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Chapter Text

Three concentric circles formed a sigil: the outer two were filled with small, neat glyphs of elemental origin, while those in the centre were mostly draconic. It was marked out in charcoal upon the floor of Archmage Rommath’s office in the Violet Citadel, covering almost the entire area with thick marks on wooden floorboards. If he’d prepared it correctly it would burn brightly and with an intense heat constrained only to the circles and the summoned flames. The floor beneath would remain unburnt and the room would be entirely untouched by the fire. If he’d miscalculated… well, there was no point in worrying about that now.

He stepped backward and whispered an incantation. The charcoal began to crackle and spit with small flames that hissed and erupted upwards. The flames grew in height and instensity as he continued, until they licked the stone ceiling. The room, however, remained cool. Rommath held a slip of paper out toward the fire - only when it touched the flame did it spit sparks and burn up into curls of ash. The sigil was working perfectly as intended. With a wave of his hand the flames died off and collapsed in on themselves, leaving little singe marks on the charcoal of the circle but nothing elsewhere. Were it not for an acrid scent in the air there would be hardly any sign at all of the fire that had filled the room just a moment before. It was the culmination of months spent with his head buried in old parchments, dog eared spellbooks and imposing leather bound tomes: a flame sigil that was perfectly constrained and controllable. The result, Rommath excused himself a pun, was a roaring success.

He noted down his observations and swept away the circle, before locking his office for the night and stepping out into the frigid streets of Dalaran. He’d lived in the city for many years now, but still held little love for it. Cold and dull, with too many people crammed within its walls, there was little that endeared him to the place. Chief among its crimes was, he had to admit, that it was not Silvermoon. Still, he could look past all of that in aid of his research. While he’d never suited the purple robes of the Kirin Tor, it was a small price to pay for unfettered access to the libraries and knowledge held by their order - our order, he corrected himself - and the mages of vast renown whose good word could bolster his own position when he did, eventually, return to Silvermoon.

At least, that was the plan. He’d long since thought everything through. He’d already worked his way upward in the Kirin Tor ranks, and now bore the title of Archmage, but still needed to forge relationships with key allies. Then he could return to Quel’Thalas with enough accolades to work his way toward Grand Magister. It was a tall order, but he saw no reason why he couldn’t achieve it.

Grand Magister Rommath. He rolled the title around on his tongue, distracting himself from the frozen wind that nipped at his hands and his face as he unlatched the door to his quarters. He’d taken a small set of rooms in one of the many towers that littered the Dalaran skyline. It was furnished in a meagre way - or, as Rommath liked to think of it, austere and minimal - but was covered every inch in books, papers and half illegible scrawled notes that destroyed any sense of calm about the place. Currently the bulk of the mess documented the process by which he’d crafted the flame sigil in notes, half crumpled pages and carefully detailed preparations for the Arcanarium tomorrow.

The Arcanarium. He shuddered when he thought of it. A room full of mages either presenting their latest research, or judging it. If a mage of any rank wanted to conduct individual research rather than adopt a Kirin Tor sanctioned project as their own they needed to provide their own funding. If they could not, they could seek it at an Arcanarium: the most efficient way of proving one’s worth. A well received demonstration would guarantee future funding from the wealthier mages in the city. One of the many necessary evils of Dalaran he’d be glad to be away from. He’d prepared his defence of the sigil, a dozen small reconstructions of it to hand around and listed every possible question that could be asked of him. There was nothing more he could do to prepare, and yet his stomach still flipped and churned and twisted around on itself.

Though he was loath to admit it, the Arcanarium represented the great irony of Rommath’s grand plan. Allies and impression were as valuable as his work, if not more so, in rising through the ranks both in Dalaran and Silvermoon, and yet there was nothing he detested more than putting on a smile and trying to be charming. It wasn’t in his nature. He’d learned to fake it well enough by now, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it.

This particular Arcanarium was to be held at the Purple Parlour, which meant he had an escape route in the form of the balcony, at least. The parlour itself was heaving with mages. Mostly human, with some fellow quel’dorei amongst the crowd. It was easy to spot who was observing and who was presenting. The former group drank and laughed and swanned about carefree, while the latter paced back and forth, muttering spells or speeches below their breath, and rifling through stacks of paper.

Rommath was not the first to present. Several mages showcased their research ahead of him, but few caught his attention. The most interesting among them was a new method of magically illuminating street lighting which caused a furore from an observing gnome mage. When it came to his time to present he stood, brushed his robe off, and handed the stack of prepared sigils on parchment to the closest observer to be spread among the audience. Rommath’s speech could hardly be called impassioned, but it was detailed, analytical and did absolutely nothing to arouse the excitement of his observers. Not that it mattered: that was what the prepared sigils were for.

“Some of you will have earlier received a sheet of parchment. What you hold in your hands represents the culmination of painstaking research and a singed eyebrow or two. For your own safety, do not hold it with the sigil toward your face, or anyone else’s.” He paused to allow the gathered mages to adjust their parchments and plastered a wide, forced smile upon his face. The incantation was simple enough that he could recite the entire thing without needing to check his notes.

Pops and hisses erupted from every piece of parchment in the room. Those who’d not heeded his earlier warning now thrust their sheet away from them as flames erupted from the sigils with a crackle. A dozen tiny fires burned brightly for half a minute, until Rommath clicked his fingers and reversed the incantation so that each flame died out. Not a crumble of ash nor a singe mark was left behind, and it was as if each sheet of parchment had never been touched by a flame at all. An impressed murmur spread throughout the room.

“Now, any questions?”

He fielded a few easy questions first. Nothing that tripped him up, but nothing interesting either. Until one observer, a human with a sour expression, stood and cleared his throat.

“I remember the last time we had an elf showing this sort of thing off here. We had to banish her shortly afterward for cavorting with demons. Any risk that this could be co-opted in the same way?”

“While I appreciate your concern, Sorcerer Winslow,” Rommath said through a forced smile that was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain, “I believe it comes from a fundamental misunderstanding of the glyphs used to construct this sigil. These are solely elemental and draconic - nothing demonic or otherwise questionable in any way.”

“So you say. But what’s to stop someone getting a little carried away and adding a demonic rune or two and unleashing some sort of hellfire inferno?”

“By that logic, why practice magic at all? Any one of us could easily corrupt and set this entire city to ruin. Such is the nature of our field.” The corners of Rommath’s mouth and brow twitched with the effort of holding off a scowl. He’d expected this sort of line of questioning and was well prepared, but it was still irksome. Murmurs and whispers spread throughout the observing crowd, and if Rommath wasn’t careful the disagreement could spiral into something nastier. “We are all aware of the price of such magic, and I should hope that is deterrent enough for most.”

“And to those willing to pay the price? There are always some.”

Rommath’s voice grew snippy when he replied. “Be that as it may, this sigil is safe. A person who wished to corrupt it in such a way would not need to use a ready-prepared version. They could no doubt craft their own far more easily.”

Luckily, another voice cut through the noise before the sorcerer could give his rebuttal.

“Archmage Rommath, was it?” Thr voice was clear and clipped. It drew Rommath’s attention and he scanned his eyes over the room to locate the speaker. A quel’dorei mage sat straight backed in his chair, piercing eyes set on Rommath, high, aquiline nose slightly turned up at the crowd that surrounded him. It was a face Rommath knew well from portraiture, and he was relieved he’d not noticed it earlier for fear he’d have stumbled over his every word, had he known who was in attendance. Prince Kael’thas Sunstrider.

“Yes, your highness.” He managed to speak without tripping over his words, but he was well aware his carefully crafted pleasant smile had entirely dissipated. Replacing it was an open mouthed gawp that he quickly caught and hoped hadn’t been too visible.

Prince Kael’thas gave a genial but perfunctory smile. If he’d noticed Rommath’s sudden fluster, he was courteous enough to not acknowledge it.

“Let us not get bogged down in moral quandaries that may or may not have any basis in reality,” he said. “I am interested to know if this has any other application as well. Perhaps directly onto the body?”

Rommath took a moment to compose himself. The prince had asked the precise question he’d been hoping for, and Rommath had a prepared answer up his sleeve. Quite literally. He adjusted his robes to reveal two sigils painted directly upon the skin of his forearm. Each one burst into flame as he repeated the incantation, but he felt no heat. Not even the slightest warmth. He extinguished the flames and lifted his arm to show the crowd his entirely unmarred, undamaged skin. A small, polite round of applause followed.

He waited until the room fell silent once more before turning his attention back to Prince Kael’thas.

“Your highness, does that sufficiently answer your question?”

The prince’s expression was inscrutable as he lifted his head from the notes he’d been taking. He didn’t reply, but gave the briefest nod of assent before waving his hand to indicate they could now move on from him.

Further questions followed, but all were fielded quickly and with answers that Rommath had prepared ahead of time. He was familiar enough with Arcanariums by now to know what would likely be asked of him. When the gathered mages were satisfied, Rommath once more took his seat and settled to watch the remaining demonstrations.

It was difficult to focus on the mages who followed, and instead Rommath’s attention was on the observing crowd. With any luck, one or two among them would have enjoyed his display enough to put it forward to the council for funding consideration. With further luck he might have done enough to inspire a wealthy mage to fund him personally. He couldn’t let himself be too optimistic on that front - it was the rarer scenario, and Sorcerer Winslow’s concerns may have put a few off - but it wasn’t impossible, at least.

Despite himself, Rommath found his gaze returning to where Prince Kael’thas sat, and lingering longer than it ought. Back straight, face perfectly unreadable, the prince watched everything with intense concentration. He didn’t smile, he didn’t frown. He held himself with a demeanour that Rommath had rarely seen before, as if time was slowed slightly for him alone. Every movement was precise, deliberate and slow. His notebook lay abandoned on his lap, and Rommath never saw him pick it back up after taking notes during his own demonstration. Nor did he ask any further questions. It likely meant nothing, but a small part of Rommath hoped he could read something into it.

Given the option, Rommath would have left the minute his own demonstration was over. Instead he forced himself to stay. The division between observing and presenting mages dissolved, and each group mingled among one another. Mages hoping to secure funding smiled and charmed their way through the room, one last ditch attempt to make the evening worth it. 

It was excruciating, and yet it was necessary. Rommath closed his eyes for a moment to steel himself. A deep breath, a drink and a pleasant smile. He could play the part of the congenial archmage as he swanned about the room making small talk, laughing at the tiresome jokes and thanking every mage who’d shown interest in his work. He just hated every moment of it. The only immediate silver lining he could find was the prince. If he could locate him and make a good impression he’d consider that enough of a success to justify leaving early. But while Prince Kael’thas should have been a fairly conspicuous figure among the crowd, Rommath couldn’t spot him. He continued his rounds, trying to catch sight of him, until his cheeks began to ache and the din became too much. To save his sanity he stepped outside and onto the balcony. 

Though the freezing wind was unpleasant, it calmed the tumult in his head. The Purple Parlour was high enough that a layer of low lying cloud obscured Dalaran from view. All that was visible were pinpricks of light and a handful of towers that broke through. Ahead sat the Alterac Mountains, snow capped and looming, erupting from the eastern horizon. Rommath turned to see if anything else could be seen through the clouds, only to startle as he realised he wasn’t alone. Prince Kael’thas sat upon an ornate bench that looked out over the south side of the balcony, away from the mountains and toward the farmlands that usually stretched out beyond the city walls, but were entirely blanketed by white.

“Archmage Rommath, wasn’t it?” he asked, as it became obvious Rommath’s attention was on him. His tone that made it clear he knew exactly who he was, but that the question was merely formality.

“Yes, your highness.” Rommath wasn’t sure of the proper etiquette for a situation such as this, so he stood straight backed and tried not to stare too hard. “Thank you for your earlier interest in my work. I hope-”

Prince Kael’thas raised a hand to interrupt.

“Save me the rigamarole. You were about to thank me for my interest, state that you hope you satisfied my questions, and welcome any further interest in your research in the future. Correct?” His tone was controlled - not critical, but not sympathetic either. A perfectly neutral detachment that was impossible to interpret. All Rommath could do was nod in response and wait for him to continue.

“I have heard the same countless times. I hoped to spare myself a repeat.” As he spoke, Prince Kael’thas crossed the balcony to stand beside Rommath. Even at such proximity his expression remained inscrutable. Jaw held firm, mouth unsmiling. Though Rommath didn’t want to stare his eyes couldn’t help but linger on the finery that adorned his robes - an embroidered gold filigree that spread out across the burgundy like a suit of armour hidden plain sight. “I did, however, want to discuss your research. I assume you have spent some time familiarising yourself with ancient scripts in order to craft such a sigil?”

Familiarising, memorising, devouring. Rommath had spent months surrounded by ancient texts, diagrams of unearthed carvings and papers on translation methodology. For a while it had been all he’d thought about.

“I have, your highness.”

“And have you made any arrangements for your next area of research?”

It was a simple question, but it set Rommath’s chest and stomach flipping over on themselves. He steadied his breath before he replied, hoping that he did not appear to be anticipating the following question.

“I haven’t, your highness.”

“Good.” For the first time, Prince Kael’thas smiled. His hard features softened momentarily, and Rommath’s breath caught in his throat. “In that case would you hear a proposal of my own? I can’t talk of it here, but I’ll have someone send the time and address to your office tomorrow morning. If that is amenable, of course.”

“Of course, your highness.”

To his frustration, Rommath was finding it impossible to form any complex sentences. He cursed his tongue for failing him now, of all times. Not that Prince Kael’thas had seemed to notice.

“Now, accompany me to the exit portal, would you?” he said. “I have no further reason to be here, and I have a suspicion you are also itching to leave.”

Rommath followed him across the balcony, through the crowds and toward the glimmering portal that served as a door to the parlour. When he stepped through and reappeared in the streets of Dalaran, Prince Kael’thas was already out of sight.

Chapter Text

It was early the next morning when a letter slipped under the crack of Rommath’s office door. Its small, neat envelope bore his name in a careful, precise hand. The contents were minimal: only a street address, a time, and instructions for what he ought to do on his arrival - just as Prince Kael’thas had said the day before. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering to the clock all morning. Watching as the little hand ticked ever close to the hour of their meeting, until it came close enough that he could justify putting down his work and pulling on his cloak. 

The address led him to an inconspicuous door at the base of a small tower near the Violet Citadel. He’d passed it before but never paid it much mind, assuming it was more Kirin Tor offices or something similar. Clean, unobtrusive and unremarkable in the every way: it was the perfect front to hide in plain sight. He stopped to knock, but the door swung open on his approach, entirely of its own accord. Beyond lay an empty doorway and a grand entrance hall, and when he stepped through the door snapped shut behind him. The interior couldn’t have been more different to the exterior. Opulent and ostentatious, it looked less plain tower from within, and more miniature palace. 

Rommath took a breath. He’d been invited, he was supposed to be there, and yet his stomach still gnawed at itself. He was unable to ignore how much he felt like an intruder, and how out of place he suddenly seemed among the grandeur and the many corridors that fanned out before him. So many, in fact, that he momentarily forgot his instructions and was instead overcome by the lure of peeking into each. It was then that he also noticed how silent it was. Eerily so. Rommath would have assumed the prince kept a sizeable staff - he was royalty, after all - but, if he did, they went about their work without a sound. He took another steadying breath and pulled the letter once more from his pocket to check his instructions: make for the second floor where he’d find a sealed door. Knock three times, pause, knock once, pause, and then finally knock three times again. Simple enough, but he still repeated the steps to himself as he ignored the many corridors and ascended the stairs. 

The second floor opened out into a grand drawing room with a single locked door on the far wall. He did as instructed, and the door creaked open into a large magical laboratory. There was less of the opulence of the rest of the tower. Instead of heavy tapestries and gilded frames, each wall was filled with shelves that groaned beneath the weight of fat, leather bound tomes, large flasks of phosphorescent potions, strange arcane devices and crystals that hummed with such energy that Rommath could feel it even from a distance. The room was deserted, save for Prince Kael’thas. He stood by a window that looked out upon the streets of Dalaran, only turning when Rommath cleared his throat to announce his arrival. 

There were statues of King Anasterian in Silvermoon. Golden and stately, they loomed over the streets with their straight back posture and their long, elegant faces. Though Rommath had never consciously stopped to admire them, the image was familiar to any quel’dorei who’d spent time in the city. When he looked on Prince Kael’thas it was the first image that came to mind. The prince held himself with the same regal bearing as the statues of his father. Slightly arch, and with effortless self confidence. When he turned, it was with the smooth movements of a hunting hawk. Weightless, deadly. He wore neither scowl nor smile, instead his brows and jaws were both hard set and inscrutable in a practiced impassivity.

A flutter rose in Rommath’s chest. At first he assumed it was the same nervous excitement as when he first met the prince the day before, and that it would fade quite quickly. When it grew more intense, however, he began to wonder if it had another origin. It was hardly Rommath’s fault: Prince Kael’thas had the same severe beauty as a cliff’s edge, and he wore it so naturally. All he could do was push the thought aside and ignore the sensation for now. No good would come of lingering on it. 

“Good morning, your highness.” He was still unsure how best to greet or address the prince, but he hadn’t seemed to object to how he’d spoken to him yesterday, so he assumed he hadn’t made any glaring mistakes. 

“Good morning, Rommath.” He paused to check the clock that stood across the room. “Prompt. I am glad to see you take instruction well. The object I would have you examine lies in the next room over, if you would follow me.”

Prince Kael’thas’ footsteps were so light that he appeared to glide across the room. He came to a stop next to a pair of ornate doors that were set so neatly into the wall that Rommath had entirely missed them to begin with. He threw them open and gestured for Rommath to go first. The room beyond was much smaller, but equally as crowded as the larger laboratory. More shelves lined the walls, holding books, glowing crystals and vials of dark liquids. Tucked among the paraphernalia on one shelf was a skull. Rommath averted his eyes and pretended not to have seen it. Central to the room was a table. Clean lines, no ornamentation and almost aggressively practical in appearance, it was clearly not a decorative item and entirely at odds with the rest of the tower. Rommath took a sharp breath when he saw what lay upon it. A corpse. A human corpse. Though there was something off about. It looked to be in a state of suspended decay: its body was whole and complete, but its skin was toughened, leathery and bearing an almost green hue. 

Rommath’s first instinct was to recoil. The sight of the dead thing turned his stomach, but he choked back his disgust and forced himself to look at the body. Across its torso, and still visible despite the hardening of its skin, were a series of glyphs and symbols carved into the flesh to form a sigil. It was not one he was aware of, and nor were the glyphs of a language he’d learned. They seemed familiar, however. Some sort of ancestral form that, through study, could likely be deciphered. It was, he assumed, why Prince Kael’thas had asked for his help so there was no sense in appearing as though he was intimidated by the sight. 

“Thoughts?” Prince Kael’thas remained inscrutable before the table. Arms folded, eyes on Rommath. He was clearly testing him. 

“You’re looking for something a little more insightful than you have a long dead human hidden away, I suppose?” Rommath asked, before taking a breath and swallowing his disgust to examine the corpse. 

“Long dead,” Prince Kael’thas repeated. “What makes you say that? I was told the suspended decay made accurate ageing of the corpse more difficult.”

“The glyphs - they aren’t forms I’m familiar with, but they contain elements I recognise. They appear to be older - perhaps a proto-formation of some of the more common sigils we use in regular protective and healing spells now.”

Prince Kael’thas leaned forward to look more closely at the carvings, and drew near enough to Rommath that he caught a whiff of his perfume: rose and amber, it smelled expensive. 

“I see. And do you think you could decipher them?” he asked, seemingly unaware that his breath now tickled Rommath’s ear. 

“I shouldn’t see why not, your highness. It would take some time, of course, and I would need the proper resources...” Rommath let his sentence trail off without completing the thought. The implication in his words seemed to have been understood. 

“And you shall have them, of course. As well as compensation for pausing your own research to focus on mine, but we can discuss that later. Now, any other noteworthy observations?”

Rommath held his breath and turned the corpse enough to see its backside. There was nothing inscribed on the hardened skin of its back, nor were there any signs of damage at all. He returned it to its supine position and once more turned his attention on the torso and belly. The glyphs were clean, healed scars upon its body. Slightly shiny where the scar tissue raised above the rest of the skin. 

“The runes were carved while it was still living, and are restricted solely to the easily concealed and easily reached areas of the body. Though until we can decipher what the inscriptions say I wouldn’t like to assume why that would be the case, your highness.” As he spoke, the question from the Arcanarium returned to his mind.  Perhaps directly onto the body. “But you knew that much already, didn’t you?”

The ghost of a smile crossed Prince Kael’thas’ lips and he let out a sound somewhere between a small laugh and an impressed scoff. Had he not still been standing so close, Rommath would have missed it entirely. “Very perceptive. Anything else?”

“About the corpse or…” 

Prince Kael’thas laughed again, but louder this time. Sharp and clear, like breaking glass. “Well I’ll leave that to you. Enlighten me.”

“You do not want anyone to know you’re holding this corpse here, your highness. Whether or not I agree to work on this, you will be swearing me to silence before I leave.”

“Discretion would be appreciated, yes. Though that is usually the case for most early stage research projects, one would assume.” There was a carefully rehearsed flippant tone to his words that suggested to Rommath that he was on that right track. 

“No, it’s more than that. I don’t think you’re supposed to have this. The tower is entirely deserted except for you, and now me, and the door was magically sealed. You could have anyone conducting this research for you, and yet you approached an archmage clearly hard up enough that he is still presenting at Arcanariums to find funding. And a fellow quel’dorei, no less, earning you a measure of assumed loyalty,” Rommath said without taking a breath. The words tumbled out at such speed he hardly had time to think before he spoke. “You’ve given no prior context on how you even came into possession of this grotesque thing. There’s something slightly illicit about it all.”

As Rommath finished, Prince Kael’thas’ expression soured and formed into a scowl. Regret set in. He’d overstepped a mark without realising, all in an attempt to show off before the prince. 

When Prince Kael’thas next spoke his voice took on a cold edge. “Is this likely to be a problem, archmage?”

Rommath held his neutral expression firm, despite the tangle of nerves that gripped his stomach. “It needn’t be. I can be very discreet when required.”

In an instant the prince’s sour expression calmed. “Good.”

If mere discretion was the price, Rommath would gladly pay it. He would sell an arm and a leg for the chance to work for the prince. His soul too, if it was needed. It helped that the area of magic was so fascinating. He had no qualms about secrecy. If it gave him an advantage, then it gave him an advantage. 

“Was there anything more?” Prince Kael’thas asked. 

Rommath took one last glance over the corpse. “I assume the suspended state of decomposition is more an environmental factor than anything related to the sigil. It appears to have been preserved in peat, perhaps. Which leads me to wonder where it could possibly have been found, but to also assume I wouldn’t get an answer if I asked.”

“You would assume correctly,” Prince Kael’thas replied with a mirthless smile. 

“And you’re now preserving it in…ice?” It was purely guesswork, but the plain table wouldn’t be as much of a loss as the rest of the furniture if an ice block melted early, and something had to be preserving the corpse now it no longer rested in the ground. 

Prince Kael’thas waved his hands before the cadaver and a block of ice formed instantly around it, perfectly fitted to the slab and clear enough to see through unimpeded.

“Astute once more. There, that should hold until you next need to examine it. Now, come through to the main lab and we’ll talk specifics.”

Prince Kael’thas left the laboratory in a movement that could best be described as sweeping. Rommath lingered a moment to inspect the ice. He warmed his hand with a fireball and placed it upon the crystalline block. It did not melt beneath his touch, but remained cool and solid. The prince’s summoning technique was perfect. The spell was a simple one that any mage could conjure without needing to think, but an inelegant cast would result in cloudy, craggy shard of ice that was prone to melting. Prince Kael’thas’ had been cast with an expert precision, but no more effort expended than necessary. It gave Rommath a slight flutter to know he’d be working with such a skilled mage. He’d heard stories of the prince’s prowess, but to see it in action was another matter. But he couldn’t spend too long admiring the ice. The prince had already left for the main laboratory, and he didn’t like to keep him waiting. 

Prince Kael’thas had taken a seat by the window. As Rommath approached, the door to the smaller laboratory swung shut behind him. The motion was so smooth that if the lock hadn’t clicked as it once more latched he wouldn’t have been aware of it at all. 

“The body is not to be moved, so all work directly with it will need to take place here. I trust this will not be an issue?”

Rommath shook his head. “Not at all, your highness.”

“And it may be the case that whatever is discovered is…unpublishable.” He lingered on the word in a way that implied he used it euphemistically. He didn’t mean unpublishable. He meant dangerous. “The corpse was a gift from an interested party, so any findings will be relayed back to them. When it comes to the Kirin Tor, however. Well, their sensibilities are a little more… easily offended.” It was clearly meant as an insult.

“Understood, your highness.”

“Good.” Prince Kael’thas leaned back in his chair. The morning sun filtered into the room with a harsh, cold light. It sent shadows across the prince’s face that further obscured his already unreadable expression. “So I can assume your interest in this venture?”

“Of course, your highness.” Rommath took care not to answer too quickly, but also to sound sufficiently enthused. While he wanted the prince to be sure he was eager to begin work with the corpse, he needed to retain some room to bargain on his fee. He had started calculating potential figures when Prince Kael’thas asked a question distracted him entirely. 

“What do you know of the Black Empire?”

Rommath’s ears twitched, but he held himself back from looking too interested. He had, in the course of his studies, delved into some more taboo areas. Black Empire included. He didn’t want to seem too keen before he had judged how the prince might react, however. 

“I know as much as any scholar might,” he replied, words edged by caution. 

“Well I would ask you to keep what you know in mind as you are working.”

“If I might, your highness, I thought the Black Empire existed long before humans. If you’re implying what I think you are implying-“

Prince Kael’thas cut him off with a shake of his head. “There have been stories of pockets of worshippers who exist in certain locales throughout history. Whether they are true descendants of the Black Empire or merely mimicking its practices, well.” He paused to give a dismissive shrug. “All I have been told is that this figure was an advisor for, and had pledged his devotion to the leader of one particular sect. Just a little context, should you need it.”

Unsure exactly how to respond, Rommath simply nodded. As soon as enough time had passed that he felt he could shift the topic of conversation, he cleared his throat. 

“Earlier you mentioned compensation.”

“I did. You shall, of course, be paid well for both your work and your discretion in this particular matter. The standard rate for archmage consultation with a little extra.” He conjured a sheet of paper with a number on it. “I was thinking this would be an acceptable figure.”

The sum was considerable. At least three times what Rommath had hoped to receive. He fought to keep his elation from showing on his face, and tried to maintain a cool disposition despite his tingling fingers and light head. It was probably better that Prince Kael’thas remained ignorant of the type of figure he would have accepted. 

“Yes that sum sounds amenable to me,” Rommath said, careful to keep his voice steady. In light of the prince’s generosity he felt suddenly spurred on to try his luck. “Although I do have one further ask.”

Prince Kael’thas raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Do tell, archmage. Name your price.” 

The tangle of knots returned once more to Rommath’s stomach, twisting, squeezing, and threatening to choke the words down before he could he could speak them aloud. He swallowed the sensation and took a breath. 

“This is clearly a sensitive area of research, and should I succeed in deciphering the sigil, and taking care of anything that may follow, I assume I will have earned a considerable measure of your trust.”

With narrowed eyes, Prince Kael’thas gave a signal that Rommath should continue. 

“I have certain aspirations. I have served my time here in Dalaran, and I wish to return to Silvermoon as soon as I am able. When the time comes for Grand Magister Belo’vir to appoint his new apprentices, I would like to be considered for the position.” It was a gambit, he knew that much, but if he didn’t seize his opportunity when it presented itself so openly he knew he would regret it. 

“So you would like to eventually be Grand Magister Rommath?” Prince Kael’thas asked, drawing out the syllables as if testing the sound of the title. 

Rommath had owned a picture book as a child. His favourite story was about a young man who sold his soul to a dreadlord. He could remember staring at the illustration whenever he read it, and the wide, cold smile of the demon as it scoffed at the man for not being smarter about his deal. He tried to push the image from his mind, unsure why it had returned to him so suddenly. 

“Should you sufficiently impress me, consider it done,” Prince Kael’thas said. “Now, if we’re quite finished here I have council matters to attend to. I expect you back here early tomorrow morning.”

With a wave of his hand the laboratory door flung open into a portal that led straight to the street beyond. Cold winds blew in, disturbing the stacks of paper upon the shelves. Rommath took his exit.

Chapter Text

To say Rommath’s first day working under Prince Kael’thas was a nervous affair would be to downplay the situation entirely. His insides twisted with anticipation so thoroughly as he approached the tower that he half expected to turn inside out before he made it through the door. But he managed to reach the laboratory in one piece, somehow. Prince Kael’thas was already there when he arrived. He sat in an armchair near one of the bookcases, leafing disinterestedly through a book. As soon as he noticed Rommath he dropped it, and stood to greet him.

“Our esteemed archmage has arrived.” There was a practiced warmth to his tone that Rommath assumed was meant to put him at ease, but managed the exact opposite. “I am relieved yesterday’s revelation did little to dissuade you.”

“You’re lucky, your highness. It takes far more than that to scare me off,” Rommath said, hoping his voice didn’t wobble and betray him.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Prince Kael’thas replied. He then gestured toward the smaller laboratory where the corpse lay. The doors swung open. “Everything in this laboratory is at your disposal. In fact, feel free to roam the tower as you please. If a room is off limits to you the door will not open, so have no fear of accidentally prying where you are not invited.”

Rommath nodded, making a mental note but itching to begin work as soon as possible. He’d quickly find that almost every door save for the laboratory and the library were locked anyway and the rabbit warren of corridors within the tower barely seemed to adhere to the laws of physics, so there wouldn’t be much use in roaming.

“I’ve left instructions on the specific ice block variation that has been used on the specimen. It’s slightly modified, you’ll no doubt get the hang of it,” Prince Kael’thas continued. “I’d prefer it if you refrained from dissecting the body over the course of your investigation. At least, not without informing me first. There are to be no visitors. And you must keep this work, and the fact you are working with me, entirely private. I’ll be away the rest of the day on council business.”

When Prince Kael’thas finished talking he stood and swept his way toward the door with such haste that Rommath had no chance to get a single word in.

Left alone in the grand tower, Rommath took a moment to get his bearings together, then sank into his work.

A month passed in a haze of paper cuts and drained inkwells. Rommath spent his days in Prince Kael’thas’ laboratory, where he carefully transcribed every glyph, every line, every curve that made up the sigil on the corpse’s torso. He spent his nights scouring obscure reference texts for anything that appeared familiar or bore resemblance to the markings. He woke early, barely slept, and took care of anything unrelated to his work in the opalescent half light of dawn. He often arrived at Prince Kael’thas’ tower when the early morning shadows were still long enough for the entire street to be mostly cast in darkness. Somehow the laboratory was situated high enough in the tower that the sun shone through unimpeded, despite only being on the second floor. Rommath had decided not to waste too much time considering the interior architecture, for fear he might go insane before he solved the mystery of the sigil. One puzzle at a time.

Prince Kael’thas normally rose late, and Rommath was usually hard at work before he appeared. If he appeared. The prince was often called away on council business, or other business that he was careful not to name, so Rommath spent many days in silence as he worked on the corpse. Occasionally he made conversation with it as it lay on the slab, but it never replied. When Prince Kael’thas did appear he’d set himself up in the laboratory to watch with interest. At first he’d been as well turned out as he had been during their previous meetings. Stately robes, hard expression, distant demeanour. He asked questions, but Rommath was sure they were ones he would already know the answers to.

“And it is not quite as simple as copying what you see?” he asked one afternoon, peering over Rommath’s shoulder.

“No, your highness,” Rommath said, gesturing toward a glyph with particularly raised scar tissue. “I must also determine the stroke order of each element, and make notes on the depth or the angle of the cut.”

Another afternoon, Prince Kael’thas had taken to examining the small runes at the top of the sigil, near the man’s neck.

“These symbols together look similar to those that mean bond, don’t they?”

Rommath stopped to look where Prince Kael’thas indicated. He’d not yet fully examined the uppermost reaches of the body, but even a quick glance confirmed that the prince was correct.

“That would be a likely interpretation, yes.” He cleared his throat, and forced himself to ask a question that had been gnawing at him for days. “You seem familiar enough with how to interpret this sigil, your highness. Is there a reason you brought me in?”

Prince Kael’thas’ enigmatic smile in response provided no answers. He shrugged. “I am no expert in the area. I merely have a passing interest.”

As the days wore on Prince Kael’thas became a more regular visitor to the laboratory, and with each appearance grew more casual in both his dress and demeanour. First it was the mannerisms. He no longer stood or sat with a straight back and a stately demeanour. Instead he lounged upon the chairs or leaned against walls and door frames. And he showed his emotions more openly and freely, sharing his excitement at the work with Rommath, but also his frustrations. Gone was the distant mask he’d worn in public. The next change was his clothing. Rommath hadn’t been sure what to make of it at first. When the prince arrived in the lab wearing none of his finery, but a simple robe and his hair tied roughly out of his face, his first instinct was to avert his eyes. When Prince Kael’thas made no mention of it and acted exactly as he had the day before, Rommath forced himself to do the same. After all, it was hardly a state of déshabillé. The prince was simply dressing comfortably in his own home.

Still, the more casual the prince became in his presence, the more Rommath found his eyes drawn to him. He felt there was something mildly improper about seeing him in anything other than fine robes and gold. His more casual dress emphasised certain features that his stately attire and grooming had kept hidden: the strong angle of his jawline as it gave way to the slender neck beneath, leading to deep, prominent collar bones. The fine curve of his back when it wasn’t enshrined in thick brocades, but instead light silks and linens. Rommath had to force himself to keep his attention solely on the corpse, or he could easily become distracted.

And then there were the days in which Prince Kael’thas took to his outbursts. Initially, Rommath found fewer reasons for distraction when this happened. When the prince burst in through the laboratory doors with one complaint or another consuming him. He would stalk about the tower like a powder keg, threatening to explode at any moment. At first Rommath didn’t know how best to handle him in these moods, so he fixed his eyes on his work and kept to himself. He quickly learned that controlled explosions helped to wear out his ire and bring him back to good humour, rather than letting the prince erupt all at once. He would prod and poke with jibes and snide remarks, and Prince Kael’thas would reply in kind. It slowly let the steam out of his anger, rather than allowing it to come to a head. Rommath quickly came to appreciate the efficiency of the method.

The scenario was always similar. One morning only a week prior, Prince Kael’thas had thrown open the doors with a face like thunder. He flung himself into one of the armchairs and knocked the book that had been balanced upon its arm to the floor. Where he would have previously kept quiet and fixed his eyes on his work, Rommath instead glanced over and risked provocation almost immediately.

“What crawled up your arse and died? No need to take it out on the books, your highness.”

“I’ll take whatever I like out on whatever I please.” The prince hissed back, voice full of venom as he kicked the book further across the floor. “I don’t remember hiring you to comment on my behaviour.”

“No, your highness, but I’d much more easily be able to do what you hired me for without you glowering in a corner there.”

“I would hardly call it glowering,” he retorted.

“A tantrum, then?”

He continued teasing until enough steam had been let out, and the prince’s mood lightened. Which it did, fairly quickly, leaving Rommath to continue his work in peace.

The sigil was a reassuringly stable contrast to Prince Kael’thas’ unpredictability. Rommath found himself losing hours working on it. He pictured what sort of cult had led to its creation, and wondered who the man upon the table might have once been. Or he did initially, at least. While his earlier discomfort had quickly faded, he still spent several days painfully aware that his research subject was a dead body. Soon enough, however, his work became so routine that all he saw was the sigil. He often forced himself to step back and remember that each glyph had been carved upon a man with thoughts and fears and a life of his own. It would be much easier if the corpse could simply tell him what the carving meant. Each glyph and rune held its secrets, and the sigil was made up of hundreds of them surrounded by all sorts of curves and spirals that made it look unlike anything Rommath had ever seen, and yet entirely familiar. All he could do was attempt to decipher it. He recorded the placement, the depth, the angle and stroke order of each glyph and filled notebook upon notebook with his interpretations.

When his work in the laboratory was completed for the day, usually about the time his stomach wouldn’t cease its growling and his eyelids grew heavy, he would carefully pack up his tools, encase the body once more in ice and leave the tower. He allowed himself an hour or two to eat. Usually he took to one of the inns in the city, and forced down whatever cheap fare they had for the evening. Then it was on to the library. He would sequester himself away with a pile of reference texts and transcriptions of ancient scripts. He’d examine each page in detail, comparing symbols and glyphs until the hour drew so late that the even the street lamps had burned out to an inky black.

One morning, a little more than a month into his work, Rommath woke slightly before his alarm. It was rare, but it happened occasionally. He bathed, dressed and took a small breakfast of jam on thick, buttered bread. Spring was still a way off, so he wrapped himself in a woollen cloak before braving the outside. His slightly early start gave him a chance to catch up on all his errands rather than just picking the most pressing of the day. He needed more ink, he needed tea and he needed yet another stack of thin paper upon which he could trace the glyphs. Only a few shops were open at such an early hour, so he’d become a regular at all, and he knew the route so well he could stop paying attention entirely as he trudged along it.

It meant that when a voice called his name it took him a moment to break from his stupor. The voice was far too friendly for the early hour, and Rommath grimaced knowing what was to come.

“I thought that was you!” Aethas Sunreaver greeted him with a nauseatingly bright smile, as always. Rommath forced himself to return in kind. There was nothing particularly objectionable about Aethas: he was intelligent, friendly, and quickly rising his way through the Kirin Tor ranks. And yet every conversation with him set Rommath’s teeth on edge. He was just so…much. “Fancy seeing you out so early—didn’t know you were an early riser.”

“I’m usually not.” Rommath tried to keep his responses brief and inaccurate. The less Aethas knew of his current schedule the better.

“Oh, well!” Aethas brushed past the purposefully curt response without breaking his smile. “So what’s this I hear of you gaining Prince Kael’thas’ favour?”

Cold panic gripped Rommath’s chest. No one was supposed to know he was working for the prince, so where could Aethas have possibly heard that? He fought to keep a calm facade as he let out a false laugh.

“Well that’s the first I’ve heard of it. What do you mean?”

“At last month’s Arcanarium. I heard he asked you about your research project. He never attends those things, so to think he’d ask about someone’s work… And then I hear you two were spotted talking on the balcony.”

“Oh, that.” Feeling once more returned to Rommath’s body as the chill in his chest dissipated. “I wouldn’t read anything into it, if I were you.”

“Oh come on, there must be something to tell.” Though his voice remained friendly, it was impossible to mistake what Aethas was attempting to do: size up the competition. There wasn’t a quel’dorei in the city who didn’t want to catch Prince Kael’thas’ eye, and Aethas wanted to know how Rommath had gained the advantage.

Rommath shrugged, hoping his expression came across as cluelessness, rather than relief.

“No, really. There’s nothing to it. He was asking about other applications of the flame sigil in order to add some effects to his cloak. I assume to make an impression at a ball, or something similar.”

Aethas deflated slightly. The story was plausible enough - it was an application Rommath had already considered for the spell, and Prince Kael’thas was well enough known for his peacocking tendencies. It was also dull and specific enough to not be of any interest to Aethas.

“Oh. Well I suppose that makes sense.” He gave Rommath another smile, though this one was less enthusiastic. “Was that all?”

“As disappointing a story as it all makes, I’m afraid so. He never contacted me afterward, so I assume he’s decided against it. A fire hazard against the draperies, perhaps.” The lies spilled out so easily that Rommath took himself by surprise. Aethas seemed satisfied by the answers, and excused himself once he realised there would be no further gain in plying Rommath for information, leaving Rommath to shop in peace.

By the time he’d bought the ink and paper, Rommath was running slightly behind schedule. It wasn’t that the conversation with Aethas had significantly slowed him, but it had rattled him enough that he lacked his usual efficiency. He dawdled and paused as he walked through the city, concerns about whether he’d properly maintained the privacy of their work playing about his mind.

When Rommath arrived in the laboratory, Prince Kael’thas was already awake and seated in an armchair by the window as he leafed through a book. Rommath nodded toward him in a way that said good morning, your highness and took up his own chair to begin planning the day’s work.

Prince Kael’thas placed his book down and turned to Rommath with narrowed eyes. “You’re looking rather worse for wear this morning.”

Rommath hesitated a moment, shifting in his chair. “I had a small fright. But nothing to be concerned about. An acquaintance who said he heard I’d gained your favour, your highness.”

“Gained my favour?” Prince Kael’thas repeated. His voice, at first, dripped with amusement but it soon died off and gave way to a flat tone that threatened anger as he continued. “I assume you’ve not been speaking freely of our work here. After I made clear just how important discretion is.”

“Of course not, your highness. He heard that we spoke during the Arcanarium and made some assumptions. Accurate assumptions, but he doesn’t know that.”

“And how can you be sure of that?” The thunder clouds gathered once more.

“I told him you wanted a sigil to set a cape on fire for a ball and he accepted the explanation. Believe it or not, your highness, I am not entirely useless in these matters.”

“You might not be useless but you’re growing increasingly impertinent.”

“Oh, impertinent is it now? Well I suppose I had better take my impertinent self out of his highness’ presence and continue my work,” Rommath said as he rose to stand.

The prince stood as well. “I assume you’ll have no objections if I observe.”

“Would it be considered treason if I had?” Rommath couldn’t help himself one more jibe. It burst the lid and reduced the last of the pressure that had built in the room. He held his breath a moment, and Prince Kael’thas let out a slightly exasperated laugh.

“Don’t give me ideas.”

The prince took his usual seat across from the table. He watched intently as Rommath recorded specific markings in his notebook, tracking their size and depth, the entire time mumbling under his breath. Rommath had been conscious of Prince Kael’thas’ presence for the first few weeks, watching, observing. Now he no longer felt his eyes upon his back. When the prince was in his relaxed moods he was quite pleasant. He sat in silence, careful not to disturb any of Rommath’s work, and all Rommath could hear from him was his breathing. Soft and rhythmic.

They continued that way for an hour or so, until Rommath let out a noise of surprise. Prince Kael’thas stood and leaned over to see better what had happened.

“This particular glyph was adjusted later,” Rommath explained, pointing to a specific symbol that sat over the corpse’s heart. “The main body is of a different depth to the line that bisects it, and it healed differently.”

Prince Kael’thas leant in close, examining the indicated spot upon the corpse, breath tickling Rommath’s ear. “So it is. And does that have any significance?”

“Potentially. To strike out certain glyphs in a sigil like this could render the entire thing useless. And it alters the meaning from what I had assumed. The line needs to be treated as separate.”

Prince Kael’thas’ eyes lingered on the corpse. Then snapped away with speed. For a moment the mask returned and it was impossible to read what he was thinking.

“Won’t you join me for dinner this evening?” he asked, changing the subject entirely. “I’d like to celebrate one month of our partnership.”

Rommath had never seen the kitchens of the tower, he assumed it was one of the many rooms locked to him. Nor had he seen another soul within the tower. As far as he was aware it was deserted save for himself and the prince. This meant the appearance of a lavish meal in the downstairs dining room was something of a surprise to him, especially as Prince Kael’thas hadn’t left his side that entire afternoon - not that he could imagine the prince cooking, but there seemed to be no one else to take on the task.

“Is there a problem?” he asked when Rommath hesitated in doorway of the dining room.

Rommath gestured toward the laden table. Two waiting, empty plates served as bookends to a platter stacked with cold, carved meats and sides. There were floured rolls of bread, still warm and steaming from the oven, and between neat, seeded crackers sat three hunks of cheese: one hard and bearing crystalline salt in its crumb, one soft and half melted, one pungent wedge of blue. Fruit jellies and jams sat glistening in tiny jars at the edge. It was a sight, and whoever had prepared it had spared no effort.

“Ah, I understand.” Prince Kael’thas’ tone was bafflingly apologetic. “I had intended to take a light meal this evening. I should have checked if that was also fine with you or if you’d prefer something more substantial.”

“No, I mean…as far as I understood it this tower was empty, your highness. Who prepared this?”

A look of realisation crossed Prince Kael’thas face, and he waved his hands. Within ten seconds they were joined by a small army of arcane familiars who lined themselves up and bowed deeply, before standing to attention. When he inclined his head they all exited the room in an orderly line.

“They do most things around the tower. It allows me a modicum of privacy, and I can be sure things are kept to my exacting standards.”

“So you show a level of self awareness at least, your highness,” Rommath said, then raised a hand to his mouth. It was the sort of comment that should have remained a thought. He’d become far too comfortable in provoking the prince, but this was not a conversation that had called for it.

Prince Kael’thas raised an eyebrow. “As do you, at last. Though do you not see the irony in making such statements while addressing me as your highness? Do feel free to drop it while we are in the tower. I find the contrast rather jarring.”

“Oh I—” The request took Rommath by surprise. “Of course. I’m sorry.”

“Simply Kael’thas, if you would.”

“Of course your—” Rommath paused to correct himself, it would be a difficult habit to break. “Of course, Kael’thas. And I apologise for such comments.”

“No, don’t. I’d have had you out of here weeks ago if they bothered me.” Kael’thas flashed a wicked grin. “It’s rare to find someone who will speak so brazenly to me. I rather enjoy it.”

They sat to eat and Rommath piled his plate high. There was no sense in being coy about it - the food looked delicious.

“I must come clean,” Kael’thas said, placing his fork down before he’d even started. “I had something further I wanted to discuss with you this evening. I’m to attend a ball in Silvermoon, and the excuse you gave your acquaintance has piqued my interest. Would flaming robes be possible?”

Rommath had assumed Kael’thas had an ulterior motive for requesting his company that evening, but he hadn’t expected it to be that. He fought to keep a straight face as he responded.

“Of course. But I would need some time to work on the embroidery, which would cut into my work on the sigil.”

“I supposed as much,” Kael’thas replied. “And I assume you’ll be happy to attend in order to control the flames?”

“I can teach you the incantation. It’s very simple. Especially for a mage of your calibre.” As he spoke he caught sight of Kael’thas’ expression and realised it had been an invitation to the ball. “Ah. Of course. Yes, I would be happy to.”

“Excellent. You said you’d wanted my good word for when you return to Silvermoon, so what better opportunity to start spreading it?”

The walk to the library after dinner had Rommath in a nervous flutter. He’d never attended a ball in Silvermoon before. Much less as a guest of the prince. He rolled potential scenarios around in his head, and momentarily let fantasy get the better of him before he forced himself back to reality and to the wall of textbooks that stood before him.

He couldn’t shift the adjusted symbol from his head. He knew he recognised the base from somewhere, but he was having trouble recalling where. It wasn’t until he reached a book entitled A History of Forbidden Incantations that he finally found it. The diagram sat alone on a page. Though it looked slightly different, it was clearly adapted from the symbol that had been used on the corpse. A small note explained that no woodcut examples of stone carvings accompanied the glyph as it was generally only used in sigils intended for use upon the body. Its translation was simple. Parasite.

Rommath flipped through a few more pages until he found further examples that matched those he’d come across, but without the bisecting line. Blood. Exchange. Covenant. Everything fell into place. He shoved the books back where he’d found them, pulled on his cloak and bolted out from the library. It was dark, and Dalaran was quiet at such an hour. Luckily Rommath had made the journey between the library and the tower so many times that he could travel the route with his eyes shut.

When he arrived, his knock gained him entry. He had no idea whether or not Kael’thas would be awake, or if he’d take kindly to the intrusion. Though he didn’t have to wonder long. His frantic entrance must have woken the prince, for he rushed down the stairs all loose hair and bed clothes.

“What? Rommath, what is it?”

“Blood magic,” Rommath panted, out of breath. “The runes on the corpse. It’s blood magic.”

Chapter Text

Rommath and Kael’thas were still standing before the corpse when the first rays of early morning sunlight broke the crest of the Alterac Mountains. Neither had slept, instead they’d sequestered themselves away inside the laboratory to talk through the findings and stare at the body. Though nothing had changed in its appearance, it now loomed larger than before. An inescapable presence in the small room. 

“And you’re certain?” Kael’thas asked once again. “Blood magic?”

“Fairly certain,” Rommath responded. He couldn’t help but notice Kael’thas didn’t seem to be asking out of disbelief, but excitement. And that excitement was contagious. 

“I’d been interpreting the horizontal marks incorrectly. It appears to be some sort of reciprocal blood ritual, so there will likely be another corpse out there with the same marking. You noticed it yourself - the glyphs that seemed to spell bond.” Rommath tried to repress a shudder, but couldn’t fully.

“So what are the horizontal marks?”

“Nullification,” Rommath said. “This section here reads what is wrought on one is countered on the other. If one bearing the sigil is harmed, it will be healed by the other bearing its twin. And the opposite is also true. By striking the runes out that bond is broken.”

“Fascinating,” Kael’thas said in a tone of pure wonder. “And do you think it could be replicated?”

The question caused Rommath to pause. He looked from the corpse to Kael’thas and then back again, trying to word his answer as tactfully as he could. He wanted to test the sigil, but practical minds had to prevail. 

“In theory, yes. Although I would want to understand the exact parameters of this spell before it could be used,” Rommath adopted a firm tone as he continued, fearing Kael’thas would become carried away if he left any ambiguity. “However, given that I would also not like to be arrested, banished and perhaps killed for practicing forbidden blood rituals, the realistic, grounded answer would have to be no. Absolutely not.”

Kael’thas pouted. “Who would have to know?”

“As much as I admire your optimism, I’ve known mages stripped of their rank for far less. And I have nothing to fall back on should that happen to me.” 

 “Then it wouldn’t need to be performed here. In Silvermoon I could provide you full protection.”

The offer was tempting, Rommath couldn’t deny it. It would satisfy the curiousity that had gripped him since he started his work on the sigil, and he couldn’t deny the appeal of dabbling in such powerful magic. And Kael’thas’ promise of support made it all the more appealing. But there was a fear as well. While he was happy to read of more taboo practices, he’d never experimented with them himself. Each time Rommath opened his mouth to respond he found the words halting and catching in his throat.

“I still want to understand the spell fully first,” He said, finally. 

“Well I would hope so.” Kael’thas placed a hand upon Rommath’s shoulder. It was a friendly gesture, but the prince had never made any sort of physical contact with him before. Rommath’s skin grew hot beneath his robe. 

They stood before the corpse in silence for a few moments, until Rommath encased it in ice once more and they both exited the smaller laboratory. It was only then that the extent of his tiredness hit him. He’d not slept at all, and his eyes weighed so heavily in his skull that he half feared they’d fall out of his head. It must have been obvious when he pressed the heel of his palms into his eye sockets and tried to stifle a yawn. 

“Get some rest before you make any decisions,” Kael’thas said in a firm, but not unfriendly tone. “First though, stay for breakfast if you would. I can hardly send you back out onto the streets in that state.”

Breakfast, much like dinner the night before, was set on the table before they’d even entered the room. Though a smaller spread than the previous night’s fare, it was still far from meagre. Bowls of grapes, strawberries, pears and peaches sat beside a pitcher of sweetened yoghurt, a jar of honey and a selection of nuts. Rommath said little as he helped himself to a portion. The reality of the situation was beginning to set in, and he feared if he tried to speak he’d throw the breakfast right back up again onto the table. 

Kael’thas, instead, spoke enough for two, and Rommath was content just to listen. He was not fascinating in spite of his mercurial nature, but because of it. Kael’thas was a forest fire, the heavy rains to quell it and the sun that followed. It became clear that it was less a mask of inscrutability he wore in public, but a wall. Defences and battlements raised skyward, and the drawbridge had been lowered for Rommath. 

As Kael’thas launched into a string of complaints about the quality of fruit in Dalaran, Rommath found himself staring. Even while talking of something so mundane, the prince still managed to be captivating. He had evidently braided his hair to hold it back the previous evening, but now it was almost entirely loose. Strands of gold draped over his shoulders and across his back. He wore an embroidered banyan of turquoise and burgundy silk that, though tied at the waist, was clearly being worn above little else for it had loosened enough at his chest to bare parts of it as he reached for yet more fruit. Rommath wondered if he ought to have looked away, but instead he found his eyes lingering on the lithe lines that lay below the silk and being obvious enough about it that Kael’thas noticed. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said in a tone that narrowly managed to avoid smugness, and simply sounded flattered. 

Rommath didn’t need a mirror to know his face matched the strawberries on his plate. “Apologies, I—”

“Apologies for what?” Kael’thas interrupted in a carefully casual tone. “Anyway, I wanted to ask something. Why would an archmage be presenting at an Arcanarium?”

Rommath wondered whether simply money would be too glib an answer. He decided that it was, then said it anyway and added. “And the Kirin Tor are hardly the most generous employers.” 

“I can’t say I’ve noticed that myself.”

The absurdity of the statement caused Rommath to scoff. “You’ll forgive me if that isn’t surprising. Your highness. Such things can be easy to miss when you’re set to inherit an entire kingdom.”

Kael’thas bristled, and regarded him for a moment with narrowed eyes. “Are you implying I’m out of touch?”

“I’m sure the sun has never had cause to complain of a chill, and we do not criticise her for that.”

Kael’thas rolled his eyes. “So we’re a man of the people and a poet now, are we? Come then, out with it. Do you have some tragic urchin past I ought to be aware of?”

“Hardly, but I wasn’t born with a silver spoon either. My father owns a small reagent shop in Silvermoon. My mother repairs hawkstrider harnesses,” Rommath paused to reach for the pitcher of yoghurt. He rarely spoke of his family. There was no particular reason for it, he simply valued his privacy. And yet the words came so easily to him now that Kael’thas had shown even a mild interest. “They make enough get by, but that hasn’t always been the case. I send a part of whatever I earn back to them for my own peace of mind. Though it does quickly eat into any savings.”

“And is that why you didn’t balk at the body? You just need the money that much?”

“I hope you’re not trying to suggest I’ll do anything as long as the price is right.” Rommath poured a careful swirl of honey atop the yoghurt he’d portioned himself, and used his concentration as an excuse to avoid Kael’thas’ eye. 

The prince gave a quick, curt laugh. “I’ve found nothing is unreasonable if the price is right. And the corollary as well.”

“And that is?”

“No price is unreasonable if someone is willing to pay it.”

“Very clever. But I still have my standards. I agreed because it sounded a fascinating subject. And who could possibly refuse an opportunity to work under the great Prince Kael’thas Sunstrider?”

“I’m flattered,” Kael’thas said in a dry tone. 

“Don’t be,” Rommath replied in a tone to match. “I’m simply buttering you up.”

They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment as they ate. The early morning sunlight filled the room and reflected from the glass chandelier that hung above them, sending sparks across the floor and table. Dust motes danced in the rays and shimmered as they caught the light. It was so quiet. Other than the ticking of the clocks and the sound of Kael’thas’ spoon as it scraped against his plate, the tower was entirely cloaked in silence. Rommath placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. 

“You said before that you use the arcane familiars for the privacy they afford you. Is that what all this is about?”

Kael’thas gave him a blank look. “All this?”

“This.” Rommath gestured broadly around the table. “No palace, no servants, no rigmarole, no formalities. You even invited me to address you by name. It isn’t exactly what I would have expected.”

“Your parents - you said your father owned a shop, didn’t you?” Kael’thas asked, to which Rommath nodded. “Did he ever expect you to take it over from him?”

“I worked there for a spell when I was younger, but no. He has an assistant for that. She knows the business far better than I do, and she’s been working with him for as long as I can remember. He always told me to find something I was interested in,” Rommath answered, unsure where the conversation was leading. 

“And your mother, did she ever expect you to repair hawkstrider harnesses?” 

Rommath shook his head. “It was the same - I helped, but there was never any expectation it would become anything more. Only if I wanted to take it on.”

“I have never had the luxury of choice, only the illusion of it. That’s what all this is. I have my work with the council, I have my research, but one day I will be called back to Silvermoon to fulfil my duty to our people. I suppose this life is a bit like playing pretend for a while.” Kael’thas smiled, but it was a small, strained smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Do not misunderstand, I don’t begrudge it. I understand the great privilege of my position and I will do anything for Quel’Thalas. I want to. But it’s nice to have something of my own, even if just for a short while. A chance to indulge in the fantasy of another path.”

It fell silent again, but this time it was a heavy silence that hung like a shroud above their heads. Rommath briefly considered reaching out to offer Kael’thas a comforting hand, but couldn’t bring himself to do so. He wondered if it was the lack of sleep that had drawn such candour from the prince, or if he’d broken through yet another layer of defences. It could, of course, all still be an act. But Rommath doubted that. With each conversation he felt they grew closer, and Rommath wanted to believe he was seeing a truer picture of the prince with every word shared between them. 

He sat without speaking, waiting until Kael’thas either said more or changed the subject. A few times the prince made as if to say something, but hesitated. Eventually he cleared his throat. 

“Oh dear. It would seem I have soured the mood, wouldn’t it?”

“Then it must be on your head to enliven it again.” Rommath sat back in his chair and made a gesture as if to indicate he was waiting.

Kael’thas stood and performed an intricate hand gesture. Rommath recognised it - a summoning charm. It needed at most half the flair the prince had put into it. The arcane familiars appeared, filing into the room in a neat line. As they got to work cleaning the table he swept over to where Rommath sat and perched next to him. 

“I’ve been thinking about the ball.”

Of course, the ball. In all the excitement of their discovery, Rommath had almost forgotten about it. His stomach tightened as he waited for Kael’thas to continue. 

“Are you able to give my robe the appearance of phoenix wings?” he asked. “Just temporarily. For when I make my entrance.”

“Easily,” Rommath replied. 

“And then can you give it the appearance of tiny balls of flame, meteorites or shooting stars, dancing across its surface for the rest of the evening?”

Rommath hesitated. “Yes, but you’ll be something of a fire hazard should anyone come too close.”

“Even better!” Kael’thas let out a shrill laugh. 

Unable to tell whether or not the prince was joking, Rommath simply smiled and changed the subject. “I did want to ask about etiquette for this thing. I’ve never been to a ball before.”

Kael’thas looked at him wide eyed for a moment, then launched into what seemed like a pre-prepared diatribe on the intricate social dance of a Thalassian ball. He was cut short when a great yawn escaped his mouth. 

“Ah, it seems the topic bores his royal highness. Shall I see to it that they bring in another jester as entertainment?” Rommath said, earning himself a napkin aimed at his head curtesy of Kael’thas. 

“If I’m tired, I think you’ve reached the point of delirium. At least I hope that’s the explanation for the drivel leaving your mouth. Go, get some rest. Gods know I need to, so I’m sure you do as well.”

“It’s only morning, though,” Rommath said, with a touch of concern. He wasn’t used to abandoning his work while there was still sunlight. 

“Yes, and I’m worried with a full day ahead you’ll fall asleep directly onto the corpse or something equally gruesome. Go home for the day.”

Rommath followed Kael’thas’ order and collapsed into his bed the moment he got home. He barely had time to wonder whether he ought to change into his bedclothes before sleep was upon him. He slept so heavily that he missed the passing of an entire day, and he woke the next morning with crumpled robes and a growling stomach. 

Breakfast seemed a wise start to the day, so he set off in search of some as soon as he looked and smelled presentable. The streets of Dalaran were glazed by a layer of frost that crunched beneath Rommath’s feet as he walked. It shimmered as it caught in the early morning sunlight, giving the entire city the appear of a gaudy cake topping. He’d never seen snow, frost or even ice until he left Silvermoon. With any hope he’d soon enough never have to see it again. Like many things in Dalaran, it was pleasant from a distance but there was no sense in getting any closer than was needed. As he walked, a shock of red hair in the distance caught his attention. One more thing there was no sense in getting any closer to than necessary: Aethas Sunreaver. Rommath ducked into a sidestreet and took the long route to his intended cafe. 

It was almost entirely empty when he arrived, a testament to the early hour and to the biting cold outside, which meant the window seats were free for once. He ordered something strong and bitter enough to better wake him up, and a slightly obscene stack of a sandwich. Four layers of toasted bread stuffed with cheese, egg and bacon. Then topped with further cheese, grilled so that it crisped up on the surface, and then another fried egg. It oozed when he cut into it. Yolk spilled over the plate and formed a golden moat that he dipped every forkful into before eating.

He found his mind wandering as he ate. It replayed the events of the previous morning, and the night before it. Kael’thas’ excitement at their find had been so contagious that Rommath found himself afflicted as well. He ought to have been disgusted, or perhaps fearful, but he wasn’t. The sigil itself fascinated him, but more so he found himself wanting to share in the prince’s enthusiasm. 

He’d come to Dalaran to make a name for himself before returning to Silvermoon, and now the ideal opportunity seemed to be unfolding before him. He could never publish the findings, of course. But connections and word of mouth held equal value to public acclaim, and pleasing Kael’thas was about the pinnacle of that. The only doubt that still weighed heavy was in the spell itself. He needed to examine it more thoroughly - to completely understand how it worked and how to replicate it. What worried him was that he couldn’t see any possibility for testing that didn’t include it being carved directly into the skin, and he wasn’t sure he’d find any willing participants for that. 

His consideration of every gory eventuality was interrupted by the scraping of the spare chair at his table. He looked up to see Aethas now seated next to him. 

“I thought that was you from the window,” he said, with a grin far too wide for the early hour. “Hard night of research?”

Rommath gave a grunt of assent, then turned his attention once more to his coffee. 

“Rumour has it that, as of yesterday, your name has been added the invitation roll for the next court ball in Silvermoon. How’d that happen?” 

Did Aethas really keep track of a thing like that? He knew the boy was a social climber, and he had no room to judge him on that account, but he hadn’t realised just how seriously he took the role. 

 “I’ve seduced King Anasterian himself and he’s officially presenting me before court as his paramour,” Rommath said in a voice so flat that it took Aethas a moment to register the sarcasm. When he did, he let out a hearty laugh.   

“Imagine! I think it might be treason saying that actually. No, but how did you manage it? I’ve been vying for one of those myself and I haven’t managed it yet. You’ve heard Grand Magister Belo’vir is scouting for a new apprentice, I assume? Not that I’m too interested. I mean I am, but also I’m not sure it’s worth returning to Silvermoon permanently for - you know? But still, to be there and have a chance to make an impression on him...” Aethas trailed off as if distracted by his own train of thought.   

Gods. Was that right? Grand Magister Belo’vir was looking for an apprentice? Rommath knew he’d been slightly single minded in his research lately, but he didn’t think he’d have missed a piece of news like that. He was usually so well entrenched in the latest Thalassian gossip that it was almost inconceivable that he’d be unaware. And it seemed curious that Kael’thas wouldn’t have told him, especially considering their agreement. 

 “Of course I’m aware. And I’m not wholly bothered,” he lied.  

 “Well, go on then, get me an invite as well.” Aethas’ attempt at a friendly nudge to Rommath’s chest was narrowly avoided as he leant forward to fake a cough.   

“No.” 

 “Oh go on, we’re friends, aren’t we?”  

“No.” 

 Aethas must have mistaken his answer as yet more sarcasm, for he let out another laugh. “How did you manage it, anyway?”

“Prince Kael’thas wanted that robe after all.” It wasn’t even a lie but a slight bend of the truth, and the easiest way for Rommath to control what Aethas knew of the situation. “And he needs me to control the incantation. I assume it’s so he’s freed up to talk as he wishes without worrying about that side of it.”

Despite his cheery demeanour, it was clear Aethas was crestfallen at the news. “Ah, I see. Lucky you then, eh?”

“Luck has very little to do with it.” As Rommath took a sip of his coffee he met Aethas with a flat stare. “I am simply providing something useful.”

When Aethas attempted one more smile it faltered. “Right, of course. Well I best be on my way then.” He slipped out of the cafe and back out into the frozen street. 

So Grand Magister Belo’vir was finally looking for an apprentice. It was one of the most coveted roles for any quel’dorei mage, especially those hoping to become his successor. Rommath tried not to let the prospect grip his mind too fully as he continued making slow work of his coffee. Grand Magister Rommath. He stifled his excitement and attempted to remain practical. He would do all he could to make a good impression on the grand magister during the ball. Anything else would have to develop from there. He tried to stifle his frustration as well, but found that more difficult. Kael’thas should have told him.

Chapter Text

Following his conversation with Aethas, Rommath marched to the tower. His nostrils flared and annoyance welled in the pit of his stomach. 

“Why didn’t you tell me Grand Magister Belo’vir is seeking an apprentice?” he asked as he threw the laboratory doors open, forgoing any greeting. 

Kael’thas shrugged. “I invited you to the ball, didn’t I?”

“That’s not quite the same!”

“You’d have preferred it if I gave you the news with no way of doing a thing about it? Do think sensibly about this. And I was going to tell you once we reached Silvermoon anyway, otherwise I feared you’d spend the next week and a half ruminating on it.”

“Oh.”

Kael’thas replied with a wicked grin. “You’re welcome.”

As easy as that, it was all forgiven. 

Rommath thought of nothing but embroidering sigils for a week straight. His nimble fingers worked the fabric, stitching runes and glyphs with speed and precision. Summers spent helping his mother with her work had given Rommath a certain amount of skill with a needle, and though fine silk and enchanted thread required much more delicacy and much less force than the waxed cotton used in the heavy leather of a hawkstrider harness, the basic movements were still the same. 

“If this whole magic thing falls through, I half wonder if I should employ you as my tailor,” Kael’thas said, eyes fixed on Rommath’s hands. 

“You’ll be worse for it if you do. This is all I know. You’ll have beautifully detailed scraps, and that’s all.”

“Hardly an issue. I’m sure I could make that work. Artfully dishevelled.” Kael’thas flashed a charming smile that caused Rommath to laugh and nearly prick his finger on the needle. “I had expected you’d mark on what was needed and send the robe out for this part, I must confess. I feel like I’ve given you an extra workload.”

“You have, but I wouldn’t trust anyone else with it. It’s a very delicate process, see here—” Rommath pointed to a patch he’d worked on earlier that morning, in which three symbols intersected. Kael’thas leaned in to see more closely, until his face was nearly next to Rommath’s. “The angle has to be precise and each symbol formed in a specific order for it to work properly. It’s easier if I do it, then I know it’s been done correctly.”

Kael’thas reached a hand out to touch the embroidered section, brushing past Rommath’s in the process. With the prince’s breath on his ear, and fingers so close to his own, every hair on Rommath’s body stood on end. He was finding his growing attraction to the prince harder and harder to ignore. What was stopping him from intertwining their fingers, or closing the gap between himself and Kael’thas entirely? He fought to keep his breath steady as the prince finished inspecting the embroidery. 

“Fascinating.” Kael’thas rose and stepped back. “So have you given any further thought to the testing the corpse’s sigil?”

The question was sudden enough that Rommath had no time to think through his answer before he spoke. 

“I want to attempt it, but I am still concerned about the risks.”

“An improvement on last time then. I believe then you said absolutely not. Perhaps the next time I ask, you’ll have come round to the idea a little more.”

“So it’s a war of attrition now is it? Ask me every day until I relent?”

Though Rommath had intended it as a joke, the challenge that flashed in Kael’thas’ eyes suggested it had not been taken as one. But he said no more on it, so Rommath returned to his work.

Careful gold stitches in midnight blue fabric. He followed the outlines he’d sketched, and the surcoat took on the appearance of the night sky. Each length of thread a tiny star, each sigil a constellation. His mind and gaze drifted as he fell into rhythm once more. When his eyes met Kael’thas’, he quickly averted them. When he chanced another look, the prince’s eyes were still on him. 

“Are you still set on returning to Silvermoon?” Kael’thas asked, not breaking eye contact. 

“Yes,” Rommath answered, turning to look down at the fabric. 

“If all goes well and you make a good impression on Belo’vir then you would be leaving Dalaran within the year. A shame, I was beginning to enjoy your company.” He spoke in such a matter of fact tone that it took Rommath a moment to realise what he’d said. The compliment was pleasant enough, but the implication less so. 

“A shame? Do you not think I’d be suitable for the role?” Rommath asked, unable to keep the concern from his voice. 

Kael’thas stood and made for the doorway before he answered. He lingered there a few moments, carefully avoiding Rommath’s eye. “Do actually think about what I said, for it was clear I meant quite the opposite. ”

Before Rommath could ask what he meant, the prince slipped out of the laboratory door and out of sight into the rooms beyond. It wasn’t that he hadn’t known him to be cryptic before. What baffled Rommath was that he could usually work out what the prince hinted toward when he couched his words in vagueness. This time, however, he was left none the wiser. 

The day of the ball arrived with nauseating speed. Rommath had been so absorbed by his work that he hadn’t found time to worry about the event. Now he was hit by weeks worth of delayed concerns at once. While Dalaran had left him well practiced in making a good impression, he’d always had the comforting notion that it was merely a stepping stone. This was the destination, if he succeeded. And if he failed to impress, his dream of one day becoming grand magister was dead on arrival. 

At least the interior of the palace was enough of a distraction to prevent him from wallowing in his thoughts. Each corner they turned was more breathtaking than the last, and it seemed to stretch on in an endless display of opulence. Kael’thas led them through winding corridors and great hallways, each lined with gold and every wall covered by tapestries that spanned ceiling to floor. Elegant statues watched him with judgment. Rommath’s eyes darted from side to side as he walked, taking in every sight possible. Kael’thas didn’t glance at their surroundings once, seemingly oblivious. A reminder of the great rift in their past experiences. 

After what seemed to be an endless rabbit warren of corridors, Kael’thas came to a halt beside a painting of a resting dragonhawk. 

“The ballroom is just around this corner,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll agree it’s among the finest Azeroth.”

Rommath had little to draw on for comparison, but he was still inclined to agree with the prince’s assessment. Great golden pillars extended from floor to ceiling. They glowed in the candlelight and led the eye up toward cornices carved to look like boughs of ivy. From the ceiling hung delicate silk awnings that bloomed overhead in deep ruby, emerald and sapphire tones, each embellished with gold thread. Just like the hallways they’d travelled through to reach it, the ballroom walls also bore enormous tapestries. Idyllic pastoral scenes and rousing battles. Between them hung lifelike portraits of Sunstriders both past and present. It was all Rommath could do to continue walking and not allow himself to pause and gawp at everything. And yet somehow, despite the gilded finery of the palace, the prince outshone it all. 

Kael’thas had already dressed for the ball. A jewel toned silk robe draped elegantly across his tall frame and was topped by a heavier, midnight blue velvet surcoat. Rommath had embroidered the intricate, gold runes on both. They glimmered and twinkled as they caught the candlelight, giving the appearance of the night sky. And Kael’thas was the sun. 

There were those who venerated the Sunstrider dynasty as gods among men. Their devotion had, at times, seemed a little excessive to Rommath. But as he looked on the prince in that moment, he started to understand. Something had adjusted in Kael’thas’ demeanour when he entered the palace - it was similar to the mask he’d worn when they first met, but cloaked in a regal imperiousness. It was as if his every movement had taken on weight, and his stride had acquired a new confidence. Rommath knew that if there were others in the room, all eyes would be fixed on Kael’thas. He looked every inch the future king. 

“You seem rather overcome,” Kael’thas said with some amusement. 

Overcome was a good word for it. But the prince didn’t need to know that it was more his doing. 

“Well it’s my first time seeing the palace,” Rommath replied. It was a true enough statement, at least. 

“Grand, isn’t it?” Kael’thas came to a stop before an ornately carved door. “Now, wait here.”

He rapped his knuckles on the wood. Chairs scraped and papers shuffled in the room beyond. A small voice mumbled something about how sorry he was to have overrun. When the door opened, an older quel’dorei in priest’s robes stepped out. He inclined his head to Kael’thas, then stepped aside to let him through. His eyes then settled on Rommath.

“Oh, hello! Yours is not a face I know,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but it was clear he was expecting an explanation.

Rommath recognised him from one of the portraits they’d passed earlier: High Priest Vandellor. He offered a handshake, and the high priest accepted it. It bought Rommath a moment to calm his nerves before he introduced himself. He had expected to meet guests of such a status at the ball. He hadn’t expected to run into any at a time like this. 

“Archmage Rommath. Of the Kirin Tor. It’s a pleasure to meet you, High Priest,” he finally managed to force out. 

“Ah, so though I do not know you, you do know me - I do apologise!” He broke into a warm grin, and Rommath’s nervousness retreated somewhat. “And Kirin Tor you say? A guest of the prince then, I assume?”

“Yes.” Rommath wasn’t sure how much he could say before the high priest, but he realised he would need to elaborate more than that. “I am assisting his highness with an enchantment on his robes.”

High Priest Vandellor’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I see! How exciting! What sort of enchantment? Or is that a secret?”

“I have been sworn to secrecy, I’m afraid,” Rommath said in a conspiratorial whisper, prompting a hearty laugh from the high priest. 

“Well then, I do hope it’s worth the suspense. Now, I best make myself scarce to prepare for this evening. A pleasure, Archmage Rommath. I do hope to speak again later.”

Rommath was left in such a daze that it took him a few moments to realise Kael’thas had reappeared. 

“That was High Priest Vandellor,” Rommath said, well aware he was stating the obvious. 

“So it was,” Kael’thas agreed. “Pleasant, isn’t he?”

Once again the rift became apparent. To the prince, the high priest was a pleasant man. To Rommath, he was someone with enough sway to influence his entire future. 

Though they’d arrived hours before the ball was due to start, Kael’thas wasn’t planning on making an appearance until it was already in full swing. It allowed them plenty of time to practice Kael’thas’ entrance, and by late afternoon Rommath could have activated the sigils with his eyes closed, solely by the sound of the prince’s footsteps upon the ballroom stairs. He’d instructed Rommath to give them a show, and so that was what he’d do. 

When they were shooed from the ballroom to allow for final preparations, Kael’thas led them through to an open courtyard. The sun blazed down upon butter-yellow stone, so Rommath took a shaded seat beneath an ivy laden awning. 

“Nervous?” Kael’thas asked. 

Rommath was tempted to lie. To shake his head and deny the bubbling pit that had been his stomach all day. But he decided against it. This could be his only opportunity to strategise with the prince.  

“Somewhat. You know these people, while I do not. What should I do to leave a good impression?”

Kael’thas took a seat next to him, closer than Rommath had expected. They sat shoulder to shoulder as he spoke. 

“Well, when it comes to Grand Magister Belo’vir, I wouldn’t downplay your involvement in working on these sigils. Don’t play coy or humble. And he has a fondness for terrible jokes. High Priest Vandellor will be with him - you’ll have seen earlier that he’s an affable sort, I doubt you’d be able to offend him at all. And he dotes on that foundling of his, so if you want to get on his good side show some kindness toward her.” Kael’thas paused in thought, and Rommath did his best to commit his words to memory.  Foundling. He assumed Kael’thas referred to the high priest’s adopted daughter, Liadrin. He knew she was of a similar age to himself and that she’d proven herself a capable priest and was likely to be High Priest Vandellor’s successor, but he knew nothing more than that. He assumed from Kael’thas’ lack of strategies to win her favour that he didn’t either. Or he didn’t view it as important. 

“All the Windrunners will be in attendance, apart from the younger son,” Kael’thas continued. “Verath is probably your best bet if you want to get on side with any of them. His wife and daughters will just steer the conversation towards mud and archery. Lord Saltheril has been invited. Though if he’ll turn up is anyone’s guess. If he does, discuss the wine with him.”

The ease with which Kael’thas could rattle off his knowledge of Thalassian high society was captivating. Rommath listened with the attentiveness of a student, in awe of a master of his craft. As the evening sun began to set, shadows overtook the courtyard. Kael’thas shuffled himself slightly closer to Rommath as he continued to speak. Whether it had been intentional, or a subconscious reaction to the slight chill brought by the sunset, Rommath couldn’t tell. Nor did he care. Though he did begin to find his concentration wandering, and fewer of the prince’s words going in as they sat impossibly close. 

The prince had changed his perfume to something resinous for the ball, and the scent was intoxicating. Rommath watched as every slight change in his expression was picked out by the light from the lanterns that had sprung to life once the sun had set. His features rendered all the more fine by the golden glow. He wanted to reach out and trace every contour of the prince’s face. To caress them as the lantern light did. But he resisted, and prayed that the force with which his heart beat in his chest was audible only to him, and that the semi darkness masked the furious blush that he knew had set in across his face. 

“Did you hear a single word I just said?”

Rommath started, acutely aware that his mind had been wandering so far from their conversation that he hadn’t taken anything in from the last few minutes. 

“Of course,” he lied. 

“Well then?” Kael’thas stood, and Rommath’s blank reaction must have given away his lie, for the prince stifled a laugh. “I said it was about time for us to make our entrance.”

Rommath hadn’t realised it would be possible to fit so many people inside the ballroom, but he had little time to dwell on it before one of the heralds made the announcement. 

“Presenting his highness, Prince Kael’thas Sunstrider, Crown Prince of Quel’Thalas. And his guest, Archmage Rommath of the Kirin Tor.”

Every eye in the room turned to them, and Rommath fixed his attention on the prince. Just as they’d practiced earlier, Rommath stepped to one side and exaggerated his hand movements when he cast the incantation to ignite the sigils. Give them a show. Within moments every sigil upon the prince’s robe and surcoat roared with flames that burst outward from his arms and body to give the impression of phoenix wings. An impressed murmur spread through the room as Kael’thas descended the stairs. When he reached the bottom the flames died off and gave way to a number of smaller sparks that danced on the surface of his robe, like shooting stars. 

A crowd flocked to the prince. Rommath had intended to keep to the outskirts of the room initially, but as soon as he descended the stairs he was pulled to one side by a firm but gentle hand on his arm. 

“I hoped to grab you before the swarms descended.” High Priest Vandellor beamed at him. 

To his left stood another priest with a bored expression, Liadrin, and to the right was a mage with an angular face and auburn hair worn pulled back. Rommath could easily guess his identity: Grand Magister Belo’vir Salonar. 

Before offering any introductions, High Priest Vandellor gave Rommath a congratulatory slap on the back. 

“You were right to be secretive. That was quite the spectacle,” he said in an amused tone. He then turned Grand Magister Belo’vir. “This is the one I told you of earlier, Archmage Rommath.”

Rommath wasted no time in extending a hand for the grand magister to shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Grand Magister. I do hope you enjoyed that little display.”

“I must admit, when Vandellor told me this afternoon that they’d called in a Kirin Tor archmage to handle his highness’s enchanted robe I was sceptical. We have plenty of suitable talent for such a role here, and surely no mage of the Kirin Tor would have as much of a sense for occasion as one of our own.” He paused and smiled.  “But I am glad to admit when I am mistaken.”

Rommath saw his opportunity unfolding before him and seized it. “Well, I continue to think of myself as Thalassian first, so perhaps you were not wholly mistaken. I could demonstrate how this sigil works, if that interests you?”

He could tell by their faces that the only one keen to hear was the grand magister, but the other two stayed by his side nevertheless. Rommath launched into a short explanation of the particular glyphs chosen for the sigil and ignited his own sleeve cuffs with some smaller versions he’d stitched in for an occasion like this. The grand magister responded with a string of questions—the sort Rommath wished he’d received during the Arcanarium. Not only was he interested, he had his own idea for variations after seeing it in action just twice. They lost at least thirty minutes in deep discussion as Liadrin grew ever more bored. High Priest Vandellor, however, looked increasingly grateful. 

The pair had been so engrossed in their conversation that they both jumped when Kael’thas clapped a hand on Grand Magister Belo’vir’s shoulder. Neither had even noticed his approach. 

“Grand Magister, High Priest, I see you’ve met my new research partner.” All eyebrows except Rommath’s raised, which prompted Kael’thas to laugh. “And I assume from your reactions he’s been very modest about his role.”

“We spoke mostly of practical matters with the spell rather than titles,” Rommath said by way of explanation. He’d assumed there was the same level of caution around their research in Silvermoon as in Dalaran, but perhaps he’d been mistaken. 

“I did have my suspicions. You’ve never once extended an invitation to one of these for anything less,” High Priest Vandellor said. “I assume it’s as strictly confidential as all your research, Prince Kael’thas?”

Kael’thas responded with a smile that said yes, naturally.

“Now, if you wouldn’t mind I have some business with the grand magister. Are there any objections if I steal him away a moment?”

Each head shook. Just before Kael’thas steered Grand Magister Belo’vir out of earshot, the grand magister passed a small card to Rommath. 

“My actual address for correspondence, and not the false one I often give out. I would like to speak more with you of your work, do write to me.”

Once they were gone Rommath remembered Kael’thas’ earlier advice, and now turned to Liadrin. 

“I do apologise for commandeering the conversation there. May I offer a dance to make up for it?”

She grinned and accepted, and the pair whirled off across the floor with no rhythm to their steps, entirely out of time with the music. 

“I confess,” Rommath said, “I have no idea how to dance.”

“That much is clear,” she replied with a laugh. “Luckily for you, neither do I.”

She steered their wonky excuse for a dance toward a side table laden with food and drink, narrowly avoiding the guests with more refined movements. When they came to a stop, Rommath’s eyes drifted toward the wines. His nerves had killed any hunger the entire day, and he knew he probably shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach, but the great tower was just too eye-catching. Pale wine fizzed in elegant flutes that sat atop great, fat bellied glasses of a dark red. He took a glass of each in turn as he spoke with Liadrin. 

The first was sweet and light, and the second rich and full bodied. Both were delicious. Both were strong. A single glass produced a pleasant buzz in the back of Rommath’s mind, the second invited a pleasant haze. He couldn’t remember how many followed. The more wine was in him, the less he worried about the impression he would leave. 

“—but Bel dreads this sort of thing.” Liadrin had been speaking of High Priest Vandellor and Grand Magister Belo’vir, and as much as Rommath wanted to concentrate he found his mind wandering. He managed to regain his attention just long enough to listen. “I think you put him quite at ease going into all that technical magical side of things. I admit it interests me very little. And the same is true for Vandy.”

They spoke for a while longer, but Rommath couldn’t recall a single word of their conversation. When the whirring in the room became too much, he excused himself to the courtyard. It was dark now, save for spots of light beneath the lanterns and a glow from the doorway. The light breeze cleared what remained of the syrupy, perfumed heat of the ballroom as he sat himself on a low wall to enjoy the quiet. Though it was short lived as footsteps upon the flagstones disturbed his peace. He tried to ignore them in the hopes that whoever else had stepped out into the courtyard would leave him be. As they approached, however, he realised he’d have no such luck. 

“I thought I might find you out here. You seem to have a habit for escaping the fray at this sort of thing,” Kael’thas said. Rommath wondered what he meant for a moment, but then remembered their meeting on the Purple Parlour balcony.  “So, how did you find it all in there? Absolutely ghastly?”

Rommath tried to hold his tongue. He feared that the wine had loosened it enough that whatever left his mouth would either be drivel, or painfully honest. When it became clear Kael’thas expected an answer he grunted, and tried to keep his response as vague as possible.   

“Mostly. You, though. You’re quite good at the whole…” Rommath gestured vaguely in Kael’thas’ direction, “Prince thing.”

“Well I would hope so,” Kael’thas said with a laugh. “’I have been practicing since I was born, after all.”

“Comes naturally to you though. It’s all real. I thought how you were with others was an act - you know, that haughty thing you do. Then I worried how you are with me was an act to keep me on side. Now I don’t think any of it is. You just change your skin. Like a lizard. Not like a lizard, no, you’re prettier than that.” Ah, there it was. The honest stream of consciousness that he’d rather have kept to himself. Did he just call the prince pretty? “What I mean is sometimes you’re Kael’thas. Sometimes you’re the Crown Prince. You’re two different people in one body. It must be very hard to keep it all up.”

Now it was Kael’thas’ turn to fall quiet. He sighed and looked skyward, there were no clouds that evening, so the stars twinkled above unimpeded. When he finally spoke he kept his eyes fixed firmly upward. 

“You’re either an insightful drunk, or an honest one.”

“I’ve not had enough for it to make me insightful, and I’ve had too much for you to trust my words as honest. You’ve instead found me at the awkward middle ground, where I simply spout nonsense. Ignore me.”

“It wasn’t nonsense.” Kael’thas’ voice had grown soft. 

Rommath couldn’t be sure what possessed him, but he found his hand reaching out to seek Kael’thas’. Palm against palm. Their fingers met and intertwined, and he remembered a sailors’ knot he’d once seen that could never be untangled once it had been formed. Rommath told himself there was some plausible deniability in the action still. He needed to tell himself that. It was a friendly handshake. Nothing more. A slow, lingering handshake in which neither of them actually shook hands. It could mean nothing. When Rommath was young he used to worry that people could read his thoughts. With their hands still locked together the thought returned to him. It was irrational, he knew that, it was the wine talking. And yet a small part of him wondered if through their clasped hands he could impart his thoughts into Kael’thas. If he could make him understand what he felt without having to say the words aloud. 

He had little time to linger on the idea before Kael’thas stood, without breaking apart their hands, and nodded toward a small set of doors at the back of the courtyard. 

“Follow me, would you? I’d like to show you something.”

Kael’thas led him through the doors and then up a spiral staircase and into a long hallway. One side was lined with windows, and the other with portraits. Sunstriders looked out with a coolly detached air of authority, interspersed with advisors of more varied dispositions. At the far end, next to a stately portrait of King Anasterian, was an empty space. 

“One day I will have my place upon this wall, and I will not be hanging here alone,” Kael’thas said, though in a faraway tone of voice that made it sound more as if he was simply vocalising his thoughts than talking to Rommath. 

“Will they shift Lady Lireesa Windrunner and Grand Magister Belo’vir’s portraits over one, or will they paint new?” Rommath asked. It seemed a logical question. Neither were past their prime, and all former kings were flanked by a ranger general and a grand magister. Kael’thas threw him a withering look. 

“By the Sunwell, Rommath. Maybe you were right about the nonsense.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I brought you here to show you where your portrait will hang when I am king.” 

Rommath’s head swam. Of course. It was why Kael’thas had brought him along that evening, but though he’d spoken of his desire to be grand magister so many times, that was the first moment it ever seemed a genuine possibility. 

“I’ve never had my portrait hang anywhere before. I’ve never even had a portrait painted.” Rommath wasn’t sure why that was the first thing to come to mind. Judging by the look he received, Kael’thas seemed to share in his confusion.

Then another thought followed. “What of Grand Magister Bel’ovir?” 

“What of him? He’s my father’s man,” Kael’thas said. “Why do you think he’s seeking apprentices now? He’s smart enough to have noticed the walls closing in.” 

Guilt twisted in Rommath’s stomach. It may have been naive of him to assume he’d come to the title conflict free. That he’d take it on after Grand Magister Belo’vir left his position through old age. Or died. But if power had to be seized rather than peacefully inherited, then so be it. It was a price that must be paid. 

“You don’t resent me, do you? For asking for this.” The thought came to Rommath’s mind so quickly that he didn’t have time to question whether he should ask before it tumbled from his mouth. 

“If you hadn’t asked so brazenly I would have conspired to make it happen behind your back. I want you as my grand magister. I am simply lucky that you came to the idea first.”

“But why me? Surely there are other equally suitable mages.”

Kael’thas paused, and stared at the paintings. “There are. Many of them. More than you could count, probably. But they’re all so deferential and uninteresting. I don’t want a grand magister who will happily bend to my every whim”

“You’d prefer one who’ll bend to your every whim, but with his fair share of complaints first?”

“I’d prefer one who’ll be quiet for a moment.” Kael’thas’ placed a hand on Rommath’s cheek so gently that if he hadn’t pulled Rommath’s face toward his, he wouldn’t have known his hand was there at all. Kael’thas’ voice was soft when he next spoke. “I hope you do not believe me oblivious enough to have mistaken your affections. Or foolish enough to have acted on them hastily.”

A thousand thoughts raced through Rommath’s head, but each one was silenced as Kael’thas closed the gap between their lips. It was tender. Rommath hadn’t expected tenderness. All he could smell was the prince’s resinous perfume. All he could hear were two thudding heartbeats and the distant dregs of music that floated up from the ball. It was hard to say how long they remained locked together in this way. Time seemed to both stop and pass far too quickly for Rommath’s liking. And when they broke apart it felt like an eternity elapsed in which neither of them said anything at all. Rommath found himself needing to break the silence, but he couldn’t. Instead he stood in a state of shocked bliss. 

“Well now, I think I have one more dance in me yet,” Kael’thas finally said. “Shall we return to the ball?”

Chapter Text

Rommath returned to Dalaran shortly after the ball, while Kael’thas remained in Silvermoon for a further three days. Three days spent in rumination, as Rommath turned the events of the evening over in his mind to make sense of what had happened. Was it simply the excitement of the ball getting to him, or had Kael’thas meant what he said? Had he meant the kiss? Rommath was glad of the work ahead of him as a distraction.

When Kael’thas did return, he didn’t speak of it. But his behaviour adjusted once again. Any gaps between them existed no longer—physically, at least—and Rommath became quite sure he had meant it. Some nights Rommath returned home as usual after his work on the corpse. More often than not, however, he now shared Kael’thas’ meals, and then his bed, and then returned to the laboratory in the morning with little word of whatever had happened the night before.

Still, his attention was primarily on the sigil. A little further study had revealed more of the inscription, and Rommath’s assumption had been proven correct: it was a blood ritual. It bound two beings together in a mutually parasitic connection that harmed one to heal the other. A dangerous spell, and completely outlawed in Dalaran. And it came to fascinate Rommath more with each new discovery. There was one section that still remained a mystery to him—a small section that crossed the corpse’s heart to his stomach. Rommath couldn’t quite translate the runes, and the placement didn’t help either—it was a prominent enough position that it had to mean something.

He still spoke aloud to the corpse when he worked unobserved. It was a habit that, once formed, had been difficult to break. It helped him organise his thoughts, if nothing else.

“It’s this section,” he grumbled on one particular morning. “For all I know, it results in the fiery death of the recipient.”

Do I look as if I met a fiery death? the corpse asked in response. It didn’t move. Its hard, leathery face remained still and no sound left its lips, but Rommath heard the words clearly in his own head. Well, if his tiredness wanted to play such tricks on him, he might as well exploit it.

“Well, a fair point,” he said, stepping back from the body to take a seat beside it. “But Kael’thas did mention the black empire to me once. What if this portion sacrifices my soul to some awful ancient entity.”

If that was the case, why would the sigil be reciprocal? Anything done to me is mirrored on the other. Anything done to the other is mirrored on to me. If this sigil was sacrificial it would extend one way only.

“Of course.” The corpse could only confirm what he already knew, but laying his questions out in such a way helped him work through his remaining concerns. “A symbol of devotion, then?”

Perhaps I was forced into taking on such a symbol. A cruel fate. Perhaps it is a control measure. I would be discouraged from stepping out of line if I knew whatever harm befell me benefitted another. Or perhaps my god spoke through the hierophant of my sect, and so I gave my body to her. She bore this same scar, and through it I could keep her safe. The ultimate act of sacrifice. The ultimate act of romance.

“I’m not sure I would agree with that. A little morbid, isn’t it?”

The thought must have originated in your own mind. I am merely a conduit.

“Can we change the subject?”

Change it.

“Must it be carving? Would ink not produce the same effect? I’ve painted sigils on surfaces before.”

It requires blood. You know this.

“If the ink was inserted into the skin, it would still draw blood, but would require less damage to the body to be visible enough for a viable sigil. The Wildhammer tattoo themselves with intricate symbols. I shouldn’t see why this should be any different.”

Then try it.

He’d been mulling over the question for a while. Could the same effect be reproduced with a different method? He’d researched Wildhammer tattooing processes for days without coming to a clear conclusion. The corpse was right. If he wanted to know then he’d need to try it. He would test it with less risky symbols first - simple sigils and spells that were risk free. And, more importantly, ones he could speak of openly. The process of tattooing a normal sigil upon himself might be a little unusual, but it was not something he could be banished for and it would be a key step in understanding whether or not the idea was feasible.

He’d written to Belo’vir of his plan. Partially, anyway. They wrote of many things over the weeks that followed the ball: pleasantries sent by Rommath to ensure he stayed in the grand magister’s good books, an exchange of research plans, the weather, restaurants in Silvermoon, a play that Belo’vir had seen the night before. Short correspondence turned to long, meandering letters in which Rommath grew ever fonder of the grand magister. Were he not a stepping stone, Rommath would want to work under him solely for sharpness of his mind, the inventiveness of the ideas he put forward, and his unerring good humour.

It seemed a natural development of their friendship to write to Belo’vir with an explanation his plans to tattoo a sigil upon himself. Something simple, something useful. He didn’t elaborate on why. The grand magister could be allowed to assume it was simply the next stage in his research, which would be satisfactory enough and less dangerous. His response was cautious intrigue.

There is a thin line between intellectual curiosity and foolhardy risk. I know it well enough, and a mage of your calibre should know it too. Though I am interested in your findings, I also beg caution. And proper hygiene.

It was as close to encouragement as Rommath assumed he would get.

There was one question that did still bother Rommath. If they were to perform the sigil ritual, they would need to perform it on two test subjects. He’d wondered before why Kael’thas had needed his assistance when he seemed perfectly capable of deciphering the runes himself, and now he feared the prince had known more of their contents than he previously let on.

Rommath finally broached the subject on the sort of evening where the sun left a golden hangover. He’d stayed late in the larger laboratory, and was seated by the window with a stack of reference texts when Kael’thas took a seat next to him. He draped an arm over Rommath’s shoulders and read aloud from the open book.

“The Wildhammer. What a dull choice of reading material.”

“I’ve been thinking about the sigil and its ritual,” Rommath said, shifting his position to look Kael’thas in the face. “I believe it may be replicated in a slightly more humane manner.”

Kael’thas fought to keep a neutral expression. Rommath could recognise now when the prince was suppressing an outward display of emotion. There was excitement bubbling below his surface. “Do tell.”

“It requires blood, we know that already, and it requires the constituent runes and glyphs to have their clear and proper forms. It doesn’t necessarily require such barbaric carving.”

“Elaborate,” Kael’thas said.

Rommath gestured toward the detailed diagram of a Wildhammer tattoo in the book. “That’s where the Wildhammer come in. It could be tattooed onto a body rather than carved. The blood drawn when the needle pierces flesh satisfies one requirement, and it creates a legible glyph with far less damage to the skin.”

A wide grin settled upon Kael’thas’ lips. “Has your curiosity finally overtaken your caution? I am glad to be here to witness it.”

“But I have two further concerns.”

“Of course you do.” His grin fell instantly.

Rommath chose to ignore the comment and picked up a scrap of paper from the table. On it was a copy of the undecipherable glyphs.

“There is one small section of the sigil that remains a mystery to me. I am entirely unable to make sense of what it says.”

Kael’thas took the paper and studied it for a while. He held it to the light as if that would help decipher the symbols, then placed it back onto the table.

“Will further work provide an answer?”

Rommath shrugged. “Not every symbol on the corpse has a counterpart in the runic languages I know. I’ve been lucky that most within that category have been part of a longer phrase, and so I have still been able to decipher them through context. These though? They sit alone.”

Kael’thas pursed his lips as if in concentration, but then the expression faded and he sighed. “I see. And the other concern?”

“How much did you know?” Rommath’s chest tightened as he asked, fearing the answer and the prince’s reaction.

Kael’thas narrowed his eyes. “About what?”

“The sigil. The ritual,” Rommath answered.

“What exactly are you implying?”

“The sigil requires two bodies, and I know you would have had the skill to make sense of it eventually.”

“Be clear with what you mean, Rommath. Or I may accidentally take offence.” There was ice in the prince’s words that suggested he had taken a fairly considerable measure of offence already.

“Did you bring me into this to be the other participant in the ritual?” Rommath tried to keep his voice as calm and free of accusation as he could, but he knew it was of little use when his words still carried it in them.

For a minute Kael’thas said nothing. He shifted away from Rommath, then stood and leant over the table.

“I told you all I knew of this corpse. I did not keep anything from you. I needed your expertise, you know this.” His tone was cold and impossible to read.

When Rommath said nothing in response, Kael’thas let out a frustrated huff. “Would I lie to you?”

“I don’t know. Would you?” It sounded so childish as he said it, and yet Rommath found himself unable to stop the words leaving his mouth.

Kael’thas rolled his eyes and took a seat once more. “Don’t be foolish. Of course I wouldn’t. Although, baseless accusations aside, is that actually something you would be prepared to do? Take part in the sigil ritual yourself, I mean. With myself as the other participant.”

Rommath blushed, slightly abashed, but the outright rejection of his suggestion alleviated his worries a little. Though not entirely. He cleared his throat before he continued.

“Are you forgetting that we would be indelibly bonded by a sigil that is still part mystery to me?”

“You are to be my grand magister, we are conspiring together to take part in a forbidden magical ritual and you share my bed more nights than not. I rather think indelible bonds between us are no longer a concern in any area of our lives.”

Rommath couldn’t argue, instead he averted his eyes. “Yes, but still. The symbols I don’t understand could be a risk.”

“What better way to gain an understanding than by experiencing it yourself?”

Kael’thas had an answer for everything, and Rommath couldn’t deny it was a thought that had crossed his own mind countless times. What better way to understand every secret the sigil held than to place it upon himself? Still, there was no need to get ahead of himself.

“In any case, I don’t even know that the tattooing method works. I need to try it on myself first. I was going to attempt it this evening but I suppose that’s now out of the question with you hovering over me.”

“Oh don’t stop on my account. I’m rather intrigued myself.”

Rommath had been storing all the supplies he needed on one of the laboratory shelves. When he crossed the room to retrieve it a look passed over Kael’thas’ face, as if he’d been wondering what was in the small, wooden box.

He placed it upon the table, unlocked it and unlatched the lid. Inside sat a neat, carefully arranged array of small needles and ink. He set the pieces he thought he’d need on the table, and rolled up his sleeve. He turned his left arm out so he could reach the fleshy skin of his inner forearm, wiped the area down and then began.

The first pinprick was a white hot cat scratch. Though it wasn’t an unbearable pain, and surely much less painful than the method used on the corpse, he couldn’t call it pleasant. He tried to work quickly and precisely, marking his lines with as little damage as possible. He’d chosen the flame sigil for his familiarity with its form, and it meant he could focus entirely on pressing the ink into his skin without having to remember any new or complex symbols. He cleaned the area again when he’d finished and wiped the blood that had formed at the surface of his skin, then took a breath.

It was strange to see the black marks now embedded in his flesh. As he turned his arm over in examination, he realised that he didn’t dislike how it looked. But, appearance aside, he’d still need to activate the sigil to know if it was successful. There were no new sensations within his body to indicate whether or not it had worked, so he crossed his fingers and took a breath. He began the incantation and within moments a small flame gathered and hovered above his skin.

“How does it feel?” Kael’thas asked, placing a gentle hand on Rommath’s shoulder. There was a note of genuine concern in his voice. He’d been quiet the entire time, watching with trepidation.

“It stings,” Rommath replied. “But other than that, fine.”

“Then are you satisfied?”

Rommath sat with the question a moment, turning it over in his mind and considering all answers. Eventually he sighed.

“As close as I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

“Then we shall make a start tomorrow, unless you have any objections?”

Rommath shook his head.

“Good. Now, you should probably leave and bandage that thing so that you do not bleed on my furniture.”

The strangeness of the evening had exhausted Rommath, and he decided that if they were to conduct the sigil ritual the following day he needed sleep. Real sleep, in his own bed, in his own home. He’d been back for no more than an hour when a soft hum filled the room. The air rippled and shimmered, before tearing open into a portal.

“Rommath, good, I was hoping to catch you!” Belo’vir’s voice called out from the other end of the portal. He didn’t step through, but poked his head and shoulders into the rift. If viewed from the wrong angle it appeared as though Rommath had taken a partially disembodied grand magister captive.

Rommath blinked in surprise. “Grand magister, I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Well I would be more concerned if you were expecting me to appear in such a manner,” Belo’vir said with laugh, which quickly died away as he saw his joke hadn’t been well received. “Sorry. I was hoping to speak with you of something rather time sensitive and didn’t trust the postmaster. Are you able to step through?”

“I’m in my bedclothes!” Rommath replied, as if he wore something scandalous. In truth it was a pale linen tunic and loose fitting trousers, but it still felt inappropriate to be before the grand magister while only partially dressed.

“Yes, and quite comfortable they look too. Honestly it’s of no matter to me, nor am I expecting any guests who’d see.”

“Then I suppose so, as long as—” Rommath was interrupted as Belo’vir grabbed his arm and pulled him through the portal. His stomach flipped upside down and inside itself as it always did when travelling by portal, but on this occasion the sensation was eclipsed by the pain in his arm at the site he’d tattooed. When he arrived on the other side he snatched his arm away and cursed the grand magister.

“Portal sickness?” Belo’vir asked, a baffled look upon his face.

“My arm!” Rommath hissed in reply. “It’s a little tender right now.”

“Anything I should be concerned about?” The worry in Belo’vir’s voice was genuine

“I shouldn’t think so,” Rommath said, a little too quickly.

Belo’vir’s eyes lingered on his arm for a moment, but then turned away. If he had any more to say on the matter, it clearly wouldn’t be now. Instead he swept his arms wide.

“Anyway, welcome to my office. Quite the space, isn’t it?”

It was. Rommath had to admit as much. It was difficult to determine the shape of the room - it appeared rounded though every wall had a straight enough angle to allow great ornate bookcases to be lined up against them. At one end was a desk half buried beneath papers and open books, and at the other was a wide window that looked out onto Quel’Danas and the sea. It was dark by now, and the water shone beneath a full moon. Only the waves broke the stillness.

While Rommath had been admiring the view, Belo’vir had taken a seat at one side of the desk. Rommath joined him as soon as he noticed.

“Now I’m sure you’ll have a few questions, but before I explain why I’ve brought you here, I want you to know that there is no obligation on you to accept what I am about to offer.” Belo’vir’s calm tone reassured Rommath. He hadn’t realised until then how much the sudden intrusion had frayed his nerves.

“Go on.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard I’m seeking new apprentices - and no, don’t play coy as if you were entirely unaware of this. I know quite well that word spread before I intended it to.”

“I may have heard it mentioned,” Rommath replied, in a carefully measured tone.

“And then I’m sure you’re perfectly aware that I have been testing you somewhat in our recent correspondence. And what I’ve seen has impressed me enough to offer you the position.”

“I accept,” the words burst forth from Rommath’s mouth as soon as Belo’vir finished.

“I had a feeling you might. Prince Kael’thas floated the notion to me initially, and I’ve come to see his instincts are correct. As usual.”

Rommath’s stomach dropped. He couldn’t say why, but there was a part of him that hoped Belo’vir had asked him free of any outside influence. It was the deal he’d made with Kael’thas, he knew that. He couldn’t begrudge him for keeping his part of the bargain, but now there was a gnawing guilt. As if he’d not earned the position honestly.

“Of course.” Rommath choked back his discomfort. “Well I will have to thank the prince for putting my name forward. And who is the other?”

All grand magisters took two apprentices, and Rommath was curious about the other choice. He would be working with them soon enough, after all.

“A mage from the city - Dar’Khan Drathir. Pleasant, though he has a very particular taste in headwear,” Belo’vir said in a tone that suggested what he had to say was quite uninteresting, and before Rommath had a chance to ask what sort of headwear, exactly, he changed the subject. “I understand you have research yet to complete with the prince, so I won’t be hurrying you out of Dalaran immediately. Not if I value my head, that is. But the expectation is that you would return to Quel’Thalas when that work is complete.”

“Yes of course. I’m quite eager to return.”

“Wonderful! Well I suppose we ought to start calling you Magister Rommath now instead, hm? Or is that a downgrade from Archmage?” He smiled the sort of warm smile that ought to have been reassuring. And was, mostly. But Rommath’s lingering discomfort made it difficult for him to return the gesture.

“Before you go,” Belo’vir said, as if sensing Rommath’s growing wish to leave. “You are alright, aren’t you? The pain in your arm, I mean.”

Rommath instinctively raised a hand to the sore spot, and the linen of his tunic stuck to the sheen of blood and ink that had seeped out during their conversation. It quickly soaked through the fabric. Belo’vir’s eyes widened.

“Ah. So you’ve trialed it already. And the results?”

Rommath rolled his sleeve up enough to reveal the sigil. There was nothing untoward about the symbol itself, and Belo’vir would be very familiar with it by now given the letters they had exchanged on the research that led to its creation, but Rommath knew there was a measure of dissonance in seeing something so benign now etched into his flesh.

“It turns out the procedure is simple enough,” Rommath said by way of explanation, hoping it would be vague and satisfactory enough to kill any further questions. “I was correct to assume Wildhammer methods would work.”

Belo’vir’s face seemed unable to settle on an emotion. He was at once intrigued and unsettled by the sight. As if to try to alleviate whatever concern plagued the grand magister, Rommath began the incantation in order to demonstrate. Flames sprang up from the sigil.

“Well I suppose you’ll never be short a torch,” Belo’vir said. “It is merely a test to satisfy and sate your curiosities, I hope? Or is it in aid of larger things to come?”

“Does it matter either way?”

“Be careful, Rommath. Things that seem harmless in theory can often come back to us in ways we’ll regret. I trust your senses, but I know well how a lust for knowledge can be exploited.” In an instant the serious tone the grand magister had taken for his warning dissipated, and he clapped Rommath on the shoulder. “Anyway, this portal can’t stay open forever! Take care, I’ll be in touch!”

Rommath landed back in his room with a a thud and a sense of complete disorientation. Were it not for the remnants of the portal, which hung in the air with a silvery sheen like oily wisps of smoke, he might believe he’d had some sort of fever dream. It was everything he’d ever wanted, everything he’d ever hoped for, offered to him with the complete nonchalance that one might expect from a dinner invitation. And yet it felt tainted, somehow. Unearned. At least in the manner he’d have preferred, anyway.

All he could do was sit with his thoughts and attempt sleep. Tomorrow would bring far more pressing concerns, and he needed to be rested to face them.

Chapter Text

The hazy sunrise pulled Rommath from his sleepless stupor. Though there was still a chill on the breeze that came in through his open window, it was the sort of morning that promised warmth later in the day. He pushed the heels of his palms into his eyes and let out a groan. As much as he’d tried to sleep, he’d found himself lying awake all night with his stomach churning. Grand Magister Belo’vir’s offer replayed itself in his mind, and when that quietened he instead thought ahead to the day to come.

He couldn’t bring himself to leave his bed just yet, and flopped backwards into the tangle of sheets. Though he knew his curiosity would egg him on to complete the sigil ritual, the small, nagging doubt at the back of his mind wouldn’t abate. There had to be a purpose to the section he couldn’t translate, but he still didn’t know what it was. Still, he was certain he wouldn’t be able to decode its meaning without trialling it, and he’d spent too much time on it by now to leave it a mystery. His mind was made up, though he still wasn’t sure it was a good thing.

When Rommath arrived at the tower that morning, Kael’thas was already awake. He lounged in one of the many plush armchairs of the entrance hall. His hair was worn loose, his simple robe was slightly askew, and there was a restless air about him, as if he’d had a similarly sleepless night.

“Good, you’re here,” he said.

Before Rommath could reply, Kael’thas was upon him. He pushed Rommath’s sleeve up to examine the tattooed flame sigil, turning it over in the sunlight that streamed in through the open window. Rommath’s skin was tight and shiny, but the bleeding had stopped.

“How has it fared?” Kael’thas asked, with equal parts eagerness and concern in his voice.

“Fine,” Rommath said. “A little tender, but it is a web of tiny puncture wounds so I think that is to be somewhat expected.”

“And you’ve not developed cold feet? For the sigil ritual, I mean,” Kael’thas continued.

Rommath rolled his eyes. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Kael’thas smiled, despite the spiky response. “Then we ought to begin as soon as possible.”

They needed very little discussion to decide that Rommath would place the sigil upon them both. He’d spent so much time working with it that he trusted his own hand to recreate it far more than he trusted any other, and Kael’thas had no objections.

Kael’thas was to receive the sigil first, and so he disrobed, sat by the window where the light was strongest, and puffed out his chest.

“You don’t need to pose like that,” Rommath said, though he allowed himself a moment to admire the sight. The prince glowed in the sunlight, and gave a slightly smug smile when he noticed Rommath’s eyes on him.

“Like what?” He asked with a grin and faux-innocence.

“Well I suppose we’ll just see how long you can hold it once I begin, then,” Rommath replied, as he readied a bowl of soapy water.

Rommath needed clean skin to work on. Everything he’d read on the Wildhammer’s process stressed that plainly enough. He hadn’t thought twice about soaping down his own arm, but as he lathered up a cloth with the clean, slightly floral scented water, and placed it upon Kael’thas’ chest, he was struck by how intimate the gesture became when performed on another. His heart beat furiously as he traced the contours of the prince’s torso. Kael’thas had clearly noticed, for he hooked Rommath’s chin with a crooked finger and pulled his face closer toward him.

“Mind on your work,” he said, softly. His face was close enough that Rommath felt Kael’thas’ breath on him as he spoke.

“Right,” Rommath replied, flustered by the gesture. “Of course.”

Once Rommath was satisfied everything was clean enough, he turned to fetch the box of needles and ink, and prepared what he needed. He found himself hesitating a moment when it came time to begin. He tried to remember the sort of force he’d used on his own skin the day before, and mimicked the pressure. The needle pierced Kael’thas skin easily enough, and Rommath quickly found himself building to a rhythm. He hadn’t needed to trace the shape out first, so intimately familiar with the sigil after his many months of research that he could picture it clearly enough to freehand the entire thing. Line by line, rune by rune, he worked efficiently, building the sigil up through blood and ink. Kael’thas’ sharp intakes of breath suggested he was feeling the same pain Rommath had the day before, but he didn’t complain. Instead he sat quietly while Rommath worked and barely spoke, watching the sigil taking shape upon him with intense interest.

The size of the thing meant several hours passed before Rommath had finished. His hand cramped and ached, so he could only imagine how Kael’thas’ torso felt. The skin was raw and red, and all Rommath could do was apologise.

“Do not.” Kael’thas voice came curt and sharp. “You did what I asked and no more. Anyway, you’ll be feeling it soon enough.”

A gnawing anxiety gripped Rommath’s stomach. Though he’d tried to give some thought to the best method for tattooing himself, it had felt like a distant concept. Now, with the sigil sitting bold and glistening upon Kael’thas’ chest, the reality of the situation settled in.

Still, he tried to ignore his fear and gritted his teeth as he summoned a mirror image. He planned to look through its eyes and have it place the ink upon him, rather than contorting himself to strange angles and relying on mirrors. It seemed the more practical option.

He once more felt that white hot cat scratch sensation as he began, and it shortly dulled to a throbbing ache. The double initially worked with speed and precision, but the concentration required to maintain his summon while trying to steel his mind against the pain quickly wore on him. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his skin grew hot. Kael’thas sat beside him, watching with interest and occasionally looking down at his own sigil marking.

“It’s strangely beautiful, isn’t it?” Kael’thas said, as if he was seeing it for the first time.

Rommath nodded his agreement, but didn’t attempt to speak. It was a very well formed sigil. Each glyph slotted into a web of overlapping concentric circles that left no wasted space and made use of some highly complex and advanced runic compositions. It created a pattern that was, if you were to reduce it to its base appearance, quite pretty. It was perfectly shaped to the upper body, hitting its widest points just below the collarbones and tapering down the torso. Runes clustered over the heart, and spiralled out from that central point like blood vessels.

It took longer to finish the sigil when he tattooed it upon himself, and daylight had faded entirely by the time he marked the final line. His skin was equally as red raw as Kael’thas’ had been, and that dull ache still sat in his chest. Nothing would please him more than crawling into bed and sleeping for a day straight, but they weren’t finished yet.

“What now?” Kael’thas asked, as Rommath cleared away the ink and disposed of a pile of needles that now littered the floor. “I don’t feel any different, other than a little sore.”

“It isn’t active yet,” Rommath replied. “There’s a reason I’ve been referring to it as a ritual.”

He directed Kael’thas to take a seat in the centre of the room while he fetched a long sheet of parchment, charcoal, a knife and several candles from the smaller laboratory. From the symbols upon the corpse Rommath had pieced together the incantation and actions needed to complete the bond. It wasn’t entirely unlike other blood rituals he’d read of during his research, so he was confident that he had translated it correctly.

The candles were positioned at carefully calculated locations around a charcoal circle, which Rommath had directed Kael’thas to sit within. He laid the parchment out where he could clearly see it, sat himself opposite to Kael’thas and steadied his breath. First came the knife. He sliced across both palms, opening two small wounds that oozed red. He passed the knife to Kael’thas, and the prince repeated the actions upon his own hands. They pressed their palms together. Rommath began chanting the words upon the parchment beneath his breath, and Kael’thas joined him.

Rommath’s hands grew hot, as did the sigil upon his torso. He could feel his heartbeat thudding a nervous rhythm loudly enough that it was as though it rang out in his ears. And then it was joined by a second. This one was more calm, and his own slowed to meet it. The two drums slowly synced into one beat as Rommath became acutely conscious of the sensation of blood flowing throughout his body, in his arms, his wrists, his hands, exiting through the wound and being drawn into Kael’thas. The same happened in reverse too, as Kael’thas’ blood mingled with his own. For a moment, as the incantation rose to a crescendo, Rommath had the peculiar sensation that there were no longer two bodies in that room, but one single, shared system. The feeling persisted as they read the final line and then fell into silence.

The air hung heavily, more so than it had before they started the ritual, and Rommath didn’t need to look at Kael’thas to know they both felt the same unease. He wasn’t sure how he knew - he assumed perhaps that the atmosphere made it unlikely that he could be feeling anything else. But he didn’t linger on the thought. Instead he was more distracted by how much his hands throbbed. Far more than he’d expected, and he spared no time in reaching for the bottle of alcohol he put aside to douse the wounds. Kael’thas winced as Rommath did so, and Rommath couldn’t help but let out a slightly bitter laugh.

“It’s your turn next,” he said as he bandaged his hands tightly, hoping the pressure would relieve some of the ache.

Kael’thas gave the bottle a wary look as he poured it over his own hands, and Rommath took a sharp intake of breath. He could feel the sting on Kael’thas hands as he rinsed them, as if they were his own.

Their eyes met in wordless understanding as Kael’thas bound his hands. The pressure was twofold on Rommath’s now, and he knew the same would be true for Kael’thas.

“Did you know this would happen?” Kael’thas asked. Though he spoke in a measured tone, Rommath could detect something else in his words. Or his demeanour perhaps, or- no, it wasn’t in anything that he allowed himself to show. Rommath just knew. The prince was excited.

Rommath fixed him with a flat stare. “Of course I didn’t know. I did know this was a terrible idea, though. I should never have agreed to go ahead with this while that one section remained a mystery.”

“No need for all that negativity, I can practically feel—”

“Yes, I think that’s part of it,” Rommath interrupted. “And I can feel how much you’re enjoying this.” It wasn’t just physical sensations that were shared, it was becoming clear enough that emotions were as well. He flexed his hand absentmindedly as he spoke, focussing on the twinge to prevent himself from spiralling into a panic, but stopped when he received a glare from Kael’thas. “Right, you can feel that too.”

“It could have been worse,” Kael’thas said.

“How? How exactly could it have been worse?” Rommath tried to prevent his rising concern from seeping into his voice, but he realised the prince would still be privy to it. If he felt it, they both did.

“We could be dead,” Kael’thas replied in a flippant tone.

Rommath threw up his hands in exasperation and walked to the window. The pitch black outside seemed to swallow the entire city, and it was only then he realised just how heavy his limbs felt, and how exhausted he was. It didn’t help that his own tiredness was compounded by Kael’thas’ lethargy.

“What an absurd price to pay for curiosity,” he said, mostly to himself.

“I’ve found no price is unreasonable, as long as someone is willing to pay it,” Kael’thas said in a smug tone.

Rommath had no reply. Instead he sighed and tore himself from the window.

“Sleep. I need sleep. You need sleep. We can talk this through in the morning.”

When Rommath woke it took him a few moments to remember where he was. The early morning mists beyond the large window suggested he hadn’t had half the amount of sleep he’d wanted, and the throbbing pain that gripped his chest dashed the idea of getting any further rest.

The events of the day before returned to him all at once, though the extra sensations in his mind were quietened now, at least. Kael’thas still lay asleep and none of his thoughts or emotions encroached on Rommath’s mind. The bond didn’t share dreams it seemed, and he was glad of the reprieve.

Rommath attempted to stand, pushing through the pain with a wince and a groan. At least the prince’s quarters made pleasant surroundings for his suffering. It was the grandest room of the tower, with great woven rugs covering the wooden floor boards, gauzy curtains upon the large windows, and ornate furniture that all seemed slightly too large for the space. The early morning breeze that blew in from the windows was cold, and carried the scent of honeysuckle upon it.

He stumbled forward in the low light until he reached a mirror. He sat before it, summoned a bowl of water, and cleaned off the film of ink and blood that had formed over his skin. The sigil stared out at him, bold lines on slightly swollen skin. It looked impressive, he couldn’t deny it, but it also brought a quesy feeling to his stomach. Perhaps it was the permanence of the thing, or perhaps the full scale of their predicament was finally dawning on him. Whatever it was, he had little time to ruminate, before Kael’thas groaned from across the room.

“It’s too early,” he said, voice still groggy with sleep. “Come back to bed.”

Now that he was awake, the prince’s residual tiredness encroached on Rommath, and he had to suppress a yawn.

“No. Wash the sigil off, and then we need to talk about this,” Rommath’s voice came out with a sternness he hadn’t expected, and Kael’thas, to his surprise, complied.

The prince dragged himself from his bed with further grumbles and then disappeared for a few minutes. When he returned he looked more alert, and felt it too. He threw himself into a mahogany chair and leant his elbow heavily against its arm.

“Well, you have me awake. What now?” he asked, though with a measure of petulance that suggested he’d rather be doing anything else than discussing the matter.

“We need to discern exactly what this affects, and we need to run some tests,” Rommath said. He found himself slightly taken aback by his own decisiveness, as if his mouth had formed a plan before sharing it with his brain. He hoped the prince couldn’t feel his surprise, but the sceptical twinge that gnawed at the edge of his consciousness told him he probably could.

“Must we?” Kael’thas asked, sounding far too indifferent to the situation for Rommath’s liking. “I say we just see what happens.”

“And what if you’re meeting with some important dignitary and I decide to down four bottles of suntouched reserve and my intoxication unexpectedly transfers to you. What then?”

“Well then it may lighten the mood of the occasion,” Kael’thas replied with a wicked grin.

“You’re missing the—” Rommath pinched the bridge of his nose and took a breath. “We need to know what is and what is not affected, and we need to set ground rules.”

He pulled a sheet of paper and a pen from Kael’thas’ writing desk and passed it to the prince. “Make a note of what you feel on here. I’m going to cause some sort of sensation at various distances to see if we can identify some sort of range for this.”

He took first to the stairs, well out of sight of Kael’thas, and pinched his own hand. Then to the entrance hall and jabbed a finger into the wound on his hand. It burned with pain, and the outcome was clear enough as a burst of annoyance from Kael’thas made itself known in Rommath’s mind. Then, finally, he portalled to his own home, conjured a small block of ice and held it tightly. The relief as it cooled the burning sensation in his wound was not solely his own, and he wouldn’t need to check Kael’thas’ notes when he returned to know he’d felt it too. The bond remained steady across the entire length of the city.

“That far?” Kael’thas asked when Rommath returned, sounding slightly impressed.

“Far enough for it to be a concern,” Rommath replied, stony faced.

“Do you not see the value in this?” Kael’thas asked. “You have a keen analytical eye - I’ve seen that well enough. Do you know how many kings would kill for an advisor who can judge a situation and give his opinion without ever even opening his mouth? I’ll know if you feel suspicious or wary, or if you believe something is in our best interest. Would you be able to read how I felt from my face right now, were it not for our connection?”

He looked a Rommath with a very carefully arranged scowl, but all Rommath could feel from him was glee.

“Even so. What do I get out of this exchange?”

“Unerring loyalty from your future king. And insight into him that no one else has? A groundbreaking research discovery that had been otherwise lost to time?” Now the exasperation in Kael’thas voice matched the exasperation Rommath could feel from him. “I’m making you Grand Magister, Rommath. What more do you want?”

That familiar pang of guilt struck Rommath, the same one he’d felt while speaking with Belo’vir. Only this time Kael’thas was privy to it. He narrowed his eyes.

“And what’s with that sudden negativity?” he asked in a suspicious tone.

“Grand Magister Belo’vir offered me the position as his apprentice. One step closer to Grand Magister.” Rommath replied. There was no point masking the unease in his voice or to attempt to hide the truth. Kael’thas would feel it in him anyway.

Kael’thas relaxed. “Ah. About time. I put the idea to him at the ball. That doesn’t explain why you’re exuding misery right now, however. I would have expected the opposite.”

“Can I really say I’ve earned it?”

Confusion sat plainly upon Kael’thas’ face. “You asked for this. Anyway, nobody cares how you come by a position, they only care what you make of it.”

Rommath scoffed. “That’s rather easy for a prince to say.”

Kael’thas opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. Though his words died before they were spoken, Rommath felt the little flare of annoyance that rose up then was quickly smothered. Once no trace of it remained, he spoke.

“But I suppose that means you’ll be returning to Silvermoon?” he asked.

Rommath nodded.

“A pity. I’ve enjoyed having some company these past few months.” He then paused, and a look of realisation crossed his face. “Though I suppose now it will barely be as if we are parted at all. This new bond may prove interesting with such distance.”

Chapter Text

Rommath had expected it would take longer to adjust to the bond, but he quickly grew accustomed to sensations that were not his own lurking at the edge of his consciousness. Sometimes they made themselves more known, sometimes they were subdued. Either way, he soon found himself comfortable enough to conduct a few experiments in what could be shared. He didn’t tell Kael’thas of his plan - he knew well how the prince felt about spending time on that. Or wasting time, as he had phrased it the last time he asked. But Rommath needed to know the limits and the secrets of the sigil.

Pain was shared, as they knew, but unless the same wound was replicated the effects were counter balanced. If Rommath injured himself, it healed more quickly than before. Kael’thas, in return, would develop a slight weakness in the area until Rommath’s wound was healed. The same was true in reverse. Rommath had known that much long before they even considered testing the sigil, but he hadn’t anticipated how strange it would feel in its application. It created a self interested concern between them both through the fear that should the other find himself injured, they too would suffer from it.

Illness followed the same logic as an injury, as Rommath discovered when he picked up a cold from somewhere or another. Kael’thas was particularly displeased about that one. The implications were rather fascinating - was there a symptom so severe it could cause death for them both, or was it effectively a sort of immortality? Still, as much as the questions interested him, it wasn’t one he was willing to test.

Drunkenness was shared by the bond. That one had proven a particularly amusing discovery. Rommath had ordered spirit upon spirit in a nearby inn, and then stumbled toward Kael’thas’ tower on unsteady legs. When he threw the door open and called for the prince, he was greeted by an equally unsteady a sight of intoxication.

“I take it you’re to blame?” Kael’thas slurred, propping himself up on a door frame. Though he scowled, Rommath could feel the amusement that the prince tried, and failed, to hide.

Rommath had simply replied with an over-wide grin and then invited himself inside. And that was the last thing either of them remembered of the evening. The hangover, too, was shared.

Kael’thas quickly found means to amuse himself when it was discovered arousal, too, was shared. That was one Rommath hadn’t thought to test, and came as a fairly awkward surprise when Rommath had taken to the library one morning. Luckily the section he’d chosen to browse was all but deserted, and Rommath had been able to teleport to the tower unobserved. He’d rounded on Kael’thas, red faced and slightly flustered, and the prince had replied with a sly smile and a fit of laughter. They set ground rules for certain aspects of the bond shortly afterward.

But testing the limits of the sigil only took up so much of Rommath’s time. He filled further hours with reframing his research in a manner that could be safely published, and it had been much easier than he’d expected to find an innocuous front for his work with Kael’thas. There was no point in taking on further research with his imminent departure, and so Rommath felt as though he was existing in a suspended state for a few weeks.

At some point, a few days before he was due to leave, Rommath realised he should probably offer some goodbyes around the city. He racked his brains for those he’d need to visit, and settled on Aethas and a few of the inn and shopkeepers he’d come to see regularly during his time in the city. He’d kept to himself enough over the years that the list was, he had to admit, embarrassingly short.

Rommath had given Aethas no indication of the purpose of his visit, but somehow he was well aware anyway. Rommath opened the office door to a gleeful smile and a small, decorative card that held well wishes and congratulations.

“Quite the achievement!” Aethas clapped him on the back and forced him to accept a glass of something red and of poor enough quality that Rommath questioned whether it even ought to be called wine. “Being apprenticed to the grand magister is just one step away from being the grand magister.”

“Well, what can I say,” Rommath said through a grimace disguised as a smile.

“And the other apprentice—have you met him yet?” Aethas asked.

“No, I’ve only been told he has an unusual taste in headwear.” Rommath placed the still full wineglass back down on the desk with as much subtlety as he could muster. “Dar’Khan Drathir, if the name means anything to you.”

Aethas shook his head. “Nothing at all, I’m afraid. I’m guessing he trained in Silvermoon?”

“I assume so. So what of you?” Rommath knew he had to be polite, as much as it grated.

“I’m keeping busy, as ever. Who knows, perhaps I’ll be spurred on to aim for the Council of Six now.”

Rommath caught a laugh before it escaped him, and masked his amusement with a pleasant smile. His own dream of one day becoming grand magister seemed optimistic enough. But Aethas making the council? There was optimistic, and then there was whatever Aethas was. Delusional, perhaps.

“Quite the aim,” he said, keeping his face carefully neutral.

“But why settle for anything less? And if you’re next in line to be grand magister—I know you said there is another, but let’s be honest, only one of you gained the favour of the prince—then it means you’ll have a friend on the council, won’t you? And I will have a friend in Silvermoon. Mutually beneficial, wouldn’t you say?”

Rommath enjoyed seeing this side of Aethas. With the pleasantries stripped aside, it became clear they had compatible aims.

“Well that sounds to be an amenable arrangement,” he said, raising his wineglass once more for a toast, before remembering the quality of the wine that sat within.

His day of departure arrived, eventually, and Rommath had chosen to take the long route back to Silvermoon. He would take the carriage that ferried humans and quel’dorei between Dalaran and Quel’Thalas. He could have taken a portal, but the journey would provide a good bookend. And he didn’t want to deny himself the thrill of first entering the Thalassian Pass and knowing he was home.

Kael’thas had declined to see him off—concerned that such a public appearance would make a strange sight—but Rommath still felt a pang that told him the prince would miss his company. It did mean he needed to secure the trunks he travelled with in the luggage hold alone, however, and so he tried to exaggerate his feelings of struggle to hopefully stir some sort of guilt in the prince.

The carriage would travel north through Lordaeron toward the Thalassian Pass, stopping at several inns in Silverpine, and then close to Lordaeron castle, a few points in the Eastweald and toward Strathholme before reaching Quel’Thalas several days after they departed. A long journey, but one Rommath would be glad to make. The Alterac Mountains fell away in the distance behind him as the forest closed in, and the smell of fresh pine filled the carriage until they reached the open grassland and farmsteads near Lordaeron. The rolling fields were charming, at first, but one rolling field starts to look like the next after a time, no matter how pleasant they might be.

Rommath kept mostly to himself, he chose to eat alone when they stopped at inns along the way, and to keep his head buried in his books while on the road. He wondered if Kael’thas would feel the jostle of the carriage upon the uneven roads, or the boredom that gripped him during long stretches of unbroken fields. While staring out the window, Rommath would find himself trying to shape his emotions in such a manner that Kael’thas would receive them as a message. He wasn’t sure if it had worked, but he occasionally felt some sensations in return that seemed to answer him.

The bond provided a strange sort of company for much of the journey, and Rommath took to wearing a bandana mask that covered his mouth in order to hide bursts of strong emotion that wormed their way in. The smiles from any sudden bouts of amusement he received, or the scowls that set in when he felt Kael’thas’ anger as his own. The other travellers sat in close enough proximity that at least one of them would have noticed, and he had no desire to find an excuse. Or make any conversation at all, really.

Not many stayed on for the length of the journey, and Rommath watched as people boarded or alighted with each stop, though few of them retained his interest for any length of time. The only one who did was a fellow quel’dorei who boarded several days into the journey, near Stratholme. She offered a brief, polite nod to him and then turned her attention to a stack of papers upon her lap. The top sheet was filled every inch in a careful, runic script, and Rommath found his eye wandering to its contents. From the distance at which he sat he couldn’t discern anything clearly, and he feared his curiosity would go unsatisfied.

That is, until she cleared her throat and motioned toward the window.

“Do you mind if I close it?”

They were approaching another one of the farmsteads of Eastweald, and the smell of manure had started to waft in.

“Not at all.”

As luck would have it, the stack of papers slipped from the woman’s lap as she reached up, and spilled onto the floor. Rommath made as if to help her pick them up, but used the opportunity to scan his eye over each sheet as he handed them to her. The dense page she had been reading didn’t look as interesting up close, but what caught his attention was a page of schematics for some sort of crystalline device. Across its surface were webs of infernal and demonic glyphs that circled and enveloped the crystal like a binding. Rommath tried to take in all he could, but she snatched it from his hands before he could memorise the full thing.

She watched him for a moment through narrowed eyes, observing his every movement like a hawk. Though she said nothing, there was challenge in her gaze. As if she was daring him to ask about what he’d just seen. If he did, he’d be admitting his own knowledge of such glyphs: demonic runes, and a particularly malevolent form. Their study was entirely forbidden, so to admit familiarity would be admitting a measure of his own guilt. But if he didn’t ask, his curiosity would remain painfully unsatisfied. He took a breath. He had spent years adapting to Dalaran’s social mores and norms, and the open and honest ways favoured by the humans. In Quel’Thalas one could more easily hide among the shadows in conversation. A person might speak to imply something else altogether, and a friendly smile and gregarious manner were not the best ways to win friends. He would need to fall back into these habits, and quite quickly, in his new role anyway. He saw no reason not to whet his teeth on the woman.

“A schematic of your own design?” he asked. He took care to speak without any trace of praise or condemnation, instead merely a detached curiosity.

“No, simply modified by me,” she said. “A common enough design, I would hardly call it noteworthy enough to invite comment.”

“Of course. The modification was what attracted my attention. I recognise the original design, so it led me to wonder how far its purpose had been adjusted.” If he sounded too interested he’d give himself away, but if he showed no understanding of it at all then there’d be no reason for the woman to continue talking. It was a careful tightrope, and one he hoped he’d judged correctly.

“Care to hazard a guess?” she asked.

There was a twinkle of amusement in her eyes now. If he responded carefully he would likely have his answer, but he could still misstep. He’d noticed one particular infernal rune upon the schematic—capture—and took his chances.

“Well, it’s the sort of thing likely to need careful study rather than a quick glance. Though I am sure the results are captivating.”

“They are,” she replied with a wry smile. “I often find myself quite ensnared by the study of runic languages. Of all kinds.” It was an innocuous enough statement to arouse no interest or suspicion within the carriage, but the way she lingered on her final sentence took implied her true meaning.

“Well then, it would appear we share an interest, wouldn’t it?” he said.

“It would. Are you riding on to Quel’Thalas? We could discuss the device at the next inn stop.”

The inn was the last before the Thalassian Pass, and all remaining passengers on the carriage now were quel’dorei. Rommath and the woman, two Farstriders who kept mostly to themselves, a young man who had attempted to charm the woman as he’d first boarded, only to be met by a withering stare, and an ageing man in the finery of a noble.

The inn was small, but clean and well appointed. Rommath took a supper of vegetable soup with soft bread rolls, a smoked sausage and ale, the woman wrinkled her nose at the offered fare and stuck to wine. Rommath had forgotten how inured he’d become to this rough and homely sort human food now. The woman, it seemed, had not.

Not that she appeared to mind. They’d settled themselves at quiet spot on the far end of a long table, and while Rommath ate she pulled some papers from the folds of her robe and smoothed them out onto the table.

“How much of this do you understand?” she asked.

Rommath reviewed it for a few moments, taking in every detail. It was an adjustment to an energy crystal, that much was clear. He’d seen them used in Dalaran, and they tended to convert arcane energies into other forms. They were particularly useful in harnessing atmospheric power, such as from leylines. He’d never seen one with the sort of glyphs upon it that the one in the schematic bore. He understood enough of infernal and demonic to understand it was harnessing fel and could bind a demon, but not enough to understand the mechanisms or finer nuance behind it. When he explained all of this to the woman she nodded.

“Well you have the broader gist of it well enough,” she said. “I’m impressed. Are you a scholar of these sorts of things?”

These sorts of things seemed to be a euphemistic reference to demonic magic and fel, judging by the contents Rommath had glimpsed on some of the other sheets of paper, and the slight green flash to to the woman’s otherwise blue eyes that was just visible in the candlelight. Rommath would need to tread carefully once again.

“I study sigils and glyphs - some ancient, some forbidden, some mundane. I’ve spent time learning all runic languages to better my own understanding. You seem to have a solid grasp on it. Are you a magister?” He steered the conversation back toward safer territories.

She let out a cold laugh. “No. I tired of any sort of formal practice a while ago. I was an arcanist of the Kirin Tor until…” She hesitated a moment, as if unsure of how much she should say. There was a slight bitterness to her voice when she spoke again. “Until it was mutually agreed that my research practices are perhaps better suited elsewhere. When I returned home I thought better than to constrain myself and my interests once more. My father is a magister though. I am his unerring disappointment.”

Rommath remembered what Sorcerer Winslow had said about the banished quel’dorei so many months before, during the Arcanarium. He thought better than to ask directly, but the coincidence was too much to assume she was anyone else.

“And you?” she asked.

“Formerly an archmage of the Kirin Tor,” he replied. “This is my grand return journey. I’m to begin work as a magister next week.”

“Department? If it’s magical securities I’m afraid you’ll have the misfortune of working with my father.”

He’d not yet said his role aloud to anyone who did not already know him, and so he had to fight back the swell of pride that built before he spoke. “No, as an apprentice to Grand Magister Belo’vir.”

“Well congratulations. I’ll tell you what, keep the schematic. I have several copies and variations, and it’s good to know it will be with someone who sees the value in this sort of work.” With a conspiratorial wink, she added, “And it never hurts to have a friend on the inside, does it?”

Rommath accepted with gracious smile and stashed it away in his pack, though he didn’t know how seriously she’d meant her last statement, he didn’t see the harm in accepting it. She gave him a smile that seemed to close the conversation, and turned back to her wine.

They reached Quel’Thalas early the following day. As the dappled sunlight flooded through the forest canopy and into the carriage, Rommath was reminded why he’d chosen the long route. The sights and smells caused a swell of nostalgia within his chest - one he knew Kael’thas would have felt. It was followed by relief. Not his own, but from Kael’thas. A congratulations of a sort for safely completing his journey.

The two Farstriders alighted just south of Tranquilien, as did the woman. The young man further north, just past the Elrendar River, which left only Rommath and the older man on the carriage as they approached Silvermoon. Its golden gates loomed large before them, stretching skyward and glittering beneath the high sun. The man gave Rommath a quick nudge with his elbow.

“Always good to be home again, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes,” Rommath replied, his genuine smile hidden by the mask. “I’ve missed it.”

As Rommath settled back into life in Silvermoon, he realised there was little of Dalaran he would be sad to see the back of. The libraries, perhaps. But the libraries of Silvermoon were of an equally fine standard, so it was not a huge loss. He did not miss the weather, the food, or the people. Or the constant stifling presence of the Kirin Tor. The only thing he found himself thinking of were his regular visits to Kael’thas. The prince still spent much of his time in Dalaran, and after months of seeing him near daily, the distance hit Rommath harder than he’d expected.

Still, there was plenty to keep him busy and distracted. He spent his first few days in the city unpacking and preparing the house he’d been granted. If his possessions and decor had seemed meagre in the small rooms he’d kept in Dalaran, they looked worse now. Barely enough to fill the space, and no where near enough to make it homely. Rommath had never put too much thought into buying furniture before - he’d never seen himself staying anywhere long enough to justify it - but now he allowed himself a few pieces. Just to make his new home more comfortable. A plush, red velvet armchair set upon mahogany legs, a great carved bookcase, a bed that looked comfortable enough that he may regret it on early mornings, when he needed to be anywhere on time. More could come later, but that seemed a good start.

He also spent his time wandering the city, reacquainting himself with every inch and visiting old friends. Soon he’d be far too busy to allow himself such diversions, so he saw no reason not to make the most of it while he could.

Rommath’s first day of work under Belo’vir rolled around quickly enough. He’d been instructed to meet the grand magister in his Quel’Danas office, so he made sure to follow the directions exactly. They specified everything, from which boat to take and what to gift the ferryman, all the way through to which turns to take in the winding rabbit warren of corridors and staircases that led to Belo’vir’s office. It took longer than Rommath had expected, and he paused to catch his breath before entering. When he opened the door, Belo’vir was seated behind his desk with a face fit to burst from amusement.

“Once Dar’Khan arrives I’ll teach you both to portal directly here. I change its location occasionally, so the portal spell is slightly unusual,” Belo’vir said with a grin. “I just wanted to scare you a little on your first day.”

They fell into a meandering conversation as they waited for Dar’Khan. Belo’vir asked how Rommath’s first days back in Silvermoon had treated him, and Rommath spoke of them in great detail. He wasn’t sure whether Belo’vir was truly interested in his armchair, but he did a good job of pretending he was if he wasn’t. Rommath did briefly consider mentioning the strange woman and her schematic at one point, but thought better of it. Not that he would have had time, anyway, for their conversation stopped abruptly when the door swung open and Dar’Khan stepped through.

Rommath could see now what Belo’vir had meant about his choice in headwear. Dar’Khan entered wearing attire mostly suitable for a magister—a close fitting doublet of deep blue topped by a neat jerkin, and smart enough breeches and boots. Atop his head, however, was a distinctive wide brimmed cap. It shaded most of his face and looked a little bit ridiculous. He removed it as he approached the desk, and hung it from the back of his chair as he offered his greetings and a hand for Rommath to shake.

“The grand magister tells me you’re of Dalaran? I hope it does not take you too much time to adjust to our ways,” he said with a faux sweetness. “Matters in Silvermoon are handled quite differently to those within the violet city.”

“Oh I’m quite sure I will manage,” Rommath mimicked his tone, giving as sincere a smile as he could fake. “I haven’t been away long enough for Dalaran to leave any lasting impressions upon me, and clearly the grand magister does not think it will impede my ability to hold this position.”

They wordlessly sized each other up, eyes narrowed, faces stony. He must have felt an instant dislike strong enough for Kael’thas to detect, for a sudden curiosity made itself known through the bond. He’d have to update Kael’thas on the situation when he next wrote to him.

“Well, now that you’ve each made one another’s acquaintance, shall we begin our work?” Belo’vir said with a smile, apparently oblivious to the combative atmosphere in the room. “You are both two of the most capable mages of your generation, that I’ve met, anyway. I’m sure you’re both aware, then, that this apprenticeship is not one in magic but in statecraft. I am happy to share my techniques with you if there’s anything you’re curious about, but that will not be the main focus. I will need you to understand how to deal with the Convocation, with King Anasterian - and Prince Kael’thas, eventually. I need you knowledgeable about and able to treatise with the human kingdoms. And you will need an intimate knowledge of Quel’Thalas, its people, the Sunwell, and every bit of magic that goes into maintaining it, and every single aspect that goes into magically defending our land.” He paused to smile. “Simple enough, no?”

Chapter Text

Life as an apprentice to Belo’vir looked to be far more structured than life as an archmage. Rommath was no longer free to indulge in his research whims or take on whichever area of magical study interested him, or paid the best. Instead he found himself at the mercy of a schedule for the first time in years. Not that he entirely minded. Even in Dalaran he’d often found himself falling into routines with whatever he was working on at the time, he’d just grown used to setting them himself.

Each morning started in Belo’vir’s office, where Rommath and Dar’Khan would be briefed on current goings-on in and around Quel’Thalas, and then they’d attend to various matters around Silvermoon. Rommath had never before needed to learn so many names in such a short period of time, but more off putting to him was that they’d all needed to learn his as well. Guards would greet him and offer good morning, lower ranked magisters would lower their eyes and mumble, Magister Rommath, and even the nobles he passed in the streets would briefly incline their heads toward him.

But it was working with the Farstriders that had taken the most adjustment. Belo’vir had accompanied Rommath and Dar’Khan to Farstrider Square on their first visit. He’d introduced them to the Ranger General, Lireesa Windrunner, who greeted them with stern nods and brusque handshakes. Rommath could handle that. But when she led them to the barracks in the square and cleared her throat to get the attention of three dozen uniformed rangers, Rommath felt somewhat uncomfortable at the number of eyes upon him.

“Grand Magister Belo’vir has taken two apprentices,” she said in a loud, clear voice. “Learn their faces. We will be working with one of them in the future.”

“Are they always this…loud?”

They’d been invited to breakfast with the Farstriders that morning, and Rommath was finding the experience something of a sensory assault.

“Usually,” Belo’vir replied. “But they’re useful allies and maintaining good standing with the ranger general is of the utmost importance. It would not to do have the magisters and the Farstriders clash.

Dar’Khan had been paying little attention to Belo’vir and Rommath’s conversation, instead he chatted with any passing ranger. Rommath briefly wondered if he could find a way to ensure Dar’Khan accidentally ended up on the wrong side of a Farstrider arrow. It would certainly be more peaceful if he did.

“The ranger general has three daughters and son, if I’m correct. Is one among them likely to succeed her?” Rommath fixed his attention on Belo’vir so that he’d stop imagining all the misfortunes he’d like to befall Dar’Khan.

“Likely Alleria,” Belo’vir replied, then gestured toward a tall elf across the room. “She’s the natural choice: eldest daughter, with the same headstrong manner as her mother. Though don’t tell either of them I said that.”

This caught Dar’Khan’s attention and he leaned in to add his own thoughts. “Sylvanas is the more charming sister though, don’t you think?”

“I hadn’t given it any thought either way,” Rommath said flatly. “And the son?”

“Lirath? Entirely different kettle of fish.” Belo’vir replied. “He’s a musician, and a talented one at that. Actually, I’m surprised Prince Kael’thas has never mentioned him to you—he’s one of his patrons, after all.”

Rommath bristled slightly, but was careful not to let it show. Kael’thas had never once mentioned the name Lirath to him. “Oh yes, he may have done.”

Before any more could be said, Dar’Khan elbowed Rommath in the ribs and gestured ahead of them. Approaching where they sat were the elder two Windrunner sisters and a third figure.

Dar’Khan stood, bowed low, and then offered a broad smile. “Sylvanas, Alleria, how wonderful it is to see you both again. And Lor’themar, I hear a promotion is on the cards soon?”

Lor’themar raised an eyebrow. “News spreads that quickly, does it?”

“Well I like to stay abreast of any goings-on.” Dar’Khan replied with a nauseating smile.

Rommath offered some pleasantries, then stood restraining a grimace as Dar’Khan flattered and fawned over the Farstriders. He could only stomach so much before he excused himself for some air and stepped outside the refectory.

He was afforded perhaps five minutes of peace before a hand on his shoulder made him jump. He hadn’t heard any footsteps approaching, so Lor’themar’s sudden appearance had come as a surprise.

“Sorry,” Lor’themar let out a friendly laugh. “Farstrider habits die hard. You get so used to walking quietly.”

Rommath forced a smile. He hoped it looked like a smile, anyway. “I’m sure you do.”

“I noticed the grand magister was missing an apprentice. Thought someone ought to check on you,” Lor’themar said in a matter of fact tone. He had an air of ineffable practicality about him. “He mentioned that you’d recently returned from Dalaran. I can imagine we make quite a rowdy bunch compared to a city of mages.”

“They refer to it as cloistered for a reason. Though I am glad to be back here,” Rommath said, then quickly added, “Not in this square, necessarily, but back in Silvermoon.”

The comment prompted an amused smirk from Lor’themar as he leant against the wall and folded his arms. His relaxed gesture took Rommath by surprise, and he felt awkwardly formal standing straight backed next to him. When Lor’themar continued it was in a slightly faraway voice.

“Doesn’t it get boring? Each day in a city, I mean. I feel as though if would be very claustrophobic. Each time I return to Silvermoon wish I was back in the forest.”

“I was wondering the exact same thing about you. Isn’t it dull spending all day out there? Tree after tree. I think I might go mad.”

“Oh you might consider it: makes it far less likely you’ll run into Dar’Khan.” Lor’themar’s dry comment surprised Rommath, and his eyes widened. The ranger seemed to have misinterpreted his reaction for he raised his hand in an apologetic gesture. “Sorry, I just assumed from how you were glaring at him—”

“No I—” Rommath paused a moment, trying to find a diplomatic way to word his next thought. “You read the situation well.”

This prompted a hearty chuckle from Lor’themar. “Well I’m about to head back in there and may need an ally. Join me?”

Busy workdays left Rommath with fewer and fewer hours to himself, but he made the most of them where he could. He reacquainted himself with the city, he continued furnishing his home, he made sure his face was known in the major libraries, and he continued to adorn himself with runic tattoos.

The sigil he’d worked on for Kael’thas was now fully healed, and he’d developed an itch for more. The flame sigil on his arm had proven particularly useful, and so he spent much of his free time researching and devising further useful markings. The first time he’d put ink and needle to his skin in Silvermoon, he’d felt a flash of annoyance from Kael’thas. Of course the prince would have felt it too, but that had slipped Rommath’s mind in the moment. He paused, magically numbed the area, and then began again. The bond led him to heal more quickly than would be usual, and before long Rommath bore numerous sigil markings across his body. Though it was useful above all else - he had quick access to a manner of spells that would otherwise require lengthy setup - he couldn’t deny that a part of him simply found it aesthetically pleasing.

While the only illicit sigil was the one upon his chest, he still preferred not to invite unnecessary conversation, and found himself hiding the markings for as long as he could manage. Though the more he added, the harder it became. Eventually Belo’vir noticed, and made a polite enquiry.

“I take it you’re continuing that line of research in your free time?” he asked, in a mildly interested tone.

“It’s quite useful,” Rommath replied. “Much like having a spell book etched into my arms.”

“A grisly mental image, but I can understand the appeal.”

“I don’t,” Dar’Khan said, pulling a face of disgust. “It’s a little gaudy, isn’t it?”

Rommath forced a smile and allowed his pointed gaze to linger on Dar’Khan’s hat. “Well, I suppose not all of us are blessed with refined taste.”

The first great break in routine came with the news that Kael’thas would be visiting Silvermoon for a few weeks. Belo’vir had been granted access to the prince’s schedule, and had reacted with a deep sigh and a grimace.

“He’ll be calling on us. And quite regularly too,” Belo’vir warned them one morning. “I’ll talk you through the proper protocols, Dar’Khan. Rommath, I can imagine you won’t be in need of that?”

Rommath let out a nervous laugh. He didn’t know where it had come from and immediately rued his mouth for betraying him. He’d had little cause to interact with Kael’thas around other people, and the idea had been gnawing away at him ever since he’d learned of the visit. He took a breath and made sure his tone was controlled and inexpressive when he spoke.

“Our work was a little different to any sort of formal audience. I’m happy to have a reminder of proper protocol.”

Dar’Khan raised his brow. “Am I missing something?”

“Hm? Did Rommath not tell you of his work with Prince Kael’thas in Dalaran?” Belo’vir asked, voice full of surprise.

“No, I didn’t want it to come across boastful,” Rommath said. Rather, he hadn’t wanted to invite too many questions, and Dar’Khan seemed relish in a difficult question.

“If I’d worked with the prince you’d never be able to shut me up,” Dar’Khan replied. “What, was it something you can’t mention in polite company? Necromancy, perhaps?”

Ah, exactly the sort of thing Rommath had wanted to avoid. He rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“Necromancy, blood rituals, a spot of demonic summoning. The usual.” Hiding an element of the truth in sarcasm seemed to be a safe bet.

Belo’vir cut the conversation short with a pointed cough. “If we could return to the matter at hand?”

Rommath could sense the moment Kael’thas arrived in Quel’Thalas when a swell of new emotions tugged at the edge of his consciousness. He’d never thought to question how the prince felt about his future kingdom, but what he received was unexpected. A mix of fondness and anticipation, but also fear. And there was something else—it was something unknown to Rommath, and he could best describe it as a sort of paternal pride in the city itself.

Kael’thas was due to make his first appearance the morning after his arrival, and the Court of the Sun hummed and bustled with visitors eager to catch a glimpse of him. Representatives from the Convocation of Silvermoon stood at the entrance of the spire to greet him, alongside Ranger General Lireesa Windrunner, High Priest Vandellor flanked by Liadrin and Galell, and Belo’vir, accompanied by Rommath and Dar’Khan. They made for quite a sight, but couldn’t compare with the prince when he stepped out of his carriage and waved. More golden than the sun and twice as striking, Rommath found his breath catching in his throat for a moment. He’d almost forgotten just how regal Kael’thas became when he put on all his airs, and he’d never seen quite so many airs on him all at once.

Kael’thas scanned his eyes over the gathered crowd, and for the briefest moment met Rommath’s gaze. Across the square it was difficult to see for sure, but Rommath thought he saw a hint of a smirk cross the prince’s lips. He felt it though. A small flash of acknowledgment through the bond, and a sense of satisfaction from Kael’thas. Rommath was reminded of what the prince had said weeks ago, when they’d first discovered the true extent of the sigil’s powers.

“Do you know the how many kings would kill for an advisor who can judge a situation and give his opinion without ever even opening his mouth? I’ll know if you feel suspicious or wary, or if you believe something is in our best interest.”

The strength of feeling from the bond despite the noise and sensory overload from the crowd proved that it would work for Kael’thas’ eventual aims. But there was something else as well. A strange feeling that Rommath had found something he hadn’t realised was missing. As if the sigil had been calling out for its counterpart. And then Kael’thas turned back to the crowd, and the moment ended.

Dar’Khan made a point of rolling his eyes when they returned to Belo’vir’s office. “So much fuss and consternation. He’s still just a man, as any of us are.”

“And yet he’s the one set to inherit a kingdom,” Belo’vir said, in a slightly admonishing tone.

Rommath remained quiet, and instead buried his head in whatever papers had been left strewn across Belo’vir’s desk. There was always something that needed attention or response, and he’d prefer to fill his time with that than sit talking about the prince and letting the twist of anticipation in his stomach grow. Kael’thas would be visiting them later that morning, and he was becoming impatient.

But he would have to wait. It was several hours before the air in the office shimmered, and Kael’thas stepped out of a portal. There was a scramble of paperwork and closing books as Belo’vir, Rommath and Dar’Khan put down whatever they’d been working on to turn their attention to the prince.

“Grand Magister!” Kael’thas said, as he clapped Belo’vir on the shoulder. He then turned toward the window and peered outside. “The Quel’Danas office again, is it?”

“Well it has the best view, your highness,” Belo’vir replied. “And one must make an effort when entertaining. Now, may I introduce my apprentices. Dar’Khan Drathir, and of course you know Rommath.”

Kael’thas turned first to Dar’Khan and offered a hand to shake, though it appeared Dar’Khan’s idea of a handshake was a little more vigorous than Kael’thas had been expecting. Rommath could feel his annoyance.

“It is good to finally meet you I’ve heard much about you since you started your work with the grand magister.”

Rommath fought to keep a straight face as Dar’Khan smiled. Yes, Kael’thas had heard plenty about him. None of it good, Rommath had made sure of that.

“How wonderful to hear, your highness. I’m glad to finally meet you as well. I hope we have plenty of time to get to know one another better while you are in the city.”

Kael’thas then turned to Rommath and placed a hand on his arm. “It is good to see you again, Rommath. My tower has felt rather empty of late.”

“I thought you’d be glad to be free of me for a while. Your highness.” Rommath hadn’t anticipated how unnatural it would feel slipping back into his prior formalities with the prince, but there was something strangely enjoyable about the sense of subterfuge in hiding the true nature of their relationship. Through the bond, Rommath could tell Kael’thas felt the same.

“Perish the thought.” Kael’thas removed his hand from Rommath’s arm, but slipped something into his pocket as he pulled away. He somehow managed to hide the gesture by making it appear as though he was examining Rommath’s robes. “Silvermoon appears to have been treating you well. This is more finery than I’m used to seeing you in.”

Belo’vir cleared his throat as if to politely remind Kael’thas that he and Rommath were not alone in the room. “I believe we had something to discuss, your highness.”

“Indeed we did,” Kael’thas said, straightening his back and nodding toward Belo’vir. “Shall we step outside?”

He waved a hand through the air and opened a portal that he and Belo’vir stepped through. As soon as it closed behind them, Dar’Khan raised a brow.

“That was rather… informal? No.” Dar’Khan shook his head as if he was trying to settle on a particular word. “Intimate? Or improper, maybe. I thought you said you conducted some research with the prince.”

“I did,” Rommath replied.

“It looked rather more… friendly to me,” Dar’Khan lingered on the word as if to make his implication clear, but Rommath couldn’t be bothered allowing himself to be pulled into whatever Dar’Khan was trying to start.

“Do speak plainly if you have something to say, Dar’Khan,” Rommath said, meeting his eyes with a challenging stare. Dar’Khan said nothing, but gave a small, infuriating shrug.

With the conversation apparently over, Rommath excused himself. Once out of sight of Dar’Khan he checked the note Kael’thas had slipped into his pocket. It simply read Silvermoon Inn, this evening.

The Silvermoon Inn was busy enough that not one of its patrons earned a second glance from another. Nobles rubbed shoulders with petty thieves, magisters with pirates. It meant that no one noticed a hooded figure take a seat toward the back of the inn, in a shaded spot half hidden beneath the stairs. It also meant it took Rommath a moment to spot where Kael’thas had seated himself, and to take a seat opposite him.

“A regular haunt for you?” Rommath asked.

Kael’thas’ smile was just visible beneath his hood. “Only to entertain pleasant company.”

“Happens often, does it?” Rommath had intended it as a joke, but the comment about Lirath returned to him. He decided he didn’t want an answer, so quickly changed the subject. “So you’ve met the infamous Dar’Khan now.”

“So I have.” Though it was a perfectly neutral statement, Rommath felt the distaste that emanated from Kael’thas. “He’s certainly… eager, isn’t he?”

“Quite. I noticed you seem to have quite a full agenda for such a short visit.” Rommath tried to keep his tone as perfectly controlled, but he knew the bond would belie the intention beneath his words. How often will I be able to see you like this?

“And yet I will have adequate time to myself.” As often we as please.

“Does he ever make you feel uncomfortable?” Dar’Khan rounded on Rommath with an unexpected question far too early the following morning. All Rommath could manage was to stare blankly in response.

“Prince Kael’thas,” Dar’Khan clarified.

Rommath hesitated. He did, at times. But he’d felt a great many things in Kael’thas’ company and he wanted to discuss exactly none of them with Dar’Khan.

He gave a non committal shrug. “Not particularly.”

Dar’Khan leaned back, and spoke without making direct eye contact with Rommath. “I knew a man once, a Farstrider. I was young then, and less easily able to see through his social facade, but I still knew not to trust him. He somehow managed to be all things to all people. He would hone in on what one person would like him to be to gain their trust.”

Rommath let out a weary sigh. “Is your monologue quite finished?”

“No,” Dar’Khan replied. “Allow me to get to my point. I occasionally get that same impression from a person—it’s a very particular feeling, an instinct. Occasionally in the inns I’ll see a man handling cards in such a way that lets me know I know I ought not get involved, or a woman sweet talking me in a tone that raises those same alarm bells. If you understand what I am saying.”

“No. I thought you were getting to your point.”

“I have a good nose for dishonesty. For liars and those why sell you honeyed words to weasel their way into your trust. For those who can hone in on what you would want them to be, and will use it to their advantage.” Dar’Khan spoke with self satisfaction and Rommath found his will to continue the conversation waning faster by the moment.

“And you’re telling me this because?”

“I got that sense from Prince Kael’thas yesterday, and I wondered if your instincts were as sharp as mine.”

Rommath rolled his eyes. “It sounds to me like you’re accusing Prince Kael’thas of being some sort of petty confidence man. Of course a member of the royal family would have to put on some element of a performance. And you spoke to him for all of a minute. I hardly doubt you have some sort of insight that I lack.”

“Perhaps, perhaps. But I have an eye for these things, you know. There’s performance and then there’s…” Dar’Khan trailed off and allowed a particularly smug grin settle upon his lips. “Well, I won’t continue. I wouldn’t want to touch a nerve.”

Chapter Text

Many years later

Belo’vir’s desk was piled so high with papers that the wood beneath was barely visible. He could no longer sit at it comfortably, instead he had to perch in an awkward position in order to reach everything while still being able to see over the piles. In his hand was one of the many sheets of paper, upon his face was an expression of exhaustion.

“Reports from Lordaeron are looking grim.”

“As long as those reports remain restricted to Lordaeron, I hardly see it as an issue,” Dar’Khan replied, flipping through his own stack of papers and making some notes in the margins. “A problem with grain management and a disease—this sort of thing is not our concern.”

“And the reports of the dead rising?” Rommath asked, not looking directly at Dar’Khan or Belo’vir, but staring out of the window. “What is your take on that?”

“Well I’d be interested to know the means of it, if it isn’t simply a fabrication,” Dar’Khan replied with a laugh. “Necromancy on that sort of scale is quite a feat. If such a thing is happening, perhaps we ought to recruit the mage behind it ourselves.”

A grunt from Belo’vir told them he did not approve of the direction their conversation was taking. “If the reports are all accurate, then it absolutely is our concern. Our defences are strong, but not infallible.”

Without thinking, Rommath raised a hand to his chest. There was some measure of worry in the sensations he’d received from Kael’thas in recent weeks. He’d felt a great many through the sigil of late: exhaustion, frustration, lust for that damned Proudmoore girl, but it always returned to worry. He couldn’t say the source of it for sure, but it seemed only logical to assume it was about the same issue. Rommath turned to Dar’Khan, who now sat with his elbow on a stack of paper, and a dismissive expression upon his face.

“In my recent communications with Prince Kael’thas I have had the sense he is quite concerned about this. If the prince thinks it is an issue, then I think we ought to treat it as one.”

“And King Anasterian, who I might remind you is our current sovereign, is concerned enough to have asked us to ensure our defences are properly in place,” as he spoke, Belo’vir stood and reached for his cloak. “Dar’Khan, if you’d stay here and hold the fort. Rommath, accompany me.”

With a flick of his hand, Belo’vir severed the air before his desk and created a rift that opened into the southernmost reaches of Quel’Thalas. Birdsong rang out into the office, and only intensified in volume as they stepped through.

They’d portalled into a deep portion of the forest where the trees formed a thick canopy above them that almost entirely blotted out the sun. It meant that Rommath’s eyes hadn’t entirely adjusted to the dark when Belo’vir next spoke, and his voice took him by surprise as he hadn’t realised the grand magister was looking at him.

“While I appreciate the back up, you must stop referring to the prince as if he is currently ruling over our lands. I know the two of you are… close, but it must stop interfering with your duties to both me and your king. Otherwise it may begin to look like you are preemptively sending King Anasterian off with the pallbearer. People will talk”

Rommath blushed, slightly abashed. “My apologies, grand magister.”

Belo’vir waved a hand to indicate that no apology was necessary, then pulled a small map from his pocket.

“How is it that I’ve lived here for centuries, and yet I still have no sense of direction in the forest? I’ve arranged for us to have a Farstrider escort, but I can’t even see the enclave.”

Rommath took the map and studied their surroundings, it was as indecipherable to him as if it had been written in code. He handed it back to Belo’vir, and instead knelt down to coax a nearby bird toward him. It was wary at first, but fought its fear to hop over to Rommath’s side. When it did so he chanted an incantation below his breath and one of the many sigils that now sat upon his arms began to pulse with warmth. His mind slipped from his body and into the bird with ease. He flapped tiny wings and let the air currents lift him high above the tree canopy in search of sight of Lake Elrendar, which he soon spotted stretching out endlessly turquoise and glittering beneath the sun. With care he landed, positioned the bird so it would not have too much of a fright when it awoke and slipped back out of its mind once again.

“If we walk in that direction we’ll meet it soon enough,” he said and gestured forward, realising he had no specific idea if it was east or north, so instead offered a vague, “sort of up and across from where we are now.”

Now that Rommath’s eyes had adjusted to the low light, the forest offered a pleasant enough walk. Trees stretched out in all directions and threw dappled sunlight about their feet. It was no great hardship walking the twenty minutes needed to reach the Farstrider Enclave, though any longer and Rommath might have started to tire of the sight of leaves.

They knew they’d found it when they spotted rangers practicing their skills in small clusters. One young woman, an archer with her hair scraped back from her head, broke her concentration to bow before Belo’vir.

“Grand Magister Belo’vir! Magister Rommath! I’ll run ahead to send word that you’ve arrived.”

They were greeted in the enclave itself by Captain Helios. He apologised that he had arranged for Halduron to accompany them, but that he was busy at this moment. Instead he gestured toward another ranger, one Rommath did not know. He had the sort of ruddy, freckled face that suggested he spent most of his time in the sun, and it broke into a friendly smile as they approached. He offered the same sort of firm, callused handshake as every other ranger Rommath had met, and an introduced himself as Ranger Lyrothil.

“Tree today, is it? Or the crystals and stones too?” he asked as they set off from the enclave.

“All of them would be preferable. I’d rather leave no stone unturned at the moment, if you’ll excuse the pun. And no tree or crystal either,” Belo’vir answered.

Lyrothil let out a relieved sigh. “Glad they’re taking the situation seriously in the city. I’ve been hearing stories from the travellers passing through about what’s going on out there, and they’re not positive.”

“Travellers?” Belo’vir asked, “I assumed the transport routes would have been limited by now to reduce the risk of whatever is spreading in Lordaeron coming here. Did my recommendations not make it down this way?”

Lyrothil shrugged. “I’m guessing not, Grand Magister. Though as to why? Well, your guess is as good as mine. I’ll send message on to the Ranger General on your behalf.”

“It would be greatly appreciated.”

“Heard from my wife’s brother that it’s beginning to take hold in Stratholme now. Only in a small way as of yet, mind. She wants him to come back home, but he’s dragging his feet about it while the caravans are still running. I’ll let him know to make haste.” The ranger offered a strained smile.

A grim look settled once more upon Belo’vir’s face. “If you would. I hope he remains safe. Is your wife a Farstrider as well?”

“By the Sunwell, no. She’s… well, let’s just say if you gave her a bow she’d be a risk to everything but the intended target,” he said with an affectionate laugh.

Lyrothil’s mannerisms gave the impression he wanted to say more, but instead he came to a stop and gestured forward as the great tree Thas’alah came into view. He readied his bow and nodded. “Take care of whatever it is that needs taking care of, and I’ll keep watch.”

They thanked the ranger and made for the tree. Its branches spread out above their heads with an aura of tranquility that had a muffling effect on the sounds of the forest around them. It was a good sign that its protection was still in place, but they still had to conduct their tests. Rommath took position on one side of the trunk, and Belo’vir the other. Each chanted their half of an incantation that drew on the arcane energies beneath the earth and conjured a projection of the runestones and moon crystals that powered the Ban’dinoriel.

“That’s all of them.” Belo’vir said. “Good, that means they’re all still functioning at least.”

When the projection faded they turned their attentions to Thas’alah itself to check for any damage. Its sturdy trunk was perfectly intact, and its branches fanned out above them bearing perfect, glossy leaves. It was all in the condition they hoped to find each time they checked.

“Anything else?” Belo’vir asked, standing back to allow Rommath to continue the examination. The grand magister had been doing this more and more often of late. Withdrawing to allow Rommath to handle or conclude a situation. He’d tried not to read too much into it, but each time it happened his hope that Belo’vir was leaning toward him as his successor grew a little stronger.

Rommath waved a hand into the air before him, which split open into a portal that led further up the tree. He stepped out onto a heavy branch and inspected the upper portion for damage. Nothing looked amiss: every branch was as solid as it ought to be, and the leaves were strong and undamaged. The last thing to do was recast the protective shield that lay around the tree, preventing the small damages that could wear away at it over time—rodents, rogue arrows, that sort of thing. When he finished he ported back to ground level.

“All looks good,” he said with a nod toward both Belo’vir and Lyrothil.

The Farstrider led them further into the forest, toward a spot Belo’vir had marked on a map. The exact locations of the moon crystals were a well guarded secret, but there was no harm in him knowing the general area. As they walked, Belo’vir turned to Rommath with an expression he’d not seen before.

“Next time I’ll stay in the city, and you should bring Astalor out here. I think he’s ready for it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, quite sure. You could handle this with your eyes closed by now and you’ve been able to for a while. I simply enjoy excursions to the forest too much to have let you take over before now.”

As they continued their inspection of the crystals and anything else in the forest that Belo’vir saw fit to check in on, Rommath felt slightly as if he was floating. He tried to tell himself not to read too much into what the grand magister had said, but he couldn’t help it.

When they returned to Silvermoon, Dar’Khan was waiting for Rommath in the office they shared. He wore a scowl, which wasn’t unusual, but there was more of a sneer in it than normal.

“Ah there he is, Belo’vir’s golden boy. You’ll excuse me if I don’t hurry to stand and bow before you.”

“Good afternoon, Dar’Khan,” Rommath said with a long suffering sigh and a roll of his eyes.

“I wonder, do you ever feel guilty? He takes you everywhere. Have you ever noticed how put upon he sounds when he must take me? He dotes on you. And yet the minute your little princeling takes his father’s mantle our dear old Belo’vir will be out on the streets with as little ceremony as the morning’s bathroom waste,” Dar’Khan gave an exaggerated pout as he spoke, “and after all this work he’s put into keeping everyone safe while Lordaeron falls to ruin.”

Rommath turned to the letters scattered upon his desk, careful to avoid Dark’Khan’s mocking eyes. “Do you enjoy spouting drivel, or does it just come so naturally to you that you can’t manage anything else?”

“You know, I used to feel sorry for you. I used to wonder if the prince had his claws in you so deeply that you didn’t see the sort of man he is. But you have your claws in each other, don’t you? I’ve seen it, over the years. You’re his willing puppet.”

Rommath said nothing, but let out his frustration in a sound he hoped passed for a derisive snort.

“Ooh, touched a nerve have I?” Dar’Khan said with a poisonous edge to his tone.

He had, but Rommath could hardly admit to it.

“You do know how everyone sees you, don’t you?” Dar’Khan continued. “I’ve heard their talk. Cold, aloof. You make them uncomfortable. You’ve never been good with people, have you? Imagine how they’ll talk when they know the truth.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Are you drunk?”

Dar’Khan held up a letter addressed to Rommath. “It was just sitting there, so I thought why not?”

Rommath tried to snatch it back, but Dar’Khan’s hand moved too quickly and he had it flat against the desk before Rommath could get purchase.

“My dearest Rommath,” he read aloud, “our patience is paying the dividends I hoped it would. Belo’vir writes of his intentions to name you his heir to the title should the Convocation agree with him. Of course they will. I’d see to it that it is so, but they so rarely argue with the house of Salonar that I hardly think I would have to. And then once I am king you shall be my grand magister, and all shall be well. How I’ve missed you in Dalaran since your last visit. It is so dull here without—“

Rommath conjured a small portal between the air before him and the surface of Dar’Khan’s desk. He reached into it and snatched the letter from him before he could read any further.

“Yes, probably best you’ve done that. It gets rather vulgar from there,” Dar’Khan said with a sneering glee in his tone.

Rommath’s hands shook as he tried to maintain a grip on the letter. He should have been overjoyed but the manner in which he’d learnt of Belo’vir’s intentions just made him feel slightly ill. “What were you planning on doing with this?”

“Torturing you a little,” Dar’Khan said with a shrug, “but I’m not planning on running and tattling to Belo’vir if that’s your worry. I had my suspicions anyway, so I’ve been putting my contingency plans in place. But you’ll have to wait for those.”

“You’ve received another letter from Prince Kael’thas, gosh he writes to you a lot, doesn’t he? Also an invitation from Lord Saltheril and from Liadrin, some sort of…threat?” Astalor’s voice trailed off as he tried to make sense of the small note in his hand. The young mage had been working with Rommath for some time now, but still hadn’t quite worked out how to decipher Liadrin’s correspondence.

“That will be an invitation as well,” Rommath said while trying to stifle a laugh. He’d grown close to Liadrin since he’d returned to Silvermoon, but found her sense of humour didn’t necessarily translate well around others. “Put it all in the third drawer down, would you?”

Astalor nodded, but as he pulled it open Rommath remembered what he’d been storing in there. He spun round on the spot intending to stop Astalor before he saw it. It was too late. In plain view was the schematic Rommath received from the woman so many years before, and Astalor’s combined expression of horror and intrigue told Rommath that he’d seen it all.

“What is that?” Astalor asked.

“It’s nothing,” Rommath replied a little too quickly, forcing the drawer shut with a burst of magic.

“That was demonic, wasn’t it?” Astalor’s voice had lowered to little more than a whisper.

“Yes. But I’ve never—“ Rommath paused, and leaned back in his chair. “How do you know that?”

Astalor blushed bright red. “Oh, I’ve just tried to make sure my studies are varied. I’ve never dabbled, of course, but I never saw fit to limit my learning only to what I wanted to make use of.”

Rommath gave a nod of approval. “I see why Belo’vir assigned you to me.”

It was late on a hazy afternoon a few days later when an arcane familiar broke the tense silence in Rommath and Dar’Khan’s office. Belo’vir had a league of them, and Rommath thought he recognised it as Pumpkin—it was one of the grand magister’s favourites, and so he must have had an urgent message if he’d sent this one. They gathered their cloaks, and Rommath couldn’t help but side eye Dar’Khan as he reached for his hat, then they each portalled to Belo’vir’s office.

His face was grave when they arrived, skin almost grey with a hard line of a mouth that opened a moment, then immediately shut again as if he couldn’t find the words he needed. Eventually he cleared his throat.

“Stratholme has fallen.”

It took Rommath a moment to register the words. “I’m sorry, Stratholme has… fallen?”

Belo’vir nodded. “The entire grain supply was infected, and so Prince Arthas barricaded the city, slaughtered every civilian within and set it ablaze. The news is still well contained, but I expect it to break more widely by tomorrow morning.”

The silence that followed was so heavy that Rommath could feel it upon him. For some reason his mind returned to the Farstrider they’d met a few days before, and the brother in law he’d mentioned. He hoped he’d made it out. Somehow, he knew he hadn’t.

“What do we do?” he asked, finally breaking the silence.

“Well we fortify our defences, surely,” Dar’Khan said with a snort of derision. “I’d have thought that much was obvious.”

“Rommath, I need you to return to Dalaran and meet with Prince Kael’thas. He’s seen first hand what is happening further south, when we are simply relying on rumours and hearsay. Take Astalor with you, I don’t want any of you journeying out of Quel’Thalas alone right now. I will discuss the matter with King Anasterian. And Dar’Khan, as you said, we will need to fortify our defences. Can I entrust that to you?”

Rommath had rarely seen Belo’vir acting so decisively. It was as if the panic had drawn a sense of calm determination out of him, and in that moment he’d never looked more worthy of the title of grand magister.

Rommath probably should have sent word ahead of time, but practicalities seemed to have slipped from his mind with the general sense of impending doom. Instead he grabbed what paperwork and books he could from his office, a few necessities from his home, and then met with Astalor in the Court of the Sun that evening.

He knew he should find some comforting words for the mage, something to let him know that, despite the unknown danger they were wading into, he’d keep an eye out for him. But he couldn’t. No matter how hard he fumbled for a kind word nothing came forth. Instead he simply asked if he had everything he needed.

Astalor nodded. “I should have. There’s not much I have to bring with me, if I’m being quite honest.”

“Good, it’ll be quicker to travel lightly.”

Astalor hesitated a moment, and when he spoke again his voice had a tone of mild disbelief to it. “Sorry, are we really going to be meeting and working with Prince Kael’thas? I know that you’re friends and all, but me as well?”

“Yes.” Once again Rommath’s words caught in his throat. It’ll be fine he knew he ought to say. It’s nothing to worry about. Instead he simply summoned the portal to take them to Dalaran and stepped through.

It turned out his calculations were slightly off, and instead of portalling outside of Kael’thas’ tower, he portalled them both just inside the front door. He didn’t let Astalor see his frustration though, and maintained a perfectly straight face. He had no time to plan his next action before the sound of footsteps thudding down the stairs caught both their attentions.

“I don’t know who thinks they have the right to portal into my tower, but I do not appreciate such interruptions without so much as a—“ Kael’thas’ voice appeared before he did, then stopped abruptly as he rounded the final spiral of the staircase. “Oh. Rommath. And…guest.”

“Belo’vir sent me. And Astalor,” Rommath said by way of explanation and introduction for the junior magister. “I won’t make you guess why.”

Kael’thas grimaced. “The unpleasantness in Stratholme?”

“Unpleasantness is certainly one way to word it. But yes.”

“Well, you had better both come upstairs,” Kael’thas said as his gaze lingered on Astalor.

Rommath could feel the jealousy through the bond, and couldn’t help himself a barb in response.

“Simply a colleague,” he whispered to Kael’thas as they ascended the stairs, careful to keep his voice to the low hiss of a whisper that would prevent Astalor from overhearing. “More than I can say of you and the Proudmoore girl. Or whoever else has been keeping you company out here. Don’t forget how much this bond reveals.”

Kael’thas met his eyes with an even glare, which then relaxed into a smile. “Oh how I’ve missed you and your spiky ways.”

They said nothing more as they ascended to the laboratory. It was little changed from when Rommath had worked there so many years before, and so he made a beeline for a particular shelf without thinking whether or not its contents may have changed in his absence. He shouldn’t have been surprised when what he sought wasn’t there, but somehow he still was.

“You used to have a book on magically induced illnesses on this shelf,” he said, indicating to an empty spot between other books.

“I did,” Kael’thas replied. “It’s now on my desk because we clearly had the same thought process.”

Astalor watched with interest. Rommath had often wondered whether the young mage was ignorant of how expressive his features were, and as his brows raised or furrowed in response to the situation, Rommath believed his suspicions to be correct. Despite the many emotions upon his face, however, Astalor remained silent.

“The council recommended quarantine, but King Terenas in his infinite wisdom decided to ignore us. And now, well,” Kael’thas trailed off and rolled his eyes. “Well, you’ve seen the outcome.”

“Do you think Quel’Thalas is at risk?” Rommath asked.

“I shouldn’t think so at the moment,” Kael’thas replied, though his voice lacked its usual confidence, “but we’ll be able to better judge with eyes on the outside. You wrote to me that Belo’vir’s recommendations to close the pass had been ignored, didn’t you? I believe there may be someone within the kingdom working against our interests, and for that reason I wouldn’t trust any information coming in if you’ve been unable to verify it yourself.”

“And so you think we’d be better placed to inform Belo’vir by remaining here?” Rommath asked.

“Unless there’s any reason why you cannot.”

Rommath and Astalor exchanged a quick glance. The young mage shook his head as if to say there was no reason on his part.

On noticing this, Kael’thas nodded. “Well then, you’d both better make yourselves at home. And let us hope the situation doesn’t develop into anything worse.”

Chapter Text

An unease settled on Rommath the longer he remained in Dalaran. News had been scant since Prince Arthas left for Northrend, and every week that passed in silence weighed more heavily than the last. Kael’thas put on a confident face in Astalor’s presence, but Rommath could feel the concern that gripped his every waking moment.

“Do you know Prince Arthas well?” Rommath asked on an afternoon when Astalor was out of the tower. He wanted Kael’thas to be able to speak freely on the matter, and gestured for the prince to join him on the chaise longue in the unnecessarily ostentatious study.

“We have spoken, though I would hardly the call the man a friend,” Kael’thas’ words came haltingly as he sank into the cushions, and Rommath could feel there was more he had to say. “I may not understand his actions on a personal level, but I understand the compulsion to act in extremes to ensure the safety of your future people, as I think only another prince can. And that is why a sudden silence concerns me.”

“Do you think—“

“I do not wish to dwell on it right now, not until we are able to take action,” he lay his head upon Rommath’s shoulder as he spoke and let out a weary sigh. “I fear when news does break, whatever it may be, we will find ourselves drawn into an impossible situation. Allow me an afternoon to pretend everything is well, would you?”

Rommath acquiesced, placed his notes down and leaned into the prince. And that was the last afternoon he could remember feeling at peace.

Rommath woke at dawn to bells ringing. The first dregs of morning light filtered in through a gap in the curtains, and illuminated the bedroom just enough for Rommath to see Kael’thas still sleeping beside him, snoring so quietly that he was drowned out by the ringing outside. The sound made Rommath’s stomach drop, though he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t something he was used to hearing Dalaran, and so he shook Kael’thas awake to listen. The prince initially protested the early rousing, but then sat up with a concerned look upon his face.

“How long has this been going on?” he asked, failing to temper the worry in his voice.

“As long as I’ve been awake,” Rommath replied. “Though it could have been longer.”

“Those bells are an ill omen,” Kael’thas said in little more than a whisper.

Rommath said nothing. He didn’t believe in omens, but it seemed insensitive to say so. Instead he turned to Kael’thas, just visible beside him in the low dawn light. Stripped of his finery and talking in such a way, he seemed strangely vulnerable. Not the Crown Prince of Quel’Thalas, but a man scared. Rommath pulled him closer, and they sat for a moment in a shared silence.

“I must convene with the council,” Kael’thas eventually said, still not raising his voice above a whisper. He didn’t need to speak any louder with their proximity. “I’ll tell you everything we discuss when I return.”

He disappeared from sight for a short while as he readied himself, and when he returned he had donned the formal robes he always wore when meeting with the rest of the Council of Six. He made as if to conjure a portal, then paused and turned back to Rommath.

“Be prepared to take action as soon as I return. I’m not sure what action that will be yet, but…” his voice trailed off and he forced a smile. “Well, just be prepared for something.”

“Of course,” Rommath agreed, though he had half a mind to grab the prince and pull him back under the covers to ignore his duties and remain there with him in blissful ignorance for just a little longer. But he knew he couldn’t. Instead he simply watched as Kael’thas disappeared into the portal.

It was late morning before Rommath sensed Kael’thas’ presence in the tower again. He brought with him some sort of queasy terror that shared itself through the bond. He was ashen faced and grave when he entered the laboratory where Rommath and Astalor waited. Before he spoke he paced the length of the room, and then came to a stop by the window seat on which they sat.

“Prince Arthas has returned from Northrend. He struck down King Terenas in the Lordaeron throne room,” he said. There was an incredulous quality to his voice when he spoke, as if he was hearing the words for the first time. “It’s unknown whether the intention was regicide or patricide, or what his next actions may be.”

It wasn’t the news they’d expected, but it explained the nausea Rommath felt from Kael’thas. Should Prince Arthas find himself in the habit of killing kings, it would become a very personal problem for the prince. When he spoke again his voice had taken on a decisive tone that the bond didn’t corroborate.

“Astalor you’ll stay here with me. How skilled are you as a scribe?”

“Relatively,” the young mage replied with a wobble in his voice.

“Rommath, return to Quel’Thalas. I’ll send what messages I can to you, through whatever means I am able,” he emphasised the word in a way that told Rommath he meant relying on their bond, if necessary. “Make sure you relay everything you can to Belo’vir. And keep my father safe.”

Rommath knew he ought to, but a wrenching in his stomach made clear how little he wanted to leave Kael’thas. He nodded and agreed with no argument, though a shared look between them told Rommath the bond had allowed Kael’thas to feel his true thoughts on the matter.

“I like it as little as you do. Leave by dawn,” Kael’thas said, “That should allow you enough time to settle any matters here.” It was clear enough that what he meant was enough time to share a final few hours.

Rommath hadn’t expected to see Belo’vir in his office when he’d portalled in. The sun hadn’t yet risen in Dalaran when he’d left, and was still just a suggestion upon the horizon in Quel’Thalas, but the grand magister was already hard at work conjuring small models of the city upon his desk and marking certain points near the gates with glass marbles.

“An early start for you as well, hm?” he asked as he looked up from his illusion and set his eyes on Rommath. “I assume his highness has decided in light of recent news it was time to send you back?”

“I’m to pass his messages to you directly, and keep an eye on things here for him. I think he’s worried that if Prince Arthas has developed a taste for killing kings, then King Anasterian may be next.”

“A reasonable fear. Though as long as our defences hold, we should have little reason for concern. Dar’Khan has been regularly inspecting them in your absence so we should have nothing to worry about there. And, should the city be attacked, any force that makes it through should be so small that we should be able to weather it well with some strategically placed forces. Here, see,” he gestured toward the model on his desk as he spoke.

“Should, not will?” Rommath asked, slightly concerned by the grand magister’s choice in words.

“Nothing is ever certain. We must always account for unexpected events unfolding in unexpected ways. We should be able weather whatever follows. But there is never a guarantee.”

The statement sat heavily in Rommath’s chest, but he had no time to linger on it before Belo’vir changed the subject and asked of Astalor and Dalaran. Before Rommath knew it, his worries had dissipated as he fell once more into the comfortable routine of working under Belo’vir.

The day of the invasion was a blur. Rommath woke to blue skies, and then he was leading a small group of magisters to strike down a mass of shambling undead. More happened between then, it must have done, but he had no memory of it. It was simply a haze of terror and panic.

Sounds of violence drowned out nearly all other noise as he reached the north gate of the city. He joined Belo’vir, who led a larger group of magisters, and High Priest Vandellor and Liadrin who were tending to the injured. A group of Farstriders ahead had cleared the path to the port, and they directed survivors toward the boats and the safety of Quel’Danas

“Rommath, are you well enough able to rescue further survivors?” Belo’vir asked.

The bond had lessened Rommath’s injuries compared to the others, and though Kael’thas would be feeling the effects of it he could apologise for that later. He nodded. “I’m to send them here, I assume?”

“The port, if you would. We’ll make our way there as well to fall back to Quel’Danas.”

“Fall back?” Rommath repeated. “Why should we be the ones to retreat? I understand sending civilians, but we can fight. We should be the ones pushing those undead beasts back.”

Even as he said it, he knew it was impossible. The attack had been so sudden, so devastating. Rotting dead from Lordaeron gnashing and clawing in their all consuming, undirected violence. They’d been joined by the recent dead. Wide eyed elves, grey and snarling. He didn’t like to think how many were injured, or worse. There was no way they could raise an organised force large enough to even dent their numbers.

Belo’vir knew as well as he did that he didn’t believe his words, and simply fixed a raised eyebrow on Rommath.

“It will be quicker if I return alone, I’ll leave my magisters in your care,” Rommath said, knowing better than to argue any further.

“Sunwell’s protection be with you, Rommath.”

“And you, grand magister.”

Rommath’s body tried to rebel as he re-entered the fray and waded further into the destruction he’d escaped once already. Limbs shaking, stomach threatening to bubble over and return the scant breakfast he’d taken early that morning, he pushed on regardless. As he ran from city district to city district his boots and robe grew heavy with dust and dirt, and his voice grew hoarse from shouting as loudly as his aching throat would allow.

“Rally in the north! All survivors are being evacuated to Quel’Danas!”

Where they could not run, he portalled them. The ageing, the sick and the injured were ferried into the shimmering rifts he cut through the air, and to what he hoped was safety in the port. But each portal exhausted him a little further. It would not be long before he cast his last - and what then? There was no time to rest. No time to regain his strength. All he could do was push the thought from his mind for now, and instruct those who could run to run.

He stopped at the edge of the Dawning Lane to catch his breath. Though he felt wretched, he should have felt worse. A blow he’d received to his arm earlier that morning was merely a throbbing ache, not the sharp pain it ought to have been, and the pounding in his head ebbed and waned until he could nearly ignore it. The warmth of the sigil made clear why, and though he knew better than to push it to his limits, it was at least keeping him on his feet for now. He gritted his teeth and forced himself onward.

“Head north!” he shouted as he came across further groups of survivors. “Head toward the port!”

Each face he saw was bloodied, and so caked in ash and dirt that he could barely tell those he knew from strangers. Not that it mattered. Any survivors were sent to the port. The dead were afforded what contemplation Rommath could give them, before he hurried off deeper into the city.

When he could continue no longer he teleported himself to the port. There were fewer survivors than he’d hoped to see, and Belo’vir met his gaze with a grimace.

“Latest report from the scouts is that the army has grown far larger than we are able to counter. Rommath, I need you to leave for Dalaran immediately and send word to Prince Kael’thas that we are fully expecting to be overwhelmed.”

“Absolutely not. I should be here. Helping,” Rommath replied. It wasn’t often that he argued with the grand magister, but this was one occasion he felt he ought.

Belo’vir smiled in response, but it was a sad sort of smile that lacked any mirth or warmth. “And I am sure you would be of great help. But you know why I am asking this of you. Quel’Thalas needs a grand magister. I need you safe.”

Rommath’s stomach twisted and bile rose in his throat. He worried if he opened his mouth he might scream, or vomit, or curse Belo’vir for making such a decision without even consulting him. Or beg him to change his mind. He clamped his lips shut and instead stood in silent disbelief.

“You’ll make a wonderful grand magister. I know you will, and the Convocation agrees. And that is why you must return to Dalaran and his highness,” he continued, while Rommath continued to stand in silence.

Belo’vir pulled him into an embrace. Rommath had been told once that it was possible to smell fear—it was how predatory animals hunted. He’d never truly believed it, but in that moment he could smell it on the grand magister, and he thought he could smell it from himself as well. It was sour, and cloying, and filled with the promise of death. He returned the embrace, and clung to Belo’vir with no thought of grace or decorum. There was every possibility this was goodbye, and so he would grasp tightly at every last moment he could.

“And I’m supposed to just leave you here to whatever fate awaits?” Rommath asked, trying to hold defiance in his tone rather than allowing his fear to creep in.

“I’ve survived a great many years without your assistance until now, I’m sure I’ll be more than fit to face my fate without your assistance as well. And if death is what waits for me then I will greet it knowing I have done all I could,” Belo’vir replied. Though his voice softened as he added, “I do appreciate the offer, however.”

There was such resolution in his tone that Rommath found any further argument dying in his throat. Instead he simply nodded.

“Thank you,” was all he could manage to say as he conjured the portal to Dalaran. Goodbye was beyond him in that moment.

“You can thank me by doing your duty to Quel’Thalas,” Belo’vir responded in a voice that fought to sound calm, but broke with the effort of holding back his fear.

The last image Rommath had of the grand magister was his look of quiet determination as he turned from the portal and set off toward the boats.

Though the journey was almost instantaneous by portal, it seemed to Rommath that an age had passed by the time he arrived in Dalaran. He landed in Kael’thas’ laboratory, but took in nothing of his surroundings for a few moments. Belo’vir’s image was burned into his mind, and he wasn’t sure how long had passed before he noticed Kael’thas standing before him.

“Rommath?”

Words caught in his throat and the more he tried to force them the more they retreated. Kael’thas would be able to feel the pit of absolute despair into which he’d fallen, and the strain of exhaustion that gripped him. He realised he probably looked quite a sight. He’d obtained a few injuries fighting his way through the city, and he was sure he was covered in dirt, sweat and dust. He had no mirror to check, but he could feel it caked upon him.

“What happened? Is my father safe?” Kael’thas asked. When Rommath didn’t answer, his tone took on a sharp edge of nerves. “Is my father safe?”

“I don’t know,” Rommath replied, finally. His voice was small and strained. “I don’t know if any of them are. I wanted to stay, I tried to stay but Belo’vir expects the city will be overwhelmed, he—”

He made a noise somewhere halfway between a sob and a heave. Guilt clawed at every inch of his body. He should have argued further. He should have stayed.

“The dead. They’ve risen, they’re destroying everything. Am I to be grand magister of the ashes? What good does that do anyone?”

“And yet from the ashes may rise a phoenix,” Kael’thas said.

Rommath assumed it was intended as a comfort, but it only served to rile him.

“Do not try to placate me with platitudes,” he spat, with more venom that he’d intended. He wasn’t angry with Kael’thas. No, his anger in that moment was a nebulous, all consuming sort of thing. He was angry at himself for not staying in the city, at what had happened to the citizens of Quel’Thalas, at Belo’vir for sending him away. Kael’thas simply had the misfortune of being in the firing line when it erupted.

“And what would you have me do?” Kael’thas replied in a hiss. “Return now? Throw myself to the wolves with no plan, no idea what awaits us and an army of the hungering dead waiting to rip me limb from limb.”

“They’ll rip anyone limb from limb. Don’t flatter yourself,” Rommath snapped, once more unable to help himself.

“Then you agree it would be unwise for me to return before we know the state of the city?”

Rommath tried to hold his tongue. He didn’t mean the vitriol that welled up and threatened to spill forth, he didn’t mean any of it. He tried to choke back his barbed response and instead simply replied with, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Oh yes, a fine start to your incumbency as grand magister. Please do continue to shut down at the first sign of a crisis. Our city defences have been breached and one of the few men to know how they all work doesn’t know what to do next.”

“A traitor,” Rommath said his thought aloud as the realisation came to him.

“I beg your pardon?” Kael’thas said in an affronted tone.

“Not you. You’re right—hardly anyone knows how to take down the Ban’dinoriel, and even fewer know where the moon crystals are. Whoever did this had an intimate knowledge of all of it.”

“So either a Farstrider or…” all indignation dropped from Kael’thas voice as he shared in Rommath’s realisation.

“Or someone close to Belo’vir,” Rommath’s stomach dropped as the words left his mouth. Dar’Khan. It had to have been. “So that’s why Belo’vir had me return.”

The following days were tense. Fearing traitors in the city, Kael’thas refused to leave for Silvermoon until he had sufficient escort. He announced his intentions to return to the city in a week, then shut himself away with Astalor, planning something.

Rommath couldn’t bring himself to ask what, nor could he find it within himself to argue that an escort was wasting time. Instead he filled his hours by listing those likely to be allied with Dar’Khan, running over all the duties he would need to take over in Belo’vir’s stead and planning privately for his own return to the city. Alone.

It all meant he didn’t have time or inclination to sit with his grief, and any thoughts of Belo’vir had to be pushed to one side. He shut down the part of himself that hurt so that it hardened and his despair crystallised until he no longer felt it at all. A void set in where his fear and his sadness ought to have been. Any emotions he did feel were from the raging tumult Kael’thas had become in the wake of the attack, a stark contrast to his own emptiness.

After three days of half existence and with a list of potential traitors longer than his arm, Rommath announced his intention to return to Silvermoon.

“Is that wise?” Kael’thas asked. “You have no way of knowing what awaits you.”

“It’s better than biding my time here. I need to be doing something,” Rommath replied.

“Fine. Discuss my plans for return only with those we can trust and…” Kael’thas reached for Rommath, then pulled his hand back when he realised Astalor was in the room with them. “Stay safe, Rommath.”

With no word from Quel’Thalas since the attack, Rommath had no way of knowing where was safe to portal into. As soon as he stepped out into Falconwing Square he realised it was a mistake. The area was overrun, and a hundred dead eyes turned on him. He tried not to look too closely at their faces as he sent forth bursts of flame to clear a path through the throng, fearing he may see someone he knew. His father’s shop had been nearby. It was likely rubble now, and his parents were probably among the shambling, rotting horde. He knew that, but he couldn’t allow himself to dwell on it. Any compassion would slow him down, weaken him. And if they had been among the fallen, then they were his parents no longer.

He fought his way through the square, careful to dodge clawing hands and gnashing teeth as he burned his way through the crowd of dead. The guttural gurgles that came from their throats when they fell to his flames turned his stomach. Thankfully, he was quick enough to prevent himself from being overwhelmed, but each flame that left his fingertips tired him a little more.

There were few survivors to be found as he sought safety in the city, but those he saw he bade follow him. With their wan faces and their limbs shaking in fear they looked little different to the dead they cowered from.

He eventually found sanctuary in the Bazaar. Survivors huddled together in the ruins, amidst the scent of dried blood and rot. They were grey and drawn, and their expressions spoke of the hardships endured over the past three days. He couldn’t help scanning the crowds in hopes of catching sight of Belo’vir, though he knew deep within him how futile that was.

“Magister Rommath, have you brought word from Prince Kael’thas?” Lor’themar’s voice took him by surprise, but the sight of the Farstrider covered in injuries and missing an eye shocked him more. Rommath tried not to react, and kept his expression stony.

“I have,” Rommath’s tone was more terse than he’d intended when he spoke.

“Thank the Sunwell,” Lor’themar said, and his shoulders visibly relaxed. “The people have been clamouring for news. And with King Anasterian dead they could use a leader. Or words from him, at least.”

Rommath glanced back out toward the crowds. Their people had been betrayed, and he couldn’t guarantee a traitor wasn’t among the survivors who now huddled together. He had his suspicions about the identity of the prime culprit, of course, but that didn’t mean he had been a sole actor.

“The news I have is not for public ears. I would share it with you and…” Rommath trailed off, realising he still had no idea who had survived. He took his chances. “Grand Magister Belo’vir.”

Lor’themar’s shoulders tensed once more. He couldn’t meet Rommath’s eyes when he spoke.

“Belo’vir is...”

Ice filled Rommath’s veins. Lor’themar didn’t need to finish his sentence. He’d known, deep down, that the grand magister hadn’t made it.

“I see. Then I would share it with you and whoever else is taking charge for the moment.”

“Is Dar’Khan with you?” Lor’themar’s voice was halting as he asked, and Rommath wondered if the Farstrider shared his own suspicions.

“He is not, and he is not to be made aware of any of this,” Rommath replied, carefully watching for the reaction.

Lor’themar gave a small, determined nod. “I see. Good.”

Though neither of them said anything further on the matter, a moment of shared understanding in the silence made clear that they each knew Dar’Khan had been the traitor. Lor’themar then gestured toward the crowds.

“Even with no word from the prince, I’m sure some comforting word from his advisor would suffice,” Lor’themar said in a hopeful voice.

Rommath scowled. “If it’s comfort they seek then there is little point in turning to me. I’m sure I’d be about as comforting as gangrene.”

Kael’thas’ arrival was not met with fanfare, but with unrest and discontent. A week of silence had done little to reassure a suffering populace, and the sight of the prince arriving unharmed with an armed escort simply riled them further. Rommath could feel the churning in the prince’s stomach through their bond, and though he tried his best to maintain a regal disposition he was simply another grieving son witnessing the ruins of his home.

Astalor looked somewhat out of sorts astride on his hawkstrider beside the prince, but to his credit he remained calm. When he caught Rommath’s eye, however, he made the briefest gesture that seemed to say what a week. Given how normally expressive the young mage was, Rommath assumed the subtlety of the gesture had required some restraint.

When Kael’thas tried to offer words of reassurance he was met with frustration. He had ignored the people of Silvermoon for too long, and now they felt nothing but ire at his presence. The prince, Rommath could tell, was not expecting such a reaction. Confusion seeped in through the bond, followed by hurt. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go in his mind, and yet there was no other outcome that Rommath could have foreseen. It soon became clear there was no point in attempting to continue, and so Kael’thas continued on toward the Bazaar without a further word.

The inn was one of the few structures safe enough to take refuge in, and it was to there that Kael’thas retreated, followed closely behind by Rommath, Lor’themar and Astalor.

“They do not mean it, your highness,” Lor’themar said in a soft tone, trying to reassure the clearly shaken prince. “They are simply scared.”

“They do mean it,” Rommath replied sharply. “They are your people now, and they feel you have let them down. You should have returned sooner. You must earn their trust back. And quickly.”

Lor’themar shot a warning glance at Rommath, but he chose to ignore it. The ranger lord was clearly unused to Kael’thas’ ways if he was trying to coddle the truth in such a way.

Kael’thas rearranged his face to the perfect mask of princely resolution, though Rommath could feel his nerves beneath the surface. “Yes well, they are entitled to their sentiments. I have something more pressing I’d like to attend to first. May I see my father?”

Lor’themar nodded and led him through to another room in the inn. King Anasterian had been laid out in his armour, with the remains of Felo’melorn upon his chest. He looked peaceful, and were it not for the deathly pallor upon his skin it would have been possible to simply assume he was resting.

A muscle twitched near Kael’thas’ mouth, and it was clear it took all his strength to maintain a neutral expression. He reached out to touch the sword, tracing a finger along where it had split.

“Shattered in battle, your highness,” Lor’themar explained. “We thought salvaging what we could was better than leaving it where it lay.”

The prince didn’t look at Lor’themar as he responded, instead he kept his eyes fixed upon his father. “Yes, of course. Thank you. And the other bodies?”

“Burned to prevent their rising. But we thought it seemed improper not to give King Anasterian a send off more fitting of his position. Would you like a moment alone with him?”

Kael’thas nodded, so they left the room and pushed closed the half broken door behind them. It was at that moment Rommath felt the prince’s grief erupt through the bond. A roaring fire, destructive and hungry in a way that eclipsed any other emotion. It raged as Kael’thas offered a Thalassian blessing, just audible through the door, and showed no sign of abating as he emerged.

“Prepare a pyre and burn him tonight. I will not have him raised into undeath,” Kael’thas tone was even, and measured, and gave no hint as to his true emotions.

The three mages disappeared shortly after King Anasterian’s funeral. Kael’thas had called them into the inn and asked if they had noticed anything amiss.

“Other than the obvious?” Rommath had asked dryly, though had to admit that something indeed felt off in Silvermoon. He’d mentioned it to Lor’themar shortly after his own arrival in the city, though the ranger lord had brushed it off.

“Which leads me to my concern,” Kael’thas had said. “The rangers are less dependent on the Sunwell than those of us more magically inclined. We feel any shift in its energies far sooner.”

And so they portalled out to Quel’Danas that evening, and sealed themselves within Sunwell Plateau until they could determine the source of the disturbance. Rommath had little reason to visit the Sunwell in the past, and under different circumstances would have appreciated the opportunity to spend time the gilded room that housed it. But his void hadn’t yet lifted. He should have recoiled when he stared into what ought to have been golden, glimmering waters and saw only a befouled puddle, but he could summon nothing more than a sense of their inevitable doom.

Kael’thas felt it, and fixed him with a reproachful glance, though he could say nothing until Astalor agreed to keep watch outside.

“Will you pull yourself together, Rommath. You’ve been nothing but a pit of despair this past week,” Kael’thas said in an exasperated tone once they were alone. “I don’t expect you to move past what happened to Belo’vir, and I am sorry you feel as though it was your fault, but I at least expect you to be sturdy enough for me to rely on. You are not the only one to have lost someone.”

Rommath stared into the swirling, murky waters, trying not to let his dread overtake him. If Belo’vir had been there, he would have known what to do. But he wasn’t. He stepped toward the well, dipped a hand into its depths and tried to think like the grand magister. The former grand magister, he corrected himself. The water was icy, and gave him a sense of foreboding. He pulled his hand back with a shudder. Their people drew strength from the Sunwell, but such befouled waters would surely serve only to harm them.

“Well I can suggest our next move, if it would help,” he said finally, turning to face Kael’thas. “Though I do not think you are going to like it.”

“By all means, go ahead.”

“The corruption in its waters will spread unless we do something. You’re going to need to break the news that the Sunwell needs to be destroyed.”

Chapter Text

Many years later

Rommath turned the crystal over in his fingers. It was warm to the touch, and buzzed against his flesh with its promise of raw energy within. He’d been wary of using such a method to sate his hunger at first—the techniques taught to them by Illidan Stormrage were alien enough, and those simply harnessed arcane magic. To delve into fel had been a risky move, but if it quelled the endless hunger they’d all felt since the Sunwell’s destruction, then he didn’t see fit to argue. And he hadn’t had much choice in the matter. The nature of his hunger had changed the instant Kael’thas absorbed his first fel crystal, thanks to the sigil, and it quickly became his only solution.

He sometimes wondered whether suffering under the effects of a corrupted Sunwell may have been preferable to destroying it entirely, and he cursed Dar’Khan for putting them in a position where he must wonder that at all. The former magister had disappeared shortly after the scourge invasion, and was presumed to be dead. Rommath hoped he’d suffered. And now their people had grown weak without their font of power, and the withdrawal from the magic they’d been ignorant of their addiction to. He didn’t necessarily condone Kael’thas running into the arms of Illidan Stormrage, his demon hunters and the naga in search of salvation, but he couldn’t condemn his actions either. They’d been left without options, and the prince had proven himself surprisingly resourceful. The enemy of my enemy, as the old saying went. At least he hadn’t allied with actual demons.

The crystal slipped from Rommath’s hand as his fingers twitched. He caught it, just in time, saving it before it smashed onto the floor and wasted one of his precious fel reserves. It had been happening more and more often recently. Strange twitching in his hands and cramping in his muscles preceded the worst of it, when the effects of the fel magic were wearing thin and he needed another hit. He squeezed the crystal tightly in his hand and let the warming sensation spread throughout his body. It tingled, then burned, like hot oil filling his veins. But it was a blissful burn that scoured away the aches and feebleness that set in when he’d gone too long without partaking. His eyes had taken on a strange, green hue and his temper flared more often, but it was a small price to pay for such relief.

He’d never expected much use to come of the schematic he’d had stored away for decades. He’d heard nothing of the woman who’d given it to him, for all he knew she was long dead, but her work had helped him present options for storing various magical sources when the prince had first brought the idea to him. It wasn’t an exact reproduction of the crystals the woman had been altering—they seemed to have been intended to store an entity rather than an energy—but the basic premise was similar enough that he could easily modify it for their needs. And Astalor had proven to be a great help with that. The young mage had shown himself to have a keen mind for inventive uses of magic, and he’d identified quickly which areas of the schematic they’d need to alter to change its purpose without affecting the fundamental structure of the crystals.

“Grand magister?” Astalor’s voice from the doorway shouldn’t have taken Rommath by surprise, but he jumped violently. Despite the great distance now between himself and Kael’thas, the sigil bond still held strong and the prince’s growing paranoia was beginning to affect him.

“What is it, Astalor,” he snapped as the magister took a seat before him.

“There has been a delivery from his highness, and Regent Lord Theron thinks you ought to see it.”

“Does he, now. And why is that?” Rommath asked as he drummed his fingers upon the desk. Lor’themar still liked to claim reluctance to take on the mantle of leadership, but Rommath had his suspicions he was beginning to take a liking to the title of regent lord. He seemed to have grown comfortable enough in ordering people around, at least.

“I…well I think you ought to just come and see. I’ll give you a moment to ready yourself.” Astalor’s eyes drifted down to the fel crystal still clutched in Rommath’s hand and the green hue that pulsed below the skin of his arm. “I’ll wait outside.”

Astalor shut the door behind him, leaving Rommath to pull on a longer sleeved robe and store the fel crystal somewhere secure. The Farstriders, former and current, struggled even with some of the more benign methods used to sate their hunger, and any meeting with Lor’themar would progress more smoothly if he saw nothing to give him pause. When any trace of the residual green was hidden beneath brocade sleeves he checked his face in the mirror, and adjusted the ornate cloth mask that hid the gauntness that had started to set in upon his cheeks. There was nothing he could do about his eyes, but the green glow was common enough now among their people that Lor’themar could hardly pass comment on that.

Before he left he stole a quick glance out of the window. It looked over the Court of the Sun, which was quiet, as it always tended to be now. He’d inherited all of Belo’vir’s offices, but only saw fit to use the one that sat in the city. He refused to allow anyone to portal in, though he couldn’t say exactly why—he assumed another effect of the prince’s encroaching paranoia that affected him as well—and so he had to rely on the most central and easily accessed office. And if he avoided the Quel’Danas office then he didn’t need to look out on the view Belo’vir had loved so dearly, only to see the island where he’d died.

Lor’themar did not want to meet them in the open hall where the triumvirate normally took guests, but instead Astalor led Rommath to a private chamber, outside which two guards had been positioned.

“The regent lord and the ranger general are already inside,” one guard said in a tone that suggested Rommath was late. In response, he glared at the guard for a moment and then stepped inside.

Almost instantly, Rommath’s ears were assaulted by a ringing that sounded like someone had tapped a colossal tuning fork on a glass, and it was only when he walked further into the chamber that he saw the source of the noise.

“What is that?” he asked, forgoing any greeting.

Some sort of enormous crystalline structure floated in the air. At first Rommath thought it was suspended by the multiple ropes tied to it, but quickly realised they were restraining it and it hovered of its own accord. It took a form unlike anything he’d ever seen before. Angular shards that formed something abstract, and yet somehow strangely familiar.

“It is a naaru,” explained a voice Rommath didn’t recognise. One of the many magisters Kael’thas had taken to the Outland with him, judging by his clothing. “His highness brings it as a gift for his subjects, and bid you use it to feed and regain your strength.”

Subjects. Rommath bristled at the term, and the lack of respect shown to him by the nameless magister.

“And how, exactly, is he intending we do that?” Lor’themar eyed the creature with suspicion.

“He has shown you how to siphon energies, has he not?” The interloping magister’s voice was thick with a faux politeness that barely masked his condescension.

“A finite source that, once drained, would be useless. Are we to present that to the starving masses as some sort of solution? It is a stop gap at best,” Rommath said with ice in his tone.

“And surely the issue here is that this is somewhat immoral? Look how the creature is bound, it is clearly here against its will.” Disgust edged Lor’themar’s words, and the difference in how their objections presented themselves briefly amused Rommath. The regent lord, to his credit, was still concerned for the morality of their people. Rommath simply had a mind for the practicalities. Halduron and his assisting Farstriders kept quiet.

“It is a creature of the light, is it not?” Astalor phrased it as a question, but Rommath recognised by his tone that an idea was forming in his mind.

The unwelcome magister nodded. “It is. Pure light, in fact.”

“Grand magister, do you believe this may relieve some of the issues faced by our priests in recent years?” Astalor turned to Rommath, fixing him with a stare that he now knew to mean just go with it.

“Yes, it may,” he said in reply, quite unsure of what Astalor was intending to do, but fully willing to go along with it to see where it led. He turned to the uninvited magister, “I assume Kael’thas did not stipulate any specific method by which we ought to drain this beast?”

“His highness only asked that it be sent here as a gift,” he responded, clearly unhappy about the familiarity with which Rommath referred to the prince.

“Then have it sent to Astalor’s study.” Rommath waved a hand toward those holding its restraints. They turned nervous eyes toward Lor’themar as if awaiting his approval, and he gave a cautious nod. Rommath bristled. He was grand magister. They ought to be perfectly willing to listen to him.

“He should have warned me first,” Rommath said as he slammed the door to Astalor’s study shut behind himself and Astalor. “I hear nothing from Kael’thas for months, and now he sends… whatever this is.”

“Yes, well. So it goes.” Astalor didn’t elaborate on his short statement as he seated himself behind the plain desk, but Rommath could detect some bitterness to his tone.

“I am his grand magister. He ought to have let me stay in the Outland. With him.” Rommath didn’t bother to mask his anger. He assumed Astalor had, by now, grasped a truer version of his relationship with Kael’thas than most were aware of, and if he hadn’t then it would require far more than a tone of voice to tip him off.

“If I am free to speak, grand magister, I think there are a great many things Prince Kael’thas should have done or should not have done of late, and ruminating on each is merely a distraction at this point.” Astalor clapped his hands together as if to signal an end to the discussion. “Now, may I present my idea?”

A strange pang gripped Rommath, though he kept his expression carefully neutral so as not to show it. Was it…doubt? Was he beginning to feel some doubt in the prince? He swallowed the feeling and turned his attention back to Astalor. “By all means, go ahead.”

Astalor conjured an image of the crystalline being on the desk before them. It was not perfect, given that he’d only seen the thing for a few minutes, but it was close enough that Rommath could tell what it was supposed to be.

“Rather than feeding off it, I wonder if there may be a way to have our priests channel it?” He tapped the illusion on his desk and four figures appeared. Three miniature magisters at the creature’s base, hands contorting with the effort of casting something, and a fourth figure in priestly robes with his hands raised toward it. “He said it was pure light so I assume there must be a way. I don’t know the mechanisms yet, but I’m sure we could figure something out between us.”

Ever since the Sunwell’s destruction, Thalassian priests had been having struggles communing with the light. Whether the Sunwell had acted as a conduit, or whether it was simply disillusionment at how their people had suffered, it had started to cause an issue. They needed healers now more than ever, but with so many unable to draw on their source of power, their ill and their injured were at risk. If they were able to manipulate a source of pure light energy to allow those attuned to it to siphon power from it, then it would alleviate one of the many issues they faced.

“Manipulate it to serve as a constant energy source for wielders of the light, rather than a finite source to be siphoned by anyone?” Rommath summarised to check he’d understood the gist of Astalor’s plan.

“Precisely!”

Rommath was never quite sure whether the sigil made his hunger worse, or whether it helped. That sick, gnawing feeling in his skin, his bones, and his head was his own, and it was Kael’thas’ too. But Kael’thas seemed to have enough of… well, whatever it was that he’d found out in the Outland to keep himself sated, and Rommath rarely let himself reach such a state. He’d just been so distracted recently with the work he’d been doing on the naaru that he’d let himself slip.

His mind itched. Was it normal for a mind to itch? He could barely hold the staff he used to channel the naaru’s power without his hands twitching and almost losing grip. He was cold, but drenched with sweat. But it was working. He and Astalor and a host of his magisters had cracked the method for channelling light energy from the being, breaking its will so it bowed to their command while keeping it in a state of suspended animation that prevented it from being drained beyond the point of use.

He’d almost forgotten how it felt to not hear the naaru screaming bloody murder at him. It wasn’t in any language he knew, but that strange, resonant sound like a tuning fork. Only it was now a screech not a hum. He wondered if the others could hear it. They hadn’t indicated that they could, but he’d also kept it hidden himself. Or perhaps the naaru knew he was the one who’d ordered this, and he was the one who bore the weight of responsibility even if it hadn’t been his idea. A scream like metal scraping against itself, relentless in his head. And it was worsened by the hunger racking his body in sharp, shooting bursts.

“And stop,” Rommath called as they finished their incantation and the crystals at their feet turned a soft yellow. “Confirmed to be working as intended, once again.”

It was all he managed to say before he stumbled up the stairs of the chamber and teleported himself away into his office. He promptly collapsed upon a chair and reached for a fel crystal, which he gripped tightly as he tried to catch his breath. The scouring warmth scraped along his body, and brought some sense of relief. Enough, at least, to sit upright and await Astalor’s inevitable arrival.

He assumed Astalor had immediately followed him out, but it was some walk from the hold where they stored the naaru and it took him twenty minutes to reach Rommath’s office.

“Are you quite well, grand magister?” he asked when he arrived.

“Well enough,” Rommath replied brusquely. “As well as any of us are.”

Astalor’s eyes lingered on the fel crystal still gripped in his hand. “If you say so, grand magister. Anyway, might I request permission to portal into your office in the future? I understand your concerns but—“

“No,” Rommath snapped.

Astalor let out a huff, but said nothing more on the matter. Instead he changed the subject. “Have you been keeping Regent Lord Theron updated on our progress?”

“The less aware Lor’themar has been of all this until we’ve been in a position to demonstrate and weather criticisms, the better.”

“That old adage, what is it… Easier to ask forgiveness than permission?” Astalor raised a brow. “Is that really wise, grand magister?

“Yes,” Rommath said with a harshness to his tone he hadn’t intended. He slammed the gem down on the table beside his chair, and pushed himself to standing. “Half my magisters have been sequestered in the Outland for years under conditions so secretive the prince won’t even let me see them, and I can do nothing for our people who remain here than other than ply them with half solutions and mana crystals. Why should I stymie the progress of our one, great breakthrough for fear of criticism from a former Farstrider?”

Without this I am powerless. He couldn’t say it aloud, but the implication was clear enough in his words. Grand magister in name only.

“Of course, grand magister,” Astalor said in a mollifying tone. “I simply wondered whether we had been keeping the regent lord on side or not. Everyone knows you are doing what you can.”

“Spare me your pity, Astalor.” Once again the venom in Rommath’s tone hadn’t been intended. It just slipped out, and he clenched his fist in the frustration of how his mouth seemed so keen to amplify any trace of annoyance he felt. “I’m sorry, Astalor. I don’t mean to be short with you.”

“Of course. I know how hard the recent news about Dar’Khan must have been to—” Astalor cut himself off as Rommath threw him a warning glance. He’d been trying to put the image of Dar’Khan—now undead and haunting the forest—from his mind, and he did not appreciate the reminder. “And I understand how difficult the prince’s absence has been for you in particular, sir. I don’t take it personally.”

Ah, so Astalor did know to some extent. Though Rommath could never tell him the true nature of it all. He missed Kael’thas, of course he did, but it was the prince’s increasingly erratic behaviour extending to him through the bond that was the larger problem. Kael’thas’ anger, his paranoia, and his all consuming fear of failure seeped in and filled the part of Rommath that had never quite felt whole since he’d inherited his title. Or, at least, he assumed that was why his temper flared as it did. There were, of course, other possibilities. Ones that Astalor also seemed to suspect.

“If I may, grand magister, I believe the untainted mana crystals produce fewer… unwanted side effects,” he said with an emphasis that made clear what he meant as his eyes lingered upon the fel crystal.

“I am aware.”

And Rommath was aware. He’d switch back in a moment if he could, but that incessant hunger he received from Kael’thas would not abate without fel and he’d become quite accustomed to the sensation of it by now. He didn’t like to think how much worse things would become if he avoided it entirely. He simply needed to be careful to take in only enough to sate him, and no more. Carefully measured doses would prevent anything from becoming…messy.

Rather than discuss any further, Rommath changed the subject. “Make arrangements to demonstrate the method of siphoning the naaru to Lor’themar, if you would. I believe we are ready.”

Lor’themar’s mouth drew to a hard, thin line and his good eye narrowed as he stood in the grand chamber, staring up at the naaru. It had once looked far too large for the space. Now, as it floated listlessly beneath the high, gilded ceilings of its prison, it seemed less impressive. The naaru remained mostly still, but Rommath could feel its writhing. Its screaming. Could everyone else in the room feel it too? He thought better than to ask.

“And it can help our priests to commune with the light once more?” Lor’themar asked with apprehension thick in his voice.

“Absolutely.” Astalor stepped forward and retrieved the crystal they’d channeled the naaru’s power into. It glowed with a gentle yellow light as he held it aloft. The initial idea had been his, so Rommath allowed him to attempt to convince Lor’themar. “And more than that—we can use it to create an order of knights able to channel the light and heal others, whilst also acting as stalwart defenders of Quel’Thalas. The paladins of Lordaeron were key in their fight against the scourge. We can approximate their powers in our own people.”

“And do you have any thoughts for the first…recipient.” It sounded as though Lor’themar had intended to say something else, but settled on recipient as a compromise. Victim, perhaps?

Astalor’s eyes darted toward Rommath, and Rommath answered without hesitation.

“Liadrin.” He hadn’t discussed it with Astalor, but the name came to him instantly. He’d heard she’d become quite the capable warrior in recent years, and the last time he’d spoken to her she’d professed her doubt in the light. She held the perfect combination of martial prowess and lapsed faith to head up the order they hoped to create. And Belo’vir would have wanted him to help Vandellor’s ward.

“And she’ll come to no harm?” Lor’themar asked.

“It hasn’t yet been tested on a living subject, but there is no reason to expect it to be harmful,” Astalor answered slightly too quickly, so Rommath felt he ought to interject.

“It will be her choice whether or not she wants to accept,” he said firmly.

Lor’themar’s brows knitted together, and he looked up at the naaru once more. “I don’t like this, and I don’t condone it. But I won’t stop it, if it means we’ll have the light on our side once more.”

“On our side, and under our control,” Rommath said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone.

He exchanged a brief glance with the regent lord, who gave the most infinitesimal approximation of a nod.

“I’ll send for Liadrin.”

Liadrin looked worse than Rommath remembered, and seemed more frail despite the sinewy muscle that had built on her frame since their last meeting. Arcane withdrawal. He’d seen it up close before, and each time it caused his stomach to clench. He tossed her a mana crystal before he explained why he’d called for her, and she hungrily absorbed what she could from it without even a second thought for decorum in the moment.

“Why did you bring me here?” She asked, finally, looking around Rommath’s office in wary glances. Her eyes seemed slightly brighter after draining the crystal, and she stood with a touch more stability.

Rommath pushed a box across his desk toward her. It was long and thin, and he gestured for her to open it. Inside was a ranseur he’d had made especially for her. Its blades gleamed as she held it up, and the pole gave it a considerable reach. It seemed to have a good weight in her hands as she swung it a few times. When he’d shown it to Lor’themar, the regent lord had scoffed and said Liadrin could not be so easily bought. Rommath had given the comment a blank look, and explained it was nothing of the sort. If she’d been living in the forests and sleeping rough, it was unlikely she still held any weapons of value. They couldn’t have the first knight of their new order represent them with anything but the finest with which they could outfit her.

“It’s yours, should you want it,” Rommath said.

She didn’t bother to hide the suspicion in her voice when she responded, “But why?”

“Many years ago, shortly after Vandellor died, you told me the light was a fickle and worthless thing. Do you remember?”

“I remember,” Liadrin said with defiance in her voice. “And I would say it again. The light has not helped me these past few years. I have survived alone, by relying on myself and myself only.”

“What if I told you that you may control it, bend it to your own will and not be subject to its whims and fancies.”

“I’d say it was a fantasy,” she said bitterly, taking a few more practice swings with the weapon. “It’s as Vandellor always used to say. Attempts to humble the light will only humble you first.” She paused to spit upon the floor. Rommath winced as the liquid seeped into his carpet. “And look where that got him. Ripped apart while men far inferior still draw breath.”

“Allow me to show you something.” Rommath tore a shimmering rift in the air and gestured for Liadrin to step through first. He followed closely behind, and stepped out into the grand chamber where they held the naaru.

He’d grown used to the sight now, but remembered how strange it had once appeared to him when he caught a glimpse of Liadrin’s awestruck face staring up at the creature.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” she said quietly.

“Few have.”

Her voice dropped to little more than a whisper, and he couldn’t be sure whether she intended for him to hear her next words. “It’s beautiful.”

He didn’t respond. He couldn’t agree. The creature was an abomination, all angular shards and dissonant screeching. Still, if she admired it then it made it more likely she would trust the gifts it granted. Or the gifts she would take.

“It’s a naaru,” Astalor explained as he joined them. Rommath didn’t see where the young magister appeared from, and had an image of him waiting to emerge from behind one of the many gauzy curtains that lined the room in order to make his big entrance. “It’s called M’uru.”

Rommath didn’t like to use its name, it gave the creature too much agency. Made it seem too…alive.

“M’uru,” Liadrin repeated.

“A gift from his highness,” Astalor continued. “Which, through painstaking work, we’ve been able to bend to our will and subjugate. It does as we command.”

“That seems cruel,” she said warily.

“Is it crueler to allow one creature to suffer in order to bring healers back to the city and save thousands, or is it crueler to let our populace suffer out of sympathy toward a creature most do not even know exists?” Rommath knew the question was skewed as he asked it, but it seemed to work to alleviate some of Liadrin’s guilt.

“What do I need to do?”

“Show it that you would like to receive its blessing, and we’ll handle the rest,” Astalor said.

Liadrin knelt before the naaru as if by instinct, and raised her weapon. The language Rommath and Astalor chanted was ancient, and he’d lifted some of the incantation from the crystal schematic. Binding an entity was binding an entity, and he saw no reason to complicate the matter when he’d been handed a blueprint for something similar so many years before. They knew the words by heart now, having repeated them so many times in their trials, but it felt different when channeling into a living host. As strange as the white hot lightning felt jolting through his own body, it seemed to pale in comparison to whatever Liadrin was feeling. Her body convulsed and jerked, and then fell still as the incantation came to end.

It was quiet for a moment. Rommath and Astalor didn’t remove their eyes from Liadrin. She held her hand out before her, and a small ball of golden light formed in her outstretched palm.

“Rise, Lady Liadrin. Matriarch of the Blood Knights.”

A knock on the door of his office took Rommath by surprise. He hadn’t been expecting guests, nor was he in much of a mood to receive them. He stayed quiet and waited for his visitor to announce themselves.

“I know you’re in there, Rommath,” Lor’themar called.

With a sigh, Rommath waved his hand, muttered an incantation, and the door unlocked and opened itself.

Lor’themar usually made some glib quip at this point about how the grand magister had grown too self important for trivialities such as keys and standing, and Rommath would dutifully roll his eyes at the comment. Even if he was secretly fond of the joke. This time, however, Lor’themar simply asked if he could take a seat.

“I thought you ought to hear it from me first. Dar’Khan is dead,” Lor’themar’s voice was grave.

Rommath had to bite back his comment of again? fearing it would be inappropriate for the situation. Instead he tried to fix as solemn a look as he could upon his face.

“I know you weren’t fond of him, necessarily, but you worked closely for so many years that it didn’t seem right to let you hear it as rumour.”

The regent lord may have been an overly moralistic stickler for the rules but, in that moment, Rommath appreciated it.

“Have they disposed of the body yet?” he asked.

“They’re in the process of doing so,” Lor’themar replied. “Though I would never condone the wanton desecration of a corpse, I do understand if you’d like to make sure he remains dead this time.”

Rommath assumed Lor’themar meant to punctuate his sentence with a wink, but the eyepatch made it hard to tell.

He’d portalled to Deatholme as soon as Lor’themar had excused himself. It was thick with the stench of death and decay, and Rommath enjoyed knowing Dar’Khan had spent his last moments in abject squalor.

It didn’t take long to find him—Dar’Khan had never been one for subtlety and the gaudy erection of a tower central to the filth was sure to be his base of operations. He nodded to the small clusters of Fastriders, magisters and Blood Knights he passed, all helping with cleanup of the area. He didn’t like to be optimistic, but with Dar’Khan dead the land he’d fouled may have a chance to begin healing. Deatholme had been a scar on the landscape for far too long.

He’d expected more of a guard around Dar’Khan’s lair. He’d finally reached it, and had to do a double take at the single Farstrider who guarded the doorway with his bow in hand. The Farstrider jerked when he saw Rommath.

“Grand magister! We weren’t expecting you!”

“No, you weren’t,” Rommath replied in a dry tone. “May I see him?”

The Farstrider stepped aside, and for the first time Rommath saw Dar’Khan’s body. It was crumpled upon the floor in a heap, and missing its head. A shame, for Rommath had hoped to spit upon it. Still, that was no guarantee he wouldn’t yet rise again.

“The body will be burned, I assume?” he asked of the Farstrider, who nodded in response.

As much as Rommath had wanted to land the killing blow, seeing Dar’Khan like this was fairly pleasing. It was his fault Belo’vir was dead, and his fault Kael’thas had left. Everything was his fault. It was all he could do not to force his boot through the corpse’s ribcage, just to see him further destroyed, but he held back. Though, as much as the sight pleased him, he felt oddly empty. Dar’Khan had died. Again. And yet everything was still as it was. They could restore the forest and cleanse Deatholme, but Belo’vir would still be dead. Their people would still be sick. The Sunwell would still be destroyed. He’d still won.

Time passed in a haze of busywork. There was plenty to keep Rommath distracted as grand magister—something always needed his attention, and his magisters were busier than ever now that they’d officially become part of the Horde. It made it easier to push his thoughts of Kael’thas from his mind, but they always drifted back eventually. The prince had been even less communicative of late, and the emotions Rommath received through the bond were strange, fragmented things. Whatever he’d found himself involved in, he was conflicted. And he was more paranoid than ever.

It took much of Rommath’s strength to separate that paranoia from himself, and he had to beat it down once more when a worried looking herald brought him a message.

“Regent Lord Theron wants to see you at once, grand magister. He says you’ll know where, and that you must make haste.”

All the blood in Rommath’s veins ran cold as he asked the herald if he knew what this was about, only for him to shake his head. “I only know that the regent lord was very insistent that you do not delay.”

Lor’themar’s expression was sour when Rommath arrived in the triumvirate’s private chamber. He sat at the grand table central to the room, arms folded across his chest, mouth held resolutely shut. Rommath had tried to ask the reason for his summoning, but the regent lord simply shook his head and gestured toward the empty chair that spoke of Halduron’s absence.

“I’d rather not need to say it twice.”

Rommath raised a brow, but didn’t argue. Instead he took his usual seat and drummed his fingers upon the table as he waited. A sharp glance from Lor’themar made him retract his hand, however, and he resolved himself to tapping his fingers against his other arm.

When Halduron finally arrived it was with an apologetic fluster. He was accompanied by the smell of dirt and leaves, and a stray twig had tangled itself in his hair.

“Caught short by a small scourge ambush in the forest. Nothing alarming, old ghouls, but—“ He waved a hand as if to indicate that they knew the rest, and took his seat.

When Lor’themar finally explained why they’d been summoned, a sinking feeling in Rommath’s stomach made clear he’d already known. Somewhere. Deep down. There was a sickening familiarity to the words that he’d long suspected but had chosen to ignore.

Demons.

Kael’thas had taken a step beyond simply sating his hunger with fel, and now cavorted openly with demons. It was a natural progression, in a way, and Kael’thas had once told him that he was prepared to go to extreme lengths for his people. But this seemed shortsighted. Rommath could understand questionable allies when they were trustworthy enough to make betrayal unlikely—their firm alliance with the forsaken came to mind—but demons were not that. Demons peddled in falsehoods and trickery, and dangling what you wanted so closely before you that you’d sell your soul to get it. And now Kael’thas had.

“Grand magister?” Lor’themar looked at him expectantly, and Rommath realised with a start that he’d been so deep in his own thoughts that he hadn’t heard a word of what he’d been asked. When he didn’t respond, Lor’themar repeated himself. “Are you in favour of us seceding, and sending a force to the Outland to deal with his highness and prevent this issue from reaching our shores?”

Deal with. What a feeble euphemism. Lor’themar meant to openly rebel against the prince. To kill him. A plan destined to fail thanks to the sigil on his chest, and so Rommath would need to find a way to change Lor’themar’s mind. Or slow him, at least.

“And how do we know that is not your own attempt at grasping at power?” No, no that wasn’t what Rommath meant to say, but his fear got the better of his mouth and the paranoia he still felt through the bond took over. Still, he’d said it and there was no removing the words from the air so he met Lor’themar’s glare with an even stare.

Lor’themar roughly shoved a letter toward Rommath, with a detailed list of observations from one of the Farstrider scouts who’d been sent to the Outland. Alongside was a note in Kael’thas’ own hand, evidently stolen, professing his own guilt simply by means of recording who he’d met with that day.

“Do you still have qualms, grand magister? I know you more than any of us would be familiar with his highness’ hand, and so you should have no doubt as to the veracity of what you are seeing,” Lor’themar said in a stern tone.

“Allow me to speak to him first. Please.” Rommath knew pleading wouldn’t help, but he had to try.

“I’m sorry,” Lor’themar replied. “It’s simply too dangerous.”

“Can’t we at least convene later to discuss?” Rommath asked again, painfully aware that his voice was straining under the pressure of trying to keep his tone even, and that a thin sheen of sweat had sprung up over his skin. The stress of situation had also brought on a fresh pang of withdrawal pains and he knew between the gnawing hunger, the growing itch in his mind and the fog of paranoia he’d fallen into, he wouldn’t be able to concentrate.

Lor’themar’s expression softened slightly as his eye lingered on Rommath a moment. He didn’t like to think how wretched he looked for Lor’themar’s answer to simply be a sympathetic, “Of course.”

The journey to the Outland was more difficult than Rommath had hoped, especially as he needed to move undetected until he was out of the sight of any Farstrider scouts. He had sworn to Lor’themar before he left the triumvirate’s chambers that he would not attempt to contact the prince, but there was much the regent lord did not know. And he simply needed to see Kael’thas.

The information he’d been sent by one of the magisters stationed in the Outland had been to seek out Tempest Keep. Though Rommath had expected a somewhat unusual sight, given that it had been where Kael’thas had found the naaru, it looked like nothing he had ever seen. A great, floating system of glowing structures in the sky that looked impossibly large for how weightlessly they floated. There was no obvious entrance, so he teleported himself up and chanced the largest, most central of the structures.

The entrance was heavily guarded, but they stepped aside on seeing Rommath’s approach and mumbled a respectful, welcome, grand magister. He returned the greeting with a curt nod, and turned to the more senior looking guard.

“Will I find Kael’thas in here?”

“His highness is in the central chamber, with his advisors,” the guard answered. “He has been expecting you, grand magister.”

Kael’thas paced from one end of a raised platform to another. The room was far larger than it ought to be, and was almost entirely bare save for the system of glowing carvings in the wall. Rommath wondered for a minute if the empty vastness was due to the absence of its former inhabitant, and if the naaru had once called this room a home. When Kael’thas heard Rommath’s approach he stopped dead and turned to face him. There was no greeting, no warm reunion. Instead he simply narrowed his eyes and glanced behind Rommath.

“You weren’t followed, I trust?”

“You think so little of me that you believe I would allow myself to be tailed? No. Of course I haven’t—“

“One cannot be too careful these days,” Kael’thas said, interrupting him. “What brings you here, Rommath? I thought I was quite clear I needed you as my voice in Quel’Thalas. Not here.”

“A feeble voice I make when I am given no words. I needed to speak with you, and I saw no other way.”

Something wormed its way through the bond. Shame. Kael’thas didn’t want Rommath to see him this way. While he dressed as princely as ever, and if anything more so in his red and gold robes, there was something off in his movements. He constantly glanced behind him, and shifted from one spot to another. He’d lost some of the regal bearing he’d kept so consistently in public before. But Rommath thought it was best not to mention anything.

“You’re looking well,” he lied. Rommath’s eyes then drifted toward the gaggle of advisors who stood about the room. “Do you have somewhere more private to talk?”

Kael’thas led him to a small, well concealed door in one of the back walls. A few hands around the room grasped their weapons, but the prince shook his head, and they all relaxed once more.

“Quite the cast of new… advisors,” Rommath whispered, not bothering to hide his distaste. He knew a few of them, and he didn’t think too highly of them. They were the sort to say anything that was needed in order to cling to power, and to bow and prostrate themselves before anyone who could elevate them to the status they desired. No doubt they’d whispered pretty words in the prince’s ear and wheedled their way to his side. What worried Rommath, however, was that the prince could now be drawn in by that.

Kael’thas didn’t respond as they stepped through into the small back room. Unlike the empty chamber they’d just left, the space was compact and crammed every inch with mana gems and fel crystals, letters strewn about the place and ink wells lying abandoned and half spilled on the floor. Rommath assumed it had been a study once.

He wasted no time in getting to the purpose of his visit now that they were out of earshot of anyone else. “Are you working with demons?”

“You know Stormrage’s forces are just to uphold his facade. I explained this you before,” Kael’thas voice had taken a high, reedy tone. He’d become much worse at lying.

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“I am doing what I can here, Rommath. If the Legion offers our people salvation, who am I to turn down their gifts?” Kael’thas said in a hiss.

Rommath balked at the suggestion. All a demon could offer was ruination.

“They are intending to kill you for this, Kael’thas. Lor’themar wants to send a force here to deal with you and to eliminate the threat of demons entering our lands.”

“Then let them try.” Kael’thas didn’t sound worried, and nor did the sigil share any sign of new nervousness other than his usual paranoia. Instead there was a sense of resignation. “It was always going to come to this, wasn’t it? I should have taken it as an omen when my reign began by seeing the Sunwell destroyed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rommath said.

“Wouldn’t it be a fitting end? After everything I’ve sacrificed I’ll be pilloried and vilified by my own people. I’m quite sure that they will never be happy with anything I do, short of raising my father from the grave. He would have known how to handle it, and that’s why I’ll forever be the scion of the sun and not the sun itself.”

“Oh would you listen to yourself! We’ve all sacrificed. You left your people behind. You left me behind. Do not act as if you are the only one who has had cause to suffer,” Rommath said, unable to keep the frustration and hurt from his voice. “And for what? For this? A stolen astral craft and an army of sycophants ready and willing to walk into the arms of demonic overlords for you? Do not forget you are the one who refused to take on your father’s mantle. No one else made that choice for you.”

Kael’thas lips twitched in rage, but he said nothing.

Rommath continued, and his voice took on what he hoped was a reasonable tone in an effort to make the prince see sense. “You know as well as I do that any attempts on your life will fail as long as this sigil is in place. Let them come, let them best you and then you can repent. Lor’themar is a forgiving man. It isn’t too late.”

“Repent for what exactly? For trying to save my people?”

“For throwing us all to the wolves! You know exactly what sort of threats an alliance with demons risks bringing to our doors.”

“I know the deals I have made, Rommath. And I know well the price I must pay.” Kael’thas took Rommath’s face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together. “You know as well as I do that I’ve stepped onto a path from which there is no return, and nor do I intend to.”

Rommath wasn’t sure whether to pull away, or to pull the prince into an embrace, so he simply stood there.

“They are coming for you, Kael’thas. And I won’t stop them. I love you, but I cannot allow myself to be complicit in the further destruction of our people. Not knowingly this time, at least.”

Chapter Text

Rommath had meant to destroy the sigil bond, he truly had. But when he stood before his mirror, knife in hand, he faltered. He told himself it was through a fear of striking it through improperly, but he knew the truth. He was hesitant to lose his one remaining link to Kael’thas.

He’d known before anyone else when the attempt on Kael’thas’ life was made. He felt his pain through the sigil when he took the blow that should have been fatal. Sharp, excruciating, and as if every fibre of his being was screaming in agony as the sigil tore shreds of his own life from him to save Kael’thas. He was alone when it happened, and was glad no one witnessed him falling to the floor of his office, clutching his chest. When the pain slowly ebbed away, Kael’thas’ anger came through in waves, accompanied at first by fear, and then resolve. Resentment. Determination.

It was several days before the force that had been sent to Tempest Keep returned triumphant to fanfare and accolades. Rommath had recovered just enough strength by then to receive them alongside Lor’themar and Halduron, but not enough to force a smile. The mask he’d taken to wearing hid that, at least, but his dour demeanour had still been noticed by Lor’themar.

“Whatever your private feelings are on the matter, Rommath, I would expect you not to openly scowl when we are welcoming heroes back to our city.” His stern expression faltered, and before Rommath had a chance to reply he added, “I do sympathise that you have lost a friend as well as a leader, but we must form a united front before others.”

If Lor’themar confused Rommath’s low mood for grief, then he saw no reason to correct him. It was easier than to explain the pain the sigil had left him in, or that Kael’thas was still alive and he was frustrated by the prince’s stubborn moods that made themselves known through the bond. If Kael’thas had any sense he’d return and throw himself to the mercies of Lor’themar, but that was seeming increasingly unlikely. Had he kept Rommath by his side as his advisor in the Outland, it’s what he’d have told him to do. Though Rommath considered the train of thought somewhat fruitless. If he’d been with Kael’thas in the Outland, he’d have steered him toward another path entirely and they wouldn’t be in this mess. But the longer he felt the heat of Kael’thas’ rage through the bond, the more he realised how out of reach reconciliation now was.

He wondered if he ought to have felt some grief at the situation. While he knew Kael’thas was not dead, there was a resounding yet that ended the sentence. But any he did feel must have fallen into the same empty pit that ate his grief for Belo’vir. Still, there was no harm in letting Lor’themar believe exactly what he’d assumed.

“Of course, regent lord.”

Lor’themar looked momentarily taken aback, as if he’d been expecting a snide remark, but Rommath lacked the energy or the inclination to do anything other than simply offer Lor’themar a weary, forced smile.

“Will that be all, regent lord?”

Lor’themar’s brows knitted in an emotion that fell somewhere between confusion and concern as he gave Rommath a brief nod. He said nothing further as Rommath portalled himself away.

Astalor was waiting on the other end of the portal with yet another a look of concern, and Rommath’s weariness gave way to frustration.

“I do not need coddling, Astalor, so if the next words from your mouth are to ask me how I’m doing I’ll have your tongue removed and thrown in the sea.”

“Understood, grand magister,” Astalor said with a nod, and then stood in silence.

When he made no sign of saying anything further, Rommath fixed a raised brow upon him. “Well? Why are you here?”

“I rather like my tongue, sir, so I ought not say.” His flippant remark managed to draw a faint smile from Rommath.

“Well if you’re insistent upon haunting my office, you can fetch me something. There should be a locked trunk on the bottom shelf of the bookcase by the window. Bring it here.”

It had been years since Rommath last consulted his research on the sigil, but he’d kept every single note he’d taken and every single diagram he’d made. Deciphering the sigil had been such a focus of his work that he hadn’t paid careful enough attention to the marks that nullified it, but now he needed to understand how to destroy it. Kael’thas’ emotions through the bond made clear he was plotting something, and though it was impossible to tell exactly what that was, Rommath was sure it would be nothing good. He’d need to be ready for when he made his inevitable return.

Astalor placed the trunk on the desk and Rommath unlocked it by placing his hand flat upon the lid and flooding it with the magical signature he’d set as its key.

“Heavy security,” Astalor said, raising his brows at the gesture.

“Forbidden magic,” Rommath replied in a nonchalant manner. He could trust Astalor enough by now to tell him that much, at least. He didn’t need to know that the sigil within had ever been used.

The stacks of paper inside were carefully organised, and he thanked his former self for having been meticulous to record every tiny detail of the markings, including the ones that nullified the sigil and hadn’t been his focus. Depth, angle, percentage of the symbols covered, and which specific lines they obscured. It was all there.

“Should I be concerned if I don’t understand any of that?” Astalor asked, peering over Rommath’s shoulder.

“I’d be more concerned if you did,” Rommath replied. “It’s an archaic runic language, and its use in this particular sigil turns it into something entirely forbidden.”

“I suppose that means I shouldn’t ask why you have it in a box, and should instead pretend I’ve never seen it at all.”

“It means precisely that,” Rommath agreed.

“Well I have no interest in staring at an empty box, so I’ll leave you to it.” Astalor gave a curt nod, and made for the door.

Once alone, Rommath could begin searching for what he needed in earnest. If there was any pattern to how the runes and glyphs upon the sigil had been marked then he could try to surmise any rules he’d need to follow for destroying its power. Whoever had worked upon the corpse had been remarkably consistent, and specific glyphs were crossed through at a perfect horizontal angle that bisected each and spread no further.

Still, he wouldn’t be able to destroy his own sigil before getting close to Kael’thas. The paranoia he felt through the bond had reached such an intensity that severing it would need to take the prince by surprise, or otherwise risk him taking first action. Whatever method Rommath used would need to be quick, and it would need to be surefire.

It was several weeks before scouts from Quel’Danas arrived bearing grave news. Rommath had spent the entire time anxiously anticipating word of Kael’thas’ return, but still needed to ensure he looked suitably shocked before Lor’themar and Halduron as the scouts announced the prince had settled upon the island with a host of demons.

“Does no one stay dead anymore?” Lor’themar asked, voice equal parts frustration and horror.

There was a brief moment of silence in which the scouts exchanged wary glances.

“It would appear not, sir,” one finally offered. “He is… not himself, sir. He has brought with him a demonic army, and it appears they have designs on the remains of the Sunwell.”

Not himself. He hadn’t been himself for years, but now Rommath assumed Kael’thas’ body matched the corruption that had set into his soul. Death tended to change people.

“Is it necromancy?” Lor’themar asked. “Has he joined the scourge? Or is it something else?”

Halduron shrugged as if to indicate none of those questions really mattered. “I say we just send a force there immediately, before he defiles the Sunwell any further. We’ve killed him once, we’ll kill him again.”

“And then what is to guarantee that he won’t rise again, and again and again?” Lor’themar asked, failing to keep his tone calm. The news had clearly shaken him.

Rommath cleared his throat, “If I may, regent lord, I believe I might have a solution.”

All eyes in the room turned to Rommath, but no one spoke as they waited for him to continue.

“Kael’thas underwent a ritual in Dalaran many years ago and I believe that it is what prevented his death. I know how to destroy the power that was granted to him, but I need to be close to him to do so. Send me to Quel’Danas to deal with it, and then send a force in immediately after me to kill him. He will remain dead this time.”

“What sort of ritual, exactly?” Lor’themar asked in a wary tone.

“Complex, ancient magic of which I will not bore you with the details,” Rommath replied, hoping it would be a sufficient explanation.

Halduron spoke next, his voice thick with accusation. “And was this during the period you worked with him? You couldn’t have stopped him then?”

“I was loyal to my prince, you cannot fault me for that. I was hardly to know this would happen, was I? Make use of the knowledge it earned me, and ask nothing more of it,” Rommath said in a firm tone, but he faltered slightly as he added, “please.”

Rommath had avoided Quel’Danas as much as possible in recent years. It was where Belo’vir died. It would always be where Belo’vir died. His eyes wandered across the sun-bleached stone as they came to shore, and with each step he wondered if he was treading upon the spot where those scourge beasts had ripped him limb from limb.

“Rommath?” Lor’themar’s elbow to his ribs jolted Rommath from his distraction. “I asked if you’re ready.”

Rommath’s stomach twisted about itself. He wasn’t sure if he would ever be ready, but he knew it was necessary. The demons that stalked the island and waited in the shadows were proof enough of that.

“As I will ever be,” he replied. “I’ll signal when it is done, you won’t miss it.”

“Will you need an escort to the entrance?” Lor’themar asked as he cast a wary eye around at Kael’thas’ infernal guests.

Rommath shook his head. The prince had taken refuge in the Magister’s Terrace, and Rommath could still access the many portals Belo’vir had set up within. He had a distinct feeling that Kael’thas would have chosen Belo’vir’s former quarters for himself, and if that was the case he’d be able to teleport directly to him.

His suspicions were correct, and a familiar scent wafted over to Rommath as he stepped through his portal. Belo’vir’s chambers were exactly as he remembered them: opulent, with jewel coloured curtains lining the room, elegant gold furniture, and the unmistakable smell of sandalwood. Only it had been a light scent back then. Now it reeked, as if a forest’s worth of incense was being burned at once. When Rommath cast an eye about the room, he realised why. It was intended to mask the scent of the rotting husk that had once been Kael’thas.

All Rommath could do was stop and stare for a moment. Though the husk wore Kael’thas’ body and spoke in his voice, both were broken and twisted almost beyond recognition. His frame was hunched, his skin greyed and sallow, and a great, glistening fel crystal was embedded into his chest. Rommath hoped, for one brief and optimistic moment, that it may have disrupted the sigil and done his work for him, but he realised that the runes and glyphs had somehow contorted themselves around it and remained intact.

Kael’thas smiled as Rommath approached, stretching his sallow skin over a now gaunt face. “Rommath! You’ve seen sense at last? I trust you’ve come here to join me.”

“Hardly. I’d like to say I’ve come to talk some sense into you,” Rommath said with a grimace. “But we both know you’re past that now, don’t we?”

“And what sense would that be?”

“Call off the demons and halt whatever foul plan you have for the Sunwell. Return to Silvermoon and beg forgiveness.”

Kael’thas scoffed and the smile fell from his face. “Forgiveness for what, exactly? Seeking allies of unparalleled strength? Do you have no ambition left, Rommath? Your hunger is what made me so fond of you.”

“This is not ambition, Kael’thas, this is ruination. You’ve invited demons into our land, into our homes.”

“My land, Rommath, do not forget that.”

“I’ve come to put an end to this, if you won’t,” Rommath said as he shed the upper layers of his robe, revealing the sigil across his chest. He retrieved the knife he’d had concealed in his waistband, and positioned it against the first rune. Kael’thas’ initial confusion quickly turned into horror.

“Do not, Rommath. I command you to stop.”

“You command me?” Rommath repeated, incredulous.

“Yes, I command you. I made you,” Kael’thas spat. “Do you think you would be here if it wasn’t for me? Do you think they’d have considered you for even the briefest moment if I hadn’t given your name to Belo’vir?”

An old wound, but one that had never quite healed. Kael’thas knew exactly how to pick at it to reopen it once more. Rommath could no longer remember whether he’d ever expressed those fears to the prince, or whether he’d been revealed by the sigil bond over the years. But then something came to him, and he heard the words Belo’vir spoke to him during their final conversation as if he was in the room with them. You’ll make a wonderful grand magister. I know you will. He hadn’t, so far, but he could change that. You can thank me by doing your duty to Quel’Thalas.

“You are my grand magister, Rommath. You do as I say.”

“No,” Rommath said in a voice more halting than he’d have liked. “I am Quel’Thalas’ grand magister, and I must act in the best interests of our people. Even if it pains me.”

He positioned the knife and began to drag it across his flesh. He’d intended to carve in a spiralling motion that would cross through every rune he needed to deface in one stroke, but made it no further than the first bloody lines before Kael’thas snatched the knife from his hand. Rommath made to grab for it, but the prince was stronger than he’d expected in his withered state, and pinned him against a pillar with one hand while opening a portal with his other, through which he threw the knife.

Rommath forced himself forward in a sudden, jerking movement to free himself from Kael’thas grasp, and looked frantically around for anything else sharp he could use in the knife’s place. When he saw nothing of the sort, an idea came to him. It would be drastic, and it would be crude, but it would work.

“Do you remember how we met?” Rommath asked.

Kael’thas frowned, and answered him in an annoyed tone. “In Dalaran. You were demonstrating that flame sigil, and I asked you about its other applications.”

“It began with a flame, and it will end with one,” Rommath let out a bitter laugh as he spoke. “It’s almost as if it was destined, isn’t it?”

A fireball engulfed Rommath’s hand, causing Kael’thas to back away. Instead of putting flames to the prince, however, Rommath turned the fire on himself. He held his hand to his torso and let the searing heat burn away at the layers of his flesh that held the sigil mark. Scorching agony like a thousand red hot needles gripped his chest, but he held his hand steady until he felt something shift. It was only small, a thread snapping, but it was unmistakable. For the first time in years, the only pain he felt was his own. Unbearable, but his. He killed the flames in his hand and slumped back against the pillar. Through his blurring vision he could see the marks upon the prince’s chest had faded to be no longer visible.

His consciousness was waning rapidly, but Kael’thas didn’t need to know that. He only needed to hold on for a few minutes longer.

“Do you feel that?” Rommath asked as he prodded at the charred flesh upon his torso and winced as it screamed back at him.

Kael’thas stared, bewildered, but showed no sign of pain. The bond had been severed, even if imperfectly and in a slightly more excruciating manner than Rommath would have perhaps liked.

“So that’s it, you think you can kill me now? In that state?” Kael’thas tried to sound threatening, but panic crept in at the edge of his words.

Once more Rommath let a sparking ball of flame engulf his hands, but instead of putting it to Kael’thas, he shot it skyward. It shattered a small circle in the glass of the ceiling skylight and burst into multicoloured flames. The signal he’d agreed with Lor’themar, Halduron and Liadrin to alert them to when their forces could enter the terrace.

“No. Your life isn’t mine to take,” Rommath said in a strained tone. Words were becoming more difficult to form now, and his vision swam. He wasn’t even sure he was looking at Kael’thas anymore. “Your people. They’re the ones who decide your fate now. I’ve done my part.”

He reached a hand out toward the blurry shape that he thought must have been the prince, then stopped. A small part of him still wanted to pull him close for one last embrace, but he knew how unwise that was. And how impossible it would be in his current state. Instead he tried to focus his eyes enough to take one final look at the prince.

“Good bye, Kael’thas.”

It took all his remaining strength to teleport back, and he collapsed upon the ground on the other side of the portal. The flurry of activity around him was nothing more than a blur of movement and voices that sounded far too distant, and grew more distant by the second. At some point a burst of light and a warm sensation in his chest suggested a healer had taken their hands to him, so he reached out to stop them. He didn’t connect with anything, but forced the words out.

“No. It needs to scar.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’ll die,” came Liadrin’s stern voice. “We need a grand magister, not a martyr.”

Rommath attempted to continue his protests, fearing that if his skin healed over then the sigil might reform with it. He couldn’t tell Liadrin why, and even if he’d wanted to he wasn’t sure he could form the words to express it. But then another thread snapped, and though the bond had been severed, Rommath swore he could feel the moment life left Kael’thas’ body. He stopped fighting, and let the light wash over him.

Rommath didn’t often dream, but that night was an exception. He wasn’t sure if it was a fever, or the multiple potions he’d been fed by an over eager forsaken apothecary, but his sleep was fitful and his dreams were vivid. Some were discordant images, some were memories, but shortly before dawn he dreamt of Belo’vir. The former grand magister didn’t say anything, he simply sat with Rommath in the infirmary and once or twice mopped the sweat that beaded upon his brow. As the sun rose, Belo’vir stood and gave him a single, approving nod, and then faded out into the sunlight.

When Rommath woke it was as if a dam had burst. He wept for Belo’vir, for Kael’thas, for their people, for the pain that racked his body and the quiet in his mind for the first time in years. He was glad to be alone in that moment, to have no witness to the violent, heaving sobs born from years of suppressed grief. He continued for so long that he was sure his face was still red and puffy when Astalor came to visit later that morning. The young magister was tactful enough not to mention it, at least.

“What smells like forsaken potpourri?” Astalor asked, wrinkling his nose.

Rommath laughed, then winced. Though the healers had done their best, moving too quickly still sent shooting pains across his chest. He pulled the edge of the bedcover down to point toward a herb poultice that had been placed upon the remains of the burn to prevent infection.

“You know the undead, their noses aren’t quite as sensitive as they once were.”

“Evidently,” Astalor replied. He then narrowed his eyes. “That’s quite a distinctive shape for a burn. Would I be correct in assuming this has something to do with the mystery sigil in the box? The one that doesn’t exist.”

“You’re too astute for your own good sometimes.”

“I try,” Astalor replied, then held out his hand to reveal two small, green crystals. “I had a feeling you might be running low, and thought they’d be unlikely to give you any in here.”

Rommath realised he’d not felt that familiar, gnawing hunger once during the hectic hours since he’d left the Magisters’ Terrace. Instead something much less sharp had taken its place. He shook his head.

“I think I should be alright, Astalor. But thank you.”

Astalor crushed the two crystals into his palm, shattering them into a fine green dust which he then dropped upon the ground. “Glad to hear it, grand magister.”

“Now was there anything else you needed, or was the plan just to come in here and gawk at me a litttle?”

Astalor started slightly as if his memory had been jogged. “Right! Regent Lord Theron said he’d like to speak to you regarding retaking the Sunwell from Kael’thas’ demons as soon as you’re well enough to stand for five minutes without wincing. And he insisted, as well. Said it’s a matter the grand magister must be consulted on.”

“Of course. Can you let him know the healers are doing a fine job, so that will likely be by this evening?”

Astalor nodded, then hesitated slightly at the doorway to the infirmary.

“What is it, Astalor?”

“Nothing, grand magister. Just… despite everything, you’re looking well. It’s good to see.”

It was strange to be without the sigil bond, almost lonely. Rommath hadn’t realised quite how much he’d grown used to having that link with Kael’thas, and now it felt as though something was missing from him. As his condition improved throughout the day and his mind cleared from the fog that had set in, he found himself seeking out the sensations at the edge of his consciousness that were no longer there, and reminding himself that his mind was his own once more.

He’d been distracted by the quiet in his head when Liadrin arrived at the infirmary, shortly before sunset, with a scowl upon her face.

“Lor’themar called for you. He said you thought you’d be well enough to help plan our Sunwell assault by this evening.”

“You doubt me?” Rommath asked, forcing himself to a standing position and instantly regretting it. He couldn’t show Liadrin that, however, and maintained a perfectly stony expression. Lor’themar had only specified that he needed to be able to stand for five minutes without wincing. He’d said nothing about how he actually felt.

Liadrin rolled her eyes, but didn’t argue. Instead she offered her arm for support, and Rommath gladly took it as they left the infirmary.

The sun had half disappeared beneath the horizon, and cast a heavy orange glow across the sea and onto the pale cobblestones, as if they waded through liquid gold.

“I hate this place,” Liadrin said, softly. “It just makes me think of Vandellor, and Belo’vir. But all day I’ve had this feeling as if Vandellor is trying to tell me we’re on the right path again. That things have been difficult, and they will continue to be difficult, but that we can start healing now. In a way we haven’t been able to until now. And no snide remarks from you on that, thank you very much. I know how you are,” she added with a sidelong glance to Rommath.

“No, I understand,” Rommath replied, earning himself a surprised look from Liadrin. “I’ve felt as though Belo’vir’s presence has been with me since arriving on the island. I fear I haven’t yet been a grand magister he would be proud of, but that is starting to shift.”

Rommath’s candour must have surprised Liadrin, for she stared at him for a moment before shaking her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. You saved me, after all, when I was at my lowest. Belo’vir would be proud of that. And whatever it was that happened between you and Kael’thas today—I won’t ask, I know you won’t tell me—is exactly the sort of thing he would have done. Sending yourself in alone to save everyone else?” Her eyes dropped to the floor, and her voice grew quiet when she continued. “Did you know the final thing he did before he died was to portal me to safety? He was a good man, Belo’vir. And he’d be proud of everything you’ve done. Not just what happened here.”

Though Rommath couldn’t agree, the sentiment touched him. He coughed in an attempt to disguise the tears that welled at the corner of his eyes and the wobble that built in his throat. He no longer felt the void where his grief ought to have been, and though he was glad to finally be able to mourn Belo’vir as he should have years ago, he did hope this wouldn’t happen every time his name was mentioned.

As they stepped inside to where Lor’themar had called the meeting, Rommath could feel something in the air. He took his seat and looked around the table at the sea of faces. There was a determination to their expressions, but something else too. Something he hadn’t felt for a long time. Hope. It was as if, for the first time, they were stepping out of the long shadow that had fallen upon them. Lor’themar set his good eye on Rommath, and smiled.

“We’ve been waiting for you, grand magister.”