08. Taretha pwns Varian - Interlude

[moonshadows]

            “Looks like you and Varian hit it off,” Jaina teases as we stroll around the landscaped area outside the Alliance pavilion. “I was watching you two; you couldn’t keep your eyes off of each other.”

“He’s a brute. We were fighting.”

The sorceress laughs. “I wish I could have heard it. Did you leave him any dignity?”

A small smile plays about my lips. “A few crumbs.”

“Oh, that’s not like you, Taretha! Don’t tell me you’re sweet on him.”

“Jaina!”

She laughs as I give her a playful shove. “Tell me you at least stabbed him with some common sense.”

 “Ancestors know I tried. I think I got through to him on the slavery thing.”

We come to a sort of bench made from the live trunk of a pine tree, bent nearly horizontal before it sweeps up again, and sit with a swirl of skirts.

“Which choice phrases did you use on him?”

“Oh, I just pointed out a few things.” My grin is slightly mischievous. “I got him with the name thing, though. I think that’s what did it.”

“And you’re sure it penetrated that thick skull of his?”

“He asked me to be merciful in my victory,” I answer dryly.

“Did you manage to disillusion him completely?”

I sigh. “Somehow, he’s still interested. He’ll be calling on me an hour past dawn if you want to…” A finger-waggle conveys nothing to an observer, but Jaina knows what I mean.

“You’re such a good friend, Tari, sacrificing yourself like this.” She gives me a one-armed hug.

“Hey, at least someone gets to enjoy themselves,” I grin.

“This is two I owe you now.”

“Oh, you know I won’t call you on that. Think nothing of it.” One hand gestures dismissively. “I’ll just keep track of how many you owe me and then cash them in for your oath.”

 “Tari! Are you trying to give him…oh, I just imagined the look on his face!” Jaina dissolves into giggles.

“Well, you know how hard it is to find the perfect Winter’s Veil gift for him…” my deadpan expression is eroding quickly.

“No, no, not him – Varian!”

All composure evaporates at imagining the king of Stormwind hearing that Theramore has joined the Horde, and the two of us lean against each other, laughing helplessly.

“I heard my name,” a deep voice interjects. “If I’m the butt of a joke this funny, I’d like to hear it.”

The interruption only drives us to laughing even harder. Before tears of mirth blur my vision, I see Varian standing, arms crossed, fighting back a smile. Jaina flushes and hides her face in my shoulder, still laughing. By the time the last chuckles dribble out of us and we wipe our eyes, he has given up and we are alone again.

    **************************

            The tolling of the first hour after sunrise finds me seated in the entry hall of the pavilion, casually nibbling sliced fruit, when the door opens to admit the king of Stormwind. Even without the armor, his silhouette is impressive and, thankfully, too bulky to be mistaken for Blackmoore. His hair, normally so unruly even tied back, is damp enough that it lays quietly against his head and looks almost black. Fortunately, he has also taken the time to shave and the jutting expanse of his chin is bare. I don’t think I could have looked at him so calmly if his chin had been smaller, or sported any kind of beard. As it is, the hopeful expression flickers out, to be replaced by doubt and worry.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks uneasily. When I direct my gaze to the fruit left on my plate, he sinks to one knee before me and reaches out as though to touch my hand, but thinks better of it. “Hey. I couldn’t possibly have done something wrong yet; I just got here.” The next words are quiet and uncertain. “…did I?”

I take a deep breath and force myself to meet his eyes, only to run straight into that curiously vulnerable pleading look from yesterday. “No. It wasn’t you.”

“Then what-” He breaks off. “I won’t intrude. Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

At my brisk tone, he stands up and offers me his hand. I ignore it as I rise from the bench and he turns it into a gesture towards the door.

“Morning stroll, my lady?” Somehow, Varian reaches the door far enough ahead of me to open it before I can, and he holds it open as I pass through.

"Thank you, my lord."

Although the words are impersonally polite, he smiles as though he has been redeemed from his imagined fault. His four guards and Golthak shuffle themselves into an agreeable configuration.

"Any problems?" I ask in orcish, and he grins.

"None, Taretha. They know why I'm here."

"Me have little sister," one of them says in orcish that, if anything, is worse than his king's. "She die sick. Burn-" Brown eyes blink behind the steel visor. "Why am I-? You speak common. I had a little sister, lady. Plague got her and we burned her body so she wouldn't come back. None of us have a problem with him." The other three guards make sympathetic noises and nod. "In fact...it's kind of reassuring, knowing that orcs love their sisters, too."

He glances nervously at his king, but Varian is studiously inspecting the clouds. Apparently, conversing with the guard is something kings don't do. Or perhaps he's remembering how badly he behaved yesterday. Regardless, I thank the guard warmly and he and his fellows straighten to attention.

Varian offers me his arm, and I stare at it for a long minute, but he does not withdraw it. When I meet his eyes, they are resolute without being challenging.

"I would be remiss in my duty as a gentleman if I did not offer my arm to the lady whose company I am in."

My smile could cut glass. "I'm not a lady." I can see him start to leap to my defense, but cut him off before he can find the right words to express himself. "I'm common-born, my lord. 'Good enough to bed, not good enough to wed' as the saying goes."

"I must sincerely disagree with that assessment, my lady," he says with remarkable calmness considering the rage that darkens his face. "Clearly, you are far more a lady than he was a gentleman, regardless of your respective stations. And short of behaving in an undeniably crude manner, you will not convince me otherwise."

"You flatter me, my lord."

His scarred face stretches in a grim smile at my dry tone. "Truth is never flattery, my lady."

"Well said, my lord."

A slight inclination of my head indicates that this round goes to him, and his face clears significantly when my fingertips just barely touch the firm bulk of his arm. In the cool morning air, the warmth of his body easily penetrates the satin sleeve. So, not only does the king of Stormwind rise with the sun, but he engages in weapons practice and takes the time to wash, even when meeting with a woman upon whom he wishes to make a favorable impression. All points in his favor, but only pebbles in the chasm he must fill if he wishes to win my heart.