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The moment the first vision of swirling light and a burst of colors appeared to him, the moment the first note of the voice which spoke to him met his ears, Wrathion made plans to depart the Dragon Isles, knowing that it was unlikely to just be him experiencing the visions that he could feel were coming from deep within the earth.
And when he arrived, it was to the news that, of all people, Anduin Wrynn had been spotted at Silithus, although nobody had made contact yet. The priest was no doubt experiencing the same visions that many across Azeroth were and they, they being Anduin's many close allies and friends, had been arguing over who was best to go speak with him.
Everyone knew that it was best to not overwhelm him but at the same time everyone desperately wished to see him in person after so many years apart, wished to make sure that it was truly him - that he was truly alive and that he was safe.
But when Wrathion entered the room, his red eyes narrowed in a challenge to anyone that may dare to try to prevent him from seeing his love, Jaina Proudmoore and Thrall turned to him with a look that clearly indicated that they knew he was the best option - or that they knew he would be going anyways, regardless of what they thought was best. Anduin was no doubt still affected by his time in the Shadowlands, and it would take a careful hand to bring him back.
The hand of someone Anduin trusted, of someone he loved.
"I may not like you, or approve of your friendship with the King - with Anduin," Genn Greymane gruffly spoke, raising a hand to rest upon Wrathion's pauldron as the grizzled Gilnean looked deep into Wrathion's blazing eyes, "but he does. He trusts you," Greymane's blue eyes were dark, his brows held low as he looked at Wrathion, "he's not well, and if you break that trust..."
The unspoken threat lingered in the air.
"You know how I care for him," Wrathion sniffed, but nodded respectfully to the man - he knew that Greymane was speaking from a place of love and protectiveness over Anduin, one of the few things they shared feelings upon, "I will be gentle. Whatever he needs."
Greymane nodded, stepping back to allow Wrathion to walk up to Jaina, blue and purple swirls of magic forming around her raised hands.
"Make sure he knows," Jaina spoke as the portal popped into existence, "that he's still good. The things we went through in the Maw were bad, and what he went through under the hand of the Jailer - it was so much worse."
He may not have been in the Shadowlands to witness it first-hand, but Wrathion had heard countless tales of the horrors that the darkness of the Maw contained, of the atrocities and depravity that the Jailer had forced Anduin to commit and endure. Wrathion nodded sharply to the Lord Admiral, and stepped through the portal, grimacing as the familiar feeling of being transported twisted his stomach and threw off his balance.
As the portal snapped shut behind him, his feet meeting the light sand that covered the landscape of Silithus, Wrathion took a deep breath in. The breeze that swept across his face was cool as the rising sun barely crested the horizon, the morning sky filled with streaks of pink and light orange that was a beautiful sight - a testament to the beauty that was Azeroth.
And, as Wrathion turned his head to look forward, there he was.
Anduin.
In the years since Wrathion had last seen him, Anduin had clearly changed. As he slowly walked towards Anduin's form, the priest sitting on a rock and gazing out towards the towering Sword of Sargeras, Wrathion's eyes were first drawn to the haircut that the priest now wore. His blond hair, once pulled back into a handsome ponytail, was now cut short, and the cut was choppy and uneven, clearly done with an inexperienced hand - or a shaking one - and a blade not right for the job.
A similarly cut beard covered Anduin's jaw, making him look older and more grizzled, a sharp contrast to the Anduin Wrathion remembered from the Fourth War. A pale cloak was draped around Anduin's shoulders and pooled around his neck, the cloth dirtied and torn at the edges. As the cloak fluttered in the slight breeze, Wrathion got a glimpse of the armor Anduin wore, the design clearly of Stormwind although it was scratched and covered in a layer of grime - much like Anduin himself, who's skin was dirtied and covered in small scrapes and bruises.
"Wrathion."
Wrathion stopped as he came to stand beside Anduin, keeping his gaze up to the sword that towered over them. Anduin's voice was rough, but it was still him. It was the sound that Wrathion had been dreaming of, longing to hear for years.
"Anduin."
"You're here to bring me back," Anduin's leathers creaked as he shifted, an unidentifiable tone present in his voice, "aren't you? I admit, I'm surprised you all stayed away as long as you did."
Wrathion did have to admit that it had taken every bit of strength in his soul to keep himself from simply tracking down Anduin and refusing to let him leave his sight. The return to the Dragon Isles had captured his attention for a while, but the visions and the voice had now brought them together. And while Wrathion would prefer to simply pick Anduin up and never let go of him again, he knew that it was Anduin's choice on what he would do next.
"If you wish to return," Wrathion shrugged, casually, as if this wasn't their first conversation in what felt like a millennia, as if all he wanted to do wasn't to wrap Anduin in his arms and hold him so tight that he could never be taken from him again, "but I'm here for you, Anduin."
Anduin didn't respond, only sighing heavily, his breath slightly shaky.
As the silence between them stretched on, Wrathion turned his head to examine his close friend, who had been gone for years, who Wrathion had prepared to mourn during his time in the Shadowlands.
Anduin had changed, drastically.
Shalamayne, which Anduin was idly twisting into the sands, was scraped and her edges could use a bit of sharpening - but she still gleamed in the light cast by the rising sun.
Unlike Anduin, Shalamayne had carefully been kept clean, with no dirt and grime sticking to its hilt or blade. The only difference from the last time Wrathion had seen Anduin wield the blade was that Shalamayne's light was now gone, the golden glow that the sword had carried ever since Anduin had picked up the blade from where it where it had laid on the Broken Shore now absent for the first time Wrathion could recall.
During their time spent together in Pandaria, Anduin had told Wrathion many things about the power the young priest had wielded with a talented hand. One such thing was that the Light responded to conviction, that a wielder of Light needed to be confident and faithful in their own abilities to wield the Light in order for it to respond to them. If a person didn't think themselves able to wield it, even if the Light deemed them worthy, it would not respond to their beckoning hand.
From what Wrathion had heard in the last few years, and from what he saw in front of him, it was clear that Anduin had lost his conviction, that he had lost every last bit of faith in himself.
Wrathion found himself at a loss for what Anduin needed. For Anduin was... he was not broken, but he was cracked, he was shattered, and Wrathion wasn't sure how to fix it.
"Can I touch you?"
Anduin paused at Wrathion's request, his reddened eyes sliding to look up at Wrathion with a hesitant expression. His bearded jaw worked, his eyebrows furrowing as he remained silent for a moment.
"...no," he whispered, the hoarsely spoken word almost being whisked away by the swirling winds of Silithus before it could reach Wrathion's ears. Anduin looked away, holding onto Shalamayne as if it was the one thing keeping him tethered to the current moment, and for a brief moment Wrathion saw fear flash through Anduin's blue eyes - fear of Wrathion rejecting him, leaving him.
Anduin was... not alright, that much was clear.
"Alright," Wrathion replied simply, "can I sit beside you then?"
"..." Anduin looked up to him, his expressive blue eyes carrying a multitude of emotions as his eyebrows shifted, "yes."
Wrathion carefully settled down beside Anduin, his legs dangling from the rock the King was settled upon.
"I wish you could," Anduin murmured.
Wrathion turned to look at Anduin, who was staring down at Shalamayne with a tumultuous expression.
"What?" he asked, unsure of what, exactly, Anduin was referring to.
"I wish that you could touch me," he elaborated, "the thought of you, of seeing you again, of touching you again, it's what..." Anduin's voice broke, his lips quirking downwards as he visibly battled to keep the tears gathering in his eyes from falling, "the thought of you is what kept me sane."
"Anduin..." Wrathion reached out a hand, but didn't touch the man who he had known - the man he had loved - for years, simply resting it within reach atop the sands.
"I wish that I could bear the feeling of you touching me," Anduin continued with his voice trembling, "all I thought of, while the Jailer wormed through my mind and puppeteered me like a helpless marionette," Anduin spat, his leather glove creaking as he gripped Shalamayne tightly, "was you. And now you're here, the moment I desperately desired for all the time I spent Dominated by the Jailer - and I cannot touch you, I cannot bear to feel another's hand upon me, another's touch upon my skin."
Anduin's face was flushed with anger, his shoulders tense and his grip so tight upon Shalamayne that it was almost certainly painful.
"Anduin," Wrathion spoke slowly, calmly, "I am here for you. And I will be here, for as long as it takes. Until you are-"
With a screeching sound like a sharpened blade upon a pane of glass, Wrathion's vision whited out as another vision forced itself upon him.
"Hear me!"
The voice called to him as a blur of colors flashed through Wrathion's vision, nauseatingly fast and blindingly bright, before he blinked and found himself in Silithus once more - his chest heaving and his teeth gritted. As he looked to his side he saw that Anduin was bent over, panting slightly. Clearly the vision had affected him as well.
"They're getting worse," Anduin exhaled as he sat back, looking up to the sky as he collected himself.
Wrathion stood, dusting the sand from his clothes and extended a hand, out of habit, to help Anduin to his feet but pulled it back as he saw a flash of unease cross Anduin's face.
"I won't touch you, Anduin," Wrathion simply reassured, looking out to the towering silhouette of the Sword of Sargeras, "not unless you wish it. I know that after what you've been through..." Wrathion paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully, "What happened in the Shadowlands, that was not you. I still trust you, I still..."
Wrathion trailed off, not sure of how much he could say, how much Anduin was ready to hear.
"Do you still..." Anduin paused, using Shalamayne to support himself as he stood and inhaling deeply as he pointedly looked away from Wrathion, "do you still trust me? After what I've done?"
Wrathion tempered down the small spark of annoyance that flared in him (as, of course he still trusted Anduin, more than any other being on Azeroth - and beyond), knowing that the king's feelings of doubt and anxiousness were warranted, that he could not be blamed for having them. Anduin had been through a lot, more than anybody should ever have to experience, since Wrathion had seen him last. And the Black Prince knew that Anduin had been struggling long before he had been taken into the depths of the Shadowlands.
"Anduin," Wrathion moved to stand right beside Anduin, looking at him carefully even as Anduin avoided his gaze, "I trust you, and I always will. To the ends of the earth and beyond. No matter what happens, I will be here."
"Okay..." Anduin exhaled, looking down to Shalamayne, his eyes tracing the outline of the sword that he had held ever since his father fell upon the Broken Shore, "okay."
"Whatever's coming, these visions and that voice, will you stand with us?"
Anduin looked at Wrathion for a moment, his features hardening.
"Yes, no matter what comes," Anduin raised his gaze to the towering shape of the Sword of Sargeras, embedded deep within Azeroth, "I will stand beside you."
Wrathion's lips curved into a slight smile, his heart warm as Anduin agreed to stand beside the champions of Azeroth once more. It would be a long time until Anduin was anywhere near what could be considered 'well', but it was a start.
"I am glad, more than you know," Wrathion looked over to Anduin, "to see you again. I have been looking, ever since you were taken."
"Ever since I was taken, I had been thinking of you, wanting you," Anduin looked to Wrathion, his eyes ever so slightly less dull than they had been when Wrathion had first set eyes on him, his skin ever so slightly less pale, "in time, I think," Anduin whispered, "I think I'll be able to touch you once more."
Wrathion knew that it would be a long time until Anduin would be comfortable with contact beyond a simple hand on his shoulder or a hand in his hand, beyond a fleeting touch that lasted only mere moments.
But Wrathion would be with Anduin, every step of the way.
"In time, however long it takes" Wrathion nodded, stepping closer to Anduin, their shoulders almost brushing but still remaining apart, "I will be waiting for you."
For as long as it takes.