A messenger had delivered the news of war to Varian and his people at the same time that the other members of the Alliance had been notified. The high priestess had some notion of rushing a force to Ashenvale and had asked the others for whatever assistance they could muster on short notice. Naturally Stormwind would help, but that did not matter in the least to Varian. Azeroth meant nothing to him. Anduin had left him . . . and he knew that it was his fault that the boy had.
This was just the latest failure on his part, the latest proof that he would have been better off having remained bereft of his memory and fighting day after day for his life against the other dregs of the world. Better yet, he should have died when his father had; then Tiffin would have never married him and been condemned as another victim of his cursed life. Anduin would have been safe, too, for he—
He would have never existed.
Swearing at himself, Varian downed the last of the wine. He yearned for some good Stormwind whiskey or something not so sweet as night elven wine. Still, enough of it would drown out his thoughts for a time.
That essential mission in mind, Varian ordered his frustrated guards to find him more wine or dwarven ale. He, in turn, sat in a chair facing the quarters where Anduin had recently slept, and buried himself deep in his self-recriminations.
True to his word, the prince had left with the draenei. Varian’s own departure had been temporarily delayed. He did not want to return to Stormwind without his son . . . not yet.
I’ve lost him, Tiffin. . . . I lost you and now I’ve lost him. . . .
There was a knock at the door. His eyes still fixed on Anduin’s quarters, the king frowned. His servants had orders to bring whatever alcohol they found right to him. That meant ignoring protocol about entering the presence of their ruler. The sooner he could drink himself deeper into oblivion, the better.
“Come in, damn you!” he roared when they still did not enter. “And bring what drink you’ve found quickly!”
The door opened at last, but the voice that followed was one of the last Varian wanted to hear. “I have brought no spirits, but thought there might be a way to raise yours.”
The king still did not turn away from his son’s quarters. “You’ll forgive me if I’m in no mood for company, not even yours.”
Malfurion walked around Varian, blocking his view. “Anduin would not want you like this, especially because of some argument with him. Neither would your wife.”
The king frowned. “Please leave, Archdruid.”
Undaunted, Malfurion said, “If it is not a talk you desire, perhaps you would like to find a way to more directly vent your frustrations.”
Despite himself, Varian was interested. “If you’ve something to keep me from thinking for a while, name it.”
“Something much better than all this drinking. A hunt.”
“A hunt?” He sat up. “You, a druid, want to take me on a hunt? Doesn’t that go against your beliefs?”
“The hunt is an essential part of nature. It keeps the balance. We do not condemn the bear—or the wolf—for its part in it, and if men, night elves, and others take but what they need and respect where that bounty comes from, there is no contradiction. Azeroth nourishes us and, in return, those of my calling aid it in whatever little fashion we can.”
“‘Whatever little fashion’ . . . I know the extent of your power, Archdruid.”
Malfurion shrugged. “I have been blessed with gifts, but they come with responsibility.”
Varian nodded. “The price of true leadership is to understand that all the advantages come with heavy responsibility. I know that too well.”
“Enough of this talk, though. I only came to offer you respite through a hunt. If you are not interested . . .”
The king rose. “Oh, I’m interested.”
“Good! We can gather your men—”
This earned the archdruid a snort of derision. “I’m not like some of those overfed monarchs who play at hunting by having a hundred beaters frighten some poor beast out of the bush so that he and his pathetic courtiers can surround it and either hack it to death or fill it with enough arrows to make it look like a pincushion! That’s not hunting; that’s true barbarism that even the orcs wouldn’t accept! No . . . I prefer to hunt alone, with just my bow and my stealth. If that’s enough, I bring home food. If not, the beast proves himself my better.”
“A reasonable point.” The night elf gestured to the door. “Then it will be just you and me.”
“You’re going to hunt too? You can call the beasts right to you! What sort of hunting is that?”
The archdruid simply smiled. “You do not know me if you think I would abuse my power in that manner. Come, we will see who fares best.”
Eager to do whatever he could to forget Anduin’s flight, Varian did not hesitate any longer. He seized his bow and quiver from where they were stored and, with the night elf leading, gratefully abandoned his quarters.
As they departed, two of his servants returned. Both had been successful in their efforts to procure wine or ale.
“Leave those inside,” the king decided, just in case the night elf’s offer proved insufficient to fix what was ailing him. “The archdruid and I are going for a walk. Alone.”
The guards eyed the bow but, as usual, did not protest. Varian forgot them as he kept pace with the night elf. Already, doubts were creeping into him. Alone, he might find the hunt to his liking, but if he had to have the night elf at his side at all times, he could not pursue his quarry as he needed. That would only serve to stifle Varian.
He was ready to turn around and head back to the wine and ale when at last they reached a segment of the forest far from any visible night elven structure. Malfurion let his guest view the area in silence.
“Looks like good hunting territory,” Varian admitted. He eyed the archdruid, who was only armed with a staff. “You plan on using that thing?”
In answer, Malfurion set it against a tree. “No, I prefer to hunt as the animals hunt . . . and as one.”
Now at last the human understood what the night elf intended. “You’re going to become a cat!”
“Is that fair enough a hunt?”
Varian chuckled, surprising himself. “It still won’t be enough, if you mean will you be more successful than me. Do we hunt together?”
“I thought we would meet back here. I will hunt this direction,” and he pointed slightly to the north. “And you can go that direction. I promise you will have plenty to pursue there.”
“Suits me.”
“Then the best of luck! May you find what you seek!” With that, the archdruid transformed. He slumped forward, falling upon all fours. His hands became padded paws with sharp claws and his garments melted into the ether, to be replaced by sleek, dark fur. His face widened and his nose and mouth became a blunt muzzle.
A powerful nightsaber stood next to the king.
“You’ll still need a lot of luck to do better,” Varian challenged, now completely caught up in the affair.
The cat rumbled in what could only be called an amused tone, then lunged off among the trees.
“Ha!” Varian did not let his opponent get very much of a leap ahead. The king darted into his area of the forest, his senses coming alive as he moved. Already he had the bow strung and an arrow nocked. The only other weapon was the knife he wore at his waist. That would only be needed if something happened to his bow or the prey survived his shot and he had to end its pain quickly.
His ears picked up movement. Varian smelled deer. It was impossible for him to describe to others how he became during a hunt save that the king transformed into something more . . . free.
Free.
The deer was close. Varian tightened his grip on the string. He rarely needed more than one shot to down his prey. He felt obligated to do his best to honor the kill, just as the night elf had indicated he did.
Much of Varian’s anger at Malfurion faded. The archdruid had found the one method by which to give the king some relief. He would thank Malfurion later—