[ 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.]
[ A great deal had changed in those months, initial suspicion and wariness slowly thawing, growing into understanding. Respect. Eventually, a measure of fondness and the seeds of something else entirely. Wrathion had been so unlike anyone he'd known, dragon or otherwise. Of course Anduin had assumed he must be lonely, living as a mortal apart from others of his kind, with only bodyguards and spies in his employ for company.
But even then, Anduin realizes, Wrathion must have been wrestling with the pain of his choice. He'd consumed stories -- and more than stories -- of the Thunder King and his tyrannical reign. Was he only looking for answers to the war in Pandaria? Or had he hoped that the sacrifice of so many could be justified in those tales, and ease his own suffering in the process? It casts so many of those old conversations in a new light.
He doesn't know. It seems cruel to ask. Instead he draws his mind back to the present, to soft pillows at his back and the scrape of fangs against his skin that earns a brief twitch and wiggle from his fingers. Quietly, his chin settles atop the dragon's head, content to simply hold onto his friend for now. ]
I hadn't realized I was such a terrible influence.
[He allows their hands to fall at rest in Anduin's lap, turning his head beneath his chin to rest back against the pillows and half on his shoulder. He could fall asleep like this -- and part of him is most certainly entertaining it. The timbre of his voice vibrates against the other man's neck.]
How could I abandon such a defenseless and injured mortal to the evils of Tong's spiced dumplings, hm? What kind of monster would allow such a thing?
So your stealing those dumplings was a rescue effort, then.
[ With an amused huff, Anduin shifts with him. Allowing him to curl comfortable in repose, and freeing the hand at his back to lift higher and find that spot on his scalp, just beneath where horns should be, to gently card his fingers through his hair.
He's been through terrible things. He's done terrible things, too. And all that matters in the moment is that he's safe, and that the young king can offer him some sort of comfort for all that he's been through.
Well, I am very subtle you know. I would have hated to erode your confidence in your recovery.
[Finally, his hand untangles from Anduin's -- not necessarily to escape its company, but to permit it to wander across the other man's shirt. Inspecting threads here and there, outlining what contours of muscle he could find. It is all very lazy and perfunctory, helped along by the hazy fog that he only seems to become aware of every five minutes or so.]
Imagine the alternative. Ill to your stomach, and your guards would not have permitted me any closer to you. They would have had to carry outside to the springs themselves. Left and Right would have guilted me daily. It would have been a mess, truly.
[In the middle of drawing a circle, he scoffs.]
In that case, I suppose it was only half of a noble effort, on my part.
All for naught, I'm afraid. I wound up developing a taste for them after all.
[ He feels more than sees the wandering of those talons, tracing his chest through the thin fabric. In turn, his own bluntly-clipped nails drag against his scalp, circling slowly. ]
After the first few times I managed to burn my tongue, of course.
[ Stormwind had not possessed an abundance of spicy food for him to grow accustomed to, admittedly. The initial discovery had likely been hilarious to all but the young prince. ]
[Indeed, Wrathion chuckles as Anduin recalls the memory for him, palm resting flat to brace himself against the way it makes his shoulders shudder. He has no desire to move all that much with the way his hand cards through his curls and scratches along his scalp.]
Well, it improved your taste. I suppose that is not nothing. Speaking of taste--
[He turns his face outward to glance back at the bottle on the counter.]
It has a peculiar taste I did not expect. Truthfully, I would have bought something smaller, but -- well, apparently, there is a standard size.
[ Anduin's gaze follows his, lighting on the now much-diminished bottle before darting to his own glass, abandoned nearby and still as full as when he had poured it. ]
I...don't think I actually tried any. Is it peculiar for a red?
[ Then, another option occurs to him, and he's grateful his smile is hidden for the moment. ]
[It occurs to him that he should perhaps be offended that Anduin did not drink his wine. A hum escapes him, and he shifts just a little to sit a little straighter. He feels a touch lightheaded when he does.
It causes him to clear his throat, brows pinched proudly.]
I have not had very much wine before. I have had wine -- when it has been required.
[Which was almost never admittedly, outside of some social situations in the city. It was not a preferred Pandaren drink, certainly.]
[But Anduin is correct -- he has not had nearly this much wine before. As well, he is not certain he is very enthusiastic about the side effects. Particularly if it opens the door for this teasing.
That is when he spots Anduin's grin, which he reaches up to smother with one palm.]
[When Anduin pulls his hand away, Wrathion finds that he is just tipsy enough to take it as an invitation to begin a game. He smirks just a little and wrestles to get his other hand back over his face, grasping onto the one he's already used to pry the first hand away.]
You dare refuse what the gift I've offered to you? The absolute nerve of you, Anduin Wrynn.
[ At which point, Anduin's brow pinches. With his free hand caught, and the other still wound around Wrathion's shoulders, there's not much he can do to wiggle loose from this one...
So what would a dragon do?
He waits, until the Black Prince has laid the charges of his offense at his feet, and at first it seems he might plead mercy. Right up until he turns his head slightly, and nips at the heel of Wrathion's palm in response. ]
[Dramatically, Wrathion hisses when his hand is bitten, reflexively allowing it to slide away from Anduin's mouth so that his wrist falls limp.]
Hmph. This is why gags were invented.
[It takes some effort to untangle himself both from Anduin and the pillow pile, so he does it just enough with the intention of reaching over the king for his abandoned glass.]
[ As he shuffles back into the pillows, just enough to let Wrathion reach over him for the glass. Now he's a little more grateful he didn't fill it any further than he did. ]
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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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But even then, Anduin realizes, Wrathion must have been wrestling with the pain of his choice. He'd consumed stories -- and more than stories -- of the Thunder King and his tyrannical reign. Was he only looking for answers to the war in Pandaria? Or had he hoped that the sacrifice of so many could be justified in those tales, and ease his own suffering in the process? It casts so many of those old conversations in a new light.
He doesn't know. It seems cruel to ask. Instead he draws his mind back to the present, to soft pillows at his back and the scrape of fangs against his skin that earns a brief twitch and wiggle from his fingers. Quietly, his chin settles atop the dragon's head, content to simply hold onto his friend for now. ]
I hadn't realized I was such a terrible influence.
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[He allows their hands to fall at rest in Anduin's lap, turning his head beneath his chin to rest back against the pillows and half on his shoulder. He could fall asleep like this -- and part of him is most certainly entertaining it. The timbre of his voice vibrates against the other man's neck.]
How could I abandon such a defenseless and injured mortal to the evils of Tong's spiced dumplings, hm? What kind of monster would allow such a thing?
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[ With an amused huff, Anduin shifts with him. Allowing him to curl comfortable in repose, and freeing the hand at his back to lift higher and find that spot on his scalp, just beneath where horns should be, to gently card his fingers through his hair.
He's been through terrible things. He's done terrible things, too. And all that matters in the moment is that he's safe, and that the young king can offer him some sort of comfort for all that he's been through.
Light, what he'd do to keep him safe. ]
How did I never realize?
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[Finally, his hand untangles from Anduin's -- not necessarily to escape its company, but to permit it to wander across the other man's shirt. Inspecting threads here and there, outlining what contours of muscle he could find. It is all very lazy and perfunctory, helped along by the hazy fog that he only seems to become aware of every five minutes or so.]
Imagine the alternative. Ill to your stomach, and your guards would not have permitted me any closer to you. They would have had to carry outside to the springs themselves. Left and Right would have guilted me daily. It would have been a mess, truly.
[In the middle of drawing a circle, he scoffs.]
In that case, I suppose it was only half of a noble effort, on my part.
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[ He feels more than sees the wandering of those talons, tracing his chest through the thin fabric. In turn, his own bluntly-clipped nails drag against his scalp, circling slowly. ]
After the first few times I managed to burn my tongue, of course.
[ Stormwind had not possessed an abundance of spicy food for him to grow accustomed to, admittedly. The initial discovery had likely been hilarious to all but the young prince. ]
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Well, it improved your taste. I suppose that is not nothing. Speaking of taste--
[He turns his face outward to glance back at the bottle on the counter.]
It has a peculiar taste I did not expect. Truthfully, I would have bought something smaller, but -- well, apparently, there is a standard size.
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I...don't think I actually tried any. Is it peculiar for a red?
[ Then, another option occurs to him, and he's grateful his smile is hidden for the moment. ]
Or have you not had wine, before?
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It causes him to clear his throat, brows pinched proudly.]
I have not had very much wine before. I have had wine -- when it has been required.
[Which was almost never admittedly, outside of some social situations in the city. It was not a preferred Pandaren drink, certainly.]
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[ And as he sits up, Anduin's grin is unmistakable. No wonder the dragon is so content to just be held and fussed over.
Well that's just unbearably endearing. ]
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[But Anduin is correct -- he has not had nearly this much wine before. As well, he is not certain he is very enthusiastic about the side effects. Particularly if it opens the door for this teasing.
That is when he spots Anduin's grin, which he reaches up to smother with one palm.]
Don't look so smug.
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[ Though the words themselves are somewhat muffled against Wrathion's palm, before he can reach a hand up to pry it away.
He does have the grace to look at least somewhat repentant. ]
Though I suppose that makes this a little unfair now, doesn't it? Since I haven't had any at all.
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You dare refuse what the gift I've offered to you? The absolute nerve of you, Anduin Wrynn.
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[ At which point, Anduin's brow pinches. With his free hand caught, and the other still wound around Wrathion's shoulders, there's not much he can do to wiggle loose from this one...
So what would a dragon do?
He waits, until the Black Prince has laid the charges of his offense at his feet, and at first it seems he might plead mercy. Right up until he turns his head slightly, and nips at the heel of Wrathion's palm in response. ]
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Hmph. This is why gags were invented.
[It takes some effort to untangle himself both from Anduin and the pillow pile, so he does it just enough with the intention of reaching over the king for his abandoned glass.]
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[ As he shuffles back into the pillows, just enough to let Wrathion reach over him for the glass. Now he's a little more grateful he didn't fill it any further than he did. ]
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