Originally, Khadgar had only wanted to stay a few hours, but here he was two weeks later still searching – well not, searching-searching he had a very good idea where it was – for the place where the Forsaken were manufacturing the Plague and well, destroy it. And his other unofficial duty of watching Genn Greymane run around like a chicken with his head cut off. Or maybe just a very small dog that liked to growl and yap when things were not going his way, either way, it had the Archmage worried over him.
They had no way of truly telling what was on that arrow and if it was truly out of the white Worgen's system. That concerned him, especially when Greymane refused – abhorred to stay still when his men were fighting against the Forsaken. The nursemaid, the poor lady, and himself had conversed over the way that Genn utterly lacked the ability to sit in one place at all. He didn't take to resting well, Khadgar noted one day, though much the same could be said about himself as he was horrible at listening to other people's ideas and taking them as anything less than a vague insult.
Genn Greyman was a king and Khadgar knew that most kings did not like sitting around and waiting for things to happen, that everything was above themselves and they bore that weight graciously. At least the kings Khadgar had come to respect over the years did. Genn lacked, much like Varian had, the ability to slow down and allow someone to handle that burden with them and Khadgar was obviously fascinated by the headstrong male.
From his time spent in Greywatch, the Archmage had come to see the depth of the scar that Varian's death had left on the Worgen and perhaps, he identified with it and noted to himself that they may have that in common. Pining for something that never could happen or maybe, Genn had gotten lucky. Khadgar was never truly sure of where that emotions truly laid.
He had spent one night simply watching Greymane and found himself missing Medivh once more. Even more, he was reminded of the trick the Legion had played, had used his own adoration for the Last Guardian against him. He had hoped, always hoped. It stung while he thought of it and when he had disposed of another batch of the Plague the next day, he thought of the green eyes that simply implored him to be loyal and want to take care of him. He had drank too much whine that night to get rid of the rest of those thoughts, as they had no reason to be in his head with the current threat at their finger tips.
All that he had come to realize, after all of two weeks, is that he needed to make Genn rest and allow others to handle the rest of things. He came up with a ploy and well, if it came down to it... he'd simply cheat and use his magic to keep him still and resting.
Khadgar had come up with other ideas, though his sleeping drought had been sniffed out and that had been a ruckus that he had to quickly diffuse before there was a horde of angry Worgen's knocking at the Forsaken's battleships in arms. He had also tried knocking him out, but that had started a scuffle that Khadgar was still nursing a bruised rib from – it wasn't broken, the nurse was told to focus on Genn as it would heal in due time.
He was prepared this time, truly prepared, and was quick about cornering Genn against a wall to show exactly how serious he was. Genn wouldn't listen to him due to the fact that he was not seen as the alpha – oh no, he learned early that Varian was that, but having more information now than he did then – and the only way to remedy that would be to challenge him in some way.
It's not like he was a small mage by any means, he was broad shouldered and tall, but was not a warrior in any sense of the word, unless you counted Mage.
“You need to rest,” he hissed out, keeping his hands clamped onto Genn's wrists and staring at him with his sharp blue eyes, careful to watch for any sort of reaction that would need him to flee by foot – he had left Atiesh in his own small room, which he regretted now that he thought about it, oh well no time for that.
Genn/Khadgar - Miri
Originally, Khadgar had only wanted to stay a few hours, but here he was two weeks later still searching – well not, searching-searching he had a very good idea where it was – for the place where the Forsaken were manufacturing the Plague and well, destroy it. And his other unofficial duty of watching Genn Greymane run around like a chicken with his head cut off. Or maybe just a very small dog that liked to growl and yap when things were not going his way, either way, it had the Archmage worried over him.
They had no way of truly telling what was on that arrow and if it was truly out of the white Worgen's system. That concerned him, especially when Greymane refused – abhorred to stay still when his men were fighting against the Forsaken. The nursemaid, the poor lady, and himself had conversed over the way that Genn utterly lacked the ability to sit in one place at all. He didn't take to resting well, Khadgar noted one day, though much the same could be said about himself as he was horrible at listening to other people's ideas and taking them as anything less than a vague insult.
Genn Greyman was a king and Khadgar knew that most kings did not like sitting around and waiting for things to happen, that everything was above themselves and they bore that weight graciously. At least the kings Khadgar had come to respect over the years did. Genn lacked, much like Varian had, the ability to slow down and allow someone to handle that burden with them and Khadgar was obviously fascinated by the headstrong male.
From his time spent in Greywatch, the Archmage had come to see the depth of the scar that Varian's death had left on the Worgen and perhaps, he identified with it and noted to himself that they may have that in common. Pining for something that never could happen or maybe, Genn had gotten lucky. Khadgar was never truly sure of where that emotions truly laid.
He had spent one night simply watching Greymane and found himself missing Medivh once more. Even more, he was reminded of the trick the Legion had played, had used his own adoration for the Last Guardian against him. He had hoped, always hoped. It stung while he thought of it and when he had disposed of another batch of the Plague the next day, he thought of the green eyes that simply implored him to be loyal and want to take care of him. He had drank too much whine that night to get rid of the rest of those thoughts, as they had no reason to be in his head with the current threat at their finger tips.
All that he had come to realize, after all of two weeks, is that he needed to make Genn rest and allow others to handle the rest of things. He came up with a ploy and well, if it came down to it... he'd simply cheat and use his magic to keep him still and resting.
Khadgar had come up with other ideas, though his sleeping drought had been sniffed out and that had been a ruckus that he had to quickly diffuse before there was a horde of angry Worgen's knocking at the Forsaken's battleships in arms. He had also tried knocking him out, but that had started a scuffle that Khadgar was still nursing a bruised rib from – it wasn't broken, the nurse was told to focus on Genn as it would heal in due time.
He was prepared this time, truly prepared, and was quick about cornering Genn against a wall to show exactly how serious he was. Genn wouldn't listen to him due to the fact that he was not seen as the alpha – oh no, he learned early that Varian was that, but having more information now than he did then – and the only way to remedy that would be to challenge him in some way.
It's not like he was a small mage by any means, he was broad shouldered and tall, but was not a warrior in any sense of the word, unless you counted Mage.
“You need to rest,” he hissed out, keeping his hands clamped onto Genn's wrists and staring at him with his sharp blue eyes, careful to watch for any sort of reaction that would need him to flee by foot – he had left Atiesh in his own small room, which he regretted now that he thought about it, oh well no time for that.