Richard Knaak - Wolfheart

The other rulers and representatives began to applaud, but Varian waved them to silence. He studied them all, then shook his head.

“You shouldn’t be applauding me. Not a man who is supposed to rule by reason but did so by rage instead.”

His self-condemnation brought concerned murmuring from his audience. Malfurion looked to Tyrande, who smiled in reassurance.

“An unreasoning, unfocused rage that brought calamity on me and all I held dear and served only to divide the Alliance”—Varian’s expression forbade anyone to deny what he said—“and for the latter, I apologize.”

It was no small thing for Varian to apologize for anything, and no one there thought him any weaker for it. The story of his actions in Ashenvale was already becoming legend despite his desiring otherwise.

“The Varian Wrynn who reigned with such rage is dead!” he declared. “But in dying, he learned that it wasn’t the rage that was at fault, only he! The fury, the anger, must have purpose! It must be the righteous anger of one defending his family, his home, and his friends! It must be the fury that keeps all he loves safe from those who would rip them from him. . . .”

“Hear, hear!” rumbled an enthusiastic Thargas Anvilmar. The other dwarves glanced in his direction, but out of what seemed more satisfaction with his response than annoyance.

“And now is the time to focus that fury!” the lord of Stormwind continued without pause. “Now is when we need the worgen most, not only for their own fury and fire, but to help guide all of us to safely and rightly unleash this side of us! This is our only way to defeat the Horde and, I will say it, perhaps even bring down the terrible black dragon Deathwing himself!”

Malfurion finally understood where Varian was heading and nodded. Tyrande leaned close and murmured, “You see? We had faith it would work out and it did.”

“You had faith. I am still learning.”

At that moment, the king of Stormwind slammed his fist down. “The Horde has tried once to take Ashenvale! They’ll try again! If we let them do so without a fight, we’ve already lost! They see Azeroth as a new world and, because of their relentless energy, they see themselves as the only ones appropriate to tame it! But we will match that energy and more, and we will fight the Horde and all other foes at every turn until the Alliance and Azeroth can finally claim that peace prevails!”

This statement brought more murmuring, this time angry. Yet, beneath that anger was a growing agreement, a joining of purpose among the factions. Archmage Tervosh nodded to Drukan, who bobbed his head in return. Gelbin and the gnomes muttered together, their gazes continuing to return to Varian with obvious admiration—a rare display by gnomes for someone who was a warrior, not an inventor. Everywhere, Varian’s words struck home, for the moment bringing together even all three dwarven clans.

Encouraged by their reactions, Varian thrust on. “Anger. Fury. You feel it now. This is what we need, if we’re to match the energy of the Horde! This . . . and something more. . . .”

Varian signaled to someone unseen near the entrance through which the representatives had again marched. A horn blared . . . and the anthem of Gilneas played.

Led again by Genn Greymane and fully transformed to their astonishing lupine shapes, the worgen reentered. They spread out as they reached the center, displaying their might for all to see.

Fist on his chest in a salute, the worgen leader stood directly before Varian. He gazed up at his counterpart and waited.

Varian did not look back but instead addressed the audience as a whole again. “When last we were here, the archdruid sought a vote on full membership of Gilneas and the worgen by acclamation! I call on you today to recast your vote! What say the rest of you?”

“Aye!” shouted Kurdran.

“Aye!” the other dwarven representatives yelled immediately after.

A stately female draenei rose. “I am Ishanah, high priestess of the Aldor, chosen to speak in place of the Prophet! The draenei cast a vote of aye!”

Theramore and the rest of the Alliance factions followed, each repeating their earlier votes. Malfurion hugged Tyrande with one arm as they watched the acclamation build. They made no attempt to take command of the summit; this was Varian’s gathering until he deemed otherwise.

The king surveyed the assembly, which watched him in anticipation.

“Stormwind votes aye!” Varian bellowed triumphantly. “Gilneas and the worgen are full members of the Alliance!”

The worgen let out howls of pleasure. From beyond the gathering, other howls arose from the direction of their encampment.

Only Genn Greymane did not howl. The worgen leader stood solemn before Varian. “You honor us!” the king of Gilneas declared. “But we also honor you, Varian Wrynn of Stormwind! We honor the champion of Ashenvale!”

Now both the worgen and the other assembled delegates cheered.

Malfurion finally left Tyrande to go to the lord of Stormwind. Varian gratefully let him take over, but first indicated that he had something to whisper to the archdruid.

“When we arrived, there was a missive brought by a draenei messenger from my son. He wanted to assure me that when he completed his own path with the Light, he would return to Stormwind. . . . ” Varian eyed Malfurion suspiciously. “Is this some doing of yours or the high priestess’s?”

“None whatsoever. This happy news is from Anduin himself, I assure you! I knew nothing about this until you now told me, and I can swear the same for Tyrande. She would not have kept such a thing from me, much less you. . . .”

The king exhaled. “Then that makes his promise all the more welcome!”

Varian continued to drink in the thought of his son’s return as the archdruid, after a congratulatory touch on the human’s shoulder, took over. However, if Varian thought his part at an end, he was sorely mistaken.

“Gilneas and the worgen are welcomed into the fold!” the night elf called. “And the worgen are welcome to a new, permanent home here with the night elf people!” The worgen howled their gratitude and the emissaries and their retinues added their applause again.

When things had settled down, Malfurion continued, “But we must also welcome the man who has brought us together again and who has also brought the future of the Alliance sharply into focus at last! Varian Wrynn, king of Stormwind!”

There was no cry of disagreement, not even from the Dark Iron dwarves. To a member, the Alliance factions called out the king of Stormwind’s name over and over.

Varian wanted nothing more than to step back, but instead it was as if his body responded in the reverse, for he found himself moving up next to the night elf.

The assembly continued to cry out, “ Varian! Varian!” The subject of their acclaim shook his head in denial, but no one seemed to care about his opinion.

He did not see when Malfurion slipped away to Tyrande again. Varian stood staring back at those who thought of him as not only champion of Ashenvale, but also their very future. He stared at them . . . and knew that he could never be the Varian that he had been in times past. Never again would he be able to turn from his allies for the mistakes that they had made, not when Varian could at last see how theirs were so insignificant compared to his own.

“I will do what I can . . . ,” he whispered. “I swear I will . . . Anduin.”

And behind him, the archdruid and high priestess watched the events with more than a little satisfaction.

“You were right, Tyrande,” Malfurion commented. “This is potentially even more than I imagined. . . . He could very well guide the Alliance to new, fresh heights, just what it needs to compete with the Horde for this Azeroth we have all inherited from Deathwing’s madness. . . .”