Chapter Text
Despite the ruin of the tower library, some rays of sunlight managed to sift through the debris once dawn came. The shafts of sunlight slid across the debris strewn across the library, and finally found a table where, oddly enough, a man apparently in his sixties lay curled on left side, arms wrapped around the Greatstaff Atiesh, diagonally across the table to avoid the dimly glowing blue crystal by his feet. They slowly crept along his boots, upwards along his legs, and glimmered off buckles and buttons, sending reflections into the ceiling.
It reached his torso, and he shifted restlessly, one foot sliding off the table slightly as he turned onto his back. One hand continued to clutch the staff, the other draped over his chest. He vaguely felt its warmth as it crept up his face, turning his unshaven stubble silver.
When it reached his eyes, the blue orbs snapped open, and he gasped, the noise echoing off the walls and bookshelves. He jumped, groaned, tried to look around…
And turned over.
Off the table.
The sound of shattering glass made him wince, and the overturned chair he caught with his foot as he fell lay accusingly tangled in his legs, his books, notes, quill and now smashed ink bottle beside him. The ink began to run, and he edged away from it quickly, dropping Atiesh in the process.
Khadgar sighed, wincing. He had spent better nights. In places he knew. In places that weren’t a table in the middle of the large library of Karazhan. He’d woken up in far better places than on the floor of same library.
He managed to untangle his legs, snatch the books away from the spreading stain of the ink puddle, and rescued his notes from a similar fate.
Well, he’d started worse days in his life – some of them in this very library. He got to his feet, and stretched, wincing as his back made several disturbingly loud cracks in the silence. He rubbed at his eyes and reached down to find his satchel, hastily putting his notes into it so they wouldn’t be lost, if wind decided to sweep through as easily as the sun had. He slung the satchel across his shoulder out of habit, more than anything else. It wasn’t like he wasn’t going to be here a while yet.
He looked around, bent down to retrieve Atiesh and set it down on the table. I’ve done stupider things in my lifetime, but one would think I’m old enough to not now. Ugh. He longed for a bath, but had a feeling that Karazhan’s facilities would be sketchy at best. Well, it wasn’t the first time he went without a bath in the morning. Finding the facilities, however, was his first mission.
Praying his memory would match the twisted turns of the tower, he set off out of the library and down a set of stairs. His old corner of a room was down this set, a second, down a hall, and if memory served, further down the hall he would find out what survived, if anything.
The door to his room was still closed, and he paused for a moment, staring at it. He started to reach for the latch, then shook his head. It can wait, he thought, his bladder forcibly reminding him of why he had come up this hall in the first place. Some may not think I’m human, but… well. He continued down the hall, and found that his fears were unfounded. Somehow, the privy and bathing areas were actually intact, and in good condition. Thank the Light for small favors, he thought as he headed for the privy.
Feeling much better, he crossed the hall to the bathing room, and pondered just how badly he wanted that bath. He looked down at his hands, and sighed. If it was possible… at all possible… He eyed the pitcher and washbasin for a moment, and avoided the mirror. He stepped around a partition and found that the tub was still intact as well.
He made an inspection of the room. A few cobwebs were easily swept away, and a bit of magic applied in precise application scoured the tub with ease. He searched the ceiling, the corners, the linen cabinets and every nook and cranny for signs of … visitors. Nesters. Anything that would have him streaking the corridor in panic. Not that he would of course, but. Well.
He leaned Atiesh against the wall and decided against trying to draw a bath. Attempting to do so could do any number of things. He was a mage after all, and plumbing was just … so primitive. A moment of concentration, and a tubful of steaming water beckoned. Magic was good for a sketchy wash, but nothing could beat a hot soak. He sighed as he stripped, and dug in his faithful satchel for a change of clothing, bathing supplies and a towel. Draping the clothing and towel over a chair, and letting what he stripped off remain in a puddle by the chair, he stepped into the water, hissed, and sank into its embrace.
He ached, and in ways he couldn’t explain. He closed his eyes as his skin adjusted to the temperature, then looked down. And gasped.
His body was marked with small purple bruise-like marks. His skin flushed red, and it had nothing to do with the heat of the water. Had he been dreaming, or had it been real? He shifted experimentally, then twisted to look at his hip. There were bruises there, marks of familiar fingers.
It was real. He could not have dreamed bruises and kiss-bruises into existence.
No wonder he had been so calm on waking.
Pushing the thoughts away, he leaned back and let the hot water warm and relax him for a little, then washed, rinsed, and stepped out. Not trusting the drainage, he waved a hand over the tub (ignoring the fact that he was dripping water on his outer robes) and instead sent it down into the river before toweling off.
Clean clothing felt lovely on his skin, and now he knew why – and why he had longed so for the bath. He pulled his surcoat on over the shirt and tunic, letting most of the laces remain loose. It’s not like there was anyone in the tower to see him. He pulled on fresh pants and slid his feet into half-boots that were a bit more comfortable than the calf-high ones he had come in wearing. He tucked his other clothing into his satchel, knowing it would be clean the next time he actually reached for it, and the leathers treated. He ran his hands through his hair, drew a deep breath, and exhaled, slowly as he resettled his satchel once again at his side.
It was time to go investigate his room; his curiosity was eating him alive.
He pulled the door open, and his heart ached. The room was exactly how he had left it last – the bedclothes still slightly rumpled and pushed back from the last time he had risen, his narrow desk still had notes, ink bottles in different colors, a couple of pens, a small pouch, and an open book with a scrap of ribbon marking the page. The shelf held a few belongings he had forgotten about: a crystal globe that glowed a dull yellow, a leather map case, and a toy from his childhood – a wool stuffed gryphon. Its button eyes stared at him as he stepped into the room, looking around it. It felt so much smaller than when he had left it. He had left the closet open, and found his clothing hung neatly, his empty rucksack that he had arrived with tucked into the bottom.
Afraid to breathe, he leaned over the desk to look at his notes. His handwriting was as neat as it was now: Not. His scrawling hand had been quick as he wrote, but a second page held notes a professional scribe would have been proud of. He looked down at his hands, and smiled slightly. Some things, at least, had not changed. The ink stains on his fingers were a part of any mage worth his mana, after all. The notes held calculations for a spell he had created while he was here. He knew that if he searched hard enough, he would find the rest of it in the library – and would probably find the residue or even the crushed gemstones themselves where he had cast the spell to distract Medivh to buy time for himself and Garona to escape.
He closed his eyes, briefly as a breeze came through the open window. He shook his head, then stepped backwards, closing the door. He couldn’t bear to disturb his own past. Let his seventeen-year-old imprint work in peace for all time. Perhaps… just perhaps… one day he would keep Medivh company here again.
He started back down the hall towards the staircase that led back up to the library. He could hear the whispers still, and ignored them. His half-boots had soft soles, and didn’t make much noise as he moved, so the only sound was the soft click of Atiesh as he set it down with every other step, and when he reached the library again, the sunlight had faded. It was never that bright here anyway – sunlight ruins books, after all. He looked up the stairs at the end of a row of shelves, staring at the little sitting room where…
He blushed. It was no dream; he had physical proof of that. But something had happened. Something had thrown him into a time-loop of sorts, that put him back into the library, fully clothed, and before Medivh had shown himself. He had avoided the room last night, terrified it would continue if he went up those stairs, but he had to know.
And he had to repair whatever damage had been done.
He steeled himself and started up the stairs, and paused before the doorway into the sitting room.
“Don’t.”
He whirled around to face the voice, one hand out and already glowing. The spell died in his hand as he lowered it.
“Medivh.”
“Don’t go in there again. I don’t know if I can save you another time.”
Khadgar reached down and his hand curled around the railing. “What do you mean “save me another time”?” he asked, eyes wide.
“You keep going in, and I … I keep putting you back somewhere safe.” Medivh sighed. He had a hollow quality to him, and he looked away.
Khadgar steadied himself between the railing and Atiesh for a moment, then reached out to touch the former Guardian. He snatched his hand back when he realized he couldn’t. “What happened here?” he asked softly. “What did we do?”
“It is not what we did, but what we didn’t do.” Medivh sighed again and turned to face the library. “You worked on a spell here, trying to induce visions to come to you. I saw the calculations – you left them here.” He glanced over at Khadgar, one eyebrow raised. Khadgar nodded. “While this saved me, you could have done serious damage, and I’m sure you know this. So. Tell me, Young Trust: What happens when a spell goes wrong?”
Khadgar winced. “If it just fails, it was incomplete, or unfinished. If it… is catastrophic, it was nearly correct, but something was lacking, wrong, or missing.”
Medivh smiled slightly, and gestured to the small room. “We were wrong, lacking, or missing something. I have tried to find out what it is, but I cannot. And until … until I can…”
“You remain a shade of yourself, a spirit bound here without form,” Khadgar finished. “I was half responsible for this mess, so I am at least half responsible for correcting it.”
Medivh shook his head. “The Legion is out there. You’re needed there.”
“I’m needed here, as well.”
“You would choose a long-dead master over the sake of your world?” Medivh looked at Khadgar sharply, his head tilted slightly.
Khadgar looked away first. “I would choose love, to carry me through what must be done,” he murmured. “I don’t want to lose you again. I can’t lose you again. Not now that… that I know we…”
“Have a chance?” Medivh ran a hand through his hair and sighed, yet again. “Within these walls, we could indeed have sanctuary, and Light knows you deserve it.” He looked up and stared at the windows across from where they stood. “You have surpassed me,” he mused softly. “You had no tutor passed me, and you still achieved the rank of Archmage – with ease, so I am given to understand.” His eyes flickered to Khadgar and back at the windows. “Perhaps…” He frowned for a moment, then turned back to the younger mage. “Leave Atiesh. Thus far, you have always walked into the room with it, and each time… I…”
“I won’t ask for details right now,” Khadgar replied, leaning the staff against the wall. “But I will take your advice.” Before Medivh could say another word, he stepped into the room.
The room itself was a disaster. Violet motes danced along every surface, and as he stepped in, they surrounded him, as though tasting him. They pricked his skin, and he shuddered, squinting against them and trusting his eyelashes to protect his eyes. He managed to pick out a form moving toward the armchair where Atiesh had leaned, and the form bent over. He heard voices – one low, wondering, the other sharp, and the motes shifted, curling around another form. The voices were frantically discussing something, and there was a thin scream. He followed the path of the first form, and leaned down.
Sure enough, still pulsing bluely, was Atiesh. He watched it for a moment, and realized it was not beating with his heartbeat, the way it had before. It was slow, stuttering, and dimming with each beat. He backed out of the room, quickly, to find himself back where he had come from with no adverse effect.
“You managed to get out!” Medivh cried, taking a step forward before realizing he couldn’t touch his former apprentice.
“We’re not really here, I think,” Khadgar said slowly. “At least, one of us isn’t, and I’m not sure it’s you.”
Medivh blinked, staring at him. “What do you mean?”
“Atiesh is still in there. Still pulsing, but the light is dying, and the … the pulse is faltering.” Khadgar shifted uncomfortably. “Am … am I dying?”
Medivh moved past Khadgar and looked into the room. “If… that is the case…” He stepped into the room.
Khadgar remained where he was, and waited, holding his breath until Medivh returned. “I think you may be right. We need to find the missing puzzle piece. And quickly.”
Khadgar snorted, softly, and looked out over the library. “Nothing too difficult. Just like old times,” he murmured. “How do we find a missing spell component when we don’t know what spell we even were casting?”
“I don’t know,” Medivh admitted, and he sounded pained. “But we’d best get started. I’m afraid you’ll have to lift books and turn pages. I’m not entirely certain I can interact with … much… of the library. I’ll start above – where … wait a moment, didn’t you ah… borrow… a few of those?”
Khadgar blushed, feeling his ears grow warm. “I…”
“You had to learn from somewhere.” Medivh graced his former apprentice with a warm smile. “Ah, Young Trust, you were too smart for anyone’s good. And I think you still are. We will start up above. I do think you can touch anything there without fear now.”
Khadgar fought the urge to throw his spare ink bottle at the wall. None of the calculations he had spent the last four hours on were coming up the same. No matter how many times he started with the same equations, each time they changed into something else as he worked. Finally in frustration, he stood up and started pacing.
Medivh found he could interact with objects and was busy looking through the index of a tome nearly as thick as Khadgar’s thigh. “Pacing won’t help,” he murmured, absently.
“Neither will flinging fireballs or throwing my only spare ink bottle, which was almost what I did,” Khadgar replied, his words almost a snarl. He had draped his surcoat over a chair, and his satchel lay on the table beside his sheaf of notes and calculations. Twilight turned the library dark, and the only lights were those he had created, and they were beginning to fade. They were running out of time.
“I would calm you if I could,” Medivh said sadly, looking up from his book, one finger marking his spot on the page. “But… I cannot.”
Khadgar ran his hand through his hair again, calming the spikes he had raised when he pulled at it as he frantically worked calculations. It did nothing to calm his nerves or his frustration.
“We can’t reverse the spell. We can’t … wait – wait!” Khadgar stopped pacing and turned back to the table where he had been working. “Can we go back and watch it if I can call a vision of it?”
Medivh looked up again, and his eyes widened, then softened. “Perhaps, if we could call that specific time or place in another – Khadgar where are you going?”
Khadgar had seized his satchel from the table and was slinging it over his shoulder as his other hand reached for Atiesh. “Spell components!” he cried as he headed for the library door. “Meet me in the lower dining room!”
“What? Why?”
“To tame an hourglass!”