World of Warcraft: Keep Your Enemies Closer
/sigh
Fandom: World of Warcraft
Pairing: Varian/Garrosh/Varian
Title: Keep Your Enemies Closer
Author: me!
Rating: R. In later chapters.
Disclaimer: I would not be a poor graduate student if I owned WoW.
One of the things that Varian disliked about ruling Stormwind was the occasional logistics with which he had to deal. Yes, he had advisors and bureaucrats to take care of 95-percent of the day-to-day running, which was what allowed him to travel (and may have been why a black dragon could take over his court, but that was details); however, there were issues he had to deal with personally.
That was why he was sitting up far too late into the night, a candle burning softly beside him as he read the same paragraph for the umpteenth time.
So many pleas for help and so few resources to give.
Both written and verbal requests for help trickled in from Stormwind territories on a daily basis, each one as impassioned and valid as the next.
Varian sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. Northrend, Outland, Redridge, Westfall, Duskwood, Elywnn...not to mention our tenuous holdings in contested lands and Southshore. What do people think we are? We're their king, not a god.
Varian grimaced as he looked at the report from Westfall. The homeless and vagabonds are apparently deciding Westfall is a good place to congregate. We don't have time to deal with them and the economic problems they generate along with the Defias.
Varian scowled at the reminder of the Defias. It seems as no-one can decide whether or not VanCleef is dead. Shouldn't it be easy to tell? Is he breathing? No. Is that a gaping sword wound in his chest? Yes. Is he bleeding copiously? Yes. Therefore, he must be dead.
Varian sighed and put the paper on the stack of 'still-to-do', which had originally been a 'to-do' pile that had only marginally decreased in size.
Varian picked up the next piece of paper and grimaced. Not this. We'd rather fight a thousand matches than write these letters.
A list of the deceased who had served in Alliance lands was held lightly in his fingers as his eyes ran slowly over every name. He was sure that there were more dead than would ever be documented-adventurers who had died in the unforgiving cold of Northrend only to be raised into undeath by Arthas, others who fell victim to the Legion in Outland, warped and tortured by the demonic brethren of the draenei...there were many ways to die a lonely death. He couldn't write condolences to their families or friends, who would spend the rest of their lives wondering when the next letter would arrive-if it would at all.
The life of a 'hero' is unkind, Varian thought as he pulled over a piece of parchment. He knew that he could get the scribes to make a few generic letters, with 'uncle', 'husband', 'daughter', 'wife', etc. written on them and all he'd have to do would be sign his name, but that felt...he couldn't fathom doing something so impersonal. Not for those who had given their lives in defense of the Alliance.
We wonder how many of these are from defending our lands against the orcish scum? Varian thought as he lightly tapped the feather of his quill against a blank piece of paper. How many were cut down by those vile creatures?
The question almost immediately gave him a headache as the anger he felt towards the Horde rose up within him, only to also bring unbidden images of that last fight with the mud-skinned aberration and how glorious it had felt.
No, no, no, he thought emphatically and pushed away from his desk, the ink dry anyway. He stood perhaps a little roughly, as the chair scrapped with an unhappy sound against the floor, then blew out the candle, which left the room in almost complete darkness, smoke swirling in unseen currents towards the ceiling.
The moon-Elune-peeked through the clouds to fall into his room via windows that were carefully magicked with the best protective spells possible. Her light left a pale, thin strip of light across the floor, ephemeral and impossible grasp, like the thousand memories that vied for his attention, each fleetingly real in the darkness.
The moonlight that cut through the trees where he was hiding with his men, stalking orcs and bandits.
The moonlight that caressed his wife's skin.
The pure light that bathed a battlefield soaked in blood.
You'd think it'd be easy for us to forget, Varian thought, mildly annoyed with himself. Brooding was unkingly and unworthy of him, so he shoved all the memories into the recesses of his mind and heart, and chose to ponder them no longer.
He walked over to the door, placed his hand on the knob, and took a deep breath to compose himself. It wouldn't do good to go out into civilization looking as worn as he felt-even though the humans of Stormwind said they didn't value just strength in a leader, Varian knew that any sign of weakness would stir the waters and brought predators out of hiding.
Varian pulled open the door quietly, and stepped out into the softly lit hallway. He closed and locked the door behind him, then turned to make the short journey to his room, the corridor silent save for the solid footfalls of soldiers patrolling.
He reached his room without anyone stopping to bother him, which made him smile slightly in guilty relief. Don't know which is worse-the constant tension due to having our life on the line in Northrend or being here and having a thousand problems heaped upon us.
He stepped into his room and activated the mage-light that Jaina had crafted for him with a murmured word. His chambers were filled with a gentle glow as he secured his door, temporarily guarding himself against the world.
We are a King, Varian reminded himself as he stripped. We are no longer a simple gladiator. We have experience at being a king. He sighed and sat down on his bed once he was in his bed-clothes. We were born and bred to be a leader of men. Varian snorted at himself and laid down. Our rule has never been an easy one. We've fought our entire life, and are a warrior above all else. But...the Alliance doesn't want a warrior for a king-the other Alliance racial leaders seek peace rather than simply removing all the Horde scum from Azeroth.
Varian closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face in exasperation. Why can't they see that the best way to solve this problem is to get rid of the source?
An image of a particular arrogant, frustrating orc flashed through his mind, which made Varian bare his teeth in a silent snarl. Get rid of him especially.
He turned onto his side and dragged the covers around him. Go to sleep. All the problems will still be there in the morning, and it's no use working on things when unable to concentrate.
However, sleep was as elusive as the light that filtered through his window, alternately muted and revealed as clouds passed. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't find a way to get his mind to settle as it skipped around from memory to memory, idea to idea, each thought half-formed and fleeting.
He finally gave up, stood, changed into nondescript armor (with a helmet to cover his rather trademark hair and facial scars), then headed to the SI: 7 quarters and their eternally set-up target dummies.
It wasn't often that he found himself venting frustration on such a target-he was (usually) better than that at controlling a rather volatile temper. However it was sometimes necessary to indulge in something physical to work out his anger.
He walked into the thankfully empty courtyard and pulled out an old, trusty two-handed sword, his signature weapon in a safe place at the Keep. He walked around a little, warming his body as he stretched. He didn't have to hurt himself-he had enough people who tried to do that for him. Once he was more limber, he picked a random dummy and fell into his usual battle stance.
He started off slowly, feeling the motion of his body. It was actually nice to be hitting something, as he wasn't really allowed anymore. However, as he was finally relaxing, images of the last fight he had engaged in shoved themselves to the front of his mind, which made his entire body tense and his lips pulled back in a snarl feral enough to do his orcish name-sake good. His hands tightened around the sword as hatred and anger flooded him at the very thought of the creature.
He's arrogant.
A rather uncoordinated slash.
He's abrasive.
A slightly smoother motion.
He's a danger to the Alliance.
A stab that pierced deeply into the dummy.
He's abhorrent.
The motion was a little jerky as the sword was yanked free.
He represents everything we hate about the alien scum.
A fierce slash sent the dummy's head flying into a corner.
Then why? Why can't I forget?
Varian stalked over to where the straw head had rolled to a stop and picked it up. How? He wondered as he dropped the bundle of straw next to the pole that supported the dummy, and idly noticed just how badly damaged the thing was. Why now? Don't we have enough to worry about?
He turned to a new dummy and silently promised to have new ones made in place of the ones he destroyed.
He assumed his battle stance again, glared at nothing in particular, and his hands slowly tensed around the hilt of his sword as the image of the orc he loathed swam into view on one of the dummies. Varian's eyes narrowed dangerously before he almost literally ripped the dummy to pieces. He took shameful delight in imagining what each blow would do to the orc, slowly picking him apart in his mind until nothing but a stump remained where the dummy used to be. His breath came hard as his heart raced in his chest after he had finished decimating the straw doll.
He strapped his sword to his side, as he felt a little better. He swept up the scraps and shoved them into a discrete corner before he turned and walked out of the headquarters and towards the Keep as the pleasant ache of almost-overuse settled into his muscles.
There were few people out-some insomniac adventures and those returning home after losing money through gambling, drink, or both. Such meant that Varian, dressed as he was, was able to return to his home unmolested.
Once he had returned to his chambers, he stripped off the worn-in armor and shoved it into his closet, which left him in sweat-soaked linen shirt and pants.
He took a deep breath, but the undercurrent of anger and frustration refused to leave him, settled securely in his mind.
This is impossible. It makes no sense. Varian groused to himself as he sat on a chair before pulling off his shirt and flinging it somewhere it wouldn't get in the way.
When has our life really made any sense? Our home was razed, we become friends with the man who would eventually become the greatest evil Azeroth has ever known, our father and our mentor and one of our only friends are killed, a black dragon basically ruled our court, we were split into two people-
We get the point. We just wish...
That things were easy again. You win and live, you lose and die. Things will never be that way again.
How can we know that for certain?
Are we honestly going to really trust the Horde any time soon? Enough to try to make peace with them?
Varian snorted and shook his head the darkness. Unlikely.
His breathing gradually evened and his heart slowed to its normal pace before he sighed softly. This is impossible for more reasons than one. Whatever this is...is something...
Else. Something else. Which we do not have time for.
Varian ran a hand through slightly-damp hair. We just have to get out and do something. The problem is that we can't appear to show favoritism to any particular place within our kingdom. To just not be king...
Varian paused and cocked his head to the side in thought. Would that work?
It would take some convincing.
Who says we have to convince them? We could just-
Vanishing on them would be the worst possible thing we could do.
True. But how then?
We're sure they would insist on some kind of protection.
Even though we don't need it.
It wouldn't matter to them.
Varian rubbed his eyes and sighed. Still, we need a distraction. This...isn't good.
He idly called for bathwater, not caring the time of night, as he continued to think, and had to repeatedly shove a particular orc out of his mind, which made him grow more frustrated with every passing moment.
Why won't it leave us alone now!?
Because we know it's there.
Varian growled and scowled at the floor. We cannot stay here. We think too much here and, as of now, thinking is dangerous. But, how can we justify going out?
Checking on the status of the kingdom after being away for a while? We have been reading about the Defias in Westfall, the worgen in Duskwood..the orcs in Redridge...
Varian ran a finger over one of the scars on his face as he considered the notion. They would be Blackrock orcs-not aligned with the Horde, unfortunately, but still. Perhaps driving the pests out of human lands would be good for him and get rid of the thing that made his mind a miserable place to be. The action would also let him think less, and thinking was dangerous and prone to giving him headaches. Better to be doing than sitting around.
His bathwater came and he distantly murmured thanks. Perhaps we can bring Anduin along?
They might not let him away from his tutors.
He has a right to see the lands he will eventually rule.
Given the situations we routinely find ourself in, we think that he staying here-and therefore, staying alive-would probably be best.
We can ask, though.
We can ask.
The king of Stormwind nodded with resolve, glad to finally have a plan of action that would take him away from boring things that gave him too much free time, and therefore would rid him of the thing within him-he just had to work out the details.
-
Varian growled inwardly, incredibly unhappy. His efforts at leaving the Keep to go kill things had been thwarted at every turn by a number of different people. He would have ignored the majority of them, but when Anduin asked for him to stay...well, he couldn't say no.
Truthfully, he hadn't spent time with Anduin recently and fiercely loved the boy, so he figured that, perhaps, being with Anduin-with his son-would chase away the emotion that had settled within him.
Still, it also meant that he was stuck doing kingly-things, which were mostly boring. To his displeasure, most of his time was occupied with getting people to leave him alone, listening to depressing reports about the state of his land and his people-which he desperately wished to remedy, but simply didn't have the time-and dealing with adventurers. The adventurers were the fun part, although figuring out how to say 'no' to sycophants in inventive ways was occasionally entertaining.
He wistfully looked forward to when he could finally tell people to go away and come back later (politely) and they would actually listen-while he could pull rank, it was unseemly, so he forced himself to stay for a decent amount of time past when he wanted to leave.
Once he had managed to vaguely resolve a minor argument between two of the lesser landholders in Elwynn, he decided to call it a day, and simply left the throne room. He had fulfilled his responsibilities-now he wanted time with his family. He asked around, discovered where Anduin was relatively quickly, and took the shortcuts that almost no-one knew about to get to his son.
Even in full plate armor, Varian could move quite quietly if he wanted to, so was content to observe his son practice with his martial instructors for a few minutes.
He eventually came to the unhappy conclusion that his son wasn't meant for the sword.
It doesn't matter what path he chooses, though, Varian thought with a small degree of surprise before a wry smile formed on his face. He is our son. He will excel at whatever he finally puts his mind to.
The instructor and Anduin noticed his presence at the same time, both of them starting in surprise at his presence. It took all of Varian's willpower to smother a small smile as he approached them. “Leave us,” he told the instructor, who bowed and exited, leaving the court to Varian and Anduin.
“Father,” Anduin murmured, looking away and at the sword that was still in his hand. “I...try.”
Varian reached out and carefully ruffled his son's hair, aware of that plate armor wasn't entirely gentle. “I know.” He took the sword from his son's hand and put it away before looking back at the boy. “How have your other studies been going?”
The change of topic seemed to relieve Anduin, and he began to talk animatedly as they walked away from the court. The boy was well aware of some Keep gossip, which made Varian snicker. It appeared that no-one thought that his son was listening in on their conversations, but from how curious and observant the boy was turning out to be...well.
“How about you?” Anduin asked once they had reached somewhere Anduin could change out of sweaty practice-clothes and into something cleaner. “How was Northrend?”
The briefest flash of Garrosh flicked through his mind, but was easily pushed aside. “Things are going...well. The Argent Crusade is making progress in its assault on the Citadel, but we are still some ways away from confronting...” Varian's eyes narrowed and he shoved down his anger before he took a deep breath and continued, although his voice was a little harsher than he had hoped, “the Lich King. He will fall. It's just a matter of time.”
Varian didn't miss Anduin's look of concern, and tried to alleviate it with a smile. “But that is a matter of state and something I don't want to deal with right now. Not when with family.”
Anduin returned his smile, an odd sort of relief in his eyes. He paused, then tilted his head. “You know, I don't think I've ever seen you-well, the full-you-out of your armor. Don't you ever relax?”
Varian snorted. “I don't sleep in it.” he paused. “Well, when in the Keep.”
“Seriously?” Anduin asked, obviously incredulous.
“With the Horde and the Scourge all around me, I can't afford to relax,” Varian muttered, trying his best to keep his hatred under tight control, shoving the memories of the Argent Tournament grounds away. His son didn't need to see the emotion. He had already seen him lose his temper, and Varian had felt awful about it afterwards. To have Anduin see how deep dislike could go and what it could become...
Anduin made a small, faintly-comprehending sound.
He doesn't know what it means to know death is around the corner. That your enemies are within spitting distance and an evil that seeks your very soul looms over you. And we hope he may never.
“Normally I'd say, 'we should have a set of armor made for you soon', but...” Varian shrugged. “It seems as if...” Varian didn't want to say, 'you're bad at it,' so instead he supplemented, “it's not worth it right now.”
Varian would agree that he didn't possess much tact, but he could find some every now and then. Even if it was painfully obvious when he was trying.
Anduin seemed torn between looking sheepish and frustrated, and murmured, “I guess.”
The silence that should have been awkward was rather comfortable, Varian simply glad to be in his son's presence. Like Tiffin, Anduin could force his temper to heel, which was occasionally a much needed ability. We're glad he's in the throne room most of the time, although it's been lessened now that we've returned.
“Father?” Anduin asked hesitantly, which made Varian frown slightly. His son should never be afraid to ask something of him.
“Yes?” he replied, unable to keep the concern out of his voice.
“Will you take me to Northrend with you?”
Varian now understood why his son had been so hesitant. The dangers in Northrend were many and powerful. If his advisors had told him that Anduin couldn't go with him to Redridge...Northrend?
We could override them. We do happen to be king.
Doing that makes enemies.
Seriously?
...well, he would never be out of anyone's sight. There's us, Jaina, Tirion, any number of members of the Argent Dawn...he'd be safe on the Tournament grounds.
He'll want to see other places, though.
Mm. Point. That would make it harder. However, the only real points of interest are the Tournament grounds and Dalaran. And Dalaran is also quite protected. Nonetheless...
“Northrend is a dangerous place,” Varian answered slowly. “The enemies of the Alliance are many and strong-the blue dragonflight, the Horde, the Scourge...none of these are to be taken lightly. You...” Varian hesitated, he treading on dangerously sentimental ground, “you're all I have, Anduin. Your mother's death...” he shook his head slowly. “You dying would be something I would never recover from.”
“I'm not a baby.”
“No, but you're precious not only to me, but to the Kingdom. If you die, the throne of Stormwind would be up for grabs once I'm gone, and the civil war that would result would cripple the Alliance.” He reached out and gently touched his son's face. “But that matters little. Deathwing could return and I wouldn't care if I lost you.”
Varian hated being mushy, but it was true-if he lost Anduin, if his son died...especially in Northrend...he wasn't lying when he said he would let the kingdom rot.
Anduin looked equally uncomfortable, but probably for different reasons. “It's just...you're never here.”
“Then I will stay here for as long as you want me to.”
No matter how hard it may be.
The assertion seemed both balm to the boy's soul and slightly embarrassing.
“Thanks,” Anduin murmured quietly.
Varian only smiled. “Now, I think dinner is to be ready soon. Care to join me?”
Anduin's face responded with a smile of his own. “Sure!”
Varian smothered a chuckle as he walked with his son towards the kitchen with every intent to avoid formality and spend more time with
the child he saw so very, very rarely.
-
“No.”
“But sire-”
“I said no,” Varian asserted, arms crossed over his chest. “I was just out in Northrend. I refuse to return there.” Subtlety be damned, he didn't need this.
“The soldiers need you there!”
“And our people need us here!” Varian snapped, temper rising. “Every day-every day-more pleas come in from our territories! As you seem to have forgotten, those people are who join our armies. But what happens to aid them? Nothing! You block my every effort,” he half-snarled. “Have you heard the stories coming in from Duskwood? There are monsters out there killing our people!”
“There are Scourge in Northrend!”
“And demons in Outland!” Varian replied. “I know, I know!” Varian's eyes narrowed and his fingers dug into the crook of his elbows. He was about to say something truly acidic when he felt a gentle hand press against his arm.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, and settled for glaring at the man who stood before him. “Get out,” he growled darkly. “I will not be
returning to Northrend. Truly pressing events will call us there soon enough. Right now I have to attend to Stormwind territories.”
The man bowed graciously, appearing unruffled by Varian's rebuke.
Varian looked to his side to see his son giving him the smallest of wry smiles.
The King of Stormwind glared at the floor and muttered something vile in orcish under his breath before asking, “Why'd you stop me?”
Anduin quirked his head. “Because you weren't being nice.”
“Wasn't being nice,” Varian grumbled before turning his attention back to waiting for whatever 'pressing' matter happened to present itself.
He had actually been proud of himself-he hadn't really been angry with anyone for quite some time. But the man had been insistent and annoying, and Varian's tolerance for anyone with those two particular character defects was very, very small. However, as always, Anduin had the effect of his mother and pulled him down from his temper, no matter how justified Varian might believe it to be.
It was one of the days when Anduin was allowed to be free of his studies and observe how a kingdom was run-well, at least how Varian ran his kingdom, as the boy had experience running it already-and Varian was glad to have his son near him. He had promised Anduin he would stay, so he would, come nether or high water. Still, as he had told the general who had bothered him, he had many, many problems in human lands that he just wasn't allowed to attend to. A billion reasons were thrown at him, documents were deterred from ever reaching him, messengers were intercepted. It drove Varian insane, but no matter what he tried to do to remedy the situation in human lands, his attention was always diverted to the more exotic locations like Northrend and Outland, simply because they were farther away and communication took longer, even with the ability of mages to port where they pleased.
The Horde is still a problem here! He thought with annoyance. The portal to Outland is an issue, yes, and Arthas...and the Lich King is still a threat to all of Azeroth, but, by the LIGHT, do people not see?
Varian rubbed his eyes and heard Anduin ask, “Are you alright?”
The king looked over at his son and said firmly, “I must be.”
Anduin frowned, obviously not entirely understanding, but another approached the throne, forcing Varian's attention away from his son.
Adventurers, citizens, military officers, nobles, all manner of people trickled through the throne room throughout the day. It was blissfully quiet, unlike the one where Thassarian had arrived with a letter from Tirion proclaiming his freedom from the control of the Lich King.
Even just the reminder of the steady stream of Scourge-
No, no, Death Knights.
-that had come into his presence gave him the beginnings of a headache. That was definitely not one of our better days.
He watched two human adventurers walk away as they whispered heatedly to each other and he had to smother a yawn-yawning was un-kingly-which told him that he had spent enough time being king and now needed to hit things for a while, have some food, and then pass out to start it all over again the next day. He knew that he had a very easy life compared to a great many of his people, but he still found his occupation rather exhausting.
Varian turned away from the main hall, and the soldiers stood a little straighter as those present in the room looked to him.
It was both unnerving and satisfying, having that kind of attention entirely on him. Thankfully, he didn't need to say anything, and simply walked out of the room, Anduin a step or two behind him.
He entered the corridors of the Keep and his shoulders relaxed slightly, glad to be free of the room and the responsibilities is represented.
“Why are you tired? You don't do much of anything,” Anduin asked and attempted to match stride with his father's, who slowed down to compensate for his son's shorter legs.
“It's not physical exhaustion,” Varian said, before smiling wistfully, “although sometimes I wish it was.”
“You don't have magic.”
“Just because I don't have magic doesn't mean I don't get headaches,” Varian replied. “I do an unfortunate amount of thinking in there-and that is what is exhausting.”
Anduin frowned. “But-”
“Anduin.”
Varian immediately had his son's entire attention, both through his tone of voice and that he ceased to walk.
“I am a warrior. I'm a king, yes, but I am also a warrior. All that in there” Varian gestured in the general direction of the throne room, “it's what I was born and bred and taught to do.” He paused and scowled at a nearby pillar. “That doesn't mean I have to like it.”
“So, you get tired from thinking?”
“Like you get tired from swinging a sword all day,” Varian replied and nudged his son into a walk. “Which I am planning on doing for about an hour.”
Anduin snorted and shook his head, which was the same reaction that he received from Jaina-and had from his wife.
Sometimes we wish we had another warrior in our immediate family.
The two came to a halt at Anduin's room, Varian's just a few doors further. Anduin was obviously about to say something probably profound, but Varian ruined the moment as he ruffled his son's hair, much to said child's annoyance.
“Father!” he protested in a whine.
Varian simply smiled. “I'll see you at dinner.”
Anduin vainly attempted to pat his hair down and replied in a disgruntled mutter, “See you at dinner.”
Varian watched his son enter his room before he gave a soft sigh.
Now, about that hitting things...
--
Fandom: World of Warcraft
Pairing: Varian/Garrosh/Varian
Title: Keep Your Enemies Closer
Author: me!
Rating: R. In later chapters.
Disclaimer: I would not be a poor graduate student if I owned WoW.
One of the things that Varian disliked about ruling Stormwind was the occasional logistics with which he had to deal. Yes, he had advisors and bureaucrats to take care of 95-percent of the day-to-day running, which was what allowed him to travel (and may have been why a black dragon could take over his court, but that was details); however, there were issues he had to deal with personally.
That was why he was sitting up far too late into the night, a candle burning softly beside him as he read the same paragraph for the umpteenth time.
So many pleas for help and so few resources to give.
Both written and verbal requests for help trickled in from Stormwind territories on a daily basis, each one as impassioned and valid as the next.
Varian sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. Northrend, Outland, Redridge, Westfall, Duskwood, Elywnn...not to mention our tenuous holdings in contested lands and Southshore. What do people think we are? We're their king, not a god.
Varian grimaced as he looked at the report from Westfall. The homeless and vagabonds are apparently deciding Westfall is a good place to congregate. We don't have time to deal with them and the economic problems they generate along with the Defias.
Varian scowled at the reminder of the Defias. It seems as no-one can decide whether or not VanCleef is dead. Shouldn't it be easy to tell? Is he breathing? No. Is that a gaping sword wound in his chest? Yes. Is he bleeding copiously? Yes. Therefore, he must be dead.
Varian sighed and put the paper on the stack of 'still-to-do', which had originally been a 'to-do' pile that had only marginally decreased in size.
Varian picked up the next piece of paper and grimaced. Not this. We'd rather fight a thousand matches than write these letters.
A list of the deceased who had served in Alliance lands was held lightly in his fingers as his eyes ran slowly over every name. He was sure that there were more dead than would ever be documented-adventurers who had died in the unforgiving cold of Northrend only to be raised into undeath by Arthas, others who fell victim to the Legion in Outland, warped and tortured by the demonic brethren of the draenei...there were many ways to die a lonely death. He couldn't write condolences to their families or friends, who would spend the rest of their lives wondering when the next letter would arrive-if it would at all.
The life of a 'hero' is unkind, Varian thought as he pulled over a piece of parchment. He knew that he could get the scribes to make a few generic letters, with 'uncle', 'husband', 'daughter', 'wife', etc. written on them and all he'd have to do would be sign his name, but that felt...he couldn't fathom doing something so impersonal. Not for those who had given their lives in defense of the Alliance.
We wonder how many of these are from defending our lands against the orcish scum? Varian thought as he lightly tapped the feather of his quill against a blank piece of paper. How many were cut down by those vile creatures?
The question almost immediately gave him a headache as the anger he felt towards the Horde rose up within him, only to also bring unbidden images of that last fight with the mud-skinned aberration and how glorious it had felt.
No, no, no, he thought emphatically and pushed away from his desk, the ink dry anyway. He stood perhaps a little roughly, as the chair scrapped with an unhappy sound against the floor, then blew out the candle, which left the room in almost complete darkness, smoke swirling in unseen currents towards the ceiling.
The moon-Elune-peeked through the clouds to fall into his room via windows that were carefully magicked with the best protective spells possible. Her light left a pale, thin strip of light across the floor, ephemeral and impossible grasp, like the thousand memories that vied for his attention, each fleetingly real in the darkness.
The moonlight that cut through the trees where he was hiding with his men, stalking orcs and bandits.
The moonlight that caressed his wife's skin.
The pure light that bathed a battlefield soaked in blood.
You'd think it'd be easy for us to forget, Varian thought, mildly annoyed with himself. Brooding was unkingly and unworthy of him, so he shoved all the memories into the recesses of his mind and heart, and chose to ponder them no longer.
He walked over to the door, placed his hand on the knob, and took a deep breath to compose himself. It wouldn't do good to go out into civilization looking as worn as he felt-even though the humans of Stormwind said they didn't value just strength in a leader, Varian knew that any sign of weakness would stir the waters and brought predators out of hiding.
Varian pulled open the door quietly, and stepped out into the softly lit hallway. He closed and locked the door behind him, then turned to make the short journey to his room, the corridor silent save for the solid footfalls of soldiers patrolling.
He reached his room without anyone stopping to bother him, which made him smile slightly in guilty relief. Don't know which is worse-the constant tension due to having our life on the line in Northrend or being here and having a thousand problems heaped upon us.
He stepped into his room and activated the mage-light that Jaina had crafted for him with a murmured word. His chambers were filled with a gentle glow as he secured his door, temporarily guarding himself against the world.
We are a King, Varian reminded himself as he stripped. We are no longer a simple gladiator. We have experience at being a king. He sighed and sat down on his bed once he was in his bed-clothes. We were born and bred to be a leader of men. Varian snorted at himself and laid down. Our rule has never been an easy one. We've fought our entire life, and are a warrior above all else. But...the Alliance doesn't want a warrior for a king-the other Alliance racial leaders seek peace rather than simply removing all the Horde scum from Azeroth.
Varian closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face in exasperation. Why can't they see that the best way to solve this problem is to get rid of the source?
An image of a particular arrogant, frustrating orc flashed through his mind, which made Varian bare his teeth in a silent snarl. Get rid of him especially.
He turned onto his side and dragged the covers around him. Go to sleep. All the problems will still be there in the morning, and it's no use working on things when unable to concentrate.
However, sleep was as elusive as the light that filtered through his window, alternately muted and revealed as clouds passed. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't find a way to get his mind to settle as it skipped around from memory to memory, idea to idea, each thought half-formed and fleeting.
He finally gave up, stood, changed into nondescript armor (with a helmet to cover his rather trademark hair and facial scars), then headed to the SI: 7 quarters and their eternally set-up target dummies.
It wasn't often that he found himself venting frustration on such a target-he was (usually) better than that at controlling a rather volatile temper. However it was sometimes necessary to indulge in something physical to work out his anger.
He walked into the thankfully empty courtyard and pulled out an old, trusty two-handed sword, his signature weapon in a safe place at the Keep. He walked around a little, warming his body as he stretched. He didn't have to hurt himself-he had enough people who tried to do that for him. Once he was more limber, he picked a random dummy and fell into his usual battle stance.
He started off slowly, feeling the motion of his body. It was actually nice to be hitting something, as he wasn't really allowed anymore. However, as he was finally relaxing, images of the last fight he had engaged in shoved themselves to the front of his mind, which made his entire body tense and his lips pulled back in a snarl feral enough to do his orcish name-sake good. His hands tightened around the sword as hatred and anger flooded him at the very thought of the creature.
He's arrogant.
A rather uncoordinated slash.
He's abrasive.
A slightly smoother motion.
He's a danger to the Alliance.
A stab that pierced deeply into the dummy.
He's abhorrent.
The motion was a little jerky as the sword was yanked free.
He represents everything we hate about the alien scum.
A fierce slash sent the dummy's head flying into a corner.
Then why? Why can't I forget?
Varian stalked over to where the straw head had rolled to a stop and picked it up. How? He wondered as he dropped the bundle of straw next to the pole that supported the dummy, and idly noticed just how badly damaged the thing was. Why now? Don't we have enough to worry about?
He turned to a new dummy and silently promised to have new ones made in place of the ones he destroyed.
He assumed his battle stance again, glared at nothing in particular, and his hands slowly tensed around the hilt of his sword as the image of the orc he loathed swam into view on one of the dummies. Varian's eyes narrowed dangerously before he almost literally ripped the dummy to pieces. He took shameful delight in imagining what each blow would do to the orc, slowly picking him apart in his mind until nothing but a stump remained where the dummy used to be. His breath came hard as his heart raced in his chest after he had finished decimating the straw doll.
He strapped his sword to his side, as he felt a little better. He swept up the scraps and shoved them into a discrete corner before he turned and walked out of the headquarters and towards the Keep as the pleasant ache of almost-overuse settled into his muscles.
There were few people out-some insomniac adventures and those returning home after losing money through gambling, drink, or both. Such meant that Varian, dressed as he was, was able to return to his home unmolested.
Once he had returned to his chambers, he stripped off the worn-in armor and shoved it into his closet, which left him in sweat-soaked linen shirt and pants.
He took a deep breath, but the undercurrent of anger and frustration refused to leave him, settled securely in his mind.
This is impossible. It makes no sense. Varian groused to himself as he sat on a chair before pulling off his shirt and flinging it somewhere it wouldn't get in the way.
When has our life really made any sense? Our home was razed, we become friends with the man who would eventually become the greatest evil Azeroth has ever known, our father and our mentor and one of our only friends are killed, a black dragon basically ruled our court, we were split into two people-
We get the point. We just wish...
That things were easy again. You win and live, you lose and die. Things will never be that way again.
How can we know that for certain?
Are we honestly going to really trust the Horde any time soon? Enough to try to make peace with them?
Varian snorted and shook his head the darkness. Unlikely.
His breathing gradually evened and his heart slowed to its normal pace before he sighed softly. This is impossible for more reasons than one. Whatever this is...is something...
Else. Something else. Which we do not have time for.
Varian ran a hand through slightly-damp hair. We just have to get out and do something. The problem is that we can't appear to show favoritism to any particular place within our kingdom. To just not be king...
Varian paused and cocked his head to the side in thought. Would that work?
It would take some convincing.
Who says we have to convince them? We could just-
Vanishing on them would be the worst possible thing we could do.
True. But how then?
We're sure they would insist on some kind of protection.
Even though we don't need it.
It wouldn't matter to them.
Varian rubbed his eyes and sighed. Still, we need a distraction. This...isn't good.
He idly called for bathwater, not caring the time of night, as he continued to think, and had to repeatedly shove a particular orc out of his mind, which made him grow more frustrated with every passing moment.
Why won't it leave us alone now!?
Because we know it's there.
Varian growled and scowled at the floor. We cannot stay here. We think too much here and, as of now, thinking is dangerous. But, how can we justify going out?
Checking on the status of the kingdom after being away for a while? We have been reading about the Defias in Westfall, the worgen in Duskwood..the orcs in Redridge...
Varian ran a finger over one of the scars on his face as he considered the notion. They would be Blackrock orcs-not aligned with the Horde, unfortunately, but still. Perhaps driving the pests out of human lands would be good for him and get rid of the thing that made his mind a miserable place to be. The action would also let him think less, and thinking was dangerous and prone to giving him headaches. Better to be doing than sitting around.
His bathwater came and he distantly murmured thanks. Perhaps we can bring Anduin along?
They might not let him away from his tutors.
He has a right to see the lands he will eventually rule.
Given the situations we routinely find ourself in, we think that he staying here-and therefore, staying alive-would probably be best.
We can ask, though.
We can ask.
The king of Stormwind nodded with resolve, glad to finally have a plan of action that would take him away from boring things that gave him too much free time, and therefore would rid him of the thing within him-he just had to work out the details.
-
Varian growled inwardly, incredibly unhappy. His efforts at leaving the Keep to go kill things had been thwarted at every turn by a number of different people. He would have ignored the majority of them, but when Anduin asked for him to stay...well, he couldn't say no.
Truthfully, he hadn't spent time with Anduin recently and fiercely loved the boy, so he figured that, perhaps, being with Anduin-with his son-would chase away the emotion that had settled within him.
Still, it also meant that he was stuck doing kingly-things, which were mostly boring. To his displeasure, most of his time was occupied with getting people to leave him alone, listening to depressing reports about the state of his land and his people-which he desperately wished to remedy, but simply didn't have the time-and dealing with adventurers. The adventurers were the fun part, although figuring out how to say 'no' to sycophants in inventive ways was occasionally entertaining.
He wistfully looked forward to when he could finally tell people to go away and come back later (politely) and they would actually listen-while he could pull rank, it was unseemly, so he forced himself to stay for a decent amount of time past when he wanted to leave.
Once he had managed to vaguely resolve a minor argument between two of the lesser landholders in Elwynn, he decided to call it a day, and simply left the throne room. He had fulfilled his responsibilities-now he wanted time with his family. He asked around, discovered where Anduin was relatively quickly, and took the shortcuts that almost no-one knew about to get to his son.
Even in full plate armor, Varian could move quite quietly if he wanted to, so was content to observe his son practice with his martial instructors for a few minutes.
He eventually came to the unhappy conclusion that his son wasn't meant for the sword.
It doesn't matter what path he chooses, though, Varian thought with a small degree of surprise before a wry smile formed on his face. He is our son. He will excel at whatever he finally puts his mind to.
The instructor and Anduin noticed his presence at the same time, both of them starting in surprise at his presence. It took all of Varian's willpower to smother a small smile as he approached them. “Leave us,” he told the instructor, who bowed and exited, leaving the court to Varian and Anduin.
“Father,” Anduin murmured, looking away and at the sword that was still in his hand. “I...try.”
Varian reached out and carefully ruffled his son's hair, aware of that plate armor wasn't entirely gentle. “I know.” He took the sword from his son's hand and put it away before looking back at the boy. “How have your other studies been going?”
The change of topic seemed to relieve Anduin, and he began to talk animatedly as they walked away from the court. The boy was well aware of some Keep gossip, which made Varian snicker. It appeared that no-one thought that his son was listening in on their conversations, but from how curious and observant the boy was turning out to be...well.
“How about you?” Anduin asked once they had reached somewhere Anduin could change out of sweaty practice-clothes and into something cleaner. “How was Northrend?”
The briefest flash of Garrosh flicked through his mind, but was easily pushed aside. “Things are going...well. The Argent Crusade is making progress in its assault on the Citadel, but we are still some ways away from confronting...” Varian's eyes narrowed and he shoved down his anger before he took a deep breath and continued, although his voice was a little harsher than he had hoped, “the Lich King. He will fall. It's just a matter of time.”
Varian didn't miss Anduin's look of concern, and tried to alleviate it with a smile. “But that is a matter of state and something I don't want to deal with right now. Not when with family.”
Anduin returned his smile, an odd sort of relief in his eyes. He paused, then tilted his head. “You know, I don't think I've ever seen you-well, the full-you-out of your armor. Don't you ever relax?”
Varian snorted. “I don't sleep in it.” he paused. “Well, when in the Keep.”
“Seriously?” Anduin asked, obviously incredulous.
“With the Horde and the Scourge all around me, I can't afford to relax,” Varian muttered, trying his best to keep his hatred under tight control, shoving the memories of the Argent Tournament grounds away. His son didn't need to see the emotion. He had already seen him lose his temper, and Varian had felt awful about it afterwards. To have Anduin see how deep dislike could go and what it could become...
Anduin made a small, faintly-comprehending sound.
He doesn't know what it means to know death is around the corner. That your enemies are within spitting distance and an evil that seeks your very soul looms over you. And we hope he may never.
“Normally I'd say, 'we should have a set of armor made for you soon', but...” Varian shrugged. “It seems as if...” Varian didn't want to say, 'you're bad at it,' so instead he supplemented, “it's not worth it right now.”
Varian would agree that he didn't possess much tact, but he could find some every now and then. Even if it was painfully obvious when he was trying.
Anduin seemed torn between looking sheepish and frustrated, and murmured, “I guess.”
The silence that should have been awkward was rather comfortable, Varian simply glad to be in his son's presence. Like Tiffin, Anduin could force his temper to heel, which was occasionally a much needed ability. We're glad he's in the throne room most of the time, although it's been lessened now that we've returned.
“Father?” Anduin asked hesitantly, which made Varian frown slightly. His son should never be afraid to ask something of him.
“Yes?” he replied, unable to keep the concern out of his voice.
“Will you take me to Northrend with you?”
Varian now understood why his son had been so hesitant. The dangers in Northrend were many and powerful. If his advisors had told him that Anduin couldn't go with him to Redridge...Northrend?
We could override them. We do happen to be king.
Doing that makes enemies.
Seriously?
...well, he would never be out of anyone's sight. There's us, Jaina, Tirion, any number of members of the Argent Dawn...he'd be safe on the Tournament grounds.
He'll want to see other places, though.
Mm. Point. That would make it harder. However, the only real points of interest are the Tournament grounds and Dalaran. And Dalaran is also quite protected. Nonetheless...
“Northrend is a dangerous place,” Varian answered slowly. “The enemies of the Alliance are many and strong-the blue dragonflight, the Horde, the Scourge...none of these are to be taken lightly. You...” Varian hesitated, he treading on dangerously sentimental ground, “you're all I have, Anduin. Your mother's death...” he shook his head slowly. “You dying would be something I would never recover from.”
“I'm not a baby.”
“No, but you're precious not only to me, but to the Kingdom. If you die, the throne of Stormwind would be up for grabs once I'm gone, and the civil war that would result would cripple the Alliance.” He reached out and gently touched his son's face. “But that matters little. Deathwing could return and I wouldn't care if I lost you.”
Varian hated being mushy, but it was true-if he lost Anduin, if his son died...especially in Northrend...he wasn't lying when he said he would let the kingdom rot.
Anduin looked equally uncomfortable, but probably for different reasons. “It's just...you're never here.”
“Then I will stay here for as long as you want me to.”
No matter how hard it may be.
The assertion seemed both balm to the boy's soul and slightly embarrassing.
“Thanks,” Anduin murmured quietly.
Varian only smiled. “Now, I think dinner is to be ready soon. Care to join me?”
Anduin's face responded with a smile of his own. “Sure!”
Varian smothered a chuckle as he walked with his son towards the kitchen with every intent to avoid formality and spend more time with
the child he saw so very, very rarely.
-
“No.”
“But sire-”
“I said no,” Varian asserted, arms crossed over his chest. “I was just out in Northrend. I refuse to return there.” Subtlety be damned, he didn't need this.
“The soldiers need you there!”
“And our people need us here!” Varian snapped, temper rising. “Every day-every day-more pleas come in from our territories! As you seem to have forgotten, those people are who join our armies. But what happens to aid them? Nothing! You block my every effort,” he half-snarled. “Have you heard the stories coming in from Duskwood? There are monsters out there killing our people!”
“There are Scourge in Northrend!”
“And demons in Outland!” Varian replied. “I know, I know!” Varian's eyes narrowed and his fingers dug into the crook of his elbows. He was about to say something truly acidic when he felt a gentle hand press against his arm.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, and settled for glaring at the man who stood before him. “Get out,” he growled darkly. “I will not be
returning to Northrend. Truly pressing events will call us there soon enough. Right now I have to attend to Stormwind territories.”
The man bowed graciously, appearing unruffled by Varian's rebuke.
Varian looked to his side to see his son giving him the smallest of wry smiles.
The King of Stormwind glared at the floor and muttered something vile in orcish under his breath before asking, “Why'd you stop me?”
Anduin quirked his head. “Because you weren't being nice.”
“Wasn't being nice,” Varian grumbled before turning his attention back to waiting for whatever 'pressing' matter happened to present itself.
He had actually been proud of himself-he hadn't really been angry with anyone for quite some time. But the man had been insistent and annoying, and Varian's tolerance for anyone with those two particular character defects was very, very small. However, as always, Anduin had the effect of his mother and pulled him down from his temper, no matter how justified Varian might believe it to be.
It was one of the days when Anduin was allowed to be free of his studies and observe how a kingdom was run-well, at least how Varian ran his kingdom, as the boy had experience running it already-and Varian was glad to have his son near him. He had promised Anduin he would stay, so he would, come nether or high water. Still, as he had told the general who had bothered him, he had many, many problems in human lands that he just wasn't allowed to attend to. A billion reasons were thrown at him, documents were deterred from ever reaching him, messengers were intercepted. It drove Varian insane, but no matter what he tried to do to remedy the situation in human lands, his attention was always diverted to the more exotic locations like Northrend and Outland, simply because they were farther away and communication took longer, even with the ability of mages to port where they pleased.
The Horde is still a problem here! He thought with annoyance. The portal to Outland is an issue, yes, and Arthas...and the Lich King is still a threat to all of Azeroth, but, by the LIGHT, do people not see?
Varian rubbed his eyes and heard Anduin ask, “Are you alright?”
The king looked over at his son and said firmly, “I must be.”
Anduin frowned, obviously not entirely understanding, but another approached the throne, forcing Varian's attention away from his son.
Adventurers, citizens, military officers, nobles, all manner of people trickled through the throne room throughout the day. It was blissfully quiet, unlike the one where Thassarian had arrived with a letter from Tirion proclaiming his freedom from the control of the Lich King.
Even just the reminder of the steady stream of Scourge-
No, no, Death Knights.
-that had come into his presence gave him the beginnings of a headache. That was definitely not one of our better days.
He watched two human adventurers walk away as they whispered heatedly to each other and he had to smother a yawn-yawning was un-kingly-which told him that he had spent enough time being king and now needed to hit things for a while, have some food, and then pass out to start it all over again the next day. He knew that he had a very easy life compared to a great many of his people, but he still found his occupation rather exhausting.
Varian turned away from the main hall, and the soldiers stood a little straighter as those present in the room looked to him.
It was both unnerving and satisfying, having that kind of attention entirely on him. Thankfully, he didn't need to say anything, and simply walked out of the room, Anduin a step or two behind him.
He entered the corridors of the Keep and his shoulders relaxed slightly, glad to be free of the room and the responsibilities is represented.
“Why are you tired? You don't do much of anything,” Anduin asked and attempted to match stride with his father's, who slowed down to compensate for his son's shorter legs.
“It's not physical exhaustion,” Varian said, before smiling wistfully, “although sometimes I wish it was.”
“You don't have magic.”
“Just because I don't have magic doesn't mean I don't get headaches,” Varian replied. “I do an unfortunate amount of thinking in there-and that is what is exhausting.”
Anduin frowned. “But-”
“Anduin.”
Varian immediately had his son's entire attention, both through his tone of voice and that he ceased to walk.
“I am a warrior. I'm a king, yes, but I am also a warrior. All that in there” Varian gestured in the general direction of the throne room, “it's what I was born and bred and taught to do.” He paused and scowled at a nearby pillar. “That doesn't mean I have to like it.”
“So, you get tired from thinking?”
“Like you get tired from swinging a sword all day,” Varian replied and nudged his son into a walk. “Which I am planning on doing for about an hour.”
Anduin snorted and shook his head, which was the same reaction that he received from Jaina-and had from his wife.
Sometimes we wish we had another warrior in our immediate family.
The two came to a halt at Anduin's room, Varian's just a few doors further. Anduin was obviously about to say something probably profound, but Varian ruined the moment as he ruffled his son's hair, much to said child's annoyance.
“Father!” he protested in a whine.
Varian simply smiled. “I'll see you at dinner.”
Anduin vainly attempted to pat his hair down and replied in a disgruntled mutter, “See you at dinner.”
Varian watched his son enter his room before he gave a soft sigh.
Now, about that hitting things...
--