18. Broll visits

[moonshadows]

The kaldorei ship docking in the late-afternoon light is unremarkable, except for its passenger. The druid is male, far more solidly built than most of his race, and sports a pair of antlers outdone only by the ones born by Malfurion Stormrage. He stops on the dock, while the crew flow around him performing the business of unloading, and looks up at the castle - and I swear that even from this distance, he sees us.

"Broll!" Varian looks almost boyish in his delight. "I haven't seen him since..." he trails off and glances at me with an indulgently self-mocking smile. "I'm going to be up late, my lady wife. Don't wait up for me."

One raised eyebrow conveys exactly how I feel about that, but my incredulity only amuses him further and he strolls from the balcony with that warm, rich laugh of his trailing after him.

With the evening to myself, I don a more casual dress of soft cotton and curl up in a comfortable wing back chair by the fireplace in the royal study. Golthak has become acclimated enough to the castle that while in the Royal Wing - where even the Royal Guard do not follow - he is content to remain in earshot of me. With Anduin in Ironforge for the next few months and Varian ancestors-know-where with his friend from the Crimson Ring, this area of the castle is so quiet that you could almost hear a pin drop from three rooms away. My faithful shadow has been running himself into the ground, trying to guard me at all hours, and he contents himself with the small, comfortable room next to the study where he can nap while still being close enough to interfere should my lord husband try anything.

Time passes quite pleasantly, deep in a book, and only the stiffness in my legs hints at the hour when I hear voices in the hall. To my dismay, the door of the study opens and the chatter moves towards this end of the room, but thankfully stops at a cluster of chairs around a small table almost directly behind me. Something sounds...off...about Varian's voice, something that makes my nerves sing with alarm. Silently, I close my book and listen intently. Broll - if that if who the other voice belongs to - is in the middle of telling a story from his days as a gladiator. His voice is deep and burred, as though he were a great cat purring. The story reaches its climax and Varian laughs, and then there is a sound that turns my blood to ice: the distinctive resonant pop and liquid slosh of someone drinking from a bottle. The panic takes me with all of Blackmoore's drunken brutality and the flesh of my wrist bears the brunt of my terror as I bite down to keep from being heard.

By the time I can think clearly enough to make words out of voices again, they are deep in a discussion of how well they think various women they know would do fighting each other. I can distinctly hear Varian slurring his words, now, and wonder how much time I spent blacked out. My wrist throbs, but I have managed to not break the skin. The unnatural calm that follows my panic attacks makes me oblivious to the potential danger of revealing my presence, and as though in a dream I stand, book in hand, and begin making my way to the door.

"Taretha? I didn't know you were in here. Come say hi to Broll!"

With a false smile to hide my unease, I obey. Blackmoore long ago taught me what comes of disobedience. No sooner have I reached the cluster of chairs, however, than Varian's arm snakes around my waist and I discover that the fires of rage can, in fact, melt my protective emotional ice.

"Broll, have you met my wife? She-"

The king of Stormwind's words cut off suddenly as my book smashes into his forehead. His arm falls as he goes limp in his chair, unconscious. Broll looks at me, eyebrows raised, with the air of a man who wishes he could back away warily.

I take a deep breath and compose myself as best I can. "Ishnu-ala."

"Ishnu-dal-dieb," he replies respectfully. "You must be Taretha, the Warchief's sister. I heard a lot about you while was in the Crimson Ring, all of it good." He switches to accented, but fluent, orcish. "Please, join me. As one who left the bosom of his race and returned to it, I am interested to hear why you chose to do the same."

Warily, I eye the unmoving form of my husband.

"One of the things I heard," Broll says carefully, "was how your brother avenged your virtue, and why. If I may be so bold, my lady, I will protect you should he wake and try anything - although I doubt he will move for several hours."

The familiar sounds, even uttered accidentally, reassure me and I seat myself primly in the seat next to the druid. "I thank you for your consideration, Broll."

He grins, teeth startlingly pale against his purple skin. "That was quite a blow. I saw Lo'gosh take worse than that in many fights without being knocked out. Was he aware of your ferocity when he proposed to you?"

"Oh yes." It's my turn to grin. "The first time I visited, we docked at night and I thought he was a footpad attacking the prince. I only struck him once before I realized my mistake, and then a second time out of anger."

Broll chuckles. "Somehow, that figures. Why did you accept his proposal, if I may ask? You must understand that most of the Alliance is not comfortable with the idea of the Warchief's sister being queen of Stormwind and prefer to not discuss you at all. Because of this, information is...limited."

"And what do your contacts in the Horde tell you?"

"They paint Lo'gosh - Varian - as a mad dog, and you as holding his leash." His eyebrows draw together. "I know him better than that, however, and I doubt that your brother would have allowed this marriage if that were the case."

I stare moodily at the unconscious king of Stormwind. "He's not a mad dog, but he does bark and bite before he thinks, and he knows it. The reason he asked for my hand, and the reason I accepted, is that he needs someone who is not afraid to tell him off, and who can remind him of how a king should act."

"And what do you get out of it?"

He sounds so genuinely concerned that for a moment, I am reminded of my father. I bite my lip and blink back tears, but no answer is forthcoming.

"Do you hate him?"

I almost laugh, remembering the day Anduin asked me the same thing. "Sometimes. When he's being a jackass, or when he's acting like a lovesick fool mooning after me."

Broll is silent a long moment, contemplating the sleeping visage of my husband with me.

"He can be a good man," the druid says quietly.

"I know."

"You're still wounded from the things you suffered."

At my surprised look, he points to the vivid purple bruise on my wrist. Then, with a slow and gentle motion, extends one green-glowing finger and touches it lightly. The tingle of healing magic warms the area and the bruise vanishes.

"I won't say anything, but don't think he doesn't know. When you're ready to let him help you...well, you may be pleasantly surprised."

There is a desire to lash out at Broll, to protest that I neither need nor want help from Varian, but I know that he is correct in his assessment of me. "Not until he can be trusted off his leash," I say dryly, not admitting that he is right, but not denying it either.

"He is a bit impulsive," the druid admits with a chuckle, "but I have complete confidence that you will be the crucible in which he purifies himself, the grindstone against which his rough edges are ground smooth." He pensively considers Varian's slumped form. "You have my thanks in advance," he says quietly. "Lo'gosh was a better friend to me than I ever expected anyone could be. You will be the same for him. And, when you are ready, he will be the same for you."

I bite back the hot retort that I don't want to be a friend to him, but he smiles anyway as though he read it on my face.

"You're still young - both of you are - and you have a lot to learn about yourselves, and each other. I believe I have taken enough of your time for tonight, however. If you want to talk, my ear is always open. But for now, I will let you make your delayed escape before I bring your husband around."

"Thank you, Broll."

I collect my book and dip him a half-curtsy before leaving the study. However, just outside the door I stop and listen. Faintly, I can hear Varian groan and ask what happened, followed by Broll's amused chuckle.

"You got fresh with your wife and she clocked you with her book," the druid says.

There is a pause before Varian chuckles weakly. "That's why I married her," he jokes.

Given the things Broll said about us, this is something I have no desire to hear right now. I wake Golthak and retire for the night.