Wolfheart

11 Darkened Hearts

“Never—never have I nor any of my warriors acted so basely!” Genn declared, visibly struggling with himself. “The bravery of Gilneas—”

“‘Bravery’?” Varian Wrynn cut in. Tall, commanding, his features handsome in a brooding manner, the king of Stormwind was to his own people already a hero out of legend. He had, in point of fact, lived a remarkable and dangerous life that had not only for years separated him from those he most loved, but also left him for a time bereft of his memory. His trials made for rousing tales that bards could sing before swooning ladies. And his two long scars, one running across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose and the other descending down the left side of his face from the forehead to the cheek—both legacies of the several times he had barely escaped death—only added more flavor to those stories . . . stories for which Varian himself had no taste whatsoever. “The definition must be different in Gilneas from what it is in most other lands . . . the very opposite, I’d say.”

The insinuation that Genn and his people were utter cowards proved too much for the elder monarch. His expression darkened. Some of those in his retinue growled low and seemed ready to move toward Varian, but Genn staved off their advance with a sharp glance.

Malfurion moved to intervene. “King Varian! We had no news of you and your retinue arriving below. . . .”

“I preferred it that way,” the former gladiator answered, acting now as if Genn did not even exist. Varian shoved aside an unruly lock of dark brown hair. The eyes of a hunter surveyed each and every person in sight, Varian Wrynn ever instinctively marking those around him by their potential threat.

The archdruid purposely stood between the pair. “And your son? Is Anduin with you?”

“Naturally.” Varian said it with such an absolute tone that Malfurion felt slightly foolish for asking, though many monarchs would have left their only heirs in the supposed safety of home rather than bring them on any sort of journey.

The king briefly tilted his head back. The night elf looked beyond Varian to where four members of the king’s personal guard flanked a slightly shorter figure dressed in the regal blue and gold of Stormwind. Prince Anduin, his own blond hair cut short, bowed his head to the archdruid. He wore a high-collared shirt covered by mail that was in turn draped by the golden lion head crest of his kingdom. The prince was not armed save for a dagger at his belt, but with so many guards in Stormwind’s party, his safety would have been ensured in almost any place, much less Darnassus.

In contrast to his father, who was every bit the fighter, Anduin was a studious youth. Moreover, there was an aura of selflessness that reminded Malfurion of only one other person present. Without thinking, Malfurion glanced over his shoulder at Velen.

To his surprise, the Prophet’s eyes registered the same intense interest in the human boy. Velen sensed exactly what Malfurion did . . . perhaps more.

Genn was taking long, deep breaths that were designed to bring his temper back under control. Varian looked unimpressed by the other king’s efforts.

The archdruid continued to try to defuse the tension between them. “King Varian. Forgive us for not being there to greet you! You, your son, and your companions are welcome to join the banquet immediately if you wish! Your seats await you, and food and drink will be shortly coming—”

“I’m not inclined to stay here,” the monarch of Stormwind bluntly replied. “I sailed to Darnassus for the sake of the Alliance, not him.” He indicated Genn. “If it’s all the same to you, Archdruid, the journey was a tiring one, so I think I’ll retire already. . . .”

Genn moved toward his counterpart again. In a lower tone he said, “Varian . . . let us talk. I did what I thought was best for my people; you must understand that! I never realized the full folly of my arrogance when I chose to build the wall and what it would mean, cutting off Gilneas from the outside. . . .”

Varian’s gaze never left the archdruid. He said nothing to Genn.

This only stirred the king of Gilneas to further effort. “I swear an oath that we will be as brothers to all other members of the Alliance, that we will give aid in whatever manner needed! Gilneas will not shirk its duty! There will be no more loyal member, especially to its fellow human realm, Stormwind—”

“Stormwind wants no such brother at its back!” Varian burst out.

“Varian . . . ” Malfurion murmured.

The younger king’s body shook from fury. He lowered his gaze, staring bitterly at Genn from under his brow. “I didn’t ask to wear the mantle of responsibility, to become the bearer of humanity’s standard! It was enough to rule Stormwind and protect my son! But I did it because I had no choice! Who else was there? Not Gilneas! Stormwind, with Theramore at its side, has had to face the dangers . . . and now you want to come in under our wing and pretend you’ll stand with us this time?”

“We will stand—”

“You needn’t worry yourself, Greymane! Stormwind and I have done without you, without Gilneas . . . and certainly without the worgen . . . and we’ll continue to do so! What you truly desire is redemption for your traitorous crimes, which you’ll not get from me!”

“Gilneas was a sovereign nation. We seceded during a time of peace, not war, and for good reasons. You know that. As for the coming vote—”

However, Varian turned his back on the other human. “Excuse me, Archdruid and High Priestess. I will see you later. . . .”

Before Malfurion could even respond, Varian whirled back the way he had come and stalked off. In his wake followed his retinue.

Malfurion looked at Tyrande, who had already signaled a pair of priestesses to hurry after King Varian. As she focused in Malfurion’s direction, her eyes widened.

A low, animalistic snarl escaped from where Genn stood. The archdruid immediately returned his attention to the human.

Genn bared his teeth in a feral grin that stretched far beyond where human limits should have allowed. His body swelled. . . .

And then, again, the human regained control of himself.

“F-Forgive me, Archdruid,” the sweating figure muttered. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve.”

“I suggest you return to your seat and—”

“No. No, I can’t.” Genn gestured to Eadrik and the other Gilneans. With Genn in their lead, the party silently departed for the forest.

The other guests murmured among themselves. Tyrande indicated for the musicians to play again, but it was clear that the banquet would soon be winding down. The confrontation had eradicated the hopeful mood of the participants, a situation that Malfurion would have to work hard to correct.

However, as he turned to discuss this with his mate, he noticed that one member of Stormwind’s party had not left: Anduin, who was at this moment quietly speaking with Velen.

As the night elves approached the pair, they heard the draenei saying, “ . . . and what you know of the Light is indeed true, but that is only the slightest of its many facets, young Anduin! To fully appreciate the wonder of the Light, you must look at it from the perspective that best lets you see its full place in the universe and how it may become part of our very being! Such requires patience and learning. . . .”

“I can do that, but what I want—”

“Prince Anduin!”

Two of the king’s personal guard had returned. Their flushed faces and hurried movements bespoke of the intense reprimand their monarch had no doubt given them upon discovering that his son was not with the party. The two burly soldiers barged past the night elves and came at their prince from opposing sides.

The one who had called to the prince—a hardened veteran with a nose that looked as if it had been broken more than once in battle—reached for Anduin, who did not hide his frustration as he rose to face the guards. “Prince Anduin! Your father was most upset when he discovered that you’d neglected to follow us! The king has commanded that you come immediately!”

Anduin looked as if he were ready to snap something at the unfortunate guards—who all knew were only doing their duty and likely feared being punished—but held back. With a resigned nod, the prince joined his two keepers. He briefly turned to face the night elves and the others, bowing to each group. Only then did he silently gesture to the two anxious men to lead him to his father.

“Young Anduin has a quiet strength,” Velen commented once the boy was gone. “A pity his father seeks to cage him as he does himself.”

“Varian nearly lost him more than once,” the archdruid remarked. “His fear that Anduin might vanish or be taken is not unfounded.” Malfurion frowned deeply. “Nor are his harsh words to Genn Greymane, I am sorry to say.”

“Genn will make amends for all,” Tyrande interjected. “You know that as well as I. We already know how much he sacrificed to get matters to this point.”

“But will it be worth it in the end? They nearly attacked one another. Genn came very close to losing control of himself, and with some reason!”

“Perhaps we should discuss this at another time,” the high priestess commented. “Velen, if you could—” But to the surprise of both night elves, the Prophet had surreptitiously departed the conversation, almost as if he knew the two were about to enter subjects best discussed purely between them.

“Well, we can trust Velen, that is for certain,” Malfurion murmured. Then, sobering, he added, “Tyrande, before you speak, I have to tell you—”

“He is the one, Mal.”

“I know Elune tells you so and I understand that it should be so, but you saw him! Varian could perhaps be the leader the Alliance needs, yet he also stands a very good chance of becoming the one who further guides it to disaster!”

“Varian is troubled, I agree—”

“More than troubled, though with good cause.” The archdruid tugged on his beard in contemplation. “And his disdain for Genn strikes me as being as much for himself as it is for the king of Gilneas. There was that in his tone that hinted more of self-reproach. . . .”

“I heard that, also.” The high priestess casually glanced to her side. “The others are beginning to leave. The banquet is over.”

“The banquet was a debacle. The others here have seen Varian proclaim the worgen unfit to be part of the Alliance! We cannot let that notion stand. . . .”

“I will go speak with the others. Perhaps you can do something with Varian.”

“Perhaps.” Malfurion could not hide his doubt concerning such a hope.

She put her hand on his. “Elune will guide us. Have faith.”

He grunted. “I of all people should, should I not?”

“Go. Speak with Varian.”

Malfurion knew better than to argue when she used that tone. They kissed, then the archdruid, with a bow to the remaining guests, followed after the king of Stormwind.

To someone who had slept in bug-infested cages and grimy, blood-soaked cells during his days as a slave and gladiator, the woodland quarters offered by his hosts seemed far too soft in comparison. Even Varian’s chambers back home were not nearly so calm, so peaceful. The king considered departing Darnassus for the relative familiarity of his confining quarters aboard ship, but respected his hosts enough not to insult them . . . or at least not insult them any more than he had with his denunciation of Genn Greymane.

Varian had no regrets there. In fact, he had a rather great satisfaction. He knew that he had behaved badly, but in Greymane he had found an outlet for some of the fire ever raging within him.

There was a knock at the door. The night elves had gone out of their way to make their guests feel at home, and so the chambers set aside for Varian and his retinue were fairly human in design and accommodations. Unfortunately, they still had that “nature” feel he always associated with those of the archdruid’s race. Far better were the oppressive stone walls of the keep.

One of the guards cautiously opened the door. Even in Darnassus, one did not take chances. Varian had already caught wind of something amiss, something that had happened just before his arrival.

Anduin and the two bodyguards sent to retrieve him entered. Varian, his heart lightening, went straight to his son.

“You had me worried!” To the two men, he growled, “Let this not happen again! Should any harm come to my son, I will have—”

“Leave it be, Father.”

Anduin spoke quietly, ever calmly, but still he did momentarily what no one else could: silence the king.

Recovering, Varian said, “Anduin, you must understand! You are the prince of Stormwind! Nowhere, not even here, should be considered safe enough for you to go wandering off! You always need at least a guard with you.”

“Yes. I’m not very good at defending myself,” the prince retorted. “I’m not the great warrior you are. You and Magni have already seen how badly I handle a sword, even in practice.”

“I didn’t mean—”

The prince sighed. It was a sound Varian heard often and usually because of something he had done out of concern for his son. “No, you don’t. You never do, Father. I’m back, safe and sound. As usual.”

“Anduin—” Against any foe, the king could stand resolute in his next move. Against his son, he constantly floundered.

“Good night, Father.” The prince walked on, following his guards to the room set aside for him.

As unsettling as the conversation no doubt had been to their guards, Anduin had actually kept it from getting worse by cutting it off. Varian knew that—could even appreciate it—but that still did not ease the sting of his son’s obvious reprimand.

Now the serenity of the night elven dwelling finally proved too much for him. “Stay here,” he commanded the guards, aware as much as they that he was placing them in a similar position as when Anduin had not remained with the party. “I need to walk.”

They knew better than to argue. No longer paying them any heed, Varian strode out. However, like in his quarters, the tranquility of the capital did nothing to ease his heart. Instead, he stared at the forest beyond.

His pace quickened. The wilderness beckoned.

“King Varian! I was just coming to see you.”

The human hid his disappointment, though for a moment his eyes lingered longingly on the trees beyond the city.

“Archdruid,” he responded, finally acknowledging his host. “My thanks for our quarters. They will do just fine.”

“Which is why you had to flee them at the first chance,” the night elf returned with a slight smile. “Please. I will not stand on ceremony with you. Call me Malfurion.”

“Then I’ll ask you to call me Varian.”

“As you wish. If you do not mind, I hoped to have a word with you.”

The lord of Stormwind exhaled. “My sincerest apologies for ruining your banquet.”

“The banquet is of no consequence. The gathering is. You appreciate bluntness, Varian. I am more concerned about your confrontation with Genn.”

The mere mention of Greymane’s name stirred the embers within. Varian’s pulse pounded. “I’d prefer not to speak about that, Malfurion.”

The night elf would not be dissuaded. “Varian, I must ask you to consider everything that happens before, during, and after the summit in light of what Azeroth has become due to the Cataclysm. Each choice we make has to be carefully weighed.”

“You’re referring to the induction.”

“Of course. I hope you will see reason—”

The king no longer had any desire to head to the forest. Is there nowhere I can be free?

Malfurion was clearly intent on pressing forward with his point. Varian could see only one way to at least end the conversation.

“I’ll give Genn and the worgen a fair consideration. You have my word.”

Malfurion heard the finality in his voice and wisely accepted the answer as it was. “Thank you, Varian. That is all I can ask—”

Another figure intruded upon them. Varian fought down his impatience with the seemingly never-ending situation. His trained eyes took in the newcomer, who, though a night elf, was dressed in a colorful outfit that the king thought Malfurion surely also found gaudy.

“Archdruid Stormrage,” the other greeted solemnly.

“Var’dyn.”

Varian’s sharp ears caught a slight inflection in the night elf’s voice, as if the archdruid not only knew what this other figure wanted . . . but dreaded it for some reason.

Exactly what the other elf was finally registered with Varian. He recalled the reports. So this is a Highborne.

The Highborne barely seemed to notice the human. The king recalled the apparent arrogance of Var’dyn’s kind. He also remembered that they were magi . . . and reckless ones at that.

The archdruid said, “I thank you for your time and your reply, Varian. I look forward to speaking with you further.”

The king took advantage of the situation. “Naturally. Forgive me now; I must be going. Good evening.”

He did not even acknowledge the Highborne as he left, thinking that the other elf did not deserve any better than he gave. Varian gratefully departed the pair, silently wishing he had never sailed from Stormwind.

A slight movement in the trees nearby caught the corner of his eye. Varian did not focus on it, aware that by the time he turned the source would be gone from sight. Besides, the king was fairly certain just what had been lurking at the forest’s edge.

His scowl deepened. Under his breath, he muttered, “Damned worgen.”

Var’dyn did not speak until the human was long gone. Malfurion, aware of the news he had not yet had the opportunity to present to the Highborne, solemnly waited. The archdruid wanted to hear Var’dyn out to see how much the latter knew.

“I am here concerning the disappearance,” Var’dyn bluntly stated. “You know that.”

Malfurion waited for the Highborne to continue, but that apparently was all the mage wished to say for the moment. Instead, Var’dyn looked expectantly at the archdruid.

There is no use delaying the inevitable, Malfurion thought. “So, Maiev Shadowsong has informed the Highborne of everything already—”

He got no further: Var’dyn’s perplexed expression told him that the mage had no idea whatsoever about anything concerning Maiev—or her discovery.

“What should we know about, Archdruid?”

“Thera’brin is dead. Murdered.”

Var’dyn stiffened. “Tell me.”

Malfurion did, leaving out no detail. The spellcaster remained stone-faced throughout. The only true sign of his growing fury was his hands, which folded into tight fists and stayed so.

“The body will be returned to us immediately,” Var’dyn declared when Malfurion finished. His voice held no emotion. He stared past the other night elf, as if seeing something far, far away. “There will be no further desecration of it by anyone for any reason.”

“That was the intention. Maiev—”

“Yes . . . the warden. She can continue with her investigation, but she will not speak with us. If there is anything we learn, we will relate it to you, Archdruid. I leave it to you to let her know what she needs.”

It was hardly the most logical system, but the Highborne were not very trusting—and, at the moment, Malfurion could not entirely blame them.

“I will speak to her as soon as I can,” he promised Var’dyn.

The mage did not answer, his gaze once again distant. The edge of his mouth twitched. Malfurion grew disturbed.

“Var’dyn. I swear that Thera’brin’s death will be investigated thoroughly and the assassins brought to justice! I only ask that the Highborne have some patience—”

“We cannot afford patience, Archdruid,” Var’dyn blurted. He finally looked directly at Malfurion again, and in those eyes the archdruid read a sense of dread. “You see. I did not come to speak with you about Thera’brin. Another of my people has gone missing.”