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“How old are you?”
Lothar looked up from his paperwork, jerked back to awareness by the unexpected question. “I beg your pardon?”
Khadgar was standing just inside the door, leaning on the open door frame. “I just wondered how old you are.”
“I don’t believe that’s any of your business.”
The young mage blushed. “Well, sorry, I didn’t realise it was some sort of secret.”
“It isn’t. Very well, as it happens, I’m thirty seven.”
Khadgar’s eyes widened. “Gosh, that’s really old.”
“Thank you very much. Coming from a child like you, I suppose it must seem so.”
“I’m not a child,” came the huffy response, “I’m seventeen..well, almost eighteen, will be next month.”
“Fine, not a child then, just childish. Now go away and let me work.”
“So, did you marry when you were very young?”
Lothar turned from his study of the wall map to see Khadgar standing in the doorway, carrying an armful of books.
“Again with the personal questions. Your mage teachers must have loved you.”
“Most of them thought I was annoying, though naturally quite brilliant.” His smile was oddly endearing.
“Not to mention humble. And yes, I married young. Go read those books, would you, I’m busy here.”
“Did you always want to be a warrior?”
Lothar jerked in surprise, banging his head on the open draw as he straightened. How did he get in without me seeing him… “Don’t do that!”
“Sorry, habit. But did you, want to be a warrior, that is?”
“No, I started out wanting to be a tavern dancer but turned to fighting when that didn’t pan out. What is it with all these questions about me?”
Khadgar shrugged. “I’m curious. Always have been.”
“Fine, vent that curiosity on someone else, would you. And don’t sneak up on me again, you might end up with a dagger in the head.”
“No sneaking, right. Thanks.”
“So do you prefer a sword over an axe or…”
Lothar stalked across the room to where Khadgar stood in the doorway. “That’s enough. I do not understand what it is you are doing, but whatever it is, stop it. No more just wandering in here and asking me these ridiculous questions. Do. You. Understand. Me?”
The young mage nodded, eyes downcast. “Yes. I’m sorry.” He turned and left and Lothar had the oddest feeling he’d just kicked a helpless, brown eyed creature. “Aaaargh. Lothar, you’re an idiot!”
The following day he looked up from his desk at the doorway. The empty doorway. No Khadgar asking him what his favourite colour was, or something equally irrelevant. He stared at his half-completed roster, eyes unfocused. You get what you asked for, and you find you don’t want it. And why has that annoying young man suddenly started meaning so much to you…you are becoming needy in your old age….
After a while the emotional itch turned into a rash and he threw his quill down with a frustrated grunt. Fine, I need some exercise. Maybe I can go and beat up on some poor Orc to take my mind of whatever my mind is on at the moment. Instead of that, he found himself outside the Library. And inside he could see Khadgar, bent over a table loaded with books and scrolls, one hand running through his already untidy hair.
“So did you always want to be a mage?”
He had the satisfaction of seeing Khadgar almost fall backwards out of his seat. He grabbed the table for support and swung around, flushed and surprised. Lothar’s heart did an unexpected double-beat, and he had an almost irresistible urge to kiss those flush-warmed cheeks.
“Lothar! Is there something you wanted?”
Is there something I want? Apparently, a brain, because this one has gone totally bereft of reason.
“I thought perhaps you’d started bothering some other poor stranger with irrelevant questions and your body was lying in a ditch somewhere.”
Khadgar laughed. “No, I have learned my lesson, no more silly questions.”
“Right, like I believe that will ever happen,” he said, as he walked inside and perched himself on the desk, sending books cascading onto the floor. “So did you, always want to be a mage, that is?”
“Yes, sort of.” He bent over to pick up the books, presenting Lothar with a view of his pleasantly rounded behind. “When I was young I didn’t know about it all, but after a few years it was all I knew, and it just came naturally.” He pushed a strand of hair from his eyes but, like the rest of him, it stubbornly refused to stay in place and tumbled back across his forehead.
Lothar had phased out for a few moments, and refocused on Khadgar’s face. On his eyes, in fact. The windows of the soul, someone said once. Such a special soul.
Completely unable to resist, Lothar bent forward and tucked the intransigent hair behind Khadgar’s ear. “You need a haircut,” he said, for lack of anything else to say and for the reason behind wanting to touch him at all.
Khadgar appeared to be at a loss for words, which was charmingly unusual. He was staring at Lothar’s fingers, his lips slightly parted. “Umm…what?”
“Nothing. “ He sucked in a deep, steadying breath and stood, knocking off more books. “I’d best be going.”
“Wait. Please.” A hand touched his, grasped it and he looked down at the smaller fingers. They were ink-stained he noted absently, softer than his own, had never hardened or grown calloused from holding a sword and shield. Still holding the hand, he slowly looked up into Khadgar’s face.
“Don’t…you have no idea…” And Lothar equally had no idea, what to say, what to do, at that moment, other than hold that soft, apparently weak, amazingly powerful hand.
“I have lots of ideas,” the young voice said unsteadily, “and I ask lots of stupid questions because I just want to hear your voice and look at you and be around you and it is driving me crazy and if you want me to stop then I will because…”
He moved then, warrior-swift, crossing the impossible distance between sanity and Khadgar, drawing him into his arms. He kissed the top of his head, rubbing his face in the untidy, soft hair. “Are you sure you want this old man?”
Arms wrapped around him and Khadgar buried his face against Lothar’s chest. “Are you kidding? I think I wanted you from the first moment I met you.”
Lothar had to laugh as he ran his hands over Khadgar’s back. “You mean when I picked you up, slammed you backwards onto a desk and manhandled you? You have odd tastes, my young, curious mage.”
Khadgar laughed, pressing his face between the opening in Lothar’s shirt, hesitantly kissing the revealed skin. “I guess. Does this mean what I think it means?”
He gave the only answer he was capable of right then: he lifted Khadgar’s head, bent and kissed the open, smiling mouth, taking his breath away and silencing all further questions.