[ He hesitates, considering struggling onwards stubbornly, but allows it. As the coat loosens away, patches of the white shirt underneath are stained dark. ]
.... Thank you.
[ He hesitates, feeling as if silence would be... awkward. ]
[ He does not fuss, because he knows Wrathion holds a thin line between 'wanting attention paid to him' and 'projecting weakness'. He's still careful in easing fabric away, to get a better look at the damage.
Particular mind is paid to that arm he noticeably isn't using. ]
[ Sections of skin look like they've taken ragged damage, perhaps not from a weapon but from... claws. Wrathion shifts his good arm to slide out of his coat, allows Anduin to help get it off his other arm. ]
Careful, you know I run warm.
[ Said playfully, but with a slight underlying tension. His blood can burn.
Underneath his white shirt and gloves, some parts of his arm are... dark, discoloured. ]
[ At least he's talking about it, in some detail. Anduin for his part lets himself focus on the wounds he can see, extending a hand to hover over the discolored skin and closing his eyes.
As the familiar channeling washes through him, humming in his very bones, a soothing warmth spills from his fingers. The Light radiates gently into torn and mottled flesh, willing it to heal. To knit itself back together as it had once been. ]
[ He tenses further, a shiver running through him as the Light heals his wounds. Wrathion feels tension ease from his limbs, feels warmth run through previously chilled skin. ]
... You're rather good at this, you know.
[ A tease, because the air is a little too serious still. He's fine! Everything is fine? ]
[ That draws his focus for a moment, eyes flickering open to peer at Wrathion. ]
Well it's good to hear you're still capable of joking. Must not be that bad, then.
[ Still, the moment the skin looks less painful to touch, he does just that. Touching his fingertips to Wrathion's arm, less to heal and more to...comfort, he supposes. Even if the dragon doesn't need it, strictly speaking. ]
[ Quietly he leans closer, forehead bumping against Wrathion's. Taking a moment or two for this grounding is something he hadn't known he needed. As for the dragon...
This is a delicate line, he knows. But it's something worth walking that tight rope for. ]
...If this is all you really wanted, I don't mind. But we're meant to be doing this together, now, whether we're at each other's sides or not.
A kindness, I'm sure. Though she remains undead, all the same.
[ Not something to hold against someone, inherently. After all, Anduin had known benevolent undead in his time, enough to give him some hope for their kind.
Quietly, his hand falls away, drawing back to give Wrathion his full attention. ]
[ It is, of course, horribly possible that things will go awry. That Irenia may not survive, or may lose her mind, or come under someone's control -- all of that and more. ]
But I have to try.
[ This is his best idea, and he cannot leave her. ]
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.... Thank you.
[ He hesitates, feeling as if silence would be... awkward. ]
You are... unharmed yourself?
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[ He does not fuss, because he knows Wrathion holds a thin line between 'wanting attention paid to him' and 'projecting weakness'. He's still careful in easing fabric away, to get a better look at the damage.
Particular mind is paid to that arm he noticeably isn't using. ]
I'll try to be quick.
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Careful, you know I run warm.
[ Said playfully, but with a slight underlying tension. His blood can burn.
Underneath his white shirt and gloves, some parts of his arm are... dark, discoloured. ]
Frost wyrm.
[ Just... context. ]
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[ At least he's talking about it, in some detail. Anduin for his part lets himself focus on the wounds he can see, extending a hand to hover over the discolored skin and closing his eyes.
As the familiar channeling washes through him, humming in his very bones, a soothing warmth spills from his fingers. The Light radiates gently into torn and mottled flesh, willing it to heal. To knit itself back together as it had once been. ]
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... You're rather good at this, you know.
[ A tease, because the air is a little too serious still. He's fine! Everything is fine? ]
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Well it's good to hear you're still capable of joking. Must not be that bad, then.
[ Still, the moment the skin looks less painful to touch, he does just that. Touching his fingertips to Wrathion's arm, less to heal and more to...comfort, he supposes. Even if the dragon doesn't need it, strictly speaking. ]
I admit, I was a little worried.
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[ Nothing to worry about, surely? All the same, a new wave of tension does pass through him at the touch to his arm.
Yes, fine, it hurts, but it's being healed now isn't it? So it will be fine soon. ]
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[ There's a pause, before the hand on his arm shifts briefly upwards. Touching the edge Wrathion's jaw instead as his brows lift high. ]
It's not a bad thing, having someone concerned for your well-being.
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Not when it's you.
[ A soft confession. This, he can allow. Anduin he trusts, above everyone else. Anduin he will always trust. ]
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[ Quietly he leans closer, forehead bumping against Wrathion's. Taking a moment or two for this grounding is something he hadn't known he needed. As for the dragon...
This is a delicate line, he knows. But it's something worth walking that tight rope for. ]
...If this is all you really wanted, I don't mind. But we're meant to be doing this together, now, whether we're at each other's sides or not.
Tell me what I can do to help.
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Somehow, having help is still such a novel concept. He slips his good arm around Anduin, allows his eyes to close. ]
... There is something.
[ Quiet, hesitant. He's... uncertain how Anduin will respond. ]
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[ Clearly, whatever it is has some weight to it, if Wrathion's tone is anything to go by.
Still, what could he ask that Anduin would refuse? ]
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[ Irenia. She is... quite large and hard to miss. ]
She is only kept... animated by a connection to a member of our party. If he leaves, as many of us intend to soon, she will cease to be once more.
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[ Given the history of their world, dragons, the undead, and undead dragons specifically.
Anduin's brow furrows tighter. The impending question looms. ]
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... She was raised by an undead lord here, and kept under his control. A slave, used to attack as he saw fit. I freed her of that control.
[ ... As much as he could. She's still... bound to them, obviously. That isn't true freedom, he knows. ]
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[ Not something to hold against someone, inherently. After all, Anduin had known benevolent undead in his time, enough to give him some hope for their kind.
Quietly, his hand falls away, drawing back to give Wrathion his full attention. ]
...what would you have us do?
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[ Surely Anduin sees where this is going? ]
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We could try.
[ He doesn't feel certain. It's something that is possible, he knows that much from past experience. His father. Calia.... ]
But if it doesn't go the way we hope, we need to be prepared for that as well.
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[ It is, of course, horribly possible that things will go awry. That Irenia may not survive, or may lose her mind, or come under someone's control -- all of that and more. ]
But I have to try.
[ This is his best idea, and he cannot leave her. ]
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We have to try.
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... Thank you.
[ For this, for agreeing to help, for... everything. ]
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[ Anduin hesitates, before leaning closer. His lips brush gently against Wrathion's cheek before he eases back once again, a deep breath taken. ]
So. Anything else I should have a look at?
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Well.
Wrathion's hand tightens around Anduin's, holding on. ]
That depends. Will you kiss it better?
[ If so, he is ready and willing to invent new injuries. ]
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A powerful healing technique. I could be persuaded.