11. Say it

[moonshadows]

 

"I still don't see why you're so insistent on this visit," Varian calls sulkily as Jaina's zeppelin moors at the cliff out of which Grommash Hold was carved.

"I visited Stormwind, my lord," I call back from the cliff.

One rough hand swipes at his sweaty forehead. "I've been in Orgrimmar."

I stand to the side as Jaina's men begin the organized chaos of unloading, watching with amusement as my husband-to-be picks his way through to join me on the cliff. I lead him to the round stone building that houses the spiraling wooden steps, and we begin making our way down into the cool interior.

"No," I say once Jaina's men are out of earshot. "Lo'gosh was in Orgrimmar. As a slave. Varian has never been in the city, and certainly not as the guest of the Warchief." Out of the corner of my eye, I see his surprise. "You're not the only one who can right wrongs, my lord."

He is silent as we descend into the Hold proper and begin navigating the hallways, eight Kor'kron Elites and Golthak falling in behind us. The Elites arrange themselves at the door of the suite in which Varian is to be housed during his visit, but Golthak follows us inside. Varian ignores him, as he did in Dalaran, in favor of looking around.

"I do appreciate the distinction," the king of Stormwind says after a moment, staring hard at a trollish wall decoration. "I also appreciate the discretion. You could be rubbing any number of things in my face, but you're not."

I can see that he's fighting his pride, so I make my tone as neutral as his was. "What purpose would it serve if I did?"

A strange, knowing smile crosses his face and is gone. "What purpose indeed. Regardless, my lady, I thank you for your kindness and sincerely hope that you will continue to be so patient with me as I re-learn how not to be a brute."

I didn't need the reminder of the slavery I have willingly walked into. A sharp retort springs to my lips, but I swallow it. He did nothing to earn it; if I give it voice, I will be punishing him for his openness. This internal struggle is not lost on him, however, and his eyes narrow slightly.

"Don't, Taretha. I'm not Blackmoore. If I've earned a lashing from your tongue, don't hold back. If you don't tell me what I did wrong, I won't know what to change."

The growl in his voice gives me the strength to put ice in mine. "True enough. But you didn't earn it this time." I do my best to ignore the surprise tinged with gratitude on his face. "We will dine with my brother in three hours. There is a bath and a private courtyard in this suite, and your trunk will be here shortly." Stiffly, I curtsy to him. "I will see you at dinner, your Majesty."

He bows reflexively as I turn and leave, Golthak holding the door for me and the Elite who enters with Varian's trunk.

"Good to be back," my faithful shadow says tersely.

I have to agree. "Even if it's only temporary."

 

===============

 

Varian seats himself at the low table in the Warchief's private suite, doing his best to ignore the scowling Mag'har seated across from him. Thrall and I felt it best if the king of Stormwind and the chieftain of the Mag'har were not seated next to each other, so my future husband has me to his left and my brother to his right.

"Thank you for your discretion in this," he says to Thrall. "I have no doubt that this would cause widespread panic if it were publicly known that the king of Stormwind was in Orgrimmar without his guards."

My brother smiles around his tusks. "No more so than the ripples I caused when I discovered you had already been here. I was...displeased...when I heard the news."

"I wasn't very happy about it either," Varian says dryly.

A servant sets a roast on the low table and scurries off, and for a minute we are occupied with carving ourselves generous slabs of meat.

"We have much in common," Thrall says slowly.

"How's that, Warchief?"

"We were both made to fight by the other's race for the amusement and profit of those who held us captive. We both engineered our own escapes and reclaimed what was ours by birthright. And, of course, we both care deeply about Taretha."

Varian colors slightly. "There is that."

"You had quite the reputation," my brother continues. "While it has been longer since I was in the arena, I had quite the reputation myself."

Now my future husband grins. "You're wondering if you could take me in a fight."

"Not quite. I'm wondering if you could take me."

"Weapons?"

"None, although you may wear armor if you choose."

"Not necessary. When?"

"I'm usually up at dawn, unless you prefer to get it over with."

"No. Dawn is fine."

I hide a smile, knowing that rising with the sun is another thing Varian and Thrall have in common. "Are you two going to need a referee or witness?"

They look at each other, silent questions and answers in their eyes, while Garrosh half-leers.

"I promise to not wound your betrothed past my ability to heal him," Thrall says, amusement making his rumbling voice almost a purr.

"If your brother dies, my lady...well, you know the line of succession better than I do. That's reason enough to keep him alive."

Garrosh scowls. "Hey!"

"Besides, I'm indebted to him for more reasons than one." He turns to Thrall. "Why did you decide to let me have Taretha's hand, anyway? I know one speech couldn't have swayed your opinion of me that much."

Again, my brother grins, but the expression is not pleasant. "Your Majesty, you are laboring under the misconception that I made that choice. Had it been up to me, you would have left disappointed that day."

Varian turns to regard me with astonishment, and I busy myself with a slice of bread.

"Taretha?"

"Whatever happens," Thrall growls, "never forget that she chose to accept your proposal."

"But I made you cry." His voice is so gentle, so concerned, that I don't dare meet his eyes.

"For seven years she blunted Blackmoore's temper with her body, a slave as surely as I was. She cried because she was afraid she was walking back into the chains, sacrificing herself again to keep a dangerous man in check." Thrall doesn't bother trying to hide the warning in his voice.

"Taretha, is this true?"

He sounds...hurt. Afraid. I still can't meet his eyes, but I nod once.

"Am I that bad? I guess I must be, if you...Taretha, I swear to you. I will not be Blackmoore. Please, look at me."

I don't want to, but I can't refuse him this. Slowly, I raise my eyes to his and see...surrender.

"Taretha Foxton of the Frostwolf, Lady of Durnholde, future queen of Stormwind. I swear to you on the souls of King Llane and Tiffin Wrynn that I will never seek to dominate you. I will listen honestly and openly to your advice and criticism. I will never raise my hand against you. I call upon Warchief Thrall and Overlord Garrosh to bear witness to this oath, may they strike me down should I break it."

"Witnessed," Garrosh says with vengeful glee.

"Witnessed," my brother rumbles sternly.

He loves me, I remind myself. I have the power to hurt him, and badly. Even if I feel trapped by his emotions, those same emotions guarantee my freedom. I nod my acceptance, and relief washes over him.

"Tari, why don't you take Wrynn on a proper tour of Orgrimmar after our bout tomorrow?"

Varian looks startled at Thrall's suggestion, but I am grateful for the change of subject. "What say you, my lord?"

"Anything to have the pleasure of your company, my lady," he says, echoes of apology in his eyes. "When should I call on you?"

"Not so fast, human dog," Garrosh growls. "I want a chance to pound your ugly face in, too."

Because I am already looking at my husband-to-be, I can see the rage that flares in his eyes before he closes them, jaw and fists clenched as he fights for control, fights to remain Varian and not succumb to Lo'gosh.

"Leave this table, son of Hellscream," Thall's voice is deadly quiet, and the air crackles around him. "I will send for you when the king of Stormwind and I have concluded our business tomorrow, and you and I will finish what we started in the Ring of Valor before the Lich King's minions so rudely interrupted us."

The Mag'har pales. Thrall's always held his temper in check, always been reluctant to raise a hand against the son of his honor-brother, and Garrosh has underestimated him for it - until now. Without a word, he stands and leaves the room. My brother forces the anger from his features and turns to meet Varian's warily respectful gaze.

"I apologize, your Majesty. I thought Garrosh could be better-behaved than that. I was wrong. You are a guest at my hearth; it is my responsibility to chastise him for that insult, and I respectfully ask that you allow me to defend your honor, and let this go."

"I don't want to get in the middle of orcish politics," Varian says slowly, "and had our positions been reversed, I would be making the same request of you, so...thank you, and I will."

His fists are still clenched on his knees, and I can tell that he has not entirely forced Lo'gosh away, but he held his feral half in check without allowing so much as a snarl of reaction. In fact, he has been admirably well-behaved on the whole so far, and I realize that it is my duty to reward such things, but I am already in his presence. What could I possibly give him?

My fingers are brushing the back of his left hand suddenly, and he looks at me with the startled hope of someone who had been expecting abuse rather than kindness. I'm moderately startled at my own action, so I suppose his surprise is justified. "You may call on me whenever you choose, tomorrow, my lord. The Kor'kron will tell you where to find me."

"Taretha..." Varian swallows, but presses ahead. "Please. Why did you accept my proposal?"

If I said no, I think it would break him. "Because you were right."

In his eyes, I can see the memory of I need that, Taretha, but what he says is, "Anduin needs a mother."

I nod my agreement, both to his words and to what was left unsaid. It's comforting, knowing that he prefers not to speak the true reason as well. The strange intimacy of our relationship is something I prefer not to think about, much less discuss, and it seems that he feels the same way - at least when it comes to discussing it. As far as I'm concerned, that's for the best; I don't think I could do this if I had to discuss it with anyone else. I can barely do this as it is.

 

 

===============

 

 

“You look lovely today, my lady.” Varian grins, damp hair drying quickly in the late-morning sun. He doesn’t seem to be any worse for the wear after his bout with my brother.

“Thank you, my lord,” I say somewhat distantly.

He bows, the formal motion at odds with the plain clothing he wears: buff-colored cotton and simple brown leggings. He looks like a particularly ugly farmhand, which I suppose is fitting given my plain linen dress, white bodice and blue skirts that breathe nicely in the hot air. I dip him an equally formal curtsy.

“May I show you around Orgrimmar, my lord?”

His eyes glow with restrained delight. “I would be honored, my lady.”

At my gesture, eight Elites materialize and arrange themselves behind us. Varian extends his arm, but my sharp glance impales him and he turns the gesture into a gallant sweep, indicating that I should lead and he will follow. The brilliant sunlight warms the rocks of Orgrimmar, which radiate that heat in turn. I am used to it, but my future husband wilts slightly – although he strolls along gamely enough. Few passers-by give us a second glance, more likely from knowing that Golthak will not tolerate disrespect towards me or the wisdom of not antagonizing eight Kor’kron Elites than a simple lack of curiosity about the scarred man at my side. The few double-takes or prolonged looks aimed our way are startled, and often accompanied by incredulous whispers that have the king of Stormwind flinching minutely. It seems that the gladiator Lo’gosh is remembered vividly, and not widely identified as royalty without the customary trappings of such.

“I trust your meeting with my brother was concluded satisfactorily?” I ask politely in an attempt to distract him, taking pity on how uncomfortable he seems to be growing.

“Eh? Oh, yes. I would say it clarified the relationship between Stormwind and Orgrimmar considerably.”

I can hear the grin in Golthak’s voice when he asks, “Who won?”

“I should get used to that, shouldn’t I?” Varian half-asks me. “I get the feeling I won’t be escaping your bodyguard’s commentary anytime soon.”

“I go where Taretha goes,” my faithful shadow says with obvious amusement.

Varian gives him a serious look. “I’m glad you do,” he says quietly. “I’m glad Taretha has you to protect her.”

My face feels hotter than the sun can be held responsible for at the reminder that while I will be swearing to honor and defend my husband, he will be swearing to love and protect me. “The fight, my lord,” I say stiffly.

“Oh. Yes. Thrall and I decided that in the interest of international stability, the outcome should stay between the two of us.”

I turn to face him once I’ve regained a normal complexion. “He won, didn’t he?”

Varian grimaces. “How does anyone that big move that fast?” Suddenly, his face twists into a malicious grin. “Garrosh is probably asking himself that right now.”

We stroll along for several minutes in tentatively pleasant silence.

“Do you think the Warchief would let me…discuss things with Garrosh?” Varian asks lightly.

I turn to answer him, but only manage to gasp before the dozen or so grim-faced orcs gaining on us shoulder roughly past, at least three of them deliberately elbowing my future husband hard enough to knock him into me, sending us both tumbling to the ground. About half of the orcs are older, old enough that bloodlust and battle is likely to be all they remember of the ‘good old days’. The other half are young, too young to have been blooded in battle against the Lich king, but old enough to be itching to test their worth. A perfect mix of troublemakers.

"Taretha, are you alright?"

Varian offers me his hand, concern and apology all over his face as he helps me to my feet and waits while I dust myself off. At my nod, he turns back to the rowdy group of orcs who had so rudely interrupted us.

"Whore," one of the older ones spits. "First Blackmoore's, and now his."

"Traitor. Sleeping with humans who have no honor."

"How did you fool the Frostwolf into accepting you?"

"Did you ever care for anything beyond your own skin?"

Golthak growls and readies his axe, the Elites following his example, but Varian holds up one hand in a silent command for them to hold.

"I will give you one chance to apologize to my future wife," he says grimly.

"Pagh! You think we're afraid of you? Puny human king."

"Dragon's lapdog."

Varian smiles. It's not a happy expression. "You must have me confused for the other Varian," he says lightly. Then his voice drops to a menacing growl. "He's not here anymore."

Before the thugs can register the change in his demeanor, he is bashing two of their heads together and lashing out with one foot to kick a third in the essentials. Within two breaths the other thugs are lunging to attack him, but he's no longer there. He's vaulted over the shoulders of one to kick another in the face, then head-butts his fellow in the gut. I can see why he got called 'ghost wolf'. The sheer ferocity with which he fights is matched only by his grace and agility. In less than two minutes the orcs are all groaning or unconscious, with the exception of the one who'd called me a whore. That one is pressed against the stone wall of the nearest building, one of Varian's strong, browned hand on his throat keeping him pinned while the other is poised to smash into his face with brutal force. The older orc's expression hints that my future husband is crushing his windpipe.

"Varian!"

His fist stops three fingers away from the orc's face.

"Let him breathe."

Reluctantly, that browned hand loosens and the orc sucks in a lungful of air and promptly coughs. I wait until the coughing fit subsides, by which point the groaning thugs have realized how the situation stands.

"I am not Varian's whore." My orcish echoes gutturally off the stone. "I chose to accept his offer to be able to do this-" I gesture at the orc held pinned. "-on a grander scale. To keep him in check." Now I gesture to the bloodless carnage. "Would you rather I let him run rampant? All it will take is a single word. Call me a whore again, and I will let him beat you bloody while the Kor'kron watch and applaud."

"Say it," Varian growls in the same language. "Warchief will thank me for saving him the trouble." He pulls his fist back again, ready to strike but waiting.

The moment stretches.

"Call off your human, Taretha," the older orc coughs. He leers as Varian backs away, glowering. "I was wrong. He is your whore."

The silence turns brittle, all eyes going to Varian, but the king of Stormwind laughs. "If I was, she'd fuck me."

The profanity is less startling for being in orcish, but still more crude than I expected from him. Then again, with how he learned orcish, he probably doesn't know a more polite term for it. The thugs drag their friends out of the street, limping. Once they have all vanished, Varian returns to my side and offers me his arm. I lay my fingers lightly on it, and we resume our interrupted walk.

"Are you hurt?" I ask quietly. He looks surprised at my concern. "If you got hurt defending me and you do not tell me, I will be very displeased with you, my lord."

The sharper, chillier tone makes him relax and smile, as though he is not certain how to react if I am not displaying hostility towards him. Well, that gets no argument from me - I am more than happy to keep him at a distance in that respect.

"Nothing a kiss won't fix," he says lightly, grinning broadly even before my expression goes from chilly to murderous. "I'm not hurt," he says in a more neutral tone.

I force the hostility from my expression. "Good."

Wisely, my husband-to-be says nothing.

We are almost back to Grommash Hold when Varian tenses, and it doesn’t take much to figure out why. The orc who has just left is none other than-

“Rehgar,” the king of Stormwind growls. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t beat you until you have to use your own magic to put yourself back together.”

“Lo’gosh!” The name is a reflexive exclamation, but it only enrages Varian further. The former gladiator master licks his lips nervously. “I can’t.”

Varian lifts my hand from his arm in an incongruous display of civility. “Stand back, my lady. There’s going to blood, and I don’t want any of it to get on you.”

“Varian-!” I cry, but he is undaunted.

“Thrall confronted his master. I’m confronting mine.”

“Thrall…” Actually, that’s a good point. “…will hear about this one way or another. Just don’t kill him.”

I step back out of the way as Varian glances at me, surprise written clearly on his marred features. My raised chin dares him to comment, but he only nods grimly and turns back to face his opponent.

“No armor, Rehgar. No weapons. No magic. Just you and me.”

“You’ll cream me,” the orc says as he strips down to tunic and pants.

“That’s the other thing,” Varian says as he strips similarly. “Don’t hold back, or I’m going to make you wish you hadn’t killed that crocolisk.”

Rehgar grins as battle-joy takes him in its clutches. “You’ve gotten uglier since you left, Croc-Bait. Looks like you tried to fight a mountain with your face.”

My future husband grins, already in the grip of his own battle-lust. “Maybe, but the scars mean I won. Come on, do your worst.”

They rush together, grunting as flesh impacts flesh, punching and kicking and throwing and being thrown. Rehgar’s natural toughness and Varian’s agility equal each other out; Varian hits more often, but Rehgar does more damage each time he connects. One of the Elites tries to get his fellows to wager on the outcome, but there are no takers. Not against the man who was known as Lo’gosh. It takes several minutes of unbridled brutality for the combatants to reach the state of mutual exhaustion, both sinking to the dusty street as though by agreement. Rehgar is more badly beaten, but there is no clear winner. After several seconds of panting, he calls the magic that knits flesh and bone and begins undoing the damage my future husband inflicted on him. Once he has been restored to full health, he turns his glowing hands on Varian, who nods in silent thanks as cuts and bruises and a black eye fade away.

“Good fight,” he says shortly as the shaman finishes. “Apology accepted.”

“So you did read that letter. Good.” Rehgar offers Varian a hand up. “Glad it wasn’t a waste of the Warchief’s time. You know he dismantled the Crimson Ring?”

“I’d heard, but not the details.” All hostility seems to be gone now, replaced by the bonding that comes from sated aggression.

“It was quite the spectacle. Never anger a man who can punctuate his sentences with lightning bolts.”

Varian glances at me and grins. “You know me, Rehgar. I don’t know when I should back down from a fight.”

“Yes, but you don’t seem to know how to lose, either.”

“The only loss is death from behind. Everything else is just an alternate victory.” He claps the orc on the shoulder. “Good seeing you again.”

Rehgar looks startled at that. “You’re not angry about…?”

At least he looks sheepish at that. “Well…not anymore. I wasn’t going to accept your apology, but it’s been pointed out to me that I’d been acting like a spoiled brat when it comes to having been temporarily denied my freedom.” He grins. “That, and being able to beat your ugly face in was very satisfying.”

“You’re not in a position to call anyone ugly, Croc-Bait,” Rehgar snorts. “But I’m glad we were able to work things out. I always respected you, even before I learned who you were, and it brought me dishonor for you to blame the Horde for my actions. So…thank you, your Majesty.” One green fist thumps his chest in salute.

Varian bows. “Trust me, the pleasure was all mine.”

Once inside the dim coolness of Grommash Hold, my husband-to-be murmurs, “Thank you for understanding. I’m a little confused, though. I thought…” he hesitates, looking strangely vulnerable. “I thought your goal was to make me act like a king instead of a brute.”

I stop and level an icy look at him. “I agreed to marry a wolf, not a lapdog. My aim is not to pull your fangs, your Majesty. Just to keep you from attacking thoughtlessly.”

He blinks, then slowly grins. “I under-estimated you, my lady wolf.” He offers me a formal bow. “I suppose we should go tell your brother what just happened.”

Mollified, I place my fingertips back on his arm. “Both fights, not just your settled score.”

“You should have let me punch the other one a few more times,” he says with a scowl.

“Be merciful in your victories, my lord,” I chide. “Besides, now that the warning has been given, you’re clear to defend my virtue as vigorously as you like should any other orc be foolish enough to dispute it.”

He thinks about it for a minute. “I’d say ‘you’re no fun’, but it would be a lie. You’re still the most exciting opponent I’ve faced in a long time.”

“I still think you’ve lost your mind, but I agreed to marry you, so I have no room to talk.”

“You’re not any crazier than I am. You’re a beautiful, clever, fierce woman who doesn’t back down from a fight and doesn’t know how to lose.” His grin widens as I glare at him. “You’re a wolf, my lady, and like it or not…we’re well-matched.”

I decline to give that statement any response. Secretly, however, I have to admit that he’s right.

 

Comments

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[(Anonymous)]

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