Everything wonderful about his childhood vanished. No peace. No tranquility.
But unlike in times past, Varian now realized that the good memories had always remained with him. Even though violence had taken his childhood, it could not erase what he had lived prior . . . not unless Varian allowed it to do so.
And that was what he had always done.
But not now. Despite what had happened to his father and Stormwind, Varian at last embraced what had been before. His father had never ceased loving him and had proven that time and again. Varian had only shoved that knowledge aside.
And now, aware of that, he felt the peace remain within him. Whatever trials had come after the assassination and Stormwind’s fall, Varian would always have his childhood. The past could not be changed, but that meant for the good as well as the ill.
Tranquility . . .
Although he managed to keep his eyes shut, the voice startled him, for it sounded like his as a child mixed with that of his father.
Yet, though Varian accepted what had happened, he no longer wished to dwell on it. Instead, his mind sought some other memory to counter what had happened to his father and kingdom . . . and Tiffin naturally occurred to him.
Varian was no longer a child, but an insecure youth caught between the changes both within himself and the world around him. There was much that he had already learned to hide from those closest to him, such as Prince Arthas of Lordaeron and that boy’s father, King Terenas—who had also, in some ways, become a second father to Varian. Overall, to others, the young lord of Stormwind had appeared a diplomatic, intelligent, and upbeat ruler wiser than his years. However, the scars within could not always be kept hidden, and servants especially would become familiar with his occasional bouts of despair.
That had all changed with Tiffin. He saw her again as she had been when first they met. A calm and wondrous golden spirit contrasting sharply with his wild, dark self. Varian loved her for the first time again as she strode toward him, even though the first thing he did when she spoke with him was to brush her off in such an arrogant manner that any other person would have rightly fled.
But Tiffin did not. Again she danced with him, laughed with him, and brought out the good in Varian to balance the unchecked. In some ways, even more than his father, Tiffin helped Varian become the king the people loved.
And yet . . .
Varian struggled to keep the memory away, but could not.
And yet . . . the people were the very ones who killed her.
She lay dead at his feet, slain during a riot. An innocent victim of a time when everything had gone mad. Reliving it, Varian nearly slipped back into his darkness . . . but that would have been the ultimate disdain for his beloved. Tiffin had made of him a better man, a worthy leader. Varian finally saw that he had constantly insulted her memory with his later actions. Tiffin would have never acted as he had. She had always forgiven, always sought to do her best for those she loved.
If Varian hoped to redeem himself to her memory, he would have to do the same.
Varian steeled himself against the images of her death, doing instead what he knew she would have hoped of him. He was right to grieve, but he also had to move on . . . and learn. Most of all, he could continue to learn from her life, use it as the example of how he should confront all of the issues he continued to face as a father, man, and monarch. . . .
Balance . . .
Again the voice startled him, this time because he heard not only his own voice, but also that of Tiffin. Varian imagined her again, only this time with the culmination of their love held in her arms.
Anduin . . .
Anduin was all that he had left of family, the most precious member of all, for in the boy was his mother. For the years that they had been together before Varian’s vanishing, he had tried to be the father Llane had been. Without Tiffin it had been difficult, but Varian recalled times when he and Anduin had laughed together.
He also recalled the fear that he had felt so often when something had threatened his only child. Indeed, fear for Anduin had driven much of Varian’s later life. He now stood as himself, watching his son, then but three, fall from a pony and almost break an arm. Varian again did battle with an assassin who had snuck into the keep and, in what had too much even then reminded the king of his own father’s death, nearly stabbed young Anduin.
Fear . . . Varian refused to give in to it anymore. Fear would only make him helpless against those things that threatened his son and his kingdom. Merely thinking of all those who might harm Anduin was enough to throw Varian into a rage, just as it had so many times prior. However, even as his anger rose, he again saw himself grabbing Anduin’s arm . . . and was suddenly reminded how that rage and the fear fueling it had sent Anduin from him.
With that realization, Varian turned on his own rage. Where it had in the past always commanded him, now he sought to seize control of it. His rage could be a powerful, devastating force, and Varian saw that simply giving in to it did him little good overall and usually more harm in the long run. True, it aided him greatly during battle—the only time when he could truly unleash it—but beyond that, it was a double-edged weapon.
But although the rage no longer commanded him, it also did not abate. Varian felt the struggle within himself. If he allowed the rage to grow, he accomplished nothing, he realized. He would be the same man that Anduin had left.
And so, Varian held tight to the rage as if it were a horse needing to be broken, and worked to master it. It would no longer aid in further ruining his life; it would have purpose. Varian knew only one purpose too. If battle was the single place where his rage did him any good, then it would be where he would channel that force. He would let it fuel his strength against the dragon Deathwing and the orcs and their allies. . . .
The rage surrendered to his will. He had broken its hold over him and now it would serve Varian, not the other way around.
Tranquility . . . balance . . . fury . . . came the voice that was his . . . and now also that of someone whom he did not recognize even though he felt he should.
The beast must be conquered so that the man may rise. . . . The rage must be the servant for the man to be . . . complete. . . .
Varian felt his fury growing, but now it did so at his direction. It was now bound to his strength, not his despair. Once again, he felt Tiffin, Anduin, his father, and others who had played loved or vital roles in his life surround him. They had never stopped believing in him, not even his son. He saw that Anduin had done what he had for not only his own sake, but in the hopes that it would enable his father to come to terms with himself.
The rage filled him. However, because it had been transformed into a weapon instead of remaining simply a manic force, he welcomed it. With it at his command, no foe could stand against him.
From somewhere, a proud howl echoed. Varian responded to it. He finally knew who called out to him. Goldrinn. Lo’Gosh. The wolf Ancient. Lo’Gosh summoned him to battle. Images again coursed before him of those who would seek to harm the ones under his care, especially Anduin. In this new vision, Deathwing laughed as he landed on Stormwind, the mad leviathan savoring the destruction of both Varian’s home and countless lands as his power over the very earth caused Azeroth to churn. The world still sought to recover from that evil . . . but it was a battle that Varian understood would take time and careful planning to win. For now, there was another, more immediate threat. He knew the face, knew the name, even before this other foe took the place of the dragon in the king’s mind.
Garrosh Hellscream.
Thinking of the Horde leader, Varian summoned his rage to the forefront and tested it. It grew as it never could have as merely a destructive force. Now tempered, now shaped, it was greater than it had ever been.