"So." Jaina breathed, staring at Kalecgos. "Varik?" He couldn't be alive. It just...couldn't be. This was some terrible, terrible trick. Something else to tear her open, his body must have been stolen. He had enemies, maybe one of the orcs in Theramore after the detonation had recognized his corpse and had taken it. That made so much more sense than this pitiable hope.
"Varik's remains were not at Theramore. I searched, Jaina. Where we had left him. Then in the infirmary. Any place that they would have put him...nothing. He's hard to miss. I took the blanket he'd been on outside of Theramore to try to trace him, and got only wash back from the bomb. So I decided to try a shaman."
"Raheli Dawnstrider." It was a good choice, a solid choice. Once, she'd served Thrall. And now, she served Tirion Fordring. She'd always walked the right path, even when that route became painful.
"I needed a good, neutral shaman. Not draenei. And not serving the Horde. Left only one that I know well enough to trust with this." He watched her with concern. "Jaina, I'm not saying that Varik survived. But I'm not saying that he didn't, either. There's enough here for me to doubt. And if I doubt, I'm going to do my best to find the truth. And that means looking for him. Now." He sighed, gathering her up into his arms. He was strong, supportive, and he confused the hell out of her. He'd been there every step of the way through this, and she couldn't deny what she felt. But now, he was looking for Varik?
"Why?" It was a cruel question, but she'd been in a cruel mood recently. Kalec didn't take it as such, only chuckled in answer and pressed a kiss to her hair.
"Jaina." It was teasing, mourning, and somewhat lecturing. "Varik can, if he still lives, give you everything that I cannot. Just as I will take Tyrigosa as a consort, one of my own kind, you should have Varik as well. For the same reasons. Lovers are one thing, Jaina, but a consort is something else all together. Varik was doing a superlative job in that position, but I cannot be your consort. You cannot be mine. Friend, yes. Lover, yes. We each have duties. Expectations. Needs. And we cannot fulfill those for each other, completely. And even if that is not so any more, Jaina, I will not abandon him if there is a chance he has survived."
"Do you think he has?" It was almost too much to consider.
He glanced out of the window, out over Dalaran, his expression guarded and pensive. "I think, Jaina, that one is a survivor. I give him better than even odds with what I know about him. And if he is alive, Raheli will find him."
Varik woke, still fighting the headache that his attempt to teleport into Theramore had spawned. He was terribly thirsty, and he sighed. He was a mage. Some of the greatest mages on Azeroth said so. Mages made water. Therefore, he should be able to make water.
There must be a trick to it, because the therefore didn't quite work. All he could sense was the dead around him, just breathlessly waiting to be raised, but not a hint of 'water'. At least the Arrakoa had water, and he found it when he tossed their camp for baubles and supplies. He was tired of waiting for something; orc, draenei, boar or chimaera, to decide he looked as tempting as the late Arrakoa had. It didn't help that he was still garbed in the same dark blue robes he'd been wearing throughout the assault on Theramore...their coloring stood out, and they had been liberally soaked in blood...his own, and that of his enemies. He must smell like quite the treat. But did he want to go...?
He couldn't even say to go home, because he understood that what he'd begun to see as home no longer existed. Gone, destroyed. And, at the edge of his perceptions, another problem. He sensed the thin edge of insanity from Jaina...rage, anguish, and the tide of vengeance that had brought Gul'dan back to the surface. Another insane force driving his life? It had been going soooo well, and he had been content. As much as he cared for Jaina, he couldn't go through the hell of following someone else's madness again. Not for her, she wasn't worth it. She didn't even have his child to hold over his head. He could just...vanish. She might even think he was dead. Right. An archmage. He was a little surprised that she wasn't here already, come to collect him. But no, it seemed that Kalecgos, and a shaman, were the ones looking for him? And did he even want to be found?
"Only you can answer that for yourself."
He groaned, audibly. More things messing with him, just what he needed. However, he didn't recognize this voice, nor could he even identify what it was.
"Do you love Jaina?"
And it was a nosy voice, at that. Varik pursed his lips at the question. "No." He finally stated firmly. He did not. He cared for her. He respected her. But he was not a naive youngster anymore, he did not love easily... maybe with more time, he could have grown to love her.
"They all say that your honesty is one of your greatest gifts, and the most devastating of your personality traits. Does she deserve your consideration? And do you not deserve to know if she is as maddened as you feel her to be?"
Give Jaina a chance. He frowned at the idea, there was so much chance that he'd be the one to regret that, like he always did.
"I know." There was an undefined sadness under the response, and Varik paused to listen. Few spoke to him with that deep regret that he sensed from this one. He owed Jaina nothing. What he had owed had been more than paid for during his stand for Theramore. He'd been bitterly unsuccessful, it was an affront and a still bleeding wound in his heart. He'd tried, so damned hard...and failed. He'd lost the closest thing to a friend that he'd had in years. A man who had never turned dark on him, or asked him to do the unthinkable. The first person to see him...and not a creation...in years. Even Jaina hadn't managed to see Varik underneath all of the labels and ties in his soul. Morris had.
"Mourn your friend. Here, in the silence, where no one will see you. The shaman moves quickly, but you have time, Varrick."
Varik snorted, even the voices in his head mispronounced his name.
"I do not mispronounce it. I grasp the difference, Varrick. Varik is the Deathcaller's chosen name. Corrupted by a demon's blood and dominated by Ner'zhul's and Gul'dan's raging madnesses. You are that no longer. The death of all three of those forces in your life has faded their influence upon you. You stood against the Horde in defense of Theramore. Are you truly Varik, or are you Varrick now?"
Not a question he felt content to answer, and he snarled in response. Damned voices... dead, empty snippets.
There was laughter in his head, and he paused, tilting his jaw. "I am not the remnants of the dead, Varrick. Those fade from you quickly, and I can finally, finally reach you through their chaos."
Oh, he really didn't like the sound of that. He sat in the shade of the largest Arrakoa tent, trying to banish the exhaustion that dogged at his consciousness. He'd pushed himself to the edge, but it had been necessary. He had faith in his resilence, but not to the point where he felt he could survive a close impact mana bombing. Not even in full war form, as the Deathcaller itself, would he be bold enough to try.
"I am V'eru. Of the Sha'tar."
Oh, ow. Varik let himself fall into the foul bundles of cushions, groaning. The absolute last thing he needed was to have attraced a naaru's attention, but he apparently had.
"You've always had my attention. You just could not hear me."
"And now I can?" Not exactly what he wanted to hear. Shattrath had more than one naaru in residence, and they could really mess up his life...especially on Outland. They could probably call the shaman back, strand him here...still injured, weak, with no mount, no gear, far from aid.
"We do not hinder Raheli's path to you."
Raheli. A lovely name, and Varik turned it over in his mind. Not draenei, although it was musical enough to be. Not orcish, by any means, it was too soft to be.
"Kalecgos was wise enough to approach a shaman unfamiliar with your past. Raheli has no reason to hate you, and no reason to keep you from Jaina. She is also..." The naaru paused, consideringly, weighing its words, "Strong enough to live in Gul'dan's focus and not waver."
Who was not orcish or draenei. Varik hated that the world had changed, but in ways he hadn't had the chance to learn yet. How could he make decisions when he didn't have all the intelligence he needed for them?
"Raheli Dawnstrider is a shaman of the shu'halo people, commonly called Tauren. They look like 'cows', I am told."
"The things at Theramore that rode bald clefthooves?" It had to be joking. He was not going to be rescued by a cow... was he? Had he fallen so far?
"They are a great people. Do not let their forms fool you, Varrick. But now, you are exhausted. Sleep."
As if he had much choice. He was dead on his feet, and his eyes stayed closed way too long with every blink. Even if the tent smelled like a shed after plucking a hundred wet, dead chickens in it...and the bedding worse...he had to rest. He had to sleep.
Raheli growled, stopping to get her bearings. Once, she'd known this path like the palm of her own hand, but that had been years ago. Now, it was a vague remembrance. The wolf whined, settled at the far range of its leash, a bloody trail marked across its forehead. It had been foolish enough to try to take a bite out of the charger, and the charger had proved that the young wolf was not its equal... by placing an exquisitely accurate hoof across its brow.
The tauren sighed, shaking her head. There hadn't been a lot in this direction even at the height of the offensive, and now there was less. She'd have to bypass the Alliance settlement still clinging to the edge of the hills, thread the pass, and then, avoid notice by the Horde outpost beyond. Once that would have been a respite, a sanctuary, but now, Raheli wasn't so certain. She was counting on her known allies...and the Aldor had no places close to this route. No, she was going to take the direct route, right through the middle of Shadowmoon Valley. It was a bold idea to ignore the two divergent roads, but it seemed safer...and faster.
Safer. To avoid a Horde outpost, one she'd been stationed at, led troops from. The very idea rubbed her coat the wrong way, and she glared ahead. The farther this trip went, the more she considered it. All she had was time out here, none of her usual responsibilities to keep her distracted. No one to truly talk to. No calf to tend. No forces to train. No paperwork. Just a very large, dark spirit whose very presence kept her own spirits at bay, but was mostly silent itself. It was odd to have this distance, this time to herself, to ponder and consider. Had she been wrong to turn her back on the Horde when they'd called her? No. She was still certain of that, even after the clarity that all of this time to ponder had given her. The Highlord deserved her service. The ideal of the Crusade was one she could uphold without doubt...shoulder to shoulder with Crusaders, rising above racial lines, to stand for Azeroth. Not the Horde, not the Alliance, but to stand for the very world itself. Above such small and petty differences. She followed a leader she loved, respected, and who was not afraid to be challenged. She heard dark and disturbing news from Kalimdor, whispers of people vanishing after airing their doubts, whispers of a tyrant rising in the city she'd once called home. Once trusted advisors pushed into the shadows, ridiculed. The Argent Crusade might be biding its time, dealing with mop up, but Tirion Fordring would never respond to doubts about his leadership like the rumors she'd heard of Garrosh. When they were called again, they'd move. Until then, this was a rest. A time to gather their breath and their strength, to train those committed enough to their vision to still keep coming to an outpost passed over by time. And right now, it gave her the opportunity to spend some time alone, reevaluating her choices, and to give something back to Jaina Proudmoore. "This way." She muttered to the charger. He'd never been here before, he came from a later episode in her life...she'd travelled these roads on the back of a Frostwolf.