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[ ACTIVE / OPEN : GODSBLOOD ]

WHO: Anduin Wrynn & Anyone in Godsblood
WHAT: Local 19 Year Old Boy Realises He May Need A Job
WHERE: Godsblood
WHEN: August, up until the event (17th)
WARNINGS: None at the offset

Being in a coastal city, surrounded by mountains, inevitably makes Anduin think of Stormwind. Only if he was in Stormwind, he wouldn't be in quite the predicament he's in now.

Anduin has no money, one set of clothing and a thin blanket. That, and Wrathion. He's not certain if that's a blessing or a curse, but company is company.

I. HEALING

"Hold still," Anduin says softly.

"How long will this take?"

"Just a moment --"

"And how much will it cost?"

"No charge, as I said."

"I do not need your pity. I can afford to pay! Tell me the cost."

Anduin shifts on the crate he's sat on by the boat moorings, looking up into the expression of the woman whose arm he's healing. A soft, warm glow of light is enveloping the limb as he holds it steady, a gentle buffet of magic rustling Anduin's loose, blond hair. It is, at least, now dry -- but what he wouldn't do for a comb and a hair tie.

"This may burn a little," he warns, and she hisses in response. "You'll need to rest it a few days, so I'd advise against fishing --"

"Payment," she emphasises, and he warily lets go of her arm again as she wiggles her fingers to test it.

"Well," he says finally. "I wouldn't say no to something to eat."

There's a pause before she nods, studying him warily before walking away towards her boat to search for something. Anduin watches her leave, then turns his attention back up to the figure nearby who had been watching.

"Can I help you?"

A start. Perhaps they need healing too? Or just have questions.

II. EATING

Now armed with something to eat, Anduin has moved to a quieter spot along the shoreline. He's watching birds wheel through the sky, boats moving back and forth across the horizon.

An unease grips him, but it feels... formless. Like there's an emptiness inside him he isn't sure what to do with.

Is Azeroth... truly gone?

Genn Greymane. Jaina Proudmore. Veleera, Velen --

So many people. Everyone in Stormwind.

Gone.

Where does that leave him? What does that leave him?

A sovereign, this place calls him, but of what? Anduin Wrynn is no longer anyone of import. He's not sure how to feel about that.

He also has no money, nowhere to sleep. As much as he doesn't want to ask people for payment, he will need a job sooner rather than later. Light, what would he be good at? It feels wrong to ask for money in return for healing. He can use a bow and sword if he needs to, but enough to charge for it? He could hunt at a push... Carrying messages, perhaps? Loading and unloading stock?

He frowns in thought as he picks at the bread he has, then turns as he senses someone nearby. Maybe the easiest thing is to ask --

"Excuse me?" he prompts, pushing up to his feet. His leg twinges and he winces briefly before straightening. "Do you know this place well?"

Better to start gently than to question someone who knows as little as he does.

III. WILDCARD

Pitch me your own starter! I can switch to brackets if you want, prose is just my default.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's one benefit to being on the run. Oh, he'd had his bodyguards, Wrathion had, but even Left and Right couldn't do everything for him. If they were doing odd jobs, they weren't guarding him. And while it was easy to hide a fat little dragon whelp in places people likely would not notice, it was more difficult the larger he grew. And grow he had. Now, Wrathion was utterly unable to hide in his dragon form.

Sure, there was the Visage, but even that only went so far, when people knew what you looked like. As they had on Azeroth. And so he was reduced to...

Camping rough. Hunting (or fighting) for his own food (or to share). Just...running, staying away from populated settlements. And here, there were no bodyguards. Not for him. Not for Anduin, either, though Wrathion knew well that the young king had talent at slipping away from those meant to shadow him, as well.

"I do think I've enough for a room. For both of us. Of course, it might only be for the night, but it's better than nothing, and I can try again tomorrow." There might be a slight hint of pride in his voice, but it's stung by the fact that he can smell himself, and that rankles.

"I also need a bath," he admits. "I offend myself." To say nothing of Anduin, though they are near the shipyards, and there are likely fishing trawlers nearby that offer up their wares. So long as Wrathion stands downwind, it might not be too bad.

The dragon's expression brightens a little as Anduin admits that he'd eaten. "Well, we both weren't unsuccessful, then! That's good. Maybe we can both have a bath and a bed, then, eh?" And in the morning, breakfast.

He was going to look on the bright side, at least for now. Things could definitely be worse. It wasn't that he'd forgotten the conversation he'd had with Anduin. Could he? No. Simply that there seemed to be more pressing matters, to him. Best to attend to those, first.

A room... for both of them? A room to share or a room each?

He supposes he shouldn't complain, either way, shelter is shelter but --

The thought of having no privacy from Wrathion's intense, red eyes leaves Anduin feeling...

Unsettled, a hot flash of embarrassment. They're no longer children, after all -- even though for Wrathion the scale of aging appears to be... different. Light, that makes it worse if he thinks about it! Why is he thinking about it?

He sets the discomfort aside, nods once.

"Of course," he says finally, "we should see what we can afford."

It may be best to go for a cheaper option in case neither of them can get work tomorrow, but considering Wrathion is the one who made the money it's his choice to make -- and the dragon has always been someone who likes fine things, when he has the option.

If Wrathion is trying, earning money, Anduin should be trying harder himself. He'll have to be firmer, to begin charging people for his talents if he can or to find something else he can do. There's no other option, when their survival is at risk. He's no longer a prince, a high king, he has no safety net. No people to excuse away his failures here. Either they earn money and survive, or they simply don't.

Edited 2022-08-14 15:59 (UTC)

That was Wrathion's plan--he does not like the cheaper option, but he also realizes that it's probably best to save some of these strange 'jools' in case they need them for something else.

He's well aware the jar of salve was a splurge, possibly an unnecessary one. However, he'd rather have something like it if Anduin needs it, than not have it and have Anduin's pride (because the priest does have some) suffer because he's in pain. (That, and Wrathion figures that a boarding house would likely have bathing facilities, which include soap.) The dragon is glad that Anduin has made no comment on his state at the moment. It would probably harm Wrathion's already-wounded pride. He hasn't admitted it, but Anduin knows him well enough to know that...

"I did not actually look for lodging, yet. I wanted to have you with me, so I didn't choose a place that offended us both." Wrathion is trying to make a joke, here, but there's an equal amount of truth contained within his statement. He would also ask Anduin if he's feeling all right, but Wrathion is concerned that Anduin might take that the wrong way, too.

Right now, Wrathion would be happy with a clean sort of boarding house, not too close to the shipyard. One that's tidy and one that does not have a vermin problem. He hasn't set the bar too high, because he's not sure what they'll encounter, here.

The downside is, one room for the both of them seems likely. He's got more sapphire than quartz, but not many of either. To him, it's depressing, but Wrathion reassures himself that he has done his best.

Unlike some people who could be named, Anduin Wrynn has manners -- and he isn't about to complain about the way someone who worked for money smells or about the state of their shelter.

If it's dry and a tolerable temperature and not infested with something, he thinks that's fine.

"It's your money," Anduin points out, "you don't have to pay for me. If you do insist, however, it's still your preference and I'm sure I'll be fine with whatever you choose."

He is, of course, quietly hoping Wrathion will insist -- Anduin is exhausted and he doesn't relish the idea of sleeping outdoors sheltered by some crates. His eyes flit away around the dock again, studying the buildings around them. Maybe they'd have enough to stretch for something to drink, too. It likely wouldn't be good but it might ease his nerves, quiet some of the thoughts whirling around in his head -- although it might also add to the likelihood of restless sleep. Not ideal, when he's potentially sharing with Wrathion.

Anduin barely utters that Wrathion doesn't have to pay for him before the dragon locks that burning gaze on his friend, looking as if perhaps the priest has grown a second head.

"We are in this together, Anduin. You may not like it that you are stuck with me, and I understand that sentiment, truly I do. Still. I am not going to leave you to your own devices. I am just not, all right? So please. Don't insult me."

Or yourself, the dragon thinks. He's well aware of what Anduin is likely used to, and it's not available to them, yet, but Wrathion could wish it were.

Still, wish in one hand, crap in the other, and see which piles up first. It went without saying.

The dragon heaves a sigh, and offers a hand down to help Anduin to his feet. "You are the one who is likely having an overnight. I'm very tempted to go out and see if I can find more work. I'm not tired." Dragons didn't sleep that often, anyway. Wrathion suspects the establishment they find within their means won't have any reading material that isn't used for lighting the fireplaces, so why sit around and watch Anduin sleep? They'd both be rather uncomfortable with that. May as well make the most of it and get more money, if at all possible.

Ah.

Anduin straightens a little at the reprimand, hesitates as Wrathion sighs and offers him a hand. Is he truly not tired? Or is it a reason to get away from him, he wonders?

To avoid him. To avoid talking, to avoid remembering the cloud hanging over all of this -- that Azeroth is apparently gone. That it may be just the two of them left, for whatever reason.

He presses his lips together, packs away the salve and the food Wrathion offered him then carefully takes his hand and pulls himself up. He does feel tired, admittedly. As if he's been tense for hours, all his muscles unable to relax. The stumble he took in the shrine of the Sovereign probably didn't help matters.

"You're sure you won't rest?" Anduin prompts. "Even if you don't feel tired now, you shouldn't overwork yourself."

They can't know how busy the next day will be after all. He studies Wrathion a long moment, then lets go of his hand.

"... If we're in this together," he adds, "I'd rather we work together. If something happens to you while I'm asleep, I have no way to help you."

"Why would anything happen to me?" Glossing right over the gentle rebuke the priest gives him. Anduin is right, he probably should make an attempt to sleep, but...

Anduin is also right in that Wrathion is compartmentalizing--not wanting to get away from Anduin in particular, but not thinking about how Azeroth might be gone? Not considering that it meant that he, Wrathion, failed in the charge he'd adopted, the charge he took on in an effort to prove that he could be better than his fallen father had been, the maddened Earth-Warder who had been that no longer...

There's a part of him that also knows that compartmentalization is unlikely to succeed, but Wrathion hopes that if he finds work, he can ignore those thoughts. He can sink into the simple necessity of using his body instead of his mind.

Wrathion honestly thinks he's safer here than he was on Azeroth. Here, most people do not know who he is. Here, it's unlikely that Kenoma Aions will find him--not without running into danger from his own faction, that is. But Anduin's concern does make the dragon pause. On one hand, Anduin was rightfully upset at him. Still, Anduin would not leave him alone--if he were to come to harm somehow, and Anduin was with him, the priest would give him aid. Even though Wrathion is certain Anduin doesn't believe the same was true of him.

Wrathion had betrayed him in the past, after all.

He sighs again, but relents with a nod. "All right. I'll stay for tonight, at least. Until our situation improves. We'll see how it goes tomorrow. All right?"

If it was still somewhat quiet--or as quiet as it could be, during the Firebrand's Moon--Wrathion reserved the right to go out and work, if he wasn't able to sleep. But that would depend on many things, and the dragon will give Anduin's opinion thought, again. Because if he can at all, he won't leave the Young Lion alone. Not again. Not if he can help it.

Anduin nods in acceptance. That's all he can ask for, really. They can't only do things together forever, he knows Wrathion values his independence -- but until they have a better understanding of this world Anduin would rather they not stray too far apart.

Trusting Wrathion entirely may be a challenge, but at least he is familiar. Anduin can, to a certain extent, predict and understand his behaviour.

To a certain extent.

"As you say," he accepts. "Let us find somewhere."

Whatever their budget can stretch to, he's sure the options will be varied given the wide range of people in the are.

The options, as it turns out, are indeed varied -- but their specific options are... more limited. The room is, at least, watertight and devoid of anything crawling (that he can see) but Anduin isn't convinced the straw filled mattress will do much for him.

Still, there are at least two -- and perhaps he can use the thin blanket he was given in the shrine as well to help lessen the itching against his pale skin. He moves toward one of the low pallets, setting down his bag and unpacking the blanket from it.

"You wanted to clean up, didn't you? Go ask them for some hot water. I'll be here."

"I did." But it wasn't as if the conditions weren't--to him, and likely to Anduin as well--dismal at best. Still. It was what was affordable.

Wrathion knows that just stacking the mattresses for Anduin's sake will start a fight he doesn't want to start. He might have the priest's best interests in mind, but Anduin's pride probably would not endure it.

That is something that Wrathion can comprehend, as well. Were their situations reversed, he'd certainly get huffy, to say the very least, should Anduin give up his mattress. Still, he offers Anduin his blanket, first, folded into a pad of sorts. A makeshift pillow. Wrathion has had worse. Like no pillow at all.

"You might need this." It was not very likely that Anduin had often slept without a pillow in his life. The straw mattress won't bother Wrathion, though if he could take dragon shape and not take up the entire room, he'd do it. He's far too inured to sleeping rough.

Some days, he wishes he were still a whelp. They don't come often, now, but Wrathion could give Anduin his mattress without much of an argument, then. Not so now. But there is still the matter of cleaning up, and the king is quite correct, so Wrathion nods.

"I'll be back soon enough, I suspect." He certainly won't take long, if only so that Anduin won't worry. More likely because he can barely scrape together jools for soap and towels, but it is what it is. Without another word, the dragon steps out.

Half an hour later, at most, Wrathion returns, less offensive to his own nose. He's also not wearing his shirt because he washed it for the same reason. There's a hook on the back of the door to their room, so he hangs it there before he nudges his mattress over towards the wall with a foot and settles upon it, looking at Anduin expectantly.

Anduin has, by the time Wrathion returns, placed the folded blanket he offered right back on Wrathion's bed.

He has a small spare one of his own, the one from the shrine, and he's rolled that loosely to use as a pillow. His clothes are itchy, and he's wondering if the robe the demon gave him would be less itchy. Would it be good for sleeping in? He --

The door opens, and Anduin blinks as Wrathion walks in. The dragon is --

Ah.

Anduin doesn't know that he's ever seen him so... undone. It's interesting, in a detached way, to realise. Wrathion is always dressed up, perfectly turned out. There's an air of theatre to it, to his behaviour. Here, he's --

Not human. He isn't, you cannot forget that, but he is somehow... disarmed.

... Then again, sexuality can be a weapon. Anduin isn't so naïve he's unaware of that. He pulls himself together at that thought, tries to swallow back his interest and collect himself.

"I see you found somewhere to wash," he begins, folding his robe back away and putting into into his bag. He's not going to consider getting changed now, not since Wrathion is back. "I don't imagine it will be enough to help you sleep, but at least you'll be more comfortable."

Wrathion is disarmed. To him, clothing is armor--Anduin might understand that, especially since priestly raiment is one version, and his kingly armor might be another. Neither of which the priest has here. Is he equally disarmed? Were he asked his opinion, Wrathion would say not. Anduin bears a quiet dignity that he draws around himself like a cloak.

The dragon envies him that, though he does not breathe a word of said envy. He already feels like the loser in their current exchanges. To wit, Wrathion is trying desperately not to be petulant, because he's well aware to do so will not help his situation at all.

"I did. However, the less said about it, the better." He can't hide a bit of petulance there, but at the situation, not at Anduin himself. He just quietly resolves to work harder the next day, because Wrathion does not want to stay in this particular low quality establishment another day. Not if he can help it. Wrathion's not certain if the patrons downstairs ogled him because of his shard (probable) or his looks (possible) or both, but nothing about the experience was comfortable in the least. Yes, he's vain, and aware he's attractive, but a line was crossed, there. Wrathion wasn't fond of being ogled by strangers.

"The water was hot, at least." Which is about the best that can be said of it. And the soap was more than simply some scrap of harsh and lye-ridden washerwoman's castoffs. For which the dragon is thankful.

"What about you?" Wrathion asks, as Anduin mentions sleeping. He hasn't missed the fact that his blanket was back on his bed, but it can stay there. Anduin does not look...comfortable. Not that the dragon is either, but he's prepared to deal with it, at least.

Anduin flits a tired, wry smile.

"I've slept in worse places. At least it's clean, dry and safe."

He might not sleep well, but he'll get some rest he's sure. His eyes drop away from Wrathion, resting on his hands for a moment, then lift again -- brow furrowed.

"Do you think Azeroth is really gone?"

He felt it, somehow, and yet --

Yet somehow it feels too big a concept to process, to understand and accept.

The whole of Azeroth, gone, when... when it had felt like they'd only just saved it. Sylvanas was still at large, he knew that, the Night Elves were suffering but --

But how did it happen? How did he fail so catastrophically?

Wrathion opens his mouth to say something, but then...

Anduin would ask that question. Wrathion has been very deliberately not thinking about Azeroth very much, now. To think about it means to confront his failure, the loss of his very charge. He very carefully avoids Anduin's gaze for the moment, and laces his fingers before him, resting his elbows on his crossed knees. Lowers his gaze to the floor.

He's been very carefully not thinking about it. He'd just defeated N'zoth. Just eradicated the last of the Old Gods, and yes, it was with the adventurers' assistance, but...those creatures had brought his father low. Corrupted his entire flight, save Wrathion himself, by some whim of fate or unknown will of the Titans. He'd found his brother Ebyssian and kept him free from their whispers at no small cost to himself (but worth it, it was worth it, he thinks...).

The dragon straightens, inhales, and grits his teeth. He wants to lie--that's his first reaction, but again, he knows if he does and Anduin finds out, there will be no coming back from that. The priest already does not trust him (rightfully, he thinks; Wrathion has already shoved Anduin aside at least once. That it was for the sake of Azeroth entire does not seem to mean a thing. So be it).

"I want to say no, Anduin, but...I don't feel Azeroth." Not that he had ever visited Argus when it hung in Azeroth's sky, but he had some vague sense of that world's soul, and Azeroth's presence had always been stronger by far. His flight had always had a connection to Azeroth and her deep places. Wrathion had had a connection.

No longer.

He doesn't... feel Azeroth?

"Would you?" he prompts. "From here? Wherever this... is."

Wrathion is not, after all, a true aspect. He is not Speaker of Azeroth like Magni. How much connection to Azeroth did he truly have? Anduin supposes it's... not quite the appropriate time to question his abilities, it's just that --

It's just that, if Wrathion thinks he doesn't feel Azeroth and... if he thinks that he should --

Well, that would prove things. Anduin doesn't want to prove things. He suspects, in a deep sense of unease, but he doesn't want to believe his gut.

He doesn't want it to be true.

He wants to be wrong.

Wrathion's first thought: I should have lied. He knows it isn't right, but he imagines it might have hurt less.

His second thought is giving serious consideration to a tantrum like he'd had in the Tavern of the Mists--but no. That might give Anduin more problems as well. It might be cathartic for Wrathion in the moment, but in the long run, it isn't a good choice.

He inhales again and does his very best to give actual consideration to Anduin's question. He has been many places on Azeroth--Shen'dralar. The tower of Karazhan--which, while it is true that said tower has parts of itself shift to other dimensions, to Wrathion's knowledge, it never did so while he was within it. The Shado-Pan monastery. He wants to snap at Anduin, but the fact that Wrathion doesn't know isn't the priest's fault. Instead, he glares at Anduin--but that is sullen defeat, not anger, in his eyes.

"No," Wrathion admits. "Having never been off of Azeroth's soil until my hatching here, I do not know if I would."

He's still thinking he should have lied, but Wrathion persists in not doing so. He, too, wants to be wrong.

He fears he is not.

He doesn't know.

He doesn't know, so that means it isn't confirmed. They can't be sure.

Azeroth might still be safe, the dream may be some predication of the future. It may be some possible future, even, but not necessarily theirs.

It doesn't have to be now, and yet --

Yet Anduin... felt it. He felt --

His teeth worry at his bottom lip.

"Then we don't know," Anduin re-iterates a little too intensely. "We can't be sure that's it's gone."

That everyone is gone. That, once again, Anduin has failed to save his friends. His eyes feel hot, but Anduin ignores it. He matches Wrathion's sullen glare with a frown of his own, angry -- but he doesn't know who he's angry at. He's angry at the situation. At this Regent, at waking up here, at the dream, at the inn and its itchy bed and his itchy clothing.

"I felt it," he continues, and by some miracle his voice comes out steady, "but we can't be sure. There must be something we can do. There has to be something."

Edited (html) 2022-08-18 00:45 (UTC)

The Old Gods are gone. How might they be here? There is no possible way that Wrathion could be going mad, but there is a persistent buzzing at the base of his skull. He wants to throw something. But no. If nothing else, that's anger talking.

He is in control. As much control as he can have, in a situation like this.

"But Anduin--" Wrathion can hear the whining tone entering his voice, and that angers him--but at himself. Again he fights the urge to throw something. (The rolled-up blanket might be safe, but it's a short distance from throwing that to throwing something else. Something worse.)

"I felt it, too. I don't know what I felt for sure, but..." Wrathion has been told that whatever else the Regent is, they are powerful. It makes the dragon envious, as he envies all with great power; but he has a choice, and he will not serve the dark. If there is nothing else, he would prefer to go down screaming than serve another who wishes only to see the destruction of the existing world. There was a promise they extended for better?

Wrathion did not trust them. He knew how easy it was to lie to someone he cared about. How easy, then, was it to lie to someone who meant nothing? Someone who was just a pawn in some grand game?

But then his (blessed, normal) stubbornness reasserts itself. Wrathion might be a bit too glib, here, and yet. "I thought we were doing something, Anduin. That is why we are here in Godsblood, and among the Pleroma." And waiting for whatever this assault was going to be, going forward, but the dragon thought better of bringing that up, at the moment.

"They want us to save this world," Anduin counters, "and I agree -- no world should be destroyed, but --"

This world isn't Azeroth. Anduin wants to save Azeroth, above all. His world. His family, what is left of it. His friends. He trails off, takes a breath and lets it out slowly.

"I'd just feel better if I knew," he says more roughly. "If I knew there was a chance, or even -- if I understood what happened."

It had just been so... abrupt. One day, he'd been in Azeroth, then suddenly he was here. He frowns down at his hands, feeling... childish. He's sure other people have suffered, too, and the Light has brought him surely for a reason. Other people have not been so lucky. Anduin blinks, takes another shaky breath and lets it out slowly. The thumb of his right hand scratches distractedly at his left, and he tries to press down aggressively on the well of emotion threatening.

Now isn't the time. It won't do any good. Now isn't the time.

"What if saving this world means that Azeroth is saved as well?" Whether or not their world is destroyed or not, clearly it's imperiled somehow if the two of them are there. That is what Wrathion is taking from all of this, in any case. He does not particularly care about Horos, save for how what happens to it affects Azeroth.

Saving their home. In that, he and Anduin are aligned. The dragon will cling to that. Even the irrational anger releases slowly from him at that thought.

"Anduin...what if we're being blocked from sensing Azeroth? I'm sure you've heard that the Regent is incredibly powerful..."

After all, if Wrathion could do such a thing, with the added benefit of fomenting despair which also gave him strength? He would. And this is what he's heard of the Regent, so why wouldn't they? It would cost so little to them, and benefit them greatly in both power and in other means.

And the Young Lion is...not doing well. Not that Wrathion had been, either, but he has things to...distract himself with, now. The wheel of his thoughts has been given something to grind. No such boon for Anduin, however. So, as awkward as he knows this might be, Wrathion moves, scooting towards Anduin to reach for him and sling an arm over the young king's shoulders. He might never believe it, but Wrathion is...attempting, at least, to give Anduin a hug.

Not that he'd blame the human for shoving him away.

Anduin goes tense instantly, aware of the bare expanse of skin Wrathion is pressing close to him. Aware of how once upon a time he would have craved this comfort from Wrathion. A time when he thought they were friends.

What are they now? What is this? An attempt to reconnect? To force Anduin to leave his anger aside? An attempt to build a bridge?

He doesn't know if he can cope with this. Not now. He hasn't the capacity.

"Don't," he whispers softly. "Don't do this."

Don't wear down his defences. He knows he'll given in, but he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to allow this only for Wrathion to betray him again, to hurt him twice as much. He couldn't take it, not here with nobody left. Not alone, in a strange place, with nothing to fall back on.

Wrathion can take a hint.

For once, he was just trying to offer comfort. He knows how it must seem, knows that the king is probably thinking he's just out to manipulate and scheme again--but the moment "Don't" crosses Anduin's lips, the dragon moves backwards. Almost as if he'd been burnt, really. (Not that fire is something that hurts, much. When it's actual fire, that is.) This? This hurts.

"I am sorry." Really, what else is there to say? Wrathion doesn't stop moving away until his back hits the wall, and then he stops. What he wants to do is get up, yank his sodden shirt back on, and leave. The only thing that stops him is that he promised Anduin that he wouldn't. Not on this night, at least. No matter how his stomach knots now, he won't leave.

The mattress he's sat on might be a bit worse for wear. He can hear the threadbare material of the covering tear beneath his fingers, but better that than anything else. He'll just have to let Anduin leave first. It's his fault anyway, he'll take the blame.

Anduin keeps his eyes down, only lifting them after a moment when he hears the faint rip of fabric.

His eyes travel up slowly, studies Wrathion a long moment in silence.

"Why did you come to Stormwind?" he says finally. "Why then? After all that time."

He didn't have to, after all. He could have let Magni go alone, pass on the message. Why did he come in person? Anduin has, on some level, suspicions. Still, he wants to hear what Wrathion says when asked. Wants to see if the answer feels honest. Wants to know if --

If he truly holds any power here. If Wrathion truly cares, or if it's all an illusion. A game of give and take. If it's really about what Wrathion wants and needs.

The look Wrathion turns on Anduin now is...perplexed. It does give him something to latch on to, other than just...wallowing. Or seething. Or both, by turns.

"Magni sought me out." Mostly for his knowledge--it was not as if Wrathion hadn't been seeking ways to defeat the last of the Old Gods. No one had believed they could be defeated until adventurers had slain C'thun beneath the sands of Ahn'Qiraj, and yet it had happened.

"When he asked me to accompany him to Stormwind...I did. I thought that it would be easier to ask me questions if I were there, instead of needing to wait for missives to reach me--or miss me. I didn't trust the Banshee."

As if anyone with sense would do that. Not to mention that Wrathion knew damn well that he was, by design, a difficult individual to find. Especially when he did not want to be. He waves a hand in a dismissive gesture before himself, now.

"Those were not the only reasons, though." And yet, he sighs, because the dragon knows damn well that he'd basically left again directly after. Not that it was his usual disappearing act--he'd gone to the Chamber of Heart to support Magni's efforts there, and more diametrically oppose N'zoth...

But he wonders, if he voiced more of his reasoning, whether or not it would actually matter. Anduin was High King of the Alliance by then. Likely his spies could have told him whatever he'd wanted to know. And Wrathion feels like everything he had said thus far was...just an excuse. So he stops, lifting a hand to rub it down his face and briefly tug on his beard. He looks back down at the floor, almost embarrassed.

"I meant to come back and apologize. I know I didn't. I'm bad at it, and wanting to doesn't make it happen. But...I tried to, again, here."

Even though he was probably rubbish at that, too.

"So you wouldn't have come back if Magni hadn't asked you?"

Is that what he's saying? That he came because Magni asked him? An apology he intended to give or not, so far he's suggesting he only returned to Stormwind because Magni asked him and he thought people might have questions.

Certainly, Anduin had plenty of questions. He still has plenty of questions.

By the Aspects. Every time he tries to speak as plainly as he can...though Wrathion supposes he hasn't tried hard enough. Time to make one last attempt, then, he supposes. He hadn't thought that he'd want to sleep, but this...this is exhausting him. Not physically...

"Magni only gave me a convenient excuse. I wanted to come back, though I could not be sure of my...welcome." Here, Wrathion snorts. "I wanted to attempt to apologize, but as I said, I failed at that. I wanted to see if I could repair the tatters of the first friendship I ever had." The dragon's voice has an edge that it usually does not. He is given to theatrics and posing, and even this is overly dramatic, but he has also been worn down. "I begin to see that perhaps I should not have bothered, because I have well and truly destroyed it. Perhaps I am my father's son, after all."

Wrathion is...fairly certain what he says has no bearing at all.

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