Music: Journey composed by Fridrik Karlsson

https://youtu.be/byzF8J-f_Lc

She stood in the doorway of their home. It took a herculean effort for her to put one foot over the threshold. This was the first time she had mustered enough courage to enter since returning from the Dark Portal. She had stayed with Lukha and Taril until now enabling her to see her son, but she had not felt able enough yet, to care for him on her own. They had kindly taken Ocel while she made this visit.

The perpetual pain of the past few days threatened to cripple her, causing her to clutch her breast as if hoping she could somehow mend her broken heart. Her imbued gift of the Naaru however, could not heal this wound. Gulping air, she pulled her other foot rather clumsily inside the hallway. The door closed behind her with a soft click. How empty the place felt. Cold. Incomplete. She stilled, trying to steady her breathing, fighting the constant river of tears that had flowed since he was lost to her.

Had he survived, she had initially doubted these walls could have ever been home for the two of them again. He had become so distant, so cold. So unlike himself. She had blamed herself initially, feeling responsible for the change in him because she'd informed him about her "conditions".

She tried desperately not to think of their last encounter in their home, but it was impossible. Though she knew now, it was the Void that had influenced his moods, his words, his decisions, still, wounds had been opened.

He had listened in silence on the day of her confession, his face impassive as she'd wept. When she'd explained everything to him, he had shirked away through to his study, closing the door. How that had hurt. And when he'd heard Ocel crying, his words cut even deeper. "Your son needs you," he'd said coldly. Your son. Not our son. Your son. He'd spent the rest of that day avoiding her, then left, late in the evening, for Dalaran.

His silent farewell had sounded so final. No parting kiss. No smile. No wave. Things did not improve when Sarah arrived in Draenor. His steel eyes didn't warm for her, and his mouth didn't smile. He had become a stranger.

Perhaps if she had not gone through the portal...? No!! That was ludicrous! Had she not, there would be nothing and no-one left on this planet now. Illidan, Camnath, Tiene and the all the benevolent spirits from the Twisting Nether would not have united to quash the enemy and she would not be standing here now. In their home.

Still without him.

Still alone.

Heartbroken.

She flailed her hands in front of her face as if warding off a recurring nightmare. Not again! The river burst its banks once more. "No!" she wailed. These black days were going to haunt her mind and break her heart for eternity.

She had not thought it possible to hurt any more than she had before that fateful moment. How wrong she'd been. Her cursed endless life was going to be spent remembering that image. Even knowing the truth towards the end, still, it had not taken away the pain of his rejection, his anger towards her. Until that was, the greatest pain of all replaced it.

Only once the Void had been vanquished, had the real Khadgar emerged again. All too briefly. She closed her eyes, fighting both the tears and the image she wanted to forget. But the picture invaded her mind regardless. His face. His handsome, and incipiently sad face. For just a fleeting moment, she saw the Khadgar she knew and loved with all her heart. And finally, he had seen her. His eyes were full of love for her once more.

Her hands suddenly clamped over her ears as she could hear herself screaming at him to move away from the pillars - to come to her, to safety. Forgive me, he had mouthed. Then, the stone and metal structure took him from her...

"No! I will not forgive you," she cried at the imprinted image of his face as it wavered relentlessly in her mind. "You stubborn fool! You didn't listen. Why did you have to go back for that stupid staff? You should have come to me!" Her hands moved to her upper arms, digging her nails in fiercely as if hoping it might overcome the pain her heartfelt. Her shoulders heaved and her voice choked as she breathed, "I miss you."

She staggered further into the house. It was so cold. The chill attributed to the lack of emotion within these walls. There would be no more laughter, no more frivolity, nor interesting debates or the odd heated argument, which always ended up with their blissful, loving apologies.

As she passed the kitchen door, she glanced at the table. Pancakes and syrup, she thought. She visualised them, half eaten, pushed aside and then Khadgar pulling her to him and loving her so sensually. She scrunched her eyes tightly shut, the memory bittersweet. Another sob caught in her throat. She moved onwards.

She came to an abrupt halt when she reached his study. The door as always closed. Blinking madly to clear her blurred vision, she fixated on the handle. Tentatively, she took hold of it and turned until the lock clicked open. She hesitated. She wanted to imagine him prior to that dreadful last day they both stood in the room. So, she visualised a happier time, one where he had sat at his desk, pouring over some scroll full of runic symbols and ancient text as he munched on one of her home-made cookies; his fingers curling around the handle of his favourite mug filled with hot chocolate, which he was partial to, now and again.

Still, she struggled to push the door open, for she knew only too well the cold harsh reality. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to enter. A gasp escaped her when she caught the glint in his steel-coloured eyes as he looked up from his desk. He smiled just before the vision suddenly evaporated before her very eyes. Long, smoky tendrils reached for the ceiling and beyond, stealing him from her again. Her hand flew to her mouth as she desperately tried to stifle yet another wracking sob. This was going to take forever to accept. And forever, was very much in her resume.

Slowly, she moved into the room. Beeswax and orange-blossom on the wooden surfaces were the first smells to greet her. Still moist from tears, her eyes skimmed the shelves, crammed with books, scrolls, blueprints. She ran her fingers over the book spines as she moved round towards his desk. Her eyes caught sight of Atiesh leaning against the bookshelves in the corner. Drew had said he would return it for her, and so he had and placed in the most appropriate of rooms.

Khadgar's scent suddenly filled the room, as if he had just entered. She inhaled deeply – his natural redolence, raw, earthen and utterly masculine, enhanced by the exotic scent of spiced lotus, the one and only extravagance he allowed himself. It wrapped itself around her like a shawl yet offered no comfort from her pain.

Her other hand skiffed the corner of the Ashenvale oak desk. The leather writing surface was littered with various papers, textbooks, his beloved sketches, quills, a couple of ink pots. His block of sealing wax and the Kirin Tor signet lay next to the holder with the burned down candle. Her fingers traced over it absent-mindedly, causing the signet to wobble in her path. Her eyes scanned all the other items. This was so Khadgar. How on Azeroth did he manage to keep track of things at times, she mused. Strange symbols loomed up from the scrolls, and words, written in his eloquent calligraphy swam before her eyes –

Her breath hitched. Her name screamed up at her. What was it doing amidst all these documents? Gently, she moved a mound of papers and scrolls aside, revealing where she had seen her name. An open book. A beautifully bound journal, in fact.

A memory tugged at the back of her mind. Dalaran. It seemed such a long time ago now since she had sat on his bed in his Dalaran quarters, reading the contents of the box he had secreted away in a small recess behind the bedside table. It was then she had discovered the man behind the serious facade. He had a warm, deeply romantic soul, and longed for love, yet for all he had a few dalliances, he had always come away feeling guilty.

He had written of these women with the utmost respect, fondness and sometimes an excruciating, heartfelt longing. He spoke of them as if they were angels, his feeling of unworthiness abound - how dare he offer his admiration let alone his touch, he'd written.

She had envied them his worship. How she had wished to be one of those women he had written so tenderly about. She had never confessed to reading his memoirs. It was something she could not admit to. Even after they disclosed their love for each other.

She pulled out the chair that was tucked tight to the oak desk and sat down. Her fingers slowly moved over the leather surface to the journal. As they closed around it, she felt her heart lurch. What did she now hold in her hands? Had he somehow fulfilled her unspoken wish? Did he leave it here for her to find if the unthinkable happened? Was it his parting gift? A way perhaps, to still be with her?

Hands trembling, she flicked the pages back until she reached the start. Casting her eyes around the room, she wistfully hoped to find him standing watching her, but he was not there. She swallowed her disappointment then lowered her eyes and started to read. It was titled - My Sarah...

He had lovingly sketched her in pastel. She could read no more. Not yet. Fresh tears fell as she traced his words with her fingertips, a smudge appearing in the ink. Her pain had just increased tenfold. Her heart was constricting, causing real pain in her chest.

Anger suddenly gripped her. She slammed the journal closed. "Why?" she cried out hoping he could hear and feel her anguish. Scraping the chair back loudly, she stood, fingers fanned on the desk surface. "If I meant so goddamn much to you, why did you leave me to live this miserable existence alone? You should be standing here beside me! Damn you Khadgar! Why did you not come to me when I called?"

In a fit of fury, she swept her arm across the desk knocking everything from its surface, screaming as she did so, eyes blinded by tears. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the journal teetering on the edge of the desk. She stretched to the side and thrust out her hands just in time preventing it from hitting the floor. Straightening she clasped it to her chest. Possessive.

Again, she found herself battling to keep from drowning in her sorrow. Surely her body could not maintain such copious amounts of tears to be shed every few minutes. And the pain she felt. Pain like no other! It was unrelenting, deeply embedded, entrenched within her soul, at least in the part which remained in her body. It would be a pain that she would bear for an unimaginable length of time.

Furthermore, she was astutely aware she would have to contend with not only her own grief but that of the whole world. Having reached out and helped so many, in varying degrees, his name was legendary. The inevitable on-going words of comfort, support and shared sorrow would be offered, some of which had already been endured with the memorial having just ended. It all added to her already crushing personal agony.

The prospect was daunting. How she desperately wished she could return to Earth, even for a few days, by which time months would have passed in Azeroth, and everyone else's grieving would have eased, leaving her to contend with her own. But, that could never be. The consequence of her returning to Earth would be her own demise. She felt even more trapped now that Khadgar was not here to keep her company during at least some of her perdurable lifetime. And lonely. So intolerably lonely.

The effort to stave off the intense grief was draining her. So much so, Lukha and Umrii had kindly offered to continue helping with Ocel as she was incapable of giving him all the love and attention he needed just now. She knew she had to pull herself together though. He was, after all, the living, breathing embodiment of Khadgar and the beautiful reification of the love they had shared. She would not fail him in being a devoted mother to their son, she just needed time to try and heal sufficiently in order to be all she could be for him. At that moment, it seemed a long way away.

With a deep sigh, she left his study and moved towards their bedroom. Part of her dreaded entering this room more than any other. The room where he always made her feel safe, warm and loved beyond any doubt. The room where they also indulged in childish frivolity such as the pillow fight when she had launched one at him for commenting on the size of her bottom as she was putting away their laundered clothing. The ghosts of their fight greeted her as she entered the room. A small trace of a smile played on her lips as she watched the feathers fly everywhere. Laughter ensued from them, both ducking as the other swung their pillow. Then, casting his ruined pillow to the floor, he'd scooped her up and spun her around, before planting a loving kiss on her lips. A wave of his hand and the feathers vanished. With her wrapped in his arms, he'd pulled her down onto the bed, his intention clear - then they too, simply vanished.

Her eyes moved to the wardrobe and chests of drawers. She would have to face the clearing of his things. It was impossible to contemplate removing items that belonged to him, in effect, erasing him. No, that task would have to wait, but she was drawn to the large closet regardless. Placing the journal on the pillow that was on his side of the bed, she crossed the room and stood in front of the wardrobe. As she pulled open the doors, his scent spilt out, washing over her again, surrounding her. It stirred many simultaneous memories all of which went tumbling, spinning and dancing around the room. He was all around; inside, next to, above – everywhere! She breathed him, tasted him - wept him.

Staggering back over to the bed, she lay down and curled into a foetal position. How was she meant to carry on now? How was she supposed to function? Her world had been ripped from her. She curled herself up tighter until she could grow no smaller. After a few minutes, her glazed eyes fixed on the journal that lay, unassuming, on his pillow.

Images of him still floated around the room, brushing against her, caressing her cheek then spinning away to the other side before returning to repeat the dance again. "Sarah." She heard him whisper her name. Her eyes met his ethereal ones. The steel orbs looked at her adoringly, drinking her in, absorbing her as he used to do.

"Sleep, Sarah," his image whispered tenderly. "I will be here when you wake." His ghostly fingers combed through her hair and traced over her shoulders.

She clasped the journal to her. "No, my love. You won't." She answered with a subdued sob. "For you have been stolen from me." She was not ready to face this existence alone - it was too soon. As her tears soaked into the pillows, she whispered, "If your spirit can hear me, please come back to me. I don't care how. Just, please, come home!"

A/N This was an unbelievably hard chapter to write. My own heart lies bleeding.