Before we get into the next chapter, I wanted to quickly extend my best wishes to every single one of you reading. The world is a crazy place right now, and a lot of people are having a rough time of it. I know I've had a horribly stressful month, and by no means do I have it as hard as many people out there. At the moment words feel like such a small and inadequate thing, but I just wanted to say that I hope that you're all staying safe and healthy, and that those of you who are struggling will find some relief soon.


Varian

The next three days passed without incident, at least as far as further bombings were concerned. While an undercurrent of tension remained, life in the camp swiftly returned to normal - or as normal as could be expected, given that the Alliance and the Horde had rarely come together on such a scale in peacetime. The number of spectators departing the Tournament over safety concerns had dwindled to a trickle, and the vast majority who had remained were now eagerly counting down the hours until the fighting resumed. It was a testament to the resiliency of the citizens of Azeroth that they were willing to stay… or perhaps more accurately, a testament to their passion for gambling and bloodsports.

For his part, Varian spent most of his time holed up in his tent with Auriana. Anduin had returned home to Stormwind with only minimal complaint, and with his son safe Varian had been free to turn his attention to his wife. The first day or so after her rescue, Auriana had mostly slept. Varian knew from first hand experience that healing could be an exhaustive process, and even though her wounds were not severe, she still needed time to recover. Varian ensured that she was tended to by experienced healers every morning and every night, and while Auriana herself clearly felt that such attention was unnecessary, she indulged him nonetheless.

During the day, they otherwise spent their time going over their previous fights in the arena, as well as strategising for the battles to come. As the only team in the Tournament that currently remained undefeated, they were a target for all the other ambitious fighters seeking to obtain first place after the round robin was over. Whoever took first would have a considerable advantage going into the finals, and both Varian and Auriana were determined to do whatever they could to stay on top.

At night, they spent their time in less serious ways, playing cards or reading together beside the fire, before at last climbing into the plush warmth of their bed. It brought Varian great comfort to have Auriana nestled safely in his arms while she slept, though thanks to Sylvanas's cruel words on the night of the bombing, he was plagued by the worst dreams he'd had in years. Almost every time he closed his eyes, he saw either Auriana or Tiffin - or worse, both - dying in front of him in a variety of horrific ways. He tried his best to keep it from Auriana, knowing she needed her rest, but it was a difficult thing to hide when he woke up every morning with deep bags under his own eyes from lack of sleep.

It was even more difficult to hide when he began howling out loud while he slept. The night before the Tournament resumed, he found himself tormented by some of his most disturbing nightmares to date. He found himself chained in a dark room, watching helplessly as Tiffin was slowly tortured to death by invisible hands that scratched and tore at her delicate flesh. Every line of her face was rendered in exquisite detail, from the terrified whites of her eyes to the blood bubbling out from between her lips, and the emotions that burned through Varian as he was forced to watch her perish in slow agony were overwhelmingly strong. He screamed her name, over and over again for what felt like hours, but much as in real life, there was no amount of pleading that would ever change her fate.

At some point, he must have thrashed or cried out loud enough to wake Auriana. It was the dim realisation that she was no longer resting by his side that finally roused him, and he experienced a moment of sheer panic when he reached out and found her gone. He sat bolt upright, blinking dazedly as his eyes adjusted to the light, only to find her standing at the edge of the bed with her dressing gown clutched around her slender shoulders like armour.

She looked frozen, carved from stone, and from the stricken expression on her face Varian surmised both that he had been talking in his sleep… and that whatever he had said had hurt. He couldn't be sure, but he guessed he had been calling Tiffin's name aloud, and that it hadn't sounded innocent.

"Auri…"

Varian ran a groggy hand over his eyes, struggling to focus and orient himself. The dream had felt so damn real that he was not not entirely sure whether he was actually awake. His throat was dry and hoarse, and he felt as physically drained as if he had just run twenty miles.

"Auri… it's not… it's not what it sounds like…" he coughed.

"And what did it sound like, Varian?" she asked, the colour rising in her cheeks.

Varian didn't blame her for being upset. He could hardly be held accountable for things he may have dreamed up in his sleep, but doubted he would have reacted charitably had he woken to the sound of Auriana moaning another man's name. From the outside, she had no way of knowing whether he was crying out in pleasure or in pain, and Light knew how long she had been standing there, listening to him call for his late wife.

Dammit.

He awkwardly shuffled over so that he could sit on the end of the bed, his legs still tangled in one of the many pelts strewn across the bed.

"I wasn't dreaming... about Tiffin… not… not like that," he clarified quickly. "I was dreaming of… of her death."

As much as Varian loved Auriana, there were still some things that he found it difficult to discuss with her. He was a naturally private person, and a lifetime of betrayal and sorrow hadn't exactly made him more open with his feelings. He was also not the kind of man who feared pain or physical injury, but he feared greatly that one day she would see him for what he really was, and that on that day, she would leave him. He was older than she, and scarred both physically and mentally. He was proud, he could be arrogant, he had a temper… and there were some days - a lot of days, really - where he couldn't quite understand how a woman like her had chosen him.

And then there were his dreams. They had always been vivid, ever since he was a child; full of colour and unnervingly realistic. He was hardly surprised that he had cried out in his sleep, so intense and clear was the sight of Tiffin crumbling to dust before his very eyes, though it didn't make him feel any less like a silly, frightened little boy. One of the last things he wanted to do was admit to Auriana the extent to which his nightmares affected him, but it wasn't really something he could brush off when she was standing in front of him with such hurt in her eyes. He also knew that there was a great deal to be gained by being open with her, even if that meant leaving himself vulnerable, and after a moment of intense internal struggle, he took a deep breath, and spoke.

"I've been having nightmares," he confessed, though the words sounded lame and hollow in his ears. "Again. The last few nights… I keep seeing her die. Or you. Over and over, in a hundred different ways. That's why I called out, not… any other reason. I promise."

"I see."

Auriana fiddled with the hem of her dressing gown, her eyes downcast and her posture stiff. She didn't appear angry, however, more uncertain and hurt than anything, and she seemed to be trying to make herself as small as possible. It was remarkable, Varian thought, how she could be so bold and decisive on the battlefield, but so diffident and vulnerable when it came to personal matters.

"As you know, I've… I've struggled with these sorts of dreams in the past, though they stopped when I met you," he continued.

Varian hoped that he could somehow find the words to reassure her, though it was something of an uphill battle considering he himself wasn't quite sure he even understood his own very complex feelings.

"So you've said before..."

"I swear to you, it's true," Varian insisted, "Though it took me some time to make the connection. I had enjoyed periods of respite in the past, but the nightmares would inevitably return… until we met. At some point, I started dreaming about you, instead. Almost every night, in fact."

He was rambling a little, he knew, his mind still groggy from being woken so abruptly, but it helped to have a clear focus in Auriana.

"You really had that many dreams about me?" she asked, curious even despite herself. "I can never tell if you're being hyperbolic…"

Varian had hinted as much in the past, though he had never really confirmed the extent to which she had tormented his sleep. There had even been mornings when his dreams had felt so real that he had been genuinely surprised to find that she was not sleeping peacefully by his side, her legs tangled in his sheets and the scent of their lovemaking lingering on her skin. He had always feared that telling Auriana the truth might have come off as somewhat creepy, however, and hence he had never gone into much detail.

"I really did," he assured her. "And I'm hardly known for my hyperbole."

Auriana nodded, and came over to take a hesitant seat by his side. She very deliberately kept an obvious space between them, though it seemed that she was more willing to listen now that the initial shock of hearing him cry for Tiffin had worn off.

"I don't know, have you ever heard you talk about your skills with a sword…?" she murmured, the faintest hint of a teasing gleam in her eyes.

"Oh, ha, ha," Varian grumbled, though he appreciated her tentative attempt at levity. "No, I assure you, it would not be an exaggeration to say that you had me waking up every night; sweating and shaking like a bloody teenager."

Auriana flushed, though whether she was flattered or embarrassed, Varian couldn't tell. Perhaps both.

"I miss those dreams, sometimes. They're certainly better than the damn nightmares. You're mine for real now, but there was a time when those dreams were all I had," he added, more seriously. "Which was my fault, in a lot of ways. I was… afraid... to let them be any more than dreams. I was afraid that I would be somehow betraying Tiffin if I were to act on my feelings for you. Afraid of how Anduin might react… and most of all, I think, afraid of what would happen if I declared myself and you turned me down."

"I mean… I did. Twice, actually," Auriana pointed out.

"Don't remind me," Varian grimaced. "Though we managed to muddle through, I suppose."

Auriana nodded, and her shoulders drooped as some of the tension in her neck and shoulders eased. She even went so far as to adjust her weight so they were sitting a little closer, though Varian did not make any move to close the remaining distance. He had learned a long time ago that she would come to him when she was ready, and not a second before.

"Is that… is that why you never talk about… about Tiffin? Because you feel like you're betraying her by being with me?"

Varian considered the question very seriously.

"At first, maybe," he admitted. "And… I don't talk about her with anyone, really. I'm not even sure how to start."

Even when talking to Anduin, he found it hard to find the words. How did one sum up an entire person; an entire life? He was hardly a wordsmith at the best of times, though he doubted even the greatest poet alive could do justice to the completeness of a human soul.

"But more than that…" he added softly, "I never wanted you to feel lesser. I never wanted you to feel as if I were comparing you to Tiffin, or feel as if you are somehow... second best."

Auriana tried very hard to keep her expression neutral, but the sudden flash of pain in her eyes was enough to break his heart, and Varian realised he had inadvertently touched on a very real and visceral fear. At first, his reluctance to discuss Tiffin had come from his general unwillingness to reopen old wounds, though later it had been intended as a gesture of respect towards Auriana. He doubted anyone would wish to hear their partner wax lyrical about a former love - he certainly didn't - but he supposed there was a happy medium to be found between that and saying nothing at all.

"Though now I'm afraid that my reticence to discuss her may have had the same effect…"

He winced, and closed his eyes. He had thought he was doing the right thing. Auriana, of course, was never one to complain, and so he had assumed that she had understood his intentions. An assumption, as it turned out, that was rather incorrect.

"Auri… I'm so sorry. If I've ever made you feel unimportant, or as if my love for you is anything less than absolute…"

"It's fine, really…" she murmured, looking away, "She's your wife…"

"She was my wife," Varian corrected her sternly. "I… I loved her very dearly, and she was a wonderful and important part of my life, but... the truth of it is, she's been gone for nearly twenty years. I won't deny that it was difficult, but I've let her go… and I certainly don't intend to sabotage my future with you by drowning in the past. I did that for far too long. Never again."

He reached for Auriana's right hand, catching her by the fingers before she could pull away.

"I'm yours. All of me. Without hesitation, doubt, or reservation. And I hope that one day, you'll really believe that."

Auriana did not immediately respond, and nor did she look him in the eye; preferring instead to stare down at her left hand where it lay neatly resting in her lap. She remained deep in thought for several minutes, her expression inscrutable save for the faint furrow in her brow and the slight downward turn of her lips. Once again, Varian did not make any attempt to press her, though he breathed an audible sigh of relief as she finally tightened her fingers around his in a subtle but nonetheless emphatic gesture of love and understanding.

"I… I'm sorry, it was just… not what I expected to wake up to," she murmured, running a nervous hand through her hair. "I'm being silly, I know you didn't mean anything by it…"

"You're not being silly… you were half asleep, it was a shock. I understand. These damn dreams, they're just…"

Varian trailed off in an irritated sigh, unable to find the words to describe the depths of his feeling.

"Do you have any idea why they've started again?" Auriana asked, her blue eyes darkening with sympathy.

"Oh, I know why," Varian snarled. "Sylvanas."

In his mind's eye, he pictured the cold, self-satisfied gleam in the Banshee's eyes as she had called him out, and he struggled to fight back the sudden growl that rose in his throat. He must have appeared rather frightening, too, for even Auriana looked at him in the wary way one might regard a rabid dog. Three days ago, he had very deliberately avoided telling her about Sylvanas's remarks, but given that his bad dreams were now affecting her, too, it seemed unfair to keep the information to himself.

"After you fell into the pit, when the Alliance and the Horde gathered to discuss our options…" he explained, "Sylvanas offered her sympathies - and I use that term very loosely - for my 'curse'. She implied that by marrying me, it was all but guaranteed you would meet a similar fate to Tiffin."

"She didn't…" Auriana gasped, her mouth falling open in shock and disgust. "What a… a… bitch…"

She balled her small hands into fists, and Varian did not doubt that she would have called up in her magic had she been able. He was somewhat comforted by the fact that she was just as outraged by Sylvanas's searing comments as he had been, though it did little to quell the doubts the Banshee's words had raised in his heart.

"She did," he confirmed, staring down at his hands as he imagined them wrapping around Sylvanas's throat. "And I suppose… I suppose I'm afraid - terrified, really - that she's right."

He always hated admitting when he was afraid. Fear was a part of life, he knew, but there was still some proud, stubborn part of him that thought he could somehow be stronger than fear. That he could best it, in the same way he might fight off a slavering demon or a soldier of the undead.

"I won't have you die because of me," he swore fiercely, as if he could somehow threaten the universe into compliance.

Auriana winced, and reached out to rest her spare hand on his knee. Having swallowed her hurt, she was now nothing but warmth and empathy, and he was immensely grateful.

"Varian…" she murmured, "You can't take anything Sylvanas says to heart. We know she's wrapped up in this ridiculous delusion of hers about you wanting to retake Lordaeron and install me as queen. She's trying to test us; throw us off our game."

"Any woman married to me is a target," he muttered darkly, shaking his head. "I learned that lesson the hard way with Tiffin, and it's something I knew full well when I made my vows to you."

Not for the first time, Varian wondered whether he had been selfish in marrying Auriana. She had already suffered several attempts on her life for the sake of being his consort, and yet he had pursued her regardless.

"We've talked about this before," Auriana sighed. "Varian… I've been a target for most of my life. It's quite literally in my job description. What's the difference?"

"The difference is that now it's my fault," Varian growled. "I can't… I don't think I could live with the guilt if something happened to you, not when I made a choice to put you in danger; to put my need for you ahead of your safety."

"It wasn't your choice alone," Auriana said firmly, "And I would thank you not to treat me as if I have no agency in the matter. I knew what saying yes to you would mean."

She shot him a stern look.

"Frankly, my safety was not my primary concern. I married you because I love you, and I would hope that's the reason you married me."

Varian twisted slightly to face her. Her brilliant blue eyes were dark and serious, and the thoughtful crease in her forehead deepened in an intense frown.

"Of course it is," he growled, "That's not what I meant. But… those that would seek to harm us see my love for you as something exploitable… and they're not wrong."

"So what would you have us do? Go our separate ways?"

Her tone was faintly mocking, though Varian thought he saw a brief flash of fear in her eyes, and he felt her hand on his leg tighten.

"No. No, nothing like that," he said hurriedly, though he was not entirely sure himself what he was trying to say. "I don't want to give you up, I'm just… I'm tired. And all I want - all I ever want - is for you to be safe."

Auriana's expression softened once more, and she reached up to brush an unruly strand of hair back behind his ear.

"But that's just it, isn't it? It isn't something you can control. Not really," she said gently. "Am I in more in danger as the wife of a king than I would be as the wife of a blacksmith, or a baker? Probably, but… there's no real guarantee that I would be perfectly safe with anyone else. Life… has a way of happening to us, whether we like it or not."

Auriana paused, and gave him a soft, wistful smile.

"If I do die young, Varian, it won't be your fault. It certainly won't be because of any curse. And the simple fact of the matter is, I'd rather have a handful of years with you than a lifetime with anyone else. Whatever the storm, we'll weather it together."

Varian leant forward and pressed his forehead against hers with a ragged sigh; drinking in the scent of her hair and revelling in the softness of her skin. A great sense of warmth and comfort washed over him, and he vaguely wondered why he had taken so long to tell her the truth about his dreams. His reasons had made sense at the time, but now he simply felt foolish in his reticence. In a mere handful of words, Auriana had managed to make him feel strong, and loved, and worthy in a way that no one else ever could.

"I would do anything for you," he whispered throatily. "I would burn Azeroth to the ground if that's what it took to keep you safe."

"No, you wouldn't," she murmured. "You're too good of a man."

"Not good enough to stand losing you," Varian growled, meaning every word.

It was awfully selfish of him, perhaps, but it was the truth. He had barely survived losing Tiffin, and he knew in his heart that he would not take losing Auriana even half as well.

"Varian..."

Whatever Auriana might have said further was lost, however, as they were interrupted by a sudden loud cough from outside the tent, and the quiet rustle of the tent flap being opened. Varian immediately pulled away from her and adopted a defensive posture, even though his more rational mind knew it was unlikely to be anyone dangerous. Their tent was both well guarded and located right in the middle of the Alliance camp, and yet it was certainly atypical for someone to enter without first gaining permission.

"Your Majesties?"

A very nervous-looking Ridley poked her head through the gap, her expression suggesting that she would have rather been just about anywhere else. As Auriana's personal bodyguard, she was closer to their family than many of the other guards, but that didn't mean she was exempt from the formalities - and she clearly knew it.

"What is it, Ridley?" Varian grumbled, making only a token attempt to keep the irritation from his voice.

It was uncanny. Every time he and Auriana had managed to find time alone to truly connect, there was someone or something waiting to interrupt. He may not have been cursed, but it certainly seemed as if the entire world had conspired to bother him at every available opportunity.

"My apologies, Your Majesties, but you're urgently wanted in the marshalling tent."

"The marshalling tent?" Varian repeated. "Why? How late did we sleep?"

He knew there was a timepiece somewhere in the tent, but he could not see it from his current position seated on the bed.

"Yes," Ridley confirmed. "Your match begins in forty minutes."

"Oh, bloody hell," Varian muttered, tightening his grip on the pelt around his waist as he clambered to his feet.

He saw Ridley flush blazing crimson as she realised - correctly - that he was still naked beneath the blanket, but he didn't care. There were several important safety and security checks that each champion had to undergo before being allowed into the arena to fight, and forty minutes would be cutting it fine. Some small leeway was given, but if they did not present themselves to the marshals by the final deadline, they would risk forfeiting the match. It therefore simply wouldn't do to be late, especially given that this was the first day of fighting after the bombing, and so Varian scrambled for some appropriate clothing as fast as he was able. Auriana did the same.

"I'm sorry, my Lord, the other guards and I weren't sure whether you were awake, or whether we ought to interrupt you," Ridley muttered, staring determinedly at her own feet. "I know you gave orders for privacy, but…"

"It's fine, Ridley," Varian said shortly. "You did the right thing. We'll be out in a minute."

The guardswoman nodded and bade a swift, grateful retreat, leaving Varian and Auriana alone to gather their things. Auriana remained silent as she exchanged her robe for a pair of simple trousers, a tunic, and boots, and Varian felt his chest constrict with guilt and irritation.

"Auri… I'm sorry, I… can we finish this some other time?"

Auriana's fingers paused on her boot laces, and she shrugged.

"Story of our marriage."

Varian let out a soft growl of frustration, and Auriana gave him a small, patient smile to let him know that she was more resigned than upset. Even so, he hated seeing that expression on her face, and he silently resolved to find a time with her to continue their discussion. For now, however, it was time to put such things aside, and focus on winning the Tournament.

"Come on, then," he said bracingly, both for her and for himself. "Maybe beating up on some goblins will make us feel better…"


Once dressed, Varian and Auriana swiftly made their way to the new Alliance marshalling area; an open-sided tent not too far from the secondary arena. Thankfully, Ridley had seen to it that their armour was already waiting, along with a pair of helpful young squires to help them dress. One of the Argent marshals was also waiting, looking none too impressed by their tardiness, though she made no comment as she made her inspection of their persons and equipment.

Thanks to years of experience and able assistance from the squires, Varian was able to don his armour in record time. It fit him almost like a second skin, and he could find every catch and strap with his eyes closed. Even despite his swiftness, however, he still didn't have enough time to complete his usual physical warm-up, having to settle for a few quick stretches and twists instead. He was a little stiff from several nights worth of poor sleep, though hopefully it wouldn't show too badly in the arena. As much as he had been distracted by the dramatics of the Tournament so far, he was still determined to maintain his flawless record.

Auriana appeared to be similarly resolute. As a mage, her normal warm-up was not quite as physical as his, though she usually spent a good deal of time running through a series of meditative breathing exercises. Varian wasn't sure if it was something that was necessary to perform magic, or whether it had something to do with controlling her rage, but she was always fastidious in her pre-match ritual. There was also no trace of her earlier hesitancy and raw insecurity, and she was once again the composed and confident battle mage who could face down a horde of demons without so much as batting an eye.

It was a remarkable transformation, and Varian was just about to say as much when he heard a sudden loud shout from somewhere nearby.

"Hey! You there! Hi, yes, hello!"

Auriana looked up from where she had been tightening her bracers, and nudged Varian with her elbow.

"Isn't that the mage we're about to fight? Something… Boltstorm?" she whispered. "What's she doing here?"

Varian glanced in the direction she had indicated, not bothering to be especially surreptitious. The goblin woman was certainly hard to miss, with her towering bleached blonde hair and gaudy purple battle robes. Given that they were due in the arena in about ten minutes, however, Varian was surprised to see her poking around the Alliance staging area. He assumed he must have come to speak to an official, though why she hadn't just spoken to someone on the Horde side of things, he wasn't sure.

"I don't think she's talking to us," he grunted. "Just ignore her."

Auriana nodded and turned her attention back to her bracers, restlessly securing and re-securing the straps around her slender wrists.

"Yes! You two! King Muscles and the itty-bitty firestarter! Hello?!"

Varian and Auriana exchanged a look.

"She may be talking to us…" he amended.

They turned in unison as the goblin hurried up to them, her gravity-defying coiffure bobbing precariously up and down with every step. Up close, Varian could see remarkably intricate designs drawn on her talon-like nails, and what appeared to be half of the world's supply of glitter smeared across her eyelids. It certainly wasn't what Varian would have considered to be appropriate battle attire, but given that he knew her by reputation to be one of the highest ranked fighters on the professional arena circuit, perhaps she knew something he didn't.

"Can we help you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

The goblin woman gave him a quick once over, and judging from the sour look on her face, she found him rather unimpressive. She brightened considerably at the sight of Auriana, however, biting her lower lip in a decidedly bawdy fashion.

"Oho! You're quite pretty up close, aren't you?" she purred. "I mean, a little bit of eyeshadow wouldn't kill you, and, ah, news flash, they have invented hairstyles other than braids, but… all in all, not a terrible start."

"Um… thanks?" Auriana muttered, self-consciously touching a hand to the back of her hair.

She glanced uncertainly up at Varian, who frowned. As far as he was concerned, she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and she didn't need gaudy face paint or elaborate hair to make her so.

"But I'm not here to discuss your aesthetic shortcomings," the goblin continued blithely, waving a hand. "As I'm sure you're aware, this is a very important match. You two are undefeated, and I'm, well, me."

She flashed them a toothy smile, and Varian was certain he saw the glint of a diamond embedded in one of her front incisors.

"So! How do you want to do this? Do you have a catchphrase, or do you prefer to work off the cuff?" she asked, looking up at Auriana expectantly.

"A… a catchphrase?" Auriana repeated, nonplussed.

"You know, something witty or intimidating you always say before a fight; maybe something that provokes a bit of banter with your opponent?"

"Um… no, I don't… or at least, I don't think so…"

"Not to worry, I'm sure we can come up with something… aha!" The goblin snapped her fingers in a sudden stroke of inspiration. "How about I say something like 'let's see who the real queen of the arena is!'and then you'd fire back at me with a retort of your own… maybe something about 'wearing the crown'..."

"I don't get it," Auriana said blankly.

"Well, you're an actual queen, right?" the goblin said, looking at Auriana like she was daft. "But I'm going to beat you, so then I'd be the queen… of the arena… it's a play on words…"

She let out a loud, theatrical sigh, and rolled her eyes.

"No? Alright then, perhaps something a bit more subtle. I assume you'll be fighting with fire… your skills with frost are enviable, but we know fire is more fun… anyway, you could come at me with something like, 'let's heat things up!' or 'is it getting hot in here?'."

Auriana once again glanced at Varian, and he had to hide a smile behind his hand at the look of sheer bafflement on her face. He had met people like the goblin mage before; those who enjoyed trading insults and barbs as much or even more than actually fighting, though he had admittedly never come across someone who put as much thought into the practice as Boltstorm evidently did.

"I'm sorry, but why would we do any of that?" Auriana asked.

"It's part of the fun of the arena! It adds colour! It makes the crowd care about you, gets them excited!"

She looked between them expectantly, only to soon realise that neither Varian nor Auriana were buying her explanation.

"Fine," she muttered, her voice low. "Excited crowds get boozy. And boozy crowds buy more shirts with my face on them, you understand?"

"Ah…"

"Oh forget it, you're hopeless," the goblin sighed, throwing up her hands in defeat. "I'll see you in the arena."

She stomped off back the way she had come, huffing and tossing her hair dramatically with every step. Meanwhile, Auriana stared after her wide eyes, looking utterly perplexed by the entire display.

"Um… what just happened?"

"You heard her, she wants to sell merchandise and get her cut…" Varian snorted.

"I don't think I could say any of those things with a straight face," Auriana muttered, shaking her head. "Though perhaps it comes more naturally with practice."

She shot him a sidelong glance.

"Did you ever have one? A 'catchphrase'?" she wondered.

"What?"

"When you were Lo'gosh, I mean," she elaborated.

Varian tried to imagine shouting out some sassy one liner to a bloodthirsty orc or a rampaging troll every time he had stepped into the arena to fight, but somehow he couldn't quite picture it. Likely, he would have got his throat cut in his sleep if he had tried.

"No," he said flatly. "The Crimson Ring was a far cry from today's professional arena, and not quite so… uh… quippy."

Auriana raised an eyebrow.

"Really? You were never tempted to march into the arena and say something like… 'here comes the big bad wolf'?"

Varian blanched, and Auriana's lower lip quivered as she fought to hide her amusement.

"Auri… promise me something?" he said seriously.

"Anything," she replied.

"If I ever say that phrase unironically… take me out back behind Stormwind Keep, and shoot me."

Auriana barked out a short laugh, the sound a welcome relief after the tension of their earlier discussion, only to have her mirth cut short but the arrival of a second Tournament marshal come to lead them to the arena. In a flash, her face settled back into an expression of cool determination, and she nodded once to let Varian know that she was ready, nightmares and personal troubles and overexposed goblins be damned. While fighting in the Tournament had not been his primary concern over the past few days, seeing the razor-sharp gleam in Auriana's eyes instantly reignited the competitive fire in his veins. The stark simplicity of battle was perhaps something that they both needed, and even in a mood Varian was unable to resist the growing sense of excitement swelling in his chest as he followed the marshal out of the tent.

Despite the fact that they were now packed into the far less grandiose outdoor arena, the crowd were no less enthusiastic. Their cheers hit Varian like a wave as he stepped into the arena; the sound echoing off the steep mountain walls that flanked the southern side of the Tournament Grounds. A cool wind nipped at his cheeks, and a thin layer of ice and snow crunched beneath his boots. The natural elements would add an extra dimension of difficulty to the fight, but in truth Varian would choose fighting outdoors over the confines of the indoor arena any day. The chill air brought with it a bracing clarity, and allowed Varian to more easily put his troubles to the side as he focused his full attention on the upcoming fight.

"Welcome back to the Grand Tournament, ladies and gentlemen - and what a way to resume festivities!" the male goblin announcer hollered, his voice giddy and high-pitched with excitement. "Our first match today features arena darling Livvy Boltstorm and her steadfast partner Gazz Farshot up against the undefeated King of Stormwind and his quite literally bombproof wife!"

The crowd's eager chanting intensified as the two goblins entered the arena, proof of their popularity, though they were equally vociferous for Varian and Auriana themselves. He acknowledged their enthusiasm with a gruff wave of his hand, before turning away to select a sword and shield as his weapons of choice. Somewhere on the other side of the arena he faintly heard the female goblin shouting something to the crowd - most likely one of her famous catchphrases - but he paid her little mind. He was here to win, and anything not in service of that goal was an unnecessary distraction.

Varian took off like a shot the moment the referee dropped his hand to signal the start of the match, charging towards the male goblin with his shield held low across his body and his sword tucked in close to his side. Unfortunately, as a warrior, dealing with a ranged attacker like a hunter could be downright annoying. Varian was confident that he would eventually prevail, but the goblin was admittedly skilled, and he knew exactly how to punish Varian's comparative lack of range. Every time Varian attempted to push forward, he was forced to wade through a mire of hunter traps while dodging or blocking gunshot after gunshot. The hunter's bullets were not made of iron or copper, of course, but while they were non-lethal, getting hit would still hurt. Getting hit in the wrong place would also mean elimination from the match, and so Varian treated the shots with the same wariness and respect he would have shown to real bullets.

It also didn't help that he was soon sweating so badly that he could barely see through the unruly hair that kept falling into his eyes. Auriana had selected fire as her weapon of choice, in what Varian suspected was a conscious effort to beat the bombastic goblin mage at her own game. She was most definitely at her most competitive when she was fighting other mages, and together she and the goblin champion were putting on a fantastic show. Unfortunately, that meant they were tossing around an awful lot of fire; enough that they had raised the temperature within the immediate vicinity by a considerable margin. Varian could feel his hands growing slick within the leather of his gloves, even despite the cold air and the snow all around them, and his breathing soon became rapid and shallow.

Fortunately for Varian, the goblin hunter was at least equally affected by the heat, and his aim slowly began to suffer for it. He was clearly struggling to get a perfect shot off while he was constantly forced to lay traps or and maintain his distance from both the fire and Varian's relentless onslaught... but carrying around a heavy shield was no mean feat. Eventually, even a man of Varian's legendary stamina would start to tire, and the hunter would gain the upper hand.

Varian's initial plan had been to harass the goblin until he either made a mistake or ran out of bullets, but the effort of fighting in the vicinity of a literal firestorm was making his strategy less viable by the minute. There was always the chance that Auriana would soon finish her own duel and come to his aid, but that was no guarantee when she was fighting against a champion as experienced as Livvy Boltstorm. Varian could therefore not afford to be patient, and he knew he had to come up with an alternative strategy sooner rather than later.

The answer came to him in a sudden stroke of inspiration as he was forced to roll to the side to avoid a deafening bursting shot from the hunter's rifle. Something about the jarring impact of his shoulder against the icy ground cleared his mind, and he realised that the solution was to be found in the goblin's range advantage. It was quite simple, really: if he wanted to win, then he, too, needed to acquire a 'ranged' weapon.

Of course, neither Varian's sword nor his shield were ideal projectiles - both were cumbersome and not at all well-shaped for throwing - but they would hopefully be enough for what he had in mind. He quickly readjusted his grip on his sword, and the moment the hunter leapt sidewards to hide behind the safety of his trap line, Varian narrowed his eyes, and struck. He hurled the blade across the arena with as much force as he could muster, landing the blade with unerring precision right in front of the goblin's feet.

There weren't many men in the world who had the strength to throw a clunky weapon over such a great distance, or at least not with any accuracy, but Varian was not just any man. It was clear from the look of undisguised shock on the goblin's face that he certainly hadn't been expecting to see a heavy weapon come flying towards him, and he was ill-prepared to respond. He stumbled backwards, his feet faltering, and he let out a choked squawk as he staggered to one side.

Fast as lightning, Varian slipped the strap securing his shield to his forearm. He then grabbed the shield firmly by the edge with both hands, and with a powerful flick of his wrists, he sent it skipping across the ground like a stone across a pond. The goblin had barely recovered his footing from dodging the sword before the shield took him in the ankles; knocking him flat into his back and forcing him to drop his rifle.

Varian charged forward in the wake of the skidding shield, fairly leaping onto the goblin before he could even attempt to recover his spilled weapon. For his part, Varian didn't even bother reaching for his discarded sword - with the goblin dazed and disarmed, he needed nothing more than his fists to finish the fight. He wound back for a heavy right cross, and felt the oddly satisfying crack of bone beneath his knuckles as he knocked the goblin out cold in a single blow.

"Oh!" he distantly heard the female announcer cry. "I felt that one from here!"

Admittedly, Varian had only meant to hit the hunter hard enough to disable him and thus win the fight, but with his adrenaline pumping he had somewhat overdone it. The goblin's bulbous nose was now a bloody mess, though at the very least he was still breathing.

There was no time to dwell on what might have been, however, not with Auriana still embroiled in her own duel against the mage. Varian rolled away from the unconscious goblin, fired up and ready to come to his wife's aid… but as it turned out, he wasn't needed.

As he sprang back to his feet, fists raised, he beheld Auriana and Livvy Boltstorm standing about forty yards apart, staring daggers at one another with their hands ablaze. Both women had clearly been fighting hard, though Boltstorm looked by far the worse for wear. Competition on the professional arena circuit was fierce, but Varian doubted she had ever come up against another mage as talented as Auriana.

While the goblin mage was undoubtedly skilled, Varian could see that she was weary from trying to meet Auriana's raw power head on. He watched with smug satisfaction as Auriana baited out a fireball with a clever side step, only to force the other mage to her knees with a blistering fire blast of her own. She then raised her hand into the air and clenched her fist, as if she were pulling on an invisible rope, and Varian felt a now-familiar shiver of electricity run down his spine as an enormous, flaming rock materialised in the air above the goblin mage. She immediately raised a feeble blazing barrier in her defense, but realistically there was very little she could do to save herself now.

Varian winced involuntarily as the meteor slammed down into the gaudy mage, though he knew she would be protected from any real harm by the cadre of mages shielding her from the far side of the arena. The spell was nevertheless powerful enough to break through what remained of her magical defenses, awarding Auriana a spell knockout, and concluding the match in favour of Stormwind.

"And Boltstorm is down, in a very rare loss! That's right, folks, the Kindler of Kezan has met her match! Stormwind remains un-de-fea-ted!"

Despite the sweat slicked down his neck and back, Varian felt as fresh as ever as the thrill of victory washed over him. There was nothing more invigorating than a well-won fight, and he felt as if the entire world had come alive around him. The crowd was louder, the breeze fresher, and he was so energised that he could easily fight another ten matches in row. It was a heady, exhilarating feeling, almost like being drunk, and Varian had to remind himself to breathe as he walked across the arena to retrieve his discarded sword.

While generally not one to partake in showboating like the goblin mage, Varian nonetheless could not resist hoisting his blade into the air in triumph, prompting a fresh wave of cheers from the crowd. He then looked across at Auriana, grinning, but she did not return his smile. In fact, she appeared entirely unmoved by their victory; paying no heed to either Varian, their vanquished opponents, or even the chanting crowd. Instead, her attention was firmly fixed on something in the far distance, well outside the boundaries of the arena.

"Something wrong?" Varian asked, coming over to her side and placing a concerned hand on the back of her shoulder.

He gave her a quick once over, looking for any sign of injury, but apart from being a tad red-faced and sweaty, she appeared unharmed.

"The horses. Something has spooked them, look…"

Varian followed her line of sight. A half-dozen paladin chargers were visible tethered to a hitching post about a hundred yards away, saddled and ready to go at a moment's notice. Normally, they would be standing quietly, perhaps even half-dozing in the mid-morning sun, but instead they were jittery and nervous; tossing their heads and stamping their hooves.

"Perhaps the noise from the crowd?"

With his blood up and the thrill of victory coursing through his veins, Varian found it difficult to be concerned with a few unruly horses, though Auriana seemed truly troubled. She shook her head.

"They're chargers; war horses. They're trained for battle. A few people clapping isn't going to faze them…"

As she spoke, one of the chargers let out a high-pitched squeal and jerked backwards, almost snapping its tether rope clean in half. One of the nearby guards moved to settle the animal, but his efforts had very little effect. All the horses were near wild, though Varian couldn't see or hear anything that would explain why they were so bothered. No one in the arena seemed to have noticed, either; the majority of the crowd focused on cheering on their victors, jeering the vanquished goblins, or collecting on whatever wagers they had made before the match.

"Something's off. I can't explain it, but it's just… off…"

Auriana huffed and put her hands on her hips.

"You must think I'm crazy."

"No. If you say there's something wrong, then I believe you," Varian said firmly, without hesitation. Even if he saw no cause for alarm, he trusted his wife implicitly. "Why don't we get out of the arena and see if we can…"

The rest of Varian's sentence was swallowed up by a horrible cracking noise as the once-solid ground beneath his feet suddenly roiled and heaved. He reflexively reached for Auriana; his fingers closing tightly over her forearm as she staggered sideways and almost fell. Her blue eyes went wide as she braced herself upon his arm - and she was far from the only one struggling to remain on her feet. All around them, the crowd's once gleeful cheers quickly turned to panicked screaming as the stands beneath them twisted and warped, triggering a veritable stampede of people fleeing for safety in any direction they could.

Varian twisted left and right as he searched frantically for the source of the disturbance, but all he could see were flashes of colour and movement as the terrified crowd fled the stands. Beside him, Auriana did the same, though she appeared equally as confused by the sudden turn of events as he. The rumbling beneath the earth felt like it was growing worse with every second, and it was so bad Varian would have thought that the entire glacier was calving off into the ocean - had such an explanation not seemed so farfetched.

Just when Varian thought the situation couldn't possibly couldn't get any worse, however, the universe decided to prove him wrong. A huge fissure abruptly tore open the ground about fifty feet ahead of where he stood, and from it emerged a colossal nerubian spiderlord. The creature stood at least twenty feet tall at the shoulder, and it was covered in chitinous armour plates that looked easily as thick as Varian's arm. Its pincers looked sharp enough to cut a man clean in half, but that was not Varian's main concern. While the spiderlord was a terrifying creature in its own right, far worse was the fact that it had not come alone. Hundreds of nerubians were now pouring from hidden tunnels beneath the earth, clacking and chattering fiercely as they swarmed over the Tournament grounds like a dark wave… and all Varian had to defend himself was a single blunted sword.

Wonderful, he thought grimly, and charged.