#wizard worthy beard to boot

[tahopo]

that dalish clan that pissed solas off so fucking bad. in my heart i know it was clan sabrae

[lobsters-on-their-heads]

OB Rewatch: Guillotines Decide

Pretty sure I used this shot for my first watch review, as well. It’s just too good.

You can read my first watch review, in which I wonder about Delphine’s shirt and her purpose at Rachel’s hotel, here: https://lobsters-on-their-heads.tumblr.com/post/163602794911/guillotines-decide

I loved

Cozy domestic Cophine. We need more of that.

Delphine getting a compliment from Siobhan in front of four members of clone club, including Cosima.

Both shots of Delphine in the hallway

Dude. DUDEEEEE, check it out! Delphine has the same gray shoulder bag here that she has in the elevator scene with Rachel in 2x10.

Since we know she didn’t take it to the island with her, I like to think Cosima got it from her apartment or something and saved it. There’s a ficlet idea in there somewhere.

Felix seeing Cosima again for the first time since she got her cure.

Adele - “Are you gonna get dressed?”

Sarah - “I am dressed.”  #relatable 

Speaking of Adele, I love her calling out Sarah. “She's thinking about your brother. Are you?” Because of course Sarah can't be happy for Felix for a day.

Delphine and Felix – a pairing we need to see WAY more of, as well. “I don't know Felix, maybe it's because we are up to something.” Indeed.

This shot. Look at those puppy eyes:

Felix's transition from reacting to Sarah's news about Ferdinand to shoving her into the gallery. Because he was totally right, it wasn't the time to be talking about any of that shit.

I usually hate watching people in embarrassing or cringe-worthy positions, but I LOVED seeing Ferdinand when he realized the flashdrive was empty.

Siobhan being such a mom at Felix's art opening, cheering the loudest, taking pictures or videos or both. Siobhan is the perfect example of a supportive parent of queer kids.

I did love Felix's Galaxy of Women speech. (And here’s a shameless pitch for the fic named after it: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11836590 )

Siobhan, regarding Rachel, to Ferdinand, “She just.. wasn't that into you.”

The scene at the laptop, even without knowing that Tat wasn’t supposed to cry. (also interesting to note that it’s Delphine’s laptop, not Cosima’s)

I liked

Kira's shirt has a great message for a show about clones.

Nice to have Gracie saying “after they cut out her tongue,” as Helena scraped her butter knife against the edge of the plate. It’s the little details that make this show so great.

Donnie offering Ezra a glass of champagne and then, realizing he didn't have any more, offering his bearded companion a napkin.

So, the “You own me” line. I am totally okay with it ON THE CONDITION that these two have had a long conversation prior to this scene in which any “ownership” or “belonging” is completely, 100% mutual. Like, Delphine said something about Cosima owning her or some shit like that, so it's bidirectional. Otherwise, it's terrible phrasing considering Cosima's issues with ownership at Dyad.

“I smell Neo shit!” oh, Helena

I didn’t like

I didn't need the drawn out scene of a doctor sewing up Rachel's eye. She could have just as easily collapsed in front of the elevator, then woken up bandaged. It was gore for the sake of gore, not for any kind of character development.

The opening scene lacks any sort of cliff-hangey punch to lead up into the credits.

There was a editorial or directorial slip when Felix starts off talking to Cosima about why she can't come, whichall people will be there, and then “you can totally come later if you want,” and then SARAH answers, “I do wanna come.” Sarah, no one asked you.

And Gracie's still around. It would have been better to have the scene with her and Helena first, and then show Mark on the island AFTER Gracie tells Helena that he's dead.

Don't like Siobhan brushing Sarah aside, especially since it was, I believe, JUST last episode that Siobhan was getting ready to storm Dyad with a couple of hand guns. I mean, she finally does say, “You're right, we can't stand down,” but it's very dismissive.

I don't like the line “it made me sick to work with the man who killed MK.” Just rubs me the wrong way. Not the sentiment, but the placement. Up until that point, as far as the audience was concerned, Delphine might’ve had no idea MK ever existed. And anyway, Delphine had reason to hate Ferdinand without knowing about MK (though poor MK’s situation certainly ratchets up the hatred). Plus, it’s a character stating their feelings rather than showing them.

Hell-Wizard as DJ / rapper was... fine, I guess. It didn't excite me nor upset me, but it was interesting to see a guy who's a security guard / comics shop owner and is also a DJ. But then, we just don't know Hell-Wizard very well. I do think the little rapping set was just there because someone wanted to give Calwyn Shurgold some screen time. It did not do much for me.

Felix fucking interrupting Cophine. Can these two have an on-screen conversation that doesn't get cut short, please?

I really didn't like the extended, dramatic shot of Siobhan getting the flowers ready and writing the letter. Siobhan’s death would have carried a huge emotional impact no matter how they did it, but these scenes are just ham-fisted.

Other notes

Starting shot = closing shot

I'm not sure I would recognize a kid who looked just like my mom did at 11. Not immediately like Kira does. But then, Kira had a bit of a head's up, perhaps.

It must have been really amusing for Siobhan to hang out with Charlotte, even for a moment, having known Sarah at that age. I have a feeling it would have been a trick getting Sarah into pigtails like that, though.

Look at this living space:

Three lamps 

old school radio (seriously, I think my grandparents had that radio when I was born) (no wait - actually it's a record player, and I hope it's the same one from the yurt in 4x09 and that Delphine just fucking took it with her when she went to Sardinia / Geneva)

a mysterious wall-door

swoopy bookends

candles (obvs)

fucking peacock feathers. 

But I LOVE Delphine's outfit here. I love it more than what she wears to the art opening and more than most of what EBro wears to fancy events and photo shoots.

They MUST have fucked before this scene. There's no way in hell Delphine would be this calm about Cosima's touch and proximity unless that itch got good and scratched. (Also, shameless plug for my first ever fic, Talk to Me: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11697588 , which takes place the day before this scene)

I know Cosima's looking at Delphine's mug of tea or coffee or whatever, but she is ALSO looking at Delphine's crotch, and smiling.

Hilarious, if kind of odd, that Felix addressed Sarah and Siobhan as “North American Scum.”

They have 144 doses of the inoculate ready to go in this episode. Just for, like, future reference.

Delphine's boots go over her knees. Women's fashion confuses me. Her coat is hot, though.

Adele says “We spiked our Glühwein with vodka” like that isn't something Swiss people would also totally do. Okay, they might use amaretto or something instead, but whatever.

For just a hot second I thought that was René Auberjonois from Star Trek: DS9. It isn't.

Both a like and a dislike, so here: I thought the concept of the clone swap as part of the show was clever, and very tongue-in-cheek. I have no idea how he'd replicate that anywhere else, or if it's even worth trying, which makes it strange when Ezra says it'll work in New York. Also, Alison (the first clone we see in this little line up) is super awkward, and it was hard for me to watch again.

Felix, you know damn well how Cosima feels about being shoved in front of a group of people. At least this time she doesn't have to give a speech.

Rachel thinks that Ferdinand “really loved” her. How sad is that?

Gracie didn't deserve to die, but I'm not upset about losing her. I'm more upset that Helena had to witness another murder.

I have questions

Was Sarah not informed of Felix's return? Or did she just forget? His art gallery opening must have been advertised, so it's not like anyone was keeping his presence in the city a secret.

“We bought a shit mountain of cheese.” God bless Adele. I want her in more of my fic. Let me find a way to make that happen. However, could they really bring cheese so easily through customs? Or did Adele mean that they bought it AND ate it in Switzerland?

What the hell order of nuns is Sister Irina in?

I don't know much about gallery openings, but are they usually set up, like, a few hours before the actual opening? Especially considering that Felix JUST got back, and before he left that was entirely his apartment.

When and how did Delphine learn about MK's death? For that matter, how did she learn about MK? Did Felix fill her in in Switzerland?

Where will Delphine and Cosima put that painting that Delphine bought?

Van Lier says they're no longer taking direction from Mr. Westermoreland. Which leaves the question, who is in charge? Who are they taking direction from?

Where is Siobhan's backup? Where's Benjamin? Why doesn't she call in some people to help her deal with Ferdinand? Hell, why not tell Art? I can understand her not telling Sarah. Did she call Delphine to give HER a head's up? I mean, I guess Ferdinand doesn't know about the Rabbit Hole? But still, I feel like Ferdinand would be pretty keen on fucking up Delphine's shit, too.

I don't know much about gun shot wounds to the chest (left ventricle, specifically), but... can people really hold conversations after being shot that close range in the heart?

I would’ve liked to have seen

Everything I wrote in Talk to Me - Cophine talking about everything that happened. I want to see them talking afterwards, too, about everything. They love each other, let’s fucking show it.

Ferdinand and Delphine left the hotel room together. How did THAT little hallway trip go?

I need to know how the hell Felix and Colin got back in contact. They are NOT over things, and their last meeting certainly ended on a sour (and slippery) note.

MAJOR missed opportunity not showing us Delphine watching Cosima dance. She wouldn't have needed to be in the main shot – she could have just been off to the side, looking all happy and puppyish.

[the-writers-wrath]

There is power, There is more.

It was just another evening at the castle. Then the headmaster entered his office, looking rather worried. He was tall, thin and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a cloak dark as the night sky, which swept the ground and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles in the golden evening light. He was pacing around the office, staring at the ancient books which were carefully placed in the antique book-shelves. The sound of his heeled footwear echoed in the quiet room. A moderately tall woman wearing square glasses and her signature emerald green cloak knocked on the old oak door. ‘You can enter, Minerva’ the old witch gracefully entered and greeted the headmaster with a courteous nod. “Good evening, headmaster. I assume that you are informed-” Dumbledore interrupted, “ - that Harry Potter is finally coming here, at Hogwarts. I know, Minerva.” “Of course, you know, Albus. My concern here is –” “I understand. The boy is new to the magical world, the people, and he must be scared. Help will always be provided at Hogwarts.” McGonagall shook her head and headed towards the door, “Anything troubling you, Albus?” she asked worriedly. “I fell alright, Minerva.” “Very well, I best be leaving. The students will be arriving soon. Good evening, headmaster.” Dumbledore shook his head and sat on a simple chair behind his neat and organized desk as the door shut. 

“You know what is coming, Albus?” an old, patched and frayed and dirty wizard’s hat asked from the top of one of the many shelves in the room. “You know more, my friend” saying this, he proceeded to the great hall. Minutes later another professor picked up the hat and it was placed on a stool facing all the students. Professor McGonagall guided the first years in the hall and they huddled together at least 5 feet away from the hat. A lot of students’ names were called. They were sorted.

It was finally, turn for “Granger, Hermione!”

As soon as the name was called, the sorting hat paused as if in shock. Another professor closely looked at this young, and nervous to-be witch. She sat on the stool and Professor McGonagall placed the hat on her head. She sat silently, waiting for the hat to sort in one of the four- three houses. She preferred not to be sorted in Slytherin after overhearing a conversation between two other girls, who were discussing about the houses their siblings had told them about. “Difficult. Where to put you? A sharp mind, brave heart, very ambitious I see,” a small voice said in her ear, the young witch couldn’t contain her excitement. “Anywhere” she answered quietly. “You don’t like Slytherin, eh?” the hat asked, and she thought “It’s just- I- I don’t like green.” “I know that you know I can look in your head. It is not about that. I believe you have true, undiscovered potential. You are capable of much more, and better. I see someone who’s always been on the outside, who has such thirst, such ambition. I think you perfectly fit the traits of any true, good Slytherin”, said the hat. “Very well, put me in Slytherin” she answered hesitantly. “But let me warn you, you are not choosing an easy path. It will be dangerous, since You-Know-Who’s whereabouts remain unknown. There is a reason that no muggle-born was sorted into Slytherin ever since You-Know-Who’s rise. I can put you in another house, Ravenclaw, perhaps. You’ve got a sharp mind, too” the hat reassured the girl, who started to feel more anxious. She sat there, still and silent. “I see,” the hat investigated her mind, it saw resilience and conviction. “I have been facing racism my entire life,” she tells it. “Here I have the power to do something about it. Put me in Slytherin.” “Very well”’ it said, McGonagall started worrying it might be a hat stall, but the hat announced just in time, “SLYTHERIN!”

Jaws dropped, eyes widened in shock and there were audible gasps. A little dark girl with a head of big, bushy hair, eyes like a bronze warship, walked over to her table with a perfect posture and bearing of a queen.

Two red-headed, identical twins started cheering and clapping, both wearing a green tie, which made her smile.

Though she received a few unfriendly glares, she maintained her gait. A Slytherin girl with a prefect badge gestured her to sit next to her. The twins were also seated right in front of her. The prefect was kind enough to ask how she was feeling, which was nervous and uncomfortable, mostly.

“How are you feeling?”

“OK.”

“Excited?”

“Uh, Yes.”

“Hermione. That is a beautiful name. Make yourselves at home.”

“Hello, Hermione.” one of the two boys said, “I am Fred,” “And I am George.” the other joined in.

“Welcome to Hogwarts.” George said.

“Thank you.” she replied.

A young girl peeked from behind a senior’s shoulder. ‘A muggle-born?’ a Slytherin commented from the other end of the table ‘How do you know?’ another one counter-questioned. ‘She looks like one!’ he clapped back. ‘Ignore them,’ the same girl said, ‘it’s in their habit. You will be assigned your dorm, soon. As soon as the ceremony is over, we’ll head to the common room, and there will be a list of you and your dorm-mates’. Hermione nodded.

A couple minutes had passed. Another few students were sorted.

Draco Malfoy was sorted into Slytherin. He went and joined two other boys.

Nott and Parkinson, too, were sorted into Slytherin.  

Now his name was called; the boy who lived.

“Potter, Harry!”

The dark-haired boy shyly went and sat on the stool and the hat was placed on his head.  

“Hmmm,” said a small voice in his ear. “Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There’s talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that’s interesting… So, where shall I put you?”

Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, “Not Slytherin, not Slytherin”’

“Not Slytherin, eh?” asked the small voice. “Are you sure? You could be great, you know.”

There was a slight pause before the hat spoke again.

“You are an iron-willed boy, I see a child, who has suffered but is so powerful and determined. More powerful than any child I have seen before. You are capable of more, more than you believe.”

“I — um,” he was confused,”‘Put me anywhere,” he said, finally.

“Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness,”

“I’d be happy to go in any house.” Harry sounded dull, he just wanted a place here. Here, where he might feel the slightest of happiness.

“Very well, then,”

The hat shouted “SLYTHERIN!’

The hall fell silent, everybody is more surprised than they were when Hermione Granger was sorted. The shy little boy with black hair and tan skin, who looks far too skinny and far too small stumbles over to the Slytherin table, trying his best to be invisible. His bright green eyes have a haunted look that he’s seen far too much for a child his age, and that looking back is not an option.

The only thing he wished, for now, was his new and only friend to be sorted in the same house.

The twins cheered and shouted with two other Slytherins, “We got Potter! We got Potter!” as if teasing only the Gryffindors.

Finally, “Weasley, Ronald!” was called.

The boy was confused, his new friend was sorted into Slytherin and he was sure he would be in Gryffindor. He thought he is too nice to be evil, and not mean like the Malfoy. He questioned what he thought were hard truths.

The hat was placed on his head.

“Hmm, a Weasley,” it said rather excitedly. “You say, Gryffindor?” Ron whispered, trying not to let the old witch in emerald robes hear.

“No,” said the small voice, “You were made for Slytherin,”

“Much like my two older brothers,” Ron thought.

“No. You, too, have brilliant potential, but greater than them.”

Ron sat there, quieter, waiting for the hat to sort him somewhere.

“I see a boy, who has been overshadowed by his over-achieving siblings. A boy, who has a great longing to prove that he can be something. A boy who is something, and something more. I can feel it. You have the mind of a general and the ability to face your worst fears and stand strong in the heat of battle.”

Ron thought it all sounds too ominous, but he knows his new friend is in Slytherin. He didn’t think of his brothers, they were much of a bother, really. He thought his brothers had already broken the tradition, he could handle it, too. Better, according to the hat. His new friend was in Slytherin, the only one who treated him like an equal, and looked at him like he was Ron, not just another Weasley.

“OK,” he tells the hat. “Put me in Slytherin.”

“SLYTHERIN,” the hat calls, just as the students think that they cannot possibly be more surprised.

And the gangly redhead that slinks awkwardly to the table in green, away from almost all his brothers, doesn’t look like much, seems to the casual eye entirely unimpressive. But there is a look in his eyes that says he is strong, he is capable, he is loyal without fault if only he can find someone who is worthy to stand by him. 

There is power there, there is more.

Source: https://welcometotheravenclawcommonroom.tumblr.com/post/171510997651/au-where-the-hat-knows-that-theres-a-storm 

[kinsale42-blog]

Excerpt: Renewal

Khadgar/Kalec (m/m, full work is explicit)

  "How old are you now, Khadgar?" Kalec asked his friend, who had appeared to be somewhere in his sixties for about the last three decades.

  Khadgar sighed heavily, staring into his pint. "Forty-five. Last week, in fact. " He absentmindedly stroked his long, white beard. It hadn't taken him long to develop the habit after Medivh had forced the unnatural age upon him. It was deeply ingrained now.

  Kalec suspected that under the beard and matching long white hair, Khadgar looked much younger than the sixty-seven or so that everyone took him for at first glance. The well-aged violet robe he wore did nothing to help, either. He also suspected that Khadgar's recent demeanor of resignation was related to the anniversary of his birth and having to face the relentless onslaught of age compounded with the burden of premature age he'd already carried for far too long. Kalec decided that drastic measures were necessary. Khadgar needed to stay sharp and fighting fit. Deathwing was dead and the dragons were in decline. The age of mortals had begun. If anyone was to protect Azeroth from threat of destruction, it would have to be powerful champions like Khadgar.

  In one of the side alcoves of the tavern, he caught a glimpse of Miralisse, the local tailoring mistress. Excusing himself for just a moment, he went over to have a word with her. Khadgar watched as they engaged in discussion, missing Kalec's gesture towards him as he took a long swallow of his ale. Miralisse seemed to agree with whatever Kalec was proposing, nodding her head and making some hand gestures that appeared to describe the width of something. They apparently reached some agreement, and Kalec returned to the table.

  "What's up with her then?" asked Khadgar, well into his third pint. It had been a rough week. Getting anything done had been like slogging through hip-deep mud, including things he usually rejoiced to have time for, like research. Everyone had seemed testy, even A'dal, although Khadgar suspected it was really just him. When was A'dal ever less than perfectly patient with anyone?

  "Ahh, I was just making some arrangements. You'll see soon enough." Kalec hid his grin behind his glass.

***

  A week later, in his rooms on the top floor of the guest house where he was staying in Shattrath, Kalec finally brought up the idea of a clean shave and a good haircut to Khadgar. "It will make you feel like a new man," he said. "Trust me. It will be like shapeshifting, only with less discomfort."

  Khadgar looked doubtful. His thick white eyebrows drew together over sapphire-colored eyes.

  "At least try it, friend. See what you think." Kalec really didn't want to have to beg, but he was more certain than ever that something needed to change. And he had those new adventurer's robes hanging in his wardrobe, just waiting to be unveiled. It would be a shame if the rest of Khadgar didn't look the part of the rugged adventurer.

  Khadgar sighed. "All right. You seem convinced. I've just looked this way for so long..." He trailed off as he realized that was part of his recent frustration. He was indeed getting older but he never looked any different. Yet another normal human phenomenon that this curse had stolen from him. "Yes." he said, more firmly. "Let's do it."

  So Kalec sat Khadgar in a straight-backed chair in the middle of the sitting room and draped a towel round his shoulders. He fetched the sharp dwarven-steel razor that he used for his own face, and with a swift motion of one hand, conjured a bowl of steaming water ready to soften Khadgar's beard for shaving after it had been trimmed. He set the basin on a nearby table, and used the razor to trim off the length of Khadgar's hair and beard. Long white streamers of surprisingly silky hair fell to the floor around them.

  As Kalec fine-tuned the trim of his hair, Khadgar could feel the unfamiliar sensation of air movement on his neck. It was so cool as to be nearly frosty, and there was a rhythm to it...Khadgar realized it was Kalec's breath. A blue dragon is generally frost-aligned by nature, even when shapeshifted into a half-elven body, apparently. Khadgar made a mental note of this.

  Then Kalec finished the shave, gently drawing the sharp edge of the razor across the planes of Khadgar's face. He was intently focused on doing this without harming Khadgar in the slightest, and his augmented draconic senses made it easier than it might have been otherwise. To Khadgar it felt more like the whisper of a caress than a blade. His mind was confused suddenly because his body was reacting strangely to the sensation. His pulse quickened and he could feel a flush rising up his neck into his face. Khadgar tried to calm himself, and breathed as deeply as he could without moving and risking injury from the razor.

  And then it was done. Kalec stepped back to admire his handiwork. It was a definite improvement. He removed the towel and brushed the stray hair off of Khadgar's faded violet robe. Another movement of his hand and the hair on the floor swirled itself up into a tidy ball that deposited itself in the nearest wastebasket.

  "Now," said Kalec, "come with me and I have something else for you before you are allowed to see yourself in a mirror."

  Khadgar raised an eyebrow, but obediently rose and followed Kalec into the next room. The dragon approached the wardrobe and opened one of the doors. He reached in and with one hand pulled out a blue adventurer's tunic and leggings, complete with a stylish long sash, a soft brown leather overtunic, and an intricately feathered capelet. With the other hand he picked up a pair of matching soft boots.

  "This will be far more appropriate for the sort of work you do than that old robe, and far more up-to-date. Quite possibly more comfortable as well." He laid it across the bed. "Try it on."

  Khadgar looked at his old friend. "You had this made for me? Is that why you were talking to the tailor in the inn that night?"

  Kalec nodded. "Consider it a gift for your birth anniversary ritual...birthday? That is an appropriate time for gifts, is it not?"

  "You are too kind, Kalec." Khadgar had to admit, it did look nice. And such a perfect shade of blue, like the skies of Lordaeron after the ribbons of sunset color had faded. It really did appeal to him. So he slipped his ancient wizard's robe off over his head and replaced it with the new tunic and leggings, and changed his boots. As Kalec helped him figure out how to fasten the sash, Khadgar asked, "What sort of cloth is this? I don't recognize it. It's very soft."

  "It's windwool," answered Kalec. "The latest thing out of Pandaria. Some combination of goat hair and butterfly silk, I believe. They say it's the most durable thing you can get right now, and it holds its color perfectly for years. It is indeed both elegant and comfortable."

  Khadgar pulled the overtunic over his head and only when he went to fasten the belt did he notice that the buckle was fashioned in the shape of a raven's head. His mind was immediately full of memories of his former mentor, who had liked to transform into a raven when the whim took him, and indeed had allowed the young apprentice Khadgar to carry his staff long enough to teach him the trick of it.

  Kalec saw him pause, and correctly deduced the reason for it, but paid no heed. Instead, he draped the short blue-feathered cape across Khadgar's broad shoulders, adjusting it until it settled properly. He tweaked the blue undertunic and sash until it lay properly, and pulled the overtunic down a bit in the back. Finally he was pleased with the effect, and opened the other wardrobe door to reveal a full length mirror.

  Khadgar turned to look into the mirror and saw a strange man looking back at him. He touched his hair where it stood in silver spikes above a face he barely recognized. Those were his eyes, and that was his nose for sure, but it had been so many years since he had seen the chin...he touched it to be sure it was actually him. The skin was still loose like an old man's but it was smooth, and the chin was still strong and resolute, and he certainly looked younger than he had an hour before.

  He was most pleased with the new outfit. The feathers, the belt buckle, the glorious shade of blue that made the blue of his eyes more radiant, it was all perfect. How Kalec had dreamed this up was beyond him, but he felt far more energized than he had in weeks.

  "Kalec. Friend. I...I don't know how to thank you for this. You were right, I feel like I have been remade." Khadgar shook his head in disbelief, an unstoppable smile lighting up his face.

  "It suits you. There are many adventures yet in your future and I am sure this will help you face them with a strong heart." Kalec smiled at Khadgar's almost childlike pleasure. He tried to think of how best to suggest the one other remedy he could provide that could help rejuvenate his friend. It was constantly on his mind that his era was ending, his power was fading. If there was any way that he could bestow even a tiny fraction of that power on someone he knew could make good use of it, he wanted to do so before it was too late. And he could not think of anyone more worthy, more in need of it than his friend Khadgar.

  Kalec reached out to adjust the buckle on the neck band of the cape, allowing his fingers to brush the warm skin of Khadgar's neck just where the blood flowed closest to the surface, and let just the faintest breath of arcane energy to slip off the end of his fingertips. It had the same effect that using his power had while shaving Khadgar's face. Khadgar's pulse picked up and his body became sensitized. He turned from the mirror to find himself looking into Kalec's violet eyes.

  "Khadgar." Kalec spoke softly. "There is more I can give you, if you will allow it, if you are open to it. I can replace some of what Medivh took from you." He had been researching it privately, and found more than a few instances in dragon lore where mating between dragons and mortals had given the mortals prolonged lives and heightened senses, and with some who were naturally attuned, increased power. "You know I cannot produce children of my own, and I would share my power with someone who could use it before I have nothing left to give."

  Khadgar was entranced. This was not like the proposition of a demon, who offered power only in return for ultimate sacrifice. Kalec was a blue dragon, uncorruptible by fel magics. He was not immune to other dark forces, but Khadgar could sense no presence of those in this room, in Kalec. Was it really possible that Kalec could restore some actual youth and vigor, after all this time as an old man? He stared back into Kalec's eyes. He wanted to say yes...

full text available at http://archiveofourown.org/works/8307616