Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue

Everyone has scars. Every scar is the chapter of a story, carved into the body as a reminder of things that happened. They can remind of something funny, or something horrifying. They can be a reminder of never to do that again. They can be a reminder that mortals should be more careful.

Regardless of who, everyone has at least one scar, even if it’s from an insect bite or pox.

There are some, however, whose very lives are lived to get those scars. Fighters, soldiers, all front line battlers expect them. Healers do what they can, but each one is a badge of honor, a story to tell.

There are some who don’t expect scars. There are some who find themselves where they don’t belong, and wind up hurt in the process.

And there are some who charge into danger, heedless of their own safety and welfare.

Every single body tells a story. A Guardian's body often tells more stories, and more interesting ones, than most.

~*~*~

Khadgar ran his fingertip along Medivh’s chest, absently. He was tired, but he wasn’t sleepy yet. Whatever this… new thing was between them, he was trying very hard to accept. It was easy when he was seventeen, but for some reason, no matter how much his feelings had burst back into fierce life the moment Medivh had touched him… he was having trouble accepting this now.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love Medivh with all his heart and soul. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Medivh with his heart, his soul, his life, his existence. He did, on both counts, and did it unconditionally.

Since his decision to stop throwing himself into danger recklessly, he had been uneasy. Oh he was certain it wasn’t because of resentment. He wasn’t that petty. He only threw himself into danger because… well. What was his life even worth?

When he had driven a blade into his master’s heart thirty years ago, he had driven one into his own at the same time. His heart had died that day as surely as Medivh’s body had… throwing Sargeras out of it. For years on years Khadgar wished, desperately, that he had seen it sooner, that he could go back and shake his younger self into… well. Listening. Understanding that nod he had given himself on the dying world of Draenor. Heeding Medivh’s plea to ‘watch out for me’. Recalling and noting down that Aegwynn had two shadows… and why it was odd, before Moroes had interrupted his thoughts.

For years he just… did things. His mind would work faster than he could control, and he … did things. Spells cast before he thought about the consequences. Plans formed and enacted before he realized what he was doing. Charging into the fray despite being a mage and not … well. Mages didn’t wear plate, mostly.

Absently, he rubbed a spot on his own chest. He could still feel that damn breastplate Turalyon had insisted on putting on him so long ago. Ugh.

“Your thoughts are loud, Young Trust,” Medivh murmured, his hand lifting and catching Khadgar’s. “What’s going on in there?”

“I’m still trying to work out how… how this happened, actually.” Khadgar shrugged. “I’m not upset it has, but…”

Medivh chuckled softly. “But you’re not sure how we’ve fallen back into our old patterns?”

Khadgar sighed. “It’s not even that. It’s…” He trailed off, frowning in thought. “It’s that I don’t live here, and yet…” He shook his head. “No… it’s that not only have we fallen back into old patterns, but I… it feels different.”

Medivh ran his hand through Khadgar’s hair, ruffling it a little. “You don’t have to share me with a demon, Khadgar. There is no one here but me. We are no longer master and apprentice. We are equals. Magus to Magus. Archmage to Archmage. Guardian to Guardian.”

Khadgar scowled. Medivh laughed. “I never wanted…”

“You did. You said so yourself that you’d dreamed of it. Desired it.” Medivh sighed. “I… I heard you.”

Khadgar froze, then lowered his head, burying his face into the pillow for a moment before he looked up again. “And I also said that’s exactly why I don’t want it. I cannot want it. I’ve seen what that power can do. I’ve seen what happens to other Guardians.”

“And you broke the cycle,” Medivh murmured, affectionately. “Like it or not, you are Azeroth’s Guardian, Khadgar. You do not hold the title. You do not have the bestowed powers. And you do not need them, as I’ve told you time and time again.” He shifted so he could rest a hand over Khadgar’s heart. “It is this that makes you Guardian. Your heart, your strength. Your will. You answered the Call without a second thought.”

Khadgar sighed, draping his arm over Medivh’s chest. “And for all of that, what has it done? What good have I—“

Medivh turned over, pushing Khadgar onto his back, and leaning over him. “What good have you done?” He shook his head, his hair falling over his shoulder and brushing Khadgar’s shoulder. “Light above, you idiot. You helped destroy Sargeras’ vessel when you killed me. You convinced a king of a devastation I unleashed on this world, and helped to stop it. You stopped Azeroth’s destruction by nearly sacrificing your life. You remained on  dead world learning from a Naaru. You returned to Azeroth and worked your way through the Kirin Tor’s idiocy and wound up on the Council of Six. You lead an expedition to Draenor once again to stop the Iron Horde. You returned to wind up leader of the Kirin Tor. And still you fight against the Legion.” He paused. “What was the Guardian created to do?”

Khadgar stared up at Medivh, trying to get a word in edgewise, but the question brought him up short. Automatically, he answered. “To guard against the Legion’s incursions on Azeroth and wipe out any pockets of it and the fel they wield before it can…” He stopped, paling. He closed his eyes. He had made it his life’s goal to destroy the Legion – his reasons were selfish and tainted by vengeance and a personal hatred, but…

“And what have you been doing?” Medivh murmured. Khadgar didn’t answer. “You see?”

Khadgar sighed, defeated. “But…”

“And you have an advantage over so many,” Medivh went on, lowering himself to rest his head against Khadgar’s shoulder. “You have another Guardian to talk to. One who understands the demands on you. One you can unburden yourself to, and you don’t have to explain why you need to. You have friends by your side, and a lover to stand with you.”

Khadgar sighed. “If only you could,” he murmured.

“Perhaps… one day…” Medivh closed his eyes. “For now… my path lies elsewhere, and I am bound here. I must see the damage repaired or rendered harmless.”

“At least I have you,” Khadgar murmured. “I was so afraid… that I’d destroyed… everything when—“

Medivh put a finger to his lips, silencing him. “And we’ve done… something… Even I’m not sure what we did.” He let his hand fall. “For some time, I wondered if we didn’t inadvertently bind you to Karazhan as I am. When you were able to depart the morning… after… it was apparent we did not.”

Khadgar shrugged a shoulder. The light caught a streak of pale disfiguration. Medivh’s fingers ran over it, softly. “Once,” he said softly, “You were entranced by the scars that marked me,” he murmured. “I told you I would one day tell you the stories.”

“You remember that?” Khadgar asked in surprise.

“I remember every detail of that night, Khadgar. From the time I set down my work and went to investigate what could have caused an explosion that rocked the tower without bringing it down right to the way you fought sleep, trying to talk to me after we’d settled after the evening’s events.” Medivh smiled. “The way your years melted away, and you were so peaceful, even though I’d just taken the last of your innocence from you.”

Khadgar snorted. “You took nothing from me. I’m sure you’ve figured that out. I’d had dreams of far more than what we did that night. Far more.”

“If Moroes noticed, he never let on,” Medivh grinned impishly.

Khadgar groaned. “And he was… awful sometimes.”

“Ah, but… he grew on you, as he had me,” Medivh pointed out.

“Mm. Like foot rot.”

Medivh laughed softly, but sobered quickly. “Light, I miss him. He’d… returned… when I did.”

“What happened?” Khadgar asked softly. “I… I thought I heard his voice…”

“The same thing that happened the first time he’d returned,” Medivh sighed. “Adventurers. Led by you, from what I understand.”

Khadgar winced. “I… I didn’t know that…”

“I know. You couldn’t have guessed they would take the long way up the tower, and Moroes did not know who they were, so instead of a civil conversation, Karazhan decided that it would manifest a banquet for him to oversee… and you know how easily Moroes gives up his keys, even to me.” Medivh grumbled. “Especially to me,” he groused. “Then again, Karazhan was so twisted by that time that even I wasn’t certain about where things were. All that was left intact was fracturing into the Nether, and very little other than the guest hallways and the ballrooms and dining halls were left. I know they encountered a … less charitable imprint of me.” He grinned. “Though, next time, when you forcibly eject a Nathrezim from the tower… try not to shatter windows?”

Khadgar blushed, but laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind. I am sorry… I ah… I lost my temper a little.”

“A little?” Medivh gasped, laughing. “A little. I’d hate to see what would happen if someone really made you angry!”

Khadgar snorted. “Well, what would you have done, if you’d come here, found a shade of me, spoke to it like I had to it that day, and then found out it wasn’t me?”

Medivh sighed. “I’d probably have blown the entire tower to shreds, myself with it.”

Khadgar lifted a silver eyebrow. “Well, at least I didn’t do that?”

Medivh bit his shoulder. Khadgar yelped. “So… ask,” Medivh murmured. “I… I think I’m ready to talk now.” He turned back over onto his back, his arm held out invitingly.

Chapter Text

I.

Khadgar settled himself against Medivh’s side, and ran a finger along his chest again. It caught on a scar – but that one he knew. He had been the one to put it there. He trailed his finger lower and it caught again. He ran his finger along what seemed to be a sword slash about the length of his hand, but it was a little too wide. He looked up at Medivh. “May as well start here… This feels like a sword slash, but it’s… too wide. Like either it didn’t heal, or wasn’t a sword.”

Medivh slid his hand to capture Khadgar’s. “It wasn’t a sword.” He sighed. “It was an axe. And… Forgive me, but this is probably going to be the stupidest thing you’re ever going to hear.”

“Get your arm up, damn it – your entire left side is open, Medivh!”

Medivh snorted, raising his staff in his left hand, and winced, grunting as a blade struck it. He turned, swinging his right arm to counter, the light rapier in his hand missing by miles as Anduin Lothar danced away from him.

“Now you’re leaving your right open!”

“It is not!”

The flat of a weighted practice axe said otherwise. Medivh went flying into the dirt of the practice grounds, his staff skittering out of his hand. He groaned as he pushed himself to his knees, his left hand curling around his right side. “Damn it, Llane…”

“Anduin did warn you,” came the unrepentant reply. Prince Llane Wrynn shook his head and reached down a hand. “How long have we been at this?”

“Too long,” Medivh grumbled.

“Any longer than five minutes away from your books is ‘too long’, Med,” Anduin teased, and ignored the scowl he got in return. “Seriously, though, we’ve been at this long enough that you aren’t paying attention at all – and it’s going to wind up getting you killed one day.”

Medivh retrieved the plain wooden staff from the ground. “I’m a mage. I’m not supposed to be in close combat. I’m supposed to stay in the back and throw fireballs before things reach you.”

“And if something gets by us?” Llane asked, one eyebrow raised.

Medivh mumbled something in reply, dusting off his robes.

“What was that? I didn’t quite catch it.” Anduin asked.

“I said, I’d scream like a girl for help.”

“Don’t let one of the guardswomen hear you say that,” Anduin laughed. “She’d probably punch your face in.”

Medivh grumbled. Llane laughed. “Come on. I think it’s time we got cleaned up and got a drink, hm?”

Anduin bowed, mockingly. “As my Liege commands.”

“Feh,” Medivh spat, wiping his mouth and scowling at the dust still on his face. “You’d take any excuse to go drinking, you lush.” He shook his head as the other two burst into laughter, and staggered a little as Lothar clapped him on the shoulder.

“Loosen up, Med,” the warrior encouraged. “So, what, meet at the gates in an hour?”

“I have to check to see if I’m needed for anything, but an hour should be fine.” Llane took the rapier and staff from Medivh and the broadsword from Lothar and went to rack them, then headed back inside.

“Incorrigible. Both of you,” Medivh grumbled, still holding his side. “Damn he hits hard.”

The look on Lothar’s face changed at once. “He didn’t crack anything did he? I heard the impact and while I’m not going to make apologies – your side was wide open – it doesn’t mean you need to be seriously hurt.”

Medivh twisted a little, frowning. “No,” he said slowly. “I think I’m just going to have one hell of a bruise.”

Anduin nodded. “Come on, let’s get you into a hot tub then. It’ll at least make you feel better.” He walked with the mage back inside and through to the living quarters.

“And I’m supposed to tell my father… what?” Medivh asked, his movements a little stiffer for the injury.

“That you got your ass handed to you by both of us, of course.” Anduin answered, as though Medivh were dense. Then again, there were serious holes in the man’s education as far as he was concerned. Even mages needed to learn to defend themselves at close range.

“He’ll ask why I didn’t set you both on fire,” the mage sighed, pausing at the door to his quarters, and running a hand down his face, wincing at the dust that came out of his hair and fledgling beard. “Ugh.”

“I’ll explain that setting the prince on fire is a bad idea,” Anduin shrugged. “He hit you. Not me.” He grinned. “Go get cleaned up, Med.” He headed back the way he had come, and Medivh watched him go.

Once Anduin was out of sight, he turned to open the door. Luckily for him, his father was elsewhere. With a sigh of relief, he gained the sanctity of his room, stripped the loose robes off and dropped them into the laundry basket, and looked down at his side.

The bruise was going to be spectacular, and the blade of the axe he had been hit with was clearly outlined against his ribcage. With a growl, he gathered clean clothing and headed for the bathing room.

Anduin had been right about one thing. Hot water was making the pain much less of a sting, and getting the sweat, dust and dirt off his body helped his mood significantly.

He couldn’t really blame Llane, not really. He had left his side open, and had fully deserved the swat he’d gotten. He just wished Llane hadn’t been so heavy-handed with it. Of course, bruises now meant keeping limbs later. He wondered if Anduin had come up with that on his own or if his commander had passed it down to him. He smiled; Anduin would be a fine commander one day, if he continued to spout that kind of advice.

Of course, there was always the possibility of staying at peace, despite Stormwind’s obvious preparations for… for what? Gnolls? Murlocs? Trolls?

Gnolls and murlocs were definitely an issue, he reminded himself, running his hands through his now clean hair. He would not readily forget his first foray into Elwynn, not when he had come home with his robes torn from thrown spears and blistered hands from trying to do far too much at once.

He sank into the water a little further, shuddering. The lecture he had gotten from that still rang in his head. How was he supposed to know that casting too fast and with that kind of repetition would burn him so badly? It wasn’t like he was casting the same spell constantly – he’d flung fire, frost, storms…

He rubbed his hands, absently. They still twinged a little sometimes, but it was not the all-consuming pain he had been in once the adrenaline had worn off and he had screamed. Ugh. This was getting him nowhere.

He got out of the bath and dried off, then went to his room to find something that wouldn’t scream “mage”. For all that he was the court conjurer’s son, he tended to be harassed in public if he wasn’t on his guard.

He met his two closest friends at the front of the Keep’s courtyard, clad in a pale blue shirt with a simple black doublet with black breeches and black calf length boots, and noticed he wasn’t dissimilar from either of the other two. Llane of course was wearing blue and gold, though far muted from any kind of regal attire, and as he had expected, Lothar was dressed in riding leathers of a muted brown color that looked as though they were far older than he was. He hoped he wouldn’t stand out against the other two, but…

The three made their way, casually, slowly, down into the city. Lothar had suggested going all the way out to Goldshire, but none of them was willing to walk so far tonight.

When they reached the tavern and inn in the Market square, however, they decided to change their plans. There had clearly been a brawl not long before they arrived, and the wreckage was evident even before they reached it. The burly man who ran the place was outside, having a heated shouting match with two very clearly drunk patrons.

Lothar frowned and stepped forward, but Llane’s hand on his chest stopped him.

“I really should find out what—“

“Later, Anduin. Don’t get involved. You’re not in uniform, and I’m not sure my father would want to hear I was involved in this, because I invariably will be, whether or not it’s the truth.” Llane reminded him.

Goldshire it was, then.

By the time they reached The Lion’s Pride, it was only half full, and there was a minstrel playing a lively jig in one corner on a gittern, accompanied by a second on a shepherd’s pipe. The atmosphere was quiet, but cheerful.

Far better than a brawl that Llane didn’t need to be associated with.

They settled at a table in one of the corners, and were soon supplied with light dwarven ale and  savory venison stew that was, by all accounts, better than what was served at court. Llane had to agree, and said so.

“To be honest, there are times where plain fare far outstrips anything served at court, and is typically far gentler on the stomach.” Llane sighed as he set his empty bowl aside to focus on his drink.

Lothar simply belched in agreement.

Medivh rolled his eyes, shaking his head at both of them.  He sighed, eyeing his mug in thought. “I’m just glad that it’s quiet tonight,” he murmured, hardly heard over the hum of the room.

“Why’s that?” Anduin asked turning to look at the mage.

“Well, for one,” he said, looking pointedly at Llane, “I hurt. For two,” he continued, looking back at Lothar, “I don’t feel like being harassed.”

“Let them try,” Llane growled. “I swear, if more news comes from the Kirin Tor about hunting down renegade mages…”

“Don’t,” Medivh pleaded. “Just… don’t. My father and I are fine, and happy here.”

Llane narrowed his eyes, but dropped the subject.

And his mug.

A shriek from the doorway drew their attention, and a sickeningly familiar noise echoed from outside. Murloc calls.

“Really?” Anduin got up.

Llane reached up and tried to tug him back down into his chair “Not tonight, Anduin. Let someone else handle it.”

“Yeah?” Anduin shrugged him off and gestured. “Who?”

Medivh looked around. Anduin was right. All that were here tonight were civilians; and all were backing away from the door, other than one or two who looked like they would take on murlocs without weapons.

He wasn’t sure how it even happened. One moment they were enjoying a drink, the next they were outside, weapons drawn, without armor…

And thankfully, the others had brought weapons, just in case. Just as thankfully, he needed neither weapon or armor.

Medivh let the others flank him as they moved outside, and he sent up a light that lit the area around not only the inn, but quite a bit of the forest around it like a miniature sun.

The murlocs hissed and backed away from the light, but had already been spotted.

Predictably, Lothar moved first, and Medivh couldn’t help but admire the man’s speed. His sword in both hands and over his head before he’d taken two steps, he slashed downward at the murloc that was stupid enough to charge at him.

And first blood had been drawn.

Two murlocs darted from the shadows of the trees, followed by two more, then three, then another four. They’d be overrun in seconds. Well. This was why he was a mage, and why, after this afternoon’s training, he’d explained why he was a mage and what he did. … That sounded far better in his head before it reached his thoughts. Hell. How much had he had…?

His hand outstretched, he pulled his wits back to himself and threw several fireballs. One struck the first two to emerge, the next two only hit one target apiece, but it was something. Four down. Llane dealt with the one that reached him, and he glanced to see that Anduin had another two. He narrowed his eyes; he could even those odds, if he could see straight.

No, no he couldn’t risk hitting Anduin – if he did, there would be nothing left of the man, and Stormwind needed him.  Instead he threw ice at the ground, and two of the other three slipped. The last stopped, looked at the ice, then looked at him, its eyes flashing.

The damn things knew magic?

The ice rose and two patches settled themselves under Lothar and Llane, and both tripped. Another fireball went sailing between them, and the murloc-mage brushed it aside. Llane had regained his footing, but Anduin was still down, one of the two he fought trying to get the upper hand on him.

Before Medivh could move, however, both of them dropped, and Anduin got back up. A spear sailed out of the trees and bounced off Anduin’s chest, leaving a small hole in the leathers he wore. More spears followed, and Medivh put up a shield in front of the three of them. Llane and Anduin backed up to where he was.

“They have a bloody mage!” Anduin snarled.

“I’d noticed,” Medivh snapped back.

“You’re a mage!” Llane insisted.

“Well spotted.” Medivh waited for the hail of spears to stop, then let the shield dissolve. “If I throw fire, I’ll set the forest ablaze. That mage is either using what I throw or countering it!”

There was a rumble of sound, and all three of them paled. This was no scouting foray, apparently. The cry had been from more than the dozen they’d taken down. At least that many twice, possibly thrice over waited behind the trees and out of the glare of the now fading light Medivh had sent up.

Medivh swore, causing both his friends to stare at him like he had gone mad. This was far more than just the three of them could handle. He threw his arm up, pointing at the sky, sending up something that burst, looking very similar to a naval distress flare. He only prayed that someone would recognize it.

“Go back to the inn, and get it barred,” he told Lothar. “I might be able to hold them where they are until help gets here.”

“No way in Hell are we leaving you out here by yourself, Med!” Anduin shot back, both he and Llane moving closer to his sides to keep him covered in case more of them decided to charge.

All three of them backed up, and Medivh sent up a second flare, then renewed his light. He wished he had his staff. He should have it with him at all times, so his father had said, but… not when harassment in the city was a common occurrence.

The light winked out, and all three were blinded. Medivh started swearing again, trying to get another one up. A light ahead of them kindled, and a silvery bolt shot toward them and split to hit all three. Unable to see, they dove, and Medivh screamed in sudden pain.

He and Llane had dived at each other, and Medivh felt his side split open.

As if the scream was a signal, the murlocs surged forward. Medivh’s hand shot up and forward “Look away!” he screeched just before he shot another spell; a flare of light blinding them all. He only prayed that the other two weren’t caught in the flash.

The sound of hooves were more than welcome in the silence that followed, and the light was enough for Llane and Lothar to get Medivh back on his feet; it seemed as though they’d heard his warning.

Light burst into life around them as torches were flared and they were passed by as the soldiers who had come down saved their lives. He winced as someone wrapped a hand around his chest on his left side, and vaguely heard someone bellow for a healer.

“After that, I was taken back, treated, and then lectured by my father,” Medivh sighed. “So much for heroics.”

Khadgar snorted softly. “I see nothing wrong with an injury like that. How were you and Llane supposed to know which way you were going to go to avoid the spell? I mean, honestly. Did you ever figure out what it was? It sounds like lightning, but…”

“No. It could have been a shaman, but it looked far more like arcane as it hurtled toward us in the dark. Of course we had just been blinded, so. I’ll never know if it was a true mage or just one of their Mystics.” Medivh shrugged a shoulder. “So. I’ve shared. Your turn.”

Khadgar smiled, leaning back and inviting Medivh to explore.

Chapter Text

II.

Medivh went for what Khadgar had expected him to. “This has bothered me since the moment I saw it,” he murmured, trailing his fingertips down Khadgar’s right side. The skin there was bubbled and raw, still red and angry looking, as though the skin there had never really healed. It looked as though his very skin had boiled and then frozen that way.

Khadgar sighed. “I… I had a feeling you were going to ask about that,” he murmured, laying back down. “It is probably best to get this one over with sooner rather than later.”

“Are you all right speaking of it?” Medivh asked, quietly. “I can search out another.”

“No, no. It’s just…” Khadgar paused, looking at Medivh for several heartbeats before dropping his eyes. “I’m afraid you’ll wind up thinking less of me.”

“Less of you?” Medivh cried. “What? Why?”

Khadgar sighed, laying his head against Medivh’s shoulder. “Not only was I careless, I…” He was quiet for a moment, then shook his head, burying it in the crook of the older mage’s neck for a moment. “Let me start from the beginning,” he said, his voice muffled. He turned his head and felt a hand run through his hair. He wasn’t sure he deserved even that small comfort.

The night air was cool, for a change. Khadgar lay on the roof of the keep, staring up at the stars. His thoughts were far from this wreck of a planet, far from where it should ever have been.

He wondered, for the millionth time, if he and Lothar had done the right thing. His eyes focused on a star, far to the north, or what passed for north. “I wonder what you’d say, if you found me here…” he murmured, a smile quirking his lips just a little. He was never much for stargazing until he had met Medivh, but their nights out on the observatory balcony were some of the best nights he’d ever spent.

Medivh never let him miss an event; even a small one. A light streaked across the sky, and Khadgar watched its progress across the inky blackness, and wished, as he had on every single one that he’d seen, that he would get home, and that he would see Medivh again.

His chest was tight, but he refused to give in to the pain of it, his eyes turning to a constellation he seemed to feel was familiar, but he could not figure out why.

Little did he realize the answer had been in his satchel the entire time. But he would not realize that for some time yet. For now, his eyes roamed the skies, taking in the glitter of diamonds on black velvet, his eyes finding the odd ruby, topaz or sapphire.

“I should have known you’d be up here,” a voice said from Khadgar’s left side. He jumped, slid a little, then reached to grab for a handhold. A tile. An imperfection. Something - anything.

“Damn it Turalyon!” Khadgar hissed, managing to cling to the roof with one hand, the other still scrabbling for a handhold. He managed to haul himself back to a stable position, forcing himself not to look down. He didn’t want to think about how far it was to the ground. “Between you and Alleria, you’re going to kill me!”

“That’s what you get for sitting on rooftops,” Turalyon chuckled, reaching up to grab the roof and haul himself up beside his friend. “What is it you’re doing up here, anyway?”

“Thinking. Watching the stars. Trying to figure out what is going on out there.” He indicated with his chin to the west.

The low light caught his beard and Turalyon followed the gesture, the low lights of the Horde stronghold barely visible in the darkness. He sighed. “And here I’d hoped you’ve figured it out and would have all the answers waiting.”

Khadgar snorted. “If only I did, my friend, if only I did.” He settled himself into a sitting position, balanced carefully on the gentle sloped tiles. “I’ve seen this sky, somewhere, Turalyon.”

“Um. You’ve been staring at it for almost a week. Every night. Hours at a time.”

“No, no, no. Before now.” Khadgar sighed. “You know that Medivh was an astronomer.”

“I didn’t,” Turalyon murmured, softly, knowing how difficult it still was for his closest friend to speak of his former master. “But I do now.”

Khadgar grunted softly. “He taught me a lot about the stars. How power fluctuates in tune with them. How events dictate the flows of the world, the tides, the leylines…” He trailed off with a sigh.

“You miss him still,” Turalyon observed.

“Like I miss my body,” Khadgar replied heavily. “Every day. All the time.” He looked down at his hands. “I’m younger than you, and yet… and yet…”

“You look as though you could be my grandfather, I know.” Turalyon rested a hand on Khadgar’s shoulder. “You still have your heart, your health and your mind. That’s more than most can say.”

Khadgar sighed, wishing he dared confide just what it was he would trade all three for. “And what good are they, when one is empty, one is questionable, and few believe in the third?”

Turalyon was quiet for a long moment. “I have no answer to that for you, only that I believe in all three. I believe in you. I would not have agreed to this otherwise. Yes, Ner’zhul must be stopped… but… You led us here. And we followed.”

Khadgar pulled his knees into his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “Most just think I’m a lunatic.”

“I don’t.”

Khadgar shook his head. “You don’t, but what of others?”

“Alleria believes in you. Danath and Kurdran believe in you.” Turalyon sighed softly. “Khadgar, you’ve done more in your years than most do in a lifetime. Give yourself some credit.”

Khadgar sighed, shaking his head. “I haven’t done enough.”

“Say that again, and I’ll push you off this roof.” Turalyon looked at the mage, his eyes flashing. “You stopped a demon from taking your mentor completely. You stopped him from taking one of the major power-poles of Azeroth. You managed to help evacuate a nation, and you closed a portal that nearly killed you.”

“That portal is open and it will destroy Azeroth, Turalyon,” Khadgar replied in a low, deadly voice.

Turalyon wasn’t impressed by his friend’s tone. “And you’re here, working to stop it from doing so.” He sighed sharply. “Seriously, do me the favor of giving yourself some cre—“

“What’s that?” Khadgar said suddenly, cutting Turalyon off. He was looking west, his eyes squinting into the darkness.

Turalyon turned to look. “I don’t see anything…”

“Khadgar! Turalyon! Another attack!” Alleria stood at the window below them, leaning out to look up at the pair. “Two dozen, maybe more – I can’t see more than the ones around the ones carrying torches.”

Khadgar swore and moved to crawl back inside, Turalyon behind him.

“An attack at night?” Turalyon cried. “But… Surely even they…”

Khadgar’s face was grim. “They figure we’ll be asleep. Rouse the others. Thanks to Alleria’s bright eyes, we may be able to surprise them.” Without waiting for an answer, he headed for his room to change. He needed every advantage he could get.

The attack came just before dawn, when there was a faint yellow glow on the horizon, eerie in its color as it turned orange, and then to blood as the sun rose.

By then, twice the number Alleria had guessed were swarming Honor Hold, and at least a quarter of them would never move again.

Khadgar stood by the gates, chafing at the fact that he stood there, and was not out in the thick of things. He couldn’t see well from here, and his hand was white knuckled on his staff for his impatience and worry. The sword against his hip brushed the wall as he shifted, waiting for word to come back. He could hear little. He could see less.

He shook his head. Enough was enough. Without thinking about what he was doing, he drew the blade and shifted it in his right hand until he felt balance, drew a deep breath, and strode into the fray, past the archers, and closer to the front. He would not stand idle. As he walked, he gathered latent energies into himself, and when he found himself on a small rise where he could see, he acted. Ice coated the ground beneath the Horde lines, sending them sprawling. Bolts of arcane struck loners who were not part of a group, or wound up as stragglers. He felt himself tire, but weariness wasn’t about to stop him.

He heard a shout from the front, and they retreated a little. He had room for something more. Narrowing his eyes, he swept his staff across the air, and a wall of fire sprang up between the lines, catching one or two of the orcs. He heard someone running towards him, and the wall collapsed as he was pulled from his task.

“What are you doing? I told you to stay back!”

“I’m not going to stand idle while—“

“I wasn’t asking you to!” Turalyon pointed his sword at one of the orcs in the back who seemed to not care about the carnage around him. He was walking forward through his own ranks, ignoring the fighting. He was heading for the hill where the two humans stood with a grin that reminded Khadgar sickeningly of the warlock he’d faced the day he’d become Medivh’s apprentice.

“What are we supposed to do about HIM?”

Before Khadgar could answer, two of their warriors charged the warlock – for a warlock he was, from the look of the staff and the threadbare robes he wore – and found themselves … melted. Khadgar looked away, sickened by the sight of green puddles where the two had landed when they’d been swatted away, and swore under his breath.

He had little left, and that… that thing could melt their own. Well then. He bit his lip and cursed his impatience. His mind raced as he tried to figure out how to outwit the bastard, because now there was no way he was going to out-cast it.

“Get out of here. Don’t let him touch you.” Khadgar drove his sword back into its sheath and wrapped both hands around his staff.

“Khadgar –“

“GO. Get the hell out of here, I’ll be fine.”

Turalyon stared at Khadgar for a moment, then turned and headed back toward the lines, getting others out of the warlock’s way. He seriously doubted Khadgar would be ‘fine’, but then again… the mage had pulled miracles before now. Maybe he did have something more up his sleeves. He hoped so. He prayed so. “Light be with him; he needs all the help he can get.”

Khadgar was drained. He knew he was, and yet, he might be able to pull something small off, something that would distract. Something that might take the warlock’s attention long enough for him to go after him in close combat; the warlock did not seem to be carrying any other weapon other than his staff.

Plan formed, Khadgar stood with as casual an air as he could, as though he didn’t notice or really care that the warlock was stalking toward him. Turalyon had clearly warned the others that he was going to something, and kept the area clear.

The warlock, on closer inspection was very clearly well versed in his work, and his confidence knocked Khadgar’s down just a touch. He wasn’t as confident with what he planned, but it was the only plan he really had. He took a calming breath and waited. The warlock stopped about ten paces away, sizing Khadgar up with small, red eyes that burned with green fire, giving them an extremely eerie effect. He bowed, a gesture Khadgar had not expected. And he waited, watching the mage.

Khadgar lifted a silver eyebrow, then bowed back, his eyes never leaving the warlock’s. The orc nodded in satisfaction, then backed off a pace, lifting his staff into a combative stance. Khadgar unconsciously did the same. And then he dove to the side when the first blast came toward him, a ball of green fire that spread the scent of sulfur as it passed. Coughing, Khadgar got to his feet and countered with a bolt of frost that the orc knocked aside.

It seemed they were evenly matched at the very least, and Khadgar was probably a little less experienced, and far more fatigued.

With another curse at his earlier impatience, he threw something else, this time a bolt of pure arcane energy, and followed it with a blast of the same. Now he was in trouble. Both had cost him, and cost him dearly.

The orc leapt to avoid the bolt, but was caught by the blast’s edge. It was something, at least – though now Khadgar realized he had just pissed the orc off. He blocked and dodged another two gouts of green flames, but could feel the edges of his sleeves warm, heat, then catch. He rolled, firing another, weaker blast of fire.

The orc was laughing now, confident that Khadgar was no match for him, and he even relaxed a little in his stance.

Khadgar took his chance. He caused a bright flash beside the orc, who turned to look at it, and closed in, drawing his sword as he did so.

The warlock had not expected this, but he was all too ready even after the blinding flash. Khadgar scored his side, but the warlock shot managed to get in under his arm with a streak of what looked like molten lava, the same green as everything else he had cast.

Khadgar ignored the pain and struck hard, managing to sever the orc’s throat with his blade. There was a scream of rage, and the warlock, with his last breaths, caught the mage with a last burst of the melting flames that had consumed the two soldiers.

Covered in greenish black blood, Khadgar dropped to the ground, his staff rolling a ways down the hill and his sword forgotten. He curled his arm around his side, unable to tell if the scream he heard was his own.

His blood felt like it was on fire, turning to lava in his veins. His skin felt as though it was being flayed from his flesh, and when he looked down, he didn’t want to believe what he saw. His skin was burning without flame, bubbling as though it was boiling – and it was as green as the orc’s had been.

He shook his head to clear it, and knew that if he didn’t do something, he was going to be taken by whatever it was that warlock had cast. Several more orcs were heading for him, and from the look of it, they would reach him before Danath and the group with him would reach them.

With a silent apology to the one who had warned him against doing what he was about to do, he harnessed what ran through his veins, his eyes flaring green for a moment before he flung out his burned arm and seared the nearest orc with green flames. The next he shot with a frozen bolt that was also pure green. The third bolt he fired was silvery green, and the last was the violet he was used to.

It bought Danath and the others the time to get to him and in front of him. He looked down at his side, and with relief, saw that it was no longer green.

He then promptly lost the contents of his stomach, sickened worse by what he had just done than he was with the injury he had sustained. He felt the cool touch of the Light against his forehead; a healer had reached him.

“And then I passed out. I found out later that even Turalyon couldn’t heal what had been done to me.” Khadgar sighed.

“You… used fel magic.” Medivh blinked, staring at his former apprentice with what seemed to be commingled fear and respect. At Khadgar’s nod, his lips compressed, and the emerald eyes dropped to the injury again, his fingers tracing along the bubbled skin. “Your quick thinking probably saved you,” he admitted. “However…”

“I’m … I know. But it is not the last time I…” Khadgar shook his head. “I’m not sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing, but I am quite attuned to it now, and I… I have been able to use artifacts and objects infused with it without taking damage. Or rather, much damage, if any.”

“I admit that it distresses me to hear that, but, on the other hand, had you not cast it from you…” Medivh shook his head. “It is entirely possible that you would not by lying here for me to scold you. And I should, you know. Were you infected at all?”

“I must have been,” Khadgar sighed, softly. “If I had not, how would I have gained an affinity for it?”

“If you had, how do you channel and harness the arcane as easy as breathing?” Medivh countered. “Those corrupted that deeply have trouble. Why do you think I slept so long after… well, that was long ago.”

Khadgar shifted, uncomfortably. “I didn’t wake up for several days,” he admitted. “Turalyon feared that I might have gone into a coma, as you had.”

They were quiet for several long moments. Finally Medivh sighed, and turned over onto his back again, pulling Khadgar against him. “But you are sure it was entirely purged?”

“Would my last bolt have been the color of your eyes when you cast if it hadn’t?” Khadgar countered. “Danath told me later on that my eyes had turned the same color… and it was the first time my eyes have ever turned violet. To my knowledge, since then, it has depended on what I cast on what color my eyes turn.” He dropped his eyes and rested his head against Medivh’s chest. “They have never again even tinted green.”

Medivh was quiet for a long moment, then sighed, his breath ruffling Khadgar’s hair. “Then I think I can only scold your past self for being so reckless. Then again, you are just as reckless now, sometimes. One would think you were some affiliate of mine. Or worse, my apprentice, with the way you act.”

Khadgar was startled into a soft laugh. “I suppose so. Does it help to tell you at that point, I had never been so terrified in my entire life, apart from facing … Sargeras?” Khadgar’s pause was significant, and Medivh caught it, and nodded, slowly.

“It does a little,” he said quietly. “Fear is an excellent teacher, after all. I’m sure it taught you that day to act a little more tactically?”

“I… No. I did not know Turalyon and the others were holding me in reserve for something more. I honestly thought they just wanted me safely out of the way for some reason.” Khadgar closed his eyes. “If they had told me, I would have stayed put and kept myself from draining my energies so quickly. I’m not even certain how I managed all I did.”

“Easily explained. You pushed yourself to your limits, pushed past them, and pulled on more of the potential you had.” Medivh shifted, pushing Khadgar up a little so he could look at him. “The first time you pushed your limits was in the Black Morass – before you were even my apprentice. I confess I watched you. I worried when you fell, but I stayed back to see what you would do. You could have run. You could have called protections or run for cover. You acted, swiftly and decisively on the offensive. You didn’t shrink back. You attacked, and then instead of running, you challenged the others. And you fought. Even when you had nothing left you kept trying. Perhaps it was in desperation, but when I saw that you were ready to bluff them down, and willing to sacrifice yourself to try… I knew. I knew right then that you were not only worthy, but you were mine.”

Khadgar blushed, dropping his eyes and looking distinctly uncomfortable. “I… I-I’m not sure how to—“

“And then I introduced you to Anduin. And from what I understand you defended me. And you kept my secrets, Khadgar,” Medivh pressed on. “You temporized instead of giving answers. You evaded instead of giving whole truths.”

He let Khadgar lower himself again, and tilted his chin up a little to kiss him, softly. “I realized you were the one I had been waiting for. The only one sent to me who was worthy of my time, of my efforts. You would understand. You were intelligent enough to see what others didn’t.”

Khadgar was quiet for a long moment. “I’m … I’m still not sure how to answer,” he murmured.

“Then don’t. Ask more questions,” Medivh grinned, his eyes bright with pride and mirth.

Chapter Text

III.

With another dark blush, Khadgar lowered his eyes to Medivh’s skin. His fingers found a series of claw marks near his hip. They weren’t particularly bad, nor were they deep, but they didn’t seem as though they were from a typical predator.

“What happened here?” he asked softly.

Medivh smiled, then laughed. “Oh that’s a good one,” he replied. “I got that one during one of Llane’s ‘hunting trips’ in Stranglethorn Vale.”

Llane waved his two friends to come closer, indicating the small pride of cats in the little cup of a valley below them. His raised eyebrow at Lothar was significant. Lothar eyed the cats, some ten in all, then shook his head. All of them were well built, and their pelts would not be what he wanted. The meat would be tougher as well.

They moved on, slowly. There was another group nearby, all of them solid black and silky-looking. The group was smaller, and this group was significantly in better condition – a little less built, perhaps a bit younger.

Llane paused again, his eyebrow cocked at Lothar once more. Lothar nodded this time. All three pulled bows from sheaths on their backs and carefully strung them.

They would have at least two, probably three, at most four shots apiece before the cats reached them, and every shot would have to down one at the least if they were going to get the dozen. Provided of course, none of them ran away – and they would not be hunted down.

Lothar knelt, drawing an arrow from his quiver and nocking it. He heard the whispers of sound as the others did the same. Llane remained standing. Medivh edged around the cover of another tree, lowering himself to one knee.

Lothar cleared his throat. Three arrows sang, and all three grabbed for a second arrow while the first set was still in the air.

The second shot was staggered, but all six found a mark.

The other six cats scattered. A third volley followed the second, intent on bringing down the wounded. A fourth ensured that six cats did not move again.

“Well that went far better than expected,” Llane murmured, pursing his lips.

“Too easy,” Medivh commented, looking around. “I’m not sure I trust that.”

“They were young,” Lothar shrugged. “I’m just glad we didn’t have to kill more than one male.”

They moved to remove their prizes from the little valley and set up camp near the river. They were here for enough pelts for a new coat for Llane’s fiancée, a gift for Winter’s Veil. However, the bones were strong enough for carving and the meat would be more than welcome across the city.

It was certainly welcome as they carefully skinned the cats – well, Llane and Lothar skinned, Medivh minded the stew of panther, wild herbs, tubers and fungi. He would not touch the cats once they were moved; he did not trust his skill with a skinning knife for something that would be a gift. This was no time for practice, this was a time for skill.

Llane carefully wrapped the pelts to be dried and tanned. Lothar carefully separated meat from bones and nodded to Medivh when he was through. A careful application of magic and the whole would be frozen long enough to return to Stormwind. Lothar carefully packed their bounty into the travel bags they had brought so none of them would be overburdened.

Medivh lifted a bit of meat from the stew, eyed it, then cut it in two. It fell apart before his knife could part it. He nodded. “Good timing. Dinner’s done.”

With the last of the daylight, they separated. Medivh to fetch firewood, Lothar water, Llane to clean up after dinner.

Llane carefully settled the stew pot in the outside of the fire so it would keep warm, but would not burn, its lid tightly secured so it would not attract unwanted guests to their fire, then took their bowls and utensils down to the river where Lothar was. As he washed, he looked around; Anduin was nowhere to be found. He frowned, but ultimately shrugged. He may have already been here and they had simply passed one another in the dying daylight.

He returned to the camp to find that there was fresh water available, both for washing and for drinking. So. They had simply missed one another. He repacked their bowls and utensils to be used for morning, then slipped off in a random direction, but didn’t stray far enough that camp was out of sight. He didn’t want to be far just in case he was bitten by something in a very uncomfortable area.

Lothar returned to camp a few moments after Llane left, and started setting up their bedding. Medivh wasn’t far behind, though he set down his armload of firewood and went back out.

By the time Llane returned, he was more than ready to settle down after their long day. He helped Lothar set up the last of the bedding.

A cry from somewhere between them and the river made them both leap to their feet, snatching weapons from where they lay and running towards the sound.

They did not expect what they found – Medivh was on his back, and being thoroughly inspected by one of the female cats that had run off. The cat did not seem angry – in fact its claws were sheathed, and its face was against Medivh’s chest.

“Is.. Is it purring?” Lothar asked, lowering his weapon.

Llane shook his head.

Medivh looked up at the pair pleadingly, not much liking that this large cat had decided it – she – liked the mage at all. “Do something!” he hissed.

The cat swiped at his side, as it might one of her kittens. Medivh paled, and shook his hair out of his face – in time to have it laved by a very scratchy tongue. He made another noise of fear, and he lifted his hands to push the cat off.

A heavy paw came down on one hand, the cat’s body on the other as it … settled itself down on Medivh for all the world as though it intended to sleep there with Medivh curled against her belly.

By this time, both the others were laughing so hard, they leaned on each other for support, despite the situation.

Medivh tried to squirm his way out from under the cat, and one paw reached around and caught him in the side, the claws extending just enough to tell him ‘no, I’m not done with you’. “Ow, ow, ow!” Medivh moaned softly. “Stop that you great beast! Get off!” he begged.

“I think you found your familiar, Med!” Lothar crowed, unable to help himself.

Llane was laughing so hard he was doubled over, in tears, holding his sides.

Medivh blew out his breath in a sigh. “Okay… maybe I can talk you into letting me go back to camp with my friends, and you can sleep with me there?” he tried, having no idea what else to do. It was obvious that the cat wasn’t interested in hurting any of the three, even when the other two had obvious weapons drawn. She was almost… tame.

The cat considered this for a long moment, then stood up, chirruping softly and nudging Medivh’s side. She backed off a little, then licked at his side where she had clawed him in apology. The mage waved the cat off and got to his feet, slowly, holding his side.

When he had gotten the other two to stop laughing (which took until full dark, forcing him to light their way back to camp), he got Lothar to look at his side when they got back to camp.

The cat followed Medivh like a shadow.

Lothar was inspecting the wound and digging out herbs to steep for pain and for a poultice by the time the cat wandered into camp. She sat down beside Medivh, staring at Lothar, for all of Azeroth like a stern mother glaring at a healer or a medic.

Medivh sighed. “I… I suppose I have found a familiar…” he murmured, sounding defeated as the cat inspected everything Lothar did for his injury. Once he had been patched up and bandaged, she head butted him until he scratched her ears.

“You’re like a little shadow.” The cat purred, loudly. “Shadow? You like that name?”

Llane shook his head, laying on his bedroll and staring at the proceedings. “I don’t believe this is happening. We kill half her pride, and she’s here insisting that you’re hers now?”

“I don’t pretend to understand cats, Llane. I… just know that this one seems to think I need her.” Medivh softened, just a little. “Well, why not. Maybe I do.” He looked at the cat. “Do you want to come home with me?”

The cat swished her tail, looked out at the jungle again, then at Medivh and made a soft sound. She moved to the edge of the firelight, then returned to Medivh. And settled herself in his lap, purring loudly.

“I… think that’s a yes.” Lothar opined, blinking a little in surprise.

Medivh sighed. “We’ll see if she’s here in the morning.” He looked at the cat as he stroked her fur. “I feel badly about killing her kin now. But… I think she… Do you understand why, Shadow?”

The cat looked up at him, her golden-green eyes bright as they gazed at him with understanding. She rubbed her face against his, looked toward the packs that radiated cold, and looked back at him. Medivh bit his lip. “I … I think she does,” Llane murmured softly. “By the Light’s Grace…”

Lothar shook his head, and settled on his bedroll. “I’ll be damned. I’ll take first watch,” he offered. “You two get some sleep.”

“I’ll take second,” Medivh offered. “That way you can look my wound over as we swap.”

“Fair enough.”

Medivh settled a blanket over his legs and made to pull it up, but found his arm full of cat. He smiled and lay back, and the cat curled up with him, pressed to his side and across his chest, carefully keeping her paws away from him as they flexed in content.

“For the record, Llane took second watch. Lothar nearly had his hand taken off when he came to wake me. Shadow wanted him to have nothing to do with me until he looked at my injury and assure her that it was healing well.” Medivh smiled. “I miss her, sometimes.”

“I assume then,” Khadgar murmured softly, “that she lived out her life with you?”

“She did. The keep staff and King Adamant were a touch… wary at first. But she acted much like a kitten, and did not seem aware that she was as large as I. She was truly, well and truly, my familiar.” Medivh sighed. “I must tell you some of the stories of the way she and I would play once I had mastered raven transformation. We would chase each other around the courtyards and parks, and … I miss her.”

Khadgar leaned up to touch his lips to Medivh’s. “We should get you a companion that isn’t avian. One you can cuddle.”

“I have one.”

“Medivh, seriously… I can’t be here all the time,” Khadgar protested.

“No,” Medivh sighed. “But I don’t need anyone else.”

“Because you’ll remember to eat once in a while, and that fresh air is a thing, and—“

“Okay, I need a companion.” Khadgar laughed at his rediscovered lover, pulled him closer and nipped his lower lip. Medivh lowered his eyelids a little, returning the flirtation with a nip of his own, followed by a soft kiss. “Maybe I’ll see if I can convince Moroes to return one more time…”

“Good luck – I think one of my champions ah… kind of took him with him when he left here.” Khadgar blushed.

Medivh raised an eyebrow. “So he’s out there. Somewhere else… I hope he’s happier serving someone else. He… He deserved so much better than how I treated him here.”

Khadgar snorted. “You treated him well. He was sad and confused when … I shouldn’t be saying anything, but I’m afraid the sympathy was something I couldn’t exactly miss.”

Medivh shifted a little uncomfortably. “He begged me not to go down there, Khadgar. Told me you’d gone for help. Said you’d be able to help me, that you knew, that you realized, and would find a way to take the darkness from me.” He closed his eyes. “And that bastard wouldn’t even let me mourn him – either of them.”

Khadgar sighed. “It’s a possibility if he finds you’re here, he’ll return. He loved you in his way, I think.”

“Why else would they have stayed?” Medivh shrugged. “Especially… especially after I…”

“Don’t,” Khadgar murmured. “You know it wasn’t you.”

Silence fell between them for a long moment. “You’re right,” Medivh said finally. “It wasn’t me. I may have caved in faster than I should, but… It wasn’t me.”

Khadgar smiled at his small victory, leaned to kiss Medivh’s forehead softly, then nipped his ear. “I believe it’s my turn.”

Chapter Text

IV.

Medivh traced the claw marks around Khadgar’s heart. “You have a few sets of claw marks yourself, you know. And these don’t look like they came from a kitten the size of me.”

Khadgar winced. “No… Those would be from a doomguard that was intent on removing my heart from my body.”

Medivh hissed. “How did it manage to get its claws on you?”

“This, I’m afraid is quite recent.” Khadgar shifted himself so his legs were free, then stretched them with a low moan before resettling one of them over Medivh’s. “You will, I’m certain, remember that there was a moment out on the Broken Shore where all of us were set to take the Tomb.” Medivh nodded. “I got cocky. Got cornered. And for the first time in quite some time, I was truly terrified for my life.”

Khadgar stood in contemplation of the Tomb of Sargeras for a moment, chafing a little at waiting. He watched the side entrance to the Cathedral, waiting until the strike team was in position. He raised Atiesh, sending several small explosions to slam into the entrance to the Tomb.

“Well, we’ve knocked. Let’s see if they answer.” Khadgar waited for several long moments, then gave the signal to charge. He and Velen remained near the middle of the forces as several teams slipped in.

“This is too easy. Something is amiss,” Velen said, lowly.

“I’m not sure. I mean we’re supposed to be enough of a distraction to—“ Khadgar stopped, looking up at the sound of rumbling from the tomb’s entrance.

All hell broke loose.

“I think they finally heard my knock,” Khadgar commented with a smirk. He rolled and set his shoulders, settled Atiesh in his grip, and waited for the first wave to come.

Within minutes, it was entirely chaos. Darkness engulfed the antechamber of the tomb, and for quite a ways outside. Lights popped up all over from various magi, and were replaced as soon as they were knocked down.

Khadgar yelped as a stray blade cut across the back of his calf, then took it out on a felguard raising its weapon to crush a downed paladin. He and Velen were weaving through the ranks, Khadgar taking down individual demons or groups where he could, Velen healing anyone he could reach.

Khadgar paid little attention to where his position was until he found himself against a wall. He started back toward the middle when he was thrown back into the wall. His eyes widened as he realized he stood toe to toe with a doomguard that towered over him.

The thing smirked and leaned down, speaking in its demonic language, but thanks to the ring he always wore, Khadgar understand the foul words. “All alone. And what praise will I gain, if I bring back your heart?” As it spoke, its clawed hand drove itself against Khadgar’s chest.

Too stunned by what had just happened to move, Khadgar stared at the thing blankly – at least until he heard the sound of leather tearing and looked down. The claws had parted his cuirass with ease, and ignored the cloth beneath it as it began to drive its nails into his skin.

Khadgar found he could not move, though he tried to speak, tried to back away, tried to move forward, and even tried casting, but to no effect. It was as though he had been paralyzed by this thing that was now intent on pulling his heart from his chest.

Something screeched above him, and one of the illidari demon hunters swept down, wings extended as she glided, and kicked the doomguard in the face. Khadgar reached up his free hand to press over his chest to stem the bleeding, then took out his frustration on the very doomguard that tried to kill him.  Leaving it charred, he and the demon hunter ran back toward the middle of the room, every step causing pain and making the bleeding that much worse.

Before it could be treated, however, he was screaming for a retreat. They were being overrun, and too quickly to regroup.

By the time they were back outside, he was cursing. He had to warn the others. The distraction had failed, and he could see the swarms heading straight for the Cathedral, intent on cutting the strike team, Illidan and Maiev off. He dropped to one knee, waving offers of healing away, and managed to get his message to the others before it was too late.

Only then did he allow himself to be led off and tended.

Only then did he realize just how close he had been to losing more than just a lot of blood. The marks around his heart were terrifyingly deep, and he wondered just how close he’d come to losing it.

“And that was it. I remember going very pale, very cold, and then just … waking up with Modera leaning over me, and demanding to know why I would sacrifice my heart, and making horrible jokes about my love life.” Khadgar grinned.

Medivh sighed, shaking his head. “Still, I don’t like that you took that kind of risk to just…” He sighed again. “Do you have any idea how close you came to death?”

Khadgar sobered. “Of course I do,” he murmured. “Both of us may laugh in the face of dangers, but oh yes, I am well aware that they exist. And I am also well aware of just how close I came to not only death but very likely eternal servitude.”

“Eternal… what?” Medivh breathed, sitting up a little, dislodging Khadgar.

“If they had my heart, Medivh, they could pull me back from the dead and control me.” Khadgar eyed Medivh, shocked when his mentor gave him a look of blank shock and not one of comprehension. “You mean you didn’t know this?” Medivh slowly shook his head. Khadgar snorted and pushed Medivh back down so he could resettle. “Apparently, yes. Had that doomguard delivered my heart to one of the Nathrezim, or someone… higher… I could be controlled.” He shuddered. “Could you imagine, me, a servant of the Legion, keeping all of my knowledge, my skill?”

“Not to mention your considerable power?” Medivh whispered, shivering himself. “Bad enough that I was a slave to Sargeras, but you? I had the power of the Guardian behind me and at his disposal, but you…” He sighed. “Khadgar, you are aware that when you were seventeen, you built protections so thorough and so powerful that I … He… could not get through them at first try.”

“I … never really gave it much thought. I thought that the protective spells I used were strong, the physical components a better quality, the resonance of the tower…” Khadgar frowned. “I didn’t pour all that much into them, concentrating more on the … the visions.”

Medivh laughed. It was soft at first, but soon turned to quiet hysterics. His arms both curled around Khadgar’s body and he pulled the younger mage tightly against him. Khadgar blinked, not entirely certain he could understand what exactly was going on. “Medivh…?”

The laughter turned to tears, and Khadgar simply lay there, his hands awkwardly positioned, one against the pillow under Medivh, the other arm loosely curled against the older mage’s shoulder, hand lying flat against the sheets. His head lay against Medivh’s chest, and he listened to both the quickened beat of the heart as well as the soft sobs.

Medivh quieted after a few moments, and Khadgar lifted his head a little to look at his former master, wondering exactly what had happened. It was another several moments before Medivh spoke.

“I could feel it,” the older mage murmured. “Through him, I could feel it.” He paused, staring straight upwards. “I could feel your protections burning my hands, even as he tried to claw through them. I could feel his anger at my hope. I could feel his snarl of rage as he started to tear through it, shredding my own skin.” Another pause. “And then… you acted.” He closed his eyes, whimpering softly. “I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt anyone. I just… I just wanted… I just wanted to live, to be recognized in times where I wasn’t desperately needed. I wanted to be loved. I wanted to love. I wanted what every other normal person had. It was all denied me. For years, I slept, and I dreamed. I dreamed of things that would tear your soul apart. I dreamed of things that I wished I could take back. I dreamed of things that I wish I could forget, but they are burned so deeply into my mind that I see them when I close my eyes. I see them still when I sleep. I see them when I’m awake, and I cannot escape them, Khadgar, I can’t ever escape the dreams, the memories, the … the things I remember thinking, the horrifying thoughts that ran through my head when I didn’t know what were my own thoughts and what were … His.”

Khadgar blinked, stunned by this sudden outpouring. He had never heard Medivh speak this way, apart from the single word he had spoken just as he and Garona made their escape. The words were so raw and vulnerable, the naked emotion bleeding out from a thousand wounds. Without thinking he wrapped his arms around the older mage, nuzzling against his neck and shoulders in offering of comfort. Khadgar turned onto his side, then his back, cradling Medivh all the while.

“When I awakened from that sleep, I was… older. But I was still so young, and no one understood that. Oh I had power, I had prestige, I had knowledge, I had a title I never asked for and no one realized that I wasn’t in some distant land studying while I slept, my body weak and helpless.” Medivh sighed. “Before I was even recovered I was asked to do things, Khadgar. I could not even walk, and I had questions asked of me, aid requested, someone begging me for aid somewhere in the Kirin Tor’s ranks. I was frightened, I was lonely, especially when Anduin came to me and found my eyes open, a priest talking with me about what had happened. Anduin had aged. His hair was already receding, his eyes so much older, scars marred his face from a gnoll attack I had not been there for. Llane was grown, his father grooming him to take his place.”

Medivh shook his head. “I wanted to fit in again, but I did not know them. Either of them. By the time I did, I had committed unspeakable acts. I could not look them in the eyes. I knew my body had done things. Things I could not speak of, not even to them. I wanted to tell them how the orcs came to Azeroth. I wanted to tell you, when you begged for an answer.” He drew back long enough to look at Khadgar. “I knew you knew, then. You had seen. I knew you had. You tried to talk to me, and I wanted, so badly to answer. I wanted to tell you everything I’d done. Your distraction was effective. It broke me, and in turn broke his hold long enough for you to escape.”

He shuddered, curling against Khadgar more tightly. “I paid for your actions,” he whispered. While you were gone I begged to die. I begged for him to end me, if he would not let my body die, to just kill what little was left of me, and let it be done. Pushing you away was the hardest thing I’d ever done, and it hurt as badly as that sword you put through my heart, Khadgar. But at least when I felt that blade touch my chest, I knew it would be over. I knew there was some surcease to the pain. Some release from what I had done.” He shook his head, almost violently until Khadgar rested his hand on the back of it to stop him. “And in those last moments, I tried… I tried to tell you. I wanted to apologize… for the mess I’d left. They would accept you as the next Guardian – they would put you in charge of all I had done. They would make you clean up my mistakes because you did not stop me when you had the chance, they would think you were in on the whole thing; no one would trust you.  So many things played out in my mind.”

Khadgar stroked Medivh’s hair slowly, frowning. He opened his mouth to say something, but Medivh continued. “In the end you were not only my salvation, but my reason to fight back. When you came to me, I had already despaired of ever finding someone I could pass my legacy to, the legacy that was mine to pass. The one I tried and failed to give you. You figured everything out, right to the last.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Oh, Khadgar he wanted you – my dreams, waking and sleeping, were horrifying. Times I awoke alone, wondering what I had done, wondering if you’d made it to Stormwind, wondering if they believed you.”

Again Khadgar started to speak, but Medivh wasn’t done. “When I sensed the tower was occupied, my heart rose. There were more than just you. More than just you and Garona. My heart lifted when I saw Anduin. I realized he would never miss, no matter who I was, not if he knew the truth, and the look in his eyes told me he knew.” He lay still now, other than his trembling. “All three of you knew the truth. You convinced the one man who could do what I could not. What you could not.” He lowered his head, staring at a spot near Khadgar’s hip. “I don’t know half of what was coming out of my mouth. I had given into the darkness of my own heart, tried to give you reasons to stop me. I was cold, I was cruel, and all the while I waited for one of you to end it.”

Khadgar was silent, his hand still stroking Medivh’s hair. He could feel the heat of his former master’s tears sliding across the skin of his chest, and ignored them. For all the Medivh had coaxed Khadgar to let down his own mental and emotional barriers, this was rare, and Khadgar knew better than to speak into the silence now. “When I saw that Sargeras had his sights on you, and started to pull at your soul… I… I thought it was over. I had failed you. I never expected you to do what you did. I knew… later… that I would see you again.” He looked up for the first time since he’d started speaking, tears streaking down his face still. “I thought … I’d ruined you. I thought he’d destroyed … everything you were, everything I’d seen in your eyes of your potential.

“Seeing you again, long after I’d warned the Alliance and the Horde both of what was coming to Hyjal, when you returned from Draenor… I realized that you were the answer… to every hope I’d ever had.”

“Why didn’t you try to get in contact with me then?” Khadgar asked, his voice a soft whisper. He tried to keep his accusation out of the question but could not.

“Fear,” Medivh murmured. “I was afraid of what you would think. I was afraid that if you saw me, you would try to kill me once more, thinking me a remnant of the past that needed to be put down. A trick of Karazhan’s power, even though you knew I would one day return, and … if I recall my words, ‘better than I once was’. I … I did not know if you would remember that conversation, or remember that I had… changed.”

Khadgar closed his eyes, laying his head back against the pillows beneath him. “Medivh,” he said softly, “I remember that morning like I remember the moment your lips first touched mine,” he sighed. “I had just laid what was left of you to rest, beside Moroes, beside Cook. I had felt you the entire time I was your apprentice. I saw you flash in and out of my vision. I never knew what I was seeing until that morning. I questioned my own sanity, kept our conversation in my heart, prayed for the time I would once again be able to talk with you face to face, to prove to myself that I wasn’t dreaming because my heart was broken.” He lifted his fingers to the scars around his heart, frowning. “And honestly, it was wondering – wondering without knowing – if you had returned or if my aching and broken heart had fabricated it all just so I would … go on. To play my part.” He sighed. “And that hurt worse than these did, to be brutally honest.” He turned his head a little to look at Medivh. “I made it my ambition to see the Legion destroyed if it was all I ever accomplished. I would see it fall, even if it meant my death. I would gladly give my life if I could destroy the Thing that took you from me.” He sighed, deeply. “That it coincides with the very purpose of the Guardian… Well. Perhaps I was just a little more ruthless to see it through than I needed to be. Perhaps I fought harder. I usually got my way in the end, regardless of how I got it, and I refused to back down, if … if I had a lead. I would chase it to the very end, and if it turned out to be a dead end, so be it.”

Silence fell on them, and Medivh shifted a little, his arm curling around Khadgar’s side. Khadgar ran his fingers along Medivh’s back, slowly.

“The world does need you, Khadgar. It needs you in a way it never needed me. I could never do what you have, and force the Alliance and the Horde to work together as you have.”

“You did once,” Khadgar pointed out.

Medivh grunted a mirthless laugh. “Oh, yes, and look where that led.” He shifted, rolling onto his back and pinning Khadgar’s hand beneath him. “I expected so much more out of … both Thrall and Lady Proudmoore. Bad decisions, turned backs, and then what happened to you in Dalaran. Ah, since the Kirin Tor had gone neutral, the bloodbath it had caused when it was wrenched back into the Alliance was all the more shocking. Why no one looked to the leaders of the groups instead of hounding innocents and civilians of years in the streets, I’ll never—“

“Don’t. Please don’t.” Medivh turned to look at Khadgar, whose expression had turned to ice. “I tried, and tried, and tried to get them to go after leaders, to evict citizens, merchants, and those who had no idea what was happening in an orderly fashion. The streets of Dalaran ran with the blood of the innocent. And they wonder why I left the moment I could get out.” He was quiet for a moment. “They were going to send Ansirem, you know.”

“What?” Medivh looked confused now. Khadgar’s hand twitched under his back, and he rolled again, onto his side so he could look at his former apprentice. “What do you mean?”

“To Draenor. I… ah… That was one of those times I … insisted on getting my way. I knew Draenor. I knew its power flows. I knew its peoples. I knew … I knew its layout before its demise, even though it was very different to what was awaiting us on the other side of the portal. Standing in front of it, waiting for a chance to get through was… a harrowing experience. Despite that it was red, I could have been fighting with Turalyon and the others to get across it to destroy it like I had the last time, only this time there was no going in and finding your spellbook, the Scepter of Sargeras or the Eye of Dalaran.” He closed his eyes. “Nothing prepared me for what lay on the other side, Medivh. Nothing. And yet, for the first time in twenty-seven years, I led others… and they followed me. They trusted me to get them through.” He shook his head. “And they were going to send Ansirem, and not me. I was too old. I was too unfit. Too addled because I begged for a less bloody removal of the Sunreavers from Dalaran.”

Medivh frowned, then leaned over Khadgar, pulling his legs up so he was half-sitting. He reached down and traced a line of Khadgar’s face, catching the tears that fell. “I don’t trust the Kirin Tor, Khadgar,” he murmured. “Even with you leading them, I cannot trust them.”

Khadgar sighed and looked up, his eyes silver with distress. “The sad thing is… I don’t either. I want to. I need to, if I’m going to lead effectively. But I … I cannot.” His eyes closed again. “I trust Modera. I trust Kalec. But… the others… I care for them, of course, but… there are too many … variables. Too many hidden agendas, and not all of them are as well-hidden as those that Millhouse Manastorm comes up with.”

“That lunatic is still around?” Medivh lifted an eyebrow.

“Mmhm. And he’s just as… well. Let’s just say he’s still a loose cannon.” Khadgar sighed.

Silence fell between them for a long moment.

“I’m sorry, Young Trust.” Medivh’s voice was resigned.

“What for?”

“Everything. And... for… earlier. I… I did not mean to lose control of myself.”

A heartbeat passed, then a second. Khadgar blinked in shock at Medivh, then opened his mouth, closed it, shook his head, and pulled Medivh against him, his lips brushing his former mentor’s temple. “Medivh, you pushed me and pushed me to let go of whatever was keeping me from doing what I needed to do. You broke my emotional barriers down when I refused to vent my pain. Why should you apologize for doing the same thing?” He paused, tracing a fingertip along one of the scars on Medivh’s back. “I … Honestly, I was wondering when you’d snap. And I’d hoped that I would be here when it came crashing down so I could do exactly what I did – exactly what you’d done for me.”

Medivh was quiet for a moment. “I… did not think of it that way,” he admitted. “It’s… I just… The thought of you under Legion control is just… I cannot think of it without it ripping me to pieces, Khadgar. It hurts too much to even imagine. All we had worked for, all you have sacrificed – including me – would be for nothing. It would just be the deepest insult to … to both of us.”

Khadgar sighed, slowly, deeply. “I… Medivh, I…” Before he could finish his thought, Medivh’s lips were on his, and one leg had slid between his.

Medivh knew it was a stress reaction, but he wasn’t going to stop himself unless Khadgar stopped him first. As Khadgar nudged his leg aside and lifted his knees a little, he took the tacit invitation, lowering himself into his former apprentice’s embrace, his lips seeking, and finding Khadgar’s as they both decided to put their storytelling on hold. Just for a little while.

Chapter Text

V.

Khadgar twirled a lock of Medivh’s hair in his fingers, slowly, his breathing still quick and shallow. Neither of them spoke for a long time; neither felt the need.  They were sated, but far from sleepy. Then again, the night was young yet.

Without speaking, Medivh gently slid from Khadgar’s embrace and headed for the bathing room. Khadgar sat up, wincing a little. Things had gotten a little rough, and while at the time they both welcomed it…

Khadgar hissed as he shifted, looking down at a set of bruises against his hip. He sighed, closing his eyes, shivering a little. Oh yes. Worth every bruise. Every twinge. He would give Medivh up again over his own dead body … at least… until the older mage was Called by the Light.

He shifted enough to slide out of bed and pull the linens off with a chuckle of amusement. By the time Medivh returned, he was smoothing down a fresh comforter and turning the bedding down.

Medivh moved to his side and trailed a finger down his right side, deliberately gliding the pad of it along Khadgar’s burned and ruined skin, then leaning to touch a kiss to the skin there.

Khadgar shivered, brushed his fingers against Medivh’s beard, then took himself off to the bathing room.

By the time he returned, Medivh was sitting on the bed, a glass of wine in his hand, and something small in the other. He laughed. Of course. Well, at least he remembered to eat, on occasion. It was certainly better than he did.

Medivh pointed to the worktable nearest the bed. “I figured we could both use a bit of a snack,” he murmured softly, looking somewhat chagrined.

Khadgar chuckled, and settled himself on the bed beside his former master, lazily crooking a finger at the table and calling a glass of wine and one of the little puff-pastries to him. He caught both with deft fingers.

Medivh grinned. “I see you’ve kept in practice there,” he murmured, echoing some of the words he had spoken when they’d first reunited.

“I vowed never to break another mug,” Khadgar grinned back. “I can keep myself under control even if I’m … inebriated to a rather embarrassing point.” He cleared his throat, then sipped his wine, rolling the sweet ruby liquid over his tongue. It was infused with something more… a berry perhaps, but he could not tell which type; it was tart but sweet, with just enough of a lingering flavor to brush up against the next touch and enhance it. “Not that I make a habit of that unless I’m … in deeper than I can handle and I have no other way to stop my head from… from…”

“From reminding you of everything you’ve ever done wrong since the day of your conception?” Medivh murmured. Khadgar nodded. “Yes, wine is good for that, though there are also a good many other drugs that will do that – medicines you may not think on, or … things that you really shouldn’t experiment with.” He sipped from his own glass. “I’m afraid I got a few of these scars that way.”

Khadgar lifted an eyebrow, pausing with the pastry between his teeth before he bit down on some crunchy vegetable baked into the pastry with a sweet cheese that tried to drip free. He noted that Medivh watched his tongue with appreciation as he caught the drip. Once he’d finished the pastry, he spoke. “What could possibly have—“

“You were … apparently intrigued by that long one on my back. The jagged one?” Medivh murmured, calling another of the little pastries to his hand.

Khadgar leaned back, reaching to touch, then trace the scar that ran from Medivh’s left shoulder nearly to his right hip. It was in fact jagged, as though someone had driven a knife in, then shook as they drew it down and across his back. Or struck him with some kind of magic. Lightning perhaps, considering the way the skin puffed at the edges instead of the middle, which was sunken as though it was a blade cut.

“That… happened in one of my drug hazes, Khadgar.” Medivh closed his eyes, sighing deeply, biting into his pastry. He was a moment in savoring it before he curled his legs under him, cradling his wine in both hands. “I’m … I’m not proud. And I swear, it… It did much to take down my arrogance a few steps when it was Lothar that found me. I thought he was going to tear me apart. But he did not. And I am grateful.”

The dust glittered in the bottom of the glass as Medivh stared at it. He wasn’t entirely certain how it wound up in his wine, since he had set his own supply down elsewhere after he’d dosed himself lightly – just enough to enjoy the effects through the evening… but then again, some people were so desperate for him to choose them to bed before the end of the evening that anything was possible.

He shook his head, set the empty glass down and stumbled a little, heading for one of the chairs around the edge of the ballroom, sinking into it with over exaggerated care and blinked. His vision was beginning to blur now. There was still another hour left for him to host this fete, celebrating the addition of a new inn in the little town that had sprung up around Karazhan.

As he predicted, a lithe woman sidled up to him, sinking into the chair beside him. Her voice was slightly blurred, as though time was doing odd things. One moment, her voice was high and soft, the next low and sultry, the next deep and menacing. She held a vial in her hand that held a dark green liquid, and she taunted him with it as she spoke words he could not understand.

Slowly, he started to realize what it was she was saying. She had an antidote to … something. Was he poisoned? No, that wasn’t possible – the substance that was in his wine glass was arcane dust, not poison. He was drugged. And not on his terms for a change.

Medivh looked at her, blinking blearily at her as he tried to wrap his tongue around questions. Who was she? What did she want? Why did she taunt him with an antidote to a poison he didn’t have?

She obviously understood him, and gave him an ultimatum: bed her, and she would give him the antidote, or decline her ‘invitation’ and die.

It suddenly occurred to the mage that he was, in fact, mortal. Either in drugged suggestion or in actuality, he felt his fingertips going numb, and he wasn’t sure he could feel his feet. Fear, irrational or warranted – he couldn’t tell, curled up his spine and settled in his chest.

He couldn’t take the chance. He wasn’t stupid. He agreed.

He let her lead him. She did not lead him to the guest hall. She did not lead him to his own rooms. She did not lead him to his study. She led him to a sitting room and left the door open.

He balked, not wanting this to happen in so public a place – he did have standards. She pushed him down into one of the armchairs and laughed, straddling him. He felt her push his arms down over the arms of the chair, and bind them there.

She was a mage?! No… no – no these bindings were not magical. Simple rope, not meant for this kind of play, sharp around his wrists and cutting into them. He protested. She laughed, and set the vial just out of his reach.

He blinked again, disoriented. He heard his own voice, distorted by the alcohol and whatever ran in his veins. Fear rose higher as she nipped at his ear, speaking to him in tones that aroused him, and she laughed at him, her tone changing to mockery.

“Oh how the mighty Magus has fallen,” she cooed, her hips grinding against his as she tugged his shirt up and began trailing her nails across his skin. He reacted, arching into the touches that were like searing brands, like daggers, almost painful as they trailed.

“A slave to your desire, falling too easily into lust…”

Medivh arched, trying to free himself from her, but her work was clearly planned. He could not get his wrists free, and he realized his ankles were also bound. He started to panic, squirming in the chair as she laughed at his struggles. And used his own motions to spur him on, one hand between his legs, stroking his growing hardness through the fine leather of his breeches.

That arousal was painful as well, and he arched with a cry, a plea slipping past his lips – at least he thought it was a plea. He could not see properly anymore, and his mind was so fogged that she seemed to change – one moment a dark-haired human woman, the next a winged succubus, her loincloth draped to one side as she ground herself against his leg, noises rising from her that were increasingly indecent.

Medivh shook his head, trying to clear it, but could do nothing to stop the fog. He whimpered, his lips parting to accommodate his rapid breathing. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and the more rapid its pulse was, the more his vision and thoughts distorted.

He was trapped in a haze of something worse now, and he could feel heat searing his nerves as she stroked him, her nails digging into the soft flesh of his stomach as they trailed.

She shifted a little, moving back on his legs so she could free his length, and immediately returned to stroking him. He moaned in relief at being free, moaned in pleasure as she resumed her stroking, moaned in entreaty when she moved back up and pulled her hand away.

“You were all protests a moment ago,” she mocked him, sliding her knees to either side of his hips and moving her loincloth out of the way so she could grind against him again, skin against skin.

He fought his bindings, arching against her and wanting his arms free. He could not tell if he wanted them free to pull her closer, or so he could push her away.

This was wrong, it was all wrong… How had he wound up like this?

He blinked, slowly, his gaze straying to the vial so tantalizingly out of reach. He suddenly felt lips against his as the succubus kissed him, and he gave into it, hoping to get this over with quickly. His hips rocked, slowly, to counter hers, trying to gain friction. If he could … if he could just…

She backed away just a little with a laugh. “You can’t want it to end so soon, Magus,” she cooed against his ear. “Not when you have such a reputation of managing two or three trysts in a night…”

He sobbed softly in vexation.

Her hips were moving more quickly, insistently, and he tried to keep up with her, hoping, despite her words, that he could get it over with. She wouldn’t let him, however, bringing him to the edge, and then sliding away.

She slid off his lap and he heard himself speak, but could not understand the words – though he’d meant to beg her not to stop. The room was distorting now, the walls cracking and bleeding, the floor turning to something that moved, slowly, like thousands of writhing snakes. The ceiling opened on a sky of blood with a green sun.

Medivh closed his eyes, trying to block the images from his eyes, trying to shut out the sight of a demon looming over him, laughing in mocking delight at his downfall.

She freed his hands and feet, but he was in no condition to take advantage of it. She pulled him to his feet, and he felt his arms lifted and bound again. She pulled his breeches down his legs and off, and he heard them land somewhere to his left with a soft ‘flump’.

He made the mistake of opening his eyes. The room had distorted so it was no longer straight, but twisted. The walls still bled, the ceiling was still blood red, the floor still writhed – but he could tell he hand been strung up against the wall, his back to a window, and he faced the door, so that any that passed by would see him clearly. The succubus was not in sight. Was he imagining it all? No – no he couldn’t be. He couldn’t bind himself, after all. Could he? He wouldn’t do this to himself. Would he?

No.

He quickly shut his eyes again. He heard a laugh, felt her nails against the backs of his thighs. They trailed up his back under his shirt, and then she giggled, tearing the shirt away from his back, leaving it to hang from his arms.

He arched in sudden pain as he felt something lance across his back, searing his skin. He couldn’t tell if he cried out. The pain in his throat suggested he had. He was rapidly losing his hold on reality.

Another lash of – whatever it was – landed, and he felt his skin part under it, felt warm blood running down his back. Another landed, directly against the first, widening it and lengthening it further across his back. He swayed, slumping forward with a low moan of pain.

Her nails trailed along his back, digging into the wound she had inflicted, trailed around his hip, and then down the front of his legs.

“So pliant. So willing.”

Lips wrapped around the tip of his cock and he arched again. Whoever – whatever – she was, she was an expert. Her nails dug into his hips as she worked, and he couldn’t make a move to stop her. She was bringing him to completion far faster than anyone he’d ever been with, and she stopped, maddeningly at just the right moment.

He chanced opening his eyes again. The room was so twisted now that he did not recognize it. She had turned into a being of shadows and sultry laughter, nothing like any succubus he recognized – unlike the wantonly sexual beings he was used to, she had an unmistakable aura of evil that chilled his blood. When he closed his eyes, he was shamed by the tears he felt spill over his cheeks.

The being, however, was amused. She kissed the tears away with something that felt like tenderness, but her cruel chuckle ruined the gesture. Her nails trailed down his stomach, and ghosted along his length, and for a moment he wondered if they would sink into his flesh, ruining him.

The touch vanished and he sighed in relief. A heartbeat later, he was arching in pain again, as those cruel nails dug into his back, and he felt the wound lengthened farther. Something white-hot was pressed against it, and the bleeding stopped.

His wrists were freed, and he dropped to his knees. She rolled him onto his back, straddling him once more.

“I think playtime is over… You may not live if I’m not swift about finishing you.” Her words dripped acidic cruelty, overflowed with mocking laughter.

He wasn’t in any shape to care. The pain, the pleasure, the disorientation all left him in a dazed state, and he was hardly aware when she sank onto him. He barely registered that he was arching as she rode him. He wasn’t even aware when – or how long after – his release took him. He only knew by the sudden release of the pressure in his loins, the relief of the tension in his legs.

He was floating in nothingness, pain throbbing in his back and legs and wrists, and he had no idea how long he was there.

A vial was pressed to his lips. A masculine voice urged him to drink. He obeyed. His eyes cracked open slightly, and he thought he saw Anduin kneeling over him, his eyes dark with fear and concern. He was dying. He knew it now. He let himself fall into blackness.

He woke to sunlight in his eyes, and he winced away from it, turning his head. He heard someone move beside him, the scrape of wood and the rustle of cloth.

“Med?” Anduin Lothar’s voice was heavy with concern. “I know you’re awake. Come on…”

Medivh groaned, one emerald eye cracking open, the pupil contracting to a pinpoint before expanding again, slowly, as it adjusted to the light. “Anduin?” he croaked softly.

There was another creak of wood and footsteps. Medivh’s other eye opened in time to see his friend walking toward him, a mug in one hand, a cup in the other.

The warrior set both down on the bedside table, then reached an arm to support the mage’s shoulders so he could sit up. “Easy, Med. Easy. Let me.” Pillows moved to support Medivh’s back as he sat up, and Anduin put the cup in his hands. “Drink that, then talk to me. What happened last night?”

Medivh looked down at the cup, blinking at it suspiciously. He drained it when he realized it was cold water, and sighed in relief. Anduin took the cup from his hands and put the mug into them. Another suspicious look, and relief as he realized it was tea. He cradled the mug in his hands, knowing better than to drink that at once. His head turned and met his friend’s eyes. “I… I don’t know,” he said helplessly.

“I got an urgent summon from Moroes, Med. He was frantic. Told me he couldn’t rouse you and that you were covered in blood – among other things – and that you were bound in one of the sitting rooms. Said you’d gone missing after your celebration ball.” Anduin reached over and brushed some of Medivh’s hair back from his face.  “Talk to me. What happened?”

Medivh’s eyes dropped to the mug in his hands. “You speak as though I was missing for days…”

“Three.” Anduin replied, his voice clipped.

Medivh’s eyes closed tightly, and he swore. He recounted what little he could remember – the woman, the ultimatum. The disorientation.

“Well, you … apparently took her up on the offer.” Anduin sighed. “There was a vial on the table between the chairs, and I took a chance that it would revive you.”

Medivh sipped at the tea, relieved that it was just tea, so far as he could taste, sweetened with nothing more sinister than honey. “Anduin, she was some kind of demon… I know I wasn’t drugged so badly not to know that much.” He recounted how she had changed, and some of what he remembered her doing to him.

“Moroes scraped a bit of the blood from your back to have a closer look. When I got to you, you were pale, delirious, fevered…” Anduin sighed. “I’m afraid you’re going to scar – whatever she did to your back was too deep even for a healer to aid you.”

“How long have I been out?” Medivh demanded, his eyes sharp.

“A week. Llane ordered me to stay here until you’ve recovered.” Anduin shook his head. “I know you like to have… interesting trysts, Med, but really.” His joke fell flat and he winced.

“None can accuse me of being boring,” Medivh murmured, sipping his tea again. “Light I hurt…”

“You know,” Anduin said, getting up and moving to one of the tables across the room. The sound of tinkling glass echoed through it, and a moment later, Anduin was returning, a vial in his hand. “When we found you, and I saw the cuts on your wrists, I thought Moroes meant that you’d…” He stopped, offering the vial to Medivh. “For pain, the healers said.”

Medivh eyed the vial. With a defeated sigh, he took it, drained it, and immediately drank some tea to take the taste out of his mouth. Anduin took the vial from him and returned it to the table across the room. “No. I am … I am lonely, Anduin, but I am not one to go that far to end it.” He sighed, more deeply. “I’m sorry you had to deal with this.”

Anduin put a hand on Medivh’s arm. “I’m just glad whatever was in your system didn’t claim you before we found you. Finish that, and I’ll refill you. Are you hungry?”

Medivh shook his head. “I should be, but no, not yet.” He looked up at the warrior, frowning. “Are you sure you can take the time away?”

“I’m under orders,” Anduin smiled. “Who are we to argue with Llane?”

“His friends?” Medivh hazarded.

Anduin snorted softly, and settled in his chair, pulling it a little closer to the bed.

“He stayed with me for a week,” Medivh murmured softly, keeping his eyes lowered.

Khadgar sighed. “Medivh, I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “Did you ever find out who – or what – she was?”

“No,” Medivh shook his head. “Moroes and I ran test after test and could not figure out what she got into me either. We tried reversing it through the dregs of the vial she’d left, fingerprints were destroyed when Anduin and Moroes handled it, and we could not get any kind of clear answers.” He snorted a laugh. “I never left a drink unattended, and never took dust during one of my parties after that. Of course, it wasn’t long after that that I murdered –“

“Medivh.”

“He murdered … so many…”

Khadgar didn’t reply, other than curling his free arm around Medivh’s waist, leaning against the older mage, head on his shoulder. Medivh drained his glass and sent it to rest beside the now empty plate. Khadgar drained the last of his wine and sent his to land neatly beside Medivh’s.

Medivh chuckled softly. “Showoff.”

“I told you,” Khadgar murmured, the smile evident in his voice. “I vowed to take your advice to heart. I can still cast even if I can’t see straight. I can’t aim worth a damn, but I can cast.”

Medivh laughed, the sound warm and rich. For a moment, he realized it had been some time since he had laughed like that, and wondered at it. Khadgar. Khadgar was the answer to so many of his needs, his wants, his desires. He pulled the younger mage close. “I would be so lost without you, Young Trust,” he murmured.

“We were lost for years, the both of us,” Khadgar replied, his tone even. “I…” he stopped, then shook his head. No. No that confession would wait. He refused to burden Medivh with it now. If ever. Instead he continued, “I think we’ll both be all right now, though. You’re here. I’m here. We won’t be lost again.”

Another silence fell between them as they held one another, each reminding the other that they were there.

Chapter Text

VI.

Medivh shifted his arm a little, nuzzling against Khadgar’s neck. He traced a line that was similar to the one on his back, though only covered part of Khadgar’s shoulder. “What’s this?” he asked softly.

Khadgar flushed, then mumbled something too softly for Medivh to understand him.

“… What?” Medivh pressed, softly.

“A tree bit me.” Khadgar turned his head to look at Medivh, who looked back, head canted to one side. Khadgar got the odd feeling that if he could, Medivh would have looked at him upside down, as a bird might. “Yes, I’m serious.” Khadgar sighed, resettled himself in Medivh’s arms and chuckled.

The twin moons shone brightly in the sky, both fully visible through the canopy of the forest. Khadgar was grateful for the light they gave off as he made his way to the stream so he could wash up and go to bed at last. The watch had been quiet, and he and the two soldiers that had been on the watch were more than ready to collapse.

He hated second watch far more than first or third. First just meant he stayed up a little later. Third meant he got his morning over with that much sooner. Second… His sleep was interrupted, and then resumed, and he was never fully rested.

His position as a mage meant that he rarely took it, especially if the group expected to find themselves in any kind of conflict – no rest for him meant little magic, and since he spent most of his time drained to the dregs of his strength, very few asked for him to sacrifice himself further.

The fact that for several weeks he had been terrified that he had lost all of his ability had also taken a heavy toll on him. When Lothar had come for him the day after they had … dealt… with Medivh, he had nothing left. His age, his power, his strength had been sapped away entirely. For three days, he was sat on by the warrior – almost literally – until he could bear to be up and about again. Another two saw him in the library, scouring everything Medivh had left there, everything he had brought with him, and discussing his ordeal with one or two of the other mages that had been in Stormwind.

No one had answers for him, though every one of them pitied him and his position. An entire day spent staring at a candle worried Lothar to the point where the champion had tried to pry him away from his task, and Khadgar refused to budge, insisting that he would ignite the damn thing if he had to sit there for the rest of his miserable life.

When he finally managed it near sunset, he was elated. He was also drenched in sweat, shaking, and so ill that Lothar had to sit on him for another day for him to recover.

After that, Khadgar had pushed himself to his limits and beyond every single day. His magical strength began to return, but Lothar despaired at how thin he was, how frail – and how little the mage cared for his body.

The mage was prone to breakdowns when he could not accomplish something, and his strength had grown while he was with Medivh, exponentially. He despised that he had been reduced to the ability he had when he was ten, and everything – including the care of his aged body – came second to that. If he was not a mage, he had said, then he was nothing.

He knelt by the stream, cupped water into his hands and splashed it against his face, hissing a little at the chill, but the sigh that followed was one of satisfaction as he rubbed away sweat and dust. Half of him was tempted to strip and get into the stream, but that would wait until morning. He stood, shakily, and made his way to his bedroll, using the moons’ illumination. He could have created a light, but he wasted not a drop of his strength – he would never know when he would need it, and so he hoarded it in quiet times.

His recovery had been far too hard-won. He kicked his boots off, pulled off his surcoat, and curled himself into his bedding, pulling his cloak around him, his head pillowed on his satchel, softened by his folded surcoat. His body ached, and he knew it was from the premature aging. His façade that he was still young, just looked old, was hard on him sometimes, like now. He felt every inch the old man he appeared, but refused to acknowledge it.

His abilities were nearly what they were when he had spent some time with Medivh, but not nearly up to his full strength. Most of his spells took far longer than he was used to, were sluggish to respond, and drained him much faster. Not that he would admit it – not to Lothar, not to Turalyon, not to anyone. He simply suffered in silence, and forced what he could not handle on himself.

His eyes closed, and he was asleep before his head touched the surcoat.

He was gently shaken awake what felt like seconds later by a very apologetic looking Lothar. He blinked slowly, yawned hugely, and pulled himself into a sitting position. He noted he was the last to wake and grumbled at Lothar that he should have wakened him earlier. Lothar chuckled and put a bowl of stew in one hand, a mug of tea in the other.

“You had a rough night, lad, and everyone here knows it,” the champion told him as he plunked himself down beside the mage. “You’ve been looking a bit peaky lately. Are you all right?”

Khadgar sighed, rolled his eyes, and started in on the stew. “I’m the same as I was yesterday,” he temporized. Lothar snorted.

“Really?” he asked softly, looking around pointedly. There was no one else in earshot, but Lothar kept his voice low anyway. “Listen Khadgar, you’ve been pushing yourself since we got back from Karazhan. You damn near killed yourself getting us out of Stormwind. You’ve been working yourself to nothing, eating little, sleeping less – yes I know that you’ve been in those books of yours long past nightfall.”

Khadgar tried to protest, but instead sighed and drank some of his tea. “I have to,” he said simply. “I’m needed.”

Lothar snorted. “I won’t say that you aren’t, but what kind of ideas did Med put in that head of yours? He hardly took care of himself either, and if you think I’m going to let you run yourself into the ground like I did him, you better toss that idea right out of your head this instant,” he said in a low voice, his eyes boring into Khadgar’s.

Khadgar dropped his eyes after a moment, then applied himself to breakfast as Lothar went on. “I’m sorry, lad,” he sighed, running a hand over his face. “I shouldn’t have brought him up… but knowing you are so like him in so many ways it… You’re all I have left of him. I have to make sure I take better care of you than I did him.”

Khadgar sighed, shaking his head. “You did the best you could. I know how he was, remember – I lived with him. He was always so careful never to let anything of himself slip, if you understand what I mean. He was so focused on doing that he never paused. He always tried to take on everything at once, face first. I had trouble keeping up with him, sometimes.” He scraped the last bite from his bowl, and stared at it for a moment. “I… I wonder, constantly, if there was more I should have done.” He finished the bite and set the bowl aside, picking up his tea. “I promised you I’d keep an eye on him.”

Lothar rested a hand on Khadgar’s shoulder, wincing a little at how … scrawny it seemed to be. “You did. You saved him, in the end. You did your best by him, and that’s all I could ever have asked.” He paused, and lifted his hand away again. “But you also can’t neglect yourself. I know you think you need to push yourself harder for what you’ve been through, but if you burn yourself out, then you’re no use to anyone.”

Khadgar stared into his mug for a long moment. “I suppose you’re right,” he sighed at last. “I just…” He looked up, and out to where others were packing up to move on. “I feel as though I should be doing –“

“More. I know. Don’t.” Lothar grinned. “Practice when you can… but if you do something out of the ordinary, over and beyond your limits, I’d better see you resting, and eating a lot more than you have. I’ve seen you skip a few too many meals lately when you’re meditating or honing your control. Others have started to notice. Turalyon included.”

Khadgar swallowed an overlarge gulp of tea and almost choked. “I… I had hoped…”

“That he wouldn’t notice. He’s a sharp one – and when he came to me for advice on how to get you to care for yourself, well, I knew then it was a bigger problem than I thought it was. You’re still young. Growing. Wearing yourself to nothing isn’t going to help you regain your strength.” Lothar sighed. “So. Are you going to go back to the lad I knew in Stormwind – or even the one I knew before we set out? The one who would pick at something as he read, was on time for meals, and actually ate?”

Khadgar sighed. “I…” He looked up at Lothar and smiled, the warmth touching his pale blue eyes. “Yes. I will. I owe that to you, to Turalyon, to everyone here… and to Medivh,” he murmured quietly.

“Feh. You owe it to yourself, boy.” Lothar reached out a hand and ruffled Khadgar’s hair. “Get packed up; we move on soon.” He picked up the empty bowl and took Khadgar’s mug once the mage had finished the last of the tea, and headed back towards the supply crew.

Khadgar sighed and pulled his surcoat and cloak back on, rolled his bedding and cinched it, sat on the roll to put his boots back on, then headed to find where his horse had been picketed.

Khadgar dozed in the saddle, his legs tight around his horse’s barrel, his eyes mostly closed. He was aware of his surroundings, and not actually asleep, but in this state he could at least recover some of his lost sleep. They were approaching the Hinterlands now, and at the last report, that was exactly where the Horde was heading.

The sound of rapid hoof beats approaching awakened him as Turalyon reined in his mount beside Khadgar’s. “Are you awake?” he asked softly.

“I am now,” Khadgar answered softly. “Is everything all right?”

Turalyon nodded. “Reports say we’re getting close to where they were last seen.” He looked at Khadgar with a somewhat worried expression. “Are you going to be up to this?”

Khadgar reached out and patted Turalyon’s arm. “I will be fine. I got a lecture from Lothar a couple days ago, and I’ve… well. I’ve been behaving,” he admitted, his face flushing a little. “I… apparently have you to thank for that, by the way. So. Thank you for looking out for me even when I don’t look out for myself.”

“Mages and mage types,” Turalyon sighed. “You think you can survive on sunlight and cool breezes.” He rested his hand on Khadgar’s. “You’re welcome, though. Someone had to do something. I know you’ve had past… trauma. Your eyes tell me that you are far older than you seem, even though I know you’re not much older than I – no matter what your body tells the world. You’ve seen things that no one should have. Been through things no one should have. And you are calm now. You can smile. Your strength is inspiring to many.”

Khadgar was silent for a moment. “Perhaps, one day, I will have the strength to tell you what I’ve been through. It was a matter of weeks, Turalyon. My life was … good. And then in a matter of weeks, it was turned upside down, shaken violently, and then I was spit out looking like this, and left wondering if I should have lived.” He closed his eyes. “There are times I don’t,” he admitted softly.

“Then you come to me. Or to Lothar. I was a priest, Khadgar – so I know that can be intimidating to some. Lothar knows you though. I… I’ve heard some of what the two of you got up to on your journey here.” Turalyon grinned. “You’ve been described as Trouble – with a capital T, by the way.”

Khadgar chuckled. “I am that, sometimes. I have been since I was very young.”

“Well, spell it for the orcs when we get to them.”

“I think I can manage—“

A shout ahead of them caused them both to look up. Khadgar’s hands tightened on the reins as he stood up in his stirrups to try to see what the commotion was.

“I think we’ve found them,” Turalyon hissed, also standing. “I’m going up ahead.” He paused, then looked at Khadgar critically. “Do me one favor, Khadgar.”

“What?” Khadgar asked, his head tilting a little.

“Live.” And he was gone before Khadgar could answer. The mage watched the paladin’s back and pondered the word for a long moment, then sighed, bowing his head as he began his own preparations for battle.

Khadgar’s eyes were narrowed, and they closed briefly as he directed another lightning strike into the orcish lines. He had blocked out the screams by now, and his arm hurt where it had been hit by something that had flown at him – likely a weapon of some kind but he hadn’t seen it or noticed it at the time. He was going to have one spectacular bruise though.

He stood off to one side, where he was guarded and hardly noticed by the melee below him. His focus was narrowed as his eyes, the storm above giving him ample ammunition, though he could feel that he was pulling on the last of his strength.

He had told Turalyon the truth – that he had taken Lothar’s lecture to heart. He rested and ate properly, remained hydrated. But he had done damage to himself that he would show no one, and he could feel that damage hindering him.

His fingers danced runic patterns as he sent whirlwinds to scatter dust into the orcs’ eyes, breezes to clear the air around the Alliance forces. Another lightning bolt struck another cluster, and the screeches drifted to him as though in a dream.

He was tiring, and quickly. His breath came quickly and harshly as he pulled fire to his hands and sent it into another knot, wincing as several orcs tried to put out the flames and could not. He swayed a little, but held his ground, his eyes darting around for another easy target.

His focus was so narrowed that he hadn’t noticed that some of his protectors had been taken down, nor did he notice the lone orc that managed to break through. He had been identified and targeted, and a single orc could do more against him than half their army could.

He didn’t notice the orc at all until someone screamed his name. His head turned toward the scream, and he felt something hit him hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. He turned back to face what had hit him, and found himself staring down an orc that was nearly twice his size, the mouth twisted into a grin of triumph.

He pulled power to him and tried to force the orc back with a burst of air, but the orc danced aside, laughing. He raised the hammer he held, and Khadgar had time to register that it was covered in spikes and oh that would hurt if it hit him…

He went flying with a cry of shock, landing on his back several feet behind the lines. He screamed for help, knowing he couldn’t take the orc on his own, but no one heard him. His scream had come out a hoarse whisper, and he couldn’t draw enough breath for another try before he rolled out of the way of the hammer coming down at him, carving a hole where he had just been. He rolled again to avoid a second strike, and flung a handful of loose dirt at the orc, the motion carried harder and farther by a burst of air.

The scream of rage chilled his blood, but he knew that he was on his own, and he had no other choice. He was weakened, and he called the last of what he had to aim a blast of pure arcane into the orc’s chest, praying to anything that would listen that it would bring the brute down.

The hammer swung towards him as he got up and flung out his hand. The power flew from his fingers as the hammer slammed into his chest. He heard the roar of pain, a thud, and a crack. His shoulder felt as though it was on fire. His head spun. He saw the orc crumple and sighed in relief.

He slid down the trunk of the tree, landing somewhere in its exposed roots, feeling heat and wetness running down his back. He shook his head, trying to clear his vision, but he was unable. Blurred images doubled, tripled, and he reached up to the back of his head, and felt wetness there. He sighed and realized he was in need of a bath, badly, if he was sweating so hard.

He looked down at his hand, registered that all three of them were covered in red, and screamed in panic before his vision went black.

He woke up on his stomach, feeling someone running a damp rag down his back. His eyes cracked open a little and he immediately shut them again. Khadgar moaned softly, and a hand on his shoulder caused him to hiss in pain.

“Reckless,” he heard, vaguely. The tone was affectionate, however, and he turned his head to look at the speaker.

“T’ralyon?” Khadgar slurred. His head felt fuzzy.

“Hush. You’re concussed, and badly. You should know better than to attack a tree, Khadgar. The tree will win.” There was a whisper of movement. “Ah, Commander – he’s awake.”

Khadgar felt a hand on his head, the fingers brushing the back of it gently. “You’re very lucky,” the new voice murmured. Lothar crouched down and came into Khadgar’s field of vision. “We almost didn’t see what became of you.”

Khadgar sighed, his eyes closing. “The Horde?” he asked.

A sigh and a tutting sound came from his left and right. “Run off or dead. Stop thinking about it. You have some recovery to do.”

“How bad?” Khadgar asked, his eyes opening again.

A finger traced along his shoulder and he nearly arched back with pain. “Bad,” Turalyon answered. “That tree got in a good lash when you hit it, then slid down it. I’m afraid your robes are in need of some work. Your shoulder got sliced open and infected. Your head didn’t fare much better, and had we not realized, we might have lost you to that concussion.”

Khadgar moaned softly in frustration.

“Your job for the next couple of days is to rest. Let someone else do most of the work, hm?” Lothar tried to sound amused but it fell flat.

“How many did we lose?” Khadgar asked softly.

“Casualties were light. Injuries heavy.” Turalyon replied. “It’s why I’m tending to you – and not another healer. The other paladins are doing the same for the worst.”

Khadgar wanted to shake his head, but the throb in his temples stopped him.

“I want to do something about your pain, Khadgar, but we had to wait for you to wake,” Turalyon continued.

“Why?” Khadgar asked, confused.

“Lad, a concussion like what you got can kill. If you sleep, you may never wake,” Lothar murmured. “It’s what we had thought happened to Med when he went into his coma.”

Khadgar sighed. “I’ll be fine.”

“Like Hell you will,” Turalyon growled. “Come on, sit up for me.”

Khadgar groaned as he turned and sat up, his eyes closed tightly. He felt sick, and raised a hand to his forehead. “Light I feel like I’m going to be sick.”

“It’s the pain,” Turalyon murmured softly. He pressed a cup into Khadgar’s free hand. “Drink this.”

Khadgar eyed the cup with no small amount of suspicion. He drank, obediently, and made a face at the taste. The cup was taken from him and another pressed into it. Without even thinking about it, he downed what he was given, relieved that it was mint-water. He sighed, then eyed both warriors. “How badly will this muddle me?”

“It won’t,” Lothar grinned. “That’s the beauty.” He laughed at the relieved sigh Khadgar heaved.

“How long will – Oh.” Khadgar sighed in relief as some of the pain began to ebb. “Light that’s so much better. Thank you.”

“Next time, Khadgar, don’t pick a fight with a tree.” Lothar smirked.

“Or an orc with a hammer. You’re lucky he didn’t break ribs,” Turalyon added.

Khadgar sighed. He wasn’t sure what was worse – being injured or dealing with his two friends.

“I took a week to get back to normal.” Khadgar sighed.

Medivh ran his fingers over the scar again. “You… really did attract trouble.”

“Still do,” Khadgar pointed out, stretching his arms over his head. “Though I did have the sense to not be bitten by a tree again.”

Medivh chuckled. “No, but the number of simple blade cuts that I see tell me that you still get into enough trouble without trying.”

Khadgar snorted, then pushed Medivh to lie back, his fingers hunting for another scar.

Chapter Text

VII.

Khadgar encountered what appeared to be a puncture wound, and traced it with his fingers.

Medivh sighed and turned so Khadgar could see there was another on his back. “Spear,” he said shortly.

Khadgar sighed softly, and ran his fingers along the oval on the front, sharpened at the top and bottom, just below Medivh’s ribcage on his right side. They trailed to the back one again, which looked more ragged, and much larger. “Troll,” he murmured, softly.

“Yes.” Medivh sighed, then shifted so his back was against the headboard, moving pillows to support him, then reached out a hand, beckoning Khadgar to curl up with him.

“If you’re not comfortable speaking of it,” Khadgar began, but Medivh shook his head. Khadgar sighed, taking the invitation, his head resting against Medivh’s shoulder as the older mage put his arm around the younger.

“It isn’t that. It’s just…” Medivh was quiet for a moment. “Khadgar, I have done some very horrible things in my life. I have also done some very stupid ones.” He went quiet for another moment. “You know the … the story of how Llane, Anduin and I had a hand in causing the attacks on much of the southern lands by trolls. Yes?” Khadgar nodded. Medivh reached his hand down to touch the scar with a sigh. “I deserved this,” he murmured. “And sometimes… I wish…” He shook his head. Instead of continuing right away, he gestured, and the glasses on the table were refilled and called.

“Forgive me,” Medivh murmured, handing Khadgar’s glass to him. “I’m afraid it’s going to take a bit of this for me to get the story out.”

Khadgar’s brows furrowed, but he nodded, slowly. Medivh drained his glass, called the pitcher over, refilled his glass and set the pitcher on the table by the bed, then leaned back against the pillows, his eyes closed, his glass cradled in his fingers.

The drumming began before dawn, and the encampment woke, nearly as one, to the sound. Medivh opened his eyes, the sound nearly chilling his blood more thoroughly than the chill of the morning air. He rose, pulled his boots and gloves on and poked his head out of the tent’s entrance to look around.

Others were stirring, and the scent of fresh venison stew drifted to him on the light breeze. He looked to the south, where the sound of the drums originated. He narrowed his eyes, listening. It was a message; of that he was certain. It was not a war call, nor was it the marching call. He ducked his head back into the tent and he pulled open one of his packs, digging through the books he had brought with him. It was a conceit several thought foolish, but at this moment, he couldn’t care less what others thought. He paged through one of them, then another, then another, and finally found what he was looking for.

The book still in his hands, he left the tent and stood outside, eyes closed, listening. He found the break in the repetition of the call, then paged through the book again. He ignored the footsteps approaching him, knowing by the rhythm of the footfalls that it was Anduin, and also knew that if Anduin spotted him with his nose in a book, to leave him be.

Burnished jade eyes shot back and forth over the page, then he turned it, still reading at a frantic pace. He looked up, staring to the south, and listened again.

He snapped the book shut with one hand, his eyes closing, slowly. “They know we’re here, Anduin,” he said slowly. “They know we’re here, and they’re coming.”

Anduin Lothar looked at Medivh for a long moment, then turned his gaze south. “How much do they know?” he murmured back.

“From what I can tell, that is a message that there is an enemy entrenchment, be prepared for ambush. They do not seem to know the numbers, nor what type of troops we have. I do not hear the warning of a magic user, so they do not know I am here.” Medivh shook his head. “Beyond that, I can tell nothing. There are undercurrent rhythms that I cannot read, and some of it is lost on the wind.”

“How long?” Anduin frowned, running a bare hand through his hair.

“Late morning. Early afternoon. No later than that.” Medivh looked up and around them. “We have to get out of the trees and draw them into the open. The trees are their territory and they know them better than we do. We wouldn’t stand a chance under cover of them. They could come up on us and kill before they were seen, if they’re seen at all.”

“How many?” Anduin pressed.

Medivh shook his head. “More than a scouting force. More than a skirmish – but not their entire force.” He shrugged. “And that’s only a best guess. I can see if I can scry that far once I’ve eaten.”

Anduin rested a hand on Medivh’s shoulder. “Then let’s get some food into you and get you somewhere quiet.”

Medivh nodded, slowly, and followed Anduin toward the cooks’ encampment. Stew was far too heavy for him before scrying, which was a good thing considering that it was still cooking. Bread, cheese and tea in hand, they headed for an area in the trees that was far enough away from the rest of the camp that the only sounds that could be heard was the occasional shout or loud laughter.

Medivh settled on the ground with his legs crossed, his snack on his knee resting on a napkin. He ate slowly, his mind more active. Anduin settled nearby against a tree, nibbling on a wedge of cheese, and watching Medivh – as well as watching over him.

Medivh dusted his hands off once he had finished, then sipped at the cooling tea – a strong brew sweetened with a little honey and mint. “Come closer,” he said, just loud enough for Anduin to hear him.

The commander approached, settling himself across from Medivh. “What is it?”

“You will see what I do,” Medivh said softly, draining the last of his mug. “You may see what I miss.”

Anduin nodded, slowly. He took the napkin and mug from Medivh and set them aside to take back. Medivh, meanwhile, pulled his gloves off, tucked them into his belt, and held his hands out, cupped slightly upward, a little farther apart than his knees.

The sphere that appeared between his hands seemed like an orb of fog as Medivh murmured under his breath, his eyes glowing very slightly as he spoke. The violet glow intensified as the fog began to clear and shadows began to move in it.  With an audible ‘snap’, the fog cleared away to the edges of the sphere, and the troll drummer was sharp and clear. There was no sound at first, until Medivh narrowed his eyes and adjusted the spell. Beads of perspiration began to form on his forehead, dripping along his temples.

“Blocking… me… Warded,” the mage managed softly. “Can’t hold this long.” He expanded the field of vision and lifted it so that the troll camp was visible. There were no less than six fires, all of which had a cluster of a dozen or more. Each had something cooking over it. Medivh’s face paled, then turned slightly green as he realized what exactly was being cooked over those fires. He nearly lost the contents of his stomach as he realized one of those fires held a child. He forced himself to continue the spell, forced himself to count the number of trolls.

“Let it go, Med,” Anduin said softly. “I have what we need.”

With a half-sob of relief, Medivh let the spell go, and let his hands drop. “Anduin…”

“I know,” the commander said softly. “I saw.” Anduin moved, settling at Medivh’s side and pulling the mage against him.

For a moment, the mage was no longer a mage, no longer a Guardian. He was stripped to a young man who felt heartsick and for a moment, he let himself be comforted and protected. The few tears he allowed himself to shed were all he could show of his moment of weakness, safe in the knowledge that Anduin would tell no one, and the hand stroking his hair was gentle.

Medivh was no stranger to bloodshed or combat. He was no stranger to dealing with death or corpses set alight. The sight of a child – no more than perhaps a decade, if that – spitted over a fire… “Anduin,” he moaned, softly, warningly.

Anduin said nothing, just moved out of the way and pulled Medivh’s hair back and his robes out of the way as the mage leaned forward and braced himself on his hands.

Anduin stroked his back soothingly, murmuring words of comfort that Medivh didn’t hear, but he could register the tone even as he retched miserably once his stomach was empty, forcing up acid. He crawled backwards a little, and then sat back again. Shock caused him to burst into miserable tears, his face in his hands.

Anduin continued his soft words, holding Medivh against him.

“I should have been there,” Medivh murmured miserably. “I should have stopped this. I could have stopped this. Why wasn’t I there?”

Anduin said nothing, even as the words poured from the mage’s lips, less coherent and more hysterical as he spoke. He continued to hold the mage as he shook with rage, with shock, with self-hatred and loathing for what he could not control.

The storm subsided after only a few moments, but it was enough.

“We need to get back to camp,” Anduin murmured softly, gently brushing stray hair back from Medivh’s temples. Medivh nodded.

Medivh got to his feet, shakily. Anduin picked up the mug and napkin and gently led Medivh back to camp, and straight back to his tent. “In. I’ll bring you whatever you need. Go.”

Medivh looked as though he wanted to protest, but knew the look Anduin gave him. He sighed softly and settled himself on his bedroll, lying back. He couldn’t get the image of that child out of his head. He wanted to burn the image from his eyes and mind, but could not.

Anger rose in him, and he pushed it down before it became a killing rage. He had to stay focused, or he would probably set fire to his tent and half the camp. He closed his eyes, drawing slow, deep breaths. He began counting his heartbeats, inhaling for four, exhaling for six.

Anduin brought him stew and more tea not long after he had calmed himself.

Medivh eyed the bowl, then looked up at Anduin. Before he could open his mouth, Anduin handed him the tea. “There’s a mild calmative, both for your nerves and your stomach. You need to eat, Med.”

Medivh took the mug and drained it. Anduin took the mug and left. Medivh, meanwhile closed his eyes and waited for the calmative to work. As much as he hated it, Anduin was right. He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs, resting his head against his knees.

He heard the scrape of canvas as Anduin returned, bearing a fresh mug of tea. The scent of mint drifted to him and he looked up. He found the bowl put into his hands, and Anduin seated himself with a mug and bowl of his own, one eyebrow raised at the mage.

Medivh chuckled softly as he shifted the bowl so he could resettle. “I’m eating, I’m eating,” he said softly. “See?” He prodded the contents of the bowl with his spoon and started in on the stew. It was flavored with sage and other wild herbs that gave it a savory hint, the potatoes and vegetables just as thick, and he caught a hint of wild mushrooms as well. Clearly someone had gone foraging last night to find ingredients, considering how fresh they tasted.

He alternated bites of stew and the bread that had lain across the bowl, working through it slowly so he wouldn’t be sick again. As he ate, he felt the calmative work, soothing his nerves and calming his stomach. The mint and honey in the tea also helped immensely.

He was slow, but Anduin wasn’t rushing either. When they emerged from the tent, the sun had risen and the rest of the camp was buzzing with activity. They returned their dishes to the cooks’ area, and Anduin followed Medivh back to his tent.

“Listen – Med, I… I want you to stay out of sight as much as possible. I have a bad feeling.”

Medivh raised an eyebrow as he pulled his gloves back on and picked up his belt pouch of spell components – just in case. “What could possibly go wrong? We’re only facing a small army with a skirmish group – and me.”

Anduin snorted. “I’m serious, Medivh. We can’t spare anyone to keep you safe.”

Medivh picked up his staff from where it leaned against the canvas wall of the tent. “I’ll be all right, Anduin. I… I have a feeling my scrying alerted them to my presence, so they know we have at least one decently powerful mage.” He lowered his eyes. “I won’t be holding back this time.”

Anduin paused, then reached out to touch Medivh’s cheek with his hand. “Don’t overdo,” he asked softly.

Medivh leaned into the touch, reaching up to touch the warrior’s hand with his own. “I’ll be careful,” he promised. “I promised Llane we’d both return safely.”

Anduin nodded, then left the tent. Medivh rolled his shoulders, took a deep breath, and the Guardian stepped out of his tent to get his positioning and other orders. Not that he’d listen to all of them, but still.

The drums grew louder, the sharp rhythm clear in the mid-morning air. A breeze lifted Medivh’s hair from his neck and he shifted a little to catch it against his face. There was a bit of rustling as others shook themselves out, the clank of armor and jingling of chain and mount harness loud in his ears. He was positioned on a rise with the archers, and he was the first to see the trolls coming down the ridge across from them. He narrowed his eyes as he counted them, and paled, his eyes widening as he realized that the force heading for them was much larger than he guessed.

His hand tightened around Atiesh, the staff humming softly in reaction to his nerves. The trolls paused, eyeing the human force before breaking into a charge.

Thought evaporated as Medivh threw down a line of fire between the two lines, and winced as it caught several trolls before it was countered. So. They had at least one shaman with them. That explained why his scrying earlier had been blocked. He realized that at least one of the brushes of power he’d felt had to be that same shaman attempting to do the same. He lifted his staff into the air, his eyes glowing as he called storm clouds above him, harnessing the power of the storm and setting it into the shallow valley the trolls were not crossing.

Lightning rained down from the sky. Rain pelted the earth in a torrential downpour that quickly turned the ground to mud. It seemed to have no effect, though he realized belatedly that he had just given their shaman ammunition as he fought to keep the storm where it was – and not over their own troops.

He heard the shout for the archers to loose their first volley. He set the arrows alight in midair, and where they struck, bursts of flame took down at least one troll. Before the archers could prepare a second volley, he fought to disperse the storm above them – for now it was above them. He would not have the time it took to get a shield over them before lightning started to strike among them.

In response to the archers’ volley, the trolls began to throw spears, aimed upwards so they would travel to the rear lines and to the archers. Medivh threw a line of power across the archers’ line and it expanded; the spears bouncing harmlessly away or fizzling into nothing as they came into contact with it.

He barely had a chance to catch his breath before there was a second, and this time, he shouted a warning; he could not get a second shield up in time. The archers ducked, the rear line of fighters forming a shield wall over them.

There weren’t too many trolls left, though the shaman was still out there, evidenced by the lightning crackling among the front lines, the earth shifting enough to swallow one or two of the fighters before they were cut down – or rather, cut in half.

Medivh narrowed his eyes against the sunlight that broke through the dispersing clouds, and noted that their backs were to it, putting the sun in the trolls’ eyes. He spotted the shaman in the back of the spear-throwers’ line, and aimed a bolt of arcane toward her. There was a shout from their lines as the bolt struck her and sudden silence as she fell.

A dozen pairs of eyes focused directly on him, and Medivh actually backed up a step. Their eyes had gone dark and red in anger, and he took a second step back in reaction. They knew who had killed her, and now they didn’t much care about the rest of the troops with him. He had just made himself their primary target.

He swallowed down the sudden fear that rose up in him like bile, and his mind worked frantically, putting up as many personal protections as he could muster while still keeping an eye on the rest of the group, still tossing spells to pick off one or two that were easy targets.

The screams of rage suddenly became louder, and he realized the trolls had given up all pretense and were charging in without any kind of structure as they had before. They seemed to be ignoring most of the others, all of them hell-bent on getting to him. He paled, and fought down panic as he flung fire, frost, arcane, air, earth, anything that was swift to cast that would hinder them, slow them, stop them. Short cantrips, raw power, anything, everything he had. He had no time for anything larger. They went down in droves, the archers having them at near point blank range. But many just got back up and kept moving.

Medivh found himself face to face with two trolls, one of which carried a long spear, the other a short dagger. He stepped back, lifting Atiesh into a defensive position, grateful for the lessons he’d had, and hearing Llane’s words – and his own – echo back to him from years ago.

“I’m a mage. I’m not supposed to be in close combat. I’m supposed to stay in the back and throw fireballs before things reach you.”

“And if something gets by us?” Llane asked, one eyebrow raised.

Medivh mumbled something in reply, dusting off his robes.

“What was that? I didn’t quite catch it.” Anduin asked.

“I said, I’d scream like a girl for help.”

Medivh certainly wasn’t screaming now. And he was more than grateful for the lessons as he deflected the knife, sending it spinning harmlessly away from its wielder before slamming the base of his staff into the troll’s stomach, then following it with a swift bolt of power that sent the troll flying. He turned back to the other, Atiesh a blur in his hands as he parried thrusts of the spear.

He dodged a thrust that sliced a hole in his robe, and he realized the point of that spear was razor-sharpened, and he shuddered. He swung Atiesh around in an arc, trying to get the troll to dance aside.

He danced aside all right, the point of the spear vanishing into his wide-open right side. Time suddenly slowed as he tried to jump backward to avoid the thrust, but it was too late. He could feel the thing travel through him, gasped as it sliced through whatever was in its path and burst from his back. Atiesh dropped to the ground beside him.

He coughed, spitting blood as he dropped to his knees, the troll laughing and calling his triumph as Medivh raised his hands and grabbed the troll’s hands, pouring enough raw arcane into him that he incandesced for a moment, then burned to ash in Medivh’s hands.

Instinct screamed to pull the spear out of his body, but instead he screamed, keeping his hands from touching the shaft to avoid temptation. If he was bleeding inside, that shaft was all that was keeping him from bleeding out faster. He tilted, his left hand planted on the ground, and he looked around. Several of the archers were calling for a healer, but no one else seemed to have realized he was down.

Biting his lip, he steadied himself and raised a hand. Their shaman was gone, so nothing could be thrown back at them. Using the last of his strength (and ignoring the blood pooling under his knees and soaking into his robes), he called another storm, this time without rain, but ice. Lightning and razor-sharp icicles fell from the sky, directed by his will to land only where there were trolls. If he was going to save his own life, he would have to finish this, and quickly.

The trolls began to retreat from the onslaught, knowing they could not fight nature itself without the protection of their shaman. They turned and fled, but were chased down. Retreat became rout. Rout became slaughter.

Medivh huffed a sigh of relief, then let himself tilt again to lie on his side, trying to keep his breathing steady until a healer could get to him.

With every rise and fall of his chest, he could feel the shaft shifting, wet with his blood. He was no healer, but he knew quite well where it had hit. He could feel blood seeping into his lung. He couldn’t tell what else had been pierced, but the pain told him that recovery would be longer than a day.

He wished for the peace of unconsciousness, but he was forced to stay awake as the last of the trolls were hunted down. He watched as soldiers and archers alike collapsed due to exhaustion and injury. He stared blankly at the ground as he heard someone – Anduin, he thought – screaming his name and then bellowing for a healer.

He looked up at Anduin as the commander reached him, reached out a hand and then jerked it back. He took a long breath, then grinned. “Left my side open,” he said weakly. “Should’ve… listened to you.”

Anduin’s fingers brushed his forehead and he made shushing sounds. “You hush, a healer’s on the way. Just stay alive for me, hm? Llane would never forgive me if you didn’t make it back.”

Medivh’s breath rattled in his lungs and he fought the urge to cough. “Living hurts. ‘S long as it hurts, I’m alive.”

The healer couldn’t arrive soon enough.

Medivh downed the last of the wine in his glass, then set it aside. Khadgar had long ago set his own aside, choosing instead to curl himself more tightly around his former master. “I knew I had damage to my lung,” Medivh murmured softly, his words slurring more than a little. “I’d had more damage, but no one would tell me exactly what was hit. I was abed for a few weeks, and I hated every moment of it.”

Khadgar traced the scar again, then leaned to press his lips against it. Medivh gasped at the gesture, staring at his former apprentice with something like shock. “I’m glad you lived,” he said simply.

Medivh blinked. “Why…”

“You have expressed, once or twice, that you wished to go back and keep yourself from living,” Khadgar said softly.

Medivh sighed. “I… I did not express that until much later, when I … after I…” He shook his head, slowly. “It was not until I awakened from my coma and… and committed my first murder that I…”

“Don’t. Don’t blame yourself for things you were unable to control. How much of it had you been told before you awakened? Did your father tell you who and what you were?” Khadgar lifted an eyebrow as he resettled.

“He told me enough. That I was my mother’s successor. That I carried power I didn’t deserve. That I carried responsibility that I would never live up to.” Medivh’s tone was bitter, and Khadgar noticed that the words slurred less, as though the very thought of his father sobered the older mage. “The older I got, the more he expressed disdain for me. Not that he was ever a particularly caring individual. I was an inconvenience when I was young, and the moment he could he started teaching me, he did. I knew my elements before I was eight. I could counter almost anything at ten.” He sighed. “He valued me for my power, and for the fact that he could lord it over everyone that I was his offspring.” He snorted. “Offspring. Never his son.”

Khadgar remained quiet, simply offering his presence as whatever comfort he could give. He had never heard Medivh speak so much of his life in all the time he’d known him, much less in one night. It was unnerving in a way, and it also spoke of just how much pressure Medivh had been under when he was still Guardian – under Sargeras’ thumb and influences. On the other hand it showed just how much Medivh – the true Medivh – trusted him, or cared for him. Or… Whatever. He was laying his soul bare, even as Khadgar had before now, and little by little, they were learning each other in ways far more intimate than anything they’d spoken of – or done.

“My mother did… check on me,” Medivh was continuing. “She at least acknowledged me as her son… though she also pushed me just as hard.” The emerald eyes slid closed. “It was a wonder, Khadgar, that I ever knew love when I saw it. When I felt it. The first time I learned what love was, I wondered if it was even worth it – even with Llane and Anduin around.” His eyes opened and he smiled. “That was where I found what true love was, though – with them. It wasn’t a pair of doe-brown eyes, or a flow of dark hair that shone in the moonlight as I had been lead to believe by books.” He sighed. “I could open my heart to them as I do you now. If I ever needed something, they were there. If they ever needed something, I was there.”

He shifted to look down at Khadgar. “When you came to me, I had wondered if you would become a confidant to me as well as my assistant, and later my apprentice. I learned that you could not be – not then. Not if you were to do what you needed to do. I held you close when I could, but I did you a disservice by keeping you at arms’ length.” He sighed, shaking his head. “For that, I am sorry.”

“Don’t,” Khadgar murmured. “It was a thrill to be permitted to share your bed; I figured you were humoring my emotions, especially when you got so distant. So I just enjoyed what we did, savored every morning I woke by your side, and etched them to my memory for the eventuality of when you would send me off into the world on my own.” He shook his head slowly, then rested it against Medivh’s chest. “I never expected… Never dreamed… that it would end the way it did.” He sighed, and his next words were so quiet that Medivh had trouble making them out at first. “Even with the way you pushed me away, even when I realized the truth, I never stopped loving you. I tried to find a way to free you… and it wasn’t until I found myself with that blade against your chest that I knew there was no hope.”

Medivh curled his arms around his former apprentice. “But you did free me, Khadgar. Perhaps not in the way either of us truly wanted, but I was free. My restless spirit could not sleep – I had to atone for things I had done, even under the influence of another. My time as Guardian was not yet past, and I had to do … something.” He ran a hand through Khadgar’s hair, watching the silver strands card through his fingers. “I was given a second chance, a chance to right the wrongs I had committed, to thwart the Legion in their attempt on Nordrassil. It was small – petty even – in comparison to all I had done, the chaos I caused. The wreck of a world I left you to defend.” He sighed, deeply. “In the end, it took me the longest to reach back out to you, because I was not sure you would reach back. I was afraid that if I reached out to you, that you would turn your back, as was your right.”

“I would never,” Khadgar breathed, softly. “I knew the truth. I… I saw you – out of the corners of my eyes. I talked to you, and even then just after turning away from the earth that held you… I … There was a spark of hope. I dared not show it. I dared not let it grow, but for years I… I hoped.” His eyes closed, and he sighed. “I never stopped loving you,” he repeated quietly. “As I told you when we… we reunited, I never wanted another. I will never want another. There is no one else on this world or any others that can fill the space in my heart the way you do, no one else who deserves my trust. No one else I’d rather belong to. I made my decision years ago, Medivh.”

Medivh did not answer; he could not. He was stunned into silence at this revelation. He had thought the impassioned words just that – impassioned words spoken when they had been reunited. He had no idea that not only had his apprentice been in love with him so deeply when he was still young, but it had stayed with him, developed, grown. This was far beyond a skin-deep infatuation, or a reverence of a student for his teacher. This was no passing crush, no fleeting spur of the moment…. No… This was far beyond that.

Medivh’s fingers traced a sword-cut along Khadgar’s hip, biting his lip as he tried to think of a reply. He sighed, settling on the truth. “I had no idea,” he said softly. “I had no idea it ran so deeply.” He shifted uncomfortably, looking away from Khadgar. “I… I had … humored you. At least, that’s what I told myself then, and have been telling myself for years.” He shook his head, slowly. “I needed you,” he murmured, almost too quietly for Khadgar to hear him. “I needed you more than I would admit. I wanted you more than… Light, you know what I was like when I was young, Khadgar … None of that compared – not all of it put together – with that first night I spent with you.” His fingers found a gouge along Khadgar’s thigh that looked as though it was burned there, and paused. “I had such trouble keeping control of myself as you came apart at my touch. And after we’d retired, out of the library… As I watched you fall asleep, you looked…” He closed his eyes. “You looked so young. So at peace. And I felt as though I’d shattered it all. I was going to leave you there and spend my night elsewhere, you know.” And he smiled, looking at Khadgar again. “Until your arm slid over my chest and you curled yourself against my side, and you mumbled in your sleep.”

Khadgar paled. “What did I say?”

Medivh grinned at him. “Something that broke my cold, dead heart into a thousand shards, and put it back together in a faceted, shining, glowing warmth that I never thought I would feel. Something that melted the chill I’d shown others. Something that at once was my reason for living and my wish for death. Something that told me that if only Sargeras had not been part of the equation, I had found my life-partner.”

Khadgar lifted an eyebrow. “What did I say?” he insisted.

Medivh’s grin turned manic and he prodded the gouge mark. “What happened here?”

Khadgar sighed, rolling his eyes and settled himself again. He would get his answer one way or another, he vowed so.

Chapter Text

VIII.

Instead of arguing, however, Khadgar sighed as he tried to think back to what had happened to put the burn – for a burn it was – along his leg. He frowned for a moment, then turned a brilliant crimson.

“You… probably don’t want to know,” he murmured softly. “It… I…”

“I do want to know,” Medivh insisted. “Come now, it can’t be worse than my falling on Llane’s axe!”

Khadgar sighed. “Well, maybe it was and maybe it wasn’t… I just.. It may…” he ran a hand through his hair, then resettled himself against Medivh’s side, his head settled so he could listen to Medivh’s heart beating. “This happened before you and I met…”

Khadgar sighed, shivering in the night air. He had expected it to be warmer here, in the south, but instead the nights seemed almost colder for the warmth that radiated during the day. Brightwood was anything but bright at this hour, and he stared into his campfire with something like fear. Gnolls, murlocs, giant widows and who knows what else were known to inhabit the forest here, and the last thing he needed was to be ambushed on the last leg of his journey to Redridge… and to Karazhan.

He pulled his cloak tighter around him, shivering again. He needed to forage, and he knew that. He should at least try to catch something for dinner that could be kept through the night and for morning.

An owl called in the distance and he huddled in his cloak and shuddered.

Right. Foraging. Hunting. Before daylight was gone. Unlike most mages, he was not actually helpless in the wild. He had grown up in the south of Western Lordaeron, not all that far from Gilneas. From the time he could walk well, he’d learned to set up small game traps. He’d learned to fish. He’d set one too many things on fire. And was promptly sent Away.

He sighed as he rigged a rabbit snare not too far from his tiny camp using a few branches and some quickly woven rope. He went back to camp and added more wood to his fire before heading in the direction opposite his snare, pulling up herbs here, a mushroom there, wild vegetables here, and found a tangle of wild tubers running rampant. As he unearthed one, he realized some of this wasn’t wild – they had just run wild after a time – as he came across the ruins of a house and its outhouses. He hoped it wasn’t a tragedy that caused this, and prayed it was just simple abandonment of a place no longer needed.

He returned to his camp with his treasures and cleaned and sorted them, setting the sweet potatoes to roast over the fire on a sharpened stick, setting the vegetables to the side of the fire to roast indirectly. A squeak alerted him that his snare was successful, and before too long, had a decently sized rabbit roasting over his fire as well.

He wrapped the refuse in the rabbit skin and went to the edge of his fire’s light to bury it. He knew the rules of the road as well as any well-worn traveler: always leave a campsite clean, never attract predators to a camp area, bury everything that can’t be burned or won’t burn.

By now it was true dark, and Khadgar sighed as he waited for his meal to cook, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow. He wished he’d brought something to keep him entertained. Up until now, he had traveled with groups and there was conversation to keep him from thinking about what was… out there. Or about his grumbling stomach as meals cooked. He had not brought much with him: his clothing was tucked into his rucksack, and there was not much left to his life in Dalaran that he would have brought with him. When it boiled down to personal possessions, Khadgar had very little. He had a woolly gryphon his mother had made him when he was very little. His scribe’s kit – which was something very dear to him and he would only allow it out of his sight once he was settled. His clothing of course that he had packed other things in – his personal journals. The gryphon. His first scrying crystal. His scribe’s tools in their pouch. So little to his life… Well, perhaps at the end of this journey there will be more to it.

He sighed again and wished there was a stream nearby. He could have fished to keep himself busy, and with a little magic, could have kept a few fish in case his hunting came to nothing in the next night or two. He expected to be at Karazhan by then, anyway.

He prodded the fire a little, keeping the flame high and steady. A bit of grease from the rabbit dripped into it with a hiss, and it flared a bit. He turned the vegetables and the sweet potatoes.

Khadgar leaned back a little on his hands, looking up at the sky, what there was that was visible, anyway. The stars were bright here. He wondered if that was part of the reason the forest was known as ‘Brightwood’ – because the sky was so brilliant, regardless of the time of day or night. He started to look for familiar patterns when he heard a hissing sound. He frowned – this time it wasn’t a drip of grease from his dinner.

He slowly turned his head, his eyes as far to the right as they could go as he froze the rest of him, just in case.

A cluster of glowing red eyes met his sight. Khadgar’s heart sank. The widow was on the edge of the fire’s light, and … staring right at him.

Khadgar closed his eyes and turned to look back at the fire. Of all the things that had to come and bother him, it would have to be one of the damned spiders. Light above this wasn’t fair.

He frowned for a moment. Perhaps the thing was attracted by the scent of cooking food? Well, if that was the case… It didn’t seem to want to come closer, content to stay out of the light. It did hiss again, almost… questioningly.

Khadgar decided to take a chance. “Are you friendly, or is it me you’re after?”

The silence that greeted his words was a little unnerving, though the rustle of movement seemed louder than before. The spider had inched forward, just enough to … settle down…? Khadgar stared at it. It had tucked its legs a little and looked a bit like it was – in its way, settled as he was – knees against his chest, arms wrapped around them. The spider had pulled its legs in, body on the ground.

“O-okay then, um… You don’t seem to want to eat me…” Khadgar felt stupid for talking to a spider of all things, when he was actually rather terrified of the things. He reached to turn his rabbit, the fire hissing and flaring a little as the movement caused another drip of grease. He turned his sweet potatoes as well, then the vegetables.

As the fire had flared, the spider had lifted a little, but on realization that it was just a momentary thing, had settled down again.

Khadgar glanced over his shoulder at his visitor. “So why are you here, hm? You seem somewhat friendly. You don’t want to eat me. Perhaps you might like to share some of my dinner?” The spider made no answer, just continued to ‘lie’ where it was, legs tucked up and resting. Khadgar got the idea that if it could have done the same kind of slow blinking like a contented cat, it would. He sighed, and pulled an eating knife from his belt-pouch and cut a section of the rabbit. The meat was still red within, though there didn’t seem to be much of it left.

He nodded in satisfaction, wiped the blade clean and sheathed it once again. He eyed the roasting vegetables, and turned them a bit, making sure none of them scorched. He turned the tubers as well, as the skin was beginning to blacken on one side.

He leaned back on his hands again and closed his eyes, listening to the crackling of the fire and the occasional hiss as drops of fat from the rabbit dripped into the flames. The spider seemed to have no interest in moving closer, nor did it move away. He’d had more peculiar moments in his life, but not too many. He couldn’t fathom why this spider – a spider of all things! – had taken an interest in sharing his camp.

He shifted uncomfortably, and eyed the trees at the edge of the firelight. Even having taken the precaution to take care of nature’s call before settling down, it was starting to nudge at him again. He really didn’t want to leave the safe circle of firelight, but he also knew that he could be tracked back here if he…

Khadgar sighed. There was no use in wishing. He stood up, and noticed the spider roused as well, almost like an eager puppy on noticing its master had risen. Biting his lip, Khadgar headed for the trees, conjuring a small light to keep him company.

Interestingly enough, the spider moved with him. Unnerved, Khadgar eyed the creature that kept a respectable distance, but did not move away from his light. Instead, it took up a guarding position near him as he took care of his need, then followed him back to his fire, settling down once again once Khadgar had settled himself. He checked the progress of his meal again, turning the rabbit, the sweet potatoes and the vegetables.

His stomach rumbled impatiently, and he sighed. He wasn’t sure how he would get to sleep with … with that spider watching him.

Although… It did seem as though the spider was watching out for him, not watching him in a sense. Why else would it have followed and… well… guarded him?

With an internal shrug, he pulled out his eating knife again and checked the rabbit. It was very nearly done. The sweet potatoes were tender. The vegetables were hot and beginning to crisp or soften depending on their nature. He smiled, the cacophony of scent rather pleasant. Soon, he promised his impatient belly.

He dug in his rucksack for his water skin, grateful he had filled it earlier when he’d crossed a stream. The water had been clear as glass, and sweet as honey. He took a drink from it, and realized that his throat had been scratchy and a little sore only after the cool water soothed it away. He could conjure water of course, but he far preferred not to bother if he didn’t have to. Few understood how taxing it could be for a mage to produce food and drink when traveling. Many mages – himself included – were not prone to travel, and walking, or even riding, all day was tiring. Some mages, however, could conjure anything as easy as breathing.

Khadgar prodded the fire. One day, he thought, maybe I’ll be able to conjure things without much effort too. He sighed, setting the stick he was using to prod the coals aside and adding more wood to the fire. His companion hissed a little, backing up a pace, but returned and settled as the firelight brushed over its face.

Khadgar shuddered a little. “No offense,” he said to it, “I’ve never liked your kind, and you’re a little on the frightening side.” He tilted his head to look at the widow. “I still can’t figure out why you’re here, or why you’ve chosen to guard me. But thank you anyway – I do appreciate it.”

The widow regarded him as silently as it had done since it settled, but seemed to relax a little at Khadgar’s words.

He checked the rabbit once more; it was done at last. He pulled the spit from the fire to let it cool a little, doing the same with the sweet potatoes and vegetables. Once the rabbit had cooled enough to eat, he offered a part of it to the spider that had inched a little closer, but it nudged the hindquarter back to him with one leg, apparently contented to just watch over him.

With a shrug, Khadgar carefully cut bites from the carcass with his eating knife, rather than trying to pull it apart with his teeth. He ate half the rabbit, one of the sweet potatoes and a portion of the vegetables, and carefully set them near the fire to keep warm through the night.

Having nothing more to do, he set his rucksack near the fire and wrapped himself in his cloak, looking back at the glowing eyes watching him. The spider was alert again, and had taken up a guarding position, regarding the mage with an expression that seemed to say ‘sleep, human, I will guard your rest’. He smiled, settled himself with a sigh and closed his eyes.

“I don’t know why you’re here – but again, thank you.” There was a soft hissing in reply, and the scuttle of legs – a slow one, as the widow circled the fire slowly, taking its guarding seriously. Khadgar fell asleep to the sound, feeling as though he should be disturbed by this odd turn of events, but… instead, he was comforted.

Khadgar woke at dawn, as birdsong became loud. He stretched, opened his eyes, and found his companion settled in a very … odd position, almost folded on the ground as a horse would fold its legs under it. For a moment, he thought the widow was injured, but as soon as he sat up, the widow unfolded itself and stretched, one leg at a time, turning to look at him, and bobbing its body a little in greeting.

Khadgar couldn’t help but laugh as it scuttled around the campsite as he built up his fire enough to warm his leftovers for breakfast. As he did, the widow scuttled off into the trees and vanished. Khadgar frowned, finding that he actually missed its presence after a few moments.

The widow, however, had something else in mind. By the time Khadgar’s meal had warmed, it brought back another rabbit, still struggling in its pincers. It was obvious that it had not been bitten, just… caught.  The widow moved closer, slowly, as Khadgar watched. The widow lifted its front legs, as if to try to hold something. Khadgar frowned, then held out his hands. The spider bobbed, then put the rabbit gently into his hands, waiting until he had hold of it before letting it go. It bobbed again, then tucked its legs up and ‘sat’ again.

Khadgar stared for a moment, then looked down at the rabbit in his hands. He swallowed, then looked at the spider. “Thank you,” he said, awestruck. The widow shuffled a little, and Khadgar could almost feel pride and joy coming from the creature. “Did you hunt for yourself? Will you share?”

The widow stretched its front legs, as a dog might, to show acceptance, and it bobbed a little. Khadgar laughed. “Well, then, I accept.” He let his breakfast continue to warm as he carefully and quickly killed and dressed the rabbit, then quartered it. He offered part of the rabbit to the widow, and this time, it accepted, settling itself down to enjoy its meal as Khadgar set the rest of the new kill aside to eat his own.

Of all the strange things that had happened to him on this trip, from saddle sores to sharing tales over a fire with others, this was most certainly the strangest thing that could have happened. He’d heard of mages having familiars, though usually the creatures that attached themselves to mages were… not arachnids. Cats, wolves, dogs, even snakes or rats, but never spiders. If this widow tried to accompany him to Karazhan, how would he explain this to the Magus that was his hoped for master? He shrugged, biting into a mushroom. He would figure it out when he reached the fabled tower.

He finished his breakfast, then gently froze the remainder of the fresh rabbit, wrapping it in the skin. The widow had accepted the offal as well as the quarter, and anything it didn’t eat, Khadgar buried in the embers of his fire before making sure it was out, and then buried that as well. Campsite clean, lunch safely tucked into a pocket of his rucksack, he hefted the bag onto his shoulders and prepared to move on.

The widow followed, scuttling along beside him like a well-trained dog. Khadgar found the road, and followed it to the east and north. Whenever others came into sight, the widow scuttled off into the trees to follow discreetly, but otherwise kept right by the mage’s side. They stopped around noon at a trickle of a stream, where Khadgar had a quick wash, refilled his water skin and they settled by the bank for lunch.

Near dark, they had come nearly to the eastern section of southern Redridge, and stopped again. Khadgar built a fire, and the widow vanished again. As Khadgar made another snare, the widow returned with two plump rabbits, dancing a little as it presented them. Khadgar actually reached to pat the creature, which the widow submitted to quite readily, curling its legs up and bobbing in delight.

The widow remained at the site while Khadgar foraged, returning with some edible greens and a few tuber vegetables, which he set up to roast beside the rabbits – one of which he did save a share of for the widow.

By now, Khadgar was more than grateful to the creature and was coming to feel an aloof kind of affection for it. The widow, in turn, guarded the camp and him, even when he left it. Whatever fear it had of him, of fire, or of his mage lights had evaporated when it realized that Khadgar had no interest in hurting it.

Idly, Khadgar wondered if this was a male or a female, considering that it had all the markings of a female, but females were far more aloof and deadly than the more sociable males. He decided he didn’t much care – that he would care for it anyway.

A howl in the distance sent shivers up his spine as he checked the rabbits and turned them. The widow was on its feet, hissing softly, turned outward from the fire. Khadgar bit his lip and hoped whatever had made that noise remained out of the area. He was not ready to fight a wolf, and though the widow seemed intent on protecting him, he didn’t want to see it hurt.

Once dinner had been eaten, however, fate had other plans. Golden eyes glittered in the darkness. The widow hissed a warning and a challenge. Khadgar built his fire up a little higher, knowing most wolves would avoid the light. The widow backed up a little into the light, lifting its body a bit higher than usual in an attempt to warn the wolf away.

Khadgar didn’t dare sleep. He kept the fire fed, fearing that he would run out of firewood. He didn’t think he’d need such a large fire, so hadn’t collected all that much deadfall.

The wolf attacked near midnight. The widow charged at it, leaping at the wolf with its powerful back legs, and Khadgar heard the muffled ‘thump’ as the two creatures collided. His heart sank as he tried to find an opening to aid his companion, and gave up the idea of using magic after a moment of realization that there was no opening without hitting both. He seized a burning stick from the fire and tried to drive the wolf off, but instead wound up being charged and knocked into the fire itself.

He screamed as one of the sharpened sticks that had spitted one of the rabbits drove into his thigh. Worse, it was one of the burning ones. Well, that just added injury to insult. But it did leave him an opening. He flung a bolt of power at the wolf, and it dropped.

Only then did he attend to his injury. The wound was already burned closed, and it didn’t seem as though it was dirty or infected. It still hurt, badly, but he could ignore pain. He checked the widow.

His companion was in bad shape, hissing in pain as it tried to get back to him; one of its legs had been bitten off and there were claw marks on its abdomen, dripping ichor. Khadgar bit his lip.

“I’m so sorry,” he told it, reaching out a hand to steady the creature. “Lie down; I may be able to help.” The widow tried to bob in understanding, but collapsed instead. It hissed softly, almost affectionately. Khadgar dug out some linen strips from his rucksack to bind the wound, but by the time he had returned, the widows legs were curled, and it lay on its side. It no longer bled. Its eyes were dull.

Khadgar was stunned. How could it have…?  And then he saw it – another claw mark along its soft underbelly, one that went from head to halfway through its abdomen. The pool of ichor below it told him all he needed to know.

Ignoring his own injury still, he set about burying his companion, shocked at himself for the tears that crept down his cheeks as he did. This odd spider had come to him, had guarded him. Had stayed with him for only a day, but it still hurt. It had died to protect him. He marked the spot with small stones, in the shape of an arachnid.

He did not sleep that night. He spent the night tending the burn along his thigh. The puncture was not too deep, but it looked awful. He cleaned it, bandaged it, and hoped that his crude bandaging would keep it from infecting. It would certainly slow him down a little. In the morning, before he moved on, he knelt beside the grave for a long while before cleaning up his camp.

The wolf had avoided being bitten, and its only injuries were bruises other than where the bolt had struck it. Instead of leaving it, he accepted its sacrifice, field dressed it, froze it and wrapped it in the pelt of shaggy grey-brown fur to tuck into his rucksack.

As he headed for the road, he turned one last time to look at the grave, and thanked the creature one last time, for its companionship – and his life.

Medivh pulled Khadgar a little closer. “Female, most likely,” he murmured. “It is the females who tend to seek companions other than their own kind, and that hunters tend to find willing to accompany them.”

Khadgar rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know why I … it still hurts.”

“If she was meant to be your familiar at that time, Khadgar, you were starting to bond. You had her for a day before you lost her – and with her a part of your own soul. Have you ever been approached again?” Medivh shifted, stroking Khadgar’s hair.

Khadgar shook his head. “No… Not until recently – the ravens. But I don’t feel bonded to them as … I did that widow.”

“It may have been that she would have followed you here, then, and I would have found myself with an apprentice and his familiar. I did find it odd – you were of age for one.” Medivh’s voice softened. “And now I know. I’m deeply sorry, Khadgar. I had no idea that you came to me bond-broken. The very fact that you remember so much detail about her says much. That she willingly sacrificed herself for you… Well. Have you gone back?”

“Once. When I left here. I haven’t thought about it in years,” Khadgar admitted.

“Then we will go. And you will mourn her properly, now that you are aware. Who knows, it may be that she left offspring who will find you, and it may be they were instructed to do so in order for one of them to bond with you later. Or she herself may return for you.” Medivh gently rubbed circles against Khadgar’s back, ignoring his former apprentice’s tears. He needed them, if the spider had truly been the familiar sent to him.

Medivh sighed sadly. He had wanted so much more for the younger man than a life of misery – a life, it seemed, that had begun before they’d even met. He vowed it would change. No matter the cost, it would change.

It was a while before Khadgar calmed again, and his questing fingers found a long sword cut along his thigh. He traced its length from hip to knee, frowning a little, then looked up in inquiry.

Medivh chuckled. “Oh that was … another fun afternoon. Evening. Ugh.” He dropped his head back against the pillows. “I’m not sure how to even explain this one.”

Chapter Text

IX.

“Another troll incursion?” Khadgar asked softly.

Medivh nodded. “Looks like a sword cut, doesn’t it?” Khadgar nodded slowly. “Dagger. Ruined one of my best robes too.” He sighed. “I was a vain creature, Khadgar.” He stretched a little. “I think I was more upset about the robes than I was that I was bleeding. This was after I had suffered the spear wound…”

An explosion of fire roused the entire camp – including both Medivh and Anduin, who shared a tent near the rear edge.

The fire-bomb had landed in the middle of camp, killing no less than four on impact, and setting everything nearby aflame. By the time Medivh and Anduin reached the area, many were trying to beat out the flames on oiled canvas and having little success.

Medivh shouted, and heads turned. He gestured with his staff, indicating for everyone to clear the area. The order was followed as though it had been Anduin who had given the order. A moment later, a drenching rain began to fall, quenching the flames. Once they were out, the rain ceased, and a light appeared over the damage.

It was still hours before dawn, and no one was asleep now.

Anduin strode into the sodden mess to assess the damage. Medivh leaned on Atiesh, sighing. This entire mess should have been avoidable. Well. If the Gurubashi had stayed in the confines of Stranglethorn, this would not be an issue. But no, they were here, in the middle of Brightwood. Again.

Granted this time they had more warning, and were farther south than they had been the last time, and this time they were able to keep a garrison waiting at Grand Hamlet, but by all that was holy…

Medivh was tired of trolls.

Hell, Medivh was tired. He rubbed his eyes, looking around the destruction. There were dark circles under his eyes, and it was obvious the young man hadn’t slept much, if at all, in the past week. He followed Anduin into the wreckage, restoring what he could, where he could. The tents were salvageable for the most part with a little time-reversal. Some of them would need serious repair that he could not effect on the spot. A few were … gone.

He leaned down and closed the eyes of a young man, hardly more than a boy, who had been caught directly in the blast. He tried to ignore the scent of charred flesh, but… well. He was used to it now. It would forever be something he would deal with, and he had, somewhat, come to terms with it. He didn’t like it, but he had come to terms with it.

The tents that he salvaged were put back up with cries of thanks under his light. Medivh moved up beside Anduin as he spoke to one who was on watch. Anduin was frowning.

“… without warning. We didn’t even see anything until we heard it hit the ground, Sir. A couple leaned to look, and...” The man gulped, shaking his head. “None left. Nothing to bury. Nothing…”

Anduin patted the man’s shoulder. “I know. We’ll pay those bastards back, I swear it.”

“Commander!” Both Anduin and Medivh looked up. Medivh caught sight of something glinting in his light, and his hand shot out, surrounding the object as it landed.

Another flash. Another explosion. More fire, but this time, all contained. Medivh stepped back under the strain, dissipating the blast before letting the shield go.

“There are more of them coming!”

Medivh swore, colorfully and in three languages. He dropped to one knee and began incanting. Between sets of commands, he reached up and grabbed Anduin’s hand. “Time. Buy time.”

Another firebomb landed with a dull thud. Before anyone else could react, someone leapt onto it, covering it with his body.

Anduin’s swearing was far more colorful, and he wasn’t shocked, now. He was angry. The shrapnel was contained, but the shock and the fire was not – much.

Medivh closed his eyes, closed out the noise, closed out everything that could possibly break his concentration. In one fluid motion, he stood, raised Atiesh and a blue glow formed over the entire camp. Eyes glowing violet with the spell, everyone knew that he would be able to do nothing more for a while.

More of the bombs bounced off the shield, going off in the trees, setting the forest ablaze around them. A storm formed overhead, and rain pelted shield and forest alike, dousing the flames before they could spread far.

And dawn was still hours away.

When dawn came, the grey light illuminated a camp that resembled an angered wasp nest. Every soldier still able was in formation. Their commander stood with them. As did an exhausted Medivh.

“You need to go back to Grand Hamlet, Med. Go. Rest. You’ve done enough.” Anduin tried.

“The hell I have, Anduin. People here died when I could do nothing. People died because I wasn’t fast enough.” The Guardian’s voice lowered to an angry hiss. “I want blood, Anduin. Blood for blood, and more.”

The commander stepped back a pace at the look in Medivh’s eyes, but Medivh wasn’t paying attention. He was looking to the south. The tiny rubies that made up the eyes of the raven topping Medivh’s staff glowed the same angry red Medivh’s eyes did. He shook his head, and Medivh caught it out of the corner of his eye.

“I am fine, just… angry, Anduin. Enough have died to my—“

“No one died because of you, Medivh. You did what you could, and saved lives by exhausting yourself through the night. Don’t you dare blame this mess on yourself.” Anduin’s voice cut through the red misting Medivh’s vision, and after a moment, they faded back to a muddy green. The raven’s eyes, however, glowed all the more brightly.

“I swear by my own blood and my own oath that no one else will fall this day.”

Anduin closed his eyes. He knew that Medivh would keep that promise, but who knew what the mage’s state would be when it was over. He shook his head and gave the command to move.

The sun was reaching its zenith when they found the troll encampment.

Which was waiting for them.

Armed to the teeth. Literally.

Anduin sighed, closed his eyes briefly and turned to Medivh. “You. Back with the arch—“

“Not this time, Anduin. I’m sorry – that is one order I refuse to follow.” Medivh’s eyes were on the trolls. “Scout the trees to our flanks. There are definitely scouts there, and they probably have more explosives.”

Without waiting for any further protests, orders or words, Medivh stepped forward and unleashed a firestorm in the middle of the trolls’ ranks. It was countered at once, dissipated and sent back. Medivh blasted it aside with a burst of air, then sent that air as a whirlwind into the trolls.

He was scoring on them, countering whatever they threw, and Anduin added arrow volleys to the onslaught to keep them busy. Medivh set the arrows aflame just before they struck, and heard more screams of pain.

The front lines were getting restless, but neither force moved, staring at one another across a flat expanse as Medivh and whatever mage or shaman the trolls had dueled.

A shout from the troll lines sent them surging forward, and Medivh threw another firestorm in their path. It only took one or two before it was blown aside and dissolved.

Medivh shook his head and stepped back. “I have to find their mages or shaman or .. whatever.”

Anduin nodded, then gave the order to charge. Medivh moved with them, blending in as well as he could until he sidestepped out of the melee and into the tree line. Cloaked with a spell of invisibility, he closed his eyes and extended his senses.

There. Near the back. Behind the trees. Three of them. He grinned. Now to get to them without being seen. He had learned a trick – or rather the staff he carried seemed to impart it to him over time. With a little concentration and an amount of power that didn’t even break his invisibility, he transformed his body into that of a raven. As a raven, he took to the trees on wings of inky black.

He wove through the branches, avoiding leaves and twigs with tiny adjustments until he landed on a branch behind the troll lines. He hopped closer, and cawed loudly. None of the trolls paid him any attention. He hopped up a few branches until he found an extension of the trunk that would bear his human weight.

A human once more, he leaned over just enough to target the three that were sending lightning into Anduin’s ranks.

As silent as an owl’s wings, his lips moved in incantation, his hands glowing violet and blue before he sent the arcane blast towards the three.

They had no warning. They were blasted, charred and turned to ash within the space of a heartbeat. Medivh took cover on the branch, and, his victory won, prepared to return to Anduin as a raven.

A large hand – a large, blue, three-fingered hand – grabbed his ankle.

And yanked. Hard.

With a shout of both surprise and pain, Medivh fell from the tree – or rather, was yanked from the tree. He landed, hard, on the unforgiving ground, the breath knocked out of him momentarily. He looked up and found himself looking at a group of very angry trolls. Without breath, he could only knock them back with a burst of air, but it bought him the time to get to his feet and snatch his staff from the ground.

He wasn’t about to make the same mistake he had made the last time. He would not leave a side open for one of those spears. He would not give them an opening to stab with those long daggers either. He backed up against the tree and started a barrage of fire blasts that sent three of the eight surrounding him to the ground. A blast of pure arcane sent one into two more, which he finished with icicles as sharp as razors. Another three turned and replaced those that had gone down.

Medivh realized he was in trouble. He didn’t have time to prepare a spell to take care of the half of the troll troops that were now facing him, and him alone. They had realized someone was behind their lines, and realized a moment later that Medivh was alone.

Atiesh was a blur as he parried strike after strike, unable to get an attack of his own in. Something pierced his left arm. He screamed in anger and lashed out – leaving his right side wide open. Again. Before any of the trolls could take advantage of it, however, he kicked out, the heel of his boot knocking away a troll with a short blade in each of his hands.

He couldn’t keep this up. He was in trouble deeper than he had thought. He finally managed to get a shield around himself to give him a moment to breathe, assess and act. Every blow the shield took felt like another bruise against his own skin, but he was already slowing his breathing. If he was going to do anything significant, he was going to have to at least half-trance to do it.

If Anduin realized where he had gone, there wasn’t going to be time for him or any of the others to reach him, and if Anduin hadn’t realized what he had done… well. Perhaps his mother could simply find another consort now that his father was gone.

Guilt rose up and curled black tendrils around his heart. He shook it off and opened his eyes, letting them glow with his anger. It had worked once before, he would let it work again.

Recklessly, he found and delved into the nearest ley line, pulling at the extra power to augment his own. He raised Atiesh over his head, dispersed the shield, and slammed the base into the ground.

The arcane explosion would certainly alert Anduin to where he was if nothing else.

The rearmost two lines of trolls – their archers and spear-throwers – were knocked back by the blast, and a few of them didn’t rise again. Medivh gave up all pretense, and ran, back toward the trees the way he had come, trying and failing twice to turn himself into a raven. He was spent. Utterly spent.

He swore as he was tackled from above and using only his hands managed to get the troll into a position where he could kick the attacker away. Said attacker, however had a blade in his hand, and drove it down as Medivh kicked. It dug into his thigh, and he shrieked with pain. With the adrenaline rush, he forced through a bolt of power, killing the troll.

He stood up, and fell to his knees. His robes were shredded where the troll’s blade had gone into his thigh, and the long gash that was there was bone-deep, bleeding and…

Light above, just missed the artery, which he could see pulsing in one side of the wound. He looked away, quickly before the sight could make him light-headed or pass out. He tried to crawl, but it was no good. He tried yet again to turn into a raven. He couldn’t do that either.

He looked around. He didn’t seem to have been followed by more than the one. He looked up into the trees and saw nothing but sunlight filtering through the leaves and branches.

Well, that was fine. He wasn’t going any farther. He just hoped Anduin found him. He looked down again at the blood pooling under his knees, lifting the shreds of his robe. Well, he wasn’t sure this was going to be salvageable… it was his favorite one too. It would take eons to embroider the runes into it again, or into a new one.

He didn’t notice when he fell face-first into the forest loam.

He did wake to searing pain in his thigh, his arm, his side, his ankle… And he could not give voice to it.

His eyes opened to find Anduin and three healers working on him. Anduin held his head steady as the healers worked, and when the eyes open, he leaned down so Medivh could not see what the healers were doing. “Be still, Med. Be absolutely still. You’re extremely drugged. I know you can hear me. I know you can see me. Do not panic. For all that is holy, don’t panic on us.”

Medivh blinked up at Anduin, then gave him a confused look. “You’re in Grand Hamlet. If we hadn’t been scouring the forest for stragglers we never would have found you. What is wrong with you, Medivh? Damn it all to the eleven Hells, we damn near lost you this time!”

Medivh closed his eyes again, but he could have sworn, as he fell into darkness again, that he heard Anduin whisper, “I damn near lost you…”

Khadgar sighed. “You know, you scold me regularly for being reckless…”

“I was less than half your age, Khadgar,” Medivh pointed out, grinning. “Before I decided I needed a decade’s worth of a nap.”

Khadgar sighed again, this time huffily. “Am I ever going to get that story out of you?”

“One day, perhaps. But not now. As I’m sure you’ve guessed, by telling me I was reckless… Well, all of this did lead up to that moment. I kept pushing myself. Usually, that’s a good thing, but for me… Every time I woke from a day or two of recovery, there was less of me.”

Khadgar shifted a little uncomfortably. “He loved you, didn’t he?”

“Anduin?” Medivh asked, then nodded. “He did,” he sighed. “I unfortunately, could not return the feelings he had for me. Oh we had always been close, but…” He shook his head, stroking Khadgar’s hair again. “I cared very much for him. Enough to give in to his desire once or twice.” He looked up, his head falling back once more. “Khadgar – I… I should have done more for him, I think. That is one of my greatest regrets. Even if I could not love him the way he loved me, I should have … I could have tried.” His eyes closed.

Khadgar frowned. “You would have lived a lie,” he began.

Medivh snorted. “My entire life, at that point, was a lie, Khadgar.” He was quiet for a moment, but Khadgar had the feeling there was more to what he wanted to say, and stayed silent himself. “It was then – when I let my anger take over – that I started to feel… His influence. A nagging little voice in the back of my mind, whispering softly that I was more than I was showing. That I could do so much more if I just let in what I could feel on the edges of my awareness. Let it in, and become twice as powerful.” He shook his head. “I won’t deny that I craved power, as much as any madman craves it. I gave in to that little voice more and more. I pushed. I opened myself up to those whispers – and oh, there was power for the taking. Minions I could summon. Demons I could control at a whim.”

A tear streaked down Medivh’s cheek. “And I gave in,” he whispered. “I could have fought it, even though I was born with it within me, I could have fought it. Perhaps if I had… if I had paid more attention to Anduin I could have fought it longer with his influence battling that of the darkness.” He drew a long breath. “And so the Guardian went from a being of the light of the Arcane to a being of the darkness of the Fel.”

Khadgar reached up and brushed the tears away with gentle fingers. “But you still fought… later on…”

Medivh shook his head. “I let it consume me – and several would-be assistants. One of them had such promise. She was a bit like you, though she came to me from Quel’thalas. She had a vision. She left me a note. And then I … I found her.”

Khadgar paled. “What do you—“

“Hanging from the rafters of the secondary observatory. That’s why there … isn’t one now. It was meant to be the apprentice’s observatory – identical to the one you and I spent so much time in, but in mirror. It was why I kept refusing more would-be apprentices that came to me, setting them the impossible task of taming the library.” He looked down at Khadgar, his eyes bright with tears and pride. “The library you tamed, Young Trust.”

Khadgar blinked. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, then shook his head. “I… had no idea,” he finally murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

Medivh shook his head. “It is a … relic of the past now. She was the one with the most potential, before you arrived. It would be an insult to her to forget her. I took her home myself instead of… sending her. It didn’t discourage others from coming to me, but, then, the call of such prestige is loud and great, I suppose.”

Khadgar sighed. “Prestige…” He snorted, shaking his head. “Great destinies make great stories of the dead and long funerals.” He closed his eyes.

“You speak of Varian,” Medivh murmured softly.

“He was… like a younger brother to me sometimes, Medivh. I was there when his father… When Llane… Damn it.” Khadgar sighed. “I’m—“

“It all comes back to me,” Medivh murmured, “and my actions.” He gently shifted himself out from under Khadgar and stretched as he stood up. “And yet, it set into motion the very things that would save Azeroth. Would you have had the drive you do now? Would you even have ever come to me? These are things we’ll never know, unless we seek out a timeway that … where I…”

Khadgar sat up, curling his legs under him. “There’s no use dwelling on it, Medivh. What happened has happened, and there is no way to go back and change it without dire consequences.”

“Dire consequences?” Medivh stopped pacing, turning to look at Khadgar. “The infinite flight—“

“Has tried and failed. If you follow the altered timeway to the end, it often collapses.”

“Meaning?”

Khadgar shook his head, looking down at his hands. “Medivh, if the infinite flight had stopped you from opening the portal, you would have died there. You would have never taught me – there would be no Guardian – or there would be a Guardian, as it was in the beginning. Controlled and dancing on a puppet’s strings. Very likely also that the Guardian would wind up doing the same thing your mother had done in a time where there wasn’t one like me to learn from the resulting offspring. Past the selection of the next Guardian to be your successor, it splinters.”

“How do you know this?” Medivh breathed.

Khadgar looked down at his hands. “I’ve been to the Caverns of Time. I let things play out. I went there to speak with you, many times, as well. You knew me. But you did not know me. It… did more damage than good. I let the timeway play out. I let the infinite flight take you down. I watched the portal collapse. And a new Guardian was selected. No one I know, which is odd – considering how I had known so many of the greater mages. It was a young elven girl. She didn’t last long. Aegwynn attempted to teach another. They both died in an accident that resulted in the collapse of Karazhan. But you’d already started your work here – and …” He stopped, shaking his head.

“Chaos. The Legion had a direct way in. There was no Guardian alive. There were none with the drive to destroy them. And you?”

“Killed in Dalaran when Archimonde blasted it to the ground.”

Medivh sighed. “When at that time, you were ‘safe’ on the remnants of Draenor – the Outland.” He sat back down on the bed, heavily. “Damn it…”

“Every moment has its consequence. Even in an hourglass if you remove a grain of sand instead of shifting it aside…”

Medivh shook his head. “Removing even one grain throws the time off that much, and that one grain may have been the pivotal grain in the foundation, or the one to shatter the glass entirely.” He sighed. “You… unfortunately, are correct. And if you have already done the seeking, then I will not. There is no use in hurting either of us further.”

Medivh slid off the bed again, and left for the bathing room. Khadgar had a feeling the wine would eventually catch up to him. With a sigh, he went downstairs, taking the plate, pitcher and glasses with him. He returned with a tray laden with a pot of honeyed peacebloom with cinnamon, two mugs, and a small pitcher of cream.

Medivh raised an eyebrow at him when he returned, but Khadgar just grinned. He set the tray down and poured a mug of the fragrant tea, added a touch of cream, stirred it, then passed the mug to Medivh, who took the mug, held it to his nose, inhaled slowly and breathed out a sigh of bliss. “Bribery?”

“Considering it’s my turn?” Khadgar countered, settling with a mug of his own.

“Mm,” Medivh replied, setting his mug aside to avoid the temptation of drinking too quickly before it had cooled. Instead he motioned for Khadgar to put down his mug, then pushed him down, tracing along the younger mage’s skin, over the marks that had already been identified, then found one that looked rather angry still, in the small of his back. He reached out to touch it, and Khadgar sighed.

“You won’t like this one, Med,” he warned. “You won’t like this one at all.”

“I didn’t like any of the ones you’ve gotten, and I’m fairly certain that you weren’t so keen on the ones I’ve had.” Medivh countered, with a gentle finger against Khadgar’s chest.

“Good point.” Khadgar sighed, shaking his head – but smiling.

Chapter Text

X.

“This one comes on the tail of a tale you probably know,” Khadgar said quietly. “You, I assume, have heard about how I taunted Deathwing and lived to tell about it.” Medivh nodded. “Well,” Khadgar turned himself so the scorch mark on his arm where he’d been struck by lava was visible. “If you look at this, then look at the one you found on my back, you can see that they are somewhat similar?”

Medivh raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t taunt Neltharion again, did you?”

“Well, I – I’m not sure I would use the word ‘taunt’, no.” Khadgar dropped his eyes, looking rather sheepish.

“Khadgar,” Medivh murmured warningly, lifting one eyebrow.

“I didn’t taunt him, I missed a target and hit him instead and he may have gotten a little angry, but I swear I didn’t do it on purpose and he would up realizing that it was me that hit him and since he’d already threatened me I figured I should just run for my life so I did run for my life and I kind of tripped and fell and then I got hit from behind and—“

Medivh put a finger over Khadgar’s lips. “Slow down. Start from the beginning.”

Khadgar huffed out a sigh, then reached for his tea. “Right. The beginning.” He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then sipped from his mug.

Khadgar toyed with the bag he had shoved Gul’dan’s skull into, his fingers running along the seams, along the trim. The damn thing talked to him. He wondered if that was how Medivh had been drawn in – or, no, it had been the other way around. They were alike in mind, in a twisted sort of way. He could hear the thing’s whispers, even when he wasn’t touching it directly, and it sounded so much like some of the logic Medivh had used with him that it was frightening.

Blood magic was something that sickened nearly every mage that lived. Nearly. There were some who practiced it and did so willingly, condemning their souls to the torment of the souls they consumed. The very thought made Khadgar wish to be violently sick. And yet…

What would happen if he listened to Gul’dan? If he learned – learned to avoid, to counter, to…

No, no, Light what in the name of all the Titans was he thinking? That line of thinking was slippery and he would never find a handhold strong enough to keep him from using what he knew. No matter how badly he wanted to aid someone, anyone, the world – using that path would only bring pain and more death. It was too close already, the way he had managed what he had back in Stormwind, using his own blood and pain to fuel one last attack, one last chance for others to escape.

He shuddered, pulling his cloak closer around his body, shifted a little closer to the fire, on the pretense of checking on the spitted … whatever this four-hooved creature was. It was like a deer, but it wasn’t one. Talbuk, he thought someone said earlier.

Whatever it was, it was starting to smell incredible. He leaned back on his hands, his mind now off the skull, though his head hurt with the effort of blocking those whispers. He wondered if he would get any sleep; he had to keep those protections up, and they were still conscious effort – the ones under his unconscious control were just not strong enough to handle…

Damn it. He glared at the pouch, wishing he could fling the thing into the darkness and never deal with it again – but he needed it, and somehow, somehow, that skull – and the remnants of Gul’dan within, knew.

Footsteps behind him told him he was no longer alone. He looked up, Turalyon looking down at him with one eyebrow raised.

“You’re brooding.”

Khadgar chuckled. “No, not brooding, Turalyon, not this time. It is … it is taxing to keep the whispers of that damned warlock out of my mind. He is insidious in the worst of ways, using logic and my own wills and wishes against me. Invoking Medivh’s memory hasn’t helped.”

“Perhaps a warm bath? We did find a hot-spring. A soak might do good for you,” Turalyon wheedled. “Come on.”

Khadgar sighed. Well, what harm could it do? He picked up the pouch by its strings and shoved it into his rucksack. One thing he would not do – not now – was let it out of his sight. There wasn’t time for them to wander all of Draenor to find the thing again. At least they had an idea of where the book was. He closed his eyes as his heart sank a few inches. That book. That book was one he had seen only a handful of times, but oh he knew what it contained, and part of him wanted the book for himself, and another part of him wanted to hurl it into one of the lava pits.

Some knowledge was just never meant for mortal eyes. He knew this, but his own curiosity ate at him constantly. He was going to have to come to terms with that before his hands touched it – or he could be the true ‘apprentice of Medivh’ and follow in the footsteps that…

Khadgar stopped that line of thinking at once. He knew better. Medivh, the true one, and not the façade that Sargeras showed the world was a kind soul. He would never have loved him otherwise.

Turalyon poked his shoulder. “Now you’re brooding.” He sighed, his voice dropping low enough that only Khadgar could hear him. “You’re thinking of him.” At Khadgar’s nod, Turalyon patted his shoulder. “Would you like to talk about it?” As he spoke, he led Khadgar toward the hot spring, taking his rucksack from him as they walked to leave Khadgar unburdened.

Khadgar started to shake his head. And then reconsidered it. “I… Perhaps,” he said.

The spring was huge, and they were far from the only occupants. It seemed everyone was taking the opportunity to relax a little after what had admittedly been a long and taxing day. Dragons were never a fun thing to combat, and having to deal with gronn and ogres and dragons… Khadgar shuddered as he shed his robe, winced a little at the hole in the sleeve and made a mental reminder to stitch it closed later. This land was not hospitable in the slightest, and away from the relative luxuries of Honor Hold, it was positively wretched. He could feel a twinge of understanding for the orcs fleeing their home, but…

He slid into the water with a groan as the heat penetrated his skin and started working on muscles he was not aware were tense. He started to relax despite his worries.

He and Turalyon were at one end of the pool, illuminated only by a tiny mage-light that bobbed above them, and as far from the others as possible. They did get a few looks, but were not approached. If anyone wondered at why they were paired off when Alleria was with the rest of her rangers, let them.

“Truth, Khadgar. There was more between you and your mentor than just magic.” Turalyon went for the throat as he slid into the water within comfortable speaking distance.

“Would you think less of me if there was?” Khadgar countered, needing to know that he wasn’t about to lose a very badly needed friend out in this wasted land.

“No, Khadgar. You have earned my friendship so firmly that nothing you can tell me now would shake it,” Turalyon replied, divining Khadgar’s worry.

Khadgar had to smile. Priests… They always knew somehow… “We were lovers.” Turalyon sucked in a swift breath. “Not just in a physical sense. In all actuality, there was little of that. We were lovers in the sense that … We didn’t need to speak to communicate, sometimes. It made him no softer on me, nor did it cause me to slack. Somehow, we managed to find a balance of master and apprentice, and lover to lover. It was not a separation, either. I… I don’t know how to explain it.”

Turalyon reached out and laid his hand on Khadgar’s arm, wincing as the mage hissed, then soothing the burn he had inadvertently touched. “Much as Alleria and I – thanks to you – have found a similar balance of commander to subordinate, as well as being lovers. The affection never leaves us, but we know our places in combat and in our duties. A look, a brief touch, a reminder, even as I watch her throw herself into her work, and I throw myself into mine.”

Khadgar sighed. “Exactly that. Even when he taught, his instructions and lessons were demanding, and I rose to the challenge, but whether I failed or succeeded, he would always have some way of reminding me that he cared. At night, during our ‘free’ time, most of the time, we would curl up in the study and read, needing nothing but each other’s company.”

Turalyon closed his eyes. “That must hurt worse,” he murmured.

“It was the hardest thing I ever did, when I…” Khadgar stopped, his own eyes closed, his jaw clenched.

Turalyon waited, patiently, sensing that whatever Khadgar was about to admit to was extraordinarily painful. He watched Khadgar’s face as his jaw unclenched and his eyes filled.

“I killed him.” Khadgar’s voice was barely above a whisper, and Turalyon felt the color drain from his face.

Several things suddenly fell into place, and Turalyon ignored their state of undress and reached out to hug his friend closely. While the embrace was not returned, it was not rejected either. He simply held the mage as he dissolved into a silent storm of tears and whispered hysterics. The words didn’t much matter, though he caught several key words, such as ‘possessed’ and ‘didn’t see it sooner’ and ‘couldn’t save him’, and the paladin suddenly realized just what drove the mage so hard.

It also explained why Lothar had been so very insistent on keeping an eye on the young man. The scar along his wrist suddenly made a little more sense, when coupled with his actions on Stormwind’s walls. The stargazing, and the book of Medivh’s astronomy notes fell into place as well.

Khadgar had been driving himself into the ground from the moment he left his master’s care, because guilt, his own heartache – or heartbreak – drove him to see his master not only avenged, but also to be what he had been hoped to become.

An Archmage at such a young age. A commander of some renown. Someone highly respected, despite his youth, though his physical appearance was that of someone easily several decades older.

There was nothing he could say that could soothe his friend, either. There was nothing he could really do to ease that kind of pain. There was nothing that could mend a broken heart – and he knew that from experience and from having seen several halves of a pairing pine themselves to death.

Khadgar could have done this, and no one would have understood exactly why, excepting perhaps Lothar. He wondered just how much the older commander had known about Khadgar and Medivh’s relationship. He had never divulged more than their closeness during Khadgar’s apprenticeship, and that Khadgar had cared a great deal for the older mage – at least as much as Lothar himself had.

He let Khadgar go the moment the mage began to pull away, lifting a hand to rub his eyes. “I’m sorry, I…”

“Don’t apologize, Khadgar,” Turalyon said softly. “There is nothing to apologize for. I am just grateful that you decided to talk about it at last. Now I understand what’s been eating at you and … frankly, it had begun to frighten me. You drive yourself into the ground doing things. And now I know why.”

“It won’t bring him back,” Khadgar said softly. “And I know he will be, one day; I saw that for myself, just before I gathered my things and left Karazhan for good.” He looked up at Turalyon with an ironic smile. “And here I am, destined to die on this dying planet once that portal is closed, never having the chance to see him again.”

Turalyon had no answer to that.

Turalyon watched Khadgar out of the corner of his eye as they moved, slowly, back through the mountain range. The horses were exhausted from picking through the sharp outcroppings without injuring themselves. Khadgar himself was bent over the neck of his mount, trusting his mare to pick the best path without guidance. His eyes were closed, and it looked as though he was asleep. The only thing that told Turalyon that he was not asleep was the tiny adjustments the mage made as he shifted his weight to keep himself balanced and in a balance with his mount.

The mage was exhausted. Turalyon knew that the battle with the dragons had taken a heavy toll on him, and there was something more bothering him. Even after he had finally, finally unburdened some of his heart sickness on Turalyon’s shoulder, the tension in Khadgar’s shoulders told the paladin there was something deeply bothering the mage.

The pack settled behind his saddle was something Khadgar would not let out of his sight – no matter what he was doing or where he was. Turalyon knew that he was guarding the precious artifact within; the skull of Gul’dan had been costly to obtain, in more ways than one. However, since acquiring it, Khadgar had been looking more and more haggard, his energy sapped. Turalyon wondered what could be causing it, but when he asked, Khadgar just shook his head.

Meanwhile, Khadgar’s mental state had begun to waver. He was still his brilliant self; he contributed to every planning conference and offered what little tactical information and opinion that he could, but it was taxing to keep the barriers up against the constant whispers brushing his mind. Those whispers had gotten louder. Khadgar put up further defenses. The whispers became shouts. Khadgar fought to keep them at bay.

No matter how tight his mental defenses were, the occasional words reached him, driving a dagger into his skull, and the tension in his shoulders wasn’t a help. He had a headache of monumental proportions, and there was nothing he could do about it. No amount of willow bark tea would ease it. No potion they had could ease it.

The only thing that would ease it would be to let those defenses down, even for a little while, and he dared not – not when those words continued to point out that he had such potential, such power, and that if only he took Gul’dan’s teachings, he could surpass even Medivh with the full powers of the Guardian of Tirisfal at his beck and call.

He didn’t want power. He didn’t want to surpass Medivh. He didn’t want to do any of the things those whispers said he could do. He wanted to stop Azeroth from being destroyed – and that was it.

But was that all…? A little voice kept asking the question. If he had to be honest with himself – which he tried very hard not to be – he ultimately wanted to destroy that which had taken Medivh from him. He wanted vengeance.

I could help you achieve that… just take my teachings. You know you want to. Your master wanted to. Your master would want you to do this. Take revenge for him. Avenge his blood, his soul, his life. Become my apprentice…

Khadgar winced, one hand lifting to his forehead. The words were like a dull dagger driving into his skull. He turned his mind outward again, trying to blank out his own thoughts and turn it towards the landscape, the sky. Something, anything, to stop his own thoughts from poisoning him further.

He looked around, blanched and quickly closed his eyes. The motion was not helping. Nothing was helping. He felt a light touch against his forehead, and some of the ache eased, just a tiny bit. He cracked an eye open to see that Turalyon had nudged his mount to match pace with his own, and one hand was outstretched, his fingers barely brushing Khadgar’s skin.

There was a hiss, and the words stopped. Khadgar sagged with relief, though he did not dare lower any of the protections on his mind. He opened his eyes and looked at Turalyon, his gratitude clear in them. Turalyon nodded, once, slowly and withdrew his hand.

Khadgar thought he would never hate dragons. He was starting to hate the Black flight more and more, especially now. Why they had chased the group after escaping from Gruul and his gronn and ogres, Khadgar didn’t know. He didn’t much care. All he wanted to do was get away from them.

Or kill the ones that were insistent.

It hurt to cast. His head felt as though it would burst, but he continued, knowing that only his magics would keep the damn things from killing any more of their group than they had in the mountains. His mare had fled the moment he had dismounted, and he wondered if he would ever see her again, or if she would be eaten by one of the damned dragons that were now swooping at them.

He started directing his spells to the ones in the air, trying to pick them off before they could reach them. He noticed Alleria and her rangers were firing arrow after arrow up at them, and he started aiding those arrows with flame or frost enhancing their razor sharp tips.

Khadgar only realized his own fatigue when one of his spells went way off the mark, raining fire down from a failed fireball. Not that any of it reached the ground, but it certainly ticked off a couple of the dragons. He shook his head, trying to clear it, letting adrenaline carry him as he threw a bolt of frost, missed the dragon he aimed for – but hit another. Well, at least the shot hadn’t—

“YOU!” Khadgar’s blood turned to ice, and his eyes lifted to see Deathwing’s form hovering above the rest of his flight.

Well. Fuck.

Panic froze him to the spot. Further adrenaline flooded his system and screamed at him to run. He backed up a step, his eyes wide with shock. Without thinking, he focused his attention on another one of the plates covering the behemoth; it had worked once, it should work again. With a creak of metal and a loud popping sound that reminded him of a backfiring canon, one of the rivets burst loose and the plate lifted.

The former Aspect roared, then dove. Khadgar turned and ran, uncaring of which direction he was running in, as long as his body said it was ‘away’. There was no outrunning a dragon in flight, however, and his mind knew that. He turned and cast again over his shoulder. Another rivet burst loose. He had to force the Aspect to retreat again. He had to get the rest of these people out of here before…

Before Deathwing retreated, however, he did attack. The lava fell just short of Khadgar as he ran, but he could feel the heat of it at his back, and he looked over his shoulder to see that it had missed him by mere feet.

His foot encountered something. A root? A rock? It didn’t matter. He turned back to find that he was falling, and he only barely managed to put his arms out in time to stop him from face-planting in the dusty ground. His ankle hurt. He tried to get up, and panicked further as he realized he could not.

He was by himself; he was cornered.

And a very angry black dragon was inhaling above him to finish him. Time slowed to a crawl. He closed his eyes, let himself lie still, and relaxed his arms.

He had failed. It was over. He would not manage to get the portal closed. Deathwing would reclaim the skull. Azeroth would share Draenor’s fate. He had failed.

Khadgar rested his forehead against the ground, accepting his failure – and his fate. He wondered if, wherever he was now, Medivh would forgive him.

Someone grabbed his arms and pulled him forward, dragging him across the ground. He heard – and felt the lava strike the ground somewhere just below where his feet were now – where he had been just a moment before.

He arched sharply, screaming as his back suddenly seared with pain. He could feel his very skin burning; and the flesh beneath. The pain eclipsed the headache that plagued him for days, and the last thing he heard was a soft whisper.

Perhaps I was wrong about you, weakling child…

Someone was stroking his hair, running gentle fingertips against his scalp. His eyes hurt. His head hurt. His left ankle hurt. His back was agony. And yet, it was far away, as though it was someone else in pain, and not him. His head was pillowed on something soft, that moved, slowly. He opened his eyes, and looked up.

“Medivh?” he breathed. He tried to lift his head, but the hand against the back of it prevented him.

“It is not yet your time,” he heard, the familiar voice painful to listen to. He felt his chest tighten, and he lay his head back down.

“I failed,” he murmured softly. “I failed.”

“No,” the voice murmured to him, softly. “But you came close. You still fight.”

“Am I dead?” Khadgar whispered.

“You are dreaming.” The voice was warm now, so familiar that it brought tears to Khadgar’s eyes.

“I don’t want to wake up then,” he said softly.

“It is not your time,” Medivh repeated, just as softly, a touch of regret in his voice.

“I don’t want to leave you.” Khadgar insisted, trying to lift his head again.

“You never did.” The voice was fainter now.

“Don’t leave me!” Khadgar wailed, trying to push himself up properly.

He woke, abruptly, and with a soft, wordless cry. The hand in his hair paused, then resumed.

“Nightmare,” Alleria murmured.

“With as much as he’s been through…” Turalyon sighed.

“And you say he hasn’t told you all of it?” Alleria asked.

“No, I don’t think so. He very likely never will. That’s his decision.” Turalyon’s voice was farther away, this time, and Khadgar heard the clink of glass.

“I think he’s awake,” Alleria murmured.

Khadgar’s eyes opened, and found himself on his bedroll. A fire illuminated that Alleria knelt at his side, and it was her hand in his hair, soothing him. He lay on his stomach. Something was under his left shin, elevating an ankle that was clearly splinted. He moaned softly, and he tried to move his arms to get up.

“No you don’t,” Alleria said, her hand firm against the back of his head. “You’ve tried to do that for the past hour at least. Just lie still.”

“Let him up, Alleria,” Turalyon murmured. “At least enough to take this.” Khadgar’s eyes shifted to the paladin, and he recognized the blood red liquid within the vial he held. He groaned again.

“I know you hate them,” Turalyon murmured. “But it’s for the best, my friend. It will allow the healers – including myself – to put you back together. We damn near lost you today. For a while, I thought we had.”

Khadgar didn’t answer, other than to sigh. He shifted and hissed in pain as his back muscles – what was left of them – shifted. He managed to get the vile potion down with the pair’s help, and was grateful when it sent him into a place where he floated, aware, but not aware. He did not dream of Medivh again, though he longed to.

A moment of panic struck him when he realized that he couldn’t hear the skull anymore – the whispers were gone. He tried to move again, but a soft snort that was not from Alleria or from Turalyon – or indeed from any human or elven throat made him pause.

Weakling mage. Powerful but weak. Perhaps I’ll break you still, but you’re not worth breaking now.

Khadgar closed his eyes. They still had a chance. If he didn’t get himself killed first.

Khadgar toyed with his empty mug, staring down at it. Medivh had been still and quiet for some time, and he wondered if he had triggered some memory, or upset the older mage to the point where he was going to ignore Khadgar for a time.  It had happened in the past, why not now?

He leaned to set the mug on the table beside the bed, and pulled his legs up against his chest, his arms wrapping around them.

He heard the soft click of a mug being set down, and then arms wrapped around him. His shoulders sagged in relief.

Medivh rested his head against Khadgar’s shoulder. “I remember that moment,” he murmured, his voice thick. “You were about to give up.”

Khadgar couldn’t speak. He tilted his head to rest against Medivh’s and he sighed. They were quiet for a long time before he could finally answer. “I wanted to. Light, I wanted to. But you reminded me that I could not. And so I did not.”

Medivh’s hands urged Khadgar to uncurl himself, and his arms pulled the younger mage against him. “I was so afraid you would. I would not have blamed you, after all you had been through, if you had. Those last words rang in my heart for years on end, even after I’d returned, and even then, with the knowledge that you… I couldn’t reach out to you…”

“In the end,” Khadgar murmured, his voice thick with restrained tears, “it didn’t matter. You’re here. You did reach out. And I refuse to leave your side, even when we’re not physically together.”

“That relieves many of the things I had thought through the years. It was… difficult, at times. You knew I would return. I … did not have that luxury. The Light would not come, after I…” Medivh suddenly stopped, his eyes closed.

“Medivh..?”

“I think it’s time I told you what became of me… all that time ago,” Medivh said slowly. “At least, what I remember.”

Khadgar pulled back, his eyes wide in shock. “But…”

“It is a scar, not on my body, but on my heart, Khadgar. My soul is still scarred by those events, and no amount of healing will ever drive it away, nor will it ever mend. But perhaps… just perhaps, if I tell you the truth of… all I can… Perhaps, just perhaps it will ease some of the pain that is still between us.”

Khadgar gaped at him. “I… I don’t know if…” He shook his head. “No. It doesn’t matter if I’m ready to hear it. I need to know as badly as you need to speak of it.” He looked up at Medivh, lifting himself to touch his lips to the older mage’s.

“Then remain close, Young Trust. This is going to be one of the most painful wounds ever to reopen.”

Chapter Text

XI.

Medivh pulled back, resettling himself on the bed with his back against the pillows again. Instead of curling up at his side, as he had done earlier, Khadgar simply settled next to him, reaching out to take Medivh’s hand and entwine their fingers.

Medivh smiled, faintly, squeezed Khadgar’s hand and sighed. “I am not sure where to begin, as it began while you were still here with me. I know I have told you of my father’s death, and you yourself saw the duel … He… had with my mother, using my own body.” He closed his eyes with another sigh. “I have told you about how I tried, so hard, to just end it before you had to.” A tiny smile quirked his lips, just a little. “I had wanted to spare you – and Anduin – that. I knew you were coming for me. You’d have to. Anduin would leave it to no one else. You would return to make certain I was… cleansed.”

Khadgar winced. “Medivh, I—“

“I keep telling you – I am grateful it was you. You understood. But oh, I would have spared you that if I could.”

Medivh had sunk to his knees as the vision played, not having noticed that Khadgar and Garona had escaped. His eyes were riveted to the scene, tears sliding down his cheeks, one hand reached out, trembling.

Sargeras cursed in the back of his mind, but had been shoved down and away by the force of the emotions.

Had he truly done this? Was this why he could not remember? His free arm curled around his body, and he shook with the force of his shock as he watched his past self, watched as he drained the life-force from all those within the tower, save Moroes himself. He watched as they collapsed where they stood, or watched them fall as they fled.

He begged. Pleaded. Screamed in impotent anger and rage, and watched in horror as he set the dragon aflame, and continued to lash out at Aegwynn, until finally he flung her – somewhere. He swayed, shook his head, then walked off the balcony with shaking steps as the vision faded.

His head dropped into his hands and he wept, sobs shaking his shoulders as he discovered the secret of what had happened that night at long last – why it was necessary to do something about Moroes’ memories.

Enough with your emotional idiocy! It won’t matter – she’s too weak to take me again, too weak to take you at all. Damn it you fool wake up. Before those two get away – if they alert Stormwind you’re as finished as I am.

He tried to shove the voice away, but it was insistent. He swayed as he got to his feet, clinging to the doorway. He turned, headed down the hall, and could feel that the tower was empty – empty of his apprentice. Empty of the Emissary. Only Moroes, and dimmer, floors below, Cook.

He felt his throat give way to the scream of rage that was not his own, felt his eyes burn with the anger.

But inside, where Medivh lay hidden, he felt hope. They had gotten away. They could end it. They could stop this madness before it killed more. Sargeras withdrew under the force of that hope, and Medivh paused on the staircase.

He turned his steps up instead of down. He paused, shook his head, then continued up the stairs.

The observatory was, predictably, empty. He stalked to the balcony, looking out over the forest beyond Karazhan, at the dead and empty town that had once sprung up there in support of his social events of the past, the trade, extra stables, the shops of finery or those that specialized in repair of harness and jewelry or clothing. The homes of those who ran those shops.

There was no sign of Khadgar or Garona. No sign they had fled into the forest.

He looked up at the sky, only to find that clouds obscured his vision in most places, only patches of the sky remained visible, the light of the stars cold and unfeeling – and no comfort to him as they once were. He picked up his astrolabe, turned in his hands, then looked down at the book in which he last had taken notes.

The last time he had looked at it, the notes had been blotched. Tearstained by his own weakness. Now it held those notes, neat and carefully copied onto a fresh page. He closed his eyes, anger welling in him so quickly he could not quell it. Pain lanced his hands, and he looked down at them, forced himself to drop the astrolabe, now destroyed, mangled almost beyond recognition.

Guilt replaced anger. With one more look up at the sky, he turned and fled; the observatory was no comfort to him. Not any longer. The stars would comfort him no more.

He dropped into a chair in one of the sitting rooms, falling into a doze. He ignored Sargeras’ screams in his mind. He ignored the impotent rage that threatened him. What could the demon do? Kill him? He didn’t care, not anymore.

His sleep was uneasy, his dreams worse.

He woke, Moroes shaking his shoulder. “Something has upset you. You were not in your room. You did not come for breakfast. Nor lunch.”

Medivh looked up, then shook his head. He stood up, trying to shake off the castellan, who continued to try to get him to talk about it, or at least settle down for a cup of tea.

“Come now, Magus, Cook has made your favorite – please?”

Medivh just shook his head, then stalked from the sitting room, leaving Moroes standing there watching him, concern etched in his usually expressionless face.

Medivh found himself heading for the library – almost reflexively. Upon reaching it, he opened his mouth to speak to his apprentice – but there was no apprentice.

The library had been, once again, restored to its pristine condition after the demon – the demon he had sent – had attacked his apprentice and the Emissary. His eyes closed as he paced along the open space, then paused, looking around.

You should be out there, searching for them. You need to track them, stop them before they reach Stormwind you utter fool! You let them escape! YOU let them escape. I should destroy you, I could, if I did not require your body. Damnable human and your damnable emotional –

Medivh ignored him. He was in control right now, and by the Light’s grace, he was going to take the time he could to give into suppressed emotions that he had been forced to suppress. He had wondered what had happened to all those people. He had wondered what became of his mother. And now he knew.

And now he knew.

A page fluttering in a breeze caught his attention. He turned. Two of the tables were stacked with correspondence. It looked as though one was filled with all of the old correspondence (considering that it appeared that most of the pages there had been walked on), and one with the correspondence that had arrived since he started having Khadgar translate it as it came in.

There would be no more correspondence. The Order of Tirisfal was dead to the last.

And it was I – no. You. You who did it.

Without thinking about what he was doing, he moved toward the table. The old scroll that held The Song of Aegwynn lay beside the most recent translations. He looked up. The table had been set up just beside the shelves of poetry. The boy was clever, and even Sargeras gave a faint, grudging, agreement to that. The poem would always be within easy reach, and would not necessarily draw attention to itself as the cipher key to the correspondence – not when there were four other scrolls on the table, one of an old litany of the old Arathi line, another of Dwarven cant – in old Dwarven, and another in the flowing language of Thalassian. Besides the correspondence were notes of translations for each – none of them finished.

Clever, clever child…

His eyes closed and his heart ached. He knew better than anyone that Khadgar was no child. Not when his apprentice’s power was so palpable, so pure, so beautiful to behold. Not when, in the depths of the night, he could do things that had sent Medivh into ecstasies he had never known, even when he had bedded enough men and women alike to have drawn a Titan watcher to lecture him. No, Khadgar was no child.

He reached down and picked up one of the letters’ translations, lifted it into his hands to shred it, then stopped, looking at the words. No, not the words. As he had with his astronomy notes, he stared at the hand in which it was written. Delicate script – flowing, even-handed – each and every letter carefully carved in the indigo-black octopus ink Khadgar was prone to using. His brow furrowed as he followed the lines, clearly done with a fine pointed nib, the curves widened, the underscript curled delicately, each letter flourished.

His shoulders sagged, and he set the translation down, unable to bring himself to destroy it, no matter what it was that it actually said.

His eyes turned, instead, to the poem that was the cipher to all of the translations so carefully stacked – knowing Khadgar, likely by date and probable sender, or at least by the hand, if he did not know. He picked up the scroll and unrolled it, his eyes taking in the words, his hands clenching on the wood as he read.

Upon reaching the end of it, his eyes were full of tears – of sorrow, of anger, and of hatred for that which he was forced to become. The brittle wood of the aged scroll creaked, and then snapped under the pressure of his hands as they tightened. In a burst of anger, he shredded the scroll, leaving no stanza readable in tandem. He dropped the scroll by the shelf as he left.

His library was as much comfort as his observatory: none at all. This library was no longer his domain. Khadgar had claimed it as deeply as he had claimed the Guardian’s heart, and he could not bear to be in a place that reminded him of the younger man so much. Resisting the urge to blast the library to pieces and then burn everything, he turned and stalked out.

A flutter of movement caught his eyes, and he turned. Whatever it had been was heading up the stairs. Curiously, he followed. The flutters led him to his own room, but there was nothing there out of place.

Apart from further reminders of his young apprentice and lover. A pillow lay on the chair where Khadgar worked any time Medivh had been asleep – unconscious after any major casting or travel. One of the lad’s shirts draped off a table near the bed where it had been tossed and forgotten.

A vial, silver in color, stood on the bedside table, a stark reminder of the last night they had… had…

He bit his lip and fled.

There was only one place he could go that would bring him no reminders of the love He had destroyed in the end.

And so he took the stairs down, two at a time, pausing at the hidden doorway, rubbing one eye as the other lifted to the hidden catch. A hand touched his chest, and he stepped back.

Moroes’ eyes were full of confused hurt, concern, and something he couldn’t make out. “Don’t go,” he said softly. “Don’t go down there again,” he pleaded. “The boy went to get help. He knows. He knows there’s something wrong.” Medivh blinked. “Summoned a gryphon, they did. They’ve gone for help.” Moroes’ hand dropped, and he sighed. “Everything will work out – just.. just stay here above and don’t go dow—“

Medivh looked down, as did Moroes. Medivh did not remember even having a dagger on him, yet there it was, plunged into Moroes’ ribcage and into his heart. They looked up at one another. Moroes nodded, slowly. Medivh withdrew the dagger and took a step back, the dagger nearly falling from fingers gone limp with shock.

A scream from the doorway of the kitchen caused him to snap his head to the side.

He didn’t remember moving, but found himself dropping Cook’s body once he had drawn the dagger across her throat, and she staggered a step back before collapsing on her face, her lenses crunching on the stone floor, a shard of one of the lenses skittering across it.

Medivh stepped back, shaking his head.

Stop it… Why are you doing this? They had nothing to do with anything! They were loyal! You bastard…

Loyal until the end. And it is, Magus. It is the end.

The end. The end of what?

The end of this charade. I have no further need of you.

He knelt, cleaning the blade of his dagger on Moroes’ vest, sheathing it again at his side. He reached for the hidden catch of the door and it swung open, dragging Moroes with it. Ignoring his oldest friend and loyal servant, he crooked a finger and closed the door, the locks reengaging as he descended the stairs, bypassing the summoning chamber, the kennels and heading down to the lowest level – his sanctuary, and right now, his only refuge.

Medivh was not done fighting, however. Sargeras had retreated for the moment, and seemed to have forgotten that his vessel was still mortal.

Medivh knew that if anyone could find some way of defeating him, Khadgar would. Had he gone to Stormwind? Had he and Garona made it there? Were they even now, trying to get Llane and Anduin to listen to their story of how he’d gone mad?

He shook his head, pacing, slowly. Ten steps. Turn. Ten steps. Turn.

Would they believe? Or would they think Khadgar and Garona had gone mad themselves? How long had it been since they’d fled? A day? Two? He had lost track, after that first night.

He was running out of time.

He did not want Anduin or Khadgar, or even Garona to have his blood on their hands. None of them deserved that burden, no matter if it was best.

He looked down at his side, then unsheathed the dagger, turning his wrist up to the faint glow of the lamps that illuminated the room. He set the blade against his wrist and froze.

Oh I don’t think so.

The dagger dropped from his fingers, and melted into the floor.

Medivh was not deterred. He reached out to the ley lines, pulling the raw power into him and ignored the prickle of the arcane forces as they pooled, flowing in his veins, heating his very blood and sparking the warning signs of overload. If he could just pull just too much… he could burn himself out, leaving nothing at all.

I think not, Magus.

The energy dispersed from him in an arcane explosion that rocked the foundations of the tower. Medivh swore, dropping to his knees and slamming a fist into the floor, and even that did not hurt him.

He tried again, calling fire – but within him, trying to destroy himself in flames. He called frost, freezing his blood solid and trying to force his heart to stop. He forced the air from his lungs, crushing them so he could not breathe. He summoned a torrent of arcane, trying once again to incandesce himself into premature burnout. He called on the sickly power of the fel, flooding it through him and trying to melt his body away.

Each time, he was stopped at the point of greatest pain, left to scream as it faded before he tried again.

Finally, he gave up, dropping to the floor, burying his head in his arm and weeping in vexation. More than anything, he wanted his freedom. He wanted to be rid of his corruption, the darkness that plagued him from the moment he realized what he was meant to be to the world.

His self-hatred had reached new levels, and it drove him to keep trying, until he was exhausted and could do nothing but lie there, shivering with his strength gone, his energy sapped, too weary and heart-heavy to weep any longer.

He could only pray – to the Light, to anything out there that would listen – that there was an end. There had to be an end.

For the first time in his life, he had found what it was to be content, with Khadgar. Having it stolen from him, having plans shifting when he wasn’t aware or awake, knowing he had doomed this world, knowing he was responsible for so much death, knowing he had nearly destroyed his mother as he had done his father…

He begged. Pleaded. But no end would come.

He roused, sensing that someone – many someones – had entered the tower. His head lifted from his arm. He felt familiar presences – Khadgar, Anduin. Garona. They lived. Oh Light they had lived and they had made it to Stormwind, and they were here, now. He pulled himself to his feet, wearily. He tracked their presence through the tower, and felt them pause at the hidden door.

He lifted a hand, to try to trip the hidden catch, and his hand burned.

So eager to meet death…? I think I should handle this, from here on, Magus.

Reduced to a passenger in his own body, he flung himself against the walls of his mental prison, his screams doing nothing, his cries unheard. He felt the cantrip of unlocking and felt the signature. Oh, Light bless his apprentice for his curiosity and his hunger for knowledge.

He heard them coming. Heard someone open the kennel doors and winced. Okay, sometimes, Khadgar’s curiosity was a bit much…

But – no – there were footsteps on the stairs above him. Two were heading down into the room. He turned to face the stairs, leaning casually on the table, as though he had just turned from a project and waited to greet his apprentice’s approach.

When Khadgar and Garona reached the bottom of the stairs, they recoiled at the heat, and the dark red that was spilled over the dark flooring, still burned and cracked from his suicide attempts.

Again, he screamed, trying to break free of his prison, and watched in horror as Sargeras toyed with them.

Watched as he sent Garona sprawling to the ground.

Watched as he started to drain Khadgar’s life.

And a part of him snapped.

No. NO! I will not let you kill him!

Khadgar collapsed, but the damage had been done.

And now you see that your apprentice was never strong enough – and now he is nothing. It would have been kinder to let me kill him.

He could feel Sargeras’ anger and a mental pain that was nothing compared with what he felt as he stared, horrified, at what his apprentice had become. The blue eyes lifted, and for a moment he did not recognize the shards of ice that had replaced the usually warm pale blue.

He did not bother to warn the demon controlling his body as he turned to torture Garona, scrambling her mind so she would never know who or what she was meant to serve, who was good or evil, who was friend or foe. He let her fall to the ground, laughing as he turned to face Khadgar again.

And he found himself staring at his aged apprentice, Sargeras’ voice laughing still, but in the back of his mind.

Go on, Magus. Finish him. You know you’d only be doing him a kindness.

Medivh swallowed, hard. He heard his own words, harsh. Cruel. And he slowly walked towards his ruined apprentice and lover, looking down at him with clear eyes.

He wanted to weep, to hold out a hand to the younger man. Instead… he stared down at Khadgar, his emerald eyes dry.

“And now, you die, Young Trust,” he said, his voice mocking. “Seems your trust was misplaced after all.”

Khadgar looked up at him, his eyes colder than Medivh had ever seen them.

A shout from the stairs stopped Medivh from moving closer to Khadgar, and he turned, his heart aching. He addressed Anduin, and he didn’t pay too much attention to the words – just that they were scathing. Mocking. Cruel. Inviting him to kill Khadgar for him.

Instead, the warrior attacked him. He tried to close his eyes. Tried to stay still so the blade could do its work. Tried to let it end. But he was denied as he was driven back, and held the blade at bay with a shield of raw arcane.

Nice try, Magus. Kill him.

No… Please no…

His hand lifted, fire cupped in his palm. With a flick of his wrist, he sent it at Anduin, and the warrior shrieked as he burst into flames and was tossed aside.

“You see? It just. Gets. Easier.” He turned to Khadgar again – but his apprentice was gone. No… not gone.

He looked down to find the point of the sword Khadgar carried against his breast.

Please… Oh, Light, please give him the strength… Let him end it…

Yes. Let him end you. It will be that much easier if he does.

His emerald eyes lifted to meet Khadgar’s. They were still as cold as ice, though there was something behind the ice that made him ache. “I… I never wanted to hurt anyone,” he said softly, his voice his own for the first time. “I … I just… I just wanted to live my own life.”

His hand raised.

No! Don’t you dare! Not him! Not HIM!

There was no time for Sargeras to act. Khadgar had lunged and pain seared through his chest as the blade drove home.

His mouth worked for a moment as he stared at Khadgar in shock, and then his expression softened as he sank to his knees, Khadgar moving with him, still clutching the blade as he continued to push it through his master. He felt the tip of it scrape his spine, then burst through the skin of his back.

He sighed in relief, his eyes warmed as he looked at Khadgar, pride dancing in his eyes. “T-Thank you,” he whispered. “I fought it… fought… fought Him… as long – as long as I c-could…”

Freedom… at long last, he was free. As his eyes went blank, he heard Sargeras’ shout of triumph, but he knew better. As his soul slipped away, he saw Anduin rise from the ground and dispassionately watched the warrior behead his own body. He heard the shriek of rage as Sargeras was forced out of what was left of him.

And darkness took him at long last.

He wasn’t sure how long the darkness held him, but he was warm, and comforted. He was floating, or so it seemed. He felt no ground beneath him. In fact, he felt very little other than… warm. Comfortable. And fully himself.

He opened his eyes, or tried to, but the darkness was all he saw, regardless of whether he thought his eyes opened or closed.

In his reading, he had found that some who had crossed, and then been brought back by clerics or priests, had seen the Light, reaching out for them before they chose to return.

Where was the Light?

Was he to be denied the peace of death, doomed to this… darkness forevermore?

He felt – Light above he felt, here in this nothingness. Despair overwhelmed him, and he turned, looking around for something – anything at all to break the darkness around him. He felt himself moving, and he didn’t know, or rather, couldn’t tell, which direction he moved in. He didn’t really much care.

And then, he saw light. He moved toward it, hoping it was the Light his books had spoken of.

Instead, he found his mother, lying in bed… and he realized he was watching the moments after his own birth as she cradled him. He reached out, wanting, needing…

But things changed. He was older, living with his father in Stormwind, harsh reprimands over failed spellwork assaulting him, echoing in this strange vision or existence, or… whatever this was. Even as he watched his younger self flinch, he felt himself do the same. He knew his protests before his younger self said them. He curled in on himself as once the words had been spoken, he was shouted down… and sent away to his room.

And he then stood by his own bedside, watching as a fever muddled his senses. No… No not a fever.

Oh Light no…

He tried to close his eyes, but as it had been before, it didn’t matter if his eyes were opened or closed, he still saw. He watched his fourteen-year-old self struggle, pleading for help. He tried to turn away as his own power lanced out, and his father fell – but it didn’t matter which way he turned.

His own scream was as silent as his younger one was loud.

His memories, some he didn’t remember, played before him, one by one as he relived his life – only outside of it.

Was this why the Light had left him here like this? In this nothingness?

He watched, sickened, as he, Llane and Anduin destroyed most of a troll tribe, and slunk back to Stormwind.

He watched them attacking – and himself unleashing an arcane storm from Stormwind’s ramparts – the very same ramparts, he realized with a jolt, that Khadgar had nearly sacrificed his life on, years later. Because of him… Because of his actions, his decisions.

Light, please… please make it stop…

It didn’t. He retreated to Karazhan. Listened to his mother’s lectures.

He read, late into the night, bright emerald eyes darting over page after page.

He talked with Moroes, having little other company.

He sank into depression.

He took Moroes’ advice, and began holding galas.

And then murdered – all of them. The last vision Khadgar had called – this time in more vivid detail, the voices piercing his soul like blades. He tried to scream again, but he was silent, his rage went unheeded. His pleas for forgiveness unanswered.

He didn’t even have the ability to vent his soul-sickness in tears.

He tried to explain; It wasn’t me! I would never – not like that! I just wanted love! I just wanted to be loved…

But he received no answer.

He watched himself sink further into depression, until the evening Khadgar showed up.

For the first time, he saw his would-be apprentice without the corruption in his own eyes. He could see the nerves, heard the sass. And he again longed to close his eyes. Instead he shifted so he could look into the pale blue eyes, and longed to reach out and touch him. The power that pulsed under his skin was incredible. The potential there to be unlocked far more than he could have seen before.

Sargeras had hidden that from him. Sargeras wanted the young man for himself – for his own purposes. And now he could see it clearly, as the conversation bounced from subject to subject. Oh he remembered how quick Khadgar had been to answer, how his confidence broke as he was examined, how it returned when he could be confident about the subject.

Without thinking, he reached out, trying to touch the young man’s cheek.

And found himself in his room, pacing. The tower was reacting to the new presence. It threw its first test, and he could still feel the young man’s presence, exhausted and in the uneasy sleep of one in unfamiliar surroundings.

He was a little surprised to find the boy at breakfast the following morning. And the one after. And the one after.

And he was indeed tackling the library, so Moroes said.

He was still alive.

And startled Sargeras by being in the library when he’d gone down to look for him. He hadn’t meant to hurt him. He hadn’t meant to attack. The startlement had caused his own control to slip. And even as they paused on the stairs and he apologized… and was reminded that time was wasting… Oh he could have kissed the lad.

Even as he watched from the shadows after his fall…

He was everything he had hoped for. Quick-witted. Intelligent. Waded into danger instead of running. Oh yes, he was indeed Guardian material. Which meant he could shatter the cycle, and still heed the Call.

Once again, he reached out, even as his past self walked away to find Anduin. He watched Khadgar recovering, something he’d not been able to do before.

And then he watched their conversation, his eyes widening, or whatever passed for his eyes.

Even then, Khadgar protected him, temporizing answers, offering half-truths. Promising to keep an eye on Medivh.

He had not realized that Anduin suspected there was something wrong, not so early…

Medivh watched as they flew back, Khadgar half asleep as Medivh held him. He would smile if he was able; he remembered that moment, and the temptations of it. Perhaps, perhaps he might have acted, if his new apprentice hadn’t been so bone-deep tired.

His day of recovery was a day of talking, much tea, much food, and the more they talked, the more Medivh knew where to begin with his teachings.

The weeks, months of Khadgar’s education flew past him in flashes, moments of particular failure or triumph, and had he a chest, or a heart, he might have feared it to burst with his pride.

He had heard of book-hunger in students. He himself suffered the affliction. Khadgar, however, was the definition of one suffering from book-lust. He couldn’t resist a new volume offered him, and if he could he would have devoured the library whole, sacrificing sleep, food, drink, and every other need.

Medivh did see that he was in sunshine and the mountain air. He made certain Moroes checked on him.

He smiled at the way they grew closer… Until they returned from Stormwind. And then he saw what he had suspected, but had never known for certain. After a few days of his ‘catnap’, Khadgar poked his head in. Approached. And installed himself without more than a word or two with Moroes.

He slept curled up in the chair at his worktable, a blanket draped over his shoulders. He helped Moroes in his care nearly to the point of taking over, if his other work permitted.

And then… Sargeras showed himself to the young man. And instead of backing away, instead of fleeing or even thinking of attacking with magic, Khadgar attacked him with a letter opener.

A letter opener.

He would have closed his eyes again, if he could. He watched himself wake, have words with his apprentice, and remembered the warmth that had flooded him. Their eyes met, and he realized the very moment both of them knew, if only to themselves.

Such precious time had been lost in the weeks before the explosion in the library.

As he thought of it, he witnessed it first-hand. He couldn’t help but smile to himself, or at least feel like smiling, at the words that passed between them that night, more than just their physical activity.

He tried to remember that feeling, as Khadgar curled against him, draped an arm over him, rested his head against his chest, and murmured, half in his sleep the words that told him that he was the one.

“I’ve never said this to anyone… but I think I can, to you. You’re the only one I’ve ever trusted this much. You’re the only one, that I think I can.”

Not only did he have the young man’s love and loyalty, but his namesake as well. Harder than it was to love, harder than it was to serve, it was hardest to put one’s trust in another.

If Medivh had a chest, once again, he felt as though it would ache.

He tried to hold that feeling as his life, and subsequently, the life of his apprentice, deteriorated. He tried to hold the self-hatred at bay as he watched himself continue to do horrific things.

Up to, and including, sending a demon into the library to kill him.

When he had begged his master to check, for the hundredth time, the wards, and then begged him to see the proof in the library – only to find nothing at all, he wanted again to look away. He ached at the fight the entire thing began. And to learn that after, Khadgar had begun to question his own worth to him…

I never wanted… I never meant…

It was not Khadgar who betrayed his name… It was he himself who had betrayed the words so guarded, months before.

By the time he started to relive his own attempts to end himself, he found himself pleading for release from the torment, even as his living self was.

He knew his life was cursed. He knew he’d made so many wrong decisions. He knew he was wrong in so many ways. Was there nothing he could do to atone? To rest at last?

It seemed not, as the moment of his death occurred… and he was sent back to relive it all again.

And again.

And again.

He lost track of time, but finally managed to stop the cycle by accepting, one by one, the times he had gone wrong. One by one, he realized what he could have, and should have done – were he himself, and not cursed with only half a presence in his own body.

He acknowledged what had been him, and what had not.

And then he was left in darkness once again, with no break in the blackness surrounding him.

He longed to speak with his apprentice – former apprentice. His lover. His life-mate. He wondered if it was possible to find him, watch over him. Perhaps even to speak with him, even briefly, even in a dream.

A dream that finally came to him when he felt the familiar presence, so near, yet still far away, to find his beloved apprentice hovering on the brink of death. He longed to take Khadgar into his embrace, but knew also that his love did not belong in this … place. The Light would accept him, and it was where he would belong. And so he urged his former student to live on. Offered what little strength he himself still had within him, and urged him to live, telling him it was not yet his time, until he believed it. Held him for a brief moment.

And nearly shattered himself as he let go, Khadgar’s last words causing such pain he preferred to not exist than endure it. He again began to beg for the torment to end. He could take this no longer, this floating state of nothing. He begged for peace, or to be ended forever – anything but this place.

A light kindled in the darkness, so bright after however long he’d been in that darkness that it was painful, even though it was no larger than a distant star, flickering in the inky blackness of his surroundings.

Unable to stem his curiosity, he moved toward it. It had to be better, whatever it was, than where he was – and it was bright white – not fel green or angry red.

Voices came to him, whispering, judging, arguing. He could pick out no one voice. Some were angry. Some were compassionate. Some were screaming, others whispered.

And the light engulfed him.

And pain filled him.

He arched, sharply, and felt a hand on his forehead. His chest hurt as though he couldn’t draw enough breath to satisfy him. His heart felt as though it would burst, pounding harder than he’d ever felt it, faster than he could count. He screamed, and heard his own voice for the first time in far, far too long.

And then darkness took him again, but this time, it was soothing, sweet and gentle, threaded with green and gold of verdant forest and bright sunlight.

His eyes opened, slowly. He knew this feeling. He had felt like this after his coma – disoriented, somewhere unfamiliar, wondering where he was, who he was, what he was.

“About time you woke up, my son.” The voice was soft, familiar, and one he had not heard in… decades.

Medivh’s head turned, and he blinked. “Mother,” he breathed. He would have shouted if he could, but his voice would not cooperate.

Aegwynn smiled. She seemed to have aged at last, her silver hair was a bit duller than he recalled, and her silver eyes, though still bright, had dark circles under them, and the creases on her face were of worry and less of smiling.

She held out a hand to him, and he reached to take it, drinking her in as though she was all he ever needed. She released his hand, then offered him a cup, which he took with shaking hands. She helped to steady him and he sipped at its contents – which were clearly not just plain water. Sweet fruit juice to hide something more, so he thought.

“That should help your throat and give you a little strength,” Aegwynn said softly. She sat beside the bed in which he lay, settled with a lap rug and some kind of project – knitting it seemed – on a well-padded chair. The room itself was not large, but not small, paneled in aged wood. The window behind her showed bright sunlight and a view of green – the vibrant green of long grasses and speckled with dots of other colors that he assumed were wildflowers.

Medivh paused in his drinking and looked at her for another long moment. “How…? Why?”

Aegwynn sighed softly. “Why? To make amends. My arrogance robbed you of a lifetime you did not get to live. How?” She spread her hands slightly. “Perhaps I’ll explain one day – it is not something done lightly. I am afraid it took the last of my strength, the last of my power.”

Medivh’s gaze sharpened a little. “Are you saying that… you… brought me back only to leave me—“

“No, my son. There is yet quite a bit of time. I would not do such a thing to you.” Aegwynn smiled.

Medivh sighed with relief. “I … am glad. Though I still do not understand why you would do this.”

“To give you the life you should have had. Your memories are intact. Your abilities – for the most part, should still be intact.” Aegwynn sighed. “It is unknown whether you still possess the powers granted to a Guardian. Only time will tell us that. Even without them, you will still be a mage of considerable ability and skill.” Medivh drained the cup in his hands, and Aegwynn gently took it from him to set on a table nearby. “Does it disturb you that I have done this?”

Medivh toyed with the blanket covering him. “I am not certain how I feel about it. Unworthy, most certainly. Not entirely certain that I… deserve a second chance. Even with … His… influence, I am not entirely certain that many of the decisions I made were not me. It was too hard to tell, sometimes, after I’d awakened, before I went to Karazhan.”

“Before then, you were as much yourself as you could be with him lurking inside you. And now, you must find yourself, and find your own path, Medivh. Will you seek power? Knowledge? Will you seek a chance to atone, or will you simply seek to live a life where you are just you, and nothing more and nothing less?” Aegwynn shrugged one shoulder, brushing her hair back. “Only you can make the choices now, nothing inside you is there to make them for you.”

Medivh was quiet for a time, his hand lifting and running through his hair. He winced at the tangles in it, and how… awful it felt. Not that he felt he had the strength yet to stand. Before he could answer, Aegwynn refilled the cup and put it in his hands. He blushed a little. “Thank you. And not just for whatever this is,” he said, raising the cup in indication. “I will have to think on it, and I am not certain where it will lead me. I can say that I want to do something – even if it’s small and petty – to fight back against that which held us as prisoners.”

Aegwynn nodded, slowly. “You are still attuned,” she said quietly. “You still feel the disturbances, and you can still feel, if you seek them, the vibrations.” She smiled, a wan and weary smile. “You are not what you once were, but you are still, for all intents and purposes, the Guardian of this world.”

Medivh noted that she did not mention the Tirisfalen at all. He cradled the cup in his hands for a long moment before finishing its contents, and found it taken from him again. He swallowed, then shook his head, slowly. “Was I ever, really?”

His mother’s laugh startled him. “Of course you were. You kept him within you. You kept him from doing far more than he could have done. You trained a successor who was able to take you down when no one else could get close enough to you.” She ran her fingers across his forehead. “Believe me, it would take someone close to you to have done what was necessary.”

Medivh looked up at her. “Is… Did…” He could not form the words he wanted to say. He could not bring himself to ask the questions he longed to ask.

Not that he was to get answers – at least not yet. Aegwynn shook her head. “Later. There will be time for questions later. For now, rest. Sleep if you can, but if you cannot, I’m sure I can find something for you to do that does not take too much of your precious energy. And trust me – it is precious. Your body is not used to being real. You are not used to breathing. Your heart is not used to beating. Particularly because…” She paused, biting her lip. “There was little left of you, my son. The form in which you now reside is born of your own memory and will. And that… was difficult to focus. You were in an unconscious panic for quite some time – more time than I liked. For a time, I thought I would lose you again.”

Medivh dropped his eyes and looked at his hands. They were … younger than he last remembered them to be. He rubbed his face with one of them, and paid attention to the lines of his face, but it told him little. The only thing he could feel that was odd was his usually neat beard had overgrown more than he liked. His hair was quite a bit longer than he remembered it being. He sighed. “I … I confess that I fear I am overwhelmed. I should be in some kind of panic state,” he said slowly. “I should be overcome with emotion, or in some kind of shocked state, but yet…”

“You are calm.” Aegwynn nodded. “That is in part because of shock. You are numb from your experiences. You have not had a chance to think about it all. When you do, your mind will start leaping from one thing to another, and once that begins, memories will return in force. You will have dreams of the past – your experiences. Nightmares are likely. I could drug you, but that is a dangerous thing.”

Medivh shivered. “I don’t like drugs. I … they…”

“I know. However, I am not above drugging you anyway.” Aegwynn grinned at him, standing and setting her knitting aside. “As much as the juice was enriched with minerals and herbs to strengthen you, it also contained a calmative, and that, for the moment, is keeping you from panic. I thought it best to let you process things a little more slowly, than to have it overwhelm you all at once.” Medivh laughed softly. “Well, it’s working at least. You’re able to laugh.” She leaned to kiss his forehead, and rearranged the pillows propping him up, removing two of them. “Now, lie down, and sleep. Sleep the restful sleep you need. I will wake you if you are not awake by the time food is prepared.”

Medivh nodded again, settling himself a little, and reaching his hand out once more. Aegwynn took it and smiled at him. His eyes closed, and he fell into a dreamless sleep.

When he woke, the room was lit only by a single lamp. The window offered a silvered version of the scene he’d caught earlier. The chair by his bed was empty. He stretched a little, noticing that he didn’t feel as muzzy-headed or as weak as he had earlier, as though by sleeping he had restored his physical strength as well as allowed his mind to rest.

The door, opposite the bed, opened, and he turned to look at it as he tried to sit up, and found he was able.

Aegwynn slipped into the room, and left the door open. She set a tray on the table, offering him a smile. He smiled back, tentatively. “Are you feeling a bit better?” she asked quietly. At his nod, her smile brightened. “Good. I think you’re probably in sore need of a bath, among other things.” She offered him his hands, and he took them.

“Very much so,” he admitted, the faintest of blushes touching his cheeks.

“You’re still weak, and it will probably be some time before you can walk without aid.” She helped him to stand, carefully wrapped him in a loose robe, and guided him into the bathing room across the hall. She aided him to the facilities, then left him to prepare a bath.

He managed to make his way around the partitioning wall, insisting on managing on his own until admitting needing help in getting into the tub.

Not for the first time, he wondered where they were; not many places had running water. It was rather new and somewhat faulty in several places in Dalaran. Karazhan certainly didn’t. It may now, for all he knew. When was now, anyway? Where was this place?

As he sank into the water, he could feel the heat suffuse his skin and he sighed. And then started asking the questions.

Where, was a hidden location in Suramar. When…

“It has taken me over two decades to accomplish what I have.”

Medivh’s heart sank. Over twenty years since he had died. Khadgar was surely paired off and happy in Dalaran by now. He may have appeared older when … but surely he’d found a way to reverse… or even still, his brilliance and his personality were far more attractive than he had been physically, at least to Medivh.

Aegwynn seemed to sense that something bothered him, particularly when he went quiet. He had been so full of questions before. “Have I—“

“No, it is nothing you have said or done. I – my apprentice. I… I just wonder if…” He sighed, his words trailing into silence. He shifted, pausing in the act of scrubbing at his scalp. “I cared very much for him. I still do. But I fear what he would do, should he see me again.”

“Surely he would know you are different than you were when you met your end,” Aegwynn said quietly.

Medivh shrugged, ducking his head to rinse his hair and spent the next moments in silence, conserving his strength in scrubbing away what felt like months of… he stopped that thought before it could start.

Clean, dry, dressed in a long nightshirt and wrapped in a soft robe, he was led back to his bed. Knowing how much he despised broth from his long ‘naps’, Aegwynn had prepared something thicker than soup, but lighter than stew, rich in flavor, but light on his stomach. Fed, and with another cup of the odd fruit juice, he settled into his blankets.

Aegwynn left him to his thoughts, knitting in silence. He appreciated the company, and his heart ached a little as he remembered spending similar nights with Khadgar, reading or working as his student studied or read.

He decided he should return to Karazhan, see to its care, and even if he didn’t plan to remain there, he knew he should do something about the state it was likely in, unless Khadgar had remained. Somehow, he didn’t think he would have.

The next day he was up to more questions. He learned things that nearly caused him to be very ill. He learned of Stormwind’s fall. Llane’s death. The evacuation. The war in the north.

And the battles ongoing around the portal – until it was blasted closed from the other side. He stared blankly as he learned who had crossed it to accomplish it. And despair rose and depression claimed him for several days.

He grew stronger, physically at least, even through his depression. He continued to push himself to be well enough to travel to Karazhan. He was a little wary at leaving his mother alone, and being on his own again, but he also knew that it would do him no good to stay here. Already he was drawn, as a moth to flame to somewhere in the north, where he could feel something amiss.

He hoped to find answers once he had left this place. Perhaps the attunement of Karazhan and its ley lines would hold more answers. There was only one way to find out.

His favorite robe was a bit worse for wear, but at least it had survived his memory and his return. He felt it was oddly fitting to leave here, and return to the world looking far less like his old self. He declined the offer to mend them back to their original state.

“No,” he’d said softly. “I think it’s far better if anyone who would know me sees me as this. Fallen. Less than I once was. Broken in places where too much has happened, and in ways irreparable.”

And so he left, returning to Karazhan to regain some of his strength, to walk the old passages, now that he knew his apprentice would not be there. And likely never would be again.

“So that’s why you … followed me. In the past.” Khadgar murmured softly.

Medivh nodded. “I wanted, very badly, to guide you. There were… small things I could do, and I did them. A nudge here. A reminder there. It is not wise to toy with time, but when you began to run out of it, I had to do… something. I think my past self had some idea that there was something there, meddling, though I never showed myself to him. Only you. Only ever you.”

He closed his eyes, and felt Khadgar’s fingers against his cheeks, as he had several times as he’d been speaking. “When you turned and looked directly at me on that balcony and told me you could see me… I…” He paused, taking a steadying breath. “I knew there was little I could tell you. But I had to say something. I had to tell you. I had to let you know that… one day…”

“One day you would return. And of course, when you did, I was on what was left of Draenor, never expecting to see Azeroth again.” Khadgar sighed, shaking his head.

“You did what you had to. I am glad that I did not influence your decisions, regardless of what you knew. But I should not have waited another decade and then some to reach out, once I found that the portal had opened, and …” He shook his head. “By then, I was… elsewhere. We missed one another by inches in places, in Northrend in particular. I knew you had to be home when I saw Dalaran in the sky over that forest. You had a hand in moving it.”

Khadgar blushed. “Not like I did when it was moved over Karazhan, and then to the Broken Isles…”

“No, but I could see your signature in the wards and in the defenses, and it was most certainly in the structures. If I had dared…” Medivh shook his head. “But I didn’t. Who would believe me? I hadn’t been to Dalaran in over forty years. Finding out it had been razed and rebuilt… most of the magi I knew having died… Light – before I found out you had gone to Draenor, I thought…” He stopped speaking and shook his head.

“You couldn’t find me on Azeroth, and you assumed I was… gone.” Medivh nodded. “And that pull – that was Nordrassil, wasn’t it?” Medivh nodded again.

“Had I but known what would follow, I never would have turned my back on the situation. I should have seen the Scourge coming, after what Terenas said to me when I tried to warn him. I never should have… His son… I never thought… Not for a single moment that…” he trailed off, and Khadgar finally gave in, curling against him, his arms tighter than usual.

“It was a shock, coming back and finding out what had happened while I was gone. Lordaeron was… gone. The plague just… took. Everything.” Khadgar sighed. “I … I never found out what became of… I couldn’t…”

Medivh frowned, then shifted to return the embrace just as tightly. “You never went home.”

“There was no home to go back to,” Khadgar murmured.

They looked at each other for a long moment. Medivh dropped his gaze first. “I’m so sorry.” He shook his head, opened his mouth, then closed it again, then sighed. “I – I don’t even know how… or what…”

Khadgar shrugged. “I hadn’t seen them since I was … six? Seven at the most.” His voice dropped a little. “I… I try not to think about it much.” He went quiet, and Medivh didn’t press him. “However, perhaps… perhaps it is time I…” He paused, taking a long, slow breath and exhaling in a deep sigh. “I have two scars that plague me to this day,” he murmured. “When I … left… home…” He paused, and sighed again. “And then when I returned from Draenor.” He swallowed, then looked up at Medivh again. “And the moment I killed you,” he whispered. He looked back down at his hands.

Medivh reached out and took them in his own. “Hopefully the one is fading?” Khadgar nodded. “Will you speak to me of the other?” His words were soft, encouraging.

Khadgar looked up again, then nodded, slowly.

Chapter Text

“I… I didn’t know more than what the Kirin Tor had told me during my studies,” Khadgar began softly. Medivh slid from the bed and collected their mugs and refilled them. “They told me that my family had given me to the Kirin Tor because I had natural ability, and that I had an affinity with fire that was strong enough that I had some trouble with controlling it.” He snorted, accepted his mug back with a nod of thanks, and stared down into the tea for a moment. “I learned the truth first here, in a vision, and the rest when the suppressions broke.”

“Suppressions?”

“Memory suppressions,” Khadgar replied, cradling his tea in his hands. “To keep me from knowing the truth of what really happened. I remembered meeting Antonidas, having a talk with him, and him telling my parents that I was a natural and that of course they would teach me – though I would have to give up my name to do so.” He shook his head slowly. “It was a small price. If only I…” He shook his head, his eyes closed.

“There was a greater price,” Medivh murmured. “With the Kirin Tor, there is always a greater price.”

Khadgar set his tea down. “I told you that I didn’t trust them,” he murmured, venom in his voice. “I lead them, but I will never trust them.” His eyes lifted, and Medivh actually recoiled at what he saw there. “Never.” Khadgar repeated.

The village – small town in progress, really – was settled in the west of Lordaeron. If it had a name, it wasn’t well known. What it was known for, however, was its trappers and fisher folk.

Khadgar was born to a pair that specialized in small game and fishing. Small furs for gloves or trim, fish for scales and bones. His mother taught him how to make and set a snare for the first time when he was quite small. He may have been four at most, though the passage of time, back then anyway, was only marked by what the forest and the stream that branched off the great river to the sea carried.

By that time, the child could braid and weave rope from straw and grasses, vines and even young reeds. His fingers were nimble and quick for a child so young, but it was a point of pride for both parents and children of the family alike.

Khadgar’s older sister, Marella, was expert at brushing a fur so it shone once it was tanned. His older brother, Kavin, ensured that every scale he pried from a fish was clean and even, hardened and lacquered so it was difficult to tell if they were scales of a fish, or if they were made of silver until they were closely inspected – and were greatly desired by many jewelry crafters from as far away as Gilneas or even Capital City.

Their father was an expert fisherman, and never failed to bring in a catch, making sure he kept only the adults and taught his older son the skill of scaling. Their mother was a trapper, tending to use traps made from the forest itself, and was teaching their younger that craft first, before seeing what else he could do. She also kept a garden of herbs and vegetables at the side of their home. It was a small plot, but served them well to provide fresh vegetables and tubers in summer and autumn, preserved in winter and into spring.

Life was simple. Life was plentiful. Life was happy.

Khadgar learned to weave when he was three, how to craft snares from his woven ropes at four, and at five, he could usually make sure he caught at least one fish, when he tried. He loved herbs, and enjoyed helping to keep them healthy by pulling weeds, and in general digging in the dirt.

When he was five, his mother had a gift, so his father said, to the rest of the family. That winter, a pair of twin boys was born, and while Marella seemed a little upset, Khadgar and Kavin were overjoyed to have new brothers to play with. Cyfaill and Colin were a welcome addition, even though it meant that Mother had a little less time to spend on her snares, and Marella and Khadgar were left to set them. Marella, at twelve, was more than old enough to take Khadgar through the basics.

Khadgar had fear of nothing – apart from thunderstorms. When storms swept over the town, Marella would often find him beneath his bed.

For the most part, Khadgar was a quiet child. He took to learning as a bird to the air or fish to water. Other than his fear of storms (when he would curl up under his bed and cry until his sister came for him to protect him), his only fear was failure. He would practice a task until he had it perfect, every time. His snares were always reliable, his woven rope always strong, his gardening ruler straight and each herb had the right color marker and woe betide any weeds that dared grow.

He was independent, learning things from one of his family, and then going off to practice on his own. When he saw someone doing something, he wanted to learn how as well. It upset him, when he was four, that he could not learn to swim, a fact that rankled him until he … left.

Of course, he had been distracted by a new pair of siblings, and going off with Marella to set snares. He also started to feel he was different, as he watched neighboring children play. War and Castles was not a game he preferred, far more interested in tales of magic rather than soldiers.

He was not deterred when other children called him ‘weird’ or ‘coward’, however, simply pointing out some of the things the great mage of the south had done, as word trickled up from Stormwind about the troll ‘incident’. Invariably, he was laughed at. He let them laugh. He knew that there were mages in Capital City – his parents had told him so. He knew of the city of mages that was near. He knew that Gilneas was just to the west and south. He knew they sent mages through their very town, sometimes.

Not that the other children much cared about the ‘men who wear dresses’. Khadgar simply sighed, knowing better than to correct them. Robes were not dresses, and not all of them wore robes. Instead, he learned to deflect them with tales of his adventures in the forest. They would invariably get bored. And then they left him alone.

When he turned six, things had changed, however. The forest had shifted, and game was less plentiful. The stream lowered, so none of the larger fish came down. His father had said something about ‘a draught’, or so he’d thought.

The drought left quite a bit of the surrounding area bare, crops were harder to produce, and Khadgar was dismayed at the quality of the herbs and vegetables he brought up from the garden, thinking that he had somehow failed to do something right with them.

His snares began to come up empty, and he thought that he hadn’t made them or set them correctly.

For the first time in his life, he was upset more than he was happy. And it was around that time, that the fires began.

They started small, candles would catch other things when they flared. Then part of the porch got charred during a thunderstorm. Kavin was blamed for the porch, as he’d been out in the storm. He took the blame for the kitchen, and then another for a section of the garden. No one seemed to put together that Khadgar had been present – and frightened or very upset – each time something happened.

No one put it together until he found himself in more trouble than he could handle. The neighboring children had never been able to leave the ‘weirdling’ alone, but when they saw him on his own, rolling a ball between his hands that shimmered and looked like a ball of flame, they surrounded him, asked him what he was doing…

And one of them made a grab for the ball.

Khadgar jumped back when the boy was burned by the flame, and quickly ‘put it away’ by dismissing it. They demanded to know where he’d gotten it. They demanded to know where he’d put it. He backed away, holding his empty hands up. A stand of water reeds behind him burst into flame.

And he ran, from the stream back to his home. He flung himself into the stable, into the rear stall which stood empty unless their mare was in foal.

His father, who had been scaling a fish in front of the house watched as his son fled into the structure, and saw who and what was chasing him, all screaming so he could not make out much.

‘Weirdling’, ‘witch’, ‘freak’… and not a single one of the words he caught had anything but ill intent.

Before he could get up, the screams were louder, and this time he caught his own son’s voice. His mother came outside, as did the two older siblings as his father started into the stable.

Meanwhile, Khadgar was fending off the older children, curled into a ball, his hands over his head, screaming for them to stop, screaming for them to leave him alone.

The back wall of the stall burst into flames, and the fire quickly spread through the hayloft.

Instead of frightening the children off, they began to kick him, hit him. One of them found a pitchfork and aimed it at him.

By now, Khadgar had passed out from fright – and from exhaustion.

He did not know his siblings doused the fire with precious water. He did not know his father and mother rounded up the children attacking their son, and took them back to their own parents.

He woke in his bed, shaking and afraid, Marella stroking his hair. She said Father had sent Kavin to Capital City with a letter, asking for some kind of help for him. Khadgar wished he would sink into the ground and disappear.

Kavin returned, a week later. Khadgar’s burns had healed by then, and so was ready to hear the news Kavin came back with.

Except, Kavin didn’t come back with news. He came back… with a mage. A mage from Dalaran.

“And so, we’d like to see if this was a spontaneous reaction, or if this is something the child can do naturally, and consistently. If he does this consistently, then he should remain in Dalaran for training.”

Khadgar listened at the door, his wooly gryphon in his arms. He leaned against the doorway, frowning. Even at six, he wasn’t stupid. He didn’t want to go. But then again… If he could be a mage…

“How would we tell?” Mother asked, softly. She sounded as though she wanted to cry.

“We’d need to bring him back and test him,” the mage replied, his voice gentle.

Khadgar frowned a little more deeply. This mage did not feel good. He felt… almost as though he were muddy, or had rolled in river silt and hadn’t washed it off, or like fish-slime when the fish had been in the sun too long before it was handled.

He clutched his gryphon to his chest, and slowly backed away from the doorway. He didn’t want to leave home. He didn’t want to go with this strange man who felt wrong.

But in the end he did. Clutching his gryphon to his chest, he stepped through a portal from his home in Lordaeron, and into Dalaran.

The moment Khadgar’s foot touched the stones of the street they portaled to, he could feel it. This place knew him. This place understood what lay in wait within him. There was a touch somewhere inside his head that he could feel and he knew, suddenly, why he was different. He could feel the flows of the power here, there was a river of it below him, and over there by that street corner, and another on that one.

The mage led him to the largest building in the city, and he realized that all the rivers he could feel were leading right to it as well. He shrank a little into himself, as they moved along the busy street, the mage guiding him with a hand around his shoulders.

“And this is where my memory had gone fuzzy,” Khadgar murmured softly, sipping his tea. “There are conflicting accounts from here.”

Medivh frowned. “Conflicting.”

“One account – the one I remember myself, is that I went into the Violet Citadel, met with Antonidas, he coaxed me into producing fire, and pronounced me fit to study.” Khadgar shifted, huddling against Medivh. “The other… the one that my brain doesn’t like to recall, the one I found here in Karazhan, and the ones I found in the records… spoke the truth.”

Medivh sighed. “And that truth is…?” he murmured.

Khadgar took a deep breath. “Are you certain you want to hear it?”

“Are you certain you want to share it?” Medivh countered, sliding an arm around Khadgar’s waist and pulling him closer, but careful not to spill their tea.

Khadgar ran a hand over his face. “I… I think I should. Before it poisons me further. Someone has to know my motives, should I ever go berserk and level the city, or drop it into the ocean.” His tone was carefully light, but his words held a seriousness in them that Medivh did not miss.

The mage led Khadgar into what he would later recognize as the Violet Citadel, and up a flight of stairs, down a long hallway, and into a small sitting room.

“Wait here, youngling, Archmage Antonidas will be with you shortly.” The mage offered what he thought was reassuring smile, and left the room.

Khadgar looked around, rubbed his nose, and perched on a padded chair, clutching his gryphon to his chest, and shivering. He was afraid – and worse, afraid that if he let it show, he would set something else on fire.

He was only left there for a few moments before an aged wizard stepped into the room. Khadgar looked up and slid off his chair, looking up at the old man with wide eyes, silvery with fear.

“So,” the older mage said, his voice soft, but authoritative, “I understand you have an affinity for magic that has gone unnoticed.”

Khadgar nodded, looking the man over. He was dressed in a violet color that hurt his eyes. His hair and beard were both long and silvery-white, but neatly kept. His eyes crinkled a little at the corners as he smiled down at the boy, offering some reassurance.

If there were rivers below the city, this man was made of whatever it was that flowed there. Khadgar found himself shrinking backwards a little.

The man crossed the room and sat on the couch beside where Khadgar had been perched, then gestured for him to sit down again. Khadgar did, still clutching his gryphon against his chest.

“My name is Antonidas. I am one of the senior mages here in Dalaran,” he introduced himself with a slight nod.

“K-Khadgar V-Valoren,” Khadgar murmured, his fear evident in his shaking voice.

Antonidas smiled. “Well then, Khadgar, what happened – in your own words – to bring you to me here today?”

Khadgar explained what happened, slowly, shakily. When he was done, he shrank in on himself. “Am… am I in trouble, s-sir?”

Antonidas shook his head. “No, child, you’re not in trouble. These things happen to young mages when they are upset or frightened. Can you show me a little of what you can do? Such as that ball you made?”

Khadgar frowned, then shook his head. “I-I don’t remember…”

Antonidas nodded, slowly. “Trauma can do that. I assure you, you’re not in trouble, though. Can you demonstrate your abilities at all for me?”

Khadgar shrank further, burying his face in his gryphon. “I don’t remember,” he repeated.

Antonidas tilted his head, frowning. “Surely you remember something of how you’ve done what you have?”

Khadgar shook his head, still looking at the old mage, his eyes rings of silver now.

“Well, we’ll just have to see.”

The room went dark, and Khadgar yelped. He heard voices, mocking voices of the children, and then the dreaded sound of thunder in the distance. He curled into a ball on the edge of the chair he perched on, shaking his head. The thunder grew louder, as did the voices.

“Stop,” Khadgar whispered. “Please – please stop…” Another loud peal of thunder that sounded as though it was right next to him made him jump, and he cried out again.

Shaking, he kept trying to tell himself to be calm – the last time he gave in to fear…

The lightning flash was followed by another peal of thunder on its heels, sounding as though it had hit directly where Khadgar sat.

And he screamed. Something behind him shattered. The voices grew louder, as though he were now surrounded by the older children mocking him. He heard the scrape of a pitchfork.

Without a breath of time between the scrape and his scream, the room itself burst into flames, fueled by his fear and the latent power that ran below and through the Citadel itself.

He heard someone – the old man? – shouting at him to douse it. He fell off his chair and instead crawled under it, rocking himself as the flames – and the scent of burning wood and cloth reached him. “Stop,” he whispered. “Make it stop… Please make it stop…”

Nothing he did would stop it however, and his eyes, squeezed shut, did not open again until after he had dropped to the ground in exhaustion.

He awoke to voices, softer ones this time.

“- latent ability that I’ve ever seen in one so young.” The man who brought him here.

“Yes, I can see that. His affinity to fire is disconcerting, but it’s certainly something controllable once he has learned how.” Antonidas.

“Until then, he’s most certainly a danger.” A woman he didn’t know. “I think he needs to be here.”

“Make the necessary arrangements; he stays.”

“What was his name again?”

“He said his name was Khadgar Valoren. Strip his name and get him installed in the dormitory. You did mention his parents wouldn’t miss him – for a price?”

“Yes, Archmage.”

“See to it, and double that price. I have a feeling he will be worth far more than what we’re purchasing him for. They don’t need to know that.” A pause. “And neither does he. Bring up the tea, and we’ll get his memory suppressed.”

Khadgar lost track of the voices, but cracked open one eye, slowly. He was lying on the couch, curled up with his gryphon, on the couch where Antonidas had sat before.

“Ah, you’re awake. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Antonidas moved back toward the couch from the door as Khadgar sat up and looked around, confused.

“But – the … the room. I-I-I thought…” Khadgar stammered. “C’n I go home now?”

“This is your home now,” Antonidas said softly, though firmly, as he sat down beside the boy. At Khadgar’s look of shock and indignation, he merely chuckled. “It’s all right. You’ll be a fine mage, one day, youngster.”

Khadgar looked at the older mage with a look that said plainly that he didn’t think so, somehow, and that all he wanted to do was go home.

The mage that had brought him here came in and set a tray on the table. “Figured you both could use a cup of tea after all that commotion.” He bowed and left without another word, and without waiting for one. He closed the door firmly behind him.

Antonidas poured tea, and added cream, then passed a cup to Khadgar, who set aside his gryphon to take it with a soft word of thanks.

He sipped at it, and made a face. Antonidas laughed softly, then offered him a plate of ginger snaps. “It takes some getting used to. Try one of these with it. It helps.”

Khadgar did so, and the second taste wasn’t so bad. His head started to feel fuzzy, however, and he blinked up at Antonidas after two ginger snaps and the tea.

Antonidas smiled, and set his empty teacup down. “Now then, Khadgar. You’ve been sent to us at an opportune time. You have a strong gift of mage ability that is instinctual, and it may have gotten you into some trouble at home, but it won’t here. Your parents think it’s best to have you stay here and learn, and have offered you to our care.” Khadgar nodded, numbly. “The only thing we will ask of you is to learn – and we will make you one of us. Your surname will be taken from you, once you enroll here.”

“You mean I’m going to lose my family?” Khadgar cried, scooping up his gryphon again.

“Goodness no, lad! Just the name attached to it. No one here keeps their surname. Not even I have one,” Antonidas said, gently. “Come,” he said, getting to his feet. “I’ll take you to your room, and we can see about enrolling you in classes.”

“C-Classes?” Khadgar asked, his eyes wide, and the color of the deepest ocean, having faded from pale to dark with the drugs that had lain in wait at the bottom of his teacup.

“Classes. We’ll find you an instructor who you will like, I promise.”

“That’s all I can remember. That’s all any vision showed me. I woke up the next day, felt as though I was at home… and the only thing that reminded me of my family – or that I even had one – was my gryphon. A gift from Mother when I turned six,” Khadgar sighed, softly. He turned to set his empty mug down.

“And from what all I know – it was later said that I wasn’t worth the price they paid for me. I was too curious. Too ambitious. Careless. Reckless. I was too sneaky, and knew too much. They couldn’t just get rid of me, because they couldn’t drug me a second time.” Khadgar shook his head.

Medivh growled softly. “And they sent you here.” Khadgar nodded, slowly. “Intending for the trip, or me, to kill you and get you out of their hair for good.” Khadgar nodded again, swallowing audibly.

Medivh pulled Khadgar against him. “I had no idea they … would stoop so low.”

Khadgar shrugged. “It didn’t matter in the end.” He reached up and rubbed his eye. “Nearly everyone was… gone. When I came back.”

Medivh sighed. “From the ruins of Draenor, you mean?” Khadgar nodded. “I … I should have… I wish you’d…”

“Come back here? I’d thought about it, in all honesty. If I had I’d have been here alone, and—“

“You would not have, not for long,” Medivh replied. “I was… awake. I’d have known.” He pulled Khadgar a little closer, and Khadgar turned so he could curl against Medivh, resting his head on the older mage’s chest. “Like I said, I felt your presence in Dalaran. But I … would not go there. There is nothing, save perhaps its destruction, that would convince me to go, not now.”

Khadgar shrugged again. “I know you’re here now. And so I escape when I can. Light, I wish you could leave here and help us.”

“I know, Young Trust, I know.” Medivh lifted his hand and stroked Khadgar’s hair. “Perhaps I’ll be able to one day. Though by then, I expect you’ll have the Legion on the run with their tails between their legs. As it is… I can feel … him. Thus far I have been left alone. I’d like to keep it that way. I must keep it that way.”

Khadgar curled his arms more tightly around Medivh. “I would kill you myself before I’d let him take you from me again, Medivh – if I couldn’t kill him first. I would never let him take you again. Not after the look in your eyes when I… I…”

“Shh…” Medivh soothed, gently running his fingertips and nails against Khadgar’s scalp, carding his fingers through his hair. “It’s in the past, Khadgar. I won’t give my freedom – or you – up without a fight, and this time, it’s not within me, so I can stand by your side and help you.” Khadgar sighed, closing his eyes and letting Medivh’s ministrations soothe him. “You said there was more – when you returned from the remnants of Draenor.”

“There is,” Khadgar sighed heavily. “I remember feeling that damned portal open – and it felt like someone tore open one of my old wounds…”

Khadgar’s sleep was uneasy. He shifted, turned over, turned again. Sprawled. Curled up. His joints ached as though a storm approached. Pain seared down his back and his eyes snapped open as he sat bolt upright, sweat trickling down his face, neck and back.

It was still dark; the windows of his sleeping chamber showed nothing but a few dots of stars. With a groan, he levered himself out of bed, and limped toward the tiny fireplace, prodding it until the flames rose enough to heat the kettle of water that hung on the hob. He spooned some of the herbal painkillers into a scrap of cloth, tied it, and dropped it in his teapot, and waited impatiently for the water to boil.

He filled the teapot, and began counting, slowly. Once the tea had steeped long enough – barely long enough – he poured a mugful, blew against it to cool it with a brush of frost, and downed it before pouring a second.

He had not been in this much pain in a long time – the last time he had felt this was shortly after he had closed the portal to Azeroth, and then got everyone he could into a rift while Draenor tore itself to pieces.

… The portal. No. Surely not…

There was a knock on his door, and he called for whoever it was to enter.

A slender draenei woman slipped inside. “Forgive me, Archmage. There is news from the east.”

“The Dark Portal,” Khadgar said, heavily.

“You knew?” the woman asked. Khadgar shook his head. Her face fell, and the scent of his tea found its way to her. “You felt,” she said flatly.

Khadgar nodded. “I do not need a healer; it just came as a shock. What other news is there?”

“Demons, Archmage.”

Khadgar choked on a sip of tea, coughed, spluttered, then stared at her. “What?!”

“There are demons in Hellfire. They manifested overnight – No one can pinpoint where, or how or… but they’re heading for your home world.”

Khadgar closed his eyes, running a hand down his beard, thoughtfully. “I assume this word comes from Honor Hold?” At the woman’s nod, he sighed. “Gather the others Priestess, if you would, to A’dal’s chamber. We’re in trouble.”

The months that followed were not easy ones. Though there was one thing that had kindled in his heart that had not been there for many years: hope. There was an open portal to Azeroth – and this time, there was no danger, other than demons, crossing it. It would be open for some time as others came and went.

He could go home. He only wished Turalyon and Alleria could go with him. Losing them had been hard on him, and nothing Danath or Kurdran could do would ease his pain. He despaired that they had found themselves Elsewhere, or wound up in the Great Dark, or something he had done had sent them there.

When Illidan had been defeated and Azerothians began to leave again, he debated whether he really wanted to go home. What was there for him after twenty long years?

In the end, he gathered his things, and crossed. The relatively clean air of what was now the Blasted Lands struck him like a blow, and he inhaled deeply. Someone found him a gryphon, and told him to head for Stormwind.

At the time, he didn’t question it, but he also didn’t follow that advice. He passed over Stormwind; a little smaller now, perhaps, and some of the outskirts were still rebuilding, but it was still a sight. It warmed his heart.

His destination, however, was Dalaran.

Only… He discovered, to his shock, that Dalaran was … gone.

He landed on the outskirts of the city and stared at the dome that obscured what was left. When he drew closer, the magi still there eyed him with hostility, and one even tried to attack him before looking at him, and backing away. They let him stare at the crater with shocked eyes, and when he turned, shaking his head and muttering, they let him go.

His next destination was Capital City… to find it was… changed. The guards that stood sentry at the gates and on the doors prevented him from even landing. He clung to his gryphon’s back with sheer will as he turned it to the west, surveying the damage as he went.

His home was gone. The town – for it was a town before its abandonment – itself was nothing but a ruin. The stream had dried up. There wasn’t even a hint of where the occupants had gone. He landed, wincing a little at the scent of death. He moved towards what had once been his own home, and looked around the ruins. His family had clearly lived here until… whatever happened here.

Everything was still in its place. Just … the people were gone. He tried the stairs, and found they would bear his weight, and climbed them. The rooms were empty. He shook his head, went back downstairs, and remounted his gryphon, turning him back towards the south.

When he landed in Stormwind a couple of days later, he actually landed by the gates, looking up at the statues of himself and his comrades with a sense of awe. A guard walked up to him as he paused at his own statue, his fingers brushing the plaque, reverently.

“You shouldn’t loiter here,” the guard told him.

He looked at the guard, then up at the statue again. “I’m sorry, it’s… I didn’t expect… It’s not easy, looking up at yourself when you’ve been presumed dead for twenty years.”

The guard lifted an eyebrow. “You’re telling me that you’re Khadgar. Archmage Khadgar. Right. And I’m the king.”

“I assume Varian is still king? He was just barely old enough to take the crown when—“

“You will address the King with Respect, or I will have you thrown out of this city.”

Khadgar lifted an eyebrow. “Perhaps I should have kept the beard and let my hair stay long. This gryphon is one of yours; I assume there is a stable master in charge of them? He could use a long rest and a good feed. He has been through much since I left the Dark Portal.”

The guard stared at him. “Let me escort you,” he said shortly.

Khadgar hid his smile as he beckoned to the gryphon, and gently took its bridal in hand as he followed the guard indulgently, met with the gryphon master, and asked for a bit of special treatment for his charge.

The guard stared at him as he requested to be taken to the Keep, but shook his head as he led the mage there.

Khadgar startled the guard by seeming to know exactly where he was going, and the guard gaped when Varian saw him, as the King of Stormwind stood, his mouth open in surprise.

“I… I am not seeing properly,” Varian gasped.

“You are,” Khadgar held out a hand. Varian ignored it and hugged the mage instead.

“Light it’s good to see you again,” Varian said when he pulled away. “You look better, but worse at the same time. More worn, but far more vigorous than when you left.”

“You’ve seen action,” Khadgar commented, one finger tracing the scar across the king’s face.

“Oh, I’ve seen more than that. But it can wait.” He turned to address the guard who now looked poleaxed. “Thank you for escorting Archmage Khadgar to me,” he said, smiling a little. “You may head back to your post.”

The guard saluted sharply, then turned and left. Khadgar and Varian shared a look, and both of them suppressed laughter. “I’m not needed out here for a while. Let’s go find lunch, and then catch up.” As soon as they were behind closed doors, Varian turned to Khadgar. “He didn’t believe you were who you said you are.”

“No. He seemed to think I was insane, as well. Got rather upset when I called you by name, mentioned how in awe I was of seeing a statue of myself, and he said if I was Khadgar, he was the King of Stormwind.” Khadgar grinned.

They shared another look, then both burst into laughter. Varian clapped the mage on the shoulder and they went off to find lunch.

Khadgar tapped his fingers against his wineglass, frowning at Varian. “A plague. All of Lordaeron?”

“I’m afraid so,” Varian replied, sighing. “Silvermoon’s Sunwell was corrupted, and destroyed. A Naaru restored it, from what I understand, but still, it was a major blow. Arthas killing his father was … another.”

Khadgar closed his eyes. “So that’s why Lordaeron looks the way it does… and Capital City—“

“Is now home to the undead who have regained their minds – the Forsaken. Led by Banshee Queen Sylvanas.”

“Ban- Did you say Banshee Queen?”

“She has a pet demon. A Dreadlord.”

Khadgar stared at Varian for a long moment, waiting for the joke’s punchline. None came. He drained his glass, and Varian reached to refill it.

“Dalaran?”

Varian sighed. “Also the work of Arthas – and Archimonde, the Eredar lord. It now floats over Northrend, above the Crystalsong Forest.”

Khadgar ran a hand through his hair and over his face. “Light’s mercy…”

“We’re at war, currently, with the Lich King – Arthas – and his army of undead.”

“And the Horde?”

“Fights at our side.” Khadgar raised an eyebrow. “Much has changed, my friend. The Horde has changed – and while there has been tentative peace between us, we are still in conflict. However, in the face of greater threats, it has been common for us to unite against whatever threatens us.” Varian shrugged. “I personally do not like it. But resources need to go to destroy the Lich King, not to fighting the Horde. I would rather never see a repeat of Stratholme, if I can help it.”

Khadgar sighed, his face troubled. “I… almost feel like I have returned to find … another world entirely.” His shoulders sagged as he shook his head. “Do I even belong here?”

“Of course you do,” Varian replied quickly. “It is still Azeroth – and Azeroth still needs your wisdom and knowledge. I can get you to Dalaran easily… and I’m sure Rhonin can help you settle in.”

“So I went,” Khadgar sighed. “It took some adjusting, but I did manage to settle in, and after a bit of rest, was able to get myself situated. After I’d learned what happened, I wasn’t certain if I really wanted to be back in Dalaran, but… Things had changed. The city was far more laid back, and the cooperation was heartwarming.”

“And in the meantime, we missed one another,” Medivh sighed.

“I could not feel you – though when I heard the account of the Third War, and the … what happened on Mount Hyjal… I thought again of coming back here.” Khadgar closed his eyes. “I couldn’t bring myself to – you’d not been heard from. Or of. Or anything. Jaina remembered you. Thra – Go’el – remembered you. Neither knew where you were or what you were doing or even if you were alive.” He paused for a moment, then lifted his head to look  up at Medivh. “Perhaps that hurt worst – the knowing you were here… but … I thought – perhaps… I … I was too late, and that you’d already met a second end.”

“I’m sorry,” Medivh murmured, running his fingers along Khadgar’s cheek, tracing a scar there. “I should have… I should have reached out to you as soon as I knew, even if it had just been to send a letter. At the time I… also wasn’t sure you’d want to remember.” He closed his eyes. “I figured you’d have found someone… else. Perhaps married. Had children.”

“Never,” Khadgar breathed. “I … got angry with Alleria one night – and said something to her that still sits with me now. She was being stubborn about her relationship with Turalyon. I lost my temper with her. When she asked why I cared about her love life so much I… I told her my age. I asked her what girl of twenty-two would have me, looking as I did.” He curled up a little closer. “She hadn’t any idea what my age was; she assumed I was at least as old as Lothar.” He shook his head. “Even if another girl my own age – or a boy my own age – had reached out to an old man like me, I…” He swallowed. “My heart lay buried behind the tower of Karazhan. And there it would stay.”

Chapter Text

Epilogue

Medivh opened his eyes, sighing deeply. “On one hand, I am… glad. On the other I … I wish you had found a way to move on, rather than binding yourself to a ghost of the past.”

Khadgar shrugged. “Love doesn’t work that way,” he murmured. “I’d… wondered, no few times if you were just humoring me. Especially near… near the end. The fight we’d had… after the demon… in the library…”

“I’m sorry,” Medivh whispered. “I… it was cruel. And it wasn’t wholly me.”

“I know that now,” Khadgar replied, lifting his hand to curl a lock of Medivh’s hair in his fingers. “Back then I… I’d thought you’d just… discarded me. That I didn’t really matter. That I was just… a pastime.” He shifted so he could keep his eyes on Medivh’s but still listen to the older mage’s heart. “At the time I’d wished you’d just put a knife through my heart. It would have hurt less.”

“I know,” Medivh whispered, his voice trembling. “You started to grow distant, and I withdrew as well. I cursed him, swore at him… Waking up alone was so hard, after that.”

“You slid into a depression that was so deep I didn’t understand. And was too wrapped up in my own misery that I didn’t realize until… it was too late.” Khadgar lifted his other hand to brush Medivh’s cheek. “I’d thought about just… just going upstairs in the middle of the night, slipping in… and curling up with you. Just so I could touch you. Listen to you breathe.” He dropped his eyes. “At the time I’d also wondered if you’d tossed me aside so you… so that… you… and Garona…”

Medivh flinched. Khadgar froze for the space of a heartbeat, then let his hand fall. “You… you didn’t…” he breathed. Medivh’s silence was all the answer he needed. He started to draw away.

Medivh’s arms tightened. “Khadgar—“

“I… I’m not…” Khadgar shook his head, breaking Medivh’s hold on him. He sat up, staring at Medivh, his heart once again feeling as though it was trapped in a vice. With spikes. He felt sick. It’s not like he’d said anything at the time… you had no hold on him. His eyes turned the color of ice, and he blinked the tears out of them instead of letting them fall.

Medivh’s eyes turned to pale jade, and he reached out a hand. “Khadgar, please, hear me out…” he pleaded.

Khadgar closed his eyes and pulled his robes from the chair he’d draped them on, his hands shaking as he tried to keep a tight rein on his emotions. He ignored Medivh’s words, and slid off the bed. He heard the mattress shift as Medivh moved to do the same, and sidestepped the hand reaching out to him. He didn’t bother walking out of the tower once he had dressed.

Instead, he looked back at Medivh, who was now sliding off the bed. “I… I trusted you,” he breathed, pain lacing his every word. He opened his mouth to say something more, but instead shook his head, stepped back a pace, then another. With a gesture, he was gone.

Medivh stared at the spot where Khadgar had just been standing. His eyes closed. His hand slowly dropped back to his side, and he sat heavily on the bed, feeling as though he had just been run through again.

Only this time, the blade was his own, and he had done it to himself.

He traced the scar along the left side of his chest, and knew he had just inflicted a far worse wound on his former apprentice. His successor. His lover.

He dropped his head into his hands. He had to find some way to explain. Some way to make Khadgar understand why. Some way to remind him of… No. No, there was no use blaming this on Sargeras. He could have declined. He could have stopped it.

He lifted his head and stared down at his hands, as though they contained the answers. He wished he could go back and stop himself from staying silent when Khadgar had asked. He should have told him the truth up front. He should have explained. He should have said something.

“I have betrayed your name,” he murmured, softly, echoing words he had once said to Khadgar, long ago. “And I do not know how to make restitution.”