The young Prince Anduin drew his stare next, standing proud on his father's right and reminding him of the two men he was named for in many ways just by watching him. Varian's private pride in the boy was obvious and with good reason, already Khadgar could see the leader that Anduin would become in the future – where he would be the Wrynn who redefined the leadership of the King of Stormwind. Khadgar couldn't help but think that Lothar would approve – that Medivh would as well, of the blond youth.
Genn Greymane is a tall, imposing figure directly to the right of the King and he catches his attention at last. His hair was much whiter and the lines on his face were deeper, and yet, he is the one to swat the intruder down. It had only been seconds before the Rogue fell to the floor, dead, but instead of the stern man Khadgar had seen moments before – he sees a Worgen. Taller, breaching eight feet instead of the six he had been before, if he were estimating, with white fur and the golden eyes that seemed to scrutinize the corpse he had left. The sharp claws of the man's left hand were stained red and his chest heaved with the faint exertion that he had put into the casual way he struck the intruder down. Genn sniffed the air with his snout, and the mage assumed he was scenting the air for any other intruders that could try sneaking into such a place, though seemed to find nothing and changed back, retreating to his place next to Varian as if nothing had happened and there was nobody lying feet in front of the throne.
Khadgar understood it then, things finally clicking in his mind. That was not a wolf, but a Worgen's head on his chest. The Gilnean had been there, even. He had been one of the first people he had locked eyes with that day if he remembered correctly. He had been faintly amused by the man's reaction to his suggestions and clear displeasure, exasperated, but still amused and glad that he was not Varian in those few moments. He stares dumbstruck at the other King, remembering him as a man who did not care for much else beyond his own people and could take or leave the rest of Azeroth on a regular basis.
Greymane was a complete and utter asshole, Khadgar thought to himself, but he was his soulmate. He wasn't sure how to feel about that, mentally cursing Cordana for being right that it was probably better that he hadn't known who it was. There was no time for him to even think of what the situation could mean for him – for the Worgen, even. The ache formed just behind his breastbone as he plays his shock off as never seeing a Worgen himself. Saying nothing to acknowledge the urge that was building in the base of his spine that screamed for him to go to his soulmate and throw everything else away.
That would be incredibly stupid, he rationed, stupid and selfish. So instead he threw himself back into the meeting and ignored the urge he had to openly stare at the white haired man.
He puts the thoughts of approaching the other are put away into a box in the corner of his mind and he threw himself wholeheartedly into the invasion of Draenor and back into a world of no color soon after. He hated it, loathed it and wished he could return to seeing the blues of his eyes or the multicolor shimmer of magic in the air.
The urges that spoke that he had to return to Azeroth and seek out the king were overwhelming, sometimes taking over his thoughts as he poured over calculations in the dead of a humid night.
More than once, Cordana had called him distracted when he found himself looking in the direction of Tanaan, of the Dark Portal – of Azeroth. She had pitied him sometimes when he did not snap out of it right away, simply setting a hand upon his shoulder and telling him that he should return inside instead of out in the open.
And when the need grew too great – unbearable and nothing else could fit in his mind but wanting to see things in color – see his soulmate once again? He made excuses for him to return to Azeroth, meetings in Dalaran that were followed by trips to Stormwind. As a raven he would take to the sky and fly towards the keep, just watch Genn stand next to Varian's throne for a short while and left, knowing his urge was abated for the moment.
After he was nearly assassinated by Garona, rather deserving of it in retrospect, as he had been very cocky when it was rather unwarranted - as Cordana helped him up and bandaged the stitches he had told her to put in, he briefly wondered if Genn would show up after hearing how he nearly got himself killed. Wishful thinking was what he found that to be and had a moment of thinking that perhaps it had been for the best. Cordana's furious gaze was more than enough for him at the moment, her words echoed in his ears as she lectured him, told him how stupid he was for not being healed properly and it made him wonder if his soulmate would do something like that to him. At his lost expression, her own softened and allowed herself to quiet down to return to her work of making sure he was once again in one piece.
(Her betrayal hit him in the gut, deeper than any blade could reach and with more damage than he could ever think of repairing. He mourned her like she was dead, thinking of her as just one more person he could add to the list of failing in his life.)
It's after Cordana leaves, after Gul'dan escapes and Khadgar lands in Stormwind Keep in front of King Varian as a raven and warns him the Legion had returned, that Khadgar finds the ache in his bones resonate for a different reason. The future of his world was in danger and he was helpless to stop it, that the blame that Gul'dan had even survived long enough to do such a thing – was his fault. He had dismissed the Orcish Warlock as the coward he remembered him to be, not another man whom's world had been shaped differently the moment Garrosh had gone to a time thirty years before. It was his fault, he felt, that Varian dies, saving the Champions and leaders while he stayed behind upon the Broken Shore and died valiantly, a hero, like Lothar had.
Perhaps he could have changed it if he had gone with them, he thinks standing before the empty casket moments before he leaves to move Dalaran a second time. If he had been there to use a portal to remove them all from the fight at hand. Thoughts of his soulmate are gone from his mind and he knows that it was now time that he accepted that his responsibility to Varian – to the son he left behind and the world that was endangered, was more important than any want he could have in the world beyond that.
Still, when he remembered that Genn had survived, he guiltily found relief in the fact the other had not gone diving off the airship to join Varian. It soothed a part of him to know that he would still be able to see in color and at least watch the other when he could manage the time.
Khadgar thrusts himself into the assault against the Legion's front, Dalaran is moved, he returns to Karazhan only briefly and he is busy, too busy to think of much else.
He stands tall in the Violet Citadel, flanked by his fellow members of the council – the council that he now lead in Jaina's departure and realizes something is seriously wrong with Genn when the colors in his world begin to fade. He finds his throat constricting and worry filling him to the brim, enough to cause him to cough for a second. It threatens to spill over when a Worgen from Greywatch arrives and tells the Six exactly what had transpired between the Warchief and the King of Gilneas. He feels like an overflowing teacup and hears nothing but static as his panic sets in. Before he realizes what he has done, Khadgar is putting himself into the air with flaps of strong black wings.
Khadgar knows he is pushing himself in his rush to Genn to do something, anything he can when he realizes he is on his way to Stormheim and curses when he realizes had not been in a sane enough mindset to grapple for any sort of healing items in Dalaran before he rushes off in his fear. He knows he cannot; so does not turn back, his body wouldn't let him even if he tried and instead only drives himself more to reach the outpost as fast as he could.
The moment he sets down, there are people – champions stopping what they were doing to stare at him. As if he were not supposed to be there – he supposed that was true as looks briefly around and takes stock in his surroundings. He begins heading towards the most logical place to keep a patient – the barracks, he thinks they are and pushes through the small crowd of worried heroes that had lingered just outside of the door. He must soothe them as they disperse quickly at his appearance – perhaps hoping that he would take control of the situation. Khadgar ignores the nurse's squawks of indigence when she notices him, another Worgen, taller than him and clearly stronger but he pays her no mind.
Blue eyes stare at the prone body of Genn and lurches when the color nearly completely fades from his vision. His hand fly to his chest, the ache growing from the dread that began to build in his stomach. He realizes must've made some sort of sound of distress, when the poor woman paused her work to stare at him in mild wonder. He thinks he sees her staring at the fallen man's chest and back to Khadgar and then seemed to understand what the Archmage had truly come for and instantly began to work on reviving Gilneas's king.
It takes hours for her to finish and he hovers nearby for the whole thing, helps her when the king is moved to a bed and drags a seat to the spot next to where his soulmate's head rested on the bed. Khadgar sits there, next to the bed that Genn is in. He is glad when it is confirmed that his condition had stabilized and stares at him with mild anxiousness. Would he take another nose dive? He hoped not. What was the poison the Banshee Queen used against the man, would it play with his condition forever? He finds himself glad his world is still in color as he sits there for hours, holding his breath as he waits for the other to awaken.
Panic had brought him there, worry kept him there, but he didn't know how the other would take his sudden appearance if he even knew what he was at all. He hoped there would be no issues, that the excuse he had come up with to tell everyone else would work on Greymane as well. It wasn't like there was any proof to Genn knowing who he was... Though as he eyeballed the sleeping man, he sees part of the tattoo that was symbolizing him and swore as the nurse had bandaged him, Khadgar had seen the Kirin Tor symbol upon the other's chest and supposes that he was not that stupid and probably did know.
Perhaps getting his hopes up was wrong, Khadgar knew he had avoided talking about what they were to the man, hell... if he had been told right, Genn had married and had two children. He had a life and there was no way the Archmage would intrude on that. It wasn't in his cards, no matter what was before him. His mind drew back to Medivh – laying in his bed, asleep, looking oh so beautiful and he supposed he understood the situation. There was no way he couldn't, it was rare for one to even find their soulmate, most settled for another anyways. There was no point in doing anything and he could continue to play dumb, just like he had 30 years ago.
Truly, he was a coward and he could vividly imagine how ashamed of him Lothar would undoubtedly be.
Carefully, he reaches out to brush his fingers over the tops of the other's brows, drawing a line to wipe away some sweat, before he then retreated and cursed himself for such a weakness. He puts his hands over his face and he closes his eyes. There is no room in his world for such selfishness, not with the Legion's growing power and how far its reach was becoming. He knew he should leave, but his body seemed to refuse to, so instead he sat there and waited. Hoping that he would not be questioned on why he was there by anyone, that was the last thing he wanted to be spoken to about.
no subject
Genn Greymane is a tall, imposing figure directly to the right of the King and he catches his attention at last. His hair was much whiter and the lines on his face were deeper, and yet, he is the one to swat the intruder down. It had only been seconds before the Rogue fell to the floor, dead, but instead of the stern man Khadgar had seen moments before – he sees a Worgen. Taller, breaching eight feet instead of the six he had been before, if he were estimating, with white fur and the golden eyes that seemed to scrutinize the corpse he had left. The sharp claws of the man's left hand were stained red and his chest heaved with the faint exertion that he had put into the casual way he struck the intruder down. Genn sniffed the air with his snout, and the mage assumed he was scenting the air for any other intruders that could try sneaking into such a place, though seemed to find nothing and changed back, retreating to his place next to Varian as if nothing had happened and there was nobody lying feet in front of the throne.
Khadgar understood it then, things finally clicking in his mind. That was not a wolf, but a Worgen's head on his chest. The Gilnean had been there, even. He had been one of the first people he had locked eyes with that day if he remembered correctly. He had been faintly amused by the man's reaction to his suggestions and clear displeasure, exasperated, but still amused and glad that he was not Varian in those few moments. He stares dumbstruck at the other King, remembering him as a man who did not care for much else beyond his own people and could take or leave the rest of Azeroth on a regular basis.
Greymane was a complete and utter asshole, Khadgar thought to himself, but he was his soulmate. He wasn't sure how to feel about that, mentally cursing Cordana for being right that it was probably better that he hadn't known who it was. There was no time for him to even think of what the situation could mean for him – for the Worgen, even. The ache formed just behind his breastbone as he plays his shock off as never seeing a Worgen himself. Saying nothing to acknowledge the urge that was building in the base of his spine that screamed for him to go to his soulmate and throw everything else away.
That would be incredibly stupid, he rationed, stupid and selfish. So instead he threw himself back into the meeting and ignored the urge he had to openly stare at the white haired man.
He puts the thoughts of approaching the other are put away into a box in the corner of his mind and he threw himself wholeheartedly into the invasion of Draenor and back into a world of no color soon after. He hated it, loathed it and wished he could return to seeing the blues of his eyes or the multicolor shimmer of magic in the air.
The urges that spoke that he had to return to Azeroth and seek out the king were overwhelming, sometimes taking over his thoughts as he poured over calculations in the dead of a humid night.
More than once, Cordana had called him distracted when he found himself looking in the direction of Tanaan, of the Dark Portal – of Azeroth. She had pitied him sometimes when he did not snap out of it right away, simply setting a hand upon his shoulder and telling him that he should return inside instead of out in the open.
And when the need grew too great – unbearable and nothing else could fit in his mind but wanting to see things in color – see his soulmate once again? He made excuses for him to return to Azeroth, meetings in Dalaran that were followed by trips to Stormwind. As a raven he would take to the sky and fly towards the keep, just watch Genn stand next to Varian's throne for a short while and left, knowing his urge was abated for the moment.
After he was nearly assassinated by Garona, rather deserving of it in retrospect, as he had been very cocky when it was rather unwarranted - as Cordana helped him up and bandaged the stitches he had told her to put in, he briefly wondered if Genn would show up after hearing how he nearly got himself killed. Wishful thinking was what he found that to be and had a moment of thinking that perhaps it had been for the best. Cordana's furious gaze was more than enough for him at the moment, her words echoed in his ears as she lectured him, told him how stupid he was for not being healed properly and it made him wonder if his soulmate would do something like that to him. At his lost expression, her own softened and allowed herself to quiet down to return to her work of making sure he was once again in one piece.
(Her betrayal hit him in the gut, deeper than any blade could reach and with more damage than he could ever think of repairing. He mourned her like she was dead, thinking of her as just one more person he could add to the list of failing in his life.)
It's after Cordana leaves, after Gul'dan escapes and Khadgar lands in Stormwind Keep in front of King Varian as a raven and warns him the Legion had returned, that Khadgar finds the ache in his bones resonate for a different reason. The future of his world was in danger and he was helpless to stop it, that the blame that Gul'dan had even survived long enough to do such a thing – was his fault. He had dismissed the Orcish Warlock as the coward he remembered him to be, not another man whom's world had been shaped differently the moment Garrosh had gone to a time thirty years before. It was his fault, he felt, that Varian dies, saving the Champions and leaders while he stayed behind upon the Broken Shore and died valiantly, a hero, like Lothar had.
Perhaps he could have changed it if he had gone with them, he thinks standing before the empty casket moments before he leaves to move Dalaran a second time. If he had been there to use a portal to remove them all from the fight at hand. Thoughts of his soulmate are gone from his mind and he knows that it was now time that he accepted that his responsibility to Varian – to the son he left behind and the world that was endangered, was more important than any want he could have in the world beyond that.
Still, when he remembered that Genn had survived, he guiltily found relief in the fact the other had not gone diving off the airship to join Varian. It soothed a part of him to know that he would still be able to see in color and at least watch the other when he could manage the time.
Khadgar thrusts himself into the assault against the Legion's front, Dalaran is moved, he returns to Karazhan only briefly and he is busy, too busy to think of much else.
He stands tall in the Violet Citadel, flanked by his fellow members of the council – the council that he now lead in Jaina's departure and realizes something is seriously wrong with Genn when the colors in his world begin to fade. He finds his throat constricting and worry filling him to the brim, enough to cause him to cough for a second. It threatens to spill over when a Worgen from Greywatch arrives and tells the Six exactly what had transpired between the Warchief and the King of Gilneas. He feels like an overflowing teacup and hears nothing but static as his panic sets in. Before he realizes what he has done, Khadgar is putting himself into the air with flaps of strong black wings.
Khadgar knows he is pushing himself in his rush to Genn to do something, anything he can when he realizes he is on his way to Stormheim and curses when he realizes had not been in a sane enough mindset to grapple for any sort of healing items in Dalaran before he rushes off in his fear. He knows he cannot; so does not turn back, his body wouldn't let him even if he tried and instead only drives himself more to reach the outpost as fast as he could.
The moment he sets down, there are people – champions stopping what they were doing to stare at him. As if he were not supposed to be there – he supposed that was true as looks briefly around and takes stock in his surroundings. He begins heading towards the most logical place to keep a patient – the barracks, he thinks they are and pushes through the small crowd of worried heroes that had lingered just outside of the door. He must soothe them as they disperse quickly at his appearance – perhaps hoping that he would take control of the situation. Khadgar ignores the nurse's squawks of indigence when she notices him, another Worgen, taller than him and clearly stronger but he pays her no mind.
Blue eyes stare at the prone body of Genn and lurches when the color nearly completely fades from his vision. His hand fly to his chest, the ache growing from the dread that began to build in his stomach. He realizes must've made some sort of sound of distress, when the poor woman paused her work to stare at him in mild wonder. He thinks he sees her staring at the fallen man's chest and back to Khadgar and then seemed to understand what the Archmage had truly come for and instantly began to work on reviving Gilneas's king.
It takes hours for her to finish and he hovers nearby for the whole thing, helps her when the king is moved to a bed and drags a seat to the spot next to where his soulmate's head rested on the bed. Khadgar sits there, next to the bed that Genn is in. He is glad when it is confirmed that his condition had stabilized and stares at him with mild anxiousness. Would he take another nose dive? He hoped not. What was the poison the Banshee Queen used against the man, would it play with his condition forever? He finds himself glad his world is still in color as he sits there for hours, holding his breath as he waits for the other to awaken.
Panic had brought him there, worry kept him there, but he didn't know how the other would take his sudden appearance if he even knew what he was at all. He hoped there would be no issues, that the excuse he had come up with to tell everyone else would work on Greymane as well. It wasn't like there was any proof to Genn knowing who he was... Though as he eyeballed the sleeping man, he sees part of the tattoo that was symbolizing him and swore as the nurse had bandaged him, Khadgar had seen the Kirin Tor symbol upon the other's chest and supposes that he was not that stupid and probably did know.
Perhaps getting his hopes up was wrong, Khadgar knew he had avoided talking about what they were to the man, hell... if he had been told right, Genn had married and had two children. He had a life and there was no way the Archmage would intrude on that. It wasn't in his cards, no matter what was before him. His mind drew back to Medivh – laying in his bed, asleep, looking oh so beautiful and he supposed he understood the situation. There was no way he couldn't, it was rare for one to even find their soulmate, most settled for another anyways. There was no point in doing anything and he could continue to play dumb, just like he had 30 years ago.
Truly, he was a coward and he could vividly imagine how ashamed of him Lothar would undoubtedly be.
Carefully, he reaches out to brush his fingers over the tops of the other's brows, drawing a line to wipe away some sweat, before he then retreated and cursed himself for such a weakness. He puts his hands over his face and he closes his eyes. There is no room in his world for such selfishness, not with the Legion's growing power and how far its reach was becoming. He knew he should leave, but his body seemed to refuse to, so instead he sat there and waited. Hoping that he would not be questioned on why he was there by anyone, that was the last thing he wanted to be spoken to about.