Chapter Text
Khadgar often wondered in his years with the Kirin Tor why no one left. Unhappiness wasn't scarce amongst the mages in training, and few wished for the life of solitude that awaited them. Even the apprentices weren't bound to the organization by anything but honour. They could renounce their vows if ever their heart desired, yet none did. Khadgar couldn't understand. He knew from a young age that he wanted more out of life than what the Kirin Tor would provide him, and often dreamed of life outside, in Azeroth. It was a miracle he made it as long as he did before he stepped up in front of everyone and renounced his vows. It was only then that Khadgar realized what that meant; what the punishment was.
He had been stupid to think that leaving wouldn't come with a cost. To leave the most prestigious society of mages, one was expected to make a fitting sacrifice. The words that he spoke to renounce his vows would be the last to ever leave his lips. Because without his voice, he would no longer be able to use is magic.
To leave the Kirin Tor, Khadgar had to give up the biggest part of himself.
—One year later—
Life after leaving the Kirin Tor was far from easy. Khadgar ran to the only place that provide any hope, the place famous for providing opportunities—Stormwind. When he got there, nothing was as he expected. Khadgar found himself disappointed and outcast. He searched desperately for work, anything to keep himself fed and off the streets, but no one would take him. No one wanted a mute, never mind a useless kid with virtually no experience in anything that didn't involve a book and a quill.
What little money he had didn’t last, and before long he found himself nothing more than a beggar on the street. He was a far cry from the promising young mage he had once been. He was certain that now, even if he could speak, he would be too weak to access the arcane. That part of him was truly gone.
Everything in his life became about survival. Khadgar struggled to make it from one day to the next, never knowing from where, or when, his next meal would come. Or, if the chill of he night would finally be too much for his frail body to bear. It wasn't uncommon that the food he would get would be picked out of piles of garbage, scraps that those fortunate enough to have the money to eat deemed not worth their time.
Sadly, food and shelter were not all that Khadgar had to worry about. Sometimes he found himself in the company of men so far gone on drink that he would be able to smell the booze before they came into sight. Those nights made Khadgar’s skin crawl, his heart pounding violently in his chest as he squeezed his eyes closed and waited for their abuse to end.
They took such pleasure in his pain, knowing that he would never cry for help, though never understanding why. Still, they were careful not to do too much damage, never more than heavy bruising. But their visits quickly gained frequency, and before long they were back too often for Khadgar’s body to have any chance at healing. Slowly, Khadgar became glad he didn't have the opportunity to bathe, even the thought of what his skin must look like under his tattered robes was enough to make him shudder.
There were many times he wished he could give up, many times he wondered if it would be better to return to the Kirin Tor and admit his weakness. On his worst days, he wondered if it would make more sense for him to just not continue his struggle to survive; to finally welcome the dark sleep. But Khadgar was too proud to allow himself that, and far too proud to run back to the place he so desperately wanted to leave. He wouldn't go back and give them the pleasure of knowing they were right when they told him he could never survive on his own.
No, Khadgar would keep struggling, keep surviving, because that was all he knew how to do anymore.
Andiun Lothar liked to think that he knew Stormwind inside and out. He liked to think that nothing could go on without him finding out eventually. He liked to think that he kept Stormwind a good, safe, place to live. He was the Lion of Azeroth, and he wanted to believe he kept good on the name. As far as he was aware, he was loved widely and strongly. He was a man of the people! So to say he was shocked to glance down an alleyway and see a man—no, a shadow of what was once a man—crumpled and unmoving… It would be an understatement.
Lothar tried not to think too much about the ‘how’s and ‘why’s as he rushed to the man’s side, crouching next to his prone form. Lothar let out a sigh of relief when he noted the gentle rise and fall of breathing. He placed a hand on his shoulder, and the man in question woke with a start, head whipping around to face him. His eyes were wide with fear, and Lothar tried not to think about why that would be.
“It’s okay,” he said quietly. “I'm not going to hurt you.” The man, who looked far too young to have such unhappiness in his eyes, nodded slowly. Lothar helped him into a sitting position, never breaking the eye contact they held. “Do you have somewhere to go—a home?” He asked, needing confirmation despite the sickening feeling in his gut. His heart fell as the young man shook his head.
“Are you new to Stormwind?” Lothar asked, though again he knew what the answer would be. He felt sick. How had this poor kid gotten this bad without Lothar knowing? How had the citizens of Stormwind managed to ignore him long enough for his cheeks to sink with hunger, and his eyes to glaze over with defeat?
“I’m going to get you help,” Lothar said quietly, but the kid was already drifting back to sleep. With a heavy heart, and anger growing in his gut, Lothar lifted the kid into his arms and made his way towards the castle. He glared at the patrons of Old Town as he walked through, and most had the decency to show shame in their neglectfulness, confirming that the kid’s presence was known—and ignored.
When Khadgar woke, he was sure he was dead. He was laying on what had to be a bed—far more comfortable than anything he'd experienced in a long while. On top of that, he was warm and it was quiet. He didn't want to open his eyes. He had to be dead. But open his eyes he did, one at a time. He blinked against the brightness, his eyes adjusting to the sunlight streaming in through a window across from him. He glanced around his surroundings, noticing that he was definitely in someone’s chambers, somewhere. If he had to guess, the room was unoccupied. There was a desk and a wardrobe, but nothing to indicate this was someone's home.
Finally, his eyes landed on the man currently asleep in a very uncomfortable looking chair next to him. Khadgar had to rub at his tired eyes. He had thought that the night prior had been a dream. That his savior was nothing more than a figment of his imagination, but there he was. Sleeping peacefully next to the bed. Khadgar tried to hold back the tears stinging his eyes as he realized that finally—finally!—someone had found him.
When he was sure he was calm enough to not make a fool of himself in front of the man, Khadgar reached out to touch his arm gently. The man woke with a start, and Khadgar couldn't help but flinch. His face filled with pity almost instantly as he scooted forward, closer, and stared into Khadgar’s eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to startle you,” Khadgar shook his head quickly, trying to tell him it was fine. “
“My name is Anduin Lothar,” he said, running a hand through his longer hair. “I would like to apologize, on behalf of Stormwind, for the obvious mistreatment you've faced during your time here. I want you to know that you're safe now, and healers are coming to tend to your wounds. Are you hungry?”
Khadgar nodded apprehensively, watching Lothar excuse himself from the room, unsure of why he was getting such treatment. Wouldn't it be beneficial for Lothar to just have him removed from the city? Yet he had apologized… Khadgar didn't know what to feel. When Lothar came back, he was carrying a large tray of steaming food. Khadgar heard his stomach grumble loudly at the sight. It'd been so long since he'd had a proper meal, yet when Lothar placed the tray in his lap, he found himself frozen.
“It's okay,” Lothar assured, “Please, eat. It'll help you regain your strength.”
Khadgar nodded and gingerly lifted a piece of toasted bread from the plate. He forced himself to remain civil, taking a small bite despite the absolutely intoxicating smell. His eyes closed involuntarily as he chewed, a lewd moan escaping his lips as his taste-buds reacted to the first non-garbage food he'd eaten in nearly a year. He could feel the blush on his cheeks as his eyes moved to Lothar, but the man in question was looking at him with a fond smile.
“Enjoy the food,” Lothar said. “I have to go take care of some things in the barracks, but I'll be back once the healers have finished with you.”
Khadgar nodded and, not for the first time, wished he could voice his thanks. Instead, he watched Lothar’s receding back and once again tried to reel in the emotions threatening to spill.
The healers arrived shortly after Khadgar had finished his meal, the plate almost licked clean. It was a group of four women, who immediately asked him to strip down upon entering the room. He couldn't stop himself from blushing at the act as he stood and quickly undressed himself. It was made worse by the gasps from the women at the sight of him. Khadgar stared straight ahead, trying to resist the urge to look himself over as he was guided back onto the bed.
He allowed himself a glance as they got to work, and felt his stomach flip. It was worse than he'd expected. Most of his skin was covered in varying shades of purple, blue, and black. If he had to guess, his right ankle was broken, the skin worse than everywhere else and twice the size of his left. He had to close his eyes, trying not to relive the events that led to the bruises and breaks. It wasn't until one of the women gasped, her hands on his left arm, that Khadgar realized just what he'd exposed.
His eyes flew open as he grabbed the woman’s wrist, eyes pleading her not to say anything. To his amazement, she nodded. The women finished up their work, and the one who had seen his mark stayed behind. “I'll show him where the baths are,” she told the others, who simply nodded and left the room. Khadgar pulled on his tattered robes, and for the first time his movements didn't cause him pain.
“You're from the Kirin Tor,” the woman said finally, more of a statement than a question. Khadgar shook his head sadly. “What do you mean, no? You have the mark!”
He shook his head again, and touched his throat. Her eyes went wide with understanding. “You're him, aren't you? The one who left—the one who renounced.” Khadgar nodded.
“The rumours said you had to give up your voice but I… I never thought they would be that cruel,” she touched his arm gently, “I am so sorry for your loss, Khadgar.”
It was so strange to hear his name after so long, he found himself frozen. It wasn't until she tugged his sleeve gently and led him from he room that he managed to make his limbs work. As they moved through the castle (Khadgar was trying not to think about why he was in the castle—one problem at a time), he couldn't help but marvel that the knowledge of his choice had made it as far as Stormwind. That people knew his name.
Lothar couldn't focus. He couldn't keep his mind off the young kid, couldn't get the image of pain in his eyes out of his mind. He tried to lead training, to delegate his solders, but too often found himself drifting into thought as he wondered what was going on; if the healers had gotten there, if he was okay.
After a couple hours, he dismissed the soldiers for a break with a heavy sigh. Callan made his way over, concern laced in his brow. “Where’s your head today?”
“I found someone, can't be much older than you, a step away from death in an ally in Old Town last night on my way back from patrol,” he told his son. “I can't believe that no one reported it.”
“It's not exactly uncommon for the homeless to go unreported, dad,” Callan said. “Stormwind is grand, we get many visitors who hope for easy living that cannot be provided.”
Lothar shook his head, “You don't understand. You didn't see him. There's a difference between homeless and nearly dead. I don't know what happened to the kid, but damn if I won't find out.”
Callan sighed, but he knew his father. He knew better than to try and change his mind once he'd decided something. “Why don't you go tend to him?” He asked after a moment. “I can finish training, and I've listened to you delegate jobs for almost my whole life.”
“No,” Lothar shook his head, “to leave my duties would be irresponsible.”
“To stay isn't much better,” Callan argued. “You're too engrossed in your mind to be of any use today, and it's quite obvious that isn't going to change until you figure out what happened to that kid. So go.”
“Callan—”
“No, dad. Go, or I'll call for Aunt Taria.”
Lothar groaned, but nodded. His son was just as stubborn as him, and the last thing he needed was his sister meddling. At least, not until he knew better what was going on. He moved quickly, pulling off his armour in a hurry before making his way to the castle and seeking the healers.
He found them in the chapel, as usual, but the looks on their faces on his arrival made his stomach drop. “What is it?” He asked. “Were you able to tend to his wounds?”
“Yes,” the eldest of the three pulled him aside, lowering her voice to a whisper, “but where did you find him, Lothar? His wounds…” She closed her eyes, “they were severe. Layers of dark bruises, broken bones… He wasn't just malnourished, he looked as if he'd been beaten.”
Lothar squeezed his hands into fists, trying to contain his anger. “I'll get to the bottom of it,” he said darkly. “And the boy?”
“Ariadne took him to the baths, he should be resting now.”
“Good.”
“I hope you find whoever is responsible,” she said as he turned to leave. Lothar had no doubts that he would find whoever responsible. He just hoped he'd manage to contain his anger when that day came.
Khadgar was supposed to be sleeping. He had strict instructions from the healers to get lots of bed rest, but he hadn't felt so good since he arrived in Stormwind. The aches of pain and hunger were gone, his body was clean, and his clothes warm and soft, his torn garments he'd worn the past year thrown away. The last thing Khadgar wanted to do was sleep. Now that he was better, he was sure he'd be discharged, told to be on his way. He wanted to enjoy the comfort he felt before returning to the streets.
Now that he was fed and healed, Khadgar found himself able to think straight. He could even feel magic pumping in his veins, but he tried desperately to ignore it. He knew that he couldn't stay in Stormwind. He couldn't continue as he had been, couldn't let himself be taken advantage of by those men… Those monsters anymore. No, it was time for him to move on. To keep moving until he found somewhere that would take him; somewhere he could make enough money to get by.
But Khadgar was unfamiliar with the area. He didn't know how to get to the nearest town, or how far a journey it was. He would have to go on foot, and that meant he wouldn't have time for wrong turns. He paced the room quietly, biting at his bottom lip. If he could just access maps… A though popped into his head, but it was dangerous. He was being held in the castle, but Khadgar had a feeling it wasn't an invitation to explore.
Still, what could they do? Throw him in a cell, maybe, but a cell was better than the streets. If he planned it right, he could be gone before anyone noticed. It was dangerous, maybe, but what option did he have, really? So despite his pounding heart, Khadgar pulled open the door to the room, and peaked up and down the corridor. There were no guards at the moment, and he knew it was his chance to move. So with one last, deep breath he started his mission.
Khadgar tried to remember his time with the Kirin Tor; how he held himself as he walked through the corridors of his old home. If he looked as if he belonged, there was less chance he would be stopped. So he squared his shoulders and held his head high, drawing as little attention to himself as was possible. He just had to find the library.
It probably wouldn't look great for Khadgar if a guard did get suspicious and decided to follow him, considering he was almost certain he'd been down the same corridor three times. Who would've figured the castle would be such a maze? But just as he was starting to give up hope, he took a corner he could've sworn he'd been down before, and found himself directly in front of an open door that lead to a room full of books. Khadgar couldn't stop the small gasp that escaped his lips. It'd been so long since he'd seen so many books, his fingers itched to skim their pages and absorb their knowledge. His feet worked on autopilot, moving him forward into the room.
He glanced around once inside, glad to find himself seemingly alone. He could see a pile of maps to his right, but… Khadgar glanced at one of the towering bookshelves, heart jumping with longing. Just one book wouldn't do any harm…
The kid was not in his room, as he was supposed to be. Lothar felt his heart drop when he opened the door to find the bed untouched, and the kid nowhere in sight. He turned to the guard, who looked just as shocked. “I told you to watch him.”
“He must've left when we switched guards…”
Lothar stared at the man, unable to even process his incompetence. Instead, he shoved his way out of the room and broke into a run down the hall. He would deal with his guards later. For all he knew, the kid was already long gone.
“Lothar?” An all too familiar voice rang out behind him, forcing him to stop.
“I don't have time right now, Taria.”
“What are you even doing?”
“Looking for someone.”
Taria raised an eyebrow, “Would that happen to be the guest that you failed to inform me or Llane about?”
“I was going to, once I dealt with his injuries,” Lothar sighed, “Not that it matters now, he's probably half way to Goldshire.”
Taria hummed, “We need to talk about this, Anduin.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I believe I saw an unfamiliar face heading towards the library.”
It took Lothar a minute to process what she was saying before he bolted in the opposite direction. He would never understand how his sister seemed to know everything, but by the light for once he was glad of her ability. He got to the library in record time, and sure enough the kid in question had his nose buried deep in a book.
“If you wanted to come to the library, you only needed to ask,” he said, mentally chiding himself for not making his arrival louder when the kid jumped. He looked up at Lothar apologetically, and the fear in those eyes pulled at Lothar's heart. “It's okay, kid. You're not in trouble.”
He sat down across from him and tried not to pay too much attention to the rigidness the kid’s posture. Before Lothar had announced his arrival, he had looked different. Peaceful, almost. “I never asked, what's your name?”
The kid stared at him, eyes wide with panic. Lothar didn't understand. “You're not in trouble, I promise,” Lothar tried. Still, the kid shook his head. One of his hands moved idly to his throat, and something clicked. “Are you… Do you speak?”
He shook his head again, and Lothar nodded in understanding. He grabbed some parchment and a quill from he desk behind him, sliding them across the table, “If you can read, I assume you know how to write?”
Khadgar stared at the parchment in front of him. Of course he knew how to write, but what if Lothar connected his name to the boy who left the Kirin Tor? Ariadne had known his name, that meant at least some did. Still, Lothar was looking at him so expectantly, and he'd been nothing but kind since he'd found Khadgar, so he pulled the parchment towards himself and scrawled his name on the top before passing it back to the older man.
“Khadgar?” He waited for recognition, fear, laughter… But Lothar just smiled. “It's nice to finally meet you, Khadgar. Are you feeling any better?”
He nodded quickly, even allowing himself a small smile. He wished he could better explain his gratitude. Lothar returned the smile, but his was twice as bright. “I'm glad to hear that. Though I am going to request that you remain here, in the castle, for a while longer.”
Khadgar shook his head quickly. He couldn't… The idea was ridiculous. “I have to insist, Khadgar. The healers told me of the severity of your wounds. It was obvious to them that someone hurt you. Is that true?”
Khadgar swallowed around the lump in his throat. His mind flashed back to the nights of abuse, to the things whispered into his ear. He couldn't stop the shudder than ran down his spine, and though he was sure that was answer enough for Lothar, he nodded. The man looked furious, though Khadgar couldn't understand why. “Do you remember them?” He asked.
Remember them? Khadgar would never be able to forget their faces, even cloaked by darkness. They haunted his dreams. He couldn't walk down the street without looking for them, feeling as if they were watching them. But he couldn't say any of that, couldn't tell Lothar any of it. So he nodded.
“I'm going to find them. We're going to find them. And when we do, they will play for what they did.”
Khadgar pulled the parchment back towards himself, scribbling one word on the surface before pushing it back towards Lothar. “Why?” Lothar read, he stared at Khadgar, brow furrowed and confusion clear in his features, “What do you mean, why?”
Khadgar frowned, hastily explaining himself in writing and wishing desperately for the ability to speak his mind. I'm not worth the time, he wrote. I deserved it.
Lothar grabbed his wrist, almost before he finished the word. His grip was rough, and Khadgar couldn't help but flinch, but he didn't let go. He stared darkly into Khadgar's eyes, his own fiery with anger. “Don't you dare say that about yourself,” he said. His voice was deep, and serious. “You didn't deserve it. No one deserves what you went through.”
Khadgar wished he could believe him.