Auriana

"Oh, damn it all..."

Auriana's quill slipped from her fingers as she was struck by a sudden wave of nausea for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. She let out a soft groan and pushed her chair well back from her desk, not wanting to risk the loss of a morning's work. Her stomach heaved and roiled as if she were standing on the deck of a ship during a particularly violent storm, and it took every last scrap of self-control she possessed not to hurl an inkwell at the wall in frustration.

It had been three weeks since Stormwind had come under attack from demonic forces – and three weeks since Auriana had learned she was pregnant. In that time, she had been hard at work managing the Alliance's diplomatic response to Khadgar's incredible proposal to hide the entire planet from the Burning Legion. Which, as it turned out, mostly involved writing letters to what seemed like half of Azeroth. It wasn't always the most scintillating of assignments, but it had kept her busy – and more importantly, distracted.

A great many things had been vexing Auriana of late. In addition to the discomforting physical reality of her pregnancy, she was frustrated by a distinct lack of progress in the investigation of the attack on Stormwind. Recovery works were already well underway, but SI:7 had thus far failed to chase down any meaningful leads as to the identity of the perpetrators or the motivation behind the attack. In addition, the trial of Rohas Anguile was due to begin in the coming week, and Auriana despaired at the thought of having to see his smug face when she was called before the Court to recount her testimony in person. In short, she was tired, sick, bored and grumpy.

On the bright side, the nature of the liaison work Auriana was currently undertaking gave her an excellent reason to remain sequestered in the royal study. While she was starting to go a little stir-crazy, between her general irritation and the symptoms of her early pregnancy, it was probably for the best that she had a plausible excuse to hide from the public as needed. Some days were much harder than others, and today had thus far been especially bad.

Auriana closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing. There wasn't much she could do to relieve her queasiness, though she had noticed it was far worse when she was tense. Breathing helped, at least a little, and she became so focused on maintaining her composure that she didn't even notice when Varian entered the room.

"Auriana…?"

Her eyes flew open, and she sat up a touch straighter as the statuesque visage of her husband frowned down at her from the other side of the desk. Varian was dressed formally, having spent the morning in chambers with the King's Council, though he had already loosened his collar and rolled up his cuffs. He appeared impossibly tall and effortlessly handsome, and Auriana couldn't help but to feel small and frumpish by comparison. She attempted to offer him a welcoming smile, though she suspected that it came across as more of a pained grimace.

"Hello," she managed.

"Nausea?"

Varian came around the desk and placed a hand upon Auriana's shoulder, though he maintained a careful foot or so of distance between them. He'd learned through hard experience (and through the sacrifice of one of his favourite pairs of boots) that sometimes her sickness came on faster than she could control.

"Mm. It'll pass."

Auriana gathered her considerable willpower and demanded that the frantic churning of her stomach cease, as if it were some wild animal that she could wrangle into submission. Her stomach, as usual, ignored her.

"...I hope."

"Should I call for Laurena? You had a rough night… and now today…" Varian observed.

"I'm sorry," Auriana mumbled. "I know I keep waking you up."

"Please don't apologise," he said quickly, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of her neck. "I can survive a few restless nights – my concern is for you."

Auriana leaned back in her chair, and stared blankly at the coffered ceiling above. She'd been told that the experience of pregnancy varied woman by woman, and she had hoped she might be one of the lucky few who took to the condition with ease. Of course, she was rarely so lucky, and in truth, she was struggling.

"There's little to be done – even for a healer as skilled as Laurena. Believe me, if she had a spell… or if there were some sort of herb, or potion… I'd have commandeered the city's entire stock," she grumbled. "And the nausea isn't even the worst of it. Everything aches – my back, my breasts, my stomach – and it doesn't seem to matter how much sleep I get, I'm always tired."

Auriana hated to admit such weakness, even to Varian, but the bitter complaints spilled from her mouth unbidden.

"It also appears that I'm no longer entirely in control of my emotions. Yesterday, I wept for an hour because the kitchens sent up the wrong flavour of tea. And the worst part is, I couldn't tell you what flavour I actually wanted, only that it was wrong."

The physical symptoms of pregnancy were one thing, but for Auriana, the emotional symptoms were far worse. She could tolerate pain. The excessive, illogical weepiness, however, was infuriating.

"I don't… I don't feel like myself," she muttered. "Laurena says this is all normal for early pregnancy, but I don't know if… I just wish I could talk to my mother…"

The admission surprised Auriana herself, even as she spoke the words. She had enjoyed a close and affectionate relationship with her mother, but she had never considered herself particularly needful of maternal things. With a child of her own on the way, however, she was suddenly possessed of a keen and wistful desire to speak to Alliana, if only for a little while.

Varian winced in sympathy. "Oh, Auri… you know I would give her back to you, if… if I could…"

"I know." Auriana shook her head, frustrated by her own sentimentalism. "I don't usually… Her loss is an old hurt, scarred over. But lately…"

"You miss her."

Varian crouched down beside Auriana's chair, and with a careful application of pressure on her neck, turned her head to face him. He was so tall that even on one knee, he was able to look her in the eye. A heavy crease lined his brow, and his lips were turned downwards into the particular scowl he wore whenever he was deeply concerned, but didn't quite know what to say.

"I, ah… well, while I do not possess a mother's wisdom," he offered, after a pause, "Perhaps I can assure you that a touch of moodiness is very much normal..."

"Oh?"

"When Tiffin was about twelve weeks pregnant with Anduin, she banished me from our bed for the night because I tracked mud into our chambers after a session in the training yards."

"Really?"

From what Auriana knew of the late Queen Tiffin, she had been almost limitlessly patient and kind. Auriana couldn't imagine a woman of Tiffin's reputation and steady temperament forcibly evicting her husband from their chambers, though there was no trace of a lie or exaggeration in Varian's words.

"Oh, yes. She reasoned that if I had no concern for the cleanliness of our rugs, then I would have no concern for the cleanliness of our child, and therefore was no fit father. I had never seen her so furious."

"And you obeyed? You left?"

"Of course. There are some things even I am not brave enough to face." The corner of Varian's mouth curled upwards in a wry, crooked grin. "She apologised the next morning, and I was permitted to return to our bed. She was terribly embarrassed… though in the moment, she was convinced that her logic was sound."

Despite her discomfort, Auriana managed a small smile. While Varian could never give her reassurance or allay her fears in the same way her mother might have done, she appreciated his unique brand of succor nonetheless.

"I suppose I'm glad it's not just me," she conceded. "Although, between the physical aches and the temporary insanity, it's a wonder anyone ever reproduces."

A soft grunt of amusement rumbled through Varian's chest as he leaned in and pressed his forehead against Auriana's. He had been unusually gentle in recent weeks – the way he looked at her, the way he touched her, even the way he spoke. He was still hard – he was not a man who could ever be anything less – but lately there had been a silken edge to his steel; a new side to him that Auriana had never really seen.

"I would argue that it's all worth it, in the end – but then again, I've never been pregnant."

"Somehow, I can't picture you weeping over a cup of tea," Auriana snorted.

Varian let out a low chuckle, and brushed a tender kiss against her cheek, his breath warm against her skin. Auriana placed her palm against his chest, and let out a soft sigh as the beat of his mighty heart drummed against her fingertips. Varian's steady presence was a healing magic far beyond anything even the Light could offer, and she leaned into him until her nausea finally subsided.

Eventually, however, Varian pulled away. He stretched out his neck and shoulders as he rose to his feet, his brawny musculature shifting visibly beneath the fine fabric of his tunic.

"I thought this might help you feel better – or, at the very least, take your mind off things. It arrived while I was in Council."

He reached for a scroll of parchment secured through his belt, and placed it on the desk. The seal had already been broken, presumably by Varian himself, though Auriana nonetheless recognised the mark of the Warchief of the Horde. Curious, she thumbed the missive open, and quickly skimmed the contents.

"The Horde have agreed to commit their resources to the building of Khadgar's nexus spires," she murmured, not bothering to hide her surprise.

Although Auriana had put considerable time and effort into preparing an appropriately detailed diplomatic package for Varian to send to Vol'jin, she had been uncertain of the Warchief's response. She had hoped that the Horde would see the wisdom in Khadgar's plan, though she was well aware that it posed a number of risks. There was also the broader issue of the Horde's willingness to trust in the Alliance, and vice versa, but it seemed that the Tournament had perhaps built more goodwill than Auriana had first thought.

"They've insisted on a timeline of at least twelve months, in order to relocate what willing kin and allies they have on Draenor, but otherwise… the Horde are agreed. They'll contribute their share of resources as requested, and provide safe access to Theramore through Horde territory, too." She placed the parchment back on the desk, and glanced up at Varian. "Thank you."

"Oh, don't thank me. We both know Vol'jin didn't agree because I asked…"

"I don't think Vol'jin holds me in as high esteem as you seem to think he does. Especially not after…"

Auriana trailed off. Her stomach twisted, but this time it had less to do with her pregnancy, and more to do with her lingering guilt over the events that had transpired in Northrend.

"Perhaps," Varian shrugged. "Or perhaps you give yourself too little credit. In any case, it's done – Khadgar will have his towers."

"I'll take this to Dalaran tomorrow, and present it to the Council," Auriana declared, rerolling the parchment with great care. "With both the Alliance and the Horde are agreed in principle, we can resolve the finer details and begin construction."

After the frustration of the last few weeks, it was incredibly refreshing to at long last see some progress. Varian was right – Vol'jin's missive had made her feel better, and she found herself suddenly flush with more energy than she'd had in a month.

"Are you sure you ought to leave the Keep?" Varian nodded to her stomach. "Is it even safe for you to travel by portal?"

He was trying to sound nonchalant, Auriana could tell, though his tone was not especially convincing.

"So long as I don't conjure the portal myself, yes. Perfectly safe."

As much as Auriana had appreciated the privacy of the royal suite of late, staring at the same four walls every day was also undeniably stifling. She had worked hard to convince the Horde, and she was damned if she wasn't going to see negotiations through to the end.

"What if you take ill?" Varian argued. "You said it yourself, you've been struggling."

It was a fair point, given Auriana's current state, but she found that she was rather desperate to do anything that might make her feel like her usual active self. Or, at the very least, something that made her feel capable, if not entirely normal.

"I won't be gone long. And besides – what difference does it make whether I feel awful here, or awful in Dalaran?"

"At least here you have support, and privacy, and… me."

Varian folded his arms across his chest with a low growl, his strong desire to keep her wrapped up in cotton wool in open war with his sympathy for her present frustrations.

"This is important to me, Varian. It's important to everyone." Auriana laid her hands flat on the desk, and did her best to look convincingly hale.

"And you're important to me," he countered, a slight snarl entering his voice.

"I won't go alone. Ridley is still on furlough for another week, but I could take Garland?" Auriana offered.

"Garland? Ha!" Varian grumbled. "He's a pup. I own older bottles of whiskey…"

"You hand-picked him for the Royal Guard. I believe you once described him as 'a rare talent' and 'one of the finest young swordsmen you'd ever seen'."

Varian shot Auriana a glare that could have withered stone. It really was uncanny, she thought, how much he could resemble a supremely disgruntled wolf.

"That's… that's beside the point," he huffed. "He's not…"

"You?" Auriana finished.

Judging from Varian's testy expression, it seemed she had correctly deduced his conclusion. It wasn't that he didn't trust or respect the skill of his guards – after all, every royal elite was tested, chosen and trained by Varian himself – but rather that he didn't believe she was truly safe in anyone's hands but his own.

"Well, what of it? What if I accompanied you?"

"You have plenty to be getting on with here," she reminded him gently. "You're due to present garrison commendations tomorrow, remember?"

In truth, Auriana would have preferred Varian's company to that of anyone else, but he couldn't simply dispense with an entire day's worth of duties – in this case, duties that had been planned months in advance – and he very well knew it.

Varian's already impressive scowl deepened, and he rapped his knuckles hard against the solid oak of the desk. "Tell me – what is the point of being a king if my time is never my own?"

Auriana was spared having to think of a response by a sudden knock at the study door – although, she supposed, the interruption rather proved Varian's point. He let out a long-suffering sigh, though nevertheless barked out an invitation to whichever poor soul had dared interrupt.

"Enter!"

The door opened, and a grizzled guardswoman stepped into the room.

"My apologies, Majesties, but Master Shaw is here to see you," she explained. "He has information regarding the recent attack on the Trade District. He awaits you in your receiving room."

Varian and Auriana exchanged a significant look. After weeks of nothing, even the smallest lead was welcome.

"Thank you," Varian said. "You may inform Master Shaw that I will join him momentarily."

"As you wish, sire."

The guardswoman retreated, closing the door behind her, though Varian waited until she was well out of earshot before he turned to Auriana.

"I want to join you," she said quickly, before Varian could speak. "If Shaw has something…"

While Auriana wasn't entirely confident in her ability to keep her nausea in check, she was feeling far better than she had twenty minutes ago. It tended to come on in waves, in any case, and it could be hours before her stomach turned again. In the meantime, she wanted – no, she needed – to feel useful.

For a moment, it seemed as if Varian would argue, but instead he simply stepped forward and offered Auriana his hand. She allowed him to guide her to her feet, leaning gratefully into his immovable strength. Her back was a little stiff from sitting down for so long, though – thankfully – the act of standing did not in itself trigger her nausea, as it was sometimes wont to do.

Arm in arm, Varian and Auriana then made their way out of the study to the small receiving room that adjoined the royal suite's private dining room. There was a larger, more formal receiving area on the floor below, though for the most important and private of discussions, Varian preferred the more intimate space.

Surprisingly, Shaw was not alone, instead accompanied by two unknown women. They were not SI:7 rogues, however, but warlocks, judging by the stench of them. Fel magic was a wretched, mephitic thing at the best of times, and when combined with Auriana's heightened sensitivity to smell, it was downright sickening. Neither Varian nor Shaw seemed to have noticed, neither being especially sensitive to magic, but it was suddenly once again all Auriana could do to keep her rebellious stomach in check.

"Shaw," Varian said, by way of greeting.

"Majesties. Forgive the intrusion, but I believe we have the means to determine the identity of the warlocks who perpetrated the attack on the Trade District."

Shaw's sharp green eyes shifted from Varian to Auriana as he spoke, and she suddenly felt very exposed. In her eagerness to hear his report, she hadn't considered the risk of meeting a man whose job was quite literally to uncover secrets. The urge to cover her stomach with her hands was almost overwhelming, but she resisted in favour of knotting her fingers behind her back.

"And you are?" Varian asked, studying the warlocks from head to toe with a chary frown.

The elder of the two was tall and bone thin, and looked to be somewhere in her fifties. Her eyes were an unusual pale violet, and she wore her fine raven hair in a severe upstyle that emphasised her sharp, bloodless cheekbones. In contrast, the younger warlock was short and stocky, with a warm brown complexion and wide-set amber eyes. Her hair was as dark as her older companion's, though she had dyed the ends a pretty shade of lilac.

"Good afternoon, Majesties," the older warlock said, her voice prim and aristocratic. "I thank you for granting an audience."

Auriana frowned. There was something about the woman that was vaguely familiar, but she couldn't quite put her finger on when or where their paths may have crossed. She cocked her head to one side.

"Have we met?"

"No, although I believe you were once acquainted with my younger sister." The warlock cleared her throat. "My name is Lethia Blackwood, and this is my apprentice, Rosalinde Harker."

For a moment, Auriana remained at a loss. Early pregnancy had left her exhausted, and her wits had been noticeably dulled of late… but with a sense of growing apprehension, she realised that the gaunt-faced woman in front of her was not the first warlock she had known by that name.

"Blackwood… Blackwood… the rogue coven on Draenor was led by Ayana Blackwood… she…"

For a split second, Auriana imagined herself back in the Iron Horde's grim torture chamber, suffocated by the stench of orc sweat and burning ore as the acrid bite of her own blood burned on her lips. A tremor shook through her bones, and she could have sworn that the scars on her forearms had begun to prickle in pain. A firm hand closed around her upper arm, though it took Auriana a moment to realise that it was Varian who held her steady. He stepped forward to stand between Auriana and the elder Blackwood; his face contorted in an ugly snarl. His sudden anger radiated off him like heat, but when he spoke, his voice was pure ice.

"What is the meaning of this, Shaw?! Her sister sold my wife to the Iron Horde!"

"And you ended her life for it," Blackwood retorted, seemingly uncowed by the towering fury of her king. "Quite rightly, might I add. Had she not met her end by your hand, Majesty, I would have done it myself."

It was not every day that one confessed to a matter-of- fact willingness to execute one's own sister, and even Varian was momentarily thrown. His vice grip on Auriana's arm loosened, and while he remained standing stubbornly in between her and the two warlocks, his fast-burning anger cooled into a wary curiosity.

"Shaw…?"

The Spymaster fingered the hilt of the dagger resting on his right hip. "Mistress Blackwood approached me late last week to offer her assistance in identifying the perpetrators of the recent attack."

"Last week?"

Shaw would never have risked the safety of his king and queen by acting prematurely, though Varian was too taken by his leery ire to have properly thought the question through. Fortunately, Shaw had served Varian long enough not to be deterred by the latter's reproachful tone.

"I did not wish to trouble you, sire," he said calmly, "Until I taken the time to properly vet Mistress Blackwood's claims."

Blackwood herself cleared her throat. "Perhaps I ought to elaborate – with your permission, Majesty."

She gestured to the chaise behind Auriana, as if they were all standing around in her receiving room. Still, it was a reasonable suggestion, and Auriana was grateful for an excuse to sit down. Her nausea was under control for now, though Light knew how long that would last, especially with two warlocks in the room. For his part, Varian was not quite so willing, but after a few moments of tense silence he, too, took up a seat on Auriana's right-hand side. Shaw, however, elected to remain standing.

"I am not unaware of the reputation of my art, nor its dangers. I understand why my kind are looked upon with suspicion," Blackwood continued, as she took her own seat with her apprentice at her side. "But I also believe there is much we can offer the Alliance. After all, who better to fight the Burning Legion than us? To that end, I founded the Circle of the Black Lion."

It was not the first time Auriana had heard the name. While warlocks were still largely shunned by the general public and were not officially endorsed by the Alliance, the military had a long-standing practice of conscripting warlock irregulars. They were powerful additions to any fighting force, but it was well known they could be just as much of a danger to their allies as their enemies. Auriana herself had worked alongside dozens of warlocks during the course of her soldiering career, most notably during the Draenor campaign, though she knew very little about the intricacies of warlock society and its leadership. While mages had Dalaran and the Kirin Tor, Auriana wasn't aware of any central body that governed Azeroth's warlocks. They were a secretive and insular group by nature, and often went to great pains to keep their true identities hidden. As such, while she was aware of the Circle's existence, she had not known who served as its leader – or even whether the coven had a single leader at all.

"You are, of course, aware of the many warlocks who have fought and died in defense of both Stormwind and Azeroth over years," Blackwood added archly; a polite but unsubtle reminder of the Alliance's uneasy working history with its warlocks.

Varian and Shaw exchanged a pointed look, though Auriana suspected that Varian was somewhat impressed by Blackwood's boldness. The woman may have looked as if she would crumple in a strong breeze, but it was clear that her insubstantial exterior concealed both a spine of steel and a protective pride in her art. Besides – if there was anyone who understood that appearances often had little to do with strength, it was Auriana.

"Of course," Varian said evenly, though he cocked an eyebrow in bemusement. "Go on."

"The Black Lions were established to provide a home for warlocks loyal to the Alliance – a haven for apprentices like Rosalinde here to learn how to master their powers and turn them to the service of our people."

There was something almost motherly about the way Blackwood referred to her apprentice, and indeed her coven as a whole. The warlock matron was clearly very protective of her people, and despite Auriana's mistrust of warlocks as a whole, she was not unsympathetic to Blackwood's cause. Warlocks walked a fine line between mastery and madness, and she imagined that it must be far easier to avoid the temptation to surrender to the darkness under the supervision of an experienced mentor.

Blackwood glanced at Auriana, her pale-eyed gaze sharp. "My sister was instrumental in founding the Circle, and we worked together for many years."

"Ayana was a skilled fighter," Auriana recalled. "I requested her service in Draenor myself, before… before she gave herself over to the Legion. I never really understood why she turned… or why she took so many others with her. What happened?"

She had always wondered whether there had been a tipping point, some traumatic event that had precipitated Ayana's fall, or whether her darkness had simply accumulated and multiplied over time, like an insidious disease.

"It started as a disagreement over our methods. I have always preached a doctrine of patience, caution, and nothing less than absolute control when it comes to the fel arts. Ayana, however, became convinced that my approach was… weak. That the only way we could ever defeat the Burning Legion was by pushing ourselves – and our magic – to the limit."

Blackwood's already thin lips pursed in a bitter scowl.

"Ayana began to attract a group of her own followers, loyal only to her. She called them her Felclaws – a coven within a coven. At first, I thought we were still fighting for the same cause, albeit by different means, but the darkness slowly took root in her heart. She made the journey to Draenor, taking a good number of our Circle with her, and… well. You know better than anyone how that ended, my lady."

It was true. Auriana could remember Ayana's death as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. After slaughtering those in her coven who refused to betray the Alliance, Ayana had launched an all out assault on Lunarfall Garrison. She had lost, but not without casualties. In the end, Varian had slit her throat.

"It's rather ironic. My sister called me weak, but it was not I who surrendered to the siren call of the Legion," Blackwood sneered, a resigned contempt dripping from her lips. "The Black Lions suffer neither traitors nor fools. Ayana got what she deserved."

An awkward moment of silence followed the harsh condemnation. Blackwood's need to distance herself from her sister's misdeeds was palpable, but Auriana was still taken aback by the warlock woman's willingness to sacrifice anyone who stumbled off the narrow path of control – and it seemed she was not the only one.

"While I appreciate your… dedication… to the Alliance," Varian said carefully, "I'm not sure how any of this is relevant to the present problem."

"Despite their losses on Draenor, the Black Lions are still the largest coalition of warlocks in the Eastern Kingdoms," Shaw explained. "I thought the Queen might be able to provide Mistress Blackwood with a firsthand description of the two warlocks she encountered in the canals."

It was then that Auriana realised just how much of a risk Blackwood had taken in approaching SI:7. With the entire organisation on the hunt for rogue warlocks, Blackwood very well could have been condemning herself (and her apprentice) to a long and invasive interrogation – or worse. The fact that she had done so anyway suggested that she took her self-appointed duty as protector of Stormwind's warlocks very seriously, and leant her considerable credibility.

"I can try." Auriana closed her eyes for a brief second in an attempt to recall as many details as possible. "They were dwarves. Wildhammers, to be more specific. I saw their tattoos. The male was… tall, for one of his kind, almost as tall as me. Red-faced. Big nose. I thought they might be related in some way – the woman had similar features. She was younger, though, less controlled. She had... crazy eyes."

Auriana feared that her description may have been too vague, but both Blackwood and her apprentice immediately sat up straighter in recognition.

"Sounds an awful lot like Daeryn to me, ma'am," Harker suggested, her Gilnean accent thick.

"Yes – yes, the male dwarf called the female 'Dae', I remember now," Auriana recalled. "You know them?"

Blackwood nodded, once. "We do. Or rather – I thought we did. Thorgrim and Daeryn Ironfeather. Brother and sister. Daeryn in particular had a gift with demons – I'd wager she did the majority of the summoning work."

"And they're members of your Circle?"

"They were. In truth… I thought they were dead. They disappeared around the time you fought my sister on Draenor," Blackwood explained, shaking her head. "My coven was devastated by Ayana and her Felclaws, and I feared the Ironfeathers may have fallen victim to her assassins."

"Do you have any idea why they would wish to attack Stormwind?" Varian asked.

"No. Although I will say this – Thorgrim was always something of a blunt instrument, but his sister… Daeryn was smart. Always prided herself on being ten steps ahead of everyone else. There is no doubt a method to her madness."

"Such as?"

Blackwood gave a delicate, ladylike sniff. "That, unfortunately, I cannot say. But now that I know they were alive until the day of the attack, I will make enquiries. I was not close to the Ironfeathers myself, but I know those who were."

"I trust any enquiries you might make will be discreet?"

"Of course, Your Majesty. The Black Lions are ever your willing servants."

Blackwood's voice wavered ever so slightly, and for the first time, Auriana saw a glimmer of uncertainty appear in her otherwise cool and confident façade. Beneath Blackwood's aristocratic manner and polished presentation lurked genuine fear, and Auriana all of a sudden understood the older woman's true purpose in exposing her identity and placing herself at the mercy of the Crown. Varian had tolerated the Black Lions' ongoing presence in Stormwind thus far, but his mind may very well have been changed by a sudden and violent demonic attack. By freely revealing herself on behalf of her coven, Blackwood must have hoped to pre-empt any suspicion and protect her people from reprisal.

"Your contributions are noted," Varian said seriously, having also noted the momentary crack in Blackwood's cultured disposition. "And Stormwind would be grateful for any further information you can provide."

He was still suspicious and on edge, but no longer so much so that he would spurn a genuinely promising offer of intelligence.

"In that case, I will also offer you this warning: there's a certain darkness to the world of late. The Twisting Nether grows… restless," Blackwood added. "Demons are harder to summon, more resistant to our will, and we've seen an increase in fel activity across the Eastern Kingdoms. Many of our younger apprentices are plagued by terrible dreams of felfire and blood."

The hairs on the back of Auriana's neck rose, and a shiver rippled down her spine.

"'Your dreams will be destroyed…'" she murmured, recalling the strange moment of fugue she'd had in the royal library only a few weeks earlier.

"What did you say, Majesty?" Blackwood's eyes narrowed.

"Oh. Um. Nothing, really, just… something I heard recently. I… I can't recall where," Auriana lied. "Why? Does it mean something to you?"

She hadn't really meant to speak the words out loud, but there was no use in pretending otherwise with four sets of curious eyes upon her.

Blackwood licked her lips. "'Destroyer of Dreams' was an epithet the orcs once used for Gul'dan."

"Oh."

Auriana wasn't sure what else there was to say. She hadn't experienced any other strange moments like the one in the library since, and nor had she had any unusual dreams… but there was still something unsettling about the mention of Gul'dan in any context.

"Or perhaps it's simply an odd coincidence," Blackwood added, noting the shift in Auriana's expression.

"Mmm. Perhaps."

An uncomfortable silence blanketed the room, until it was broken once again – thankfully – by Varian. He rose to his feet, and inclined his head towards Blackwood and her apprentice in a short nod that was part acknowledgement and part a polite invitation to leave. Both warlocks followed his lead, the younger woman stumbling slightly as she stood. She was clearly not as comfortable with formality as her master, though she'd made an admirable attempt to imitate courtly grace.

"Keep Master Shaw informed of anything you learn," Varian ordered. "If there is a risk of subsequent violence I want to know immediately. I don't like being caught unawares in my own city."

Although Varian never took his eyes off Blackwood, his last sentence was clearly directed at Shaw, rather than the two warlocks. To say Varian had been outraged by the attack was an understatement, and while he did not blame SI:7, exactly, nor was he pleased by the utter lack of warning.

"We can only hope that it will remain an isolated event," Blackwood said smoothly, though she didn't sound overly convinced by her assertion. "Thank you, Majesty."

The two warlocks bowed in unison and turned to leave. As Blackwood reached the door, however, she paused to give Auriana a thoughtful, appraising look. Much like Master Shaw, she had a knowing gaze that seemed to pierce the soul – though hers was a good deal more voracious.

"Forgive me, but – should you ever wish to explore the darker arts, Majesty, I would be honoured to provide instruction. I suspect you would make a fine warlock. You have the magical strength and force of will to be something truly exceptional."

Auriana blinked. Although she appreciated the recognition of her skills, she could scarcely think of a worse idea. It was bad enough that she was a berserker mage; channelling fel would have been downright stupid. The arcane was dangerous, yes, but it was also order, and precision, and beauty. Fel was… pure chaos, and Auriana already had more than enough of that in her life. She glanced down at her hands, and vaguely imagined her scars glowing virulent emerald.

"Ah… thank you… I think… but I'm quite content to remain an archmage."

"Of course," Blackwood said quickly, though she looked a touch disappointed. "And I did not mean to cause offense, Majesty. Please, consider it a compliment."

Auriana gave the older woman a faint smile, to let her know that it had been taken as such, though she still thought it a rather insane idea. She was not the only one, either, judging from the incredulous expression on Varian's face.

"I didn't know you aspired to become a warlock," he remarked, after Blackwood and Harker had departed, the heavy wooden door groaning shut behind them.

"I don't. Believe me," Auriana assured him. "While I can see how the ability to command demons would come in handy in my line of work, I ascribe to the philosophy that a swift death is the best form of demonic control."

Varian snorted in amusement, though he soon sobered as he turned his attention back to Shaw.

"You'll keep an eye, won't you? I know Blackwood thinks coming forward will make her look less suspicious, but… she's still a warlock."

"Naturally. I've had tails on all known members of her coven for the past week."

Shaw thumbed the end of his mustache with a thoughtful frown.

"She's an interesting woman. After the incident in Draenor, I sent agents to investigate any known warlocks or coven members that remained in the city. As it turned out, I needn't have bothered. Someone had already cleaned house… and I mean that very literally."

Auriana quirked her brows, not sure whether she ought to be troubled or impressed by Blackwood's single-mindedness. Of course, when it came to safely courting the demonic powers, perhaps nothing less than absolutism would do.

"She certainly seems committed to her cause."

Varian scoffed. "For now. People change. Her sister proved that."

"As best my agents can tell, Blackwood remains uncompromised," Shaw countered, "Though I cannot yet speak for the rest of her coven. And we must not forget that she is something of an anomaly amongst warlocks. There are many others out there who do not share her… strict philosophy."

Varian ran a hand back through his tousled hair, and paced back and forth a few steps as he gathered his thoughts.

"Well. We always knew it was a risk allowing her ilk to operate within the Alliance. They've proven their worth when they've been needed, by and large, but not without cost."

He glanced at Auriana, and his jaw tightened. Her memories of the immediate aftermath of her time in Blackhand's torture chambers were patchy, at best, though she knew Varian recalled those frantic days all too well. Her scars pricked again.

"Make your own enquiries regarding these… Ironfeathers," Varian instructed, ceasing his pacing and glancing back to Shaw. "Keep your tails on Blackwood, and if someone so much as mentions an imp, see to it that I'm informed. We will get to the

bottom of this, one way or another."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And… thank you," Varian muttered. "I know it can't be easy to keep track of people who practice madness by trade. Your efforts are appreciated."

A flicker of astonishment streaked across Shaw's face, appearing and disappearing faster than a flash of lightning. It was rare that Varian apologised for his gruffness, albeit indirectly, and especially when he had fair reason to be displeased. Shaw could probably count on one hand the number of times such a thing had happened, and even with years of training and experience as a rogue, he could not entirely conceal his surprise.

With little more to say, the Spymaster then excused himself with a respectful bow in the direction of his king and queen, though in Auriana's case he further inclined his head in an odd little gesture of acknowledgement. His expression was otherwise neutral, though he held her gaze for a few seconds longer than was otherwise natural before he finally took his leave.

"It's not much to go on," Varian observed, after he heard the doors of the outer chamber close, "Though I suppose a small lead is better than none. What do you think?"

Auriana was only half listening. She had seen a clear spark of understanding in Shaw's eyes, and all of a sudden the warlocks and the mystery of the attack on Stormwind were the very last thing on her mind. She lurched to her feet and took a step towards the door, reaching one hand forward in a half-hearted attempt to call Shaw back.

"He knows."

"What?" Varian turned to face her fully, his head cocked slightly to one side.

"Shaw. He knows I'm pregnant."

"How would he know?" Varian wondered. "I certainly didn't tell him."

"He's Shaw. He has… powers."

Auriana slid her hands to her hips, pulling the flowing fabric of her dress tight across her belly. To her eye, her stomach appeared ever so slightly more rounded than usual, though it may have been wishful thinking. If she truly were starting to show, however, Shaw was observant enough to have noticed.

"I suppose it's inevitable," Auriana sighed.

Shaw was nothing if not discreet, but even if he kept his silence, his mere awareness was an uncomfortable reminder that the entire world would soon know of her condition regardless.

"Well… it is customary to announce a royal pregnancy at around twelve weeks…" Varian ventured.

Auriana balked. The thought of having to stand up in front of the entire Court and make such an announcement sent a shard of ice down her spine. Dozens of eyes, all staring at her, expectant, demanding, while she tried desperately not to lose her stomach all over her dress…

"Since when have you been a stickler for royal tradition?" she muttered.

"I'm not. I only meant that I agree with you. I don't think we'll be able to keep the secret much longer…"

Varian cleared his throat with an awkward cough, and scratched at the stubble on his chin.

"... Anduin really ought to learn the truth from us, privately, rather than by means of proclamation. I don't want to press you, but…"

"But you are. That's precisely what you're doing."

Auriana reflexively slid her left hand to her lower belly, and twisted her shoulders away from Varian. While he had done his best to hold his tongue on the matter over the last few weeks, it was not the first time he had given her a gentle reminder. She knew she was being somewhat irrational, but she couldn't shake the feeling that Anduin would be displeased, or that her child would somehow come between Anduin and his father, and it terrified her.

Varian let out a quiet growl of consternation. "Auri, I…"

"I know. I know." She forced herself to take a deep breath. "You're right – I can't put it off forever. We… we'll tell Anduin tomorrow night. At dinner."

In all honesty, Auriana would have been surprised had Anduin not already guessed, or at least suspected. He was a remarkably sensitive young man, even without the aid of his Light-given powers, and she was well aware that she hadn't been acting much like herself of late.

"You're sure?"

Varian stepped closer, and pressed a tentative palm against the small of Auriana's back. He had not missed the way she'd curled away from him, and she could tell from the way he touched her that he was trying his best not to seem forceful or intimidating. Of course, such a thing was easier said than done for a man of his towering stature and commanding presence.

"I am." It was at least mostly true. "He… he deserves to know. I never disagreed with you on that point."

Auriana leaned her head back against Varian's chest with a drawn-out sigh. He let out a low, throaty grunt, and after a moment's hesitation, he took her waist in hand and drew her firm against the length of his body.

"Thank you," he murmured, pressing a grateful kiss against the curve of her neck. "Anduin will be thrilled, I promise you."

"I hope so," Auriana whispered. "I don't know what I'd do if he…"

"Trust me. Trust that I know my son."

Varian's deep, rumbling bass thrummed through Auriana's back as he spoke. The heat of him was extraordinary, and she melted despite herself as his left hand slid upwards to rest across her clavicle, while his right splayed out over her burgeoning belly. Auriana was not a needy person by nature, but there was something in the possessive way that Varian held her that rendered her utterly soft.

"I… I trust you. And I'm sorry if it doesn't seem like it, sometimes…"

"No, no, no… you have nothing to apologise for. I know this is all new, and overwhelming, but you… I'm in awe of you, Auriana…"

His hold on her tightened, though not painfully so.

"If there is anything you need from me, anything, just say the word. I'm yours."

Varian's voice was low and earnest, and Auriana all of a sudden found herself fighting back a lump in her throat and a welling of tears in her eyes. If even the wrong tea could make her weep in her present condition, she stood no chance against a quiet and heartfelt declaration of Varian's love. Still, she did her best to fight the sudden, lurching upswell of her emotions, only to lose the battle miserably a second later with a loud sniffle.

Alarmed, Varian turned Auriana to face him; his nose crinkling in an expression of deep uncertainty as he beheld her brimming eyes.

"Did… did I say something wrong?"

"No," she assured him, laying a small palm over his heart. "Quite the opposite, you said everything right. I'm just a touch more emotional than usual, is all. And you make me…"

Auriana trailed off, mumbling the last word beneath her breath. It was a foolish thing, but there was a small, stubborn part of her that still feared letting Varian know exactly how much he affected her, or how badly she needed him.

Varian, however, would not be dissuaded. He cupped her cheeks between his two massive palms, towering over her with a gleam of quickening curiosity in his eyes.

"What was that?" he prompted, brushing her tears aside with his thumbs. "I make you…?"

Auriana bit her lip.

"Weak," she admitted. "You make me weak all over."

The worry lines at the corner of Varian's eyes eased, and he brushed a loose lock of hair back behind her ear. "Ah. Are you sure that's not just a symptom of your pregnancy?"

"Quite sure. It started long before I fell pregnant… and I suspect it will continue long after..."

Varian breathed a sigh of deep satisfaction, and his rugged features relaxed into a slow, unguarded smile. Auriana was well aware that she was one of the very few people on Azeroth who had ever seen him smile like that, and despite everything – despite the warlocks and demons and blood in the streets of Stormwind, Anguile's trial, Vol'jin and the Horde, the Council of Six, Khadgar's fantastical plan, and her pregnancy on top of it all – she felt that as long as she could make Varian happy, she could carry any weight.

"Does that please you?" she asked, and his smile broadened.

"Greatly…"