[The apartment is dark, as it often is. This time, there is no rope or other strange objects laid out on the bed. Only one man among a nest of pillows, contemplating a half-empty glass of wine, the open bottle settled on the night stand. He looks up only when he hears the door shut, taking a moment to wrest himself out of the corner he's chosen to instead approach Anduin.
He picks up the bottle by the neck and brings it over, setting it on the counter next to an empty glass that he had pulled out earlier.]
It occurred to me that I did not ask your preference. I allowed it to be recommended to me.
[He's not even sure he likes it, honestly. It is a deep red in color, with a label obviously meant to appeal to a certain sort of dominant with the two silhouettes on the front in the midst of some sort of domination display.]
I made sure to specify no additional effects.
[And given the fact that about a third of the wine appears to be missing from the bottle, he has obviously tested this.]
[ Anduin's brow creases as he takes in the details he can in the dim light. The slosh of the wine in the bottle, lower than it ought to be for being freshly opened.
His gaze flickers back to Wrathion, questioningly, before he reaches for the bottle and the glass clearly left out for him. ]
A red suits as well as any, I think.
[ It's a modest pour, at first, barely filling the bottom third of the glass. ]
[There probably should be an occasion. Maybe he is doing this backwards.
But he glances down at Anduin's glass, noting how he chooses to fill it and frowns when he notices the difference.]
I have not partaken in large amounts previously, given its typical effects on most mortal races. But I desired to know for myself, and it seemed like a good moment to experiment.
[He nudges the bottle away from himself a bit and goes about running one finger along the edge of his wine glass to occupying his hands while he considers how to begin. There was no way not to make the conversation awkward.]
I promised you that I would make attempts to ... lessen the amount of things I choose not to tell you. And it occurred to me in my brief conversation with Rey that there are pieces of my history that you may be unclear on.
[ There's a brief pause as he takes that in. Considers what discussion might follow.
Then, a little more wine spills into the glass, before he sets aside the bottle with a soft 'clnk' against the wood.
Now, Wrathion's sudden flirtation with loss of inhibition makes more sense. ]
You were never under any obligation to tell me. What I knew was enough to tell me it would have been difficult to discuss in the best of circumstances.
True, I wasn't. But seeing as I have promised, I would argue that involves some obligation.
[That was the point of a promise, wasn't it?
The urge to fill his glass again is rising, so he pointedly moves away from the bottle and back toward the bed. He climbs back up into it and returns to the pile of pillows, beckoning Anduin closer.]
[ Rather than settle on the edge of the bed as he might have done before, this time Anduin doesn't hesitate to cross the sheets, carefully easing himself in close to the dragon in his makeshift nest.
Another very good reason not to fill the glass any more than needed. Especially while the lion's share of his focus remains on Wrathion, clearly uncomfortable but soldiering through it anyway.
His free hand extends, catching the back of his briefly with the tips of his fingers. ]
[He takes a sip of his wine, pinching his nose and attempting to catch his breath through the haze of fog he feels settling over him. But Anduin's presence at his side is -- oddly helpful. Wrathion leans heavily into him, swirling the rest of the liquid in his glass.]
Where to begin...
[His hand turns over, fingertips feeling out the contours of Anduin's hand that rests there.]
Do you recall what you told Rey? Regarding the present state of the Black Dragonflight.
[ Some of the residual tension in his frame bleeds out as the dragon lists into his side. And before he has time for a second's thought, he shifts his arm to make room for him, trying to ignore the little stutter in his chest. ]
She seemed to already know the state of things, by the time we spoke.
[ Before he'd so much as mentioned Deathwing. ]
She'd mentioned you told her you were the last of your kind.
I did. Well--actually, the Dominant finder told her. And the rest of the city.
[This, at least, he can scoff at. It was something they were all subject to, a sort of shared suffering they could commiserate with. His fingertips curl a bit, the tips of his nails tickling at his skin.]
It left out the majority of the finer details. For example, Neltharion was not responsible for the deaths of the rest of those dragons. Not directly.
[ It takes him a moment, before the truth occurs to him. No, surely not...
But yes, on the other hand, it did sound exactly like what might have happened. He'd been a great deal more ruthless in those early days, willing to do most anything if it meant protecting Azeroth. To see anyone as just a piece on the board.
Even so, it's a lot to consider. The copious amounts of wine suddenly make far more sense, at least. ]
No. I'm afraid that is at least one thing I cannot blame on my father. It was me.
[He takes another sip of his wine, a lopsided smile fixed on his expression. Despite the slight buzz, he cannot quite mask his attempts to shield his emotions.]
I had every last one of them killed. Every one I knew of, every dragon to every egg. All murdered.
Chilling as that revelation is, he can see the weight of it on the other even through that attempt at a smile. They had been kin, even if he bore them no familial love or affection. He felt something for the loss of all of those dragons, and the blood that rested on his hands.
The arm resting around the dragon's back curls a little tighter, a resolute frown edging its way across Anduin's soft features. ]
...you wouldn't have done so without a reason.
[ That much he's certain of. Wrathion could be cold, calculating, but senseless murder? No. ]
Oh yes, I had reason. I always have reason. I think you are well familiar with it by now.
[He was practically cursed with reason, with purpose. Everything he did, every decision he ever made, had reason behind it. Hours of thinking, of weighing alternatives. And yet he had still believed there was no other way, only to prove himself wrong five years later.]
I have found a way to undo it, you know. [Had he told Anduin that? He could no longer remember.] The corruption, the whispers. Using the Titan device we found in Silithus.
[There only remains a small amount of wine to distract himself with, as he realizes he has left the bottle on the counter. But Anduin's presence at his side is warm and -- comforting.]
I have been wondering how many of them I might have spared. The young ones, at least. The wyrms were likely too far gone, after so many years of listening to N'Zoth go on and on...
[ He'd wondered once if Wrathion was even capable of remorse. A cruel thought, perhaps, but he'd been hurt and angry and searching for a rationale at the time. Now, there's no doubt of it.
This is regret. It's sorrow, a sense of loss for all the things that might have been otherwise. He'd scorched the earth with the honest belief that there were no other options, that there was no hope. How devastating that realization must have been for him, all those years later.
Anduin shifts slightly to face him a little easier, brow furrowed in tense lines. ]
And if you'd known it was possible, you'd have chosen differently.
[He finishes that last bit of wine and deposits the glass on the windowsill, folding his hands around Anduin's now with nothing else to occupy them.
He does not look up.]
I was angry. There were not supposed to be others like me. I would have questioned if it was worth putting them through what I went through, at their age. If it would have been different.
[ Another knot of dread forms in his chest, at the way Wrathion's eyes drop. And without hesitation his fingers lace through his, his frame leaning back into him in silent support. ]
[Wrathion takes a deep breath, the way he often tended to when he was about to launch into an explanation of his many hypothesis on one thing or another. This time, it is merely an effort to appear wholly unaffected by this particular retelling of events.]
I was not born pure. Like all the others, I heard N'Zoth the moment I possessed consciousness inside of my egg. I do not recall very much of that -- only enough to form an opinion.
[A polite way of putting it.]
I was not the first of the red dragon's experiments, nor do I know how she managed to capture my mother. She was a broodmother, much like Onyxia. Quite fertile, so long as she could keep her laying. So, as you can imagine, there were many other whelps and eggs, those that did not survive her trials. I gather she figured out quite quickly that there was little hope of success once we hatched.
[He's talking around the actual experience -- he catches himself when he feels Anduin's fingers lace with his.]
It is because dragons all begin life before the shell breaks. Rheastrasza attempted many other things before she found her little titan bauble that aided her success with me.
[ At some point, the wine glass finds a home at the side of the bed. He doesn't need to hold it now, not so much as he needs to keep hold of Wrathion's hand as he begins to speak. Anduin had of course considered where Wrathion came from, and had some vague ideas about it. This singular black dragon who'd emerged uncorrupted into the world.
The truth is horrifying. There's no other word for it. To hear him describe what became of his mother, whom he surely must have felt something for even if he'd never known her, and the fate of all his brothers and sisters--
It had been one thing when he'd been face to face with Onyxia and her whelps, when they had been nothing more than dangerous monsters in the eyes of a child. He understands now the wealth of intelligence behind those reptilian eyes. They'd been sentient creatures, every bit as much as he was. As much as Wrathion was, and had been when he was still in the 'care' of the red dragonflight.
His throat feels dry as the understanding crashes down. ]
And you were aware of all of it.
[ I was angry.
The color had completely drained from Anduin's face by this point, as he considered what those experiments might have done. To a child, helpless and trapped and afraid, raging against this unknown assailant who kept hurting them, even if it was for something that could have widely been considered a 'good cause'.
-- if it was worth putting them through what I went through --
[There is not much else to say on the subject of Rheastrasza, so he merely nods in response to Anduin's question. His brows pinch thoughtfully, vaguely aware that he cannot tell if the alcohol has made him feel better or worse now that he's gotten it all out of his system.
But he is eager to pull focus back off of himself, so he keeps talking.]
I have planned to proceed with more care then she had. I am uncertain how large Vexiona's brood is, or how long N'Zoth and his followers have been twisting her children. But I am sure there are eggs still, and if Azeroth's own heart cannot provide them with their own minds and comfort, I imagine there is not much else in the cosmos that can.
[ At first, Anduin says nothing. Part of that is the fact that it feels as if his throat has closed in on itself, another part being that he's not sure what he can say. If he should say anything.
This is the burden Wrathion bears. His legacy. The choice is his as to what becomes of his kin, as much his responsibility as Stormwind is Anduin's. How often had they talked at length about the duty of rulers, over a game of jihui? How often had Anduin scornfully chided him for his harsh views of leadership? Not knowing in full what the young dragon had already been obligated to set in motion, the blood on his hands or the guilt he already bore.
Fleetingly he thinks of the old stories. Of another prince who saw his people fall to corruption, and put them to the sword because there was seemingly no other way.
At that he feels something clench in his chest, his head tipping forward to rest against Wrathion's temple. Closing his eyes against the stinging that he knows will neither of them any good, the fingers at his side curling to grip a little tighter. ]
If anyone can find a way to save them, then I'm certain it's you.
[The squeezing of his hand, the resting of Anduin's forehead against his own, knocks him out of the dissociative state he'd felt himself enter about half-way into the conversation. Briefly, his eyelids flutter and he allows himself to curl a bit further inward into the arm that's wrapped around him.
The security it should offer isn't quite there -- perhaps because he can feel himself attempting to disassociate from it again, unable to relax. Had he ever told this story before? He doubted it very much -- perhaps to Ebyssian, who seemed farther away now than ever.
It had always been the burden of his birth to fix what Neltharion had broken. If he had failed at it, then all the suffering at his hand from then until now would have been for nothing. What would he have been, other than just another brainwashed Black Dragon playing at acting for the greater good?]
...thank you.
[He doubts that same confidence exists in many other places, but it helps to hear it from Anduin now, at least.]
[ Even now he looks no happier for it, distance in his gaze as he lies slumped against him. And Anduin isn't the happier for knowing it, his heart aching quietly what the young dragon had lost. What he'd endured. What lay on his shoulders, even now.
Is it any wonder he fought so hard to guard himself? Anduin had thought he'd understood, but he hadn't. Not truly.
Quietly his hand shifts upwards, fingertips stroking against Wrathion's spine in a soothing pattern. As if he could write some prayer of protection into his very hide, to keep that hurt from touching him ever again. ]
[That answer comes faster than it probably ought to, given the heavy subject matter they had just discussed. But it allows him the levity to smirk, scoff, and find that space of confidence again, where nothing could touch him. It opens the door for him to relax while Anduin soothes the long untouched wounds.
The hand still entwined with his is pulled farther up his chest, so that he is able to tuck them both under his chin when he playfully casts his eyes back upward.]
At least some of that remarkable nature is your fault.
[ On the contrary, it's a relief to feel some of that tension ease free of his frame, and to hear that familiar self-assurance in his voice. He deserves some of that ego, after all, terrible as he could be at times.
They were all more than their mistakes, more than their darkest days. Wrathion's exceptional, but he's no exception to that. ]
Is it?
[ He feels his mouth twitch upwards, before pressing his lips to the crown of Wrathion's head, against those soft dark curls. ]
[Wrathion's eyes drift close, reciprocating the touch he feels upon his head by dragging Anduin's knuckles to his lips. He pays each one special attention, alternating angles and occasionally adding teeth.]
It would be unrealistic to think I escaped entirely unscathed by you after so many months in that inn.
[Even if he wanted to deny it -- which he did not.]
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He picks up the bottle by the neck and brings it over, setting it on the counter next to an empty glass that he had pulled out earlier.]
It occurred to me that I did not ask your preference. I allowed it to be recommended to me.
[He's not even sure he likes it, honestly. It is a deep red in color, with a label obviously meant to appeal to a certain sort of dominant with the two silhouettes on the front in the midst of some sort of domination display.]
I made sure to specify no additional effects.
[And given the fact that about a third of the wine appears to be missing from the bottle, he has obviously tested this.]
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His gaze flickers back to Wrathion, questioningly, before he reaches for the bottle and the glass clearly left out for him. ]
A red suits as well as any, I think.
[ It's a modest pour, at first, barely filling the bottom third of the glass. ]
Though I'm not certain of the occasion.
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[There probably should be an occasion. Maybe he is doing this backwards.
But he glances down at Anduin's glass, noting how he chooses to fill it and frowns when he notices the difference.]
I have not partaken in large amounts previously, given its typical effects on most mortal races. But I desired to know for myself, and it seemed like a good moment to experiment.
[He nudges the bottle away from himself a bit and goes about running one finger along the edge of his wine glass to occupying his hands while he considers how to begin. There was no way not to make the conversation awkward.]
I promised you that I would make attempts to ... lessen the amount of things I choose not to tell you. And it occurred to me in my brief conversation with Rey that there are pieces of my history that you may be unclear on.
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Then, a little more wine spills into the glass, before he sets aside the bottle with a soft 'clnk' against the wood.
Now, Wrathion's sudden flirtation with loss of inhibition makes more sense. ]
You were never under any obligation to tell me. What I knew was enough to tell me it would have been difficult to discuss in the best of circumstances.
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[That was the point of a promise, wasn't it?
The urge to fill his glass again is rising, so he pointedly moves away from the bottle and back toward the bed. He climbs back up into it and returns to the pile of pillows, beckoning Anduin closer.]
Some of it is less difficult to discuss.
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Another very good reason not to fill the glass any more than needed. Especially while the lion's share of his focus remains on Wrathion, clearly uncomfortable but soldiering through it anyway.
His free hand extends, catching the back of his briefly with the tips of his fingers. ]
I'm listening
[ I'm here. ]
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Where to begin...
[His hand turns over, fingertips feeling out the contours of Anduin's hand that rests there.]
Do you recall what you told Rey? Regarding the present state of the Black Dragonflight.
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She seemed to already know the state of things, by the time we spoke.
[ Before he'd so much as mentioned Deathwing. ]
She'd mentioned you told her you were the last of your kind.
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[This, at least, he can scoff at. It was something they were all subject to, a sort of shared suffering they could commiserate with. His fingertips curl a bit, the tips of his nails tickling at his skin.]
It left out the majority of the finer details. For example, Neltharion was not responsible for the deaths of the rest of those dragons. Not directly.
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[ It takes him a moment, before the truth occurs to him. No, surely not...
But yes, on the other hand, it did sound exactly like what might have happened. He'd been a great deal more ruthless in those early days, willing to do most anything if it meant protecting Azeroth. To see anyone as just a piece on the board.
Even so, it's a lot to consider. The copious amounts of wine suddenly make far more sense, at least. ]
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[He takes another sip of his wine, a lopsided smile fixed on his expression. Despite the slight buzz, he cannot quite mask his attempts to shield his emotions.]
I had every last one of them killed. Every one I knew of, every dragon to every egg. All murdered.
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Chilling as that revelation is, he can see the weight of it on the other even through that attempt at a smile. They had been kin, even if he bore them no familial love or affection. He felt something for the loss of all of those dragons, and the blood that rested on his hands.
The arm resting around the dragon's back curls a little tighter, a resolute frown edging its way across Anduin's soft features. ]
...you wouldn't have done so without a reason.
[ That much he's certain of. Wrathion could be cold, calculating, but senseless murder? No. ]
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[He was practically cursed with reason, with purpose. Everything he did, every decision he ever made, had reason behind it. Hours of thinking, of weighing alternatives. And yet he had still believed there was no other way, only to prove himself wrong five years later.]
I have found a way to undo it, you know. [Had he told Anduin that? He could no longer remember.] The corruption, the whispers. Using the Titan device we found in Silithus.
[There only remains a small amount of wine to distract himself with, as he realizes he has left the bottle on the counter. But Anduin's presence at his side is warm and -- comforting.]
I have been wondering how many of them I might have spared. The young ones, at least. The wyrms were likely too far gone, after so many years of listening to N'Zoth go on and on...
[He trails off.]
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This is regret. It's sorrow, a sense of loss for all the things that might have been otherwise. He'd scorched the earth with the honest belief that there were no other options, that there was no hope. How devastating that realization must have been for him, all those years later.
Anduin shifts slightly to face him a little easier, brow furrowed in tense lines. ]
And if you'd known it was possible, you'd have chosen differently.
[ Gentle, but certain. ]
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[He finishes that last bit of wine and deposits the glass on the windowsill, folding his hands around Anduin's now with nothing else to occupy them.
He does not look up.]
I was angry. There were not supposed to be others like me. I would have questioned if it was worth putting them through what I went through, at their age. If it would have been different.
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[ Another knot of dread forms in his chest, at the way Wrathion's eyes drop. And without hesitation his fingers lace through his, his frame leaning back into him in silent support. ]
cw: discussion of forced breeding
I was not born pure. Like all the others, I heard N'Zoth the moment I possessed consciousness inside of my egg. I do not recall very much of that -- only enough to form an opinion.
[A polite way of putting it.]
I was not the first of the red dragon's experiments, nor do I know how she managed to capture my mother. She was a broodmother, much like Onyxia. Quite fertile, so long as she could keep her laying. So, as you can imagine, there were many other whelps and eggs, those that did not survive her trials. I gather she figured out quite quickly that there was little hope of success once we hatched.
[He's talking around the actual experience -- he catches himself when he feels Anduin's fingers lace with his.]
It is because dragons all begin life before the shell breaks. Rheastrasza attempted many other things before she found her little titan bauble that aided her success with me.
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The truth is horrifying. There's no other word for it. To hear him describe what became of his mother, whom he surely must have felt something for even if he'd never known her, and the fate of all his brothers and sisters--
It had been one thing when he'd been face to face with Onyxia and her whelps, when they had been nothing more than dangerous monsters in the eyes of a child. He understands now the wealth of intelligence behind those reptilian eyes. They'd been sentient creatures, every bit as much as he was. As much as Wrathion was, and had been when he was still in the 'care' of the red dragonflight.
His throat feels dry as the understanding crashes down. ]
And you were aware of all of it.
[ I was angry.
The color had completely drained from Anduin's face by this point, as he considered what those experiments might have done. To a child, helpless and trapped and afraid, raging against this unknown assailant who kept hurting them, even if it was for something that could have widely been considered a 'good cause'.
-- if it was worth putting them through what I went through --
Oh.
Light help him. ]
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But he is eager to pull focus back off of himself, so he keeps talking.]
I have planned to proceed with more care then she had. I am uncertain how large Vexiona's brood is, or how long N'Zoth and his followers have been twisting her children. But I am sure there are eggs still, and if Azeroth's own heart cannot provide them with their own minds and comfort, I imagine there is not much else in the cosmos that can.
[And then he will have to kill them all. Again.]
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This is the burden Wrathion bears. His legacy. The choice is his as to what becomes of his kin, as much his responsibility as Stormwind is Anduin's. How often had they talked at length about the duty of rulers, over a game of jihui? How often had Anduin scornfully chided him for his harsh views of leadership? Not knowing in full what the young dragon had already been obligated to set in motion, the blood on his hands or the guilt he already bore.
Fleetingly he thinks of the old stories. Of another prince who saw his people fall to corruption, and put them to the sword because there was seemingly no other way.
At that he feels something clench in his chest, his head tipping forward to rest against Wrathion's temple. Closing his eyes against the stinging that he knows will neither of them any good, the fingers at his side curling to grip a little tighter. ]
If anyone can find a way to save them, then I'm certain it's you.
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The security it should offer isn't quite there -- perhaps because he can feel himself attempting to disassociate from it again, unable to relax. Had he ever told this story before? He doubted it very much -- perhaps to Ebyssian, who seemed farther away now than ever.
It had always been the burden of his birth to fix what Neltharion had broken. If he had failed at it, then all the suffering at his hand from then until now would have been for nothing. What would he have been, other than just another brainwashed Black Dragon playing at acting for the greater good?]
...thank you.
[He doubts that same confidence exists in many other places, but it helps to hear it from Anduin now, at least.]
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[ Even now he looks no happier for it, distance in his gaze as he lies slumped against him. And Anduin isn't the happier for knowing it, his heart aching quietly what the young dragon had lost. What he'd endured. What lay on his shoulders, even now.
Is it any wonder he fought so hard to guard himself? Anduin had thought he'd understood, but he hadn't. Not truly.
Quietly his hand shifts upwards, fingertips stroking against Wrathion's spine in a soothing pattern. As if he could write some prayer of protection into his very hide, to keep that hurt from touching him ever again. ]
...you really are remarkable, you know.
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[That answer comes faster than it probably ought to, given the heavy subject matter they had just discussed. But it allows him the levity to smirk, scoff, and find that space of confidence again, where nothing could touch him. It opens the door for him to relax while Anduin soothes the long untouched wounds.
The hand still entwined with his is pulled farther up his chest, so that he is able to tuck them both under his chin when he playfully casts his eyes back upward.]
At least some of that remarkable nature is your fault.
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They were all more than their mistakes, more than their darkest days. Wrathion's exceptional, but he's no exception to that. ]
Is it?
[ He feels his mouth twitch upwards, before pressing his lips to the crown of Wrathion's head, against those soft dark curls. ]
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It would be unrealistic to think I escaped entirely unscathed by you after so many months in that inn.
[Even if he wanted to deny it -- which he did not.]
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