Archive of Our Own ^beta

There isn’t enough alcohol in Stormwind to keep the nightmares at bay. Lothar just wants to sleep without waking with his heart pounding and a dead person’s name on his lips. He cannot stand the pity he sees in others’ eyes; he tells himself it is pity because empathy and concern will break him. He works his body to exhaustion during the day and stays out far too late, drinking until he cannot remember falling into bed. He is too tired, mentally and physically, to dream and Lothar will take what he can get.

However today isn’t his day. Instead of running his body into the ground, he’s in the War Room talking for more than he has since this whole blasted affair began. He is the Lion of Azeroth, her protector, and his mind is just as vital as his body. The talks last into the night and Lothar is irritable; his sister would skin him alive if he were to imbibe during strategy and diplomatic meetings.

He falls into bed and hopes for a peaceful night. He doesn’t have much luck.

He’s had this dream before and it's always the same. He is at Blackrock Pass and Medivh has just let loose his magical barrier. He tries futilely to get to Callan and he knows he’s about to fail his son again, knows he’s about to see the life drain from those eyes. Eyes that remind him so much of his dead wife’s. Dread curls in his stomach as Callan turns around to look at his father one last time.

It’s a punch to his gut and he gasps when instead of Callan it is Khadgar. Khadgar with his doe-eyed brown irises and soft features. Khadgar with no experience of war and death. Khadgar who looks terrified. Khadgar. He lunges at the barrier because no, he cannot lose him. Cannot lose his mage with the soft laugh and gentle smile. Cannot lose another piece of himself because damn this boy for stealing what was left of his old, shriveled heart. His arm is through the barrier and Khadgar reaches for him just as an orc’s large, meaty hand closes around the mage’s throat. For a split second, Lothar swears he could feel the tips of Khadgar’s fingers and then he’s yanked back, out of reach.

Lothar howls in denial as he watches a blade appear through Khadgar’s chest. The orc laughs and pushes the mage off the blade, towards Lothar. He falls to his knees, his eyes glassy with pain and locked onto Lothar’s face.

He murmurs softly, “Anduin…” a trickle of blood slipping out between his lips. Eyes that are so expressive whisper to him all the unspoken emotion between them that will never be fulfilled. Khadgar blinks and with a pained moan falls to his side. Eyes that had just shown Lothar a future he would give anything to have glaze over in death.

Lothar screams.

He’s flailing, still trying to get to Khadgar when he feels the ground drop out from under him. He topples out of his bed and hits the stone floor in a tangle of blankets. His confusion slowly leaves him, his sides heaving and heart threatening to hammer out of his chest. Lothar chokes back a sob and presses the palms of his hands against his eyes to keep his tears at bay, to keep his anguish inside. He takes deep, shuddering breaths to calm himself and after several moments it works. His heartbeat is slowing and he can breathe around the lump in his throat. With a deep sigh he leans back against his bed and lowers his hands, staring at the wall.

It’s the first time he’s dreamt about Khadgar and he feels hollow with the force of his feelings for the mage. Lothar is consumed with the desire to see him, to make sure he is hale and whole. It’s stupid and he curses his weakness towards the boy but he will not be able to sleep without seeing a living Khadgar and not the image of the dying one whispering his name in despair. An image that is going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

Grabbing the master key to the Royal Wing doors, he leaves his room with quiet footsteps. Lothar is never more glad to be sleeping in the palace than he is tonight. His nightmares would wake his soldiers up in the barracks and patrons at any inn. He rarely sleeps in his small house he had made with his wife and son; it is haunted by his grief. There are guards stationed at the beginning of the Royal Wing but not inside and he’s thankful no one will see this moment of weakness as he pads down the hall to the mage’s room.

With his hand on Khadgar’s door handle he pauses and sighs. Is he really about to break into Khadgar’s room just to creepily watch him sleep until the panic that still hums under his skin calms? The answer is yes and he slips the key in the lock. Only it isn’t locked and the panic spikes because Khadgar’s door should be locked and it isn’t which means he isn’t safe and his mind kick-starts into a loop of fear and panic. Lothar feels like he’s spiraling out of control as he opens the door and takes a few quick steps into Khadgar’s room, scanning for any irregularities.

Arcane, blue light explodes around him and he’s slammed to the ground, invisible bonds shackling him to the floor. He grunts in pain because ow, stone floor, and tries to lift his head to see what in the light is going on.

“Lothar?!”

Suddenly the light fades and the force holding him down releases. There are small hands on his shoulders, helping him up. Lothar looks up into Khadgar’s worried eyes. The mage opens his mouth but the words he would say die on his tongue as Lothar slides his hand against the boy’s cheek. Alive, Lothar thinks to himself as he watches emotions flit through those brown eyes he’s come to love so much. He sighs, the tension and panic finally leaving him.

“Lothar, what are you doing here?” Khadgar asks softly, as if afraid to break the silence that has descended upon them.

Lothar opens his mouth but snaps it shut a moment later. He really hopes the warmth in his cheeks isn’t visible to the mage. Slowly he gets up, Khadgar slipping under his arm to help him. Lothar is struck by how perfectly the mage fits against his body. Maybe Khadgar notices too since his cheeks are definitely flushed.

With a deep breath to steel himself, Lothar looks down at Khadgar, who has moved out from under his arm to stand near him. He owes the mage an explanation for barging into his room in the dead of night like a loon.

“I had a nightmare.” is all he says, looking at a point above Khadgar’s shoulder.

Khadgar’s eyebrows scrunch up in confusion. He worries his lower lip between his teeth and Lothar is not staring, absolutely not. He can practically hear the mage’s thoughts whirling through his head. His eyes flick up and capture Lothar’s and damn this kid because he can’t look away.

“Can I ask what it was about?” he asks tentatively, as if Lothar will deny him. As if Lothar could deny him anything.

He sighs and runs a hand through his unruly hair. He really doesn’t want to have this conversation but that’s what he gets for being all action and no thought. Glancing around Khadgar’s room he sees that the mage has grown into it as the weeks have passed. There is parchment strung up and plastered on the walls with spells and diagrams scrawled on them. The table and chairs are covered in books. The only place to sit is the floor or the bed.

He moves and sits on the edge of Khadgar’s bed, at the very bottom. Khadgar hesitates, still damnably chewing on his lower lip but eventually sits next to him. Lothar can’t look into those eyes right now, so he stares at the far wall.

“I had a nightmare and you died.” he says and then pauses. He’s not sure how much of himself he can show without cracking. He feels a hand on his forearm and looks over at Khadgar. Those doe-eyes of his are gazing up at him with concern and other emotions Lothar doesn’t have the mental energy to name. He sighs and looks down at his arm where a small hand is. “It was at Blackrock Pass, Medivh had just let loose his barrier and Callan was on the other side. Only when he turned around, it was you.”

He sees the images in his head, the trickle of blood and those damning eyes. He doesn’t even realize he’s closed his own until Khadgar’s hand leaves his arm to hesitantly touch his cheek. He’s not sure what to call the noise that leaves his throat, part relief, part pain, but he cannot help but nuzzle into it. When he opens his eyes and looks at Khadgar, the mage’s eyes are wide, shining with the same emotions that dream-Khadgar had shown him before glazing over in death.

His voice cracks but he can’t bring himself to care, “I’m telling you now I will not survive your death.”

He didn’t think it possible for Khadgar’s eyes to get any wider but they do, to comical proportions. A moment later they soften and the sheer intensity of emotions brimming in them is enough for that lump in Lothar’s throat to return. Khadgar is chewing on his lower lip again and with a flash of heat in his gut Lothar realizes that the mage’s face is a lot closer than before.

“I’m right here Anduin,” Khadgar whispers and for the briefest of moments their lips touch, “I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon.”

Lothar is stunned, he never suspected that this would be the outcome of his decision to see the mage. Then again, he’s not sure what he thought would happen. But then he catches sight of Khadgar chewing on his damn lip and he growls, hands coming up to twine into those chestnut locks. He moves forward and presses their lips together, this time with more force and Khadgar’s eyes slide shut, a soft whimper escaping him.

It’s the final straw for Lothar’s restraint. He presses Khadgar down into the mattress, covering his slighter body with his own. Lothar is dizzy with want and cannot help but suck and nip at Khadgar’s lower lip while his hands map out his body. Khadgar is hardly still, his hands running across his back, down his arms and chest. The noises he is making spur Lothar on and he revels in every moan and whimper he pulls from the mage.

He finally gets Khadgar’s sleep-shirt off and has to take a moment to see what’s laid out in front of him. Wiry muscles, pale skin, and a blush that scrawls down his cheeks to his collarbones. Khadgar is panting slightly, lips red, pupils blown out until there is just a sliver of brown at the edges. Warmth explodes in his chest and Lothar cannot stop himself from smiling softly. He leans down until their foreheads touch, a hand on his cheek and the other toying with top of his under-garments. Khadgar curls his hands into Lothar’s hair and pulls him down into a scorching kiss.

Lothar slides his hand down and wraps his hand around Khadgar’s cock. He twists his wrist up and Khadgar’s nails threaten to break skin. He lets loose a moan that wraps around Lothar’s cock and he promptly loses all patience with clothing. Distantly he’s aware he is growling and Khadgar is mewling into his mouth with every drag of his hand. Khadgar isn’t passive and soon enough Lothar’s hips jump forward into a smooth and tight fist. He rips his mouth away from Khadgar’s lips to mark the skin of his shoulder. He feels a tightening in his gut and with a hoarse cry comes and bites hard on a pale shoulder. Khadgar keens from the dueling sensations of pain/pleasure from teeth and a hand and spills over Lothar’s fist.

Lothar gently kisses the angry bite mark and nuzzles into Khadgar’s neck. The mage huffs a contented sigh and Lothar tips over, spooning the smaller man to his chest. He grabs the sheets to wipe his hand and Khadgar’s stomach off. The mage grumbles under his breath about dirty sheets and how he’s not the one who will be changing them, right Anduin? All he gets in reply are kisses to the back of his neck and a callused hand over his chest.

“Sleep mage,” Lothar mumbles, feeling sated and tired. He’s not worried about his dreams right now.

“I would if someone hadn’t barged into my room to take advantage of me,” comes the snippy reply. Lothar huffs a laugh and licks Khadgar’s ear; he gets an elbow in the gut for his efforts.

“Go to sleep brat.”

Just as Lothar feels himself tipping over into sleep, he feels Khadgar lace their fingers together and press a kiss to his knuckles. He falls asleep with a smile on his lips and hope in his heart.