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Chapter Text

One might assume that, when frozen into ice, one wouldn’t be able to see or hear what happens around oneself. Aethas knew now, that this wasn’t true. He could hear, although muffled, Jaina’s voice barking at some poor subordinate and could barely see their retreating forms.

He could free himself from the ice, but he knew that would make him appear only more guilty. No, he knows and trusts Jaina, as long as the human has him captive, she would be content. He will be put on trial and judged guilty, but he knew that from the second that their warchiefe had taken interest in the bell. And he had been certain since he had known of Silverthorn’s betrayal.

A voice in his head, that sounded scarily like his father argued that he shouldn’t trust humans blindly. But then his thoughts were interrupted by an approaching person. Blue eyes and long pale ears greeted him. He shortly realized that he was freed from his prison only to feel the pull of mana. His mana. That person, a former magister if he had to guess, drew his mana. As that realization hit him his vision began to fray, and everything went dark.

The room was still dim, when he retook consciousness. Nearby he heard fighting, casting of spells. His eyes were still unfocused, and he could only see blurry forms. He could make out three other figures in the room. The one closest to him whore light blue colours, his captor if he remembered correctly. The other form, fighting his captor was a mix of different colours, some hero then, they always had the strangest fashion sense. The third figure was clad in bright red and he would have recognised that posture anywhere. What was his father doing here?

Just then the light blue form crumpled to the ground and he heard his father call out to him. It took all his energy to move forward and down the stairs. When was the last time he had needed to pay so much concentration on stairs? The second he was close to his father he felt a bruising grip on his arm, and he was roughly shoved through a portal.

The next second, he was underground, as it was even dimmer than before, and he felt his stomach rumble to inform him that it would like to re-show him something. But the bruising grip on his arm wasn’t gone and he was dragged passed some figure on the ground. Blinking once, twice, to focus his eyes he saw that the forms were some of his Sunreavers bleeding out on the ground. Then the smell of iron hit him, and he looked ahead from where his father had called him again. It was one of Dalaran’s huge sewer pipes which were normally used to get rid of their dirty water but now he saw only red gushing beneath his feed. His stomach lurched again.

Remembering his father’s words, he made to follow him and the hero. He saw the nearing end of the pipe and looked at his father in question, did he not see that this was a dead end?

“Stay by my side!” he wondered if his father meant him or the hero, but he guessed that it didn’t really matter as the Grand Magister jumped out of the pipe and the hero followed. He threw one last glance behind him before jumping as well.

He landed on the back of a Dragonhawk the familiar feeling of leather below his fingers and the sound of thin wings flapping. From behind him he could hear the shriek of hippogriff and he turned slightly to look behind them and saw two dwarfs following them. When, once again, the glimmer of a portal swallowed him.

Chapter Text

His portal brought them directly to their Lord and Rommath gracefully dismounted from the panicked Dragonhawk. The hero followed his example while Aethas slumped sideways and fell to the ground, his head landing with an audible sound on the stone, a sound that made all gathered elves flinch.

Only a minute later, in which no one made to help him get up, Aethas stood back up, more unsteady than before. As soon as he stood again Lor’themar began his short interrogation which ended in hastily spoken orders. After he had commanded his people to follow his orders he turned towards the swaying boy.

Rommath strode towards Aethas and reached him just in time to catch him when the redhead’s legs gave out.

“Carefully, boy.” He tried to steady his son and felt a pang of hurt when Aethas tried to flinch away. “Careful, let me take you home.” He fastened his grip on Aethas arm and slowly pulled him towards himself.

“Let me take him of your hands, Grand Magister. You must be very busy with all those orders the Regent Lord gave you.” Brightwing marched towards them his loud voice booming and Rommath heard a quiet whimper come from Aethas.

“Thank you for your offer, General, but I am more than capable to take care of my son. Now, if you would excuse us. Aethas needs food, clean clothes and sleep.” He turned towards the Spire, towards his waiting Hawkstrider and waited until Aethas, shaking and unsteady, settled in the saddle before he took Dawnfeather’s reigns and lead the animal slowly towards home.

They had to stop a few times on their way for Aethas nearly fell from the seat and by the time that they crossed the last protective barrier Rommath was certain that Aethas had lost consciousness. Which would have been a lot more reassuring if the sound from before wasn’t still ringing in the back of his head.

As soon as the bird’s reigns were taking from him, he took Aethas in his arm and hurried through the hallways towards his boy’s room. There he gently laid the now still form down and called for Liadrin.

The paladin’s heavy steps soon marched down the hallway towards the room and the door opened to reveal gleaming armour.

“Liadrin, by the Sun. Quick, come here!” He stepped away from the bed so that the former priestess could attend to the young elf.

Liadrin worked in silence, something that Rommath previously had always found calming but it unnerved him now. Still, he did not wish to interrupt her and watched her instead as she called the Light to her hands which then passed over Aethas still form.

He could not tell for how long he waited and watched her until she sighed and finally lowered her hands. She turned towards him and he was thankful that he expression was not as unsettling as it could have been.

“He is drained, and you should supply him with water from the Sunwell when he wakes up. Otherwise I healed the concussion and he can safely sleep the worst off now.” At the last she sent a stern look his way, but he ignored it and thanked her and showed her back out. Then he returned to his office, determined to get some work done while his son rested.

The sun was nearing the horizon when Aethas woke again. Rommath was in a heated argument with the Magister of the eastern sanctum when the servant interrupted them. At once, he had moved past the Magister and down the hall. He only stopped in front of the entrance to the room. Inside he could hear faint groaning, he took a collecting breath before entering.

“Good evening, my boy. How are you feeling?” he inquired and quickly lowered his voice as Aethas winced. Two bleary green eyes stared up at him as sharp fingernails scratched over red arms. Liadrin’s words returned to him and he took one of the flasks on the bedside table, a golden liquid sloshing inside.

“Here, drink this.” He nudged the flask towards Aethas who drank it shakily. “There is more, drink as much as you need.” Then he silently watched as the younger one emptied two more flasks before sagging into himself. Carefully he laid one hand between the other’s shoulder blades and was relieved when his son did not flinch away as before.

“Better now.” Aethas voice was rough, one might think that it was just pulled out of the gutter.

“In that case, you should have dinner with me. Some nutrition will do wonders for you.” Just as those words left his mouth and Aethas jumped up from his bed, swaying slightly as he stood.

“No, I have to return and help the other’s” Aethas turned his head hectically and marched towards the door. Thankfully he had reached him before he made his way out the door.

“I won’t let you do that, Dalaran is no longer safe for you- for anyone. You should stay here in Silvermoon, where it is safe.” He tightly held one of Aethas arms and pulled him back against him. “Especially in your current state you should not try anything. Come down and have dinner with me and we might discuss anything further tomorrow morning, after breakfast, with Theron.”

Aethas’ ears slumped down in defeat and he nodded weakly.

They had a light dinner and soon enough Rommath was shooing him of to bed again. His son did follow willingly, yet petulant, complaining that he was no little elfling. Yet, he happily leaned up when Rommath pressed a quick good-night kiss on his forehead.

There would be more than enough time tomorrow to discuss the last few weeks, after all, if there was something else had more than humans it was time.

Chapter Text

The next two days he spent caring for Aethas, who, out of lack of any other activity, had come to follow him around while he worked. He would only stand by, never participating in any discussions that Rommath held and often flinching whenever another elf looked at him. Many of whom he worked closely with would often send irritated glances in Aethas direction but Rommath ignored them and none was stupid enough to utter a word of complain to him.

On the third day of Aethas recovery Rommath set out a few tasks for his boy to complete, nothing too straining but enough to keep the boy concentrated for a few hours. This way a week passed by and Rommath slowly, but surely, increased the difficulty of the tasks. At the end of the week, however, he couldn’t withhold the meeting between Aethas and Lor’themar any longer. The regent Lord had been pestering him for the last few days that he was coddling his son too much and that Aethas needed to learn of the consequences that Silverleaf’s treason had.

He attended the meeting between the two and watched as Theron quickly ran down the list of those who were dead and those who were missing, then continuing with the list of all possessions that were lost during the Purge as well as the count of the animals, dragonhawks and hawkstriders alike, which had been killed.

Aethas had his eyes trained on the ground the whole time and only nodded daftly after each list was finished. He stood slumped before Lor’themar who wandered up and down while holding his monologue. From time to time the blonde would throw glances in Rommath direction but the Grand Magister would only stare back, stance rigid and ready to move towards his son should he show any sign of feebleness. But that didn’t happen, instead silence entered after the Regent Lord finished his report.

Then, Aethas raised his head for the first time since he had entered the room and trained his shining green eyes on the blonde elf.

“And what do you want me to do with that information?” There was some degree of defiance in Aethas high voice and for a second Rommath saw the leader, the Archmage that Proudmoor had imprisoned. The mage who had been one of the youngest Magisters or Archmages since their late Prince.

Lor’themar raised his eyebrow in question before a quick smile flashed over his face, “I simply wanted you to know the facts. That one of your people has betrayed you is, at the end of the day, not your fault. You cannot and you should not control your followers. However, I request that you put you famed mind to good use. I am sure that some of the ministries could use a quick head like you.”

Aethas gave a curt nod and glanced towards his father before looking back towards his Lord as the other man continued to speak:” The rangers are already searching for Silverleaf. When they found him, he will be trialled with High Treason and executed. If you wish to attend his execution or not is up to you. Furthermore, I would advise you to use your first family name instead of `Sunreaver´”

The youngest elf swayed slightly and Rommath rushed towards him to steady him. His boy’s red hair made a stunning yet unwelcome contrast to his faintly white skin and his red freckles.

Slowly Rommath lead Aethas out of the room, his boy clinging to his arm until he shakily lowered himself on the settee towards which his father had led him.

He sat there until some colour had returned to his face before Rommath addressed him in a slightly hushed voice:” You should consider in which Ministry you wish to work or, if you have no idea, I can have a tour through the different Ministries organized.”

When his son didn’t respond Rommath sat down beside him and soon felt his boy lean against him. Mindlessly he carded one hand through long red strands, and he felt Aethas sighed against him.

“That tour sounds amazing; I imagine that something must have changed since I left.” Aethas mumbled and Rommath only chuckled.

“Not really, you know how Quel’danas is. But I will gladly talk with the Magisters. Especially with Magister Brightwell, he leads the Ministry of Mechatronic at the moment and I can still remember how passionate you were about golems when you were younger.”

Aethas turned towards him, eyes wide in surprise, “The Ministry of Mechatronic? But there cannot be any free position within it, there were always tremendous waiting lists.”

Rommath hummed in agreement:” Yes, there still are. But there are many advantages to our family. Skipping waiting lists is only one of them.”

Aethas only sighed, “Ann’da, that is not what I-“

Rommath interrupted him, “Now, don’t start with that again. You heard the Lor’themar. From today on you will go by Sunfury again.” Then his voiced turned more gently as he continued, “Your days as Archmage Sunreaver are over. Jaina Proudmoor had made sure of it by killing the majority of your followers. Going by your true family name is safer now.”

Aethas slumped down again and sighed, “Ministry of Mechatronic it is then.”

Chapter Text

It took his father two days to organize `the tour´. On the third day he was dressed in fine robes, unlike any he had ever possessed neither before he had left Silvermoon nor after, fearing for a moment for his old robes who would surely meet burning flames soon. To late he realized that the robes were that of a highborn magister, robes that were expected of him to wear as Aethas Sunfury. Servants braided his hair in a ponytail, a hairstyle he hadn’t worn in decades.

As usual he left the house with his Ann’da whose eyes sparkled proudly when he had laid eyes on him for the first time in those robes. They quickly rode through the city, where passing elves bowed as they rode by. They crossed the rebuilt bridge to Quel’danas and stopped before the Magisters terrace.

There, their way parted as his father strode onwards towards his office while he himself was whisked away by one of his father’s assistances. “This way, Young Master.”

They moved through the different Ministries, starting with Ministry of Accounting which was positioned closest to the terrace and moved down from there until they finished with the underground caves of the Ministry of Mechatronics. At some points he had quick flashbacks from his first tour all those decades ago.

The Magisters and elves he met were all as submissive and as polite as he remembered, and he longed for the simple and equal conversation with the other Archmagi. Especially Modera and Kalec, he dearly missed those two.

“It would be an honour to provide you with your own project, Lord Sunfury. I had always hoped with you, after all, your earlier work had been tremendously promising.” Magister Brightwell purred.

They stood in an empty office its tall glass walls showed the gigantic halls below where the golems were assembled. He knew that two floors down the bombs were build and even more floors below were Silvermoon’s forges.

“This would be your office, my Lord, mine is only half a floor away.” Magister Brightwell sounded hopeful and Aethas felt old pity rise inside. This bright and clever man felt the need to lower himself before him simply because he was blinded by a name.

The words which left his mouth felt as strange as the robe he was wearing, “Thank you, this will do. I will return soon to discuss any further details.” He turned towards the lifts which moved through the different floors and the offices which clung to the tall assembling halls walls.

He heard the door slide shut behind him and soon heard his father’s assistance follow him. He waited in front of the lift and watched the golden number climb up until it finally stopped on `-1´, their floor.

The assistant had come to him in the meantime and was now happily chatting about how overjoyed his father would be over the good news and that he would settle in in no time.

Aethas was relieved when they finally parted ways at his father’s office. While she entered one of the offices on the side he strolled over to the entrance of his father’s office and let himself in after knocking twice.

His father sat behind his desk, which was covered in scrolls, and writing, his quill moving hectically.

“Good evening, my boy, I take it your tour went well?” the older elf did not raise his head until he had finished writing and put the quill aside.

Aethas moved towards the single settee within the room and dropped down with a heavy sight. “As well as expected, I suppose. You wouldn’t know why there was an already empty office for me in the Ministry, would you?”

His father tried to look surprised but his question about which Ministry Aethas was talking about told him all he needed to know.

“You can’t just go around and fire elves who have worked hard for their position just so that I can take over.”

“And why shouldn’t I?” his father mustered him attentively but stayed behind his desk.

“Because,” at that Aethas turned so that he could meet his father’s eyes, “It isn’t fair!”

Rommath sighed and softly shook his head, “We have been over this, little flame. Elves are born in their families and with those their position in our society. It is not our place to decide which family holds which position, that has been determined by thousands of generations of ancestors.”

The thought that in that case he didn’t belong in this position either flashed through his head, but he held his tongue, knowing that voicing that thought would only anger his father. Instead he laid his head back down and stared at the high ceiling above. Slowly he drifted to sleep while the sound of a quill scratching on parchment returned.

He woke to the sound of loud knocking and hasty footsteps and could see the door fall shut when he opened his eyes. He was still in his father’s office; however, the light had been dimmed while he had been asleep, and an outer robe was spread over him as a make-shift blanket.

From outside the door he could hear the angry voice of his father, scolding the poor soul that came to interrupt him. Blinking the last reminders of sleep from his eyes he looked around the office again until his eyes landed on the clock on the wall. He had been asleep for about three hours and had slept past lunch, which his stomach commented with a low growl.

He stretched tiredly and yawned before standing back up. He hadn’t held an afternoon nap in over a decade, instead he had come to take remedies against the need to sleep which all young blood elves had during midday. It was often explained with the fact that their ancestors the Kal’dorei could sleep for centuries and therefore, young Sin’dorei and Quel’dorei needed a lot of sleep to grow into strong adults.

What was more importantly was, that he knew that he still took the remedies and shouldn’t have fallen asleep, the fact that he did meant that his father had drugged his food with whatever it needed to render his remedy useless.

At first, he felt a sliver of betrayal but then let go of that, the only reason he suppressed his need to sleep during the day was to not appear like a little elfling to the citizens of Dalaran. He guessed that this reason had become out of date.

His stomach reminded him that any food, drugged or not, was welcome now and he carefully approached the door behind which it has become eerily quiet.

Slowly he opened it and peered out only to meet the sight of his father’s broad back and a nervously flinching Ranger General before him.

At the sound of the door his Ann’da whirled around and pinned him in place with his stare and Aethas mustered the best apologetic grin he knew, “My apologies, Ann’da, I was just wondering if you knew where I could get a late lunch?”

He shot a quick glance towards Halduron who looked as if facing the Lich King would be more to his liking than facing a raging Grand Magister.

Rommath let out a long, suffering breath, which slightly raised the temperature in the hallway while the small flames that danced around his hands vanished. “Of course, I will have my assistant bring you something soon, now, please be a darling and return inside and keep the door closed.”

Aethas quickly shot a sympathetic look towards Halduron before closing the door again and returning to the settee.

There were a few muffled screams and the slight smell of burned hair and clothing before his father returned in a noticeable better mood. “Actually, I have changed my mind, we will go out for lunch. Come on, up you go!”

Bewildered he stood up and watched his Ann’da put on the outer robe he had been sleeping under just a few minutes ago before a gentle hand pushed him towards the door.

Outside in the hallway a magical broom was cleaning up small flakes of soot as they walked by.

They rode back inside the city and settled for a restaurant in one of its highest towers. Their lunch was, for thalassian standards simple, only four courses of pastries and meat- and fish filled pies.

The conversation flowed easily between them, any trace from the previous discussion forgotten as he told of the tour and how willingly to please the people still were towards him and how amazing the Ministry of Mechatronic was. His father in turn told him about the ridiculous requests to him and how stupid rangers could be.

Afterwards they rode back over the bridge and his father followed him down into the room which was soon to be his office. Magister Brightwing was only there for a short time before returning to his work and the two of them planned any furniture that was required to be placed inside.

It became clear that his father didn’t intend for him to touch any golem or bomb, for he considered the work of assembling and repairing the machines too dirty for someone of his high standing, and that he would only work on the coding which controlled the machines.

Still, he found that he looked forward to his work, coding had always been the field he was better in anyway.

Chapter Text

The first few weeks were still calm and Rommath found himself having breakfast and dinner with his son more often than not.

At first there had been an uncomfortable silence until one evening Aethas apologized for punching him in the face during the whole “sha-mess”. From then on conversations returned to their normal, carefree manner.

They would skip around the topic of what had happened before and during the purge as Aethas flinched more the longer they talked about it. However, his son would talk about his time on the council and they would often find common ground in the fact of human’s foolishness. Yet, while he saw it as a flaw which made the human race unfit for allies his boy would argue that they would often learn from their mistakes sooner than elves do.

Furthermore, he was pleasantly surprised that Aethas did not ask once what had happened to his old wardrobe, which hadn’t been burned completely, and had quickly come to wear elven clothing. His hair would either flow open down his back or was pulled into a ponytail.

Slowly Aethas became more consumed with his work and he would miss lunch in order to go out with colleagues of his and during the evenings he spent at home he would animatedly talk about his new projects and the new machines they were planning to build. While Rommath himself never worked in the Ministry of Mechatronics he knew somewhat of what they were doing, as he should as Grand Magister.

For three month everything went smoothly, and Magister Brightwell would often mention during Ministry meetings how well his ministry did, now that Lord Sunfury worked with it. The fact that new machines with codes to complex that the gnomes or dwarfs or goblins could crack them supported his claims and he would feel pride whenever a machine was presented of which he knew his son had helped or planned himself.

Many of the new machines, including the new golems in different sizes and the new bombs, came with new safety protocol and with new requirements to mobilize them. Especially the bombs, where before any magister could give the order to release one outside of the safety perimeters of Quel’thalas, now any such order had to be agreed on by both the Grand Magister and Regent Lord.

Then, they were ordered on the Thundering Isles and Lor’themar wanted to take Aethas with them. Rommath argued against it, obviously, and they would often have discussions that ended with the Regent Lord’s loud refusal to any further words from him. Theron argued that with Aethas on the Isles they could mobilize the last remains of the Sunreavers.

Rommath had been aware that not everyone of the Sunreavers had settled back in as nicely as his son. Especially the knights and roughs had refused to take commands from anyone except Aethas and had not yet become a problem.

Try as he might, the regent Lord had made his decision and only two weeks later the four of them boarded a ship to Pandaria with the conversation he and Aethas had only four evenings ago still running in his head.

Aethas had told him that he had been aware of the entering of Darnassus but had been blackmailed into silence. Under tears he had repeated the threat against Silvermoon should he dare to inform someone of the mission and Rommath had fantasized that night with simply burning their Warchiefe into a heap of ash.

In total he was more than unpleased with the situation. Both his requests to leave Aethas behind or to let the two of them take a different boat had been denied and now he was not only faced with the problem of his son accompanying them but also with the relationship between his boy and the Ranger General.

Those two had started to spend more and more time together and Rommath was not above suing the General with sexual abuse of a minor if the blond thought it wise to even enter Aethas tent.

He had told both of them. Aethas had complained and muttered and huffed and stormed to his room while yelling that he wasn’t a minor for that much longer and Brightwing had palled before dodging his fireballs while fleeing the room. Yet, his threats had only worked so long, and he had come to stare at Halduron whenever the three of them were in the same room. That seemed to work.

But Aethas seemed far to distant to notice the General circling around him. Ever since he had received his order from Theron, he had become pale and silent, even more so since he had learned that Proudmoor and Kirin Tor forced were deployed on the Isles.

Now he was only staring towards the nearing silhouette of the Isles and Rommath followed his gaze as they slowly approached the landmass.

Chapter Text

Rommath hated the Thundering isles from the very second, he stepped foot on it. It was far too moody, rainy and grey for him. The hem of his long red robes was dirty and wet at the end of each and every day, and the other robe wearing elves in the camp, Aethas included, faired the same disadvantage.

Added to the muddy robes and the continues rain was the whispered promise between the General and his son about how gladly the blond would help Aethas out of his simple red and golden robe.

Rommath would throw a well-meant fireball in their direction whenever he thought they stood to close which had the positive effects of making Brightwing jump away and dry his son’s robe at once. Additionally, he made sure to eat every dinner with Aethas, in his or his own tent didn’t matter.

But that was only possible until they were sent out to the outposts to further their progress.

He felt unease every time the two younger elves were at the base while he was away and the first time, he spotted a red bruise on his son’s neck he nearly skinned Halduron alive, but Aethas held him back, begging him to have mercy.

He relented and Aethas thanked him by keeping his beloved ranger away from him whenever his Ann’da was about to return to the base.

Regretfully, Rommath had to agree that ever since Halduron and Aethas saw each other his son as returned to his joyful self, which had been previously stilted by the news of Proudmoor and the Kirin Tor on the Isles.

Things were beginning to look better for them until they didn’t.

Rommath himself and Brightwing were both away on their outposts when the Regent Lord pushed forward and took Aethas with him. That in itself was not problematic but the fact that they had a short dispute with the alliance was.

He had received the news on his way back to the base and had rushed the remaining way back only to arrive to an empty tent of his son. One of the Sunreavers silently pointed in the direction of Rommath tent and he quickly moved towards it.

Before entering he casted a barrier around his tent to make sure that no one would enter until he wanted them to. The inside was as dim as always and he had to blink a few times before his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Only then could he make out the form of his boy lying in his bed, blanked pulled up under his nose and curled on his side.

“Oh, Aethas,” he sighed as he carefully moved closer and sat beside him. Bright green eyes followed his movements and Rommath could, now that he was closer, see the fresh tear track which ran over red freckles.

He sat there, one hand calmly running through red strands, while Aethas hickuped and cried, complaining about the blindness of Proudmoor in the face of the obvious truth and the injustice his people had to suffer.

Afterwards, he helped Aethas to clean his face and comb his hair then summoned a light meal as late lunch, or early dinner. They ate in silence and Aethas was about to leave when Rommath held him back, “If you want to then you can sleep here for the night to prevent any nightmares.”

A blush rose onto Aethas cheeks and he expected his boy to pull away but was surprised when the younger only nodded.

However, before he could say anything further there was the sound of something colliding with his barrier before being catapulted away. Both of them froze, the sound of a protective barrier in use known to both, then they rushed out of the tent in time so watch the Ranger General land on top of a tent on the other side of the main square of the base before the tent gave way and crashed down.

Rommath saw Aethas rush past him towards the collapsed tent and he simply banished the barrier with a flick of his wrist and watched in amusement as Aethas helped Halduron from the mountain of fabric.

Rommath smirked to himself and began to trace runes around his tent that would create a more soundproof barrier for the night.

The next time he saw his son, after finishing the runic circle around his tent, he had one blue-clad arm draped around his shoulder and a Ranger General leaning far to close. The fireball in his hand formed out of instinct, yet was stopped by the smile that graced his son’s face and was soon followed by a light laugh as a kiss was pressed to one cheek before Aethas lightly pushed the other man away, mumbling words that Rommath couldn’t make out from the other side of the square.

He guessed that, as long as the General could bring a smile on his boy’s face his presence around his little flame would be acceptable.

Over the following weeks things had become calmer at the outposts and the risk of being attacked had lessened since the feeble troth had been established.

Sometimes, all three of them were at the base at once and on one of such evenings he was approached by the General.

“Good evening, Grand Magister.” The blonde greeted happily and Rommath, who had just returned after a dreadful long week away from the base, only hummed.

The two of them moved together towards Rommath and he only waved shortly towards Aethas who stood a few tents down and discussed something with someone from the academy.

The General was still walking beside him, and he raised his eyebrow in question. The other man never spent such an amount of time in his presence unless the other one wanted something.

Just on cue Brightwing continued:” Grand Magister, I was wondering if you mind having dinner with Aethas and me tonight?”

At that Rommath stopped and stared the other man down, “Dinner with you and Aethas? Tonight?”

Halduron only nodded, his eyes strictly fixed on the ground.

Humming Rommath accepted the invitation before leaving the Ranger General standing outside his tent.

Chapter Text

That dinner with Aethas, Halduron and him went better than expected. To his displeasure and his joy, he had realized that the General wasn’t that much of a brute as he had thought. However, he still only ate rarely with both of them and still made sure that the two younger elves weren’t together without supervision for long.

And through all that their campaign continued.

Rommath would be lying if he said that he wasn’t relieved when they finally packed their things and returned home. And he too saw the relieved look on Aethas’ face after the first of Quel’thalas’ warm sun hit the others skin.

Garrosh Hellscream was finally defeated and the Horde had a new Warchiefe. Vol’jin was a good leader, although he was still a troll. A species with which the Quel’dorei and Sin’dorei had held wars for generations. A species of whom they descended from.

However, Vol’jin was intelligent enough to give their people some time to rest and when Archmage Khadgar called the heroes of Azeroth to march on the black portal no troops were demanded from them. Only those who went of their own free will followed the call.

Thankfully, his son wasn’t among them. No, Aethas seemed content with simply staying at home and fulfilling the role he was raised to fulfil.

Words of his help on the Thundering Isles had only strengthened his footing in the city and a raising number of elves had come to call him Lord Sunfury again and hold him in high regards.

Aethas still lived with him, as most elves did, and still worked in the ministry, however, more and more cries came that as Lord Sunfury he should lead a ministry not work for one. Others said that it he should be trained to become the next Grand Magister instead.

Yet, as long as Aethas was still not of age, none of those plans could be realized. And while on the topic of age, with Aethas return to glory among their people his birthday this year was eagerly awaited by many.

Even through the event, for that was what it would become, was still month away nearly all of the magisters had approached him with questions about potential gifts.

He had, in turn directed his questions to Aethas, who had looked surprised at first which then quickly turned into irritation. And when Rommath had asked him if he would prefer Sunfury Spire or Dawnwither Spire for a location a week ago he had wondered for a second if his son would try to set him on fire in agitation.

Nevertheless, plans for the party were made and each day when they would return home from work a new kind of sample was awaiting them. Monday there were decorative fabric, Tuesday were cakes and so on.

Often, after discussing samples with him over dinner Aethas would complain that his 80^th Birthday shouldn’t be so important anyways. And that normally only the 25^th, 50^th, 100^th and 110^th birthdays were grandly celebrated. To which Rommath would remind him that what they were planning was a small celebration.

As weeks trudged on, they finally settled for the location and official lists for gifts were handed out together with the invitations. Altogether they were expecting about 70 to 80 guests, including the Regent Lord, the Ranger Generall and Lady Liadrin who would come only for the celebration before returning to Dreanor. Additionally, Voren’thal the seer had assured his acceptance and would arrive with a small escort.

They both had been already measured for new robes and Rommath had made arrangements with Silvermoon’s finest jewellers to gift his son with new sets of earrings, necklaces, bracelets, rings and tiaras. All of which will bear their family crest of a rising phoenix amidst flames.

When the day finally came, they, together with their staff, rose before sunrise. While the servants readied a light breakfast and their robes for the day as Rommath accompanied Aethas outside to their family shrine.

There, they would kneel and pray to the sun and their ancestors until the sun rose above the horizon and coloured the sky a faint purple, afterwards they return to the house and getting dressed for the day.

Aethas looked magnificent in his new robe and added the new jewellery he outshone the sun in its eternal splendour.

As the sun rose above them they moved towards Duskwither Spire, which flaunted their family’s colours today. There was a lush carpet flowing down it’s many stairs and gathered around the teleportation orbs. Millions of floating lamps illuminated the different floors, especially the highest floor which held the tables and chairs for the feasts.

The second highest floor too held tables, however, there were only little settees around to sit on. On the main table, a small mountain of gifts was already build and Rommath was confident that by today’s evening all tables would be overflowing with gifts.

Servants rushed around and finished the last details and he let Aethas wander around while he inspected the location.

With its white stone floor or red-golden mosaics and golden pillars the Spire looked its best since the invasion and the aftermath.

“This will do.” With a swift hand motion he ordered the servants away and went looking for his son.

Finding Aethas standing on the second lowest floor he followed his gaze down to the garden where re-domesticated Manawryms were slithering around.

“If you wanted one all you had to do was ask.” He glanced over and saw the small smile on his boy’s face before the younger shook his head, his carefully crafted hairstyle and hairpieces following the motion, the tiara giving a slight tinkling noise as rubies hit gold.

“And walk right over Sparkles memento? I could never do that!”

Both of them chuckled, remembering the manawrym Aethas had in his youth but which had passed due to old age and who’s death had devastated the child for the following month.

Bellow, they could see the first guests arriving, their golden, red, green and blue robes shimmering in the sunlight. The Regent Lord and his entourage just arrived on the hilltop and were making their way down towards the Spire’s entrance. Their ceremonial weapons glistered as sunrays hit them.

Suddenly, Aethas turned sharply towards him, determination painted on his fine features.

“I wanted to thank you for this, Ann’da“, he mumbles and shifts uncomfortably under Rommath gaze.

Rommath mustered him for a second longer before expressing that it was he who had to thank his son for letting him do this.

The look of relieve that settled on his son’s face was all the more rewarding as was the short hug they shared.

The sounds of feet walking up to the floor they were on became louder and he turned around to greet their first guests.

From then on it was a steady flow of people arriving and greeting him or Aethas, who had slowly been swept away by a group of his guests.

Around lunch time they all found themselves up on the highest floor, seating around the tables as servants brought in the first feast. Assortment of pastries with a variety of fillings, both sweet and savoury, with juices and whines as drinks.

After lunch they moved to the lower floor which held the presents and gifts which Aethas opened and thanked whomever had gifted him with them.

He only finished when the sun had already begun to set, and they returned to the tables for dinner.

As their las guest left Rommath watched as the servants carried the gifts of towards their home and searched for Aethas.

He found his son on one of the lower floors, sunken into one of the settees and lightly slumbering.

Casting a quick warming and levitating spell on his son he made his way towards their home, Aethas’ sleeping form hovering close to his side.

Chapter Text

More moths passed by and information about the campaign in Dreanor was limited on the rare reports they received; therefore, it took longer for the information about the Prophet Velen’s death to reach Silvermoon.

Still, when it did there was a National Day of Morning established. Sin’dorei and Quel’dorei rarely mourned those that weren’t of their own race, but the Prophet had returned hope to them when the only solution had been to ally with the Legion and for that the Sin’dorei will be forever thankful.

Yet, the black attire Rommath wore was far to similar to the one he wore during the mourning over their late King and Prince and thus remembered him of the time when all hope seamed to have been lost.

Additionally, it looked ridiculously good on Aethas. The black robe, with little ornamentation let the focus drift to the fiery red hair that crowned his son’s head. Where normally Rommath would have to make sure that Aethas hair didn’t clash with the upper part of his son’s robe it was now even highlighted by the dark fabric.

That day, only black banners hung outside and the trumpets that would normally announce the time remained silent, which gave the day an endless feeling, as if time itself had stopped to mourn.

Weeping could be heard from the gathered Sin’dorei while Lor’themar and Liadrin held their speeches.

Aethas stood beside him, shoulder’s slightly slumped and if Rommath had to guess than he would say that his boy was forcefully remembering the smaller obsequy they held for the fallen Sunreavers not long ago.

When the public ceremony was finally over the two of them followed the trudging mass of elves south towards the city gate.

Silently the walked home as the sun began to set near the horizon. Tonight, each household would light up a candle, for each member of the household one, and place it in a window to signal their grief but also hope during the darkest phase of the day.

As he strolled into his son’s room, he saw Aethas’s candle already brightly burning in one of his boy’s windows as his son laid already under his blankets.

He pressed a light kiss to his son’s forehead, “Anu belore aranal’diel, Aethas. Good night and sleep well.”

Aethas mumbled, “Anu belore aranal’diel, Ann’da.” Came back as tiered eyes closed and the younger elf drifted off to sleep.

Rommath quietly left the room and entered his own sleeping room. Leaving the black robe behind he dressed for the night, lit up his own candle and moved towards the bed.

Sitting down heavily he banished the memory of crazed laugher and the cries of a holy being, that weren’t pictures he wanted to revisit tonight. Besides, there was no good in spending time in the past when the only thing you can do is look forward, turn towards the sun and let the shadows of the past fall behind you.

Chapter Text

Rommath quickly noted that his son had good days and bad days. On good days Aethas was his usual happy self. On those days he would often eat breakfast and dinner with Rommath while he spent lunch with his friends.

On bad days, however, he would sometimes not even leave his bed and sleep well into the day. That was often caused by nightmares during the night. On those days Aethas’ emotions and thus his magic would be all over the place. One moment he could be laughing about a joke someone made and in the next he would break down crying because some of his dead friends had made that joke too.

It was on one of those days, Rommath had just picked up a tablet with Aethas’ breakfast, that news arrived that Prophet Velen was still alive and that the one who had died had been `another´ one.

But Rommath had more pressing matters to attend. That whimpering and crying bundle of blankets for example that was supposedly his son.

There hadn’t been a bad day in month, as Aethas slowly got over the traumatic experience that the Purge had been. Yet there were still some setbacks and today was one of them.

Setting the tablet down on the nearest small table he slowly approaches the bed, softly calling out to his boy in a way he knows will calm him.

And his words bring about the wished effect, the whimpering stops, and the cries turn to sniffles. Finally, a tired pare of yellow-green eyes peak out from under the blankets.

Aethas looks horrible. His red hair knotted and the shadows under his eyes black enough to be mistaken as mascara.

“I brought you breakfast.” With a wink of a finger the tablet hovers closer, waiting until Aethas has sat up in his bed before landing on his legs.

Quietly Rommath watches as Aethas, still sniffing, inspects the food that had been brought to him. Tsk-ing to himself he leaves his son to his breakfast and enters the bathroom from which he gets both the direly needed Hairbrushes and some guest towels.

Re-emerging into the bedroom he finds his son hunched over his breakfast, eyes dropped low, while he monotonously eats a slice of fruit.

He settles beside the red-head and carefully begins to untangle the red strands of hair. “It is truly a mystery to me how you manage to get it this tangled overnight.”

“Sorry.” Is all Aethas sniffles in reply and Rommath lets the hair be for a moment in favour of heating one of the towels in his hands and pushing it up to Aethas face, who only complains mildly.

With Aethas face and nose clean he returns to his previous task and they sit like that for some time: He is untangling and later brushing his little flame’s hair and Aethas is munching away his food.

It is silent enough that he can hear the hawkstriders caw outside and a strong gust of wind making the nearest trees sway.

“You should have woken me up last night.” He softly tells Aethas and notices how his son stops moving for a second.

“It wasn’t that bad.” Aethas answers, yet, the shadows under his eyes say differently.

Rommath doesn’t argue further, he knows its useless; they had this conversation before. Instead he simply hugs his boy close to his chest, for once not caring what that will do to his robe, he doubts that he will go to work at the spire anyway.

Aethas falls back against him like a sack of runic stones, just as heavy and as lax, and so Rommath presses a soft kiss to his temple.

“Come on, get up and take a bath. Afterwards you can come back here and get some more sleep.” He tries to motivate the younger after letting him go.

“But I don’t wanna…” Aethas drawls back, flopping sideways and staring petulantly up at him.

Rommath only sighs and takes hold of Aethas blankets who watches him suspiciously.

“Come on, some of us actually have to work today.” He says before pulling the blankets off Aethas who lets out a high screech.

Grumbling, Aethas leaves for the bathroom and Rommath sets the blankets back down on the bed before casting a spell that will keep them warm until Aethas returns.

Then he sends the tablet off, casts a broadcasting charm from Aethas bedroom to his study and leaves the room behind.

Making a quick detour to his own room he dresses in slightly fewer formal robes before moving on to his study.

The letter to his assistants, that all work should be transferred to his study at home.

Leaning back while waiting for the first wave of documents appearing on his table he called upon the charm and was rewarded with a still empty bed.

Understandable, as Aethas was probably still bathing and hopefully taking care of his hair.

Turning away from the vision he began to work through the first mountain of documents, only looking up as movement in the vision caught his eyes.

Aethas, now in a fresh set of sleeping attire walked over to the bed, sat down and glanced around the room. His eyes met Rommath briefly through the spell, but Aethas only waved then leaned down and huddled under his mountain of blankets.

Rommath only huffed and returned to his work.

Things progressed calmly until lunch, he did his work while Aethas was sleeping in his room, mumbling some incomprehensible mix between Thallasian and Common.

When the lunch hour arrived, and the sun was set high in the sky he ordered Mrs. Blooddawn to have the table outside set and returned to Aethas’ room.

Knocking loudly, he waited for a short minute for an answer he was sure wouldn’t come, the vision had shown Aethas still lightly asleep when he had left his study, and let himself in.

Aethas, unlike so many hours ago, laid still sleeping in his bed, hair a mess again.

Shaking his head fondly Rommath woke him up and send him to his bath to clean up, again, and get dressed so that they could have lunch.

Silently he thanked the sun that his son seemed to already feel better and that the dark shadows under his eyes had nearly faded completely.

Aethas, now with hair combed and wearing a red-golden robe finally returned and together they set of towards the pavilion.

As the door closed behind them the bedsheets inside folded themselves and the blankets straightened out while the pillows ruffled themselves.

Thank the sun that Aethas too felt up to using simple spells.

Leaving the house behind Rommath watched as Aethas straightened up as soon as the fresh air hit him and listened as Aethas began to ramble about whatever stupidity the Arcanists under his command had done recently. Adding stories of his own about the stupidity of others, they walked through the green grounds of their home.

Lunch would have been a simple meal, normally, but seeing as their servants had noticed the bad mood of his little flame the table was mostly set with chocolate dishes.

Some were made to look like some fruits but Rommath doubted that he would get anything that doesn’t has a percentage of chocolate in it.

Resigning to his fate he ate what looked to be the least sweet and instead watched as Aethas ravened down whatever remained.

Leaning back Rommath waited until his son’s mouth was not stuffed with sweets to ask the question he had wanted to ask since this morning: “What had the nightmare been about?”

As expected Aethas froze for a second before sending a quick glance towards him, then slumping down in his seat.

“Aelane” came the mumbled answer and Rommath raised an eyebrow in surprise.

After weeks, months and years of searching for Aethas sister he had, at one point, simply given up. After all, the possibility that she had died during the invasion was high as the scourge had not cared if they had killed child or adult.

“I hadn’t been aware that you had met her again.” He only answers.

Aethas looks down and shrugs: “Because I didn’t? Not since Dalaran, that is.”

That explained things. Rommath was sure that he would have known if Aethas had met his sister after the purge, he had made sure that there were either official guards following his boy around, his golem accompanying him or unofficial guards tailing his son. While later was not really his preferred choice and had failed once already when Aethas had been mugged by a simple thief and mostly unharmed he would take whatever measure to make sure that his son was safe.

“She didn’t survive then?” he asked cautiously, Aethas only shook his head.

“I thought so at first but that other day, that thief-”

“I see.” He cut Aethas off, mentally reminding himself to have his guards look harder for the girl now that he knew what she earned her money with.

“She- She said that I ruined our family name and that must have been easy for someone who has another one to hide behind.” Aethas continued and Rommath felt furry creep up within him at his son’s retelling of the event.

Back then, Aethas had simply said that the thief had held a knife to his throat and had ordered him to hand over all his money. The small wound on his boy’s neck and proved that and money was something their family had plenty, Rommath was only glad that nothing worse had happened that day.

Rommath promised to let that brat pay for those words when he finds her. He didn’t care about the money, but the damage she had done was far greater. Obviously, Rommath was aware of his son’s conflicted feelings regarding his two surnames. Was aware that Aethas resents many of the advances the name Sunfury holds and thus prefers to use the name Sunreaver.

That had been a thorn in his side for many years, especially after Aethas had left for Dalaran against his will and under that name, until Liadrin had told him that he should also be grateful that Aethas had not grown up into one of those noblemen whose surname meant everything to them.

Her words had lessened the sting, but it was still there.

Worse, he couldn’t say that Aelane Sunreaver was wrong with what she had said. While Aethas hadn’t ruined the name Sunreaver it would stand for failed optimism and trust from now on. And she had been right in another point, unlike her, Aethas had another name, a greater name if he dares to say so himself, to take. However, she hadn’t been right regarding that what had happened had been easy for Aethas.

Quite the contrary. The first months after the purge had been the worst. Aethas had been weighted down by his guilt and sorrow.

“You know that what she had said is not true.” He only says to Aethas who hopefully looks up to him.

He doesn’t specify what exactly he means, otherwise he would have to lie to his son and that is something he doesn’t want to do.

“You don’t think so?” Aethas asks again and Rommath nods.

“Now, finish up, I need to get back to work and you could do something productive too today.”

Aethas only nods happily and soon they are on their way back.

Chapter Text

One and a half month after she had cornered her dear brother in that back alley there was a bounty placed on her head. She only learned of it two weeks after it had been unofficially placed.

She hadn’t expected anything less from her brother’s father.

She could still remember how glorious Aethas had made their name. For many years it had stood for an Archmage who defied all odds and whose men were loyal to a fault.

Back then she had had nothing. Just as she had now. She had heard from some other street thugs about the highly esteemed Archmage, who was willing to give everyone a chance.

That same night she had packed all her belongings and had spent her last money on transportation to the floating city. With the small amount she had had it hadn’t been the fastest way and had included many uncomfortable waggon rides and cold nights on ships.

It had all seemed worth it just to meet her brother again. They had been separated while still too young. He, as a mage, had been taken to the academy while she had remained in the orphanage. Not for long, three month later the Orphan matron had sent her of to be trained as a rough seeing as she had no potential as a caster, hunter nor knight.

She was no great rough, had hated the dishonest methods during her training and thus wanted to learn as little as possible.

While growing up she had learned that roughs and knights both weren’t highly esteemed and that the bright and beautiful world her brother lived in would never be hers.

How did she know the world her brother lived in looked?

The answer to that question was kept a secret among young rogues and highly illegal. It did involve sneaking into the high courts, palaces and parlours the Magisters’ frequent.

She never saw Aethas, not matter how often she would look through the group of orphans that lived at the academy off “High and Mighty” as the other trainees called it.

“He probably was adopted and now lives an even more luxurious life.” One of her friends tried to console her, it hadn’t helped.

Therefore, when she saw a chance to meet Aethas again, she took it.

Dalaran had been amazing. The buildings reminded her off the high courts of Silvermoon, only the colours were off.

Getting an audience with Archmage Aethas Sunreaver, however, proofed more difficult. She had to wait nearly a full week, in which she lived in the sewers below the blinding city with little food and even less to do. As it turned out, the city was bustling with people of all classes who were looking for jobs.

Meeting Aethas had been a frightening experienced. The last two days before her audience had been spent over worrying what to do should Aethas not recognize her.

It came as she feared and even worse. She had heard, of course, that Archmage was clothed from head to toe, just like most of his men were, but something in his hood gave her a strange feeling.

It only gotten worse when he finally addressed her. His voice was unnatural deep considering that she remembers him with a rather high voice.

The strangest thing about the hood was, that not even the bright green light of his eyes was visible, it was as if she was staring into a black hole.

He had asked her questions, but she had been unable to answer, the blankness and unnaturalness of his voice frightened her into silence.

“Please, I have more dire matters to attend than to be stared at, Miss. If you could leave, please?”

That finally shock her from her stupor, and she explained to him who she was.

To her horror he didn’t believe her, told her that the last few actors who had come to him for this had been better than her by far.

In her hurry to make him understand she reminded him of the only clear memory she had of their childhood: “You set the orphanage on fire after some assholes had cut of my hair!”

Aethas, who at that time had already turned away from her, froze. Slowly he turned back around. He made one staggering step towards her. Then another.

“Aelane?” his voice, still too deep, shook with doubt.

“Yes, you idiot. Or did you set another orphanage for someone else on fire?” she asked breathlessly, tears burning her eyes.

Before she knew it, he hugged her close to her chest, a slightly insane laugher escaping his hood.

In the following weeks and years, she learned more and more about him. For one, that his hood magically deepened his voice to make him appear louder to others. And that only two of the other Archmagi, the old woman and the blue dragon, knew how old he really was. The blue dragon would always give sweets and toys to Aethas whenever he returned to the city and that he would always drink out all alcohol that was placed around her brother.

She also got to know Aethas’ close circle of friends, all of them Magisters who he knew from the academy. From them she learned that her brother had quickly been adopted by a noble man from very high up and that they weren’t on the best of terms since Aethas had left for Dalaran.

They wouldn’t tell her anything beside that and she only once asked her brother directly.

It had been late, and she had hung around Aethas’ study while he had finished the last of today’s work. He had been surprised, then furious, then resigned that she had been told.

“Does it really matter who Ann’da is?” he had asked her, and he had seemed tiered beyond his years so that she hadn’t pushed.

Maybe she should have been more sceptical. Should have been more aware of the fact that whoever his “Ann’da” is, is wealthy enough to gift him with his own breed of hawkstriders and dragonhawks.

She should have noticed that all the presents Aethas received from his father over the year were worth more than she would ever earn in her life.

But she hadn’t and therefore, when everything had come crashing down on their heads, she had fled the city, only praying that Aethas would make it too.

Only later she would learn that the Grand Magister himself had stormed the city to free Aethas. She had excused this by telling herself that Aethas was a very talented mage which the Grand Magister valued.

After the purge, as the massacre was named, she returned to the streets of Silvermoon.

Most of the Sunreavers had died that day and those that were able to escape returned to their family and friends.

Only she had no safety net to rely on and therefore she fell.

Living on the streets was much harder than she remembered from her days before she had known something else.

She tried to find Aethas, had sneaked into each and every high court but hadn’t found him.

Until, one day, she crossed paths with one “Lord Sunfury”. Well, she hadn’t crossed the other’s path directly. She had been forcefully pushed back by the guards riding before him.

She hadn’t believed her eyes at first, but the elf riding that beautiful golden hawkstrider was her brother. He did not hide behind his hood anymore, his hair flowing freely in the breeze, and his normal clothes were changed for elaborate robes.

She had spent the two following day’s shifting through the “Annals of the highborn families of Quel’thalas.”.

Starting from the lowest families, which were still far above the level of the Sunreaver she worked her way upwards.

It was in the part of the “Royal and Regal families of Quel’thalas” that she finally found the family Sunfury and their family tree.

And there was a portrait of her darling brother, whose full name apparently was `Aethas Sunfury-Sunreaver´, son of Grand Magister Rommath Sunfury.

Well, damn.

According to the annals, the Sunfury family has the sovereignty over Quel’Danas and has brought forth most of the Grand Magisters which lead to the tradition that any Magister of their blood line will drop their surname after his or her appointment.

And here she had thought that the Grand Magister was elected.

She left the chapter about the family’s history and turned to the page of the recent Grand Magister. The portrait of a stern-looking elf with raven hair and a high, red colour greeted her.

Skimming over the text she found nothing worthwhile and opened the next chapter.

A different portrait than that from the family tree was filling the first page, below, in an ornate hand was written “Aethas Sunfury”.

The next pages were filled with chorus of praise about Aethas. How he always was top of the clast and miles ahead of his peers. How he became a magister at very young age, soon after Archmage. Below that the ink was darker, and she guessed that the entry was new. It described Aethas’ work in the Ministry of Mechatronics and the discoveries he has made.

She hadn’t known what to think after all that. Why hadn’t he told her?

That was the first question.

Was he embarrassed that his sister is a lowly rouge?

Was he afraid that should he tell her the truth she would want to be part of that family?

The mountain of questions only grew which each day and so did the feeling of betrayal.

Her brother, who had been considered special even by that bitch of a matron, who grew up with everything a child could want and now simply returned to be a noble lord.

She began to wonder if Aethas had even cared what had happened in Dalaran.

It was two weeks after that when the first innkeeper sneered at her after she had told him who she was.

“Sunreaver”, he spat, “you bring nothing but suffering to others, don’t you?”

She learned to leave out her surname quickly after that.

And without a surname she only fell further. Sin’dorei without names were worthless, they became nobodies.

Even bastards were given the name of their mother and only criminals, who had lost their surnames as punishment, were as nameless as her.

She soon gave up on receiving any jobs and instead returned to use her old, trained skills.

Mugging others was normally her last resort, but lately the number of guards in the city and golems, the new flashy ones, which her brother had helped developing, had increased and she hadn’t eaten in days.

It was during midday; she was just about to step out of the small alley onto murder row, when she saw a figure, a mage by the long staff on his back, in golden-red robes enter the larger street.

Returning into the shadows of the alley she waited until the mage walked up to her before she pulled him inside her alley and pressed the dagger to his neck.

At first, she hadn’t recognized him, but then the words left her mouth unfiltered. All the anger, hatred and betrayal of the past months returned, and she aimed each word to hurt him.

Only the hasty footsteps closing in on her alley made her draw back, grasp the pouch that was loosely fastened to his belt and flee down the alley before the guards could catch her.

And this was what she got for that. A bounty.

She quickly hid behind the next tree as the group of assassins ran past her.

She had to leave the city as quickly as possible or else she would be caught. Yesterday, she had returned to the library to search for more information on the Sunfury mansion, so that she knew where to stay far away from but hadn’t found any.

Glancing around from behind her tree she casually returned to the street and continued to walk towards the Bazaar. There was the only currently open door into the newly rebuild western part of the city.

While the number of guards was higher there, the number of assassins and thugs and such was lower.

As long as the bounty wasn’t made official, the city guards would not hunt her down, they might even protect her.

Passing the next gate, she could see the huge open gate ahead of her, she simply had to pass through the open plaza ahead of her.

Silently cursing to herself she watched the mass of merchants and visitors which filled the Bazaar at this hour.

Originally, she had planned to wait for the night, but after she had only barely escaped a band of ruffians this morning, she had been forced to leave her hiding spot.

Since then she had escaped traps and assassination attempts left and right.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly entered the mass of elves.

“Where are you going, beautiful? We were just looking for you.” She knew that voice.

Looking over her shoulder she met the eyes of one of the Sunfury’s personal guards.

She wanted to rush forward, the gate was only a few meters away now, when something heavy hit the back of her head and she fell forward as everything turned black.

Blinking, she opened her eyes while a strong pulsing pain shot through her head.

Slowly looking around she took in the dark room she was in. It was a mockery of the high courts, as it was built like one of the rooms there but completely lacking their significant splendour.

“I see you are finally awake.” A deep voice said from somewhere behind her.

From where she was lying, she could only make out the hem of a long, red robe yet she had a pretty solid guess who was talking to her.

“I must say that I was surprised. Aethas said you were twins thus I expected more similarities. Thankfully you aren’t close to identical twins, otherwise this would be much harder.” The voice continued.

Just when she wanted to ask what he was talking about she felt pain shot through her whole body, like fire burnt her inside out.

She couldn’t tell when she lost consciousness again, it could have been seconds, minutes or hours.

“What are we supposed to do with her, My Lord?” his head of guards asked Rommath.

“Do whatever you want with her. Throw her into the sea, sell her or return her to murder row. It doesn’t matter to me. Just make sure that Aethas won’t find her.” He simply answered, returning to the document before him.

His guard only smiled while bowing, “Of course, My Lord.”

Chapter Text

The campaign on Dreanor finally ended which brought the normal, slower pace with it.

Their troops returned home and Rommath had held a small feast for Liadrin. It was more like a big family dinner as only they and their spouses were invited.

Liadrin’s little girl, Salandria, was in her early years of paladin/ priestess training and was beginning to learn how to cast spells.

She also had quickly stuck to Aethas and would often follow him around whenever she came over for a visit.

Now, that she learned to cast her own spells she would often beg him to cast something for her.

Rommath would always thank the eternal sun that Aethas was older and more responsible now otherwise he would have had to fear for his furniture, carpets and curtains.

Most of the time, Aethas either simply transfigures something small, let figures out of fire, frost or arcane, or turned himself or objects temporarily invisible.

Liadrin, now that she was back, would watch the children play while she and Rommath were languidly sipping on their wine glasses.

Now that things had calmed down again, or as calm as things got with the continuant war between Alliance and Horde.

And even that had slowed down as battles became less frequent.

Thus, evenings like this took place more often. Sometimes, they would invite Lor’themar and Halduron too and later would, to Rommath satisfaction, not spent all evening flirting or molesting his son.

Therefore, Liadrin and he were surprised when they were ordered to the Sunfury Spire by their Regent Lord.

Aethas and Salandria, who had fallen asleep on one of the settees some time ago, were quickly covered by a thick blanket as the lights in the room were dimmed and Mrs. Blooddawn was informed of their whereabouts in the case that one of the children should return before they returned.

“Evening.” Theron greeted them as soon as they entered the great hall at the base of tall building.

Surprisingly, they weren’t the only once who had been summoned. The hall was packed with elves, Rommath saw Halduron near the Regent Lord and some of the council members on the higher level, while the class lead trainers stood near the wall of the circular room.

“Evening.” Lor’themar greeted them, a sorrowful look on his face, “Apologies to summon you at such a late hour, however, we just have received the warning that the burning legion is supposed to attack Azeroth again.”

Silence followed and Rommath watched fear enter the faces around him.

Slowly, whispers arose, questioning how reliable that information is.

“The Guardian himself has warned our warchiefe and High-Warlock Zanien had just an hour ago received the offer to join them in their assault on Azeroth.”

Said warlock nodded gravely as he was met by questioning glances, “I have, of course, politely declined.”

“AS things are right now,” Lor’thermar continued, “all we can do is prepare for the coming attack and hope that it is enough. Now, I will remain here should anyone have any more questions; however, I assure you that I just told you everything I know and wish you a good night. We will soon need all the sleep we can get.”

Rommath met the Regent Lord’s eyes and Theron nodded at him. Not asked for a private word, Rommath turned back around, Liadrin beside him, as he made his way back home.

And here he had just recently gotten rid of another problem and had hoped to enjoy the time before another one appeared a little more.

The room, where the children were sleeping was still dark, thus he simply opened a portal to Liadrin’s mansion and bid her quietly goodbye as she picked up her little girl and returned home.

Rommath sighed, as he watched Aethas sleep for a moment. The burning Legion’s return had been something the Sin’dorei had been dreading for years. Its forces always a harsh reminder of what they nearly had become.

Furthermore, Rommath knew that, too have even the slightest hope to defeat them, they would have to work together with the Alliance, and he knew that would also include the Kirin Tor.

Aethas let out a jumbled mess of Thalassian and turned over on his side, nearly falling from the furniture while doing so.

Rommath was aware of the illogical fondness his boy still had for that blasted floating city and the magi it held, was aware that Aethas would jump at every opportunity he could get to return to the façade of Sunreaver and to cleanse the name. It seemed that one such opportunity had arrived.

He would discuss it in the mornings, as well as the necessary precautions they would take to prevent history from repeating itself.

For now, he would wake Aethas and bring his little flame to bed and then get as much sleep as he could for himself. Discussions like that were better held in the morning, when the light of the eternal sun guides them.

Chapter Text

Rommath did not dread the coming discussion, he didn’t look forward to it either.

Therefore, he patiently sat waiting at the set table, before him the spread of breakfast while he waited for Aethas to make his way downstairs.

When his little elfling finally showed up he was doing so in one of the simple robes he used to wear during the Thundering Isles obstacle.

“Good morning” he said, his Thalassian still slurred from sleep as he dropped down in the seat opposite of Rommath.

Silently he watched as Aethas helped himself to his first bowl of fruits while he only sipped from his glass of juice, trying not to obviously watch his son.

And he must have failed spectacularly because not even after half of his bowl was eaten Aethas sighed while slumping down into his chair.

“What is wrong, Ann’da?” his boy asks, green eyes meeting his own.

Momentarily he considered to evade the truth, to not tell Aethas. Just for a second he wanted to be selfish and have his son stay with him a little while longer. Yet, he knows that not telling Aethas what is about to happen will only lead to more problems later on, seeing as he won’t be able to keep the façade that nothing is happening going for long while Quel’thalas prepared for the coming war.

“Last night, while Salandria and you were asleep, Liadrin and I were summoned by the Regent Lord to Sunfury Spire.” He slowly began to explain and watched as Aethas’ head jerked completely up and his son opening his mouth in protest.

He stopped any complaints from his boy with a short shake of his head and continued, “Lor’themar informed us that the Burning Legion is about to return and that the Guardian has warned the warchief. The recent High warlock has confirmed that warning.”

At other times it might have been funny with how quickly the colour faded from Aethas’ face.

Or it wouldn’t have been. It didn’t matter anyhow.

“I have already summoned all Magisters to the terrace for four a.s. so that I can inform them. That leaves us with around two hours to finish breakfast and get ready. I want you there, understood?” he fixed Aethas with a stern look, well aware of his son’s tendency to miss out on the more boring Magister summits at the terrace.

His little elfling only nodded and returned to his bowl of fruits, his movement now more robotic, more forced than before.

Rommath too began to eat his breakfast and for a while there was only silence between them until Aethas glanced back up at him, “Does the alliance know?”

“And here we go”, Rommath thought while nodding, “I suppose so. I don’t think that the Guardian warned them too.”

“Will we be working with them? To defeat the Burning Legion?” Aethas continued asking him.

“I would think so. I don’t see another way to defeat them. And before you continue: Yes, that also means that we will have together with the Kirin Tor. And yes, I know that you want to return to Dalaran, just why I can’t understand. However, do you really think that they will let you return after the events of the purge?” Rommath breathed out, slightly regretting his works as Aethas jerked as if physically hit.

“But-”, he continued, “I might have something that will get you back in.”

Aethas lights up and leans forwards, his red hair nearly dropping down into his glass of juice, “Really? What is it?”

“However, if you want to have that you will have to agree to some conditions that will apply as soon as you leave Quel’thalas.”

Aethas slumped down again but nodded and so Rommath explained to him that he expected Aethas to write him a short note two times per week and have dinner with him once a week.

Furthermore, should he have even the slightest suspicion that the Alliance plans to take prisoners he will leave the city at once.

Aethas, who nodded obediently throughout the whole speech, tentatively asked afterwards, “And what is it that you have got for me?”

“A hint of where Felo’melorn might be. The most trustworthy hint we have had since Kael’thas death.”

He explained as much as he could and promised to hand the documents over after the summit.

The summit, to put it in simple terms, was hellish.

While he normally found it easy to direct the Magisters’ attention onto himself, this time proved more challenging as soon as he had informed them of the facts.

Aethas, who was sitting behind him in the shadow of their family’s alcove within the summit’s chamber.

While public summits of the Magisters were often held around the square stairs of the Sunwell Plateau, with the visitors filling the courtyard below, the important summits were held in the private chamber of the terrace. While not during the time in which they had mourned Kael’thas, as this had been where he had died, it quickly had come into use afterwards again.

The room was filled with panicked chatter of the Magisters and Magistrixes.

“Silence!” he called out, slamming his staff on the stone floor below once and sending out a circle of hot air which seemed to finally gain everyone’s attention.

“That is quite enough. We do not have the time to stand around and panic like little elflings.” He could hear a quiet groan come from behind him, “Instead we should focus on making the necessary preparations, therefore, the budget will be cut accordingly and the Ministry of Mechatronic and the Ministry of Traveling will share the resulting sum.”

To his left he could hear the Magister in charge of the Ministry of Accounting mumble complains but did not voice them out loud.

It seemed that, for once, the Magisters were in agreement that the dawning attack was more important than their bickering over budges and staff changes.

The following days brought change to the eternal Kingdom of Quel’thalas. And even Aethas, who was often ahead of his workload seemed to be swamped with it.

Thankfully that also meant that the meetings between his son and the General grew less frequent.

Therefore, when he was on the way back to his office in Sunfury Spire after lunch he was not prepared to walk in on the General’s hand up his son’s robe. Neither was the General prepared for the fireball that came flying his way and which he only avoided because Aethas, growing up around fellow magi, was used to randomly flying fireballs flying past him and had pushed Brightwing away and thus out of harm’s way.

The curses and insults paired with threads on the General’s life that flew out of Rommath’s mouth were enough to send the blond running down the corridor while Aethas, face as red as his hair, mumbled something about searching for him and getting “distracted”.

That much for work keeping those two apart. It seems like he had to heighten the number of lunches and dinners he has with his son to seven times a week, each.

Can’t have that roughish ranger defile and dishonour his son out in the corridors where everyone could walk by.

Chapter Text

There were many differences between human and elves. For one, elves had heightened senses. They could hear better, see better, smell better, were more sensible in touching and tasting. That lead to the fact that little elflings would often instinctively seek out their parents smell for comfort and would become fuzzy whenever it was removed from them.

With Aethas, as he had grown up for some years without such a smell, it had meant that this instinct had to “kick in” at first before he was calmed by Rommath’s smell. However, as soon as that had happened it had resulted in a few months where he had taken Aethas from classes, not that it had really been a problem, Aethas was simply home-schooled by himself during those months, and had reduced work as his charge, and son later on, became anxious whenever Rommath was too far away.

Such childish behaviour stopped around the 100^th’s age and would mark the last few years of being a child.

As Aethas had left Quel’thalas when he had been around only 75 years old, he still had had that instinct.

Thus, when his little flame returned home, he had been a little … “smell starved”.

And even now, years after his return, there were still nights where Aethas would quietly slip into Rommath’s bed and his father would wake up with sharp elbows in his side and red hair tickling his neck while his son claimed most of the space of the bed as his.

Today had been one of those. But today there had been a quiet knock on his door and Mrs. Blooddawn peaking her head inside.

“Master? Regent Lord Lor’themar is waiting down in the entrance. He asks for a private discussion with you.” She whispers to him and he nods, frees himself from the tangled mess that his bed has become and quickly slips into a simple robe while brushes brush his hair.

His old nightgown is thrown in Aethas’ direction as he leaves his room, the last thing he sees, before the door closes completely, is how his son pulls the robe towards himself, face already hidden within it.

It had to do for the time Rommath was gone.

Passing by a window he sees that the sun had yet to rise over the horizon, the sky coloured in pre-dawn colours. This early then.

The minute he sets food into his own entrance Lor’themar, who seems to not have slept at all last night, is screaming at him: “It’s his dying wish! To make that madman of a woman our warchiefe!”

Rommath, who had feared at first that the blonde had heard about some … not so legal projects of the Magisters, only blinked at him in confusion.

“Who’s dying?” nearly escapes him, but his awakening mind catches the words before they leave him.

“If it is his dying wish, then we should heed it. He is our warchiefe and has died for the Horde.” He only says while slowly descends the stairs.

“But she is as war ready as Hellscream was, if not more so! She will kill us all!” Theron rages on, wandering up and down the room and Rommath sends a concerned look towards his carpet.

“You already do everything she says, we don’t really have anything more to lose.” He says tiredly while sitting down on one of the settees in the room.

Lor’themar, thankfully, drops down in the one opposite him while complaining that it is not so.

“Even if all that true, then I don’t doubt that we won’t manage to stop her. We were able to stop Hellscream too, after all. As I see it: we don’t really have a choice in the matter, all we can do is hope for the best and get enough sleep while doing so.” He sends a pointed glare in the Regent Lord’s direction who looks down in shame and stifles a yawn.

“Thank you, Grand Magister. I will see you later today.” Lor’themar says, a lot calmer than he was when he arrived, stands up and leaves back out of the front door.

Rommath, for his part, returns to his room, to the bed where his most precious was still sleeping, old nightgown tightly hugged to his chest.

Chapter Text

Strangely enough, his appointment to Suramar had the positive effect that he spent more time with Aethas than the weeks before.

Whenever the champion, now officially an Archmage, would stop by on her way through the zones his son would be right by her side.

“You have become her bodyguard?” Rommath asks on one of those occasions.

“Not my bodyguard, Grand Magister. I simply see it as a chance to spend more time with dear Aethas. We Sin’dorei need to stay together, no?” The champion cut in and he let out a wry laugh.

He liked the champion, she was a capable mage who had helped them reclaim their homeland, helped rescue Aethas from Dalaran and was more than worthy to hold Felo’melorn. According to Aethas she even had been held in high esteem by the Sunreavers and was one of his closest friends.

“You wouldn’t believe the trouble he gets in when he is left to his own devices. By the sun, that one incident where he-” the champion continued but was stopped by one of Aethas’ sharp elbows to her side.

Rommath only raised one eyebrow in question while fixing his little flame with a stern look.

“My dear, I told you that in confidence!” his boy hisses at the champion who only laughs loudly.

“And you don’t think that your Ann’da deserves to know about the interesting people you meet? Maybe you should take of your hood instead and show him the souvenirs you got?” The champion continues to laugh, some of the guards around them turn towards them, confused.

But they are insignificant for the moment as worry fills him and he raises one hand to take of Aethas hood, waiting until the binding spell goes down with a slight tinkling sound, then pulls the soft fabric away.

What he finds is not as bad as he had feared, both of Aethas’ eyes still hold their green-yellow glow and there are no scars on his face, however, there are two vertical scratches on his forehead.

“What happened to you?” Liadrin asks, who had come up beside him, one glowing hand already rising to heal the red marks, “It looks like you got too close to harpy.”

She must have hit the mark, as Aethas only shuffled uncomfortably and looked down as soon as she took her hand away.

“And a banshee.” Came the mumbled reply.

“What?” Rommath winced at his own eloquent reaction and the fact that Liadrin had muttered the word at the same time.

Aethas sighs, one hand coming up to scratch sheepishly at the back of his head, “I was walking through Tel’anor and was distracted when a harpy took hold of me, she forcefully ripped of my hood and planned to use me as a mate for her next clutch when a banshee interfered which wanted to “play” with me instead. Thankfully, as those two were fighting over me a charming Shal’dorei by the name of Ryanna came along and freed me. She is my apprentice now!”

“You are joking!”

“Something like that can only happen to you.”

Afterwards, Rommath wasn’t quite sure who had spoken which words, as Liadrin and him had answered at once again.

Anyhow, Aethas only pitifully mustered his shoes, while his face got close to his hair in colour.

Liadrin was still laughing, making more people turn in their direction and resulted in Aethas grabbing his hood and pulling it back over his head.

“Mated to a harpy! Your son is too pretty to be allowed out!” Liadrin snickers, elbowing him sharply in his side.

“At least you find this amusing. Why haven’t I heard sooner of this?” Rommath asks his little flame, who only shrinks back.

“I planned to tell you tonight” it sounded more like a question than an answer and Rommath meet Aethas’ quick and questioning glance with a dead stare, “You wouldn’t allow me to wear my hood at the table anyway.” Aethas added defiantly.

“Obviously.” He only says, but refrains from asking any further questions, there would be time for that tonight.

“In that case, champion, please keep an eye on my son for me.” He says instead, gaining a laugh and a nod from the champion and a flustered stammer from his boy.

Maybe Suramar wasn’t so bad after all. It wasn’t as beautiful as their home, but what really was, and the presence of the Shal’dorei and his son made his stay here even more pleasant.

“And what about me?” Liadrin asks him as soon as the champion and his son have run off again.

“Pardon?” he asks confused, he was fairly sure that he hadn’t said his thoughts out loud.

“Come on, Rommath. For how many centuries have we known each other and have been friends? Five? The ability to read your thoughts from the crease between your brows is one of my skills I am most proud off.” She explains to him, and he only huffs.

“Of course, dear. Your infinite-bright company makes this whole assignment truly enjoyable.”

“I don’t think that much sarcasm was truly necessary.”

Rommath let out a bright laugh, which made the elven guards around their camp flinch and rise to full attention.

Chapter Text

 “And thus, I learned that Quel’dorei or Sin’dorei are best left alone in some instances.” Modera finished her story while stepping through the portal onto Krasus’ Landing.

Ryanna who had followed her through let out a high laugh, “I will need to remember that, Archmage Modera.”

They left the open plateau behind and walked out on Dalaran’s cobbled street. For just a second the picture of the very same ground coloured in red and stinking of blood flashed before her but was gone within a second.

Just barely she can make out Araknist Ryanna’s words, that the Nightborn has to get something from the Windrunner’s Sanctuary and that she will come to the guardian’s chambers afterwards.

The ease with which “Windrunner’s Sactuary” falls from her lips only serves to remind Modera of the previous picture. Of the darkest day in the history of the Kirin Tor:

While she had not been there, as she had been away in search for an ancient manuscript about arcane knowledge, on which she had a bet running with Aethas and Kalec about whom could find it first, she was fairly sure that Aethas was cheating by employing some of the archaeologists from the Reliquary, the picture of the blood soaked streets on the following day were just as bad.

The stench had been the first thing she noticed after teleporting into Dalaran’s teleportation room.

She had blamed it on the fact that Uda was butchering some animal again and that she would simply address Aethas with that matter.

The red dirt between Dalaran’s white cobblestones was the next thing she noticed and had been what had made her panic.

Out on the street she had turned to her left, wanting to sprint down the short street to the Sunreavers Sanctuary when the blue banners had caught her eye.

Where normally the red banners of the horde hang were now the dark blue of the alliance. And where normally elven guards guarded the entry now human military stood.

She approached one of them, asking them what they were doing here and where the elves were.

The buffoon only replied that he was charged with guarding this part of the city and that she would have ask someone else for more information.

She just wanted to ask him if he knew where Archmage Sunreaver was when her gaze fell on something behind him.

Behind the guard, leaning against the elven statue in the centre of the small square within Sunreavers Sanctuary, was an elf. Or more like an elven corpse, for the bright wound in his chest had already dried, so had the dark red pool around him.

Her stomach lurched dangerously at that sight, and she quickly turned away, eyes now more focused on the people around her.

As if scales fell from her eyes, she noticed the complete lack of horde citizen within her city. There was no tell-tale sound of hooves on stone that Tauren made, nor the drunken slurs of Orcs and Goblins or the high nasals of Sin’dorei that berated grumbling trolls.

Quickly she left the square behind and walked briskly in the direction of the Violet Citadel. On her way she walked through the Magus Commerce Exchange and noted that most of the shops were closed, and no light was on within. Only a few shops were open, those which only had had alliance employees working.

Entering the citadel, she was met by an eerie silence and an empty chamber.

Running up the many stairs within the tower she blinked whenever possible as she remembers scraps of conversations. Kalec was gone on dire flight business, Ansirem was visiting his great-granddaughter in Stormwind, Karlain and his apprentices were off somewhere in Northrend and even Vargoth had mumbled something about catching bunnies for transfiguration practice.

The door she was looking for was, thankfully, still closed. However, the runes guarding it were damaged, most of them completely gone. By the way the runes have been broken she would assume that an elven mage had tried to break open the door.

Looking around and after casting a quick revealing spell she slips inside, the runes easily letting her through.

The room she enters in nearly dark, from the small entry five steps lead down into a huge circular room. To the right another flight of stairs let up to a higher plateau, where a bed and wardrobe is placed.

The walls of the circular chamber are hidden behind bookshelves and in the centre stands a table staged with scrolls and papers.

“Aethas?” she calls into the darkness, which in itself would normally mean that her elven friend was sleeping.

There was no answer and try as she might she couldn’t hear any breathing either.

With a swish of her hand she opens the shutters and lets in the light.

The fact that there did not come any tired groan from upstairs only furthered her panic.

Suddenly, there were steps outside, missing the light-footedness of elves, human steps. They stopped outside of the door and Modera called arcane to her hands. Whatever happened while she was gone, it ended today.

However, instead of runes flaring to live, the door was ripped open again, revealing a dishevelled Kalecgos.

At once she led her magic flow back, as Kalec entered and closed the door behind him.

“Modera, thank the light I found someone, do you know what is going on?” he asks her, and she can only shake her head numbly, instead she turns back to the staircase leading up and carefully climbing it.

But she only finds an empty bed, sheets not even made.

Kalec, who has followed her up her, sniffs the air once: “Aethas had been here not long ago, I can still smell him. Yesterday?”

She only shrugged her shoulders and went back down, stopping in front of one of the bookshelves.

Pulling out a heavy ancient looking tome she carried it over to the table, where she sat it down carefully.

“Don’t you think that is a little extreme? He might just be gone on some field trip.” Kalec asks her but steps up beside her, nevertheless.

“Have you seen the streets? Did you see any dead elves? Because that’s what I saw, Kalecgos.” She replies sternly and opens the tome.

Flipping through it she stops at its newest entry and casts the written-down charm.

A small portal opens before her and a sealed scroll falls out.

Breaking the seal, she opens the Pergament and skips to the last entry in the long list of dates.

It dates three days ago and is written in Aethas neat handwriting.

“That doesn’t bode well.” Is the only thing that Kalec says after reading the small and hurried text.

“No, but at least now we know what has happened here.” She replies, quickly re-reading the text again before re-sealing the scroll and placing it back inside the portal which promptly vanishes.

“I go and search for Jaina, maybe she knows what happened here.” Kalec says while storming out of the room.

Modera momentarily considers joining him but instead looks around the room for further evidence.

“Hellscream’s ideology of a powerful horde has sparked unrest in the ranks of my Sunreavers. Some have already approached me about joining his side.” Aethas had told her a week ago, it now seemed so long ago.

The red-heads side of the story had shown what Garrosh Hellscream really did to the Horde, how he corrupted it. No leader should even have the need to blackmail those who follow him into silence.

She spent the remaining day in the room but didn’t find anything else, but she had repowered Aethas runes on her way out, for now she felt like that was the only way in which she could help him.

She hadn’t met Kalec again and didn’t see him in their regular restaurant either.

It was hours after dinner when there were three sharp but quiet knocks on the door to her chambers.

A spell showed her the fidgeting figure of the dragon and she opened the door to let him in.

Kalec, for all the calm he normally possesses, looked truly unsettled and a tat pale-greenish around the nose.

He stormed up and down the length of her office three times before any words left him: “Jaina exiled the Sin’dorei, the whole Horde from Dalaran. She killed any elf that “resisted”. That also included those that packed their belongings before leaving. The Silver Covenant joined in on the fun.”

There is a desperate look on Kalec’s face, and his eyes are the saddest she has seen them.

“Some, only a few are being held in the Violet Hold. They are probably insane by now, as the cells deprive them of any magic.” He continues, tiredly falling back on the couch that is placed in her room.

“Do you think Aethas is among those?” She asks tentatively but he only shrugs his shoulders defeatedly.

For some time, there is only silence between them, as Modera considers the options they have.

“They committed genocide. Because of that damn bell.”

Kalec’s whispered words make her eye him carefully, as he lays still on the couch, eyes glazed over.

“Don’t be dramatic. That wasn’t genocide, besides, after Theramore Jaina had every right to be angry.” She replies carefully and is surprised as he jerks his face towards her.

“While what happened in Theramore had been dramatic, it shouldn’t be a justification for a similar crime. We aren’t children that need to avenge every crime. Besides, Aethas has sworn that he hadn’t known about Theramore, and you know how important promises are to elves.” He argues while mustering her sternly.

Normally only Aethas, who has known her since she was a child, could give her that look and make her realize how incredibly young and childish she was compared to him. But right now, Kalec gave her the very same look, mustering her as like he would a young child.

She turns away, escaping his scrutinization, and speaks again: “Anyhow, we should probably go and have a look at the elves in the Violet Hold. See if we can save any of them and send them home.”

That seems to refill Kalec’s energy at once and he passes the distance between her couch and her door within the blink of an eye.

Shaking her head in amusement she follows him outside, down the stairs and through the city.

What they find in the Violet Hold is not as bad as it could have been. Whoever imprisoned the elves had made sure that the deprivation process of their cells had been slowed down, leaving most of them depleted but still with clear thought.

They freed those and Kalec carefully opened a portal to Silvermoon for them. Many of them had dried blood on their clothing and all of them looked shaken, boundlessly tired and close to tears.

While Modera’s Thalassian was great, she still couldn’t understand all of the cried sentences and only tried to smile reassuringly at them.

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.” Kalec told her afterwards, that desperate look had returned to his face.

It was only weeks later, which were filled with worry over her elven friend, that she had learned that Aethas had been rescued from the city shortly after the attack had started.

“If you don’t look like you’ve seen a ghost.” The voice which addressed her was magically deepened and she turned around to face a trademark hood.

“Aethas, are you finished for the day?” she asks him, well aware that he had hardly received a break since he had offered to accompany the champion on her travels.

He nodded in answer, the crystals that few around his head making funny little jumps.

“Yeah, the champion said that she wished to retire early today.” He told her and together they climbed the stairs which would lead to the central room of the Guardian’s Chambers.

“But I am only stopping by, I have dinner with Ann’da tonight and wanted to change before I leave.” Aethas continues and she musters him from the side, but she can only make out the greenish glow from his eyes.

“Change? And here I thought that your hood has become one with your hair.” She jokes and laughs at his appalled gasp.

“How could you?! I let you know that this is not the case and that my hair is in splendid condition!” he sniffs snubbed, one hand raised and pressed against his chest in fake dramatic.

“What did you say to affront our favourite elf, Modera?” Kalec asks suddenly from her other side and nearly scared her to death.

“By the light, Kalec. Could you please remember that I only possess human hearing ability?” she asks him which make the two males at her side snicker.

“You’re staying for dinner, Aethas?” Kalec asks their friend to which Aethas shakes his head.

“Sadly not, I’m just changing and then I will be off again. Ann’da said that we will have lynx in mana-sauce today!”

His eyes seemed to glow slightly brighter for a moment and he broke away from them, waving goodbye and turning in the side corridor which would lead him up towards his room.

Chapter Text

His spoon made a slight clinking sound whenever it hid the bottom of his plate and was, aside from the quiet humming of the magical lamps around the room, the only sound in the dining room.

The lights were dimmed lightly and Aethas could still point out the one he had destroyed as a child.

It had been an accident, just as the vase upstairs had been, and his father had been rather understanding for both events.

“So, did anything else note-worthy happen since ere yesterday?” came the more snidely-than-necessary question from said elf.

Aethas couldn’t help but shift uncomfortably and avoid his father’s eyes.

“Not really, after the harpy-fiasco I considered to not test my luck again.” He answers simply, quickly glancing up when his father hums unsatisfied.

“The next time something like this happens I expect to hear from you right away, understood?” his father asks sternly and Aethas nods in reply.

His Ann’da lets out a sigh and leans back in his chair and at once Aethas feels every bit of tension slip from him.

He returns to eat the soup and has to admit that it isn’t as horrid as he had expected and had been unworthy of his apparently shocked look.

“It is only the first course, little flame.” His Ann’da had called him after seeing his shock, then there was surprise and worry in his father’s face: “You don’t have different courses in Dalaran? Sometimes I wonder what keeps you in that city.”

He had to reassure his father three times that he got enough food in Dalaran before they finally could eat dinner.

“How has your day been?” he tries to change the topic of their conversation.

His father only sent him an irritated glare as the next course was sat down before them.

“Don’t even get me started on the Ranger General incapability of understanding the simplest of concepts.” His father says but Aethas eyes are only fixed on the lynx steak before him, which sits on an island made of mashed potatoes and bright green peas while being surrounded by a sea of mana-sauce.

He considers arguing his father on the point of Halduron’s incapability as he knows a few things the General is not incapable off, but he doesn’t feel like opening the discussion about his poor taste in companions tonight.

Instead he only hums while his Ann’da continues to rant about the lack of knowledge that some of the Arcanists show.

However, his father soon continues to complain about the Regent Lord’s lack of understanding and his new position on the newly build Dreanai vessel.

Aethas peeks up at that and interrupts his father’s monologue about his more important position here in Silvermoon.

“You are being send on the Vindicaar?” he asks and his Ann’da stops for a second and looks at him surprised which quickly changes into calculating.

“As I just said, yes. Why?” his father asks him cautiously.

And that is the tricky part. How would, or should he even, tell his Ann’da that Dalaran just simply didn’t feel the same anymore?

That, if he turned his head a bit too sharply, he could still see ghosts of people that had died because of his incapability. And while his friends try to act as if nothing happened, he can see their fear in those moments where Modera wishes to walk him to the Eventide or in the way Kalec would not sway from his side when they pass a group of alliance soldiers inside the city.

Where his title of Archmage once granted him immunity over the fraction war that immunity was lost although the title remained as a bitter mockery.

He would be foolish to think that he would regain his position, fully knowing that while some of the archmagi wished to uphold Dalaran’s neutral position, only few would give up their power to let a member of the Horde join their circle.

“The champion told me about it.” He croaks out instead, regret clogging his throat.

“Is that so?” his father questions him, eyes staring into Aethas’ own as if to dissect the emotions he can see behind them.

He nods, lowering his eyes to his plate and forking up some of his mashed potatoes.

“Liadrin tells me to relish the opportunity the lay my eyes upon a new world but I find it hard to anticipate a world that is beset by the legion.” His Ann’da continues while throwing one last glance in Aethas direction before he too returns to his dinner.

There is silence for some time, while they both work on clearing their plates.

It is only after his plate is nearly completely clean, that Aethas speaks up again.

“I could go in your stead?” he asks tentatively and if he hadn’t been so busy with staring at the tabletop, he would have seen the short, but triumphant smirk on the Grand Magister’s face.

“I don’t know Aethas, Argus appears to be rather dangerous and unexplored. Besides, wouldn’t you prefer to stay in Dalaran anyway?” his father argues and Aethas light up at the possibility of exploring a new planet.

“But Lady Liadrin and the champion are going too!” he complains, as an idea strikes him, “What if I promise that I won’t leave the Vindicaar without the company of one of them? Can I go then?” he bargains.

Servants come in and take their empty plates, only to return with two different dishes for them. He knows right away which one is for him, as only one of them looks as if it had been bathed on chocolate.

His father huffs and waits until they are alone again before answering his question.

“I would still wish to have a look at that vessel, and if I consider it safe enough you may join them. However, the same restrictions still apply additionally to your new one, understand? His Ann’da gives him a stern look which he counters with his sweetest smile and a light, “Of course, Ann’da”.

Then, he digs into whatever wonderful dish the cook has created for him and tries to spoon up every bit of that delicious sauce.

On the other side of the table Rommath is pleased by the fact that he was able to get Aethas out of that human city at last.

He had talked to Liadrin and Theron already and both of them had been indifferent to his proposal. Or Theron had been. Liadrin had been planning her daily breakfasts with Aethas and had even packed some of his boy’s favourite sweets and pastries. Especially those new muffins that one of Silvermoon’s bakeries have recently invented.

Chapter Text

Life on the Vindicaar was hectic at best and chaotic most of the time.

Therefore, Aethas was glad to have at least one constant in his daily life.

What started out as a weekly appointment with his godmother had quickly turned daily.

Each morning he would wake up, bath and get dressed to have breakfast with Aunt Lin, a nickname which originated in a time when shouting “Liadrin, Liadrin” had still been rather tedious for him.

Obviously, he only called her that these days when it was only the two of them.

However, later was rarely the case, as Silgryn would often join them for breakfast and, surprisingly, Arator Windrunner.

Aethas liked the half-elf, although he was a little overly bitter in regard to his parents but Aethas guessed that he would be too given the same context.

Amusingly enough, they were and weren’t of the same age.

While both of them were considered young (and inexperienced by some) and not yet off age Aethas, due to aging notably slower than Arator, was centuries older than the half-elf.

It felt good to be able to talk to somebody whenever he wishes to complain about his father’s overbearing protectiveness, and he could laugh whenever Arator complained over his own parents.

His letters, or reports, which he still had to send home, had also began to lead to small packages appear in his room from time to time.

The latest one had arrived after he had complained about the Marsuul which had taken his last ration of muffins, off which the champion had been unable to retrieve any, in one of his recent letters.

Beside the normal chaos, Aethas has also spent quite some time talking to Archmage Khadgar.

While it was refreshing to discuss all the magical anomalies Argus held, the old human had also asked Aethas questions he was yet unable to answer.

Most of them were directed at Aethas’ future plans after Argus. Whether he would stay in or leave Dalaran.

“As much as Dalaran would profit from your presence, a clever and talented young elf like yourself surely has the option of returning to Silvermoon, no?” Khadgar has asked.

It had nearly made him laugh but he had yet to answer that question.

Dalaran, which had been his home for so long, had changed in ways he wasn’t sure could be undone.

He was, however, certain that should he say the word, his father would put him on the path of becoming Grand Magister in training quicker than he could say `Quel’thalas´.

Yet, some part of him still wished to remain in the flying city, with his friends and colleagues. But was that worth risking his life?

Especially considering that he surly wouldn’t be able to reclaim his position in the council of six for the next few years.

A younger version of him, who hadn’t experienced the purge, would have said yes without a second doubt but Aethas had been forced to outgrow that version.

And now, that his title of Archmage didn’t grant him immunity any longer, how save would it be to stay in Dalaran?

Chapter Text

Her mind was a mess.

“It will get better with time” the kind woman tells her and that is all she can believe.

Right now, she can’t even remember her own name. Something that starts with an A, she can barely remember that.

Her memories are in no order and shambled, pieces are missing and making her unable to order them herself.

The kind woman had found her outside the city between trees while she had stared up at the clear blue sky.

She doesn’t remember that. The only thing she remembers clearly is the pain.

“Probably the reason why you lost your memories” the woman tells her, “You must have very powerful enemies”.

She doesn’t know what an enemy is, and her mind is unable to recover the meaning.

Beside the pain there is only one other thing she remembers. But remember might be the wrong word.

She sees it whenever she looks into a mirror, or into anything else that reflects her appearance.

Whenever she looks at herself her face begins to change until someone else looks back at her.

It is a man, just as young as herself, with bright red hair.

Her mind screams at her to remember him, but she is unable to, whenever she tries the pain returns.

She informs the woman about this and the woman tries to recreate the man’s face and tells her to say when the picture is as close to perfect as it.

The woman had pales as soon as the picture was finished and since then had ordered her to never bring it up again.

She had tried to ask the kind woman who that man was, but the woman had always only shaken her head. But she had been allowed to keep the picture.

That picture and her broken memories was all she had now from her previous life.

Months passed by and slowly, memories began to rearrange themselves again.

Her name was the first thing that she remembers clearly. Aelane.

She grew up in an orphanage and grew up to become a rough. She had stolen from a magister, how foolish of her, and had paid the rightful punishment.

The woman seems to be relieved now that Aelane can remember again and sends her off to another woman, another priestess for that is what the kind woman is. Aelane remembers the meaning of the traditional robes she wears.

That other priestess, the High Priestess of Quel’thalas musters her shortly then let’s her golden glowing hands glide over her head.

Suddenly, as if burned, the High Priestess pulls her hands away and takes a few steps back, her eyes wide in fear.

Just as quick as the fear has appeared it is gone again, and she musters a shaky but reassuring smile at Aelane.

“Go to the Ranger Captains outside of Quel’thalas and inform them that you are allowed to scout again. This will keep you far away from any Magisters.” There is a playful twinkle in her kind eyes and Aelane bows to her, thanks her and leaves.

Out at the outpost she is given a standard set of armour and blades and is sent of to scout out a new island state “Kul’tiras”.

The picture of the boy is still always on her. She wishes that there would be any other comrades with her, but she is stationed alone.

She is appointed to a location called “Western watch” which hardly sees any population.

Her base quickly has become the highest floor of the tower from where she can easily watch the alliance forces which come by from time to time.

Some of the hero champions which are send to her position to fight the alliance even wake memories in her. She remembers seeing them talk to a hooded figure on sunlit streets.

Yet, her commands are clear: she is to stay hidden at her base. A silent eye of the horde among enemy land.

Supplies arrive in small wooden crates whenever the alliance has left again, the wood of the crates serve as firewood during cold nights.

Months are spent on that small island until she is ordered to return to Quel’thalas.

She consumes her last supplies then sets of to follow the coast south, careful as not to be spotted.

In all honesty she is both glad as well as frightened beyond her wits to leave this place.

Relieve floods her at the sought of her homeland’s warmer climate and sunny atmosphere which creates such a stark contrast to Drustvar’s gloomy and damp climate.

But she is also well aware that returning home means that she returns within distance to whomever she has faulted in the first place. The priestess words never stopped circling around her mind, and she fears those enemies who have become faceless to her.

Multiple times she had questioned of the picture-boy had been that enemy, or if he belonged to a group of fiends yet, she found his face to be to kind to be capable of such harshness.

She guessed that she could only be grateful to be a rough as her class rarely had contact with the high Magisters.

Chapter Text

“How is Hathorel?” Aethas asks the priestess who had just left his friend’s room.

“He will recover in due time, Lord Sunfury.” She consoles him and he nods relieved.

Message that Hathorel has fallen victim to a failed experiment with the ice block had arrived this morning and Aethas had hurried to his friend as soon as work let him.

His Ann’da will be furious that he had failed to attend dinner but Aethas was sure that he would be understanding.

“He is not mortally wounded, My Lord. As far as I can see his ice-block saved him from the worst. However, I would advise that he will only see others from tomorrow onwards, such giving him a little bit more time to recover.” The priestess continues and Aethas thanks her and leaves his friend’s home.

He hadn’t been that close to Hathorel ever since they had returned from the Isle of Thunder. He knew that his friend had managed to escape in the end but, as far as reports went, not after having to watch many of their friends being slaughtered.

Therefore, as he hadn’t paid much attention to his friend, Aethas felt horribly guilty over abandoning his friends and had come as soon as the message had reached him.

Apparently, he would have to return tomorrow to see to his friend but this way he could inform his Ann’da before leaving again. If he hurries, he might make it in time for dinner.

Slightly late he is greeted at the door by the taping foot of his father and a stern glare but no lecture about punctuality.

Over dinner he explains the situation to his Ann’da who is not surprised by the news, as he shouldn’t be, Hathorel was a Magister after all, and understanding that Aethas wishes to see him tomorrow.

Therefore, after work, Aethas rushes to his friend’s home again only to find it silent save for a few servants moving about.

There is no priestess waiting outside the door to Hathorel’s bedroom anymore and thus Aethas knocks lightly on the wood.

A tired voice rasps a short “come in” and Aethas opens the door.

Hathorel lies pale in his bed, lips still slightly blue from the cold. He does a doubletake as he sees Aethas but then a thin smile spreads on his lips.

“My Lord, it is an unexpected honour albeit unexpected to see you.” His friend rasps again and Aethas lets out a relieved sigh.

“Drop your formalities, my friend. I told you before that I am Aethas to you. But enough of that, how are you feeling? I was here yesterday but the priestess wouldn’t let me see you.” He explains himself and moves closer to the bed.

“Better already but I suppose it will take some more time until I will be able to leave this prison.” Hathorel rasps and Aethas laughs lightly at their old childhood joke.

Hathorel, while being a few decades older than Aethas, had been one of his closest friends while growing up. Seeing as he too was from a Magister’s family, he was also one of the few companions his Ann’da approved.

Right now, however, Hathorel looked more tiered than that time where they hadn’t slept for days in order to learn for their upcoming exams, and thus, after casting a quick rune of warmth over his friend he left him to rest again, promising to return in a few days.

It was on his third visit that Hathorel had been allowed to leave the warmth of his bed for a few moments of sunlight. Aethas had accompanied him outside when Hathorel had told him: “I am surprised, that you are still in Silvermoon, my friend. I thought that you would have returned to Dalaran again.”

Aethas had looked up into the clear blue sky and had sighed, “With the rising tension between Horde and Alliance I am afraid that Dalaran isn’t that safe anymore. Besides, the Regent Lord’s order for all of us to return home does apply for me to.”

Hathorel hums in reply and sits down on one of the golden benches, “Your father must be delighted.”

Aethas doesn’t have to look to know of the smile on Hathorel’s face and he chuckles too.

“Obviously. Ann’da is, as far as I’m afraid, already drafting laws which make the Regent Lord’s order permanent.”

They laugh together at the idea itself and Aethas carefully sits down beside his friend.

“What really happened?” he asks carefully while glancing over to his friend who stops laughing at once.

“What do you mean, Aethas? You know the story: a failed experiment with an ice block.” Hathorel laughed awkwardly and Aethas watches as his eyes skim over the flowers around them.

“Yes, I know the story the Ministry tells me. The story my Ann’da tells me. I am sure that it is spun to keep friction among us at bay, but I also know that you are too smart and powerful to be stuck in an ice block long enough to get sick. Which means that there had been something which forced you to remain in the block for longer than healthy.” He argues and watches as his friend squirms in his seat but doesn’t answer.

They sit there in silence for some time, none of them saying another word, then Hathorel sighs.

“Listen, Aethas. If I tell you then you can’t tell anybody, especially not your father, he will kill me when he finds out that I told you.” Hathorel hisses and turns towards him.

Aethas swallows drily and nods and Hathorel sighs again.

“Sylvanas wanted to kill Bain but had heard that Thrall and Jaina wished to rescue him. The warchief offered me a chance to avenge our friends, Aethas. How could I refuse? However, Jaina and Thrall had help: one of our champions aided them and nearly killed me. I managed to save myself and had to wait until they were gone. It was your father who came to get me out and he threatened me that should I tell someone else the truth that he would kill me.” Hathorel sobbed quietly to himself as soon as he was finished with his story and Aethas felt as if he was frozen in place again.

It was nothing new that his Ann’da ruled with an iron fist most of the time. He was also aware that it was this `discipline´, which his father enforced upon the Magisters, which kept the Ministry running.

He was more appalled by his friend’s stupidity.

“You tried to face Jaina yourself? Have you gone mad?” he hisses back at his friend, but his voice softens as soon as Hathorel hiccups pitifully.

“There were others, they killed them.” Hathorel stutters and this time Aethas sighs.

“You know, I hoped nobody would make the same mistake as me” Aethas mumbles and Hathorel sniffs again.

“But you always were keen on following my example, weren’t you? Remember when I set our teacher on fire in six grade and you found it so hilarious that you did the same thing one year later? Our parents were so mad.”

His story makes the both of them laugh and lifts the gloomy mood which had stuck to them previously.

“Your father grounded you for a full month, he even had you home-schooled for that period” Hathorel hiccups and Aethas laughs quietly to himself as he remembers those awkward days where his Ann’da stared angrily at him during each and every meal.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Aethas asks softly but his friend laughs as if he has made the greatest joke in the history.

“And you would have done what? Help me? Follow me?” Hathorel lets out a dry chuckle, “Please that you weren’t involved was the most important part, Aethas.”

He wants to argue, but Hathorel sacks back against the bench, exhaustion clear on his face.

“You should return to bed and rest some more. Maybe, if you’re up to it then you can come to the opera on Saturday?” he asks instead and helps his friend stand up.

“And be the third wheel to you and your ranger? No thanks.” Hathorel replies and Aethas feels heat rise to the tip of his ears.

“Please? Ann’da won’t let me go otherwise, besides, you could ask the Magistrixe out which has been hovering around you ever since you’ve fallen ill.” Aethas argues hopefully while also trying to force the colour from his ears.

Later seems to pick Hathorel’s interest, “Which one?” he asks and Aethas can’t help but list all the names of their female teachers only to see Hathorel’s face forged with discussed for a second.

As soon as Hathorel realizes that Aethas makes fun of him he begins to sulk as best as he can while still heavily relying on support of his laugher-wrecked friend.

“I am sure that she has left her name on some of your `get well soon´ cards” Aethas finally gasps between laughs only to topple over again as Hathorel eagerly hobbles over to the table with cards.

“Oh, shut it, Aethas. Not all of us are in a happily committed relationship like you are. Let us others have some fun too.” He tries to shush his friend who comes over and finally begins to be helpful by helping him sort through his cards.

Chapter Text

It was close to the summer solstice and Halduron was on his fifth extra-patrol this week.

Summer solstice was the biggest holiday among the Sin’dorei and was celebrated for two months after the event took place.

During those two months nearly, everyone was off duty as Quel’thalas ran only on the bare minimum. But until then everybody’s workload was doubled or even more.

Unless, he mused as he watched the merchants pass through the city, you belonged to Quel’thalas’ top class.

The offsprings of Magisters and Magistrixes celebrate the summer solstice with four months of freedom which only increases the work the Farstriders have to do.

Nearly every second day one building or another catches fire, which shouldn’t even be possible as they all are made of stone, and the brats will get away without consequences. No, instead some Magister will appear, pay for the repairs and lead their son or daughter away while listening attentively to the wild stories the child tells them.

“They simply have too much money to their names” his captains always complain but they all know that this won’t change any time soon or at all.

Halduron, personally, finds it hard to complain when he knows that Aethas will be waiting at home for him.

Aethas, who, although he doesn’t go to the academy anymore, is still considered a “child” in their system and therefore too has holidays.

“I will only be considered full “off age” when I take over my Ann’da’s position, you are aware of that, yes?” Aethas reminded him whenever Halduron felt horrible about loving a younger elf.

So, yes, there are offsprings of the highest class which don’t cause ruckus as soon as they are freed, Aethas is among those, but the majority still does.

Just then another alarm went off somewhere to his right and he could hear the nearest ranger-squat beginning to run in its direction.

Luckily, he is not on “fire duty” today and doesn’t have to chase the children around. He trains his eyes on the masses before him again.

As the children of Quel’thalas’ richest families are around all day every vendor and merchant flocks to the city to do business with them.

Some Magisters and Magistrixes, the Grand Magister among them, even take their descendants out for shopping trips during these days. With those trips often came the personal guards which further filled the busy city.

Rommath, for example, had used his latest trip with Aethas to get his “little flame” (Halduron has to fight his laughter every time Rommath calls Aethas this) new robes and jewellery, each piece costing more than Halduron would ever make in all his life.

Still, the robes and gems look beautiful on Aethas, although the robes are a little difficult to take off without damaging them. Or maybe they were just in a hurry.

“No, they are a nightmare to put on. Ann’da persist on buying me robes for which I need servants to get in and out of. He might as well just give me a chastity belt” Aethas tells him grumpily while he tries to dress himself in those very robes in the dim light of Halduron’s home.

“Maybe it is your father’s way of telling us that he invites me to your home” Halduron jokes and laughs at Aethas’ worried look.

“Don’t even think about it. He will either castrate you or burn you to dust” Aethas shrieks over his laughter and throws his staff, a shiny new golden one, at him.

Years of training make him catch the long slim pole before it could get anywhere close to him and he eyes it while Aethas finishes dressing himself.

“Your father is hellbent on bathing you in gold, isn’t he?” he asks only half-jokingly and watches as Aethas moved upwards to stile his hair.

“No, that would kill me. He just likes to spend money on me, always has and always will. You should have seen the array of pets he has given me during my childhood.” Aethas explains and Halduron would, as he sometimes does, feel the vast difference in their upbringing.

“There was more than the serpent?” he asks to which Aethas nods while invisible hands braid his long strands.

“Sparkles, may he rest in peace, was only my second pet. Before him there had been Camilla, an all-white housecat. And after him there had been Ac’to who is still very much alive and wonderful to have during crisp nights” Aethas explains while putting on his jewellery.

“Ac’to? Another serpent?” Halduron asks but Aethas only sends a sharp glare at him.

“No, Ac’to is my pet lynx.”

“Your pet LYNX?” Halduron shouts and Aethas only raises an eyebrow in question.

“Yes, I got him as a cub.” He would reply as if it was nothing, as if he hadn’t just told him that he lived with a wild animal.

Aethas doesn’t say anything else and Halduron doesn’t ask, he just wonders silently why you would give your child, which you love, a wild and dangerous animal.

Magisters, he simply thinks, are weird like that. Probably the combination of magic, money and influence which had led to a completely messed up group.

Ac’to turned out to be as fluffy and as well behaved as Aethas said he was but that didn’t deter him to notice that the huge cat doesn’t seem to like him he was just wondering if it was because of all the lynx he has already killed in his life or if Rommath was pitching the animal against him, or both. Probably both.

Chapter Text

Blood stained the floor as the puddle grew steadily in size. Rommath tried to rush towards the slumped form in its middle but strong arms held him back. His magic lashed out and incinerated his captors on the spot as he finally moved forwards. The body which he pressed close to his chest was cold, no breath leaving it anymore as the skin competed with the white of Silvermoon’s walls. Tears sprang to his eyes as the first sob forced itself out while spell flew from his quivering lips. But no matter which spell her used the body remained limp in his arms, its chest unmoving and skin deadly pale.

His magic lashed out again, uncontrolled and only directed by his fury. The building burned down around him; the city followed on his way out. He did not care who died in his fire, not anymore, never again. He keeps the body close to his chest until he has returned home.

Liadrin takes it from him as he sags to the floor right there, vision blurry from salty tears. The sobs don’t stop and now that his son is gone there is nothing holding him back.

By now his magic is exhausted, only small flares appearing around him which pose no actual threat.

He cries until he has no tears to spare, until his eyes have dried, from then on, he screams until his throat is dry and his voice is hoarse.

No one dares to disturb him, and he falls asleep right there on the ground.

He wakes up in his bed, not alone. The body which he clutches to his chest is still fast asleep. It is also reassuringly warm and alive and Rommath sits carefully up as not to wake the other elf.

His nightgown sticks uncomfortably to his skin as he rubs the last pictures from his nightmare from his eyes.

Aethas sighs beside him and cuddles closer.

Rommath looks down at his little elfing and sighs tiredly. Outside the sun rises slowly over the horizon but he will have some time to doze before they have to get up.

Casting a quick drying and refreshing charm on himself he lies back down, one hand stroking over his son’s red hair while Aethas mumbles in his sleep.

The nightmare flashes before his eyes again but Aethas’ warm and living body helps him force it back again. His son wouldn’t die, not as long as Rommath himself was still alive. He would move the sun, moon and the stars to prevent that.

Chapter Text

Halduron loves Aethas. He truly did. He loved him while knowing of his upbringing, while being aware of the grand difference between their statuses. Halduron did not mind anymore than Aethas was, as far as all records go, filthy rich. He did no longer protest when Aethas booked their dates at expensive restaurants where he otherwise wouldn’t even dream of going.

He thanked him for the expensive silks and jewellery and cleaned his apartment for the silent evenings which will always end in slow sex in Halduron’s bed.

Halduron proudly loved Aethas and was thankful for every moment they spend together.

He wasn’t, however, thankful for Rommath. Obviously, he admired the easy way with which the older elf handled the snobby group that called themselves Magisters but that did not mean that Halduron had to like the black-haired elf.

“I am sure that tonight will be fun” Aethas chirps from Halduron’s bathroom as the red head considers whether he should wear the earrings with the small phoenixes or the one entirely made of ruby.

Aethas says that about every dinner they have with Rommath and they were fun – for him.

For Halduron they were always filled with awkward silence and hateful if not murderous stares.

Rommath missed no opportunity to tell Halduron that he considered the General below his son.

Thankfully the Grand Magister was too professional to keep his opinion from interfering with his work. Mostly.

Aethas emerges from the bathroom, his long mostly golden robe swishing around his legs and Halduron can’t help but wonder just how the Magisters always manage to have their robes billow out from their waist down. There are no petticoats or whatever the humans use to create the similar effect. He knows that from all those robes he has `helped´ Aethas out off.

“Magic probably” he thinks and raises from the chair where he had been resting. He wears one of his formal armours while his hair is pulled back by a silken headband, one of Aethas’ gifts.

Aethas motions with one hand for his hairpiece to float forward and it quickly settles into his hair. There is a small tiara which separates the front part from the rest and the streaks which frame his face fall down in gentle curls.

There are rings on each of Aethas’ fingers, none of them were a gift from Halduron, most of them bearing the Sunfury symbol. Anyone with eyes could see from which family Aethas originated.

The day where Halduron mentioned that he was `technically´ not a Sunfury had nearly been his last one. He had learned that day that the fact that Aethas was adopted was not mentioned by anyone who wished to live.

Besides, sometimes Halduron wondered if it made even a difference any longer. Often, he found frightening how easily Aethas could slip in the role of a Magister.

“Obviously, he was brought up that way. He is a Magister.” Lor’themar had answered him and Halduron had mused about his friend’s words.

Yes, Aethas by title and by family name was a Magister, yet, he mostly did not act like one. There were only rare moments where taught behaviour overwrote who Aethas normally was.

One such occasion, the strangest he remembers, was with a few of Halduron’s captains.

He had been strolling over the tall city walls when he had seen a figure standing on the very same wall a few miles away. As he had drawn closer, he had noticed, and recognised, the robe and hair and thus had strolled over to Aethas’ who’s eyes were trained on the horizon.

Halduron had quickly noted the tight posture of the younger elf as he had come closer. Aethas hadn’t addressed him, not even when Halduron stood close enough that their shoulders touched. A group of guards had scaled the walls had had given him a short report of an occurring problem with the Murlocks in the west when Aethas had suddenly snapped at his captains to leave even before Halduron could give them orders.

Halduron had raised his eyebrow in question but had quickly taken a step back as Aethas had jerked around to face them, anger clearly visible in his small eyes and in the flames that began to flicker around him.

His captains had climbed down the wall faster than Halduron had seen anybody ever do while he had stumbled a few feet back in surprise and in caution.

“Aethas? What-” he had tried to ask but Aethas had only snapped at him that no ranger should question a Magister then was gone in a blink of an eye.

Later, much later, he had found out that Rommath had seemingly created a collage of favourable matches for Aethas with the words: “I won’t expect you to marry while you are still of age but it cant hurt to get to know those who could become your wife someday.”

Aethas had given Halduron the list of names and Halduron had ordered each of the females watched for a month. All of them were around Aethas’ age or only a few years younger and, more importantly, all of them were from old and very rich families. Magistrixes, all of them, and he had stared at Rommath during the next council to which the older had only raised an eyebrow in question.

The most painful about the list was that Aethas seemingly had resigned himself to that fate. “All my life, Halduron, I was told that I had two goals: Bring fame and honour to my family, and to marry and have children to continue my blood line.”

Halduron had only smiled bitterly and had mumbled that Aethas was not from the bloodline of the Sunfury, that he couldn’t continue the bloodline no matter how hopeful Rommath was.

Aethas had only tilted his head in confusion, “Of course I can continue the blood line, what are you talking about?”

That day Halduron had learned of the ritual, blood ritual, which was sometimes performed on adopted children. Which had been performed on Aethas.

Funnily enough, it was only two weeks later that a ranger by the name of Aelane.

The young girl had reminded him somewhat off Aethas, but only in passing. Sometimes a ray of light would hit her face in the right way, and he would have sworn that she has red hair.

But it was gone as quickly as it had been there.

She had been a victim, “probably guilty” Lor’themar and Rommath both say, of a Magister, he can say that much. Her mind is a shattered mess regarding her memories, but she is all the happier to make new ones. “Like a badly etched parchment that is now thirsty for knowledge,” her superior captain tells him, “she’s a decent rough.”

She had been away in Drustvar for long and had only recently been called back. She is pretty, except for the scars that litter her body, and somehow her beauty seems like a pale and faded copy of Aethas’ grace and beauty.

“Magic affects our bodies” Aethas had explained him, “it flows in our very vein. It chances our bone structure, the way we move.”

Halduron didn’t spare that girl another taught.

Until-, Until he learns that Aethas used to have a twin and he can’t help but wonder how someone can “used to have” a twin.

He asks Aethas about her once and he becomes paler than the finest of Quel’thalas’ white stones.

“I don’t know where she is, or what happened to her. I dare not even think her name. Whatever Ann’da has done to her-” Aethas stops at that and his eyes dance nervously through the room.

“The last time we met she pressed a dagger to my throat. After that I did not look for her again. I believe it is best if we don’t meet again. Ann’da would not let her get away again” his love continues and Halduron looks at Aelane differently from then on.

Now, knowing that a twin exists, he wonders if Aethas had looked more like her before the ritual. Aethas has said that he had always had red hair and that the only thing which had changed were some of his facial features and some of the definiteness of his muscles.

“Magic,” Halduron thinks, “magic has done the rest.”

Chapter Text

Rommath curses quietly under his breath. The head of his guards stands at attention beside his table.

“A wandering priest had found her. She has already apologized” his captain explains again and Rommath raises from his chair to walk over to the window.

Outside the sun is shining, a soft breeze shakes the leaves on the ebon trees. In the distance he can make Aethas’ colourful robe among the vast green of the grounds.

“If it hadn’t been for the priests, she would be dead” the captain repeats and Rommath snarls, “but she isn’t.”

Another colourful person appears near Aethas, Hathorel, as the two young elves begin to walk back to the house.

“She works with the rangers now; we can still kill her. Accidents do happen” his captain suggests and Rommath forces the bitter smile from his lips.

“No. She won’t be able to remember even if they would meet. There is no connection between them anymore” he tells his captain then dismisses him. There is no need to kill a child, she has already been punished.

There is no connection between them anymore, not even the blood. Besides, whatever she can remember is of no use to her.

“I will still expect you to have an eye on her, nonetheless. Should she show any sign of remembrance I expect you to inform me. It is of utter importance, do you understand?” He orders his captain then dismisses him as soon as he has affirmed.

Outside Aethas and Hathorel have entered the shadow of the mansion where a group of former Sunreavers rest on a blanket. Magistrix Vesara, Magister Hathorel and a few more Magister and Magistrixes have arrived this morning to visit Aethas who had recently come down with a slight flue.

Rommath ordered to have more flask of mulled wine brought outside. The young elves outside laugh among themselves and Rommath indulges in this one peaceful moment. He watches as Hathorel and Aethas join the group and settle down, observes as a blanket is thrown around Aethas while the elves around him huddle closer to keep him warm.

Turning back to his desk he settles down to work again until he hears the group outside begin to move again. A quick glance out of the window informed him that the first few elves began to leave as the sun begins to journey behind the horizon.

Leaning back, stretching his arms far above his head, he ignores his joints as they pop lightly as he stands up and leaves work be for the day.

The mansion is quiet as he passes through its halls until he reaches the central entrance. The smell of dinner wavers through the air while the rays of the setting sun colour the white stone in reds and oranges.

Outside the air has already lost some of its warmth and grows crisper with each moment.

The trees sway in a mild gust, a few golden leaves sinking to the ground as he passes.

When he finally rounds the corner behind which the blanket is spread on the ground most of Aethas’ friends have already left, only two younglings are still there. They bow to him in greeting then quickly leave through the portal which fades away as soon as they have walked through it.

Aethas still reclines on the blanket and blinks sleepily up at him. Rommath stops at the edge of the blanket and musters him back, huffs, and settles down beside his son. As soon as he has fully settled down Aethas flops over, his head landing in Rommath’s lap.

One of Rommath’s hands automatically comes up to card through red strands while Aethas rolls over onto his back.

“Did you have a good day?” Rommath asks gently, hand briefly pausing on his son’s forehead before they return to their previous activity.

 Aethas hums, eyes falling close. Rommath considers that they will need to get inside soon, the brisk weather was no good for his little flame.

“Why did I have to get sick?” he hears Aethas complain quietly and Rommath can’t help but chuckle, “You were dead set on going to Nazjatar. I warned you to pack warmer clothes.”

Aethas had only spent a week down there before the first signs of a cold were showing. Lor’themar had pushed him through the portal as soon as he had noticed while the First Arcanist had put charms on him to keep him warm until he had made it home.

Rommath would never admit that he had enjoyed the time to fuss over his child, but he had still worked from home while checking in on his little one ever hour or so.

Now, a week later, Aethas was nearly alright again. His temperature still a bit too high, his nose still red and sometimes clogged and his voice hoarse, but not as bad as it had been days ago.

The whole household and himself took potions that made it impossible for them to get sick as well while Aethas spent his days in bed.

“’s cold” Aethas mumbles and Rommath finally gets up, then helps his little elfling do the same. Servants will come later and collect the blankets and pillows to wash them.

Rommath, for now, only worries about feeding his boy and then getting him to sleep.

Chapter Text

New year celebration was just around the corner and all of Silvermoon was decorated for it. As their proud race had been reluctant to accept most of the other human celebrations the new years one had been neatly integrated into their culture.

Aethas sighs to himself once more as he can still hear the servants rushing out in the hallway although his door was firmly shut. He often missed his quiet quarters in Dalaran whenever his childhood home became this busy around events.

Sighing he returns to his reading, a book Halduron had gifted him, on the history of Zandalar. It was one of the newest books to have been published and he had considered buying it himself until his beloved had given him the wrapped present.

“I know that you hate being ordered back due to the war and that Rommath is a terrible mother hen so I got you something to kill time” the blond had explained sheepishly before Aethas had silenced him with a kiss.

Soft knocking interrupted him, once again, and he sighed loud enough that whoever was on the other side of the door could hear his annoyance before calling out for them to enter.

Ceelia Bloodburn entered, smile on her lips, and closed the door behind herself, “I hope I don’t interrupt anything important?”

She sits down on his bed beside him and he shows her the cover of his book while shaking his head.

“The day is too beautiful for you to spend it holed up here, Aethas” she gently berates him, and he huffs in annoyance.

“What else am I to do? Ann’da has forbidden me from working while the war between the faction rages. I cannot step outside without guards which makes every trip into an ordeal. Staying inside is my best option” he grunts, angrily mustering his room.

“We could go together; I have to pick up my robes at the tailor. If we hurry, we might be gone before your guards realize you have left your room” her eyes twinkle mischievous, “Your father is busy preparing the ministries for the coming celebration. We are back before they can alarm him”.

Every part of him wants to agree but he has also seen his Ann’da’s furry and he did like Ceelia. As far as he was concerned, from all the Ladies his father had ever dated with, she was the best. “Father will be furious” her reminds her and is surprised as she huffs angrily.

“Yes, your Lord father will be furious, but he cannot have you holed up her for months. He wants me to treat you as my own son and as your mother I say that we go to town without any guards for once” she explains carefully and rises from his bed, “and he will keep you here, if he has his ways. So, if you want, you can come with me.”

Aethas stares up at her speechless for a moment, then a wide smile splits his face. His book rests forgotten on his coverlet.

A few moments later he sits in the saddle of his beloved hawkstrider, Ceelia on hers beside him as they quickly leave the manor behind.

For once he does not feel the presence of his invisible guards around him, does not hear the near inaudible trotting of their mounts. Ceelia beside him mirrors his smile as they chatter about the coming celebration.

He has missed moving around freely without a safety belt of guards and enjoys just wandering between the different samples of cloth, although he will see them again in two weeks when his father and he are having his own robes made. Aethas doesn’t even remember when Ceelia appears at his side, pointing out cloth she thinks would fit him well.

Before he realises it is noon, and they clearly have missed lunch back home.

“Want to have lunch?” Ceelia asks him, “I can pay. It might not be as expensive as the places your father might normally take you, but you must be hungry too.”

“Food is food” he answers and shrugs his shoulders; he has learned early on that she does not like it if he offers to pay although he has more money than her.

The restaurant she leads him to is tucked away in a corner of the Royal Exchange. It is a small establishment, and he hadn’t noticed it before. Most of the tables were taken by groups up to three consisting of all social classes.

Aethas tries to look around without being too obvious and he must fail miserably as Ceelia quickly assures him that they can leave if he feels uncomfortable.

“No, I just haven’t been in such establishments ever since I returned from Dalaran. I prefer frequenting them rather than the high-class ones here but as a Lord some things are expected of you” he sighs while they wait for their food.

“You did?” Ceelia sounds surprised and he tries not to cringe at the implication. “I am sorry, I did not mean it like that, Aethas. It is just that your father does not speak much of your time away” she quickly explains as a waiter brings them their dishes.

“What does he speak about?” he asks, more in hopes for some amusing stories than anything else.

“You. He is very proud of you. I know that as Grand Magister our people must come first to him, but I do not doubt that you are as important to him as his duty. He is less specific about his work” she replies, a gentle smile on her lips, “he loves your fiercely.”

It is only thanks to his upbringing that his jaw doesn’t drop. Ceeline snickers into her glass of sparkling water.

“You look as if I told you something you didn’t know” she laughs while he tries not to blush.

“I know Ann’da loves me, it’s just that nobody said it so clearly” he muses, eyes firmly trained on his plate.

“Yes, it is often the people we love most that we tell the least” she muses, and he nods. They eat in silence from then on, his mind storming with thoughts.

“I would like to drop by a bookshop on our way home, if that is alright with you?” she asks after paying as they leave the restaurant and he shrugs his shoulders but then changes his mind.

“No, I wish to return home. We have stayed out long enough” he forces out past the guilt that clocks his throat. Ceelia appears surprised for one moment but then nods understandingly.

She pays and they leave the restaurant, thankfully it is not far from the royal exchange to his home.

Aethas knows that he is in trouble as soon as he sees Dawnfeather peak out of the stable at them.

Rommath meets them in the entrance hall, steam rising from his fists which he holds firmly at his side. Behind him is the whole Sunfury Guard, all of them standing at attention. The captain of the guard stands beside his father and both their disapproving glares meet him as he enters his home.

“Aethas Sunfury” his Ann’da begins and Aethas nods, head bowed low; he knows what comes now.

“Apologies, Rommath, it was my idea for Aethas and myself to spend a day without guards” Ceelia cuts him off and Aethas head whips around to her.

A moment of silence passes where his father’s burning gaze leaves him and fixates on her; one of the potted trees catches fire and servants hurry to put it out.

“How dare you?” his Ann’da begins again, “How dare you decide over my son’s security? Do you know what danger you put him in? Quel’dorei spies could have-” he abruptly shuts his mouth, teeth audibly clacking together.

His gaze returns to Aethas, “Go to your room. I will speak with you later.” Aethas quickly leaves the two older elves behind. The guards follow him and take their positions outside of his room.

He huddles back in his bed and picks up his book again.

Two books later there is a single knock on the door.

“Come in” he calls out, unsure whom or what to expect. He had rarely seen his father as angry as today.

It is his father that enters, he closes the door behind him and Aethas fears for Ceelia. Grand Magister Rommath stands proudly in his room until his posture relaxes a bit and he marches over to Aethas’ bed.

They stare at each other momentarily until Rommath looks away and sighs. “You should have talked to me.”

“About what?”

“The fact that I cage you in. I wish to protect you, not keep you my prisoner” the books beside his bed fly back to their shelves and his father sits down beside him.

“The guards even followed me into the garden” Aethas complains, hands clamping around one of his pillows.

Silence, then his father sighs.

“Quel’dorei spies have been caught trying to cross our borders. So far they only say that they wish to return to their homeland” Rommath explains slowly.

“You think they are after me?”

“The Windrunner family hold grudges like none other. Veresa Windrunner might still be out on vengeance. As long as we are not certain what their motivations are, I wish to know you are save.”

Slowly, Aethas nods. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

His Ann’da sends him an unbelieving glance, “I wish for your safety and confidence. Telling you would have resulted in you needlessly having your guard up”.

Aethas chuckles then leans against his father’s side. “Alright, we can discuss an alternative, but I am also no wee elfling anymore” he mocks, receiving a laugh from his Ann’da.

“You will always be my wee elfling”.

He hums, “Ceelia is not to blame either. She is the first I could ever consider calling Minn’da and I know that you love her.”

His father laughs again, “No, she fought with me for weeks on how I kept you here. She cares for you as much as she does for me. She does consider herself your mother. We will discuss this over dinner” the black-haired elf states.

Aethas nods.

“Which will take place in an hour, and I expect you to wear something appropriate”.

Aethas groans in mock annoyance, “If I have to!”

Chapter Text

“Well, look who we ran into.” The highborn lord, who had nearly run her over, cooed to the other rider beside him. “If it isn’t my beloved sister.”

Her head snapped up and she recognized the Highborn Lord as no other than her brother. The last time she had seen Aethas was shortly after the purge. Back then her brother had still been known as Sunreaver and hadn’t hidden behind his `father’s´ name.

It had been during one of the rare days where Aethas was out without an entourage of servants or the Grand Magister’s golem. They had meet on the market which was held twice a week on the Grand Bazar.

Her brother, in his usual clothing, had stood out like a Highborn in the slums and she had approached him while he passed the way to the Murder Alley.

Quickly pushing a hand over his mouth to stifle any calls for helps she dragged him backwards into one of the house entrances. Only there she let go of him and dodged the flame that came rushing her way.

“Well, look who I ran into.” She had hissed at him and watched his eyes widen in recognition.

“Aelane!” he had cried out as a big smile spread on his face.

She only growled and pushed him back against the wall.

“Shut up, Aethas! I am not here for a happy family reunion!”

“Then what are you here for?” Green eyes threw hasty glances around them at the empty street.

“I am here to demand my compensation from you.”

“Compensation? What are you talking about?” his voice wavered and she felt a glimmer of shame over his weakness.

“Compensation for you ruining our family name, obviously.” The dagger flew to her hand and to his throat in a blink of an eye.

He pressed himself closer to the wall behind him and her dagger followed him. There was fear in his wide eyes, and she felt satisfaction flood through her.

“Now, now, Aelane. I am sure that we can talk this out – sibling to sibling.”

She seethed and pressed the knife closer; a small drop of blood ran down his neck from where the blade had nicked pale skin.

“I am not your sibling, bastard. I never was your sister. Not by blood and never in any other way.” By now a small trickle of blood had soaked the hem of the robe red and she knew that she hadn’t had much time left. With one hand she ripped the pouch which hung from her brother’s belt and was heavy with coin.

“And now, if you excuse me, I will take this and be on my way.” Out on the marked the sound of running feet and golems marching their way became louder and she quickly pulled back from the red-haired elf and went invisible before hushing away through the dark alleys.

Behind her she heard the troops arriving at her brother’s location and a disillusion spell washed over her and she cursed darkly under her breath while she hid in the next house entrance.

Waiting two, three seconds she re-entered invisibility only to have a burning pain race through her body and she cried out in pain.

Stumbling forward the sound of quick feet behind her urged her to move faster and she emerged on the opposite side of the alley.

The pouch in her hand clanked as she hurries over the open space that is the Royal Exchange.

“Stop her!” her pursuers cry out and city guards, which had guarded the building’s entry to her right, run up to her.

“Stop. You are under arrest!” one of the guardian golems calls out, his metallic footsteps joining those of the others.

Cursing again she slips into the only alley before the gate which would lead into the Farstrider Square, which would be her end, and speeds down the narrow streets back towards murder row.

“Stop. You are under arrest. You are accused of treason for theft and assaulting of a magister.” The golems drone on behind her.

Back in the murder row, she quickly glances right, to where a large group of elves, and now the Grand Magister’s golem too, still stand around, later now turning towards her.

“Stop. You are under arrest by the council. You are accused of treason for theft and for assaulting a magister.” The golems behind her repeat and she sprints towards the nearest alley on the opposite side of murder row.

Just as she dodges inside the alley a fireball combusts against the nearest wall, narrowly missing her, while an arrow whistles past her ear.

She had never used this alley, and by the state it was in, not many others did either.

Technically it should have led her to the Bazaar, but it did not, instead it curved slightly north.

The smell of rotting and death grew stronger with every step she took, and she had a horrible suspicion where this alley would lead her.

At least she had gained some distance on her pursuers behind her. But for that she could hear light steps on the roofs far above her and an arrow came raining down on her from time to time.

Up ahead the alley split into two ways: the left one leading further north while the other one lead further ahead. The second one smelt strongly like death while she could hear footsteps, both elven and metallic, coming from the first one.

Deciding that the second one, beside the smell, would probably lead to her freedom, she carefully dodged most of the spider webs as she rushed from shadow to shadow.

The alley grew darker and darker as the building above grew closer together until they suddenly stopped altogether before her.

“She must come out here somewhere! Keep looking!” called a female voice from ahead and Aelane considered turning back for a moment, but there were guards behind her too, she only could move forward now.

Her alley opened up to a bridge, probably broken, which led over the death scar. Carefully approaching the edge, she peered down only to see that the area below was filled by a company of Blood Knights while Farstriders seemed to patrol the rooftops.

Cursing quietly, she took a few steps back, only to stop as approaching footsteps became audible, then turned towards the bridge, took a deep breath and began to sprint.

The shouts from the elves around her blurted together as she sprinted over the bridge and jumped as soon as it ended. Arrows flew past her and one lodged itself into her side, thankfully not deep and missing any vital organs.

Still, it hurt and was enough to make her landing on the other side anything but graceful.

Taking one, two pained breaths she shakily stood back up quickly pulled the arrow from her side. Pressing one hand on the wound she stumbled down the alley and emerged in the former ruins, now turned park, of Silvermoon, and into the waiting hands of the Ranger General and his troop of rangers.

“A pity. We could use someone as quick and nimble as you in our ranks.” The blond elf states as his rangers bound her hands together. She only spits at his feet.

She barely remembers the trip back into the city, blood loss making her drowsy, only that someone healed her wound.

She awakes on her knees in a dark chamber. As nearly everyone in this city it is circular with a huge sun build or painted into or onto the floor.

“Aelane Sunreaver?” comes a bored voice from somewhere above her and she slowly raises her head to squint at the figures around her.

They stand half a floor above her, a magical barrier between them, its slight shimmer the only light in her circle.

On good days, she thinks, she could climb up to them and stand between them as equals.

“Aelane Sunreaver, you are accused of theft and assault.” That voice addresses her again and she can barely make out five elves standing around her. Four of them are wearing robes in the same design, one of them is wearing the uniform of a high-ranking Ranger.

Magisters, oh great. It would be a wonder if she would make it out of here alive.

“Assault of a Magister, no less.” Comes another voice, this one female, from somewhere to her right.

“The death penalty seems to be a fitting punishment for such a crime.” The Magister to the left says, while the others nod in agreement.

“Please, Magisters and Magistix, such harsh punishment for such a light crime seems unfitting for me.” The ranger interrupts and Aelane would like to thank him for trying.

“But it is not the harshness of the crime, which is judged here, Ranger Lord, but rather the lack of respect she has shown to a Magister.” Another Magister says his chin raised proudly.

“Could I have a minute alone with the accused?” the Ranger asks and only receives unwilling nods and huffs from the robed elves.

The Ranger breaks through the barrier and jumps down on her level, the barrier thickening behind him as he kneels before her.

“Now look here, Aelane. Those robed Idiots up there are set on killing you. The fact that it was Grand Magister Rommath’s son whom you stolen from doesn’t help matters. If I had to guess, then I would say that the Grand Magister has promised them a reward should they sentence you to death.”, he stops and searches for her gaze, “however, if you beg for mercy and plead that you do not know who you were robbing, they might let you live.”

The Magisters, although reluctant, let her live. She will have to pay back the debt for the rest of her life, but to do so she would need a job in the first place.

Therefore, in her books, she got free with nothing more than a slap on her hands.

Since then, nothing had really changed for her.

However, from newspapers and magazines that she had stolen from time to time she could tell that her brother had gone through quite some changes.

Returning to his “former” title, had the effect that most papers boasted about “The lost Son of Quel’thalas returning home.” Below those headlines were columns full of praises from other Magisters or noble families and, of course, all of them bore the paragraph the Grand Magister himself had written, in regards of his Son’s return, which too was filled with declarations of joy and excitement.

For weeks nothing else was the topics on the streets, to the point of utter annoyance.

After that, most magazines followed Aethas’ every step he made outside of his “father’s” home or office. Especially the pictures with both the Grand Magister and his “son” were highlights in the magazines and would always evoke a little happy gibbering on the streets as most considered the Sunfury family as the new royal family since the Sunstrider Dynasty was lost to madness.

Therefore, seeing its members having such a “perfect family relationship” gave many hope for Quel’thalas’ future.

Aelane, who had spent some years outside of the kingdom, knew that the Magisterium for Public Appearance strictly controlled each and every newspaper and magazine and thus controlled how the citizens thought about their leading society.

However, even more liked than the stories about the Sunfury family were the stories about the charity projects “Aethas Sunfury” did in his few free hours outside of his “work”.

Especially when Aethas had taken part in the opening of the orphanage and when he visits it there would be pages full of “heart breaking” texts and pictures of him with little elflings. Especially those where he showed the children little magic tricks or gave them flowers made of flames, ice or arcane littered the papers for weeks afterwards.

And even the fights between him and his “father”, which were sometimes shown, were not that bad. The worst so far had been at the Royal Exchange when they couldn’t decide which new hawkstrider they should buy: Rommath wanted the fastest they had while Aethas preferred the prettiest. Aelane mused, that with all that money it was hard to have meaningful fights.

So, when she nearly got run over by the very same hawkstrider Grand Magister had held the reigns off half a year ago in an article, she should have known who rode it.

“Aethas, I haven’t seen you since I held that dagger to your neck.” She cooed back, for a second forgetting to whom she spoke and where she was.

“Watch your mouth, scum. You are in the presence of his lordship Aethas Sunfury.” The rider beside her brother seethes at her and from the corner of her eye she watches the nearest city guard twitch and tighten the hold on his weapon.

Just then the sound of a portal opening came from behind her and she jerked around only to be met by a push backwards of arcane magic.

“Is this young lady bothering you, my little flame?” is the first thing she hears after her head had hardly crashed against the pavement.

The next thing were metallic footsteps and cold hands helping her up.

“Ann’da!” her brother’s voice resulted in a slight throbbing headache and she winced, before scrambling in the arms she was in as she was held a few feet above the ground.

“What are you doing here?” Aethas continued and as her vision slowly stopped to sway, before her eyes she could see that her brother had brought his steed to stand at his father’s side.

Chapter Text

Well, I want to start by thanking you guys for reading this story of mine and I will continue to reply to comments.

Now, to why this story ends the way it does: I originally had planned around 30+ chapters for this but then I stopped playing WoW shortly after Shadowlands came out. I simply lost interest in it and with guilds dying, I left the game and its story behind. It was not easy, Azeroth has been my home for many years, and it deeply pains me to leave it, but I also was no longer enjoying my time there.

As a big fan of Skyrim, I made Elder Scrolls Online my new home and began writing within its story. It Tamriel will never be as Azeroth had been for me, but it is where I now remain.

Additionally, I went into therapy due to major depression a year ago and developed so much since its start that I feel like I outgrew this story of mine which began as a safe haven I created for myself where I could escape my, by then not yet diagnosed, disorder.

I will continue writing, will upload my other WoW related work but I doubt that I will ever start a new work in the world of Azeroth.

It probably pains me the most that things end the way they do, but I figured that those who have ready and followed Rommath and Aethas since the beginning deserve some kind of an end.

From now on my pen name “Elexa”, which was always my primary one, will publish ESO work as well.

Thank you again for reading and commenting. It meant a lot to me.