Auriana
For a few seconds after she awoke, Auriana lived in blissful ignorance. The morning sunlight filtering through the thick canvas walls of the tent was soft and warm against her eyelids, and she was safely cocooned in a pile of furs. Then she shifted her weight, opened her eyes, and it all came rushing back - the Tournament, the nerubians, the assassins, her terrible fury, Varian…
Her heart pounding, Auriana rolled to her left, hoping against hope that she would find him snoring away at her side, but he was nowhere to be seen. There was no warm, comforting presence lying with her in the bed; no stoic guardian watching over her as she slept. In fact - there was no sign that Varian had ever been there at all. The tent was neat and spotless, without so much as a discarded coat or pair of boots to mark his presence.
Now on the verge of panic, Auriana pushed herself upright, only to be struck by a wave of nausea brought on by the too-swift movement. To say she was in pain was an understatement - she felt as though she had been hit by the Deeprun Tram. Now that she was fully conscious, she realised that everything hurt, from her temples to the tips of her toes.
Light, even her teeth ached.
She was tired, too, afflicted by the all-too-familiar, bone-deep weariness that inevitably followed the use of too much magic. Frankly, she was lucky she wasn't dead. Mortal bodies were not made to channel such vast amounts of magical energy, and in drawing on the full power of the ward, Auriana had quite possibly taken a year or two off her life.
Nevertheless, she forced herself out of bed; gingerly extricating herself from beneath the blankets and rising unsteadily to her feet. Someone, she noted - and she didn't want to think about who - had swapped her armour for one of her silky, floor-length nightgowns. Her hair was loose, and she could feel the scratch of linen against her thigh where someone had bandaged the arrow wound inflicted by Varian in his desperate attempt to stop her rampage.
None of that mattered, however, not with Varian gone. There were many possible reasons for his absence, surely, but Auriana couldn't help but to assume the worst. She stumbled forward, bile rising in her throat, and was suddenly so dizzy that she staggered and fell forwards. She threw out her trembling arms for balance, only to collapse on top of a glass of water that someone had thoughtfully left upon the small wooden side table at the head of the bed.
The glass shattered beneath her weight, and she swore as a broken shard penetrated the tender flesh of her hand.
"Damnit!"
Auriana collapsed back on her heels at the side of the bed with a defeated sigh. The cut was narrow but deep, and viscous blood immediately began to pool in her palm. It was a minor irritation in the grand scheme of things, but in Auriana's current state, it made her feel unbelievably helpless. It was one more thing that had gone wrong, one more thing that was not within her control, and she felt tears of frustration and pain prick the back of her eyes as she pried the offending shard free.
"My lady?" asked a quiet voice. "What are you doing out of bed?"
Startled, Auriana cradled her wounded hand against her chest, and looked up to see Lana Ridley standing at the entrance to the tent. Her left arm was in a sling, and her right cheek dark with bruising, though she still looked as wary and ready for a fight as always.
Auriana was enormously relieved to see her bodyguard still alive. She had been in the stands when the nerubians had attacked, like so many others, and Auriana had lost track of her in the ensuing chaos. It was, of course, more Ridley's job to keep track of Auriana than the other way around, but Auriana cared for her attendants, and she was pleased by Ridley's survival.
What she was not pleased by, however, was the fact that Ridley was alone.
Varian...
Upon seeing the damage to Auriana's hand, Ridley immediately hurried to her side, grabbing a clean napkin as she swept past the small dining table at the entrance of the tent, and crouched down so that she might inspect the wound more closely. Her touch was soft, and yet Auriana fought back the urge to yank her hand away. It wasn't the pain, but rather that Ridley's care was far gentler than she felt she deserved. There were far more urgent matters to discuss, in any case.
"That looks like a nasty cut, Your Majesty. We should…"
"Where's Varian?" Auriana demanded, cutting the other woman off mid-sentence. "Is he… is he…?"
She couldn't bring herself to say the word. Dead. A sick, panicky feeling one again swelled in her chest, and her hands began to shake. He had been alive when she had been fighting, had even managed to stand long enough to stab her in the thigh with Blightcaller's treacherous arrow, but his wounds had been severe. Even for a man of his strength and stamina, survival was far from a guarantee…
"The King is alive," Ridley said quickly. "And just about back to his normal self. He's been terrorising the healers for days."
She shook her head, sounding at once both exasperated and amused.
"Not to mention everybody else. As you might imagine, His Majesty is quite determined to figure out who tried to kill him."
Auriana sagged back against the side of the bed and closed her eyes, barely registering any of Ridley's words beyond that first, precious statement. Varian was alive, and nothing else mattered. Relief flooded her body, paradoxically making the shaking in her hands even worse, and the vice enclosing her heart mercifully released. She felt drained, as if she had just run thirty miles, and yet at the same time strangely energised.
Varian was alive.
"Wait a minute… days?" she repeated finally, as something else Ridley had said finally registered. "How long has it been this time?"
Her eyes flew open.
"You've been in and out of consciousness for four days," Ridley explained, carefully and expertly binding Auriana's palm with the pilfered napkin. "The healers said it was quite normal - you apparently used quite a bit of magic."
"Yes, I did..."
Auriana shivered. Breaking the ward had been an admittedly reckless act, and it was only through sheer stubbornness and force of will that she had survived. If she were anyone else, she probably wouldn't have.
"My lady?"
Ridley's quiet voice cut through Auriana's pensive thoughts.
"Where is he?" Auriana asked, bracing her weight against the side of the bed with her uninjured hand and awkwardly pushing herself upright.
"I'm not sure," Ridley admitted. "His Majesty left earlier this morning, and gave me strict orders to keep you in bed if you were to wake."
She stood back respectfully as Auriana limped over towards the partition that separated the bathing area from the main part of the tent, though she made a small noise of disapproval as Auriana paused to grab her dress boots along the way.
"Your Majesty? What are you doing?"
"I'm going to find Varian. Obviously."
Auriana took quick stock of herself in the long mirror propped up next to the bathtub as she spoke, and sighed in disappointment. Light, she looked awful. Her skin was unnaturally pale, even by her own standards, and she looked as if she'd been punched in both eyes. Her hair was also frightful, but she didn't have it in her to do more with it than brush it back from her face and pull the top section into a loose bun.
"Could you please find me a clean dress? The dark blue one with the high collar would do."
"The King gave me orders to keep you in the tent," Ridley said slowly.
"Yes, and I'm countermanding those orders." Auriana poked her head back around the partition, and fixed Ridley with her most imperious stare. "So I suppose you had better ask yourself who's ire you fear more."
She didn't especially enjoy throwing her royal weight around, but she was too tired and too hurt to argue her case more delicately. Fortunately, Ridley had served Varian long enough to take such intimidation in stride.
"You are both royally terrifying, Your Majesty," she said diplomatically.
She paused to wrestle with something internally for a moment, before she made her way over to Auriana's chest of clothes to retrieve the requested dress.
"But… if it were my husband, I'd want to find him too. I would want to see him for myself." She pursed her lips, though her eyes shone with sympathy and understanding. "And then I'd wring his neck for scaring me so."
"Thank you," Auriana said, accepting the proffered dress with a brusque but sincere nod.
The simple acting of dressing was agony, but she managed to muddle her way through with gritted teeth and a good amount of swearing. Putting on her boots and gloves proved to be the worst of it - Auriana nearly fell into the bathtub when she tried to balance on one leg in order to don her boots, and the pain of pulling a glove over her freshly wounded palm made her feel lightheaded. Still, she was dressed, at least, and right now that was enough.
The royal guards standing outside the tent gave Ridley a disapproving look as she emerged with Auriana in tow. They did, however, decline to make comment, for which Auriana was truly grateful. She didn't want to have to explain herself with each and every step, she just wanted to find Varian and see for herself that he was safe and well.
It was mid-morning, the sun already climbing high in the sky over the field of glossy white snow. Most of the tents destroyed by the nerubians had been either righted or removed, and the debris from their rampage stacked neatly in piles. The presence of Argent guards had increased significantly, which was to be expected, though Auriana was surprised to see dozens of Tournament goers still milling about the grounds.
"So many people…" she murmured. "I would have thought they would have all gone home by now."
"No one has been permitted to leave," Ridley explained. "All Tournament attendees have been detained either here or in Dalaran, pending the outcome of the investigation into the attack."
She nodded towards a pair of agents in SI:7 livery who were questioning a nearby group of dwarves. Off in the distance, towards the Horde side of the camp, Auriana could see what she thought were a few Farstriders doing the same.
With a start, Auriana also realised that she could feel magic humming through the air. She had been so tired and so worried about Varian that she hadn't immediately noticed, but there was no longer a slippery, cloying barrier cutting her off from her powers. Either her destruction of the dampening field had made it impossible to quickly erect a new one, or someone had felt that the security of the Tournament was now better served by allowing open access to magic. Not that Auriana intended to use hers - her exhaustion meant that she likely would have fainted if she so much as touched the wellspring of her power - but it was comforting to know that it was there.
"How many did we lose?" she asked.
"I'm not privy to the exact figures, but…"
"Guards overhear things."
Ridley nodded. "There are at least twenty Alliance dead, about the same for the Argents. Three hundred wounded. I'm not sure if that includes the Horde casualties. Most of the wounded are expected to recover, though we may lose a few more in the final tally."
Three hundred wounded? Not all of them would have been injured by the nerubians, either - Auriana did not doubt that many people had been crushed or trampled in the frantic stampede of spectators attempting to escape the stands.
"I believe there are also a dozen or so people still unaccounted for," Ridley added grimly. "SI:7 have been tasked with tracking them down."
"I see…"
Auriana fell into a brooding silence as she and Ridley made their way across the Tournament grounds, forcibly keeping her eyes forward so as to avoid the many curious glances that came her way. She didn't want to know what they were thinking. That she was a monster, probably, unfit to be queen.
She couldn't say she disagreed.
With her anxiety mounting, Auriana might have retreated to the relative privacy of her own tent - had she not been so determined to find Varian. Instead, she grit her teeth and allowed Ridley to lead her towards the healer's marquee, noting that the main structure had been hastily expanded to accommodate the sudden influx of wounded. Ridley was not certain that Varian would be there, but given that the healers were determined to keep a close eye on him, she suggested it as the most logical place to start.
The first thing Auriana noticed upon entering the tent was that Varian was nowhere to be found. Her heart leapt at the sight of a pair of strapping, dark haired men sitting in the back left corner, only to quickly sink as she realised that neither of them were large enough to match Varian's distinctive profile.
The second was that Ridley had not overstated the severity of the situation. The healers brought in for the Tournament had come prepared to tend to a few scrapes and bruises, not the aftermath of a large scale battle, and they were clearly overwhelmed. Casualities had been packed into every square inch of available space, and yet by Auriana's count they still represented only a fraction of the total wounded.
Auriana felt a keen sense of responsibility settle over her as she gazed about the tent, followed swiftly by a sharp pang of guilt. Rationally, she knew that she had not hurt these people - their injuries had been wrought by the nerubians, not by Auriana herself. But she could have hurt them. She would have, if they had come between her and the Horde.
Like Jaina and Kalec had.
Auriana could not see their faces amongst the wounded, nor any telltale flashes of white or blue hair. She did, however, recognise a few others - guards and military, and even a few dignitaries - as well as the two Tournament announcers. The goblin was lying prone in a makeshift hospital bed, his entire body swathed in bandages, while the young female gnome sobbed piteously at his side. She seemed genuinely distraught, though Auriana couldn't help but notice how the supposedly 'unconscious' goblin occasionally cracked one eye open to see whether the gnome was still paying attention.
"Ridley," she muttered lowly, "Jaina and Kalec…?"
She let the question hang, unasked.
"They're both in Dalaran," Ridley replied. "The Lady Proudmoore has a broken leg, and Kalecgos apparently won't be flying for a while, but they're perfectly fine otherwise."
"Your definition of 'fine' may vary from mine," Auriana grumbled.
She'd broken Jaina's leg? It was far from the worst possibility, given that Auriana had quite literally dropped a mountain on the woman, but… still.
A flash of pain lanced through Auriana's heart at the thought of hurting her friends, only to worsen a second later as those patients closest to the entrance began to take notice of her presence. A low murmur quickly rippled across the tent, though what was being said, Auriana couldn't tell. She felt incredibly exposed, as if she were standing naked on a grand stage, and she wanted nothing more than to cover her body with her hands, or perhaps simply sink into the floor and disappear. Unfortunately, neither was a particular queenly option, so instead Auriana forced her hands to her side and lifted her chin in what she hoped was a regal expression, as few of the more ambulatory patients offered her bows and salutes.
The sudden activity attracted the attention of the nearest healer, a night elf priestess, who turned to Auriana with a warm but weary smile.
"Ishnu-alah, Your Majesty. We were not expecting to see you today, there something wrong? Can we assist?" she asked, her ancient eyes shining with compassion.
Far from being reassured, however, something in the kindness of the priestess's words pushed Auriana to the breaking point. The pressure in her ears abruptly swelled, and she felt as if she were being crushed beneath a mountain herself. Her heart thundered against her ribcage with such force that she thought it might burst free of her chest, and her throat constricted to the point where she could barely breathe. She was struck by an overwhelming, instinctual urge to get out, and she feared that if she stayed in the tent much longer her wavering front would collapse entirely.
"I… no, thank you, I just… ah… I think I need some air," she mumbled, nearly tripping over the hem of her dress in her haste to leave. "Ex-excuse me…"
"Your Majesty…?"
Ridley followed her charge out of the tent and back into the bright morning sunlight, confusion writ across her features. Auriana ignored her. All her attention was focused on maintaining as much dignity as she could muster, but that was easier said than done when she was fighting back the urge to break into a flat out run. She didn't want to cause a commotion or draw any more attention to herself than she already had, she simply wanted to get as far away from the Tournament as possible.
She had to.
"My lady…"
Ridley's worried voice followed Auriana as she backed out of the tent and strode off through the crisp snow as fast as was appropriate. Once again, she felt dozens of eyes boring into the back of her neck, and it was all she could do to keep her pace steady. She needed to be alone, and soon; far more alone than she could be in her tent surrounded by a dozen guards.
Her destination was instead a small stand of trees she knew to be a few minutes walk outside the far eastern boundary of the Tournament. Not ideal, but far more private than anywhere else nearby, and far less controversial than if she had used her powers to disappear halfway across the world when there was a lockdown order in place. Indeed, while a pair of curious Argent guards looked on as she passed, neither made any attempt to stop her as she crossed over the boundary and left the Tournament grounds behind.
"Wait here," Auriana muttered, placing a hand in front of Ridley's chest to bar her path.
"But, my lady… Auriana…" Ridley argued, the concern in her voice plain. "It's my job to protect you, I…"
"Please, Ridley. Just… please. I'll only be a moment."
By the time Auriana made it into the quiet sanctuary of the little copse, she was well and truly on the edge of control. Her throat was bone dry, and her hands shook violently with barely supressed energy. She tried to keep herself grounded in reality by noting the fine details in the world around her - the crunch of the snow beneath her boots, the whorled patterns in the bark of the trees, the wind whistling through the branches above - but her efforts were all for naught. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe, and she soon began to feel light-headed from the lack of proper air.
Auriana well and truly lost track of time as she struggled with herself, and for all she knew it could have been anywhere between five minutes and five hours later when she felt, rather than heard, someone walk up behind her.
"Ridley, please," she whispered, fighting to keep her voice steady, "I need more time, I told you…"
"Not Ridley."
A pair of strong, muscular arms enveloped Auriana from behind, and her entire body immediately sagged in relief. She knew those arms like she knew her own; knew their warmth, and their boundless strength. She knew that scent, too - smoky, rich, masculine - and that voice. Deep and commanding, with the slightest hint of a growl beneath the rhotics.
Varian.
Auriana was not a weepy person by nature, but when she was already teetering on the verge of panic, his unexpected presence just about broke her. She had believed, really believed, that she would never feel his touch again. A choking gasp swelled in her throat, and before she could stop herself, she began to cry; great, wracking sobs that shook her entire body and left her throat raw.
"Easy," Varian murmured, his breath warm upon the bare skin of her neck. "Breathe."
It was not the first time Auriana had found herself in a panic, though this was by far the worst episode she had suffered in a good long while. Adrenaline coursed through her veins; urging her to run, to fight, to scream her anguish at the world until she had expended every last drop. The shaking in her traitorous limbs increased tenfold, and if not for Varian's firm embrace, she would have fallen to her knees.
Even then, Auriana had to fight back the urge to run away, to rip herself free from Varian's arms and tear off into the wilds of Icecrown like a frightened animal. She tried to focus on Varian, on his words, but all she wanted to do was run, run, run.
"Shhh… I'm here," he whispered throatily. "I've got you."
Auriana shuddered. If she had lost him… if he had died… but no, he was here; his broad chest warm against her back and his whispered words soft and soothing in her ear. His right arm slid bracingly around her waist, while his left wound its way into her hair; gently untangling the unkempt lengths as he continued to encourage her to breathe. His presence was as solid and steady as a mountain, and he never wavered as she wept.
It was a slow, painful process, but Auriana's sobs gradually subsided beneath Varian's soothing touch, and the frantic beating of her heart slowed to something akin to a normal pace. She was not calm, precisely, but nor was she in quite such a state of headlong panic. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hands, before she twisted around in Varian's arms so that she might look him in the face.
A thousand different emotions burned through Auriana's heart as her tearful gaze met his; more cogent than her panic but no less intense. She was unimaginably relieved, of course, but her joy at seeing Varian alive was quickly overshadowed by a rush of other, more painful feelings. She burned with anger at the would-be assassins, and anger at Varian, as irrational as it was, for having put her through the terror of believing he was dead. Her stomach clenched in fear at the thought that his assailants would soon strike again, and that this time, they would succeed in taking him from her. And then, worst of all, there was the terrible, cloying guilt. Here she was, one of the most powerful mages alive, and he had been shot right in front of her.
It was enough to make her dizzy.
"Auri…"
Varian's forehead creased sympathetically as he lifted his hand to touch her cheek, but she jerked back with a wounded shake of her head.
"I… you… you were shot! I thought you were dead," she choked, her voice cracking in pain. "Varian, do you… do you have any idea what that's like?"
It was a stupid, thoughtless question - not to mention a rather hypocritical one - and Auriana regretted the words the moment they left her lips. She had wanted to tell him that she loved him, that she was incredibly grateful to see him alive, but in such a state of emotional distress her fear and anger triumphed over better instincts.
"I do, actually," he said calmly.
Auriana would not have blamed Varian if he had responded in disappointment, or even anger, but he simply raised an eyebrow, and once again reached for her face. This time, Auriana permitted his touch. He tenderly cupped her cheeks between his palms, and brushed away the last of her tears with his gloved thumbs.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled, deflating. "That's not what I meant, I… I'm just really glad you're alright…"
"I know," Varian rumbled. "C'mere."
He rested his chin on the top of her head with a low growl, and slipped his arms around her shoulders. Auriana gratefully wrapped her arms around his waist in answer, and for a long time they stood in silence, holding one another close as they listened to the wind whistle over the cliff edge.
Much like its former king, Icecrown was a cruel and desolate place, but Auriana found a strange comfort in the steady, rhythmic crash of the mighty waves on the cliffs below. Despite the fact that the Tournament grounds were only a few hundred yards to the west, the dampening roar of the wind and the water made it feel as she and Varian were the only two people left on Azeroth… and right now, that was exactly what she needed.
As her breathing finally eased and her head cleared, Auriana leaned back slightly so that she could properly assess Varian's condition. She could not see any bandages visible beneath his heavy, fur-lined cloak, though she assumed they were there, given the extent of his injuries. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and there was a rough, unkempt stubble blossoming along the sharp line of his jaw. He was far paler than usual, and Auriana knew him well enough by now to see the pain behind his eyes. He would never admit to it, of course, or offer a word of complaint - he was Varian Wrynn, after all - but it was clear to her, at least, that he was putting on a brave front.
It was then that Auriana noticed the wooden walking cane driven deep into the snow at Varian's side. No doubt he despised the necessity. Varian hated to feel dependent on anyone or anything, and she could only imagine how hard the healers must have worked to convince him to use a cane.
"Are you… are you alright?" she asked, her voice unsurprisingly hoarse and scratchy. "And please, don't lie to spare my feelings."
Varian considered her seriously, his head cocked slightly to one side.
"I lost a lot of blood," he admitted. "I'm under strict orders not to exert myself, and I won't be able to swing a sword for at least two or three weeks. But I'm alive, and I am expected to make a full recovery."
Auriana nodded, a relieved lump swelling in her throat. Varian would chafe at the downtime, she knew, but a few weeks of limited activity was a damned sight better than the alternative.
"Does Anduin know?"
"I sent word first thing after the healers were done with me," Varian confirmed. "I didn't want him to hear it from anyone else."
"How did he take it?"
Varian sighed. "He was worried, as you might imagine. He wanted to rush back out here to tend to me, but I ordered him to remain in Stormwind. Light knows the situation is complex enough as it is, I don't need something else to worry about."
He rubbed a weary hand across his eyes, and Auriana's stomach twisted. She had been so worried about Varian that she hadn't even had time yet to fully consider the political implications of the arena attack. Someone fighting beneath a Horde banner had attempted to assassinate the High King, and in retaliation the Queen of Stormwind had attempted to wipe out the bulk of the Horde's leadership.
It was, to put it mildly, a mess, and the more thought of the diplomatic storm that was no doubt awaiting her back at the Tournament was enough to bring Auriana's nausea rushing back. A vein in her temple began to throb painfully, and her knees once again felt wobbly and weak.
"Auri…?"
Varian took her firmly by the upper arms, and his handsome face contorted with concern as he stared down at her.
"I'm fine, just… just dizzy. This week has been… a lot."
She touched a hand to her forehead, as if that might somehow make a difference.
"That's putting it mildly," Varian agreed, with a weary nod. "Perhaps we ought to sit?"
He tugged gently on her arm by way of invitation, and together they made their way across the snowscape to a nearby outcropping of dark grey slate. Varian leaned heavily on his cane as they walked, but his pace remained almost as brisk as it would have under normal circumstances. If he were in pain, it did not show on his face, though he let out a long sigh as he settled himself down on the flattest bit of rock he could find.
Auriana elected to sit on his left, taking a minute to find the most comfortable spot - or rather, the least uncomfortable. The stone was cold against her rear, though certainly not as cold as sitting on the snow would have been. She also felt far more stable sitting than standing, albeit just as dizzy.
More than once, Varian opened his mouth as if to say something, only to think better of it at the last moment. Auriana didn't push him, largely because she feared what he might have to say. He had been warm and kind and incredibly comforting thus far, but neither of them could afford to ignore the political reality of their current circumstances for long.
When he did finally speak, however, he surprised her.
"Wolves, huh?"
Varian's gaze remained firmly fixed out over the snowy landscape, but Auriana felt the weight of it as keenly as if he were staring her dead in the eye.
"You… you, ah… saw the fight?"
Auriana wished he hadn't. She hated for him to see her at her furious, searing worst. It was miracle enough that he loved her, of all people, and she was terrified that seeing her in such a state might cause his heart to change.
"Some of it. I was finding it rather difficult to keep my eyes open at the time." Varian let out an amused snort. "It also didn't help that Genn was fussing over me like a mother hen."
"He cares about you," Auriana murmured.
She did not appreciate Varian's attempt at levity. He may have considered it a 'fuss', but the reality was that Genn's actions had most likely saved his life, and for that, she would be forever grateful.
"Oh, I know," Varian agreed, looking at once both pleased and embarrassed by the thought. "He's a good man. Light knows he has his flaws, we all do… but he has a good heart. I know what he did for me."
He reached out to take Auriana's gloved hand in his, and she winced slightly as his fingers brushed against the fresh wound on her palm. His brow furrowed in concern, but she warned him off with a shake of her head.
"The… um… the wolves… you asked about the wolves…" Auriana muttered, more to prevent him from enquiring after her hand than because she really wanted to discuss her unusual use of magic. "Illusion spells work better if you give them a defined shape. I thought I was fighting to avenge your death, the death of Lo'Gosh, hence… wolves. I don't know. It made sense at the time, but I was running on instinct more than anything else."
Auriana thought she saw the faintest hint of a warm flush colour the tops of Varian's ears, but if he were flattered by her choice, he made no direct comment.
"I honestly didn't know you could do magic like that," he remarked, instead.
His tone was gentle, but to Auriana he may as well have screamed. Was he disappointed in her? Or worse, afraid? She had tried to maintain control, she truly had… but seeing Varian fall… seeing that much blood… it had been too much for her to bear.
She shuddered.
"To be honest with you… neither did I," she admitted, in an futile attempt to shake the image of his unmoving body from her mind. "I know I've improved since I returned from Draenor, and Modera's training has been invaluable, but… that was something else. I drained so much magic from that damn ward, I felt like I could have taken on the entire world and won."
Auriana barked out a harsh, bitter laugh, though of course she did not find the situation amusing in the slightest. Seeing that first arrow strike had been like losing Theramore all over again. First the shock, as if she had just dunked her entire head in a bath of ice cold water; then the pain, as sharp and as breathtaking as a knife between the ribs. Her throat had closed, her heart had seized… and then, with all the weight and inevitability of an oncoming storm, came the fury.
It started, as it always did, as a burning sensation deep in the pit of Auriana's stomach. It spread along her veins like wildfire, clouding her mind until there was nothing left but the desire to kill, to win, to slake her rage with the blood of her enemies. Under normal circumstances, she could hold it back; her years of practice and her unmatched willpower enough to keep her natural rage contained to a dull simmer. But when her heart and soul lay bleeding out upon the snow with Varian, there was no force on Azeroth powerful enough to hold back the floodgates.
"Hell, I nearly did."
Varian tensed beside her, and turned his head to fix her with a piercing stare. His grip on her hand tightened, and his brows knit in such a heavy scowl that they were almost touching.
"Emphasis on 'nearly'," he insisted, his voice all of a sudden low and intense. "Everyone walked away in the end, Alliance and Horde both."
"Not because of any action of my own," Auriana countered. "If Jaina and Kalec hadn't intervened… if you hadn't taken me down…"
She glanced down at her thigh, where she could feel the coarse rub of bandages on her skin beneath her skirts.
Varian flushed an unbecoming shade of blotchy red. "I'm sorry. I didn't have the strength left to subdue you any other way…"
"No, no, you did the right thing," Auriana assured him quickly. "You likely saved a lot of lives."
She was truly grateful for his intervention, especially knowing how much it would have cost him to hurt her.
"I'm not sure stabbing one's wife with an arrow is ever 'the right thing' to do," Varian muttered glumly. "I thought you might be mad at me."
He pinched the bridge of his nose, and his fingers twitched where he grasped Auriana's hand.
"Auri, I… all of this, I'm so, so sorry. You never should have been put in that position… and I know you blame yourself, but you can't. It wasn't your fault."
Auriana fought back a wave of panic by forcibly reminding herself to breathe.
"Wasn't my fault?" she whispered wretchedly. "Of course it was my fault! You… you don't understand…"
"But I do. I've fought my own battles with my rage, you know that..." Varian argued.
"It's not the same thing. My magic…" She shook her head. "When I'm like that, I'm not even me anymore. I'm… feral. Rabid. It's as if I'm watching myself from the outside in. I know what I'm doing is wrong, and I'm fighting so hard to stop, but I can't."
Auriana pulled her hand away from him, and wrapped her arms around her body in a conscious effort to appear as small as possible. She didn't deserve his kindness any more than she had deserved Ridley's. Perhaps even less so.
"And whoever did this knew it," she added. I'm a monster, Varian, and I was used like one."
The words tasted bitter in her mouth, but there was no denying the simple truth - though it seemed Varian intended to try.
"Auriana!" he snarled. "You are not a monster, and I will not stand to hear you talk about yourself that way."
"No?" She swallowed. "What have you been doing for the last few days while I was unconscious, hmm? Putting out a fair few diplomatic fires, I'd imagine. Because of me."
Varian threw up his hands, accidentally knocking his cane over. It rolled to one side, leaving faint imprints in the snow, though he paid it absolutely no mind.
"There is clearly someone out to sabotage this Tournament," he argued. "If it wasn't you, they would have found another way."
If she had not known without a doubt that she deserved to feel so awful, Auriana might have been swayed by the passion of Varian's defense. His dark eyes blazed with intensity, and he spoke with the power and conviction of a born king. He was compelling, and fiercely magnetic, but she could not allow herself to be swayed, no matter how tempting it may have been to allow him to assuage her guilt.
"But it was me. I'm neither blind nor deaf, Varian, I know there were more than a few people who doubted my suitability as your queen. And now I've gone and proven them right."
"What? You've done no such thing. You've been nothing but decorous this entire Tournament." He placed a firm hand upon her shoulder; his fingers tightening almost painfully over her clavicle in emphasis. "This is not your fault. This was a calculated, deliberate attempt at manipulation, not a personal failing on your behalf."
Light, Auriana wanted to believe him. He was so earnest, so sure, and yet she could not silence the fearsome voice in the back of her mind that insisted he was lying to spare her feelings.
"Would you be saying the same thing if it were you?"
Varian's vehement expression grew haunted, and he suddenly seemed very far away.
"It was me," he said quietly. "Onyxia took advantage of me, of… of my weakness, and she nearly destroyed Stormwind. In many ways, she destroyed my life. Her machinations were a great deal more subtle than what was attempted here, but believe me when I say that I know what it is to be used."
Despite her own pain, Auriana's heart ached for him. She brushed her fingers softly over his hand where it still rested upon her shoulder, and he gave her a small, sad smile.
"Have you ever forgiven yourself?" she asked, half-afraid of the answer.
"Not entirely, no," Varian admitted, after a moment's pause. "But while I do not consider myself blameless, nor is the responsibility solely mine to bear. I went through years of self-loathing before I came to that particular realisation, and I won't watch you suffer the same. Not if I can help it."
He bent his head forward slightly, as if swearing a formal oath.
"Nothing has been broken that can't be fixed. You thought I had been assassinated - at a peace summit, no less. I dare anyone out there, Alliance or Horde, to say they would not have had a similar reaction were it their loved one bleeding out."
Varian slid his hand from Auriana's shoulder to the back of her neck. He gently brushed her hair to one side, and kneaded his fingers into the tense, rigid muscle. He was no healer, but there was something in his touch that was more potent and soothing than any magic.
"Well, presumably you love me," he added, with a wry, self-deprecating grin.
"Have I not made that clear?"
Varian considered the question with a slight tilt of his head.
"Of course you have. Although… I wonder, at times like these, what you see in me," he confessed. "I know I'm not the easiest man in the world to love. More than that - I've upended your entire life; put you on display before the entire world. You… you've been hurt because of me, in more ways than one, and now this..."
The quiet resignation in his words tugged at Auriana's heartstrings.
"You're not hard to love," she whispered fiercely. "Not at all. "
"No accounting for taste, I suppose."
The corners of Varian's eyes crinkled as he gave her a soft, lopsided smile. Such particular smiles were rare gifts, and Auriana knew he only ever bestowed them upon her. Even with Anduin, he was never quite so unguarded; never quite so gentle. Auriana's throat tightened, and a wave of simultaneous guilt and longing swelled in her chest.
"Stop it," she mumbled.
"Stop what?" he retorted, the very picture of innocence.
"You're trying to make me smile."
Varian shrugged.
"And if I am? Would that be such a bad thing?"
"Yes! I don't deserve… I'm not… I..."
Varian abruptly pulled her forward, and cut her off with a swift, urgent kiss. Auriana instinctively made to pull away, torn by her pain and shame, but Varian was gently relentless. His hands slid into her hair, and he cradled the back of her head with more tenderness than one might have believed possible for a man of his size.
Despite Auriana's initial reluctance, however, something inside her released as she kissed him, and she felt the terrible weight on her shoulders begin to lift. Nothing would change the fact that she held herself responsible for what had happened, but perhaps Varian was right, and it was not entirely her fault. He certainly did not seem as if he intended to rebuke or repudiate her, and knowing that he was still on her side made her feel much braver.
When they finally parted, several minutes later, Varian's eyes were dark, and his cheeks flushed a deep, ruddy red. Auriana suspected her own were similarly crimson, despite the nip in the air. She also found herself panting slightly, though for the first time that day her breathlessness was not a cause for alarm.
"Now, what were you going to say?" Varian asked throatily.
"N-nothing."
"Good."
He pulled away, straightening his back and stretching out his wounded leg with a grimace, though his fingers lingered briefly for a moment on the back of Auriana's neck.
"So…" she managed, shaking her head slightly to clear her thoughts, "Where does this leave us?"
"Well, I think it's safe to say that someone is trying to reignite the faction war," Varian said drolly.
"That's putting it mildly," Auriana snorted. "Do you think it's the same bastard that tried to kill me and Anduin last year?"
Reid Ashton, or Thorne as he had more recently styled himself, was a former SI:7 agent who had been radicalized after the loss of his family in Southshore. He bore a fierce hatred of the Horde, and had been the mastermind behind the series of disruptive attacks that had followed Auriana from Draenor to Stormwind; all with the aim of baiting the Alliance and the Horde into war. He believed - not without reason - that the Alliance would be the most likely victor in such a conflict, and it was his fervent dream to see the Horde utterly destroyed.
"Didn't you kill him?"
"I left him at the mercy of a Stranglethorn panther, but I didn't actually see him die," Auriana corrected. "And whatever else he is, we know he was a talented rogue. There's a chance he survived."
Thorne had, admittedly, been in a rather precarious position when Auriana had abandoned him to his fate, but she had known people to live through worse. Her own track record was proof enough of that.
"For his sake, he better not have. He was working with Duke Anguile to have you and Anduin killed," Varian recalled, "And once we have definitive evidence proving the Duke's involvement, I will personally execute him and anyone else who participated in his scheming."
His voice rang with grim, implacable menace; so much so that even Auriana felt the hairs in the back of her neck stand up.
"Thorne was the primary instigator of the attacks, not Anguile," she reminded him gently. "The Duke only fronted the money because he wanted my head. Their relationship was one of convenience, not of ideology."
"I don't give a damn about his reasoning," Varian spat. "Anguile is a noble of Stormwind, he should bloody well know better. His betrayal is… personal."
His left hand curled into a menacing fist.
"Although, given that this current plot demonstrably hinges on you being alive, it suggests that the nature of their relationship may have changed. If it is, indeed, the same perpetrators."
"Perhaps. Although… maybe not," Auriana mused, her mind suddenly racing. "Thorne never actually wanted me dead. He thought I'd be useful in a war, but I was the price of Anguile's involvement. Now, the Duke's original intent was to prevent you from wedding me, but given that that ship has clearly sailed, what if he were now motivated by revenge?"
She found it easier to remain calm when she had something concrete to focus on, instead of letting her thoughts ramble off into darkness. Figuring out who was responsible for the attack would also go a long way to easing her conscience, and so she turned what little energy she had left to the task of solving the mystery.
"Or fear. He knows that we know that he was involved in the attempt on Anduin's life - and yours - we just can't prove it yet. That has to weigh on a man, and a faction war would provide an awfully convenient distraction from the ongoing investigation into his misdeeds," Varian countered. "Not to mention, he has to have realised that there is no chance I would ever tie my house to his now. He has nothing left to lose."
It was a plausible theory, as was Auriana's own. Anguile was certainly odious enough to do whatever it took to protect his own hide, even at the expense of others. Her instincts told her that he was somehow involved, though she could also admit that she may have been a touch biased where the Duke was concerned.
"Or… it's a different culprit altogether," she admitted with a sigh. "Thorne and his lackeys are far from the only people who might want to see this summit fail."
Varian scratched at the dark stubble along his jaw. A faint dimple appeared over his right temple, as it always did when he was deep in thought, and the corners of his mouth turned downwards in a scowl.
"We know Sylvanas has taken issue with you - perhaps this was her doing. A false flag attack."
Auriana didn't doubt that Sylvanas was capable, and she did, according to Vol'jin, have cause to want Auriana dead. But while the Banshee Queen may have been paranoid, she wasn't stupid. It was unlikely she would have risked herself so openly on the field in order to prevent some imagined scenario in which Varian wanted to use Auriana as a prop to reclaim Lordaeron, at least not without more tangible evidence.
"I wouldn't put anything past her, but this seems a little… brazen. Sylvanas is a schemer, she likes to operate from the shadows," Auriana remarked. "The presence of the orcs also bothers me."
"Me, too," Varian said drily, rubbing a hand over the wound on his shoulder.
Auriana rolled her eyes at him. She wasn't quite ready to joke about his near-death experience just yet.
"What I mean is…" she continued, "Thorne had the remnants of Garrosh Hellscream's Korkron working with him last time, but I can't see them - or any other orcs, really - agreeing to this particular plan. It makes sense that they would be willing to sacrifice an Alliance Prince to start a war, but not the entire combined leadership of the Horde. It would immediately put them on the back foot in the resulting conflict."
Varian's scowl deepened at the mention of the attempts on Anduin's life, but he nodded.
"I can't see Sylvanas taking such a risk, either," he conceded. "If this was a genuine Horde plot, then someone severely underestimated your abilities."
"That's a good point," Auriana agreed. "I'm hardly as notorious as someone like you, or Thrall, or Varok Saurfang, but I'm not a complete unknown, either. Even if I were, my fighting skills have been on full display throughout the Tournament; it seems unlikely that someone could have miscalculated that badly, especially considering the current strength of the Horde."
"What do you mean?"
"The Horde leadership, as it currently stands, lacks magical firepower. That's not to say that they're weak, but rather that their strengths lie elsewhere." Auriana lifted her good hand, and began counting off on her fingers. "Vol'jin, Baine, Saurfang, Lor'themar, Ji Firepaw, Nathanos Blightcaller… they're all very good at what they do, there's no doubting that, but none of them are in my weight class."
"Magically speaking, of course," Varian noted, gesturing to her slender frame.
Auriana shot him a look, which he answered with a wry grin. It seemed he was still determined to make her smile, and while she didn't quite feel up to it just yet, she appreciated his efforts nonetheless.
"Of course," she said archly, then continued: "Thrall is obviously the most powerful of their number - or rather, he would be, though it's well known that he hasn't been himself of late. I don't know if you saw him before you were taken down, but he wasn't fighting like a shaman."
"And Sylvanas?"
It was a good question. Auriana doubted anyone had seen what Sylvanas was truly capable of doing - she definitely seemed like the type who preferred to hold back unless it were absolutely necessary to bring her full strength to bear - but even then, Auriana suspected she might have the edge.
"Sylvanas is skilled and cunning, but ultimately there's only so much damage one can do with a single bow and arrow, especially against an archmage. Even with her banshee's abilities, I don't think she could defeat me unless she caught me by surprise, or had me at some other disadvantage."
Auriana may have doubted herself as a queen, as a wife, as a person, but she never doubted her magic. She knew her own strength, and on her best day she would have confidently backed herself against anyone on Azeroth. It wasn't arrogance or false bravado, merely a fact. Whatever else her failures and shortcomings may have been, she at least knew how to fight.
"I might have fallen eventually, but I would have taken a fair few of their number down with me. Especially given the fact that I was channelling the full power of that ward… though I'm not sure how anyone could have planned for that."
Auriana frowned. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was missing something, but her physical and emotional exhaustion was still making it harder to think than she would have liked.
"Perhaps the orcs were simply lied to, then," Varian suggested. "They may have been convinced that it was a simple assassination attempt, rather than a means to provoke you into attacking the Horde."
"Either that, or they were willing to work with Thorne - or whoever planned the attack - for some reason we aren't aware of," Auriana suggested, though even as she spoke the words it felt wrong.
"That seems the most unlikely explanation," Varian said, as if reading her mind. "They were only complicit with Thorne the first time around because they thought they had a chance of winning the war. As you said, I doubt they would be willing to risk the obliteration of the entire Horde leadership just to start a fight. Other possibilities?"
The answer came to Auriana in a sudden rush of inspiration.
"They're not orcs."
Varian cocked a skeptical brow. "Go on…"
Auriana bit her lip.
"If I tell you something," she said slowly, "Will you promise not to tell Genn? Or Anduin?"
If it were all possible, Varian somehow managed to raise his eyebrow even higher. "That sounds ominous..."
Auriana considered him seriously, wavering. She hated to break her word, but in this case, she suspected it might be the lesser evil.
"It's not, really, just… you have to promise," she insisted. "Please. I'm breaking a trust, here."
Varian fixed her with a penetrating stare, his head tilted slightly to one side. Auriana knew she was being a touch unfair, expecting him to promise before he had any idea what he had any real idea what she was asking, but in the end his trust in her won out.
"Very well," he conceded. "You have my word."
"I suspect your attackers may have used potions to glamour their appearances," she said slowly, "And I know it's not impossible to do so… because someone at the Tournament already did it."
"What? And you knew and didn't tell me? Auri..." Varian growled, his disapproval plain.
"It wasn't in pursuit of anything nefarious! And I handled it. Discreetly." Auriana took a deep breath. "The rogue that fought in the Gilnean's first match of the Tournament wasn't Lillian Fletcher. It was Tess."
A moment of shocked silence followed her proclamation, in which Varian opened and closed his mouth several times but did not manage to speak. A faint twitch thrummed at the corner of his left eye.
"Tess? Tess Greymane?" he repeated, dumbstruck.
"Of course Tess Greymane, how many other Tesses do you know?"
Varian frowned.
"Tess isn't worgen."
"Precisely. If she was going to double for Lillian, she needed to change her appearance," Auriana explained. "So… she figured out the loophole in the dampening field, and used a pre-made potion to disguise her appearance."
Varian looked as if he had a million different questions poised on the tip of his tongue, but in the end he chose the most obvious.
"Why?"
"She wanted to fight." While Auriana disagreed with Tess's methods, she could certainly sympathise with the younger woman's motives. "She's not the demure little Gilnean noblewoman Genn thinks she is."
Varian leaned back with a small, thoughtful grunt. Once his initial shock had worn off, he did not seem all that surprised by the revelation. While Tess was careful to maintain an air of decorum around her father, Varian had no doubt noticed the same budding seeds of rebellion that Auriana herself had seen in her few recent encounters with the Princess. Beneath Tess's prim exterior lurked a witty and willful young woman eager to discover herself outside the conservative strictures of traditional Gilnean society, and it was perhaps inevitable that she had shown an interest in combat, given her people's recent history.
"She held her own, if I recall."
"Well, she's had some training…" Auriana admitted.
"Who would be so brazen as to attempt to train Tess as a rogue right under Genn's… oh." Varian closed his eyes as the realisation struck him. "Valeera."
"I don't know when they started talking, or whether Tess has had other training elsewhere, but Valeera is involved to some degree, yes," Auriana confirmed, shrugging.
Varian pondered the new information for a moment, his expression unreadable. Much to Auriana's surprise, he then slapped a broad palm down on his thigh and let out a deep, guttural laugh.
"Varian…?"
"Genn thinks she sits around all day doing needlepoint or something, and she's really out there learning how to gut a man five different ways before he hits the ground," he guffawed, his eyes suddenly shining with good humour. "Tess and he are more alike than I think either of them realise."
"You know, if it were Anduin, you wouldn't be quite so amused," Auriana pointed out.
"Oh, I'm well aware. But it's nice to see someone else's child gone rogue for a change. Quite literally, in this case."
Varian's puckish grin widened. Auriana shook her head.
"Before you get too excited, you should know that Anduin is involved. At least as far as the Tournament was concerned. He helped her."
Once again, Varian didn't seem all that surprised.
"Of course he did." He let out a loud, dramatic sigh, though Auriana could see a distinct spark of affection glinting in his eyes. "How long do such potions last?"
"Depends on how they're made. Without a specific potion to counter the effects, most fall off naturally within a few hours." Auriana was no alchemist, but she knew the basic theory. "It should be an easy enough theory to test, provided someone kept the bodies."
"I see."
Auriana could practically see the wheels turning over in Varian's head as he processed the new information. He liked to be underestimated, often pretending to be less intelligent than he really was, but there was a sharp and incisive mind hidden beneath his more brutish outward appearance.
"Alright - let's say, then, for argument's sake, that the attack was arranged by Thorne and his organisation. He disguises his men as orcs, but he knows he can't have armed 'Horde' soldiers march up and assassinate the High King. Too many people would try to stop it, Horde and Alliance both. So he arranges for the nerubians to attack the Tournament, in order to create cover for the assassins."
"Meanwhile, we're all fighting; tensions are high, blood is up in the heat of battle…" Auriana continued, her heart starting to beat faster at the thought. "Our assassins did their research, you know. They crafted an almost perfect scenario to bait me."
"But they failed," Varian reminded her. "You didn't hurt anyone."
"Except Jaina and Kalec. And… ah... Nathanos Blightcaller, I suppose."
Auriana let out a quiet, disappointed huff; the warmth of her breath sending a cloud of vapour swirling away into the cold air.
"And most likely our chances for a peaceful future with the Horde."
Varian rested a hand upon her uninjured thigh, and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"Auri, I told you. It's not your fault. You're a victim here as much as anyone."
Auriana nodded, though more in an effort to convince herself of the truth of Varian's words than because she strictly believed them herself. She certainly did not want to start spiralling again, however, and so she quickly refocused on the problem at hand.
"Right. You're right. I… we were manipulated." She cleared her throat, then circled back to the question that had been bothering her ever since she and Varian had started talking. "I still can't figure out how the assassins know I was going to destroy the ward. Even I didn't know I was going to do that until about two seconds before I actually… did."
The rest of the plan she could understand, but unless the assassins were agents of the bronze dragonflight, or had some other kind of precognitive abilities, they couldn't have possibly predicted the turn of events that had led to her siphoning power from the ward.
"I don't think they did know," Varian said thoughtfully. "In fact, I think you put a substantial wrench in their plans."
"How so?"
"The attack was clearly timed to occur when you and I were already in the arena. Which makes sense - they needed you to have access to your magic," he argued. "It also put the Horde at a disadvantage; they were in the stands, and would have had to come to you if they wanted to join the fight."
"They wanted to shepherd us all into one place…"
"Exactly. It stands to reason that the Horde would seek to defend their citizens as they fled. Whatever else may be said about them, they're not cowards, and they do care for their people. It also gave the assassins a cleaner shot at me… until you broke the ward."
Varian subconsciously rubbed at his wounded shoulder as he spoke the word 'shot', and Auriana wondered whether he was really quite so cavalier about his injuries as he wanted her to think.
"In doing so, I believe you might have saved my life," he continued swiftly, before she could ask. "When the ward went down, it opened up the battlefield. People were moving around, fighting outside the boundaries of the arena. The assassins were forced to take the lesser shot, or risk being seen too soon if they tried to get closer."
Auriana nodded in agreement. She hadn't considered her actions from that angle, but it brought her some small measure of comfort to think that in some way, she had protected Varian from a terrible fate.
"Next question, then. How could Thorne have been sure that we wouldn't lose to the nerubians? What if I had died before the assassins had made their shot?"
Varian's gaze swept over Auriana from top to toe, analysing her in the same way as he might assess a tactical map within the Stormwind war room.
"You said it yourself - your reputation precedes you," he said, a warm note of pride entering his voice. "It was a calculated risk. Yes, a few Alliance men might have died, but I'm sure Thorne, or whoever these people are, would consider it a fair price for the entirety of the Horde leadership."
Auriana's heartbeat suddenly accelerated and her thought began to race as she finally realised what it was that she had been missing.
"Maybe it was more than that. Thorne only needed enough chaos to get his assassins in range, and make it look like the Horde were responsible for the attempt. After that, the nerubians were unnecessary. In fact, they were risky."
Varian caught on quickly.
"You think he had some way to stop them."
"Nerubians aren't stupid. I saw that when Vol'jin and I were escaping underground," Auriana noted. "When they realised they were outmatched by my magic, they retreated. They wouldn't just mindlessly throw themselves to their deaths."
"But they did. After the initial shock of the attack wore off and we organised a defense, they continued to press the assault," Varian frowned.
"Exactly. Which means they had a reason. Why would they do that?"
"Defending territory, perhaps. Protecting a mate or… or their offspring."
Varian glanced back over his shoulder towards the Tournament, and Auriana knew he was thinking of Anduin.
"Being willing to die to protect your children is a fairly universal trait, as you know all too well," she continued. "Whatever Thorne did, it had to have been something bad enough that the nerubians were willing to die to make it stop, but also something that he could control. As soon as I engaged the Horde, the nerubians were unnecessary. In fact, at that point, they were a threat to his plan."
"You know what that means, don't you?"
Auriana nodded. "He was here. Watching. And he had some way of calling off the nerubians."
Although she knew it was highly unlikely that they were currently being observed, Auriana felt the skin on the back of her neck prick, and she couldn't help but to glance over her shoulder. Varian, too, cast a wary eye about the copse, though he tried his best to look casual.
"Whatever they used, they can't have hidden it inside the grounds. Something powerful enough to cause such a reaction amongst the nerubians would have been noticed. So it must have been placed outside," Auriana reasoned.
"You're thinking he used a machine of some sort?"
"To be honest, I have no idea," Auriana admitted. "But we know Thorne has used goblin engineering technology in the past. If it were him, it stands to reason he might have done so again."
"We ought to investigate the grounds, then," Varian said firmly. "And the bodies of the assassins. If they aren't orcs, it would go a long way to confirming our theory."
He reached for his discarded walking cane, pushing off the rock and with good arm and rising to his feet. As he did, his demeanour subtly shifted: his shoulders tensing and his jaw tightening in a manner that suggested he was now less Auriana's loving husband and more her king. It was the same hard look he wore before a battle; which, Auriana supposed, was not too far removed from the situation they were likely walking into back at the Tournament.
"I know."
Auriana mimicked his movements, ignoring the twinge of protest in her thigh as she stood. She wasn't looking forward to returning to the Tournament, but she accepted that it was an inevitability. She could hardly hide away in a thicket at the edge of the world forever, and at least she would not be alone.
"We'll also need to involve the Horde if we hope to salvage anything from this mess," Varian pointed out.
"I know that, too."
"Whatever happens, I'll be by your side the entire time," he promised.
Varian's expression was cool and determined, even slightly aloof, but his eyes gleamed with fierce pride and unshakeable faith.
"Not that you'll need me," he added softly. "You're strong. Stronger than anyone I've ever met - and certainly strong enough to weather this storm."
Auriana gave him a small but grateful half-smile, and let out a deep, steadying breath. Already her heart had begun to beat faster at the mere thought of facing the Horde, but Varian's words gave her courage. It was hard not to believe him when he looked at her like that, and while she was still ashamed to have broken down so completely, she would be damned if she would allow it to happen again. She was the Queen of Stormwind, and for Varian, for their people, and for the future of the Alliance, she could be brave.
She would be brave.
"Very well, then," she said, squaring her own shoulders and balling her small hands into fists. "Let's get to the bottom of this - once and for all."
