Warcraft: Assassin - Part 7
Just as a side note, the next couple of chapters are going to be Garona-in-Karazhan, including this one! My adherence to the novels will be 'variable'. Enjoy!
Title: Assassin
Part: 7/?
Word Count: 5755
Includes: Angst, sap, adorableness. A story told in flashbacks, there will be one-sided crushes and meaningful stares.
Pairings: Technically, none.
Summary: The founding of Durotar, and lessons in history from the mouth of one who has been a part of it: Garona Halforcen.
Previous: 1 2 3 4 5 6
The humans are overly-trusting fools, Garona thought as she rode through Tower's Shadow Village on the back of a great, brown worg. Instead of fear, or anger, the villagers looked at her curiously and then turned to their business once more.
She had been to Karazhan before, briefly, delivering intelligence between Gul'dan's tent and Medivh's chambers. While they could speak mind to mind, sometimes one or the other would need maps or physical objects delivered instead of ideas, so she would serve as messenger. The villagers had seen her too, curious and nervous about her presence at first, but with Medivh’s blessing, they relaxed.
They trust this traitor, Garona thought as she rode towards Karazhan's base at a leisurely pace. The village itself had sprouted up around the great tower. Servants that kept Karazhan clean lived out in the village, rather than having quarters within the tower, and more villagers could be recruited to give the tower's lower floors thorough scrubbing.
Garona had never been permitted further inside than the first few floors.
“I live alone, surrounded by many,” Medivh had told her once when she had asked about it. “Not an unfamiliar state of being, I would think.”
No, not at all, Garona conceded now, when then she had simply stared at him until he'd chuckled and shooed her off. Now she had returned, a guest instead of a messenger.
“Good day to you, Miss Garona,” called one of the humans and her gaze snapped to him, her hand going to her knife. The man was older, grey of beard with wrinkles around his brown eyes and a smile. “Just going out to fetch some game. There's a stable for your wolf.”
“He's a worg, Huntsman Attumen,” Garona reminded him, and permitted herself a very small smile. “What is it this time, more rabbit?”
He made a face. “We're hoping for venison, if Midnight here doesn't scare all the deer off.” He patted the large horse, and she nuzzled at his hand. “Take care.”
She nodded to the human and made her way to the stable. There were dozens of horses here, some young, skinny, and eager, others old and thick and quiet. All of the village's horses were tended to by Medivh's stablemasters, sparing the villagers a great deal of expense.
Of course, if anyone wants to leave, it means going under Medivh's nose to fetch one, Garona thought. But the humans are trusting.
This was not the first time the stablehands had seen her worg, and as she dismounted, she handed her reins to a blonde girl with a dirt-smeared face, and she offered the worg meat. He licked at her palm and the girl giggled.
“Just the roight amount o' meat, eh?” the girl said, and Garona nodded slightly to her.
“It's all about the right bribe,” Garona replied. The human tongue was easy to learn, smoother, less guttural than orcish. Easier to be friendly in it. She took her pack from the worg and slung it over her back before letting the girl take him away. Garona made her way through the stables into the mud room. She set her pack down for a moment, shucked off her riding cloak and hung it up, then took off her riding boots and left them to be cleaned, instead putting on a pair of leather shoes, soft-soled and silent. Someone will do it too, she thought, still marvelling at the idea. And no one expects me to.
From the mud room, she made her way into the kitchen. It was as though she’d been struck in the face with heat, movement, and sound. The cooks were busy. Tower's Shadow Village had no bakery either, no butcher's shop. Instead, Karazhan provided these things too, and those who wanted bread and meat could come to the kitchens for food. Garona raised a hand, silent, in greeting, and was immediately handed two freshly baked rolls, rich with butter.
They don't know, Garona mused, biting into one, and gave herself the reward of a soft noise at the delicious taste. None of them know what their master is like.
Past the kitchen was the great dining room. Garona could see servants cleaning it, polishing the tables, wiping the walls and the high, painted ceiling clear of dust. Never had it been in use when she had visited previously. She cleared her throat. “Is there to be a party?”
“Soon,” one of the maids said, giving her a gape-toothed grin. “And a big ol' opree.”
“An opera?” Garona repeated. “What's opera?”
“Oh, with the singin' and the wailin' and the dancin' and the dyin',” the maid said. “Nothin' unusual.”
Humans are very strange, Garona decided. “Very well.”
Garona continued through the dining room, and made her way to the ballroom. Just as the dining room was being cleaned, so too was the ballroom, from the upraised platform where the orchestra played to the four beautiful columns that stretched up to the ceiling like grasping hands.
“It's beautiful, isn't it?” Medivh commented, and Garona spun to face him. “Hello, Garona. It's good to see you again.”
“And you,” Garona said, gruffly. “You wanted me here.”
“I did,” the human traitor said, smiling softly. “I am also expecting another guest soon, but he has not yet arrived. First, though, you should see the private guest rooms.” He gestured to the far side of the ballroom. “You've already seen the public ones.”
“I have, yes,” Garona said warily. “So, where are they?”
“Ah, that's the trick of it,” Medivh said lightly. “Even the cleverest of guests can't find them by accident, because you have to know how to find them.” Turning from her, Medivh strode towards a wall and disappeared through it.
Garona stared, then looked towards one of the men sweeping. He shrugged, and she ground her teeth.
Fine, then. Setting her jaw, she marched towards the wall. She impacted against the wall at full speed and growled at it.
“There's no need to be angry,” Medivh said from behind the wall, and a pale, human hand appeared from it. “Come with me.”
Garona stared at the hand for a few moments before taking it, and he pulled her through. The corridor he stood in was dark and dusty, and she could see spiders crawling along the webs that hung from the low ceiling. She sniffed, and avoided a sneeze. “Do you not permit your slaves to come in here?”
“My servants,” Medivh corrected gently, “my protected villagers, need not clean every inch of my home to feel useful. They only interact with my public face.”
“Do they know that all of this is just a clever illusion?” Garona demanded as Medivh led her through the corridor, not releasing her hand. “That on top of beauty is nothing but ugly lies?”
“Do you tell everyone your deepest secrets, my dear?” Medivh asked curiously, and Garona growled.
“Don't call me that,” she said. “No, of course not.”
“My apologies, Miss Halforcen,” the sorcerer replied. “Just as you do not speak of all your secrets, so too do I choose to keep mine hidden.” They were silent for a time as their path twisted up and up, until Medivh put his hand on another wall, and pulled Garona through to the other side.
This hallway was not as filthy as the hidden one, but neither was it as sparkling and pristine as the floors below. Instead, it was a comforting sort of grimy, feeling lived in, and, in an odd way, much like the orcish villages in Nagrand.
“Welcome to my most humble abode,” Medivh said, smiling broadly. He released her hand to gesture around him. “These are the upper corridors of the tower available to special guests. There are further chambers, some hidden, some merely difficult to find. I'm sure you'll acquaint yourself with them.”
“I'm sure I will,” Garona said. “Where am I to stay?”
“This way,” Medivh said, leading Garona along the corridor, his pace rapid. Garona only had a moment to glance into the rooms before she had to hurry to keep up. Finally, Medivh stopped in front of a door - a real door - and opened it. Garona peered into the room, her eyes widening.
The room had a single, narrow bed with a black and white quilt, its edges turned down for an expected guest. The bed had a pile of pillows, soft and fluffy by their look, and was tucked against the wall. On that wall was a large window, the dark curtains pulled back, and the window's ledge seemed wide enough to sit on, and it was expected, judging by the white cushion placed on one side of the window. There was a bookshelf that spanned the whole of one wall, and there were dozens of books on it.
I wonder what hide humans use to bind their books, Garona mused as she spotted the small closet and set of drawers crammed off to one side. There were a handful of books sitting on top of the chest of drawers as well.
“This is your room,” Medivh said. “I've taken the liberty of adding some books that you may enjoy.”
“I cannot read the human tongue,” Garona pointed out. “I understand it well enough, but your maps only have place names on them. This may as well be nonsense.”
“Well, then, you'll have to find someone to teach you, won't you?” Medivh said mildly. “Get settled, and I'll see you at dinner.” Without another word, the human vanished as though he had never been there at all.
Growling under her breath, Garona threw her pack onto the bed, slammed the door, and began to make herself at home.
~ * ~
Three days later, Garona found herself sitting in one of the huge book-rooms - the library, she reminded herself - puzzling over human writing. It had been three days of exploring the two floors she had access to and her wanderings had brought her here.
This place's shadows are strange, Garona thought as she ran her fingers gently along the page. Humans used symbols too, but they were different. They were smaller and simpler than most orc symbols, and conveyed less. A symbol that was a circle with a short line on the right side didn't mean one thing, it could stand on its own, or be at the beginning of a string of symbols, or somewhere in the middle, or at the end. How did they create such things, such words?
It was a puzzle to her, and it was one at her fingertips. The shadows here did not welcome her, there was no path through which she could stride from one place to the other, but she could sit here, at this wooden table, and on this wooden chair, with her fingers brushing over soft paper. She could speak human words aloud and try to guess which string of symbols matched which stream of sound.
If only I had someone to ask, Garona thought, frustrated. The first night at Karazhan had brought a great feast. Humans ate in 'courses', separating out the different parts of a meal according to type and taste. It was a luxury that had amazed her, since previously she'd only taken what she needed and then continued on.
She had not been alone with Medivh either. There had been guests, many, many guests. They had talked a great deal and stared at her a great deal more, and Garona's awareness had drifted between conversations. Only rarely did they discuss the war that raged, that had already cost the orcs much, and would in time cost the humans so much more. Instead, they discussed the opera they were to see later in the evening.
Opera, as she would come to learn, was a great story told in song by a group of people on stage. They would dress up, and the scenery would change, and the story would progress. Names were bandied around, and Garona knew none of them, but by reading expressions, she could tell that some of those in the opera were well-loved, while others were very new, or somewhat too old to do their part justice, or unsuited to what they needed to do. The opera itself was... loud. Garona hadn't understood the words, but from the expressions on the faces of others, this was normal. Instead, she listened to the emotion. There was pain, joy, sadness, anger, and triumph. There was dancing and there were bright, elaborate costumes.
If there had been more drumming and foot-pounding, it could be one of the great story-circles, Garona thought. I wonder if operas ever have duels with swords and axes. The opera had been, largely, entertaining, but Medivh had disappeared partway through it, and she had had no time to ask him anything, nor had he appeared at breakfast the next day - which was a good deal less complex of an affair - and she had only been given instructions to look around from the butler, Moroes.
Look around she had, and around, and around. She found more modest bedrooms, similar to her own, though none of them had more than a small handful of books inside them and one had the same turned-down quilt edge that she was greeted with on that first day.
For the visitor, she mused, carefully turning the page. The next one had a picture, an image of Azeroth's sky at night, though with lines drawn between the stars. Now, this word starts with a symbol that is a sideways version of this other symbol, what--
“Oh, there have got to be books somewhere,” she heard from out in the hallway, and her head snapped up. That wasn't Medivh's voice, and her hand went to her dagger, drawing it out slowly, the whisper of steel against cloth.
If the speaker intended to be careful, they gave no sign of it, because a moment later, after the door handle rattled briefly, it opened. There was a human, his hair short and cinnamon brown, and his eyes green and lively as they saw the shelves of books first, and then his expression changed again entirely as he saw Garona.
“Orc!” he cried, and pointed a finger at her. Fire grew at his fingertips and when it was the size of a fist he hurled it at her. Garona's eyes narrowed, and she leaped aside, the fire crashing into her chair, sending pieces of flaming debris into the air.
“Warlock,” she snarled, and jumped at him. He held up a hand to protect himself, and her sword came down, meeting a shield made of fire that skipped and skittered around him. He pushed at her, scorching her clothes and she retreated, only to run at the shelves, scattering books everywhere as she sought higher ground and in turn, he struck at her with bolts of purple energy, bright, harsh and unfamiliar to her.
“I don't know how you got in here, but you won't last long!” he promised. “Just stay still.”
“Not likely,” she told him, and grabbed for one of the great globes, throwing it at him. He squawked, birdlike, as it struck him and slammed him back into the other shelves. Now then, if I can just--
“Enough!”
Garona found herself frozen, suspended in midair, staring down at her target. The human was similarly frozen, awkwardly pressed against the shelves of books, a look of surprise and confusion on his face. She could not twitch her fingers, and neither throw nor drop her sword. Her opponent was similarly frozen in place, conjuring no spells. Instead, all either of them could do was breathe shallowly and let their eyes turn to the source of the command, and indeed the magic that held them.
Medivh stood in the doorway, clad in brown robes, covering him from his neck to the tips of his fingers, the sleeves loose and wide. He had a stern look on his face, and despite the fact she couldn't move, Garona squirmed. From the look on his face, the human pressed against the shelves felt similarly.
“Khadgar,” Medivh began, and beneath his mild tone, there was another emotion Garona couldn't quite identify. It felt like a sadder kind of anger. “Garona is a guest of mine. She is no raiding party, no invading army. The nobles of Duskwood were kind enough to sit and eat with her on Moon's Day, and they did not start any fires over it.”
A flick of her gaze saw that there was indeed a fire, but whatever Medivh had done to them had expanded to the budding flames as well, and they were frozen in place, a thing that would be pretty were it not so dangerous. Books tended to burn easily. The traitor shifted his attention, looking her over.
“Garona, this is Khadgar, my new apprentice,” Medivh continued. “He has come here all the way from Dalaran to learn from me. He is, in fact, one of their youngest graduates to date and he is quite proud of himself, usually. I had hoped that the two of you could see fit to get along, to perhaps enjoy what Karazhan has to offer. It would seem that it is not to be. I am very disappointed in both of you.”
He attacked me! Garona protested silently. You didn't tell him I was here, and I didn't know who was coming! She said nothing, of course, could say nothing. It was odd, but though she felt as though she had angered Medivh, there was none of Gul'dan's rage about him. Just that sad anger. Disappointed, he called it.
“I expect the pair of you, if you do not care for each other, to at least be civil to one another,” Medivh continued, looking between the two of them. “You will have the chance to put this to the test. I expect you to clean and repair all of this by the end of the day.”
Without another word, Medivh closed the door. Garona abruptly fell out of the air, but she managed to land smoothly, sheathing her sword in one motion. Khadgar was less graceful, and fell to the floor in a heap. A dozen of the books that had been jarred loose from the shelves fell on his shoulders and into his lap, while two landed on his head. He cursed softly.
Garona turned her back on him deliberately and turned to the fires. The smallest she stamped out, crushing splintered wood down, though her eyes widened in concern at some of the larger ones. Magic shivered around her, and she looked back to see Khadgar raising a hand, and a soft smattering of white falling on the flames, smothering them.
“What is that?” she asked impulsively, and the apprentice made a face as he pushed himself upright.
“It's frost,” he replied shortly. “We have work to do.”
She glared at him and began to collect the damp pieces of wood, trying to spot the book she’d been reading amongst the mess. She created a pile, uncertain what to do with the fragments of what had once been the table and chair. Instead, she went looking for her book and was dismayed to find its pages singed and discoloured.
Well, now how will I figure it out? She set the book down, and looked around. Khadgar was muttering to himself, and she caught 'orc' and 'not his fault' from it. She made a face. “I'm not an orc.”
“Oh, really?” he replied, glaring at her. “You certainly look like one.”
“No orc would recognize me as such,” she spat back, bitterness tinging each word. “I'm halforcen, do you know what that means, ignorant fool? It means that the moment anyone looks at me, they see all the parts of me that are wrong. If I can't be one of them, I won't take the hate meant for them.”
Khadgar was silent for a moment, then his expression twisted. “I'm not a warlock. I'm a mage, a wizard of Dalaran, first of my class. Warlocks are evil and filthy. They worship demons and they destroy things that are good.”
“Dress it up in whatever titles you like,” Garona retorted. “You called fire and did destroy good things. Look at this!” She shoved the book at him. “I couldn't read it before, but I sure as hell can't read it now!”
“Oh, for the love of--” Khadgar grabbed for the book, wrenching it from her grip. Garona growled at him, but watched as he murmured softly to himself, and it reminded her of the opera. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as the burns faded, healing as though it had never been damaged. Garona touched at her arm briefly, remembering the pain and the scars.
“How did you do that?” Garona asked. “Where did the healing come from?”
“Within,” Khadgar replied, and pushed the book at her. “We have more work to do.”
Garona made a noise in the back of her throat and took the book, setting it aside on top of one of the low shelves before going towards the bookshelves. Several of them were splintered and broken, while others only heaved under the weight of the books. Carefully, reverently, she took the books off of the shelves and set them in piles on the floor.
Meanwhile, Khadgar was looking ruefully over the table and chair. “This is done for,” he muttered. “Not without a greater ritual of repair, and I don't have any spider's web or fire ash.” He kicked lightly at the remains.
“What about the shelves, mage?” Garona asked, irritated that he was scattering her pile. “Stop that and come here.”
“Don't order me around, halforcen,” Khadgar replied shortly, and went over to examine the shelves. “Can't you do any of this?”
“Do you see wood anywhere, or nails, or a hammer?” Garona asked, stepping away from him, over to the other shelves. These, too, needed to have the books moved, and she found the pieces of the globe she'd thrown at him. “I don't know magic.”
“Hmph,” Khadgar said, and repaired each of the shelves. “Then why are you here?”
“I am a guest,” she growled. “Not a child, not a student. A guest.”
“I'm not a child, I'm nineteen,” Khadgar said stiffly. “Recognized by the Council of Six as a fully trained mage.”
“Recognized as a child,” Garona muttered. She carried the pieces of the globe over to the pile with the table and chair, looking over what remained. There were place names, shapes she recognized and others she did not. Such a strange language.
They worked in silence for a time, Khadgar repairing shelves and Garona moving books from place to place, sometimes setting aside those that were damaged, and then as she waited for him to work, she moved the debris from the broken furniture into the hallway. When she returned, Khadgar had finished his repair work, and was placing books on shelves after checking them for something.
He can read them, obviously, but I don't know how he's doing it, Garona thought. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, and began copying him, looking for some kind of identifying mark. As the minutes passed, she began to line the books on the shelves based purely on size.
“What are you doing?” Khadgar demanded. “You're putting them all out of order.”
“As though I knew what order that was in the first place,” Garona muttered. “Well, how are you doing it?”
“By subject, then by title and author,” Khadgar said stiffly. “Obviously. Any lettered person would know--”
“What the hell is a 'letter'?” Garona demanded. “You humans have all manner of strange shapes you scribble onto everything.”
“You don't know how to read?” Khadgar asked, wonderingly. “How savage.”
“I know how to read my own language, fool,” Garona said stiffly. “I've only been here for three days. I doubt you know what my language even sounds like.”
He stared at her for a long while, and she glared back at him. Finally, he sighed. “Alright, what was it you were trying to look at before?”
“This one,” Garona replied, placing the book in her hand on the shelf and then crossing to where she'd placed the book she'd been attempting to read. “It had interesting pictures.”
Khadgar snorted softly, and looked around. “There are some cushions over there.”
“Cushions?” Garona said dubiously. “I'm not old.”
“Well, we don't have the chairs for either of us to sit down, so we'll be old together,” Khadgar retorted, plucking the book from her hands and walking towards them, leaving Garona to chase after him. The cushions were soft, and smelled a little of smoke, and the next few minutes was spent finding a comfortable way to sit next to each other without actually touching.
“Give it back, I want to hold it,” Garona insisted, and Khadgar handed it to her. She opened the book carefully, and turned to the first page. “Start here.”
“A map of the constellations of southern Azeroth,” Khadgar read aloud. “That's what groupings of stars are called, constellations.”
“I knew that,” Garona said, though she didn't. “How can you tell what they say?”
“Well, they're words. They're made up of letters. A-M-A-P--”
“That's not an A, that's an A,” Garona said, pointing. “Look, they're different.”
“That's an A and that's an A,” Khadgar corrected her. “One of them is capitalized, the other isn't.”
“What's 'capitalized'?” Garona demanded. “How does one of these letters get to be capitalized?”
“Oh, this is going to take a long time,” Khadgar groaned, and she leaned in to pinch him. He slapped at her hand, and the page creased. Both froze, looking from the page to each other and back again.
It was three hours later that Medivh came looking for them, with Garona leaning into Khadgar, her finger tapping the pages as Khadgar fought to answer her rapid-fire questions. Garona couldn't be sure, but she suspected Medivh was smiling.
~ * ~
Khadgar was at breakfast the next morning, bleary-eyed and nibbling on toast. He was so groggy that he failed to notice that Moroes was filling his cup of coffee and pulled it towards him. Garona watched as the deft human servant neatly avoided scalding Khadgar's fingers as Medivh's latest guest took a sip, winced at the taste, and put the cup back down. Moroes finished filling the cup, added two spoonfuls of sugar, and then continued on down the line.
“More coffee, Mistress?” the human asked deferentially, and Garona started, realizing he meant her.
“Please,” Garona said, and Moroes filled her mug as well. She sniffed at it warily. “It smells bitter.”
“A little hair of the magician's beard to alleviate the effects of late night reading sessions,” Medivh said suddenly, and appeared at the table. Garona nearly spilled her cup. “Good morning, children.”
“Good morning, Master Medivh,” Moroes said. “Your usual will be ready in just a moment.”
“Thank you, Moroes,” Medivh replied, and sat. “I'd think you would be used to people who come and go very suddenly,” he said lightly. “Careful with that, it's still quite hot.”
“How do you do that?” Garona demanded, and glanced over at Khadgar, who was still chewing mechanically. “Normally I can... tell.”
“I'm afraid I'm not what you're used to,” Medivh said. “But you've seen the trick before.”
Garona nodded uneasily. “That still doesn't answer the how.”
“Targeted teleportation points,” Khadgar said, without losing the vacant expression on his face. “A powerful mage, such as an Archmage with a decade’s worth of experience, can cast silently and without ritual. The Council regulates teleportation strictly before that time.”
“Age is little in the face of power, or wisdom,” Medivh said. “I've been doing it for quite some time.”
“Rules are in place for a specific reason,” Khadgar said, and ran his fingers through his hair, shaking himself a little. “To prevent teleportation fragmentation and other incidents.”
Teleportation is moving from one place to the other, and fragmentation is breaking things into fragments, which are small pieces, which are-- Garona's eyes grew wide with horror, and she looked at Medivh, who only chuckled.
“Which is why you've been reading up on all of those teleportation techniques, for your next decade,” Medivh rebuked, and looked to Garona. “It only happens rarely, because most mages simply can't manage it. Not strong enough, not honed enough.”
“Some people,” Khadgar put in, “don't follow the rules. Some people who are also very powerful.”
“Rules are meant to be broken by those who understand that they are best treated as guidelines,” Medivh replied. “Also, I don't follow Dalaran's rules. I'm not a member of the Kirin Tor. The Six has no power over me.”
“Should we be talking about this with...” Khadgar indicated Garona, and she made a face at him. “Company?”
“I trust Garona as much as I trust you,” Medivh said lightly, and Garona concealed a wince. “Speaking of which, we should perform proper introductions. Start the day off right, I feel.” Moroes came in with a plate holding a curious mass of yellow, red, and white and Medivh smiled. “This is an omelet, Garona,” he said. “This is egg, and this is red pepper and onion. It's quite nice, I recommend it.” He let Moroes fill his cup and nodded. For a little while, he was silent, cutting into the 'omelet' and drinking his coffee.
Garona noted that Khadgar was becoming more alert and focused, watching Medivh, waiting for the promised introductions. As time stretched, and the omelet disappeared - and so too did coffee, which Garona was growing fond of -- the young human shifted in his seat. “Archmage.”
“Apprentice,” Medivh replied, taking a sip of coffee.
“Is the delay in introductions a lesson in patience that I am currently failing?” Khadgar asked, trying - and failing - to conceal his irritation. Garona gave him a look of pity and disdain.
Medivh will slap him back into place, she thought. Gul'dan would.
“Not every inconvenience is a lesson,” Medivh said instead, his tone mild. “I simply wanted my breakfast. Since you seem so eager, I shall make them. Khadgar, this is Garona Halforcen. She comes to us from the orcs in the east. Due to her unique heritage, she is something of an outcast within her own society, but possesses a unique ability that I would like to see honed to a greater extent.”
“Unique, hm?” Khadgar said. “What heritage would that be?”
“Draenei,” Garona answered quickly, before Medivh could say anything. Mother always said her people were hiding on Draenor from the demons. If Medivh knows, he could tell the demons, and-- “It's unusual.”
“Hm,” Khadgar said again, nodding. “Welcome.”
“Thank you,” Garona muttered, and took a sip of coffee.
“Garona's social status makes her an excellent courier, scout, and even a scholar,” Medivh said, smiling. Garona felt her cheeks heat. “As well as a spy.”
Garona choked briefly, and Khadgar sputtered. Moroes cleared plates away calmly, and carried them out of the dining room. “You can't--”
“Garona is my guest, and I have invited her here with purpose,” Medivh said. “As I said, I want to hone her natural gifts, as she may find the need to use them. Also...” His gaze fell to Garona, pinning her in place. “While she is a spy, her master will only know what I want him to know.”
Garona nodded slightly, and looked down at her coffee mug.
“Garona, this is Khadgar,” Medivh continued, as if the revelation had not happened. “Khadgar is a graduate of the Violet Citadel, which is the premier Mage Academy within the human kingdoms, though it hosts non-human students as well. He has elected to continue his education as an Archmage, which affords both more power and more responsibility as well as a title, though to become an Archmage, he must study under one. I have accepted his petition to have him as my apprentice and continue his education.”
“First of his class,” Garona muttered, and Khadgar flushed with pride. “At lighting books on fire.”
“Indeed,” Medivh said, chuckling, as Khadgar's cheeks took on a darker colour. “He came with the full recommendation of the ruling council of mages in Dalaran, who are simply referred to as the Six, which were quite impressive to read, I must say. Your teachers must have been very proud of you.”
“They were, Archmage, they--”
“Khadgar is also a spy,” Medivh continued swiftly, and Garona stared at Khadgar, who had gone from flushed to pale with alarming speed. “Do you think I'm quite unaware that the Six do not trust me, here by my lonesome, out and far away from their supervision? They distrust me nearly as much as they distrusted the previous Guardian.”
“No one would suspect you of being a spy,” Garona observed, and Khadgar gave her a dark look.
“Why is that?”
“Because you're an idiot,” Garona said, and looked to Medivh. “What's a Guardian?”
“Don't be too hard on him, he's an idiot because he's been poorly trained,” Medivh said, and Khadgar sputtered. “One of my titles, and I have a few, is the Guardian of Tirisfal. It is a privilege afforded only to a small number of mages over the course of history, and fewer still considering the reign of the previous Guardian.” Garona detected a hint of bitterness under the calm tone and warm smile, and made a note of it. “The Tirisfalen usually choose the Guardian and dictate their movements, but such was... avoided in my case.”
“Who do you answer to, then?” Garona asked, studying him. He seemed no different than he had during their previous meetings, as though the strength and freedom he wore meant little to him. I wonder if he even understands how lucky he is.
Medivh gave her a slight nod, as if knowing her very mind. “In theory, I answer to two people. The ruler of Stormwind and the previous Guardian. I regularly receive missives from Dalaran's council and the Tirisfalen, and I answer them as I deem appropriate. Not every dead goat is a demon.”
Demon. Garona flinched, and forced herself to remember Medivh was a traitor to his own people.
“I don't answer to the Tirisfalen,” Khadgar said finally, sulky. “They don't speak to one such as me. I answer to the Six.”
“I never claimed that you did, boy,” Medivh said mildly. “As I said, you're a spy for the Six, and I will tell you what I told Garona. You have skills I want to hone, and so I shall. Your masters will know exactly what I want them to know and nothing more. I will have my secrets, but I also have much that I want to share with you. If you will accept these terms, you may stay. If not, you will leave. After breakfast.”
Khadgar and Garona exchanged a look. I can't give Gul'dan nothing, I will never be allowed to stay. If I tell him what he wants to hear... and perhaps I will learn enough to placate him. From the look on his face, Khadgar was thinking the same thing.
“I agree,” Khadgar said first, and Garona echoed him.
“Excellent,” Medivh said. “Then we can begin.”
The words felt like a portent of things to come, and thrilled Garona to her very core.
[Part 8]
Title: Assassin
Part: 7/?
Word Count: 5755
Includes: Angst, sap, adorableness. A story told in flashbacks, there will be one-sided crushes and meaningful stares.
Pairings: Technically, none.
Summary: The founding of Durotar, and lessons in history from the mouth of one who has been a part of it: Garona Halforcen.
Previous: 1 2 3 4 5 6
The humans are overly-trusting fools, Garona thought as she rode through Tower's Shadow Village on the back of a great, brown worg. Instead of fear, or anger, the villagers looked at her curiously and then turned to their business once more.
She had been to Karazhan before, briefly, delivering intelligence between Gul'dan's tent and Medivh's chambers. While they could speak mind to mind, sometimes one or the other would need maps or physical objects delivered instead of ideas, so she would serve as messenger. The villagers had seen her too, curious and nervous about her presence at first, but with Medivh’s blessing, they relaxed.
They trust this traitor, Garona thought as she rode towards Karazhan's base at a leisurely pace. The village itself had sprouted up around the great tower. Servants that kept Karazhan clean lived out in the village, rather than having quarters within the tower, and more villagers could be recruited to give the tower's lower floors thorough scrubbing.
Garona had never been permitted further inside than the first few floors.
“I live alone, surrounded by many,” Medivh had told her once when she had asked about it. “Not an unfamiliar state of being, I would think.”
No, not at all, Garona conceded now, when then she had simply stared at him until he'd chuckled and shooed her off. Now she had returned, a guest instead of a messenger.
“Good day to you, Miss Garona,” called one of the humans and her gaze snapped to him, her hand going to her knife. The man was older, grey of beard with wrinkles around his brown eyes and a smile. “Just going out to fetch some game. There's a stable for your wolf.”
“He's a worg, Huntsman Attumen,” Garona reminded him, and permitted herself a very small smile. “What is it this time, more rabbit?”
He made a face. “We're hoping for venison, if Midnight here doesn't scare all the deer off.” He patted the large horse, and she nuzzled at his hand. “Take care.”
She nodded to the human and made her way to the stable. There were dozens of horses here, some young, skinny, and eager, others old and thick and quiet. All of the village's horses were tended to by Medivh's stablemasters, sparing the villagers a great deal of expense.
Of course, if anyone wants to leave, it means going under Medivh's nose to fetch one, Garona thought. But the humans are trusting.
This was not the first time the stablehands had seen her worg, and as she dismounted, she handed her reins to a blonde girl with a dirt-smeared face, and she offered the worg meat. He licked at her palm and the girl giggled.
“Just the roight amount o' meat, eh?” the girl said, and Garona nodded slightly to her.
“It's all about the right bribe,” Garona replied. The human tongue was easy to learn, smoother, less guttural than orcish. Easier to be friendly in it. She took her pack from the worg and slung it over her back before letting the girl take him away. Garona made her way through the stables into the mud room. She set her pack down for a moment, shucked off her riding cloak and hung it up, then took off her riding boots and left them to be cleaned, instead putting on a pair of leather shoes, soft-soled and silent. Someone will do it too, she thought, still marvelling at the idea. And no one expects me to.
From the mud room, she made her way into the kitchen. It was as though she’d been struck in the face with heat, movement, and sound. The cooks were busy. Tower's Shadow Village had no bakery either, no butcher's shop. Instead, Karazhan provided these things too, and those who wanted bread and meat could come to the kitchens for food. Garona raised a hand, silent, in greeting, and was immediately handed two freshly baked rolls, rich with butter.
They don't know, Garona mused, biting into one, and gave herself the reward of a soft noise at the delicious taste. None of them know what their master is like.
Past the kitchen was the great dining room. Garona could see servants cleaning it, polishing the tables, wiping the walls and the high, painted ceiling clear of dust. Never had it been in use when she had visited previously. She cleared her throat. “Is there to be a party?”
“Soon,” one of the maids said, giving her a gape-toothed grin. “And a big ol' opree.”
“An opera?” Garona repeated. “What's opera?”
“Oh, with the singin' and the wailin' and the dancin' and the dyin',” the maid said. “Nothin' unusual.”
Humans are very strange, Garona decided. “Very well.”
Garona continued through the dining room, and made her way to the ballroom. Just as the dining room was being cleaned, so too was the ballroom, from the upraised platform where the orchestra played to the four beautiful columns that stretched up to the ceiling like grasping hands.
“It's beautiful, isn't it?” Medivh commented, and Garona spun to face him. “Hello, Garona. It's good to see you again.”
“And you,” Garona said, gruffly. “You wanted me here.”
“I did,” the human traitor said, smiling softly. “I am also expecting another guest soon, but he has not yet arrived. First, though, you should see the private guest rooms.” He gestured to the far side of the ballroom. “You've already seen the public ones.”
“I have, yes,” Garona said warily. “So, where are they?”
“Ah, that's the trick of it,” Medivh said lightly. “Even the cleverest of guests can't find them by accident, because you have to know how to find them.” Turning from her, Medivh strode towards a wall and disappeared through it.
Garona stared, then looked towards one of the men sweeping. He shrugged, and she ground her teeth.
Fine, then. Setting her jaw, she marched towards the wall. She impacted against the wall at full speed and growled at it.
“There's no need to be angry,” Medivh said from behind the wall, and a pale, human hand appeared from it. “Come with me.”
Garona stared at the hand for a few moments before taking it, and he pulled her through. The corridor he stood in was dark and dusty, and she could see spiders crawling along the webs that hung from the low ceiling. She sniffed, and avoided a sneeze. “Do you not permit your slaves to come in here?”
“My servants,” Medivh corrected gently, “my protected villagers, need not clean every inch of my home to feel useful. They only interact with my public face.”
“Do they know that all of this is just a clever illusion?” Garona demanded as Medivh led her through the corridor, not releasing her hand. “That on top of beauty is nothing but ugly lies?”
“Do you tell everyone your deepest secrets, my dear?” Medivh asked curiously, and Garona growled.
“Don't call me that,” she said. “No, of course not.”
“My apologies, Miss Halforcen,” the sorcerer replied. “Just as you do not speak of all your secrets, so too do I choose to keep mine hidden.” They were silent for a time as their path twisted up and up, until Medivh put his hand on another wall, and pulled Garona through to the other side.
This hallway was not as filthy as the hidden one, but neither was it as sparkling and pristine as the floors below. Instead, it was a comforting sort of grimy, feeling lived in, and, in an odd way, much like the orcish villages in Nagrand.
“Welcome to my most humble abode,” Medivh said, smiling broadly. He released her hand to gesture around him. “These are the upper corridors of the tower available to special guests. There are further chambers, some hidden, some merely difficult to find. I'm sure you'll acquaint yourself with them.”
“I'm sure I will,” Garona said. “Where am I to stay?”
“This way,” Medivh said, leading Garona along the corridor, his pace rapid. Garona only had a moment to glance into the rooms before she had to hurry to keep up. Finally, Medivh stopped in front of a door - a real door - and opened it. Garona peered into the room, her eyes widening.
The room had a single, narrow bed with a black and white quilt, its edges turned down for an expected guest. The bed had a pile of pillows, soft and fluffy by their look, and was tucked against the wall. On that wall was a large window, the dark curtains pulled back, and the window's ledge seemed wide enough to sit on, and it was expected, judging by the white cushion placed on one side of the window. There was a bookshelf that spanned the whole of one wall, and there were dozens of books on it.
I wonder what hide humans use to bind their books, Garona mused as she spotted the small closet and set of drawers crammed off to one side. There were a handful of books sitting on top of the chest of drawers as well.
“This is your room,” Medivh said. “I've taken the liberty of adding some books that you may enjoy.”
“I cannot read the human tongue,” Garona pointed out. “I understand it well enough, but your maps only have place names on them. This may as well be nonsense.”
“Well, then, you'll have to find someone to teach you, won't you?” Medivh said mildly. “Get settled, and I'll see you at dinner.” Without another word, the human vanished as though he had never been there at all.
Growling under her breath, Garona threw her pack onto the bed, slammed the door, and began to make herself at home.
~ * ~
Three days later, Garona found herself sitting in one of the huge book-rooms - the library, she reminded herself - puzzling over human writing. It had been three days of exploring the two floors she had access to and her wanderings had brought her here.
This place's shadows are strange, Garona thought as she ran her fingers gently along the page. Humans used symbols too, but they were different. They were smaller and simpler than most orc symbols, and conveyed less. A symbol that was a circle with a short line on the right side didn't mean one thing, it could stand on its own, or be at the beginning of a string of symbols, or somewhere in the middle, or at the end. How did they create such things, such words?
It was a puzzle to her, and it was one at her fingertips. The shadows here did not welcome her, there was no path through which she could stride from one place to the other, but she could sit here, at this wooden table, and on this wooden chair, with her fingers brushing over soft paper. She could speak human words aloud and try to guess which string of symbols matched which stream of sound.
If only I had someone to ask, Garona thought, frustrated. The first night at Karazhan had brought a great feast. Humans ate in 'courses', separating out the different parts of a meal according to type and taste. It was a luxury that had amazed her, since previously she'd only taken what she needed and then continued on.
She had not been alone with Medivh either. There had been guests, many, many guests. They had talked a great deal and stared at her a great deal more, and Garona's awareness had drifted between conversations. Only rarely did they discuss the war that raged, that had already cost the orcs much, and would in time cost the humans so much more. Instead, they discussed the opera they were to see later in the evening.
Opera, as she would come to learn, was a great story told in song by a group of people on stage. They would dress up, and the scenery would change, and the story would progress. Names were bandied around, and Garona knew none of them, but by reading expressions, she could tell that some of those in the opera were well-loved, while others were very new, or somewhat too old to do their part justice, or unsuited to what they needed to do. The opera itself was... loud. Garona hadn't understood the words, but from the expressions on the faces of others, this was normal. Instead, she listened to the emotion. There was pain, joy, sadness, anger, and triumph. There was dancing and there were bright, elaborate costumes.
If there had been more drumming and foot-pounding, it could be one of the great story-circles, Garona thought. I wonder if operas ever have duels with swords and axes. The opera had been, largely, entertaining, but Medivh had disappeared partway through it, and she had had no time to ask him anything, nor had he appeared at breakfast the next day - which was a good deal less complex of an affair - and she had only been given instructions to look around from the butler, Moroes.
Look around she had, and around, and around. She found more modest bedrooms, similar to her own, though none of them had more than a small handful of books inside them and one had the same turned-down quilt edge that she was greeted with on that first day.
For the visitor, she mused, carefully turning the page. The next one had a picture, an image of Azeroth's sky at night, though with lines drawn between the stars. Now, this word starts with a symbol that is a sideways version of this other symbol, what--
“Oh, there have got to be books somewhere,” she heard from out in the hallway, and her head snapped up. That wasn't Medivh's voice, and her hand went to her dagger, drawing it out slowly, the whisper of steel against cloth.
If the speaker intended to be careful, they gave no sign of it, because a moment later, after the door handle rattled briefly, it opened. There was a human, his hair short and cinnamon brown, and his eyes green and lively as they saw the shelves of books first, and then his expression changed again entirely as he saw Garona.
“Orc!” he cried, and pointed a finger at her. Fire grew at his fingertips and when it was the size of a fist he hurled it at her. Garona's eyes narrowed, and she leaped aside, the fire crashing into her chair, sending pieces of flaming debris into the air.
“Warlock,” she snarled, and jumped at him. He held up a hand to protect himself, and her sword came down, meeting a shield made of fire that skipped and skittered around him. He pushed at her, scorching her clothes and she retreated, only to run at the shelves, scattering books everywhere as she sought higher ground and in turn, he struck at her with bolts of purple energy, bright, harsh and unfamiliar to her.
“I don't know how you got in here, but you won't last long!” he promised. “Just stay still.”
“Not likely,” she told him, and grabbed for one of the great globes, throwing it at him. He squawked, birdlike, as it struck him and slammed him back into the other shelves. Now then, if I can just--
“Enough!”
Garona found herself frozen, suspended in midair, staring down at her target. The human was similarly frozen, awkwardly pressed against the shelves of books, a look of surprise and confusion on his face. She could not twitch her fingers, and neither throw nor drop her sword. Her opponent was similarly frozen in place, conjuring no spells. Instead, all either of them could do was breathe shallowly and let their eyes turn to the source of the command, and indeed the magic that held them.
Medivh stood in the doorway, clad in brown robes, covering him from his neck to the tips of his fingers, the sleeves loose and wide. He had a stern look on his face, and despite the fact she couldn't move, Garona squirmed. From the look on his face, the human pressed against the shelves felt similarly.
“Khadgar,” Medivh began, and beneath his mild tone, there was another emotion Garona couldn't quite identify. It felt like a sadder kind of anger. “Garona is a guest of mine. She is no raiding party, no invading army. The nobles of Duskwood were kind enough to sit and eat with her on Moon's Day, and they did not start any fires over it.”
A flick of her gaze saw that there was indeed a fire, but whatever Medivh had done to them had expanded to the budding flames as well, and they were frozen in place, a thing that would be pretty were it not so dangerous. Books tended to burn easily. The traitor shifted his attention, looking her over.
“Garona, this is Khadgar, my new apprentice,” Medivh continued. “He has come here all the way from Dalaran to learn from me. He is, in fact, one of their youngest graduates to date and he is quite proud of himself, usually. I had hoped that the two of you could see fit to get along, to perhaps enjoy what Karazhan has to offer. It would seem that it is not to be. I am very disappointed in both of you.”
He attacked me! Garona protested silently. You didn't tell him I was here, and I didn't know who was coming! She said nothing, of course, could say nothing. It was odd, but though she felt as though she had angered Medivh, there was none of Gul'dan's rage about him. Just that sad anger. Disappointed, he called it.
“I expect the pair of you, if you do not care for each other, to at least be civil to one another,” Medivh continued, looking between the two of them. “You will have the chance to put this to the test. I expect you to clean and repair all of this by the end of the day.”
Without another word, Medivh closed the door. Garona abruptly fell out of the air, but she managed to land smoothly, sheathing her sword in one motion. Khadgar was less graceful, and fell to the floor in a heap. A dozen of the books that had been jarred loose from the shelves fell on his shoulders and into his lap, while two landed on his head. He cursed softly.
Garona turned her back on him deliberately and turned to the fires. The smallest she stamped out, crushing splintered wood down, though her eyes widened in concern at some of the larger ones. Magic shivered around her, and she looked back to see Khadgar raising a hand, and a soft smattering of white falling on the flames, smothering them.
“What is that?” she asked impulsively, and the apprentice made a face as he pushed himself upright.
“It's frost,” he replied shortly. “We have work to do.”
She glared at him and began to collect the damp pieces of wood, trying to spot the book she’d been reading amongst the mess. She created a pile, uncertain what to do with the fragments of what had once been the table and chair. Instead, she went looking for her book and was dismayed to find its pages singed and discoloured.
Well, now how will I figure it out? She set the book down, and looked around. Khadgar was muttering to himself, and she caught 'orc' and 'not his fault' from it. She made a face. “I'm not an orc.”
“Oh, really?” he replied, glaring at her. “You certainly look like one.”
“No orc would recognize me as such,” she spat back, bitterness tinging each word. “I'm halforcen, do you know what that means, ignorant fool? It means that the moment anyone looks at me, they see all the parts of me that are wrong. If I can't be one of them, I won't take the hate meant for them.”
Khadgar was silent for a moment, then his expression twisted. “I'm not a warlock. I'm a mage, a wizard of Dalaran, first of my class. Warlocks are evil and filthy. They worship demons and they destroy things that are good.”
“Dress it up in whatever titles you like,” Garona retorted. “You called fire and did destroy good things. Look at this!” She shoved the book at him. “I couldn't read it before, but I sure as hell can't read it now!”
“Oh, for the love of--” Khadgar grabbed for the book, wrenching it from her grip. Garona growled at him, but watched as he murmured softly to himself, and it reminded her of the opera. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as the burns faded, healing as though it had never been damaged. Garona touched at her arm briefly, remembering the pain and the scars.
“How did you do that?” Garona asked. “Where did the healing come from?”
“Within,” Khadgar replied, and pushed the book at her. “We have more work to do.”
Garona made a noise in the back of her throat and took the book, setting it aside on top of one of the low shelves before going towards the bookshelves. Several of them were splintered and broken, while others only heaved under the weight of the books. Carefully, reverently, she took the books off of the shelves and set them in piles on the floor.
Meanwhile, Khadgar was looking ruefully over the table and chair. “This is done for,” he muttered. “Not without a greater ritual of repair, and I don't have any spider's web or fire ash.” He kicked lightly at the remains.
“What about the shelves, mage?” Garona asked, irritated that he was scattering her pile. “Stop that and come here.”
“Don't order me around, halforcen,” Khadgar replied shortly, and went over to examine the shelves. “Can't you do any of this?”
“Do you see wood anywhere, or nails, or a hammer?” Garona asked, stepping away from him, over to the other shelves. These, too, needed to have the books moved, and she found the pieces of the globe she'd thrown at him. “I don't know magic.”
“Hmph,” Khadgar said, and repaired each of the shelves. “Then why are you here?”
“I am a guest,” she growled. “Not a child, not a student. A guest.”
“I'm not a child, I'm nineteen,” Khadgar said stiffly. “Recognized by the Council of Six as a fully trained mage.”
“Recognized as a child,” Garona muttered. She carried the pieces of the globe over to the pile with the table and chair, looking over what remained. There were place names, shapes she recognized and others she did not. Such a strange language.
They worked in silence for a time, Khadgar repairing shelves and Garona moving books from place to place, sometimes setting aside those that were damaged, and then as she waited for him to work, she moved the debris from the broken furniture into the hallway. When she returned, Khadgar had finished his repair work, and was placing books on shelves after checking them for something.
He can read them, obviously, but I don't know how he's doing it, Garona thought. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, and began copying him, looking for some kind of identifying mark. As the minutes passed, she began to line the books on the shelves based purely on size.
“What are you doing?” Khadgar demanded. “You're putting them all out of order.”
“As though I knew what order that was in the first place,” Garona muttered. “Well, how are you doing it?”
“By subject, then by title and author,” Khadgar said stiffly. “Obviously. Any lettered person would know--”
“What the hell is a 'letter'?” Garona demanded. “You humans have all manner of strange shapes you scribble onto everything.”
“You don't know how to read?” Khadgar asked, wonderingly. “How savage.”
“I know how to read my own language, fool,” Garona said stiffly. “I've only been here for three days. I doubt you know what my language even sounds like.”
He stared at her for a long while, and she glared back at him. Finally, he sighed. “Alright, what was it you were trying to look at before?”
“This one,” Garona replied, placing the book in her hand on the shelf and then crossing to where she'd placed the book she'd been attempting to read. “It had interesting pictures.”
Khadgar snorted softly, and looked around. “There are some cushions over there.”
“Cushions?” Garona said dubiously. “I'm not old.”
“Well, we don't have the chairs for either of us to sit down, so we'll be old together,” Khadgar retorted, plucking the book from her hands and walking towards them, leaving Garona to chase after him. The cushions were soft, and smelled a little of smoke, and the next few minutes was spent finding a comfortable way to sit next to each other without actually touching.
“Give it back, I want to hold it,” Garona insisted, and Khadgar handed it to her. She opened the book carefully, and turned to the first page. “Start here.”
“A map of the constellations of southern Azeroth,” Khadgar read aloud. “That's what groupings of stars are called, constellations.”
“I knew that,” Garona said, though she didn't. “How can you tell what they say?”
“Well, they're words. They're made up of letters. A-M-A-P--”
“That's not an A, that's an A,” Garona said, pointing. “Look, they're different.”
“That's an A and that's an A,” Khadgar corrected her. “One of them is capitalized, the other isn't.”
“What's 'capitalized'?” Garona demanded. “How does one of these letters get to be capitalized?”
“Oh, this is going to take a long time,” Khadgar groaned, and she leaned in to pinch him. He slapped at her hand, and the page creased. Both froze, looking from the page to each other and back again.
It was three hours later that Medivh came looking for them, with Garona leaning into Khadgar, her finger tapping the pages as Khadgar fought to answer her rapid-fire questions. Garona couldn't be sure, but she suspected Medivh was smiling.
~ * ~
Khadgar was at breakfast the next morning, bleary-eyed and nibbling on toast. He was so groggy that he failed to notice that Moroes was filling his cup of coffee and pulled it towards him. Garona watched as the deft human servant neatly avoided scalding Khadgar's fingers as Medivh's latest guest took a sip, winced at the taste, and put the cup back down. Moroes finished filling the cup, added two spoonfuls of sugar, and then continued on down the line.
“More coffee, Mistress?” the human asked deferentially, and Garona started, realizing he meant her.
“Please,” Garona said, and Moroes filled her mug as well. She sniffed at it warily. “It smells bitter.”
“A little hair of the magician's beard to alleviate the effects of late night reading sessions,” Medivh said suddenly, and appeared at the table. Garona nearly spilled her cup. “Good morning, children.”
“Good morning, Master Medivh,” Moroes said. “Your usual will be ready in just a moment.”
“Thank you, Moroes,” Medivh replied, and sat. “I'd think you would be used to people who come and go very suddenly,” he said lightly. “Careful with that, it's still quite hot.”
“How do you do that?” Garona demanded, and glanced over at Khadgar, who was still chewing mechanically. “Normally I can... tell.”
“I'm afraid I'm not what you're used to,” Medivh said. “But you've seen the trick before.”
Garona nodded uneasily. “That still doesn't answer the how.”
“Targeted teleportation points,” Khadgar said, without losing the vacant expression on his face. “A powerful mage, such as an Archmage with a decade’s worth of experience, can cast silently and without ritual. The Council regulates teleportation strictly before that time.”
“Age is little in the face of power, or wisdom,” Medivh said. “I've been doing it for quite some time.”
“Rules are in place for a specific reason,” Khadgar said, and ran his fingers through his hair, shaking himself a little. “To prevent teleportation fragmentation and other incidents.”
Teleportation is moving from one place to the other, and fragmentation is breaking things into fragments, which are small pieces, which are-- Garona's eyes grew wide with horror, and she looked at Medivh, who only chuckled.
“Which is why you've been reading up on all of those teleportation techniques, for your next decade,” Medivh rebuked, and looked to Garona. “It only happens rarely, because most mages simply can't manage it. Not strong enough, not honed enough.”
“Some people,” Khadgar put in, “don't follow the rules. Some people who are also very powerful.”
“Rules are meant to be broken by those who understand that they are best treated as guidelines,” Medivh replied. “Also, I don't follow Dalaran's rules. I'm not a member of the Kirin Tor. The Six has no power over me.”
“Should we be talking about this with...” Khadgar indicated Garona, and she made a face at him. “Company?”
“I trust Garona as much as I trust you,” Medivh said lightly, and Garona concealed a wince. “Speaking of which, we should perform proper introductions. Start the day off right, I feel.” Moroes came in with a plate holding a curious mass of yellow, red, and white and Medivh smiled. “This is an omelet, Garona,” he said. “This is egg, and this is red pepper and onion. It's quite nice, I recommend it.” He let Moroes fill his cup and nodded. For a little while, he was silent, cutting into the 'omelet' and drinking his coffee.
Garona noted that Khadgar was becoming more alert and focused, watching Medivh, waiting for the promised introductions. As time stretched, and the omelet disappeared - and so too did coffee, which Garona was growing fond of -- the young human shifted in his seat. “Archmage.”
“Apprentice,” Medivh replied, taking a sip of coffee.
“Is the delay in introductions a lesson in patience that I am currently failing?” Khadgar asked, trying - and failing - to conceal his irritation. Garona gave him a look of pity and disdain.
Medivh will slap him back into place, she thought. Gul'dan would.
“Not every inconvenience is a lesson,” Medivh said instead, his tone mild. “I simply wanted my breakfast. Since you seem so eager, I shall make them. Khadgar, this is Garona Halforcen. She comes to us from the orcs in the east. Due to her unique heritage, she is something of an outcast within her own society, but possesses a unique ability that I would like to see honed to a greater extent.”
“Unique, hm?” Khadgar said. “What heritage would that be?”
“Draenei,” Garona answered quickly, before Medivh could say anything. Mother always said her people were hiding on Draenor from the demons. If Medivh knows, he could tell the demons, and-- “It's unusual.”
“Hm,” Khadgar said again, nodding. “Welcome.”
“Thank you,” Garona muttered, and took a sip of coffee.
“Garona's social status makes her an excellent courier, scout, and even a scholar,” Medivh said, smiling. Garona felt her cheeks heat. “As well as a spy.”
Garona choked briefly, and Khadgar sputtered. Moroes cleared plates away calmly, and carried them out of the dining room. “You can't--”
“Garona is my guest, and I have invited her here with purpose,” Medivh said. “As I said, I want to hone her natural gifts, as she may find the need to use them. Also...” His gaze fell to Garona, pinning her in place. “While she is a spy, her master will only know what I want him to know.”
Garona nodded slightly, and looked down at her coffee mug.
“Garona, this is Khadgar,” Medivh continued, as if the revelation had not happened. “Khadgar is a graduate of the Violet Citadel, which is the premier Mage Academy within the human kingdoms, though it hosts non-human students as well. He has elected to continue his education as an Archmage, which affords both more power and more responsibility as well as a title, though to become an Archmage, he must study under one. I have accepted his petition to have him as my apprentice and continue his education.”
“First of his class,” Garona muttered, and Khadgar flushed with pride. “At lighting books on fire.”
“Indeed,” Medivh said, chuckling, as Khadgar's cheeks took on a darker colour. “He came with the full recommendation of the ruling council of mages in Dalaran, who are simply referred to as the Six, which were quite impressive to read, I must say. Your teachers must have been very proud of you.”
“They were, Archmage, they--”
“Khadgar is also a spy,” Medivh continued swiftly, and Garona stared at Khadgar, who had gone from flushed to pale with alarming speed. “Do you think I'm quite unaware that the Six do not trust me, here by my lonesome, out and far away from their supervision? They distrust me nearly as much as they distrusted the previous Guardian.”
“No one would suspect you of being a spy,” Garona observed, and Khadgar gave her a dark look.
“Why is that?”
“Because you're an idiot,” Garona said, and looked to Medivh. “What's a Guardian?”
“Don't be too hard on him, he's an idiot because he's been poorly trained,” Medivh said, and Khadgar sputtered. “One of my titles, and I have a few, is the Guardian of Tirisfal. It is a privilege afforded only to a small number of mages over the course of history, and fewer still considering the reign of the previous Guardian.” Garona detected a hint of bitterness under the calm tone and warm smile, and made a note of it. “The Tirisfalen usually choose the Guardian and dictate their movements, but such was... avoided in my case.”
“Who do you answer to, then?” Garona asked, studying him. He seemed no different than he had during their previous meetings, as though the strength and freedom he wore meant little to him. I wonder if he even understands how lucky he is.
Medivh gave her a slight nod, as if knowing her very mind. “In theory, I answer to two people. The ruler of Stormwind and the previous Guardian. I regularly receive missives from Dalaran's council and the Tirisfalen, and I answer them as I deem appropriate. Not every dead goat is a demon.”
Demon. Garona flinched, and forced herself to remember Medivh was a traitor to his own people.
“I don't answer to the Tirisfalen,” Khadgar said finally, sulky. “They don't speak to one such as me. I answer to the Six.”
“I never claimed that you did, boy,” Medivh said mildly. “As I said, you're a spy for the Six, and I will tell you what I told Garona. You have skills I want to hone, and so I shall. Your masters will know exactly what I want them to know and nothing more. I will have my secrets, but I also have much that I want to share with you. If you will accept these terms, you may stay. If not, you will leave. After breakfast.”
Khadgar and Garona exchanged a look. I can't give Gul'dan nothing, I will never be allowed to stay. If I tell him what he wants to hear... and perhaps I will learn enough to placate him. From the look on his face, Khadgar was thinking the same thing.
“I agree,” Khadgar said first, and Garona echoed him.
“Excellent,” Medivh said. “Then we can begin.”
The words felt like a portent of things to come, and thrilled Garona to her very core.
[Part 8]