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Wrathion always needed to feel busy.
He’d discovered that about himself not too long after the defeat of N’zoth. The damned thing was gone, and so was the Burning Legion, and Wrathion felt…strangely hollow. In all honesty, he’d expected that these two great evils would take him his entire life to fight. And he was hardly ten years old, which for a dragon was really still newborn. Should he remain healthy, Wrathion could live for thousands of years, tens of thousands, and what would he spend all that time doing?
The dragon liked to think he now understood how humans felt.
Those poor things were doomed from the start. It took them two and a half decades to fully mature, for their brains to fully develop, and by then most of them had only a few decades left to live, if they were still alive. If they were lucky they could just barely breach a century, but with the last few decades of constant war and death you almost never see a human live so long.
There were other mortal races that lived the same length of time, and yet all of the other races seemed…stronger. Wrathion wasn’t really sure how to put it, but humans were unique in that they were so much more fragile. You could look at them the wrong way and they’d fall over dead. And yet, they persist.
With so little time to grow up and live, and no guarantee you’d survive the next day, it was no wonder humans were constantly trying to do things. Every breath spent on trying to place your mark on the world, trying to leave behind something that would ensure you were remembered. Hell, if you befriended a draenei, they would likely remember you a few hundred years down the line, but would your great great great great great grandkids remember you?
Even kings get lost in the chaos of time.
King Landan Wrynn, father of Barathen Wrynn, grandfather of Llane Wrynn, great grandfather of Varian Wrynn, and great great grandfather of Anduin Wrynn, was hardly a name in a dusty book lost in the library in Stormwind Keep.
Landan Wrynn likely lived less than a century ago, not too long ago in the span of human history, a blink of an eye for everyone else, and the man was hardly remembered.
Wrathion, when doing research, or just giving himself an excuse to stay in Stormwind longer, had seen the man’s name in a book about the Wrynns in the Keep library. But there was almost nothing about him. It seemed that when Stormwind burned, much of her history was lost, and it seemed…strange that there wouldn’t be survivors to remember and re-record their history. Maybe it was just something they’d forgotten to do.
A cold shiver ran down his back at the thought that perhaps a certain noblewoman might’ve distracted them from this process while rebuilding stormwind. How can you take the time to do this when half the city riots in the streets?
Wrathion liked to think he understood humans better because of their drive to be doing something. Because what is a human without a task? And what was Wrathion when he had no task before him? He’d once questioned why humans were always so active, “antsy” he’d called them, and the Prince sitting across from him, fiddling with a pandaren game set, had only chuckled in reply.
Wrathion once thought that humans needed to calm down. Needed to give themselves a decade of rest, recovery. And maybe they still needed that, especially after three dreadful wars back to back, but he could see why now that humans could not rest, would not rest.
One day even Anduin will be forgotten. One day he will just be a name in a book, and one day after that his book might be lost to time, and then what? What is he then? And…and how likely was this moment to take place within Wrathion’s lifetime?
If Landan was already nearly forgotten, then…then Anduin would be forgotten far far too soon.
A hundred year old dragon was still just considered something of a child, teenage if you wanted to be kind and stroke their ego.
How was it that a singular human gave the descendant of Deathwing such existential dread? Why did he care so badly? They were only just friends, and poor ones at that.
Would Wrathion ever be forgotten?
Would he know, eventually, in the vast expanse of time, how it felt to be forgotten, just as Anduin will?
No.
As long as Wrathion lived, as long as the black flight lived, Anduin Wrynn would be remembered. And he would stay remembered, in books in human libraries, even if Wrathion has to put him there. And, he hoped deep down, that someone else would think to do the same for him when his time came.
But that wasn’t a pressing issue now.
Wrathion was soon able to find himself a new task, a new thing to do, and that was finding the Dragon Isles.
He wouldn’t lie. It was a little enraging to find out that it too, just like Pandaria, was just sitting and hiding away in mists. That had it not suddenly decided to reveal itself, he would have never found it.
But that was all behind him, and there were new threats, new land, new people, and old culture and history for him to delve into. There wasn’t just something to do, there were too many things to do, and Wrathion thrived.
It was months into his arrival to the isles, and he was currently working with some of the locals of the Ohn’ahran Plains. Learning of their lives and troubles, and helping the mortals sent from the Horde and Alliance with getting accustomed to working in this new place…and keeping an eye on them to make sure nothing went wrong.
It was a surprise to find Anduin here, hidden from prying eyes with a tattered brown cloak, a sword hidden in cloth, and a backpack that looked heavy and falling apart. He’d snuck in with the Explorer’s League, and was pretending to be a newbie adventurer, giving aid to anyone in need, and it seemed that he was blending in well.
But Wrathion could pick him out of a crowd a mile away, and hell, his limp had returned since he’d started carrying so many things around everywhere. A dead giveaway, the dragon thought, but only to those who knew the human well.
As it turned out, after looking for his friend for three years (five, if you count the now accounted-for years spent locked away in the realm of the dead), Wrathion would just so happen to run into him. And he wasn’t surprised, Anduin was always drawn to mist-covered land masses, in fact Wrathion was sure if he’d asked the man for help Anduin would’ve found it years ago.
It felt…bittersweet to reconnect.
Wrathion longed to ask him why Anduin never sent a letter, but he wasn’t so sure he could ask that. Not after their history together. Not after their mistakes, both of them. Wrathion was keen to show his worry off to Shaw and Genn, but now that he had Anduin before him, he felt silent on the matter.
Like he wanted Anduin to read his mind and answer for him.
At some point the human disappeared from the research site they were currently working at, and with the cooks ready-ing lunch, Wrathion decided to take a walk and find the human. Surely he would be hungry after spending the morning working and running errands for the researcher seemingly obsessed with studying the local plant life. Constantly walking up and down hills to find rare flowers, his limp getting a bit harder to hide as the hours passed on.
After half an hour of wandering the planes, wondering if the human had gotten into trouble, worried for they were both still just figuring out the dangers of this realm, Wrathion finally found the man.
Anduin was sitting on the side of a small hill, his cloak and backpack sitting on the grass beside him, his long blonde hair free from under the cloak hood and blowing gently in the winds. This was the first time Wrathion could properly see just how long the man’s hair had grown. It was longer now then Varian’s was the last time Wrathion saw him. And, was that a beard? Small, and yet now Wrathion realized it likely helped the human hide in plain sight. Why it had taken Left and Right longer to recognize him.
Anduin was sitting, looking up into the beautiful blue sky, and Wrathion followed his gaze…to a kite.
Anduin was sitting with a kite, watching it fly in the wind.
As Wrathion continued to walk towards Anduin, boots crunching the long flowing grass below and giving his position away, he strained to make out what the kite was. It was long, hollowed, with colored fabric - paper?- and wooden sticks. The main body of it was a dark purple, with orange on its underbelly and fins lining the top and cheeks of the face.
A snake? No, it had wings, flapping in the breeze, that were a bright purple. A wind serpent?
As Wrathion got closer, he could see little feet under the belly of the serpent-thing, with tiny paper toes. Well, one of the front feet was missing two toes, and considering the material of the kite they were probably blown away in a strong gust. The wind hit the kite just right, and the head of the serpent tilted downwards, and Wrathion noticed horns to the side of it’s head, and spiked teeth, and the brightest yellow eyes you’d ever seen and-
The dragon stopped in his tracks, realizing it was…no, it couldn’t be…
It looked like-
Wrathion walked forwards until he stood a respectable distance from the sitting man. The man clearly knew he was here, and yet was still just staring up at the kite. Questions ran through Wrathion’s mind, confusion, and clearing his throat, he asked.
“What brings you here,” Wrathion started, keeping his voice warm and welcoming. “Old friend.”
Anduin didn’t immediately look his way, blinking once or twice before tearing his eyes from the sky and laying them on Wrathion, a happy smile appearing on his face. His head tilted juuust a little bit, and the movement caused some of his hair resting on his shoulder to slide off.
“I’ve been rather interested in adventures lately.” Anduin finally spoke up, his voice almost as Wrathion remembered. But, this time, just a taddd bit deeper, or maybe rougher? But still just as calm and collected and graceful as before. And Wrathion felt a part of him melt when hearing it.
It was the first time Anduin has said anything to him directly in several years. And Anduin was happy to see him. This- this felt good.
“I heard whispers of an island shrouded in mists and I must admit I was curious.” He continued. “Luckily, I had some free time.”
Some free time, he says. Wrathion felt himself smirk. He was right. It was almost as if Anduin had heard the same call that the dragons had.
Wrathion glanced up at the kite again, and Anduin saw him do so.
“It’s a kite.” Anduin responded to the unspoken question. “I made it.”
Wrathion wasn’t sure how to comment on that. It wasn’t…the most well made kite, but then who was Wrathion to judge? And, really, he’d never seen Anduin partake in any arts before, though he clearly remembered the prince once expressing a desire to learn to paint. Said he thought it was fascinating how artists, no matter their medium, could create without destroying. Could always, without fail, bring a bit more color and happiness to the world of which sorely needed it. How in their darkest times, mortals have always found comfort in the arts, and have used it to create timeless recordings of history.
For all of Anduin’s adoration for the arts, it was weird to Wrath then why the king was known to be one of the worst Stormwind Kings with commissioning portraits. And then suddenly the dragon realized, if it wasn’t a dislike of the art or artist, then it must’ve been for a dislike of himself, right? Because in every other regard Anduin was a patron of the arts, but not for paintings that would be locked away within his castle, to be hoarded by nobles for all of time. Not for an endless collection of portraits of himself, which over time would show how war affected him, how each one had more rough edges the the last, how he grew more tired and tired and-
Maybe the man thought it a waste of pigment.
Anduin’s short laughter broke his thoughts. “Why do you look like that? I know it looks childish but-”
Anduin Wrynn had used a considerable amount of his money not in the funding of royal portraits, but of the arts displayed throughout Stormwind. Arts that were freely experienced by the people of Stormwind, of the Alliance, and all who traveled from beyond. He funded projects that made the city, and the world, brighter. He’d paid for the legion memorial himself. All of it, not just his father’s false tomb. He paid for the restoration of many older statues around the city, and for paintings that were hung within the church, and for the materials the children of the city orphanages used to make whatever they wanted with.
Anduin was never a noble who aimed to hoard his wealth, and there had been a lot left over from his father’s rule, for Varian was never sure what to spend his own personal wealth on. The man didn’t want anything save for his son’s happiness, and maybe a drink when the time allowed.
“It’s beautiful, Anduin, and you shouldn’t put yourself down like that.” Wrathion interrupted him.
“No need to lie to me, Wrathion, I may be a novice but I am happy with what i’ve made.” Anduin shook his head. “A local artist taught me how to make it. I had a bit of help with this one, or, really I think she was worried I would hurt myself while cutting the fabric for it and kept an eye on me.”
Wrathion tried imagining Anduin learning to make a kite, in his head he pictured the man sitting amongst of class of children, the only human of the group, getting string and cloth all over himself. And as silly as the picture seemed, the idea of Anduin partaking in “childish” activities felt pleasing. Like maybe he deserved to have these experiences, which were all but denied to him in place of learning foreign languages and battle positions. The dragon had no idea if that's really what it looked like, Anduin realistically was just spending time with a single person, learning and asking of their culture and history, but the fantasy was funny nonetheless.
Anduin pat the ground beside him, silently offering the seat to Wrath, but Wrath didn’t take it. His eyes were on the kite again, and after a moment, the dragon spoke again.
“It looks like-”
“I know.” Anduin stopped him. “It’s supposed to.”
Wrathion looked to Anduin, and must’ve tilted his head in confusion, because Anduin smiled again and pat the ground again.
This time Wrathion took the offer, walking over and sitting in the grass with him.
The two, sitting beside each other, looked up to the kite of Onyxia the Broodmother battling the winds.
Anduin eventually elaborated. “I’ve been trying to…to come to terms with some past trauma. Old wounds that I thought were healed, but in truth I was just ignoring them hoping they would go away.”
The wind was so nice and calming, not too cool as to make a cold breeze. And the sound of the distant trees brushing against each other, of the distant wildlife, of the Isles itself, felt wonderful around them. A wonderful place to camp, to sleep before the stars even.
“I realized…” Anduin continued. “Onyxia did more to me than I thought. Previously, I believed that with her death, and the return of my father, that all her harm had washed away. Everything was okay now, and she couldn’t hurt me or my family anymore. And after befriending you, I thought the ptsd i’d suffered after nearly being food for her whelps had vanished too. I wasn’t afraid of dragons anymore. I didn’t flinch anymore. So I must be okay, right?”
Wrathion didn’t reply, he wasn’t meant to. But he had no idea that Anduin was once afraid of dragons. It made sense though, which all but confirmed their original friendship meant more emotionally then he’d thought. Did...did he help Anduin recover from his fears? Or, as it would seem, suppress them? Was Wrathion too caught up in his own plans not to notice? It didn’t matter, the prince never mentioned and it wasn’t Wrathion’s to know anyway.
“Leading the Alliance through war, one after another after another, and then immediately being held captive in such a way that I spent months alone with no one else but my own head, and Sylvanas I suppose, gave me a lot of time to think. I thought about all the things I did and said, too much for any sane man, and realized that I ruled differently then my father had.”
Wrathion wasn’t sure where this was going. Sure he did, of course the peace-seeking prince would want to lead differently than a warrior who thrived in bloody battle.
“But, tell me, do you think it was because of my end goal for peace, placing my guidance in the Light, or…or because I was raised that way?” Anduin asked, looking from the kite down to the grass below.
And then he looked to Wrathion. “I love my father and I learned much from him, but he wasn’t the one who raised me. My mother died before she could raise me. Do you know who raised me, Wrathion?”
Wrathion shook his head. “Did Bolvar Fordragon not fill in that roll?”
“He did, He did and he raised me too, but whose watchful eyes was he under the entire time?” Anduin continued.
Anduin felt the urge to comment that even Bolvar would turn into something…something…his thoughts weren’t all there, but to think he was raised by a Lich King. That did not escape him as well.
“I was raised by Onyxia.” Anduin answered when Wrathion wouldn’t. “I was raised by the corrupted Black Dragonflight.”
Wrathion wanted to disagree, he’d never thought that Anduin carried any of the corrupted flight’s traits or ideals. All Anduin was was a survivor of their meddling. The human was thinking too far into this.
“She was raising me to be a king who ruled the way she did, to be cruel and manipulative and secretive.” A frown grew on the human’s face and it sickened Wrathion. “And what did I do when I became king? How did I rule? How did I make sure war came to an end? How?”
“Stop it, An-”
“I ruled as she raised me too.” Anduin said louder. “When I realized things weren’t going my way, when the Alliance was pushed into a corner, I stopped trying to play by the rules. I didn’t help those who needed my help, I let my people suffer, I was cruel to them. I manipulated my allies to do what I wanted them too, I manipulated the Horde into fighting itself, I did things that would not only cost me my crown, but my head.”
“Do you hear yourself talking?” Wrathion frowned. “You’ve let your regrets and guilty conscious distort the realities of war, you did what you had to do to-”
Anduin broke into laughter, and it confused the dragon greatly. What was going on?
“At least, that is how I used to think about it all.” Anduin sighed, wiping a tear from his eye. “No mortal should ever be left to spend weeks alone in a dark secluded room. I do not think I have fully recovered, but I am working on that.”
Wrathion felt dazed. Stunned. He looked to his friend with absolute confusion. And Anduin smiled.
“I’m sorry,” He said. “I didn’t return to Stormwind for a reason. All those old wounds I talked about? They were open and bleeding again and I couldn’t stop them. I thought I had gotten over Onyxia, but in truth I was letting her destroy me again, possibly to find someone else to blame for all my stress. I was trying not to let the isolation of the Maw beat me down, I thought putting the blame on her would protect me from blaming myself, But It only made me loathe my actions more.”
Wrathion thought upon his words. “But why not blame Sylvanas?”
Anduin shrugged. “I did, and I still do, but only for the actions she performed. I can’t blame her for my reactions.”
Anduin turned back to the kite in the sky.
“I’ve been seeking help from…from anyone who will sit and listen to me, and I’ve learned that everyone has a different method for addressing their trauma. I’ve been spending the last few years trying to figure out which ones work for me.” He said.
“And…for you, it’s a kite?” Wrath asked.
“Well, I’m not sure yet, but it is a method one of the locals told me about. I figured I’d give it a try.”
Wrathion couldn’t really see how a kite helped with such deep rooted trauma. How did a kite of Onyxia help Anduin feel better?
It seemed Anduin could still read the questions off his face.
“It’s like…” Anduin paused. “It’s like letting them go, freeing those thoughts to the wind. Yet I am not letting go of my past, I don’t want to do that, it made me who I am now. I get to see my problems up there, and then when the winds have calmed me down, I can reel them back in. And they feel lighter after I do.”
So it’s supposed to go, but did just flying a kite really do all that? There had to be something more to this, Wrathion thought. Were mortal minds getting something he didn’t? Maybe he just had to give it a try, maybe he would understand then.
“It’s silly to see that, at the end of the day, the harm Onyxia caused on Stormwind has largely been forgotten.” Anduin said. “With the Dracthyr taking residence, as I’ve heard, I wonder if that means that i’m the last one still dealing with any real lingering damage.”
Wrathion knew that wasn’t true, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell Anduin that. The Dracthyr were welcomed into the city, sure, and that itself was an unimaginable step in recovery, but he’d heard some of the whispers from the citizens of Stormwind. He heard the things they said. Many, in support, but many were still afraid. Still paranoid. Hell, Turalyon himself, who hadn’t even been there, raised concerns leading back to Onyxia.
But as much as Anduin heard, he seemed to think that his people were doing better than him. A flaw in his thought process, amongst a sea of many others, but even Anduin knew that. Maybe it was a good thing that Anduin didn’t know, he needed to focus on himself.
“If I can make a big, horrible monster into something so small and silly as a kite, maybe I can come to terms with the fact that Onyxia no longer has any power over me.” Anduin ended. “Whether or not she did before, she doesn’t now.”
Wrathion doesn’t say anything to that. He watched Anduin tug at the kite string and watched how the kite danced in the sky, lifting and falling with the winds, or with the string, as Anduin could control the kite just as much as the wind did.
The stress that had built within him at Anduin’s previous words was gone now, and the calm returned. Wrathion leaned back a bit, stretching his arms.
“It is good to see you again, by the way.” He said.
Anduin smiled to him. “It is good to see you too.” He paused, then added “You don’t have to call me ‘old’ friend.”
“Ah, but you are older than I.” Wrathion joked. “But I will keep that in mind.”
And then another moment of calm, and then Wrathion asked another question.
“What should I call you then?”
Anduin’s pause was too long, Wrathion thought. Was it hesitation?
Anduin shrugged his shoulders. “Just...friend, I think. Unless…unless we come up with something more creative.”
Anduin tugged at the kite string. “My first name works too, you kno-”
And then Anduin paused, as if he remembered something, and suddenly the human was shoving the kite string into Wrathion’s hands, with a quick ‘here, hold this’ under his breath. Wrathion almost let go of the kite completely out of surprise, but caught it just in time and held onto it with his life. He would not be the one to lose Anduin’s trauma into the sky (not that he couldn’t just fly after it and bring it back down, but still.).
Anduin delved into his backpack sitting beside him, pulling a book or two out, digging for something. After a second he pulled out something, fussing over it, and just as quickly did he shove the thing into Wrathion’s hands, taking back the string to the Onyxia kite.
Before Wrathion could even decipher what it was, Anduin spoke, his voice slightly rushed.
“I made this first- it’s not as nice and- but I- I mean- here.” He stumbled in his words. “Take it.”
Wrathion looked down at the object in his hands and realized it too was a kite, but smaller. It was a bit less clean in its construction, but it should still fly just fine. And it was…it had dark black fabric, with orange wings, and red eyes, and it-
It was him.
Well, him, back when he was a whelp.
Anduin made a kite of him. Of him back when he was a small whelp, back when they were friends in Pandaria. And it was small and chubby and had a ring of yellow fabric sewn to the horn, and it- it was him.
And then, in processing what he was looking at, Wrathion remembered the entire reason Anduin was flying kites. Wrathion felt a lump form in his throat. The human handed him the kite, but- but he didn’t mean to- to-...did he?
Wrathion looked up to Anduin, trying not to frown. “Am…am I trauma too?”
Anduin’s eyes widened and for a second it seemed he’d forgotten how to breathe.
“No!” Anduin blurted out, seemingly realizing his mistake. “No! No! No! Never! I just- Oh Light- I-”
He shook his head, leaning closer to Wrathion.
“The idea behind the method of the kite involves balance.” Anduin rushed to explain. “Balance with the winds, sure, but the idea isn’t just to have a kite represent all your trauma, but to have one that also represents- represents-”
Anduin ran a few different words through his mind, and the slightest of red appeared on his cheeks before he’d picked one that gave only the information he wanted to give.
“One that represents comfort.” He said. “You can’t solely focus on your trauma, you’ll find yourself falling into anguish again, so it’s best to treat your trauma while also indulging in that which makes you happy.”
Wrathion looked back and forth between the whelp kite and Anduin.
“So…I’m comforting?” He asked, still processing.
“Even despite how things ended between us in Pandaria, I have always found those memories a great source of comfort. I have, in my darkest of moments, longed to return to those days. I have long wished to speak with you again, to debate you over nonsense again, instead of debating war and truces.”
“I have only ever known two black dragons in my life.” Anduin added. “So I made a kite of the one who haunted me, and the one who calmed me.”
Fuck- don’t cry, Wrathion, you are better then this! It was hard enough not to let his arm shake in front of the human, he would NOT let him see tears! How- how could words be his downfall? Why did it have to be this human who had such power over him?
Ugh. He deserved never to be forgotten, especially when he’s pulling all of Wrathion’s strings.
“You know how to fly a kite, right?” Anduin asked, sensing a struggle in his friend but not knowing how else to address it. “I’d like for you to send it off, if you- I mean if you want to, that is.”
“Of course, my dear Anduin,” Wrathion smiled, gaining a hold of himself. “Now, just let me…”
Wrathion turned his attention to the kite. He’d never flown one before. And it must’ve shown cuz Anduin seemed happy to help him.
“Do you need-”
Wrathion turned his head, “Of course not, it just needs some wind, does it not?”
Anduin laughed. “Well, sure, but…”
Anduin showed Wrathion the string in his hand, the one attached to the Onyxia kite, and showed him how the string came from a circular ring.
“You want the wind to pick up the kite, and then slowly unravel the string in a smooth manner. The string is wrapped around a circular handle, and you just let it go. The wind here is nothing i’ve ever seen before, it’s a struggle sometimes to get the port air to let the kids fly kites at home.” Anduin rambled.
Wrathion stood up, figuring this would be better done that way, and did as told. In one hand he held the handle with the string, and in another the kite. He slowly lifted the kite high above him until it felt lighter and lighter and ruffled in the wind.
“All you have to do is hold the kite up until the wind takes it.” Anduin reiterated, watching him.
And then, after a moment, Wrathion let go of the kite, and against his fears, the whelp began to be carried off into the sky by the wind. It flew without him. He felt the tug on the string, and as directed, he slowly allowed the kite to fly higher and higher and higher until it flew alongside Onyxia.
“Shouldn’t this come natural to you? You already know how to lift off into the wind and fly. Did you really need my help?” Anduin asked.
He probably hadn’t needed any help at all, but just in the moment of it all Wrathion couldn’t think of what to do.
Wrathion changed the topic. “So, do you plan on making more kites? One of Garrosh? Of your father?”
Anduin grinned. “I wouldn’t know where to start in terms of shape, the dragon form lends itself well to kite structure. But, I might give it a try. It would be…silly.”
He tried to picture them as kites in his head, their grumpy faces, and he couldn’t help but laugh. He probably wouldn’t, but the idea itself was fun. Maybe if he thought the Onyxia and Wrathion kites helped his trauma, he might continue with more. He wasn’t sure yet.
“I’ll think about it.”
The two sailed their kites, and sat in the breeze, and enjoyed the silence between them.
This- This felt right. Whatever this was.
It was comforting.
He was comforting, huh?
He would be repeating those words in his head for the next month, he knew.
Time passed, how much Wrathion wasn’t sure, but he remembered why he’d come out to find Anduin. There was lunch, and if they didn’t leave soon there might not be any left.
Anduin was already bringing down his kite, so Wrathion followed suit, and in a minute both kites were taken from the winds, their string wrapped up. The Onyxia kite was too big to go inside Anduin’s backpack, and when Wrathion offered the whelp back, Anduin refused. So he had intended to give it to him. Wrathion held it close.
Anduin put his cloak back on, the hood over his hair, the backpack on his back, and followed Wrathion back over the windy hills.
But, they didn’t get far, before Wrathion stopped hearing Anduin’s steps in the grass. The dragon stopped, looking back to find Anduin stopped. He looked…conflicted.
“Wrath…I was thinking…” Anduin started, looking down, hesitating. “...how little time on this earth I have compared to yours.”
Funny, for Wrathion had been anguished by the same thoughts.
“...I realized at some point that I was saddened to think I won’t get to see the dragon you’ll become. But, I am lucky to see you as you are now. To be here for the start of your…adventure, isuppose.” Anduin’s face showed something of an inner battle, still choosing his words, still.
“And…I want to spend more time with you. I want-” The man seemed to stop himself from confessing anything more. Whether Anduin’s words meant something more than platonic, Wrathion would not push, he wanted Anduin to say so in comfort.
“If you would have me, that is.” Anduin decided to settle on, and god was he worse at hiding his body language than before. Had he relaxed all these years off the throne? Good. Good for him.
Still, Wrathion had a question.
“Do you not plan to return to Stormwind?” He asked.
“I haven’t decided that.” Anduin shook his head. “I still have so much trauma to work through, and- Light, would they even want me back, and- It would need to be under a few conditions if I did, I won’t torture myself anymore, I won’t hide who I am.”
Anduin let out a deep breath. It seemed to Wrathion, at least, that the human already decided, whether he knew it or not.
“And if I don’t, well, I have all the free time in the world now.” Anduin seemed a bit more relaxed now, his body less stressed and he continued to speak. “I would…I would love to help you save the world. It would feel nice not to have to lead for once, but to follow.”
Wrathion blinked. “And you would follow me? After-”
“Yes.” Anduin said, confident. Resolved. “I would follow you anywhere. Everywhere.”
Wrathion thought about it for a moment. If things went south, would Anduin follow?
Yes, yes he would. He knew Anduin Llane Wrynn, and knew he was a stubborn man. Once he pledges himself to something, he commits himself entirely. Mind, body, and soul, and death didn’t scare him either, didn’t when he was a teenager, and especially not now after seeing the realm of death itself.
He would stick with Wrathion through all his plans, be they succeed or fail, and perhaps, if things got bad, too bad, Anduin would be there to save him.
And if all else fails, Wrathion didn’t mind the thought of dying beside the man.
Anduin would be a good companion, a perfect companion, actually.
There was no one better suited to the challenge.
Wrathion held out his hand to Anduin.
“Then, if that's what you wish, follow me back to camp,” He grinned, “and let us hope we didn’t miss lunch entirely.”
-
