his torso right now. She clears her throat and adds, "Or the orcs."

Please tell him you are not making a commentary on anything more embarrassing than his overall physique, Hermione. He thought you had your eyes closed, but if you did look... He doesn't want to know.

He shoots her a glance out of the corner of his eyes, before shaking his head to clear it of those thoughts.

"My father was -- a large and impressive man," he replies. "Comparatively, I am just a Little Lion, I suppose. Although he was known in wider circles as Lo'Gosh, the Ghost Wolf. I think it's mainly just because the lion is the symbol of Stormwind. But -- no, it was the dwarves, actually. Who held me hostage."

SHE DID NOT MEAN HIS PENIS, THANK YOU.

She meant his shoulders and his beefy muscles. Outrage a la Lan Wangji is difficult to convey in this format, but - let the reader use their imagination. She sees that side glance, blushes beet red - boy these hot springs sure are hot - and absolutely stares ahead with her lips pressed together until she is no longer perceived.

And she might have told him, in the many conversations since, that her House at Hogwarts was represented by a lion, because the nickname would have honestly tickled her pink a little. Little lion - be more metaphor-for-the-Harry-Potters-in-her-life, Anduin.

"I suppose it's for the best that they didn't decide to call you the little wolf, then?" Dwarves, not ogres - she clenches her hand into a fist under the water in victory. Nailed it. Still - "But you meant it, about your biggest foe? Does she actually - is she an actual banshee?"

Edited 2023-01-08 23:24 (UTC)

Anduin is maybe a little bit sorry for having embarrassed her, but also. Well, he is the one who is naked here, so maybe he's a tiny bit amused here as well. Sorry, Hermione, he is only human.

As for the rest of it... His expression sharpens, somewhat.

"As I understand it, she had been, at one point." He turns to glance aside at Hermione, wondering how much he should say. How much she really cares to know. "Her name is Sylvanas Windrunner, and she is the leader of the Forsaken. The undead. Years ago, when I was only a boy, there was... A terrible evil that befell the land, at the direction of one of the Alliance's leaders. He unleashed a plague, a scourge upon us. Many died. Many were raised again, to do his bidding. Some, like Sylvanas, and her people, were able to retain a fraction of themselves after the fact."

"...oh..." slips out, quietly, after a moment. There's always an undead evil overlord, isn't there? But hearing the fuller story, she can't help but turn slightly to offer a small, wry smile.

"This place must feel like just another Tuesday for you, huh?"

Anduin shifts slightly, folding his arms across his chest, as though to keep himself warm. The water is plenty warm already though, it's really more a gesture of self-consciousness and habit than anything.

He tilts his head at her, meeting her smile with one of his own.

"I... Can't exactly call it a holiday, all things considered," Anduin replies. "But -- no one is expecting me to have all of the answers, nor do we have any guards hiding in the bushes, watching or listening into our conversation, so."

He shrugs. "It's hard to compare."

She sits up a little straight to look at the bushes warily, expecting at least two guards to jump out as soon as he mentions them. "Incredible," she murmurs, "the reminder that you've got your own personal guard was very subtle." She glances his way with a sly grin. "Your Majesty."

And lets out a little laugh, before shaking herself out of it. She's not trying to mock him here. It's not that she doesn't think he's capable, she does, but he's practically her age and he's so down to earth and it feels strange still to know a king of anything.

"Sorry, sorry - is it my turn?"

Anduin meets her grin with a wry smile of his own. He knows that he's being teased, a little, but -- it's alright. He doesn't mind it all that much, especially not when he knows it's all in good spirit.

"It the guards impress you, I can only imagine what you might make of SI:7," Anduin says, with the huff of a laugh. Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye before he elaborates, "Stormwind's elite special operations force, special intelligence, and special military dedicated to the protection of the crown." He makes a little gesture as if to indicate himself.

"You had better take a turn and spare me."

She actually lets out a laugh at that, relaxing a little bit under the circumstance. "Oh, so you have a guard, and a specialised, elite guard as well? It's a good thing I know you're capable of looking out for yourself and managing daily tasks..." She bets a different king would have a guard specially designed to wipe their arse, too. Not Anduin, though - not that she's thinking about his arse at all, stop.

Her turn, right.

"Right, here I go. I'm wielding my enemy's wand, I have travelled through time, and my pet at school was an owl that I used to send my parents letters with."

She may not be thinking about it, but it's a very nice arse nonetheless. It's all the horseback riding. It really helps shape the thighs and glutes. Just you wait until he lets himself dress in something that actually flatters his body, rather than just whatever he can find that vaguely fits.

Also, technically SI:7 is more of a special force, in a spy intelligence-like sense, but he's not going to get finicky just now. He offers a smile and a shrug, listening instead to what she offers next.

"Hmmm..." Two truths and a lie. He studies her for a long moment, contemplating this list of facts. "I suppose it says something about what I know of magic that any one of these things any one of these things can be true."