This is kind of a special milestone chapter for me as it pushes the total length of my series to over 800,000 words. For something that was started as a doodle on the back of a napkin at a boring wedding, I did not honestly expect to still be writing it four years later. Thank you to all readers old and new, and thank you so much for your support and kind words. (Kinda also feel like I should say sorry for the fact that it's so ridiculously long, but anyway...) Enjoy!

Varian

Once Auriana was satisfied that their magical disguises would hold up under scrutiny, she immediately prepared to open a portal southward. As far as anyone in Stormwind Keep was aware, their King and Queen had retired early for a private dinner, and were not to be disturbed under any circumstances. Both Anduin and Ridley knew the truth, as did Mathias Shaw, though Varian had not elected to take anyone else into his confidence. He doubted that anyone would have guessed that they were really off to a pirate city to negotiate with the Warchief of the Horde, admittedly, though they left directly from their inner chambers so as not to arouse suspicion.

For reasons of both safety and anonymity, Auriana did not wish teleport them into the middle of Booty Bay. Instead, she had spent the entire day making careful study of the ley lines around the area so that she could transport them as close as possible without arousing suspicion. She had tried to explain to Varian the theory behind the complex magical ritual that she assured him would result in their successful reintegration, but most of it had gone over his head. He'd also stopped listening altogether when she had begun to cheerfully explain all the horrific ways in which things could go wrong, and had decided it was best to simply trust in her exceptional ability to bend the fabric of reality to her will.

All the same, that trust was not enough to stop Varian's heart from beating ever so slightly faster as he stepped into the shimmering blue circle that his wife conjured out of thin air. His stomach leapt weightlessly as the portal magic surrounded him, and he was consumed by a feeling of breathless compression. It was far from a pleasant sensation, though fortunately it only lasted for the briefest of seconds before Varian felt the crunch of solid earth beneath his boots once more.

As is turned out, Auriana had managed to land them about half a mile outside the entrance to the city, beneath a small stand of lush ferns. It was already dark out in the jungle, though no less humid as a result. Varian felt sweat begin to bead upon his brow almost immediately, and he slapped a hand to his neck in irritation as he felt the sharp sting of an insect's bite against his skin. He had never been particularly fond of jungle environments, and even less so when he feared that he might be walking out of the cloying, oppressive undergrowth and right into a trap.

Varian watched Auriana hawkishly as she led the way down the rough trail that lead to Booty Bay, half expecting to be ambushed by the entire Horde army at any point. They were disguised, but it was also entirely possible that Vol'jin had given the order to capture anyone who matched the general description of a tall human man and a short human woman travelling alone. Varian wasn't afraid to fight, even if he were outnumbered, but he was acutely aware of the fact that he was travelling into an unknown and potentially dangerous situation with his wife. He would forever bear the scars of losing Tiffin, and in some dark and desperate part of his heart he still believed that by wedding Auriana, he had cursed her to a violent and untimely end. Last night, in the safety of his Keep, he had thought the journey worth the risk; but now, watching her traipse through the inky darkness ahead of him, he wasn't quite so sure. They had come too far to turn back, however, and so he had to content himself with clenching and unclenching his fist around the grip of his sword as they walked.

Booty Bay was accessed through a damp, rickety tunnel concealed behind the propped open jaws of a giant shark. The wooden floorboards that lined the path creaked ominously beneath Varian's feet as they made their way through the poorly lit passage, and more than once he felt as if they would simply collapse under his weight and send him tumbling head over heels into a pool of stagnant water. Fortunately, the journey through the tunnel was short, and in no time at all they emerged into the bright lights of the bustling port city.

The first thing Varian noticed about Booty Bay was the pervasive stench of salt and fish. It was seeped into every pore of the city, so much so that within three minutes he had almost forgotten what it was like to smell anything else. Auriana did not seem quite so bothered, though she lacked the preternatural senses that made Varian's sensitive nose twitch in irritation with every step.

The second thing he noticed was the noise. Even at this time of night, Booty Bay was wild and alive with people crammed into every bit of available space. Dozens of traders shouted and sung as they hawked their wares, struggling to be heard over the boisterous carousing of the pirates and ruffians that lined the streets. Varian and Auriana also passed no less than seven loud, violent brawls, as well as a dozen other games and affairs that were morally sketchy at best, and downright illegal at worst. Back in Stormwind, Varian might have had them all arrested, but here in Booty Bay it seemed that such open debauchery was tolerated, if not celebrated outright.

Their destination was not the crowded marketplace, however, but rather a large tavern at the back of the city. Vol'jin's instructions had been very specific, and assuming that his request for a meeting had been in earnest, Varian did not want to miss their rendezvous. To that end, he and Auriana cut a swift path through the throng, pushing their way towards a ramshackle building on the edge of the dock that seemed to act as a beacon for every drunk in the port.

"'The Salty Sailor'?" Varian muttered, raising an eyebrow as he stared up at the small, swaying sign that marked the entrance to the tavern.

"To be fair, not the worst name they could have chosen," Auriana said, grinning back at him over her shoulder as she stepped inside.

The Salty Sailor was arguably the premier tavern in Booty Bay, though that wasn't saying very much. Varian blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light, and was immediately assaulted by a fresh wave of sights and sounds and smells. He could see peoples from across Azeroth - everything from hearty tauren to the tiniest of gnomes - all gambling and carousing with little regard for allegiances of faction or race. A goblin band sat in the corner, playing an enthusiastic if somewhat off-tune jig; though their raucous music was barely audible over the dull roar of the crowd. The pungent scent of fish pervaded the room, just as it had outside; mingling with the reek of stale alcohol and sweat. This was a place where loyalty could be bought and sold as easily as a pint of ale, where gold spoke louder than honour, and he had no desire to remain any longer than was strictly necessary.

Varian could concede, however, that it was an ideal location for a covert meeting. Everyone here seemed to be the type of person who was hiding something - or hiding from something - and he pushed his way through the crowd without attracting any more notice than a few raised eyebrows. Anonymity was an odd concept for a man who was used to being the centre of attention almost everywhere he went, though not an entirely unwelcome one.

What concerned Varian far more, however, was the curious glances that followed Auriana as she made her way over to the bar. In her pirate's garb, with her tight pants and her hair tumbling free over her shoulders, she looked rather roguish and fetching, and Varian was not the only one who had noticed. Several eyes followed her movements with great interest, and Varian found himself struggling mightily with the instinct to simply throw her over his shoulder and carry her out of the tavern.

Auriana, of course, had absolutely no idea. She pushed her way through the crowd with a single-minded determination, while Varian lurked behind her seeing perverts in every shadow. He was sure he must have been growling loud enough for the entire tavern to hear, but he didn't care. He didn't put it past one of these filthy pirates to start something, and knew he wouldn't be entirely responsible for his own actions if they did.

Fortunately for everyone involved, they made it to the bar without incident. Auriana moved to lean casually up against the counter, her nose wrinkling in distaste at the stickiness of the wood beneath her hands. Varian initially intended to stand at her side, but after catching the wink of a snub-nosed worgen, he decided that he was best positioned right behind her, where he might shield her body with his own. It probably wasn't the most inconspicuous position, but they were both well-disguised, and he very much doubted that anyone would think to find the King and Queen of Stormwind in a dingy tavern at the bottom of the world.

"There," Auriana whispered suddenly, nudging his ribs with her elbow. "In the back corner. That's Zala'din."

While Varian had been distracted by the Salty Sailor's dubious clientele, it seemed that Auriana had managed to remain on task. She didn't point or make any obvious movements, but Varian followed her directions to see a tall green jungle troll with an enormous red mohawk sitting by himself at a shadowed table at the back of the room. Unlike most other patrons in the bar, the troll appeared unusually sober, watching the crowd with the sharp gaze of a practiced warrior.

"You're sure?"

Varian had met Zala'din before, on one brief occasion, but in the dim light of the tavern he looked like any number of trolls Varian had seen in his lifetime.

"It's him. I'd bet my life on it," Auriana confirmed.

"You might be about to."

Varian vaguely wondered how they might go about approaching the troll, only to find that Auriana was once again two steps ahead of him. She stood up on her tiptoes and waved down the curvaceous goblin woman tending the bar, before slapping two gold coins down on the counter between them with a resounding clang.

"Please send a drink to the red-haired troll in the corner over there," she instructed, pointing. "Doesn't matter what, so long as he knows it was from me."

The goblin bartender's eyes narrowed, and a very strange expression crossed her face. She looked Auriana up and down, her head cocked slightly to one side; then at Varian, and then over to Zala'din in the back corner.

"Eh. Like 'em big, do you?" she snorted, her green lips curling upwards in a wicked grin.

Auriana's gaze flicked to Varian.

"Ah… I suppose so…?" she said, unable to hide the faint, uncertain blush of colour that rose in her cheeks.

The goblin barked out a wild laugh, shaking her head in bemused disbelief as she gave Auriana another once over. She then gave Varian a salacious wink, and turned away to start pouring a drink as requested.

"Whatever you say, sweetheart," she called back over her shoulder. "Just make sure you stretch or something first, that looks like a big ask…"

"What does that mean?" Auriana asked, screwing up her nose in confusion as she watched the goblin mix two violently colourful liquids into a single tall glass.

Varian looked down at her in surprise, and let out a soft growl of amusement. At first, he thought she might have been teasing him, playing dumb for comic effect, but there was no trace of deception in her eyes.

"Ah… Auri… you… you do know that she thinks you… ah… desire... both me and the troll… at the same time... right?" he asked gently, realising a touch too late that it was exactly the kind of thing that she would miss.

"She… wait, what?"

A look of horrified realisation crossed Auriana's face, and her cheeks blazed red enough to put a Horde banner to shame.

"I'd die," she whispered.

Only years of rigorous political training and experience prevented Varian from throwing back his head and roaring with laughter, as he suspected that Auriana's feelings might have been hurt if he did. As brilliant as she was, she could be quite endearingly naïve when it came to certain things, and he didn't want to make her feel any more uncomfortable than she clearly already did. Instead, he bit down a smirk, and turned his attention back to the goblin barkeep as she sashayed over to Zala'din's table.

The crowd was too loud for Varian to hear anything of what the bartender said, though she seemed to be communicating Auriana's message well enough. She grinned as she pointed back towards the bar, and leaned in to say something that made Zala'din frown in confusion. He was clearly thrown by their altered appearances, though he nevertheless accepted the proffered drink, and slowly lifted it towards Auriana in a tentative toast. She leaned around Varian to offer a cautious wave in reply, but the troll did not immediately move to engage them.

Instead, he considered Auriana seriously for a long time, running one thick finger around the rim of his glass as he stared at her across the crowded room. Varian could feel the troll's tension and indecision, even from a distance, and he wondered whether Auriana's glamour might have proven to be a tad too effective.

Eventually, however, the troll shook himself, and gave a strange little shrug of his shoulders. He then finished his drink in one long draw, before rising to his feet and making his way over towards a set of stairs at the back of the main taproom. His movements were slow and unhurried - casual, even - though Varian could see a warrior's readiness in the way he loped up the stairs and disappeared.

"I suppose we ought to follow?" Auriana whispered.

"In a minute."

Varian placed a steadying hand on the small of her back, and cast a wary eye over the tavern. Zala'din appeared to have been alone, but that didn't negate the possibility that there were other soldiers of the Horde hidden amongst the bar patrons, or even that there were other interested parties who might seek to disrupt their meeting.

Varian waited five minutes, then ten; and after fifteen minutes even he was prepared to conclude that no one in the bar was remotely concerned by Zala'din's departure. He still wasn't confident that it was safe, but thus far events had been proceeding according to Vol'jin's instructions, and he was willing to put his trust in the trolls. At least for now, in any case.

To that end, he tapped Auriana on the shoulder, and jerked his head towards the stairs. She nodded in silent agreement, and turned away from the bar to follow after Zala'din with a calm, nonchalant air. Just before she reached the stairwell, however, a very portly and very drunk man sitting at a table with several friends reached out and snagged her by the sleeve. Her eyes widened in surprise as he pulled her back towards his seat, and she stumbled slightly as she twisted awkwardly away from his grasp.

"Ey, love," the drunk slurred, pouring half his ale down his chest as he attempted to take a swig from his stein, "Ditch legs there and come sit on my lap. Promise I'll be gentle!"

His companions laughed raucously as the drunk puckered his lips in a grotesque imitation of a kiss, but Varian did not find the matter funny in the slightest. A cloud of red descended over his vision faster than he could have ever imagined, and he reached out to snatch the man's drink from his hand with a low, menacing snarl.

"You lay another finger on her," he whispered icily, "And I'll shove this so far up your arse you'll need all three of your friends here to remove it."

To prove that it was not an idle threat, Varian closed his hand, shattering the glass stein and allowing the ruined pieces to trickle through his fingers and down onto the table below. He was not at all worried about fighting if it came down to it, even though he was outnumbered. There may have been four of them, but they were obnoxious drunks, and he was one of the greatest warriors who had ever lived. Hell, he would have happily taken on the entire bar if it meant protecting Auriana, though even through the haze of his rage he realised that starting a bar brawl would probably be a bad idea.

He decided instead to trade on the threat, leaning forward and baring his teeth in a most sinister snarl. He suspected that the drunken lecher was ultimately a coward, and he was proven right a moment later as the man backpedalled so quickly that he fell out of his chair and landed hard on his rear on the filthy floor.

"Anyone else have any smart comments?" Varian growled, turning to the rest of the group.

Three heads shook an emphatic no, and one of the drunks appeared to be so utterly terrified of Varian's wrath that he wouldn't have been surprised if the man soiled himself.

"Hmph. I thought as much."

Varian turned away in disgust, and put a protective hand on Auriana's shoulder as they mounted the stairs.

"Subtle," she murmured, once they were out of earshot of the rabble below.

"Would you prefer I let him grope you?" Varian snarled, surprised that she would be so tolerant of the drunken pirate's advances.

"No, of course not, but we're supposed to be incognito," she said quietly, hugging her arms around her body. "And that's hardly the worst thing I've ever heard."

"That doesn't make it right," he snapped. "I don't give a damn about subtlety, no-one has a right to speak to you like that. You or any other woman, for that matter."

Auriana paused in her ascent, and turned around so that she could face Varian properly. She was standing three steps above him, and it afforded her the rare opportunity to look him in the eye without having to crane her neck. Her eyes were still the wrong colour, but the tilt of her head was all hers, and it made Varian feel as if he were both staring at a stranger, and the most familiar person in the world, all at the same time. He could not quite read her expression, however, and they stared at one another in silence for a long time before she finally turned away.

"You're a good man," she murmured.

Before Varian could ask her exactly what she meant, she moved away, and rounded the top of the stairs into a short corridor with a low-slung ceiling. Varian followed close on her heels, and let out a soft grunt of surprise as he realised where they were now standing. He had not seen it from down below, but the Salty Sailor was constructed from the bowels of a beached galleon. Upstairs, what must once have been officers' quarters had been converted to private rooms for guests to do… well, whatever it was people did in a place like this. Varian strongly suspected he didn't want to know.

Zala'din was waiting for them outside one of these private rooms, pacing back and forward in agitation as he awaited their arrival. He stood up straighter as Varian and Auriana approached, the top of his towering red mohawk brushing the bottom of the ceiling, and his hand darted to pommel of one of the two vicious looking swords strapped to his hips.

"Little lion?"

His voice was low, tentative, and Varian did not miss the sudden wave of tension that rippled through the lean muscles of his shoulders and back.

"Hello, Zal," Auriana said quietly.

She stepped forward, a hand held out to him in greeting, but the troll stayed back; his expression still wary. As Varian had suspected, Auriana's glamour was so convincing that even Zala'din couldn't quite believe that she was who she claimed to be.

"Prove it."

Auriana was not deterred by his reluctance, and even seemed to have anticipated the question, judging from the way she smoothly removed one glove, and held her bare hand up toward the light. She called on her magic for the briefest of seconds, making her eyes and the scars on her forearms blaze white. Evidently, she had not bothered to glamour her hands beneath her gloves, and Varian supposed that as identifying markings went, her scars were rather unique. Certainly, he didn't know of anyone else who had managed to magically brand themselves from hands to elbows by tearing apart a supposedly unbreakable spell.

It seemed to be enough for Zala'din, at least, and his offensive posture immediately relaxed into something far more friendly. He gestured, and led Varian and Auriana to a small private room in the middle of the makeshift corridor. He locked the door behind him as they entered, and stood back a respectful distance to allow Varian and Auriana to gather their bearings.

Inside, the room was simple, with a sagging, stained bed in one corner and a large table with a few scattered chairs taking up the centre of the room. It was lit only by a few weak hanging lights overhead, all of which looked like they might fail at any moment. It was also laughably too small for anyone larger than a goblin, and Varian nearly smacked his head on an overhead beam as he moved into the brightest part of the room.

If he was uncomfortable, however, the trolls had it far worse. Zala'din had to hunch over at the waist to keep his shoulders and the back of his head from brushing the ceiling, while the taller troll standing at the back of the room had almost been forced into a full crouch. Varian assumed it was Vol'jin, though the heavy hood drawn over his face made it difficult to tell. He'd actually only met the Warchief a handful of times, and each time he had, Vol'jin had been wearing the distinctive battledress of his people, instead of a nondescript brown cloak.

"Warchief?"

Varian made a subtle move to stand in front of Auriana, still half-expecting a fight, though his concerns were allayed somewhat as the crouching troll leaned out of the shadows and pulled back his cowl. With his flaming red hair and tusks as long as a man's forearm, the Warchief of the Horde cut an imposing figure. He had forgone his customary white warpaint, perhaps in an attempt to make himself less recognisable, but his sharp-eyed visage was as fierce and striking as ever.

While Varian may have appreciated the Warchief's impressive physical presence, however, he was not intimidated. He stood up straight and proud - or as straight as was possible in such cramped quarters - and offered Vol'jin a terse nod of greeting. It was not the most effusive or friendly gesture, perhaps, but Varian did not intend to give anything more of himself than was strictly necessary. Not until he had a better grasp of the Warchief's motivations, in any case.

Despite the fact that the whole meeting had been his idea, Vol'jin, too, appeared rather skeptical. The corner of his mouth curled around his tusks as he eyed both Varian and Auriana up and down, and he did not return Varian's admittedly brusque greeting. It was something that could easily be interpreted as a slight, and for a moment Varian couldn't understand why the troll would bring him all this way just to insult him, until he remembered that neither he nor his wife looked at all like themselves. The Warchief was clearly concerned by their uncommon appearance, much as Zala'din had been, and it was equally clear that he was considering the possibility that he had been betrayed. He did not reach for the wicked dagger at his hip, however, instead forcing his face into an expression of cool neutrality as he finally spoke.

"My memory might be fadin' with age, but I coulda sworn ya both had dark brown hair."

Auriana looked to Varian, and he nodded his agreement to her unspoken question. Her eyes came alive with power, and a second later Varian felt a strange tingling sensation wash across his face for the second time that day as she removed the glamour. He had no mirror to confirm his suspicions, of course, but from the flicker of relief that crossed Vol'jin's face, he assumed that he once again looked like himself.

Auriana, too, had resumed her normal appearance, but she did not immediately lower her hands. Instead, she waved her right arm in a wide sweeping motion, and what looked like a faint arcane haze settled over the room. The spell made the hair on Varian's arms stand on end, but he had no idea what its purpose may have been. Certainly, there was no visible effect of the spell aside from the faint shimmer in the air that faded as quickly as it had appeared, though he doubted Auriana would have cast something without good reason.

"Auriana…?"

"Silencing ward," she explained. "It will prevent us from being overheard. Although it's doubtful anyone would be able to hear us over the ruckus downstairs."

"Ya probably right, though I appreciate da effort," Vol'jin said.

He watched her closely as she allowed the glow to fade from about her arms, though his expression was now more curious than wary.

"Ya both came," he observed. "I wasn't sure ya would."

"Your message interrupted our honeymoon," Varian said coldly. "This had better be damn good, Warchief."

"'Honeymoon'?" Vol'jin repeated, looking puzzled. "Ya must forgive me, High King, we don't be havin' dis word in Zandali."

"Ah… after a wedding, it's traditional for a new couple to take a small holiday together. Alone," Auriana explained, blushing slightly at the implication. "You may have similar custom by another name?"

Varian knew little about the intricacies of troll mating, but judging from the pointed look Vol'jin shot his second, it seemed they had a very different way of celebrating their unions.

"Uh… not exactly," said Zala'din finally.

"Regardless, I'm sure you would not appreciate having your private time with your wife interrupted, or whatever it is you might call her," Varian growled, trying and largely failing to hide his irritation.

He felt Auriana stiffen uncomfortably beside him, though she did not say a word. It was a petty thing, perhaps, but Varian was already on edge from the scuffle down in the bar, and he was not yet certain that Vol'jin's overtures were genuine. He had agreed to come, yes, but that didn't mean he was happy about it.

"I assure ya, it not be my intention ta interrupt ya courtship ritual, Ya Majesty," Vol'jin said quickly, raising an enormous hand in a gesture of entreaty. "In truth, I was pleased ta hear ya had taken another mate."

"Is that so?"

The words came out more peevishly than even Varian himself had intended, and he sighed. He could practically hear Anduin's voice in his ear, admonishing him to play nice. After all, it wasn't Vol'jin's fault that Varian's honeymoon had been cut short. Not really. It certainly wasn't as if Varian had sent a detailed copy of his itinerary to the Horde leadership that Vol'jin could plan around...

"Varian," he grunted stiffly.

"What?" Vol'jin's furrowed brow lifted in confusion.

"If it's just us four, you may as well call me Varian," he elaborated.

It was an awkward attempt at a peace offering, but one that it seemed Vol'jin was willing to accept.

"As ya wish," he drawled. "Ya welcome ta call me Vol'jin, and dis be da captain of my guard, Zala'din."

"We've met," Varian said shortly. "And obviously you both know my wife, Auriana."

Vol'jin nodded in her direction, but she somewhat ignored in him in favour of Zala'din. Once she was satisfied that the room was secure, Auriana's attention had been firmly fixed on her troll friend and former comrade in arms. It was clear to Varian, at least, that she wished to greet him properly, but she had held back out of politeness - or perhaps because of some sense of obligation to Varian himself.

"Go on," he muttered, nudging her forward with his elbow.

Auriana hesitated for a brief second, but her uncertainty was ultimately short lived. It made Varian uncomfortable, both because Zala'din was Horde, and because he was admittedly overprotective of his new wife… but he nevertheless forced himself to remain still as she stepped forward to embrace the green-skinned troll. She was so small that she practically disappeared into his arms, but there was something undeniably gentle about the way Zala'din hugged her close, and even Varian had to admit that there was genuine affection in the troll's eyes as he leaned down and whispered something in her ear.

Varian couldn't make out the words, even with his exceptional hearing, though it appeared Zala'din's comment had amused Auriana. She let out a short chuckle, and returned his embrace with equal warmth. Somewhat to Varian's surprise, Vol'jin did not object, instead watching Auriana and his second with nothing more than an air of mild curiosity. Evidently, Varian was the only one who found their familiarity uncomfortable, and he awkwardly shuffled his feet as he waited for them to part.

Despite his unease, however, the quiet moment between Zala'din and Auriana actually did a great deal to lessen the pervading sense of tension in the room. Varian was now fairly confident that the meeting was not some kind of trap, though he still wasn't sure what Vol'jin wanted. The towering troll's expression gave nothing away as he took a seat at the ramshackle table in the centre of the room, and gestured for Varian to do the same. The Warchief's body language was open, even inviting, but Varian nevertheless paused for a moment to consider both trolls, looking for any sign of duplicity or danger…

And finding none.

He sighed, and pulled out a seat for Auriana, before taking his own place directly opposite Vol'jin.

"So," he said, without any further preamble. "Why are we here?"

"Not one for small talk, eh?" Vol'jin observed.

His sharp eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but from the slight twitch of his tusks, Varian suspected the Warchief might have found his blunt approach somewhat amusing.

"It's never been one of my talents, no," he confirmed, "And I assume you didn't bring us all this way for the... ambience."

At that precise moment, they heard a loud thump as someone in the room next door was thrown bodily against the adjoining wall; hard enough to rattle the dingy lights suspended overhead. A few muffled grunts followed, though whether they signalled pleasure or pain, Varian couldn't tell. Perhaps both.

"Ya speak da truth, mon," Vol'jin agreed, eyeing the wall with distaste.

He cleared his throat, and his expression grew serious as he took a moment to find the right words.

"When we sent our troops through ta Draenor, we signed a truce agreement for da duration of da conflict," he started. "Even after our troops returned ta Azeroth, dis truce has - for da most part - held."

"For the most part," Varian agreed, folding his arms warily across his chest as he considered his opposite number. "What of it?"

"Azeroth has suffered much in da past few years. Da Lich King, Deathwing…"

"Garrosh," Varian growled.

He held no weapon, but his fingers flexed as if he were grasping a hilt. Vol'jin had fought honourably against Garrosh's tyranny when roused, but Varian could not help but to wonder how many lives might have been saved if the Horde had been willing to move against their despotic Warchief sooner.

"Garrosh," Vol'jin nodded, his eyes clouding with some kind of dark, unreadable emotion. "I ain't so blind dat I can't see where da Horde have done wrong."

He leaned forward, tenting his three-fingered hands as he studied Varian with great interest. The dim light overhead cast strange shadows across his painted face, distorting his features and making him appear huge and otherworldly. In any other context, he might have looked terrifying, but Varian saw no hatred or threat of violence glinting in the fire of the Warchief's reddened eyes. Instead, he saw only cool cleverness, and a simple but profound desire to do what was right by the people he was tasked to lead.

It was a desire Varian himself understood all too well.

"We have all benefited from da Draenor armistice - and from what my druids and shaman be tellin' me, so has Azeroth," Vol'jin continued. "I tink it be well past time we made an effort to formalise dis peace."

Varian exchanged a brief glance with Auriana, who looked equally thrown by Vol'jin's declaration. He had assumed if Warchief were to suggest anything, it would be something small - perhaps the opening of some of the closed trade routes in Kalimdor and the Eastern Kingdoms, or the like - but it seemed Vol'jin had far greater ambitions.

"You're suggesting a treaty?" he asked, not bothering to hide his surprise.

"I tink we both know dat a formal peace treaty be still a long way off," Vol'jin said slowly, choosing his words with great care. "Da Alliance still tink my people are monsters and invaders. Da Horde tink yours are murderers and tyrants - but dat don't mean we can't be makin' a start."

Varian rankled slightly at the insult to his people, but he supposed that it was a fair assessment of the prevailing opinion amongst the Horde. He also could not deny that there were many in the Alliance who very much believed the Horde to be monsters - or worse - and so he swallowed back his pride as he spoke.

"What are you suggesting, then?"

"A Tournament," Vol'jin proposed. "A chance for de Alliance and da Horde ta come together outside da end of da world, eh?"

"A Tournament?" Varian repeated, certain he had to have misheard.

Whatever he had been expecting - trade deals, a peace treaty, a declaration of outright war - the possibility of staging a friendly Tournament amongst once sworn enemies had not been a consideration.

"Competitors would represent dere home cities or tribes, not dere factions," Vol'jin continued. "Horde would compete against Horde, and Alliance against Alliance, too. We would come together ta celebrate da best of all of us."

The corners of his eyes crinkled, and he let out a dry chuckle.

"Let's be honest, if dere be one ting da Horde and Alliance have in common, it be dat we appreciate da finer points of hittin' one another with pointy objects."

"I'll give you that one, if nothing else," Varian conceded.

He had admittedly been caught off guard by Vol'jin's suggestion, but he could also see the underlying wisdom in such a pursuit. As the Warchief had correctly surmised, while the war on Draenor and the subsequent year of peace had represented something of a turning point for relations between the Alliance and the Horde, they were not yet so friendly as to make a formal, binding peace treaty a viable option. A Tournament, on the other hand, was a different matter entirely. The Alliance and Horde had come together in similar fashion once before, during Tirion Fordring's Argent Tournament in Northrend. The Argent Tournament had been held as a means of finding the strongest fighters from each faction ahead of the assault on Icecrown Citadel, and despite a few exceptions, it had represented an unusual moment of cooperation in their turbulent history.

It had admittedly been a moment borne of fear and desperation, but the world had changed dramatically since then - as had Varian himself - and he wondered if Vol'jin's plan was not as outlandish as it might have initially seemed. If there was one thing Varian could respect about the Horde, it was their sense of honour and fighting spirit, and he wondered if Vol'jin and his allies might see something similar of value in the Alliance. Tournaments were all about honour and skill in combat, but within an underlying framework of celebration and camaraderie, rather than the pure competitiveness of the battlefield. A peace treaty may have been a bridge too far, but a Tournament; a chance for the Alliance and the Horde to meet on equal ground, as people instead of enemies...

"Why approach me now?" he asked, scratching thoughtfully at his chin. "The war in Draenor ended a year ago - why not then, fresh off the back of a shared victory?"

"A fair question," Vol'jin said, nodding. "I suppose I wasn't sure whether da truce could last. Fightin' together ta prevent an invasion or da end of the world is one ting, but coexisting in peacetime… I dunno, it seems ta be harder, eh? No point us goin' ta all dis fuss if we be at each other's throats a month later."

Vol'jin turned away from Varian for the first time, and his shrewd gaze found Auriana.

"And den dere's her," he added.

"Me?" Auriana wondered. "What did I do?"

For most of the conversation she had remained silent, watching Vol'jin with the same wary intensity Varian recognised from his time fighting opposite her in the Stormwind arena. To the untrained eye, she looked relaxed and comfortable in her chair, but Varian knew her well enough to know that she was prepared for a fight at any moment. Auriana may have trusted Zala'din, and by extension Vol'jin, but that didn't mean she was prepared to let her guard down entirely.

"Ya earned da Horde's respect for whatcha did on Draenor, and for da lives you saved, fightin' alongside us," Vol'jin said, inclining his head towards her in a gesture of sincere regard. "More respect dan ya know, I tink."

"Considering I assumed the Horde had no respect for me, that's probably true," she quipped.

The Warchief's heavy brow ridge twitched in what Varian thought might have been another expression of amusement, though he did not otherwise acknowledge Auriana's wit.

"As of last week, ya also now da wife of da High King of de Alliance. Dat gives ya power," he observed.

Auriana's sharp blue eyes narrowed.

"You think I have influence over Varian," she surmised, her voice cooling.

"Dontcha?"

Vol'jin looked between Varian and Auriana, almost as if he were daring either one of them to object. Of course, what he said was true. Varian didn't even need to look at his wife to picture the exact expression on her face, nor did she need to speak for him to know exactly what she was thinking. He trusted her and valued her opinion above that of anyone else on the planet, and it seemed that Vol'jin was only too aware of this fact.

"I should warn you, Warchief," Auriana said evenly, "I don't like being used."

"Not at all my intention, little Queen," Vol'jin corrected hurriedly. "I meant only dat ya be a good symbol. Livin' proof dat da Horde and da Alliance can work wit each other, wit the right leadership."

His fingers twitched, and his eyes flicked to Zala'din. The movement was slight, almost imperceptible to an untrained eye, and with a start, Varian realised that the Warchief was nervous. He hid it well, but for the first time, Varian truly appreciated how much of a risk the Warchief had taken by reaching out to the Alliance. Vol'jin must have feared walking into a trap, just as Varian had, but it also seemed that he was equally concerned by the possibly of Varian's rejection.

"I tink we can be such leaders… Varian," he added, his voice low and deep in his heavy accent. "You and I."

Varian's brow furrowed, and he leaned in so that he and Vol'jin were barely a foot apart. He moved slowly, so as not to appear overly threatening, and met the Horde Warchief with a level, unblinking stare. Pretty words and promises were no match for the truth that could be found in another man's eyes, and yet once again Varian found nothing save for an honest desire to do right by the world, and a strange, mirrored reflection of the weight of his own crown.

"I'm not unaware of my own reputation, Vol'jin," he growled softly. "Do you really believe the Horde would value my 'leadership'?."

"Azeroth come a long way since da First War. The world's changed, and we gotta be changin' with it. Or we get left behind."

Vol'jin looked away.

"Ya changed," he said, nodding his head in Varian's direction. "Slowly, maybe, but ya did. Orgrimmar showed dat. So did Draenor. Ya might not have fought, but the people under ya command did ya proud."

Varian raised his eyebrows, and looked briefly to Auriana; still silent and watchful in her chair. He didn't disagree with Vol'jin's assessment, but found it rather odd to realise that the Warchief had given him such consideration. Trolls and humans shared a long and bloody history, though it seemed Vol'jin was willing to leave the past behind for the sake of the future of Azeroth.

"I must say, I didn't come here expecting flattery," Varian admitted, finding himself reluctantly impressed by the Warchief's pragmatism and political nous.

"Not flattery," Vol'jin countered swiftly. "Da truth. Ya may be disliked by some in da Horde. Hated, even. But no one doubts ya strength. Or ya honour."

"Some?"

Varian snorted, unable to help himself, and this time, even Vol'jin laughed. The sound was harsh and raucous, but also strangely contagious, and for a moment they were not two leaders, but simply two men sharing a brief moment of levity. As unexpected as it was, in a way it was also exactly what Varian had hoped for out of this meeting - a chance to speak to another living, breathing being, and not merely a title or a crown.

"Very well," he conceded, sobering, "I suppose I can understand your reasoning. But then why here? Why not approach me through proper diplomatic channels?"

Vol'jin paused as he looked for the right words, but Auriana figured it out before he could articulate his thoughts.

"You're not sure your own allies would support the idea," she said quietly.

It was merely an observation, not an accusation; but an accurate one, judging from the look on the Warchief's face. He considered her thoughtfully for a second, then nodded.

"Da Horde… ya gotta understand, we ain't like de Alliance," he mused, rapping his knuckles against the table. "Da Horde are survivors. Misfits. Each of us as different as night and day. In some ways it makes us strong. In some ways it makes us weak. But ta lead such a group, ya gotta look strong. Ya gotta be strong."

Varian, too, understood the challenge of balancing the disparate needs of his various allies, but he could concede that Vol'jin probably had it worse. Wrangling Sylvanas alone was arguably more difficult than any negotiating he had ever had to do, and he did not envy the Warchief in the slightest.

"Not all of dem are gonna come easy on dis," Vol'jin added, shrugging. "I tink it be da right ting ta do, but it gonna take some talkin'..."

Varian nodded his understanding.

"... and you don't want to put it to your allies until you've sure of me. Little point putting in the work and making compromises to get them on board, only for me to turn them down. It makes you look foolish," he realised, finishing the Warchief's sentence for him.

"Not ta mention it could make da whole ting worse if da Alliance rejects da offer. Better ta feel ya out ahead of time," Vol'jin concluded.

Varian let out a quiet sound of acknowledgement, but he did not immediately seek to say anything further. He was perhaps the only other person on Azeroth who truly understood the burden Vol'jin carried as Warchief, and if nothing else, he was impressed by the troll's courage in seeking out an audience. Vol'jin's plan was ambitious, admittedly, but his arguments had been clear and logically sound, and it left Varian in something of a conundrum. On one hand, Vol'jin represented the Horde, and the whole complicated, sordid history that came with them. On the other, he had proven himself to be a clever and honourable leader, and his offer represented a real chance for lasting peace on Azeroth.

"I know dis be a lot ta consider," the Warchief said finally, correctly reading the hesitation in Varian's silence. "We gonna give ya a moment ta think it over."

He motioned to Zala'din and both trolls stood, pulling up their cowls as they stepped out into the corridor. Auriana lifted her chin to watch the lights bobble overhead as the door closed behind them, before looking back to Varian with a small, thoughtful sigh.

"Still warded?" he asked shortly.

She nodded.

"Yes. You could scream bloody murder in here and no one would be any the wiser."

"Unlike our friends next door," Varian scoffed, nodding toward the adjoining wall.

"I can't figure out whether they're lovers or fighters," Auriana said, shaking her head in bemusement.

The dull thumping on the adjoining wall had continued intermittently throughout their conversation with the Warchief, and thus far had showed no signs of abating.

"I'm not sure I want to know," Varian scowled.

He leaned back in his chair, being careful not to tip it over, and fixed Auriana with a thoughtful stare.

"What do you think?"

"Vol'jin is right," she murmured. "There's an opportunity here. The peace we've enjoyed over the last year is unprecedented."

"I'm not sure," Varian mused. "If the Horde was just Vol'jin… or the tauren - hell, even the orcs, after Garrosh - but he said it himself, they don't all necessarily share an ideology. Do you really see Sylvanas coming around on this? It's a nice thought, but if we're not all in, then we're all out."

Auriana considered his counterpoint seriously, biting her lip in deep concentration.

"I think Sylvanas is a pragmatist, if nothing else," she said slowly. "She may not like peace talks, but if it's something that might keep you from marching north to retake Lordaeron..."

"Do you think I want Lordaeron?"

"Not especially," Auriana said, shrugging. "Any attempt to retake the city right now would likely result in a worldwide war, and for what? So we can rule over a decaying, blight-infested husk? We'd lose a lot more than we'd gain."

She spoke with surprising confidence, given how much she tended to agonise over her new role as Queen, and Varian couldn't help but to smile at her phrasing.

"What?" she asked, self-consciously tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear as she caught his stare.

"You said 'we'," he explained. "You're taking to this rather well, little Queen."

His tone was light, teasing, but he hoped she could hear the genuine pride behind his words.

"Oh, don't you start," she grumbled, rolling her eyes.

She tapped her fingers on the table, and gave him her best attempt at a stern look.

"Focus, Varian," she chided.

"As you wish, Your Majesty."

He smirked, then added more seriously, "There will be objections on our side. Genn, for one."

"I don't blame him," Auriana murmured. "I know Anduin isn't… isn't my child - and I wouldn't ever want to presume - but having grown closer to him, I… well, I understand the depths of Genn's anger a great deal more than I once did."

Her blue eyes flashed protectively, and her jaw tightened in determination. She seemed somewhat hesitant to express the depth of her feelings for Anduin, though in truth Varian could not have been more pleased. He did not consider her a replacement for Anduin's mother - and nor did he think she wanted to be a replacement - but he wanted very badly for them to see one another as family.

"That said… Genn's conflict with Sylvanas is largely personal in nature," Auriana continued, rising to pace about the small room as she thought out loud. "It doesn't extend to the rest of the Horde in quite the same way. I think he could be civil, if he were convinced that it was to the benefit of the Alliance."

"And the rest of them?"

Varian was not asking because he didn't have his own ideas, but rather because he wanted to test Auriana's political reasoning. He hadn't chosen her to be his queen solely because he loved her. That was a large part of it, though he would not have wed her and placed her within a position of power within the Alliance if he had believed she was incapable of ruling by his side. There were some people, Varian knew, who believed a queen to be little more than ornamentation for her king, and a means by which to produce heirs, but he had never been one of them. He viewed Auriana as a partner, an equal, and he could not abide cruelty or empty-headedness when it came to the rulership of his kingdom, or the Alliance as a whole. Of course, he doubted he would have fallen for anyone like that in first place, but he was nonetheless determined to ensure that Auriana had a sufficient understanding of her new place in the Alliance.

"Moira will follow your lead either way. She's still eager to prove the value of her people to the Alliance, and her personal worth as a leader to you," Auriana started. "She will convince the other Hammers to do the same."

She paused, and bit her lip with a thoughtful scowl.

"Tyrande and the night elves… I'm not sure. There's hostility there, but their druids have worked alongside members of the Horde in the Cenarion Circle for years. Both Malfurion and Broll are close to Hamuul Runetotem; they may be able to sway her opinion. I think Aysa would support a path towards peace, as would Velen - even if a tournament may not be the way he personally would have gone about it. Mekkatorque and the gnomes have less reason to hate the Horde than most, I think he would be supportive, too."

Auriana's summary was both succinct and accurate, though Varian did not immediately offer her his praise. Instead, he kept his expression neutral as he asked perhaps the most difficult question of all.

"And then there's me," he said. "What do I think?"

Auriana was far too clever not to realise that she was being tested, but she answered honestly, without either hesitation or guile.

"You're… skeptical. You don't trust the Horde… but you can see the value in a lasting peace agreement," she surmised. "At this point in our history, a war serves no one - if there's a genuine chance to protect Alliance lives, you'll take it. You wouldn't hesitate to say no if the offer came from someone like Garrosh, but Vol'jin is different."

"I see," Varian said, once again giving nothing away. "And you?"

"I think… the world is bigger than the Horde. You know Khadgar and I have been searching the Nether for Gul'Dan. The Burning Legion is coming. It's not a matter of if, it's a matter of when, and a divided Azeroth cannot hope to defeat them."

Auriana let out a low, drawn-out sigh, and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"The orc who destroyed my family is dead, as are most of those who followed him. I'm not afraid of ghosts. But I am afraid of losing what I have. I'm afraid of losing my new family. Of losing you. If we can find a way to make this ceasefire a true peace… then I'll sleep a lot sounder in our bed at night."

She shrugged.

"And if Vol'jin or his Horde turns on us, then he'll become just another footnote on the long and sorry list of people who have tried and failed to kill me. I may not be the greatest political mind on Azeroth, but I know what I'm worth in fight. I know how to win."

Auriana's eyes blazed, and she was so fierce and beautiful that she made Varian's chest swell with pride. It wouldn't do to dwell on such dire possibilities, not when Vol'jin had come before them in the spirit of cooperation, but if it ever came to a fight, Varian was very glad she was on his side.

"You'd take on the entire Horde yourself?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

"For you? For the Alliance? Certainly, if they were ever to force my hand. I don't think it would ever come to that - certainly not under Vol'jin's leadership - but… still."

Auriana cocked her head to the side.

"You don't believe I could?"

"Quite the opposite," Varian said quickly. "If the Horde were to renege on any promises made between us, they ought to be very, very afraid."

He pushed back his rickety chair and rose to his feet, crossing the room in three quick strides so that he might pull her into his arms.

"I may not believe in much, Auriana," he whispered, brushing his lips across the top of her head, "But I believe in you."

The raucous grunting and banging coming from the room next door was not at all conducive to such a heartfelt moment, but Varian still had eyes only for Auriana. He needed her strength, and he needed her faith in him. Vol'jin's offer had been wholly unexpected, and as innocuous an event as a Tournament may have seemed from the outside, Varian instinctively knew that his acquiescence would mean great changes for Azeroth - though whether it would prove to be a good decision, he couldn't say. He felt as if he were standing at a crossroads; on the edge of a cliff with the entire weight of the world on his shoulders - but for once he wasn't standing alone.

"So where does that leave us, do you think?" he asked, breaking the thoughtful silence that had fallen between them.

Auriana's assessment of his position had been correct thus far, and he was curious to see whether she had reached the same conclusion as he.

"You'll accept Vol'jin's offer," she said slowly. "Tentatively, and subject to adequate terms and conditions to ensure the safety of our people... but you'll say yes."

She leaned backwards so that she might look him in the eye, and her lips quirked upwards in a playful smirk.

"Not least because you want to compete in the Tournament."

Varian scowled.

"That isn't the point," he huffed, though of course Auriana was absolutely right.

It had been a long time since he had fought in the arena, and he was damned if he didn't miss it sometimes. Life as a gladiator had been hard, but in some ways, he had been freer as Reghar's slave than he was as a king. He missed the simplicity of the fight; the crystal clear clarity of the arena in which the only rules were kill or be killed - and he was also rather eager to prove that he was still the best.

Might be nice if she took more than two seconds to see right through you, though, he thought drily.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Varian couldn't help but to grin at his wife's remarkable understanding of his inner self, and he tightened his arms around her slender waist.

"I've missed this," he murmured.

"Negotiating with trolls in a debaucherous pirate backwater?" Auriana said archly.

As if to emphasise her point, the lights overhead rattled as yet another body - or chair, or whatever it was - hit the wall.

"Ha, ha," he growled. "I meant having a partner. I've missed not having to face these kind of decisions alone."

Auriana returned his smile, and reached out to fiddle idly with one of the dull brass buttons that lined his coat.

"Am I right, then? You mean to say yes?"

"I do," Varian confirmed. "I can't say I am without reservation, but… I believe the Warchief's intent to be genuine. And if there's a chance to save more lives in the future by securing a peace in the present… I would be derelict in my duty as High King to refuse."

It was not the answer he would have given even four or five years ago, but as Vol'jin himself had pointed out, Varian had changed. He was not afraid to fight for peace, or to protect his home and his people, but he had come to learn that there were times when it was best to pursue another path.

"In that case, I suppose we ought to call them back," Auriana suggested, glancing back over her shoulder towards the door.

"We should," Varian agreed. "First things first, though…"

He slipped his fingers beneath her chin, and had just barely brushed his lips against hers when the door opened, and Vol'jin and Zala'din stepped back into the room unannounced. Auriana pulled away immediately, her cheeks blazing crimson, while Zala'din's mouth split into a cheeky grin so wide it took up almost half his face.

"Really?" Varian muttered.

Evidently, in addition to being a wise leader and a skilled shadow hunter, Vol'jin was also possessed of an uncanny ability to interrupt him at the most inopportune of times.

"Apologies, Ya Majesty," he said, carefully closing and locking the door behind him. "Tings be gettin' a little rough downstairs, we thought it best not ta wait too long."

"No matter, Warchief," Varian growled. "We were just about to call you back in anyway."

"Yeah. I can see dat."

Vol'jin' tusks twitched, and Varian thought he saw the faintest gleam of laughter in the troll's eyes. Was the Warchief teasing him?

Before he could ask, however, Vol'jin spoke once more; the brief flash of his amusement vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

"So. Whatcha tink?"

"I don't trust the Horde," Varian said bluntly, "And the fact that you have approached me before you approached your allies does not engender confidence. You do not have an easy task ahead of you, Vol'jin, should you intend to see this idea of yours through to fruition."

Vol'jin's features clouded with genuine disappointment, though it seemed he had already resigned himself to Varian's refusal.

"I appreciate ya honesty," he said heavily, "And for takin' da time to hear me out."

"I'm not finished," Varian continued, raising a hand, "While I will not act without the support of my own allies, and while my ultimate agreement is conditional upon the implementation of adequate measures to ensure the safety of all participants… I will support this endeavour. In principle, at least."

"I… I must admit, dis is somewhat unexpected," Vol'jin said, a spark of sincere hope kindling deep in his eyes.

"And yet you brought me all this way?"

"Some risks be worth taking," Vol'jin answered evenly.

He champed his tusks, and reached out a bright blue hand towards Varian. It seemed that some gestures held the same meaning regardless of culture, and after a brief moment of hesitation, Varian stepped forward to clasp the Warchief's forearm in accord.

"I agree. Circumstances... change," he said slowly, unblinking as he stared the Warchief down. "As do people. Change is not always easy, but… that does not mean it is an unworthy pursuit. I will do what is in my power to aid this cause. For Azeroth."

There was still a long way to go if the Warchief's plan were ever to become a reality, but as Vol'jin himself had suggested, they had to start somewhere.

"Dat's all I needed ta know," Vol'jin said, nodding. "I will contact ya through formal channels soon, but for now I tink it be best dat we all return home. It would be a very bad ting if we were ta be discovered."

"Very bad indeed," Varian agreed. "We should depart."

"Did you travel by ship from Ratchet?" Auriana asked, speaking up for the first time since the two trolls had re-entered the room.

She had been listening intently, as had Zala'din, but both had remained silent while their respective faction leaders debated.

"We did," Vol'jin confirmed, exchanging a quick glance with Zala'din. "Ya got a faster way back?"

"With a little luck, I could probably get you to Orgrimmar," she said thoughtfully, "But I don't think you'd be willing to give me the access codes for the wards around the city."

She cast a sly sidelong glance at Zala'din, who smirked and shook his head. The sombre mood in the room had grown instantly lighter the moment Varian and Vol'jin had clasped hands, and it seemed he was not the only one who had noticed.

"So… I suppose Ratchet will have to do," Auriana concluded.

Her eyes flared, and a few seconds later a portal resolved into being at the back of the room. Through it, Varian glimpsed the dusky red hills of the Barrens; so unlike the lush green forest that surrounded his own home. It was a stark reminder of how different they were, the Alliance and the Horde; each borne of radically different backgrounds and ideals. The history of both factions was long and turbulent, both within and without; each no stranger to violence and bloodshed… but as the past year had shown, they were both capable of existing peacefully, if not quite in perfect harmony.

Varian let out a short sigh as he watched Zala'din bid Auriana farewell, and disappeared through the portal. Vol'jin, however, took his time. He paused at the shimmering blue threshold, forced into a crouch by the low ceiling, and inclined his head towards Varian and Auriana with sincere respect.

"Until next time, High King. And you, little Queen," he said quietly.

Varian returned the gesture in kind, and once again he was struck by the sense that he was standing on the precipice of new era for Azeroth. Whether for good or ill, however, only time would tell.

"Until next time," he murmured. "Warchief."