Author's note: this small work is based on the Warcraft movie (2016). However, it's an AU story, depicting what might have been after.
What is left after
Sometimes all we can (and should) do is to pick up the pieces.
It seemed that the only thing he was able to fill was vexation. With himself for the mistakes made, with his own body for unending weakness. He was recovering painstakingly slowly, and his power was returning even more slowly.
With difficulty, not rushing, Medivh got up from the couch and with uncertain steps moved towards the balcony, using every piece of furniture to rely on. Cool wind immediately hit his face, touched the temple nicely, gently; helped to dispel the fog in his head; nearly drove away disturbing thoughts. The landscape spread out before the Tower constituted an unpleasant sight: the land scorched for miles around, black dead trees and an overhanging mass of heavy thunderclouds. However, even this was better for the moment than oppressive silence and gloomy walls which once served as his safe haven for far too long.
Medivh took a deep breath taking of life-giving cold air, and closed his eyes. His thin fingers gripped the balcony railing. When the first drops of rain fell right on his face, the Guardian did not even move; when the rain turned into a real downpour, and somewhere close a thunderclap roared, the mage continued to stand right where he was as if he wanted to disappear, to dissolve into the raging nature; to not to think anymore, not to desire, not to feel.
His mantle was soaked with water, his long reddish hair stuck to his face, and he still couldn't find the strength to pull himself together and go back. And to go back he should. He should go back and fix everything he had mismanaged while being under the Sargeras' influence. He should. He always should have. Everyone always was expecting that from him: his father, his mother, the whole Azeroth and even Kirin-Tor. His whole life is an obligation: to protect, to fight, to explain, to teach. The obligation he failed to fulfill. The life which was never entirely his. Was there anything in it which was the act of his own will?
There was. Memories flashed before his inner eye: the studying, the first meeting with Llane and Lothar, their youthful antics and adventures, the promise to always help each other. His friends… one of them was already dead because of him, the other – lost the only son.
Medivh opened his eyes. He must fight, must keep the only friend who survived safe, must preserve Lothar's nephew and in combination the son of the King died because of his mistakes, must rectify his mistake and help to save the World he was charged to protect. He must. But not because he was expected to: for the whole world he was still dead, and Kirin-Tor would now do anything to get a handle on him as soon as he returned. No, he would help only because he did desire to, and no Dark Force would interfere with his plans, distort his thoughts and turn the magic designed to protect Azeroth against it.
The mage was about to leave the balcony but felt that he was incapable of taking even a few steps. The fog in his brain became thicker, and the man had already decided that he would lose his consciousness, and suddenly he felt a strong hand right on his shoulder making him turn around.
Magna Aegwynn was standing in front of him, aged but still unapproachably proud, almost haughty. It was only her green eyes that betrayed something relatively close to sympathy – emotion so unusual for the former Guardian.
"Come."
She said calmly, and her voice sounded oddly soft.
He leaned on her hand, feeling extremely uncomfortable: Aegwynn had already spent enough power on him. It would do no good if he collapsed on her on their way from the balcony.
"This needs to be dried."
She stated, visually examining his robe.
Medivh just nodded, grabbing the back of the nearby chair and breathed deeply. The stuffiness of the room contrasted too sharply with the freshness of the mountain air.
"I am sorry."
He said colourlessly, looking at the small puddles formed on the way from the balcony to the couch.
"Don't be".
His mother's thin lips curled into a grin. He handed him a towel and then – sent a rag to clean up the puddles.
The mage, changing and trying to do something with his wet hair, was thinking about how awfully he must look while simultaneously watching the beautiful cleaning tool methodically sliding on the floor. A smile appeared unwillingly on his lips when he remembered how Anduin and him were forced to run away from the wet rag enchanted by Aegwynn and flying at their heels. What they had done so wrong, the mage, no matter how hard he tried, couldn't recall.
"Never could possibly imagine that some piece of wet tissue is able to provoke some pleasant memories."
She must have followed his gaze, and didn't miss the opportunity to make a sarcastic comment. Medivh bit his lip, and slowly lowered himself on the edge of the couch. He had no desire to respond to this. He didn't have the strength to make empty talks.
Aegwynn faintly sighed. Her expression softened again.
"You must stop blaming yourself for what has happened."
As a response – silence; the Guardian of Azeroth didn't dodge the eye contact, returned the look straight and calmly, like he always did (when Sargeras was not in control), and in that look there was no shame and no condemnation (she knew that she was to blame, maybe even much more than he was), only understanding, and emptiness (and the guilt that still splashed in the depths of his pupils), and silent plea. And Aegwynn nodded, yielding. At this moment she understood him better than she was ever able.
We will postpone this conversation until better times.
She silently went away to prepare another potion, and when she came back she found her son sleeping on the couch. Unsurprisingly at all. Still silently, she put the bowl on the bedside table, applying a warming spell on the liquid inside. She was about to leave to take a nap herself, but, obeying a sudden impulse, picked up the fallen blanket and covered the magician with it, noting how he immediately frowned in his sleep. She hurriedly left, thinking that she didn't regret her decision at all.