Chapter Text
“By the Light, how much water do a few mages really need?” Lothar mumbled to himself, his eyes scanning over the list of supplies Dalaran provided to help him prepare for their stay.
“Doesn't water replenish their mana? I guess it'd make sense if they need a lot of it, after throwing spells around all day.” Callan plucked the list from Lothar's hand, both eyebrows rising high when he saw how much it was just for the first two weeks worth. He gave a low whistle. “Maybe increase the amount of piss breaks...” he muttered, only half joking.
Lothar snorted. “If they expect special treatment they're going to be sorely disappointed.” He picked his fork back up and jabbed it with more force than necessary into a hunk of turkey meat. From the corner of his eye he saw Callan give him a lop-sided grin.
“No, dad, I daresay they won't know what hit'em.” Callan set the list down on the table, off to the side where it wouldn't get stained by accident. He tucked back into his meal, enjoying the easy quiet in the room as they finished dinner together. It was so rare anymore that the two of them got to spend any time together as just a family, and not as commander and subordinate. Callan never regretted joining the army, but he'd willingly admit that it was stiflingly lonely at times.
“Copper for your thoughts?” Lothar asked, breaking Callan out of his reverie. “You looked a league away just now.”
“Nah, just glad to have dinner with you for once. It's been a long while.” Callan ripped a breadroll in half, bit off a large chunk, and chewed like a cow, smiling cheerily at his father.
Lothar smiled back, shaking his head before he drained what wine was left in his cup. His plate empty now, he stood from the table to carry it over to the tray a servant will be by to collect. “Don't let any of those spell-chuckers hear you say such things,” he grumbled good naturedly.
Turning in his chair, Callan was still finishing his breadroll, one side of his mouth stuffed as he spoke. “What, you mean you don't want any of them to know the Lion of Azeroth isn't always such a hard-ass?”
“Damn right.” Lothar refilled his cup with more wine and returned to his seat at the table. He took several gulps before shifting to slouch more comfortably in his chair. “By the time this is over I want every last one of those mages shaking in their silk slippers.”
Callan shook his head, a sympathetic look on his face. “I feel sorry for them already.”
Raising his cup almost as if to toast what Callan said, Lothar inclined his head. “Now that's what I like to hear. Say, how about a round of cards, hm?”
“Aww, dad, no. Anything but cards,” Callan groaned, slumping down his chair until his head thunked on the backrest. Lothar just laughed as he pulled out a deck from a small drawer in the table and started shuffling.