shut, Varian shifted uneasily. “There’s no point in going back and doing that—”
“Then there’s no point in continuing,” Genn returned, seeming even farther away. His voice also took on a whispery quality, as if the wind carried it.
Varian grunted. “All right. I’ll do it.”
Gritting his teeth, the former gladiator focused on his past, trying to summon those memories that had for so long remained undesired. He looked far back, thinking of when he was the son and his father the king.
Suddenly he was once again a small boy. A sense of peace draped over him. Varian felt such comfort that for a moment he simply dwelled in it.
Then, the figure of his father dominated the scene. Varian held Llane’s hand as the king assisted him in learning to ride his first horse—more a pony, to be truthful. But the riding lasted only moments before the scene shifted to Llane overseeing one of Varian’s first fighting lessons. Varian realized then that he had handled a blade barely better than his own son, but Llane’s encouragement had helped Varian better learn from his instructors.
The tranquility of those days softened Varian’s heart. Still the young boy, he looked up at his father.
That was when the assassin struck.
Llane fell, dead. His slayer, the female half-orc called Garona, loomed like a sinister giant over Varian, who was now suddenly some thirteen years old.
Screaming, tears pouring down his face, young Varian lunged at the killer. Events had not played out this way—in real life, he had not entered the room until the half-orc had already murdered his father—but now they mixed with Varian’s turbulent emotions of that time.
But Garona disappeared. Llane’s face, contorted in death, filled Varian’s thoughts. The teenage version wanted to cry out for his father, but no sound came from his straining mouth.
Then the tragic memory became mixed with others. With Llane dead, the capital was vulnerable. The orcs, who had already invaded the kingdom four years previous, now overran the great city. The capital fell as brutal axes slew hundreds.
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