"Not always the most patient," he replies wryly, all too aware of those instances where he hasn't been.

Many of them involving Wrathion, if he thinks on it.

He tries for a moment to think of what else to say, not at a loss by any means but struggling to put it all the way it ought to be said. Things that should be forgiven, buried and laid to rest. Things that needed to be unearthed, allowed to grow.

Anduin falters briefly under the weight of, drawing back just enough to meet Wrathion's gaze. "...Stay with me," is what come out, of all the things he could have said.