[ ACTIVE / OPEN : GODSBLOOD ]

[bythelight]

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.

Comments

[undertheweight]

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.

[bythelight]

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?

[undertheweight]

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.

[bythelight]

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.

[undertheweight]

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.

[bythelight]

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."

[undertheweight]

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.

[bythelight]

"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.

[undertheweight]

"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.

[bythelight]

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.

[undertheweight]

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.

[bythelight]

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.

[undertheweight]

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.

[bythelight]

"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.

[undertheweight]

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.

[bythelight]

Anduin shakes his head at that, tired. Wrathion is clearly frustrated that Anduin isn't accepting his apology quickly enough, that he isn't moving on . Impatient to the last, he supposes.

"No," he says, a firm edge to his voice. "You came back when it was convenient to you. You came back when the threat was personal for you. The Legion invaded, you continued to hide. Sargeras plunged a sword into Azeroth and she was bleeding, you didn't move a muscle. The Old Gods, though? The Old Gods were an enemy you wanted to face. Your father, as you reminded me, is dead because of the Old Gods. People only remember him as Deathwing, and you didn't want to share his fate. That's personal."

Something Wrathion is invested in. Something he's made a part of his identity, his goals. Redemption of the black dragonflight, drawing a line under its history and bringing it back into a new age. Wrathion was always a victim of tunnel vision, unable to see other problems when he became too focused on one goal. Anduin pauses, then pushes to his feet.

"What was it you said to me?" he prompts, pacing slowly closer. "That N'Zoth would manipulate our emotions, our memories, our friends." He drops to crouch in front of Wrathion. It makes his knee complain, but he ignores it -- tilts his head slowly. "If there was a danger N'Zoth might use something against you, it would make sense to check on it. You always were a strategist."

A less warm and fuzzy reason to come to Stormwind than 'I wanted to apologise', but Anduin finds it easier to picture -- Wrathion protecting himself by casing out a possible vulnerability.

[undertheweight]

"Please move back, Anduin." There are many things he'd like right now, but the first thing that came to mind was that he truly could not bear to be without his shirt. And he would absolutely not go through Anduin to get it. By now, Wrathion no longer cares how wet it is. He needs to be clothed fully. For many reasons.

He can feel the seams stretch as he tugs that shirt over his head. He doesn't care. Looking down at his hands, and thinking. Too long without an answer, and what? Too quick to answer, and they go around in a circle again. It brings the dragon to a short bark of laughter, cynical.

"As if you've never dealt with anything personal. Hells--you treated your personal devil better. Even after he attempted to break you against the bars of his own cell, you treated Hellscream better."

Though Wrathion doesn't really blame Anduin for that. Likely the priest was being a priest and concerned for the state of Garrosh's soul. He snorts again and looks over at Anduin, again.

"Answer me this, then: do you think, at all, that I have anything resembling an altruistic bone in my body? Do you? Or is it all for the sake of my game?"

He wasn't a goblin, asking the adventurers he'd recruited for gold. Yes, it was true he'd asked them to gather up resources of a sort, but it was mostly to convert straight to the items they'd need to protect themselves from N'zoth.

[bythelight]

His personal devil? Garrosh Hellscream?

A funny person for Wrathion to compare himself to here. Anduin lofts an eyebrow, lets out out a low huff of laughter.

He could point that out, it would be an easy dig, but he won't. Wrathion isn't going to make himself a victim in this, bleeding from all Anduin's sharp words. The dramatics don't work on him, the bristly posturing. He's used to it, can see straight through it.

The priest moves back a fraction, giving Wrathion just enough space to move away and grab his wet shirt, but stubbornly sits down on the dragon's bed instead of moving off it. He isn't letting him escape this completely.

"I've thought about that," he admits. "I've wondered if you ever cared about me at all. If you were feigning friendship to keep me distracted. When it hurt the most, I assumed that was it. That you knew how much I enjoyed your company and used it against me, kept me following you so I wouldn't pay attention. But I think I overestimated you. I think you're capable of altruism."

He leans back on his hands, letting his fingers idly feel the rips in the sheets, and studies Wrathion. It's hurt simmering in his gaze, not anger. A defeated, tired sort of hurt.

"I think you thought you were doing it all for a greater good, it was just a bad plan. You overestimated yourself, too. You thought you were in control, and didn't know how to handle losing it. I think you've never had to handle consequences so severe, and I think it frightened you and you didn't know how to handle that either. I think you focused on something you did know how to handle instead, a problem you could fix through research and work. I think you didn't know how to apologise properly, and that's why you didn't before. You knew you should, but research doesn't help you approach apologising to people when you're afraid of the reaction."

[undertheweight]

Wrathion doesn't consider himself a victim. He knows this is all of his mistakes coming home to roost. Nor can he really argue with...everything Anduin has said now.

It is, minutely, nice to hear the priest say that he is capable of altruism, considering he's gotten to a point where he's begun to seriously doubt himself.

Let Anduin sit on his pallet all he wants--if Wrathion was planning to escape, he could just walk through the door. But that offends him in its own way--he had pride (too much, some might suggest). But he still isn't happy about any of this.

"I didn't think I was doing it for the greater good, I was doing it for the greater good! If I hadn't considered the side benefits that came from it, would I be who I am?" A black dragon, he means. Scheming has been bred carefully into Wrathion's bloodline, he cannot deny that. But in the long run? They hadn't been the important thing. Glory was nice, but you couldn't live on glory if the entire planet was falling apart around you.

Not that he was sure the Old Gods particularly wanted that, either.

"And I wasn't feigning." That hurt, too. He'd told Anduin that the priest was his friend. Assuming he could have a friend. But maybe that was the point that Anduin was trying to make, here.

"Are you trying to tell me I am incapable of making friends?" That...as painful as it would be, Wrathion wouldn't be terribly surprised if that were the case. He's fairly sure none of his actual blood relatives managed. Maybe Ebyssian had, but his brother was no longer, either.

[bythelight]

Incapable of making friends?

Well.

He pushes up off his hands, drops them back into his lap and shakes his head. Maybe Wrathion is. Maybe dragons just... think differently -- but, no. Kalecgos hadn't been like this, had he? Alexstrasza never had.

Light, they're all gone. How can they all be gone? He can feel his face heating as the grief begins to envelope him again.

"I wonder if you know how," Anduin admits. "Friendship requires trust."

He takes a few slow breaths, trying to fight back a wave of nausea, and Anduin fidgets distractedly with Wrathion's clawed sheets to give his unsteady fingers something to do.

[undertheweight]

"I did warn you. Or I tried to warn you. You said in Pandaria that you didn't trust me. I believe I replied something like 'you shouldn't'," Wrathion starts, looking down at Anduin now, intending to keep going, but...

Wrathion has seen Anduin in pain before--after Garrosh had dropped the Divine Bell on him, the priest had been severely injured. Had nearly died. Wrathion hadn't been privy to the worst of it, but even when he was better and hobbling around the tavern, watching Anduin suffer was not something the dragon had enjoyed. This hails back to those times. And the priest is...green, underneath his fair skin.

"Anduin," he starts, tentative. "Are you all right?"

[bythelight]

Is he?

How can anyone be. Anduin gives a small shake of his head, because he isn't. Because he keeps thinking of people in the past tense, and he doesn't want to, because he doesn't want them to be gone.

"No," he admits. "I haven't been for a while."

Even before this, before waking up in a crystal, before hearing his world might have ended, before being introduced to a new world and a new war.

[undertheweight]

If Wrathion bothered to think about it, he'd be as bad off. He isn't. Is thinking about literally anything else to distract himself. It's how he copes. Is it a good method? Probably not. But it's worked for him.

He doesn't think Anduin would even like the very idea. Not that Wrathion blames him. They are very different people (human. Anduin is human, and that means, in ways, that he has a very great heart, and cares deeply).

Sometimes, Wrathion envies him the capacity. This...is not one of those times.

Gingerly, he moves closer to bend down on one knee, reaching out to place a hand on the young king's shoulder. Nothing more. No attempts to take advantage (not that he had tried before, but if even that had been suspect, well) in any way.

"Is there anything I can do that you would accept?" Not that Wrathion is trying to be petty at the moment, but that last part is...added on, because he's sure there are a lot of things he'd attempt that Anduin would not, in their current situation.

[bythelight]

Anduin huffs at the awkward wording, lifting a hand quickly to place over the one on his shoulder. He's sure Wrathion is feeling sensitive to anything like rejection, and it isn't that.

He takes a breath, lets it out slowly, and gently works his fingers under Wrathion's so he can clasp it a little better.

"Sit with me?" he hesitates, glances around, and his lips twitch in a weak but wry smile. "I won't impose on you for long, I promise."

He is aware he's still sitting directly on Wrathion's chosen bed, after all.

[undertheweight]

The dragon can't help but snort, then, though he gives Anduin's hand a squeeze as he does so. He shakes his head just a little, before he moves to sit, crosslegged, next to the king.

"You, impose? Please. As if you could." He's aware Anduin is sitting on his bed. Anduin is simply unaware that he'd give him it, should the priest ask. Even so, Anduin just...isn't really the type.

"Maybe you should think about getting some sleep, if you think you can. This has been...a very great burden on you."

Not that Wrathion is particularly unscathed. He's only better at ignoring it, for now. Though when (not if) he cracks, it will probably be where others won't be able to see it.