Chapter Text
Ralathor had only half a mind to throw a robe over himself before he rushed out of the bathroom when his wards not only screamed intruder but, far worse, failed to stop them.
They’d never failed before.
His fingertips crackled with power as he tiptoed towards the entrance to his underground domicile. He stepped on a pottery shard and nearly fried the unsuspecting door in front of him. Cursing internally, he removed the offending item from his foot and advanced. There was movement in his living room/kitchen/bedroom, whatever you wanted to call a room built into a cavern system by someone who cared little about such plebeian distinctions.
Ralathor leaned against the stone wall, feeling the cool, rough surface through the thin robe. The magic he’d painstakingly infused into every brick and boulder gently lapped up his feet, bringing him all information he needed. Not that it would have been necessary. There were very few people who were powerful enough to get through his wards. One, discounting the Hootsman. Nevermind that said person was supposed to be DEAD.
Ralathor slammed open the door, a defensive spell ready in front of him.
Zargothrax barely looked up. He sat at Ralathor’s kitchen table with his head bowed, half slumped over it with all the vigor of a dead fish.
“What the hell,” Ralathor said.
He took another step forward, not convinced this was not some weird trick. It wasn’t his style, but Zargothrax had strange moods sometimes. Right now though, Zargothrax didn’t seem up for much, let alone a fight. He’d ditched the armor somewhere, remaining only in a torn robe that had tracked mud all the way into Ralathor’s kitchen. His hair was a mess, small leaves still stuck in it, and under the dirt Ralathor could spot cuts and bruises that should probably be treated.
“I’m making tea,” Ralathor said.
They were silent while the water boiled. Only when Ralathor set the cup down in front of the other mage did he finally look up. Under the smudged black makeup, his eyes were bloodshot, lined by dark circles. There was a large bruise on his temple, surrounded by dried blood.
“I need your help.”
Ralathor filled his own cup and plopped down on the only other chair in the room. “That’s a new one.”
Zargothrax sighed and sipped his tea with shaking hands. The smaller bruises were already vanishing thanks to the herbs Ralathor had mixed in. Just because they were enemies most of the time, he didn’t have to be a dick.
“Didn’t know you could bring yourself back from the dead.”
Zargothrax snorted into his tea. “Don’t be preposterous. That fool didn’t kill me.”
“I didn’t think your dignity would allow you to play dead, really,” Ralathor said, amused despite himself. “Though your illusion magic has become impressive.”
He’d expected Zargothrax to fly into a rage at the insinuation he’d debased himself like that, but he didn’t. He just sat, wet, dirty, and miserable, sipping the tea Ralathor had made him since they’d been students.
The silence stretched like a cat after a long nap.
Ralathor liked silence, usually, but not when it only covered what had not been spoken.
“What do you need my help with?”
“Taking down Angus.”
Ralathor jumped to his feet, cursing, as the hot tea splashed on his thigh. He hastily wiped it off with the edge of his robe. He didn’t much care for his dignity right now - he already looked ridiculous, and there was nothing Zargothrax had not seen already, if he even bothered looking.
“Zargothrax, I’ve known you for a very long time, but that is the most ludicrous thing you’ve ever said. You forced me to irradiate an entire landscape and kill my friend, not to speak of the thousands of lives you took. Why in the Starlords’ name would I help you take down the one person I managed to save?”
Zargothrax’ head hit the table, shaking a few loose scrolls to the ground. His voice was muffled through his hair. “What the fuck did I expect.”
Ralathor instinctively wanted to take a step forward, but refrained. How sure could he be that this was truly Zargothrax? It looked like him, and sounded like him, and his magic was painfully familiar, sure, but this behavior was NOT normal. They’d worked together before, sure, but he’d never been this… subdued? Desperate?
Zargothrax lifted his head, his expression flat. “Well, maybe take a look through your fancy charts, Stargazer, and tell me what you see.”
Ralathor emptied his cup, in case it decided to spontaneously start flying, and went over to his observatory. It was only a small nook in the main chamber, since he preferred to be outside, but still needed to keep his scrolls safe and dry. He saw what Zargothrax meant immediately. The balance of the universe was off, badly. They’d defeated the evil overlord, Dundee was rebuilding, everything should be fine. Except things were obviously not fine, even disregarding an evil sorcerer that should be dead dragging mud into his kitchen.
So much for his much needed vacation.
“What is going on?”, Ralathor asked. He expected to have Zargothrax standing behind him when he turned. He liked doing that, just for making Ralathor jump. But he was still at the table, looking like a drenched poodle.
"What do you think is going on?", Zargothrax snapped. "Your lovely prince Angus is hard at work reerecting the McFife dynasty in a universe where Dundee has been a democratic republic for centuries!"
Ralathor blinked. "And you're… mad about that? Wait, are you crying?!"
"Of course not!" His shaky voice said otherwise.
Ralathor had the sudden urge to go and hug him. He opted for an awkward pat on the shoulder instead. From the way Zargothrax flinched, that had already been too much.
Ralathor snapped his fingers, urging a broom and mop to go about their business. Hermit or not, he couldn't have stains on his carpet.
"Alright so let me just get this straight." Ralathor rubbed his forehead. He'd been looking forward to a few days or decades of peace and quiet. Why did life hate him like this? "Let's disregard that you shouldn't even be alive, I'm not surprised about that. Angus is currently trying to rebuild Dundee, as is definitely necessary, but- we're in medieval times how did they get a republic going?!"
Zargothrax shrugged irritably. "Pardon for not going on a history deep dive, Starry Eyes."
"Stop calling me that." He ignored the smirk directed at him. It was warm in here, that was the only reason his face felt hot. "So now Angus, who does not know what a republic is, is doing- what? Trying to reinstate the monarchy? How?"
More shrugging. Zargothrax favored one shoulder, Ralathor noticed, holding the other still even when it was clearly taxing. "He's got the Hootsman on his side, for one thing. And otherwise I'd wager a guess he's not doing much more than I did."
Ralathor felt his eye twitch. "That being?"
"Gather supporters and vanquish cells of resistance. I thought you knew that fairly well, Subcommander." That sounded more like the Zargothrax he knew.
Ralathor sighed and crossed his arms. "Really, Stormbringer? This is by far the silliest thing you've ever tried."
Where a general lack of authority failed, the nickname did its job: Zargothrax stared at him as if he'd been slapped. "Hey," he said meekly.
Ralathor shook his head and leaned back on the desk, fingers tracing the parchment behind his back. "You almost had me until you said Angus was like you. He is, hm, maybe a bit naive, but he's a good kid. Nice try, though."
Zargothrax sputtered, leaping to his feet. Lightning crackled around him. "What- I'm not- For fuck's sake Ralathor! Your fancy little prince is fucking up the universe in ways you can't even imagine and THAT'S your takeaway? Did you hit your head in that submarine?! I've already thrown myself at your feet, what else do you want?!"
Zargothrax broke off, panting heavily. He staggered, instinctively clutching his shoulder. Dark red blood seeped through his fingers, but his bright eyes, red-rimmed and exhausted, never left Ralathor.
"Angus is firmly on the side of good," Ralathor muttered.
Zargothrax scoffed. "Angus was raised to lead a kingdom. Everybody who opposes his bloodline is evil, as far as he is concerned. Doesn't matter if that's me or some hapless fool who likes to vote for their leaders. And the Hootsman never liked democracy, if you haven't noticed."
Ralathor opened his mouth to argue. There was nothing to argue against. Whether or not he liked it, Zargothrax, the very avatar of chaos and evil, was right.
"Angus is putting the universe off balance by using his powers of light for evil."
"And you- you want to stop him?"
Zargothrax bared his teeth in a feral grin. "Being an evil overlord is MY destiny, and I worked hard for it. I'm not letting this fly brained goody-two shoes ruin all my hard work. Not like THAT."
"Oh. Right." Ralathor laughed, somewhat hysterically. "I was almost worried about you, you know? You didn't sound like yourself there for a while."
“You’ve always been a prick, Ral.”
“I know.”
Despite his threatening aura, Zargothrax had never been particularly big or heavy. Ralathor could catch him easily when his legs gave way. He felt nearly boneless, hot blood seeping through his cloak and onto Ralathor's clothes. Ralathor added another bathrobe to his shopping list.
"You really should not have skipped the healing classes, you know."
"Always seemed like a waste of time," Zargothrax muttered. "Got by fine so far. Stupid fucking barbarian."
Ralathor sighed and threw Zargothrax' good arm over his shoulder. "Let's get you cleaned up. Maybe I can talk this out with the Prince before he does any more damage."
Zargothrax' scornful laughter would accompany Ralathor for a long time after this. He always hated it so when Zargothrax was right.