Varian

It was some time after the opening match before Varian's heart rate slowed to what might be considered a reasonable level. His thunderous pulse was not due to of a lack of fitness, of course, but rather the result of his eagerness to keep fighting. Duelling Saurfang had given him a special kind of thrill he hadn't known in years, and the wolf in his heart howled for more. He wanted to fight them all, the greatest warriors from both the Alliance and the Horde; wanted to win victory after victory until he was the last man standing, triumphant over an arena full of fallen champions…

But today was not that day.

With great effort, Varian had forced himself to follow Auriana from the arena and back to their tent in the Alliance staging grounds. His hands had been shaking with barely suppressed energy the entire time, and he had been forced to wait for several minutes before they had stilled sufficiently to allow him to remove his armour. Even then, it was slow going, and he fumbled over the leather straps of his pauldrons and chestplate several times before he managed to work them loose.

Auriana, on the other hand, seemed to have no such difficulty. She had divested herself of her armour with surprising swiftness, quickly swapping her dusty battle trappings for her warm woollen dress. Much to Varian's surprise, she had then swept from the tent in a blur of skirts, muttering under her breath about congratulating the worgen team on their victory. He also could have sworn she said something about wringing 'that little terror's' neck, but he was damned if he understood what she meant. Perhaps he had misheard.

If Varian had been faster, he might have stopped Auriana from leaving, but as it stood he was unable to untangle his fingers from the fastenings of his armour in time. He was admittedly surprised by her sudden departure after their nail-biting first match victory, and he hoped she would not be gone for long. In the heat of the moment, he had not given her decision to surrender all that much thought, but now that his blood had cooled, he was keen to discuss her rather unorthodox battle tactics.

Varian had also wondered if Anduin might have come down to the staging area to offer his congratulations, but it seemed that the boy had been distracted by something far more interesting than his father. It was difficult for Varian to allow his son free rein to roam about the Tournament, but Anduin was now almost a man grown, and it wasn't fair for Varian to continue to treat him as if he were a child. He had made a silent promise to himself before the event that he would make a concerted effort to curb his overprotective tendencies, though it was far easier said than done. While the Tournament was off to a promising start, there was a part of Varian that would always see a threat in every shadow, especially when it came to his son...

A sudden rustle of the tent flap pulled him out of his thoughts, and a second later Auriana slipped back inside. Her cheeks were still flushed from their efforts in the arena, but despite her dishevelled hair and the faint glimmer of sweat and dust glimmering on her skin, Varian thought she looked beautiful.

"Did you find the Gilneans?" he asked, as he removed his right vambrace.

"Yes. They were very… grateful… for my support."

There was a strange clip in Auriana's voice that suggested that something more had happened in the Gilnean tent than a simple exchange of congratulations, but Varian knew her well enough to know that there was little point in pressing her further. Over time, he had come to recognise the precise downward tilt of her lips and the little crease in her forehead that indicated she had no intention of revealing what was on her mind. Varian had no desire to make her uncomfortable, especially not after they had won such a thrilling victory together in the arena, and so he quickly resolved to leave well enough alone.

"Come on, I'm hungry," he said instead, offering Auriana his arm so that he might lead her from the tent.

Varian left his armour behind for the squires to tend to at a later time, and together he and Auriana stepped out into the brisk afternoon air. The last match of the day must have finished in the time it had taken them to change, and the spectators who had packed the arena had now spilled out onto the Tournament grounds in an excited, chattering throng. The first day of competition had evidently inspired a great deal of debate and discussion - and most likely gambling, as well - and Varian had no doubt that the celebrations would continue well into the night.

A great cheer went up as he and Auriana exited the staging area, and they attracted more than their fair share of excitable shouts and whoops as they made their way back to the Alliance camp. Varian acknowledged their support with brief nods and waves, but he did not stop. He wanted to get Auriana back to the privacy of their tent as soon as possible so that they might eat and discuss their match, and he knew that if they paused, even for a moment, they would likely be overwhelmed.

"Croc-Bait!"

A singular, gravelly voice rose above the crowd, and despite his best intentions to keep moving, Varian immediately pulled to a halt. It had been a long time since he had heard that particular nickname, and he knew there was only one person on Azeroth who would dare address him as such.

"I'm not a gladiator anymore, Rehgar," he called, glancing back over his shoulder to see a stocky, barrel-chested orc pushing his way through the crowd toward them.

The orc's face was mostly covered by a wolf's head cowl, but Varian would have recognised him almost anywhere. His chest was bare, even despite the cold, and he moved with the slow, prowling grace of a born fighter.

"Ah, my apologies… King Croc-Bait..."

The orc made a great show of bowing, inclining his head with a flourish that would have made a human nobleman proud. Another king might have considered it impertinent, but Varian was simply amused. Not that he would ever give the orc the satisfaction of letting it show, of course, but he was amused nonetheless.

"Rehgar Earthfury, Auriana Wrynn," he growled drily, gesturing between the two of them by way of introduction.

It had been many years since they had last spoken, and in truth Varian was not entirely sure what to say. The world had changed dramatically since the last time they had seen one another, as had Varian himself. Rehgar represented a critical time in his life that had been greatly responsible for forging him into the man he was today, but that time nevertheless belonged in the past. He had no idea what Rehgar might want to say to him, either, but it was clear that the orc shaman had come seeking Varian with a purpose.

"Master Earthfury. I've heard a lot about you," Auriana said slowly, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden appearance of Varian's former gladiatorial master.

She did not offer Rehgar her hand, but her expression was not unfriendly. Nor was it especially welcoming, either, but Varian supposed it was not unreasonable for her to be wary of the orc who had once enslaved her husband.

Admittedly, he and Rehgar had something of a strange relationship. Rehgar had been a willing participant in a slave economy, even if he had later abandoned the practice to serve the Earthen Ring, and he doubtless had a great deal of blood on his hands. That said, he had been a good master - not kind, exactly, but never abusive or mindlessly cruel. He had cared for his team, in his own way, and had treated them far better than they might have otherwise been in similar circumstances.

Rehgar had also made Varian a better warrior - had made him stronger, faster, smarter. He had been far from untrained when they had first met, but Rehgar had taught him things that could never be learned in the safety of Stormwind's training yards. When Varian and Broll had made their escape, thanks to a timely gift from Archdruid Hamuul Runetotem, Rehgar had made only a token effort to recapture them. Varian had long suspected that Rehgar had known exactly the value of the Archdruid's hippogryph feather and had let them take it regardless, and while he would never be grateful to someone who had kept him in chains, he held a certain respect for the orc nonetheless.

"All flattering, I should hope," Rehgar rumbled.

Auriana cocked her head to the side, and lifted her shoulders in a coy little shrug.

"You're shorter than I expected," she said softly.

It was a bold thing to say to an orc that was two feet taller than she, but Rehgar had always been the kind to appreciate boldness. His eyes gleamed, and the barest hint of a sly smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth as he stared Auriana up and down. She returned his gaze evenly, despite the difference in their heights, and it was Rehgar who first looked away.

"I wanted to congratulate you on your victory in the ring today," he said finally, turning his attention back to Varian. "It pleases me to see that kingship has not dulled your edge."

"I had wondered if you would come to support the orcs," Varian remarked. "My suspicions were confirmed when I noticed Saurfang using some of your favourite tricks..."

Rehgar's tusks twitched in what might have almost been a smile, but he declined to elaborate further.

"Thrall asked. I couldn't very well turn him down."

"Broll is here, too, as is Valeera… though she isn't fighting," Varian added, gesturing back toward the Alliance staging area.

"Took that well, did she?" Rehgar snorted. "A pity. I had hoped I might see the three of you in action one last time."

His sharp eyes flicked to Auriana.

"Though it seems you have had great success in finding another arena partner worthy of your talents."

"I didn't marry Auriana for her fighting skills, Rehgar," Varian muttered.

Auriana let out a soft sound of disbelief.

"Well, not entirely…" he amended, shooting a brief glance in her direction.

"You don't fight like any mage I've ever seen, Your Majesty," Rehgar observed. "You are… formidable."

His eyes were partly concealed beneath the lip of his cowl, but there was no disguising the interest in his expression as he studied Auriana with a practiced gaze. Varian knew it was difficult for many people to reconcile her extraordinary power with her physical size - or lack thereof - but Rehgar had always possessed an uncanny ability to measure the worth of a fighter with a single glance.

"I know."

Auriana spoke matter-of-factly, without a hint of pride or conceit, and Varian could tell that Rehgar was sincerely impressed. He could also practically see the orc's mind turning over as he considered the possibilities that a fighting mage of Auriana's calibre and instinct represented, and for a moment he almost felt as if he had been transported back in time.

"Thinking of becoming a master again?"

"That depends," Rehgar grunted, his tusks twitching. "Can I have her?"

He nodded towards Auriana, and Varian could not help but to pull her a little closer against his side. He was fairly certain that Rehgar was joking, in his typically sardonic way, but on the off chance that he wasn't… well, there was no harm in being clear.

"Not on your life," he growled.

"Hmph. I think I might continue to enjoy my retirement, then," Rehgar concluded.

He straightened, and his wolf's head cowl shifted so that for a moment his face was fully visible. He looked far older and more careworn than Varian had remembered - but then again, Rehgar could have probably said the same thing about Varian himself. More importantly, however, the orc also appeared to be at peace; or at the very least as much at peace as an orc with such a warrior's soul was capable of being. His time with the Earthen Ring seemed to have done him a measure of good, and for all their earlier banter, Varian knew then that Rehgar no longer truly had the heart for a place like the Crimson Ring.

"It is good to see you, Lo'Gosh," the shaman finished quietly, his voice low. "For what it's worth, you are still the finest warrior I've ever seen."

He inclined his head to Varian once more, but this time his manner was entirely sincere. They were not friends, exactly, but they were bound both by the weight of their shared history and a strong sense of mutual regard. Rehgar was also not one to give compliments lightly, and Varian appreciated that he gone out of his way to make his opinion known. To that end, he returned the orc's gesture with a respectful nod of his own, and his contemplative gaze followed Rehgar's retreating back long after he had turned away and disappeared into the milling crowd.

"'Croc-Bait'?"

The soft sound of Auriana's voice pulled Varian back to the present, and he looked down to see her staring at up him with wide, curious eyes. There was a trace of uncertainty in her expression, and in that moment Varian abruptly realised that his hold on her arm was still stiff and wary.

"Not the most flattering nickname I've ever had, I'll admit," he snorted, forcing himself to relax.

He shook his head, and as he did, he forcibly banished the last lingering vestiges of nostalgia to the back of his mind. Rehgar was his past, but Auriana was his future, and now was not the time to dwell.

"There's a story there…" she prompted tentatively.

"When Rehgar found me washed up on the coast of Durotar, I was one wrong move away from becoming lunch for a crocolisk," Varian elaborated, as they resumed their journey back to the Alliance camp.

He had told Auriana much of his experiences in the Crimson Ring, but he had never really explained to her exactly how he had been found. Some of his memories of that time were admittedly still blurry, though he supposed it was rather difficult to forget rolling around in the mud with a vicious beast trying that had been trying to rip his head off.

"I think it suits you. Varian Wrynn: mighty High King of the Alliance, Lo'Gosh, Champion of the Crimson Ring, crocolisk snack," she teased, bumping him gently in the side with her elbow.

"I'll feed you to a crocolisk if you're not careful," he growled, his voice deepening in warning.

Of course, the threat might have been a tad more believable had he not been struggling to hide his smirk. Auriana was certainly not convinced, judging from the twist of her lips and the sparkle in her eyes, yet she still had the good manners to at least pretend to look afraid. Unfortunately, her attempts to appear intimidated were about as effective as Varian's 'threat', though he appreciated her efforts nonetheless. It was difficult to remain wistful for the past with such a lovely woman on his arm, and he was once again feeling celebratory by the time they had reached their private tent and stepped inside.

Varian and Auriana spent the next few moments in companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts as they set about removing their boots and otherwise making themselves comfortable. The tent was pleasantly warm, one of the servants having already lit the hearthfires in anticipation of their return, and a simple platter of breads, cured meats and cheeses had been placed on a small table by the entrance. Varian's stomach growled at the sight of the food, but before he could eat, he needed to know the answer to the question that had been gnawing at him ever since they had left the arena.

"Hell of a way to start a Tournament," he remarked, turning to watch Auriana as she loosened the lengths of her intricate braid. "You made quite the impression."

"As did you, no doubt," she replied, her voice soft.

"We had a guaranteed victory."

Varian very deliberately kept his tone soft, so as not make the words sound like an accusation. In truth, he was merely curious, but he understood how such a thing could be easily misconstrued. Auriana was not the kind of person to surrender anything, let alone a winning fight, and he wasn't quite sure what had motivated her to leave Saurfang for him alone. He had meant to raise the point while they were walking back to the tent, but Rehgar's unexpected arrival had proven to be rather distracting.

"We did," she said slowly. "But if I'd shot Saurfang in the back, you would have spent the rest of your life wondering whether you could have won."

There was a sudden note of hesitation in her voice that belied the confidence with which she had acted in the arena, and her hands stilled in the tangles of her dark hair as she turned back to face him. Her shoulders squared defensively, and while her words themselves held a hint of teasing nonchalance, her wide-eyed expression told another story. It was clear that she feared his censure, though she seemed determined to stand by her decision regardless.

"As the person who has to live with you for the rest of your life, I decided to spare myself the angst. It was a selfish decision, really."

"And what if I'd lost?" Varian asked, folding his arms across his chest.

Auriana tilted her head to the side, and let out a soft snort of bemusement.

"Do you know, that actually never occurred to me."

There was not a hint of a lie in her tone, and Varian felt a slow warmth spread through his chest. She was not the romantic sort, but he understood then that her leaving Saurfang to him alone had been intended as a romantic act. She understood him implicitly; understood his determination, his pride, his ferocity - and in her own strange little way, she had made him a gesture of her most sincere affection and regard. It was not a gesture that everyone would have appreciated, but to Varian, it was perfect.

"Thank you," he murmured, offering her a small, reassuring smile.

"What for?"

"You're right. It would have bothered me," he admitted. "Though I would probably avoid resorting to such tactics in our future matches…"

Auriana acknowledged his suggestion with a small smile and a satisfied nod, before turning away to see to the laces of her dress. She preferred not to use the services of a lady's maid, if she could avoid it, though whether it was because she was shy or disliked fuss, Varian wasn't sure. Not that he minded, of course, given that it afforded him the opportunity to watch her uninterrupted. She was always slow and methodical in her movements when she undressed, and blissfully unaware of the effect her mere presence had upon him.

Light, she's beautiful, he thought.

It was dark inside the tent, despite the afternoon sunshine outside, and the hearthfire burning beside the bed scattered strange shadows across the canvas ceiling. Auriana's dark hair glowed gold where it caught the firelight, and Varian found himself suddenly transfixed by the movement of her slender fingers as she finished unlacing her bodice and pulled her dress off over her head. Much to his satisfaction, the cotton slip she wore beneath revealed a great deal more of her slender form, and he growled deep in his chest as he imagined the feel of her soft, pale skin beneath his hands...

"Was it anything like you remembered?" Auriana asked suddenly.

"What?"

Varian shook himself out of his reverie, and tried his best to look as if he hadn't been staring. He hoped Auriana had not been made to feel self-conscious by his slack-jawed ogling, but it seemed that she remained as charmingly oblivious as always.

"I know you miss being a gladiator sometimes," she elaborated. "I was wondering if fighting in the arena today was anything like you remembered."

"Oh."

Varian considered the question seriously. He did not revel in killing or violence for violence's sake, but he loved the challenge of a fight; loved pushing himself to his physical and mental limits. There was also no doubt that a gladiator's life was far less complicated than that of a king, and there were times where he craved the black and white simplicity of his time in the Crimson Ring. Fighting in the Tournament was a pale imitation of the life or death urgency of a true gladiatorial arena, it was true... but Varian loved fighting alongside his lionhearted wife more than almost anything in the world, and he would have happily traded every second of his time in the Ring for a chance to stand with her.

"It was better," he said honestly. "Today I fought with you."

Auriana's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, as if she weren't quite sure if she believed him, but after a few moments of contemplation she seemed to accept his declaration as the truth. It was then that Varian realised that he had been so distracted by watching her undress that he had failed to do the same, and he somewhat reluctantly turned his attention back to his own sweat-stained clothing.

He grunted as he removed his shirt; his muscles protesting the effort as he lifted his arms above his head and worked the garment free. Saurfang had put up a hell of a fight, and while Varian had eventually triumphed, he had not left the arena unscathed. Saurfang was a big, powerful warrior, even by orcish standards, and he had approached the match with the strength and intensity of a battering ram. Anything less would have been insulting, of course, but Varian's arms and shoulders had paid the price for every time he had been too slow to dodge or turn Saurfang's axe.

"Varian!"

Behind him, Auriana let out a short gasp of alarm, and Varian quickly surmised that the damage he had taken in the fight was already visible.

"Just some bruising," he said dismissively.

"'Just' some bruising? Varian…"

Her tone rang with displeasure, and Varian was forced to bite back a smile. She would quite happily endure broken bones and grevious wounds herself, but if he received even so much as a scratch...

"Should I send for a healer?" she pressed, when he did not immediately reply.

"I don't want a healer. I want you."

Varian turned back to face her with a suggestive smirk, but Auriana was unconvinced. Her lips were drawn into a thin line, and her brow furrowed into an expression of deep concern. Evidently, he looked far worse than he actually felt.

"If you insist, there's some of that salve Broll likes so much in the chest over there…" he added quietly, pointing.

Auriana nodded and turned away to rummage through one of the strongboxes they had brought from Stormwind, while Varian lay down and made himself comfortable in a pile of furs on the bed. He was not overly concerned by a few bruises, though he understood that Auriana needed reassurance. There were certainly far worse things in the world than having a wife who cared so deeply, and while Varian disliked fuss as as a general rule, in this case he was more than happy to submit to her inspection.

Once Auriana had retrieved the salve, she attempted to sit on the very edge of the bed beside him, but Varian was having none of it. A hunger entirely unrelated to the food on the table had risen in his chest, and he was determined to have his fill. He snagged Auriana firmly by the wrist as she leaned forward, using her own weight against her to pull her off-balance. She let out a small gasp as she half-sat, half-fell down on top of him, and Varian was unable to hide his smile of satisfaction as she ended up straddled across his lap. He was willing to let her tend to his wounds, but that certainly didn't mean she had to be so far away.

Admittedly, it was not the best position for dispensing medical aid, but it had its own unique advantages. For one thing, it gave Varian an excellent view down the loose neckline of Auriana's slip, and for another, it meant that she was positioned at exactly the right distance for him to rest his hands upon the slender curve of her waist.

"So. Tell me how we're going to win this Tournament, little champion," he requested, stretching out his long legs as Auriana reached out to tend to his bruises.

The salve on her fingertips smelled herbal and faintly sweet, and was a violent green colour that Varian found rather off-putting. Still, Broll swore by the stuff, and even Varian had to admit that it was very effective. He felt some of the pain and tension in his muscles ease the moment Auriana touched his skin, though that might have had more to do with her presence than the balm itself. All the pressures of the world seemed to fade away whenever she was in his arms, and everything from Saurfang to Rehgar to the Tournament itself suddenly seemed very far away.

"I thought you said you were hungry," Auriana remarked, cocking a slender eyebrow.

She was clearly well aware of the fact that he had engineered the situation to ensure she ended up sitting in his lap, but as much as she was making a show of exasperation, Varian knew she was enjoying their closeness just as much as he. The last few weeks had been trying, and while he would not fully relax until the Tournament was over, he relished the opportunity to celebrate their first victory in the arena with a quiet afternoon alone. It was sometimes hard for him to believe that they were married; that she still had chosen him despite his many flaws and the weight of his crown, and he was determined to make up for his recent inattention.

"I can wait…" Varian murmured, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair back behind her left ear.

Auriana shook her head in an attempt to hide her smile, though she continued her diligent efforts to treat every last one of his bruises. She worried about him, he knew, but his gentle teasing had done exactly what he had hoped it would. Some of the tension had left her shoulders, and she no longer looked quite so troubled.

"Well, in that case… we should expect Saurfang and Aggra to adapt the next time we fight. She's quite strong, I beat her largely because I surprised her. She wasn't expecting me to get in her face like I did."

"I see…"

Varian shifted his hands from Auriana's waist to the bare skin of her thighs, and very carefully slid the scant fabric of her slip up towards her hips. He moved with the utmost care, barely half an inch at a time, while Auriana did her level best to ignore him. It was a game they had played many times before, and one that Varian loved: in which he attempted to provoke a reaction, while Auriana attempted to maintain perfect composure. They had never defined the rules out loud, but each knew their roles and the stakes of the game as well as if the terms had been inscribed in stone.

"I'm not overly worried by the goblins or the gnomes, after seeing them fight today - nor the Gilneans, for that matter," Auriana said evenly.

She did not outwardly react to his touch, but in her eyes Varian saw that she was growing rapidly less concerned by her task with every second. There was something about fighting together in the arena that stirred his blood, and despite her supposed indifference, he knew that she felt the rush as keenly as he.

"Who does worry you, then?" he asked, dutifully playing his part in their little game.

Varian was genuinely interested in her thoughts on strategy, but much like his hunger, such things could wait for another time. In truth he was listening only with half an ear; the majority of his attention fixed on the feel of her firm thighs around his chest and the way the light illuminated the sinuous curve of her neck.

"The blood elves. Aethas Sunreaver was a member of the Council of Six, that's nothing to sneeze at," Auriana explained, gently probing a blossoming bruise on his clavicle. "He's also an elf, which means he was probably already a master of magic when I was still learning how to walk."

Varian's hands continued to creep up her thigh as she spoke, gently tickling her pale flesh in attempt to break her focus. She had put up a valiant resistance, but Varian knew her body like the back of his hand. He suspected that she would not be able to resist his attentions for very much longer, if the flush of her cheeks and the slight pant in her voice were any indication; though in this circumstance, as in all others, he would accept nothing less than total victory.

"Anyone else?"

"Mmm. The rogue... oh…" Auriana gasped, her hand tightening around his shoulder as his fingers brushed over a particularly sensitive spot.

"You were saying?" Varian prompted, making a very deliberate attempt to look as innocent as possible.

"The… the rogues," she managed, though it was clearly a difficult thing. "Sylvanas' rogues will be a challenge, and… and…"

Auriana abruptly cut herself off and set the green salve to one side, at long last abandoning all pretense at a proper conversation. She bit her lip consideringly, her head tilting to one side, and Varian stilled his hands in eager anticipation of her surrender.

"And… there's really no point in me continuing, is there?"

"Do you concede, then?" he asked, a slow grin spreading across his face. "For the second time today, I might add…"

Auriana's eyes narrowed in mock fury, and she reached out to grasp Varian roughly by the hair at the back of his neck. She was surprisingly strong for a woman of her size; though of course he had no intention of resisting. In the burning heat of her gaze, Varian saw same fierce, barely contained energy that had defined her performance in the arena, and his pulse began quicken in anticipation of a battle that promised be every bit as thrilling as the one they had just fought.

"Just for that, Varian," she whispered, brushing the words across his lips with tantalising slowness, "I'm going to make you beg…"