Chapter Text
The next two days were certainly not what Rommath would consider to be among his finest hours.
When he came to, he was in an infirmary being attended to by diligent priests and alchemists, and despite their protests and his own less-than-ideal condition, he immediately kicked up a fuss and demanded to speak to Lor’themar for updates on the situation. Fortunately Lor’themar was nearby and obliged. Apparently there had been very few casualties on their side, thank the Sunwell, because Kael’thas was focused on one thing and one thing alone: claiming M’uru for himself. He and his Felblood elves had stormed their way into the Hall of Blood, incapacitated the elves that had been restraining the naaru, and taken it away just as quickly as they had come. Scouts reported that they had then headed north to the Isle of Quel’Danas, where they guessed he intended to put the next part of his plan in action. What his plan was, no one was sure, but Lor’themar said it had to do with the Sunwell. He said he knew this because Kael’thas had also taken something else of great power: the last remaining essence of the sacred fountain itself.
So the sin’dorei were in danger. Again. Rommath had a lot on his mind on that first day. He thought about the great betrayal that they had just suffered. He thought about how Liadrin and the Blood Knights were now bereft of a power source. He thought about all of this between naps and griping at the priests, because as much as he hated being bedbound, he had to begrudgingly admit that he was in no position to leave the infirmary any time soon.
By the second day, though, he was getting antsy. The final straw came in the late afternoon when Halduron, of all people, decided to drop in. As soon as he had been told of the Ranger-General’s impending visit he scared all of the priests away with colorful threats and then proceeded to painfully sit himself up on the bed and dress himself. Letting Lor’themar see him in his injured and vulnerable state had been bad enough. There was no way he was going to let Halduron see the same.
Rommath was sitting on the side of the bed, trying and failing to gather the strength to stand, when Halduron poked his handsome blonde head into the doorway. “May I?”
Rommath nodded curtly, and the ranger stepped inside and stood in front of the bed. Halduron eyed him up and down and then tried to make conversation. “You look a lot better than you did two days ago.”
“You truly have the gift of observation, Ranger-General.”
Halduron smirked and looked away for a moment. “I suppose I just wanted to apologize,” he said at length. “I didn’t trust you, and that was wrong of me.”
“There is no need to apologize. I would have done the same as you had the situations been reversed,” Rommath said, and to his surprise he was actually saying it genuinely by the time the words left his mouth.
There was an awkward silence, and then Halduron said, “Well, I don’t want to take up too much of your time. You seem to be improving, anyway. Lor’themar is in the Court of the Sun, if you wished to speak to him. I know he’s been meaning to talk to you.”
Rommath realized that he could go for an update on everything, since he hadn’t heard from the Regent Lord since the day before. Slowly and somewhat painfully he began to stand, and he started to wonder if he would even be able to, when he noticed an arm in front of him— Halduron’s. With a resigned sigh, Rommath took it and allowed the Ranger-General to help him to his feet. Rommath gave him a glance, as if to warn him not to tell anyone about what had just transpired, and he could tell by the gleam in Halduron’s eyes that the wordless message had been received and acknowledged.
Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.
So Rommath gestured to his staff, which jumped into his hands, and then let himself out of the infirmary and slowly headed towards the Court of the Sun. On the way he passed by a mirror, and upon glancing in it, couldn’t help but notice that he had aged several years over the course of a few days.
Lor’themar was standing in a high alcove overlooking the city. Upon seeing Rommath approach he moved as if to make his way down to ground level, so as not to make the magister have to climb a flight of stairs, but Rommath teleported himself up in the blink of an eye and stood beside him. Lor’themar nodded at him, pleased to see that he was improving, and then for a few minutes the two of them silently looked out at Silvermoon.
“I am glad you’re doing better,” Lor’themar said after a moment. “Few elves can say they’ve survived a shadowbolt at close range— especially one from that powerful of a source. I suppose that’s why I feel I can ask you what I am about to ask you.”
Rommath looked sidelong at him but said nothing.
Lor’themar, who appeared slightly uncomfortable, continued, “I have been thrust into an awkward position. Kael’thas is back in Quel’Thalas, but not in the way we expected him to be. And now we face the prospect of a civil war, and I must lead our side.” He was quiet for a moment, as if in thought, before continuing, “And I can’t do it alone. I need Halduron, and I need you. I know that must not be an easy thing for you to hear. I know you’re still recovering from the battle, and… and I know you must be feeling… well. Anyway. I ask you now for your loyalty, if you would give it.”
Again Rommath said nothing. He had assumed that Lor’themar would ask him to officially become one of his advisers, and yet he hadn’t put much thought into how he would answer. He had been at Kael’thas’ side for so long. It would hardly feel right to give his loyalty to another so quickly.
And yet that Kael’thas that he’d known was gone. Had betrayed them. For a second the despair that Rommath had been bottling deep inside his subconscious suddenly bubbled up, and he was hit with a twinge of panic. Their backbone had been broken. How could they even continue?
He looked out at Silvermoon, bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon sun. Elves walked to and fro, going about their business, talking, laughing, crying, repairing the damage that Kael’thas had made.
Surviving.
The rebirth of the sin’dorei has not occurred yet.
No. It had not. But it would. The backbone of Quel’Thalas may have been broken. But with the Blood Knights as her sword, with the Magisters as her beating heart, with the Farstriders as her soul, and with Lor’themar, Halduron and Rommath as her head, she would learn to stand again.
So Rommath turned and faced Lor’themar Theron. “What are your orders, Regent Lord?”