westwhere | O Thanagor...

Entry tags:

O Thanagor...

WHO: Anduin & companions
WHEN: Siege pt 2
WHERE: Various sections of Alem
WHAT: Collecting flowers, investigating bodies and/or staircases, helping the Caravan to escape! Closed prompts below although if you'd like to be in on any of this just hit me up here and we can get something together!
WARNINGS: none so far, will edit as needed

Anduin has always been an empathetic person. It is why he has such a difficult time of keeping himself removed from the problems they have faced, in the places they are brought, in search of these beacons. In search of home.

Wrathion has had to remind him in almost every location -- this is not Stormwind. These are not his people. But it does not seem to matter. Not to his head, nor to his heart. He sees the suffering of the families in the Wards, and it is hard to remind himself that these are not his people as he struggles to do everything within his (albeit limited) powers to assist them -- provide them with food and supplies as well as whatever healing they might need. When he is called onto the Towers, it's hard to remind himself that these are not his men, not as his command, as he struggles to keep them in one piece, to keep them alive.

He is also struggling with the secrets that are being kept within the walls of this fortress. Some intentionally, some not. He understands that the King has apprehensions. He is under quite a lot of pressure, from all sides. Anduin has not been in precisely this position before, but he has been in quite a similar one. He understands, perhaps better than anybody.

That does not mean he likes it any better.

And then there is the matter of his charge, Prince Haiva, whose condition seems to shift with the winds. At least if he can manage to help him, then perhaps not all hope is lost...

((ooc: also, if you're looking for theme music for this arc, look no further))

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Not alone.

Anduin hesitates, before moving to set the bundle of clothing aside, just in case he might need to act, and quickly. Turning back to the water, he watches as Wrathion wades further in, startling as he suddenly drops deeper into the water, though his tension eases as Wrathion turns to reassure him he's alright.

It's difficult, to watch him disappear under the water completely after that. Not able to see through its murky depths entirely, he supposes he will have to watch for... What? Bubbles, signs of distress. A struggle. He'll give Wrathion time, the benefit of the doubt, but -- not too much. Not when he's already stated there's something else down there with him, in the icy depths.

Wrathion surfaces suddenly, dark curls slicked flat, and glances around warily before rubbing trails of dark water from his face.

"Well, I think I can see one of your flowers -- but I'm not certain my new friend thinks its a good idea we take them."

He squints up at Anduin, shivering as the air hits his now cold skin.

"A dark-haired woman," he adds, and lofts an eyebrow -- flexing his fingers to try and keep them from seizing up.

Anduin lets out a breath of relief as Wrathion surfaces, eyes scanning the water around him for any sign of whatever new friend it is Wrathion seems to have gained, before glancing back to the dragon himself.

A dark-haired woman.

Anduin's brow furrows, before he raises an eyebrow at Wrathion in return.

"Our new friend, or Haiva's old," he muses. "I don't suppose you happened to get a good look at her feet."

"Enough to see she had some. I couldn't see any scales, but her eyes were an unusual shade of gold."

He shivers again, shaking wet droplets off his hair and gently pushing aside shards of ice that float towards him.

"Happy for you to try and negotiate with her if you see her, but I think I'll attempt to retrieve this plant so I can begin drying off."

She seems to have vanished into the water again, but Wrathion isn't keen to swim after her right now.

Anduin frowns slightly as he watches Wrathion begin to shiver, before shaking his head.

"Please," he says, motioning him on. "Be careful. I'll keep watch from here, but we can't be certain how far she will go to try and stop you."

He casts a wary glance around the water, looking for the woman himself, but he cannot see her himself. The river is too murky to see clearly through from this angle, and he feels it's best he keep his distance. They don't both need to wind up in that water, somehow.

He nods once, frowning and then dropping himself under the water again. The mysterious figure of the woman materialises out of the shadows every so often, trying to deter him, but little more than that. He resurfaces a few times to take a breath, then finally comes up and begins to move towards the bank. In his hands is a delicate looking flower, pale and decidedly wet.

"Take this, please," he manages, shivering more aggressively now. He's not about to have gone through all that only to lose the plant they went looking for.

"Here."

Anduin hurries forward to accept the small flower from Wrathion. It is wet, yes. And fragile. He does not want to handle it too much now that it is free from its watery home, for fear of damaging the flower. Pulling a small box out of his coat, Anduin wraps the maiden's veil in a handkerchief and stows it inside, before tucking the box itself back into the pocket of his jacket.

Once he has made certain the flower is secure, he turns back to Wrathion. Offering him a hand to help himself the rest of the way out of the water and onto the bank, he frowns at the quite aggressive shivering that seem to have taken him over.

"Are you alright...?" he asks, concern written over his features and in his pale blue eyes.

"I'll warm up in a moment."

He flexes his fingers a few times, trying to keep them moving, and uses the side of his hand to brush water off his skin distractedly.

"Do you think one will be enough?"

The begrudging question of someone who doesn't particularly want to go back into the water again, but who will if they have to. Better than going all the way back to the keep, having warmed up, and having to trek back out again.

Anduin bites his lip at the question, remembering how small and delicate the flower had been in his hand.

"I suppose it depends on the success of the rest of our companions," he replies, honestly. "From what I understand, the symptoms are to be soothed by a tea made from the maiden's veil. I do not know how much of a tea can be made from just one flower."

He frowns harder, moving to rub a hand along Wrathion's arm himself, gathering some of the moisture in the fabric of his glove.

"But I am not asking you to torture yourself for this. The others may have found some as well." His expression softens slightly. "I do wish to solve this for the prince. But not at the risk of you."

Wrathion sighs at the I don't know how much of a tea can be made from one flower answer, ready to wade back in and see if he can spot another, but then Anduin is rubbing a gloved hand along his arm.

'Not at the risk of you' -- isn't that a familiar sentiment? He wonders if Anduin is self-aware of that, of being on the opposite side of this again now.

"I doubt it would kill me," says, glancing back at the river with a shiver, "but I cannot call it a pleasant experience."

The drop to his body temperature is far from enjoyable, given how high it normally is.

He doubts that it would kill him. Anduin makes a face, at that.

“Wrathion, any normal person would get hypothermia if they spend any extended amount of time in water like that, and that’s without a body temperature like yours.”

Anduin’s eyes widen slightly as realization dawns. Wrathion’s body temperature is higher than average — much higher. With his blood so hot it almost burnt Anduin’s skin to the touch, to have been submerged in near-freezing water…

“You…” He moves to brace both hands on Wrathion’s shoulders, taking in the measure of him, as if he might be able to stare the answers out of him. Finally, he shakes his head and unfastens his scarf, reaching forward and using an end to start rubbing Wrathion dry with it. “Come here.”

Wrathion lets out a low grumble of discontent at the fussing, but he complies -- allows Anduin to begin rubbing more moisture from his skin. It runs out of his hair slowly, damp tracks falling in lines down his skin as he shivers.

"I did say it was unpleasant," he protests. It wasn't as if he was trying to claim it was an enjoyable experience! Quite the reverse! He just said he doubted it would kill him. He sniffs unhappily, reaching out one hand to brace on Anduin's shoulders as the man aggressively rubs warmth into his skin.

Anduin ignores Wrathion's sounds of protest, shifting his scarf in his hands to continue the motion of his drying, doing his best to rub the warmth back into Wrathion's skin as he moves.

"Unpleasant," Anduin says, "I'm sure does not even cover the half of it. That river is half frozen over, and the air out here is hardly any better."

He shakes his head again, turning his eyes up to meet Wrathion's before his expression softens, the heat of his concern gentling into something warmer.

"...thank you," he says, at last.

Wrathion nods easily, lifting the hand resting on Anduin's shoulder to tease back a strand of blond hair from his face. His fingertips are not as warm as they should be.

"I hope it helps your patient."

He shivers again. All the hairs on his body are standing up, trying desperately to trap warmth from the cold air.

"However if he asks to see your feet, please say no."

Enough of the feet situation.

Anduin lets out the breath of a laugh, shifting his scarf to mop up the worst of the dampness on Wrathion's chest. He can see the way Wrathion's skin is covered in goosebumps, his hair standing up even on his chest. He's heard him complain about the cold before, but he doesn't think he's ever seen him shivering. Not like this.

"Duly noted," he replies. "I'm content with them just as they are, if it's all the same to anybody else. Here--"

He throws his scarf around Wrathion's shoulders so that it can catch the dripping of his hair, before tugging off his gloves and catching one of his hands between his own. The fact that his fingers actually feel cold is startling.

He blinks as the scarf is draped around his shoulders, then glances about and hesitates.

"... If you don't mind, I think it may help if I dry off... more completely, so I can redress."

He's still wearing the wet shorts he went swimming in, after all. Wrathion retrieves one cold hand, pools a flame into it. This is a touch direct, but its the best he can do now, try and dry out his own clothing over a flame. It wouldn't have been his first choice, but it will work -- which is all that matters in a pinch.

"Ah, yes of course," Anduin says, flushing slightly as he realizes that there is perhaps a better way of going about this. "Whatever you need." Reluctantly, he allows Wrathion his second hand as well, in case that too is necessary.

In his defense, he had been trying to help him dry off so that he could get dressed again. He'd figured it would be better if he didn't get his clothes wet, otherwise the cold might be even more miserable. But he had not considered Wrathion's own abilities in his approach.

"Of course," Wrathion says, and keeps the scarf about his shoulders. It is warm and dry, after all.

He then proceeds to undress the rest of the way.

Luckily, the forest is quiet enough that Wrathion can wring out his under and heat it back to some semblance of dryness with a modicum of privacy. Some of the rest of the dampness on his skin begins to evaporate away slowly, but he is still shivering noticeably even once he pulls the shorts back on and begins digging back into the pile of clothing.

Anduin watches as he pulls the damp clothing off, understanding that he is probably seeking to dry it but being firstly very conscious that they are in the middle of the forest and this is putting Wrathion in a precariously vulnerable situation, and secondly... How much colder this will make him before he finally gets the chance to warm up.

Doing his best not to hover, he casts around warily for any sign of the undead lord's creatures, or their fellow travelers, or even more of the siren perhaps. The forest remains silent and cold around them, however. A welcome sign.

He turns back to Wrathion as he begins to dig around in the clothing, wishing he had a spell that might help. He's pretty sure Wrathion's not injured, or even frostbitten just yet, and the Light isn't exactly designed with warmth as the primary goal.

"Here," he says, gently, "let me?" He bends to lend his own assistance, unwrapping Wrathion's jacket from the bundle and unfolding his shirt from the mix. He can do this at least. Re-dressing on his own might be challenging if Wrathion's fingers are cold enough to have lost sensation. That is, assuming he'll let him assist in such a way. He is very proud, even with only Anduin as a witness to such a weakness or a need.

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O Thanagor...

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