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The sun spilled over the horizon, rising to another crisp morning. Winter, mild as it was in Quel’Thalas, still clung to each day in a losing battle against the arrival of spring. Even as buds formed in defiance upon bare branches, its chill lingered in the air.
The soft crunch of frosted grass gave way to two pairs of footsteps, each marking their solemn procession through the royal cemetery. Naturalized swaths of daffodils greeted dawn and marked their way. Tiny yellow heads bent in deference to the rising sun and the return of a prince.
Rommath hadn’t visited this small section of Quel’Danas. Never had reason, nor invitation to do so.
Until today.
He and Kael had just portaled from Dalaran, welcoming the reprieve from the harsh winter they had endured in Dalaran. The unplanned trip marked their first return to Quel’Thalas since departing last fall.
Kael had entreated him that morning, providing neither details nor explanation. He asked with uncertainty, apprehension lining his features. And without sparing a thought, Rommath agreed.
Though it wasn’t on his mind at the time, he couldn’t deny it felt good to return. This close to the Sunwell, the air itself breathed with power. He had almost forgotten the remarkable feel of it; how it embraced them. It welcomed their arrival, vibrating beneath his skin as the essence of it coursed through his veins.
A mourning dove, perched on a dormant branch, watched from above. Its interspersed chorus hung heavy overhead, unaided by the gentle wind. With buff feathers puffed against the chill in the air, it continued its solemn repertoire. Soft, plaintive coos searched for another.
Low and mournful and full of peace, it called: Are you there–I'm here.
Only their footsteps answered as the pair approached a large statue. It stood prominently on the hilltop, surrounded by a sea of early blooms–the first of spring’s arrival. They flowered despite winter’s persistent hold–dotting the landscape in yellow and gold. Flourishing against the chill, they stood in remembrance of a queen.
Atop the pedestal sat a carved phoenix, caught in a beat of movement before taking flight. Its wings outstretched in perpetual ascent towards the rising sun. Though her ashes had long since been scattered on Quel’Danas, the monument stood in eternal veneration.
Again, the repeated, hollow coo echoed through the air in unanswered question.
But where the dove found no answers, Rommath was given his. He studied the statue, eyes trailing over the chiseled detail, before returning his attention back to Kael at his side. He knew now why they visited; felt ashamed it took so long to realize.
Kael had been off all week. Quiet and solemn. A joyful spark had been absent from his smile, dimmed by burdens unshared.
Rommath had ventured to allow Kael his space. Certainty filled him that, without fail, Kael would eventually open up when he was ready. Even as his determination on the matter waned with each day–each passing without that quintessential spark–he didn’t press. Finally, Kael suggested they visit Quel’Danas, and Rommath agreed knowing his curiosity would be sated soon enough.
And it was.
They seated themselves on a bench opposite the statue. For a few minutes longer, Rommath sat in quiet understanding as they both studied the monument. The white marble caught the rays of the sun, reflecting with the fiery warmth of sunrise.
Even the dove allowed them their silence.
“Today’s the anniversary of when I…” Kael started, taking an unneeded breath as he broached the still-delicate subject. “When I said goodbye to her. I’m sorry I couldn’t say earlier, it’s just–”
Kael didn’t finish the thought.
“I understand,” said Rommath.
He knew Kael visited his mother every year, greeting the dawn in private grief. Now that they were in the midst of settling into their new lives in Dalaran, he hadn’t realized how quickly the anniversary of her death arrived.
Perhaps he should have.
They sat in silence until Kael broke it.
“I usually visit alone. Talk to her.”
“What about?”
“Oh, nothing–everything.” Kael paused. “I simply listen and speak the words that wish to be spoken.”
Rommath didn’t speak for a moment, feeling as if he had been caught intruding. “Would you like a moment alone?”
“Thank you, but no–I want you here.” Kael turned from the monument and offered a faint smile that warmed Rommath from the chill of the morning. “That is, if you still don’t mind.”
Rommath slid his arm around Kael’s shoulders in response, holding him tightly. He was pleased when Kael allowed his head to rest on him in turn.
“I usually bring a daffodil–from her garden.” Kael frowned before adding as a wistful afterthought: “But not today.”
“Just the one?”
Kael nodded against his shoulder.
“Shall I go cut one?” Rommath eyed a swath of yellow daffodils just beyond where they sat.
They had passed small clusters on their way in–an abundance of flowers surrounded them. He could make quick work of it. Already, he shifted in his seat, eager to give Kael whatever he desired if it might ease the burdens of his heart.
Kael gently grabbed Rommath’s hand, still around his shoulder, before he could release his hold.
“No, that’s quite alright. She’d understand. Besides, this year, I’ve brought something more dear to me.” Kael offered a warm smile before settling back against his shoulder. “I meant it when I said I wished to share everything with you. I’ve spent so long coming here alone…it’s nice to bring someone I care about.”
Rommath pressed a kiss against Kael’s temple as words failed him. “I wish I could have met her.”
“As do I,” said Kael, his voice holding a soft smile. “Believe it or not, I think she would have liked you.”
He breathed a laugh. “I do, actually, find that hard to believe.”
Kael was one of very few that found him agreeable for reasons that eluded him. Even now, he knew not how he deserved him.
“She was like that–surprising in ways I hadn’t fully known before.”
They sat in solemn silence, filled only by another searching call from the mourning dove: Are you there–I'm here.
Neither spoke for a minute longer. And another.
“I didn’t want her to be alone today. My father struggles more than he lets on.” Kael’s voice was quiet but carried with it a cutting edge of accusation. “Even now, I don’t think he visits her.”
Rommath offered a placating nod. “We all grieve in our own way. I’m sure he’ll come around when he’s ready.”
Kael frowned more deeply. “I suppose you’re right.”
Somberness blanketed them as Kael lamented his father’s absence. With a gentle squeeze of his shoulder, Rommath sought to relieve him of the thought for something more tender.
“Why a single flower? I’d have expected something…,” he pursed his lips, searching for the words.
It wasn’t like Kael to cultivate restraint. He loved fully, taking no half measure in anything he set himself to.
“Extravagant?” Kael offered.
With a sheepish nod, Rommath agreed. Kael truly didn’t know the meaning of subtlety when it came to showing his affections.
They laughed softly together, the subject of his father’s absence forgotten. In its place, liveliness took root. A familiar spark emerged from dormancy.
“You’d be right,” he continued. “When I was young–very young–I’d sit in the garden while she tended to it in the fall. She’d plant and divide bulbs with such an eye for an ineffable essence–cultivating only the best specimens to remain. I swear, there are probably druids whose connection with plants paled in comparison.”
Rommath hummed encouragingly as he listened, pleased to have Kael regale him with his past.
“I can’t recall exactly when it was, but I remember being surrounded by their blooms, swaying on the breeze–all of them flowering at once. The fragrance was inescapable.” Kael looked up to the phoenix as he scoured his memory before tentatively adding, “And, she was sick that year. I remember her lamenting missing their blooms.” Kael laughed to himself. “So, that afternoon, I cut every last one from her garden.”
“All of them?” Rommath asked with an astonished laugh.
He had seen the garden tucked away near Sunfury Spire. There had to have been hundreds of daffodils that sprung to life in the spring.
Kael nodded with a grin. “None were spared–it took hours. Was completely muddied by the end of it, but I brought her the largest bouquet I could carry. Could hardly see over the top of it. The way she and Periel told the story, you could track my movements to her room by simply following the trail of fallen daffodils and muddy footprints I left through the halls of the palace.”
Rommath could see it clearly–down to the cheeky grin that still accompanied all of Kael’s devious plans. Always well-intentioned even if he left chaos in his wake.
“A thoughtful gift. I’m certain she loved it.”
Kael sighed in contentment. “She did–happiest I remember seeing her. And I would have continued it if not for what she told me.”
Rommath nodded encouragingly.
"She took my hand and said, ‘just one from you is worth more than all the flowers in all the gardens in Silvermoon.’”
Rommath understood the truth to those words. With those Kael cared for, even the smallest token meant more than the extravagant offering from anyone else.
“Really, I think she didn’t want them to languish in the palace, even if that meant not enjoying them herself. But–from then on, I brought her the first bloom, every year until–until I grew to think I was too old for such childish traditions.” Kael paused. “I stopped, but she carried it on, cutting just a single stem to enjoy and leaving the rest to remain free beneath the sun.” Kael fell silent, lost in a peaceful thought. “There was so much I didn’t know about her, but I know she loved those flowers. I suppose I love them, too.”
With a hurried trill and the heavy claps of wings, the mourning dove above fled from its watchful perch.
The sound of someone clearing their throat came from behind where they sat. In unison, they both turned to find Periel, Kael’s valet, standing a respectful distance, a wistful smile on his weathered face.
In his hands, he held a single stem: a daffodil–perfectly formed.
Newly bloomed, it stood as a glorious harbinger of spring to come. Unblemished ivory petals stood proudly behind the flaming inner trumpet. Its head bent in silent reverence for the purpose in which it had been selected from amongst hundreds in the royal garden.
Kael stood, stepping beyond the bench. His warmth at Rommath’s side was replaced with the soft chill in the air.
“I knew I’d find you here, your highness.” Periel offered the flower with an outstretched hand between them. “Forgive me, but I took the liberty of cutting one for you.”
“Thank you, Periel. Your thoughtfulness is touching.” Kael gratefully took the flower and looked back to Rommath with a joyous smile on his face. “I was just telling Rommath about the bouquet I brought to mother all those years ago.”
“Ah, yes.” Periel laughed, brows raising in recollection. “Such a sweet child. I recall finding daffodils under all manner of tables and chairs for weeks afterward.” He smiled wistfully. “Always had your mother’s heart and spirit alike.”
Kael didn’t speak. He simply studied the flower.
“She’d be proud of you.”
Kael shuffled his feet, a bashful smile raising on his lips as embarrassment flushed over his cheeks.
It was so unlike him; endearing. If Rommath thought it was impossible to love him any more than he already had, well–Kael proved he, on rare occasion, could be quite mistaken. Kael’s boundless devotion found new horizons, as did Rommath’s adoration for him.
“Would you care to join us?” Kael looked back over his shoulder to Rommath in a quiet question, seeking his approval at the suggestion.
He, of course, quickly nodded, swooning under the appreciative smile Kael offered in return.
“Oh, no, no–I wouldn’t want to interrupt. I should get back to the palace,” said Periel.
“I understand–thank you for this. I–,” Kael words clipped on a tremble of his voice.
“I know, young Kael.” Periel offered quickly, sparing Kael with a gentle pat on his shoulder. “It was good to see you. Quel’Thalas is a little brighter for your return, however brief it might be.”
With a bow, he made his farewell slipping quickly from the cemetery and leaving them alone once more.
For a moment longer, Kael lingered with the daffodil in his palm.
Rommath hadn't seen such a perfect daffodil. Pristine and symmetrical. Pure and fiery. No wonder Kael would rather forgo a flower altogether in the absence of one of one of his mother’s cultivars.
“It is remarkable.”
“Isn’t it just?”
With a few steps, Kael closed the distance to the phoenix and placed the daffodil atop the base with care. He stood for a few moments longer before returning to take solace in Rommath’s arms.
Rommath breathed him in, arms sweeping around him with care as Kael pressed his cheek against his chest. Next year, he would be prepared. He could make a stop by Sunfury Spire to collect a daffodil and spare Periel the trip.
“I’m glad you joined me today. It feels…calming.”
“I’m always here for you, no matter what,” he assured him with certainty. “I’ll join you next year, and the year after, and for as many years as we walk this world.”
As he spoke the words, he knew the truth behind them. Kael would never make this journey alone, and his mother’s tradition would continue through them–of that, he was determined.
Starting today, he and Kael would create a new tradition. Together.
“Thank you,” Kael mumbled against his chest, words mumbled into the wool of his tailcoat as he squeezed his arms around his waist. “It means a great deal more than you know.”
They stood for a few moments longer, and Rommath was content to allow the morning to pass them by.
“We should probably get back, too,” said Kael as he pulled away. He offered Rommath his hand.
“Are you certain? We can stay as long as you need.”
Kael nodded.
Rommath took Kael’s hand, raising it to his lips to press a kiss atop his knuckles. “Then let us go.”
Hand-in-hand, they returned on the winding path to their portal, passing swaths of yellow daffodils on the way. With one final look at the monument, now bathed in the full radiance of the sun, they returned home.
Over the years, the Grand Magister held onto many secrets.
Perhaps none more curious than his unwavering devotion to the royal garden. Tucked away near Sunfury Spire, the garden persisted from a life long past. Miraculously, it had been spared in the fall of Silvermoon and thrived under his care as a grieving nation healed.
When winter fought the arrival of spring and the earliest of blooms began to bud, Rommath grew more reserved. Quiet and solemn. And with each passing year–without fail–he carried out a tradition. Even the Regent Lord feigned ignorance of having possessed knowledge of it, allowing Rommath his private grief. Allowing him a moment of remembrance.
In the solitude of twilight, Rommath would visit the garden. Alone, he’d portal to Quel’Danas. And as light broke over the horizon, he'd place two daffodils aside a carved phoenix, still standing proudly in the eternal radiance of the sun.