Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7837945.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage, Rape/Non-Con
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      World_of_Warcraft, Warcraft_(2016)
  Relationship:
      Khadgar_&_Anduin_Lothar, Khadgar/Anduin_Lothar, Khadgar/Medivh
  Character:
      Khadgar, Anduin_Lothar, Varis_(Warcraft), Llane_Wrynn, Taria_Wrynn,
      Callan_Lothar, Medivh, Moroes, Garona_Halforcen
  Additional Tags:
      Prison, Khadgar_in_chains, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Angst,
      Dominance, Explicit_Sexual_Content, Submission, Bratty_Khadgar, Alternate
      Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Very_silly_and_very_dark, Heavy_Angst,
      Casual_Sex, Sexual_Violence, Dom/sub, Fun_sexual_pain, S&M, Demon_Sex,
      Abuse, Khadgar_has_lots_of_sex, Everything_happens_in_the_bedroom, Rape/
      Non-con_Elements
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-08-22 Updated: 2016-10-09 Chapters: 20/? Words: 56900
****** The Lion's Mage. ******
by spooky_blue
Summary
     Loosely following the storyline of the Warcraft movie (with my own
     smutty twists), this work tells the story from Khadgar's charming,
     borderline insane, mage-centric perspective. There's going to be some
     pretty intense and dark parts, so pay attention to the tags.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
***** Another Bad Idea *****
Chapter Summary
     Khadgar finds himself thrown into the royal prison in chains.
     Breaking into the royal barracks is starting to look like a pretty
     bad idea after all.
The prison cell was bleak, but Khadgar had been in worse.
Surrounded by thick stone walls on three sides, the fourth wall of the cell
consisted of a solid iron grating facing a dark corridor.  There were no
windows to mark the passing of time, but lamplight flickered dimly in the hall
and he was grateful to not be moldering in complete darkness. Guards came with
food; usually stew of some sort and a chunk of bread.  He had water, a chamber
pot, and a thin wool blanket.   Compared to his recent living conditions in
Elwynn Forest, the cell was almost cozy.  Other than the chains.
There weren’t any prisoners nearby. At least, nobody responded when he’d called
out – until the guard had put a stop to that.  Prison guards didn’t use many
words, he’d decided, but their leather-gloved fists had conveyed the point with
remarkable eloquence.  
Although iron shackles clanked at his wrists and ankles, he had enough chain to
hobble across the cell and feed himself when the bowl was pushed through the
grating.  Shackles alone would have been useless to hold a mage, but the collar
at his throat was another matter.  Feeling the solid ring of metal, he’d
determined it was inlaid with what felt like five large gems.  The collar was
most certainly enchanted to inhibit magic users.  He could still feel his
connection to the arcane, powerful and strong as a heartbeat, but he couldn’t
reach it.  It was like staring through a pane of glass at something tangible,
but untouchable.  He was powerless in the jail cell, more helpless than he’d
been in years.
Stormwind was taking no chances with the scruffy, teenage, half-trained mage.
He thought that some days had passed in the prison, but couldn’t be sure.  He’d
come to consciousness face-first on the stone floor, scarcely finding time to
orient himself before bile rose and he’d vomited – a reflex, he'd learned, from
the collar when he tried to touch the arcane.  There was no way to know how
long he’d been unconscious. They’d taken his cloak, shoes, and outer clothing,
leaving his lightweight tunic and pants that had started out filthy and were
getting increasingly worse.
His head ached, half of his face still swollen and tender, presumably from the
blow that had knocked him unconscious.  Everything was hazy leading up to his
arrest. He’d known that the guards would never have allowed him inside the
royal barracks, so he hadn’t bothered asking for permission.  Instead, he’d
crept as close as he’d dared, cast a spell that afforded him twenty seconds of
fairly reliable invisibility, and slipped inside. That was beginning to feel
like a poor decision.
The corpses had been easy to find.  A stench lingered in the streets of
Stormwind, reeking of iron and refuse and old blood, and he followed it to the
source.  It wasn’t an actual smell – more like a sensation that oozed across
his senses.  It was magical, of course – something foul, unnatural, and like
almost nothing he’d ever sensed before.  He hadn’t known exactly what he was
looking for, but he knew the corpses held answers.
Death didn’t normally bother him, but staring at the bodies, he’d been shaken
and nauseated.  Some had born deep slashes and wounds from battle, but he was
certain that something else had killed the soldiers.  Something magical.  Some
of the corpses were waxy and gray, faces and limbs twisted in agony, looking
almost like melted candles.  Swallowing down his nervousness, he’d approached
the bodies, looking for something to indicate what manner of spell had been
used.  Many magics left distinct traces, if you knew what to look for – burn
patterns, smells, arcane residues and the like. Misfortune struck when he was
discovered only moments into his examination of the first body, elbows deep
inside her blouse and looking up at the soldiers with an expression that he was
sure was guilty as hell.
They’d shouted, outraged, and he’d hurriedly cast the invisibility spell
again.  Sprinting down the hall, he’d woven a shimmer spell that would
transport him precisely twenty yards ahead, widening the distance from the
pursuing soldiers.  The spell blinked him forward, and he was already pivoting
to the open door, too sudden to dodge the looming shape that materialized
before him.  That’s all he remembered – intense pain, crashing like white
lightning through his skull, then blackness. 
The shimmer spell was one that he had practiced over and over again for years. 
He knew the twenty-yard distance like he knew his own face.  He thought tiredly
that he must have misjudged his speed and transported into a wall.  Or
something.  It didn’t really matter.
Khadgar curled on the cot and felt himself drifting in and out of consciousness
– whether from exhaustion or from the pain in his head, he wasn’t sure.  There
were new voices nearby, but he couldn’t summon the energy to rise and face his
visitors.  Maybe they would go away and let him die in peace.
“On your feet, corpse-fucker.”  Not a prison guard’s voice.  His eyes cracked
open, disoriented, and saw a pair of men come into view.  One was carrying a
lamp that hurt his eyes, and he struggled with the sudden wish to whimper like
a child and beg for release.  Pushing himself slowly upright on the cot, he
hoped to appear calm and composed. 
“My name is Khadgar,” he said, squinting into the light at the hard faces.  And
I wasn't fucking any corpses, he added to himself.  Clearly, the name meant
nothing to them.  He tensed as the cell door swung open and the men stepped
inside.  Rough hands pulled him to his feet, one of the men pinning Khadgar’s
left arm to the stone wall and pushing back his sleeve, pulling at the cloth
wrapped there as if searching for something. He cried out, knees buckling
suddenly as white sparks of pain danced across his vision.  They couldn’t have
known that the bandage would scrape across the twisted, still-blistered skin of
his arm.  From wrist to elbow, the skin was raw and angry from an unmistakable
arcane burn. 
Surprised and disgusted, the man threw him back onto the cot.  Turning to his
companion, he muttered, “That’s where it would be.  Can’t say for sure.”
The other man nodded slowly and said, “Fugitive, probably.”
“Think he fucked some corpses in Dalaran, too?  Might be a bounty.”
“For a dead mage?  Could be.”
Khadgar knew what they were looking for and shivered. The eye of the Kirin Tor
was a mark the size of his palm, branded by fiery magic onto the forearm of
mages who took vows of apprenticeship with the renowned mages of Dalaran.  He
knew with grim satisfaction that they’d find no mark on his arm.  Not since
Kirin Tor had burned it off.  Three months had passed, and the burn was
scarcely healed.  He thought that detail had been added as a touch of spite,
because nobody left the Kirin Tor once initiated.  Nobody, that is, until
Khadgar had.
“I renounced my vows.”  He struggled to speak slowly, clearly.  His head still
swam, and the urge to vomit was ever-present.  “I must speak with your
commander.  I can explain –”
The bigger of the men squatted down, face level to Khadgar’s.  “I am the
commander,” he said, grabbing a fistful of hair and pulling Khadgar’s head
backward, forcing him to stare into the light.  Oh, thought Khadgar, sort of
dimly.  He had the strangest feeling that he'd seen the man somewhere before,
but couldn't place it.  Piercing blue eyes seemed to fill Khadgar’s world as
the commander asked intensely, “What are you doing in my city, spell-chucker?”
He couldn’t explain, couldn’t seem to form the words.  “Let me finish my
examination of the bodies,” Khadgar insisted, feeling as though his mind was
pushing through a fog.  Why couldn’t these stupid men understand that he was
trying to help them?  “People are dying, I can help-,” he began.  The room spun
slowly and he reeled forward, collapsing onto the commander.
---
“-concussion is likely,” he heard the soldier say.  “They said it look like he
ported right into Dobby’s ass.”
“I always like that horse,” the commander chuckled.  “Fully armored, was he?”
“Yes.  Solid plate.  Just fitted in new gear.  Must have been an awesome
crash.  I think he stomped him for good measure.”
Khadgar didn’t like them chatting blithely about his near death.  He hadn’t
even seen a war-horse in the barracks.  He groaned loudly to remind that he was
still alive and miserable.  Hands on his shoulders pulled him upright again,
and he sat weakly against the wall, fighting another rising retch.  “I’m not
well,” he said quietly.  He raised his manacled wrists slightly, looking at the
commander.  “Can you please…?”
“No.” The commander’s voice was like iron, and he nodded to the soldier. 
“Varis, the potion.”
Varis pulled a small, red bottle from a pouch his belt and held it to Khadgar’s
lips.  “Swallow, boy.”  Seeing his distrustful look, the soldier laughed – a
harsh, mean sound.  “It’s not poison, although you’d deserve it.  It’s a
healing potion.”
Khadgar nodded and swallowed it down.  The potion flooded through his body in a
red rush, tingling briefly from head to toe.  Relief from the throbbing pain in
his head was almost instant, and even the burning in his arm subsided a
little.  Bless those alchemists, he thought fervently.
“Why should I let you paw at my soldiers’ bodies, mage?” The commander was
relentless.
Feeling strengthened by the potion, Khadgar sat up straighter, breathing a huff
of irritation through his nose.  “Within those bodies is the secret to your
attacks.  Your men weren’t killed by swords.  I have training in the arcane.  I
can help you.”
The commander stared at him for a long moment.  Khadgar tried not to hold his
breath, wondering how long he might rot in prison if the man did not believe
him.  Finally, he seemed to decide with a curt nod.  Standing, the commander
called to the guard and directed him to unshackle Khadgar’s ankles. 
The trio moved briskly through the prison warren, the commander’s iron grip
never leaving his shoulder.  His legs were still wobbly, and he leaned on the
commander for support more than was necessary.  They weren’t making this easy
for him, so he wouldn’t make it easy for them, either.  He felt like people
stared at him as he passed, perhaps aware of his reputation as an admirer of
the dead.  He was sorry for that misconception.  Better to be thought a common
thief than a violator of corpses.
With a final shove, the commander pushed him into the room with the bodies, and
he was faced again with the horror of stretched, sagging, gray skin.  Pushing
his nausea aside, he moved for the closest body, the two soldiers watching
closely as he worked.  A man, middle aged and bearded.  He worked to pull the
clothing off to reveal the waxy skin, running his fingers lightly up and down. 
Probing, looking for a telltale mark.  He even pushed his face close, inhaling
deeply.  Biting his lip unconsciously, he pulled the corpse’s stiffened jaw
down and pushed two fingers carefully inside the mouth.  The tongue was
beginning to harden, but the teeth were still solid, maybe a hint of grit,
which might be troll magic – Khadgar leaped backwards as a sudden jet of foul,
green mist shot upward from the man’s throat into the room, hurriedly pulling
his sleeve protectively over his mouth. The soldiers had jumped back too.
He faced the commander with horror, feeling his eyes widen as his heart pounded
in his chest.  No, it couldn’t be.  Not here.  Not in Azeroth.  He had to be
wrong.    
“What was that?” The commander’s words were terse, biting, as he stabbed a
finger towards the corpse.
Khadgar composed himself, looking around the room at the men as he shook his
head in denial.  “You must summon the Guardian Medivh.”
“What would you know of the Guardian Medivh?” Varis interjected, looking over
at the commander for support.  Frustration showing, he pounded his fist
suddenly onto the table and said pleadingly, “Why are we listening to this
criminal?  His kind would say anything to save his own skin.”
“It should be he who explains,” Khadgar insisted.  Chin up, he stared levelly
at the commander.  As if they were peers.  As if he wasn’t standing barefoot,
filthy, in chains. 
“Only the king summons the Guardian.” The commander stared balefully at the
young mage, moving slowly forward until their faces nearly met.  “If you are
wasting my time, boy, it’ll be worse than prison for you.”  Turning to Varis,
he snapped, “Get him to Goldshire.”
“Yes, sir.”  Varis nodded curtly and jerked his head at Khadgar.  “Let’s go.” 
Khadgar tried to hide his sigh of relief.  Not going back to the cell, he
thought gratefully.  Not yet.   
***** Get Thee to Goldshire! *****
Chapter Summary
     Why won't everyone just do what Khadgar tells them to!? Just summon
     the damn Guardian!
CHAPTER TWO
Although Khadgar was feeling well enough now to be curious about the streets of
Stormwind as his horse clopped after Varis, he concentrated on clinging to the
saddle with both hands.  Varis had fastened his chains to the pommel, and
Khadgar thought that if he slipped out of the saddle he’d be dragged along for
the remainder of the ride. Varis did not seem like the kind to stop and pick
him back up.    He’d asked for his shoes and clothing back, where they were
going, and how far the ride was, and several other questions, all of which were
impassively ignored by the soldier.  Biting down his curiosity, Khadgar tried
to appear composed. 
The inn at the center of Goldshire was a hubbub of activity, with far more
people coming and going than he remembered from his last time at the Lion’s
Pride.  He’d wandered through Goldshire once before, making his way towards
Stormwind city.  He’d stopped at the inn to see if there were any odd jobs he
could perform for the innkeeper in exchange for some food, or even just the
chance to wash with warm water.  The innkeep hadn’t had any work, but several
of the inn’s patrons had offered suggestions of their own.  There wasn’t any
shame in sex work, but Khadgar hadn’t been ready to trade his body for a hot
bath.  Not yet.
Seeing troops and horses with the Stormwind livery, he realized the reason for
their journey to Goldshire and his heart quickened, excited.  The king. 
Varis dismounted and called to one of the soldiers stationed outside of the
inn.  The young man, called Callan, took the reins of Khadgar’s mount while
Varis headed inside the inn.  The youth wordlessly reached to help him
dismount, unchaining him from the saddle and moving as if to grasp his elbow. 
Khadgar yelped and pushed him away preemptively with a bare foot against his
chest.
“No,” he said, brandishing his wounded arm.  “Please.  Don’t.”
Evaluating the burned skin, Called nodded.  “Get down, then.”
Khadgar slipped from the horse, landing less gracefully than he’d hoped. 
Smells of cooking food made his mouth water, distracting.  It had been a while
since he’d eaten anything other than prison stew.  Looking around the
courtyard, his eye fell on the water pump near the horse trough.  “Can I wash?”
he asked, knowing the stink of vomit and prison still clung.
Callan eyed him appraisingly.  “I thought you’d never ask,” he said, surprising
Khadgar with unexpected humor.  “You smell like a river rat.”
Water splashed icy cold on the ground as Callan pumped for him, and Khadgar
scrubbed at his face and hair gratefully.  Pushing his sleeves back, he even
ran the skin of his burned arm under the flow for a moment, wincing.  Soap
would have been helpful, but even the clean water was an improvement. 
Shaking his head and spraying water like a dog, he raked fingers through his
hair and grinned at the youth.  “Presentable?”
“No.  But better.”  Callen’s eyes were kind.  “Let’s go.”  He guided Khadgar
inside the inn, keeping one hand on the small of his back and the other on the
pommel of his sword.
The Lion’s Pride had been hastily converted into a war room.  Maps stretched
across the table, and serious looking soldiers lined the walls.  There, in the
center of the room, was King Llane.  It had to be.  The man was short and a
little bit stocky, with dark hair and a face that was a little to round to be
kingly, but the crown on his head belied the impression.  He was talking to the
commander, who had apparently arrived before they had.  
Khadgar nudged the young soldier.  “Scruffy man, by the king.” he asked,
nodding at the commander.  “Who is that?”  Khadgar suspected, but wanted to be
sure.
The boy looked at him strangely.  “You don’t know?”
“I met him in prison, but we skipped introductions,” said Khadgar wryly. 
“Why?  Should I?”
“He’s Sir Anduin Lother.  The Lion of Azeroth.” The boy spoke with pride. 
“Commander of the army?  Stormwind’s Champion…?”
“Hm.” Khadgar refused to be impressed, but tucked the information away for
later. He inched forward to hear the king’s conversation.  A harried soldier
was answering the king’s questions, sounding as weary as he looked.
“What kind of beasts?” King Llane’s irritation was palpable.  
“We have only rumors, your majesty,” replied the man, his voice trailing away. 
“Unstoppable beasts…”
King Llane turned to Lothar, his face incredulous.  “How does a garrison of
thirty men disappear without even-”
Impatiently, Khadgar burst out, “The fel.”  Sidestepping Callan, Khadgar moved
toward the king. Heads turned to see who the unkempt newcomer was, causing him
to swallow nervously.  “Or at least its influence.”
The king looked him up and down, then turned to Lothar.  “This is him?”
“Mm-hm.” Lothar all but rolled his eyes and walked over to Callan, clasping him
briefly on the shoulder.  “Thank you, son.  Dismissed.”
“Father.”  The boy inclined his head respectfully, shooting Khadgar a pointed
look before moving away.
“So who are you, mage?” The king regarded him evenly.  “You're in a lot of
trouble.  I suggest complete transparency in your response.”
Gathering his dignity, Khadgar replied, “My name is Khadgar.  Of the Kirin
Tor.  I am the Guardian Novitiate.”  His voice grew self-conscious, trailing
away.  “Formerly.  I mean, I was.  I renounced my vows.” 
“He means he’s a fugitive,” interrupted Lothar, standing a little too close to
Khadgar, his physical presence something like a threat.
Khadgar turned, his chest nearly bumping Lothar’s, dark eyes flashing. “I’m not
hiding.”  He couldn't exactly tell them everything, of course, but he would
stay as close to the truth as he dared.  Pulling back his sleeve, he pushed the
burned arm towards the commander’s face, wrist up, displaying the raw and
twisted skin where the Kirin Tor’s mark had been. “They know I left.  It’s not
a secret.” 
Turning back to the king, the words spilled out of him urgently. “Your
Majesty.  I left the Kirin Tor, but I didn’t abandon my abilities.   Fel magic,
when it’s strong, it almost has a scent.  I sensed the corruption and followed
it into your barracks – I couldn’t just ignore it.  The bodies of your soldiers
were not killed by steel.  There’s something evil in Azeroth.”  He leaned
forward, placing both hands on the makeshift war table, his eyes never leaving
the king.  “Sire, I urge you to engage the Guardian with all haste.  Fel magic
is destructive and seeps into everything it touches.  You must summon Medivh
before this spreads.”
King Llane and his commander exchanged a glance. 
A lady with dark skin and darker eyes moved forward, placing a gentle hand on
Khadgar’s arm, above the elbow.  He hadn’t noticed her before – richly dressed,
her hair woven into a simple crown braid around her head.  He realized that
this must be the queen.  “Khadgar.  A dwarven word, isn’t it?” she asked.  He
thought her voice was like warm honey, and some of the tension between the men
diffused.
“Yes, Your Majesty.  It means ‘trust’ in dwarven.”
She looked at him carefully, taking in the chains at his wrists and collar
around his throat.  “I am Queen Taria.  I apologize that circumstances warrant
that we cannot share the hospitality generally extended to our visitors.  As
you can see, we are in disarray at the moment.”  More briskly she said, “Your
arm requires healing.  May we attend to it?”
He could only nod, not wanting to tell her that the healing would be useless. 
“The burn is arcane, your majesty.  I don’t think they intended it to heal.”
She smiled.  “We shall see.  Come with me, Khadgar.” She led him to a seat
corner of the room and called for a healer, leaving the king and commander
behind.  Leaning close, she spoke softly and earnestly.  “I am sorry for
this.”  She touched the shackles on his wrists.  “My brother is distressed
today.  Many of the men and women in that garrison were his friends.”
Khadgar struggled to keep up with the twists in her conversation.  Brother? 
Puzzled, he asked, “King Llane?”
If her voice was like warm honey, her laughter tinkled like silver bells.  “No,
no,” she smiled.  “Anduin.  Commander Lothar.”
He blurted, “Your brother?  He’s nothing like you.” With an apologetic nod, he
added belated, “…Your Majesty.”
“We are more alike than you know.”  She smiled.  “Please believe me that these
chains are not the Stormwind way.  I will see that you are treated well while
we sort this out.”  She stood as the healer approached.  “Priestess, see what
you can do for his arm.  It is quite badly burned.  Can you arrange clean
clothing as well?  Something warm for travel.”
The priestess inclined her head deferentially, murmuring assent.
“Farewell, Khadgar.  I thank you for your help.  Perhaps we will meet again in
better circumstances.”  The queen walked gracefully to join the king and
commander where they had moved on the second floor of the inn.   Khadgar
watched her go with a strange mistiness coming over his eyes.  A little bit of
her kindness fell on the parched earth of his soul like rain, and he soaked it
up thirstily.
Then the priestess was examining his arm and chanting, the soft gold light of
her healing prayer spilling over his wound while he bit at his lower lip.  She
frowned, moving her hands in cycling motions, chanting her emphatic, lilting
cadence.  Eventually she sighed and shook her head, looking at him
reproachfully. “There’s arcane in this wound.  It’s working against my
prayers.  I’m sorry, mage.  I cannot heal it by the Light alone.” 
He nodded.  “I understand.  Thank you for trying.”
She pulled a bottle of salve and a length of bandage from her medicinal kit. 
“We’ll clean it and wrap it, at least.  Give you some protection against…” Her
voice trailed away as she looked at the chains, but she didn’t comment
further.  He leaned against the wall and let her work in silence, appreciating
the gentle efficiency of her movements.  When his eyelids became unbearably
heavy, he let them slip shut and drifted into a light sleep, lulled despite the
bustle of the inn.
---
A boot digging into his ankle woke him some time later.  The priestess was
gone, and Callan stood before him with a pile of clothing and a tray of food. 
“Wake up.”
Khadgar started awake and rubbed his face, peering at the youth.  “Your father,
huh?” he said, raising his eyebrows in mock sorrow. “How interesting.  I’m so
sorry.”  He reached for one of the meat pies on the tray and Callan pulled it
away, grinning despite himself.
“Upstairs, mage.  There’s a bath waiting for you and some clean clothing.  You
can eat after.”  Khadgar stole a pie anyway, and moved lightly up the stairs. 
There was all that and more – soap, towels, a comb, even a promising bed
against the wall.  Callan unbound his wrists and stood a respectful distance
from the tub while he bathed, scrubbing at first and then lingering in the
steaming water until he remembered the food.  If they were going to send him
back to prison, at least he’d be clean and have a full stomach.  Once dry,
dressed, and combed, Callan replaced the shackles around his wrists without
comment, careful not to scrape against his re-bandaged arm.  The soldier
suggested he rest on the bed until they were called for, and Khadgar did not
argue. The bed was like heaven – he hadn’t slept in a proper bed since leaving
Dalaran.  Sleep took him again, this time the deep, heavy sleep of exhaustion.
It seemed only moments later that Callan was shaking him awake, but several
hours must have passed.  He groaned in protest, but sat up and looked around,
wondering what time it was. Outside through the window, dusk was falling over
Goldshire. 
“You’re wanted downstairs.”  Callan gestured to the doorway.  “Let’s go.”
---
The royal entourage had left the Lion’s Pride, presumably returning to the
Stormwind keep.  They must have been caught unawares by the attack, and used
the inn as a temporary staging area.  A more typical evening lull had settled
over the inn, and Khadgar felt a pang of regret to leave the comfortable place
behind.  He braced himself for the worst, wondering if he dared make a break
for it into the forests.  Without the arcane, it would be difficult…but not
impossible.  If he managed to slip away, he might be able to get the blasted
collar off. 
Following Callan’s lead to the courtyard in front of the inn, Khadgar’s
attention was fully taken by the large beast crouching low by the hitching
post.  He’d never seen a gryphon up close before – it was massive.  Birdlike in
the front, with large, intelligent eyes, feathers, a beak, and clawed talons,
the hindquarters were tawny like a lion, as was the tufted tail that flicked
behind it.  Seeing Lothar standing at the front of the bird patting at its
beak, he realized how the commander had managed to get to the inn before he and
Varis had – he’d flown on the gryphon. 
Lothar climbed into the gryphon’s saddle and looked back at the pair.  “Get
on,” he said to Khadgar, jerking his head towards the beast.  His heart
thumping, Khadgar slowly approached the gryphon.  He had so many
questions...that Lothar was not going to answer.  Like, did they summon the
Guardian?  Where were they flying to in the middle of the night?  Would they
send him back to prison?  
Taking hold of saddle, he scrambled up behind Lothar with considerably less
grace than the commander had.  “Hold fast,” Lothar warned.  “If you fall
off...there's no point in bothering to  stop.” Khadgar nodded, gripping the
beast with his thighs and wrapping his arms around Lothar’s waist.  Before he
could even say farewell to Callan, the gryphon plunged upwards into the sky,
leaving Goldshire and the inn far below.
***** Drawn to impossible odds. *****
Chapter Summary
     Here's the "plot what plot" I promised you. Lothar wants something
     that Khadgar is more than willing to give.
CHAPTER THREE
Khadgar had no idea where they were going or what was happening.  He’d assumed
they’d ride back to Stormwind keep, but that was obviously not the
destination.  Lothar was refusing to answer any of his many questions, which
didn’t deter him from asking in the slightest.  Once the gryphon reached a
comfortable altitude, flying wasn’t really that bad.  It was the taking off and
landing that left his stomach lurching somewhere in his throat.  He even craned
from side to side, peering around Lothar’s broad shoulders, trying to see
landmarks in the darkness. 
After a while, the bird had descended sharply into a little village that he
thought might be Grand Hamlet – south of Goldshire, he mused.  Further to the
south would be Deadwind Pass, and then...hope, and trepidation, dawned on him. 
Could they be heading to Karazhan?  To the white tower of the Guardian Medivh? 
It must be. 
For now, they would be spending the night in a room at the tiny house that
passed for an inn in Grand Hamlet.  The innkeeper had responded sleepily to
Lothar’s knock, surprised to receive guests so late at night.  Leading them to
the stables, they’d put the gryphon to bed and headed up to the inn. 
---
Lothar had only arranged for one room.  Khadgar was not about to offer to sleep
on the floor, so he quickly shed his boots, belt, and cloak, and climbed onto
the bed.  The commander could join him, he thought sourly, or sleep on the
floor himself.  Lothar moved about the room, peeling away gear and clothing
before stirring up a low fire in the grate.  He splashed water on his face from
the washing bowl by the door, then regarded the young mage sprawled on the
bed. 
“What are you looking at?” asked Khadgar innocently, with just a hint of
challenge in his voice.
“My bed.  You’re in it.”
“You can have half,” Khadgar conceded, “Provided you don’t snore.  Or hog the
blankets.”  He moved over and made room for Lothar, shutting his eyes
resolutely. 
After a long moment, the bed creaked as the commander climbed in next to him.
Khadgar listened to his breathing for a while in the dim light, wondering what
kind of man he was.  A fierce warrior, to be sure.  He was strong and well-
built, with scars on his face and hands.  Probably other places, too, but
Khadgar had tried not to stare when he removed his clothing.  His soldiers
seemed to respect him, and he had the ear of the king; his son was well-
mannered and kind.  Queen Taria, all warmth and light and gentleness, had said
he was more like her than Khadgar would have guessed.  All around, he seemed to
be brave, decent, and well liked.  And yet, Khadgar lay in chains, having done
nothing wrong other than failing to ask permission to enter the barracks.
There was something attractive about Lothar, he mused.  Khagar had an
unfortunate weakness for impossible odds; he was drawn to people and situations
that had the potential to go terribly wrong.  When he lingered on the blueness
of Lothar’s eyes, almost feral when they bored into his own, he felt an
unmistakable quickening of his heart.   Yes, Lothar felt dangerous to him.  And
he longed to find out why.
---
Khadgar woke disoriented in the darkness, unable to remember where he was. He
tried to push up onto one arm and hissed sharply as the chains rubbed against
his burned arm through the bandage.  The pain brought a measure of clarity, and
he rubbed at the side of his face with one hand, remembering.
Chains.  Prisoner.  Traveling with Lothar.   Somewhere.
Somehow during sleep he’d tangled himself into Lothar’s arms and legs.   He
wriggled to get away, but the arms around him tightened and he realized that
Lothar was also awake.  Holding him close, actually, and breathing quietly over
his ear.  Khadgar shrugged halfheartedly against the hold, then relented,
consenting to be held.  It felt good.
He leaned into Lothar’s warmth, resting his head against the pillow and
brushing against his neck.  Chains clanked as he placed one hand carefully on
the bare shoulder, exploring the skin with curious fingers.  Stifling a yawn,
he allowed his hands to wander impulsively across the lines of Lothar's body,
so hard and different from his own.  He moved with the same soothing touch that
he’d use on an unsure animal.   
Khadgar thought that maybe, just maybe…the thought of bedding Lothar was not
unattractive. He nuzzled his lips against Lothar’s neck in an unspoken
question.  He was almost sure that Lothar was falling asleep, until a
hand touched his thigh, pushing one knee up and holding his legs open. 
Khadgar’s heart clenched, heat coursing through his chest and down his torso. 
Lothar traced fingers between his legs, lingering and stroking rhythmically
against his opening.   Khadgar’s involuntary whimper of anticipation might have
been embarrassing, had he been more awake.  Lothar was getting right to the
point, and he burned in response.
His mouth found Lothar’s and pressed hard, demanding, as he reached inside the
front of Lothar’s pants.  The heat of the smooth cock at full hardness was
arousing, and his hips pressed upwards in response to Lothar’s touch between
his legs as their kissing became loud and wet.  He wondered dimly how long
Lothar had been holding him that night.
Kneeling in the bed, Lothar flipped him onto his back and lit the lantern on
the nightstand.  In the low glow, his face searched Khadgar’s as he placed a
hand on the smooth belly and slid down slowly, grasping the boy’s cock through
his pants. 
“I want you,” he said.
Khadgar could only nod, writhing at touch.  Lothar seemed to be waiting for
something, so he managed, “I want it.”
“What do you want?” Eyes never left his face as the hand tightened on his cock,
wringing another moan out of him.
“I want your cock.”  He blinked through long lashes and bit at his bottom lip,
knowing what that normally did for his lovers.  Spreading his legs invitingly,
he pulled Lothar down for another sloppy, hungry kiss.
Lothar broke away, grasping his jaw with an iron hand.  “This won’t change
anything,” he warned hoarsely.  Khadgar nodded, biting back a sarcastic reply. 
In this moment, he really didn’t care if anything changed or not.  He just
wanted to be fucked.
“Take this off.”  Lothar tugged at his shirt.
Khadgar sat up obediently, pulling his shirt over his head.  He realized
belatedly the shirt couldn’t come off as long as he was shackled.   He glared
at Lothar and raised his wrists elaborately.  “Then take these off.”  He was
surprised when Lothar actually acquiesced, fumbling at the cuffs with the key. 
The chains clattered to the floor and Lothar reached past his head for
something on the bed.  Khadgar scarcely had time to revel in his newfound
freedom before feeling a click on the back of the metal collar circling his
throat.  Realizing what was happening, he sputtered and pushed at Lothar, who
had unceremoniously chained him by the neck to the bed.
Ignoring his protests, Lothar pulled at his pants next, sliding them down and
dropping them on the floor by the cuffs.  He surveyed Khadgar for moment,
plainly admiring the body splayed out before him.  He got a bottle of oil from
the nightstand and uncorked it, beginning to slick the liquid up and down his
own cock.  His eyes were hungry as he watched Khadgar twitch in response. 
“Keep your legs up,” he said, pressing gently against Khadgar’s opening with
his fingertips.  Khadgar reached for him, but was pushed back against the bed. 
“No,” said Lothar, “Don’t move.  Not yet.”  He rubbed the length of his wet
cock across the opening, and Khadgar moaned again.  He was hungry for that
dick, so thick and hard and glistening with precum at the slit. 
“Fuck, Lothar,” he said, biting at his lips earnestly. “Put it in.”
The jerk on the chain caught him by surprise, and he gasped, throat burning as
the collar dug into his neck.  “You want me to fuck you?” Lothar asked, pulling
steadily on the chain as he began to knead at Khadgar’s thighs with his free
hand.  “Tell me.”
“Yes.  Yes.  Fuck me.” Khadgar’s vision was beginning to spark, until the pull
at his throat released and he gasped as Lothar sank inside, so slowly it was a
torment. Khadgar screwed his eyes shut and jerked his hips up to take more. 
His knees were held high, the man moving in and out of his body with long,
steady thrusts.  The cock filled him, completed him, and made him ache for more
all at once.   He cried out with every thrust, turning his face away, suddenly
embarrassed by the intensity of his need.  Lothar began to really fuck him then
and he lost himself in sensations that were almost too much to bear.  His
orgasm came in rolling waves, and his eyes flashed open with bright azure light
as he finished, clinging to the other man as if he were drowning.  Lothar
continued to thrust against him deeply, leaning down to bite his neck below the
collar as he came inside the boy with a groan. 
Panting, Khadgar kissed him hungrily for a moment, hands searching across the
hard muscles as if trying to memorize them. Then the man pulled out, flopping
exhausted on the bed beside him.  “Fuck,” he said, panting.
“Mm.” Khadgar agreed.  He remembered, suddenly, the arcane that had roiled
through his body during climax.  That happened to him sometimes during sex,
when he’d lose control and more primal impulses took over.  His fingers touched
at the collar around his throat, as he wondered how that had happened.  The
collar was supposed to inhibit his connection to the arcane.  In fact, for the
last several days he’d vomited at even the gentlest attempt to grasp the
magical current that hummed beneath his skin. 
Lothar noticed him touching the collar, and shook his head.  “Sorry,” he said,
for once without a hint of mockery. “I don’t trust you.”  He shrugged
apologetically.   
“What, was I going to fuck you to death?” Khadgar rolled his eyes.  “You’re
twice my size.  And I can’t do a damn thing with this collar on and you know
it.”  He spoke lightly, but wondered if Lothar had seen the arcane in his eyes,
if he knew that Khadgar had somehow bypassed the enchantment.
“Not taking any chances.”  Lothar’s voice was flat now, serious.
“The chain was a nice touch,” Khadgar admitted.  His throat burned pleasantly,
and he thought there would be bruises tomorrow.  He searched for words
carefully.  “I didn’t think you were the...romantic...type.”
 “I didn’t think you were a whore,” Lothar countered lightly, “…but you moan
like one.”
“Do I?”  Khadgar smirked, raising one eyebrow.  “I wouldn’t know.”
Lothar felt his hipbone, squeezing it gently.  “Go to sleep, mage.”
“Hey.” Khadgar tapped on the collar.  “Unchain me.”
“Neck or wrists.  Your choice.” Lothar stifled a yawn.
“Nothing’s changed?” he asked, pushing himself up onto his good elbow to stare
at the impassive man.
“No.”
Khadgar nodded and rolled over wordlessly.  He’d wait until Lothar fell asleep,
he decided sourly, then unchain himself.   He added the offense to Lothar’s
growing list of items requiring payback once he was freed.
Drifting lazily towards slumber, he felt a hand stroke once through his hair
and smiled.  Despite what Lothar said, he thought something hadchanged.
---
In the early morning hours, Khadgar woke when he heard Lothar stirring.  The
commander had unchained him from the bed and given him back his clothes.  Once
dressed, he’d replaced the shackles on his wrists and led the boy downstairs. 
They had a quick meal from the innkeeper, biscuits of oat and berries and a
slab of salted pork.  She’d seen his shackles, but hadn’t asked any questions.
The Lion of Azaroth’s reputation clearly extended to Grand Hamlet – the
populace recognized the business of the king and wisely chose to stay out of
it.
Then it was back on the gryphon again, flying south again to destinations
unknown.
Khadgar was certain they were going to Karazhan, to see the Guardian Medivh,
but he was no longer giving Lothar the satisfaction of asking.  He’d burned
with desire again in the morning, had wanted to take Lothar in his mouth and
body and keep him in bed, but moved carefully away from the impulse.  Fucking
his captor had probably been a bad idea, but Khadgar was a champion of risky
ideas and dangerous alternatives. 
There was no harm in it, he decided.  They seemed to mutually understand that
last night was only a release and nothing more.  Leaning into the hard back as
they flew high above the mountainous pass, Khadgar breathed the scent of the
other man and decided he would happily do it again if the opportunity arose. 
***** Remarkably Poor Impulse Control *****
Chapter Summary
     “Lie still. This will hurt like hell,” Medivh warned, “but only for a
     moment. Can you bear it, or should we strap you down?” ...The chapter
     in which things in Karazhan go about as poorly as Khadgar imagined
     they could.
CHAPTER FOUR
Soaring high above the hills and forests, Khadgar tried to appreciate the
beauty of the sunrise.  It truly was breathtaking to watch the morning light
spill over the hills and forests, shifting from murky dawn to brilliant
colors.  Riding the gryphon in the dark had felt safer, because he hadn’t been
able to see precisely how high they were flying.  Now, in the morning light, it
was terribly clear just how far the fall would be.  He gripped Lothar’s leather
jerkin tightly, knuckles turning white from the strain.
Normally, heights weren’t really a concern.  He’d trained with the Kirin Tor in
the floating city of Dalaran from the age of three years old – one of the first
spells initiates learned was a slow fall incantation, allowing the caster to
drift lightly through the air.  That spell was only good for thirty seconds,
though.  Khadgar thought it would probably take significantly longer to fall
from this height.  Besides, he couldn’t access the arcane right now, and that
made the flight a little more nerve-wracking.  The arcane-inhibiting collar
continued to sit snugly around the base of his throat, and Lothar had no
intention of removing it.
He strained to see around Lothar’s shoulders, catching a glimpse of an
alabaster spire rising high into the sky in the distance.  White lines of magic
pulsed from the peak of the spire, burning into the morning sky. Khadgar’s cry
of “Karazhan!” was carried away by the wind as the gryphon hurtled towards the
tower, beginning a sharp descent.
---
The gryphon landed easily, touching down gracefully in the stone courtyard. 
Clambering from the saddle, Khadgar steadied himself against the beast for a
moment, looking around.  The place was deserted.  Derelict, even.  Weeds were
growing between the cobblestones, leaves piling up and swirling in little
rivulets blown by the wind.  He wondered where the guardian was, and why he
allowed the tower to fall into such disarray.  Biting back his questions, he
squared his shoulders and hurried after Lothar, already heading towards a
slender, elderly man waiting by the tower.
The old man turned out to be a mage named Moroes, apparently the only other
soul living in Karazhan other than the Guardian Medivh himself.  The mage had
glanced briefly at the boy, but made no comment regarding his presence or the
chains at his wrists and neck.  Lothar chatted like old friends with Moroes as
they walked briskly through the base of the tower.  Khadgar thought his eyes
must be the size of plates as he tried to drink it all in.  The very atmosphere
of Kharazhan was electrifying, and he could feel the arcane buzzing lightly in
his veins in response.  The mage tower had been constructed on the fortuitous
convergence of ley lines that ran from the stone base all the way to the peak,
culminating in the pulsating arcane light he’d seen on the flight in.
They paused at the center of the tower at the base of a set of stairs, Lothar
sternly instructing Khadgar to stay put and not touch anything.  Instructions
that Khadgar followed obediently, sitting quietly on the stair until precisely
the moment Moroes and Lothar were out of earshot.  Then, he jumped lightly to
his feet and headed towards the door they had passed earlier that he was
certain lead to the library.
---
One moment, Khadgar was buried nose deep in a book, greedily scanning pages on
the fluorescence regulation mechanism of shamanistic healing totems.   “The one
aurotron reduced and pronated analogue of the well-known signaling nitric oxide
node is unique in its composition.  Investigations of healing totems can be
traced back to early studies of-…” The next moment, he was slammed face-first
against a bookshelf, twelve feet in the air, held by a powerful arcane spell
with enough force to push him and several bookshelves backwards towards the
outer wall of the library.    
“Pawing over bodies and pawing through my books, eh?” The voice was gravelly
and well-modulated.  Khadgar could not turn his head to see the speaker, but he
was fairly certain it was the guardian Medivh.   “Have a good look around,
boy?”  The grip tightened frighteningly around his chest and neck, restricting
his ability to breathe.  “Who are you?”
“Khadgar,” he managed, choking against the arcane grip.  “Former Guardian
Novitiate.  Guardian, I renounced my vows.   I was discharged from the Order.”
“You realize that I commune closely with the Kirin Tor, do you not? I’ve never
heard of a boy named…‘Khadgar.’”
Khadgar shot a pleading look towards Lothar, hoping for support.  The difficult
man was staring impassively, with something like a smirk on his face.   Khadgar
squirmed against the grip.  He was fucking tired of being interrogated.  Time
to go on the offensive, he decided. “I began training with the Kirin Tor
fourteen years ago, and yet, you are scarcely middle aged. The position of
guardian is a lifelong commitment.”  His dark eyes flashed.  “I am not
surprised that the Council of Six saw fit to not inform you that your
replacement was being prepared decades early."  This was all true, but it
wasn't the full story.  He hoped it would be enough to satisfy the guardian.
The grip released, dropping him painfully to the stone floor of the library. 
Gritting his teeth, he stared up at the red-robed man in front of him.  The
Guardian Medivh looked to be about the age of Lothar, with long, reddish hair
and a neatly trimmed beard. 
“Interesting theory,” said the Guardian.  “So you wished to have me summoned. 
Why?  How can I be of service, young…‘Trust’?”
Khadgar gave the only response he had.  “Fel.”
“In Azeroth?  That is...unlikely.”
 “I told them you should be the one to explain.”  Khadgar sounded miserable as
he felt, trying not to writhe on the floor.  Fuck, he thought, my tailbone
hurts.  Why is he abusing me?  “I didn’t want to come here, Guardian.  I only
wanted to help.  I sensed something, followed it through Stormwind.  It led
into the barracks, so I sneaked inside and found bodies that had been killed by
something arcane.  There was…corruption.  It came out of the mouth.  I didn’t
have any instruments, but signs were uncanny.  Residual aerosol mucosal
discharge, tinged green.” He swallowed, and glanced and Lothar, remembering. 
“Fine, sudden spray.  Approximately twenty-eight inches into the air. 
Potentially infectious.  It had to be fel.”
Medivh stared at him for several long heartbeats before nodding suddenly.  “You
were right to summon me.”  Changing the conversation with dizzying speed, he
said quietly, “Lothar told me about your arm.  Show me.”
Wordlessly, Khadgar pushed back his sleeve and unwound the bandage placed there
by the priestess only yesterday.  Despite her ministrations, the skin was still
raw and painful from elbow to wrist.  Suddenly defensive, he held the arm
towards Medivh reluctantly, wrist up.  The Guardian passed a hand slowly above
the burn, fingers stretching as he explored the airspace just above the skin. 
One finger pressed down onto the burn, gently at first, then pressing deeply
until Khadgar hissed in pain. 
“This burn has arcane in it,” said the Guardian, not telling Khadgar anything
that he did not already know.  “Whomever eradicated the mark of the Kirin Tor
on your arm intended it to burn for a long time.”
Khadgar nodded.  “Nobody leaves the Order.  I think they were sending a
message.”
“Nobody but you, hm?” Medivh moved away briskly.  “I can cleanse your arm.  It
won’t take long, but it will be painful.  Follow me.”
Exchanging a glance, Lothar and Khadgar followed the Guardian through a hall,
up some flights of stairs, into what may have been a healing ward at some
point.  Before the place was abandoned.   In the center of the room was a table
of smooth, white stone, with no sharp edges.  The closest thing that Khadgar
could compare it to was murky glass, worn smooth by thousands of years of
tumbling in the sea.  Inlaid with intricate bands of stones, some of which
glowed faintly white and others which were opalescent, he thought the table
looked definitely aquatic.  Perhaps it was an artifact from an ancient
underwater civilization.
In response to his questioning glance, Medivh nodded at the table.  “Take off
your clothes and hop on.  The table materials are conducive to arcane healing. 
You want as much skin on the table as possible – including the arm.”
Turning to Lothar for removal of his wrist manacles, Khadgar complied.
“Lie still.  This will hurt like hell,” Medivh warned, “but only for a moment. 
Can you bear it, or should we strap you down?”
“I can bear it.”
“Very well.” The pain was instant and pervasive.  He wondered briefly why in
the hell Medivh’s unweaving of the magic in his arm burned like fire in the
soles of his feet, in his neck and organs and bones, before arching off the
table involuntarily, howling loudly.  Then the Guardian’s hand was on his
chest, forcing him back down, and he seethed through the pain for another long
moment before suddenly, it was gone.  Instead, cold, minty rocks seemed to bury
him like chunks of ice.  His chest struggled to rise, his vision turning a deep
black as if he were sinking to the bottom of a cold, watery tomb.
---
Khadgar came to himself, sounds slowly clarifying around him.  He noticed
instantly that the burning ache in his arm was gone.  For the first time in
months, he was whole.  He lay for a moment, not wanting to move, wanting to
stay one with the soothing sea stone for as long as it would hold him, feeling
almost as if it swayed slightly beneath him in time to an unseen current.
Gradually, he realized that Medivh and Lothar were present and speaking.  He
held himself still for a moment, eavesdropping on their conversation.
“Failing?  That would be very unusual,” said Medivh, sounding uncertain.  “You
still have a captive mage.  It can’t have completely failed.”
“I think so.  I saw the blue in his eyes.  I don’t think he was controlling it,
though.”
“What do you mean? Under what circumstances?”
Lothar seemed to move away as he spoke, his words obscured by a scuffling
noise.
“Stop mumbling.  What are you trying to say?”
“During release, he…it happened.”
“During orgasm.  Really.”  Medivh sounded intrigued.  “Unusual interrogation
tactics, my friend. You witnessed this…firsthand?”
“Damn it, Medivh,” said Lothar. “It happens.” 
Khadgar was mollified to hear that the man had the decency to sound
uncomfortable, at least. He felt a hot flush start at the crown of his hair and
spread down his body.  The last thing in the world that he wanted was for the
Guardian of Azeroth to be intimately informed regarding his sexual activities.
 With apparently the man's best friend, no less. Any pretense of sleep was
gone, but they didn’t seem to notice or care.  Reluctantly opening his eyes, he
found Medivh was looking at him, appraising the smooth, naked body, dusted
lightly with dark hairs. 
“Yes, 'it happens’,” Medivh repeated as his eyes trailed up and down Khadgar’s
body.  “I can see why.”  The Guardian sighed, sounding like a man about to
perform a laborious favor for a profoundly tedious friend.  “Speculation before
observation would be careless.  I should observe the phenomena before
hypothesizing regarding the collar.  Can you recreate the circumstances?”
Both men stared at Medivh.
“The enchantment on the collar may be weakening,” he explained to Lothar.  “If
the boy is indeed the novitiate…his connection to the arcane would be very
taxing to the collar.  It is quite an antique device, and not intended to
restrain future archmages.  But there is another alternative we might
consider…it would be somewhat experimental, of course, as I have not had the
opportunity to…hm.”  Medivh’s voice trailed away in thought as he turned away,
arms tucked into his robes as he paced for a moment.  Muttering under his
breath, he snapped his wrist sharply and conjured a small object that quickly
disappeared into his sleeve before Khadgar could glimpse it.  Turning, he faced
Lothar, spreading his hands questioningly.  “Well?  Can you do it?”
“Here?  Now?” Lothar sounded thoughtful.
Khadgar pushed himself upright, staring at Lothar, his mouth hanging open in
disbelief.  The man, damn him, was actually considering this.
“Why not?  Here’s as good as anywhere.”  Medivh sounded detached.  As if he
were not talking about the living, breathing person lying in front of him.
Eyes flickering nervously between the two men, Khadgar found his heart beating
faster.  Neither were paying him any attention.  Lothar was going to take him. 
Here.  In front of Medivh, the Guardian of Azeroth. The thought buzzed in his
head like a swarm of bees.
“Well.  There’s your answer.”  Medivh nodded pointedly at Khadgar’s growing
erection.   He moved towards Lothar, passing him the small object from his
sleeve wordlessly. 
Lothar held the bottle of oil for a moment, rolling it through tense fingers as
he viewed the young mage on the table before him.  He breathed deeply,
deciding.  Then Lothar’s hands were at his belt, loosening and pulling at his
pants as he approached the table. 
Khadgar felt as though time itself were stopping.  The hands that pulled him
from the stone table were strong but gentle, bending him at the waist over the
sloped edge.   The coldness of the stone seeped into his hips and belly, and he
grasped the far edge with shaking hands.  He could feel the heat radiating from
the other man, hear wet sounds as he prepared himself with the oil.  A finger,
testing his opening, and then another.  Lothar’s free hand moved comfortingly
up and down his side, pausing on Khadgar’s neck as he leaned forward, lips
pressing briefly. 
“Don’t fight.” Lothar whispered into his ear.  Khadgar could feel the tip of
the oiled cock pressing against his opening, pushing inside so slowly. “You
just need to finish.  I’ll be gentle.”
Sudden, red anger washed over Khadgar like a heatwave.  He didn’t want a slow,
intimate coupling in front of Medivh.  He didn’t want it gentle.  He thrust
back viciously with his hips, surprising the other man and crying out as Lothar
responded, plunging inside.  Lothar seemed to sense his need, fucking him hard
and fast, splayed across the table.  Khadgar forgot about the collar, the
table, even Medivh watching silently, the sensations of Lothar’s cock filling
him and taking over his world. 
Lothar had moved one hand to grab a fistful of hair, forcing his head down to
the table, while the other hand rested on his back.  His hips and thighs were
slamming into the stone table, sending delicate sparks of pain across his body
that dragged whimpers and moans out of him with every thrust.  Khadgar’s eyes
were shut tightly, biting at his lips, balancing the thin line between agony
and pleasure.
“None of that.  I need to see your eyes, boy.  Look at me.”  Medivh placed his
hands on both sides of his head, gently turning his face upwards. “You love
being fucked, don’t you?” asked the Guardian, sounding kind, almost fatherly. 
Khadgar’s lips parted as he stared into Medivh’s eyes, mesmerized.  He ached to
see the desire written across Medivh's face, wanting him, watching Lothar's
dick moving in his ass. Suddenly Khadgar found himself wanting, needing a
second cock inside him too.  “Please…” he managed, dark eyes begging upwards as
he groped at the front of Medivh’s robes, trying to find the hardness that
would fill his mouth, complete him.  Medivh actually glanced up at Lothar, as
if looking for permission, then Khadgar’s face was slapped against the table as
Lothar growled, slamming him forward, making him lose the sweaty grip on the
stone.  Blood trickled from his nose, and Medivh rubbed his thumb in it,
swirling a red pattern across his cheek.
A smile twisted Medivh’s face.  “You really are needy, aren’t you?  But Anduin
doesn’t want to share.”  He bent down, staring intensely into Khadgar's flushed
face, gasping as Lothar pushed into him again and again.  “Finish for Lothar. 
Come for him like a whore.” 
Distantly, Khadgar could heard someone whimpering, “Oh, oh, oh, oh.”  He
realized the sound was him, just before a blinding flashing of arcane energy
ripped from his body across the room as he finished, inhibiting collar or no.
Medivh stumbled backwards as the purple and white and azure lights swirled and
sparkled in a dazzling flash that seemed to go on and on.   He’d lit up
Karazhan like a firework. 
Lothar pulled out of his body, his wet cock swinging heavily, unfinished. 
Khadgar slid from the table and slumped on the floor.  He lay on the smooth
paving stones, violently retching in a reaction against the collar’s influence.
“I see what you mean,” said Medivh, breathing a little heavily himself, nodding
to Lothar.  “That’s a problem.”
Ignoring the comment, Lothar picked Khadgar's limp body easily off the floor
and placed him back on the stone table.   “What the hell was that?” he asked,
turning angrily to Medivh as he fastened his pants and belt.
Wiping a trace of vomit from his mouth with his arm, Khadgar focused on forcing
deep breaths in and out of his chest.  He’d wanted the sexual act so much that
he hadn’t stopped to think about why they were asking him to do it.  They’d
wanted him to orgasm, of course, to see if the arcane would push past the
inhibitors of the collar.  This time, the arcane spillage had been much
stronger.  Of course, he thought bitterly, enhanced by the ley lines. 
“A climax, obviously,” said Medivh, beginning to lecture.  “It’s not uncommon
for those with access to the arcane, although it does show remarkably poor
impulse control.”
 “I meant…all that…talking.” Lothar waved his hands disgustedly.
“Oh.  That?” The guardian sounded surprised.  “I was helping.”
“Mind your own fucking business next time,” Lothar all but snarled. 
“Really, Anduin?  Jealousy?” asked Medivh, sounding amused.  "We've certainly
shared before.  Granted, that was a long time ago."  He clapped his hands
together.  “Let’s get on with this.  We don’t have all day.”
Khadgar looked from the Guardian to Lothar.  What were they talking about? 
Medivh moved a hand languidly, and Khadgar found himself bound to the table
with the Guardian’s immovable arcane grip.  Again.  “What are you doing?” he
gasped, straining futilely.
“We’re going to remove the collar.”   Medivh spoke quietly.  Reaching back into
his robes, he produced a small, black cylinder.  “This artifact has been in my
possession for some time,” he said, passing the rod to Lothar for inspection. 
“Passed down from Guardian to Guardian for time untold.  I think you will find
it a much more sophisticated device than the one around your neck.”
The rod might have been metal or stone, Khadgar thought, and inlaid with arcane
symbols that pulsed with soft, bluish light.  It was smooth and polished,
approximately the length of his hand and slimmer than a finger. Lothar turned
it thoughtfully in his hands as Medivh spoke.  “An implant,” Khadgar said
matter-of-factly, staring at the guardian.  “Paramagnetic compound materials?”
he asked. 
Medivh nodded, eyes narrowing as he regarded the boy. “Rhombohedrum structured
crystallites.  The energy resonance mechanism of the imbued crystallites is
biologically compatible.  It’s a highly effective arcane inhibitor.  Once
implanted, you won’t even know it’s there.  None of the unpleasant physical
reactions caused by an external inhibitor.”
 “Please, use the common tongue,” interrupted Lothar, wrinkling his brow.  “Not
everyone speaks mage-babble.”
 Ignoring Lothar for the moment, Khadgar addressed Medivh.  “Why?” he asked,
misery rising in his chest.  “What have I done?”
To his surprise, Medivh actually answered his question. “Stormwind is under
attack.  Villages are burning and the corruption of fel magic is present.  You,
a mage of unknown origin and indeterminate ability, are found conveniently in
the thick of it.  You abused your power to sneak into the royal barracks.” 
Medivh was like stone.  “Have you forgotten that I, too, trained with the Kirin
Tor?  You don’t speak like a novitiate, you don’t behave like a novitiate, and
you know things the Kirin Tor would not have imparted to a novice.  No, young
Trust.  Despite your name, we find it exceptionally difficult to trust you.” 
“I would have been a terrible guardian.  That’s why I left the Order.  I
couldn't be their puppet,” said Khadgar, swallowing.  He realized belatedly
that his phrasing might sound insulting to the current Guardian, who might not
consider himself a puppet.  “I told you, I didn’t want to come here.  I told
them to summon you,” he said, dark eyes pleading along with his words.  “Call
for the Council of Six.  The Kirin Tor would verify...”  His voice trailed
away.  Things had ended badly with the Kirin Tor – when they’d cast him out
after renouncing his vows, they’d told him to never return.  He didn’t honestly
know what the Kirin Tor would verify, or not.  Other than Lothar's jail cell,
Dalaran was the last place on Azeroth that he wanted to be.
“We do not have time to discuss this in a Kirin Tor committee,” said Medivh
patiently.  “Khadgar.”  He rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder.  “It won’t be
forever.  When you have earned Stormwind’s trust, we’ll take the implant out
and restore your abilities.”
“You do not have the right!” Khadgar snapped, a slight hysteria developing in
his tone.  “Where are you going to put that?  And what the hell do you even
know about surgical implants?  Have you ever performed an arcane surgery?  What
if it ends up in an organ or through a muscle?  This tower is filthy, do you
even clean around here?  You have to sterilize-”
Medivh silenced the boy with another languid wave of his hand, Khadgar’s dark
eyes rolling back as his head slumped to the side.
---
“Feisty, isn’t he?” the Guardian’s voice came as if from a long distance. 
“Medivh…”  For the first time, Lothar seemed to hesitate.  “Is it the right
thing…?”
“It’s difficult to say.  Until we can verify his story, I think it’s safer for
everyone,” said Medivh, sounding almost...reverent?  “The raw force behind that
little lightshow a moment ago?  It’s tearing your collar apart like a flimsy
rag.  If he truly was the novitiate, he would have had the potential to become
a legendary guardian.”  A hand moved across Khadgar’s chest, down his waist,
resting on one thigh.  Long fingernails traced gently against his skin and he
would have shuddered, if he could move.  “He’s flawless,” breathed Medivh
quietly.
“Stop stroking him,” snapped Lothar.  “He’s not your pet.”
“No,” agreed Medivh, amused.  “I can see that.  The way he looks at you, he's
already chosen his master…”  He became more serious.  “Anduin, he’s no one’s
pet.  Submission is a treasure.  It cannot be taken, only given.  I do not
place this implant lightly.   Do not abuse this.”
After a pause, Lothar replied. “He’ll come to no harm.  You have my word.”
Seeming to accept this, Medivh replied, “Shall we, then?”  Khadgar heard a
sharp inhale, then low chanting.  Medivh’s spell bathed over him, humming that
resonated deep through his bones, and then suddenly-
Darkness.
---
***** Choose Your Own Adventure, Mage *****
Chapter Summary
     Khadgar is presented with options that don't feel like a choice at
     all.
CHAPTER FIVE
Khadgar woke, not on the stone table, but in a comfortable bed.  His hands ran
curiously along the embroidered edge of the richly-made blanket.  Looking at
the personal effects in the room, he thought that he must be in Medivh’s own
sleeping quarters.  Gradually, he became aware of a tuneless humming sound and
noticed Moroes moving quietly about the room, folding his clothing and stacking
it on the floor beside the soft shoes Queen Taria had procured for him.  
“Awake at last?” asked the old mage, clearly not expecting a reply.    Khadgar
nodded wearily in response, pushing up and sliding his still-bare legs off the
bed.  His wrists were no longer bound, and his hands rushed to his neck
questioningly.  Medivh had kept his word and the collar was gone. 
Moroes’ gaze followed his hands, sharply taking in the ring of bruising around
the smooth skin on Khadgar’s neck.  His mouth was thin and disapproving, and
Khadgar wondered if his displeasure was due to seeing a mage forced into
submission by wearing a collar….or because the collar was gone.  “You’ll want
to get up and dressed, young Trust,” said Moroes, gesturing at the clothing. 
“They’ll be leaving soon.”
Standing, Khadgar moved to the floor-length mirror in the corner of the room.
 He'd avoided mirrors for a while, now.  But today, he had a reason to look.
 Turning from side to side, he stared hard into the glass, looking for
something, anything, to show where the implant had been placed.  There was
nothing.  No burn, or cut, or scar.  He even looked between his toes, at the
bottom of his feet, before staring wildly up at Moroes.  “What did he do?” he
asked, panic rising.  “Where is it?”
“You won’t find a mark, lad, not for that incantation.  The arcane healed it.” 
Moroes regarded him almost gently.  “You sense it, yes?”
“No,” said Khadgar bleakly. “Before, with the collar, I could sense the arcane,
but I couldn’t grasp it.  Now…I feel nothing.”  He shuddered and turned away
before the old man could see him break.  The chains around his wrists and neck
were gone, but he was as much a prisoner as ever.  Khadgar felt the loss like a
chasm at the core of his being.  Empty.  He was dismayed to find hot tracks
running wetly down his cheeks as he hunched forward, dressing quickly.  Moroes
did not respond, and when Khadgar dared look up, he realized the old mage had
left. 
Relieved at the departure, he collapsed on the bed and buried his face into the
soft blankets.  Emotions swept over him in quick succession, seemingly wrung
from somewhere painfully deep inside.  Abandonment, helplessness, rage, dread,
loneliness, and fear crashed over him in waves.  Burying his face in the bed,
Khadgar raged, screaming into the blanket that he stuffed in his mouth with
fists, muffling the raspy, animal sobs that shook him. 
Almost as quickly as it had come over him, the storm had spent itself and he
forced himself to get up from the bed, wiping at his face with a sleeve.  As he
pulled his on his boots, he heard a tread in the hall and was not surprised to
see Lothar at the doorway.   They regarded each other gravely.
Lothar looked him up and down.  “Ready to go?”
Khadgar nodded curtly, not daring to speak.  He thought his voice might quiver
and give him away, if the telltale puffiness of his face or red-rimmed eyes had
not already done so.
“Good,” said Lothar, moving into the room to stand before him.  “We’re heading
back to Stormwind.  Medivh will teleport the three of us.”  The scientific part
of Khadgar’s mind wondered why the Guardian would recklessly perform a fairly
dangerous group-teleportation spell when a simple portal would do, but his face
gave no sign.  
“Not the gryphon?” he asked, curious despite himself.
“She’ll fly back.”  Lother was now so close that he nearly brushed against
Khadgar’s chest. “She knows the way.”  He looked down into the younger man’s
face impassively.   Continuing, he said, “When we get to Stormwind, I’m
offering you a choice.  You can return to the prison and wait there until an
emissary can corroborate your story with the Kirin Tor.”  He paused, evaluating
Khadgar’s face.  “Or you can stay with me.  Where I can keep an eye on you. 
Until you earn our trust.”
Khadgar paused for a long moment, thoughts tumbling like daggers as he met
Lothar’s gaze.  “You want to keep an eye on me?” he asked slowly, considering.
Flashing a deceptively toothy smile, he nearly spat on Lothar, snarling, “You
mean, where you can fuck me?  Either way I get fucked, is that it?  Rotting in
prison or buying my freedom by sucking your cock until the next pretty boy
comes along?”
Lothar shoved his chest, pushing him back into the wall with an arm. “Those are
the terms, spell-chucker,” he said, his voice dangerously low.  “Most fugitives
wouldn’t get the choice.”
“It’s no choice at all,” whispered Khadgar, straining to keep his eyes from
welling up again and cursing his roiling emotions.  “Of course I won’t choose
prison.” 
Lothar nodded and released him.  “First test.  No shackles, but don’t try
running.  Only Medivh can remove the implant and restore your powers.  Besides,
you don’t want to make me come find you.”
Khadgar shrugged in acquiescence.  He didn’t really believe that only Medivh
could take the implant out – if a mage put it in, another mage could take it
out.  Further, in his present frame of mind, he didn’t really care what
promises were made.  He was going to do everything in his power to escape from
the Lion of Azeroth, and damn the consequences.
“In Stormwind, you will stay near me at all times.  You will be regarded as my
associate in the investigation of these attacks.  As necessary, you may be
escorted by a formal guard.  You will be treated well,” Lothar continued, “and
no one need know of the implant unless you choose to make it known.”
...Meaning, 'don’t tell Queen Taria'...'Khadgar interpreted astutely,
...because she did not want to see me in chains.  Literal or arcane.  Blinking,
he asked, “Shall we go?” He was hoping to end the exchange before Lothar
touched on subjects that he really did not want to explore, such as whether he
would truly have to perform sexual acts to earn Lothar’s…trust. 
“Yes.”  Medivh’s voice rang from the doorway, sounding impatient.  “If you
lovebirds are done twittering at each other.”
Refusing to look at the guardian, Khadgar moved stiffly for the hallway.  His
anger had hardened into a deep freeze that chilled him to the core.  He paused,
turning back to Lothar, speaking vehemently.  “I will submit as you’ve asked,
Commander.  But one day, you will face me as an equal and I will not be in
chains.  Think long on that, because on that day you’ll have a rather serious
obligation to repay.”
The effect of his speech was instantly ruined by Medivh’s mocking “mraowr”
sound as he scraped his nails through the air, miming a kitten’s scratch.  “I
think you’ve upset the little Cat-ghar,” he said, smirking at Lothar over
Khadgar’s hostile shoulder.  Ignoring the venomous looks from both men, he
thumped his heavy, black staff on the floor and left them to glare at each
other as he strode briskly down the hall.  “Come on,” he called back to them,
“I’m only porting once.”
Scowling, the pair followed after him, Lothar brushing rudely against Khadgar's
shoulder as he passed by.  The conversation was finished, for now, but the
argument was far from over.
---
***** On the hunt *****
Chapter Summary
     Khadgar decides to make the best of things...
CHAPTER SIX
Sitting on a bench at the edge of Stormwind Keep’s war room, Khadgar remained
silent as the King and Guardian conferred.  His back was straight and his head
was held high as he listened attentively, although from a respectful distance
away.  Internally, he seethed at the futility of his captivity.  Lothar had
promised that he’d be treated as an associate, and he intended to take full
advantage of the situation.  Although the lack of freedom rankled, he knew that
very few half-trained, runaway mage apprentices would have the opportunity to
rub shoulders with kings and guardians and commanders – especially during a
time of war.  This was an excellent career opportunity, if he could find a way
to prove his worth and earn their trust. 
Breaking into his musing, Lothar approached.  Giving no sign of their
tempestuous argument earlier that morning, Khadgar nodded respectfully. 
“They’re almost ready,” said Lothar, referring to the small company that would
shortly depart Stormwind Keep in hopes of taking a prisoner or two.  Khadgar
would accompany the troops, along with the Guardian Medivh and the commander.
Khadgar blinked in the barest acknowledgement, then sighed, spreading his hands
on his knees. “I need a weapon,” he said, biting the corner of his lip. 
“You’ll have me to protect you,” Lothar replied, regarding him with mock
kindness as a tendril of humor worked into his voice.  Khadgar sensed that he
was testing the waters between them, looking for Khadgar’s reaction, wondering
where they stood after the events that had transpired in Karazhan.
Well, Khadgar was having none of it. Let him squirm, he thought.  “Don’t ask me
to ride into battle like an unarmed child, Lothar.”  He stared up at evenly,
keeping his gaze steady and his chin slightly up.  “Give me a sword.  Or a
staff.  Even a dagger.”
“No one is asking you to ride into battle, mage.  You’re just along for
observation.”
“You don’t know that,” Khadgar insisted.  “You said yourself we don’t know
what’s out there.”  
Lothar opened his mouth as if to argue, then abruptly closed it.  “Fine.  Carry
a staff.  If anything happens, though, just try to stay out of the way.  Let
the soldiers do their work.”
Khadgar inclined his head graciously, with the barest hint of sarcasm.  “Thank
you, commander.  I’ll certainly do my best.”
Eyes narrowing, Lothar regarded the insolent mage.  Stiffly, he gestured to a
soldier posted nearby, passing on an order to bring Khadgar a staff from the
garrison’s training gear before striding away.
Khadgar watched his departure with satisfaction.  Round one to Khadgar, he
thought, smiling to himself.
---
Later, as the company clopped through Elwynn forest on horseback, Khadgar felt
his spirits rising.  He felt a little more secure with the weapon strapped
loosely across his back.  The staff was plain but serviceable, crafted from
sturdy hardwood and worn smooth from use.  And although he would not have
admitted it, knowing that Lothar was riding just ahead of him was comforting in
a way.
Without question, Khadgar resented the commander’s heavy-handed directives.  He
hated the chains he’d been forced to wear, and he hated the implant that sat
somewhere under his skin, cutting off his connection to the arcane and leaving
him defenseless.  And yet, he was drawn to the man like a moth to flame.  He
wanted Lothar, and that was the complication.  The trickle of desire he’d felt
when they’d met for the first time had turned into a raging flood that barely
felt under control.  Khadgar was used to being in control of himself, cool as a
cucumber.  The sensation of wanting to lose control, wanting to be dominated by
someone who was a virtual stranger, was new.  And sort of scary.  
Khadgar rather thought the fixation with Lothar might fade as quickly as it had
appeared.  He mused that it probably had to do with capture bonding, a
phenomena he’d read about where prisoners developed inappropriate emotional
bonds with their captors.   But truth be told, Khadgar knew that if he were
given the choice – truly, freely, permitted to decide without coercion or
threats – he would have made the same choice to remain at Lothar’s side rather
than go free.
How curious.  I must be losing my mind.
The company came to an abrupt halt when Lothar raised his fist, startling
Khadgar from his reverie.  Peering ahead, he was sickened like a punch in the
gut by what lay in the clearing.  The remnants of a wagon party, perhaps, or a
trader’s convoy.  Smashed and wrecked, pieces of carts and cargo were strewn
with abandon.  It looked as though the people had attempted to defend
themselves with farm gear – picks, a scythe, a small wood-splitting ax. 
Ignoring the red, bloody streaks in the clearing, Khadgar slipped from his
horse wordlessly.  His attention was drawn to a tree that still smoldered with
glowing, greenish sparks.  Fel magic, he thought, bile rising in his throat. 
“Guardian,” he said, heart sinking as he turned to show the older mage. 
“Look.”
Medivh headed towards the tree, face drawn with concern.  As he moved to
inspect the trunk, the world seemed to explode into a blur of shouts and
action.  Beasts were materializing in the clearing.  Enormous green and brown
beasts, with teeth and tusks, bearing weapons almost larger than Khadgar was. 
Roaring filled the air, weapons crashing against weapons as the Stormwind
troops defended themselves against the onslaught.  He gaped for a moment,
looking wildly to Medivh - for orders, or protection, or something.  Anything. 
To his dismay, the Guardian seemed frozen, staring at the scene immobile. 
Cursing, Khadgar pushed the man down to the ground, forcing him behind the
relative protection of a fallen horse.  He looked for Lothar, unable find him
among the blur of beast and armor.
Suddenly breaking from his trance, Medivh jolted into action. Shaking off
Khadgar’s protective grip, he wove an intricate spell that Khadgar did not
recognize, runes and light springing into the air around him.   His spell was
furious, pulling bolts of green lightning from the beasts, causing them to
seemingly combust into flames.  Many of the beasts fell writhing to the ground,
color draining from their skin and taking on the waxy, melted appearance that
Khadgar recognized from the bodies he had examined in the barracks a few short
days ago.   Their numbers more than halved, the remaining beasts broke suddenly
for the forest, fleeing the onslaught of the Stormwind troops who had yelled in
surprise and triumph when the Guardian’s spell broke.
Feeling the immediate threat was passed, Khadgar turned to the Guaridan, eyes
wide with questions.  “It’s the fel, isn’t it?  What did you do to pull it
from…?” He stopped, staring at the Guardian.
Medivh had fallen to his knees, moaning, one hand clutching his greatstaff and
the other on his chest.  He looked pale and drained.  As Khadgar approached
worriedly, the Guardian clambered to his feet, waving him away.  Impervious to
questioning, Medivh’s lips moved inaudibly as he traced the runes of a
teleportation spell on the ground.    
“Guardian, are you alright?  Where are you going?” Khadgar asked earnestly,
clutching at Medivh’s sleeve.   Had the mage burned through his mana?  Was he
unwell? “You shouldn’t teleport when you’re this weakened.”  He regretted the
words immediately, but Medivh only spared him a distracted glance. 
“I must return to Karazhan.  Immediately,” said the Guardian, breath wheezing
from his chest.  “Stay with Lothar.  Help him.”  He paused for a moment,
regarding Khadgar with something like respect.  “You did well today.”  Then he
vanished, teleporting with a flash of azure light.
Khadgar blinked, looking around at the clearing.  Medivh thought he had done
well?  He hadn’t done anything at all.  Belatedly he realized that he hadn’t
even unslung the staff from his back.  Faced with the massive beasts, the
formerly solid staff now felt like a tiny twig.  He ruefully supposed it would
not have mattered if he had tried to use it during the attack, but pulled it
from his back anyway.  The smooth wood under his hand was calming, and he
straightened as Lothar approached on horseback.   
“Where’s the Guardian?” Lothar snapped, sounding strained.
“Gone.  Karazhan.”
The commander cursed under his breath.  “We’re going after them.  We need
prisoners.  Where’s your mount?”
“Uh…they took my horse.” Khadgar was mortified, finding himself flushing
suddenly before Lothar’s withering look.
“Really?” Lothar grunted in disgust.  “Stay here.”  Wheeling his horse, he
shouted orders, directing soldiers into the forest in pursuit of the fleeing
beasts.  Khadgar watched for a moment as they galloped away, thinking that
Lothar’s contempt was unfair.  He wasn’t the only one to lose a mount.  He’d
noted that the beasts had taken or killed several horses, including Medivh’s. 
He was beginning to shake a little from the encounter, now that the adrenaline
was wearing off.  To make himself useful, Khadgar moved unsteadily towards the
body of one of the beasts where it lay beside a fallen log.  The bright green
light that had flowed from the dying beasts to the Guardian replayed again in
his mind.  That was fel magic,he thought, unsettled.  I’d bet my staff on it.
 If I had a staff.  Well, I have a staff, but it's not worth anything.  What in
the world did Medivh do?
---
After attending to the wounded, the soldiers who remained behind worked
somberly to prepare the bodies of their fallen comrades for the journey back to
Stormwind.  The bodies and weapons of the beasts they had moved less carefully
into piles near Khadgar’s log where he worked on the edge of the clearing. 
Giving him a wide berth, the soldiers observed his efforts but did not
interrupt his examination of the bodies.  He was grateful for the space, but
thought sourly that this was doing nothing for his reputation as an admirer of
the dead.
He knelt by a beast’s large head, carefully examining the corpse for any signs
of fel contamination. Fingers worked deftly to remove some of the gear, wanting
to study the beast’s skin.  He found nothing, even after pulling the massive
jaw down carefully to probe inside the mouth, pushing at the still-warm tongue
and feeling along the teeth and tusks. 
With a sigh, Khadgar finally gave up and settled against the log, resting his
staff beside him.  Perhaps it wasn’t the fel that he’d seen coursing between
the Guardian and the beasts, after all.  The afternoon was growing long, and he
was weary from the skirmish.  Letting his eyelids close for a moment, he
listened to the quiet sounds of movement in the clearing.  Men, speaking
softly.  Gear clanking gently as soldiers moved about.  Wind whispering through
the leafy trees.  Insects humming, and…nothing.  Too quiet. No bird chatter?   
Suddenly wary, Khadgar scrambled to his feet, staff in hand.  He rose with
typical, impeccable Khadgar timing to crash into the attacker that had
materialized before him, leaping over the log.  Tangled, they fell to the
ground, the beast snarling as she clawed at his throat from behind.  Khadgar
cursed and threw himself backwards, trying to smash her face with his head. 
They tumbled together for a moment, scrabbling furiously, until Khadgar found
himself on top, body thrown across her shoulders, pinning his staff against her
throat as he shouted for the soldiers. “Over here!”  He was surprised to find
that she was nearly as small as he was – tiny, by beast standards.
Hands pulled him off the beast, others holding her fast as she snarled and
thrashed impotently.  She was quickly trussed and led to the center of the
clearing.    Khadgar followed, grinning sheepishly as the soldiers thumped his
chest and shoulders approvingly.  They figured she’d been going for the pile of
weapons.  She probably hadn’t considered him a threat – smaller than the
others, without armor or a proper weapon.  That had been a mistake.
Observing her from across the clearing, Khadgar knew that he had simply gotten
lucky to have come out on top.  She was strong and lithe, and her intelligent
brown eyes never rested, flickering around the camp like a trapped creature.
She was feral, she was beautiful.  Unlike the other beasts, she looked
uncannily human.  Seeing the chains at her throat and wrists, he wondered if
she was a slave.  His chest tightened with sympathy, having recently been
chained himself. 
Ignoring the two soldiers stationed on either side of the prisoner, he pulled a
canteen of water from a horse’s pack and approached her calmly.  Standing
before her, Khadgar spilled a little water from the canteen into his hand, then
drank from the canteen to show her it was safe.  Pulling the neck of his shirt
down slightly, he touched lightly at the bruises on his neck, then at the
chafing around his wrists.  Her eyes followed his hands, but he wasn’t sure if
she understood.  He moved to hand her the canteen, freezing as she snarled,
baring her very sharp teeth and tusks.
“It’s just water,” he said trying to calm himself more than communicate with
her.  “Are you thirsty?” She reached forward suddenly, chains clattering as she
snatched the canteen and greedily downed the contents.  She dropped the empty
vessel on the ground, making him jump at the sudden motion.  He grinned at her
disarmingly and reclaimed the canteen.  One of the soldiers was Callan, he
noticed -- Lothar's son.  He smiled briefly in recognition, then turned his
attention back to the beast.
“My name is Khadgar,” he said, touching his chest.  “Khadgar.”  He moved
slowly, cautiously, placing his hand lightly on her arm.  “What is your name?” 
She pulled away and he braced for the worst, but she was no longer looking at
him. Her attention was fixed on the edge of the clearing.  Lothar and his
soldiers were returning, horses trotting tiredly.  A massive, full-size beast
was unconscious, slung across a horse that trailed behind the commander. 
“We got one, too!” Khadgar called cheerily.
“The mage did, actually,” corrected one of the lieutenants.  “Took it all
himself.”
“Really,” Lothar commented, almost sounding impressed as he swung down from his
mount and handed the reins to Khadgar.  He looked at the beast and back at
Khadgar, snorting. “Looks like the runt of the litter.”   
Khadgar stared for a moment, torn between laughter and outrage.  "You're
impossible."
Lothar looked at him strangely, then tousled his hair before he could duck
away. "Well done," said the man, flashing him a rare, genuine smile before
turning back to the lieutenant.
Stalking away with a straight back, Khadgar led Lothar's horse to the shady
edge of the clearing, complex emotions roiling in his chest once again.  His
back safely to the commander, he allowed the smile to grow across his face
until he was grinning like an idiot. Impossible, irritating, captivating man.
---
***** Claws and Chains *****
Chapter Summary
     Libraries and picnics, getting naked with Garona and pissing Callan
     off, oh my!
CHAPTER SEVEN
Bone weary, Khadgar leaned against the door and let his pack slip to the
floor.   It was nice to have servants, he thought, looking at the neatly made
room and cozy fire cracking low in the hearth.  Perks of rooming with the
commander of Stormwind’s army.  Lothar was still debriefing in the war room. 
It had been a long day.  Khadgar had stayed with him patiently, during the ride
back to the keep, escorting the orc prisoner to King Llane, waiting while he
received reports and issued orders.  Lothar had finally noticed Khadgar's
drooping head, and sent him away.
Kicking off his shoes, he considered the bed for a moment.  No, he decided.He
was not ready to share another bed with Lothar.  Fuck that shit. Paradoxically,
he wanted to be near Lothar, but a slow anger still burned in his chest when he
thought of the implant somewhere in his body.   Instead, he pulled the bed
apart, finding a light blanket under the covers and dragging it to the padded
chair by the hearth. 
Now, it was time to see what was inside the book he had…borrowed…from
Karazhan.  He’d been entranced by the Guardian’s impressive library, of course,
filled with hundreds upon hundreds of books and scrolls and even artifacts. 
He’d had a pretty good look around, before Medivh had started interrogating
him, making a mental list of all the books he’d love to read and would never
get the chance.  He had touched them reverently, running his fingers along the
spines and feeling a pang of regret that when he turned his back on the Kirin
Tor, he’d walked away from access to all that knowledge and power. 
The book in his hands hadn’t come from the library, though.  This one he’d
snagged from the Guardian’s personal sleeping area.  He’d noticed it right
away, piled in the middle of a stack on Medivh’s desk, even as distraught as
he’d been over the implant.  A smallish book, it was bound in dark, worn
leather.  Most mages guarded their spell books jealously, but he’d held a few
and knew one when he saw it.  His own was somewhere in the possession of
Stormwind’s finest, another offense that he added to Lothar’s growing list.  In
a moment of impulsive recklessness, he’d snagged the book on his way out the
door after Medivh had ended his ugly argument with Lothar.  Neither man had
been paying him much attention, and it hadn’t been difficult to stuff the book
under his shirt without them noticing.
He’d never stolen anything before, even when he was wandering penniless and
hungry after his discharge from the Order of the Kirin Tor.  This new life of
crime didn’t really bother him, though.  Lothar and Medivh had treated him like
a criminal since the moment he’d met them, and he didn’t feel a tiny bit bad
about living up to their expectations. Now I'm a liar AND a thief, he
thought. What's next?
Curling up in the blanket, happy as a bug in a cocoon, he eagerly opened the
book.  Disappointed, he could tell at once that this was not a spell book.  It
was hand-written though, pages covered with runes and illustrations.  He wasn’t
terribly familiar with runology, but thought he recognized some of the glyphs. 
Flipping through the pages, something caught his eye and sent a cold shiver
across his skin. 
The illustration showed a horde of warrior beasts, hundreds upon hundreds,
pouring through a massive stone portal.  Beasts not so different than those
they’d fought today.  When Garona, the half-orc prisoner that he’d helped to
capture, had been interrogated by the King, she’d said that her people came to
Azeroth through a hole in the ground.  The “Great Gate,” she’d called it. 
Something that fed on humans, a magic gate, bringing the orcs into Azeroth to
take the world.  
Suddenly less tired, he reached for the writing tools in his pack and began to
write.
---
Sometime later, he woke with a start.  The fire had burned low in the hearth,
coals glowing a dull orange.  The door shut with a click, and he realized that
Lothar was moving quietly around the room, preparing for sleep. Lothar paused,
looking at the ransacked bed, then noticed Khadgar sprawled in the chair.  He’d
forgotten, Khagar realized with a pang.  They gazed at each other for a long
moment before Khadgar readjusted his blanket and curled toward the fire.  He
shut his eyes deliberately and sunk deeper into the chair.   Lothar made no
comment, and Khadgar listened to him add a log to the fire and eventually climb
into bed.  It took every bit of Kahdgar’s considerable willpower to not give in
and crawl into bed next to him. 
Letting his eyelashes part a fraction, he watched Lothar sleeping for a long
time.
---
In the morning, still half asleep, he dreamed that Lothar kissed his temple
softly, a thumb brushing across his cheek.  When he opened his eyes, though,
the room was empty.  Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he saw the message Lothar
had scrawled across one of his note pages.  “Bookworm,” it read, “Grand Hamlet
was attacked; riding with Llane.  Your guard is outside.  Stay out of trouble. 
PS: You’ll like the library.  It’s in the west wing.” It was signed with an
indecipherable flourish that must have stood for ‘Anduin Lothar.’
A strange pain grew in Khadgar's chest, a sort of vulnerability that threatened
to shatter open the one thing of his that nobody had ever had.  Don’t forget
that you’re a prisoner, damnit, he thought angrily.  You don’t have the luxury
of feelings.  Especially not for him. The pain welling inside his chest was
anger, he told himself, probably anger.  Rage, maybe, or even fury.  Yes.  That
must be it. 
Pushing out of the chair, he decided to make the best of his day without Lothar
by exploring the keep.  Maybe he would go to the library after all.  He left
the commander’s quarters with more confidence than he felt, and was surprised
to recognize the guard stationed to accompany him. 
“Callan!” he greeted the young soldier warmly, pleased to see a familiar face. 
“How did you get mage-sitting duties?”
Callan returned his greeting with a serious nod and shrugged, embarrassed. 
“Got a scratch in the skirmish yesterday.  Lieutenant thought I’d best sit out
for a day.”  He had a small bandage fixed on his forehead, but didn’t seem
worse for the wear.  “Have you had breakfast?  We can get something from the
kitchens.”
“Breakfast?  No.”  Khadgar answered his question with a distracted flick of his
hand.  “Let’s go to the library.”
“Now?”
“I’m a mage,” said Khadgar, his eyes glinting with humor.  “We feed on
knowledge.”
Bemused, Callan shrugged again and lead the way. 
The Stormwind library was less than impressive compared to the massive
collection at Karazhan, but was still quite adequate.  The place was deserted,
and Khadgar had his run of it.  The cataloging system was a little different
from the one he was used to in Dalaran, but he found a dusty little librarian
who seemed very surprised to have early morning patrons.  She explained where
to find what he was looking for – books on demonology, rune lore, history, and
ancient artifacts. 
He didn’t have particularly high hopes that Stormwind’s library would be able
to help him unravel any of the problems that worried him.  The library was too
general, and his problems were too specific.  What he really wanted was
information on paramagnetic implants, on fel magic, and a runology translation
guide.  Nevertheless, he hoped to find something useful.  Poor Callan leaned
patiently against the wall for hours as he managed to lose himself in the
books.
One thing seemed to lead to another, until he was buried in a strange little
book called “Hedgecrossers”, describing the different attempts that various
schools of magic had made to journey between worlds – the underworld,
otherworld, astral travel.  He was vaguely trying to find information on great
gates, portals between worlds.  The book was interesting, but not very
helpful.  Khadgar realized that Callan had cleared his throat, again, and was
probably trying to catch his attention.  He looked at the soldier, raising his
eyebrows questioningly.
The soft brown eyes, so at odds with his armor and sword, pleaded with him. 
“Eaten enough books yet?” asked Callan.  “We mortals that require real food and
drink are hungry.”
“Oh.” Khadgar snapped the book shut.  “Ok.”  He looked for the librarian, and
found she had been replaced with another.  How long have we been in here?He
wondered.  Taking his stack of books to the front desk, Khadgar gave the worker
a charming smile and asked her to send the books to the commander's chamber. 
Callan was a quick walker, and Khadgar had to hurry to keep up. “Slow down,” he
called, as the young soldier turned a corner.  “It’s not dignified to rush.”
The effect of his words was somewhat ruined when he rounded the corner and
smashed directly into Callan’s back, frozen in the middle of the hall. Wincing,
Khadgar peeked around the soldier to see what had halted his stride – it Queen
Taria approaching, trailed by a guard, her handmaiden, and…Garona? 
He was surprised.  If his own treatment was any kind of typical, he would have
expected Garona to be moldering in the dungeons, wrapped in chains.  Instead,
she looked clean and presentable, dressed in new human clothing. Gone were the
orcish chains that had bound her, and they had not been replaced.  The
unfairness of this arrangement was not lost on him, but he couldn’t protest
without giving away to Queen Taria that he was still actually a captive.
“Sergeant Callan!” Queen Taria’s voice was as musical as he had remembered. 
 “And young Khadgar.”She seemed pleased to see him, and he ducked his head
bashfully.  He was suddenly uncomfortable, acutely aware that he’d recently
bedded the man that was both her brother and Callan’s father. Twice. Deciding
that is was probably best to not open his mouth at all this morning, he nodded
graciously at the queen.
“Your Majesty.” Callen bowed slightly. 
“I’m so pleased to see you spending time with our guest, Callan.  Are you
showing Khadgar around the keep?”
“We’re going to breakfast, actually,” said Callan, not correcting her
impression of their relationship. 
Her laugh was so beautiful, Khadgar thought.  She was an enchanting woman. 
“But that’s where we’re headed,” she said.  “It’s nearly time for lunch!”
“Mages feed on books, apparently,” said Callan, smiling at his aunt.  “Khadgar
was reading his way through the library.”
“Good,” she said thoughtfully.  “Khadgar, would you like to join Garona?  I was
going to have Sergeant Donnelly pack her a picnic and show her the grounds. 
Some of the gardens are blooming beautifully right now.”
He nodded mutely.  Callan nudged his shoulder. “Er, yes, your majesty,” Khadgar
said, finding his tongue.  He looked at Garona, not sure how she felt about the
role he had played in her capture.  He couldn’t read her expression, but she
did not seem hostile. 
“Garona?  Is that agreeable?  Wonderful.” Queen Taria reached out, touching his
wrist lightly.  “Lothar said you did very well yesterday.  We appreciate your
assistance.”  She searched his face.  “I hope you will remain our guest for a
while until things settle down.”
“Thank you for your kindness.  Commander Lothar asked me to stay and assist in
the investigation, so I’ll be here for a while.”  Glancing at Callan, he
amended, “Candidly, Your Majesty, he ordered it.  But I’m happy be helpful.”
“Yes, that sounds like Anduin,” she replied with a knowing smile.  “Always in
charge of everything.”  With another gracious nod, she swept down the hall with
her handmaiden, leaving the four new companions staring at each other in uneasy
silence. 
---
By the time they’d gathered provisions from the kitchen and headed outside,
Khadgar was willing to acknowledge that he was starving.  Callan lead him and
Garona through the gardens to a quiet area by a small stream, Donnelley
bringing up the rear in their awkward parade.  Sitting on the ground, he and
Garona broke bread and ate together while the two soldiers watched closely
nearby. 
He was insatiably curious about Garona, and quickly learned that she was
equally interested in his world.  Hesitatingly at first, then with increasing
confidence, they asked each other questions.  Khadgar learned that as he had
suspected, Garona was indeed a slave; she was a half-breed orc who had been
kept captive by Guldan, the warlock who lead the horde.  She'd learned the
human language quickly, listening to and conversing with the captives that must
have numbered into the hundreds.  He questioned her about the ‘Great Gate’,
about orc family life, about other races in her world, and everything in
between.  She asked him about Azeroth, what beasts there were to hunt and what
wars there were, about oceans and forests and political structures.  He found
her straightforward and quick to grasp new concepts and words.  He liked her.
“Why did you show me this?” She leaned over, lightly touching the marks that
had been left on his neck by the collar. 
He thought for a moment, looking at the chafing around his wrists from wearing
manacles.  They were almost healed, but not quite. His throat was already
looking better.  “Because I am a prisoner, too.” 
“You?  You captured me.” She was surprised.
“It’s true.” Khadgar laughed freely.  “What, did you think I was a warrior?”
“No.” Garona’s response was far too quick and decisive, and he laughed again. 
“What did you think?” he asked, curiously.
“You are Lothar’s mate,” she replied confidently.  “You travel with warband.”
“I beg your pardon?” Now it was Khadgar’s turn to gape in astonishment.
“You are not mate?” she looked as though she did not believe him.
“Um.  No.  Well, I mean. We laid together, but...I just met him.  Plus, I’m his
prisoner.”  He wasn’t sure how much of this she was grasping.  How in the hell
had she come to that conclusion…?
“Why prisoner?” Garona had a way of getting right to the point.
He struggled for a moment with how to explain the concept of being the Guardian
Novitiate and renouncing his vows.  Finally, he settled on simplifying things.
“I broke some laws.  They think I’m dangerous.”
“You do not look dangerous,” she said, showing her teeth in a smile.  “Orc
child could kill you.”
“I caught you, didn’t I?” he smiled crookedly, and she did not argue with
that.  “I am a mage,” he told her seriously.  “I fight with magic, not
weapons.”
“Like warlock?” Garona looked confused. 
“No, not like a warlock.”  Khadgar gathered several small leaves as he spoke,
placing them in an organized checker pattern.  “Mages use order.  Warlocks, on
the other hand, use chaos.”  He crumbled the leaves destructively.  “Order. 
Chaos.”  He demonstrated again, watching her bright eyes and knowing that she
had grasped the concept.
“You not use magic to capture me.”
“I couldn’t,” he said softly, looking away, feeling the familiar stab in his
chest that struck whenever he remembered the empty chasm where his access to
the arcane used to be. “I am…in chains.  Inside my body.”
“Magic chains?”
“Kind of.” With sudden inspiration, Khadgar snagged a stick from the river and
snapped it down to roughly resemble the implant, the length of his palm and
thinner than his smallest finger. “Like this,” he said, holding the stick in
front of her.  “But metal.  Inside my body.  Somewhere.  I can’t do magic.”
She took the stick, considering what he had said.  “Why you not take it out?”
she asked with a sudden snarl that made him lean back in alarm. Garona was so
intense, he thought, she was like a tightly wound spring that was ready to pop
off at any moment.  Why was she so angry?
“I don’t know where it is.” He shrugged, pushing his shirtsleeves back to
examine his wrists and arms.  “They healed it with magic.  I cannot find a
scar.”
“Not chains.  Not slave.  I will help you.” She snatched his wrist, strong
fingers probing.  “I will find it.  Then we tear it out!”
“No, Garona!” Khadgar snatched his wrist back, looking at her thoughtfully. 
“You can find it?”
She shrugged.  “Yes.”
He looked up at Callan and Donnelly, watching their conversation from a nearby
knoll.  If she could help him find the implant, he might be able to have it
surgically removed without Lothar or Medivh finding out.  Then, it would be a
simple thing to slip away into the night.  He had no idea where he would go,
but at least he wouldn’t be a prisoner. It wasn’t a good plan, but it was the
only one he had.  He shoved down the voice that protested the thought of
leaving Lothar.  That fucking man is complicating his life, he thought
angrily.  I don’t need this kind of complication.
“Fuck.  Fucking hell.  Alright.  Let’s do it.”  Khadgar began unlacing his
shirt.  When he had fully removed his clothing, standing bare before Garona, he
felt incredibly vulnerable.  Childlike, almost, in front of her strength and
intensity.  He felt as though she could snap his neck with her bare hands, if
she chose. 
“Lie down,” she said, pointing to the ground.  Khadgar moved quickly to the
dirt, lying on his belly and letting his arms rest loosely at his sides.  He
turned his head so he could nonchalantly keep an eye on the two soldiers on the
knoll, who had definitely noticed the turn of events. 
Garona squatted beside him on her heels, leaning closely over his back, her
nose pressing lightly against his skin as she inhaled.  He tried not to flinch
as she pressed deeply with her fingers, probing the muscles of his neck,
shoulders, back.  She spared no area – moving slowly, carefully, along every
inch of his body.  He was suddenly very conscious of the fact that he hadn’t
really washed after the long day yesterday, thinking that he must smell awful. 
She didn’t seem to care.
“Do I smell bad?” he couldn’t help but ask.  Masochist, he thought,that’s what
I am.
“Very.”  He could hear the humor in her voice, and relaxed.
He was suddenly curious to smell her, too.  He wondered if she might let him
explore her body in the same way later, feeling over her orcish muscles and
bones.  Purely scientific, of course,he thought.
“Over.”  Garona tugged on his leg and shoulder, rolling him onto his back.  Her
probing might be leaving bruises, he realized, hissing in pain as she
manipulated his chest and stomach. 
“You are soft,” she remarked without malice.  “How can you survive with such
weak bones?” 
“You don’t look so different from us humans,” he countered.  “How do you
survive?”
“Broken bones heal stronger,” she said, pausing for a moment.  “Mine are very
strong.”
They shared a long moment of silence as she worked.  Khadgar dreaded the
thought of what she must have gone through as a half-breed slave, so fragile in
comparison to the full-breed orcs despite her will and strength.  She was very
strong indeed, in more ways than one.
Khadgar yelped suddenly, “GARONA!  It is NOT in there!” She had reached his
genitals, and was methodically moving with the same deep pressure with which
she had explored elsewhere.
“It might be.”
“It is NOT.  Skip that part.”  Callan and Donnelly were definitely on high
alert.  They couldn’t have known what Khadgar and Garona were really doing, but
part of Khadgar died a little inside as he thought of the latest addition to
his already poor reputation among the soldiers of Stormwind.  Fortunately, they
didn’t move to intervene – perhaps their orders hadn’t said anything about
preventing the prisoners from fucking.  It certainly must have looked like some
bizarre form of foreplay, he thought.
Garona froze, face planted on his right forearm.  She breathed deeply, as if
confirming. “Here.” She squeezed the meaty part of his forearm, then dragged
one claw across a short span.  “Right here.”
Khadgar pushed himself up to sitting, his heart thumping.  “How do you know?”
“I can…smell it.”  Garona seemed to be struggling for words.  He thought that
she probably meant, “sense it”, but didn’t know the words.  She was certainly
using more of her senses than just smell.
“Can you show me exactly where?  How deep?”  He couldn’t keep the excitement,
the hope from his voice.
“Deep.  By the bones.  Here, and here.”  She jabbed him again with her claw. 
“I tear it out?”
“No!  Thank you.  Not yet.” He examined the arm.  Anatomy was not one of his
fields of expertise, nor was first aid, but he knew there were a lot of
important veins in the forearms.  If he let Garona tear into his arm with her
not-very-clean claws, he’d be likely to bleed out before they could drag him
back to the keep.  If they even cared enough to do so.  “Too many veins,” he
told Garona, showing her the bluish tracks along his arm.
She leaned back and nodded.  Grasping his arm firmly with one hand, she told
him, “Be still.”  Then, she dragged one of her claws along the place she had
pointed to, this time breaking the skin and drawing blood.  He held deathly
still, not knowing what she intended, but trusting her anyway.  She moved
slowly and precisely, causing a line of blood to well up and bead along his
arm.
“Marked,” she said, satisfied with her work.  “Now you know where.  Now you
will tear it out.  When safe.”
Holding the arm close to his body, he stared at her with admiration.  She was
decisive, and strong, and completely unafraid.  He leaned forward, impulsively,
and gave her a light kiss on her cheek.  “Thank you, Garona.”
She flinched away, pulling a face at his affectionate gesture.  “Don’t.”
A heavy hand gripped his shoulder, and he looked into the frowning face of
Donnelley, clouded with disapproval.  “That’s enough, mage,” said the soldier. 
“Let’s go.”
He and Garona shared a secret glance, then climbed to their feet.
---
Back at the keep, the four parted ways.  Khadgar sincerely hoped he would see
Garona again.  Despite the fact that they were both prisoners, or perhaps
because of it, he felt a stronger connection of companionship with her than
with anyone else.  Even Lothar.  The commander was a very fine, sexy piece of
ass, but Garona felt like a friend.  And that was something he desperately
needed.
Callan had studiously avoided eye contact with him on the walk back through the
gardens.  Outside of Lothar’s quarters, though, he pushed Khadgar’s shoulder
roughly, glaring down into his face.  “What the hell is wrong with you?  Do you
have to grope everything and everyone, living or dead?”
Dying a little inside at the pretense he was keeping up, Khadgar decided to
encourage Callan’s misunderstanding of the events by the stream.  “Why do you
care?” he asked rudely, refusing to back down.  “Jealous that she didn’t do you
first?”  She hadn’t really done anything, but still.  He had a reputation to
maintain.
Callan responded by opening the door to his father’s room and
shoving Khadgar unceremoniously inside, shaking his head.  “You are
disgusting.  I can’t even…” Breaking off, unable to finish his thought, the
young soldier slammed the door.
Khadgar staggered, catching his balance inside the room, bemused by the young
soldier's strong reaction.  Well then, he thought, echoing unconsciously the
way he’d heard Lothar say it.  Moving back to his perch on the chair, he curled
up with his writing instruments and the stolen book. 
He regretted antagonizing the boy, but he wasn’t here to make friends, after
all.  He had work to do.
---
***** Deadwind Pass, As Dead As My Heart *****
Chapter Summary
     I had a thorn in my ankle one time. About half an inch long, it was
     in there for months. I was a child, so I didn't say anything to my
     parents. One day, I bumped it accidentally, and it broke out in a
     wash of pain and blood. It was horrible. But it was time for the
     thorn to go.
     That's basically this chapter. Lothar bumps the thorn festering in
     Khadgar's heart, and it all comes out. Icky.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When Lothar returned from his long expedition to Grand Hamlet, this time
Khadgar was at the desk studiously poring over the stack of books that he’d
brought back from the library.  Although they weren’t as specific as he’d
hoped, he was still searching for bits and pieces of information that might
lend something to his research.  He’d heard some raised voices outside the
door, realizing uncomfortably that Lothar and his son, Callan, were arguing. 
Inching closer to the door to eavesdrop, Khadgar realized the argument was
definitely about him.  Callan was on full blast, but he couldn’t hear what
Lothar was saying.  He heard, “can’t keep his hands off the dead,”  “trying to
fuck that orc,” and “you could have anyone, why do you have bed that depraved
mage” before he’d had enough.  Panicked, suddenly, he didn’t want to be trapped
in Lothar’s chamber.  There had to be another way out, he thought, looking
desperately around the room.  There were two other smaller rooms connected to
the chamber, but no other doors.  Ah, the window. 
Khadgar yanked the window open and leaned outside, disappointed to see that it
led to a sheer wall and there was no way down.  The sounds outside the door had
faded.  Presumably the argument had been taken elsewhere.  He rested the side
of his head against the window frame, feeling the cool evening air tickle
across his face.  Fuck. Fucking hell.  He couldn’t blame Callan, really.  He
didn’t like misleading them, but it was important that Lothar not realize he
was trying to find the implant.  And didn’t everyone clearly understand by now
that he was a mage, investigating the arcane, not pawing after corpses?
By the time Lothar returned significantly later, he had composed himself and
was nestled in the chair again, trying to learn runeology by brute force.  It
really was an uncomfortable chair, he thought.  What an unfortunate place to
have chosen to draw the battle lines.  Lothar stood behind him, resting his
hands on the back of the chair.  Khadgar craned his neck around to look up at
Lothar, who was wet and clean, hair still dripping from visiting the washroom. 
“You found the library.” Lothar's tone was neutral.
“I did.  Callan took me.  It’s nice.  What happened in Grand Hamlet?”
Lothar shook his head.  “Another attack.  The village burned, the people taken
for Light knows what.”  He seemed drained.
“To ‘feed the gate,’” Khadgar replied softly, echoing Garona’s words.
“Tomorrow we’re scouting the Black Morass,” said Lothar.  “Garona’s coming with
us.”
“Good.  I like her.”
“So I’ve heard.” Lothar did not sound amused.
“I heard you arguing,” said Khadgar, embarrassed.  “Callan…misunderstands me.” 
He searched Lothar’s face.  “She was curious.  I was too.  Nothing happened.”
 Lothar was staring back at him with the strangest look.  “She said I smelled
bad,” he added truthfully, trying to add more substance to his story. 
With a sigh, Lothar began preparing himself for sleep.  “Sleep in the bed
tonight,” he ordered.  “We have a long journey tomorrow and beyond.  I need you
rested.”
No fucking way, thought Khadgar, not happening.  “Goodnight, Commander,” he
said, adjusting his blanket, trying to end the conversation.  He wanted to pull
Lothar down on the floor right there by the fire and kiss him silly, but
something held him back.  He was too damn stubborn; once he’d made up his mind
to do something, or not, that was that. 
“Bed.  Now.”
Khadgar sat rigidly in the chair, glowering at the commander.  “You can't just
order me around.  I am not your soldier.”
“No, you’re not,” said Lothar evenly.  “You’re my captive.  Shall I carry you
to bed?”
Weighing his options, Khadgar finally stood with a huff and gathered his
dignity.  Chin up, channeling Queen Taria’s regal stride, he moved gracefully
towards the bed.  Shoving the covers over to Lothar’s side while the commander
watched bemusedly, he wrapped himself in the blanket and lay facing the edge. 
They would technically be in the same bed, but they would be in separate
territories as far as he was concerned.  Separate territories with no trade
agreements in place.  Hostile even.  Yes, that was the plan.  When Lothar
finally joined him, he tensed, bracing.  Would Lothar want him to...?
A brief kiss at his temple, beard brushing his cheek, then Lothar was rolling
away and facing his own edge of the bed.
“Goodnight, mage.”
He did not trust himself to reply.
---
Of course Khadgar brought something to read along the way to the Black Morass. 
His horse was one of those stupid ones that just followed the horse in front of
it, which was a complete advantage when you wanted to read and not watch the
trail.  The scouting party consisted of himself, Garona, the commander, and two
lieutenants – a man named Karos, and Varis, who he remembered from prison. 
When he wasn’t reading, he coaxed his horse to walk next to Garona’s so they
could talk softly.  Lothar, he tried to ignore. 
He was tired and sore by the time they broke for camp, grateful to climb off
his horse and stretch.  Lothar had given him the first watch, whatever that
meant.  He’d dutifully stared into the growing darkness while the others worked
together to make the camp, straining to focus on….nothing.  Absolutely
nothing.   When Karos relieved him of the watch, Khadgar plopped his bedroll by
Garona’s, daring anyone to comment.
Heads close together, they whispered and laughed quietly, sharing stories and
lying near each other in easy companionship.  Gradually, Khadgar became aware
that Lothar was watching them with a look on his face that did not bode well. 
Tossing his hair, such as it were, Khadgar asked Garona jokingly, “What do you
think he’s staring at?”  His voice was just a little too loud for the camp.
Garona deadpanned, “He wishes to lie with me.”  A casual observer might think
she was serious, but Khadgar saw the lines at the corners of her eyes that were
a dead giveaway.  She had a wicked sense of humor, but didn’t know enough words
to communicate it very well.
Choking back laughter, Khadgar rested his head on the blanket and waited for
Lothar’s reaction.
The commander was wrinkling his brow, frowning sternly.  “Excuse me?”
“You would be injured.” Garona was grinning now, showing both teeth and tusks. 
“I do not wish to lie with you,” Lothar protested.  This was the most flustered
Khadgar had ever seen him, and he was enjoying the man’s discomposure. 
“Good.  You would not be an effective mate.”
There were titters now from everyone in the scouting party.  Everyone except
Lothar, that is.  A storm was growing behind those icy blue eyes.  He stood
abruptly, jerking his head towards Khadgar.  “Mage.  A word, if you please.”
Khadgar scrambled to his feet, shooting Garona a nervous glance before
following the commander down the path into the darkness.  They walked for a few
minutes in silence, until they were a good distance from the camp and out of
earshot.  Khadgar’s eyes adjusted slowly to the dim light from the waxing moon,
not quite yet full. 
Suddenly, Lothar stopped and grabbed him, slamming his shoulders against a tree
trunk.  Lothar’s mouth met his forcefully, grabbing a handful of hair as his
tongue filled Khadgar's mouth.  Khadgar stared at him, wide-eyed, not
resisting, but not participating.  Hands searched his body, kneading and
pulling aggressively at his shoulders and ribcage and thighs.  He managed to
get his hands up, pushing at Lothar’s chest and breaking off the kiss.    
“Stop!” he said, panting. 
Lothar’s hand tightened in his hair, pulling his head up and back into the
moonlight.  Khadgar had a momentary flashback to the prison cell where he’d
done the same thing, and shivered.  His groin was beginning to harden, stirred
by the closeness of Lothar and the rough handling.  Not now, not now, he begged
himself.  Damn it all.
“Is that what you told her?  Not an effective mate?” Lothar banged him against
the tree again, hand moving down to feel between his legs, bending down to bite
and kiss and his throat.  “That’s not what you said in Karazhan.  You took it
like a slut.”
“Fuck you, Lothar.”  The venom in his own voice surprised Khadgar.  “Fuck you
to hell.”
Lothar seemed surprised, too, continuing to feel his body, albeit more slowly,
unsure if Khadgar was reciprocating or not.  When Khadgar continued to stand
rigidly, arms hanging limply by his sides, he stepped back.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.
Khadgar thought he should choke Lothar, the man was so stupid. What’s wrong? 
Is he seriously asking me that? “Why am I in chains,” he finally spat, “and she
is not?”
Lothar blinked.  “You’re not in chains.”
“You idiot.” Khadgar was so angry that he was forgetting how to speak, his
throat choking up.  “I might as well be.”
“It won’t be-” Lothar began, but Khadgar cut him off.
“Won’t be forever.  I know.”  Khadgar was horrified to find himself crying,
silently.  Tears just slipping down his face like a leaky fountain. 
“Just…don’t touch me.”
Lothar raised his open hands in defense.  “You wanted me,” he said, speaking
low and intense.  He almost sounded hurt.  “Both times.  You wanted it.” 
Nodding at Khadgar’s pants, he said quietly, “You want it now.”
“I am not your toy,” Khadgar said, the unspoken hurt finally breaking out into
raw, bitter words.  “You speak of trust?  Did you ever think that I’m here,
trusting you with everything that I am, hoping that you don’t hurt me and you
give me back my freedom?  Do I deserve that?  I’m a person, but you treat me
like a slave.”  He forced himself to meet Lothar’s eyes, placing his words as
carefully as if he were inserting tiny daggers into the man’s chest. “What am I
to you?  What is it that you think of me?  Just another willing hole desperate
to fuck the Lion of Azeroth? No, Lothar.  I’m not that kind of girl.” 
Damnit! Khadgar knew he was losing it. “Not that kind of person,” he corrected
lamely.  
Khadgar felt as though he were splintering into a million tiny little pieces
right before Lothar, but he could not stop the shattering once it began.   “I
would do almost anything for you,” he whispered, “if you would just be kind to
me.”
Lothar moved closer to stand in front of him.  It was probably a trick of the
moonlight, but Khadgar thought for a moment that his eyes were glistening, too.
“I’m sorry,” he began, reaching for Khadgar's face.  “I never meant to-”
 Khadgar slapped his hand away, pulling himself to his full height.  Which
still didn’t bring him close to Lothar’s height, but the force of his anger
seemed to stop Lothar in his tracks even if he wasn’t a physical threat.  
“If you touch me again, I swear to you.  By the Wells of Eternity and the
arcane that flows within my veins - I will stand before you one day a free
man.”  Khadgar spoke recklessly, distantly aware that he was about to threaten
the commander of the Stormwind army.  The brother of the queen.  Another bad
idea, Khadgar,his inner monologue chastised.  Ever since he’d fled the Kirin
Tor, he’d stopped listening to that wise voice more and more often. “If you
touch me again,” he finished grimly, eyes never leaving Lothar’s, “I will kill
you.” He meant it.
He felt like another person was living through him, speaking the words and
shoving Lothar aside with a strength he did not know he had.  The other person
walked back to camp and did not look back.  The person wordlessly lay by the
fire, ignoring Garona’s probing stare, ignoring the commander when he
returned. 
The other person would have to feel it all, he decided, all the helplessness
and anger and pain. 
Because he wasn’t going to feel anything, ever again.
***** When Pawns Become Players, Sometimes They Learn The Hard Way *****
Chapter Summary
     Here we get into the smutty sexual violence, sub/dom, S&M stuff.
     Khadgar needs a distraction, and Medivh offers the perfect
     opportunity.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
CHAPTER NINE
Khadgar’s exhaustion weighed heavily on him during the ride back through Elywnn
Forest.   He, Garona, and Karos had been riding hard for Stormwind with urgent
news.  Day faded into night, and everything was beginning to feel like a bad
dream, blurring together in his mind.  The orcish army, seething around a stone
gate in the Black Morass like insects bubbling around a corpse.  A massive orc
hand clamped over his mouth, wondering if Garona was negotiating his freedom or
hers.  Lothar, riding away without a backward look.  Human prisoners, caged
like beasts, to be fuel for the fel. 
Upon reaching the city gates, Karos had immediately called for a fresh horse,
telling the guards, “Get them to Stormwind.  Quietly.  Lothar’s orders.”  He’d
ridden away, spurring his mount to a dead run.  The king and commander needed
to know what Garona had relayed to them; that an orc chieftain, Durotan, wanted
to meet with King Llane to parlay.  To stop the fel, and stop the invasion.  
The guards looked skeptical, but did not question Karos’ authority.  They
called for a small wagon, Garona clambering in and helping to boost the tired
mage.  They headed for the keep at a brisk clip, one soldier riding ahead and
another behind. Khadgar sagged wearily against Garona, leaning his head into
her dark, curly hair.  She smelled good, he thought.  Earthy and musky, sort of
like a grassy field on a hot day, mixed with leather.  Despite the bumping of
the cart, he drifted into sleep for a few, fleeting moments, only waking when
they jolted to a halt in front of the keep. 
Then the pair parted ways, Garona being escorted to her quarters in the keep
and he to Lothar’s.
---
Lothar’s room was empty, as Khadgar knew it would be.  Changing into a light
sleeping shirt, he padded softly to the window, finding it open to the cool
night air and resting his face against the frame.   Moonlight dappled serenely
across the white stone buildings surrounding the keep.  The peaceful scene was
at odds with the chaos that had been his world for the last several days, and
he felt some of the tension seeping out from him.
Khadgar’s ear caught the sound of a quiet, fluttering sound from the room
behind him.  Something was there.  Wings? He wondered improbably.  Whirling, he
reflexively called for the arcane, raising his hands uselessly to weave a
defensive spell, the words dying in his mouth like ashes as he remembered yet
again that he was blocked from his magic.  A black, feathery shadow stepped
forward, putting Khadgar’s stomach somewhere by his knees until he recognized
the Guardian Medivh in his raven’s cloak.     
“Guardian!” he choked, slumping against the wall in relief.  “Fucking hell.” 
“My apologies, Khadgar,” said Medivh.  He sounded amused.  “I didn’t know you
would be in here.” 
Shit. Khadgar instantly thought of the book lying brazenly on Lothar’s desk –
the one he’d swiped from Medivh’s own bedroom.  Instinctively, he knew that he
did not want to explain that to the Guardian. 
A breeze wafted through the open window and he shivered, from more than just
the night air.  Hoping to draw Medivh’s attention away from the desk, he
settled into the bed and tried to project wide-eyed innocence.  “What are you
doing here?” he asked, exhaustion pruning his speech of niceties. “Did he send
you to talk to me?”
 “Who, Lothar?” Medivh was puzzled at first, then nodded as he connected the
dots.  “Ah. Did the lovers have a falling out?”
“I don’t recall falling in,” said Khadgar. 
 “King Llane sent an emissary to the Kirin Tor to substantiate your claims,”
said the Guardian, changing the subject abruptly.  “We expect to hear from them
soon.”  Khadgar’s heart sank, which was silly, because he had known that
eventually his past would catch up to him.  Somehow, he’d hoped for more time. 
He nodded.
“If there is anything that you neglected to mention, young Trust, now would be
the time.”  Medivh waited expectantly, as if his solemn declaration would
actually cause Khadgar to spill his secrets on the floor.  Instead, Khadgar
nodded again with equal solemnity. 
“Good,” he said, without much feeling behind it.  He stared at his hands for a
moment, playing out the scenarios in his mind.  The story the Kirin Tor would
present would be significantly different from his own.  He had tried to avoid
direct lies, but there were some big omissions in the story he had shared with
Lothar and Medivh.  Perhaps unforgivable omissions.  King Llane might have him
tossed back in prison, or worse, turn him back over to the Kirin Tor.  I need a
healing potion, he mused. A big one. The implant in his arm had to go, even if
he had to have Garona tear it out with her teeth.  The bleeding would be bad,
but with a large enough healing potion he should be able to manage.
The Guardian removed his feather-covered cloak and sat gracefully the edge of
the bed.  Khadgar was suddenly aware of his bare legs, remembering the hand
that had stroked across his body while he lay helpless on the stone healing
table.  “He’s flawless,” the Guardian had said.  Inexplicably, Khadgar was
repelled by the thought that Medivh found him attractive, despite the fact that
he had tried to suck the man’s cock just days earlier.  It had been an action
of need, he knew, not one of attraction.  Nevertheless, he was willing to
exploit the possibility if it meant distracting the Guardian from the stolen
book exposed on the desk.  Resisting the urge to cover himself with the
blanket, he instead sat up cross-legged, allowing his nightshirt to hike up a
little and show the barest hint of thigh.
“Have you thought about what you’ll do once this is all settled?” Medivh asked
him.
Rot in a Kirin Tor prison until I die or they breed me with someone more docile
to pass on my arcane abilities to a more compliant novitiate? He shook his
head.  “Not really.”
“Moroes has been after me to get him some help in the library.” The Guardian’s
voice was neutral.  “You’ve seen it – it’s a mess.  The poor old man can barely
keep after it all.  You could study in your spare time.  Not that he’d give you
much of that,” chuckled Medivh.  “Would you be interested?  In living with me
in Karazhan?  I can see that you are an earnest student.”  The Guardian looked
around the room at Khadgar’s notes and piles of books.
Khadgar ran a hand through his dark hair, swallowing nervously.  There was no
way to respond, and yet he must.  “I was hoping I could stay here for a
while.” 
“With Lothar?”
Oh, hell.  Why not? “I suppose,” he replied, trying to sound genuine.  He was
still considering throwing Lothar out of the window whenever he returned, but
he would enjoy feeling the commander's hard body in the process.  It was
complicated.
“Oh, dear.”  Medivh was smiling at him gently.  “Lothar is an interesting man,
isn’t he?  We grew up together from boyhood.  He always did have...healthy
appetites.  Although,” he said with a touch of admiration, “I’ve never seen him
bed anyone quite like you.”  The Guardian rested a hand just above Khadar’s
bare knee.  “I completely understand how you feel.  But you wouldn’t want to
make a serious decision based upon a passing fancy.”
The words struck Khadgar strangely.  While it felt as though Medivh had reached
into his heart with an icy hand and squeezed, which was probably the intention,
he found that he didn’t quite believe the man.  Truth be told, he didn’t trust
the Guardian. 
What he had spoken to Medivh days earlier during the brief interrogation in
Karazhan had been true, at least partially.  It was unusual for the Kirin Tor
to begin training another guardian novitiate when the one they had was early in
his prime.  He knew firsthand that the powerful mages of the Order did not
fully trust Medivh, which is why they’d been training Khadgar.  They’d even
been planning to send him to Karazhan to act as an ersatz apprentice while
fulfilling other nefarious duties according to their schemes.  That was
partially what had driven him away from the Order – he didn’t want to be a
pawn.  He wanted to be a player.
“Do you normally bed females?” he asked on sudden impulse, and had the
satisfaction of seeing Medivh gape momentarily.
“Each of the sexes is enchanting in its own way,” replied the Guardian faintly
with raised eyebrows, which was not really an answer, but Khadgar let it drop. 
It was none of his business anyway, but he wondered how it would have played
into the Kirin Tor’s plans if the Guardian had not been interested in his
attentions -- if Khadgar had cooperated with their schemes.  Surely they would
have considered that. 
“I don’t think the Kirin Tor would welcome me back,” he said, studiously
ignoring the hand on his thigh.  “They wouldn’t want me to work for you.”
“The position of Guardian is not the puppet you seem to think it is, my boy.  I
exercise great discretion in my own affairs.  If you want to stay at Karazhan,
the Order will not interfere.”  Medivh was confident, but Khadgar highly
doubted that was true.
“You don’t know,” he said, allowing the disbelief to creep into his voice. 
“They despise me, now.”
“I surmised that when I saw the brand had been melted from your arm,” said
Medivh, smiling.  His thumb was beginning to rub in slow circles on Khadgar’s
thigh.  “And I also glimpsed something else.  What happened on that table was
only a mere shadow of your abilities.  You have great potential, Khadgar. 
There are many things that I could teach you.” 
Khadgar felt sick to his stomach.  This was getting out of hand.  He sighed
deeply.  “Guardian,” he began. 
“Please, Trust.  Call me Medivh.”  The Guardian’s blue-green eyes were raking
over his body, as he leaned in slowly.  “I believe there was something you
wanted from me the other day?  Something you were begging for.”
Well, that was true.  Sort of.  Khadgar licked his lips nervously.  “Lothar
doesn’t want to share,” he said quietly, hoping Medivh would remember his own
words. 
“Lothar doesn’t need to know.”  Reaching forward, he put a hand behind
Khadgar’s neck, pulling his head down towards his lap.  “If you want something,
Khadgar, you have to reach out and take it.”
Internally, Khadgar struggled mightily with conflicting desires.  Keep him away
from the desk!  Don’t betray Lothar.  Hmmmm, but what would it be like to fuck
the Guardian of Azeroth?  Don’t let him see the book.  You don’t owe Lothar
anything.  But Medivh is just using you.  And this is what the Kirin Tor wanted
all along!  Be your own person, Khadgar.  Don’t let him see your research.
“Are you mad?  This is his bedroom.”  Khadgar tried one last defense, looking
up at the Guardian.  “He could come in at any moment.”
“Lothar,” the Guardian said languidly, sliding his hand under Khadgar’s
nightshirt, “is in the throne room, deliberating with the king and will
continue to do so for some time.  Besides, he is not your master.  Not like I
would be.”
Oh, my.  Khadgar had a weakness for sexual submission, and his last resolve
melted at the thought of being taken by a man as powerful as Medivh.  Fuck. 
OK.  Why not. Slipping from the bed, he knelt between Medivh’s legs.  “Show
me,” he whispered, feeling the desire growing.  “Be my master.” 
The Guardian seemed surprised, but not displeased.  Khadgar suspected that
Medivh had just bitten off more than he could chew, but there was only one way
to find out.
Recovering, Medivh commanded, “Take your clothes off.  Let me look at you.”
Khadgar slipped from his nightshirt, letting it drop to the floor while he
looked up at Medivh.  His chest was beginning to rise and fall more quickly,
and he knew that his body was responding below to the anticipation. 
“Put your ass up.”
He did so willingly, feeling the cold air hitting his intimate parts, now on
display for the man.  A slick finger touched his opening, probing, then sliding
inside.  “Ah,” said Medivh, sounding disappointed.  “I thought you might still
be wet from Lothar.  He really is insatiable.  You must truly have had a
falling out, if he can resist all this.”  Khadgar burned in humiliation as the
hands cupped his ass.  It’s none of his fucking business, he thought angrily.
  Damn it, Medivh, don’t ruin it by talking about Lothar.
“You want it, don’t you?”  Medivh had a way of speaking to him that was so
casual, it was obscene.  “So willing and ready.  But you haven’t earned that
yet, my pet.”  The finger pulled out, flicking hard against his sensitive
balls. 
“Yes, Master,” he prompted, groaning at the tingle of pain that ran up his
body. 
“On your knees.  I want you to take my cock in your mouth, all the way in.” 
Khadgar moved obediently.  Medivh seemed to be catching on quickly; he’d expect
no less from the Guardian of Azeroth.  “Start sucking,” he said quietly, “and
don’t stop until I tell you to.”
Bending forward, Khadgar paused.  “We should probably have a safe word,” he
said apologetically.  “If it’s too much, I’ll say…‘gryphons.’”
Medivh paused for a moment, brow wrinkling, and Khadgar thought that the older
man truly hadn’t done anything like this before.  Khadgar was probably going to
have to direct from below, which he didn’t mind.  Recovering, the man nodded
before saying darkly, “You won’t be able to say anything with my cock in your
mouth.”
The sharp crack across his face caught Khadgar off guard, and he whimpered. 
That’s a good start, he thought.  Cheek stinging from the blow, he reached
slowly into the man’s robes, loosening them and probing curiously with his
face.  Medivh hadn’t given him permission to use his hands, after all. 
Finding what he desired, he began worshipping the cock, licking to lubricate
the shaft before taking it in his mouth, as deeply as he could.  Gagging, he
stared up at Medivh through long, dark lashes and shuddered when the other man
responded to his tongue and lips and throat.   Seeing that Medivh would give
him no relief, he began to suck as instructed, bobbing his head lightly and
enjoying the sensation of being filled to capacity. 
Minutes passed as he worked on his knees, eyes watering as his jaw began to
ache, throat burning even as he moaned onto the cock.  Medivh kept a running
commentary of dirty talk that Khadgar thoroughly enjoyed, telling him, “My
pretty slut, suck it like it’s inside of you, you can’t get enough can you, you
little whore,”and other such nonsense that drove him wild.  One of his hands
crept to his own erection, wondering what Medivh would do if he touched
himself.
The answer came in the form of another slap on his face, followed by a second
and a third, knocking his mouth away from its work and making him cry out.  The
blows were not especially hard, but they stung and he felt his cheek swelling. 
Medivh could see what the pain was doing for the younger man’s erection, and he
smiled thinly.  “There just nothing you don’t like, is there?”
“Yes, Master.” Panting, Khadgar grinned at him.  Seeing the look on Medivh’s
face, he revised his statement to, “Er, no, Master.”
“On the bed,” he ordered without humor.  “On your belly.”  Khadgar complied,
hearing Medivh moving to the other room and rustling around for a minute before
returning with Lothar’s belt.  A pretty sizable belt, actually.  He swallowed. 
Oh, shit.
“I think you need to learn a little more respect, my pet.”  He traced the belt
lightly across Khadgar’s thighs.  “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, Master,” he whispered into the bed.  Pain exploded across his body,
sending white lighting up and down his skin.  Motherfucking hell, he howled
internally, burying his face into the blankets so the sound wouldn’t actually
come out.  Medivh had laid a solid blow right across his cheeks, fortunately in
the part with the most padding.  It felt so good that Khadgar writhed briefly
before regaining composure.
“What was that you said?” asked Medivh graciously. 
“Yes, Master!  I’m very disrespectful.” He was much louder this time.
“Indeed.” The man bent close to his ear for a moment.  “You’re not thinking
of…gryphons….are you?”
Khadgar shook his head mutely.  He wasn’t there yet, but if Medivh kept using
the belt like that, he might be soon.  For now, the blows on his face and body
had begun to throb deliciously, echoing the throb in his groin.  There was
pain, yes, but was a sort of cleansing sensation and he reveled in it.
Now Medivh was feeling along the backs of his thighs, reaching between his
legs, squeezing.  “When did I say you could touch yourself?”
“You didn’t, Master.”
“That’s right.  You’re here to pleasure my cock.  Not fuck yourself.”  The belt
came down again and again, blows lighter than the first had been but ranging
more broadly across his sensitive skin.  At about the seventh blow, Khadgar
lost count.  He was crying now from the pain, shaking, and he wondered if he
had finally found his limit.   He lifted his head, almost ready to cry out,
when Medivh pulled back.  Hands moved at his shoulder and thigh, helping him to
roll over onto his back.  Dazed, he lay passive for a moment.  The strap was
dragging across his chest, down his torso and across his thighs, and he was
beginning to panic.  No, he thought, I can't take it.  Not there, it's too
much.  It would be harder without the blanket to stuff in his mouth.
Medivh seemed to be sizing him up, before snapping the belt across the soft
belly just above his hips.  Khadgar arched off the bed, howling this time.  "I
can't, I can't," he cried, breath ragged.  The pain was truly exquisite, but he
couldn't bring himself to say 'gryphons', not yet.  Medivh placed a comforting
hand on his forehead, fingers combing through the dark, sweaty hair.
"You can take it," he encouraged, holding Khadgar's gaze with his own.  "You're
doing fine.  Three more, my Trust.  Count with me."  Khadgar nodded, willing
himself not to curl away as the belt slashed down across his chest. 
"One."  Medivh was calm, Khadgar was shaking.
"Two."  This time, the belt had crossed his upper thighs.  
The third blow landed squarely across his hips and groin, and he was completely
undone.  His vision was sparking, and he felt as though he might suffocate from
the pain.  Throbbing red seemed to have filled his vision temporarily, and he
surrendered into it.  This was the release he had needed and begged for.
 Medivh let him lie, stroking his hair soothingly until he caught his breath
again, nodding in affirmation.  He was OK, despite the tears that were tracking
down his face.
“I think you’ll remember that rule now, won’t you?” asked the Guardian, almost
kindly.  Sniveling, Khadgar could not reply.  His cock still ached, and he was
beginning to doubt that Medivh would let him finish.  How cruel. 
“Now.  Get back on your knees.” Medivh stepped back, tossing the belt on the
bed.  “Finish it.”
Obediently, subdued, he took the erection into his mouth again, lips red and
puffy as he sucked diligently.  The Guardian watched his face intensely, and
Khadgar knew that he was probably talking again but he couldn’t seem to focus
on the words.  He could only focus on the hard cock that was filling him,
trying to please the man with pressure from his tongue, sucking and swirling
around the sensitive tip.  He could tell the mage was getting close, beginning
to thrust back into his mouth as he sucked.  Then a deep, throbbing sensation
was resonating through his body, seeming to emanate from the Guardian and
vibrating through his bones.  Arcane.  But like nothing he'd ever felt before,
something hot and ashy and causing his body to twitch with desire even as his
bones ached from pain deep inside.  He tried to look up and see Medivh's face,
to see if the man's eyes were shining blue, but the grip on the back of his
head was relentless, focusing him of the task at hand.  When Medivh’s hot cum
splashed in his mouth, he choked in a way that he was sure was un-sexy, feeling
it running down his chin as he gagged on the salty taste.  Another weakness, he
thought distractedly.  I can’t take a load to save my life.  Then his own
orgasm spilled out, and he cried out, falling onto the man for support as his
body shuddered. 
After a moment, Medivh searched his face.  “Are you alright?”
Khagar nodded weakly, fully exhausted now, and let the Guardian pull him up to
the bed.  He was more than alright.  He thought he might be dying, he felt so
good. Medivh lounged beside him, lightly stroking across his body with his
fingertips, leaning forward to gently blow air on the areas that were reddest. 
“That was lovely, my dear,” said Medivh.  “I’m glad you were willing.”
“First time?” asked Khadgar, smiling up at him impishly.  “For that, I mean.”
He nodded at the belt.
“Yes, actually,” Medivh replied easily.  “That could become habitual.”
“I know.  You were really good," he replied honestly.  What the hell was that
climax, though?  Khadgar found it curious how he could share his body
intimately with another person, but not feel comfortable enough to ask a
question.  He just didn't know Medivh well enough to ask about his sexual
idiosyncrasies.  The sensation had been disturbing.      
“What in the world are you going to tell Anduin about all these marks?”
Medivh asked, gently touching at Khadgar’s face.
Fuck.  Khadgar had almost forgotten about Lothar.  Had forgotten about him,
actually.  “Who cares?” he said with a nonchalance that he didn’t feel.  He’d
also forgotten about the whole purpose of this mission, which was to distract
Medivh from his research.  He wondered if the Guardian would fall asleep…no,
and risk Lothar coming in on them?  That wouldn’t do.  Maybe he could hide the
book on his way to the washroom. 
As the plan formed in his mind, the Guardian was already standing and pulling
himself back together, reaching for his raven cloak.  “I’d better go check with
the war room.  They’ll have been waiting for me.”
Khadgar had the decency to feel appalled.  The man had delayed attending an
important meeting so he could rut?  Unbelievable.  …although, that did sound
like something Khadgar might do, if the rut involved the right people. 
Certainly if it involved a Lion of Azeroth. 
Seeing the look on his face, Medivh laughed.  “They’re probably just arguing
uselessly over the same points, anyway.  You’ll find that the guardian is
always on the brink of saving the world.  Sometimes he just has to take a
moment for himself.”
Nervous now, Khadgar sat up on the bed.  If only Medivh would leave quickly,
not looking around.  “Let me show you out, then,” he said, moving smoothly
towards the door and hoping that the view would distract the mage again.
 Medivh followed him, pausing as they reached the door.
“Oh, and Khadgar?”
“Yes?” 
“I’d like my book back, please.”
Oh, shit. Shamefacedly, he felt himself reddening.  Oh, fuck. Wordlessly, he
pulled the small book from the desk and handed it to the mage.  The Guardian’s
face was stone, now, eyes boring into Khadgar’s face.
“What did you think you were doing, anyway?  Meddling in my affairs?”  His
voice was low and dangerous. 
“I was…helping, Guardian.  Researching the fel.  I borrowed your book because…”
his voice trialed away weakly, the lie dying on his lips.  He’d stolen the
book, no two ways about it.
In one hot burst, the room erupted in flames.  Or rather, his research did. 
Every sketch, every scribble, all of his laborious notes vanished into thin
air.  Medivh’s spell burnt so hot and so quickly that no ashes were left
behind.  Khadgar was impressed, even as his heart was sinking. 
“Do not presume that I need your help, boy. You are not the guardian.  Not
yet.”  The Guardian’s anger was terrible to behold, and Khadgar cringed despite
himself, feeling incredibly vulnerable to be naked and helpless without the
arcane.  Medivh leaned in close, his voice a menacing whisper.  “You could not
comprehend the forces with which I contend.”
Khadgar could only manage a nod, and then the room was empty, door banging shut
in his face.  He sagged with relief.  Well, that had been an exercise in
futility.  Khadgar thought that Medivh had probably seen the book right away,
and just played along to see how far he would go. 
Well, apparently he’d go pretty fucking far. 
Embarrassed, but not regretful, he began straightening the room – fixing the
bed, putting the belt away.  He’d needed some form of release, and Medivh would
do just as well as another.  No, Khadgar was not one for regrets.  His
research, now, that was a loss.  And studying with Medivh in Karazhan, well,
that was probably off the table -- if it had ever been a genuine offer.  But
why had Medivh burned everything?  Why had he been so angry?  That book must
have been terribly private.  Naturally, by destroying his research, the
Guardian had only made Khadgar more determined than ever to investigate.
As Khadgar slipped back into his nightshirt and climbed into the bed, his last
coherent thoughts were trying to unravel the knotted string that wound between
Medivh, the fel, and the Great Gate.  He was certain that Medivh was hiding
something, and he was resolved to find out what. 
Chapter End Notes
     I have noooo idea where this came from. It wasn't part of the
     outline, honestly!
***** A Mage Unhinged *****
Chapter Summary
     Battle at Blackrock Spire. Khadgar makes a painful decision that will
     cost him, but he thinks will be worth the price.
CHAPTER TEN
Khadgar woke before Lothar did, finding himself snuggled into the broad, bare
back.  The fire had gone out and the room was cold, so he rationalized that it
only made sense to seek the other man’s body heat.  Still, he wanted to pull
away before the other man could wake.  Impulsively, he brushed his lips across
Lothar’s neck. 
“Good morning, Commander,” he whispered.
“I’d kiss you back,” said Lothar warily, causing Khadgar to jump like a
startled cat, “but I think you promised to kill me.”
“I did,” Khadgar acknowledged, shrugging.  “I meant it.” 
“Then why are you rubbing up on me?” Lothar huffed in frustration. “You are
unhinged, boy.”
Khadgar searched momentarily for the right words.  “When I said that, I was
angry.  You scared me,” he said at last, speaking softly. "I didn't know why
you dragged me into the woods, what you were going to do to me."  He tried to
keep the bitterness from his voice, and mostly succeeded.  “Seeing Garona, an
orc, go free, while I grovel for your trust…Believe it or not, I have
feelings.  It’s hard to be at the mercy of another.”
“Garona is a half-breed slave who fled from the orcs.  You are a half-trained
mage powerful enough to worry the Guardian of Azeroth.  I believe you can
appreciate the difference.” Lothar lifted his hand towards Khadgar’s face, then
stopped, hovering awkwardly in the air.   “I will respect your wishes,” he said
stiffly, lowering his hand.  “You are not an object.  I am sorry if I made you
feel used.”
Well, that was surprising.  Pushing down the inexplicable pain blossoming in
his chest at Lothar’s words, Khadgar decided to accept the apology at face
value.  He formally extended his hand to Lothar.  “Truce?”
Lothar clasped the proffered hand.  “Truce.  We need to get ready to ride.” 
Standing, Lothar pulled open the curtains, letting the early morning light into
the room.  Then he really saw Khadgar for the first time, taking in his
swollen, puffy face.  “Holy balls of fire.  What happened?”
“Are we riding to Blackrock Spire?” Khadgar asked as he stretched on the bed. 
He did not answer the commander’s question.  “To parley with the orc
chieftain?”
Undeterred, Lothar strode across the room and lifted the hem of Khadgar’s
nightshirt, mouth tightening at the welts across his chest and thighs.  “Who
did this?”
“I fell down,” Khadgar lied, blinking prettily. 
“Gryphonshit.  Somebody beat you.  That’s a belt mark on your chest.”
“Of course it is.  I fell down in your closet.  Lots of belts in there.”  He
wasn’t going to tell the truth, and they both knew it.  “It was consensual,” he
added, studying the suddenly fascinating hem of the blanket.  “I needed it.” 
The intimacy of his statement was making him uncomfortable, and he wanted to
take back the words as soon as he uttered them.
Lothar took a deep breath.  Perhaps he was counting to ten.  Khadgar hadn’t
been certain how Lothar would react to learning that he’d had another lover,
let alone one who had brazenly claimed him by marking his body.  He thought the
commander was taking it rather well.  “Well,” said Lothar, after a long pause. 
“I’m sure you deserved it.”
Rolling his eyes but letting the jab go, Khadgar changed the course of
discussion to a slightly more comfortable topic. “I saw the Guardian yesterday
on his way to the war room.  He told me King Llane sent an emissary to the
Kirin Tor.”
Lothar nodded affirmation.
“If…if you are satisfied by the report, and I’m free to go, however unlikely
that may be…”  He spoke haltingly, then stopped.  Why even bother? He knew in
his bones that the response from the emissary would not be favorable.
“What?”
“Do you think I could stay here in Stormwind for a while?  I’m sure I could be
useful somewhere.”  Hope was fluttering in his chest, battering like a tiny
moth against the great odds. 
“Of course.”  Lothar spoke without hesitation.  “You are welcome in our keep,
for the time being. Taria wishes it.  I think she wants to mother you.”  Lothar
stood, reaching for his clothing.  He eyed the mage again.  “For example,
you’re filthy.  Did you even wash after yesterday’s travel?”
Khadgar suppressed a giggle.  “No.”  He had splashed water on his face once
Medivh had left, but he hadn’t felt like dragging himself to the washroom. 
“I’m disgusting, aren’t I?”
“Yes.  You’re very gross.  Get out of here, and don’t come back until you’re
clean.”  Lothar pushed him towards the door.
“But what’s the point,” Khadgar protested, “when we’re about to ride again, and
I’m just going to get all covered with dust, and sweat, and-”
“Go.”
“Come with me, then.  I need to talk to you about something else.”
---
On the walk to the washroom, Khadgar hurriedly explained some of what had
transpired between him and the Guardian, confessing that he’d stolen a book
from Karazhan.  He explained the images he’d found depicting a great gate and
the horde pouring through, telling Lothar that it could not be a coincidence. 
The commander listened, but was not convinced.  He actually smirked when
Khadgar told him how Medivh had burned all of his research and taken the book
back.
“Honestly.  What did you think he would do?  The Guardian of Azeroth wouldn’t
suffer theft lightly.”  Lothar was not sympathetic. 
“It was excessive.”  Khadgar spoke carefully.  “Lothar, he knows more than he’s
telling us about that gate.  I’d bet my spellbook on it.”
“If Medivh is keeping something to himself, there must be a good reason.”
Doggedly, Khadgar persisted.  “The Kirin Tor didn’t trust him.”
“And do you trust the Kirin Tor?” Lothar spoke pointedly.  “I seem to recall
you fled their ideology.  Perhaps they aren’t as good judges of character as
you think they are.”
Khadgar didn’t really have anything to add after that, and they entered the
steamy washing room in silence. Wishing there was time for a proper soak, he
stripped down quickly and padded barefoot to the waiting tubs of hot water.  He
scrubbed at his body, working around the bruises and welts with little
success.  By the time he was ready to dry off, he was beginning to think he
should have discussed some ground rules with Medivh before offering his body
for abuse.  The man, either from sadism or inexperience, had taken some risky
chances with his placement of the strap.  There were cuts in several areas, and
the bruising was deeper than he thought it would be.  That one across his
genitals...damn. His entire body ached.
“It’s a long way to Blackrock spire, mage,” called Lothar from across the room,
interrupting his thoughts.  They'd avoided looking at each other as they
scrubbed, but Khadgar knew that Lothar couldn’t have helped but seen the
ravaged flesh of his chest, thighs, and backside.  Sounding a little too
pleased, Lothar waved a hand at Khadgar’s purpling behind and thighs.  “Didn’t
think that through, did you?” 
Khadgar stared at him, suddenly wide-eyed.  Shit. The ride was going to be
hell.
---
A full company was heading to Blackrock Spire, along with Garona, the Guardian,
Lothar, and King Llane.  Khadgar had braced himself to face Medivh again,
wanting no conversation regarding the events of the night prior – neither
regarding his bruised, painful skin, nor the destruction of his research. He
was relieved when the man paid him no attention. 
Khadgar was again wearing the plain staff across his back. It wasn’t much, but
it was something.  As he prepared painfully to mount his horse, one of the
soldiers approached him, pressing a small leather bag into his hands. 
“Commander asked me to give you this.”
“Thank you,” said Khadgar, taking the bag curiously.  When the soldier had
moved away, he reached inside and found three small glass bottles filled with
red liquid.  Healing potions! Small ones, but better than nothing.  Looking
around, he saw Lothar smiling at him from across the courtyard.  Since the man
was watching, he uncorked one of the bottles and downed it, feeling the
familiar red tingle sweep through his body.  The burning of his skin faded to a
faint ache immediately, and he sighed with relief.  He bowed graciously in the
direction of the commander, tucking the pouch into a pocket and climbing up on
the horse.  Two potions left!Thinking of the arcane inhibitor implanted in his
arm, he wondered if it would be enough.
---
At Blackrock Spire, everything had gone to hell.  King Llane, Lothar, and
Garona had gone forward to meet with the orc chieftain Durotan.  Khadgar’s
mount had been too far away to hear the conversation, but he’d watched them
with apprehension.  They had seemed to come to an agreement, though, and he
felt a twinge of relief when the small party began to return to the group.
It was an ambush.  Green-skinned orcs had appeared, howling battle cries as
they charged the Stormwind warriors and Durotan's clan.  They were betrayed. 
Within seconds, a battle raged on all sides.  Khadgar froze momentarily, then
fumbled for the pathetic, useless staff at his back.  The charging orcs carried
maces, axes, event giant hammers – his twig wouldn’t have a chance.  Bodies and
weapons clashed, creating a terrible noise in the formerly quiet canyon. 
He saw Garona, clutching a pike that she must have snagged from a fallen
soldier.  Following her lead, he snatched a short, one-handed sword from a
scabbard strapped to a horse that was hobbling in pain on three legs, one of
its legs shattered from a massive orcish weapon.  A brutish orc charged at
Garona, and she fought like a wild thing, stabbing with her pike and howling
with fury.  Khadgar joined her in the kill before he knew what was happening,
sinking his sword into the orc’s side while she slashed at its throat with the
tiny dagger that Queen Taria had given her. They moved towards each other,
standing back to back in the fray. 
It seemed an eternity before the Guardian made his move, but when he did, it
took Khadgar’s breath away.  Massive bolts of white lightning had struck the
ground in a line, shooting up into the sky as far as the eye could see.  The
lightning chained together across the canyon, creating a deadly blockade of
arcane energy between the orcs and humans that crackled and burned with an
acrid smell.  
Then King Llane was calling for the troops to gather, organizing a retreat. 
Khadgar realized that his horse was long gone, as was Garona’s, and he looked
around wildly for direction.  He saw Lothar, standing by the wall of white
lightning. 
Staring at something. 
Staring at Callan, trapped on the other side of the wall, with the beasts. 
Callan, preparing to fight for his life with the handful of other soldiers that
were trapped and outnumbered by the massing orcs.
Lothar was screaming, hurling himself ineffectively against the lightning wall.
The sounds that tore from his throat were raw and ragged, sobbing,“Medivh, take
it down!  Take it down!  Medivh!”  Khadgar watched, helpless, his own heart
tearing out of his chest for Lothar’s pain.  He looked to the sky, searching
for the Guardian that he knew was somewhere on the clifftop.  Why didn’t Medivh
do something?
Khadgar looked back at Lothar, thrown back to the ground by the burning wall,
about to watch his son die before his eyes. 
He looked at his arm, bearing the arcane inhibitor implant. 
“Garona!”  Her head snapped at the urgency in his voice.  Digging for the
healing potions at his waist, Khadgar dropped to his knees and pushed his
sleeve back, exposing the forearm.  “Your dagger.  Do it now.”  He breathed
heavily, staring at her, gritting his teeth.
She stared at him, quickly comprehending his directive.  Growling, she strode
forward and gripped his arm.  Her slash was deep and true, cutting a gash just
longer than his palm.  For a moment, he felt nothing.   Then, the pain hit like
a shockwave, and he staggered, straining against the roaring blackness that was
filling his vision.  She was digging with her claws, red blood spraying across
them both as she searched for the implant.  With a cry, she pulled the cylinder
from his arm and held it high to the sky.
Khadgar’s connection to the arcane returned in a torrent of power, flooding
through his veins and spinning his head like strong alcohol.  He slammed the
first healing potion down his throat, feeling the roaring pain lessen only a
fraction.  It won’t be enough, he despaired, uncorking the last potion and
choking it down.  The wound in the arm still bled, gaping open, but the pain
had receded somewhat and he could stand. 
He turned to the wall of lightning, staggering at first, then with growing
strength as he reconnected with the arcane forces.  The azure light of arcane
magic filled his eyes as he called his power forth to battle the Guardian’s.  A
solid bolt of energy shot from his hands towards the wall, tinged with purple
and swirling with glyphs.  It hit the lightning wall with a deafening blast,
sending fiery sparks shooting in every direction as the magical forces
collided.  Spurred by pain and fury, Khadgar was putting everything he had into
punching through that wall, uncaring as mana drained from his body.  His spell
was winning the assault, coloring a circular patch of the Guardian’s lightning
a soft lavender and transforming the flickering lightning into a smooth, gentle
light. 
Holding the spell with one hand, he used the other to push, sending the purple
light radiating outward and creating a passage through the wall of lighting. 
Lothar rushed through the passage without hesitation, possibly unaware from
whence the aid came.  He was followed by several of his soldiers, charging to
assist in Callan’s retreat.  Khadgar focused, concentrating on holding the
passage open as if his life depended on it.  Callan’s, and now Lothar’s,
certainly did.   
Moving forward as if in a dreamworld, Khadgar felt as thought time itself was
slowing, each moment crystallized and clarifying.  He was one with the arcane
now, moving as a battle mage.  From the corner of his eye, he saw Garona
wrestling with a soldier who attempted to snatch the bloody dagger from her. 
He sensed more soldiers approaching him, shouting, weapons drawn.  Without
turning, he cast a frost nova spell, locking the entire group of them
momentarily in place with blocks of ice circling around their feet. 
Standing before the passage he had created through the wall, he called on his
reserves to destroy the orcs.  Khadgar was pulling from every battle spell that
he had ever learned from the Kirin Tor, and a few that he had picked up on his
own.  Arcane supernova sprang from his fingers, catching the unsuspecting,
green orc targets off guard and flinging them into the air.  Beast after beast
collapsed under his furious assault, crushed by purple and blue arcane missiles
and molten fireballs.  One thought burned in his mind: Destroy the orcs. 
Then he blinked, realizing that the remaining orcs were fleeing in earnest. 
Charred corpses littered the emptying canyon, and his heart leapt into his
throat momentarily.  It was too empty.  There were no Stormwind troops left on
the other side of the lightning wall.  Where was Lothar?  Where was Callan, and
the other soldiers? 
Had they been taken?  Caught in the barrage?  Had they slipped past him?  
No…
Frantic, he turned, searching.  Everybody was staring at him.  There was
Garona, and King Llane, and Varis, and all the others.  Blood-soaked, he
realized that his partially-healed arm was still pumping sluggishly, red drops
falling to the ground as he froze, searching the crowd of soldiers.  Oily black
smoke rose from the corpses he had destroyed, and he staggered, nauseated by
the foul sensation of corrupted fel magic permeating the area. 
They stared at Khadgar as if they’d never seen him before.  Gone was the
clumsy, bashful boy that they thought they knew, following Lothar around like a
puppy.  They now saw him for what he was – a young man, yes, but also a battle
mage with terrifying abilities.  Fueled by furious anger and desperation, he
had accomplished what the Guardian and fifty soldiers had not.  Some of the
faces staring back at him were fearful, and others were awed.  None of them
mattered.
Then Lothar filled his vision, striding towards him, and all the others faded
away.
Alive.  Lothar is alive.
Letting go with sudden relief, he dropped to his knees.  Lothar reached his
side in moments, catching his limp form as it crumpled to the ground.
“Lothar,” he whispered, finding that he was much too tired to lift his head and
look into Lothar's face.  When had it become so cold in the canyon?  He was
freezing.
Lothar knelt over him, knees on either side of his head.  He reached for the
arm, staunching the flow of blood with his hands. 
Other hands were on him then, wrapping bandages around his arm and he thought a
healer was chanting.
“Khadgar.  Look at me.  Khadgar.”   Lothar’s icy blue eyes filled his world. 
“Don’t fade on me, spell-chucker.”
“I won’t,” Khadgar promised, and the world turned to black.
***** Ravens Are Born To Fly *****
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Khadgar woke to clean, soft sheets in a tranquil room. Looking around, he
wondered where he was.  The ceilings were high and airy, crafted from smooth
white stone.  Stormwind architecture, he thought.  Sheer drapery panels blew in
the wind and golden afternoon light streamed in through the open windows.  He
was alone.
Someone had dressed him in a light linen tunic and pants, and he was clean. He
probed carefully at his wounded arm, finding it smoothed and healed. 
Remarkable.  Arcane hummed pleasantly through his body, comforting and secure. 
For the first time in a long time, he almost felt like himself again.  Slipping
from the bed, a wave of dizziness caught him by surprise, and he wavered
momentarily. 
Moving carefully, he leaned on the bed, then a chair, and then the wall, making
his way to the door.  Peering outside, he realized that no guards were posted. 
Well.  He didn’t want to sit in this room waiting to find out what they would
do to him next.  He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he wasn’t going to stay
here.
Bracing heavily on the wall, he inched down the hall.
---
Strong arms were carrying him effortlessly, cradling him against a warm chest.
“Where were you going, little raven?” asked Lothar.  “You should be in bed.”
“Put me down,” Khadgar protested.  “I can walk.”
“No, you can’t.” 
Lothar was right, of course.  Khadgar hadn’t gotten very far down the hall
before his legs had buckled, sending him headlong into one of those silly suits
of decorative armor that people left lying around castles.  As the thing
cascaded down over him, he’d conceded the fact that he wasn’t going anywhere
any time soon.  He’d lain there, drifting in and out of a haze, until someone
had found him and called for the commander.
Placing him gently back on the bed, Lothar smoothed dark hair back across his
forehead.  “How do you feel?”
“Marvelous.”  Khadgar’s humor was dry as a dusty bone.  He felt like shit. 
“You lost a lot of blood at Blackrock,” said Lothar.  “The healers suggest you
rest for a few more days until your strength comes back.” 
Khadgar noted that he didn’t issue an order or command; he spoke of
suggestions.  Lothar seemed to realize that things had shifted, now that
Khadgar was not in chains. The mage uninhibited had shown himself to be capable
of terrifying acts of destruction.  He was a force to be reckoned with;
Stormwind could not hold him here against his will, and they both knew it.  The
faint note of respect in Lothar’s tone was a nice change.  “A few more days?”
he asked, wrinkling his nose.  “How long has it been?” 
“Nearly two days.”
“And the others?” Khadgar mustered the nerve to ask the question that was
haunting him.  “Is Callan…?”
“He’s fine.”  Lothar met his gaze steadily.  “You saved many lives. We are
indebted to you.”
“I took many lives,” Khadgar said flatly.  He was remembering flashes of the
battle and wishing he did not.  He hadn’t merely attacked the group of orcs
that had ambushed their party – he’d annihilated them, scorching the earth and
leaving behind the smoking remains of corpses that were burned to the bone. 
“Yes.  But they were not innocent ones.”  Lothar shrugged tiredly.  “They
attacked first.  Many of our men and women would be dead today if you hadn’t
intervened.  Including my son.” 
Khadgar nodded.  Knowing that the orcs would have slaughtered them mercilessly
didn’t fully ease his conscience, but it helped. 
“Garona believes that Durotan was betrayed by one of his own,” Lothar
continued.  “She’s furious, and we’re back where we started.”
“What of Medivh?” Khadgar wondered what the Guardian had made of his actions.
 “The Guardian…is not well.  He collapsed after the ambush, and we flew him
back to Karazhan to recuperate.”  Lothar rolled his eyes, teasing.  “Amazing
how fragile you mages are.”
“Arcane power is like a drug,” Khadgar told him seriously.  “Wielding it brings
the user to great heights.  The more you use it, the more you want to use it. 
When you use too much, all at once, there’s a price to be paid.  We all balance
on that line.  From apprentices to Guardians.”  He shook his head.  “I’ve never
burnt off that much mana that quickly.  The Guardian’s spell was incredibly
powerful.  If I hadn’t been…um…rested, I guess, from having the implant, I
might not have been able to break through.”
“How did you know where the implant was?” Lothar asked, curious.  “Medivh
believed that it would be well concealed by the bones in your arm.” 
“Garona.”  Khadgar was speaking more slowly, beginning to tire.  “By the
stream.  She prodded every damned inch of my body looking for it.”  He snorted,
remembering.  “She wanted to tear it out with her teeth right then and there. 
Callan thought we were going to fuck.”  Lothar smiled at that, and he
continued, “I knew it would bleed out, though, so I had to wait for the right
time.”  Khadgar's voice grew distant.  “If you hadn’t given me those healing
potions, if Medivh hadn’t beat the shit out of me-” Belatedly, he remembered
that Lothar hadn’t known who his overzealous partner had been.  The man seemed
unfazed, however, so he continued.  “Everything sort of connects when you look
back at it.  One small misstep and things would be so different.”
“Yes,” said Lothar.  He seemed to be holding back, waiting for something. 
Uncomfortable.
Khadgar thought he knew what was bothering the man.  “So, Commander.  I am
still your prisoner, correct?  Nothing’s changed?” Khadgar asked, playfully
jabbing at Lothar with his own words even while dreading the answer.
“Nothing’s changed.” Lothar smiled, but he was serious.  More directly, he
asked, “Will you give us your word of honor that you will remain in our custody
until things are sorted out with the Kirin Tor?”
Khadgar weighed his options.  He could teleport away in a heartbeat and try to
start over somewhere else.  Maybe in the distant lands of Kalimdor.  They could
always put a bounty on him, though, and he’d be chased by mobs of morally
ambiguous, gold-hungry adventurers the rest of his life.  Or, he could stay and
wait for the Kirin Tor.  Behind that door was more opportunity – there was a
chance that they’d simply say “Yes, Khadgar was ours.  He’s a horrible
apprentice and we’re glad to be rid of him,”and that would end it.  Even though
that was one of the less likely outcomes, there was still a chance.  Khadgar
was tired of running.   Finally, he nodded.  “You have my word.”
“By the Wells of Eternity?” Now Lothar was teasing him, throwing back the words
he’d used when he’d promised to kill the other man. 
 “Yes.” Khadgar was a little sheepish, remembering his outburst.  The threat to
kill Lothar seemed a little silly now, but at the time he’d been dead serious. 
Lothar had a way of pushing him over the edge like no one else.
“Good.”  Lothar’s voice had gone tight, and he looked away.  “Because the
King’s emissary has returned, accompanied by a Kirin Tor representative.  They
arrived yesterday.  Apparently he’s been frothing to get his hands on you.”
Shit. Khadgar felt his heart clench, both from the thought of being confronted
by the Kirin Tor and from Lothar’s trickery.  The man had deliberately exacted
his promise before giving him that information.  Now I remember why I could
strangle that aggravating bastard, he thought acridly. “You didn’t just hand me
over?  Why not?” 
“You’re not well, for one.”  Lothar was ignoring his obvious indignation.
“Queen Taria believes we owe you an opportunity to defend yourself.  I agree.”
“And King Llane?”
Lothar’s response was blunt.  “He wants to send you back.”  Seeing the unhappy
look on Khadgar’s face, he explained, “We’re at war, son.  A war that so far,
we are losing.  The King doesn’t want to alienate the Kirin Tor in a minor
dispute over a wayward apprentice. We need allies.”
Calling me son?  After he fucked me in the ass?  That’s messed up. “Don’t call
me that.  It’s weird.”
“Sorry.”  Lothar pulled a letter from his breast pocket and handed it to
Khadgar.  “Here’s the official request.”  The man waited patiently while he
scanned it, not really registering the contents as his eyes skipped across
phrases like “young and impetuous runaway,” “facilitate an expeditious return,”
and “respectfully requesting your full cooperation with this internal matter.”
“They want me to return to Dalaran?”  He felt sick as he handed the missive
back to Lothar.  “I don’t understand.  They burned the mark off my arm, told me
I had no place in Order.  Why do they want me now?”
Lothar looked at him coolly.  “You probably know the answer to that better than
I would.”  Opening the letter, he read carefully out loud, “We would greatly
appreciate your assistance in returning Khadgar to our care so that she may
finish her training as contractually obligated.”  He leaned forward, and the
sharpness in his blue eyes was almost physically painful.  “Now, why would the
Kirin Tor be expecting their fugitive Khadgar to be a woman?”
Khadgar’s heart dropped from his chest.  For a horrible moment, he wished he’d
died at Blackrock after all.  Surely that would be less painful.  Khadgar bit
at his lower lip while rapidly sorting through choices.  Finally, he decided. 
Meeting Lothar’s gaze levelly, he spoke formally.  “I request asylum.”
“What?”
“As a refugee from the city of Dalaran, I request the right of asylum from
Stormwind.”
“You’re not a refugee.” Lothar objected, his face darkening.  “You’re a
runaway.”
“I am not,” snapped Khadgar.  “You don’t know what they were asking me to do. 
When I renounced my vows, I shamed my family and threw away everything that I
had trained for.  I didn’t do that on a whim.”
“On what basis do you make this request?” asked Lothar, crossing his arms. 
“Why should Stormwind get involved?”
Khadgar shut his eyes, trying to think through the dizziness. “I request asylum
on the grounds that the Kirin Tor have threatened me and my family,
misrepresented my role in their Order, and caused me personal harm.”  He opened
his eyes, glaring at Lothar.  “Is that enough, or shall I continue?”
“Go on.”  Lothar was without mercy.
“I found the Stormwind charter in the library.  It says that no person shall be
expelled, returned, or extradited to a state where there are substantial
grounds for believing that he would be in danger of being subjected to
cruelty.”  Khadgar looked away, suddenly unable to meet Lothar’s eyes as he
stumbled for words. “You saw my arm.  That wasn’t the first time that they…were
violent.  To coerce me.” Dark eyes stared up at Lothar, begging.  “I can’t go
back,” he finished softly.
“And we don’t want you to.” Lothar swallowed hard.  The conversation did not
appear to be easy for him, either. “But we must operate within the law.  If you
are found to have applied for asylum under false pretenses, you could be fined
and jailed.  Or banished from the continent.  Are you sure you want to do
this?”
“The Order would prefer I return with them and face an internal investigation,
yes?”  A nod from Lothar confirmed this was true. “If I am granted asylum by
Stormwind, you can call for a formal dispute,” Khadgar explained, words
tumbling out. “They’d never give me a fair chance in a Kirin Tor court.  A
neutral adjudicator, appointed by Stormwind, could hear my testimony and decide
if I must return to Dalaran.  I would be obligated to submit to whatever
consequences are rendered from the discovery.  At least this way I’d have a
chance.”
After a long moment, Lothar nodded tersely, folding the letter back inside his
tunic.  “I will relay your request for asylum to King Llane.” 
“Thank you.”  Sinking back into the pillows, Khadgar felt a mix of relief and
trepidation.  Wonderful, he thought. The King, who thinks I’m a nuisance, who
wants to get rid of me, will decide my fate.  As the commander turned to leave,
he called impulsively, “Lothar?”
Lothar paused, leaning against the door frame and looking back into the room. 
Khadgar reviewed all the things that he wanted to say but could not.  Stupid
things like, “Stay,”and “Hold me,” and “Tell me it will be alright.” Holding
the words back, he asked instead, “Can I have my things back?  My spellbook and
writing kit?”
Lothar’s mouth twitched, as if he had been expecting something else.  His head
jerked towards a smallish bag on the desk that Khadgar had overlooked. 
“Already there, mage.  Help yourself.”
“Oh.  Thank you.”
And then he was gone.
Khadgar stared at the doorway, battling the emotions in his chest.  It was good
that he was physically incapable of running after the man, because he probably
would have made a fool of himself by doing just that.
He reached for his writing kit, chewing absently at his bottom lip.  He didn’t
know how much time he would have to prepare, if they did grant him the formal
dispute, and he wasn’t sure where to start.  With a sigh, he pulled out a sheet
of paper.  Inking his quill, Khadgar began to write. 
“My name is Khadgar, born in the Alterac Mountains and son of a mill worker.  I
was nearly four years old when my parents signed the contract indenturing me to
the Kirin Tor.  They took me to the floating city of Dalaran, to be trained by
the most powerful mages in Azeroth.  I never saw my family again…”
The shadows had grown long when he finally put down his quill, staring at the
pages piled on the bed around him.  He had written the truth, every bitter word
of it, from start to finish. 
Now, there was nothing left to do but wait and see.
---
***** To Touch The Rose Unwary Is To Meet the Thorn *****
CHAPTER TWELVE
Word came to Khadgar that King Llane had agreed to grant Stormwind’s asylum to
Khadgar so that a formal discovery could be called.  The little, wild, moth of
hope continued to flutter foolishly in his chest, even though he told it go
away.  Tired of running, he was ready to face the Kirin Tor, whatever the cost.
---
On the day of the formal discovery, Khadgar made his way to the hearing chamber
just before noon, stopping at a nearby fountain to wash his face.  Wanting to
look presentable, he’d taken extra care in the washroom to scrub even the ink
from underneath his fingernails.  There wasn’t much he could do about his
plain, serviceable clothing in blues and greys, since it was all he had. It
wasn’t very formal, but at least it was clean.
“Hey, good-looking,” called Lothar, sauntering over from across the courtyard.
Khadgar tried to not look annoyed.  Wound up inside, he didn’t think he could
handle any teasing this morning.  “Hey.”
“You look…clean,” said Lothar, eyeing him over.
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Khadgar wrinkled his forehead, adding
sarcastically, “The legendary Lion.  If only you were as good with words as you
are with your weapons.”
“When you’re as good as I am, you don’t need words.” Lothar winked at him.  “I
just let my sword do the talking.”
Ugh, thought Khadgar, I do not need this right now. “I have to go.  You know,
the discovery?”
Lothar fell into step with him, wordlessly, as he walked along the path.
“I wish you wouldn’t follow me.” 
Lothar smiled irritatingly, but didn’t respond.
Outside the chamber, it was still too early to go inside.  Khadgar was not
prepared to sit there and make small conversation with whomever the Kirin Tor
had sent to claim him while they waited for the discovery to begin.  Pulling
Lothar’s sleeve, he dragged the man around the side of the building, stopping
beneath a low tree.  “Why are you doing this?” he asked bluntly.  “Do you have
to be there?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” said Lothar.  “Medivh will join us too, when he can.”
“Really?  Shit.”  Khadgar felt his heart drop about thirty feet into the
ground. 
“Oh, that’s a problem, is it?” Lothar’s grin was a little mean.  “I thought you
got along pretty well.  A little…sore at him?”  He was a little too pleased at
his own wit.
“Honestly, Lothar, you just don’t have a clue sometimes.” Khadgar was on edge,
and it was making him nasty.  “Is this some big joke to you?”  He scuffed his
foot angrily on the stone-paved path.
“Not at all,” said Lothar, unfazed.  “I’m ready for some answers.”
Khadgar looked up at him, feeling his heart skip a beat when he saw the way
Lothar was looking at him, a look that felt like a touch, moving across his
body.  “You might not like what you hear.”  You might not want me anymore, when
you know what I am and what I’ve done.
“Better to be slapped with the truth than kissed with a lie,” quoted Lothar
pithily. 
“Could you just be serious for once?” Khadgar was irritated and insulted, and
let it show.  “What’s a man got to do for you, anyway, Lothar?  What more could
I possibly do to convince you that my motivations are pure?”
“Alrighty.”  Lothar spread his hands defensively.  “So you’re a saint.  What
are you worried about, then?”
 “When I left the Kirin Tor, I thought the past would stay in the past.” 
Khadgar searched his face, wondering what he could say to
make Lothar understand.  Nope.  Can’t reach him.  Why is he always fighting
with me?  Couldn’t he just hold me for once, and say he understands? “I don’t
want to relive it in front of everybody.”  Especially not you.
“If you don’t make peace with your past, it will keep showing up in your
present,” said Lothar, with enough jest in his voice that as Khadgar stood
looking at Lothar in disbelief, he saw the edge of his own anger approaching
like a waterfall and chose to go over it.  Could anyone truly be so oblivious? 
He really does think this is a joke. A fiery anger was burning in his chest,
and Lothar was unfortunately going to be close enough to feel the flames.
“I wasn’t born into lordship, Lothar,” he finally managed.  “How old were you
when you were sold by your family?  Hm?  At what age were you asked to make a
lifelong vow and branded with fire?”  Khadgar kept his voice low, but he was
practically throwing sparks, he was so hot with anger.  “When was the first
time you were beaten?  Have you ever been thrown in a dungeon for expressing an
independent thought?”
Lothar opened his mouth as if he might respond, then snapped it shut as Khadgar
advanced, inching towards him. “Did anyone ever try to break you like an
animal?” He was getting really loud, now.  People were looking.  “When was the
first time that you were touched by someone you didn’t want touching you?  What
about by someone, oh, three times your age?  No?  Have you ever fucked someone
for your freedom? Never happened?  I didn’t fucking think so.” 
“So forgive me, Commander.  Champion of Stormwind, brother to the queen. 
Forgive me for forgetting that not everybody has a past that makes them wish
they didn’t have a future.”  Khadgar wheeled away, heading for the garden
behind the chamber and ignoring the shock on Lothar’s face. He shouldn’t have
kicked the fire if he didn’t want to burn, Khadgar thought bitterly.
Half a dozen steps into his rage-filled exit, he stomped back to Lothar.
Lowering his voice, mindful now of the people staring at them, he said, “I am
really tired of giving you chances.  If you care about me, you’d better start
doing something differently.” 
“Care about you?” Lothar sounded stunned.
Oops.  I should not have said that.  I should NOT have said that.  Of course,
you idiot, he doesn’t care for you.  You’re just an entertaining fuck and you
know it, you could never be anything more for that man.  He’s so far above you,
you’re a penniless orphan who’s about to go to jail and he’s the brother of
royalty.
Khadgar felt his anger turn numb as his chest froze over. His heart was
dropping again, and he knew when it hit the ground, frozen, it would shatter-
Lothar took a big step forward and bent down so they were eye to eye, noses
almost touching.  “Why do you think I’m here, bookworm?  Because I care for
you.” Lothar was struggling with this, fighting to get the words out.  “I want
to be here.  In case you need me.”
Khadgar stared, doubting.  The stupid little moth was banging around inside his
chest again, but he let it be this time.  “I do need you,” he said, voice going
small as his anger dissipated.
Lothar reached forward, hand hovering above Khadgar’s face. 
“What are you doing?” Khadgar shook his head slightly, amused.  Honestly?  Do I
have to beg you for it?  
“I want to kiss you so fucking bad,” said Lothar, frustrated.
Whoa, thought Khadgar.  About damn time. “Why don’t you, then?” he returned
quietly, cocking his head to the side and blinking seriously.
“I seem to recall that you, on more than one occasion, asked me not to?” Lothar
frowned.  His voice sounding brittle.
“Not exactly,” said Khadgar.  “I said you would have a serious obligation to
repay.”  Shutting his eyes, he leaned against the tree and turned his face
upward.  “You may begin fulfilling that obligation now.”  When nothing
happened, he reopened his eyes to glare at Lothar, who was staring at him,
uncomprehending.  “Kiss me, you idiot.”
Needing no further prompting, Lothar met his mouth softly at first, and then
more fully.  Khadgar wrapped his arms around Lothar's body, clinging tightly,
losing himself in the warmth and security.  Lothar’s arms held him close in an
embrace that stretched on and on, whispering in his ear, “You’re ok.  You’re
going to do fine, little one.  I’ll be right there.  You’re going to be ok.”
After a long moment, when his turbulent emotions had died down, Khadgar offered
his face for another deep, lingering kiss.  Pulling away, he looked into
Lothar’s eyes, trying to engrave the moment in memory so it would last
forever.  “I am going to miss you, Anduin Lothar.”
“It’s not over yet, Khadgar.” Queen Taria’s musical voice came gently across
the path, causing the pair to jump guiltily.  Giving no sign that she had
witnessed their impassioned embrace, she walked forward to pluck a stray leaf
from Khadgar’s hair.  “You mustn’t give up before it even begins.  Are you
ready?  We’ll start shortly.”
Khadgar nodded.  “Yes, Your Majesty.” Straightening his tunic, he shot the
commander a nervous, grateful smile and walked briskly toward the chamber.  He
could hear Taria speaking to Lothar in low tones as he walked away, but
couldn’t distinguish the words.  It was just as well.  He needed to get his
head on straight for what was to come.
Squaring his shoulders, Khadgar entered the room and braced himself to confront
the past.
---
***** Between the Lines *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter warnings: contains non-graphic references to childhood abuse,
     and references to teenage sexual experiences.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
CHAPTER 13
---
The formal discovery process is simple.  A neutral adjudicator is appointed to
administer the proceedings.   First, the Kirin Tor appeal Stormwind’s grant of
asylum.  Then, Khadgar defends his request for asylum.  Queen Taria represents
Stormwind’s interests; the Kirin Tor sent a mage called Silas to represent the
Order.  At any point in the discovery, either Stormwind or the Kirin Tor can
concede to the opposing side.  If neither party concedes, the adjudicator
decides the outcome with a legally binding determination.
---
Khadgar was getting impatient.  Twenty minutes into the discovery, and Silas
seemed to be doing a lot of talking without actually saying much.   In fact, he
was actually repeating himself. 
…“Of course, the boy is impetuous, but we’re willing to work with his youthful
indiscretions…”
…“It’s true that he displays dubious moral character, but certainly the Kirin
Tor recognize the value and potential in continuing his education…”
...“Yes, of course, he did commit a number of offences against the Order, but
we certainly understand the tribulations of youth and accept responsibility for
his poor judgment… ”
The long-winded ramble was nauseating, really.  Just get on with it, Khadgar
thought irritably.  At the edge of his vision, he could sense Lothar shifting
in his seat, also impatient.
Watching the man’s nervous eyes flickering between the adjudicator and the
door, he thought that the Kirin Tor couldn’t have sent a more inappropriate fit
for a discovery than unfortunate Silas.  Soft, friendly, middle-aged Silas was
a mage who specialized in the study of troll magic.   Khadgar remembered him
from fourth-year classes on troll lore and defense against voodoo magic; he’d
been popular with apprentices because he let them handle his collection of
genuine shrunken heads.  He was ill-suited to the task at hand, and watching
the sweat bead on his forehead, Khadgar almost felt sorry for the man.  Poor
Silas, he thought.  The Council of Six made their bed, and Silas will have to
lie in it.
The Order had probably not anticipated that Khadgar would maneuver them into a
formal discovery by requesting asylum from Stormwind, or they would have sent a
different representative to claim their wayward apprentice. 
 “Get to the point!” Lothar burst suddenly, interrupting Silas mid-ramble. 
“Nadal,” he appealed to the solemn night elf adjudicating the discovery, “How
long do we have to listen to this windbag prattle?”  
Khadgar snuck a look at Lothar, sitting next to Medivh along the wall.  He was
leaning forward with that dangerous glint in his eye that sent shivers up the
base of his spine.  Mmmm. Khadgar snapped his eyes back to the front of the
room.  This was not the time for distractions. 
The adjudicator’s gavel crashed down, causing both Khadgar and Silas to jump. 
“Order,” he said sternly to Lothar, and then to Silas, “Continue, mage.  Try to
add something of substance.”
Silas nodded, swallowing nervously.  “Er, yes, as I was saying, we have a
significant investment in this young runaway and we believe that he can be
persuaded to see that the best outcome is returning to Dalaran to finish his
training…”
Silas was filibustering, Khadgar realized. He’s waiting for something.  For
someone? He shifted a little in his seat, now, looking at Queen Taria with a
hint of worry.  She continued to watch Silas, but exuded a calm strength that
he imagined radiated towards him like the gentle afternoon sun.  He tried to
match her composure, waiting for Silas to run out of hot air.
He was almost relieved to hear a scuffle of voices outside the door, guards
arguing with someone, then the door slammed open and an old man with a short,
white beard and eyes that glowed blue from arcane magic entered the room.  Clad
in traditional violet robes embroidered with the eye of the Kirin Tor, Khadgar
thought the man was probably older than the sun and just as powerful.  Silas
was sagging with obvious relief, stepping deferentially away from the podium
for the older man.  A senior member of the Council of Six came all the way from
Dalaran for this?Khadgar was impressed, and more than a little worried.
“I am Archmage Antonidas of the Kirin Tor, and I will be assuming the
responsibility of representing the Order in this matter,” said the mage
authoritatively.  “Silas, you are dismissed.”
Silas bowed, nodding apologetically around the room before scuttling away. 
Lothar was on high alert, sitting with his spine erect and his eyes never
leaving the old mage.  Medivh, next to Lothar, nodded graciously at Antonidas
in recognition; he, like Khadgar, was well acquainted the secretive Council of
Six that ruled the Order.
Turning to the adjudicator, Antonidas leveled his blue stare against the
glowing gold eyes of the night elf.  “This proceeding is preposterous.  We
demand the return of our apprentice into our custody immediately.  There is no
cause for Stormwind to grant the status of refugee asylum over this private,
academic matter.”
Unperturbed, Nadal stared back gravely.  “You are legally bound to the
discovery.  The matter must be concluded.  This is the law.”
“Silas had no authority to agree to this discovery hearing.  He was pressured
into it by-”
“I am Queen Taria of Stormwind.” Taria rose from her seat with deceptive
gentleness, like a rising swell in the ocean.  “Your mage bore letters of
authenticity and authorization.  He signed the agreement without duress.  In
accordance with the treaties between our two realms, you are legally obligated
to fulfill this discovery to its conclusion.” She paused almost sweetly. 
“Unless, of course, you wish to withdraw your claims over young Khadgar now
rather than later.” 
Archmage Antonidas seemed to notice Khadgar for the first time, and he fought
the urge to shudder as the blue eyes swept across him.  Whenever he faced the
archmage, Khadgar felt as though he were being weighed and measured and was
consistently found wanting in substance. 
Seeing the Archmage did not intend to dispute her point, the queen took her
seat.  “No?  Then we shall proceed.”  Queen Taria nodded to Nadal. 
“Adjudicator, if you please?  Where were we?”
Nadal rapped again with his gavel.  “Archmage, you may proceed with your appeal
against the grant of asylum.”
---
The archmage was no Silas, that was for sure.  His words were his weapons,
eloquent and forceful.  More to the point, they were truthful.  Khadgar found
himself cringing before a long, detailed recounting of his entire history in
Dalaran.  It seemed that every offense, every disrespect and violation of the
rules had been collected and cataloged in some very thick tome and committed to
Antonidas’ memory.
He found himself having trouble following the dialogue, disconnecting from the
present and slipping into a reverie of the past.  Events that he wished had
never happened, and all the things that he wished he could forget, were brought
into the room and laid out for everyone to inspect.  More significant to
Khadgar than the list of offenses were the things that the archmage was not
saying. His remembrance of the events did not exactly match the official Kirin
Tor story, which was no surprise.
“Khadgar was indentured to the Order in his fourth year.  His parents were
honored with the rare opportunity to send their child to train with the most
powerful mages in Azeroth,” intoned the Archmage, “An honor that is afforded to
naught but a handful, and carries with it a considerable sum in compensation. 
His indentureship is contractually obligated until his twenty-fifth year,
contingent upon his continued ability to practice the arcane.  As you may
observe, there are a number of years left in his obligation.  Any mage could
easily attest to his continued arcane abilities, which are considerable.”
     Khadgar could not remember his family at all.  He thought they had
     lived in the city, because he remembered a stone wall on a busy
     street.  Was he lost?  There was a cat, a little black-and-white cat
     with green eyes that followed him down the street.  But someone was
     holding his hand, he thought it was his mother.  He couldn’t be sure,
     but he told himself that she had brown eyes and warm arms to hold
     him.  For a time he was sad to know that his family had given him
     away, but he always tried to make them proud.  He wanted to bring
     them honor, to make them happy and maybe someday they would come
     visit him in the floating city of Dalaran.  They never came, and
     eventually he had decided that they did not exist.
“We quickly recognized the unusual level of talent in the boy.  He was
intelligent and a quick learner, very curious and spirited.  These are
important qualities in a mage.   Even at a young age, he excelled in his
mastery of the arcane.”  Turning to regard Khadgar for a moment, Antonidas
finished quietly, “Khadgar is an exceptional young man, and we were proud to
encourage these qualities.  However, we began to notice signs of personal
deficiencies early on.”  He shook his head in a parody of sadness.  “Perhaps we
indulged him too much, thinking he would outgrow the follies of youth with time
and gentle mastery.  He attempted his first exodus somewhere in his fifth year
with us.”
     He’d actually been eight years old, standing at the edge of the
     Violet Citadel, staring over the night lights of the city.  Willing
     the lights to become stars, so he could make a wish, and leave this
     awful place.  Actually, he didn’t mind the Kirin Tor, because he
     loved learning and he liked his friends.  The problem was Master
     Puthilus.  Some apprentices got along alright with their masters, but
     not Khadgar.  Puthilus wanted things done one way, and only one way.
     He didn’t care if there was a faster way, or a way that combined two
     other ideas, or changed a spell to make it more powerful.  Khadgar
     had learned that there was a price to pay for experimentation and
     disobedience – a price exacted from his knuckles, skull, or back, as
     his master lashed out with a pointer or cane to drive the lesson
     home.  In this area, Khadgar was uncharacteristically slow to learn.
     The latest lesson had left him bruised and in tears, and he’d fled
     when it was over.  He’d put on a cloak and packed a satchel with food
     and some books.  He’d left a note, explaining that he wasn’t a good
     learner and he was sorry.  By the time he’d left the Citadel, he’d
     been downright cheerful.  He thought he would go to the public
     library in Dalaran and get a job putting away books.  Wandering
     happily through the city, he’d rounded a corner and walked directly
     into Master Puthilus, who was somehow waiting for him in the street. 
     His grand adventure had lasted a few mere hours.  Dragging him back
     to the Citadel, Puthilus had told him he was like a rebellious animal
     that needed to be bridled and trained and broken.  “We must tighten
     the reins,” he’d said, practically spitting on the boy in his rage,
     “until you can learn to walk on a gentle lead.”  For a mage untrained
     was a horrible thing with the potential to wreak untold damage upon
     the world.  His master was determined that Khadgar would learn this
     lesson once and for all; by the time it was over, Khadgar was sent to
     the infirmary and had wished he were dead.
      Then Archmage Antonidas had visited him, and old man who looked
     scary but was actually kind.  The archmage had listened gravely to
     his explanations, then nodded and said he understood.  “We will find
     a better fit for you, Khadgar,” he’d said, placing a gentle hand on
     the boy’s shoulder.  “You must exercise caution yes, but you should
     never be afraid to experiment.  It’s what will set you apart from the
     others.  Master Puthilus fears what he does not understand.  He will
     not be the last.  Many will fear your powers, and you will rise above
     them all.” 
“We employed a variety of methodologies and instructors to help guide our
apprentice through the tumultuous years of learning,” continued Antonidas. 
“When one master was found to be too harsh for the boy’s nature, we arranged
for a gentler hand.  Khadgar demonstrated considerable strength of will, which
is an asset to a student of the arcane.  We believed this could be harnessed
and channeled into positive activities, rather than destructive.  In fact, when
the time came, he stood before the Council of Six and underwent the test of the
Guardian Novitiate.”  He paused for a moment, sounding a little less stern when
he continued.  “I recall being both apprehensive and hopeful the day he faced
the test.  We were unconcerned regarding his abilities, but did not know if his
temperament would permit him to pass this difficult test.”  Something like a
note of pride crept into his voice.  “As it were, he passed with flying
colors.”
     Khadgar had liked his new master.  Master John Leon was quiet and
     calm, and a little bit eccentric.  He indulged the boy’s ever-growing
     curiosity, and never beat him for trying something new – even when
     Khadgar exploded the teapot, or froze the bedroom solid, or the time
     he accidentally summoned a tiny, burning imp from Light knows where. 
     John Leon had doubled over, howling with laughter, as the imp raged
     around the apartment destructively, leaving char and ash all over the
     place.  There was no fear with Master John Leon.  He was a good man,
     and Khadgar had been happy.
     But when Khadgar stood before the Council of Six, passing the test of
     the Guardian Novitiate and receiving the brand in his arm from the
     terrible white fire, he became something special.  Something set
     apart, something requiring even more careful training and guidance,
     and he could no longer be trained by the easy-going mage.  His
     training was reassigned to an archmage, who he learned sat on the
     secretive Council of Six -- Archmage Shendra.
     He was eleven years old, and knew immediately that she disliked him,
     although he did not know why.  Perhaps because he was brash and
     outspoken, or because he looked her in the eye as if he were her
     equal.  Khadgar was determined to win her approval, though, and tried
     to be compliant.  She was a challenging master, but he rose to the
     occasion and excelled under her tutelage. 
“He studied with the very best tutors we had to offer and was even mentored by
a member of the Council.  We invested every hope, every effort into his
training.  The Guardian Novitiate is the culmination of everything our Order
strives for, and receives every consideration in the facilitation of his
education.  But time and again, young Khadgar drifted, headstrong, toward the
very things that we on the side of Order seek to contain.”
     It was during this time period that he had his first taste of
     freedom, because despite his best efforts, Shendra seemed to find him
     quite distasteful and he rarely saw her.   For the most part, she
     gave him assignments and oversaw his work with various tutors, and
     left him alone.  He found this agreeable, because he would race
     through his regular work, and then go to the library and find other
     things to study, wherever his curiosity would lead him.  
     Of course, he studied the three primary mage schools of magic –
     arcane, frost, and fire – but he learned everything else he could get
     his hands on.  Voodoo.  Shamanic magic.  Druidic magic.  Demonic
     magic.  Chaos and warlock theory.  He took up an interest in
     glyphology and the basic, fundamental forces of the universe.  He
     learned about time, and dimension theories, and everything the
     extensive library had to offer.  Khadgar was innocently dabbling in
     nearly every forbidden type of magic there was to learn, for the
     sheer sake of learning.  He didn’t see how a Guardian could protect
     Azeroth against attacks if he didn’t understand the magics he would
     be defending against.
     In his naivety, Khadgar hadn’t tried to hide his learning from his
     teachers.  Eventually, word of his activities reached Master Shendra,
     and she’d been furious.  She’d dragged him by his neck down, down,
     down into the bowels of the Violet Citadel and had him thrown into
     one of the dungeons that he had not known existed.  The dungeon had
     been dark, cold, and wet.  He didn’t know how long he was there –
     days, or weeks might have passed in the darkness. 
     At first, Khadgar didn’t realize what he’d done wrong.  Perhaps it
     was the books he’d…borrowed…from the restricted area of the library? 
     He done that lots of times, he always put them back when he was
     done.  But then the lectures began.  He was visited by a variety of
     mages, from Antonidas to Shendra and even John Leon had stopped by. 
     He learned that what he’d been doing, learning dark magics and
     secrets, was illegal. Only mages with the highest clearance and years
     of stringent training could study those subjects, and even then they
     must be cautious. 
     Shendra had told him that he was weak, drawn to dark magics like an
     addict crawling to the alchemist’s potions.  Others told him that he
     brought shame to his family, that he would never be the Guardian, if
     he did not change his ways.  Khadgar had stubbornly resisted.  He
     knew that he was right.  He couldn’t be a good Guardian unless he
     could protect his people, and he couldn’t protect them unless he knew
     what evils were out there. He endured hours of lectures, arguing when
     he dared and refusing to concede.  It was then that he first realized
     that he had deeply divergent beliefs from the Kirin Tor. 
     When they finally did release him from the dungeon, he came out
     subdued.  He was learning that a quiet mouth and a submissive face
     would get him farther than stubborn, vocal resistance.  His exterior
     was respectful and obedient, but inside a wildfire raged, burning
     with the desire break free.
“There are several factors that lead to being considered for the novitiate
test. Arcane ability, focus and concentration, strength of will, intelligence,
moral character, personality and so on.  Khadgar passed the test on several
aspects.  By the time he undertook the test, we had already noticed his
stubborn streak and rebellious nature, but we believed he was young enough to
be guided closer to the path of Order. It wasn’t until he was older, beginning
to physically mature, that we noticed another serious problem.”  Antonidas
paused his speech for dramatic effect.  “Guardians are required to take vows of
obligation; there is much they must give up to earn the privilege of serving
Azeroth.  One such thing is physical relationships.  Guardians must abstain
from physical relationships, remaining detached and pure, focusing on defending
the realm and its citizens.” 
Horseshit, thought Khadgar, resisting the urge roll his eyes and look at
Medivh, wondering if they knew how debauched he could be in the bedroom.   Does
Antonidas hear how pompous he sounds?  Nobody is buying this. The Council of
Six strongly encouraged celibacy, but didn’t enforce it.  It was impossible, so
they turned a blind eye, at least for adults.  Apprentices, on the other hand,
were under more scrutiny and control.
“With the onset of puberty, the boy became...enthusiastically promiscuous.”
Again, Antonidas with the mock-kindness.  “I do not wish to imply that the boy
is depraved or dangerous, simply that he does not possess…the quality of
character, shall we say, that is necessary for a Guardian.”
     K hadgar had started crawling into bed with other boys, and even
     teachers, long before puberty.  When he was younger, he just didn’t
     want to be alone, and wanted to be held.  It wasn’t until he met
     Wryalan that he got into trouble.  Of course, he was older then, and
     had started noticing things like cute boys and soft lips.  Wry’s were
     perfect, and one day he kissed them, spontaneously, in an alcove in
     the library.  Wryalan was supposed to be his tutor, but Khadgar
     learned a lot more than just glyphology and fractal dimensions from
     the older boy. 
     When Wryalan had tired of him, he’d drowned his broken heart in
     another soft pair of lips, and then another, and another.  He
     discovered that sex was fun, and he was good at it.  He also learned
     that he could get things from other people, sometimes with a look or
     a smile, or maybe a touch or kiss.  He got access to the restricted
     area of the library again, just by allowing the disgusting old mage
     who worked the late night shift to “accidentally” rub up against
     him. 
     Eventually, Khadgar’s masters found out, and he was back in trouble. 
     They’d sent him to the medical ward to be checked for diseases, and
     then the lectures had started again.  He really couldn’t see the harm
     in sharing his body with other people, receiving and giving affection
     in ways that made him feel happy and connected.  They told him that
     he if he were caught engaging in debauchery again, he’d be punished. 
     Perhaps even stripped of the Guardian Novitiate training. 
     Remembering how he’d gotten out of the dungeons by showing
     compliance, he’d hung his head and expressed regret, then continued
     fucking whenever and whomever he pleased. 
     Khadgar supposed that secretly, he’d already decided – he wasn’t
     Guardian material, and he never would be.  Let them train him or cut
     him loose – he would be who he was and damn the consequences.
“Unfortunately, he was unable to show restraint.  It was at this point that his
master suggested we make one last attempt to help him subdue his urges and
focus on his sworn responsibility to becoming the Guardian of Azeroth.”  The
archmage sighed deeply, as if what he were about to share pained him greatly. 
“With the boy’s consent, we offered him the opportunity to undergo an
experimental transformation – using a combination of arcane techniques, medical
care, and alchemy, we helped Khadgar switch his sex to become a female.” 
“The treatment seemed greatly effective at helping him to focus his efforts. 
He remained a female, by his own consent, until his untimely departure just a
few months ago.”  Antonidas regarded Khadgar curiously.  “We were not aware
that he had reverted the transformation, which is why we asked for Stormwind to
send ‘her’ back.” 
Khadgar thought the man was so slimy that he might start dripping ooze onto the
floor.  Yes,he thought, you’d love to know how I pulled that off, wouldn’t you?
“Of course,” the archmage added, “If Khadgar wishes to retain his birth sex we
would support his decision.  Now that the position of Guardian Novitiate is no
longer his responsibility, the pressures and demands are greatly reduced.” 
     The transformation had been Shendra’s idea, that much was true.  But
     the part about consent, that was a lie.  Mostly. 
     The final straw had been when he’d pushed his romantic luck a little
     far and slept with a mage who was also his instructor.  He’d always
     been drawn to older men, and this one was powerful and strong and
     sexy as fuck.  Khadgar had played the line carefully for weeks,
     finally luring the man into bed.  It had been mutual, of course.  But
     the man had had regrets, and had confessed to Shendra that he’d been
     seduced by her apprentice.  Relationships between teachers and
     apprentices was strictly forbidden, and rightly so.  Khadgar had
     found himself back in the dungeons, and the man had been removed from
     his teaching position.  He might have even been discharged from the
     Order; Khadgar had never seen or heard from him again.
     It was then that Shendra informed him that he was officially being
     stripped as the Guardian Novitiate.  He’d felt great shame at the
     disappointment he would become to his family, but greatly relieved. 
     He knew he would have made a terrible Guardian.  Now he would be free
     to study magic and be whatever kind of mage he wanted to be. 
     Unfortunately, Shendra had other ideas.  She’d left him lingering in
     the dungeons, giving him plenty of time to consider her proposal.  He
     was wildly opposed, at first, but eventually could see no other way
     out.  She wanted to tap into his “natural talents,” she’d said, so
     that he could continue to fulfill his indentureship with the Kirin
     Tor and honor the sacrifice his family had made in committing him to
     their care.  She was determined that his training and abilities would
     not go to waste.
     Shendra had said the consequences of his decision would affect not
     only Khadgar, but also his family.  She said his parents would have
     to sell everything they owned to repay their debts to the Kirin Tor
     if he were to break out of indentureship, or they’d have produce
     another child in his place.  She had strongly implied that if Khadgar
     voided his contract, the Kirin Tor would be within their rights to
     destroy his family financially and by reputation. Eventually,
     miserably, he’d agreed. 
     Though truth be told, true to his own insatiable inquisitiveness, he
     was deeply curious about the female experience.  This could be
     interesting, he thought.  Besides, he wasn’t terribly worried about
     the transformation.  Anything one mage could do, another could undo. 
     And he was a better mage than most.
“For a time, the transformation helped, and the promiscuity dwindled. 
Attempting to work with her strong-willed nature rather than against it, we
allowed her to set her own curriculum and study on her own pace.  She seemed to
be adjusting well and finally embracing the responsibilities of her vows, or so
we thought.”  Antonidas allowed himself to sound sorrowful. “We were wrong.”
     What Antonidas meant by “at her own pace” had meant studying in
     isolation, kept away from the other apprentices who were his
     friends.  Khadgar hadn’t minded that too much, other than a measure
     of loneliness.  He’d always thrived as an independent learner, but he
     missed the companionship. 
     He hadn’t minded being a girl, not at first.  He was smaller, and a
     little weaker, but he was also lighter, which meant he was faster,
     running up and down the stairs of the many mage towers in the Violet
     Citadel.  He’d liked the curves of his body, the slim waist and
     rounded hips.  The breasts were annoying, as was menstruation, but he
     liked how his face became delicate and his lips became full.  He’d
     almost begun to accept the possibility of staying in the female body
     indefinitely.
     But Antonidas was not telling the full story.  There was more, much
     more, that had driven Khadgar to finally renounce his vows and leave
     the Kirin Tor.
“We’ve come to believe that young Khadgar had been harboring resentment for
some time.  Instead of approaching us and discussing this, she made a very
unwise decision that ultimately destroyed a great deal of Kirin Tor property
and nearly took several lives.” Antonidas had gone icy cold. 
Yes, thought Khadgar with resignation, knowing what Antonidas was referring
to.  I can’t even blame him for this one.
“In her unbridled impulsiveness, staggering even for one with her well-known
thoughtlessness, she entered the Chamber of Air unannounced during a very
critical and dangerous spell being performed by the Council of Six.  Selfishly
choosing to interrupt this ritual, the spell was unwoven and great destruction
unleashed upon the Violet Citadel.  We almost lost the entire Chamber, and
several people were injured.”  The archmage was deadly quiet.  Serious.  “The
financial ramifications of her destruction were astronomical.  The wanton
destruction of property and potential loss of life caused by her recklessness
caused the Council to decide unanimously to strip her of the position of
Guardian Novitiate.  The mark of the Kirin Tor was removed from her arm, and
she was disgraced.”
     After receiving word of Shendra’s latest assignment for him in his
     new female body, Khadgar had reached his breaking point at last. 
     He’d tolerated numerous experiences and assignments that left him
     feeling objectified, but she had reached a new low.  He’d put
     together a plan to break free from the Kirin Tor once and for all. 
     Once in motion, he had no choice but to act quickly.
     He’d ran, practically flew to the Chamber of Air, knowing the Council
     was in session and he needed to speak to them.  Needed to face them,
     and let them know that he was renouncing his vows.  Immediately. 
     He’d never meant to cause all that destruction.
     The Chamber had actually rocked on its invisible foundations, nearly
     collapsing, while the Council’s spell punched a massive hole in the
     floor.  Huge chucks of stone had fallen, destroying other parts of
     the Citadel.  Several people had been injured, although no one was
     seriously hurt.
     The Council had wasted no time in formally revoking the status of
     Guardian Novitiate, although according to Archmage Shendra, that
     status had been revoked for some time.  He’d been disgraced, indeed,
     stripped naked in front of them.
     If Khadgar had thought the mark had been painful when it was branded
     into his arm as a child, it was ten times more painful being
     removed.  Three members of the Council had jointly cast the spell
     that had caused the brand to turn white hot, then even hotter.  The
     brand had ignited in his arm, bubbling like molten silver and
     spilling across the skin from elbow to wrist.  He’d screamed, raw
     animal sounds that went on and on, until someone had mercifully
     knocked him unconscious.  
“I must confess my own regrettable actions in this matter,” said Antonidas,
squaring his shoulders.  “Out of great anger, I spoke rashly.  Thinking only of
the crisis, and not of the person involved, I told young Khadgar that she had
no place in the Kirin Tor.  When she fled the chamber after revoking her
position of honor in or Order, we had no idea that she was running away for
good.”  He turned to Khadgar.  “My boy, do you understand?  I was frustrated,
and unkind.  I spoke incorrectly.  You will always have a place with us.”
Meeting the mage’s gaze squarely, Khadgar wanted to vomit.  Yes,he
thought,there’s a dungeon cell with my name etched into it permanently. He knew
a threat when he heard one.
Turning back to the adjudicator, the archmage finished.  “We have invested a
tremendous amount of resources in this young apprentice, financially and
otherwise. Years upon years of training have helped mold Khadgar into the
competent mage he is today.  We are loathe to lose that investment over his
bruised ego from losing the position of novitiate.  It is all a silly
misunderstanding.”
“We hope that he will return to us for three reasons.  First and foremost,
because he is legally obligated to fulfill his contract for indentureship that
does not expire for several more years.  Second, because he owes a great deal
of restitution for the destruction of property that he wreaked upon our
chamber.  He must find some way to make payment for the damages.  And third,”
said Antonidas, looking at Khadgar almost like a compassionate father, “because
we care about him.  He is own of our own, and always will be.  It is clear to
us now that he will never be the Guardian, but there are many other places for
him in Dalaran.  It would be our privilege and honor to finalize his education
and help him become the mage he is destined to be.”
The archmage regarded Queen Taria and the adjudicator, speaking with
certainty.  “What you see before you is not a refugee, tormented and driven
from his home by a monstrous order seeking his demise.  Rather, Khadgar is a
runaway, confused and upset by the great responsibility that was placed upon
him too early.  He has been a challenging student, but one that we still see
great potential in and are willing to work with.  We respectfully submit that
Stormwind must rescind its offer of asylum and return our apprentice with all
haste.” 
He nodded sharply.  “This concludes my appeal, adjudicator.  I am available for
any questions.”
“Thank you,” said Nadal, blinking.  “We shall call for a recess, to reconvene
in half an hour’s time.  Dismissed.”  His gavel cracked sharply, and Khadgar
released the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. 
Half done, half to go.
--- 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Wondering what Khadgar looked like as a girl? Here's one idea: http:/
     /imgur.com/a/25S8Q
***** Lento Con Gran Espressione *****
Chapter Summary
     Now it's Khadgar's turn to talk.
Chapter Notes
     The chapter title refer's to Chopin's Nocturne in C Sharp Minor.
     "Lento con gran espressione" means "slowly, with great expression"
     and sums up what's going on in Khadgar's mind.
     It's a beautiful, reminiscent, and haunting piece. If you want to set
     the proper mood for this chapter, listen to this while you read:
     https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m5qeuVOIbHk
See the end of the chapter for more notes
CHAPTER 14
Back in the chamber, Khadgar waited quietly for his turn to speak.  His back
was straight as an arrow, and his hands rested lightly on his knees.  He
focused on pushing air in and out of his chest, carefully avoiding the others
in the room.  He didn't want to see the judgment in their eyes; or worse,
sympathy.  When the adjudicator gave him the nod, Khadgar stood, trying to hide
how sick and uncertain he felt.  Cool as a cucumber,he thought.  Wouldn’t melt
butter.
He glanced over his notes.  He’d decided to start at the beginning, but focus
on the end.
“My name is Khadgar.  Until recently, I’ve been a ward of the Kirin Tor,
indentured in apprenticeship until the age of twenty-five.”  He shrugged
uncertainly.  “So I’ve been told.  I haven’t seen the contract.  I don’t know
my family name, or who they were. The Order has been all I ever had.  They’ve
cared for me, trained me to become a mage, and mentored me.  I was the Guardian
Novitiate, studying to be the next protector of Azeroth.  But it became
exceedingly clear that I’m not exactly Guardian material.” 
“What the Archmage said was true.  I studied forbidden subjects.  I was
headstrong, and outspoken, and difficult.  Near the end, we fundamentally
disagreed on nearly every precept.” Khadgar’s gaze flickered briefly to
Antonidas.  “But that’s not why I left.”
“The Kirin Tor are…secretive.”  Massive understatement, he thought, but I don’t
want to sound like a conspiracy theorist.  “I don’t know how much of what
happened was directed by the Council.  It might not have been.  Ultimately, it
doesn’t really matter.  I couldn’t stay.”
“I’m not going to dispute what Archmage Antonidas told you, but I am going to
fill in some of the missing information.  Things he probably didn’t know.  They
first spoke of the assignment when I was fifteen.  I’d crossed an unforgivable
line, and my master was determined to salvage what she could.”
He took a deep breath and began to explain. 
---
He’d been relieved when Shendra had finally visited him in the dungeon.  The
cell was a dark, cold, miserable place.  The floor was wet in places, soaking
through his clothes and into his bones.  The walls were thick and solid, an
arcane prison that hummed slightly when he touched the stones.  He could still
cast spells, but his ability was greatly weakened.  For example, instead of a
fireball, the best he could weave was a sputtering glow, and the effort was
exhausting. 
He mostly sat in darkness, wishing he’d never been accepted into the Order. 
He’d never thought they’d throw him back in the dungeons, just for bedding one
of his instructors.  It had to be that.  Other than that tiny offense, his
conscience was unusually clear. 
Then Shendra arrived, and she was not angry.  This time, there were no
lectures.  She appeared to be calm, and he thought she might even be
reasonable.  Or as close as she ever was to reasonable.
He’d scrambled to his feet, shielding his dark-adjusted eyes from the lamplight
that accompanied her unexpected presence. 
Dispensing with pleasantries, she told him bluntly, “You are being removed from
the position of Guardian Novitiate.  You don’t have what it takes.”
He was momentarily embarrassed, but mostly relieved. “I know.”  Her mouth
tightened, and he knew that his response sounded cheeky.  He also knew that if
he tried to explain, it would only make things worse.  So he remained silent,
waiting for her to finish.
“We’ve invested a lot in your training…for very little return.”  She regarded
him coldly, and he shifted uncomfortably in response. 
“Master Shendra, I am trying-,” he started to protest, but she cut him off.
“No.  No more trying.  I have other plans for you.”  Her eyes narrowed as she
contemplated his sorry existence.  “You have great potential, boy.  That we all
recognize.  But your temperament is ill-suited to the task of the Guardian. 
You lack caution and respect.  You continually put your own desires ahead of
your vows.  Both your lust for dark knowledge and your physical appetites are
unfitting for a Guardian Novitiate.”
Seeing his flush, she smiled thinly. “Yes.  That’s right.  I know all about
your latest exploits.”
“It was only a kiss,” he managed, stomach sinking while the thought of poor
Fallon, wondering if he, too was in a damp cell somewhere beneath the Violet
Citadel.
“Liar!” she hissed, showing true anger for a moment before gathering herself. 
“Do you think I’m a fool?  You bend over like a whore for anything with a
willing prick, don’t you?” 
Khadgar didn’t look away, but he didn’t argue, either.  That wasn’t strictly
true.  He did have some standards for whom he chose to bed.  Although a willing
prick was definitely a requirement.  
“Worse than whore, actually,” Shendra continued, “because you don’t even have
the sense to get paid.  This time, you went too far.  We’ve warned you, given
you every opportunity to mend your ways.  When you took the vows of the
Guardian Novitiate, you gave up a normal life.  A Guardian must refrain from
physical relationships that would weaken and distract from the duty of
protecting the realm.  For fleeting physical pleasure, you spit on the sacred
vows that you swore before the Council.  That is inexcusable.”
She went on.  “And, if you do not care for yourself, what of Mage Fallon?  Do
you realize that he could be stripped of his teaching position here for
seducing a student?”  Her voice took on a spiteful quality.  “Although I’m
certain it was quite the other way around.  No, you selfishly put your own
desires ahead of all.  Again.”
Now Khadgar did look away, distressed.  He hadn’t thought about the
consequences for Fallon.  He didn’t understand why the Kirin Tor cared so much
who he bedded, but he’d known it wouldn’t end well if Shendra found out.  He
hated to think of anything bad happening to Fallon on his account.
She shook her head ruefully.  “Putting you to the Novitiate test was a mistake
from the start.  You were always too willful, too impetuous.  The Council was
blinded by your arcane abilities, and overlooked your weaknesses.  They thought
they could bridle you, train you into becoming the most powerful guardian we’ve
seen in an age.  They were wrong. Training you has been a failure.  A complete
and utter waste.”
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, meaning it.  He didn’t know what else to say.
“Are you?” Shendra didn’t care, and let it show.  “You’ve disgraced me as
well.  Your behavior has been nothing short of disgusting.”
“What’s so wrong with it?” he burst out suddenly, upset.  “Why can’t I give and
receive affection?  It’s normal, and comforting, and….”  He’d never shared
anything personal with Shendra before, and it was horribly uncomfortable.  “I
just don’t want to be alone.”
“I understand, Khadgar.  Really, I do.”  Her voice chilled him, suddenly.  “You
can’t help what you are.”  She didn’t name what that was, but her tone was
expressive enough. 
“We have decided to stop fighting against what is so obviously your nature. 
You must realize that you cannot go on as the Novitiate.  However, your
training need not be a complete waste.”  She looked at him with something like
triumph breaking across her face.  “You have a new assignment.  One that will
make better use of your…natural abilities.”
He bit at his bottom lip nervously.  “What do you mean?”
“What I am about to tell you is restricted information.  You are not to speak
of it.” Shendra’s gaze was level and stern.  He nodded assent, and she
continued.  “The current Guardian Medivh is yet young.  In fact, he is in his
prime.  You are aware of this?”
Khadgar nodded again, wondering what she was getting at. 
“Did you ever wonder why another Novitiate was being prepared so early into his
guardianship?  It is highly unusual.” She looked around the cell distastefully,
and leaned gingerly on the wall as she spoke.  “The Council has foreseen
something….dark.  We don’t know exactly what, or exactly when, but we know it
involves the Guardian Medivh.  How, we’re not sure.  Perhaps some darkness
befalls him, or he dies an untimely death.”
He blinked. The Guardian served to protect Azeroth from all manner of evil,
particularly from demonic evil.  The Guardian was considered the pinnacle of
magedom, amongst the most powerful and above reproach.   The Kirin Tor created
the Guardian by bestowing him or her with incredible powers through a secretive
arcane ritual.  The Guardian served until death, or until the powers were
removed.  What darkness could possibly involve the Guardian?  Was he ill?
“When your talents were discovered, many on the Council thought that you could
be prepared to be the Guardian, should anything befall Medivh.  You were
identified as a potential Novitiate almost from the day you arrived.”  She
sounded disgusted.  “You can see why your failure is such a great
disappointment to the Order.”
Khadgar listened closely, frowning. 
“As I have said, you will never be the Guardian.  That much is clear.” She
paused, looking at him carefully.  “But your offspring might.”
“My offspring?” he was confused.  He’d never bedded a female.  He couldn’t
possibly have any offspring.
“The child that you will carry.”
Khadgar could not summon a response.  His mind seemed to have stopped working. 
He stared at her, uncomprehending, and she let him digest the statement for a
long moment.  Finally, he shook his head.  “I don’t understand, Master
Shendra.”
She reached into her robes and pulled out a small bottle.  It was filled with a
viscous, orange liquid.  “We wish for you to breed with the Guardian Medivh.”
Khadgar was not sure if the floor fell from underneath him, or the ceiling
collapsed from above.  Either way, it suddenly felt as though he could not
breathe, or hear.  He stared at her, mind churning wildly.  Thoughts like “how”
and “why” flitted by, but nothing came from his mouth.
“We have studied your chromocanal charts, and believe that your innate arcane
aptitude, paired with the Guardian’s own considerable powers, could produce a
mage of renowned ability.  One that might prepared to face the darkness that is
coming.”  She smiled at him.  It was a smile that sat on the surface of her
face and didn’t pass her lips.  “There is only one small problem, obviously. 
And since the Guardian Medivh is unlikely to take the position of the woman,
and you seem more than willing to receive, this seems like a natural fit.”  She
again held the orange bottle towards him.
“I’m not taking that fucking potion.” His response was flat.  “I’m not bearing
a child.” 
Shendra was insistent.  “You have taken advantage of our training and abused
our generosity.  You have taxed our resources greatly.  Perhaps one child in a
hundred thousand receives the opportunities that you have been given, and
squandered.  You owe us a great debt, young Trust.  One that you will have to
repay, one way or another.”
“If I am such a burden, if I’ve been such a terrible apprentice,” he countered
coldly, “what makes you think my offspring would be any better?”
She smiled thinly.  “Medivh comes from a long line of good breeding.  Did you
know that his mother was the Guardian before him?   Arcane lineage studies
indicate that the personality tends to be bestowed upon the child by the
father, while it is the mother that passes down the stronger arcane aptitude.”
“I am not a woman,” he protested, more weakly now.  “It won’t work.”
“With the transformation tincture, it will.  This potion is obscenely
expensive, and very rare.” She turned the bottle thoughtfully in the
lamplight.  “In fact, it is quite illegal in some parts of Azeroth.  As you can
imagine, we obtained this with some difficulty.”  She placed the bottle in
Khadgar’s hand, closing his unresisting fingers around it. 
“This is your assignment.  You will take the potion.  If the transformation is
successful, you will be released from this cell and continue your studies.  For
the time, the Council wishes you to continue to train as if you were still the
Guardian Novitiate.” Again, her prim smile.  “For appearances.  You
understand.  There are…political factions…that we do not wish to learn of your
assignment.”
“Like who?” Khadgar questioned, before he could stop himself, knowing she would
be irritated with his impertinence.  The sickness was growing in his stomach
like a something had died in there, heavy and solid.  “Did the Guardian Medivh
agree to this?”
To his surprise, she answered him directly.  “He did not.  And that is why you
are perfectly suited to the task. You’ve shown yourself to be an uncanny
seducer of men.  How many have you bedded?  Can you even enumerate?”
He didn’t try to hide his scowl.  He honestly didn’t know how many partners
he’d had, but it was none of her business.  It was admittedly a large number.
  
“I didn’t think so.  Khadgar, I know you think I am cruel.”  She pushed away
from the wall to stand, preparing to leave the cell, staring at him with a
simulacrum of earnestness.
She is so terrible at emulating human emotions, he thought sourly.  She should
stop even trying and just admit that she’s a heartless, undead creature from
the Underworld. 
“This assignment is bigger than you, or me, or even the Kirin Tor.  What the
Council has foreseen is very grim indeed.  Your child could be the one who
defends Azeroth during her darkest hour.  We plan to continue your education
here in Dalaran until you reach the age of legal consent.”  She had put the
barest emphasis on the word ‘legal’.  “Medivh is an honorable man.  We don’t
want to seduce him with a child.  At that point, you will go to Karazhan to
train as his apprentice.  Once you are with child, you will return to Dalaran.”
Khadgar shook his head.  What a load of shit.  “If I am a child, how can I
consent to this?  Why not ask me when I’m of age?”
Again, Shendra surprised him with her honesty.  “We wish you to be familiar
with your female body. He must not suspect that you are seducing him. Your
abilities must be natural, and you must be skilled.  You must walk like a
woman, act like a woman.  It only seems reasonable to begin that portion of
your training now so that you may be prepared when the time comes.”
“Well,” Khadgar replied with feeling, “I do not consent.”     
“Very well.”  Shendra shrugged.  “The decision must be yours, of course.  We
couldn’t possibly force you to agree to something like this without your
cooperation.  If you change your mind, you need only send the word.”  She
looked at him hard, trying another tactic.  “Are you refusing to cooperate with
your assignment?  You do realize that you are indentured to the Order for
several more years?”
“I don’t care,” Khadgar replied, stubborn as a mule.  He really didn’t care. 
He was already in prison.  What more could they do?
“I realize that,” she said sweetly, “but one might hope that you bear some
semblance of respect for the sacrifices made on your behalf by your family. 
They were awarded a great sum of gold for surrendering you to the Order; which,
as you know, is also a great honor.  If you were to be dismissed for cause…such
as breaking contract…the effects might be devastating.”
Khadgar almost couldn’t believe what she was saying. Was Shendra actually
threatening his family?
“We’d be well within our rights to demand return of our payment.  With
interest.  Of course, the disgrace of reputation alone might be enough to ruin
them.”  Her voice trailed off thoughtfully.  “Of course, if they could produce
another child, that might be reasonable compensation.  Preferably one with
arcane abilities, although, we could always use more servants.”
Khadgar spat in her direction.  “How fucking dare you.”
“If you will not be reasonable, I certainly cannot force you.”  She stepped out
of the cell, taking the lantern with her.  She lingered in the doorway for
another moment.  “Perhaps we will find another assignment for you in the
future, and you will be able to rejoin us above.”
What?  She’s leaving me here?  Again?“Master Shendra,” he begged, suddenly
frantic, “Please.  Don’t leave me here.  Please.  I can make it up another
way.”
She looked at him dispassionately, gesturing at the bottle that he still
clutched.  “Try the potion.  See what you think.  The dose in that bottle will
be enough to initiate the transformation and keep it active for precisely
twenty-one days, although the initial transformation will require a full day to
take effect.  You might like it.”
Seeing the look on his face, she had the audacity to actually laugh.  “Of
course the transformation isn’t permanent.  It’s just a potion.  We don’t want
to permanently alter your life, my dear.  Once you’ve performed your
assignment, you will be free to reside in whatever form you wish.  Do think on
it.”
And then she was gone, and he was in darkness again.
Chapter End Notes
     Chronocanal charts are something like a cross between genetics and
     astrology, I think.
***** Cucumbers Don't Cry, Khadgar *****
Chapter Summary
     Warning; this chapter contains some non-graphic references to sexual
     abuse.
CHAPTER 15
After Shendra had left his cell, he’d resisted the urge to choke down the
potion and be done with it.  Eventually, he’d unwisely thrown the small bottle
across the cell and it had smashed on the wall, leaving shards of glass around
that later cut him in the darkness.  He had been unable to resist placing one
curious finger into the goo, bringing it to his lips and thinking it tasted
like sweet butter, with a bitter, citrus finish.  Interesting.
When Shendra did not come back, he went on a hunger strike.  When they brought
him food and water, he dropped it down the drainage grate in the center of the
floor.  That lasted for six meals, until he was desperately hungry and digging
into the shithole regretfully, hoping some food scraps might have gotten caught
in the drain.  It’s not as if the stoic mages who kept watchful guard over him
had shown any signs of caring whether he lived or died.  So he started eating
again.
Eventually, he’d slipped into sort of a delirium, not sure if he was awake or
asleep, if his thoughts were dreams or reality.  He’d been curled on the floor
like a child, hugging himself and dreaming of a home that he did not remember
when Shendra finally returned, finding him acceptably compliant.  Broken,
even.  She’d knelt beside him, smoothing filthy hair back from his gaunt face,
asking again the question.  This time he’d only nodded in agreement, too weary
to even whimper but desperately afraid that she’d leave him in the darkness
again.
True to her word, he’d been pulled from the dungeon immediately and treated
with care.  Like a prized brood mare, he’d thought cynically, they had to get
him healthy and strong again.
---
Khadgar blinked, dragging himself back to the present.  He’d sensed the others
shifting during his story, but he’d only looked at the adjudicator.  Not the
men to his right, and not the queen in front of him.  Nor at Archmage
Antonidas.  Only Nadal the night elf, with his purple skin and glowing yellow
eyes, staring seriously back.
“So you see, the Archmage was correct.  I did consent, after a fashion,” he
said with more bitterness than he’d intended.  “Oh, I did resist for a while. 
I’m not sure how long they left me there, but it was long enough for me to
realize that I only had one way out of the dungeons, and it was through that
potion bottle.”
Choosing his words carefully, he explained what happened next.  “So I agreed,
and the transformation was successful.  My master allowed me to continue my
studies, after a fashion.  She mostly left me alone, but I wasn’t permitted to
interact with the other apprentices.  Most of them didn’t realize that I was
me.” 
The words were coming out of him woodenly, as if he were one of those
mechanical gnomish dolls that spoke in a tinny voice when the lever in the back
was pulled.  “I did receive the additional training that my master had
promised, from a local…expert.  She was a prostitute,” he clarified, “from a
well frequented night house in Dalaran.  Very expensive, I understand, but very
good at her trade.  I really didn’t mind being female, mostly, it wasn’t that
bad.  I was able to study almost anything I wanted, because the pressure of the
Novitiate was gone.  It was lonely, but…” his voice trailed away.  Fuck. He was
getting off track. Focus, Khadgar, he told himself sternly.
“I had to constantly drink the transformation tincture, to stay in the female
form.  I’m not sure if it was more cost effective, or if my master was worried
that I’d stop taking the potion, but she came up with another way. Working with
a local alchemist with some medical training, an intrauterine implant was
fashioned.”  Despite himself, he shot a quick smile in the direction of Medivh,
without actually making eye contact with the mage. 
“Paramagnetic compound materials,” he said, parroting the same words the
Guardian had used days before.  “The energy resonance mechanism of the imbued
crystallites is a highly effective transmitter.  Meaning that rather than
having to take the potion monthly, the implant would only have to be changed
yearly, with no harmful side effects.” 
Khadgar was gratified to sense Medivh shifting uncomfortably, although he
couldn’t bring himself to look.  He wondered if Medivh recognized some of his
own words being tossed around. The Guardian had questioned why a young
novitiate would be knowledgeable regarding paramagnetic implants.  Well, now he
knew.
He spread his hands, palms up.  “My master told me that I would be sent to
Karazhan to train as the Guardian’s ersatz apprentice when I was of age.  As
the time drew near, I started getting anxious.  My resolve was weakened by the
dungeon, but I had become strong again as the months passed.”  He sighed.  “I
couldn’t do it.  The thought of deceiving a man into impregnating me was
repulsive.  But more than anything, I couldn’t justify giving an innocent
child, born of my own body, to the Kirin Tor to control.  And abuse, and
indoctrinate, and manipulate.  So I formulated an escape plan.”
“I hated the implant at first.  It goes up inside your body, it’s really
uncomfortable.”  He stumbled over his words for the first time.  He was still
uncomfortable with the concept of…his…female body.  “Some women use these
devices to prevent pregnancy.  Without the tincture, of course.”  Gah, Khadgar,
they know that.  Focus. “But it gave me an idea.  If the tincture could be
spelled for the female sex, it could probably be spelled for the male sex,
too.”
 “The alchemist who provided implant was a lecher.”  Khadgar was disconnecting
again, hating to remember things that he had buried deep inside.  “Whenever he
changed it, he…touched me.  Not anything to do with the implant.  Just…touched
my body, when we were alone in the examination room.    So I exploited that.” 
His voice trailed away, memories taking him back to the past in sharp,
unpleasant detail.  “It was easy.”
---
The man had always lingered over his body more than necessary, leaning to close
and touching places that had no bearing on the insertion process.  Khadgar
despised him, but thought he could use the man’s desire to his advantage.
He’d called on the man one night unexpectedly, alone.
“Sir, I’ve been having pain.  Some bleeding.  I think my implant is coming
loose.” He managed to sound ashamed and innocent at the same time.  “Would you
mind taking it out to look?
Hungry eyes and hungry hands, leading him to the examination room, pawing up
his robes.  “Coming loose, girl?  Why would that be?  Has somebody been up
there?”
“No, sir.  Of course not.  Nobody but you.” Khadgar’s best lies were woven with
truth.  He was to bed no one but Medivh with his female body.  The Kirin Tor
had been clear on that.  Khadgar had found that while in the female body, he
didn’t really want sex.  He’d done some experimenting, of course, but it didn’t
feel right.  Not what he was used to.  So he didn’t argue with the edict. 
They’d finally managed to tame the promiscuous Khadgar after all.
In the medical room, he steadied himself while the alchemist readied the new
implant.  Asking with artfully constructed naiveté, tinged with hint of
suggestion, “I’m always so tired when you’re done with the insertion.  Do you
have a place I could rest afterward, before I have to walk back to the
citadel?  Maybe just some blankets, if it’s not any trouble?  Would you mind?”
The man was all too eager to ready a bed in his back room.  Khadgar remembered
digging frantically through the alchemist’s tinctures, finding the right ones
at last.  Carefully making the swap on the little table beside the examination
table where he lay, submissively, employing the seductive skills they’d taught
him.  He put his entire being into distracting the man during the procedure,
and in the end, they had not needed the bed.  The man had taken him right there
on the table, saying, “I need to make sure the implant is fully inserted, this
time.  This is the best way, the natural way.  You don’t want it to come loose
again, do you?  Just relax and it won’t hurt very much, my dear girl.”
Of course, the act had nothing to do with the implant.
Khadgar had played his role dutifully.  He remembered the alchemist stuttering
nervously, “Perhaps you’d better come back next week.  For an examination. 
Just to make sure the implant hasn’t moved.  Free of charge, of course.  You
don’t even need to tell your masters.”
He’d kissed the man’s hand, feigning gratitude.  “Whatever you think is best,
Doctor.  You are so kind to me.  I will never forget.”
Later, he’d sobbed, wasting precious time scrubbing himself in the washroom for
what seemed like hours.  The filthy feeling that covered his body from the act
was not visible, and the sensations did not fade from his skin for a long, long
time.
No, that was not something he was about to fucking forget. 
But the mission had been a success.  The implant that was inside his body had
been imbued with transformative tincture for the male sex.  He knew that
shortly, his sex would revert from female to male.  He would no longer have a
uterus for them to implant.  Once the transformation went into effect, they
wouldn’t be able to get the implant out.  And as long as he already had a male
implant in his body, they couldn’t potion him or implant him back into a
female.  He would be useless for their breeding plan, for at least a year.
Or until they decided to cut the implant out. 
He had twenty-four hours before the transformation from female to male would be
complete.  He had to act quickly, if he were going to renounce his vows before
it took effect.  He wasn’t sure what would happen when he renounced his vows
before the Council of Six, but he wasn’t taking any chances.  If he had to
flee, he wanted to be sure they were looking for female Khadgar, not male.
---
Khadgar realized that he was no longer reading from the notes pages he had
prepared.  He looked down, trying to get back on track, but could not find his
place.  The words were swimming on the page, little black fishes in a sea of
white. 
Slowly, he found his words again. “After that, I packed my things.  My
spellbook, my clothing, and my writing kit; the only things I owned.  I even
left my staff and sword,” he added sadly, “Because while I did not think they
would mind me taking a writing kit, those things were valuable.  I wanted to
sever all ties.”
Khadgar sighed deeply.  “I went to the Chamber of Air immediately.  The
transformative effect of the implant takes twenty-four hours, so I had to move
quickly before they realized what I had done.  My plan was to formally renounce
my vows before the Council of Six.  I’d made sure they’d be in session on the
day that I switched the implant at the alchemist’s.  Everything was in place.” 
He nodded towards Antonidas.  “What the Archmage said was accurate.  I
interrupted whatever spell they were weaving, with terrible consequences.  We
were exceedingly fortunate that no one was killed.  But they’ll have to rebuild
the entire Chamber.”  He smiled at the thought.  “I suppose I do owe them
restitution for that, although it was never my intention to cause harm.”
“The dust hadn’t even settled from the destruction, but I still renounced my
vows.  The timing was obviously poor, but my plans were already set into motion
and I couldn’t delay.  They were furious.”  Khadgar looked at the adjudicator
tiredly. He was beginning to weary of telling this story.  “Someone held me
still.  I don’t know who.  They took my clothes.  Three members of the Council
burned the mark of the Guardian Novitiate, the Eye of the Kirin Tor, from my
forearm, while the others watched.”
His eyes went vacant, remembering the searing pain that had went on, and on. 
“Three people in this room can testify to the nature of that wound.  Queen
Taria, Commander Lothar, and the Guardian Medivh all saw it.  The Council
seared the burn with molten arcane, ensuring that it would never properly heal
by Light or natural means alone.”
He turned, facing Antonidas directly for the first time.  “Intent to cause
cruel and unusual injury is a violation of inter-realm treaties for the rights
of sentient beings.  I believe that burn was intended to be an ongoing physical
punishment for defying the Order.”  The strange look on the old man’s face
surprised Khadgar, but he didn’t linger too long on what the expression meant. 
Sorrow?  Regret?  Disappointment?
Looking back at the adjudicator, Khadgar summoned his resolve and continued.
 “The last thing I heard before falling unconscious was Archmage Antonidas
telling me that I was scum, not fit for anything but the gutter where they’d
found me.  He said there was no place for me in the Kirin Tor.”
A shaky smile crossed his face.  “Those words were a blessing.  I had intended
to leave, even if it meant breaking my indentureship.  But with those words,
the Council discharged me from the Order.”  Khadgar intended to stick to this
point stubbornly, knowing it was the crux of his argument.  “In the heat of his
anger, Antonidas revealed a truth that I don’t think he meant to.  Perhaps
there was no contract.  I think the Kirin Tor found me orphaned and invented
the contract when they needed to control me.  I don’t think my family ever
signed anything.”
There was no family.  This was one of his deepest fears, but one that he had
come to believe was true.  He’d probably been a gutter child, starving in
Dalaran.  Maybe he’d been the son of a prostitute.  Maybe that was why Shendra
had told him that whoring was in his nature.   He doubted he would ever learn
the truth, at least not from the Kirin Tor.
Khadgar bit at his lips, hard, using the pain to focus.
“I left that night, and they did not stop me.  Nor did they send anyone after
me, at least not that I could tell.  It’s not like I hiding, using my true
name.  It was about three months ago.  And now I’m here.”  He wiped at the
tears on his face.  When did that start?He wondered distantly, appalled at
showing such weakness but too numb to care.  “I don’t know why the Kirin Tor
want me back, but it’s not so they can finish my training.”  Khadgar hated the
pitiful sound of his own voice, gone small and pathetic.  “They’ll put me in
prison, or hurt my family, or try to make me breed again.”
He laughed suddenly, a harsh sound.  “And now you can add betrayal to the list
of offenses, since none of this was ever to be revealed to anyone, inside the
Order or out.   I can’t go back.”   
Suddenly, he’d run out of words. 
“Um.  That’s everything,” he finished, lamely.  Well, that was anticlimactic,he
thought, disappointed in his own lack of articulation, frustrated at the tears
that had tracked down his face and dripped onto his shirt.  Cucumbers don’t
cry, Khadgar, he reminded himself wryly.  You’re supposed to be calm and
collected.  His hands were shaking, and he forced them to rest lightly on his
thighs.  He didn’t have anything more to say.  He hoped it was enough.
The room was deathly silent for a long moment, then Naldor’s gavel crashed
down, a sharp sound that reverberated through Khadgar’s skull like the snap of
a whip.  “Recess,” said the night elf in his grave, sonorous tones.  “Return in
ten minutes time.”
Khadgar slumped weakly in his chair, nodding.  He didn’t look up, but heard the
others filing quietly from the room.  He held his breath, willing them to pass
him by without speaking or touching him.  Thankfully, they did neither thing. 
Then, when he was alone, he allowed himself to slump forward, burying his face
in his hands. 
He had done everything he could.  Now it was up to the adjudicator, and Queen
Taria, and Archmage Antonidas to decide his fate.  Would they see him as a
criminal?  A victim?  Something between?  Every instinct in his body was
telling him to flee, right now, while they were all distracted with this war. 
He’d get a head start, and disappear somewhere distant, never to be heard from
again.  But he’d given Lothar his word. 
Lothar, strong and golden.  Lothar, who’d told him, “Because I care for you…”
...whatever that meant.  He wondered if Lothar would still care for him now,
now that he’d heard the truth.  He hadn't dared to steal even a glance at the
man during the hearing, afraid of what he might see written in Lothar's face.
 He let the tears seep out freely for another long moment, before drawing a
shaky breath. 
Khadgar sat up and wiped his nose on his sleeve.  He pushed his chin a little
higher, and sat a little straighter.  They wouldn’t get the satisfaction of
seeing him cry.  He’d accept his fate with grace, he decided.   Besides, like
Queen Taria had said.  It wasn’t over yet.  He’d been in horrible situations
before, and cat-like, he'd always managed to wriggle out of trouble at the last
second.    
Cat-ghar, he thought with a smile, remembering Medivh’s nickname for him.
Antonidas didn't seem to know what he was up against.  Because Khadgar always
landed on his feet.
---
***** At Terminal Velocity, A Khadgar Relaxes As He Falls. *****
Chapter Summary
     Let's finish it!
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Khadgar was sitting on the steps of the chamber, one hand buried idly in a
bushy white plant with soft leaves when Lothar approached.  He'd forced himself
to leave the chamber once his stormy emotions had settled, just to get some
fresh air.  Somehow, he had found peace in the afternoon sun, running the
leaves through his fingers and letting his mind drift blankly.  Not a bad way
to spend my last day in Stormwind, he thought.  Maybe it was the gentle rays of
sunlight, or maybe Khadgar was finally losing it, but it seemed like Lothar
gave off a golden sort of halo of light and warmth.
It took his breath away, really.  This man will be the end of me, he thought
with certainty.  He clouds my judgment.
Lothar strolled up to him easily, thumbs hooked in his belt and projecting
nonchalance.  Khadgar looked up at him, letting his head fall sideways as he
admired the view.  Fuck, he’s beautiful, he thought. See?  Distraction.  I
don’t need this.
The commander sat next to him on the step. “Are you alright?” he asked,
reaching to ruffle Khadgar’s dark hair. 
“I think so,” Khadgar replied, ducking his head to get away from the familiar
gesture.  “Do you think I can wait outside for this part?”
“They might have questions of you,” Lothar reminded him.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” said Khadgar with a crooked smile.  “You don’t
have to stay for this,” he added, only halfway joking.  “I don’t want you to
have to watch your favorite prisoner be led away in chains.”
“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” Lothar said, teasing right back
“You liked that, didn’t you?” replied Khadgar, grinning. It was easier to keep
things light than to talk about what had just transpired in the chamber.  “Me
in chains?”
Whatever response Lothar might have given was curtailed by the others
returning.  Khadgar nodded respectfully as the queen, adjudicator, and archmage
passed them by, but didn’t bother standing.  Social mandates didn’t seem
terribly important just now.  Medivh had been speaking heatedly with the
archmage a few minutes earlier, but was apparently not rejoining the session. 
For that Khadgar was intensely grateful.  Lothar stood first, then extended a
hand, pulling Khadgar off the steps.   “C’mon, lad.  Hard part is over.”
“You think so?”  Khadgar wasn’t so sure.
“You’re still Stormwind’s prisoner, spell-chucker.” Lothar looked down at him,
so strong and confident.  “We’re not going to give you up without a fight.” 
Khadgar hoped he was right. 
---
 “No.” Queen Taria’s voice rang true and clear across the nearly empty room. 
The adjudicator blinked in surprise.  He’d called the discovery to order, and
was reviewing the agenda of proceedings.  When he’d asked if everyone was
agreed, it wasn’t really a question, but the queen had answered nonetheless. 
“No, Adjudicator, we are not agreed.  I only have one question, and that is for
Archmage Antonidas,” she said, her voice hard.   She turned to the archmage
with a regal fury that Khadgar had not known she possessed, wielding the same
steely glare that her brother did when he wanted to cut men down to size. 
Khadgar thought her fury bubbled like slow, hot lava.  The archmage would do
well to get out of her way, if it wasn’t already too late.    
“Archmage,” she went on, “many details were omitted from your description of
events.  The charges that Khadgar has laid before against your order are far
more severe than the youthful indiscretions you weighed against him.  He was
naught but a child when your order facilitated abuse on nearly every possible
level.  Can you dispute this?  Any of this?  Because I believe the boy speaks
the truth.”
Taria is an alpha she-lion, crouching low over her young.  The growl bubbled
deep from her chest.  He was a little cub, baring his own tiny fangs, hiding
between her protective paws….Khadgar blinked.  Taria had told him that she and
her brother were more alike than he knew, which he had taken to mean that
Lothar had a softer side.  More accurately, she bore the same iron will and
fearlessness that her warlike brother used to command his armies.She’s amazing,
Khadgar thought, admiring her not for the first time.
 “Stormwind will not withdraw the grant of asylum,” she snapped, drawing him
back to reality.  She whirled to the adjudicator.  “I have heard enough.  This
hearing is over.”
“Your Majesty,” said Naldor, sounding very offended.  “This is not a hearing. 
It is a formal discovery.  There are laws, treaties that must be followed.  The
information gathered here will lead to a binding resolution to this unfortunate
dispute, and both sides deserve-”
 “Enough.”  Antonidas interrupted, moving wearily to his feet.  “I can see now
that Khadgar will not be persuaded to return to the Kirin Tor, regardless of
the outcome of this discovery.  It is not our wish to drag him kicking and
screaming back to the Order.  There are many independent factions within the
Kirin Tor that operate with great latitude.  I assure you, that if young
Trust’s assertions are correct, they were not done at the behest of the
Council.  We viewed him as a tremendous resource, our hope for the future.  We
would never have sanctioned these…alleged atrocities.  Either the boy is
exaggerating,” the archmage paused, letting that sink in for a moment, and
ignoring Khadgar’s involuntary choked sound of protest, “or there is an
independent force at play within the Order.”
 Naldor rapped sharply with his gavel, but neither Queen Taria nor Archmage
Antonidus regarded him.
“Khadgar is not leaving our protection,” the queen rampaged on, heedless of the
archmage’s defense, “even if the Kirin Tor send a battalion of battle mages to
march on our city.”   Khadgar heard a small sound of surprise from Lothar.  He
doubted that those had been the negotiating perimeters they’d discussed. The
commander was probably wondering if he was going to have to defend against war
on two fronts, against the invading orcs and now the Order.   Khadgar thought
that was unlikely, but appreciated the fervor of her defense nonetheless. 
 “Your Majesty, you mistake me,” said Antonidas, almost sadly.  “While I do not
lend any veracity to the boy’s claims against the Kirin Tor, which clearly
require further investigation, I do not intend to allow a rift to form between
our two realms over one wayward apprentice.  As the representative of the Kirin
Tor in this matter, I hereby withdraw from the discovery and from all claims
upon him.” 
Khadgar blinked, shocked.  He barely dared to breathe.  What? Why?
Antonidas turned to Khadgar, a trace of pain shadowing his face.  “Khadgar, my
boy, if we have wronged you, I apologize.  You will always be welcome in the
Order, should you choose to return.  You have my word on it.  I will conduct an
internal investigation into the claims you have laid forth this day upon my
return to the Citadel.”  
The entire chamber seemed to pause for a long, heavy moment. 
Khadgar stared from the archmage to Taria, and back again.  “Sir, what about
the Chamber of Air?  The contract…?”
The old mage shrugged.  “You are no longer a child, my boy.  The path you walk
must be your own decision.  Clearly, you cannot be forced to submit to
training.  The contract is worthless without your compliance. As for the
Chamber…” he regarded Khadgar appraisingly.  “If you choose to accept some
level of responsibility for your actions, we may discuss mutually agreeable
restitution in the future.  I doubt you presently have the resources to make
amends, hm?  Perhaps a research or teaching position might be negotiated. 
There is always work to be done in Dalaran for one of your talents.”
Khadgar thought this was all happening too fast.  Two hours ago, the Kirin Tor
were fighting to bring him back to the Violet Citadel and now, Antonidas was
offering him a job?  Wrinkling his forehead, he slowly asked, “But…why?”
The archmage turned, facing Khadgar with his glowing azure eyes.  “Have I ever
been anything but kind to you, my boy?  Other than, perhaps, the day that you
left us?  I deeply regret the loss of your trust.  You would have been an
enormous asset in the fight against the darkness that surely is to come, if it
is not already upon us.  I hope to some day mend the breach between you and the
Order, Khadgar.  I will continue to hope that one day you will return, of your
own volition.”
Khadgar could only nod.  “Thank you, Archmage,” he said softly.  It was true,
Antonidas had always been his supporter.  He respected the old mage, and had
often wished that he could have been his master instead of Shendra.  Things
might have turned out so differently,he thought. 
“The matter is settled.”  Naldor’s gavel struck down decisively.  He looked
sternly at Antonidas.  “You have bound the Order of the Kirin Tor to accept the
finality of the decisions rendered here.  Any remaining claims by the Order
over the person known as Khadgar have been formally severed.  Do you
understand?”
Antonidas nodded in affirmation.
“Then the grant of asylum stands.”
There were other words, Khadgar knew.  Formal words, concluding the discovery
and outlining the grant of Stormwind’s protection, a document for each party to
sign, paper pushed in front of him and a quill that he could barely hold. 
People talking. 
Queen Taria was smiling at him, the satisfied face of a cat that had caught the
partridge at last, and then she was holding him by the arms and speaking.  “You
will always have a home in Stormwind,” she was saying, his head smashing
awkwardly into hers when Lothar pulled the three of them together in a crushing
hug. 
Over her shoulder, he could see the archmage nodding at him gravely and the
adjudicator scratching bemusedly at one long ear. 
He couldn’t hear what anyone was saying over the clamor of thoughts tumbling
over each other in his head.  
I have a home in Stormwind?
It’s over. 
I’m can go anywhere.  Study anything. 
Love anyone? Find my family!
It’s finally over. 
I’m free.
I’m finally free.
The others were filing out of the chamber, and he knew that he should say
something to stop Antonidas, because he desperately needed to talk to the man
about the fel and his research and how the Guardian was behaving…strangely…but
Lothar’s hand moved gently under his chin, bringing his face upward.  As
Khadgar stared into the eyes of the man who had been his jailer, then defender,
he found that he could find any words.  He didn’t know what to say, or how to
begin.  What would Lothar think of him now, knowing the truth?  He was afraid
to know.
Fortunately, he didn’t have to say anything, because Lothar kissed him gently,
deeply, one hand on the back of his head and the other on his waist.  Khadgar
savored the intimacy for a long moment, letting Lothar pull him close and
feeling the anxiety draining down across the floor until it had all spilled
away. 
He pulled away, looking up searchingly.  “So…Commander.  Nothing’s changed?” He
wasn’t referring to being Lothar’s prisoner.  Or maybe he was, after a
fashion. 
Knowing what he was asking, Lothar grinned.  “Nothing’s changed, spell-
chucker.  You’re still mine.”
“Good.”  He gave Lothar another kiss, saying quickly, “I have to go.  I have to
talk to Antonidas.  Can I see you tonight?” 
And then he was out the door, racing after Antonidas, leaving Lothar staring
bemusedly.
I just hope it’s not too late, thought Khadgar ruefully.  If he couldn’t catch
the archmage now, he would have to go to Dalaran.  To the Violet Citadel, back
to the Kirin Tor. The very place he’d been avoiding for the last several
months.   I need to ask him about the book in Medivh’s room, about the fel. 
All of it. Khadgar hated to admit it, but he was in over his head. 
They are going to be so fucking smug when I come crawling back,he thought
ruefully, hurrying along the path towards the keep.  Well, I can’t do it alone.
 Damn it.    
---
Chapter End Notes
     Cats are amazing. How do they always land on their feet, anyway?
     https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cat_righting_reflex
***** Promises, Promises *****
CHAPTER 17
Khadgar’s mission to find Antonidas had ended in frustration.  He’d guessed the
queen and archmage would walk back to the keep after the discovery, and he’d
jogged as quickly in that direction as he could, despite still being somewhat
weakened from the earlier blood loss at Blackrock Spire.  Unfortunately, he
hadn’t been able to find them.  The streets of Stormwind were bustling with
activity, and he realized belatedly that they’d probably ridden horses anyway. 
He’d wandered around the keep aimlessly for a while, trying to find someone
with some information.  None of the guards knew anything about the archmage’s
whereabouts, and Khadgar was finally forced to admit defeat.  He knew that he
would have to return to the Violet Citadel eventually, but had hoped to
forestall that journey if he could.
Khadgar wanted to find Garona, but she wasn’t in her quarters.  Eventually,
unsure of what to do with his newfound freedom, he’d ended up in the library
with a new stack of books to study.  He wanted to continue being useful, and
even though Medivh had destroyed his research, he was determined to look for
answers.
He made sure he was back in Lothar’s room by nightfall though, tucked into bed
with a book and wearing nothing but a bedsheet.  They hadn’t had the
opportunity to be intimate since nearly the very first day he’d met Lothar, and
it was driving him crazy. This was mostly Lothar’s fault, he mused, for
refusing to trust Khadgar’s intentions for being in Stormwind.  It was also
partly his own fault, for being so damn stubborn, and refusing to have sex
while he was imprisoned.  Either way, the pitiful situation demanded immediate
rectification. 
---
Curled against Lothar’s chest, Khadgar mused that he was completely content.
 It was a strange feeling.  He’d been on edge for so long that he’d sort of
forgotten what it felt like to just lay against a warm body and relax.  The
fire was burning low in the grate, casting a soft orange glow in the room.  His
hand slipped appreciatively across Lothar’s chest and waist, then his body slid
across to straddle his hips.  Leaning forward, his lips explored Lothar’s
throat and shoulders with light, curious kisses.
“I never really got to look at you, before,” he said.  “This is nice.”
Eyes half lidded, Lothar put his arms behind his head and regarded the nude
body that straddled him brazenly.  “Mm.  Nice. Yes.”
“Lothar?”  Khadgar pushed himself upright, still sitting lightly on the other
man.
“Hm?”
“We need to talk.  About Medivh.”  Khadgar was serious, his mouth twisting off
to the side as he wondered exactly how to explain this to Lothar without
arousing his anger. 
“We do?” Lothar cocked his head, with a hint of a dangerous smile crossing his
face.  “I thought you didn’t want to talk tonight.”   Khadgar had told him that
he didn’t really want to talk about the discovery.  He wanted to leave it
behind him, and was grateful that Lothar had agreed.  Lothar continued, asking,
“Why would we possibly need to discuss the Guardian?  Right now, in bed?”
“Yes,” said Khadgar, hesitantly.  He felt somehow as though Lothar had set a
trap and he was going to walk right into it, but he needed to explain.  He
needed Lothar to understand what he was going to try to do.  “That day, before
Blackrock, Medivh and I…”
“He fucked you.”
“Um.  No.  Well, sort of,” said Khadgar, wishing he could squirm with
awkwardness but trying to handle the situation with grace. 
“You said it was consensual, so I didn’t ask any questions.”  Lothar’s reply
was flat, his eyes taking on a steely glint.  “I saw bruises all over your
body.  Was that all that happened?”
Khadgar sighed.  “No.  That’s what I want to talk to you about.”
Lothar regarded him for a long moment. “So tell me.  You laid together?”
Nope.  None of your business, Commander. Khadgar wasn’t about to start making
excuses for his sexual activities.  He’d fucked Medivh because he wanted to,
because the opportunity presented itself, because he’d been pissed at Lothar,
and because he didn’t want the Guardian to notice the book he’d stolen from
Karazhan.  He explained none of that to Lothar, instead sticking to the facts.
“He came here,” said Khadgar, trying to navigate his words carefully through
the rocky waters between explanations and excuses.  “He offered to take me to
Karazhan, to work with Moroes in the library, and be his apprentice.” 
Lothar snorted.  “Apprentice?  More like bed warmer.  You’d like that kind of
'work'?”
Ignoring the jibe, which he supposed he deserved, Khadgar continued.  “In
Karazhan, I tried to reach into his pants.  While you had me, on his table?”
“I remember,” said Lothar, softly.  His eyes were very hard now, and the smile
had left his face. 
“Well, he remembered, too.  He wanted to see if the offer still stood.” 
Khadgar shrugged.  “It did.  But that’s not the point.”
“What is the point?” asked Lothar, trying to sound as though he didn’t care.
“You can fuck whoever you want.”  Khadgar could tell that he definitely did
care, and the thought made his chest ache.
“And I will, thank you.” Khadgar bristled for a moment before catching himself
and continuing more calmly.  “When he finished, I think he lost control for a
second.  Like I did, before.  Only it wasn’t arcane, at least I don’t think
so.” He sighed, running one hand through his hair.  “I couldn’t see, my head
was…in his lap, but, I could feel it.  In my body.  In my bones.  Like fire and
ash.”
He looked at Lothar expectantly, waiting for an interruption that didn’t come. 
Lothar had gone quiet at last, either listening intently or imagining Khadgar’s
mouth wrapped around his friend’s cock.  Khadgar hoped he was paying attention.
“I’m sensitive to magical forces.  Not every mage is, but I can feel it. 
That’s how I traced the fel to your barracks.  Arcane can feel like a buzzing
sensation.  In my blood, on my skin.  It’s pleasant. Kind of comforting, like a
cat’s purr.”  He let his hands trace up and down Lothar’s thighs which he still
straddled, probing the muscles lightly to distract himself as he spoke.  “This
was…not pleasant.  It fucking hurt, actually, from the inside out.  It felt
wrong.  Like soot in my bones.”
“What was it?” Lothar asked quietly. 
“I think…   I think Medivh is possessed.”  Khadgar swallowed. 
“Fucking hell.”  Lothar stared at him, barely comprehending.  “By what?”
“A demon,” replied Khadgar, regarding him seriously.  Lothar pushed himself to
a seated position, dumping Khadgar onto the bed.  Without protest, Khadgar
rolled onto his stomach, sighing heavily.  “Something demonic, anyway.”
“You can tell all this from an orgasm?” Lothar probably didn’t intend to sound
so skeptical; or perhaps he did.  “How?”
“I’m not sure exactly what it was.  But the presence was tainted with fel.  I
couldn’t sense it before, with the implant in.  When he climaxed, it pushed the
magic into me for a moment.”  He looked at Lothar, wondering if the fear he
felt was reflected in his countenance.  He genuinely did not know what to do. 
“Now that the implant is gone, I can sense it whenever I’m around him.”
“Sense what?” asked Lothar, sounding like he did not want to believe what he
was hearing.
 “Fel.”Light,thought Khadgar, Lothar can be dense. 
“Are you sure?”
Khadgar nodded. 
Lothar leaned back heavily into the headboard, rubbing at his beard
thoughtfully.
Khadgar spoke softly, staring into the fire across the room.  “When I was
younger, I studied some pretty dangerous magics.  Things my masters didn’t
necessarily know about.  One time, I went too far.  I summoned a demon.” He
waved a hand dismissively. “It was a lesser being, not particularly strong or
powerful in the fel.  But it latched onto me before I knew what was happening. 
It entered into my body and possessed my soul, Lothar.”  He turned balefully to
the older man. 
“I was fortunate that the demon wasn’t very powerful.  Maybe an incubus or void
walker.  I’m no demonologist, so it’s hard to say.  It sat inside of me like a
burning, oozing, ashen scab.  In my mind and in my body.  A presence.  It tried
to control me, to use me.”  Khadgar had not relived this particular memory for
some time.  He was not enjoying the experience.  “I was completely
overwhelmed.  It owned me.”
“My master found me on the floor, crawling like a beast and foaming from my
mouth and nose and eyes.”  He turned back to Lothar, soberly meeting his gaze. 
“He put his hands on my forehead and exorcized the…thing…out of my body. I
fought him.  I fought my own master.  Fortunately, John Leon was stronger than
I was, back then. In those few, short minutes, it had already corrupted my will
to the point where I didn’t want it to leave.”
Lothar’s hand had found his, comfortingly.  Khadgar drew a shuddering breath. 
“I can never forget the way that felt.  What Medivh did was not the same, but
it was close.  Very close.”  His voice trailed away, remembering.  “Like ash. 
Fire and ash in my bones, Lothar.  I know that feeling.  Once you’ve been
possessed, you’ll never forget it.”
“Does he know that you suspect…?” Lothar asked quietly.  He appeared to have
accepted the possibility, although he was not quite convinced.
“No.  I don’t think so.” Khadgar rubbed at the side of his face, thinking.  “He
might not have realized that it happened.  Poor impulse control, and all
that.”  Despite himself, he gave a small smile.  “Or maybe he thought the
implant would inhibit the sensation.  I don’t know.”
He squirmed closer, suddenly needing to feel Lothar’s warmth.  “Also.  Mages
should not collapse after performing magic.  Especially not the Guardian.”
“You did,” objected Lothar, pulling Khadgar close and nuzzling the side of his
face.  “At Blackrock.”
“Generally speaking, Lothar, I was dying of severe blood loss,” Khadgar replied
dryly.  “Under ordinary circumstances, that would never happen.  Medivh is not
well.  You’ve known him for years.  Has he ever collapsed?  Even after battle?”
“Nooo…” replied Lothar, slowly.  “That is new.”
“Something is not right.  But I can’t be sure, because he wouldn’t let me lift
my head.  I needed to see his eyes.”  It was a good thing that his face was now
buried in Lothar’s neck, where the man couldn’t see the embarrassed expression
spreading across Khadgar’s face.  “I have an idea though.”
“Ok.  What’s the plan?”
“You’re not going to like it.” He nipped playfully at Lothar’s earlobe, then
flicked his tongue across the edge of his ear.
“Why not?”
Khadgar sighed.  “I need Medivh to do it again.  Properly, this time.”
There was a choked sound of protest from Lothar, and he pushed Khadgar away
from his ear.  “What the hell for?”
“So I can call the demon into me.”
Lothar stared.  “You are insane.”
“No, I’m not,” said Khadgar, objecting.  “I’m reckless.  It’s different.”  He
sighed, pulling Lothar’s head back towards him and kissing his ear again.  “If
there is a demon, it’s already possessed Medivh.  It’s very unlikely to leave a
host as powerful as the Guardian.  I would just…tempt it a little bit, get it
to reveal itself.”
“What do you mean, 'properly'?” asked Lothar, probably already suspecting he
knew the answer.
“You know,” said Khadgar, waving a hand easily.  “Intercourse.  Not just
sucking.”
“Why, exactly, must you have Medivh’s dick in your ass for this?” Lothar
sounded pissed, and Khadgar couldn’t really blame him.
“Demons are attracted to violence and pain.  They like blood and submission. 
They’re drawn to it like bees are to flowers.”  Khadgar stopped playing with
Lothar’s ear, and looked at his face seriously.  “I am, too.  I’m like a
walking pheromone to a demon, Lothar.  If I can get Medivh to take me, and
loosen his control a little bit, I think I can make the demon reveal itself. 
Just a little bit.  Just enough to know for sure.”  He shrugged.  “And if I’m
wrong, Medivh will just think I have another strange fetish for trying to
summon a demon during sex.  There’s plenty of weird rumors about me around here
already; corpses, orcs, and older, grouchy commanders.  One more can’t hurt.”
“This is a bad idea,” Lothar cautioned, ignoring his attempt at a joke.  “Too
many things could go wrong.  Besides, what makes you think Medivh will accept
your...attentions?  Especially after what he learned at the discovery today?”
Khadgar bit at his bottom lip.  “I guess that’s always a possibility.  Do you
think he’d fuck you instead?”  Lothar swatted his head.  “Hey!” he yelped, then
continued brattily, “Somehow, I got the distinct feeling that he was open to
that.  If you’d heard the things he said about you when he was fingering my-”
“You are testing my limits, bookworm.”  Lothar growled, sounded dangerous
again.  “I can’t control who you bed, and I wouldn’t try to.  That doesn’t mean
I have to like knowing about it, or want to hear all the explicit details.”
Ducking his head, Khadgar nodded.  “I’m sorry.  That wasn’t nice.”
“I want you.  All to myself,” said Lothar, speaking quietly, sincerely.  “I
don’t want Medivh to have you.  Are you sure this is the only way?”
For some reason, Lothar’s words were making Khadgar blush all over.  He felt a
crimson flush starting at the roots of his hair and spreading down his body. 
It was the frank way that Lothar expressed his wishes, his unbridled desire to
have exclusive access to his body.  Fucking hot, thought Khadgar, I want you to
own me, too.
“It’s not the only way, probably.  It’s just the fastest way.”  Khadgar was
remembering the book he’d stolen from Karazhan, the sketch showing the great
gate and the hordes of beasts climbing through it.  “If the Guardian is
corrupted by the fel…I don’t think we have much time.”
“Could we engage the help of the Kirin Tor?” Lothar sounded hesitant, knowing
what that would mean.
Khadgar nodded easily.  “Yes.  And I will, with all haste.  But not without
proof.  I’m going to have a difficult enough time even getting into the Violet
Citadel.  I can’t go in there making wild accusations against the Guardian.  I
have to have evidence.”
They lay silently together for a moment, Lothar raking his fingers rhythmically
through Khadgar’s hair, who’d buried his face into Lothar’s shoulder, trying to
inhale Lothar’s essence with every breath. 
“Why did you bed Medivh?” asked Lothar.  His voice was curious, without
judgment.  “If I may ask.”
“Um.” Khadgar considered.  He didn’t owe Lothar an explanation; and yet, he
wanted to explain.  “It wasn’t planned.  He’s physically repulsive.” Lothar
snorted again, and Khadgar pushed his shoulder in protest.  “Honestly.  He is
not my type.  But when he offered to be my master, I kind of got…overwhelmed. 
He was only partly talking about apprenticeship.  He mostly meant in bed.  I
have a weakness for being dominated,” he said candidly.  “To be taken by the
Guardian was my sole purpose for a number of years.  Knowing that he wanted me,
and would give me what I needed…was intoxicating.  So I submitted.”
“He beat the shit out of you,” said Lothar, keeping his voice even.  “Was that
what you wanted?”
Khadgar nodded into his armpit.  “I didn’t know if he could do it.  He
surpassed my expectations.”
“Why?” Lothar’s question was simple, and yet not, and Khadgar considered for a
moment before replying.
“Why do you scratch an itch?  Or piss in the morning?”  Khadgar’s fingers
traced up and down Lothar’s chest, circling his nipples, dipping down into his
bellybutton, and moving back up again in an infinity symbol.  “Sometimes it’s
so bad.  Like a fire under my skin, that nothing can quench.  Nothing but a
whip, or a belt, or somebody’s hand.  I can’t explain it.  It just…fills me. 
Or empties me.”  He paused, wondering if Lothar understood.  “I need it,” he
added simply.
Lothar nodded slowly.  “I’ve never done that to a lover before.”
“You don’t have to,” said Khadgar. “Unless you want to.  I think you’d be good
at it.”  At Lothar’s raised eyebrow, he hastened to add, “At dominating, I
mean.  It’s not all about punishment and chains.  Although you’re already very
good with chains.  And sex.  And choking.”  He flopped back onto the bed,
feeling his body hardening at the thought.  “Light, Lothar. I can’t even talk
about it.  You’re too much.”
A strong hand was feeling along his thighs now, beginning to knead and stroke. 
“I think,” said Lothar, “that if Medivh is going to have you, I shall take you
first.  So you remember who you belong to.”
“Do I belong to you?” Khadgar asked, impishly.  “It doesn’t look as though I
belong to anyone.”  He raised his wrists sadly.
“I did like you in that collar,” Lothar confessed.  “I still have it,
somewhere.  Do you think…?”
“No.  Absolutely fucking not.  I have an allergy to that thing, in case you
hadn’t noticed.  Do you want me vomiting everywhere?” Khadgar was adamant about
that point, but softened a little.  “I would wear a collar for you, though.” 
His voice had gone kind of hoarse at the thought.  Fuck, I would wear
anything.  Or nothing. He imagined Lothar leading him into the Gilded Rose,
naked except for a chain around his neck.  Forcing him to sit on the floor, and
eat like a dog under the table. Khadgar blinked.  Lothar was probably not ready
for that.  Hell, he was probably not ready for that, although it was a nice
fantasy. “Every day.  Everyone would know that I am yours.” 
“In fact…” Khadgar slowly rolled his body along Lothar’s, enjoying the
sensation of skin brushing against skin as he moved on top, straddling the
solid body again, moving suggestively against Lothar’s groin.  “I think you’d
better take me now, Commander, before I forget again.”
Lothar didn’t need any further encouragement.  He rolled the boy underneath his
own body, pinning him down across the shoulders with a heavy forearm.    He
captured Khadgar’s mouth fully with his own, kissing hard enough to bruise the
soft skin while Khadgar writhed appreciatively.  Letting him up for air after a
long moment, Lothar’s blue eyes stared possessively into Khadgar’s.  “You won’t
forget again, will you, mage?”
“I might,” he whispered, putting more honesty into the response than Lothar
probably wanted.
“You won’t.”  Lothar pushed his head back, forcing his chin up and holding
their faces inches apart.  “Tell me.” 
Khadgar licked his lips nervously.  He didn’t want to make a promise that he
couldn’t keep.  Lothar’s hand was resting on his throat, not exactly choking,
but beginning to squeeze firmly.  Oh, fuck,he thought desperately, am I going
to come before he even touches me?
“I want you to own me, Lothar,” he managed, searching for an answer that would
satisfy while not breaking his honor.  He whispered softly, strangely reluctant
to say the words out loud but surprising himself with the sincerity, “I’m
yours.”
“Yes.” Lothar bent forward, keeping his hand on Khadgar’s throat and brushing
their lips together, softly this time.  “You’re mine.”
Nodding his head, Khadgar tilted his face up for more. It was true.  He didn’t
know how it had happened, or why, but he was head over heels for Lothar, more
than he’d ever been for anyone. 
And Lothar wants me, too.  Marvelous.  Scary.
---
Later, falling asleep, he mused that he’d been woefully unprepared for the
intimacy of the act, so unlike most of his sexual encounters that it was almost
unbearable.  By the time they finished, Khadgar had melted utterly
into Lothar’s care, satisfied and sleepy and clinging as if it were the last
time they’d touch.
He was learning exactly what it meant to belong to the Lion of Azeroth, and
didn’t want it to ever end.
---
***** Days Like Dreams *****
CHAPTER 18
The next several days slipped into each other with a dreamlike quality. 
Khadgar continued to share Lothar’s bed each night, waking by his side in the
mornings and clinging until Lothar was pulled away by his obligations to the
King.  As the Commander of Stormwind's army, he had briefings in the war room,
missives to write, troops to visit, scouting trips and skirmishes. He was very
busy.
Khadgar, on the other hand, was very bored.  He was staying behind, at Lothar’s
request.  Ostensibly, he was supposed to be continuing to regain strength after
the battlefield at Blackrock Point.  He rather thought that Lothar was trying
to protect him, for some silly reason.  Khadgar didn’t feel like he needed
protection.  He felt fine. 
Trying to stay occupied, he visited Garona, spent time in the library, and
wandered through Stormwind and made his way to the Mage’s Quarter to beg for
access into their reference areas.  He’d even ran into Callan, something he’d
been dreading, but Callan was bashful and warm, thanking him profusely for
Blackrock and apologizing for the harshness of his earlier words.  Neither of
them had brought up his sleeping arrangements with Lothar.  To his frustration,
he hadn’t seen or heard from Medivh whatsoever, so there was no opportunity to
put his plan into action. 
On the fourth morning, he’d had enough, and finally confronted Lothar.
“Let me join your troops, Lothar,” said Khadgar.  “I can’t sit around here
doing nothing.  Let me help.”
Lothar looked away, his face gone tight and flat.  “No.  I need you here.”
“For what?” Khadgar was smiling, but there was an edge to his tone intended to
let Lothar know that he was serious.  “Keeping your bed warm?”
“Yes.” Seeing Khadgar’s stormy look, Lothar shifted, shrugging uncomfortably,
and wisely changed his reply.  “No.  Actually, I don’t want you around Medivh,”
he confessed wearily. He looked down at his hands. “I hate this plan of yours. 
There’s got to be another way.”
Khadgar tuned his breathing carefully to combat the irritation that was welling
up inside.  I swear, he thinks because he’s the commander of the army he’s the
only one able to make decisions and formulate plans.  Well, he is out of his
area of expertise.  Arcane related missions are my specialty. “Lothar,” he
began patiently, “if you knew how many partners I’ve been with, I don’t think
you’d care about one more.  This is important.  If Medivh is being influenced
in any way by the fel or a demonic presence...” his voice trailed away,
frustrated.
“I’ve had my fair share of lovers, too.  It’s not that,” said Lothar, finally
looking up at Khadgar’s face. “I can’t bear for you to be hurt,” he said
simply.  “If he beats you again, I’ll kill him.”
“Um.”  Khadgar was surprised.  He didn’t know what to say.   Of course I’m
going to get hurt.  That’s the whole plan.  I’m baiting the trap with fear,
pain, and submission.  There’s no two ways about it.
“There’s got to be another way,” Lothar continued passionately.  “If Llane
summons the Kirin Tor, maybe they can do some arcane mumbo-jumbo and figure
out-”
“Don’t do that,” interrupted Khadgar, horrified and more than a little
offended.  Honestly, what does Lothar think they can do that I can’t?  How
insufferable. “They wouldn’t believe you, and even if they did, they wouldn’t
have a clue what to do.  Most of those dusty old mages don’t have a quarter of
the experience I have with demonic forces.”  Seeing the skeptical look on
Lothar’s face, he finished more gently.  “I need you to trust me.  It’s
probably not the best plan, but it’s all I have right now.  It’ll work.” 
I hope. Khadgar had no idea if his idea of baiting the demon with sex would
work.  He had a suspicion, but nothing like certainty.  However, he was certain
that this was his only plan.  It has to work, he thought.
“I don’t like it,” Lothar persisted stubbornly. 
“And you think I do? It’s my body we’re talking about.  I’m really not in the
mood for this,” said Khadgar, once again being more honest with Lothar than was
likely warranted.  Shit. He was supposed to be bolstering his position, not
playing into Lothar’s fears.  “I mean, I wish I didn’t have to do it.  But we
need to know the truth.”  He leaned in close to Lothar’s face, forcing eye
contact and holding Lothar’s gaze.  “Do you trust me?”
A heartbeat passed, then another. Then too many, before Lothar finally replied,
“Yes.”
“Well, then.”  He leaned in further, closing the gap between their faces and
pressing his lips against Lothar’s cheek.  “It’s settled.”  The look on
Lothar’s face begged to differ, but at least he wasn’t arguing.  “We need to
get this plan into action,” he continued, running a distracted hand through his
short, dark hair, making it stick up wildly.  “Do you think we could arrange a
public argument?”
“What do you mean?” Lothar asked, puzzled.
“Something Medivh would see, or hear about.  I want him to think we’ve had a
falling out.  He needs to think I’m vulnerable.  He needs to see an
opportunity.” Khadgar was matter of fact, watching Lothar’s face closely.  He
as relieved to see the thoughtful look that meant Lothar was slipping into the
role of commander – thinking, strategizing – and not the role of protective
lover. 
“Taria’s got a formal dinner planned,” Lothar said slowly.  “Tonight.  Some
dignitaries will be there, Medivh of course.  I ought to go.  You could go,
too.”
“Is that what you’ve been doing without me, going to fancy dinners while I’m
slaving away in here, researching?” Khadgar feigned outrage, punching Lothar
lightly on the shoulder.  “Actually, that sounds brilliant.”  He thought
quickly.  “We’ll have an argument during dinner.  Something noisy.  I’ll drink
too much, get a little sloppy.  I’ll make Medivh think the opportunity exists
again, and we’ll wait and see if he takes me up on it.” He snugged regretfully
into Lothar’s neck.  “I can’t stay in your rooms after that, obviously.  And
Lothar?  It’s not going to be pretty.  Please don’t kill Medivh. I’m
consenting, after all.”
Lothar sighed deeply.  “Alright.  We’ll do it tonight.  But whenever it
happens, you will come see me directly after, alright?  We'll go to the healers
if we have to.”  He pulled Khadgar into his lap like a small child, kissing the
proffered mouth gently.  “What shall we argue about?”
“Oh, anything,” said Khadgar lightly.  “I can be dreadfully difficult.  Why
don’t you give me an order and see what happens?”
“Hm.  And we’re to fall out over this…?” Lothar raised his eyebrows
quizzically.  “It had better be a damn good argument.”
“Yes,” said Khadgar.  What is he getting at?
“I might have to say things, you know, things that you won’t like to hear.”
Lothar was being a little cagey, Khadgar thought. “Yes,” he replied,
prompting.  “That’s the idea.  If it’s a little angry, a little personal, even
better.  You know,” he confessed, “Medivh tried to tell me, last time, he said
that you…”  Khadgar’s voice trailed away as he wondered if he was going too
far.   When he spoke again, his voice was small. “He said that I was a passing
fancy to you.  That I shouldn’t base my life’s decisions around a temporary
attraction.  That might be a good place to start.” 
Saying this out loud hurt inside his chest a little, because he partly thought
it might be true.  And why not?  He’d barely known Lothar a fortnight.  How
could the man have anything other than a passing fancy?  Nevertheless, it hurt.
Because he didn’t want it to be true.
Now Lothar’s face looked stormy, and he snapped, “Medivh should mind his own
fucking business.”  Yep, I probably should not have mentioned that. Khadgar
nodded soothingly, thinking.  There, there.  Calm down, lion. 
“You do realize why he’s doing this, don’t you?” Lothar went on, with a hint of
recklessness.  “It’s not about you, believe it or not.”  He laughed then,
harshly.  “Oh, I don’t mean it that way.  He does find you attractive. 
Couldn’t keep his fucking hands off of you in Karazhan.”  Lothar looked away,
bitter.  “He’s getting back at me.”
At Khadgar’s questioning sound, he continued.  “Years ago, when we were
young…Medivh and I…we thought we had something.  Or rather, he had something
for me, and I was foolish, so I indulged him.  One time.  It was awful,” he
assured Khadgar, “Like trying to fuck my own brother or somesuch.  It was after
Cally died.  I was vulnerable, and it was a mistake. Medivh never quite got
over it.”
Khadgar remained very quiet through this revelation.  Lothar had never shared
anything so personal with him before.
“He knows I care about you.  He could tell from the moment he met you,” said
Lothar, a flash of pain crossing over his face.  “It wouldn’t be the first time
he’s gotten between me and a lover.”
“Well.  Let’s give him what he wants,” Khadgar replied, softly.  An idea had
sprang into his mind, but he wasn’t sure Lothar would go for it.  Last time,
Medivh had been…disappointed that Khadgar and Lothar hadn’t fucked recently. 
“Do you think you could find time to take me?  Right before dinner?” he asked
bluntly.  “Given what you’ve told me, I think it might help.”
“You just one want more fuck, don’t you?  Worried there might be a dry spell
there, hm?” asked Lothar teasingly, baring his teeth in a grin.  “How, exactly,
will that help?”
“Never mind.  I just have a hunch.”  Khadgar leaned in, dragging his teeth
gently across Lothar’s neck.  “I need you to drag me into dinner hot and
sweaty, smelling like sex and your cum still inside my ass.”
“I think I can manage,” Lothar replied wryly.  “You’re going to make me fuck
you, then break up with you?”
“Exactly. No wonder I’m drinking myself into the gutter tonight,” Khadgar
grinned toothily.  “You’re a monster.  If only someone were around to console
me, someone with questionable morals and a riding crop to help soothe the
pain.”
“You realize Llane and my sister will be there?  And visiting dignitaries? This
is going to be very awkward.”  Lothar seemed a little uncomfortable at the
prospect.  Khadgar supposed he was not as used to making terrible plans with
risky outcomes.  Khadgar, on the other hand, had plenty of practice. “You’d let
someone beat you with a riding crop?” Lothar's brow was furrowed.
That’s the difference between being raised in lordship and being raised in
indentured slavery, he thought.  Lords have the luxury of options and
resources.  Slaves need to improvise with whatever the circumstances give
them.  Sometimes, the only leverage is your body.  Sometimes, the price is
shame.  So I’ll fuck Medivh, and everyone will think less of me.  Nothing I
haven’t done before.  I'm sure Lothar's reputation will survive. 
“You can explain to them later.  And yes, I’ve been whipped with a riding crop.
 It's nice.  When done correctly, it can leave some lovely bruises.” Khadgar
could see that he was making Lothar uncomfortable, and shifted the conversation
quickly.  Lothar didn’t quite know what to make of his masochistic tendencies. 
“What if Medivh has a change of heart, and tries to get us back together?  That
will never do.”
Lothar considered, rubbing at his beard.  “Hard to say.  I think that will be
up to you.”
Khadgar wrinkled his nose.  “How?”
“The man’s been holed up in Karazhan for the past six years, but he’s only
human.  He obviously has needs.”  Lothar shrugged.  “You know what to do.  Make
him want you. Do that thing with your eyes.”
“What, this thing?” Khadgar parted his mouth slightly, letting his eyes grow
intense and his lids sink a fraction, blinking up at Lothar through his long,
dark lashes. 
“Yes, that’s the one.”  Lothar sounded a little too bright and cheery.  He
seemed to be steeling himself against the reality of what was to come. “I have
to go, mage.  Busy day.  I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Before dinner,” Khadgar corrected.  “I’ll be here, waiting, right here in
bed.”  He slipped from Lothar’s lap, dropping his shoulders down and sticking
his rear end in the air suggestively.  “Like this,” he said, grinning cheekily.
“Don't be late."
“Put that thing away.  You’re going to make me late.”  Lothar cuffed his head,
chuckling.  “You really are unhinged.”
“Yes, and you like it.” Khadgar stole a quick kiss, then climbed out of bed,
reaching for his clothes. 
“Yes,” replied Lothar, watching him dress appreciatively.  “I certainly do.”
---
***** Hang by day, burn by night *****
Chapter Summary
     Note: This is not how a safe, sane, and happy BSDM relationship
     works. Please, if you're interested in that, do your research. This
     is a story about demonic possession and sacrifice. There's smutty
     fun, too, but it gets very dark very fast so pay attention to the
     tags my dears!
CHAPTER 19
---
Khadgar and Lothar agreed to argue at dinner.  That night they discovered that
they both had a knack for verbal sparring, goading each into a truly terrible
fight that they both would regret later, although for different reasons.   At
one point, Lothar went a little too far and cut Khadgar a little too deep -- a
little too close to heart.  So Khadgar raged out of the dinner party before he
summoned the arcane and blasted Lothar into the next room over for being an
insufferable, pompous, piece of shit.  Nobody had followed him, and he'd been
able to lick his wounds with a nice, comforting bottle of strong alcohol that
had somehow appeared in his hand hours later, drinking himself into a numbing
stupor of drunkenness.  
Snippets of Lothar's words stuck in his mind like barbs:
"You need psychological help, Khadgar.  You're a very disturbed young man."
"Impetuous, over-sexed teenager...you have no idea what love is."
"What could anyone expect, raised without a family?"
"Must you discuss your obsession with getting dicked at the dinner table...?"
"...I think it's time for you to leave Stormwind."
 He'd been vaguely aware that he was going too far with the alcohol, and
drinking far too much, but in classic Khadgar style, he was too far gone to
care.  He'd just have to finish the mission another time.  He had other
business to attend to. Like blacking out and forgetting he ever had this
moronic idea to argue with Lothar to entice Medivh.  What a stupid.  Fucking.
 Idea.
Several hours later....
----
If it wasn’t for his raging headache, Khadgar would have almost been
comfortable, tucked under an exceptionally cozy blanket and snuggled close to
the bare back that lay beside him.   His cheek rubbed appreciatively against
the smooth skin and his hand moved sleepily to brush Medivh’s long, reddish
hairs out of his face…Wait, what?
Alarmed, Khadgar jerked awake. 
He pushed himself upright, eyes gone wide as he looked around the room.  He
didn’t know where he was.  Early morning light was slipping through the window,
illuminating a room that was richly furnished, yet with a hollow feel that gave
him the sense that nobody actually lived there.  An inn? Stormwind? 
Gingerly shifting in the bed, Khadgar assessed his body for bruises or welts. 
He realized with growing trepidation that he felt fine.   His head pounded, his
mouth was dry, and he was wearing a too-large nightshirt that was not his own,
but his body bore no signs of the type of evening he’d been hoping for. 
Apparently, the mission was a failure.What the hell happened last night?
Medivh began to stir, stretching languidly and rolling over to face him. “Good
morning, Trust.” Medivh spoke pleasantly, a small smile playing at the corners
of his mouth.  “Are you well?”
“Guardian, I…um.” Khadgar faltered, licking nervously at his lips with a tongue
that felt dry as a cat’s. When he spoke again, his voice was small, and he was
not smiling.  “Where are we?  What happened?”
“Nothing happened,” said Medivh, brushing Khadgar’s hair back from his
forehead.  “Do you remember?”
 “I…think so,” said Khadgar slowly, struggling to piece together hazy events. 
“We had dinner.  I was angry.  At Lothar.  So I left early.”
“Yes, you did.  Do you remember snagging a jug of bourbon on your way out?”
Medivh prodded at him verbally.  Khadgar thought back, trying to recall more
than bits and pieces. He shook his head mutely.
“I found you last night, fighting with the stairs outside Stormwind keep with
half a bottle left,” said Medivh, speaking without judgment.  “I was going to
take you to Anduin, but you were somewhat resistive.”  He paused, smiling, “I
believe your exact words were, ‘I’d rather be dead.’  So, I brought you here,
before the night watch could pick you up for being disorderly.  We’re in my
rooms at the keep.”
“Um.” Khadgar shifted, embarrassed.  “I’m sorry.”
Medivh was stroking his hair and the side of his face now, soothingly.  “Don’t
be.  You’re entitled. Anduin was an ass at dinner, wasn’t he?”
Khadgar flushed.  “He makes me so angry.”  He paused, as some of the argument
came back to him.  Oh, fuck.  Did I say that? Unbidden, his chest began to
tighten and he sniffed, willing the prickling feeling in his eyes to go away. 
“I told him I loved him, didn’t I?”
“It was very sweet, if somewhat misguided.”  Medivh nodded at him kindly.  “He
handled it poorly.”
“How could I be so stupid?” Khadgar groaned miserably, rubbing at his eyes. 
“Why would a man like that would want anything to do with gutter trash like
me?”
“Yes,” replied Medivh wryly, “As you said several times last night.”  He cupped
Khadgar’s face, looking at him intently.  “And I don’t want to hear you say it
again.  You are a remarkable young man and a powerful mage. You are not trash,
my Trust.”
Khadgar sighed.  “He’s a lord, Guardian.  I don’t even know my family name.”
“Lords are a dime a dozen,” said Medivh briskly.  “There is only one Guardian. 
You would have outranked him significantly.”
“That’s true.”  A small smile twisted Khadgar’s mouth, but his heart still
ached. 
“Are you thirsty?  Here.” Medivh waved his hand, conjuring a glass of cold,
clear water.  Khadgar gratefully accepted the drinking, finding that his foggy
head was beginning to clear a little.
“Anduin is not a bad man,” Medivh went on quietly.  “I’ve known him all my
life.  You know he was married, before?”
Khadgar nodded.  “Callan’s mom.  She died…”
“Yes. That was over twenty years ago.  I’ve never seen him take another serious
lover since.” Medivh blinked, looking away.  “Not for lack of interest, mind
you.  I tried to warn you.”
“I know,” said Khadgar, his voice small again.  “I thought you were jealous.”
“Oh, I most certainly was,” laughed Medivh.  “Lothar was very lucky to have
found you first.”
Khadgar was exceptionally uncomfortable with the situation.  So far, he’d
managed to avoid lying to the Guardian.  Lothar had fought dirty last night,
and the argument had felt a little too real.  Lothar’s cutting remarks had
opened some very real wounds in Khadgar’s tender areas, touching on some
insecurities that were just a little too raw.  He decided to try to take
control of the situation again.
“Medivh,” he asked, meeting the Guardian’s green-blue eyes.  “Why are you doing
this?”
“Doing what?” Medivh sounded amused. 
“I stole your personal property, and you burned all my research.”  Khadgar
shivered at the memory.  “I thought you were going to scorch me, too.  And you
were at the discovery. You know what I am.  Why are you being kind to me?”
A long pause.  Medivh continued to look at him kindly, and he almost couldn't
bear it.  "And what are you?" Medivh asked softly.
Khadgar had been avoiding this conversation for days, and Medivh was apparently
not going to make it easy on him.  Fine.  Khadgar continued ruthlessly,
"Untrustworthy.  Promiscuous.  Obsessed with dark magic.  Unfit to be the
Guardian."
"May I hold you?  Sit up," said Medivh, pulling at Khadgar's arm and
maneuvering him so that his back rested against Medivh's chest and his body
between his legs.  "Lie with me for a moment."  Medivh held him close, wrapping
his arms around Khadgar's and breathing into his hair.  "Child, you are not to
blame."
"I am nota child," said Khadgar bristled. "What are you doing?" Khadgar thought
that lying on his back against Medivh’s chest might be one of the weirdest
thing he'd ever experienced in the bedroom, and he'd done a lot of weird
things.
"Do you mind it?” asked Medivh. Khadgar thought he might be smiling.
“No,” he replied.  If the crazy old mage wanted to cuddle, he didn’t mind. 
Khadgar added bitterly, "I may be young, Guardian, but I've never been a
child."
Medivh nodded against Khadgar's head.  "I know.  That's exactly my point.  You
didn't have the luxury of childhood. It pains me to say this about the Kirin
Tor, but you were taken advantage of, Khadgar.”
Khadgar was glad that Medivh could not see him rolling his eyes towards the
ceiling.  A lecture from the Guardian was pretty much the last thing he’d
expected when hatching this plan.  “You took the vows, just the same as me,” he
said accusingly.  “Nobody twisted my arm, and I bet nobody twisted yours,
either.  Becoming the Guardian Novitiate was a great honor.  I dreamed about
it.  I wanted to be you,” he whispered, a confession.
“No.” Medivh’s voice was flat.  “It was not the same for us.  You knew that my
mother was the Guardian before me?  I was raised to be the Guardian for birth. 
My mother seduced my father, so that she could pass her arcane gifts on to me. 
This position was my destiny, Trust.”
Khadgar squirmed uncomfortably, and Medivh let him get away.  Too early in the
morning for this,thought Khadgar.  He lay more comfortably on his stomach,
resting his head on his hands while Medivh spoke. 
“When you left the Kirin Tor, you did so because you are an honorable man.  Not
because you were unworthy or unfit.  The situations are entirely different. 
You should know that what happened to you was done outside the authority of the
Council.  Antonidas was adamant about that, and I believe him.” Medivh seemed
weary, as if the very act of speaking were draining his energy.  “Shendra was a
very hard master, wasn’t she?  You see, the Kirin Tor realized that you were
becoming a force to be reckoned with, and thought her oversight would keep you
steady.  Shendra’s part of an opposing faction.  You became her pawn in a game
of chess that’s been raging stealthily in the Kirin Tor for an era.  Whatever
you said or did, you did to survive.”
I thought he would hate me, for training to seduce him, for agreeing to bear
his child. Khadgar lay quietly while the Guardian continued. “I believe with
the right master, you would have made a tremendous Guardian, my Trust. You
didn’t deserve any of that.  I am sorry for what you had to endure.”  Medivh
paused, stroking his hair again.  “That’s why I told Antonidas to end the
discovery, whatever the cost.”  He laughed bitterly. 
“You told him?” Khadgar was surprised. 
“Of course.  Damn his Chamber of Air.  The old man knows they’ve plenty of
money.  They don’t need to wring it from you by indentureship.”
“Medivh,” Khadgar asked, his hand reaching out hesitatingly to trace the fine
hairs on Medivh’s chest.  “Are…are you not well?”
“Why?” Medivh was suddenly sharp.  “Do I seem unwell?”
“Yes.” Khadgar did not shy away from Medivh’s obvious ire.  “You seem drained,
and exhausted.  All the time.  Are you getting enough rest?”
Medivh seemed to relax a little.  “I’m trying to save the world.  There’s
little time to rest.”
“You’re burning out,” Khadgar commented earnestly, wondering if he was daring
too much.  “Mightn’t I help you?  Isn’t there something I could do?”  Licking
his lips nervously, he plunged ahead.  “Taking your rune book was wrong, and
I’m sorry.  I don’t know runeology anyway, and it was none of my business. 
Please, Guardian.  I could…carry your staff, and help with your things, and
auxillerate your spells…?  Don’t you need an assistant?”
Medivh considered him for a moment.  “Have you thought any further about my
offer?” Medivh asked, referring to his earlier offer to come to Karazhan and
work for Moroes.
“Yes, of course.” Khadgar nodded easily.  “I rather thought you’d changed your
mind, once you burned my research.”
“That was a lesson that you needed to learn.”  Medivh placed a hand over
Khadgar’s where it rested on his belly.  He began to rub Khadgar’s hand  gently
as he spoke.  “The first of many, I’m sure.” 
Khadgar forced himself to focus.  This was going to be tough, but he had to
know.  “Guardian, when you ask me to come to Karazhan…are you asking me to be
your apprentice?  Or your bedmate?”
“Must the two be mutually exclusive?” Medivh seemed surprised.  “There would be
no indentureship, no contract.  Only your promise that you’d follow my orders
and do your best to learn.  You would stay or go as you please.  Including my
bed.”  Medivh’s hand slid down Khadgar’s torso, resting on his lower belly. 
“Of course, we’d need to establish mutually satisfactory perimeters.  Decide on
your course of study, your duties for Moroes, the household rules to follow.”  
He was rubbing again, moving his fingertips in light circles.  “Consequences. 
That sort of thing.”
Medivh certainly had his attention.  Oh, Light.  It was all too much, too
fast.  Khadgar was reeling from the argument with Lothar, wondering how much of
those hurtful things had been true and how much had been staged for the
mission.  The thought of studying under Medivh was very attractive; the thought
of being the man’s bedfellow…was not unattractive, which was not quite the
same.  He felt guilty for even considering it. 
I need to talk to Lothar, he thought desperately.  If he really thinks I need
psychological help….if he really thinks I’m an impetuous, oversexed teenager
with an obsession for getting dicked who couldn’t possibly know what love
is…Lothar’s hurtful words from the argument last night swirled in his mind
hauntingly.  If he really is sending me away.
“Consequences?”
Medivh’s eyes were twinkling.  “Apprentices must always understand the
consequences for their behavior.  Do you know what the punishment was for
public intoxication as an apprentice in olden times?”
Khadgar swallowed, shaking his head wordlessly.
“Twenty lashes at the public post.”  Medivh let the comment hang, dangling mid-
air.  “Corporal punishment was long before your day, of course.  Even before
mine.  I am somewhat…old fashioned.”
Twenty lashes.  Fuck. It was like Medivh’s words were going straight to his
groin, already half hard under the night shirt.
“Would you like that?” Medivh asked, stilling his movements on Khadgar’s
belly. 
“The lashes?” Khadgar blinked, confused for a moment.  Focus, idiot, he told
himself. “Um, probably.”
 “I meant the offer.  But yes, apprentices shouldn’t enjoy their punishments.”
said Medivh.  “I’d have to be a little more inventive.  Will you consider the
offer?”
“May I think on it?” Khadgar looked away.  “I need to talk to Lothar…”
“My boy, I do not think Lothar could be any clearer that he was last night.” 
Medivh’s tone was kind, but firm.  “He does not reciprocate your feelings. 
You’re chasing after something that doesn’t exist.”
Khadgar nodded, biting his lips.  “It’s stupid.  I know.  It’s just, I’ve never
felt this way about someone before.”  He looked at Medivh bitterly.  “Did you
know he fucked me right before dinner?  I literally had his cum in my ass when
he said those things.  He doesn’t love me.  He just wants a toy to play with. 
But I can’t help how I feel.”
Medivh blinked, wisely choosing to not comment on this revelation.  “Why not
give it some time?  A little distance?  In Karazhan, you’ll be busy with other
things.  Later, when you come back to Stormwind, you’ll have had time to gain
some perspective.”  Medivh sounded so reasonable that Khadgar wanted to believe
him. 
Except, Lothar was arguing for Medivh’s benefit last night.  He wasn’t supposed
to mean any of it.  He didn’t mean it.  I hope.  And I only said that I loved
him to goad him on.  I didn’t mean it.  How could I?  Right?  I don’t even know
what that means.
“Medivh,” said Khadgar, leaning forward intensely, “I need you to fuck me.”
“Excuse me?”
“I can’t just agree to this without…knowing.”
“Knowing what?” Medivh sounded bemused.  “Is this a test?”
“No,” Khadgar replied, slowly.  Can’t tell him the truth, let him wonder. “I
just…it’s something I need.” 
“As I told you before, young Trust, that’s something that you must earn.”
Medivh was challenging him now, pushing to see if he’d push back. 
“Alright,” said Khadgar, nodding thoughtfully.  “How do I earn it?”
“You can start with your lashes.”  Medivh was matter of fact.  Khadgar couldn’t
believe how rapidly the Guardian had went from cuddling, to lecturing, to
wanting to whip him.  All before breakfast.  Incredible, he thought.  Scary. 
And Lothar thinks I’m unstable?  Psh.
He slipped from the bed wordlessly and pulled off his borrowed nightshirt,
letting Medivh look at his naked body and growing erection.
“Now?” asked Medivh, amused.  “Of course.  You’re more than ready.”  He climbed
gracefully from the bed, moving to his bureau and pulling out a long length of
sash.  “Put your hands behind your back.  Wrists together.  A little higher. 
Good.”  Medivh bound his wrists together neatly, leaving the sash trailing to
floor.
Instinctively, Khadgar didn’t bother mentioning a safe word.  This was not
going to be a safe experience.  There’s no fucking safe way to summon a demon,
he thought desperately.  I just have to take it.  Lothar will heal me
afterwards.  If Medivh doesn’t kill me, I guess.  The thought was kind of
exciting, but mostly terrifying.  Maybe there is no demon.  Maybe I’m wrong.
Hopefully I’m wrong.
“Stand by the wall.  There you go.” Medivh’s tone was soothing and kind.  His
hands were gentle, directing Khadgar’s body into a satisfactory position with
his legs slightly spread.  The vulnerability of the position was arousing, and
Khadgar was beginning to pant with arousal despite his fear. 
“What are you going to use?” he asked, looking over his shoulder curiously. “Do
you have a whip?” 
Medivh seemed surprised by the question.  “I’m a mage,” he said.  “I can
conjure almost any ordinary object that I need.”
“Hm.  I can’t,” Khadgar said, a little curious how that was done.  “I can
conjure food, and drinks, and some objects, but I have to have predetermined
the dependence centers-”
“Khadgar.  Stop talking.”  Medivh did not seem amused by his nervous chatter. 
He walked around Khadgar’s body, trailing a mid-size riding crop across
Khadgar’s hips and thighs as he moved.  The crop teased up and down his chest,
before tapping against one cheekbone thoughtfully.  “Will this do?”
“It’s a start,” said Khadgar, deliberately cheeky.  “Where are you going to hit
me?”
Medivh sighed patiently.  “I told you to stop talking.  Where do you not want
to be whipped?”
“I’m sorry.  You asked me a question.”  Khadgar pointed this out to test his
limits.  From the dark look on Medivh’s face, it was working, and he swallowed
nervously.  “My face,” he said quietly, “and my groin.”
“Fair enough.  I’ll try to be careful,” said Medivh, in a reasonable tone of
voice.  “You may call me ‘master’, or ‘sir’, or ‘guardian.’  You may speak when
I ask you a question, but otherwise mind your mouth, or I’ll gag you.”
Khadgar nodded quickly.  “Yes, master.”  He almost added, why don’t you gag me
anyway? But thought that if he pushed Medivh too far too fast, the Guardian
might give up entirely.
“Your first twenty lashes will be on your backside.”
Wait - ‘first’ twenty?  There’s more? Oh, fuck.
 Medivh tapped on the upper part of his butt cheeks, dragging the crop down the
back of his thighs.  “This area.  Can you take that?”
“Yes, master.”  What else could he say?
The crop slashed down hard across his backside, causing him to hiss but not
flinch away.  The pain was sharp and immediate, shooting through his body like
a jolt of lightning.  Medivh was using the rod, not the leather keeper on the
end of the crop.  He knew the first blows would sting, then burn, but would be
hard pressed to cause serious damage.  Khadgar breathed through the pain,
letting it ride over him in hot waves and losing himself in the sensation. 
Medivh is so good at this,he thought, ow, a little harder please, oh shit, did
I say that out loud?  I can’t believe he’s never done this before, oh fuck.
Several blows in, he was reeling, trying to keep his balance, when Medivh asked
casually, “Are you counting, Trust?  Because I’m not.”
Khadgar thought desperately.  Was that nine?  Or eight?  Better go with
lower. “Eight, sir,” he gasped.
“Seven?  Sounds about right.  You’d better count along.”   
Not fair! He counted obediently, trying not to squeal or writhe as the blows
ranged freely across his thighs and buttocks.  At fifteen, Medivh paused,
running the crop lightly across the hot, tender welts already rising in his
skin.  “Beautiful,” he murmured, moving in to cup Khadgar’s ass with his free
hand, probing the muscles and tracing his skin.  
Khadgar had unfortunately relaxed a little when the remaining blows came in
rapid succession, catching him off guard and wringing an involuntary cry, but
then it was over.  His shoulders and arms were starting to ache a little from
the binding, and his breathing had grown ragged, but he had survived. It hadn’t
been that bad.  In fact, it had been quite good.  He kept his eyes lowered, but
gave Medivh a grateful grin.
Medivh stroked his jaw with a gentle hand, asking, “Are you alright?”
“Yes, Guardian,” he whispered.  “Thank you, sir.”
“Now,” Medivh continued, taking him by the shoulder and leading him to a low
stool by the fire.  “Bend over my lap.”  Khadgar complied, dying to ask if
Medivh was going to conjure a paddle.  He supposed he’d find out soon enough. 
“Put your knees a little farther apart.” Medivh murmured instructions, pulling
his hips a little higher and splaying his body more open.  “Good.”
Medivh gently took a fistful of Khadgar’s hair, pulling his back so his neck
was arched to look up into his face.  “Apprentices must learn to keep quiet
when bidden. You disobeyed me when I told you to be silent.  Do you understand,
Trust?” 
Khadgar nodded.  “Yes, sir,” he managed, throat tight from the uncomfortable
angle. 
“Good.  I want you to remember this position,” said Medivh, releasing the grip
on his hair.  “I have a feeling you’ll be here often.”
There was no paddle – Medivh was using his hand.  The blows were firm and
sharp, causing Khadgar to whimper and moan as they struck his already sensitive
skin.  Medivh wasn’t counting, either, and Khadgar lost count somewhere around
thirty-five smacks.  Eventually he was crying, snot running down his face and
squirming at every blow.  He was exaggerating the effect a little, knowing that
his movements were rubbing against Medivh’s hardened groin and pleasuring him. 
There was sudden relief when Medivh finally stopped.  I hope his hand hurts,
Khadgar thought sourly. His bottom was on fire, throbbing.  He loved it.  He
realized that Medivh must have been fiddling with a bottle of oil when two
slicked fingers pressed against his opening, testing the ring of muscle and
slipping slowly inside.  Medivh was speaking softly, things he could barely
hear but sent shivers up and down his body, things like “You’re a good pet,
pushing against me, little slut, you love my fingers fucking your ass, don’t
you?”
“When was the last time you had sex?” Medivh asked suddenly.  “Intercourse?”
Khadgar blinked.  I already told you,he thought.  What he said, trying not to
snivel, was, “Yesterday, sir.  Right before dinner.”
“You came to dinner with another man’s seed inside of you?  Have you washed
since then?”  Medivh was feigning surprise.
“Um.  No, master.  I didn’t wash.”
“I didn’t think so,” said Medivh, tsking at him as he pulled his fingers out. 
“And now you’re here, presenting before me, and he’s still inside of you, isn’t
he?”
Khadgar’s eyes were wide.  He had no idea. “Um.  Probably, master.”
Medivh sighed patiently.  “Do you think that’s an acceptable way to prepare for
me?”
“Only if you want me to, Guardian.”  Khadgar really didn’t know what the right
answer was here.
“No, my pet.  The answer is no.  It’s very disrespectful,” Medivh seemed
sorrowful.  “Still, you have much to learn, my apprentice.  I will be gentle
with you, this time.”  Sliding from underneath Khadgar, he pushed Khadgar back
across the stool and knelt, lowering his face down, licking gently at the
opening, then burying his tongue inside. 
Holy fuck,thought Khadgar, he’s just as deranged as me.  He wants to taste
Lothar.  He loves this. Khadgar loved it too, squirming at the thought.  He
wondered desperately if there were a way to bring the two men together, using
him and pleasuring him all at once like he’d tried to do back in Karazhan on
Medivh’s healing table.  Probably too late for that now, he thought sadly,
losing himself in the sensations of Medivh face-deep in his ass.  His cock was
painfully hard now, and he could feel the precum leaking across his abdomen. 
“Medivh,” he gasped finally, “If you don’t stop, I’m going to finish-”
Mercifully, Medivh did stop.  His fingers tapped thoughtfully against Khadgar’s
painfully swollen and welted buttocks for a moment.  “My, my.  What am I going
to do with you?”  Taking Khadgar by his hair, he dragged him to the bed and
pushed him onto it, belly down. 
Medivh worked at his wrists, releasing them from their bonds momentarily. 
Khadgar sagged in relief as the blood began to flow normally through his wrists
and shoulders.  The relief was short lived, as Medivh pulled his hands to the
front of his body, binding them again, this time to the bed frame.   He wrapped
a length of the sash around Khadgar’s mouth, effectively gagging him.
“I warned you not to speak, did I not?” Medivh was losing his patience. 
Khadgar could only nod, eyes wide. 
“Yes.  You seem sharp enough, so I can only imagine this obstinacy is
deliberate.”  Medivh was regarding Khadgar’s trussed form thoughtfully. “How
can I drive this lesson home?”
Khadgar suddenly twisted his head, looking at the corner of the room
deliberately, then back at Medivh.  Atiesh.  The Guardian’s greatstaff. The
staff was taller than Medivh, and carved of solid wood.  Khadar had held it for
the Guardian on several occasions, filled with awe at the ancient, powerful
staff.  Medivh followed his gaze, raising his eyebrows.  A staff like that
would have the potential to break bones, if Medivh would dare to use it. 
Khadgar didn’t especially want his bones broken, but he needed to call the
demon out.  And that meant real pain.  Real suffering.  Yes, Atiesh would do
nicely. Khadgar looked back at Medivh, to see if he was following.
Medivh walked slowly to his greatstaff, picking it up thoughtfully.  The staff
was thick and knobbed on the upper end, decorated with a large, ornately carved
raven.  The lower end was tapered, and much thinner.  It was with this end that
Medivh approached the bed.
“Do you think you can take it?” he asked Khadgar quietly, sliding the staff
lightly across his back.
Khadgar vehemently did notthink he could take it, and thought that Medivh was
too inexperienced to know what reasonable limitations were in this situation. 
Perfect. He nodded his assent frantically, then screwed his eyes shut before
Medivh could see them filled with fear.  His entire body was shaking, now, and
he hated the waiting, wishing the Guardian would strike him now, now.
Instead, Medivh climbed up onto the bed, feeling between his legs again. 
Pressing against him, then moving inside him, finally, Khadgar groaned with
deep relief.  A cock he could handle.  It was very nice, actually, and he
arched his hips into the thrusting.  He was unprepared for the greatstaff to
slide underneath his chin, pressing horizontally against his windpipe as Medivh
forced his head back. 
“You really are a slut for pain, aren’t you?” Medivh asked in wonder, grunting
slightly as he jerked into Khadgar.  “You were ready for me to break you ribs
with this staff.”
Khadgar could sense that he was beginning to reach the edge of his limits. His
body ached from the earlier beatings, and now the staff was cutting off his
air.  If he was going to do something, it was going to have to be now, before
he passed out from pain and lack of air and exhaustion.  Stealthily, he inched
his wrists forward to pull at the gag, working it out of his mouth.  Hopefully,
Medivh would think it fell out on its own.
Then, putting both hands innocently in front of him, he gasped, “Master, fuck
me, please.”  Medivh responded by thrusting a little harder, but did not seem
displeased that he was begging for it.  Khadgar relaxed his body, relaxed his
mind, remembering what he had done so many years ago in John Leon’s apartment. 
Speaking slowly, deliberately, he switched to the demon tongue.  “A’shnos
rhgnav ati,” he whispered.  “Come into me, Master.  Come into me.” 
Medivh flinched as though he were struck. Dropping the greatstaff, his fingers
were digging into Khadgar’s shoulders painfully, his nails cutting the skin. 
Really painful,Khadgar thought with alarm.  Why must he grow those out like
claws?  Fuck! He felt a horrible resonating, deep within his body, coming from
his bones. Fuck, fuck, fuck.  It’s happening.  Those are fucking claws,he
realized.  Medivh was beginning to transform. The taste of ash was filling his
mouth, and the sick, burning sensation swept over him.
He was horribly afraid, and let the fear wash through him. The demon would feed
off of it.  Medivh’s body had changed – twisting back to look over his
shoulder, Khadgar could see the claws digging sharply into his shoulder,
piercing the skin and sending rivulets of blood down his back.  He could feel
the hard organ inside of him, changing, growing sharp and angular and he cried
out from the sudden pain inside his body. 
Then the voice came to him, speaking directly into his mind.
“You summoned me, little mage.”
It was horrible, mocking.  He knew the demon wanted to destroy him.  The
creature’s hips continued to move in slow, deliberate thrusts.  Khadgar cried
out piteously, knowing that his body was not meant to take that shape or size. 
“Take me, master,” he whispered.  It's the only way, he thought. If I submit,
maybe it won't kill me.  
“I think I will take your body, and drink your life force,”the voice laughed.
“Take me,” he repeated.  “I will serve you.”
“You have been taken before by my brethren.  I sense the old mark within
you.” The voice grew angry.  “You cast him off.  You are a deceiver.”
“I did not,” Khadgar replied wretchedly.  “I was a child.  My masters drove him
away.  Take me.”  He’d spoken the incantation three times.  Three times was
what it took, and although he hadn’t gone through a proper summoning spell, in
this case, it didn’t seem necessary.  The demon was in him, mind and body. 
“The Guardian is old and weak, my body is young and will serve you.”
The demon laughed again.  “He grows weak, yes, but I grow powerful.  I may take
you when I am done with him.” The claws released from Khadgar’s shoulders,
sending new waves of agony along his back and he slumped forward onto the bed,
unable to hold himself up.  "For now, you will serve me.”  Khadgar's vision was
beginning to blacken, and he thought he might pass out.  The creature pulled
out from behind him suddenly, and he really did black out then, but only for a
moment.  
When he came to himself, the demon was standing at the edge of the bed leaning
on the greatstaff, a hot and ashy presence that slipped across his skin
disgustingly.  Khadgar could not bear to look.  He lay frozen, transfixed with
fear, wondering if he should fight the demon or call for help.  He wondered
frantically if Medivh were still there, even a tiny little bit, witnessing
this, or if he were completely possessed by the demon.  A tendril was reaching
to him, threads of green and black intertwined.  His eyes were screwed shut, so
he knew it was magic that he was sensing and not seeing.  Fel magic, twisted
and corrupt.  It moved across his body, then into his chest.  It burned
sharply, and he cried out at the new, sudden pain blossoming through his body.
He realized with a mixture of horror and relief that the creature had accepted
his plea.  He was tethered, bound by the fel magic that had flowed between
them.  It wasn’t possession, but close enough. 
“Yes, young mage.  You are mine.”
Before Khadgar could comprehend his new situation, Atiesh crashed down across
his back and his vision sparked hot white, then red.  The pain was beyond
intense, and it overwhelmed him.  Suddenly, he could feel nothing.  Khadgar
wondered if he were dying, or if his back were broken.
“You will submit to me.”
He was dimly aware that the demon was beating him within an inch of his life,
carelessly striking his face, chest, legs, but he was beyond feeling it now.
“You serve a new master now.  A harsh master.  Do not disappoint me.”
Darkness was a relief when it came at last, and he knew no more.
***** When Winning Feels Like Losing *****
Chapter Summary
     Khadgar managed to flush the demon out of hiding, which should have
     felt like a win. But now, he's bound to the demon, which definitely
     feels like a loss. Can he convince Lothar to trust his judgment? Can
     he even trust his own judgment anymore?
CHAPTER 20
“Medivh.  Guardian!”  Still bound to the bed by his wrists, Khadgar called
urgently to the prone form, collapsed on the ground just on the edge of his
vision.  “Medivh, please wake up.”  Khadgar had woken a few minutes earlier,
disoriented but feeling surprisingly well.  There was blood on the sheets and
blood on his body, but no wounds that he could see or feel.  Rather than
raising his spirits, he felt sick to his stomach when he looked at his body,
tinged lightly with green.  Fel.
I am in deep shit.
The demon must have graciously decided to heal his tortured body with the fel
magic, and the thought scared Khadgar shitless.  Fel magic was one of the most
corrupt, insidious forces he’d ever come into contact with.  Very few mages
could fall under its power and emerge unscathed.  Khadgar pulled frantically at
his wrists, which only served to tighten the knots that Medivh had carefully
crafted earlier that evening.
Shit, shit, shit.  Think, Khadgar, think!
He decided to try an arcane escape – difficult enough to concentrate, given the
circumstances, but nearly impossible with his wrists bound as well.  Many
spells had a somatic component, requiring carefully regulated movements of the
hand and body to cast effectively.  Fortunately, he didn’t need a terrible
effective spell at the moment – in fact, the smaller the better.
Muttering softly, Khadgar cast the tiniest, most baby-sized fireball he could
manage, trying to singe just the edge of the sash binding his wrists without
setting anything else on fire.  Five fireballs later, he was beginning to sweat
from the pain of singing his own wrists.  Six, seven, eight – on the ninth
cast, he felt the cloth beginning to give. 
Suddenly, there was a pounding on the door.  “Medivh?” called a familiar
voice.  “Medivh, are you in there?”
“Lothar!” cried Khadgar, enormously relieved.  “I need your help.  The door’s
locked!”
Lothar’s pounding on the door increased.  It sounded as though he were bashing
the door with his body, or with his sword.  Probably both, Khadgar guessed. 
The door gave way with a crash, and Lothar stumbled inside, eyes going wide at
the scene. 
“Fucking hell,” he breathed, taking in the naked, collapsed guardian and the
equally naked, bloody, green-tinged Khadgar on the bed.  He moved quickly to
Medivh, kneeling beside his prone form.  “What happened?” he asked urgently,
staring up at Khadgar with alarm.
“Is he alright?” Khadgar hoped the Guardian still lived.  “Untie me, would
you?”
“I’m not sure that I should,” replied Lothar slowly.  “Why are you green?”  He
stood, drawing his sword carefully.  He edged around Medivh, approaching the
bed warily. 
“I don’t know.”  Khadgar heard the fear and resignation in his own voice,
mirroring the dread and hopelessness weighing in his chest.  He could feel the
demon’s tether on his soul, a dark, burning leash that connected them
magically.  It seemed dormant at the moment, thankfully.  Perhaps the demon’s
attention was focused elsewhere.  “Please, Lothar,” he begged earnestly, moving
his wrists. “Take this off.” 
“Are you corrupted?” Lothar asked him quietly, raising his sword and keeping
the point steady.  Khadgar had never seen the warrior’s stance directed at him
rather than a foe, and it was terrifying.  He shook his head urgently. 
“I don’t think so, Lothar.  I’m OK.  It's already fading.”  Khadgar was
referring to the green tint on his skin, which had been fading rapidly since
he’d awoken.  His skin was almost normal, now. 
“What happened?” asked Lothar, still wary.
“I was angry last night.  I drank.  The Guardian brought me here, we
were…intimate.  Then, um…” Khadgar wondered how he could explain.  He wasn’t
sure if Medivh were unconscious, or listening.  It wouldn’t do for him to hear
this conversation.  “He beat me.  With Atiesh.”  He nodded to the greatstaff,
laying on the floor beside Medivh.  “I blacked out.  I woke just a few minutes
ago, like this.”
“He beat you with his staff?” Lothar asked numbly, struggling to comprehend as
he eyed the dried blood on Khadgar’s body.  "Are you hurt?"
“No.  I think he…healed me.”  Khadgar mouthed the words “demon” and “fel”,
hoping Lothar would get the hint.  “Lothar, trust me, please.  We need to get
the Guardian back to Karazhan immediately.”
Finally, Lothar nodded, lowering his sword.  He moved forward and pulled a
knife from his belt, cutting carefully through the sash on Khadgar’s wrists. 
He raised an eyebrow at the singe marks on the cloth, wrists, and bed, but did
not comment.  When Khadgar was free, Lothar grasped him suddenly in a tight
embrace, pulling his head close and breathing heavily into his hair for a
moment.
“Success?” asked Lothar, whispering directly into Khadgar’s ear.
I wouldn’t exactly call this fucked up situation successful, Khadgar thought. 
Yes,he confirmed with a nod, knowing what Lothar was asking.  Medivh is
possessed.  The demon revealed itself.  In fact, Lothar, I’m fucking bound to
it in servitude.  You could definitely call that successful, from a certain
point of view.  Or you could call it a disaster. 
Khadgar clung to Lothar’s embrace for a long moment, then pushed away, grabbing
for his clothing and getting dressed as quickly as he could.
Lothar turned his attention to Medivh, carefully cradling his head on the
floor.  “Old friend, what’s wrong?” he asked, gently shaking his shoulder. 
“He’s alive,” he reported to Khadgar.  “Breathing.  Just unconscious.”
“He needs to get to Karazhan.  To the font, to restore his energies.  He’s not
well, Lothar.”  Khadgar heard the worry in his own voice. 
“Clearly.” Lothar stood decisively.  “Can you do a portal?”
“Um.  I’d better not,” Khadgar replied, suddenly nervous at the thought.  He
didn’t really want to try any serious magic, not with the demon binding him. 
“I’m a little shaky,” he added for Medivh’s benefit, in case the man could hear
them talking.
“Then take one of Llane’s birds,” Lothar offered.  “It’s the fastest way.”
Khadgar looked at him quizzically.  “How am I going to carry him and fly that
thing at the same time?”
They stared at each other for a moment, thinking.  “Garona!” they cried, at the
same time.  Lothar nodded.  “She’s strong enough to hold him steady.  The bird
pretty much flies itself.  You just need to hang on.”
“Alright.  Can you summon her?  We should leave immediately,” said Khadgar,
biting at his lips. 
“Of course,” Lothar nodded.  He turned to leave.  “I’ll send some guards to
help carry Medivh.  Meet us in the courtyard.”
“Wait,” said Khadgar, putting a hand softly on Lothar’s arm.  “Lothar, we may
not have a chance…After Karazhan, I must return to the Kirin Tor.  I don’t know
what will happen.  If I don’t see you again…” his voice trailed away. 
“You’ll see me again, bookworm,” Lothar replied lightly. 
“I might not,” said Khadgar, pausing.  The next words betrayed him, coming out
in a rush.  “Did you mean what you said, at dinner?”  Khadgar blurted,
disappointed in himself but unwilling to walk away from Lothar without asking
the question. 
“We were arguing.  You asked me to,” Lothar reminded him, then going on the
offensive, he continued, “Did you mean what you said?”
Khadgar could not reply, feeling his face tighten as he clenched his jaw.  A
long moment passed, then Khadgar shook his head to focus.  “You’d better summon
the guard,” he said softly.  “I’ll meet you and Garona in the courtyard,
Commander.”
Ignoring the stiffness of Khadgar’s formal reply, Lothar ruffled his hair, then
stepped to the door.  “You did well, Khadgar.  I’m proud of you.”  He looked
over Khadgar appraisingly for a moment, then added, tapping Khadgar’s still-
greenish hand.  “Wrap up in your cloak.  It can get pretty cold on
gryphonback.”
Khadgar nodded, knowing that Lothar meant he should cover his green skin to
prevent any uncomfortable questions.
When he was gone, Khadgar busied himself making Medivh presentable, pulling
clothing onto his limp body and wiping down his face and hair with a damped
rag.  He cleaned himself up as well, wincing at the new pain in his wrists from
the burns. 
Good,he thought savagely, scrubbing a little harder.  The physical pain was a
distraction from the swirling emotions in his chest, fear and worry and
complicated thoughts about Lothar tangling about like wild briars. 
‘I’m proud of you’, he says?  That’s all he has to say?  After I sacrificed my
body and a piece of my soul for this incredibly stupid mission?  Fuck. Khadgar
knew he was not being fair.  Lothar had no idea the extent to which he’d
committed to the plan, or the choices he’d been forced to make.  And they
couldn’t very well discuss it in front of the inert Guardian.  This was your
idea, anyway, Khadgar.  You can’t very well blame him that everything went to
plan.
Wrapping himself in his cloak, Khadgar took a deep breath and waited for the
guards to arrive.  The flight to Karazhan wouldn’t be long, but he didn’t know
how much time Medivh had.  He hoped it would be enough.
End Notes
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