Alliances

The ground itself seemed to tremble, a thunderous roar that ripped through the crisp morning air, even rattling the gilded windows of the new palace. It startled the Queen and the young Prince Varian, who had been gazing wistfully at the distant, war-torn horizon.

"Mother," Varian piped up, his voice a curious blend of awe and genuine bewilderment, "is that Edmund Duke's cavalry? Why do I feel like Edmund Duke is more popular than Father? Like, way more popular?"

The question hung in the air, a verbal hand grenade that made Bolvar, ever the stoic attendant, practically break out in a cold sweat. His face, usually a mask of calm, twitched imperceptibly.

The Queen shot Bolvar a quick, apologetic smile, a silent promise that no heads would roll today. Then, she turned to her son, her voice a practiced blend of regal wisdom and subtle exasperation: "Varian, listen closely. This is vital. True heroes aren't just born; they're forged by making their people's lives better. Think of all those legendary figures who vanquished evil – why do bards sing of them for ages? Because they fought for the common folk, plain and simple."

"Fighting for the people?" Varian repeated, his brow furrowed in a way that suggested the concept was entirely new, perhaps even a little inconvenient.

"Precisely!" the Queen affirmed, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaping her lips. "They shield their citizens, ensuring they live in peace and prosperity. Edmund Duke, my dear boy, not only sent the demon lord Sargeras packing, but he's also single-handedly repelled countless Orcish invasions, saved hundreds of thousands with his fleet, and ensured our citizens are living high on the hog, with full bellies and warm cloaks. That, Varian, is why he's the people's champion."

"But then," Varian continued, oblivious to Bolvar's renewed internal panic, "why do I hear the servants whispering in the kitchens that Father's a king who lost his kingdom, and no hero at all?"

The Queen merely waved a dismissive hand, a gesture that spoke volumes of her weary patience. "Oh, that's just the common folk, Varian. They're quick to lay the blame for Stormwind's fall at your father's feet. Pay it no mind, my lion cub. One day, your father will reclaim Stormwind and once again be the hero you know him to be. And remember this, as a king, you never, ever let jealousy eat at your soul over the achievements of your subjects. Your uncle Anduin, for instance, was once the talk of the town, far more renowned than your father. But comparing apples and oranges is a fool's errand. A hero's glory can never truly eclipse the glory of a king. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Varian mumbled, already distracted by the glint of distant armor.

Just then, Duke's cavalry, a whirlwind of dust and disciplined chaos, thundered to a halt outside the new Storm Palace.

The Queen and the Prince stepped forward to greet the Duke.

Duke, still basking in the afterglow of his grand entrance, was utterly blindsided when the Queen, with a twinkle in her eye, declared, "Thank you for your tireless efforts, Duke. You are truly exceptional. It's a crying shame Varian doesn't have a sister, otherwise I would most certainly insist you marry into the royal family!"

The words hit Duke like a mace to the face. He practically choked on his own breath. While he knew the royal family occasionally played matchmaker to secure alliances with powerful vassals, the thought of him being the target of such an arrangement had never, not in a million years, crossed his mind.

Thank the Light, Varian was an only child!

"Uh, well, Your Majesty," Duke stammered, his face a mask of mortification, "I'm actually still quite... youthful. Don't let the distinguished beard fool you! I'm only fifteen, you see..."

Duke secretly congratulated himself on dodging a bullet. Historically, Sargeras's dying curse had turned the young Khadgar into a shriveled old man. But thanks to Medivh's father and Lothar sharing the burden, and Medivh's quicker counter-attack, Duke had merely "aged" a few years. It was a blessing in disguise, really. He looked more mature, and after his stint in Karazhan, he'd shot up like a weed, now standing a respectable 1.80 meters – the spitting image of a man in his early twenties. This made negotiating with foreign dignitaries a breeze. No one took an actual teenager seriously at the council table. Eighteen was the magic number, and even if he wasn't quite there yet, looking the part made all the difference.

Still, the Queen's casual mention of marriage had sent a shiver down his spine. Was this what they called twisting the knife in a perpetually single man's heart? A cruel joke on a lone wolf who'd been flying solo for two decades in his previous life?

"Haha, that's right!" the Queen chuckled, clearly enjoying his discomfort. "Strictly speaking, Varian should call you brother. Come now, Varian, greet your brother, Duke!"

"Hello, brother!" Varian chirped, his obedience almost sickeningly sweet.

In that instant, Duke's heart swelled to a hundred thousand points of pure, unadulterated joy. Holy Light! Varian, the legendary King Varian, the very embodiment of a great leader in his past life, was calling him brother! He might just be a scrawny kid now, but he was still King Varian!

Duke was profoundly, ridiculously moved.

Catching sight of Duke's bizarre emotional display, the Queen and Duke Bolvar exchanged knowing, conspiratorial smiles.

"Duke," the Queen began, her voice dripping with mock sympathy, "you've only just become a noble, so it's understandable. Most noble families arrange marriages for their children long before they reach adulthood. It's a pity the great houses of Stormwind took such a beating during the war, otherwise I'd be knocking down doors to find you a truly exquisite noblewoman for a wife."

At the word "exquisite," Duke's mind, for some inexplicable reason, conjured an image of Alleria's... rather formidable assets. Ahem. Yes, at that moment, Duke was feeling decidedly un-heroic.

Logically speaking, as a Duke, shouldn't he be enjoying the comforts of maids and harems? Why was he still working his fingers to the bone, chasing his tail like a hound all day?

Oh, the sheer agony of it all!

"Well, I'm not in any rush, Your Majesty," Duke blurted out, his voice a little too high-pitched. "There are far too many pressing matters at hand. His Majesty has just entrusted me with a most critical mission! I simply must see it through first..." Duke mumbled a string of half-truths and beat a hasty retreat, practically tripping over his own feet.

Damn it all, an arranged marriage!

Why me? What if they stuck him with a dud? What if Alleria, of all people, decided she wanted to marry him?!

Duke fled, his mind racing with terrifying possibilities.

The Queen merely laughed, a rich, resonant sound. "Only at times like these can one truly remember that Duke is still just a boy!"

Bolvar nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Indeed," the Queen continued, her tone shifting to one of steely resolve. "Once things settle down, Duke's marriage must be moved to the top of our agenda. It is the King's sacred duty to fight for Stormwind's revival at the negotiation table. And it is my duty, as Queen, to secure more support for His Majesty through strategic alliances. Varian is still too young, but Duke's age is perfectly ripe."

Bolvar, ever the diligent servant, had clearly done his homework. "I've given this considerable thought, Your Majesty. And while I feel a pang of sympathy for Duke, I have, in fact, gathered some intelligence."

"Oh? Do tell?" The Queen's eyes gleamed with anticipation, a small, predatory smirk gracing her lips.

Bolvar presented the first candidate: "The one with the appropriate age and station is Ilucia Barov, daughter of Duke Barov."

The Queen nodded thoughtfully. "Hmm, a union with the Barov family would certainly alleviate some of our immediate concerns. But it's hardly ideal. Firstly, it might ruffle feathers with the Alterac royal family. Secondly, I believe Duke's accomplishments warrant a far grander match. A mere duke's daughter simply won't cut the mustard."

Bolvar immediately offered a second prospect: "In truth, Edmund Duke is a wizard of immense promise, and much of his wealth is tied to his maritime ventures. He's a most appealing catch."

"Who?" the Queen demanded, leaning forward.

"Her Royal Highness Jaina Proudmoore, the Princess of Kul Tiras. She's only twelve years old and currently studying magic in Dalaran."

"She is, undeniably, a very suitable candidate," the Queen mused, a flicker of calculation in her eyes. "If we are to reclaim Stormwind, the aid of Kul Tiras will be indispensable."

"However," Bolvar added, a hint of caution in his voice, "she does seem to have quite the affinity for Prince Arthas of Lordaeron."

The Queen frowned, her expression clouding. "I see. Perhaps we shall observe the situation. Any other recommendations?"

Bolvar shrugged, a gesture of defeat. "If we're not considering the Duke himself, the next most fitting individual could only be His Majesty Menethil's beloved daughter, Princess Calia. Her age is quite suitable, also fifteen."