10. Marry me - Engage

[moonshadows]

After a week of verbal skirmishing in various halls and meeting rooms, I find myself in a corridor facing Varian Wrynn with neither of us having a place to be. Per the rules laid out by the mages of Dalaran, neither he nor his guards are armed, and Golthak and his men are similarly empty-handed. This gives me the assurance I need to push panic away when he suddenly looks at me like a starving wolf seeing a lost lamb.

"My Lady Foxton, what a pleasure," he purrs. He sweeps me a gallant bow.

"Your Majesty." I dip him a curtsy, face impassive and voice chilly.

"There's something different about you, Taretha." He begins prowling around me, eyes roving from head to toe and back, perhaps lingering in the middle of their journey.

"And what would that be, Lo'gosh?"

"Don't call me that."

It is like staring into a mirror: fierce defiance and impersonal hostility reflecting from my eyes to his and back again, two wolves challenging each other for dominance.

"Then stop prowling around me like a wolf," I snarl in orcish, daring him with the sound of the word to deny his actions.

Abruptly, he makes a quarter turn and directs his glare at the innocent banner in Alliance blue hanging from the wall. Interesting; he cannot stem the flow of anger, so he aims it elsewhere. I give him the same courtesy, and side by side we regard the hanging cloth with loathing.

"Lo'gosh is not my name," he growls. "Lo'gosh was a wild beast, prodded at with sharp sticks to make it fight the other dumb beasts in the pit. He does not rule me, nor does he rule Stormwind."

I incline my head, conceding the point and acknowledging that he has neatly thrown my words back at me. There is something more, however. This particular type of anger I have seen once before, when my brother took Durnholde Keep. The king of Stormwind is warring with himself, fighting the part of his mind that was what others made it. Fighting for the freedom to choose his own identity, to break the chains of what others wanted him to be.

"That's what's different about you," he says in a tone of forced neutrality. "You haven't once brought up my enslavement."

"Neither have you."

He looks at me in surprise. "You were...that wasn't-" The hostility drains out of him, replaced by a mixture of hope and respect. "You don't just see me as a mad dog to be punished, then?"

"If you were a mad dog, the Horde would have put you down." I keep my tone as neutral as his. "Dogs are servile creatures with no honor, tools unworthy of respect. You are a wolf, your Majesty, growling at those you see as a threat to your pack and your territory. But you have strayed out of your territory, and threaten us from ours."

In silence, he regards the banner thoughtfully. I watch him out of the corner of my eye.

"If I am a wolf, then you are one as well," he says casually.

"Of course," I retort primly. "Or have you forgotten my clan?"

He grins at the blue cloth, shaking his head in reluctant admiration. "I had not thought it should be taken so literally. So you are alpha female of the Horde, then, growling at the interloper you see as a threat to your lands and people." Varian turns to look at me curiously. "Why you, and not your brother?"

"Two alpha males fighting would send their packs at each other’s throats, and war between us serves only our mutual enemies. You will hear words from me that you would ignore from him."

"Because you are female?" He raises one eyebrow and grins, mocking  himself lightly. "Because you are a human? Because I am attracted to you?"

"Only you can answer that, your Majesty."

He gives me a slight nod, awarding me victory in that exchange, and turns to regard the Horde-red banners on the opposite wall. "Anduin was right," he says softly.

"On which topic?" I move so that once again, we are regarding the hanging cloth side by side.

"Sometimes, I do forget that I am no longer Lo'gosh, and that the consequences of my actions affect the entire Alliance and not just myself."

At his side, his hand tightens into a fist, but there is only determination on his face. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for something, and turns to face me. I wait, but he says nothing. Curious now, I turn as well. Only his fisted hands betray his anxiety; his expression is one of a man facing certain doom with the knowledge that if he falls, it will be a glorious, honorable death.

“Marry me.”

I stare at him in shock. “What?”

His chin lifts slightly, undaunted. “Marry me.”

I cannot physically retreat to put distance between his adoration and my heart without revealing how badly this has shaken me, so in self-defense I pin him with a stony look. “Have you lost your mind? Why would you even want me to marry you? We’d only fight all the time!”

“That’s exactly why.” He turns that intense gaze of his on me full-force. “You yell at me. You tell me when I’m being a moron. I need that, Taretha. Ever since Tiffin died…” his eyes cloud briefly. “I wouldn’t- it would be a marriage of state,” he says hurriedly. “I’m not asking you to-“ he flushes “-share my bed. Not unless- that is, it would be your choice. I’m not Blackmoore. I think you’re a fine woman, and I am attracted to you, but I would never force myself upon you.” He takes a breath to steady himself. “Anduin needs a mother. I-“ the smile is more than a little crooked. “I need someone to be my better half. To remind me that I am no longer the gladiator known as Lo’gosh. To keep me from getting carried away.”

At my continued silence and stony look, he falters, looking much less confident and more desperate.

“Please, Taretha. If you won’t do it for me, do it for Anduin. Or for the Horde. I know how much of an advantage it would be to the Horde, having the Warchief’s sister so close to the king of Stormwind. Think of the good you could do for your people and mine by being there to hold me in check when my temper breaks.”

He flushes again, this time in shame. The rash orders are always countermanded swiftly, but not before there are some casualties – and the stress it puts on both sides is significant. It is, in fact, one of the reasons the Kirin Tor have provided a place where Horde and Alliance may coordinate directly. He sinks to one knee, head bowed like a surrendering foe, and panic flutters at my throat. I want to beg him to stop, to turn around and not continue sailing my treacherous waters, but doing so would mean revealing my own weaknesses.

“Taretha Foxton of the Frostwolf, Lady of Durnholde, I beg you to do me the kindness and the honor of being my bride. I am a better man when you are at my side. You hold my heart in your hands. Please, say you’ll at least consider this.”

One faintly-trembling hand dips into an inner pocket and comes out with a slim gold ring. The diamond set in the center is flanked by a ruby and a sapphire, the colors reflecting the banners that line the walls. He's serious. Blessed ancestors, he's serious. If I refuse him, I will be guilty of causing pain far beyond anything he could ever deserve, but if I accept, I will be again chained to the task of keeping a rash man in check. Varian is not the lord of a small keep, however, and his actions have far greater repercussions than Blackmoore's.

“Speak with my brother,” I say through pale, stiff lips. “With my father dead, such arrangements fall to him.”

I turn with a swirl of skirts and walk away, Golthak and the Elites trailing silently behind me. Varian says nothing, but as I turned I saw a seed of hope on his scarred face.