Varian had only attended a handful of weddings in his life, and each time, they'd been joyous, memorable affairs, with revelry and celebration dutifully honouring the marital couple in the most fantastical of ways.

So to be here, on the day of his own, and feel nothing but dread and sadness in his heart, was nothing short of horrifying.

Were the circumstances different, he would've questioned the Light on the reason for his despair, and demand that it be replaced with elation that very instant. But of course, he knew exactly why he was feeling this way.

It was the wrong place, the wrong time...the wrong woman.

Everything about it was wrong.

The only consolation he could find concerning the whole affair was that it would be quick. A few hours were all that stood between him, and what (in his mind) really mattered- the march to Hillsbrad.

So strong was his determination to join his troops, that he'd even asked Tiffin the night before for her permission to wear his armour to the ceremony, in lieu of the regalia that every tailor from Lordaeron to Booty Bay had suggested. It would ensure him a swift exit, with no need to return to the Keep, and risk becoming ensnared by the reception that Terenas had so graciously agreed to throw them.

Of course, she'd granted it without hesitation. She even went so far as to suggest that he take Shalamayne as well, and use the excuse of security, should anyone question why he wielded a weapon to such an occasion as a wedding. Such a gesture only proved more to Varian what a good, sweet woman she was, and lament that such kindness was to be wasted upon a sham marriage.

"Varian? Are you with us?"

He probably would've spent all morning wading through the melancholic swamp that was his sub-conscious, were it not for the fact that three other men were occupying his chamber.

Three men who knew him well enough to know when he was drifting between thought and reality, and had the skill to drag him back to the latter, whether he liked it or not.

This time, the responsibility had fallen to Liam Greymane, who'd arrived not long after sunrise to fulfil his role as Varian's grooms-man. It was one he would share with Arthas and Henrik Ellerian, for Varian hadn't picked a 'best man', in order to avoid the drama that came with the supposed 'favouritism' of the decision.

Besides which, it had been the same part that Varian himself had played at the Gilnean's own nuptials, so there was a bittersweet sentiment to the entire thing, despite how pointless it all was.

"I think we'll have to slap him."

"You do it- I like my face the way it is."

"No, you do it. I'm a man of the Light, I can't enact violence."

"Oh, like that's ever stopped you."

"Will you just do it!"

"You two do realise that I'm only half-deaf, don't you?" Varian interrupted, abandoning the straps that he was fastening onto his wrist in order to glare at the both of them.

"Oh good, you are still alive," joked Liam, making it near impossible for Varian not to both smirk, and appreciate the effort he was putting into alleviating his mood. "We were beginning to wonder."

"Is a man not allowed to gather his thoughts anymore?"

"Not when he does it as much as you do, no."

"I have a lot to think about today."

"I'm not disputing that. But remember what I said when I got here; if you think about it too much, you'll just feel worse and worse. It'll be better to do the opposite, and let it pass you by in a blissful blur."

"That's very easy for you to say, when it's not you going through this," Varian huffed, returning to his task and safely securing his gauntlet to the tunic underneath.

"You chose this. You had every opportunity to dissolve the engagement, and you didn't."

"Because it's what my father would've wanted."

"He wanted you to be completely miserable?"

"He wanted me to do the right thing by my people."

"And why wasn't marrying Val 'the right thing'?" Liam asked, knowing full well that it was quite the dangerous question, but putting it out there anyway, simply because it had been playing on both his and Arthas' mind all morning, and the two of them were desperate to get the answer.

Even if it did infuriate the one who would give it to them.

"Because," Varian growled. "They've known for years that Tiffin and I were to be wed. If I had dissolved it before my father's pyre ashes were even cold, they would hold no faith in the vows and promises I make as a king."

"He has a point," Arthas said reluctantly. However, Liam wasn't having that.

"Since when have you cared about the judgement of others?!"

"Since I've had to grow up!" Varian roared, turning on his heel. A heavy sigh shuddered itself out of his chest, and a sharp inhale through his nose managed to calm him long enough to look at the both of them.

"I know that with the three of us standing here, it feels like things are the same. Three princes, without a care in the world. But things have changed, and I have to change with them," he explained, running a hand down his face. "My father's gone. I'm all Stormwind has left. Which means that I have to at least try and do what everyone wants me to, in order to win their support. That includes marrying Tiffin, instead of Val."

He should've hated the sympathetic looks that they gave him once he was done. He should've found them patronising, and told them in no uncertain terms to wipe them away. But for once, he abandoned his defences and welcomed them, simply because he knew the men wearing them truly understood what he was going through.

"...Can we all make an oath, right now, to never put our own children through this?" Liam asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Yes...yes, we can," Varian told him, clenching his fists by his sides. "We'll make it official while we're at it. That way no one can deny we made it once we die."

He turned to Wyll, who, as he'd expected, was already gathering the necessary stationary for him. It made his shrivelled heart swell just a touch to know that the old groom was in such tandem with him, and made him realise that he had more people on his side than he had previously thought.

"Can you quickly write something up, old friend?"

"Of course, Your Majesty. It'll be ready by the time you've finished dressing."

"Oh I don't know, Wyll, maybe going in his pants will provide just the laugh we need today," Liam snickered, glad to see Arthas doing the same thing.

"How many coins would it take, Varian?"

"More than you can bloody afford, that's for damn certain," Varian huffed, sitting upon a nearby ottoman to put his boots on.

"We could always dare you," Liam pointed out, with a wicked grin.

"Aye, you could, but it wouldn't do anything."

"Do you really want to risk that?"

"What the hells did I just say about 'growing up'?" Varian said, straightening from his hunch and stomping his foot to make it rest properly.

"That only applies to royal matters. All other aspects are fair game."

"Then I dare you to wear your pants to the cathedral."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not wearing any."

The immediate way he burst into laughter told Varian that was a bare-faced lie, but still, he laughed with him. Admittedly, he probably laughed a little too much, but for today, he would find no shame in it. Especially after spending the morning doing nothing but moping and moaning.

Liam's face was nearly the same shade of red as his hair by the time he calmed down, and even then, it took a fair few deep breaths and some shushing of his comrade to get his speech and body back to complete compliance.

"What about you, Arty? Are you up for a bit of mischief?"

"With Uther going to the ceremony? Not a chance," Arthas replied, focusing on the many gilded buttons on his doublet. "He already scrutinises everything I do- I'm not going to worsen it by making an arse of myself."

"Oh, but it's alright if I do it?" Varian scoffed.

"Yes. You're already king- your position is secure. I've not even passed my final test yet, so I have to act the paragon of virtue until then."

"When is your test?"

"I don't know. Uther just told me 'when the Light feels that you're ready, that's when you'll have it'."

"Very helpful," Liam muttered, fixing his hat onto the mess of red curls framing his head.

"You'll learn rather quickly that most paladins are infuriatingly poetic about everything."

"...and yet, we're the ones who had to write one for you to give to Jaina."

"Hence why I said 'most', you horse's tit!"

"Alright, children, settle down, or you'll get no sweets later," Varian warned, surprising even himself with how easily he was able to joke now, when not an hour earlier, all he'd wanted to do was cry incessantly.

"Fine! I don't need them anyway- I'm sweet enough already," Liam countered, cracking up once again at the loud, fake retch that left Arthas' mouth.

"However did you manage to woo Katherine with lines like that?" asked the blonde, with disgust etched in every one of his thin features.

"Well, Arty, I'll tell you-"

"Liam, don't you dare do what I think you're going to," begged Varian, but it was too late.

"There's a little thing called 'the birds and the bees'..."

"Oh, sweet hells."

"And when a man and woman find themselves attracted to the other, those birds and bees come pay them a visit-"

"Yes, thank you, but I've done that bit. Get to the actual romance of it all, you ass."

That caught Varian's attention, as well as Liam's, who stared at Arthas as if he'd grown another head.

"I'm sorry, you've what?!"

"Why didn't you tell us?!"

"When? Where? Who?!"

"Well, one would think the 'who' was rather obvious," Arthas muttered, looking as red as a freshly-ripened tomato.

"Jaina?"

"No, her mother. Yes, of course it was Jaina. As for the 'when'...it was a year or so ago, at the harvest festival."

"And?"

"And what?"

"How did it go?!"

The red shade to Arthas' face drained, and was replaced instead with a pale waxy sheen.

"Why does that matter?"

Liam and Varian shared a look that told him exactly why.

"Oh, fine...it was amazing. Utterly mind-blowing, and the best experience of my life. There, are you both happy now?"

"Why Arty, you sly dog!" Liam exclaimed, clapping Arthas on both shoulders and giving them an affectionate squeeze. "Oh, Varian, I feel like a proud big brother."

"So do I," Varian agreed, fixing his cloak onto his shoulders and taking his crown from its pedestal. "I thought I'd never live to see the day where our dear little Arthas became a man. I may actually cry."

"Sweet, merciful Light, if you're up there, please strike me dead. I beg of you," Arthas begged, pinching the bridge of his nose and screwing his eyes shut, as if that would make the gleeful grins of his comrades any less ingrained in his memory.

It wasn't the Light that would save him from the conversation, however. Instead, it was Wyll, who'd had another of the palace grooms whisper in his ear, and leave whilst the trio had engaged themselves in what he called 'mindless, frivolous vulgarity'.

The clearing of his throat shouldn't have been loud enough to silence them. But after years of battling with Varian's brash, deepening voice, it proved just enough to make all heads turn towards him when it rang throughout the chamber.

"Your Majesty. Apologies for interrupting...but it's time to depart."

To Varian, he may as well have held an executioner's axe in his hand as he said it. So condemning was the declaration.

"Very well," he all but whispered, appreciating how quickly Liam and Arthas finished preparing themselves and bolted to his side.

"You can do this, old chap," Liam told him, giving him a firm pat between the shoulder blades.

"We'll be with you every step of the way," Arthas added, and although their intentions were beyond admirable, Varian couldn't find it in himself to even smile at them.

Instead, he began his miserable march, and felt his feet drag with invisible chains that he was sure wouldn't leave him for the rest of his life.

Not five miles away, in a cottage that the Ellerians had called home since their relocation, that same misery was seeping into the very bones of Varian's bride-to-be.

Unlike Varian, however, Tiffin had perfected the art of masking her pain, and had given nothing but the impression of complete happiness since the minute she'd awoken that morning.

Her cheeks ached from the smiles she'd presented, and the backs of her eyes stung with tears that were growing vexed with being kept there.

But she knew that if her lips dropped, or her kohl smudged even by the tiniest slither, she would be condemned for it by the flock of preening women surrounding the podium she was stood upon.

"It's not tightening enough, Mama."

"Nonsense. You must be doing it wrong. Pull harder."

"I am! It's not going!"

That should've been the point where Tiffin interjected, but before she could even draw a breath, Krista wound the ribbons of her older sister's bodice about her nimble fingers, and used every ounce of strength that she could muster to yank the white damask tighter upon her back.

For ten minutes, the two had argued over the garment, and it was getting to a point where Tiffin was considering burning the thing. Whether she would still be wearing it at that point still remained to be seen.

Finally, her mother huffed in frustration, and shooed Krista away in order to glare at her eldest with an unhindered view.

"I've told you before not to be a glutton."

"You say that as if I am one."

"It's the only explanation I can think of as to why a dress we ordered a month ago suddenly doesn't fit you."

'Well, there is another...but you won't like it.'

It was one of the many times that Tiffin was glad of her talent for keeping her tongue in her head. Of course, she had a gut feeling as to why her clothes were suddenly tightening, and her stomach was sloshing and churning more than a storm-ridden sea. She just didn't wish to believe that it had happened this soon.

"It'll have to do. We haven't time to summon the seamstress," Margerete sighed. "Hopefully, we can conceal it with the veil."

"And you can hold your bouquet up to hide the bloat," added Krista, who received quite a dirty glare for her suggestion.

"Let's just pray that you end up standing on the side of His Majesty's bad eye."

"Why, when he can see perfectly fine out of it?" Tiffin huffed, already knowing what exactly they were implying and finding herself quite offended by it.

"Really? That's not what we've heard," replied her mother.

"We'd heard that he's practically blind in it."

"Then you've heard wrong."

"Just as I hope that we're wrong about 'other' things we have heard," Margerete snapped, waving Tiffin's ladies away and helping her from the podium.

"Such as?"

"Well...there's rumours of 'that girl' coming to the ceremony," Krista told her, swooping her sister's tiara from its stand and bringing it over.

"If you mean Val, then, again, you're sorely mistaken," Tiffin affirmed, grimacing as the thin gold band jabbed at her temples as her mother slipped it on.

"I'd prefer if you didn't speak her name," Margerete muttered, fixing Tiffin's hair once she was done and holding a hand out for the veil.

"Why? Is it some sort of curse? Will great tragedy befall us if I do?"

"No, but it reminds me that she exists, and that's enough to sour my mood."

"She's done nothing to deserve such spite from you."

"She flaunts herself like a Samark whore. Draping herself on His Majesty's arm whenever she can and making a complete mockery out of this family."

"Val is a good woman."

"She cannot possibly be, when she acts the way she does."

"I for one would be absolutely mortified if my husband had a mistress," piped up Krista, who was apparently taking great delight in fuelling the fire that was sparking between her mother and sister. "Especially one he fornicates so publicly with."

"Oh for Light sake!"

"She's right, though, Tiffin! Every time I look at the pair of them, I feel as I'm intruding on something!"

"You're just not used to witnessing actual affection, Mother!"

"Affection he should be showering upon you, you silly girl!" exploded the matriarch, finally abandoning her daughter's appearance in order to put her hands on her hips and take a large step back.

"If you had just done what we'd asked, and put yourself in his good graces early on, we wouldn't be having this conversation, and that little witch would be in the gutter, where she belongs. You had eighteen years to do it, but as with everything, you've failed spectacularly!"

A dead, heavy silence befell the room at that point, and Tiffin found it near impossible to even look at her mother, lest she burst into ugly, angry tears. She could feel them bubbling at the corners of her eyes, and could hear her sister screeching at her not to ruin her face paint with them.

"...and yet, I'm the one he's marrying today," Tiffin murmured, looking down at herself and ignoring the clench in her stomach.

"He had a chance to marry Val, mother. But he didn't take it. Because he chose his duty. He chose me. Surely that gives you some sort of satisfaction as to the so called 'success' of this betrothal?"

"Of course it does," Margerete replied, loosening her stance, but keeping her face hardened as a stone. "I just wish we didn't have the threat of that girl hanging over us. That's all."

"Val's not a threat. She's my friend, and the woman Varian loves. The sooner we all accept that, the easier our lives will be."

"Not today. Today, as you said, you are the love of his life. You are his bride- the one he's pledged himself to for the rest of his days. Not her."

"I'm rather certain that's not what I said."

"Besides, we'll always have an advantage over her, Mama," said Krista, making the hairs on the back of Tiffin's neck stand in dread.

"Don't say it, Krista..."

"...From what I've heard, the little rat's completely barren. So we won't ever have to worry about her bastards taking the inheritance once His Majesty's gone."

"You loathsome, unfeeling creature!" Tiffin cried, surging forward in order to give her sister the hiding that in her mind, she completely deserved. Her mother's arm stopped her, however, but to Tiffin's surprise, even Margerete seemed vexed by the revelation.

"That's enough out of you," she snapped, turning back to Tiffin. "Calm yourself. Now."

"Calm? How can I be calm?!"

"Because you are a Queen, and it's expected of you!"

"But-"

"No! Light sake, girl, you're about to ascend to the highest seat anyone can dream of. That will come with waves of criticism, and you have to present yourself accordingly when it does! If you cannot take a simple comment by your own sister, then this entire endeavour is doomed from the start!"

There was so much that Tiffin wanted to say in retaliation; she wanted to scream that none of it mattered anyway, that things couldn't be more doomed for her if they tried...but she couldn't. The piercing, ice cold stare coming from the matriarch made her tongue wither to blackened ashes, and her resolve crumble to nothing.

"...Yes, mother."

"Good. Now then, let's put on our best smiles. The people will be waiting for an excited bridal party, not a funeral procession."

Margerete then turned back to Tiffin with a look that puzzled the blonde, for it was one she'd rarely seen upon her mother's face in the twenty two years she'd been on Azeroth.

"You look lovely, my dear. The perfect bride."

Tiffin couldn't believe it, but there was actual, genuine sincerity in her voice as she said it. She seemed to mean every word, and to say that it threw Tiffin completely off balance in terms of her emotions would be an understatement.

"Thank you, mother."

"You're welcome, Your Majesty."

Before she'd even come to terms with what was happening to her, Tiffin found herself standing outside the great doors of Lordaeron's cathedral. Her father's meaty arm was wound about her own like a shackle, preventing any sort of escape that she may have considered on the coach ride over. Krista tugged at her train with every step in order to keep it off the ground, throwing Tiffin's balance off and threatening to make her fall flat on her face at any given moment.

But still, she kept her face perfectly straight, and made not one show of the many emotions swanning about her mind as she travelled up the never ending, blue-carpeted aisle. Varian barely looked in her in all that time; in fact, it was only when her father cleared his throat in order to pass Tiffin to him that he moved at all. His eyes were reddened, and his hand trembled as it enveloped hers and brought her to his side.

"You look beautiful."

His voice was quiet, and rasped as if he'd smoked an entire carton of cigarettes before arriving.

She couldn't criticise his lack of passion, however, for she used the exact same whisper as she thanked him.

"If all are agreeable, we shall begin."

A flick of Tiffin's gaze showed her the tiny clench that appeared underneath Varian's jaw. Others would've missed it, but in the past few months, she had learnt his methods of self control as well as she had her alphabet when she'd been but a girl.

Apparently, Archbishop Foal noticed it too. His pause lasted quite a while- longer than Tiffin could remember ever enduring at other weddings she'd attended in her life. Eventually, he nodded his head, and raised both bony arms above the couple knelt before him.

"Honoured guests, we gather here, in the house of the Light, to bear witness to the marriage of His Majesty, King Varian, first of his name, and Lady Tiffin Ellerian. I ask that you be seated, and join me in thanking the Light for guiding these two souls to each other."

A feral, annoyed grunt was Varian's answer to that, and while she wholeheartedly agreed with his ire, Tiffin managed to maintain a sense of silence, for just out of the corner of her eye, she could see the beady gaze of her mother, who sat in the front most pew.

"Marriage is more than just the exchanging of rings. It is a commitment, a duty- one that both husband and wife should strive to preserve for the rest of their days."

Varian's fingers closed around Tiffin's hand a touch too tightly at that point. She let a barely audible squeak fall from her grimacing mouth, and to his credit, Varian heard it before anyone else could claim to, and swiftly loosened his grip to save her further embarrassment.

"Sorry," he muttered, gladdened by the small smile she gave him.

"It's fine."

Nothing was fine, and they both knew it. Still, he accepted the reassurance, and made a point to flatten his palm, and let her rest hers on top, instead of intertwining them.

"Before we proceed, I must ask- is there anyone attending who believes that these two should not be wed? Open your heart and say your peace, or forever hold your tongue."

The muscles in Varian's arm started to twitch. Tiffin could see them underneath his doublet, fighting with every strand of strength they had in order to move the limb they were attached to and have it lift. Their determination to end this madness was only made all the more impressive by how solid Varian kept himself against them.

A painful silence fell about the cathedral, and without even turning about, Tiffin knew that more than a few faces were on the lookout for one particular person to speak up. It made her all the more glad that Val hadn't attended, for the anxiousness of the girl would be a powder keg under such scrutiny.

"Very well," declared Foal, after what seemed like an age.

"King Varian Barathen Wrynn, do you, take Lady Tiffin Francesca Ellerian, as your true wife? To protect and honour, to serve and cherish, until the day the Light takes you?"

Very suddenly, a ceremony that was moving too slow became far too quick. To already hear the vows be proclaimed threw Tiffin completely through a loop, to the point where she could foresee the steps in front of her becoming stained with the fearful contents of her stomach.

She deepened her every breath in an attempt to calm herself, to the point where her head went light. It was only Varian's steady grip that kept her upright, but even then, Tiffin could feel him shaking.

"I do. Now and forever."

His voice was sharp, and to the point. Were they a blade, Tiffin was sure that they would've sliced Foal in half.

"Do you, Lady Tiffin Francesca Ellerian, take His Majesty, King Varian Barathen Wrynn, as your true husband?"

Everything inside her was screaming for her to be bold, and say 'no'. Screeching for her to declare 'consequences be damned, her life came first, and this was not what she had planned for it'.

"...I do."

She could feel the tears dribbling down her cheeks. They felt as heavy as the imaginary shackles that those two simple words had clamped about her ankles.

"Then I ask that you both rise, and partake in the exchange of the rings."

Arthas had been bestowed the role of Best Man, so it fell to him to bring over a small wooden box, wherein lay two freshly forged rings, each adorned with the engraved sigil of Stormwind- a mighty lion's head. He gave Varian a reassuring smile as the king took the smaller of the pair from their velvet nest, but it was not reciprocated.

In fact, there was no tangible expression on Varian's face. There was no light in his blue eyes, nor a crease to his brow. He clumsily slid the band onto Tiffin's outstretched finger, and kept it in his hand until Foal cleared his throat. All without making a single sound.

"Please repeat after me: Lady Tiffin, I give you this ring, as a symbol of our bond."

"Lady Tiffin, I give you this ring, as a symbol of our bond."

"A reminder of our union, and a beacon of hope in the darkest days."

"A reminder of our union, and a beacon of hope in the darkest days."

He hated every word he was saying- it was as obvious as the nose on his face. There was enough venom in his voice to kill the largest of creatures, and his eyes were kept firmly on the floor until he'd finished.

"Lady Tiffin, please repeat after me."

She barely managed to do so. Her throat was dry, and her head was pounding, making the ability to form anything cognitive a difficult one.

Then, after all of the turmoil, the agonising waiting...it was done.

Foal declared them man and wife, and every guest rose to their feet, with thunderous applause only just drowning out the praising melody of the cathedral bells.

"That's it then," Varian sighed, finally mustering the strength to look her in the eye.

"Yes. It is."

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't be."

"I'm going to be sick."

"So am I."

"Ladies, Gentlemen, esteemed guests. I present to you- His Majesty, King Varian Wrynn, and Her Majesty, Queen Tiffin Wrynn!"

To the credit of both of them, they stood as tall as their bodies would allow at the bellow, and turned with smiles that felt like they were splitting their skin in two. Confetti showered them from enchanted lanterns that opened above their heads like flowers, and trumpets hooted and hollered in celebration.

The pair fell into perfect step with another, although with Varian's larger legs, Tiffin found it a hard show to keep up. Neither said another word, not even to those wishing them well as they travelled the aisle. In fact, Varian was sure that they'd each held their breath until the sun had hit their faces.

To say that he was tempted to load up and leave right that second for Hillsbrad would be a gross understatement. But a niggling voice -one that sounded frustratingly like his mother- told him that he needed to keep up appearances for just a little longer.

'Get to the Keep at least. Stay for the speeches, then slip out quietly.'

It wasn't the most polished of plans, but it was one that got him down there before tomorrow's sunset. So he'd take it.

Thankfully, the woman beside him seemed to be in perfect tandem with him, for she gave him quite the pleading look as he helped her into her seat. He reassured her with his own boarding, and without a single word, the two of them raised their arms, and began the painful journey back to the Keep.