In the Shadows: A Short Warcraft Fanfic

After the Siege of Orgrimmar…

The sun began to set as the red dust in the air settled back onto the Durotar ground. The air smelled of blood as the warm, desert wind breathed softly onto the skin of the armies. The Alliance and Horde were victorious in retaking Orgrimmar from Garrosh Hellscream. As a show of gratitude, Warchief Vol’jin invited the Alliance to enter, sit, and drink inside the walls of Orgrimmar as a temporary truce.

Jaina Proudmoore’s hatred for the Horde had been growing for years. Where she once was open to a peaceful resolution to the conflicts between Horde and Alliance, she now wanted to see them all eradicated. Garrosh destroyed her home of Theramore and all of her hope for peace was gone. Jaina scoffed at Vol’jin’s offer and pleaded with King Varian Wrynn to dismantle the Horde here and now.

“You know they are a problem, My King. You know what needs to be done,” she implored.

“Jaina, is Azeroth to never have a moment’s peace?” Varian asked rhetorically. His dark hair was messily pulled into a ponytail with a few strands of wild hairs blowing about in the warm wind, framing his face. The wind picked up speed, blowing long strands into his face, brushing against the scars. “It’s just a moment of peace.”

The same wind ignored Jaina’s platinum locks, leaving her blue eyes visible; her rage could be seen in the depths of the blue. “Azeroth will have peace when these monsters are brought to heel,” she quipped. And like that, she disappeared, revealing that behind her was the pair of vengeful, glowing red eyes of Sylvanas, lowering her bow.

Jaina and Varian after Siege of Orgrimmar. Screenshot by onewildflower

“This is far from over,” King Varian Wrynn said, whilst walking into the inn with Vol’jin.

“Relax, mon. We can resume our quarrels lata. Although, I’d rather negotiate peace instead of quarrel. Drink,” insisted Vol’jin, grabbing a pint from the barmaid and handing it to Varian.

“That’s not what I meant,” Varian replied. I fear there will be another threat to Azeroth.” He sat down at the bar next to Vol’jin.

“There will always be threats, mon. Someone will always be greedy for more powa. Someone will always want vengeance. And then, there will be someone who will want to destroy all of Azeroth.” He looked over at Sylvanas Windrunner, the Banshee Queen, liberator and leader of the Undead. She stood in the far corner, talking to her champion, Nathanos Blightcaller, Lady Liadrin, and Lor’themar Theron, trading jibes and war stories.”And some—you just don’t know what they will do,” Vol’jin continued. Varian looked at Sylvanas as well, understanding Vol’jin’s meaning. Before Varian changed his gaze, his steel blue eyes met Sylvanas’s. She raised her glass to him and nodded with a smirk. Varian lifted his mug to her in return, with a stern face.

“The whole of Azeroth will have your hide if you reanimate Wrynn, my Lady,” Lor’themar joked.

“And I have an arrow for every last one of them,” Sylvanas responded in kind.

“No doubt my arrows will be among them, My Queen,” Nathanos added.

“They will all be dead by the time you fire your first shot. But I appreciate your offer,” Sylvanas teased dryly.

“Glad to see nothing’s changed, Sylvanas,” Liadrin laughed, referring to Sylvanas’s and Nathanos’s competitive nature with each other. “Not even death can keep you two from trying to best each other!”

“May the best always win,”Sylvanas said, raising her glass to Liadrin in a toast. Liadrin did the same. Sylvanas took one last drink and excused herself; she was fond of solitude. She knew no one trusted her and she did not care, for she trusted no one except her champion. It was easier that way. The only thing that mattered to her was keeping her people safe and ensuring their continuity.

Sylvanas mounted her undead warhorse and trotted outside the gates of Orgrimmar into the night. There was something calming about the night that soothed her rage, at least temporarily. She could think clearly and plan and just be.

Soon after, the Alliance forces began to clear out of Orgrimmar, heading to the docks to board the ships bound for the ruins of Theramore, where they would make camp. Vol’jin escorted Varian to the gate to see him off.

“Your hospitality won’t be forgotten,” Varian said with a stern face. “But make no mistake. We do have unfinished business.” Vol’jin smirked slyly.

“I’ll be seein’ ya.”

King Varian began to walk to the ships. He turned to look behind him one last time, seeing Vol’jin had already disappeared. But in the far distance he saw the silhouette of a lone ranger–two, glowing red dots in the shadows sitting atop a warhorse. He turned around to investigate. He knew it was Sylvanas. He walked closer and put one hand on Shalamayne, ready to draw.

“You and your entire army would be dead already, if that were my intention, Wrynn” Sylvanas said to Varian as he approached her. “Warchief gave you ale and safe passage. I’m just enjoying the solitude of the night.”

“You need to leave Gilneas, Banshee,” Varian demanded.

“You forget where you are, Varian. Look around you. You’re in no position to make demands of me.”

Screenshot by AzyxA

“This is me being diplomatic.”

Sylvanas smiled deviously. “How noble. I respectfully decline. Don’t miss your boat, King.”

Varian stepped closer. “This doesn’t have to get messy. Pull out of Gilneas.”

Sylvanas dismounted, standing taller than the human before her. Her blood red eyes stared down Varian’s steel blues. Though she wore a smirk, her eyes were all fury. And in a voice just shy of a whisper, she responded, “No.”

Varian was irate, but he controlled his anger, swallowing hard. He took one step closer to her and she backed up. The air blew from behind Sylvanas, lightly brushing her hair forward. Varian inhaled the sweet aroma of dead roses as he took another step, slowly, and Sylvanas backed up once more. The moonlight danced across his grimaced eyes with each step until Sylvanas had backed into a tree. “You will leave Gilneas. I will do everything in my power to reclaim Gilneas for the Alliance,” he said through clenched teeth.

“You do that.”

Varian’s face inched closer to Sylvanas’s, as if gravity was forcing him closer. “I could kill you right now and no one would be the wiser. My blade could slice through you and no one would find you until after I got on the boat and sailed away.”

“I could shove this arrow into your heart. Then have my val’kyr resurrect you to join my forsaken. Would you like that, Varian?” She touched his hand that gripped Shalamayne’s hilt. Her purple, undead skin felt like soft linen on Varian’s hand.

“No,” he whispered as he pressed his lips against hers. “Not at all.” He grabbed her face in both of his hands, sliding them down to her shoulders as her own had found their way to his neck and up to the back of his head. Varian’s hands were like warm, embersilk against her skin. She ran her fingers through his dark, tailed hair, then grabbed his ponytail and pulled his head back.

“Gilneas is mine, Wrynn.” She pulled him closer once more.

“Greymane wants vengeance for his son. I will help him get his vengeance and reclaim his home.”

Sylvanas’s hands moved down to Varian’s chest. “And what of my vengeance for my people?” She kissed him once more, then bit his lip and pulled, drawing blood. Then she pushed him away. She turned her back on on Varian, walked over to her warhorse, and mounted. “See you on the battlefield, Varian.”

“Yes, you will.” Varian turned and walked toward the docks to set sail for Theramore.

“Just so we are clear, Varian. We are the Forsaken. We will slaughter anyone who gets in our way.” Her warhorse kicked up dirt as she rode into the gates of Orgrimmar, disappearing into the darkness.

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