Varian

Varian paced back and forth about his study, trying and mostly failing to project an aura of cool composure. He was not alone, having been joined by Captain Ridley and Lieutenant Garland of the Royal Guard; the latter having come to escort Auriana on her trip to Dalaran to meet with the Council of Six in regards to the Horde's acceptance of Khadgar's plan. With Ridley still out of action thanks to her broken arm, responsibility for Auriana's safety had fallen to Garland, and Varian had seen fit to give the young soldier a very thorough briefing.

Of course, Auriana had been reluctant to take a bodyguard with her at all, but Varian had insisted. He understood that her desire to address the Council of Six was borne of a need to feel useful, to feel normal, but that didn't mean he was going to leave her unprotected.

"You are to return to Stormwind immediately after the Council meeting is adjourned," he ordered. "No dallying."

"Yes, sire."

Garland was a tall man, almost as tall as Varian himself, with sandy blonde hair and the light blue eyes common to Westfall folk. He was young to have been promoted into the elite ranks of the Royal Guard, perhaps twenty-five or so, though he had earned his position fairly. There was only one path to the Royal Guard, and that was – quite literally – through Varian himself. After passing a series of grueling physical and mental tests and a background check by SI:7, would-be royal elites were required to face their King in single combat. Of course, no one had yet to gain entry by actually defeating Varian outright, but he nonetheless granted elite rank to any guardsman who could stand against him for a full five minutes – and he did not make those five minutes easy.

Garland, despite his affable good looks and guileless demeanor, was possessed of unusually fast reflexes, and a genuine talent for reading the ebb and flow of combat. His athletic skills were exceptional, and he had been one of the few candidates in recent years to have presented Varian with a reasonable challenge. Enough of a challenge, at least, that Varian was willing to entrust him with Auriana's protection.

"And the Queen is not to use magic of any kind, do you understand? Not so much as a spark until she has fully recovered from her… magical fatigue."

Well. Perhaps willing was a bit too strong a word.

"Yes, sire."

It was the third time Varian had reminded the young guard in as many minutes, though Garland was as calm and patient as if it had been the first. Ridley, on the other hand, clearly found the situation rather amusing, despite her best efforts to keep her expression neutral – although perhaps it was not so much Varian's taciturn instruction itself that had tickled her fancy, but rather simply the fact that it was directed at someone else for a change.

"I swear to you, Majesty, I'll take good and proper care of her," Garland added, his good-natured earnestness almost irritating in the face of Varian's own irascability. "I have four older sisters, you know, I'm well aware of the challenges posed by the Queen's current cond… oh."

Garland trailed off, and his otherwise tan complexion paled as he realised his error. Ridley winced, and shook her head at the junior officer.

Varian let out a sharp hiss between his teeth. "I'm disappointed, Captain."

Ridley was one of the very few people who knew that Auriana was pregnant, and Varian was surprised that she had been so liberal with the secret. She was a loyal and experienced bodyguard, and it was not at all in character for her to let something so personal slip to a more junior guardsman.

"I swear, I didn't say a word," Ridley countered, raising her one good arm in a defensive posture. "With respect, Majesty, you cannot recruit for intelligence in your guard and then be surprised when they exercise that intelligence. Although perhaps we ought to prize discretion more highly…"

She shot a sideways glance at Garland, who flushed an unbecoming shade of crimson.

"My apologies, sire, the Captain would never betray such a trust. Rather, I guessed, and…"

"Hmph," Varian grunted, silencing the young guard's stammered apology with a shake of his head.

He supposed Ridley had a point. Anyone who had spent a significant amount of time around Auriana of late would have seen enough to be suspicious, and it hardly took a towering intellect to put her particular set of symptoms together. It was probably for the best that Garland was aware, in any case, if he were to keep Auriana safe.

"Just... don't tell her that you know," Varian added, scowling. "And when we make the public announcement… do try to look surprised, won't you?"

Garland nodded, but before he could make another awkward attempt at apology, they were interrupted by the arrival of Auriana herself. She wore a flowing dress of deep purple, perhaps in deference to the fact that she was off to visit the Kirin Tor, and had bound her hair in an elegant double braid that terminated in a knot at the base of her neck. She had slept soundly through the night for the first time in a month, and looked all the better for it. Her cheeks, which had been far too pale and sunken of late, had resumed some of their normal rosy hue, and her eyes were brighter than they'd been in weeks.

Light, she was lovely.

Varian linked his hands behind his back, fighting back the urge to expel the guards, lock the doors, and keep Auriana all to himself. He had abstained from being intimate with her of late, out of fear of hurting her or making her sickness worse, but she made it very difficult to resist tempation. It would be all too easy, he thought, to tear away the flimsy silk of her bodice and bury his face in the delicious curve of her breast as he lay her down upon the chaise…

"Good morning," he said instead.

"Good morning," Auriana echoed brightly, placing a soft hand on his chest and standing up on her tiptoes to brush a featherlight kiss against his cheek.

She smelled like wildflowers. Varian clenched his hands tighter.

"You let me sleep in," she accused him, though her tone was playful.

"Believe me, I am not man enough to wake you."

Auriana scoffed. "I'm not that bad…"

Varian did not answer directly, though he raised a single eyebrow in an expression that said more than words ever could.

"...am I?"

Auriana's mouth tightened in a petulant pout, though her eyes sparkled with good humour as she stared up at Varian from beneath dark lashes. Everything about her invited him in, from the swell of her lips to soft rise and fall of her chest, and he was once again sorely tempted to cancel their plans for the day. He suspected Auriana might be receptive, too, judging from the look in her eyes and the way she touched his chest, when she all of a sudden seemed to realise they were not alone. She took a half step backwards, flushing, and turned her attention to the two guardsmen.

"Ah - good morning, Ridley; Garland," she added hurriedly. "I trust you're both well?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Garland confirmed, standing up a little straighter. "And looking forward to visiting the Kirin Tor."

"How's the arm?" Auriana nodded towards Ridley's sling.

"Healing nicely," Ridley confirmed. "I should be back at your side in a few days - though you'll have to suffer Garland's skills here in the meantime."

"I have no doubt he'll suffice."

"Are you sure you don't want to take a full squad?" Varian suggested, though he already knew the answer. "No offense to the Lieutenant here, but…"

Auriana glanced up at him with a tolerant smile. "We're going to Dalaran, Varian, not the front."

"Still…"

"Still nothing," she said firmly. "I'm not marching half an army into the Council chambers."

Varian very much wanted to argue, but he knew there was little point. He also had no desire to upset Auriana when she had finally been gifted a night of rest and was so obviously looking forward to her day out. He'd missed her sly little half-smile, and the foxy little glint in her eyes when she sassed at him. He sighed.

"Very well."

"I've never been to Dalaran, ma'am," Garland ventured. "Is it true the entire city floats?"

"It does, yes."

"They do it with birds, you know," Varian said drily. "Tens of thousands of birds…"

Garland's eyes widened. "Really?"

Auriana jabbed an admonishing elbow into Varian's ribs. "He's pulling your leg, Lieutenant. It's actually a rather complex feat of magical engineering. There's a group of Kirin Tor mages who spend their entire careers maintaining the spell."

"Incredible…"

"I can take you on a little tour of the city before we meet the Council, if you'd like?"

"Very much so! Er… so long as it's not too much of an inconvenience, Majesty."

"Not at all," Auriana insisted, favouring the Lieuntant with a broad, beaming smile. "I spent so much of my youth there I sometimes forget that not everyone has seen the city for themselves."

As she spoke, she made her way over to Varian's desk to retrieve the plans and missives she intended to present to the Council of Six in support of Khadgar's plan. She had laid out her papers the night before, though she was careful to recheck each and every one before stacking them neatly into a single leaf. Garland followed close behind, peppering her with a seemingly endless series of enthusiastic questions about Dalaran and the Kirin Tor as she worked.

Varian, meanwhile, remained in place, though his fists clenched as he listened to Auriana and Garland make their small talk. It was a petty thing, and not something he was especially proud of, but he always felt a pang of jealousy whenever Auriana showed attention to another man. It didn't help that she was pregnant, either, nor that Garland was bright, handsome, and not anywhere near as beaten up as Varian himself. The kind of man that Auriana probably deserved, but instead she had… him.

"Majesty?"

"Hmm?"

Varian looked to his right to see Ridley staring up at him with a concerned expression.

"Are you well?"

"Fine," he grunted. "Why do you ask?"

"You're grinding your teeth, sire," Ridley said quietly, after a pause. "She'll be perfectly safe, I promise you. There is not a man or woman in the Royal Guard who would not hesitate to give their lives for hers, should such a thing be necessary."

Varian supposed he ought to be grateful that Ridley only thought him overprotective, rather than overprotective and possessive. He forcibly unclenched his jaw.

"I know. And she's right - it's Dalaran, not the Wrathgate."

Despite what Varian had said, however, it was only with great reluctance that he finally bid Auriana farewell. She could not open a portal herself, of course, given her condition, though Stormwind Keep had no shortage of mages up to the task. As a cover, she had claimed to have still been recovering from her ordeal at the Tournament. It was believable enough, especially for anyone who had seen her fight in Icecrown, though it was not an excuse that would hold up to scrutiny forever.

Varian attempted to get some paperwork done before heading off to the garrison ceremony, but in truth he spent most of his time shuffling stacks of parchment around and staring restlessly out the window. He couldn't quite shake the feeling that something was wrong, though he wasn't sure if it was genuine instinct or simple paranoia. In either case, he certainly wasn't making any headway, and after an hour or so of fruitless fidgeting, he called for his manservant to prepare his formal turnout.

Ordinarily, Varian rather enjoyed presenting commendations to the Stormwind Garrison. The ceremony was held twice a year, to celebrate both recent promotions and retirements, and to award medals for meritorious service. The newest group of recruits were also presented to their King for the first time, and on special occasions, Varian had been known to fight demonstration bouts against whichever young rookies were brave enough – or foolish enough – to accept his challenge.

Today, however, Varian had left Shalamayne in his chambers as he made his way down to the Stormwind arena, which had been repurposed into a staging ground for the ceremony. His idiosyncratic armour was currently at the smith for repair, and he suspected he wouldn't have been in top form anyway. While Varian was physically present in Stormwind, his mind was hundreds of miles away in Dalaran. He did not wish to disrespect his soldiers by appearing uninterested, however, and so he tried his best to remain fully focused as General Clay commenced proceedings… but as the morning wore on, his attention slowly waned.

Fortunately, Varian had participated in more than enough ceremonies over the years to have committed the process to memory. He saluted his troops and applauded at all the right times, and even managed a brief but heartfelt speech. Those who knew him well, such as General Clay or one of the other senior officers, may have noticed his subdued bearing, though he doubted that the average guardsman would have been aware of any difference.

That is, until a swift movement along the back edge of the arena ground attracted Varian's attention, and he stopped listening to Clay altogether. A night elf woman, tall and rangy with dark violet skin and close-cropped silvery hair, had come to stand behind the neat rows of soliders with her hands upon her hips and her lambent gaze fixed on Varian. He did not immediately recognise her by name, but the twin daggers on her hips and her sleek, practical leathers marked her as SI:7. Even from a distance, he could see the restive tension in her posture, and his heart began to pound in his chest as she made an urgent beckoning motion with her head.

An SI:7 agent would not interrupt a formal ceremony for nothing, and so Varian quietly excused himself, stepping down through the stands and making his way calmly but swiftly along the side of the arena. As the King, his sudden departure would never have gone unnoticed, and a faint muttering rippled across the assembly in his wake. In the absence of a direct order suggesting otherwise, however, General Clay continued on with the ceremony as planned.

"Agent…?" Varian asked, guiding the night elf away from the rear of the arena so that they might speak in relative privacy.

"Shaderunner, sire," she answered smartly. "On assignment in Dalaran."

"Dalaran?"

An uncomfortable pressure swelled in Varian's chest, only to become nearly unbearable a second later as Shaderunner continued.

"The Kirin Tor are presently under attack. More demons."

Varian's throat went dry. "What?"

"Another small incursion force, much like the one that attacked Stormwind."

"Does Shaw know?"

"No, sire. I came straight to you."

"Auri…" He just about choked on her name. "The Queen was visiting Dalaran this morning. Did you see her?"

Without realising what he was doing, Varian leant forward so that he and Shaderunner were barely three inches apart. Despite the looming, insistent presence of her King, however, the night elf woman maintained her professional manner as she shook her head.

"I knew she was in the city," she confirmed. "Master Shaw had sent a bulletin to all agents advising us of her visit. When the attack started, I attempted to find her, but… it was chaos. I could have searched for hours without any luck, and so I thought it more prudent to return to Stormwind so that I might raise the alarm."

The distant sounds of General Clay's speech faded away as Varian's mind began to race. A second attack in as many weeks was a serious cause for concern, though the deeper mystery behind the sudden upsurge of demonic activity was a problem for another time. The Kirin Tor Guardians were a powerful fighting force, and would surely rally against any Legion aggression, but their primary concern would be in protecting Dalaran's civilian population. They would not be looking for Auriana – and in any case, they would have no reason to believe that she could not fight in her own defense. Garland would do everything in his power to protect his charge, of course, but one man against a demonic horde could only do so much…

"Majesty?"

Varian shook himself. There was no use in dwelling on the possibilities. Only actions mattered now.

"You did well, Agent," he said gruffly. "Inform General Clay of the situation – I don't care if you interrupt the ceremony. Have him recall the guard, and put Stormwind on high alert. Then report to Shaw; tell him everything you know."

Varian had no doubt that Shaderunner would follow his orders to the letter, and that both Clay and Shaw would know exactly what to do. Stormwind would be made safe, and in the meantime… Varian's mouth tightened into a thin, angry line.

"And you, sire?" Shaderunner asked, far too observant not to have noticed the dark and dangerous shift in her King's demeanour.

"I'm going to find my wife."


While the majority of the Guard were in attendance at the garrison ceremony, the Keep was still under the protection of a reduced watch – typically more junior guards or those not receiving any commendations that day. The four guardsmen present stood to attention as Varian stomped into the throne room; already reaching for their swords as they noted their King's wild eyes and furious posture.

"Dalaran is under attack. I want every armed and available guard you can find to report to my quarters. Immediately," he barked. "And someone get me a damn mage!"

Varian neither elaborated further, nor waited around for a response. Instead, he raced off upwards through the Keep, shouting the same order to any guard he came across. He took the stairs three at a time, and yet somehow it seemed to take him twice as much time as it usually did to reach his quarters. Every second felt like an hour, each corridor a mile long, and he was already tugging impatiently at his belt as he finally burst into his rooms.

There was no time for Varian to don his proper armour, even if it had not been off at the smithy, though he didn't fancy trying to fight in the confines of his formal surcoat. He quickly discarded the offending garment, tossing it thoughtlessly to the floor, and kicked off his court shoes in favour of a worn and sturdy pair better suited to combat. Forgoing armour was one thing, but he was damned if he was going to die tripping over a dress heel.

A thousand nightmarish scenarios played over in Varian's head as he perched on the edge of his bed and fumbled for the buckles of his boots. It was a simple task, one he'd done a thousand times before, but he was driven to distraction by thoughts of Auriana's demise. For all Varian knew, she was already dead, bleeding out on the streets of Dalaran, and his frantic efforts to reach her were nothing more than an exercise in futility.

Varian's fingers slipped, and he swore a colourful curse at the cordwainer who had apparently crafted a pair of boots with the specific intention of driving him mad.

"Um… hello?"

Varian's head snapped up, ready to unleash a peevish crack at whoever had intruded upon his chambers, only to awkwardly choke down his words as his heated gaze fell upon his son. Anduin stood in the doorway, his brow furrowed and his hands spread wide in a silent, confused entreaty.

"... Father? What on earth is going on?" he demanded. "I heard your bellowing from my rooms…"

"There's been an attack on Dalaran," Varian grunted. "Demons, again. Auriana… Auriana is there."

Anduin's frown deepened, and he took a tentative step into the room.

"Demons? In Dalaran?" he repeated, his surprise and confusion plain. "You think Auri's in danger?"

"Of course she's in danger! She's Auriana, she attracts trouble like honey attracts flies…"

Varian exhaled like an angry bull, trying and largely failing to force his hands to still. Since when had his boots been so damn difficult to buckle? And where the hell was that mage?!

"Well, I… I understand your concern, but Auri is a very competent woman…"

Varian knew Anduin was only trying to be helpful, but his words simply rang hollow. Auriana was skilled, smart, and brave – but no one was invincible, not to mention that she ordinarily possessed the very considerable advantage of her magic. Without it, she was all too vulnerable.

"I mean, I know she's been a bit off since the Tournament, but she's still…"

"She can't use magic!" Varian snapped. "She's…"

He cut himself off with a snarl. While Auriana's pregnancy was rapidly becoming the worst kept secret in Stormwind, he had promised. This was hardly the way he had wanted to tell his son the truth, either – it should have been a joyous proclamation, not a hushed violation of trust. But Varian also needed to tell someone, needed to make someone understand why he was so frantic; why his stomach was now a bottomless pit of fear.

"Father…?"

Anduin took another step closer, his pale blue eyes wide with concern. He was always so earnest, so inviting in his compassion, that even a man as guarded as Varian found himself opening up. After all, what was the point of keeping the secret if Auriana was already dead?

"She can't use magic, because…" He took a deep breath. "Because she's pregnant…"

Anduin blinked. He opened his mouth to speak, only to swiftly close it again a second later. He then tilted his head to one side in a curious expression that was uncannily reminiscent of a confused dog, and blinked again.

"You… Auri's pregnant? She's… there's going to be a baby?"

While Varian would not have been surprised if Anduin had guessed the truth before now, he appeared to have been completely blindsided.

"That is the usual meaning of the word, yes."

"I didn't even know you were trying…"

"We weren't." Varian finally triumphed over the last of his boot buckles, and rose to his feet. "It just sort of… happened."

He had no particular desire to get drawn into a discussion of how such things 'just happened', even at the best of times, and fortunately, Anduin did not pry.

"How long have you known?"

"A few weeks, now," Varian admitted. "She's coming up on the end of her first trimester."

"I see." If Anduin was hurt by his exclusion, it didn't show on his face – though Varian's stomach ached with guilt nonetheless. "And I suppose that's why Auri's been acting so odd around me?"

"Yes. She's had a rough time of it thus far."

"Well, it would explain a lot." Anduin gave himself a little shake. "I almost can't believe it. I… I'm really going to have a sibling?"

The awed inflection with which Anduin said the word 'sibling' sent a sharp pang through Varian's heart. He owed his son so much more than an abrupt, awkward confession in the midst of a crisis, but there was no taking the words back now.

"I… I'm sorry, Anduin. I wanted to tell you sooner, but Auriana… she wasn't sure how you might feel about all this. We were going to tell you tonight, properly, but then…"

Varian pressed his palms over his eyes. As desperate as he was to be off to Dalaran, he hated having to leave his son at such a critical moment. No doubt Anduin must have had a hundred questions, and Varian wanted to answer them all.

"You say Auri can't use her magic?"

"No. It's very dangerous. For both her and the child."

Probably about as dangerous as being caught up in a demonic invasion, Varian thought darkly, pressing the heel of his palms harder into the orbits of eyes in vain attempt to curb his mounting angst. His guardsmen should have been swifter to attention; he should have already been in Dalaran; he should not have struggled with a pair of boots he'd buckled a thousand damn times…

"Then you'd best go and find her."

Anduin's soft voice cut through Varian's disquiet reverie. He slid his hands upwards into his hair, and opened his eyes to see the jeweled pommel of Shalamayne hovering about a foot away as his son held the blade to him in offering.

"Anduin, I…"

Whatever Varian might have said was interrupted by a sudden knock and hail from the outer chamber. The guard, at long last – and hopefully someone with the means to transport them all to Dalaran. Still, Varian hesitated, not wanting to leave things with Anduin in a bad way.

"Go," Anduin repeated. "We can talk later."

Varian closed his hand around Shalamayne's grip, the familiar weight of the sword suffusing him with fresh determination. Auriana needed him. Anduin needed him. And he refused to let either of them down.

"I will bring her home," he vowed, hardening himself in preparation for the battle to come. "And we will talk. I promise you."


All in all, Varian's strident flight through the Keep had managed to net him a force of twenty soldiers to take with him to Dalaran: thirteen guardsmen, six royal elites, and a single mage. It was not as many as he would have liked, but he was loath to wait a second longer. He had already dallied far too long in speaking to Anduin, and he was practically foaming at the mouth by the time the mage opened a portal to Dalaran and he leapt through –

– only to immediately flatten himself against the closest wall as a blast of felflame went scorching past. The heat of the spell nipped at the bare skin of his forearms and neck, and the hellish shriek of whichever foul creature had cast the spell rang in his ears.

Varian quickly realised he was standing on the outskirts of the city, on the large, circular platform known as Krasus's Landing. In ordinary circumstances, the Landing was a hub of activity as the primary arrival and departure point for the city, but today it was almost empty. Someone had already evacuated the city's gryphons, and a pair of Kirin Tor Guardians were busy shepherding a group of panicked dwarves off the platform and down into the city proper. To their left, two more Guardians were working diligently to clear the sky of a swarm of fel bats soaring overhead. They visibly jumped at the sudden arrival of the King of Stormwind and his small military force, though none of them questioned their good fortune as Varian's guardsmen rushed from the portal and threw themselves into the fray.

"Spread out!" he barked. "I want every corner of this city searched! If you find the Queen, you return her to Stormwind by any means necessary!"

Once again, Varian did not wait for an acknowledgement of his order. His guards were well trained, and there was no doubt in his mind that they would follow his instructions to the letter. Instead, he took his own path down into the main part of the city, Shalmayne raised in a protective guard. He had not taken the time to probe Agent Shaderunner for details about the state of the battlefield, and he had no idea where he might even start to look for Auriana. Her meeting with the Council was due to take place in the Violet Citadel, but she had suggested that she might take a tour about the city beforehand. He therefore reasoned that following along the city's main promenade was as good a place as any to start, and in the meantime… he might as well do some damage.

With a furious cry, Varian charged headlong into a pair of felguards who were presently terrorising a small group of civilian mages as they desperately sought shelter in a nearby shop. The taller of the two demons was a grizzled, grey-skinned monster, and the first to react to Varian's assault. It answered his challenge with a wordless roar of its own, and lashed out with a wide sweep of its fel-touched weapon.

It was unnaturally fast for such a large creature, but not nearly fast enough. Varian shifted his weight to slide smoothly beneath the blade's path, and dealt the demon a cracking reverse blow as his momentum carried him past. The second demon, a flame-red brute with a missing eye, was slower and bulkier than its companion, though no less dangerous. It swung at Varian with an axe half as long as he was tall, and his bones rattled as he deflected the blow.

Meanwhile, the first demon recovered well enough to flank Varian from behind, forcing him to make a sharp pivot on his left foot to catch the blade with his. What the two demons lacked in speed they more than made for in strength, but Varian knew how to turn his superior agility to his best advantage. Parry, slip, thrust – he wove in and out between the two demons like they were standing still, all the while harrying them with vicious blows of his own.

Sadly, however, the demons were not nearly as stupid as they looked, and they soon figured out that if they worked together, Varian would be forced to defend himself from both sides. Slip, parry, pivot, slash, turn… Varian let out a grunt of pain as the second felguard's axe grazed the unprotected muscle of his upper back, and he stumbled.

The grey demon in front of Varian crowed in triumph as it swung its blade up and over in preparation for a death blow, but he was faster. Instead of resisting, he allowed his awkward momentum to carry him forwards, and rammed his shoulder into the felguard's gut with all his strength. The demon staggered, and that was all Varian needed to end its miserable existence with a brutal slash across the throat.

The second felguard howled as its brother died, but it would not need to suffer for long. Varian was more than happy to put the creature out of its misery, and with a clever feint and a dexterous twist of his wrist, the fight ended with Shalamayne embedded deep in the red demon's chest.

"Wretched thing…"

Varian's injured shoulder twinged as he ripped Shalamayne free of the demon's body, but he paid it little mind. Instead, he turned to the small group of mages made safe by his efforts. None appeared to be visibly injured, though the oldest of the group let out a soft gasp of recognition as Varian stepped closer.

"You… but you're…"

"Yes, I know who I am," he sighed. "Now get inside. And barricade the door."

Thankfully, the terrified mages declined to argue with good sense, and they practically fell over one another in their haste to enter the shop. It was only once they were all safely inside that Varian then took a brief moment to probe the wound on the back of his shoulder, and swore as his fingers came away bloodsoaked and sticky. It would take more than a glancing blow to bring him down, but it was a timely reminder to be more careful. Varian had turned away on instinct, expecting to catch the demon's strike harmlessly on the backside of his pauldron, having forgotten for a moment that the flimsy linen of his formal shirt was not tempered Stormwind steel. It was testament to his acute agitation that he had made such a novice error, and he was well aware that if he didn't reassert his focus, he would most likely get himself killed.

Fortunately, Varian had years of strict training and hard-won experience to draw upon, and he soon rediscovered his rythmn. In a way, it almost came to him too easily, and the temptation to simply lose himself in a flurry of blood and steel was strong. There was something about the heat of battle that never failed to quicken his mind and electrify his body, even in the most dire of circumstances. It was not a feeling Varian would have strictly described as pleasure, but he couldn't think of a better word for it, either. It was a complex mix of intense awareness of the world around him, coupled with a sense of heady abandon and perfect belonging that he never quite felt anywhere else.

Varian refused to lose sight of his ultimate objective, however, and was fighting his way around the outer edge of Runeweaver's Square when he felt a familiar prickle on the back of his neck. Someone nearby was summoning an immense amount of magic, and for a brief second Varian s heart leapt as he imagined finding Auriana, cool and confident and powerful as she cut a swathe through the demonic hordes. Of course, it couldn't possibly be her, given her current condition… though it was, however, the next best thing.

Jaina Proudmoore may have been known to prefer the quietude of a library to the cacophony of a battlefield, but that did not make her any less formidable in combat. She had taken up an offensive position in the centre of the street, just outside the defensive wall that separated the Violet Hold from the rest of the city. She was in total command of the situation, barking a series of rapidfire orders to nearby Guardians as she unleashed her magic on any demon foolish enough to enter her range. She fairly radiated power as she fought, and her argentine hair gleamed in the late morning sunshine; a lone beacon of dignified beauty in a sea of ugly violence.

"Jaina!"

Even from afar, Varian was able to see the expression of sheer bewilderment on Jaina's face as her head snapped towards him. Her casting slowed for the briefest moment, proof of her considerable surprise, only to quickly resume its deadly cadence once more.

"Varian?!"

He rapidly closed the distance between them, casually dispatching a felhound as he ran.

"What are you…?"

"Have you seen Auriana?" he demanded, cutting Jaina off mid-spell as he pulled her none-too-gently into the shelter of the nearby barbican.

Between the shrieks of the demons and the clash of steel, it otherwise would have been nearly impossible to make himself understood. The arching stone also afforded them some measure of physical protection from the battle raging in the streets – after all, the last thing Varian needed was for either of them to be stabbed in the back by some enterprising wrathguard while he attempted to convey the urgency of the situation.

"Auriana? Ah… no… she… we were due to meet not too long ago, but then…" Jaina gestured to the chaos raining down all around them.

"You need to help me find her. She's not safe."

"I need to protect Dalaran." Jaina scowled as she leaned around him to impale a chattering fel imp with a lance of razor-sharp ice. "Varian, I have no idea why you're here, but we both know that Auriana is perfectly capable of defending herself, and a damn sight more capable than many other people in this city. She—"

"She's pregnant, Jaina."

Once again, Varian was painfully aware that he was breaking Auriana's confidence, but he couldn't think of a faster way to make Jaina understand the severity of the problem – and it evidently worked. Her eyes widened, and her already pale face went ashen. Jaina was a mage, and the Archmage of the Kirin Tor, no less. No doubt she had extensive knowledge of all the ways in which magic could affect a pregnant woman.

"She's… what?"

While Jaina had been momentarily blindsided, however, she was never one to be thrown for long. Her lips tightened into a thin, determined line, and she nodded.

"I… well… we'll find her. I promise you, Varian."

Somewhere off in the distance, a piercing scream split the air, and was swiftly silenced. Jaina's brooding frown deepened.

"Just – do me a favour, and help dispose of a few of these damned demons while we search, alright?"

"It would be my genuine pleasure."

Much like Varian himself, Jaina had clearly not anticipated a battle when she had selected her outfit that day. Her robes were longer and far more delicate than those traditionally worn by battle mages, and she was neither as fast nor as fluid in her movement as she otherwise would have been. Nevertheless, her cool precision well complemented Varian's more bombastic and aggressive fighting style, and together they made for a rather deadly and impressive team as they cut a path through the lawless streets.

Dalaran was not as large as Stormwind, but it was no small hamlet, either. The city's permanent population numbered in the tens of thousands, and that wasn't even counting the myriad merchants, tourists, and other travelers passing through on any given day. Word of the attack had spread quickly, though while a majority of the population had already retreated indoors, there were enough non-combatants on the streets as to make movement through the city an arduous challenge. More than once, Varian had been forced to pull a strike at the very last second, in order to avoid killing a confused and disoriented civilian.

It was similarly difficult to keep track of time, though Varian guessed he had been fighting for nearly half an hour by the time he and Jaina rounded into the Eventide. His once fine shirt was soaked clear through with sweat, and his hands stained dark with blood and demon ichor. Jaina, too, was similarly disheveled, if not quite so filthy, though she barely paused for breath as together they took down demon after demon.

Despite Varian and Jaina's considerable efforts, however, the surging tide of demons continued to flow across the city, and he had begun to despair of ever finding his wife. He fought on, of course, refusing to give up hope, when at long last he saw a familiar flash of glossy brown hair and the distinctive blue and gold of a Royal Guard uniform on the grassy concourse on the far side of the grand staircase leading up to the Violet Citadel.

It was hardly surprising that Auriana had been caught up in the worst of the battle – the Citadel was the public centre of Dalaran, and had been the focal point of the demon's attack. Garland had taken a defensive position in front of his charge, as he was trained to do, backing Auriana up against the wall of a nearby building to limit possible angles of attack. A pile of demon corpses already lay on the ground at his feet, but while he was clearly a superb fighter, he had no easy avenue of escape. The path to his right was impassable, terminating up against the city wall, while the left would have meant exposing Auriana to the dangers of the melee. His only real recourse was to hold out for as long as possible until the Kirin Tor Guardians regained control of the city, but the longer he was forced to fight in his current position, the higher the chance that a demon would make it through to Auriana.

Varian took off running the moment he saw her, dodging around demons and fleeing citizens alike with a single-minded determination. His heart leapt in wild joy at the sight of her alive… only to plummet a mere half second later as two nearby mages unleashed twin beams of arcane fire on one of the gargantuan felbats flying overhead. The combined power of their spells seared the demon's left wing clean off, but failed to kill the thing outright. Now wildly out of control, the beast let out a terrible shriek as it struggled to right itself with only a single wing, only to inevitably plunge headfirst into one of the Citadel's minarets with a sickening crunch. The force of the impact was hard enough to shatter every bone in the felbat's body – and the structure beneath. Widening cracks raced upwards through the stone, and with a rending groan, the entire top third of the minaret toppled sideways and plunged down towards the street.

"AURIANA!"

Time warped as the tower fell, somehow passing far too quickly and with aching slowness all at once. Garland immediately discarded his sword and threw his arms over Auriana's head in a desperate attempt to shield her body with his own, though there was little the young soldier could do to defend her against a tonne of shattered stone. For his part, Varian pushed himself even harder, moving faster than he had in life, but his efforts were equally futile. He was too far away, too slow, too weak…

… and with that realisation, something deep down inside him simply broke.

It had taken many long years and many setbacks for Varian to piece himself back together after Tiffin's death, compounded by the fact that he had very literally had to reintegrate the fractured halves of his soul in the wake of Onyxia's treacherous meddling. But he had done so; imperfectly, perhaps, but doggedly nonetheless. He had dragged himself back from the abyss, inch by painful inch… and yet, in that single, horrific moment, all his agonising work came undone.

Varian's past and present collided, and he abruptly found himself in two places at once: on a balcony overlooking a burning Stormwind, watching in impotent dread as an ill-fated rock claimed Tiffin's life, and on the blood-soaked streets of Dalaran as Auriana stared down her own all-too-similar fate. His heart beat so hard that it threatened to burst forth from his chest and his limbs blazed with adrenaline, but it wasn't enough. He wasn't enough; once again condemned to watch the death of a woman he loved…

… but Auriana was not Tiffin.

Her pale face contorted in a rictus of pain and regret as she made a terrible choice, and thrust her right hand skywards. The scars on her arms ignited, and a shimmering arcane shield erupted from her fingertips. It was clearly not the strongest spell she had ever cast, perhaps ten feet in diameter at its widest point, but it was strong enough. The falling stonework hissed and fizzled as it collided with the shield and abruptly came to a stop; eerily suspended in mid-air.

Of course, the shield was only a temporary solution, and Varian had no idea how long Auriana could maintain the magic in her present condition. He continued on his headlong path towards her – not that there was much he could do to relieve her of the burden of an entire tower's worth of rubble. Thankfully, he was not alone.

Varian instinctively braced himself to as he caught a glimpse of rapid movement out of the corner of his eye and only to quickly realise that it was Jaina blinking past. She easily outstripped him by virtue of her magic, and skidded to a halt about forty feet short of Auriana's position. She raised her hands in a perfect mirror of Auriana's gesture, adding the considerable strength of her own magic to the flagging spell.

The wavering shield brightened, bolstered by Jaina's power, and expanded outwards to better protect Auriana and Garland from the falling debris. Auriana's brow furrowed in momentary confusion as she felt the shielding magic surge, only for her entire face to sag in desperate relief as she recognised the source of her salvation. She gave Jaina a weary nod of acknowledgement, and then, by some unspoken signal, both women twisted their wrists and swept their arms to the side. The heavy chunks of broken stone tumbled through the air like they were light as feathers, at last coming to rest harmlessly in a nearby garden bed.

Auriana fell to her knees barely half a second later, one hand clutching her stomach, and the shield vanished in a spark of pale purple light. Garland knelt with her, his hands upon her shoulders in a gripping brace, and her head flopped listlessly onto his chest.

"Jaina! Cover!"

Varian raced past Jaina, trusting that she had his back, and slid to a stop just short of Auriana's side. He drove Shalamayne point first into the soft grass of what had once been a perfectly manicured lawn, now churned into deep furrows by chunks of the shattered minaret, before he grabbed Garland by the scruff of his neck and hauled him to his feet. The young soldier scrambled to find his footing, his face pale with shock, though he appeared to be mostly unharmed. Not that Varian cared. In that moment he had eyes only for Auriana, buckled over on her knees and clearly in considerable pain.

Varian fell to the ground beside her, fumbling for her cheeks with shaking hands. The fresh blood on his fingertips left macabre crimson smears across her snow white skin as he lifted her head.

"Auriana… Auri…"

Her eyes fluttered open, and the brutal vice around Varian's heart ever so slightly released. She was alive. Injured, perhaps, but alive. He'd never been more grateful for anything in his life.

"V-varian…?" she mumbled, "You… what are you…?"

Varian's throat was bone-dry, and he struggled to force the words from his clumsy mouth. "Do you really think that I wouldn't come for you? That I wouldn't tear this city apart for you?"

Auriana's enormous doe eyes brimmed with sudden tears as she stared up at him, and she let out a harsh, rasping sob. Her right hand tightened over her belly, while her left clutched at Varian like he was a lifeline in a stormy sea.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I… I didn't have a choice…" she whimpered. "If I didn't use my magic… we would… we would have died… I…"

"I know. I saw."

"I didn't… it hurts."

The wretched pain in Auriana's voice cut Varian to the bone, and the blood in his veins ran cold. She had been forbidden to use her magic, and with good reason. If… but he couldn't think that way, not now. Auriana was alive, and keeping her that way was the only thing that mattered.

"Jaina!" he barked, not at all caring whether he sounded rude. "Portal!"

It was critical that Auriana be returned to the safety of Stormwind, where she could be seen to by a healer. Fortunately, Jaina was smart enough not to dither over Varian's tone. She complied immediately, splitting open a hole in reality through which the pristine white stonework and bright blue banners of Stormwind Keep could be seen.

Varian took a firm hold of Auriana's waist and slipped his other hand behind her knees, easily carrying her with him as he rose. Had she always been so small? So fragile? She was light as a feather, and it barely took any of Varian's strength to lift and place her in Garland's arms.

"Get her to Anduin," he ordered, pushing the dazed young soldier back towards the portal. "No one else is to touch her, do you understand?"

"Y-yes, sire."

Varian stood back to his full height, and tore Shalamayne free from the earth. His faithful blade practically quivered in his hand, almost as if she were as hungry for demonflesh as Varian himself.

"Go."

Garland did not hesitate a second longer, and he and Auriana soon vanished into the shimmering haze of Jaina's portal. Varian fully intended to return to Stormwind, of course – but not before he claimed the blood price that was owed to him. He had been angry before, but now he was seething, and desperate for an outlet for his bloodlust. His vision grew blurry, and he felt oddly disconnected from his body. There was no Varian – no Lo'Gosh, even – just a ceaseless, burning desire to inflict a terrible retribution on demonkind.

The Legion filth had hurt and terrified his wife, and may very well have cost him the life of his unborn child. No punishment was too great for such crimes, and Varian was to be judge, jury, and executioner. The demons he had already slain that morning were not enough, no. He would quench the fire in his heart with the blood of a thousand demons, and slake his savagery against their pitiful bones.

Nothing less would do.

"Varian…?"

Jaina's voice – or, at least, he thought it was Jaina's voice – sounded very far away. A high-pitched buzzing swelled in his ears, though he couldn't pinpoint the source of the sound.

"Varian!"

Varian turned. Jaina stood, tense and uncomfortable, about twenty feet away, her hands half raised as if she were preparing to cast a spell. Her attention had not been caught by a demon, however, but rather Varian himself. She had been his friend for a long time, had stood by him during some of the worst moments of his life – and yet even she now balked to behold him, her sky blue eyes wide with terrible pity and… fear?

"What are you…?"

Varian wasn't sure what Jaina might have seen in him in that moment, and he didn't really care. Let her look. Let her see the monster that prowled the darkest recesses of his soul.

With a mere thought, Shalamayne came apart in Varian's hands; the eager blade shearing neatly into her twin halves. Anduin had asked him, once, whether there was a trick to it; some hidden mechanism or a particular way of twisting the blades. But the truth was, there was no trick, or at least not one of which Varian was consciously aware. It was something he could simply do, as easily and instinctively as breathing. He needed nothing but his will, perfect and absolute, and the fuel of his righteous anger.

"What are you going to do?" Jaina repeated, her pitch unusually high and her tone strained.

Varian shifted his grip on his now-twinned blades, and raised the walls around his heart. His hungering gaze found the nearest demon – another hefty, axe-wielding felguard – and a bloodthirsty sneer curled his lips. He could count every disgusting, bulging vein in the creature's neck; each tick of its heartbeat practically begging for the kiss of his steel.

It would not have to wait long.

"I'm going to do what I was born to do," he muttered darkly, more to himself than to Jaina. "A very great deal of violence…"