thenearshore | [prayer] 'cause i won't give up without a fight

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[prayer] 'cause i won't give up without a fight

Who: Anduin and Wrathion
When: Dec. 13th
Where: a hospital in Japan
What: Anduin hears a prayer that cuts a little close to home, and Wrathion probably learns something about empathy. Or gets punched in the face. Whichever comes first.

"It's here, then?"

The prayer was only a little fuzz for aid in the back of Wrathion's head; Ogun stood for war and iron, for craftsmen and aggression... but Anduin, of course, had found his calling in healing, and had been found by the appointment of a healing god. He'd heard the call for aid like a clarion bell, and being a bleeding heart, had immediately gone to help even though he was supposed to be ~~paying attention to Wrathion~~ catching up on old times with his friend. Somewhere, the last vestiges of Varian Wrynn's dream of a warrior-son rolled in its grave; even on foreign shores, Anduin was a healer first and foremost. Wrathion tucked his hands into his coat, eyeing the building they stood before with a curious tilt of his head--the cold had little effect on the black dragon's inner fire, but he still preferred to be inside. "Do you have an idea as to how to find your lost lamb, then?"

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"I just know that we're close. There's so much anguish..." He murmured after a moment, glancing up at the building infront of them before turning away slightly to study the grounds intently.

"It's not inside, but there's a lot of heartache there as well." He peered upwards again, shielding his eyes, but he was right; the call was not coming from inside the ~~house~~ hospital before beginning to walk, gesturing for Wrathion to follow. "This way, come on." he soothed, unable to quite hide the wry grin at Wrathion's frustrations.

"Are you alright in coming along? You didn't have to."

"You always were a tender heart," he replied, eyes glittering bright as he studied his friend's far-off look. There was something on the tip of his tongue, a well-meant you can't save everyone... but he can almost taste the quicksilver but I can try in his friend's bearing. Or being slapped upside the head, whatever Anduin thought to do first.

"I don't sense what you do, in this place," he diplomatically settled for, beginning to follow a half-step behind Anduin as the man followed the pleading that'd called them both, for better or for worse. "But someone has to be here to... temper your unwavering optimism, before it becomes your downfall." Anduin believed too much in the ~~heart of the cards~~ best of a situation, in Wrathion's view. Someone had to keep him grounded.

He didn't slap the back of his head, but he did place a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly in acknowledgement to the diplomatic tone, grin growing across his face as he continued forward. The few people out at this hour ignored them, as Wrathion had warned him they would, but Anduin wasn't set on them either. He slipped past them with ease, only pausing now and then as if to gauge them before continuing towards the side of the building and rounding it.

"Well, I do appreciate the company, and the balance," he provided in his own diplomatic tone as he glanced back at his friend-- before going still and listening.

"...Over there" he murmured, pointing to their right, where the walkway diverged and a lone figure could be seen trudging away.

Wrathion was being kind as far as he was concerned, giving Anduin an arch look as the human touched his shoulder. "Someone has to keep you from throwing yourself on the sword of your own selflessness," he huffed right back, slipping around the few people trudging away from this strange version of a healer's ward with ease, eyes fixed on Anduin as he led them on a roundabout jaunt into who knows what. He was about to huff as Anduin used his own smug dragon-voice back on him--but then he went stock still, hand coming up after a moment.

"Him, then." Wrathion wasn't fond of stillness, of inaction. He took a step forward, glancing to Anduin as he picked up the pace to come even with the man walking as if pulled along on a string, all the proverbial fire guttered out of him in the midnight hours.

"Him."

The man walked in slow, truding steps that were heavy with reluctance. He didn't want to leave, but there were so many things to do in a day and night besides sit at someone's bedside. The please was as clear as glass now as they walked abreast of him, Anduin sorting through his emotions and feelings as he tried to think of what to say and how best to really go about... alerting the other.

"And what did you say he's praying for? You said something about a girl?"

Wrathion is totally not a callous little shitheel of a dragon, eyeing the despondent man as his very knowledgeable four-year old opinions on being so sad about something as paltry as love come swimming to the forefront of his expression. "Hello?" Cut to the quick, Wrathion's got... business to do; the sooner they catch ol' heartsick's attention, the better.

He nodded, distracted for a moment as he listened-- the prayer clear in his mind now that he was so close. He opens his mouth to say something-- then shuts it again as Wrathion cuts to the chase. The man startles at the voices interrupting his frenzied thought's and glances back and forth more than one would think necessary before smiling weakly.

"You look troubled..." Anduin says, his voice soft and soothing as he shoots his companion a look over his head. Close up it was obvious that the man had slept little in the past few days and was in need of a good shower. He nodded, glancing back at the hospital.

"Yeah... she's... she's back in the hospital. I should be there with her but I need to go to work."

At least one of them had a sense of emotional bedside manner. Wrathion opened his big dumb mouth again--and immediately closed it as Anduin gave him The Look that insinuated he was going to get punched again for the second time in so many weeks. With a surly little huff, he let it go, arms crossing over his chest as he focused on the petitioner betwixt them.

"And who is she? What's her plight?" Did it really matter?

... someday, Wrathion would catch a two-by-four's worth of empathy to the noggin, but today was not that day. Not yet, anyway.

"My... mother.." he managed with a little gasp to his voice, as if the admittance of it pained him greatly. Worry is etched in his features and raw in his voice and it hit Anduin like a ram going at full speed against a wall. His eyes widened and for a moment he stopped, then shook his head to rid himself of the thoughts before he could acknowledge them.

"It's only natural to worry." His eyes rose to meet Wrathion's, trying his best to convey his emotions in that moment. They had to help. Somehow.

... Wrathion doesn't react to the concept of 'mother' the way Anduin does. For him, mother is a hollow term; a broodmother had been involved in his creation, Rheastrasza had altered him for the greater good, but no one had ever really mothered him in the sense that the soft-hearted Wrynn would immediately expect. His expression remains hard, draconic and guarded; Anduin's impassioned look softens him just a little.

He's always been a bit taken aback by just how deeply the prince--king's heart bleeds at the slightest provocation. "You've entrusted her to suitable caretakers, have you not?" He can think in pragmatism, when he can't think in love.

Mother is a curious term to Anduin as well. He never knew his mother; only through her through stories since she had died while he was still a baby. But it's... a good thought. They're important, and it's clear that this man loves his mother deeply. When he sees Wrathion's look melt even the slightest bit he conveys his pleasure with a small, quick flash of a smile before letting his attention drift back to their ...companion.

The man doesn't notice the expression, merely nodding glumly. "The best care. But we have so many bills to pay, there's so much work to do..." Worry and helplessness wash over him and Anduin closes his eyes for a moment, feeling that pain.

"Then you dig in and you bear that load."

Wrathion's voice is... surprisingly calm, for him--there's no theatrics, no cajoling edge, no blink-and-you'll-miss-it sense of mockery lining his words. Anduin's pleasure means nothing to him, of course; he does things to suit his own time and needs, and if others happen to coincide with what he's doing, then all the better for them because they chose right.

"Unless you yourself are a healer, there are things out of your hands--which is why you must dig your heels and carry the part of your problems that you can."

There's a tool for every situation, and sometimes one has to point out exactly where a little cog happens to fit. Little cogs miss their place in the grand scheme of things.

Anduin had never felt prouder of Wrathion than in that instant. He had never really thought the dragon was evil, though his morals were decidedly misguided and much more construed with the big picture rather than the small details that helped make it up, more often than not.

But here he was, helping a mortal with advice that was... surprisingly sound.

Evidently it pinged something in the man, who gazed at Wrathion in a stupor as he digested his words, nodding slowly.

"Everyone has a place that's best suited to their talents. Unless your tears can heal and your grief brings succor, there's no point in wasting your days weeping--you waste what you can actually do to help."

Wrathion is all about you asking what you can do for your ~~country~~ ~~benevolent draconic overlord~~ situation; he spares a glance for Anduin, eyes narrowing at the strange gleam on the man's face and in his eye. Oh no, he's done something that the Prince of Peace agrees with, and Wrathion will carry that to his grave some ten-thousand years from now, when everyone around him has withered to dust and all the names and faces of the kings of eld have been smoothed out of the stones they once committed themselves to.

Ugh. He looks back to Anduin's--their?--supplicant, determination etched in his features. "So. You channel your pain into something else; go to work and earn the gold needed to keep your home, your health, your heart. Pay the clerics and the physicians who nurse your mother and keep her hale and help her fight. You cannot carry water in a sieve, so instead, you dredge the gold from the bottom of the brackish river using it, you see?"

Everyone to a task, and a task for everyone. The world moves in unity to protect itself.

The man spoke strange words, but there was something incredibly inspiring about his words. He straightens up a little as the words really hit him, and some of the tiredness seems to drain away. Anduin's grin is a little wider now in reaction, his voice a soft counterpoint to Wrathion's.

"And just think of how proud she's likely to be. You're doing so much for her, helping out in a time when she needs it the most. People don't forget kindness like that." Not good people, at least.

The man is smiling just a little now as he contemplates their words, turning to glance at them both, nodding.

"Yes... I can do that! I-I will!" He's still tired but a new sort of energy has reached him thanks to Wrathion's zeal and Anduin's kindness. He's at least willing to try, instead of despairing.

"As long as you maintain your balance--don't lose sight of your mother while chasing monetary gain, and vice versa--then you will fulfill your duty to her with no regrets to be had, whatever the morning may bring." This whole being a comforting presence thing is... weird, frankly. Wrathion's not entirely sure he's suited to it, though like most things he's not suited for, he pulls the coat on anyway and wears it oddly like it was meant to be high on the shoulders and tight around the throat.

What obligation isn't like a collar?

Their feet seem to have carried them further, following step by step with the man as Wrathion ~~berates~~ barrages him with the strange sort of motivational grandeur that he always called up for heroes and their closest equivalents. "Don't lose your hope for despair. That's what the cruel side of fate wants from you--they want you to accept entropy instead of struggling, and you must never succumb to the desire to be empty. You must fight for your happiness, for your right to live. Every dawn you see is a battle won; every battle you win is a battle your mother wins."

Every new day torn from the jaws of the opposition--whether it's a literal army of demons or a crippling sense that nothing matters and the world is a cruel joke--is a victory. "You humans are odd, with your hope. Remain odd, friend."

Anduin starts to open his mouth-- then closes it once more, listening instead. His hand finds the man's shoulder, offering a single, gentle squeeze before withdrawing. People care. Strangers care. He feels the hope springing alive, caught between the tenacity of the passionate individual and the cautious kindness of the more quiet man. They're right-- every battle won is another for his mother and her own fight, her will to survive. He can help, he can be there for himself and for her.

"I can do this," he repeats, either choosing to ignore Wrathion's last words or setting them aside for the rousing, if strange comfort that they offer. He glances from one to another, his eyes alight with a hint of fire, the downtrodden look fading. Still tired, weary to the bone, but more willing to fight than accept a fate pushed toward him. "Thank you... thank you..." he babbles, glancing at them both and there Anduin stops, merely bowing his head politely as he grips Wrathion's elbow lightly to pause with him.

Wrathion has refused the chains of fate before--he is no one's captive, he is no one's burden. He forges his own links in destiny's chain, writing his own story, Red Dragonflight be damned and everyone else with them. There's a measure of pride to be found in refusing to bow before what feels like the impossible, the implacable--Wrathion's eyes glitter with hot, fiery pride as the man finally finds that spark within himself, the barest hint of a smile touching his lips.

It hardens back into a frown when Anduin touches him; he glares at the other prince--king, now--with the sort of young fire that comes with being highly independent and doing things for himself and only himself, thank you very much. "Don't thank me. Fight for her. Fight for yourself. Claw life from the unfeeling hands on fate one bloody battle at a time, if you must. You will win the war." ... he does manage to end the metaphor there, thankfully. Mentioning dying might be too much.

"... now. We should see you to your abode, should we not? You've a long campaign ahead, young champion."

"Yes, let's get you home friend. A good night's rest and you can be up in the morning to face the day-- for yourself and her." He soothes, releasing Wrathion as he gestures for the man to lead. Filled with determination and at the same time oddly relaxed and comforted, he does just that, beginning to walk once more, mind already alight with plans for how he can help his mother.

Anduin feels accomplished, closing his eyes for a moment as he walks, letting out a sigh of relief. This was... good. Cathartic for him as well, it seems like. Glancing to Wrathion behind the man he nods his head, hoping the other feels the same.

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[prayer] 'cause i won't give up without a fight

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