Here we go again! I can't say I ever expected to have written a series this long - the original story was meant to be a one shot - but here we are. A huge thank you to all my readers, old and new, you have no idea how much your readership and kind words are appreciated, and how much your encouragement inspires me to keep going.
Lion's Challenge is the seventh story in the main arc of my Lion of the Alliance series, and a direct sequel to Lion's Rise. If you are just discovering this series for the first time, I highly recommend starting at the beginning with Lion's Trial (assuming you like a comprehensible progression to your stories).
Rated M for violence, adult themes, and sexy stuff.
Auriana
Archmage Auriana Fenwild fiddled distractedly with her long black gloves, tugging and pressing at the fingers as she awaited the execution of one of the 'Defias' assassins who had so recently tried to end her life. She was nervous; more nervous than she had thought she might be, and it felt as if time were passing incredibly slowly as she cracked her knuckles over and over. Beneath the soft leather of her gloves shifted the filigree ring that marked her engagement to High King Varian Wrynn, though right now, their upcoming nuptials were one of the last things on her mind. Today was not about joy, or happiness, or even relief, but rather about secrets… and consequences.
The man waiting to die was not a real Defias rogue, as they had learned through Mathias Shaw's interrogations, though he had been involved in the clandestine attempt to assassinate Anduin and Auriana and trigger an all-out war with the Horde. As far as the general citizenry of Stormwind were aware, however, he was the last of a rebel Defias group who had attempted to once again create trouble for the King of Stormwind. The public had been aghast to learn of the return of the 'Defias' threat, and the assassin's trial had been swift and conclusive. He had been kept under lock and key in SI:7 headquarters, and had only been brought to the Stockades at the last minute, less he reveal to anyone the true nature of his crimes. If the Alliance were to successfully hunt down what remained of the shadow group who were so determined to plunge Azeroth into war, it was imperative that their enemies believe them to be oblivious, at least for the time being.
Aside from Varian, Auriana was the only other person in attendance who knew what had really transpired in Stranglethorn and the Duskwood, and that today's execution was largely a ruse to disguise their knowledge of the war plot. Anduin had remained in the castle at his father's request, with Broll Bearmantle as his personal guard. It had been nearly four weeks since they had returned from their misadventures, though Varian still remained cautious. He had been doing his best to appear calm and relaxed in public, as if he were thoroughly convinced the threat were over, but in private he had taken considerable steps to ensure that his son and his betrothed were protected at all times. Varian had also attempted to persuade Auriana to remain in the Keep for the execution, but she had not been so easy to sway as Anduin.
After a short but intense argument, Auriana's stubbornness had prevailed, and Varian had reluctantly agreed to escort her to the Stockades. She now stood alone, however, warming her hands by a large brazier. It was a miserably cold day, and it was not all that much warmer indoors than out. Varian had remained at the front of the room, where a wooden platform had been raised for the execution, and he now paced pensively back and forth as the Stockades guards made their final preparations.
Auriana had a right to stand at his side, of course, but she had subtly declined in favour of taking a more private position at the very back of the dark atrium. The execution was a public affair, and the atrium was crammed full with people wanting to see the last of the 'Defias' lose his head. It had occurred to Auriana that the event may have attracted the guilty as well as the innocent, however, and that in amongst the crowd there may have been those who had been involved in the plot to lead the Alliance into war.
The Defias had been implicated in the assassination attempts as a ploy to mislead Varian and his SI:7 spies, and it made sense to Auriana that any traitors would want to see Varian for themselves, in order to judge the success of their ruse. She had therefore positioned herself not so that she had the best view of the execution, but rather the crowd, and she scanned the room hawkishly as the last of the observers stepped inside. Quite a few members of the House of Nobles were in attendance, ostensibly to support their King as he executed a known traitor, though Auriana couldn't help but wonder how many of them were simply keeping up appearances.
After surviving several assassination attempts over the last year, she found it difficult not to see killers and conspirators in every corner. That said, while she had somewhat expected things to get worse after publicly announcing her engagement to Varian, things had been unusually quiet. She had been exceedingly busy; swept up in a veritable wave of wedding planning and preparations for her new role as queen, but there had not been so much as a whisper of danger for weeks. A number of would-be assassins had been killed during the recent incident in Duskwood, potentially including the ringleader, and in her more hopeful moments Auriana could almost believe that the imminent threat had passed.
There was most definitely one man who was still a danger, however, and Auriana was surprised to see him now making his way towards her through the crowd. Duke Rohas Anguile was tall and slender, with grey hair and sharp, patrician features. He held himself with an air of thinly veiled contempt, and the crowd instinctively parted before him as he strode determinedly toward Auriana.
She noticed his approach at the last minute, and only narrowly choked down the fierce growl that rose in her throat at the sight of him. Anguile had funded the attempts on her life, and Anduin's; not because of any prevailing ideological belief on his behalf, but rather because he wanted them out of the way so that he could have a clear path to Varian - and the throne of Stormwind. Auriana's blood boiled to think of the pain he had put her through, but more than anything, she hated him most for what he had tried to do to Anduin. Fortunately, she had years of practice containing her rage, and she managed to keep her face calm and expressionless as he came to stand at her side.
"Your Grace," he said coolly.
Normally, the use of one's title was meant to indicate respect, but the way Anguile said it made Auriana's skin crawl. Her rage sparked, deep in her belly, but she was fiercely determined to maintain her composure. Anguile would love nothing more than to set her off, to have her prove that she was not worthy of being the Queen of Stormwind, and she quite simply refused to give him the satisfaction. It was also critical that Anguile believed that they knew nothing of his financial involvement with the group of rogue warmongers, though Auriana did not feel that such a ruse necessarily required her to be especially friendly. Anguile had certainly not been shy about making his contempt for her known in the past, and if anything, if she were to be overly nice, it might arouse his suspicions.
"Duke Anguile," she replied evenly. "What brings you out to the Stockades? An execution is hardly a pleasant sight, I would have thought you would have remained in the Keep."
She glanced briefly in his direction, noting the slight curl of his lip, but otherwise she kept her eyes trained firmly forward. The 'Defias' prisoner had finally been brought forth from within the depths of the Stockades, ready to face the justice of the King of Stormwind's blade, though Auriana's sudden interest had less to do with the prisoner himself, and more to do with her desire to avoid having to look Anguile in the face. If she were forced to see the smug disdain in his eyes, she thought she might just explode; both the plan and consequences be damned.
"The House of Nobles was shocked to hear of these unprovoked attacks by remnants of the Defias, particularly as they involved the heir to the throne," the duke said smoothly. "As one of the leading nobles in Stormwind, I took it upon myself to represent my fellows."
Out of the corner of her eye, Auriana saw him lift his chin and square his shoulders proudly, and she only narrowly resisted the urge to snort. His lies came to him with unnerving ease, so much so that even Auriana might have believed his concern to be genuine, had she not known what he really was.
"I am sure Varian is grateful for your support," she murmured, stressing her use of the King's first name ever so slightly.
Up on the platform at the centre of the atrium, a priest was now reading the 'Defias' a solemn prayer. To his credit, the assassin looked about as composed as any man could hope to be when faced with his own imminent death, though Auriana did not miss the way his eyes flicked toward Shalamayne more often than was natural.
"I confess, I am surprised that you did not want to execute this man yourself," Anguile observed, turning his head to look at her properly. "I hear he caused you a great deal of pain."
His voice was soft, sympathetic… except for the strange, almost pleased emphasis he added to the word 'pain'. Auriana was an experienced enough warrior to know exactly how close she had come to death during the assassin's most recent attack, and she could almost picture the smirk of satisfaction on Anguile's face when he had heard the news of her disappearance. Of course, she could also imagine that his fury upon learning that she had been rescued would have been of a similarly impressive magnitude, and she wondered how he managed to stand beside her so calmly.
"Varian is the King. Justice is his purview, not mine," she said evenly, though she still did not deign to turn her head.
"Do you believe this is justice?" Anguile mused, gesturing to the grave scene playing out before them. "A terrible crime, to be sure, but still… a rather barbaric punishment."
The priest had finished his rites, and had moved to the side to allow two of the Stockades guards to bring the condemned assassin forward. They silently pushed him to his knees before Varian, who now stood as still and unmoving as if he had been carved from stone. His eyes were dark pools of smouldering rage, and he looked so cold and aloof that even Auriana shivered to gaze upon him.
"What punishment would you suggest, then?" she asked Anguile. "If it were up to you, how would you punish a murderous traitor?"
"Fortunately, it is not up to me," the duke replied, somewhat disingenuously.
"Varian is doing what he must to protect his son and heir. Surely you would do the same to if it were your daughter?"
Auriana had not intended for her words to sound threatening, but Anguile tensed in response nonetheless. His love for his daughter appeared genuine, at least, perhaps one of the few genuine things about him, and Auriana silently filed that information away for future use.
"He is protecting you also. His future... bride," Anguile observed pointedly. "Forgive my manners, I ought to have congratulated you on your engagement. Who would have thought you would be set to become the next Queen of Stormwind? Especially after such… platonic… beginnings."
Auriana had never heard the word 'platonic' sound quite so hateful, and she found herself suddenly struggling with the urge to draw on her magic. Anguile was referring to one of their earliest conversations, in which Auriana had insisted that her relationship with Varian was non-romantic. The irony being that at the time, she had not been lying, though she doubted Anguile would believe her.
In a way, however, Auriana found Anguile's thinly veiled nastiness refreshing. He was certainly not going to pretend that he liked her, and in doing so freed Auriana from her own similar obligations towards courtesy. Which was why, then, she felt no particular compulsion to dignify his answer with a response, and instead kept her gaze firmly trained on the assassin.
Warden Thelwater whispered something quietly to Varian as the two guards holding the prisoner secured him to the chopping block and stepped away. Varian did not seem much interested in what the Warden had to say, however, judging from the way he shook his head and scowled. He muttered something brief in reply, and stood tall and unflinching as the Warden began his official reading of the charges levelled against the assassin.
Fortunately, the laying of charges did not take long, and the assembled crowd fell eerily silent as the Warden finished his speech and beckoned Varian forward. No one dared breathe as the King of Stormwind pulled his blade from its sheath and loomed over the assassin with an air of heavy, resigned finality. He paused only to find Auriana in the crowd, his jaw tightening determinedly as his gaze swept over her, before he lifted his mighty sword and brought it thundering down on the assassin's neck.
There was a loud, wet crunch as the assassin's head tumbled away from his body, then silence. Auriana let out the breath she didn't realise she had been holding, and she averted her eyes. Killing the man had been necessary, she didn't doubt that, but she did not relish in cold bloodshed.
"You must be relieved," Anguile observed, as the Stockades guards began to tend to the body.
"I am," Auriana said truthfully. "I only hope this is the last… unpleasantness… we must suffer before our wedding."
Anguile's cool mask slipped ever so slightly at the mention of the wedding, and he leaned in uncomfortably close.
"We all feel the same, I'm sure. Poor King Varian has suffered so much when it comes to wives. We wouldn't want him to lose you, as well," he whispered, his tone far less kindly than his words would suggest. "We can only hope that fear of his reprisal will keep any other troublesome elements in line."
"And fear of mine," Auriana added softly.
"Pardon?"
She gave him a small, calm smile, and turned to look him right in the eye for the first time. If Anguile wanted to play games, then Auriana was happy to oblige him. It was blatantly clear that he disapproved of her engagement to Varian, just as much as he had disapproved of her merely dancing with the king the first night they had met. If Anguile had his way, Auriana did not doubt that she would soon meet a fate similar to that of Tiffin Wrynn. He might not have said as much in words, but the threat was as clear as if he had spelled it out for her word by word.
"Varian is a dangerous man, to be sure, and his wrath is something to fear… but trust me when I say that I am far worse," she clarified sharply. "If I caught someone trying to harm Anduin again…well, just between you and me, I'm not sure I'd wait for a formal execution. I would burn them alive from the inside out. They would die screaming."
Auriana kept her tone light, almost friendly, though her eyes told a very different story. Anguile might have been older, more experienced, and nearly a foot taller, but in that moment, Auriana held all the power. He cleared his throat, fussing uncomfortably with the cuffs of his sleeves, and it was some time before he gathered himself enough to speak.
"I would caution you against overconfidence. I told you once that there are those who would do anything to keep you from the throne of Stormwind," he growled.
"Do you count yourself amongst their number, my Lord?" Auriana asked innocently. "I seem to remember that you once threatened me to stay away from Varian."
"It was a suggestion, not a threat," he snapped. "And one that you ignored, I might add."
His contempt for her was palpable; his civilised veneer of nobility slipping away as the cold, cunning manipulator that lay beneath was revealed.
"Are you still suggesting the same thing?" Auriana asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
Fortunately, she sounded a lot calmer than she actually felt, though her heart was beating so fast that she thought Anguile must have been able to hear.
"Let me assure you, I live only to serve the throne of Stormwind," he said coldly.
To take the throne of Stormwind, more like it, Auriana corrected silently.
She shook her head and turned away, focusing her attention on the execution platform once more. The guards had begun to prepare the assassin's body for the priest, who would take him away for cremation. Varian had disappeared, along with Warden Thelwater, and as the rest of the crowd began to slowly file out of the room, Auriana suddenly felt very alone.
"I hope this is the last we will see of these Defias," Anguile murmured. "For your sake, my lady."
His snakelike voice sent shivers down Auriana's spine, and for the briefest second, she saw red. She imagined him screaming as she tore him apart with her magic, and it was only by turning her back on him completely that she managed to maintain control. She didn't bother to say goodbye, though as she made to walk away, she was struck by a sudden surge of petty inspiration.
With her back turned, Anguile could not see the glow of Auriana's eyes as she abruptly called upon her magic, and sent the tiniest burst of power flowing out towards the brazier behind her. It was a simple spell, taking no more time or energy than Auriana would have used to swat a fly, but the effects were immediate. The brazier flared briefly to life, as if someone had doused it in oil, and a shower of sparks ignited the hem of Anguile's fine mageweave coat.
"You really ought not to stand so close to those braziers, my lord," she said, glancing back over her shoulder with a cool nonchalance. "Your coat's on fire."
Anguile was in no real danger, of course - she was not that reckless - but it gave Auriana no small measure of satisfaction to see the normally refined duke suddenly swearing and hopping about as he tried to beat away the flames. Anguile was instantly swarmed by guardsmen trying to assist, and she took advantage of the distraction to slip through the crowd and out onto the streets of Stormwind.
Auriana shivered, though it had more to do with her encounter with Anguile than the biting cold wind. She had reacted poorly, she knew, but she had been somewhat caught off guard by Anguile's open hostility. He had not admitted to anything - she doubted he was that stupid - but it was clear that he wanted her as far away from Varian and the throne of Stormwind as possible, and he didn't care whether she knew it. The battle lines had been drawn.
I will not allow that man to intimidate me, she told herself firmly. I will not allow that man to beat me...
Auriana was so lost in her thoughts that she barely paid any attention to where she was going, and she probably would have walked right into the canals if not for the sudden large hand that closed over her arm and pulled her back. She gasped in surprise, her heart leaping, only to relax a moment later as she turned to see Varian staring down at her with a worried expression.
"Auriana? Where are you going?" he asked. "Where are your guards? Don't tell me you gave them the slip again…"
"I'm sorry…" she murmured. "I… ah… I got distracted…"
"By Anguile?" Varian hissed, his grip on her arm tightening painfully. "That was him talking to you, was it not?"
"Believe me, it was not my choice," Auriana clarified. "He wanted to have a little chat, apparently."
"And?" Varian demanded, his voice low and urgent. "Did he say anything to upset you? Did he hurt you?"
His scarred eyes swept over her anxiously, as if he truly believed Anguile might go so far as to harm her publicly. His hands slid possessively to her waist, and he loomed over her like a large, angry wolf.
"I'm perfectly fine," she assured him quickly. "You know he doesn't have the stones to harm me directly. He was… well, I'm not sure what to make of it, actually."
"We need to get you back to the Keep," Varian resolved. "You look half frozen, and I don't want you exposed out here any longer than necessary. Can you open a portal?"
"Of course," Auriana said, reaching up to grasp him firmly by the shoulder as she gathered her power.
The air hummed with electricity as the portal spell took hold, and a few seconds later, they materialised in the centre of Varian's bedchambers. It was infinitely warmer in Varian's rooms, with his hearthfire burning merrily away, and Auriana suddenly found her heavy woollen cloak uncomfortably hot. She slipped it off her shoulders, revealing her dark grey dress beneath, before divesting herself of her scarf and gloves.
For his part, Varian went to stow Shalamayne, having worn no cloak of his own. He was almost always warm, and even the chilly morning air had done very little to faze him. He did, however, remove his belt and scabbard, and he loosened the top two buttons of his coat as he came back to stand with Auriana.
"So. What happened?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest with a wary expression.
"Anguile sought me out. He wanted to… I don't know. Intimidate me, maybe," Auriana explained.
She gave Varian a brief summary of the conversation, making his heavy glower deepen with every word.
"He might be onto us, you know," she finished. "As in… he might know that we know that the man you just executed was no real Defias…"
"What makes you think that?" Varian asked worriedly.
He stepped closer, and reached out to grab her gently by the waist. His fingers were warm, even through the fabric of Auriana's woollen dress, and she instinctively leaned into his touch.
"Some of the things he said were… I don't know. Unsettling. Though I might be a little paranoid," she admitted, shrugging. "It might have just been his usual meddling."
"Did he say anything that we can use?"
Varian's words were almost unintelligible over the harsh growl that rumbled through his chest, and his fingers tightened reflexively on her body.
"No. It's the usual problem - I can't prove anything. And even if someone had overheard our conversation, technically he did nothing more that suggest there may be those who would disapprove of our betrothal. Which… isn't exactly an unusual sentiment, and certainly not treasonous in itself," she sighed. "Light, I wanted to burn that smirk off his face..."
Varian snorted irritably, and he shook his head with a dark scowl.
"I'd like to let you, believe me," he agreed, "But you were right. If there's a chance we can get them all…"
"Then we need to take it," Auriana sighed, pressing a hand to her temples. "I know we need to be patient, but he's not going to make it easy."
She bit her lip, and suddenly found it difficult to look Varian in the eye. He reached for her cheek, concerned, but Auriana kept her eyes firmly trained on her boots.
"I may have… um... lit him on fire…" she whispered. "Just a little bit."
Varian let out a soft snort of genuine surprise, and gently tilted her chin upwards.
"Just a little bit?" he repeated. "Tell me, Auriana, how does one light someone on fire just a little bit?"
He cocked an eyebrow skeptically, and she blushed.
"It was only the hem of his coat..." she said, though she doubted that made it much better. "And he can't prove it was me, he was standing next to a brazier at the time..."
Varian stared down at her for a long time, when to Auriana's utter shock, he burst out laughing. The King of Stormwind very rarely laughed, but when he did, it was deep and boisterous, and in this case, it was so loud that a guard actually knocked on the door to make sure everything was well. Varian ordered him off, still chuckling, and he pressed a firm kiss to Auriana's forehead.
"I shouldn't have done it…" she mumbled, still slightly confused by his reaction.
"Probably not," Varian agreed, though he could not hide the satisfied glint in his eyes.
"I might feel a bit more remorseful if you stopped smiling at me like that, you know," Auriana pointed out.
Varian's darkly handsome face grew intense and serious once more, and he suddenly pressed Auriana backwards so that she was pinned between his hips and the cool stone wall of his chambers. He leaned in conspiratorially, and brushed his lips against her ear.
"Hmph. Don't tell anyone, but I rather enjoy it when you light things on fire…" he growled huskily. "Especially when one of those 'things' is that scheming bastard…"
Auriana laughed as he kissed her, and for a few precious moments she was able to forget the world of politics and assassins as she lost herself in the passionate embrace of the man she loved.
"You're taking this surprisingly well," she observed, touching a soft hand to his chest. "I would have thought you would be more… upset."
Varian considered the question thoughtfully.
"I don't… well, you know I don't trust Anguile in the slightest, but… you're going to be my wife," he said simply. "I've wanted you for so long, it's difficult to be anything less than… happy. As… odd as that may seem, for a man like me."
It was true, she thought. On reflection, Varian had been unusually energetic and enthusiastic of late, ever since they had begun to make public their engagement. He had been briefly nervous when they had announced the news to Anduin, as had she, but the prince had responded with such overwhelming joy and excitement that their trepidation had been short lived. By his own standards, Varian had been almost giddy ever since, and had certainly not been shy about showing Auriana his affection.
"And… if I allow myself to get angry, I'm going to end up tearing his head off with my bare hands," Varian added quietly, his eyes darkening. "Which we all agreed would be a very bad idea…"
For the briefest of moments, Auriana saw his muscles tensed in anticipation, but he forced himself to relax with a slight shake if of his head. He had been working hard to contain his anger, Auriana knew, and she was immensely proud of him for putting the wellbeing of his kingdom over his own desire to see Anguile dead immediately.
"Better to focus on you," he finished, slipping his enormous hand into hers. "Come. I've arranged a surprise. Something to take your mind of Anguile."
"Oh?"
Varian declined to answer, instead choosing to step away with an enigmatic quirk of his eyebrows.
"This way," he urged her, tugging gently on her hand
He made his way swiftly out into the corridor, forcing Auriana to take two steps to every one of his, before stopping abruptly outside his study. He gestured towards the heavy oak door, and stood behind her with his hands resting firmly on her shoulders.
"The surprise is… your study?" she asked, nonplussed.
"No. I have arranged an appointment with a dressmaker," he explained. "You need a dress, and I know you've been putting it off."
It made sense that Varian had recruited a tailor, of course, even if Auriana were hesitant. She had to wear something, after all; though a small and admittedly unreasonable part of her had hoped she might get away with wearing something of her mother's, and avoid a whole fuss. Admittedly, if it had been up to Auriana, she and Varian would have been wed in a ceremony with fewer than a dozen people in attendance, but such a simple affair would apparently never do for the High King of the Alliance. The last she had heard from Varian's chamberlain, the guest list now topped seven hundred, and it made Auriana feel queasy just to think about standing up in front of so many people. Still, she understood why a royal wedding was a large, significant event, and thus far she had abstained from sharing her concerns with Varian.
"Er… a dressmaker?" Auriana repeated, trying not to let her nervousness show. "For me?"
"The royal dressmaker, in fact," Varian confirmed. "Served the Crown for twenty years, as he loves to remind everyone who will listen. He's a finicky little weasel, but he is the best. I'm sure you'll have lots of fun..."
His eyes glinted wickedly as he slid a hand to the small of her back, and gently pushed her closer to the door. He looked rather pleased with himself, though whether it was because he was excited to see her dressed in her wedding finery, or because he knew how much she would detest being poked and prodded at with measuring tapes and pins, Auriana couldn't tell.
"Hmm. You don't know me at all, do you?" she huffed drily, looking up at him over her shoulder.
"I know that you will look beautiful in your wedding dress," Varian whispered, bending forwards so that his lips were pressed right up against the soft skin just behind her ear. "And if I have to suffer through him, so do you."
"Well, that makes me feel all better..."
"Would you prefer that we were wed naked?" Varian asked, with mock seriousness. "I'm certainly not shy about my body, but…"
"Stop it," Auriana growled, playfully stomping her heel down on his foot. "You know this isn't… my forte…"
Varian snorted in amusement, and pulled her briefly against him. He squeezed her shoulders and placed a reassuring kiss on top of her head, before he stepped away and turned to head back out into the main corridor.
"Wait - you're not going to stay?" Auriana asked, trying not to sound as uncertain as she felt.
It was one thing to accept that such a fuss over her dress was necessary, but she didn't particularly want to face a the tailor alone. She had no idea what she wanted to wear, and having Varian at her side would have done much to calm her nerves. The King, however, seemed to have other ideas.
"It's bad luck to see a bride in her dress before her wedding day, and the Light knows we need all the luck we can get," he said wryly. "Besides, I've already had my turn with him."
He pulled uncomfortably at his collar, and shook his head as if trying to forget a bad dream.
"What are you wearing, then?" Auriana huffed, putting her hands on her hips.
Varian shrugged noncommittally, smirking slyly at her as he backed away.
"It's a secret," he said. "I'll come rescue you later, I promise."
"You'd better..." Auriana called after him, shaking her head as she watched him disappear.
She turned back to face the study door, and took a few deep, steadying breaths before she knocked once to announce her presence. Her unexpected conversation with Anguile had thrown her more than she cared to admit, and the added complication of having to unexpectedly meet with a tailor to design her wedding dress had her thoroughly off balance.
It's a dress, she reminded herself sternly, Not a demon.
The door swung open, and Auriana was suddenly confronted by a veritable storm of rich purple fabric. She blinked, and belatedly realised that somewhere within the swirl of cloth stood a slender, dark haired human man. He was not especially tall or strongly built, which perhaps explained why she had such difficulty spotting him within the trappings of his gaudy suit, and he sported a rather impressive black moustache. In a way, he reminded Auriana a little of her grandfather, though her grandfather would never have deigned to wear something so ostentatious.
"Your Grace, I presume. It is an honour," the man said grandly, bowing before her with a tremendous flourish. "Willifred Fortescue, at your service. It is an honour to have been commissioned to design your wedding dress. The highlight of my twenty year career as Stormwind's official royal tailor, I'm sure. Now, come!"
He bustled her into the room, and Auriana let out a soft gasp of surprise. Varian's study had all but been transformed, so much so that Auriana almost didn't recognise it. A small wooden dais had been set up in front of a mirror at the centre of the room, and every inch of available surface was covered with a hundred different types of fabrics and sample dresses. The curtains had been drawn back and the fire lit, while Varian's desk had been pushed up against the back wall to make room for even more tailoring paraphernalia. Apparently, Fortescue had come prepared to dress an entire army.
A skinny young woman with mousy brown hair looked up as Auriana entered, pausing where she stood folding a set of silks. Her eyes widened, and she wobbled up and down awkwardly in what might have been an attempt at a curtsy.
"This is my apprentice, Clarette," Fortescue explained, gesturing flippantly towards the girl. "She will be helping with your measurements today. I assure you, Your Grace, she is more useful than she looks."
Auriana bit her lip, unsure how to respond to Fortescue's unexpected bluntness, and saved herself the trouble of answering by pretending to be very interested in a nearby dress sample. Clarette, however, did not seem at all bothered by her master's choice of words, and she went about her business as if he said such things all the time.
Auriana shook her head in mild bewilderment, when a small movement in the corner of her eye suddenly caught her attention, and she turned in surprise to see none other than Mia Greymane. The Queen of Gilneas had been gracefully on one of Varian's wide leather chairs in the corner of the room, though she rose to her feet as Fortescue ushered Auriana further inside.
"Q-Queen Mia..." Auriana murmured, silently cursing Varian and his surprises as she hastily swept her skirts into a low curtsy of her own. "A pleasure to see you again…"
She had met Mia once before, and while she had found the older woman to be generous and pleasant, she was not sure whether she would consider their relationship personal or friendly. Mia, however, seemed to have no such reservations, and she came over to clasp Auriana's hands with a wide smile.
"Hello, dear," she said warmly, pulling Auriana back to her feet. "No need for formalities. How are you?"
"Um… fine…" Auriana said awkwardly. "I think."
She did her best to hide her surprise at Mia's unexpected presence, but the Queen of Gilneas was far too sharp to be so easily fooled.
"I take it Varian didn't tell you I was coming?" she asked shrewdly. "Tess and I arrived last night. For the wedding."
"Varian doesn't tell me a lot of things, apparently," Auriana grumbled.
Her gaze flicked briefly to Fortescue, and she scowled.
"Ah, I see," Mia said knowingly. "Well, in any case, Varian thought you might appreciate an... ally."
She, too, turned took at Fortescue, her eyes sparkling with tolerant good humour. Fortunately, the tailor seemed not to have noticed Mia's sly smirk as he fussed around in his many fabrics, muttering to himself the whole while. Eventually, however, he withdrew a small leather notebook and pen from the breast pocket of his gaudy suit, and he turned back around to give Auriana his full attention.
"Up on the dias please, Your Grace, if you would," he ordered, beckoning her forward. "Let us have a look at you."
Auriana glanced nervously up at Mia, who gave her a firm, encouraging nod. She had been fitted for dresses before, of course, but this was to be her wedding dress, and she found that her knees were surprisingly shaky as she climbed the few short steps to the top of the dias and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Auriana had never been overly concerned with her appearance, though she very much wanted to look beautiful for Varian on the day. She was hardly an ogre, she knew, but nor was she a great beauty like the other ladies of the Court, with their impossibly graceful necks, flawless skin, and legs that seemed to go on forever...
Auriana was so distracted by judging her own appearance that she failed to notice the small movement on her left side, and she squeaked in surprise as Fortescue's assistant stepped forward and began to unlace her bodice.
"Hey!"
She yanked the fabric across her chest, and glared across the line of her shoulder at the bewildered apprentice.
"Please, Your Grace," Fortescue said quickly, hurrying up to stand on Auriana's other side. "It is imperative that I take measurements! We must have you out of that dress."
"You… can't work around it?" Auriana asked unhappily, not at all eager to expose her pale, battle-scarred body to a room full of strangers. "Or… I could just… give you my measurements? I do know them…"
"It is your wedding day, Your Grace. Your dress must be yours, perfectly cut to every curve of your body!" Fortescue insisted, looking utterly scandalised by her reticence. "How do you expect me to make you the envy of every woman in the Alliance if you do not allow me to fit you properly?"
"I don't want to be the envy of every woman in the Alliance…" Auriana grumbled under her breath, though she reluctantly allowed Clarette to strip her down to her plain undergarments.
The chill air hit her immediately, and Auriana was suddenly very glad for the fire burning at the back of the room. She was not so worried about the temperature, however, as she was about her exposed scars. She saw Clarette's eyes widen, and while the young apprentice tailor did her best to hide her reaction, it was clear that she was shocked by the visceral evidence of the punishment Auriana's body had taken over the years.
Auriana sighed, though she supposed that battle damage was a rare sight for a young tailor's apprentice like Clarette, who had likely spent her whole life safely within the walls of Stormwind. Still, her scars were bad enough that even Mia Greymane winced in sympathy, and Auriana found herself suddenly struggling to resist the urge to cover her body with her hands.
I'm going to kill Varian for this, she thought, squaring her shoulders as Fortescue opened his notebook and began to circle her with a critical eye.
He studied her with the air of a man inspecting a prized horse at auction, stroking his moustache thoughtfully as he paced. Clarette soon recovered from her shock, and she, too, stepped forward with a measuring tape and a small notebook of her own. She said not a word, but she worked quickly and efficiently to take measurements of every conceivable part of Auriana's body; everything from the circumference of her waist to the length of her fingers.
"Let us have a good look at you," the tailor mused, jotting a quick note to himself as he spoke. "No height, obviously, but good posture. Too many ladies these days slouch."
Apparently, he had entirely forgotten that Auriana was actually in the room, and perfectly capable of hearing every word he said. She raised an eyebrow, giving him her best affronted glare, but Fortescue paid her about as much attention as he would have a fly. He was entirely focused on his task, and continued to address Auriana as if she were a mannequin, instead of an actual living, breathing woman.
"Nothing to write home about in the rear department," he added, sounding rather disappointed that Auriana had not had the common decency to be born with a sufficiently shapely bottom, "But a beautiful little waist; that I can work with."
Auriana coughed down a sarcastic retort as she glanced at Mia over her shoulder, and was somewhat surprised to see the normally composed Queen of Gilneas trying and largely failing to contain an amused smile.
Nothing to write home about? she mouthed incredulously, forcing Mia to turn away and cover her mouth with a delicate hand.
"Eyes forward, Your Grace!" Fortescue tutted. "Chest is ample, though at the very least proportional, and set beneath delicate shoulders. Lovely pale skin, a pity about those scars, but I suppose that can't be helped."
He abruptly reached for Auriana's chin, and turned her face from side to side before she could object.
"A short neck, but nice high cheekbones, and truly remarkable eyes," he concluded. "Yes. You will do. I can make you beautiful."
"Oh, thank the Light," Auriana muttered sarcastically. "I was worried."
Mia actually snorted at that, and was forced to cover the sound behind a rather unladylike cough. Fortescue, however, seemed not to have heard, and continued to study Auriana as calmly as if he had not just spent the last few minutes scrutinising her every flaw. He was a curious mix of sharply observant and blithely unaware, and the entire situation was so bizarre that Auriana found herself biting back a sudden mad urge to laugh.
"Tell me, Your Grace, what kind of neckline do you favour for formal events?" Fortescue asked. "A bateau, perhaps, or a portrait? Sweetheart? Jewel? Not a square, I think, you don't have the shoulders for it - but maybe a scoop?"
"Ah… I can't say I've ever put that much thought into it," Auriana said uncertainly. "One that fits?"
She had always thought she had dressed well when the situation demanded, or at the very least she had dressed appropriately, but by Fortescue's standards, she was clearly lacking. She'd certainly never paid all that much attention to the names of things, nor whether this or that neckline was most flattering for her build.
"You've not put much thought into it?" Fortescue exclaimed theatrically. "But… but you are a duchess! What have you been doing all your life?"
"Um… well... saving Azeroth..." Auriana said candidly, unable to resist.
Unfortunately, Fortescue did not seem to appreciate her fine wit as much as Mia. He cut her off with a wave of his hand, and frowned down at her like she was a particularly vexatious puzzle.
"Perhaps we ought to start elsewhere, then," he suggested, snapping his fingers at Clarette and pointing to one of the many sample dresses he had brought with him. "Try this one, please. Classic cut, long sleeve, bateau neck. Any dress I make will be tailored to you, of course, but let us get an idea about what silhouettes might suit you best."
Clarette complied instantly, and in no time at all she had Auriana laced into an elegant gown made of heavy white silk. Unsurprisingly, it was a bit too big, and while beautifully made, it had the unfortunate effect of making Auriana look boxy, and somehow even shorter. Fortunately, Fortescue swiftly came to the same conclusion, and he immediately ordered Auriana to try a different dress.
What followed next was a seemingly endless parade of fabric, pearls, and lace, as Auriana was tasked with trying on nearly every sample Fortescue had brought. Most were overlarge, but more troublingly, none seemed to sit at all right on Auriana's slender frame. No matter how much the tailor extolled the virtue of this line or that waist or that neckline, not a single one made her feel comfortable, much less beautiful, and Auriana began to despair of ever finding anything to wear. Worse, Fortescue kept asking her for detailed opinions, and she was unable to articulate her real feelings beyond a few quiet, polite refusals.
The final straw came in the form a particularly generous ballgown, with generous puffed sleeves that were apparently very popular in certain circles, and a hooped skirt that was at least as wide as Auriana was tall. As with all the other dresses, it was exquisitely made, but it looked so utterly ridiculous on Auriana's small frame that she almost burst out laughing at her own reflection in the mirror.
"Um. It's… really… really..." she stammered, unable to think of quite the right words. "Er…"
It might have been flattering on a taller woman, perhaps, but on Auriana it simply looked as if she were cocooned in a giant ball of fabric.
"May I?" Mia asked suddenly.
The Queen of Gilneas had remained silent during the impromptu fashion show, though she now rose gracefully and swept across the room to stand at Auriana's side. Fortescue leaned forward as if to stop her, but she quelled his objection with a twitch of a single regal eyebrow. She looked every inch the commanding queen as she stepped up onto the dais at Auriana's side, and she placed a motherly hand on Auriana's shoulder as they both stared at one another in the mirror.
"Be honest," Mia said quietly, so that only Auriana could hear. "I know you've been trying to be polite, but what do you really think?"
"I look like a marshmallow," Auriana whispered. "An enormous, fluffy marshmallow. I feel like I'm drowning in fabric. Help me?"
Mia chuckled softly, and gave Auriana a short, reassuring pat on the arm as she turned back around to address the tailor.
"Mister Fortescue. I think we can agree that this very… ah… fashionable silhouette is, while beautiful, simply too grand for Her Grace's frame," she said diplomatically.
Fortescue nodded in agreement, thought it was clear from his pursed lips that he was thoroughly insulted to have yet another one of his sartorial masterpieces dismissed.
"Perhaps there is another way to go about this," Mia continued smoothly, offering Auriana a kind smile. "Let's start small. No need to make a hundred different decisions all at once. Mister Fortescue, you can take notes. Hair up or down?"
"Ah, down, I suppose," Auriana replied. "Varian likes it down."
"I bet he does. Wolves are all the same," Mia smirked, with a conspiratorial grin. "What if we were to pull the front off your face, like this, and left the back long. With a slight curl? Still formal, but not quite so severe."
She gathered a handful of Auriana's hair in a rough demonstration as she spoke, carefully pulling back some of the loose tendrils that framed Auriana's face and leaving the ends long.
"Yes, I like that," Auriana agreed readily, much preferring Mia's simple approach to the problem than Fortescue's fussing.
"Good. That means we could perhaps look into a v-neck, something to show off your decolletage," Mia said thoughtfully.
She was now studying Auriana as closely as Fortescue had earlier, though her gaze was not nearly quite so uncomfortable.
"Could we do something off the shoulder?" Auriana suggested tentatively. "My mother's wedding dress was like that."
"I think that can be arranged," Mia agreed, giving Fortescue a pointed look. "Though a softer fabric, I think. Mooncloth or spellweave, instead of heavy silk. Celestial cloth, even."
"I can procure any cloth you like," Fortescue interjected proudly, "But she will still need a full skirt. And a train! It is a royal wedding, after all."
"Yes, Mister Fortescue," Mia said patiently, "Though I'm sure a man of your talents can manage a floaty train, rather than a stiff one?"
Fortescue spluttered something incomprehensible at the implication and immediately made a note, though he kept otherwise silent as Mia turned back to Auriana.
"Colour?"
"Um… ivory, maybe, instead of true white. White makes me look a little… ghostly," Auriana admitted. "We don't want people to think Varian is marrying one of the Forsaken."
"Very true," Mia smiled. "Something like this?"
She beckoned to Clarette, who immediately hurried forward with a selection of swatches. Mia carefully selected a rich, dark ivory from the array of fabric before her, and held it up against Auriana's cheek. It suited her skin tone far better than any of the other colours she had tried on that day, and Auriana found herself smiling for the first time since she had entered the room.
"Yes, that's much better," she said gratefully.
Mia held the approved swatch out to Fortescue with a firm stare, and glanced briefly at the clock on Varian's desk.
"Perhaps we should stop for the day. We've been at this for hours," she told him. "You have Auriana's measurements, now, and her colours, and plenty of notes. Enough to be getting on with, I should think?"
Mia phrased it as a question, but it was clear she would accept no argument. She was a woman used to being obeyed, and even the blunt and determined Fortescue was smart enough to know that he would make little headway against her.
"Yes, yes. Of course," he said, bowing slightly. "I shall make some preliminary sketches, and return them to you tomorrow, Your Grace. Clarette - take that swatch, and the cream princess line there. The maids will return the rest to the studio for us. Tonight, we have work to do!"
The mousy apprentice silently set about divesting Auriana from the last of the sample dresses, her slender fingers quickly working the pearl buttons free. In the meantime, Fortescue tidied his notes and gathered a number of other fabric samples, talking to himself under his breath the whole while. Fortunately, neither he or Clarette took overly long, and soon Auriana and Mia were left alone in front of the mirror, Auriana once again warm and comfortable in her own fitted grey dress.
"He's right about your waist, you know," Mia mused, tilting her head to one side. "Most of the women in Court would kill to have measurements like that."
"No arse, though, apparently," Auriana countered.
"Well, I'm sure Varian likes your rear just as it is," Mia assured her, with a small, sly wink. "He seems the red-blooded sort."
Auriana blushed at Mia's forwardness, though she found that talking to the older queen was much easier than she might have anticipated. Mia had a warm, motherly air about her, and a the kind of quick and clever wit that Auriana greatly appreciated.
"Thank you for this," she said quietly, gesturing to the mirror.
"You are quite welcome," Mia smiled, "Though I cannot help but to notice that you seem rather overwhelmed? Your royal tailor is not an easy man, by any means, but it seems to me as if there is more going on here than a finicky dressmaker."
Auriana regarded Mia carefully, uncertain of what to say. Genn Greymane was one of the few people who knew the truth about Anguile and the assassins, though Auriana wasn't sure whether he had told his wife. It didn't help that she had only met Mia once before, and while the Queen of Gilneas certainly seemed kind and trustworthy, Auriana found herself struggling to overcome her own natural guardedness.
"I… it's been a bit of a stressful day. At the end of a stressful year," she confessed finally. "And this whole… thing... isn't exactly comfortable… for me."
"You've never been fitted for a dress?" Mia asked, arching her eyebrows in surprise.
"Well, yes, but not like... this," Auriana, struggling to articulate the difference. "I've certainly never been fitted for a dress that was intended to be seen and commented upon by thousands people."
She pictured herself standing on the steps of Stormwind Cathedral in front of a vast crowd, and she felt suddenly queasy.
"Why does it bother you so much?" Mia prodded.
"You heard Fortescue; you saw the way he looked at my scars. He thinks I'm unfit to be a queen," she sighed. "And he's hardly the only one."
Auriana ducked her head, hoping Mia would not judge her too harshly for her weakness. She did not regret her decision to accept Varian's proposal, far from it, but as the day of wedding grew closer, the more nervous she grew. She had been so focused on the execution, and Anguile, and unravelling the mystery of the assassins that she had managed to put it largely out of her mind, but standing here with Fortescue fussing over her had only served to emphasise just how imminent the event truly was.
Five weeks, she realised suddenly, her stomach roiling. In five weeks I'm going to be the Queen of Stormwind...
"Auriana?" Mia asked. "You're looking a little pale."
"I'm fine," she managed, though she sounded rather less than convincing.
Mia frowned.
"There are a lot of people who will try to make you feel small in the coming months. Do not let them," she advised.
"I am small," Auriana snorted wryly.
"You are the future Queen of Stormwind, and future wife of the High King of the Alliance. You cannot allow yourself to be intimidated," Mia insisted. "Genn has told me much about your exploits, and rumour has it you are one of the strongest mages alive. Are you really going to tell me that you're no match for a fussy old dressmaker? He is hardly comparable to Archimonde."
"Well, to be fair, I was allowed to pyroblast Archimonde…"
Mia chuckled, though her amusement did not quite reach her eyes. Her expression was at once both serious and compassionate, and she reached out to take Auriana's small hand in her own.
"No one is born to be a king or queen, Auriana, no matter what some people would have you believe," she added softly. "And I say that as someone who has been a queen for a very long time. The greatest rulers are forged in fire - and as I understand it, you have been tempered more than most. Don't forget that."
Mia's quiet sincerity was compelling, and Auriana felt some of the churning tension in her stomach lessen slightly. Before she could reply, however, there came a sudden loud knock at the door.
"Oh... what now?" Auriana sighed. "Come!"
She half expected Fortescue to reappear, gushing about box pleats and handkerchief hems, but instead she was surprised to see none other than Jaina Proudmoore, Archmage of the Kirin Tor. Jaina was immaculately dressed in her official robes of office, her breast and shoulderplates shining, though her expression was considerably more friendly and personable than her formal appearance would suggest.
"Jaina!" Auriana exclaimed. "Ah… come in. What are you doing here?"
"I came to find you," Jaina explained, as she stepped across the threshold into Varian's study, "Though I was not expecting to find the Queen of Gilneas, as well..."
She smiled warmly at Mia, who acknowledged the greeting with a polite nod.
"A pleasure to see you, Lady Jaina," she said. "How can we be of assistance?"
"I need your help in Dalaran, Auriana," Jaina said significantly, "It's a rather important matter, but if you're busy…"
She glanced sidelong at Mia, who was now watching the two younger women with great interest.
"Ah, no… I think we were just about finished," Auriana said, trying not sound too keen.
She was keen to get out of Stormwind for a while, not least because Dalaran was a place where she felt she could actually be useful. Of course, she did not wish to cause offense to Mia by hurrying off, especially after the Queen had been so kind, and she turned to the older woman for approval.
"Er… Mia? If that's alright with you?"
"Perfectly fine, my dear. I would not dare interfere in the affairs of Kirin Tor," she reassured Auriana good-naturedly. "Though I think you and I should continue our discussion later, don't you?"
It was not an order, merely a suggestion, but it was clear Mia had much more to say on the subject of being a queen. Somewhat surprisingly, however, Auriana found the idea of talking to Mia further quite comforting, even despite her own shyness, and she quickly nodded her assent.
"I'd like that," she admitted quietly.
"It's settled, then," Jaina said brightly, though it was clear she was in a hurry to return to Dalaran. "Shall we get going?"
Auriana squared her shoulders, and she felt a sudden surge of invigorating energy as Jaina easily opened a portal back to the great floating city.
"Right behind you," she said eagerly. "Just let me grab my boots."