Chapter Text
After the final battle at the dark portal, the people of Azeroth find themselves not only recuperating but at the threshold of a new political age: the founding of the Alliance. Humans, dwarves, gnomes and night elves aim to be united under one banner, with the Kingdom of Azeroth at the helm.
The court in Stormwind City becomes a bustling hub for all sorts of people: ambassadors, petitioners, representatives from all over the kingdom, as well as lords and ladies vying for influence as the war has left voids in the former balance of power within the lands.
In the beginning, Khadgar seems to find himself in the midst of everything. He struggles between tending to the recovering guardian, attending council meetings - if only to report to the guardian afterwards - and dealing with the Kirin Tor’s demands for more details about the happenings at Karazhan (which is none of their business).
On top of that, the young mage feels the crescive urge to improve his own abilities in several departments besides the arcane. The council meetings reveal his lack of interpersonal skills and more than once, Khadgar finds himself the epitomization of social awkwardness. Lothar advises him to be more assertive and to have confidence in his abilities.
“Without you none of us would be here right now,” Lothar told him after a particularly aggravating meeting, where a representative from Lakeshire had constantly questioned his presence at matters of kingdom, “so don’t you dare letting an idiot like that diminish you.”
Khadgar knows that Lothar’s words were meant as an encouragement, yet as the weeks passed on and Medivh convalesced both mentally and physically, the demand for the guardian’s presence increased.
People are demanding the master, not the apprentice and given that Medivh’s demonic possession is never to be revealed to the public - a silent agreement between King Llane, Lothar and Khadgar - Khadgar understands, when an ambassador from Lordaeron addresses the king directly, insisting that the child be removed from council meetings.
As weeks turn into months, Medivh begins to attend more and more meetings and social functions, reverting to his duties as Guardian of Azeroth, and Khadgar finds himself pushed aside into his master’s shadow.
He is alright with this development, he tells himself. It allows for more time to pursue his studies and to improve his spell-work. People certainly seem grateful enough that they are now able to converse directly with the Lord Magus and not his poorly chosen proxy.
For reasons he cannot fathom, while the local gentry will not accept him in their midst as an equal, they adhere to the idea that he is to serve as a source for their personal entertainment. Their requests are far from polite, bordering on ordering him around like a dog to conjure for them. They do not take lightly to the apprentice, as they will refer to him aloofly, refusing them.
Now, Khadgar doesn’t mind magic. He is a mage, he loves magic, thrives on it, yearns to discover all aspects of it. Yet the way these people regard him as their servant, which he is not, makes him angry. In consequence, Khadgar withdraws deeper into the shadows, seeking privacy and the comfort of his beloved books. Hence, he is unaware that people actually complain to the king about his brazenness to deny them.
He is unaware of most things happening within Stormwind Keep as he spends his days studying in either the library or the small room in the servant wing that has been assigned to him. The only people willing to seek him out, besides some servants and occasionally their children, are Lothar and Medivh. The former “to check if you’re still alive beneath all those books” and the latter to oversee Khadgar’s autodidactic curriculum. Medivh never bothers much with him these days, as he still feels guilty for what he has done to the boy while possessed.
Khadgar doesn’t blame him for any of it. It’s just another silent agreement. Besides, his master faces more important matters that need his full attention. The people love him and from what little rumors make it through to Khadgar, there is talk about constructing a monument in both Lothar’s and the guardian’s honors. He snorts at the mental image of another 30-foot monstrosity somewhere within Stormwind and wonders what epic poses the artist will choose for the heroes of the realm.
Seemingly everywhere he goes, there are people gushing in admiration about the Lion and the Guardian of Azeroth, who saved all of them from the Orcs. There is the leadlight in the throne room, depicting Azeroth’s heroes after the Troll Wars, the paintings in the hallways, the statues all over the city, the places named in their honor. Khadgar cannot escape the hero worship at every corner and people will chide him for not partaking in it. They call him disrespectful and inform him that the king will hear of this.
The shadows do not chide him, though, they embrace him, offering a concealing cloak from the small cosmos that is the court of Stormwind City. Everybody is too busy orbiting themselves to take note of his absence.
One morning, Thomas, a servant boy, appears to be more energetic than usual and Khadgar inquires gently about his good mood.
“They’re gathering wood for the Wickerman,” Thomas grins, revealing a gap between his milk teeth, “it’s not gonna be long now ‘til the Hallows.”
“The Hallows?” Khadgar looks around his room for a calendar only to find none. Perhaps, he needs to invest in one. “You mean Hallow’s End?”
“Yes,” a lisp is clearly audible as the boy bounces on his heels, “and there’s gonna be pumpkins and candy!”
“And banshees chasing people through the streets, I suppose,” Khadgar laughs, memories from Dalaran emerging, “and fountains flowing with caramel instead of water, right?”
Thomas looks at him, eyes wide with excitement. “You can do that?”
“Yes, I mean,” he fumbles with his response, “we had those things in Dalaran, where I grew up. There were competitions among the students for the best tricks and treats.”
“And you can do that here, too?” Thomas is nearly gasping for air, when realization hits him.
“You never had mages around for Hallow’s End, have you?” His question is sincere and once again, he is reminded how far away from Dalaran he actually is.
“No, Sir,” the boy’s auburn curls shake along with his head,”but you’re here now, so can you do magic, right? Please?”
Khadgar chuckles at his exuberance. “I suppose, I could. Do you know when the festivities begin?”
“Of course, I do,” he almost shouts and an embarrassed blush settles on his freckled cheeks, “it’s about three weeks from now. They gather the wood, season it and then, they build the Wickerman in front of the city gates. There is a procession and the king gives a speech before he lights the Wickerman on fire. Mom says that the Commander or the Guardian might light the Wickerman this year, though, because they won us the war.”
Khadgar suppresses an exasperated sigh, it isn’t the boy’s fault that he aims to answer truthfully.
“Three weeks you say?” He taps his fingers thoughtfully against his chin, hopefully appearing all mysterious to the boy. His eyes shine brightly with mirth. “I better get started with preparations, then. I wouldn’t want the good citizens of Stormwind to be disappointed, now, would I?”
“Of course not,” Thomas smiles brilliantly and Khadgar stops him before he exits the room.
“But don’t tell anyone, alright? It’s not a surprise, if it isn’t a secret.”
“I won’t tell anybody, I swear,” he raises his hand into the air to show his earnestness.
“Good, then, off you go,” Khadgar chuckles and drops onto his bed after the boy has closed the door. His breakfast sits atop his desk, abandoned.
“It’s Hallow’s End,” he whispers., “how could I…?”
For a moment, he simply lies there, thoughts rushing through his mind like wild horses. Hallow’s End has always been his favorite celebration throughout the year, simply because it is one of the few celebrations the Kirin Tor will actually actively engage in. Hallow’s End marks the season of witches and wizards, of magic, of tricks and treats. It is his season and it is nigh.
A mischievous grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. “It’s Hallow’s End.”
With a start, Khadgar gets up, grabs his desk chair and pushes his breakfast aside on the desk to make room for one of his notebooks. Opening a blank page, he is already dipping his quill into some of the black ink he made earlier this month.
On the top of the page, he writes “Trick or Treat”.
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It is almost noon when Khadgar decides to leave his room. He has spent the entire morning pouring over ideas and notes as to what he is capable of doing for Hallow’s End. Of course, he is aware that he cannot take things too far. Stormwind isn’t Dalaran, hence people may not enjoy certain tricks as much as mages will. Also, there is the golden rule of no harm.
Every year, before the start of the wicked season, Archmage Antonidas reminded all citizens of the violet city - especially the students - that a good scare meant joy for both the trickster and the tricked. Harmful magic was strictly forbidden and if anybody dared to disturb their peaceful celebration with wrongful intentions, all festivities would end immediately.
This only happened once while Khadgar was with the Kirin Tor. In his second year, some older students conjured a new drink they called Sour Fizz, a type of carbonated juice that had been supposed to fizzle in the stomach much like tickling. Had been. They had not bothered to test their creation thoroughly, though, which was why dozens of people ended up at the healers’, foam spewing wildly from at least one orifice, causing severe pain to their intestines.
Now that some ideas have formed in his mind - and his notes - he wants to see what the city has got to offer in terms of scenery. There are no plays without stages, after all.
Also, he really needs to buy a calendar to get organized with his preparations.
The guards appear to be slightly perplexed when he passes them on his way out of the keep, yet Khadgar doesn’t pay them much attention besides greeting them politely as he rushes by them. He hasn’t felt this eager to leave his room in quite some time. Not since the war ended, at least.
Late September is kind and has decided to bid farewell for another year with bright sunshine warming Khadgar’s cheeks...or perhaps it is him nearly jogging down the outer bailey to get to Old Town. His exploration of the city alone ought to take up at least several days and he cannot spare a single moment, if he wants to achieve anything come Hallow’s End.
So, armed with only a notebook and a charcoal pencil, the young mage ventures into Old Town.
He walks through every street, every alley, every gap he is able to find, writing things down, stopping for a quick drawing every now and then. Sometimes, people will ask him what he is doing and he answers that he is making a map of the city, which is not too far from the truth. Strangely enough, despite their curious glances and at times gruff voices, people aren’t rude and show honest interest in his notes. Some even tell stories about certain buildings or places. Apparently, the Pigs and Whistles is a rather interesting establishment. Khadgar absorbs everything and makes sure to thank people properly for their kindness. Light, they also give him hints about the other quarters of the city.
By the end of the day, as the sun sets and the shadows grow longer, reaching for him yet again, Khadgar finds himself entering a pub strongly recommended by a group of dwarves. The best cock-a-leekie and spiced bread in town, they have said. The pub is warm and not too crowded at this hour and his feet most definitely welcome a bit of rest. They are no longer used to working such long hours, he muses when he sits down at an empty table.
A barmaid greets him kindly and takes his order. She smiles delightedly when he mentions how he found his way here.
“Ye will like our food,” she tells him warmly, "and our ale, too.”
Khadgar chuckles. Normally, he would have never ordered ale for himself, yet if he is to enjoy a dwarven meal, then he ought to have a pint with it, right?
While he waits for his dinner, he arranges his notes on the table and mentally revisits his discoveries, scribbling away what tricks will work best in what places. He cannot tell whether it is excitement reddening his cheeks or a slight sunburn, yet he does not mind either of those options.
It is Hallow’s Hallow’s Hallow’s Hallow’s End, he hums the tune all students of the Kirin Tor in Dalaran know by heart.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The following days are spent much like this one.
Khadgar will eat breakfast in his room early in the morning before exchanging the small abode for the vastness of Stormwind City. He will eat out and return late in the evening, only to fall face first onto his bed, gathering strength for another day of prep-work.
With more delegates arriving every day for another grand council, Medivh is too busy to notice his absence anyway and since he is in charge of his own studies...well, the amount of magic tricks he currently prepares for Hallow’s End are evidently part of his curriculum. Applied arcane knowledge, so to speak.
The more he sees of and learns about Stormwind and its citizens, the less Khadgar comprehends why he willingly locked himself away within Stormwind Keep. Of course, the keep has got all the accommodations one could imagine, yet still...still, behind the thick stone walls, the shadows lurk and Khadgar cannot say that he misses them as he spends his days outside, mapping out the city and marveling at every bit of arcane energy he finds along the way.
Who would have thought that there are leylines beneath Stormwind? Obviously, everybody is aware of the large line beneath Dalaran, the Kirin Tor are rather fond of pointing this out. However, the young mage also feels the energy humming beneath the cobblestone ever so often. A soft tendril here, an inkling over there. There are nowhere near as strong as the one beneath Dalaran, nonetheless, they might serve his purpose for Hallow’s End. If he is able to tap into them, his tricks might last longer without draining him too much.
The amount of mana potions he still needs to make seems a bit worrisome, even for him. Better to be safe than sorry, though.
The calendar he purchased is now color coded and adorned with all sorts of notes and doodles attached to particular days to the point where Khadgar questions its very existence and whether or not he should have simply drawn his own calendar.
After his initial exploration of the city, his plans take shape, becoming more detailed and he begins compiling a list of reagents he will need for his tricks. None of the items are too pricey and if all else fails, he could always raid Karazhan for supplies. Luckily for him, coming to some coin isn’t too difficult for a mage in Stormwind. Even simple potions are able to reach high selling prices at the auction houses, since there aren’t too many mages bothering with everyday trade.
The magic wands he creates which give people the appearance of ghosts, a trick he learnt when he was eight, go out faster than fresh bread when he puts them up for auction - in disguise, of course. His illusions have needed a bit of training, after all and the magus did say that he should focus on practical situations for his magic. The shadows warn him that he will be in so much trouble, if any of this is discovered, and that he ought to return to their safety instead. All it takes to shut them up is a tricky treat.
For he is happy. He is happier than he has been in a long time and he won’t allow the shadows to ruin that for him. Besides, it is only some harmless tricks and treats, there is nothing wrong with that, right?