A/N: The moral of the story is that Blame the Priest and I should not talk about anything if we are tired, sick or emotional. So, we really shouldn't talk at all, ever. Anyway, something about stabbing daggers into tables combined with my phone constantly trying to auto correct 'Aethas' to 'Arthas', and we pretty much got here. Don't ask how.

Ps, BtP, I hope this makes up for what I said about Kael last night. Don't stay mad at me forever. I stayed up incredibly too late writing this for you. xxx

I do not own WoW or any affiliated characters. Enjoy. Review. You know the drill.

Much love, Skye.

...

For the record, he never asked for this.

Thinking on it, he didn't even recall agreeing to it. No, all this power, all this responsibility had been dropped in his lap without warning. Somehow, he was supposed to sift through the rubble, to build something out of nothing. Fix everyone's problems. How could he convince everyone it was going to be okay when he couldn't even convince himself?

Their whole world had fallen down around them, and just when they had started to build it back up again, it had been torn right back into pieces. And this had happened again, and again, and quite frankly, he was tired of picking up after everyone.

And yet here he was, sitting in the middle of this fresh wave destruction and wondering how the fuck he was supposed to clean up this mess.

If it wasn't for the fact that he felt like crying, this all probably would have been laughable. Lor'themar has been pacing the length of his office for what felt like hours, probably had been hours, trying to decide exactly what he wanted to say. But his thoughts were so tangled that it was impossible to pull one from the other, and so no matter how many times he patrolled the same four walls, he always ended up right back where he started.

"You need to calm down."

The soft voice interrupted his incessant stomping around the room, drawing all of his attention to the windowsill. Halduron Brightwing sat with his back against the wall, one leg hanging out as if at any moment he might leap down at make a run for it. He was staring absently out the window and taking occasional puffs at the pipe he held. If Lor'themar hadn't been so upset, he might have paused to notice how attractive the image was, the way the sun shone down upon him and the gentle breeze caught strands of his loose golden hair.

As it was, he merely grunted in response and resumed his pacing.

This continued for a good while longer, until knock at the door forced him out of his own mind, back into the reality he would have been quite content to continue ignoring. Letting out a heavy sigh, he pushed a stray lock of pale blonde hair away from his face and braced himself before calling out lowly, "Come in."

All at once, the door was pushed open so hard that it slammed into the opposite wall. Lor'themar flinched at the sound, loud and unwelcome in the silence to which he had become so entirely used to. The slender form of an elf tumbled into the chamber, having obviously been shoved through the doorway, very nearly losing his balance and collapsing in a heap at Lor'themar's feet. His robes were tattered and disheveled, his copper hair hanging in tangled knots around his face, and his tell tale helm clutched between his hands like it was the only thing he had left in the world.

Behind him, Grand Magister Rommath stood with his arms crossed over his chest and his emerald eyes narrowed slightly. Although half of his face was concealed by his high rising collar, it was clear that he was scowling. The dark haired elf paused to close the door before moving across the room to take his place somewhere between where Lor'themar stood and where Halduron perched so casually. All three of their stares fell on the redhead trembling before them.

Lor'themar took a steadying breath. For the record, he never asked for this.

"Aethas Sunreaver," he barked, his tone filled with authority.

The elf before him swallowed so hard that Lor'themar could visibly see the muscles in his throat constrict. He straightened up, trembling legs supporting his weight, trembling hands holding his helm against his chest. "R-Regent-Lord Theron," he stammered out. It was clear to see that he was fairly shaken up. No doubt the events of the past few days had taken their toll on him. Lor'themar almost felt bad for the young mage, might have felt bad for him if not for the fact that what he had endured was only a fraction of what Lor'themar himself had been forced to go through every day for the past few decades, and no one ever seemed to feel bad for him.

The blonde took a few easy, measured strides closer to Aethas, the sound of boots against marbled floors echoing in the small space of his office. He stopped a few paces away, hoping that some distance kept between them might give the younger elf at least some hope of ever getting his tremors under control.

Over the years, he had gotten his fair share of practice on how to command an audience, how to demand the attention of those around him. Even before this whole business of ruling Quel'thalas had been shoved off on him, he had been fluent in authority and giving orders. When Lor'themar spoke again, his voice was deep and his words were clear as they bounced off the walls and seemed to fill the room around them. "I don't believe I need to tell you this, but just in case it has managed to escape your attention, which, given the current circumstances, would not surprise me in the least, as I am beginning to question whether you ever have the slightest idea what is going on outside of your tower, this entire incident reflects poorly not only on the Sunreavers, but on all of the Sin'dorei."

After he had been so worried that he might not know what to say, Lor'themar found that the words came out effortlessly. Perhaps because he was simply speaking what he felt, what he knew to be true. For the most part, the Sin'dorei had been able to keep to themselves. They did their part to assist the Horde, but when they were consistently being forced to retreat and lick their wounds, when the numbers of their race had been so vastly diminished, and half of their magnificent capital still lay in ruins, there was only so much they could really do.

But this….this was a bit extreme.

Aethas had finally seemed to stop shaking, but his young features betrayed every one of his emotions. There was fear, clearly, and perhaps even a slight trace of resentment. The mage was not used to be addressed in such a way.

But above all, there was a deep pain, and it was evident in the way his eyes didn't seem to glow quite as brightly as they should have, in the way he never quite unfurrowed his brow.

Perhaps this was why he favored the mask. It was easier to act cool and collected when nobody could see your feelings displayed so plainly before them.

"I-I'm sorry," Aethas said quietly, barely even audible, and for a moment Lor'themar was left to wonder if he had only imagined hearing it.

Not that it mattered. Sorry couldn't fix things. Sorry couldn't bring back Theramore any more than it had ever been able to bring back Silvermoon. Sorry couldn't undo the damage that had been done once again between the endlessly warring factions.

For the first time, Lor'themar glanced over his shoulder at the two men lingering behind him. They were supposed to be his advisors, his support, his allies in all things related to the governing of the people. Instead, Rommath was standing exactly the same as he had been since his arrival, with posture so perfect the Regent-Lord had to wonder if the magister was even breathing under that cowl of his. And Halduron couldn't even be bothered to tear his gaze away from the window, like he was trying to keep watch over the forests beyond the city even then. Lor'themar might have asked if he was even breathing as well, but the little twisting tendrils of smoke were a telltale sign that he was.

Finally, the blonde turned his attention back to Aethas. He was definitely breathing, because his chest was rising and falling in fearful gasps for air.

"Twice," Lor'themar went on. "Twice, in a matter of months, have your followers betrayed the Kirin Tor, the Alliance, and the Sin'dorei. Twice have they assisted Garrosh Hellscream in the crimes he has committed. Do you have any idea how this looks?"

Aethas opened his mouth, spoke in words that tumbled together in a rapid blur. "But I didn't know! Just as I told Jaina Proudmoore, and Rom- I mean, the Grand Magister! I didn't know that they-"

A loud thud cut him off mid sentence as Lor'themar brought his fist down onto the wooden surface of his desk in a fit of rage. "It is your job to know!" He bellowed angrily, narrowing his single green eye as he glowered at Aethas. "You are their superior, and it is your responsibility to know everything that is going on among them. If they fail, you fail!"

For a moment, he forgot that he was referring to the Sunreavers. For a moment, he was speaking only of Quel'thalas, only of himself.

Lor'themar relaxed his shoulders, which had tensed all the way up to his elongated ears, and let out a lengthy sigh. He blinked for a moment longer than necessary before softening his expression and focusing his stare once more on the young mage. His face was aflame with both shame and frustration, the red of his blush bleeding into the red of his long locks of hair. "Nobody is blaming you for any of this."

Aethas let out a disbelieving huff of a breath, but didn't dare try to speak again.

Lor'themar reached up and ran his fingers through the long, thick ponytail draped over his shoulder. He mustered a small smile for the elf. Still so young, but far from innocent. Innocence was something impossible to hold onto for the Sin'dorei.

"I'm glad you're safe," he said then. The gentleness of his tone earned him a smile in return.

Aethas took that as his indication to leave the study. He bowed his head in respect for his Regent-Lord and excused himself quickly in a flourish of robes and light footsteps. He didn't even make it fully out the door before he was settling his helm back in place over his face.

Once the door had closed, Lor'themar exhaled loudly and turned towards the other two. His gaze fell upon Rommath, who was watching him carefully, his fingertips ghosting lightly over the perfectly symmetrical tattoos on his arms. "Thank you for rescuing him."

Rommath waved the matter off with a sudden flick of his wrist, like it was nothing at all. "I have said for a long time that Dalaran is no friend to our people," he retorted. "Less so now more than ever. The Kirin Tor lost their leader, and for that the Alliance will blame the Horde as a whole, not just Hellscream. Besides," he added after a moment, and Lor'themar was quite certain that under the collar he was smirking at least a little. "I didn't do it for him. I have...previous issues with Jaina Proudmoore."

As if that was all the explanation he needed to give, and maybe it was, Rommath crossed the room towards the door and left without saying so much as goodbye.

Once the Grand Magister had gone, Lor'themar returned to his chair, dropping down in a less than graceful manner. He buried his face in his hands, knuckles pressed against his eye and the place where his other would have been. More things he had lost in attempt to hold his world together. If it had bothered him once, it did so no longer. There was little sense in dwelling on things he couldn't fix when there were so many issues before him which he might have a hope to repair. And anyway, he would have given much, much more if it would have had any chance at stopping Arthas.

He was too busy focusing on what he could tell was going to turn into a raging migraine to hear the soft footfalls coming up behind him. A moment later, he felt a pair of slender hands upon his shoulders, surprisingly strong fingers massaging at his tightened muscles. A happy groan slipped past his lips as he tilted his head back to look up at Halduron.

"You were too hard on him," the Ranger-General murmured, pressing his thumbs harder against the stubborn knots.

Lor'themar winced as the younger blonde hit a particularly sensitive spot. "Not as hard as Proudmoore intended on being. At least he still has a head- agh!" His words were swallowed up in a gasp of pain when Halduron gave up on using his hands altogether and switched to his elbow instead. He eased Lor'themar's chest forward until he was lying upon the surface of his desk, giving the younger elf easier access.

"Besides," Lor'themar said in a muffled voice. "I think that I've been doing this long enough to know when I need to be hard on someone to get the point across."

Halduron let out a breathy laugh, leaning in closer so that his chest was pressed against the former ranger's back, and he was able to bite down lightly on the tip of his ear, eliciting a low hiss. "Sunreaver was on the verge of tears the entire time he was in here. I think you got the point across, love."

Lor'themar laughed along with his friend, who finally, mercifully, gave up on trying to work out the destroyed muscles of his upper back. "Come on," he said then, grabbing his pipe from where he had set it on the edge of the table and taking another long drag. "Let's see if we cant relief that stress in some other way."

end