Wolfheart

15 Choices

“Everyone! Remain seated, please!”

The crowd, though, did not hear the archdruid. Everywhere, the various factions of the Alliance argued with one another as to what had just happened and what it meant to the summit as a whole. The voice of one night elf was easily drowned out by such a din.

But Malfurion Stormrage was more than merely a night elf and more than merely a druid.

Deafening thunder shook the assembly, and a single brilliant bolt of lightning right before the archdruid’s position guaranteed that all attention returned to him.

“You know my feelings on this situation,” he said to them. “And I can assure all of you that this is not over.”

No one argued, although in many eyes he read disagreement. Malfurion looked to Genn Greymane to reassure him, only to find that the worgen had slipped out as swiftly and silently as the wolves they resembled.

Concealing his own dismay, the archdruid pressed: “I will attend to this matter. For the moment, I call for a vote to end the summit for today and invite all representatives and their retinues to partake of the splendor of Darnassus.”

“Sounds like a good notion tae me! Me throat’s parched from all this politickin’,” Kurdran bellowed. “If it means gettin’ some ale an’ food faster, it’s got me vote!”

The dwarf’s lusty response eased the situation, and the vote to end for the day passed without further question as to whether there would be a second day.

As the assembly dispersed, Malfurion summoned one of the Sentinels flanking his and Tyrande’s seats. “Did the high priestess inform you as to why she had to leave?”

“No, Archdruid.”

“Do you know where she went?”

“The temple, I believe.”

Malfurion thought for a moment. “Please take a message to her. Tell her that I will be there as soon as I can, but that I must go speak with the king of Stormwind. Tell her that he voted against Gilneas, but I believe there is still hope. Do you have that?”

“Yes, Archdruid!”

“Go now, then!”

The Sentinel saluted sharply, then rushed off. Malfurion took a breath, using the moment to organize his thoughts.

The vision insists that Varian is the one, the archdruid thought with much frustration. Perhaps he is, but the vision does not have to deal with his obstinacy! He must be convinced . . . or, despite visions, the Alliance must find someone else!

A determined look crossed his features. Varian Wrynn would listen.

He went in pursuit of Stormwind’s bitter king.

Malfurion likely felt betrayed, and Varian could not blame him, but the night elf had been presumptuous to think that he could convince the lord of Stormwind to change his mind. The king of Gilneas had much blood on his hands—human blood. Where had he been when Lordaeron had beseeched others for aid during the Third War? True, Stormwind had not directly participated in the war, but it had been a strong supporter of the Alliance. Stormwind had also been going through much more turmoil at that time . . . and Varian had been at the heart of most of that turmoil. Already a king at eighteen due to his father’s assassination, he had been trying to oversee the kingdom’s reconstruction when he had been politically outmaneuvered after his wife’s death by the foul sorcery of Lady Katrana Prestor . . . who, in truth, had been the black dragon Onyxia. And when Varian had sailed at Lady Jaina’s suggestion to Theramore for a summit, he had been kidnapped and subsequently lost his memory.

No, Varian felt that he could not be blamed for Stormwind’s inability to do more for the Alliance. Genn had been his own man and fully in charge when he had refused to answer the call more than once. He had built his damnable wall to seal off Gilneas; then, during the Third War, he had not deigned to contribute so much as a token force. That last affront had been too great even for some of his own people, who had taken up the challenge themselves and formed the valiant Gilneas Brigade.

Varian felt no satisfaction for what he had said, but neither did he have any remorse. Genn Greymane had only gotten what he had much too long deserved.

“Tomorrow we sail home,” he informed the others as they neared their quarters.

“Father—”

“Not now, Anduin.”

In what was an uncustomary anger, the prince waved off the rest of the party. Those assigned to guard the royal family’s quarters hesitated, but Anduin stared them down until they, too, left. They all knew that look. They had seen it often in the father but never in the son, until now.

Ignoring what Anduin was doing, Varian entered their quarters. He seized the bottle of night elven wine he had started just before the summit and drank from it.

“Where’re you, Broll?” Varian muttered. The one thing that he had hoped would come of this fiasco of a gathering was a short reunion with the brawny druid who had fought beside him as a gladiator. Broll, though, was on some mission for Malfurion, yet another reason for the king to be annoyed with his hosts.

“Father . . .”

“I said not now, Anduin—”

“Yes. Now.”

For a boy barely in his teens, Anduin’s tone was measured and strong . . . and full of disappointment. Putting down the bottle, Varian faced him.

“I did what needed to be done. You’ll understand that when you’re king.”

“I understand that you’re still living in the past, Father. That you can’t ever seem to escape it. People change. People can redeem themselves. You’ve not given Genn Greymane any chance, and in doing that, you’ve also condemned the rest of his kingdom—”

“They’re fools enough to follow his lead despite the bloodshed and horror his choices have caused; they can follow him through this.”

“You don’t mean that. Don’t you see—”

“Enough!” The outburst surprised Varian as much as it did his son. Anduin deflated. Varian read the immense sadness filling his son.

The prince headed toward his room.

“Anduin—”

“Good night, Father. I pray you’ll understand some day.”

Not quite certain as to what his son meant by that, Varian returned to the wine. Then, thinking better of it, he stepped back outside. There he found his guards anxiously awaiting.

“Safe to go in,” he jested. “I’ll stay out here for a moment.”

They did not argue. Varian felt some sympathy for the men, who wanted to do their duty but were constantly being dismissed by their charges. He would reward them when the party returned to Stormwind.

“Varian.”

“Oh, by all that’s holy, am I allowed no peace?” The king turned to face Malfurion. “I said my lot back at the induction! There’s nothing left to discuss!”

The night elf’s brow rose at this unexpected outburst. “There is much left to discuss, if I may be so bold. I am aware of why you said what you did and the right you had to say it. The summit, though, must continue, and I—”

“Your summit’s failed. You should know that. Failed like so much . . . ” Varian looked off as he spoke, his thoughts turning to distant memory, not the evening’s events.

The shift did not go unnoticed by the archdruid. In a calm, quiet tone, he replied, “Failure is not always the end of things. It can be a method of learning to better succeed in other ways. Cenarius knows I have met with failure enough myself, if I may use my brother—and perhaps the worgen themselves—as examples. I can also appreciate the troubles you have struggled with, and I know the blame you still lay upon yourself for them. You still think that you could have saved Tiffin from the riot or somehow prevented Deathwing’s own daughter, Onyxia, from stealing your kingdom while in the guise of Lady Prestor! Neither of those events could have been prevented by you—”

“Couldn’t they? Easy to talk so, after the fact and so far removed, Archdruid, but you weren’t involved in those troubles! My wife was killed by a brickbat! A good man, Reginald Windsor, was burned alive by the damned dragon’s breath! I let agents of the Defias capture me, and in my absence, my son, my only son, was left defenseless and abandoned! I will not let that happen again! Ever!”

“You were not—”

Varian thrust a condemning finger in the night elf’s face. “You’ve no right to speak of any of this, anyway! What do you even understand of the kind of horrors I’ve seen and suffered? Two wars came and passed while you cheerfully meditated and wandered that accursed Emerald Dream! Two wars in which countless lives were lost! You never saw the sacrifices Stormwind had to face, much less the rest of Azeroth, while Greymane sat back and did absolutely nothing! Nothing! You druids preach of the harmony of the world and the creatures on it, but harmony is easy to ask for when you don’t have to struggle to survive like the rest of us!”

“I understand more than you think,” the archdruid started. “I have faced war and strife too. When the Burning Legion first invaded—”

“You must reach back ten thousand years for your example?” Varian interrupted. “And what about something a bit more recent . . . or relevant?”

The pair stood in silence, their unblinking gazes fixed upon one another. Malfurion radiated calmness, which only served to increase Varian’s frustration.

The night elf considered, then tried a different tack. “Much of what you say is true; I will not deny that. I have made many mistakes, but I have sought to learn from them, learned to accept my shortcomings, and strived to do better for those around me. That is something a druid, gladiator, or ruler should always do.”

It was not by accident that the night elf mentioned Varian’s past role. Without saying anything direct, he reminded the king that, while Malfurion had been elsewhere during the most recent troubles, so had Varian. Stormwind had suffered for many years without its rightful monarch to guide it, first for a decade when Onyxia had used her magic to influence Varian following Tiffin’s death, and then after his kidnapping. While Varian had not had any choice in either incident, the fact that the king often yearned for a return to the days when he only had to deal with his own immediate future was something that the night elf would not let be forgotten at the moment.

“Has Genn done anything so terrible other than seek to do what he thought best for his people?” the archdruid went on. “Gilneas has suffered deeply and more than once because of those choices. Genn regrets that and has offered to do everything he can to make amends. Do not judge him as you judge yourself, Varian. He will never stand a chance of redeeming himself, if that is the case.”

Varian grunted. “If that’s all you can say to try to convince me to change my vote, you’ve wasted your breath, Archdruid! Stormwind leaves tomorrow. Whatever the rest of you want to do after that is your own choice.”

“Varian . . .”

“For a place surrounded by forest, it’s damned hard for a man to even get a breath of air! I’ve said all I intend! If you will excuse me . . . ” The king all but shoved past the archdruid and headed toward the edge of Darnassus. He had not gone far when he heard footsteps behind him. The sound served to agitate him further.

“Are you so desperate, night elf?” he snapped as he turned. “The great archdruid—”

Yet, it was not Malfurion but rather Anduin who had followed his father.

“Anduin . . . I thought you’d gone to bed—”

“No . . . I was up. . . . ” There was something secretive in the prince’s voice. “I heard voices . . . I heard everything.”

“With the archdruid? You heard nothing that matters. We still leave tomorrow—”

“I’m not going with you.”

The statement sounded so fantastic, so ridiculous, that at first Varian had to think whether he had actually heard his son speak it. Incredulous, he said, “Go get some sleep. We leave early.”

Anduin gave him a look that Varian usually reserved for himself when dealing with fool-headed courtiers. “You never listen to me. Please listen now, Father. I am not going with you.”

“You’re tired! You—”

Anduin looked exasperated. “I should’ve done what I had planned, but I started to have second thoughts until I heard you and Archdruid Stormrage arguing! He couldn’t make you see sense any more than I ever could, and he’s lived more than ten thousand years!”

“Age doesn’t mean wisdom,” Varian retorted, annoyed that the night elf should have more of his son’s respect than he.

“I’m afraid I know that, Father.” The moment Anduin said it, he looked as if he regretted it. “I’ve not come to renew our argument. I went to my quarters and started to write you a letter explaining everything.”

“Son . . . what—”

The prince held up a hand for silence, again very much mimicking his father’s stance. “I’m no warrior. We both know that. I’ve said it more than once. I’ll never be you. My path lies elsewhere. . . .”

“You’re heir to the throne!” Varian insisted, using whatever course he could to convince his only child that he was being absurd.

“I’m not abandoning Stormwind, but I need to leave to complete what I’ve begun.” Despite being only thirteen summers, at the moment Anduin sounded like a much older person. “I started it with High Priest Rohan in Ironforge. You know what he said about me. Even you agreed with him about my potential.”

“The Light can help you when you come to rule Stormwind, but it’s only a tool, like—”

“The Light is no tool. The Light is.” Anduin smiled softly. “Someday, I’ll make you understand that too. Father, I never felt more alive than during my training in Ironforge! Just think of it! As a priest of the Light, I could do so much more for our people—”

“As king, you have the ultimate ability!” Varian’s heart pounded. Of all that was happening, this was the one thing with which he could not cope. His son would come home with him. There would be an end to this talk about the Light, clearly a misguided influence. Varian would see to it that Anduin would overcome his lack of sufficient battle skills and train to become a proper ruler!

“Father?” Anduin’s smile faded. “You aren’t listening. Fine. I tried.”

The boy turned to leave. Something snapped in Varian. He saw his beloved Tiffin again with their infant son snuggled in her arms. Tiffin faded away, leaving only the child . . . and then the child began to fade away.

Varian could not let that happen. Without thinking, he lunged forward, snaring Anduin’s arm.

The prince let out a cry. Some of the overwhelming fear faded, and Varian realized that he was crushing Anduin’s arm.

“I—I—” The king released his grip. Anduin, his face filled with shock, grasped at his injured arm. He knew as well as his father that Varian not only could strangle a foe with one hand, but had several times. Few men there were who could match the strength of the legendary Lo’Gosh.

And now, in a fit of utter madness, he had used that same might, however briefly, against his defiant son. . . .

“I—Anduin—” Varian could not summon words. The person most precious to him in all the world stood horrified at the sight of him. “I never meant—”

Their guards suddenly came running. Varian could only guess that they had heard Anduin’s cry and feared for the prince’s life.

“Your Majesty!” called the captain. “Did someone attack the two of you?”

“It’s all right,” Anduin interjected, rubbing his arm. “There’s no danger . . . is there, Father?”

“No . . .”

Anduin turned to leave again. Varian started to reach for him, but stopped the moment it appeared that the guards would follow his example and try to keep the prince from wandering away.

“Where are you going, Anduin?”

The prince paused and looked over his shoulder at his father. “To Velen. I’m going with him and the draenei when they depart.”

It did not startle the king, but did sting him. The Prophet could probably speak far easier with his son than he could. “Did you—have you discussed this with him?”

“I talked to him about resuming my studies of the Light.”

“You can do that back in Stormwind with Archbishop Benedictus!” Varian did not care how he looked to the guards. This was his son and he was losing him.

Anduin’s brow furrowed at mention of the archbishop. “Benedictus . . . is not right for this. . . . I can’t explain that. I just know. For what I need to learn, I need to go elsewhere. Rohan even once told me that.”

The king had not been aware of that little fact. He silently cursed the dwarf, silently cursed Velen . . . and then finally himself.

“They can take my things to the ship, Father.”

“Velen may not take you with him to the draenei capital.”

Anduin paused to consider this, and Varian’s hopes stirred. Then: “If he won’t take me with him, he’ll know that I have to go elsewhere to achieve what I must. Good-bye, Father.”

“Don’t—” The former gladiator bit off what he was going to say, for the guards, more aware of what was happening, looked as if all they waited for was the smallest signal. Even a hint by their king that they should step in and surround the prince would have served enough as a direct order.

His decision not to let them act brought the sad smile back to Anduin’s face. “Thank you.”

“I—I swear by your mother that I’ll never hurt you again, Anduin. Not in any way!” He started toward his son with the intention of hugging him.

The prince’s eyes widened. He stepped out of reach, then replied, “I know.”

Anduin walked off in what Varian could only imagine was the direction of the Prophet’s quarters. The king watched until his son was no longer visible to him, aware all the while that the last thing he had seen in Anduin’s eyes was a shadow of fear that Varian might, after all, hurt him.

“Your Majesty . . . ,” the captain hesitantly began. “Are you certain we shouldn’t—”

“You’re dismissed,” he responded curtly. “All of you.”

Aware of his mood, the guards obeyed swiftly and without question. Varian was at last left alone.

And only then did he realize just how much he was afraid he would be that way for the rest of his life.

Some of the certainty with which he had left his father began to evaporate the farther from the king Anduin got. Yet, something continued to urge him on his course.

He knew somehow that he would find Velen in the Temple Gardens again. The draenei had just begun to meditate and so was not disturbed by the youth’s sudden appearance.

But that did not mean that Velen had no inkling as to why Anduin had come.

“You spoke with your father,” the Prophet murmured. “I sense the troubles between you.”

Anduin saw no reason not to be blunt. “Velen, I know my path now. I want to go with you.”

The draenei looked perturbed. “How did you find out?”

“What do you mean?”

“Matters have arisen that take me elsewhere. I planned to choose another priest to act as representative of the draenei and leave in the morning after giving my farewells to our hosts.”

His revelation cemented Anduin’s course. “I knew nothing. I knew only that I can learn best if I come with you.”

“Your father . . .”

“I’ve told him.”

The Prophet frowned. “Perhaps you should reconsider. The path of the Light is not a simple one, and you are young. Gifted, yes, and I say that honestly. Come to me in three years, perhaps—”

“If you try to leave me behind, I’ll follow. I know that I’ve chosen right. I feel it.”

“So young . . . and yet so old,” the draenei remarked with a sigh. He noticed the youth rub his arm. “You have an injury. Let me help you.” The Prophet placed an open hand on the area in question.

The Light emanated from the draenei’s palm, a wondrous glow no larger than an apple yet radiating so much majesty. It spread to the injured region. The pain in Anduin’s arm quickly receded, becoming little more than a memory in but the blink of an eye.

And as that happened, Anduin felt a stirring in his heart. Emotions arose, feelings of love and forgiveness.

Along with those feelings, an image formed, one not of memory, but rather imagination. Anduin only knew his mother from pictures, and so the vision he had of her was one formed throughout his young life. In that vision, she was glorious, comforting. . . .

“You love her very much, your mother,” Velen murmured. He did not bother to explain how he knew what Anduin was thinking. Velen was the Prophet, after all.

“She died when I was a baby, but all I’ve seen and heard from my father and others of the court makes me feel I know her . . . and love her.”

The draenei nodded. “And you love your father much also.”

Anduin swallowed, recalling the pain and the constant frustration with the king . . . but also all that Varian had sought to do for him. “Of course. Whatever our disagreements . . .”

Velen lowered his palm. The Light faded from both his hand and the prince. The emotions faded, too, though they never completely vanished.

“And that is in great part why the Light touches you so deep.” The Prophet smiled slightly. “Very well, Anduin. We leave come sunlight.”