Varian

Although Varian had some misgivings about leaving Auriana alone while she was still bedridden, he nevertheless made his way to the stables to meet Broll and Genn Greymane. The worgen king had been eager to join Varian and Broll on their hunting trip, and Varian had been more than happy to invite him along. There were very few people in the world he considered to be his true friends, and it was a rare pleasure to have two of them in the same city. He was concerned about Auriana, of course – he was always concerned about Auriana, given her proneness to injury – but he was glad she had insisted on his going hunting.

Both Broll and Greymane were already there as he arrived; Greymane saddling his favourite bay hunter, and Broll looking rather doubtfully up at his mount. Night elves traditionally preferred to ride nightsabers or hippogryphs, and it appeared that Broll was rather less than comfortable around horses. Amusingly, his horse was wearing an uncannily similar expression of scepticism as it started back at Broll's long antlers, and Varian had to hide a smile as he collected his own gelding from a waiting stablehand.

"Morning, Varian," Greymane said warmly, lifting a gloved hand in friendly acknowledgment. "How's your girl?"

"Still quite unwell, but she should be on the mend soon," Varian replied. "She's strong."

"We weren't sure you were going to come," Greymane added, exchanging a quick look with Broll.

"Neither was I," Varian admitted, "But I was told in no uncertain terms that I should not miss this hunt, and… well, here I am."

"It's probably better for her to rest," Broll said reassuringly. "Tyrande assures me she should be fully recovered in a few days."

Varian nodded briefly as he led his horse out of the stables, and swung confidently up into the saddle. His horse pranced eagerly beneath him as he settled his weight, and Varian found his own excitement rising in response. It was a beautiful clear morning, and the crisp, fresh air of an invigorating Elwynn breeze nipped at his cheeks as he headed off down the cobbled main street leading out of the city. Broll and Greymane quickly heeled their horses forward so that could ride on either side of Varian, while a squad of royal guards joined in several lengths behind.

"She thinks someone tried to poison her," Varian told Greymane quietly, once he was sure they were out of earshot of any curious guards or stablehands.

"That's a rather serious allegation," the Gilnean King mused. "I take it you don't agree."

"Actually… I do…" Varian said slowly, "Or, at the very least, the notion is not… inconceivable. But I wasn't about to tell her that. If she thinks there's someone after her, she's going to run straight at them, and I can't… I can't take that risk."

Despite what he had said to Auriana, Varian very much believed in the possibility of foul play; even despite the reassurances of Tyrande, Malfurion, and Anduin. Not all poisons were traceable, even to experienced healers, and he knew that there was more than one person in the world who might want Auriana dead.

"You lied to her?" Greymane remarked, his thick grey brows drawing together thoughtfully. "You really think that's a good idea?"

"No, but it's the lesser of two evils," Varian countered resolutely. "I have to keep her safe. I'll have Mathias Shaw investigate. Quietly."

Greymane shook his head, and disapproval was written in every craggy line of his face. He was not one to be shy with his opinions under any circumstances, though it was normally a trait that Varian admired. In this case, however, he had no interest in receiving a running commentary on how to manage his personal relationships, even despite Greymane's vast experience with his own wife.

"It's your funeral, Varian…" Greymane growled.

Varian glanced over at Broll, looking for some support, but Broll, too, mimicked Greymane's disapproving gesture.

"Don't look at me like that, Varian, I agree with our worgen friend," Broll said firmly. 'When it comes to the ones we love, honesty is always the best policy."

"I know what I'm doing," Varian snapped, wondering if he would start to believe it himself if he spoke with enough conviction.

The moment he passed through Stormwind's outer gates, he kicked his horse into a fast canter, and left Broll and Greymane behind. He knew lying to Auriana was wrong, but she was far too reckless, and placed alarmingly little value on her own life. If it was a choice between her safety and the truth, he would choose her safety every time, and he would never apologise for doing so.

Unfortunately, no matter how many times Varian told himself that he was doing the right thing, he couldn't quite shake the guilty feeling that had settled in the pit of stomach. Trusting that Broll and Greymane would follow, he pushed his horse faster, skirting around the borders of Goldshire and turning towards the south east. He might not have been an expert in women, but he certainly knew how to ride, and he lost himself in the familiar, comforting staccato of galloping hoofbeats.

After a hard ride, Varian finally pulled his hardworking gelding to a halt outside the Westbrook Garrison. The garrison was located before one of Varian's favourite hunting grounds, and it provided a convenient place for the horses and the guards to rest while Varian, Broll, and Greymane made their way into the forest to find good game. The forest south of Westbrook was rich with deer and other wild creatures, and Varian thought it one of the more beautiful places in Elwynn – when it wasn't crawling with gnolls, of course.

Broll and Greymane took some time to arrive, having not pushed their horses quite as much, and Varian was dancing impatiently on the balls of his feet as he watched them approach. He had already sheathed his hunting knife in his belt and slung his bow across his back, ready to go at a moment's notice, and it took all of his patience not to make a sarcastic comment as the two older men slowly dismounted and gathered their things.

"There's a game trail running south east, down toward the river," Broll said, lifting a hand to test the direction of wind. "We should move that way."

To Varian's surprise, Broll was carrying an elven longbow, which he quickly secured over his right shoulder. Varian had wondered if he would hunt in his preferred bear form, but he seemed keen for the challenge that the bow provided. Greymane, unsurprisingly, shifted into his hulking grey worgen's form, and threw his head back to sniff the air.

"Broll's right," he rumbled, his now lupine body deepening his already gravelly voice. "There's good hunting that way."

Varian nodded, and waved briefly to his guards before heading off in the direction that Broll had indicated. The long gallop to Westbrook Garrison had soothed some of his earlier irritability, and he settled into a brisk walk down into the forest. Now that he was here, out in the wild where he belonged, he wasn't in any rush, and he decided that it would be in poor form to waste the morning in a fit of churlishness.

"So… what do you think of Auriana?" Varian asked Broll quietly, having been curious to hear the druid's opinion all week.

They were walking together in lockstep, while Greymane loped along off to the right. All three men moved at a comfortable pace through the forest, though they were alert for any sign of their quarry. The moment they sighted a deer, it would be different story, but for now they could talk quietly as they followed the trail down towards the river.

"Ah. Well, she seems a fine woman," Broll said seriously. "I can see why you like her."

"Oh?"

"She's bright…intelligent… a challenge," Broll explained. "She doesn't seem like she'd let you get away with much."

Broll glanced sidelong at Greymane, whose muzzle twitched sardonically.

"Something you would do well to remember," the Gilnean King muttered.

Varian harrumphed, and pointedly ignored him.

"Were you worried I wouldn't like her?" Broll asked perceptively, scratching thoughtfully at his heavy beard.

"No," Varian replied, perhaps a little too quickly. "Maybe. She was nervous about meeting your delegation… and I may have handled it rather poorly."

"Varian Wrynn handling a delicate personal matter poorly?" Greymane observed. "Whoever would have thought..."

"Oh, shut up," Varian snarled, nearly at the end of his rope with Greymane's uncomfortably truthful teasing.

Broll, however, seemed to find Greymane's sarcasm infinitely more amusing than Varian, and the forest was soon filled with the rich, echoing sound of his laughter.

"I hope her fears have been allayed somewhat," the archdruid said seriously, once he had finally stopped chuckling. "You may be fair game, but I have no intention of tormenting her."

"It's been going better than I might have expected," Varian admitted.

"She has handled herself well," Greymane agreed, his muzzle twitching approvingly.

Much like Broll, it seemed that while he was more than willing to have his fun at Varian's expense, he drew the line at Auriana.

"Thank you both. However…" Varian said slowly, glancing across at Broll with a frown, "I got the impression that Malfurion had some concerns. He's been perfectly generous and polite, of course, but he's not comfortable around her. Is it because she's a mage?"

"Perhaps. You know how my people feel about the arcane," Broll said thoughtfully. "But in Malfurion's case… I think it may be a bit more personal."

"Personal?" Varian wondered. "They'd never met until a few days ago. What could have possibly upset him?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Broll asked, lifting his long emerald brows.

"Apparently not," Varian mused, glancing over at an equally nonplussed Greymane.

"She reminds him of Illidan," Broll said simply.

"What? Illidan?" Varian spluttered, frankly astounded that Broll would think to compare Auriana to the Betrayer. "She's nothing like him."

"Peace, Varian," Broll said calmly, raising a large hand in his defense. "We all know she would never betray her people or the Alliance as Illidan did. But you cannot deny their similarities. Both are prodigiously talented, very clever, and full of rage."

"She isn't Illidan," Varian muttered lowly, though in his heart of hearts he knew that Broll had a point.

Auriana had the potential to do great things for Stormwind and the Alliance, but she also had the potential to be a very real threat. It was something that worried Varian deeply, and it bothered him even more when other people saw the danger that she could one day pose.

"Of course not," Broll said placatingly, his golden eyes glinting. "I didn't mean to suggest otherwise. That said… she is powerful, more so than I had expected. That little duel of ours? She had me within the first ten seconds. The fight only went on as long as it did because she wanted it to. She was playing with me, like a cat with a mouse."

"Only she's the mouse," Greymane grinned toothily, making a clear attempt to lighten the mood.

"Ah, yes…" Broll mused thoughtfully, quickly catching on to Greymane's intent. "Tell me something, Varian…"

"Yes…?" Varian said warily.

"You and she. She's awfully little, and you're… well… you," Broll elaborated. "I don't pretend to know anything about the intricacies of human mating, of course, but… how on earth do you avoid killing her?"

He spoke seemingly without a hint of teasing or guile, but Varian couldn't help the sudden rush of embarrassment that reddened his neck and the tips of his ears. Greymane roared with laughter at seeing the look on Varian's face; so loudly that a dozen nearby birds were startled into the sky. He had always had an unruly laugh, but in his worgen form it sounded even more throaty and raucous. Broll's mouth twitched suspiciously as he watched the Gilnean King's unbridled amusement, and Varian began to strongly suspect that his question had not been as innocent or objective as he had tried to make it appear.

"We manage perfectly well," Varian said hotly, shooting Broll a scowl that was impressive even by his own standards. "And I daresay better than most. Now, do you two want to keep braying like a pack of hounds, or do you want to catch a deer?"

Broll and Greymane gave him alarmingly identical looks, and Varian could actually see the moment they both independently decided that teasing him relentlessly was far more enjoyable that any hunt.

"Really, though, it's a wonder that she's still alive," Greymane chimed in, his flews drawing back in a feral grin. "Do you not worry about rolling over and crushing her in your sleep?"

It was amazing, Varian thought, how the older King managed to look both charmingly innocent and decidedly bawdy all at the same time, especially within his worgen's face.

"You're both awful," he growled drily. "You know that, right?"

Of course, even Varian could appreciate that there was a considerable amount of humour to be gleaned from the startling difference in his and Auriana's relative size, but he certainly wasn't going to let Broll or Greymanein on his true opinion. They had been poking fun at him all day – all week, even - and Varian had decided that it was high time he got some of his own back. He fixed them both with his most terrifying glare, before turning on his heel and taking off into the deep forest without another word. He wasn't truly angry, though he was more than happy to let Broll and Greymane live in fear of his legendary wrath for a while.

Serves them right, he thought, as the guttural echo of Greymane's laughter followed him into the trees. Let them stew for a bit, while I catch myself a deer and win the hunt…

He took a smooth path parallel to the game trail, reaching out with his enhanced senses as he ran. The forest was alive with a hundred different sounds and movements, and Varian had to concentrate sharply to separate genuine leads from the background noise. Almost immediately, however, he caught the trail of a young buck moving southwest, and he moved in for what promised to be an excellent chase.

As always, the hunt was one of the few places that Varian was truly in his element, and he revelled in the way his strong muscles tensed and shifted smoothly as he picked up his pace. He knew Elwynn Forest like the back of his hand, and he knew that there was a large glade about a quarter mile ahead that would give him a clear shot, assuming that the deer continued on its current heading.

Varian made sure to stay clear upwind, lest the deer catch his scent, and he moved as quietly as he was able through the dense undergrowth. It was hard to move quickly while also trying to be silent, but Varian was still confident that he could outpace the buck. In truth, this was the part of the hunt he loved the most, testing his wit and instincts against a wild creature in a contest where one false step would mean failure. If all went to plan, however, he could loop around to the southern end of the clearing, and have time to line up the perfect shot before the deer even realised he was there.

He quickened his pace, feeling his heart beat steadily faster as he leapt over a fallen log and looped around the outskirts of the glade. The bright sunlight filtering through the trees provided excellent visibility, and Varian could have scarcely asked for a more perfect place to set up an ambush. The deer was still travelling well behind, as Varian had hoped, and he had more than enough time to take cover behind some thick underbrush and nock his bow.

Varian's body surged with restless energy as he awaited his prey, his fingers drumming edgily on the shaft of his bow as he peered out through the trees. Hunting required a great deal of patience, a trait that Varian admittedly sometimes lacked, and it took almost of all his willpower to remain still and quiet. It didn't help that the hiding spot he had chosen was rather small for a man of his size, but he would endure any amount of discomfort if it meant winning the hunt.

After what seemed like an eternity, Varian finally heard the muffled thud of galloping hooves from somewhere nearby and he raised his bow, ready to take the deer out with a single arrow to the eye. He leaned forward eagerly, carefully scanning the area for the slightest movement or sound that would signal the buck's arrival. It was sometimes difficult to see the chestnut hide of a deer against the similarly coloured tree trunks, but Varian was sharp and determined, and he would certainly not be outsmarted by a single young deer.

A second too late, however, he realised that the sound of hoofbeats was coming not from the game trail to the north, but rather from the west, and he whipped his head to the left just in time to see an enormous forest boar come barrelling directly at him. He had been so well hidden that the beast must have failed to see him, and was about to run roughshod over his position. Varian swung his bow around urgently, trying to get a shot off, but the boar was too fast and too close, and it slammed into him with terrific force.

He roared in pain and surprise as one of the boar's tusks slid into the unprotected flesh of his left thigh and sent a great gout of blood spurting down his leg. The boar seemed equally shocked to have collided with an unexpected human, and it shook its mighty head in agitation as the force of its charge carried both itself and Varian off down the side of a hill.

Fortunately for Varian, the short tumble freed the boar's tusk from his thigh, and he was thrown about ten feet clear into a second small clearing. He had lost his bow in the initial collision, but his knife was still securely tucked in his belt, and he pulled it loose as he staggered back to his feet. The wound in his leg was deep and bleeding profusely, but with his adrenaline pumping he knew his movement would not yet be overly hindered.

Varian flipped his knife and caught it in a backhanded grip, dropping into a crouch as he prepared to face the boar's second onrush. The beast may not have intentionally hit him the first time, but it now clearly saw him as a threat. Elwynn boars were notoriously aggressive, and Varian knew it wouldn't stop until one of them was dead. It lowered its head, its bloodied tusks scraping across the forest floor, and with a feral grunt it gathered its muscles and charged.

The boar was incredibly fast, but even with an injured leg, Varian was faster. He lunged to one side, pushing off his good leg, and dealt a mighty slash to the boar's flank as it hurtled past him and rounded off through the trees.

That ought to even things up, he thought grimly, as the boar bellowed in anger.

He crouched down once more, gathering his considerable strength as he prepared himself for a second round. Fending off charge after charge would get him nowhere, and he knew his best chance was to finish the fight as soon as possible, before his wound began to take its toll. Varian was tough and strong, but even the strongest man could not hope to fight if he were to lose too much blood.

The boar came on again, slower this time, and once more Varian used his good leg to dodge swiftly to the left. This time, however, he did not permit the boar to run off, instead dropping his shoulder and ploughing powerfully into the beast's side. The boar let out a high-pitched squeal as it was knocked off balance, and Varian took the opportunity to leap onto its back. He clutched at the boar's bristly fur with an iron grip, steadying himself as the beast began to kick and buck in a futile attempt to throw him off.

Varian grunted painfully as the boar's frantic efforts jostled his thigh, but he simply refused to let go. His feet dragged roughly along the ground as the boar took off in a precipitous gallop, perhaps believing that Varian would be dissuaded by another charge. Gritting his teeth, Varian pulled himself forward desperately, and with a wild cry he drove his hunting knife directly into the boar's throat.

Unfortunately, the jostling of the boar's gallop meant the strike was not as deep or precise as Varian would have liked, and he was suddenly thrown to the side as the boar lost its legs and screamed in agony. His knife slipped from his hands as he rolled over and over through the underbrush, before finally coming to rest against the base of a large oak with a hard smack.

Varian immediately lunged to his feet, expecting the boar to be following close behind, but surprisingly he was now alone in the forest. He cautiously retrieved his knife from where it had been tossed aside, and limped awkwardly forwards until he finally found where the boar had fallen. The determined creature was lying on its side, breathing heavily as it struggled to get back on its feet. The hole in its neck whistled gruesomely with each laboured breath, and it was clear that the beast would never stand again.

Varian was not angry at the boar, of course, and if anything, he admired its tenacity. It had fought well, and in doing so it had earned a clean death. He knelt carefully by its side, staying carefully out of the way of its thrashing tusks, and quickly and silently slit its throat from ear to ear. Bright blood poured out over his hands as the beast surrendered to the blade, and Varian patted its shoulder soothingly as it gasped, shuddered and lay still. The forest felt suddenly silent, in stark contrast to the loud grunts and shouts that had echoed throughout the fight, and with a relieved sigh, Varian finally dropped down to rest tiredly but triumphantly against the dead boar's side.


By the time Broll and Greymane burst urgently out of the forest behind him, Varian had at the very least managed to staunch the bleeding in his leg with a tourniquet made from a torn sleeve of his shirt. Both men had come prepared for a fight, Broll having even transformed into a bear, only to quickly realise that Varian had been more than capable of handling himself. Nevertheless, Broll appeared distinctly concerned by the sight of so much blood on the ground as he shifted back, and he moved instantly to Varian's side with the green glow of druidic magic bursting about his hands. Of course, even Varian had to admit that the forest floor looked rather gruesome, though luckily for him, most of the blood on the ground belonged to the boar.

Once satisfied that he was not in any immediate danger of collapsing, both Broll and Greymane then proceeded to fuss over him like two mother hens, and it was only by accepting Broll's shoulder as a crutch that Varian convinced the pair that he was able to walk back to the horses. Greymane slung the dead boar over his shoulders, not wanting to let such an impressive kill go to waste, and together the three men slowly made their way back to the Westbrook Garrison.

The soldiers at the garrison were clearly alarmed to see their King emerge slowly and bloodily from the forest, and they immediately began an animated discussion about whether Varian required a stretcher or a gryphon. Broll even went to far as to just suggest that he carry Varian into the city on his back in bear form, before Varian firmly shut down the argument with a single raised hand. He was perfectly capable of riding back to Stormwind, despite what everyone else appeared to think, and he accepted only the aid of a tight bandage before mounting up on his waiting hunter.

Varian's small party attracted a great deal of attention as they made their way back through the city and into the Keep. It wasn't every day that the King appeared limping and covered in blood, and an excitable buzz followed at Varian's back as he stalked through his halls. He pointedly ignored the whispers, however, and made his way directly to Anduin's chambers for healing. While he hated to be treated like an invalid over a simple gouge to the thigh, he wasn't stubborn enough to believe that it would heal safely on its own, and he tolerantly submitted to the skills of his very surprised son.

After a quick conversation with Anduin, during which the Prince insisted that Varian promise return to later for more healing, he bid farewell to Broll and Greymane and limped determinedly back to his chambers on his own. Auriana was curled up in bed as he entered the room, a thick book resting between her slender white fingers. She glanced up as he neared, and her mouth fell open as she beheld the tear in his breeches and the bloody bandages about his thigh. Ignoring her own illness, she raced immediately to his side, and her beautiful features creased with worry as her eyes raked him from top to toe.

"What happened?" she demanded.

"I had an unfortunate run in with a boar," he informed her, sliding one hand affectionately into her dark hair and the other around her body. "Nothing to worry about, I assure you."

"Where were Broll and Genn?" Auriana growled hotly, her eyes flashing dangerously. "They're supposed to protect you."

"Easy," Varian murmured, tightening his grip on her slender waist. "It was no one's fault, just poor timing. I've had far worse."

"That's not the point," she muttered, pressing herself tightly against his chest with a sigh.

"You're going to get blood all over that nightgown," Varian warned her, though he made no effort to extricate himself from her fierce grip.

"That'd be a first," she scoffed drily, as she slipped her hand through his and guided him over to the bed.

Varian followed her willingly, and he sat in patient silence as Auriana carefully probed his wound. He might not have tolerated a fuss from Broll, Greymane, or is men, but he would not begrudge Auriana her exhaustive inspection. In a strange way, he even found her concern pleasing. She still looked unnaturally pale, but her fierce determination to keep him safe had brought some of the life back to her eyes. Of the two of them, she was the more likely to be injured or in danger, and Varian found it rather interesting to learn that her protective side apparently rivalled his own.

"You should be more careful," she murmured, taking a careful seat on the edge of the bed by his side.

"Rather ironic, coming from you," Varian retorted, trying not to smile. "Speaking of which - how was your adventure in the library?"

He had been concerned to learn that Auriana had doggedly pursued her poison theory in his absence, and he resolved to do whatever he could to dissuade her from recklessly pursuing any would-be assassins.

"How did… you talked to Anduin?" she muttered, her eyes narrowing. "That little traitor…"

"We spoke while he was healing my leg. He can't lie to save his life," Varian explained. "You know, if you keep escaping like that, I'm going to have to block off the secret passages out of this room."

He was mostly joking, though there was a ring of truth in his words that Auriana immediately noticed.

"I'm not your prisoner, Varian," she reminded him sternly.

"No, you aren't," he agreed quickly. "You're the woman I love."

Auriana gave him a long, serious look, before her expression softened and she placed a featherlight hand upon his uninjured thigh. Encouraged, Varian leaned across to pull her into a deep kiss, only to immediately regret the movement as his thigh twinged in painful protest. He let out a low groan, while Auriana touched a hand to her stomach as she was struck by a sudden wave of nausea. Evidently, neither of them would be fighting fit for a few days yet, and Varian was forced to reluctantly release Auriana from his passionate grasp. They exchanged a quick, amused look, and Auriana shook her head with a rueful chuckle.

"We're quite the pair, aren't we?" Varian sighed, gently brushing a strand of hair back behind her ear.

"Yes," she murmured, though a small, genuine smile played about her lips as she rested her head lovingly against his shoulder. "We are."