A/N: Hello, lovelies! So, I just really wanted to write something surrounding Lor'themar and Halduron (thanks for the suggestion, ZariyaVera!), and actually ended up scrolling through the otp prompt website, where I stumbled upon one that I thought fit really well. Which is how we've ended up here. A little bit of sad, a little bit of fluff, because who doesn't want that in their lives.
I don't own anything WoW related, of course (lucky for them, too, because the things I would do to them…), or the title/lyrics, which are from Ever the Same by Rob Thomas.
Much love xx -Skye
PS: It has come to my attention that there was a typo in the title of this when the email went out to my followers, and I am both terribly sorry and blushing profusely. It's almost five am and I'm tired and just ugh. I'm so sorry. Don't hate me.
…
We were drawn from the weeds
We were brave like soldiers
Falling down under the pale moonlight
You were holding to me
Like a someone broken
And I couldn't tell you but I'm telling you now
...
When the nightmares came, they came relentlessly.
They broke down the barricades of his mind, the carefully constructed walls he had built up in the hopes of easing the pain. They tore through his resistance, wore down his defiance, shattered his opposition, and left him shaking and whimpering in his bed.
They came, and they destroyed his mind just as the Scourge had destroyed his city, and he was forced to relive those memories over and over and over. They were so painfully vivid, so agonizingly lucid, so unbearably real. They were endless, images of that fatal day playing out in his mind, haunting him, reminding him of all that had died, all of the elves had perished, while he was still alive, able to sleep in his bed.
When the nightmares came, they sent Halduron Brightwing jolting up in bed, chest rising and falling with each desperate, violent gasp for air. He threw back the covers, pushed a shaking hand through his tangled tresses of blonde hair, tried to steady his breathing and blink away the final flickers of his dream.
It was all in vain, though, and he knew it too, because it had been a week and still he was unable to make it through a single night without waking up in a panic. Not that he was particularly surprised, of course. The horrors that he had endured, that all of his people had endured, were not something he was likely to forget. In his dreams, he saw them, the endless armies of the dead, barreling down upon his city and massacring everything in their path. In his dreams, he heard the screams of his brothers and sisters as they were torn to pieces before his very eyes, and he was helpless to save them. In his dreams, he relived every moment of the violent onslaught, the brutal slaughtering of the elves that he had been unable to protect.
Swallowing hard, Halduron slid off the bed, his feet hitting floor with a soft thud. He blinked slowly, too slow, one last pointless attempt at clearing his head. When he opened them again, he padded his way towards the window and drew back the curtains, just enough to peer out into the streets of Silvermoon beyond. So much damage, so much rubble, all proof that his persistent nightmares were, in fact, quite real. In the low light of the moon, he swore he could still see the dried rivulets of blood staining the cobblestones. So much death, so much pain.
Halduron turned away with a scowl, letting the curtains fall shut once more, the darkness returning to fill his chambers. He should have done more, should have done something else, even if he had spent the past week trying to figure out what he could have possibly done, and had come up with nothing time and time again.
There was nothing more he could have done. Nothing more anyone could have done. They had given their all.
And still, it had not been enough. Still, Silvermoon lay in ruins, and more elves had fallen than he could stand to think about.
It was pointless to try and go back to bed now, he knew, and the alternative of staring into the shadows and recalling the way his comrades faces twisted in agony when they were ripped apart by the masses of the undead seemed less than appealing. Instead, he dressed himself in simple clothes, ran his fingers through his hair in the hopes of at least taming it slightly, and made his way out into the corridor beyond.
The Sunfury Spire was, miraculously, mostly intact, so that was where they had been staying as they worked to sift through the remains of their world, of their lives. Halduron kept his head down as he moved quickly, quietly down the hall, towards the staircase that would lead him down into the main foyer and out into the night beyond. The walls were lined with windows and outside he could see the city as she slept, empty and cold, afraid and alone. With each step, he felt a building pressure in his chest, a rising panic that settled in upon him like a weight, crushing him, forcing the air from his lungs, and he couldn't breathe except in these tiny little pants that forced their way out of his chapped lips.
He had just hit the top of the stairs when the sound of his name caused him to freeze, each muscle in his body going rigid as he glanced back over his shoulder. His azure stare fell upon the tall, muscled figure standing a few feet behind him, arms crossed tightly over his chest, chin dipped slightly as he regarded the younger elf. Lor'themar Theron watched him with an expression that was unreadable, and Halduron honestly wasn't sure if it was because of the dim lighting casting shadows between them or the fact that half of his face was still partially concealed in bandages.
The ranger felt a slight shiver run up his spine as recollections flashed across his mind, Lor'themar's echoing growls of pain replaying in his mind, the sight of the blood spilling down his face, staining his platinum hair. Even still, he had fought on, had endured his own pain in a final attempt to drive back the forces of the Scourge.
Given his all. It was not enough.
Halduron quickly shook aside those thoughts, clearing his throat and turning to better face the Ranger-Lord. Ranger-General, now, likely, he thought. It would only make sense for him to rise to the highest rank, in the absence of Sylvanas-
It was getting hard to breathe again.
Of course, no one dared to make a single decision until the arrival of Kael'thas. The runner had been sent to Dalaran, but with everything thrown so completely off by the destruction of the Sunwell, they had been biding their time and awaiting his arrival by foot. Mostly, they had been busying themselves by cleaning up the messes, the corpses and the broken buildings, trying to assure what little of them remained that it was going to be okay, that it was going to be alright, that once the prince arrived he would know what to do.
It was hard to tell a lie you didn't believe yourself.
"Lor'themar," he greeted, when at last he was able to find his voice. He bowed his head in a show of respect, a gesture that the white-haired elf returned.
"Can't sleep?" He asked, except the way he said it, it didn't really feel like a question. Still, he shook his head a little, earning a humorless huff of laughter from the older ranger. "That seems to be a common occurrence," he murmured, his pale blue gaze flitting away, off to the side somewhere, looking anywhere but at him. When at last he looked back, he added, "You're running off in a hurry, Lieutenant."
Halduron felt himself shift uncomfortably under the intensity of his stare, wondering idly how Lor'themar could hold so much severity in that single eye, then scolding himself for thinking such a thing at all. "I just...needed some air," he confessed, slumping his shoulders a little. He should have stopped himself from going on, but if he was being honest with himself, the words were all tumbling out before he really had time to process them, and so he wasn't entirely sure he would have been able to stop even if he had tried. "I can't stop thinking about it. It- it isn't fair, none of this is…"
Damn. He could feel the hot sting of tears in the corners of his eyes, a feeling he had become far too familiar with in the past few days. He did his best to choke them back, but still felt his throat constrict with the swell of pain. Somehow, though, he found a way to meet Lor'themar's careful gaze, to stammer out a feeble, "I just don't know how I am supposed to go on living when so many others have lost the chance to do so."
A few silent moments passed, interrupted only by the rapid pounding of his heart in his chest, which he was certain the older elf could hear clearly even from where he stood. Eventually, though, Lor'themar spoke, his voice perhaps the most shaky and uncertain Halduron had ever heard it in all the years he had served under him. "It is because of those we have lost that we must go on," he said slowly. "We owe it to all that have fallen to keep on fighting. To pick up the pieces one by one, to rebuild, to survive."
Halduron hadn't realized it, but Lor'themar had been closing the distance between them as he spoke, and so when he trailed off, he was standing directly before him, looking down at him with some emotion he couldn't exactly place, and wasn't exactly sure he wanted to. His hand came to rest upon the ranger's shoulder, but he found an odd comfort in the weight of it there, a small reminder that even now, he was not alone. And it was nice, that feeling, and he was clinging to it with a desperation he hadn't even known himself capable of.
Before he could think to stop himself, Halduron was leaning in closer, his hands coming to rest on Lor'themar's chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, and he was closing the distance between them, and he was pressing their lips together in a careful, gentle, perfect kiss. Every muscle in Lor'themar's body tensed, but he quickly relaxed against the hold, slinging his own arm around the younger ranger's waist to keep him in place. His other hand fisted itself into his mess of blonde hair, forcing his head to tilt back.
For the first time in a week, Halduron was able to turn off his ceaseless thoughts, to clear his mind and focus on this, only this, the lack of space between them and the feeling of Lor'themar's tongue tracing across his bottom lip, demanding entrance, which he was happy to grant him. For the moment, he was content just to feel something other than the endless torment, to feel rough fingers digging into his hip and a soft whimper rising up from his lungs. A spark ignited in his veins that he had thought he would never feel again, a drive and longing and need, and he never wanted to lose it again.
Eventually, though, they broke apart, Halduron left to suck in greedy breaths as he looked up at Lor'themar with widened eyes. The older of the two raised arched his brow- at least, the one he could, since the other one was still trapped under the gauze. It was a silent question, except Halduron wasn't entirely sure he knew what it was, or he was positive he didn't know the answer, so when he opened his mouth to speak, if only because he needed to fill the silence, the best he could manage was, "How come you haven't gone to a healer yet?", and instantly regretted it after it was too late to take it back.
The corner of Lor'themar's mouth twitched up into the faintest hint of a smile, gone so fast it left Halduron wondering if he had imagined it. At last, he retracted his hold on the other man's shoulder, shrugging as he did. "I sort of like it," he admitted. "It's like...a constant reminder."
Halduron tried to ignore the fact that he was suddenly overly aware of the distance left between them, not that there was much of it to be aware of. Instead, he tilted his head to the side just slightly, felt the corner of ear twitch just so. "Reminder?" He echoed. "Of what?"
Now it was Lor'themar who shifted his weight from one foot to the other, blinking for a moment longer than necessary, as if trying to chase away his own haunting thoughts. When he opened his eye once more, it was blazing brighter than it had in days, a fire ignited that hadn't been there a moment ago. "Of all those who sacrificed their lives so that we might live to see another sunrise," he murmured.
Halduron thought he felt a shiver move up his spine at the words, at the truth and intensity behind them. Suddenly, it didn't seem quite so hard to straighten up, and he was able to breathe without struggle, and his pace seemed to slow to a regular pulse. They had given their all, and it hadn't been enough to save everyone, but it had been enough to ensure that there was some sort of future for the children of Quel'thalas. And so those that remained owed it to their brethren to persevere no matter what was thrown their way, to push on no matter what new enemy they faced, to survive.
For the first time in days, the blonde was able to muster up a smile, the feeling of the kiss still lingering upon his lips. "We're going to be okay," he said quietly, and it didn't even come out as question. "We're going to make it through this whole thing."
Even still, Lor'themar gave a sharp nod, offered a smile of his own. It was the brightest thing Halduron had ever seen, that smile, and it filled him with a sense of hope, of faith, of light. "Of course we are," he replied. "I mean...what other choice do we have?"
None, the ranger thought. They were soldiers, they were fighters, they were survivors. It was in their blood, part of who they were. No, they had no choice but to pull through.
Halduron's gaze flickered to the window at his side. In the distance, the sun was just beginning to ascend over the horizon, its golden rays forcing back the darkness of the night, bathing the kingdom in light.