They are in a bed in what used to be Nordrassil Inn, Lor'themar is beside him, nearly unbearably warm as he always is, when Rommath cannot help himself anymore.
"Why?" he asks quietly, peering at Lor'themar.
"Why what?" is the reply he gets, as Lor'themar gathers him closer, gently scraping his claws up and down Rommath's back.
"Why all of this? Why the destruction?"
He watches Lor'themar consider his question, but doesn't expect the answer he receives.
"I had been waiting a long time, and when my father called for me I attended to his will." Rommath stares blankly at him for a moment, trying to fathom what possible madness this might be, when Lor'themar suddenly laughs.
"Oh, my love, I forget sometimes how good at hiding my nature I had to become to pass among your race." As he says this Lor'themar seems to shift, although he doesn't move, and Rommath watches, transfixed, as his eyes change, one from the fel green they shared and one from clouded white to a deep brown that seemed flecked with red. His energy changes too, from the pleasant and gentle earthy feel that Lor'themar usually exuded to a dark and sharp air, hanging around him like heat.
Like dragon's fire.
"A dragon," Rommath chokes out, suddenly needing air, sitting up to get away from Lor'themar, from the dragon who pretended to be Lor'themar. He hears the dragon shift behind him, and is proud of himself for not flinching when a warm—so very warm, all the time—weight presses against his bare back, or when a soft kiss is pressed against the nape of his neck.
"I understand your surprise, but it's not that great a difference is it?" he asks, curious and amused, "After all, you were willing to be mine when you thought I was insane because of that silly blade…"
Rommath interrupts him, "No, I don't care about that, what I care about is that you are you."
"Ahh, if that's what bothers you, then be troubled no longer, I am myself, as I have always been, and I comport myself in a manner befitting that." This does little to calm Rommath, but the dragon is right, he loved Lor'themar when he thought he was lost to madness, he loves Lor'themar now.
"What is your name, your true name?" he asks, because Lor'themar is no name for a Black Dragon he is sure.
"Lortherion," the dragon tells him, whispering his name softly into Rommath's ear, before nipping playfully at it, "sometimes Lortherion the Hunter, that's what 'Theron' means, you know, it's 'Hunter' in draconic." Gaining new knowledge has always been comforting to Rommath and Lortherion knows it, in spite of himself Rommath relaxes slightly into the man-shaped being behind him.
"Why did you…" Rommath begins before trailing off, he is torn between wanting all the answers and wanting to remain in what might be blissful ignorance, but he has always chosen knowledge, and he cannot stop himself now, "Why me?"
He cannot bring himself to look at Lortherion, to see what passes over his face before he settles on an answer, Rommath feels the dragon pull away from him, but doesn't expect the warm hands that cup his face and turn his head to meet the dragon's gaze. Lor'therion's eyes shine with possessiveness, the flecks of red burning like embers in dark earth, "Why you?" he repeats, heat in his voice, "Why would I want someone striking and powerful in my bed? Someone whose fire is as great as mine? Perhaps you should tell me."
He's offended, Rommath realizes, offended on his behalf. Yes, this is Lor'themar, Lortherion, whatever he choses to call himself.
Rommath drags him close and kisses him, and when the dragon—his dragon—exhales in surprise the warmth of his breath seems to spread through Rommath's entire body.
Notes: The idea of Lor'themar being a dragon is mine, Wanda is to blame for encouraging me even though she claims not to like dragons I'm counting this as a Lich King of Aggressive Crack Headcanons victory. Also I forgot to add 'Theron' really does mean in hunter in Greek, so that's where that came from. The more you know, am I right?