A/N: My WoW prompt last week was Burning. Then this mini one shot happened. Then I cried a lot of tears, watched WC3 cutscenes, cried some more tears, and yeah. I'm actually really, really proud of this. I like to think you'll like it too. Leave me love! I desperately need encouragement to finish Betrayal.

...

Once, when he was younger, Varian had told him how Stormwind looked as it burned to the ground. The flames consuming everything in their path, not so very different from the orcs that now ran rampant through the city streets. The air was thick with smoke and ash, and every few seconds Varian was forced into a fit of coughs, even as he clutched to the neck of the horse he rode with Lothar cradling him and the deteriorating remains of his city disappearing behind them.

The pair of princes sitting by side on the floor of the sparring room, backs against the wall as they watched the soldiers practicing and training. The blonde was drumming his fingers idly in an irregular pattern, an expression of boredom on his face. The brunette next to him was trying hard to drown out the sound of steel clashing against steel and the surge of memories that came with it. He didnt want to remember.

But forgetting was not an option. Not when the images were so vividly burned into his mind. He could practically smell the death and cinder around him, and every time he blinked he could see his father bleeding out all over the floor of the Keep-

"I'm bored," Arthas drawled, pulling Varian out of his dark thoughts. The older boy let out a heavy breath he hadn't realized he was holding, pushing a hand roughly through his thick mess of hair. He liked Arthas, he really did, but the boy had so much energy. Still, he supposed, it was better than being alone, and he could certainly use the distraction.

"Alright," he replied, pushing himself away from the wall and up to his feet. He held out a hand for the younger boy, who took it readily and stood before him with a small smile. "What do you want to do, then?"

The blonde cocked his head to the side, blue eyes wide and bright, looking every part the child that he was. Although Arthas was only three years younger than him, to Varian it seemed so, so drastic. Arthas was just so innocent, so young and pure and unaware of the pain of loss. He didn't know what it felt like to watch his kingdom burn to the ground, or watch his father bleed to death before him, or watch his people as they were cut down like it was nothing.

Arthas was rambling, Varian realized suddenly, though he had been lost in his own mind again and had no idea what about. "...could go and see my new pony," the young prince was saying. "My father is going to be in a meeting all evening, of course, and he won't even let me sit with him. How am I ever going to be expected to rule Lordaeron if he won't even let me learn-"

"At least you have a father to tell you how to rule," Varian snapped roughly, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. As soon as the harsh words left his lips, he wished that he hadn't spoken at all, because watching Arthas' face fall and his wide eyes well with tears was just too much to handle.

"Arthas," he said, his features softening as he reached out to put a hand gently on the other boy's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didnt mean to lash out at you. I'm just-"

"It's okay!" Arthas cut him off, his voice a few octaves too high. When Varian still didn't look convinced, Arthas did his best to muster a smile. "Really, it is. I can't imagine what you must be going through right now."

Varian returned the smile as best he could, but he was fairly certain it looked more like a grimace. "I'm going to be alright," Varian assured him. He thought that maybe, if he kept telling himself that over and over and over, then he was bound to start believing it sooner or later. Anyway, he didn't really have a choice now, did he? Being strong was the only choice he had left. Because at some point he was going to have to go home, and begin picking up the pieces of his ruined kingdom. All of Stormwind rested on his shoulders now, and Varian just didn't think he was ready to bear that burden yet.

Suddenly, that distraction was looking pretty good. The brunette glanced over his shoulder at the sparring soldiers, and when he turned his attention back to the younger of the two, it was with a much brighter expression than before. "Come on," he said, beckoning for Arthas to follow. He led him along to the wall lined with racks of weapons, grabbing flimsy training swords for the both of them.

He passed a blade to Arthas, who took it with only slight trepidation. He was trying to appear brave, Varian realized, and the thought of it made him happy for reasons he couldn't quite explain. The sword itself was at least half of Arthas' side, and although it was meant to be a one-handed practice blade, the small blonde boy had to use both hands just to hold it up.

"I can't-" Arthas began in a nervous voice, but Varian held up a hand to silence him.

"I'll go easy on you," he said reassuringly. His mind flashed back to training with his father, the king smiling fondly at him as he adjusted his footing, his hold, his posture. King Llane Wrynn's words rang in his mind, offering some small comfort to him, and so he offered them back to Arthas and hoped they might do the same. "We all have to start somewhere, kiddo. You'll never learn to be a good king if you don't learn how to defend your people."

Arthas stared up at Varian with an expression that bordered on adoration, and all of a sudden he didn't seem to be straining under the weight of the sword so very much. Varian held his own weapon with ease, tilting his head as he looked on at the blonde, correcting his position and his footing just as his father had done for him.

…

Varian parried the attack with almost no effort, grinning as he leapt out of the way of another one of Arthas' wild swings. The careless movements made the small blonde lose his footing entirely, falling flat on the floor, his hair hanging in tangled messes around his face.

"You're terrible at this," Varian said with amusement, twirling the shortsword absently before him. Arthas, apparently, was not amused at all, and after he threw a surprisingly intense scowl at the older boy, Varian extended a hand to pull him up to his feet.

"So what?" Arthas huffed, waving his sword around dangerously as he threw his exhausted arms up in defeat. "I dont need to be good at it, because I'm never going to use a sword. I'm going to have the biggest hammer in the whole world."

Varian let out a musical, echoing laugh, which only served to further Arthas' distress. "I'm sorry," Varian said, though his continued laughter didn't make the apology feel very sincere. He quickly snatched the sword from the blonde's hands before he ended up hurting himself, returning both blades to the rack. "We should probably get back before your father gets worried about us."

After a moment, Arthas nodded, and the pair of princes fell in step side by side as they made their way through the twisted corridors of the castle. It was a comfortable silence that fell over them, and Varian was happy to find that he felt substantially better than he had when first come into the sparring room. His adrenaline was going and his blood was racing through his veins. His heart was pounding and he was alive, and by the Light, he wasn't going to make the death of his father meaningless by letting Stormwind down.

"Varian?" Arthas asked after a while, his innocent expression turning to face the brunette prince.

"Hmm?"

"My father said that- that you and Lothar were very brave, to rally the people and flee the city like that." The child's voice was hesitant, and he was frowning, like he thought that maybe he was saying something wrong, something that didn't quite add up in his mind. "But how can it be brave to run away from the fight?"

Varian felt his heart skip a beat in the hollow cavity of his chest. He blinked for a few seconds too long, and behind his lids he could see it again, the city burning against the darkened sky, fading into the distance, Lothar holding onto him tightly, and him trying desperately to take one last look, so that he would never, never forget what they had done to his kingdom.

"Sometimes," he said at last, his eyes snapping open and fixating on Arthas. "Sometimes being brave means knowing when you have to walk away."

Arthas didn't seem to comprehend this at all, but the answer sufficed him enough not to ask anymore questions. Varian let out a little sigh. Someday, Arthas would understand.

…

Once when he was younger, Varian had told him Stormwind looked as it burned to the ground, how he had craned painfully in the saddle to try and catch a glimpse of his city as it turned to embers and ash. Trying to look back at what had become of his home as it fell to pieces behind him.

As Arthas walked away, his head hung low and his bloodied hammer hanging limping at his side, he imagined that Stratholme looked much the same.

The difference was that he didn't look back.