His body was laid face up on a long oak table draped in red and black, and his white skin shone in the light of a hundred candles.
Sylvanas walked slowly alongside the table, running a hand the length of his body. His skin was cold but then so was hers, so all she could feel was texture. Her fingers touched briefly on scars old and new, and some of them would never heal, would always show as markings of old blood on his body. But there were others, like the patterns on a shattering pane of glass; a chaotic spiderweb-like tracery where the Orc's dark magic had leeched him of his life.
Her last Valkyr, Menatha, hung in the air behind her, its wings barely moving in the still air.
"I will ask a sacrifice of you, Menatha."
The Valkyr drifted closer. "Yes, Dark Lady?"
She touched his head, brushing a strand of dark hair back from his forehead. "I wish this one raised."
She could do that herself, but he would be a mere Forsaken, a shattered figure no better or worse than any of her people. But she wished for more, for someone like herself, to stand at her back, to share her burdens, to be her sword and shield. He was perfect for the task, his death was a gift she could not refuse. Yet to make him special would take the life of her final remaining Valkyr.
"Join your power with mine, Menatha. Bring this one back for me."
The Valkyr moved to the other side of the table with no hesitation, and laid her shimmering hands on the corpse's chest. Sylvanas laid her own hands atop her servants, and they bowed their heads in a gesture not unlike a prayer for the dead.
The power of life-yet- not- life flowed from them into the body. Sylvanas' gift was enough to shatter the barrier between life and death and bring awareness, but Menatha's own lifeforce filled it with power, renewing the flesh, strengthening muscle and bone, driving out the corruption of death.
The dark hair turned white where it lay across the broad shoulders and chest. And as Menatha passed from existence, he opened eyes that were golden bright.
She stroked the silver hair possessively. "Welcome back, Varian."
He stood naked before a full length mirror, studying himself.
Sylvanas sat behind him, one leg over the other, watching him, still mildly surprised at the sense of possession she felt observing him. As he raised a hand to touch his scored chest, the muscles of his back rippled. In life he'd been a majestic animal, a lion of his people. Death had not reduced his potency, only altered it. His destruction had been a waste she'd not been able to ignore. Don't get too attached to this one she thought, watching his expressionless features in the mirror. Even if you can persuade him not to undo your work, he may still hate you too much to be of use.
He spoke, disrupting her thoughts, voicing the question she'd expected. "Why did you do this to me?"
She flexed her shoulders, disbursing their tension. "Why do you think I did?"
He turned to her, unconcerned at his nakedness. "Because you could, I suppose. Though," he continued, his tone level, stripped of feeling, "if you expect me to just keep going like this, you are sadly mistaken. I know from experience that even the Undead can die."
"We can. We do, in great numbers. But we refuse to accept defeat. "
He turned back to the mirror, but she didn't think he was actually looking at his body. His gaze was introspective. "Death should be final. Doing this to me was a more evil act than Guld'an's. At least I died for a purpose."
"You died for nothing," she said, echoing his killer's words. "You died alone, helping some few of your people escape, depriving them of your leadership at a critical time. You failed, Varian Wrynn. As a King, as a leader, you failed."
His eyes flicked to her mirror image, flaring brighter, showing emotion for the first time. "If this is supposed to convince me to live, you are doing a poor job of it."
"I have no time to waste on self-delusion, my own or anyone else's. Your intentions were noble but ultimately futile. I am giving you the chance to redeem that failure. You can still help the Alliance and Azeroth." She lifted one hand, waved the fingers in a gesture of release. "But I don't control your actions or your morals. I offer you an opportunity to walk at my side, to fight the Burning Legion and save both our peoples. Put your ego aside and make use of the time I've given you, at great cost to myself. And who knows," she finished, her lips lifting in a feral smile, "perhaps you may one day thrust a sword through Gul'dans guts. Don't tell me that thought doesn't appeal to you."
"You deserted the Alliance, left us alone to fight, left me alone to die. You expect me to forget that?"
She signed, frustration grating her nerves. "I obeyed the orders of my Warchief when we were obviously outnumbered with our backs to a cliff and with no hope of either helping you or surviving ourselves. I made a tactical decision. Sometimes that involves loss. It was unavoidable, not a betrayal."
He turned back to her and walked across to stand in front of her, very close. "Even so, I can't go back. I can't look into my son's face and see the horror there. I'll never see my home again."
"No, you won't. But you can try to ensure he lives. That's a gift the dead can give the living." She stood, stepping even closer to him, and laid one hand on his chest. "However, if you decide to leave Undercity, you should probably put on some clothing first. No need to look even more disturbing than you normally do."
The sudden humour made him blink. He took her hand and studied it, holding the strong, slim fingers in his own large grip. "I didn't realise I disturbed you."
"Ah Varian, you underestimate yourself. You've always disturbed me, one way or another." She turned away, and spoke a little more warmly. "I don't control your actions or your feelings – and yes, you have feelings, as I'm sure you've discovered. If you decide you cannot bear your state, I won't stop you."
He nodded, eyes hooded. "As you said, my death was ill-advised. My undeath I'll take more time to consider. I'll stay, for now." His eyes flared and his head dipped. "But don't expect a tamed wolf, Sylvanas."
She laughed, a surprisingly mortal sound. "Never. Wild ones are so much more interesting."