Wrathion feels his mouth go dry as he watches Anduin try to cool off, as the water runs down his neck and wets his shirt.

Even like this, sweating and dusty from the road, he's beautiful. His fingers twitch with the desire to reach out and touch him, to smooth limp blond hair back from his face and reassure him all will be well.

Anduin doesn't need his empty reassurances, what he needs is Wrathion to prove himself.

He swallows, drops his eyes and begins unpacking more from the bag.

"Very well," he allows. "There is, of course, strength in numbers. I don't know how secure this crumbling fortress is, but should any bandits make it in naturally the safest place would be with me."

Not quite as confident as he'd like it to be, but a solid attempt. Obviously, one of his main concerns is keeping Anduin safe.