Chapter Text
When they have time to claim bodies and bury the innumerable dead, Callan is laid to rest next to the mother he never knew. Khadgar stands next to Anduin, lending silent support as Anduin buries his son, his King, and many soldiers who served with him. When the unrelenting realization of just how much Stormwind has lost becomes too much, Khadgar is there to anchor him. When his thoughts turn to Karazhan, of his childhood friend decaying alone in the spire where the world allowed him to be absorbed into chaos, Khadgar disappears for a few days and returns to tell him it has been dealt with and gives Anduin a small measure of peace. When the Kirin Tor emissaries arrive to take Khadgar away with them, Anduin feels his composure break.
"I need to finish training," Khadgar tells him the night before he takes his leave, words carefully rehearsed to sound true when they both know they're not. "I cannot be the Guardian Azeroth needs if I do not."
"And you cannot train here?" Anduin's voice contains more anger than he wishes; anger is effective at masking weaker emotions inappropriate for him to show. "You'd abandon us now?"
"Anduin." There is something about the way Khadgar says his name that makes something curl deep in his stomach, something he tries to ignore but finds more difficult with each passing day. "I have to know if…"
Khadgar doesn't finish, but he doesn't need to. He catches the mage checking his eyes in the mirrors and reflective surfaces; Anduin uses uncertainty as an excuse to search out Khadgar's eyes. He does so now, searching for any hint of green.
Anduin failed Medivh, he will not fail Khadgar. He sees exhaustion in the circles under Khadgar's eyes and wonders if he imagines the gray at his temples. In the weeks following the closing of the Dark Portal, Khadgar seems frail, tired, and aged beyond his years. Anduin has been so caught up in his own grief that he feels sick for now just noticing how run down Khadgar has become.
"You will come back?" What is supposed to sound like a command comes out as a question bleeding with insecurity.
Anduin finds he doesn't mind showing his vulnerability if it earns him smiles like the one that blossoms across Khadgar's face.
"You could not keep me away."
Anduin dares to reach up, to cup Khadgar's cheek in his callused hand, but a shock makes him pull back and Khadgar flinches.
"Sorry, new wool robe," Khadgar half stammers, half laughs, a light blush spread across his face. "I keep shocking things."
Anduin raises an eyebrow and Khadgar's blush deepens. He doesn't push it, but that night, alone in his chambers, his fingers imagine the ghost of a moment that never was.
The next morning he stands with his sister as they bid a formal farewell to the Kirin Tor, to Khadgar. As they disappear in a whirl of wind and blue light, Anduin feels truly alone. Taria opens her mouth to say something, but he cuts her off with an excuse. A survey of the lands to the east will be beneficial to the kingdom and keep his mind occupied. If Anduin goes to bed exhausted, he will not dream of what could have been.
*
After so many years avoiding the Kirin Tor, of hiding his face and growing accustomed to being alone, being back in Dalaran is overwhelming for Khadgar. It is difficult to interact with people, especially ones who have been shielded from the horrors he's experienced recently. There is no one to relate to, to talk to, and he yearns for Anduin's company. He finds himself tiring easily, struggling to concentrate, and often wondering if he made the correct choice in returning. Khadgar scoffs and reminds himself he did not have a choice, one was made for him. He is not technically the Guardian as he has not passed the seven archmage ceremony, nor is he sure he will ever have the chance to do so. It is very well possible the title of Guardian died with Medivh, however the people of Stormwind, of Azeroth, see Khadgar as Guardian and so he is in name only. And an untrained Guardian would be a potentially fatal embarrassment, so to the Kirin Tor he has been returned to be beaten down, reformed, and remade.
Being 'Guardian' has its perks, though Khadgar is unsure if these perks have risen from his title or from the rumors he is tainted with the same darkness Medivh was. He has heard whispers, has seen how people stop when he approaches and reverse direction or suddenly duck into doorways to avoid him. Khadgar is too fatigued these days to care what others may think of him. In any case, he does not have to share a room, and he is not disciplined as harshly as he once was if he makes a mistake. Being alone and avoided means there is no one to see the marks years alone and the war have left on his body; there is no one there to witness his punishment of wanting someone and something he cannot have.
When a child enters Dalaran to become an apprentice to the Kirin Tor, their vows include subjugation through binding spells to correct unwanted behaviors and instill obedience. The spells are still on him as he has not technically left the apprentice stage. He felt the side effects of the spell when Anduin reached for him, he feels it even now when his thoughts stray to the other man, electric shocks coursing through him like hundreds of small blades when he is alone at night. Khadgar is far too old to have spells meant to keep lustful teenagers from doing anything they might later regret, but the spells seeking to modify his behavior will remain on until the archmages say he is done training. The apprentices cannot act on lustful thoughts, cannot leave Dalaran, cannot use any substance that would alter the clarity of their minds. They are constantly tracked; their free will is nonexistent. It has always been done this way, and his age and title make no difference. He longs to escape again.
If the archmages are surprised at how far he's come without their guidance, they don't act on it or utter a word on it. If anything they are harder on him, pressing him at a faster rate and dealing with stronger spells. Khadgar wakes with the fifth bell before the sun rises, hours before the other apprentices because there is a sense of urgency in the rate at which he must learn. He is drained by lunch time and dead on his feet when he returns to his room hours after sunset. They do not allow him a full night of rest for there is too much for him to learn if he is to protect Azeroth, but Khadgar does not care for what they do teach him. Their knowledge of fel magic is scant if anything, and in his months here he has added no knowledge on how to protect the people from these new invaders and any potential others from the dark portal. His protests are ignored, and they keep him too tired for him to supplement his training. The constant lack of sleep leaves him obedient; the lack of preparedness for their real threat leaves him furious.
A few seconds away from being asleep on his feet, he is learning a shielding spell, larger and more intricate than anything he has done before. He finds his mind wandering to the last time he felt truly rested and a pair of blue eyes and almost feral smile drifts into his mind. Khadgar falters when he feels that electric sting course through him. The shield falls, and he is blasted backward for the eleventh time since he began the exercise. He lays still for a moment, making sure nothing is broken or sprained from his face first landing. Finding nothing bruised except him pride, he growls and slams a clenched fist down onto the ground.
"You are making this more difficult than it need be," the archmage responsible for his training tells him, face blank and devoid of any emotion.
Khadgar wants to punch him.
"The Guardian cannot allow himself to become so easily distracted or tied to worldly thoughts or possessions," the archmage continues as Khadgar slowly picks himself up off the ground. "Doing so will only lead to strife and death."
Khadgar did not ask to be a mage. Khadgar did not ask to be Guardian. Khadgar does not ask for much and maybe that is the real lesson to be learned.
"I'm going to Karazhan," he says, turning to leave the room. "I am done here."
He feels the energy shift in the air around him before he hears the spell the trainers use when an apprentice is being disobedient. Khadgar is not thrown back a twelfth time. A silver and purple shield absorbs the spells chucked at him and the surge of magic brings renewed energy to him.
"You cannot leave until your training is complete."
"I wasn't asking, I'm telling you I am leaving."
"And if there is something lurking there that you do not have the knowledge or power to defeat? What then?"
Khadgar doesn't respond and leaves the room without looking back. He wonders if it's obvious how frustrated he is with himself and the situation he's found himself in as people quickly move out of his way as he storms past them toward his room. It takes him mere minutes to pack as he hasn't accumulated much in the three months he's been in Dalaran. A trip to the kitchen, where all the cooks manage to take a break at the same time when he enters, allows him to scrounge up enough food for a week. The food stores in Karazhan are still there and if they've gone bad, he can always teleport somewhere to hunt or buy more. No one tries to stop him as he returns to his rooms and he wonders if it's fleeting respect for his title or the relief at being rid of him.
Drawing on the floor to set up his long range teleportation spell, he focuses on breaking the spells on him that keep him in Dalaran and track his movements. They are stronger than the ones he broke from years ago the first time he escaped. They doubted his resolve then, they were foolish enough to doubt him a second time; arrogance can be just as damning as ignorance. The sun has almost set by the time he feels the spells dissolve around him and the teleportation spell flares to life around him.
Khadgar arrives at Karazhan and crumples into a heap. His energy is depleted from breaking the spells and lack of sleep, but he still reaches out with what he has left and is relieved to feel the sigils and wards protecting the tower still in place. Nothing feels out of the ordinary. Curling into himself where he landed, Khadgar does not have the strength to do anything but fall asleep. As he does, he feels that tingling, painful reminder of his vows as he wishes to dream of blue eyes instead of green.
*
Anduin tries not to groan when he wakes up. The day before had been a longer ride than usual and when he arrived at a town with an inn, all the rooms were taken. The proprietress was quick to recognize the Lion of Azeroth and offered him the bed in her own house, but Anduin was fine with a bit of floor near the fire as it was warm and out of the rain that had been following him the past few days. He sits up, feeling every pop in his back as his spine tries to realign itself from however he had twisted it during the night. There are still a few embers in the fireplace, but the chill of the autumn air has taken hold. Pulling himself to his feet, he grabs the poker and throws a few logs on top of the embers. It is early enough the patrons have not come downstairs, but not so early there isn't bustle in the kitchen. He rolls his sleeping bag up and heads outside to the toilet and water pump to clean the grime of sleep from him. When he returns, the proprietress has a steaming plate of eggs and biscuits waiting for him. He eats quickly, keen to get back on the road toward whatever city is next on his recruitment tour list.
The dark portal is closed. For now. Azeroth will not be surprised again. That is easier said than done though as much of their military strength has been depleted if not completely wiped out in areas. Anduin has spent the past months traveling, throwing his name as the Lion of Azeroth around in a desperate attempt to add numbers to their reduced army. He sees blind adoration in the eyes turned his way as people cheer for him in each village and town he enters. Young girls and boys sign up to report to Stormwind with dreams of someday being as strong and powerful as he is. He's seen that dream turn into a nightmare in front of him. If the dark portal opens again, he is sure he will see it many more times.
Traveling has become his way of escaping Stormwind. There are memories there he is too cowardly to face alone and a future is is not ready to accept. In his attempts to avoid his true responsibilities he has traveled to the different lands of Azeroth on his recruiting campaign, up to Khaz Modan to see what new weapons the dwarves have invented, and braved Stranglethorn to see if any troll tribes could be persuaded to be sympathetic to Stormwind's cause. Anduin grins, but his laugh quickly dies on his lips as he thinks 'that would be a good story for Llane or Callen', but no, it won't be.
Leaving a few coins on the table, he picks up his packs and head out to the barn for his horse. At first he traveled with other soldiers as his sister did not want him to be alone. He has been successful in reassigning them in villages needing help along the way and has been alone for over a month.
Anduin finds solace in being alone. Anduin cannot be hurt by another's death if no one is around for him to become fond of. Except he has already failed. There is someone outside of the safety of Stormwind he has grown fond of.
*
The first few days Khadgar spends cleaning the remnants of the giant golem and searching out any other instances of fel energy. He finds only a few traps which he quickly disables or fortifies with his own signature before turning to why he truly came to Karazhan. Days, weeks, months go by; Khadgar doesn't notice. When he emerses himself in the vast library days can go by before he remembers to eat, and he only remembers to do so after falling asleep, sometimes for days on end. It is too strange for him to sleep in Medivh's chamber, so he searches out a room that looks unused and drags the bed into the library. He places it in a corner with a window looking over the only road to the lonely tower. Not that he expects any company, but paranoia has been his bedmate for more years than he would like to admit.
Once a week he climbs down the tower to strengthen the wards and destroy any spiders or nests that have come too close. These terrifying monsters provide him practice for new spells he learns from the numerous books and scrolls he's poured over. This practical self-taught acquisition of knowledge suits him much better than the Kirin Tor's strict uniform way of teaching. This way Khadgar allows the different types of magic to form to him instead of forming around it. The new spells (in reality old spells either forgotten or deemed archaic by the Kirin Tor) are like a second skin made to fit him instead of a stiff robe he must learn to exist in. Sometimes it is unnerving to see how far he has progressed, whether it's changing a mouse into a chicken or lighting a spider on fire before electrocuting it with lightning. He must remind himself magic is addicting, corruptive, and channeling arcane magic can cause unintended consequences.
Winter passes with snow and winds driving a chill leaving his body aching down to his bones. He grows tired easily with the lack of sun, spending the days alternating between reading in front of a roaring fire or huddled up in his bed. The cold drives the spiders underground, but in their place shades and wraiths have appeared. There must be a darkness he hasn't found calling them to Karazhan, perhaps even the echo of Medivh's fel magic, but they are easy to drive back and away when he braves the ice to strengthen the wards.
When spring arrives and melts away the last ice of winter, Khadgar finds the warmth of the sun does not warm him, nor does it bring new life to the lands around the ivory tower. The trees stand leafless, dead as the ground they are rooted in. He had hoped the melting snow and waters of winter would wash away any signs of what had occurred, but it is perhaps even bleaker than before. Thankfully the books he reads give him hope there might be a cure for the land as time passes, but for now he will content himself with finding beauty in the words he reads and spells he weaves instead of the world outside.
As spring continues, more spiders emerge but Khadgar has spent all of winter finding new ways to eradicate them. He freezes some, tries new flame spells on others, and once in a mispronunciation and accidental mixture of both spells, a water jet shoots from his hands and severs a spider in half. He pauses for a minute, out of breath and safe now the remaining spiders have quickly run from him. There's water puddling in front of him and he realizes he hasn't seen his reflection in some months. The bags under his eyes aren't surprising as he barely sleeps and when he does, nightmares continue to plague him. The lines in his skin though, etched into his forehead, by his mouth, and around his eyes come as a shock. The sun peeks out from behind a cloud, and Khadgar sees that his once dark hair is now shot through with white. He looks twice if not more his age. What fel magic is this?
Khadgar dashed back up the tower, and the aches and pains he's been experiencing suddenly make sense. He thinks of his lack of energy since the dark portal closed, the constant tiredness and irritability he always had an excuse for. Maybe he isn't cut out to be Guardian, not if he could not see what was literally under his nose. Too busy searching for green in his eyes and spells when there was none, Khadgar's been too naive to see the other side effects.
He grabs books from sections of the library he hasn't read yet to look for any mention of rapid ageing. He doesn't stop looking until he has exhausted the stack he pulled and his hands are shaking from any combination of hunger, lack of rest, fear, and whatever magic seems to be ageing him. The sun is beginning to rise and he cannot remember when it set. Khadgar knows the answers he seeks is somewhere in this vast library, but for once vast is not the description he wants. There is no telling if this is reversible and even if it is, he has the sinking suspicion he will not have the energy to cast the counterspell on himself.
Grabbing his hair, he pulls hard enough it hurts and he screams as frustration fills his chest and bubbles over. He will not crawl back to them like a beaten dog who still seeks its master's approval. He is the Guardian, he is above needing the Kirin Tor, and he will not let them dictate his life. Screaming again, he kicks a stool hard enough it breaks when it hits the wall and he collapses down onto the ground, hunger stabbing into his stomach. The bread he keeps on his desk is stale, hard, but he bites into it and forces himself to choke it down his throat to give him energy to keep looking. Throat raw from the screaming and the scrape of the bread, he coughs but dives back into the stacks to find a cure.
A week later, sick from lack of care and sleep, Khadgar gathers the remainder of his power to teleport himself to Dalaran. He lands in a heap in the middle of the Violet Hold. There are disapproving voices, which soon turn to questioning, urgent, and then to horror. Khadgar doesn't hear the words, just the tones, but he knows the sound of a sleeping spell and doesn't have the energy or desire left to block it. He welcomes it with open arms.
*
After more than half of the year on the road, Anduin returns to Stormwind and receives a hero's welcome. Truth be told, he did not expect anyone would be here to see his return, and he could slip into the city as he had always done. But no, perhaps they need to see their great hero as some reassurance everything will eventually be all right. People have poured into the streets to see the Lion of Azeroth, and he sees hope on their thin faces. The war has decimated the farms and livestock the city depends on, and the lasting consequences are visible in the hungry stares of the children who do not cheer as loud as they once would.
Taria waits for him in the throne room, in front of countless nobles who do not seem to suffer from the lack of resources the people of the city do. There in tension in Taria's shoulders and circles under her eyes. Varian stands beside his mother, and Anduin bows to them, slipping Varian a wink when no one else can see and the boy tries not to smile.
"Welcome back, General Lothar," Varian's voice is firm and Anduin sees Taria's firm guidance in his new responsibilities. "You have been missed."
"I have been successful in my mission," Anduin tells them. "New recruits are being trained around Azeroth. Our military will be strong again."
A great cheer goes up, but Anduin does not find pride in it as he once did. He wonders where the arrogant Anduin Lothar went, the one who would swagger around like he owned the place, who never met someone he couldn't best in battle. Maybe he died with his friends and son in the war, and all that's left is a title his fractured ego no longer wishes to support.
"Will you now take the throne?" A noble calls out from the dying cheers and the din quickly disappears.
"I am not the King," Anduin says, perhaps with more force than necessary and in the blink of an eye, the mood in the room changes.
"Stormwind needs a King," someone else calls out, and Taria motions for a guard to take Varian from the room before the shouting grows worse. "We need a strong leader."
"Azeroth has a king," Anduin tells the crowd and he hears scoffs and sees people rolling their eyes. "Varian is young, but in time he will make a strong King."
"He's just a child!"
"We don't have time!"
"We need a new King."
More and more shouts ring out, some with valid complaints, others lamenting the loss of luxuries they once had. When one slights the Queen, his rage bubbles over.
"Do not stand in front of me with treasonous words spilling from your lips," Anduin's voice is ice, and some in the crowd flinch backward. "King Llane is not dead in the ground a year and already you spit on his legacy with-".
Anduin feels Taria's soft hand on his arm and stops his diatribe. He understands now the heaviness in her shoulders, the weary look in her eyes.
"The General is tired from his long service to the throne," her voice is soft, but firm. "This is not the appropriate time for this conversation, please leave us."
There are some who look like they want to protest, but one look from Taria to the royal guards has them backing out of the room with a less than civil bow. When they are gone, she sighs and moves to embrace him.
"Too long have you been gone my brother," she clutches at him as if afraid he will disappear if she lets go. "Too long."
"What has happened here?" He asks her, guiding her to a table so they both can sit.
"So many warriors did not return," she tells him as he takes her small hands into his large, scarred ones. "There is anger that this could have been prevented. There is not enough food and the people are hungry. They are scared the orcs will return and they will be slaughtered. Lordaeron has sent what they can spare but it is not enough. They will start rioting before long."
"And they turn this anger toward you?" She nods and his expression turns thunderous. "What do they think you can do that you haven't already done?"
"They do not think I am strong enough to be Regent. And Anduin, I do not think I am," her head drops and he sees the little girl she was before a prince turned his eye on her. "I cannot be the mother and teacher Varian needs as well as Regent in this political climate. I will fail one or the other, and that is not an option."
"No."
Anduin releases her hands and stands up. He knows where this conversation is going and he wants nothing to do with it. He mutters to himself, pacing back and forth, thinking of how he wishes to strike the head off of anyone who does not believe Taria is a capable leader. How many years did they faithfully follow her as Queen only to turn their backs on her when Llane died? How many of them look to use her pain as a political tool for their gain? His rage is endless, but so too his fear and self-doubt.
"Anduin, there is no one else," she tells him, and he turns to fix her with a piercing stare. "There is turmoil and someone who has never held a sword or faced battle cannot lead this kingdom right now. You are the only person who will keep Varian's interests and safety in hand."
"Taria, I cannot," he protests, misery seeping into his voice. "I have nothing, I am nothing anymore. This kingdom will slip under my watch. I am meant to destroy and that has followed me. You cannot ask this of me."
The room is silent as he turns to leave it, the echo of his boots on the marble louder than it should be.
"You have nothing left?" her voice is barely a whisper. "Not even a sister?" Anduin stops. "Not a nephew, not a niece? Not a kingdom who adores you as their Champion?"
There are tears in her eyes when he turns to look at her, but her expression is resolute. She is strong, so strong, but they all have their cracks and frailties. He sighs and nods.
"I will not wear a crown," he says. "But I can lead for a boy who someday will."
Taria's relief is palpable, her smile bleeds away the tension her body held.
The next morning the people cheer when the Lion of Azeroth is officially named Regent until King Varian comes of age. He has been the Champion of Stormwind for so long, defending and fighting for the kingdom, that setting aside his blade to rule with a level head seems daunting. Emissaries from different kingdoms and independent cities arrive to win favor with the new Regent, and Anduin finds himself disappointed when Khadgar isn't among the ones from Dalaran. When he asks after him, there is long pause before one of the archmages replies Khadgar is recovering from an illness and could not make the journey.
Anduin knows a lie when he sees one, especially one as poorly told and flimsy as this. He wonders if Khadgar had another task or simply did not want to come. It is painful to think Khadgar is avoiding him, but perhaps it is better this way. Nothing can come of something that isn't there. Anduin knows a lie when he tells one.
*
Khadgar wakes up like a man surfacing for air after being held down for too long. His mind is a hazy fog, and he feels the telltale burn of arcane healing. Even now he feels small traces of magic curling through his body, cutting through his confusion and replacing it with pain. There is someone else in the room with him, a young boy in apprentice robes who is running from the room and shouting that Khadgar is awake. Awake yes, but how did he come to be back in Dalaran? Did the Kirin Tor remove him from Karazhan or did he choose to return?
"Guardian," the archmage responsible for overseeing his training enters the room and gives a slight nod of his head in respect. "We thought we might lose you."
Khadgar blinks at the older man, not expecting the hint of concern in his voice. "How did I come to be here? How long have I been here?"
"You teleported here from Karazhan over a month ago," the archmage tells him. "You were ill, do you remember?"
Khadgar thinks back, running a hand through his hair. Nearly a year of not cutting his hair has let to it growing past his shoulder and he brushes some of the white strands from his face. White strands? Khadgar grabs them and looks at them before the memories of his rapid ageing come crashing over him. He reaches for his face while searching for a reflective surface in the room.
"Defeating Medivh took a heavy toll on you," the archmage summons a mirror for him. "Part of the darkness in him lingered in you, ate away at you. If you had not arrived when you did, it would have consumed you."
Khadgar takes the mirror and looks at his face. His hair is completely white and lines still frame his eyes and there are a few thin ones on his forehead. The rest are gone, but he looks older than he actually is.
"We kept you asleep to slow the progression while we removed the curse from you. We reversed what we could, but it was impossible to remove all the damage. Shadow magic is tricky and largely still unknown."
"Shadow magic? How did…"
He trails off. There is no point in asking as no one will ever really know the answer. Khadgar looks at his face again, familiar but foreign to him at the same time. With age etched into his skin he looks more like a Guardian now than he did before. Shifting in bed, he is relieved to find the aches and pains plaguing him previously are gone, through healing or rest or some combination he doesn't know. He puts the mirror down; he isn't vain but losing his youth is more difficult than he imagined it would be.
"Try and rest Khadgar," the archmage says, waving a maid carrying a tray of food into the room. "When you have regained your strength, you will show us what you have learned and we will supplement as best we know how. Azeroth needs it's Guardian more than ever."
"Has something happened in my time away?" Khadgar doesn't care if he is being rude as he picks up the bowl of broth in front of him and drinks from it instead of using the spoon.
"Anduin Lothar is a Regent without a Champion or a functioning Guardian. His position is weak." The bowl slips from Khadgar's fingers, and the only thing preventing him from wearing the rest of the broth and ceramic shards is the archmage's quick reflexes.
"I thought as much." The bowl returns to the tray with the barest clinking sound. "Khadgar, the Guardian cannot-"
"I know." He buries his face in his hands, half mortified, half irritated. "It doesn't matter, nothing will come of it."
"Nothing can."
The archmage leaves him to his thoughts, dark company as they are. He thinks of blue eyes lit up with laughter, of smiles spelling trouble, of meaningless touches that leave electricity where there should be none. With a strangled mix of sob and scream, Khadgar hurls the mirror at the wall and rejoices at the sound of it's shattering. Or was that his heart? It's hard to tell these days.