World of Warcraft: The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm Page 0,23

to make room for her. From here she had an excellent view, and smiled as she watched the familiar figures of King Varian Wrynn and his son, Anduin, file in as unobtrusively as possible from a separate room.

Although Varian could never be considered “unobtrusive.” It was not for nothing that, upon spotting him half-drowned and unconscious over a year ago, the orc Rehgar Earthfury had decided he would make a fine gladiator. With no memory of his past, Varian had adapted well to the brutal lifestyle. Unbeknownst to him at that time, he had actually been split into two separate entities—Varian, under the thumb of the dragon Onyxia, and Lo’Gosh, a fearsome and powerful gladiator. Varian held all of the original man’s manners, knowledge, and etiquette; Lo’Gosh, a Taur-ahe word that meant “ghost wolf” and honored a ferocious creature of legend, all of the original Varian’s battle skill. Varian was elegant; Lo’Gosh was violent. Varian was sophisticated; Lo’Gosh was brutal.

The two halves were eventually reunited, but imperfectly. Sometimes it seemed that Lo’Gosh had the upper hand in the tall, powerfully built body. More than ever, King Varian Wrynn, dark brown hair pulled back in a topknot and a wicked scar slicing across his once-handsome face, dominated a room.

Anduin was a sharp contrast to his father. He was pale, fair-haired, and slender, and slightly taller than the last time Jaina had seen him. While nowhere near his father’s imposing size—and Jaina guessed he would take after his willowy mother and never be quite the large man that Varian was—he was a youth now and not a child. He exchanged smiles and nods with Brother Sarno and young Thomas as he and his father moved to take their seats. Perhaps feeling her gaze, he frowned slightly, looked around—and met her eyes. He was schooled enough in the formalities that princes should abide by that he didn’t crack a grin, but his eyes brightened and he gave her a slight nod.

All eyes turned from the king and his son to Archbishop Benedictus, who had entered and was moving slowly to the altar. Of average height and solid, stocky build, the man looked more like a farmer than a holy man. He never seemed to quite fit his splendid robes of gold and white, looking slightly ill at ease. But once he began to speak, his voice, calm and clear, carrying throughout the cathedral, it was obvious that the Light had chosen him.

“Dear friends of the Light, you are all welcome here, in this beautiful cathedral that turns none away who come with open hearts and humble spirits. This place has seen many occasions of joy, and many of sorrow. Today we assemble to honor the fallen, to remember them, and mourn them, and respect their sacrifices for our Alliance and for Azeroth.”

Jaina looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. This was one reason she had not wanted to be in a highly visible part of the cathedral. Her romance with Arthas Menethil had not been forgotten—not when he was prince, certainly not when he was the Lich King, and not now that he had been defeated. It was because of him that this sad ceremony was even necessary. A few heads turned her way, recognizing her, and giving her sympathetic glances.

Not a day went by that Jaina did not think of him, wondering if there was anything she could have done, anything she could have said, to have turned the once-bright paladin from his dark path. Her feelings had been turned against her during the War Against the Nightmare, trapping her in a dream in which she had indeed prevented him from becoming the Lich King … by becoming the Lich Queen herself in his stead. …

She shivered, forcing thoughts of that horrible dream away, and turned her attention back to the archbishop. “… the frozen lands far to the north,” Benedictus was saying. “They faced a terrible foe with an army that no one ever truly thought we would be able to defeat. And yet, thanks to the blessing of the Light and the simple courage of these men and women—humans, dwarves, night elves, gnomes, draenei; yes, and even the members of the Horde as well—we are safe in our homeland again. The numbers are staggering, and more reports come in every day. To give you an idea of the estimated losses, each worshipper here today has been given a candle. Each candle represents not one, not ten … but