A/N

Another oneshot where I take the poke lines of a Blizzard unit/hero and apply it to narrative. In this case, Valeera's lines from Heroes of the Storm.

The Rouge Rogue

"So, I hope you understand that at least half of your army is illiterate. I mean, sure, you don't need to know how to spell 'sword' in order to use it, but it might be nice for the support staff."

Varian grunted.

"So, some call me a rogue, others call me a 'rouge.' As in, a noun, not an adverb."

Varian grunted.

"Still, I am both a rogue, and rouge, so no matter what spelling you use, you're covered."

"Tell me how to spell 'annoyance,'" Varian murmured.

"A-N-N-"

"I take that back."

"O-Y-A-N-S-E," she said. "Annoyance."

"C-E."

"What?"

"C-E," Varian said, looking up from the parchment. "Not 's,' 'e.'"

She fumed. He was right. Varian Wrynn, High King of the Alliance, her former protectee and old friend, was right. By extension, she was wrong. She hated being wrong. Being wrong could mean you winded up dead.

But she wasn't going to admit that. So she watched as Varian rolled up the piece of parchment he'd been working on, put the seal of Stormwind on it, and then moved onto the next one. She smirked.

"Always thought you were more the one for the sword, Lo'Gosh, not the quill."

"As king, I need to master both," he said. "Use a sword, and know how to spell it."

"Well, I-"

"Why are you here, Valeera?"

She forced a smile. "So you do remember my name. How nice."

"I remember a lot of things. Among them is what the Legion is capable of." He rolled up the parchment, sealed his mark, and turned over to the next one. "Thought you might as well."

"I do," she murmured. "That's why I'm here."

"And not before. Shame. Some might say abandoning your king is an act of treason."

"Treason," she sneered. "Horde, Alliance, what has either faction done for me? My allegiances are my own."

"And yet here you are," Varian said, and for the first time since she'd taken a seat in his quarters in Stormwind Keep, met her gaze directly. "Why? Why now?"

She frowned. She had an answer, but wasn't so willing to part with it. Was not keen on admitting that the Legion's return to Azeroth was an event that she couldn't ignore. The Cataclysm, the Iron Horde, even the Scourge…she could escape all that. Outrun all that. But the Legion was the Legion. One name encompassing an untold many. She had to fight, because it was the only way she could survive. She'd chosen to join the Uncrowned, because she felt that they could best benefit from her skills. And she'd come to Stormwind, because knowing that the Alliance and Horde would be assaulting the Broken Isles in the upcoming days, she knew that chances were, even men like Varian Wrynn wouldn't be coming back from that. Not even men like Broll Bearmantle. Only he was on the other side of the world right now. She had no idea where Rehgar was, and wasn't keen on saying 'hello' to that brute either. So, that left Varian Wrynn.

"Valeera?" he asked.

"Why I'm here is none of your business," she said.

He frowned, returning to the parchment. "You've changed."

"You've aged."

"And you're still a child."

"I'm not a child," she snapped. "We elves age like the finest of wines, while you humans age like cheese." She leant back in her chair, folding her arms. "Cottage cheese."

Varian kept writing. Was it red tape, she wondered, or did he actually need to request aid for the upcoming battle? She watched as Varian laid back in his chair, rubbing his eyes.

"That bad huh?" she asked.

"Are you still here?"

"I can leave if you want. One puff of smoke, you'll never see me."

"I'm not seeing you now because I'm not looking at you."

"Your loss. Some rogues are beautiful, but all rogues are stunning."

She wondered why she used that phrase. Wondered why she hoped that he might look at her now. But he didn't. Only the parchment had his eye.

"Fine," she said, drawing out one of her daggers. She walked over. "If you don't want to look at me, you can-"

Varian grabbed her by the arm, and opened his eyes. For a moment, the two lingered, their gazes locked. It was Varian who broke the silence first.

"Nice swords."

"Daggers, remember?" she asked, recalling their first match in the Ring of Valour. "Orc daggers. Everything from orcs is oversized. Even their shoulder pads."

"Which you, I've noticed, aren't emulating."

"Ah, so you do care," she laughed, returning back to her seat. "Fine, you win. Less armour, more stealth and dagger. We've all got to fight the war in our own way."

"You're fighting?" he asked.

"You surprised?" she responded. "It's one big gladiator match, isn't it? Last man…or woman, standing?"

"No," he said. "I suppose not."

"You seemed surprised to see me."

"And I am surprised," he said. He frowned. "You still haven't said why you're here."

That, she hadn't. So, sighing, and drawing out a much smaller dagger to run between her fingers, she began to talk.

"I know that you're heading off for the Broken Isles," she said. "Chances are you might die. That many will die. That we'll lose, and we'll all die."

"There's a chance of that," Varian grunted.

"So, if you do die, then I suppose it behoves me to come back to Stormwind beforehand and express my wishes that you don't die," Valeera said. "And with Broll too I guess. If he ever turns up again."

"He'll fight," Varian said. "You expect Broll to do any less?"

"No," she said, smiling. "I suppose not."

A silence descended between the two former gladiators.

But not an uneasy one.