#iasduhfaiudshih he hates his job so much....

[regentlord]

“ 𝐲𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧' 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧' 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐢 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧' 𝐲𝐚. ” it was an astute observation, but not without empathy. vol'jin's time in silvermoon had been relatively peaceful; it was a beautiful city. rich hues of crimson, silver, and gold went as far as the eye could see. lor'themar's hospitality had not been thankless, it was the first time in a long while that the warchief had no need to look over his shoulder ― as doubtless, there would be countless elves that had taken their places behind him.

a notion that was both charming and infuriating; charming in its compassion for him and infuriating in that he had to acknowledge his present weakness.

be that as it may, he was in no real rush to return to orgrimmar and the echo isles, regardless of how greatly he loved his home and sanctuary. but he had not yet returned to full strength and it would take some time before it would. it did, however, give him an intimate look at the regent lord's personal affairs and the burden that went along with it. lor'themar appeared deeply unhappy for someone whose city was flourishing and it was not lost on vol'jin as to why that was.

after all, lor'themar never asked for any of this.

“ why don't ya have a seat wit'me, huh? all da fancy stuff can't wait a few minutes, ya people seem to have a good handle on dis place, y'know? ” he meant it, but to comfort him was more than intentional. “ i be a good listener, lor'themar ... why don't ya tell ya ole' friend here what's got'ya so tense? ”

he knew, of course he did. it was one thing to be certain and another to ask. he had spent countless hours in the company of the elf, in caring for him. he paid greater mind to him than he would care to admit. even to himself. vol'jin wanted to help. the bindings of leadership were suffocating and even more so if they were to let them be ... lor'themar more than earned his right to peace and he deserves to know that he does.

— @throned

He does not resent his position, not anymore. There had been a time, when Kael'thas' betrayal was still fresh, that he would often curse the prince for choosing him as regent, for placing upon his shoulders a burden he himself had struggled with. Before that, Lor'themar had ofttimes judged himself unfit for the job. He was not nobility, unprepared to govern, a ranger and not a politician. The simplest reasoning, nevertheless, was the one he held locked tight within his heart: he was, if not the, certainly one of the reasons for all that befell his people. They would not have suffered so if not for his blind trust in one who didn't deserve it. How could he ever be fit to lead?

How could he ever reject that duty, when their prince appointed him as regent? He had accepted it, in no small part as much punishment as it was duty. He subject himself to it, despite his unwillingness, because it was but small suffering in comparison to all he had allowed to happen because of his affection for Dar'khan Drathir. And, with time, he learned to bear the mantle well — even if its weight remained the same throughout the years. It is not as much a punishment now, perhaps, but neither is it easy to bear. He was not made for paperwork and politics; he was made for the forest, for battle, for bleeding in defense of Quel'thalas rather than struggling with all that was required from its leader.

Looking upon his fair city, one may struggle to ascertain what troubles the Regent Lord enough for him to seldom allow himself a moment of rest. His people not only endure but finally, after years of sorrow, start to bloom and thrive. But the work is far from over; there are parts of Quel'thalas still overwhelmed by remnants of the Scourge, patches of land that won't heal. It is the people who are the hardest part, as was constantly the case.

The tension on his shoulders eases slightly at the commentary, expression relaxing in an almost smile. Vol'jin seems capable of seeing through him more easily than most others; or perhaps he is simply more willing to call out the elf for the singleminded focus on his duties, often to detriment of himself. Despite the circumstances that brought him here, Lor'themar is content with his friend's presence, much as he is glad to see him stronger every day. He has no wish to impose, on Vol'jin or any other, used to bearing his burden alone; there is no big reveal to make, no peculiar strenuous circumstance to speak of. Leading has a weight all its own.

"We will see," he says, even as he takes the offered invitation, sitting beside the other. "I'm uncertain Halduron and Rommath are capable of spending five minutes without needing me to look into some issue or another." It is jest, sharp as it may sound; he would trust them both with his life, and indeed with Quel'thalas herself, if need be. Lor'themar leans back against his seat, incapable of containing a sigh. "It is not their fault, truly. It is the nature of our works — a job that is never done."

And that wears on him greatly, though yet he would not seek respite on his own. Someone needs to do it. A tilt of the head, as golden eyes meet the troll; it is the first time in likely days that he allows himself to feel the tiredness that washes over him, in mind more so than body. "Perhaps I am simply as unfit for the role as I always believed was the case. In a single people there is so much to contend with, always..." and how can I rest if even one amongst my own cannot find rest just as easily?

That he does not say, though the thought might be more evident than Lor'themar would have desired. He does not refuse comfort out of unwillingness to receive it from the one who offers it (that there is a pull to accept it is attributed to the ease he feels in Vol'jin's presence; the way the other man is comforting by virtue of his presence alone); yet that, too, is an issue long contended with. No friend had yet convinced him he deserved rest. He thinks of the high elves in Quel'lithien, of the struggle of the Blood Knights in the Dead Scar, of the rangers spread thin to keep their land safe, of those who fell on hard times and sought shelter behind Silvermoon's walls, even without a place to stay; he doubts his peace will ever feel deserved.

"I do not know how you can make it seem so easy, Vol'jin." The admiration in his eyes is all sincere; his lips curl into a half smile. "Even when we at the Horde certainly never make anything easy."